#i love it because he tries to make himself look like a shard of glass but actually he's actually a very calm and crystal clear lake or +

[kqluckity]

i love when people draw dirk all point-y and shit because his whole thing is how he's unknowable and unlovable and thinks he's the worst and should be alone all his life forever but actually every time one of his friends says anything to him he just. he just folds like a chair. idk if it makes sense to anyone else

[steddieas-shegoes]

wayne's got him

for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt 'wayne adopts steve' rated g wc: 680 cw: migraines tags: hurt/comfort, established relationship, fluff

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

Steve's head was pulsing, a sharp pain shooting from his eyes to his neck, sitting at his jaw for minutes at a time.

He hadn't had a migraine this bad in a while, and definitely not since Eddie had started working. He didn't have anyone here to help, and Robin would be at work until the afternoon.

He slowly rolled over in bed, wincing as the pain got worse from the movement.

He couldn't contain the whimper he let out as he tried to settle again, his head hurting too much in every position to try to get comfortable.

"Steve? Y'alright?" Wayne's voice was probably a normal volume, but it felt like shards of glass in his ears, against his eyes.

Apparently, his responding whimper was enough to have Wayne opening the door and coming into the bedroom.

"You dyin'?" Wayne whispered, seemingly sensing that every noise was too much.

"No," Steve managed to say. "Migraine."

Wayne didn't respond at first and Steve couldn't keep his eyes open. What little light was coming through the window felt like the sun was shining two feet in front of him.

And then the light was gone, the room was nearly pitch black, and Wayne's footsteps were getting closer to the bed.

"Gonna get you some water and meds. Hungry?" He whispered.

Steve shook his head once, barely.

He may have passed out for a minute or two because the next thing he knows, he's being slowly lifted enough to take a sip from the glass that's being held against his lips.

"Just a few small sips, son. The meds are crushed up in it," Wayne whispered.

Steve did his best, dribbling some when he accidentally opened his mouth too far.

Wayne wiped his mouth and chin after with a towel hanging off the chair by the bed.

"Called Eddie to let him know, told him I got ya."

"'S okay."

"I got ya, I said. Lay back, I got the ice pack."

Steve did what he asked, sighing with relief when the ice pack was placed on his forehead.

"That better?" Wayne asked.

"Mhm."

"Leave it for ten minutes and then I'll switch it out with the hot water bottle."

Eddie must've told him that helps.

Their day wore on, Steve sleeping when he could find some relief, letting Wayne nurse him back to health when he couldn't.

By the time Eddie got home, Steve's head was in Wayne's lap while he slowly massaged his temple.

"Any better?" Eddie whispered.

"A bit," Steve replied softly. "He did the ice and heat."

"Of course he did. That's where I learned it from," Eddie smiled softly at him.

"You go get cleaned up and then take over," Wayne said to Eddie. "I got him."

Eddie kissed Steve's forehead before walking to the shower to wash off the day.

Steve closed his eyes again, trying to fend off the nausea of the smell of chemicals from the mechanic shop that always lingered on Eddie after a shift.

"Stinks, don't he?" Wayne asked quietly.

Steve smiled.

"A little. 'S okay."

"Smells hurt worse though, don't they?"

"Yeah."

"He's still got some learnin'. But I got ya both 'til he does."

Steve turned his head to look at Wayne.

"Why are you helping me? Weren't you tired after your shift?" Steve asked, realizing for the first time that Wayne had just gotten home from his night shift when he found Steve miserable that morning.

He'd been awake for more than 24 hours now, and didn't seem even remotely worried about himself.

"Cuz you're my boy. I love ya and if ya need me, I'm gonna be here."

Steve felt his eyes start to burn with incoming tears, his throat closing against a sob.

"But-"

"No buts. You got me same as Ed, and if I could, I'd adopt you too. Okay?"

"Okay."

By the time Eddie made it back into the bedroom, Steve was asleep, and Wayne's eyes were drooping closed.

Eddie didn't have the heart to make Wayne get up.

It'd be okay; He had Steve.

[violentdelights-violentendss]

Ryunosuke Akutagawa having to kiss you to keep his cover.

Pairing: Fem!Reader/Ryunosuke Akutagawa

Synopsis: The two of you need to pretend to be married for a mission, and when your cover was almost blown, Akutagawa could do nothing but press you to a wall and kiss you.

(Initially, this had been supposed to be for multiple characters but I got carried away…lmao… let me know if I should do other BSD men with this trope, and if yes, which ones)

Warning: NSFW

You and Akutagawa sat in silence in the sleek limousine, the thump of the wheels on the road the only noise. You picked at your expensive dress, making sure the, excessively long, slit in your skirt did not reveal anything you did not want to reveal. As you adjusted the black fabric, your eyes could not help but catch the fake wedding ring that sat on your finger. Well, fake as in you weren’t married, not fake diamonds. The glittering diamonds that resembled shards of heaven were very, very real.

Akutagawa was sitting next to you, trying to press himself against the side door to touch your body as little as possible. His elegant suit had made you stare when you saw him before stepping into the car: he almost never wore anything like that. He was wearing a similar wedding ring around his finger.

You two had been chosen last minute to pretend to be a married couple to sneak into the house of a rival boss to gather some information. The party he was hosting for his daughter’s engagement was the perfect excuse. Usually, other people would be chosen, and with more preparation, but a mishap had occurred suddenly and you had been thrown headfirst in the mission. You were reading the paper with your backstory while getting ready, memorizing that you two had met during an economics course at the Yokohama university and all the surrounding unnecessary details, just in case anyone asked.

The car rolled to a stop, and Akutagawa slid you a look, before stiffly taking your hand in his and placing it on his arm. “Let’s go, (Y/N).” He murmured, opening the door. You two stepped out, immediately feeling the gaze of the rest of the party-goers around you.

Nervously, you leaned against Akutagawa as you walked up the stairs. The eyes of the other couples walking alongside you did not help your already unstable feet in the heels. You almost tripped on the red fabric that had been delicately placed on the marble steps, but Akutagawa stabilized you by placing a warm hand on your waist.

You stepped inside the ballroom, and quietly gasped in shock: the room was breathtaking, carved windows with encrusted gold decorations, painted ceilings and mosaics on the ground. “It’s gorgeous,” you whispered, and Akutagawa nodded silently by your side.

You threw him a glance, elbowing him in the gut discreetly. He frowned at you. “You need to look more in love with me, Akutagawa and not stand there as if you were forced to be here.” You whispered, speaking through gritted teeth while a smile adorned your lips. The man next to you nodded, trying to subtly lean into you, pretending to search for your body warmth.

Truth be told, he was actually wanted to do so, holding himself back because he feared he would accidentally reveal something to himself he had tried to keep hidden: his heart thumped a little louder when you were around.

“Let’s get some champagne,” He murmured, starting to lead you to table. Right before you managed to secure to glasses for the both of you, a couple bumped into you, pushing you in Akutagawa’s unsuspecting arms. He froze, before he remembered he was supposed to be married to you. The couple had also clearly wanted to grab some champagne.

“Oh dear! I apologize!” The man said.

“Oh, no worries!” You reassured, grabbing two flutes and handing one to Akutagawa, almost propelling yourself out of his arms.

The man’s wife had been looking at your hand as it delicately held the expensive flutes, immediately grabbing it to observe the ring. “Oh, darling! This is a gorgeous ring!” She said, inspecting it.

“Oh, thank you.” You blushed, looking at Akutagawa with a shade of red on your cheeks.

“I chose one that matched her eyes,” Akutagawa spoke, so quietly that you almost didn’t hear him. Your heart fluttered, and the couple could not help but swoon at the two of you.

You four talked for a few more minutes; well, you talked to the couple and Akutagawa simply stood next to you, nodding or echoing your words.

You then went your separate ways, and you and Akutagawa knew you needed to find the information. The two of you quickly slid to a more secluded area, knowing from the blue prints of the building that the owner’s office was directly above you, and you just needed to climb the stairs unseen.

“Let’s do this,” Akutagawa said, heading towards the stairs after you two had waited for a few minutes, making sure no distant echoes of steps reached you. You followed, the tapestry on the steps muffling the sound of your heels.

As the two of you were exactly halfway up the stairs, you heard movement coming from the office, and some shadows peeked from underneath the illuminated door, projecting eerie shadows on the wall behind you.

Akutagawa, who had been in front of you, noticed first. “Back! Back!” He hissed, and you spun around, starting to run down the stairs. But the staircase was so long that the door opened before you guys could reach all the way down. You only heard the creek of the wood, neither you or the people could see one another, since the staircase curved to the left. But you and Akutagawa had nowhere to hide.

You two shared a terrified gaze, knowing what to do: pushed by Mori, the two of you had agreed on various ways to escape uncomfortable situations such as these, and one of them, as cliché as it sounded, was to pretend to make out. Akutagawa had argued initially, and had only agreed when Mori had uttered his name quietly, the weight of his control hidden behind the single word.

You pressed yourself against the wall, letting the spaghetti straps of your dress slide down your shoulders. Akutagawa loosened his bow tie, and unbuttoned a few of the first buttons of his shirt, clearly hating every minute. You gulped as his pale skin shone in the moonlight. He then approached you, yanking your leg out from the slit, gripping your thigh with his fingers. You flinched, suppressing the real moan that threatened to escape your mouth.

“Sorry,” he whispered in your ear, before he leaned down, pressing his lips to yours. The kiss initially had been just a peck, but both of you knew you needed to be more convincing if you wanted it to be true.

Akutagawa pulled back, before diving in with all his passion, secretly letting go of all the feelings he had been hiding for quite some time. The kiss turned heated, and soon, the hand that hadn’t been resting on your thigh, moved to your jaw, holding you in place as he dared to slide his tongue into yours. Your lipstick was smudged everywhere, and the whimpers that tumbled from your lips soon became real.

The two barely noticed the steps that had been approaching you, only breaking away from your kiss when someone cleared their throat next to you. You two broke apart, a string of saliva connecting your lips. It almost looked like crystal in the moonlight.

Your chest was heaving, pressing against Akutagawa’s with every shaky breath. Your fake husband’s eyes were wide, and your lipstick had smeared all over his face. Your unfocused gaze slowly zoned on the men that had “caught you”, and you almost felt your heart rumble out of your chest when you tumble out of your chest: it was the owner of the building, the one you had to steal information from, and a few of his most trusted men.

“Ah, young love.” He called, bringing his cigar to your lips. “Unfortunately, I regret to inform you that this area is restricted to authorized personal only.”

You tried speaking, but your words kept freezing in your throat. Akutagawa took the lead. “I am deeply sorry…I lost control. We’re…newlyweds,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically loud.

You leaned against the wall, barely registering what happened, only smelling and remembering Akutagawa pressed against you. You hazily watched as Akutagawa talked to the men, seemingly excusing himself. You closed your eyes, dazed, opening them to find only Akutagawa there, standing in front of you.

“Where..where did they go?” You asked, your voice shaky.

“I told them we would leave right away, simply needing to readjust our clothes.” He grumbled. “This is our chance.”

You nodded, trying to push yourself off the wall, but Akutagawa’s hand on your wrist stopped you. “Wait here. I’m going to make this quick. I’ll come back. And we’re talking.” He said, his dark eyes staring into your soul.

You tried protesting but your whispers were tears in a rainfall, and Akutagawa scampered up the stairs, and you slowly flopped down to the ground. Your eyes widened when you closed your legs: no, it couldn’t be…

You quickly eyed your surroundings, seeing only shadows hiding in the forgotten corners. You rapidly shoved your fingers underneath your skirt and between your legs, slipping one finger inside you. You slapped a hand on your mouth, half in shock, and half to cover the moan that was about to pour out of your swollen lips. Akutagawa had kissed you for just a few minutes, and had managed to make you soaking wet.

You leaned your head against the wall, angrily wondering why you had had to get a crush on the most cold-hearted person in the port mafia.

•

Akutagawa appeared next to you suddenly, his face half in the shadows, rendering his eyes even more shrouded in mystery. Without talking, he grabbed your hand, starting to walk hastily towards the exit. You knew he had probably snapped pictures of whatever you guys needed, and had slipped out of there as quickly as his feet could carry him, leaving behind only his cologne as a testament of his presence.

The two of you walked down the steps you had used to get in, and once again, your stiletto got caught in red fabric. Akutagawa seemed to know that it would happen, and already had his hand firmly pressed on your hip.

The two of you glided down the Yokohama alleyways, resembling living fragments of memories that littered all Yokohama. The minute you stepped into Port Mafia territory, the darkness around you felt much safer, more welcoming, and the two of you slowed down your steps, slightly more relaxed.

“Did you get everything—”

Before you could finish, Akutagawa had pressed you against the wall in a forgotten alley, his eyes so dark they resembled a moonless night. He was unusually close, his breath caressing your lips with fragility.

“What did that kiss mean to you?” Akutagawa croaked.

“What?” Your words were unsure, unclear, begging anything or anyone to help you understand what was happening.

“What. Did. That. Kiss. Mean. To. You. (Y/N).” He asked again, his voice sharper, and his eyes slightly darker.

And suddenly, you understood everything, as if the moon had sent a star to whisper a hint in your ear. You could feel Akutagawa’s heart beating, his chest pressed so close to yours. His eyes weren’t dark becasue of anger, but because of fear. He was scared. Scared that you did not feel his same way.

You reached up a hand to graze his cheek, and Akutagawa flinched, already imagining that you were about to let him down kindly. You were far too perfect for him, after all. But his downward spiral was interrupted by your soft voice, a melody he would recognize even in hell itself.

“Everything, Akutagawa. It meant everything.”

You waited, staring deep into his eyes, feeling the pressure of the darkness surround you. You inhaled sharply when you saw Akutagawa’s eyes lighten, before he leaned down to press a soft kiss to your lips. He timidly pressed against your body, delicately, almost afraid to hurt you. He pulled back to see your reaction, and when he saw you lick your lips, hoping to taste any drops he had left behind, his whole restraint crumbled to the ground.

Akutagawa passionately pressed himself against you, his lips crashing down on yours with fervor. Your two bodies were so close you could feel everything. Akutagawa almost went crazy when he felt your breasts against his chest. Your arms clasped his shoulders, trying to hold him even closer. Your lungs were burning, but you didn’t care, threading your hands in his locks, whimpering in pleasure when he rolled his hips against you.

“(Y/N)…if, if we continue I won’t be able to stop,” he whispered in your ear, his hands gliding down to your waist.

You shook your head as quickly as you could, your perfect hairstyle slowly giving in to the emotions of the night. “I don’t want you to stop.”

That’s all that Akutagawa needed to hear. Without wasting a minute, he yanked down your spaghetti straps, uncovering your breasts to his eyes. His hands reached to grope them, while his lips attacked your neck, sucking a hickey on it, claiming you as his. Your spread legs had made the slit in your dress expose your soaking core, and Akutagawa used that to his advantage, pressing his hips against you.

Both of you reeled in pleasure when his hard dick pressed against your sopping heat. You gripped his shoulder, while he held your hips, the two of you stopped kissing for a second, starting to dry hump each other. Akutagawa lifted your thigh, wrapping it around his waist, making his clothed tip rub against your already swollen clit.

You whimpered his own name in his ears, and he had to still your hips to prevent from cumming on the spot.

“(Y/N), I need to fuck you, right now.” Akutagawa slurred, his words mixing together from his lust.

“Please! Please do it!” You begged, trying to spread your legs even further, but the fabric of your dress stopped you. Akutagawa, noticing your struggle, used Rashomon to rip your dress further from the slit. You gasped, impossibly feeling even more aroused. “Akutagawa! That dress was expensive!”

“I’ll buy you ten more.” He grunted, caressing your thighs. He moaned your name when he realized you had soaked through your panties. He yanked your frilly underwear from you, and stuffing them in his pocket. He blew on his fingers to warm them, before shoving one, and then the other inside you, grunting at your tightness.

“Oh my god, you’re so wet.” Akutagawa almost whimpered, but he managed to control his tone. You threw your head back, when he touched your g-spot, falling forward against his shoulder. Akutagawa fingered you for a few minutes, making sure you were stretched out for him, giving one simple lick to your nipple as a shy tease. He had not meant to make you orgasm, but when you gripped his shoulder tightly, almost screaming his name, he realized what had happened. Your fucked out gaze went directly to his dick, making him leak precum.

After you had come down, Akutagawa did not weight to unbuckle his belt, appreciating your helping hands. You glanced down at his cock when he freed it, feeling yourself gush in anticipation at how gorgeous it looked, red tip and all. Akutagawa gripped his base, aligning himself with your entrance. He looked up at you, making sure everything was fine. His white hair almost glittered in the moonlight, and you could not help but feel your heart beat excitedly as you nodded affirmatively, telling him everything was fine.

With your reassuring gaze warming his chest, Akutagawa pressed his tip inside you. Both of you grunted, and Akutagawa had to stop himself before he blew his load straight away.

You pressed your lips to his, reassuring you everything was okay. Both of you kissed for a few minutes, Akutagawa scratching your scalp with his fingers, moaning into your mouth as he slowly slipped inside.

Akutagawa pulled away from your addicting kisses when he finally bottomed out, pressing his hands against the wall, leaning heavily against you. “(Y/N),” he whispered in your ear, pressing a kiss to your earlobe. He seemed to be calling out for you, needing you to reassure him that you were there, you were real. He was so afraid that this was a cruel joke of life, a dream he would inevitably wake from.

You clasped his back, caressing his quivering skin. “I’m here.” You croaked into his mouth, nibbling his lower lip.

Akutagawa started moving his hips, hiding his face in your neck. His hands blindly clasped your legs around his waist, using Rashomon to carry your weight. His tip managed to reach much deeper into you, and your moans loudly shattered the silence of the alley. If there was anyone scuttling in the alleys next to yours, they definitely knew what was happening.

Akutagawa started repeating your name incoherently, jackhammering his hips into yours. He hit your g-spot at every trust. His eyes were mesmerized by your bouncing tits, flicking the hardened nipple with his thumbs.

“Akutagawa!” You mewled.

Akutagawa went faster, gripping your hips so tightly he left bruises. He wrapped his arms around you, tightly pressing your chests together, the feeling of his dress shirt rubbing against your nipples being exactly what you needed to topple over the edge. You pressed a bruising kiss to his lips, kissing him so passionately you almost forgot your name.

Akutagawa caressed your mouth with his tongue, closing his eyes in blinding pleasure when you gushed around his cock as you climaxed, a cascade of your juices running down your thighs. His thrusts started to turn sloppy, and with one final thrust, sheathing himself as far he could, Akutagawa moaned your name as if it were a prayer, painting your walls white with ropes of cum.

The two of you stayed still for a few seconds, panting against one another, in a silent embrace that was worth a thousand words. Akutagawa’s hands caressed your arms, while you peppered as many kisses as there were stars in the universe on his flushed neck. Slowly, he slipped out of you, stuffing his cock back inside his pants. You winced, feeling his cum start to drip out. Not caring about his expensive shirt, Akutagawa used his sleeve to clean you up, quiet praises tumbling from his mouth.

His hands also slid your spaghetti straps back in place, eyeing the now torn slit that revealed everything he wanted to keep hidden about you. Akutagawa shrugged off his coat, tying it around your waist. Rashomon slowly let go of you, making sure your legs were safely on the ground before slithering back into oblivion.

“Akutagawa!” You called, feeling your weak legs start to stumble and your body starting to fall. Your partner came to the rescue, wrapping his arms around your waist. He was suddenly shy, and awkward, afraid that maybe he had revealed his heart to you too soon.

“Akutagawa, you’re truly the only person I would have wanted to experience this with.” Your words flew to his heart, erasing any doubt that could have sprouted, and you were almost certain you saw Akutagawa smile.

He couldn’t offer the same profound words, years of pain and betrayal blocking them before they even reached his lips, but Akutagawa offered you the closest thing he could to a love confession: “My house is nearby…would you like to come over?” His voice got quiet towards the end, and he hid his face in your hair.

“I’d love to,” You smiled back at him, and Akutagawa knew, that from that moment on, he would no longer be alone. When he intertwined your two hands together, he could not help but gaze at your fake wedding rings, hoping that, one day, they might become real.

[weird-an]

"You know," Jim says, staring at the glass shards on the floor, "We should really stop meeting like this."

Billy Hargrove grins at him, teeth bloody and shirt torn. His eyes are glassy and he's reeking of liquor. "C'mon, Chief, you'd love to teach me a lesson."

Jim would, sometimes. Billy drives him mad, tries to push his buttons, wants Jim to let loose and hurt him, too.

"No," he says. "I'd love for you to stay safe."

Billy laughs, a bit too high pitched, the sound making Jim's hackles rise. He knows something is wrong with Billy. He's not like the rich kids that get in trouble because they are bored. Billy wants to get hurt, gets into fights, tries to provoke him.

"Get in the car," Jim says. Usually he drives the kid home. The first time, he even spoke to his dad who's face turned sour and he promised he'd "take care of it". Billy doesn't look like anybody has ever taken care of him, getting picked up three days later by Callahan with fading bruises and an empty bottle of Jack's at the quarry.

He finds himself driving past Cherry Lane. Billy perks up on the seat behind him.

"Where are we going?" he asks, curiosity and fear mixing in his voice.

"I don't know," Jim admits. Suddenly he feels fucking helpless. His stomach churns, he wants to drive Billy anywhere but home. "Where do you want to go?"

Surprise hits Billy's face. He looks so young. He chews on his split bottom lip and stays silent.

He can't answer the question, Jim thinks and his heart aches for the kid.

"My couch is shit," Jim hears himself say. "And we'll probably have waffles for dinner. My daughter loves them."

"Waffles," Billy echoes. Jim can't read his tone.

"Do you like waffles?" Jim asks carefully.

Billy shrugs. "I guess."

Jim takes it as a yes.

[luvgumii]

bully!megumi

2k words!!

tw: aged up characters, sadism, bullying, degrading, hair pulling, semi-public, male masturbation.

this is set in university/college, all characters are 18+ and megumi is aged up. if this makes you uncomfortable, please scroll.

a/n: im sorry but i accidentally deleted the request so whoever asked for this i hope u see it!!

megumi fushiguro was someone who you loved and hated.

and someone that you couldn't get rid of.

you stared at the floor where your chemistry experiment lay, the shattered glass that lay scattered across the floor reminded you of your willpower to go through with school. you had the mind to fucking quit and work a lowly job with a measly pay if it meant you didn't have to endure this.

if anyone asked you why you quit school and you said because of your bully, you knew they would laugh in your face and ridicule you. call you weak and that you must not have wanted to graduate considering how 'easy' it must have been to get you to quit.

the quiet sounds of snickers echoing the classroom snapped you out of your trance, and you quickly dropped to your knees to pick up the glass with trembling hands. you already knew who had knocked the test tubes out of your hands, so much so that you didn't even look up or express any signs of annoyance, knowing how much worse it would be if you did.

your shaking hands kept letting the shards slip out, and you let out a sharp hiss when you felt a large piece slice through the middle of your palm. the pain sears through your hand and the tears that you tried to desperately hard to keep it were now threatening to spill. but you still didn't dare lift your gaze.

you squeeze your eyes shut as you feel a hand grab your hair and tug, yanking your head up in the process.

"fuck, you cant do anything right, can you?" he sneered, words cutting through you like a knife. you could already picture the look on his face, one you were familiar with, but made you feel just as incapable every time you saw it.

"are you mute or something? talk." the hand that had a grip of your hair moved back and forth, rocking your head in the process.

you let your eyes flutter open, and they land on his face that was twisted into a sadistic smirk, one you had seen many times before.

but that smirk quickly turned into a deep scowl when you didn't respond instantly, the grip in your hair getting tighter until it felt as if your hairs were being ripped out. your hands fly up to grip his wrist, trying to pry his hand from your hair, but it proves futile.

"a-ah, okay, m'sorry, m'sorry, p-please let go-" you babble, your words coming out in a flurry as he seems to revel in the pained look on your face. he thinks you look so pretty like this.

he's so focused on you that he nearly forgets that he's in a classroom full of other students. it's not as if they care anyway- most of them turn a blind eye. they tell themselves it's just a little bit of rough play between friends and opt to just leave instead of even thinking to help you out.

but obviously, there's a limit to how far he can go in public. when he notices that the usual snickers seem to have died down, and the faces that normally look at you with distaste start to have a slight hint or concern in them, he immediately lets up. his disentangles his hand from your hair, watching the way your body slumps back down on the ground. your hands fall in front of you to steady themselves, the smaller peices of glass digging into your skin.

you don't bother holding back the tears anymore. you let them fall freely, the clear liquid staining your cheeks.

his smirk only seemed to widen when he saw your tears, and he had to force himself not to lean down and lick them off your face. the familiar stretch in his pants appeared when he looked at you on your knees before him, blinking up at him with teary eyes and wet lashes, your plump lips trembling slightly.

he's forced to take his eyes off you when one of his friends nudge him, his face frowning at what he hears. he grumbles, muttering a few words under his breath before turning his attention back to you.

"clean this mess up." his words a cold and blunt, practically pouring salt into your wounds as he turns away and walks out the door as his friends follow. then everyone else filters out quietly, only sparing you a few pitiful glances.

you take a few deep breaths, trying to calm yourself down. you've been through worse. he's done worse. you'll be fine.

he walks down the corridors quickly, shooing off his friends with a lousy excuse as he hurries into an empty bathroom stall and locks the door. he wastes no time unbuckling his belt and tugging down his trousers and boxers, letting out a soft groan of relief as his hard cock slips out of its uncomfortable confines as it hits his abs with a soft slap.

it's swollen and throbbing, his tip leaking pre-cum that trickles down the side of his dick. the length is so pale that it's almost translucent, veins running along it that get thinner as they reach the top. the tip is flushed pink, the slit weeping pre-cum constantly.

he grips his base tightly, hissing at how sensitive he is. he hated himself for this. it felt so dirty every time he got off to your tears, but he couldn't help it. his mind trailed back to your plump lips that were stained with your tears, his hand starting to stroke his cock.

this was a routine for him. he knew he would never get to feel your holes wrapped around him- he had practically ruined all his chances with you. so he was stuck beating his meat in a public bathroom like a fucking pervert. he could feel the heat rush to his cheeks at the humiliation, but his tip leaked even more pre cum at the thought of you cursing him out for being a pervert.

he could already feel his orgasm approaching, you made him feel like a fucking teenager sometimes. he can't even count how many times he nearly came in his pants at the sight of you beneath him. those teary eyes that had an emotion lingering behind them as they gazed up at him- an emotion he could never put his finger on.

he could feel his balls tightening, he knew that this orgasm would probably leave him panting. he tightened his grip, and starts fucking his hips up into his hand using his pre-cum as lube. his other hand pulls his shirt in between his teeth as so not stain his shirt. he lets out a guttural groan as he's about to cum, his hips stuttering and-

the door to the bathroom swings open, creaking slightly as the sound of feet shuffling on the floor is heard.

who the fuck? he was sure everyone had cleared the area, there was no one left apart from one person-

shit. it was you. he peeked through the gap between the door and the stall, his eyes landing on your back as you faced away from him, washing your hands in the sink. he could see your still tear stained face in the reflection of the mirror.

your were leaning forward slightly, your shirt falling further down your chest exposing your cleavage, and his cock weeps even more at the sight. he barely holds back a whimper.

fuck it. so what it you catch him? it's not like you could do anything anyway... plus, he could still feel his orgasm lingering. just a few thrusts...

he starts to fuck his fist again, with much more urgency than before as he tries to be as quiet as possible. he peeks back at you again, and the sight of your ass peeking from underneath your skirt has him letting out a slutty moan, his hips stuttering as ropes of cum spurt out of his cock and onto his abs and hand.

"is someone there?" you question, and he freezes up as you start walking towards his stall.

you had thought the bathroom was empty since all of the stalls had the unlocked symbol on them, but you failed to notice the pair of feet that were visible.

"um, are you okay in there?" you say, and he holds back a whine as his cock twitches in response to your worried tone.

you gaze falls down to the pair of feet in the stall, and you swear you've seen those shoes somewhere before...

"m-megumi? is that you?" you question, not able to hide the slight tremor in your voice.

"yeah." he responds, not bothering to act as if it's not him.

your hands push the stall door open slightly, wondering what he was doing since the door was unlocked, but you definitely didn't expect to see that.

his trousers were still pulled halfway down his thighs, his shirt no longer in between his teeth but resting on his midriff, his abs exposed as well as the spurts of cum that lingered on them. his cock was still hard, his hand gripping it tightly at the base. he was still leaning against the wall, his eyes locked on you.

you couldn't stop but take in his whole figure, the heat rushing to your face as well as somewhere lower. you never expected to see him in this state.

"are you going to keep on gawking on you going to get in and help me?" he says, his voice laced with slight lust. he would rather take his chances with you than never finding out how you feel towards him.

but he wasn't expecting you to walk into the stall and close the door, locking it before turning back to him. but he wasn't about to question you. his hands reach out and grab your waist before pulling you flush against him, and you squirm slightly as you feel his hard cock against your lower stomach.

you can feel his warm breath fanning across your lips, and his eyes are clouded with lust as he looks into your own.

"fuck, you- do you really want this?" he questions, conflict written all over his face.

you hesitate slightly before nodding your head. you're unsure as to why you didn't run out the second you realised he was here. its almost like you're attracted to him.

"need to hear you say it." he murmurs, his hands sliding underneath your shirt to make skin to skin contact as his hands slide around to your lower back.

"I... want this. i want you, megumi." the words sound foreign coming out of your mouth, but you know that you mean them.

he practically growls at your words, his hand coming up to your nape as he brings your lips together.

this kiss is soft yet rough at the same time, his tongue searching your mouth in a show of possessiveness. his lips leave a trail of wet kisses along your jaw and down your neck, paying special attention to your pulse point.

his hand slides up your shirt and into your bra, starting to roughly knead your breast, groaning slightly in content.

"a-ah, wait, megumi-" you fumble over your words slightly, but to your suprise, he pulls back, resting his forehead in the crook of your neck. you can tell he's waiting for you to speak, so you do.

it was if you were his property. he could harass you as much as he wants, but no one else should even so much look at you. you didn't miss the oddly kind he did sometimes.

"um... why are you doing this? I thought you hated me..." you say, cringing slightly at your own words but it was true. he treated you like shit.

verbally degrading you, pushing and shoving you around, and sometimes even pulling your hair like he had done earlier today. but the second someone even made one remark towards you, his fist was flying towards them.

he would drag you over to him by the wrist just to fix your hair and tug your skirt down, calling you a slut but anyone could that he didn't mean it by look of concern in his eyes.

or when you would hurt yourself, he would take it upon himself to bandage you, even if it was partly his fault for the bruise or cut on your body.

his voice would be rough as he called you clumsy for hurting yourself and that you were a waste of space for mot even being able to dress your own wounds. but his hands would be gentle as he cleans and wraps the plaster around your skin.

and you hated it. that you couldn't hate him. the way your heart would flutter when he ran his fingers through your hair in an attempt to fix it, or when he would pull your hair and smirk down at you, you could feel heat coiling in your lower stomach.

"hate you?" he scoffs, shaking his head as he pulls back to look you in the eyes, "im so in love with you that it's fucking pathetic."

"...then why do you-"

"I dont really know how to express myself. and I'm a bit of a... sadist." he says, his face turning a shade of pink.

"i know you don't love me back, I wouldn't expect you to, but just let me have you... please. even if it's only one time." he murmurs, peppering kisses on your collarbone.

your connect your lips to his again, kissing him with slightly more urgency. he was right- you didn't necessarily love him, but you were attracted to him in some sort of way.

plus, this would be the only time this would happen. right?

dividers by cafekitsune

[whimsicalwritingsandmore]

Want You Back | ateez x reader

Pairing: werewolf!ot8!ateez x werewolf!reader

Genre: fluff mostly, romance, poly, a little angst?

Warnings for this chapter: another mention of a sharp object

Word Count: 2073 words

a/n: there will be an epilogue. :) not gonna lie, I'm a little more nervous for this chapter. let me know your thoughts! happy (heh) reading!

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Chapter 11

And when you thought about it, you didn’t think it would end up like this.

You had no clue where you were going. As much as you tried initiating your bond with Hongjoong, he did not respond to your calls. You were relying on your dazy memory of your dream and muscle power, and also a silent prayer in your mind to the Moon Goddess to protect Hongjoong and assist you in finding him.

Wandering around Seoul in your condition was the worst and in the back of your head, you could practically hear Seonghwa reprimanding and reproaching you for your decision. But you were not going to turn back, as much as you were unsure about Hongjoong as a mate at the moment, you feared your dream coming true. 

You were not going to let it happen.

Please show me the way. Like a mantra, you called on the Moon Goddess for assistance as you paced forward. Suddenly, effortlessly, you felt yourself being guided. You weren’t sure where you were going but you trusted the feeling inside you and continued down the path.

After a long trail, you found yourself outside an abandoned building. And abruptly you felt Hongjoong’s bond; he was inside. Without much thought, you raced inside despite every aching part of your body begging you to slow down. But you were resolute and had to find Hongjoong before it was too late.

Thankfully, Hongjoong was alone, hovering over a table.

“KIM HONGJOONG!” you bellowed.

Hongjoong thought he was hearing things but when he turned and saw you in the flesh, either he was finally losing it or it was really you in front of him. When you grabbed him and shook him around, then he realised it was really you.

“Y/N!? What- what are you doing here!? You were unconscious!? How are you -”

“I woke up and we need to leave now!” you stressed.

“What? No I can’t and you shouldn’t be here! You still need to recover!”

“Kim Hongjoong, we will deal with that later, right now we need to get somewhere safe.”

“Why? Wait, Y/N, I-” Hongjoong paused as he tried to pull himself together. 

Here you were in front of him, looking at him with concern and worry, and pulling him with you. He looked at you with tears in his eyes. 

Still, despite what he did, you cared.

“W-Why are you doing this?” he whispered.

“What?”

“After everything, why do you still care about me?”

You softened at Hongjoong’s broken look. The light that once shone so brightly in his eyes dimmed to flicker behind his tears and his expression resembled one like a wilting flower. Why did you care? You had more than enough good reasons not to. Loving him had hurt so much, and left you with a broken heart, that weighed so heavily when you thought about it, you could barely make yourself move, much less feel. If you could even feel anything, you felt the sadness and grief bleeding every time you thought about it. The intensity was agonising and the weight of the despair felt soul-crushing.

But seeing Hongjoong in your dream sent shockwaves throughout you. Despite the turmoil that swirled inside you, Hongjoong is your first love and you needed to save him. You will protect the leader of the strongest pack and your mate, no matter what it took.

“Because I love you,” you answered, “Because…despite all your stupidity and foolishness, I love you Hongjoong, I did then and I still do. And I don’t know what that makes me, a fool I guess, but that’s okay. Because you mean a lot to me no matter how much I might try to convince myself otherwise.”

Honjoong gazed at you tenderly as the tears stung like shards of glass. You were always going to be the best decision he ever made. Cautiously, he reached for your hand to hold in his, and traced along your knuckles in a silent confession. He loves you too. Your love story is a winding path with so many unexpected twists and turns but somehow, you always end up right back to one another. 

Gazing at Hongjoong, you decided to do something risky. You hesitated, your eyes flickered to lips before meeting his eyes. His eyes drooped to your linked hands, and so, drawing in silent and shaky breath, you used your free hand to lift Hongjoong’s face and tilted your head slightly as you connected your lips to his. His lips were still soft like you remembered.

Meanwhile, Hongjoong felt a spark of electricity travelling throughout his veins. His eyes widened but he dared not ruin the moment. He kissed you back with just as much tenderness and sweetness, cupping your face to pull you in closer. 

As the two of you parted, a flurry of emotions raced through each of you but before either of you could speak, the sound of a door being broken down interrupted you. It sent you right back to remembering your dream. Your heart began to pound furiously and each beat echoed the growing fear as each crash was a flashback to your dream. The fear felt unshakeable and magnified the panic that was beginning to take over you.

Hongjoong drew you near and wrapped his arms around your waist. His hand behind your back was a comforting attempt as he slowly rubbed soothing circles. He stood straight as his eyes flashed to his werewolf gold, ready to protect you. The similar feeling of uncertainty surfaced and you gripped Hongjoong’s shirt, signalling that you felt something wasn’t right. 

“Joong…”

“No matter what happens, you will always be the one, in this life and the next and forever.” he said.

And with that, he pulled you as close as he could to him, as everything exploded around you.

On the other side, the other boys were restless. Seonghwa gripped his hands in his hair furiously as he tried to process everything that was happening. Currently, they were with Chan and his soulmates, trying to decipher where you were. The hospital camera caught you leaving the premises, but where you headed after turning the corner was a mystery. 

When Yunho retold them everything Hongjoong had said, Seonghwa wanted to do nothing more than barge into the mansion and end Mrs Kim right then and there. But before he and the boys could even think about that, you snuck out and Hongjoong was somewhere in this big city. 

Chan had a bad feeling. He felt it the day he met you. It was a feeling that wouldn’t go away, and as he researched and studied, he realised someone was out to get you, someone wanted you gone and wanted to take away everything you had. You didn’t deserve that, he could see it in your stars, that you deserved a beautiful life of prosperity, love and success. But there was an evil eye that envied you and didn’t want you to live that life. Chan promised himself to protect you and he could tell the other boys also did so secretly. 

But Chan was only a wizard and could not control fate.

“Guys…” Jeongin called from the window.

As Chan approached, he was taken aback at the massive gang of rogues that stood outside. Seonghwa too was surprised - where did so many rogues even come from?

“What are we going to do?” Jongho asked.

“We can take them.” San said resolutely, “Then we will find Hongjoong and Y/N.”

Chan and Seonghwa looked at each other, both silently confirming to the other. They watched their respective soulmate groups, each member ready and prepared to take on whatever happened next.

Chan looked at Jisung who nodded in confirmation to Chan’s telepathic message to him

“Then,” Chan said, “We fight, we fight to the end if we have to because none of us will go to that woman as prisoners.”

“And no matter what happens,” Seonghwa continued, “Remember that we will always find our way back to each other.”

-

“They’re all gone.”

Mrs Kim stood in the middle of the foyer, a sickening smile plastered on her face as she tapped her fingers on her arm. She finally did it, and now, everything would go her way. She turned to her husband who was on his knees as her lover held a gun to his head.

“See? I always get what I want.” she laughed smugly. 

Mr Kim silently wept as he watched the broken picture frame a few metres away. It fell when a sudden gust of wind blew and shattered right by him. It was a picture of all of you, smiling and looking so happy. Mr Kim was bloodied and beaten but the pain was nothing to the profound emptiness that opened up inside of him, threatening to swallow him whole. His family was gone. Everything he worked so hard to build and the family he loved and adored was unfairly taken away from him by no one else but the woman he had married. A dark cloud of grief descended on him with a haunted and hollow look glazed over his eyes.

Lila stood in shock by what she just heard. You were all gone but instead of feeling like she won like Mrs Kim, she felt her spirit sinking like a stone in the water. She was appalled by the cruelty she was witnessing.

The pack that held the highest rank in the entire town no longer existed and was taken out by one of their own.

“Now where is my son?” Mrs Kim said gleefully.

The two rogues who brought the information glanced at each other cautiously.

“Well?”

“He’s gone too ma’am. He looked like he was going to protect the girl to the end. So, we decided to just blow up the building with them in it.”

Mrs Kim was dismayed by what she just heard. No… it was only supposed to be the eight of you, not her son. She blinked in confusion as realisation dawned on her. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

“No…NO NO NO!” she shrieked, “You imbeciles. You were supposed to just take out the girl and the other boys. Not my son!” 

Mrs Kim was flabbergasted by the sudden turn of events. She needed Hongjoong here, he had to lead with her overlooking him. This wasn’t a part of the plan.

Mr Kim, with as much energy as he could muster, looked at the woman with disdain.

“You…” he growled viciously, “You have not won Estelle. You will pay, you will pay for all that you’ve done. My children will come back, they certainly will, and when they do, they will bring you down and drag you to hell right where you belong. You will just watch as you lose everything that never belonged to you in the first place.”

With the little strength he had, he grabbed the gun from Mrs Kim’s lover and shot him in the shoulders. As her lover retaliated, Mr Kim grabbed a glass shard that was close and sliced the man’s face leaving a scar that would never be forgotten. Mr Kim grabbed the picture of all of you and ran as fast he could, barely escaping the two rogues behind him.

Mrs Kim watched in fury and seethed in anger. She didn’t have another plan and it was only a matter of time before people found out.

“What now?” her lover groaned trying to stop the blood that oozed from his face, “He will pay for that.”

“Forget him for now, we need to leave now.”

“And where are we going to go?”

She looked at him sharply before answering, “The human realm.”

-

“THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING!” 

As the angel wailed and was comforted by his friend, the Moon Goddess watched with folded arms and a stoic expression.

“Calm down Jungwon.” his friend pacified. 

“This can’t be the end for them, Goddess. Please, please don’t let that woman win.” the angel cried.

“It’s not,” the Goddess answered, “Every action has a consequence. The stories of the soulmate groups have not been completed yet. If we leave it, there will be an imbalance.”

“So,” the angel sniffed, “What are you going to do? It’s not the end right?”

Suddenly, a baby’s cry rang through the heavens. The Goddess smiled.

“It’s not the end my dear child, this is only just the beginning.”

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Taglist:

@eastleighsblog @sehun096rainbow @greensnakeglobep @satsuri3su @zonked-times @sugarrush-blush @lomons @explorewithd @chatsgotmytongue @scarfac3 @popcatx0 @angrynightnight @sannieluvrr @idfkeddieishot @alicia-dpa @park-simphwa @puppyminnnie @mysticfire0435 @sundayysunshine @chngbnwf @dementedaly @thunderous-wolf @itsmeregan @cookiechristie @hyukssunflower @lelaleleb

[babysbreath]

found & lost

➶ oikawa tooru x gn!reader

➶ implied nsfw, suggestive

➶ fluff, angst

“Hi there.”

You set your glass down on the table and turn to greet this person. Shit. You almost forgot about him also being a guest.

“Ah, hello Oikawa.”

He chuckles, “Since when do you call me Oikawa?”

If only you could have gone through the whole wedding ceremony without bumping into him. 

“Since I became an ex? So since the second year of college.”

Your table is astonishingly empty and you suspect that your missing friends are responsible for the conga line that’s started on the dance floor. 

“Wow, look at who’s conveniently forgetting years of young love before that.” He then gestures to the empty velvet-lined seat beside you. “May I?”

Doing a quick check of your surroundings, you whisper, “Are you sure? We don’t want to end up on the highschool gossip page.” 

There’s no such thing to worry about. Oikawa is turning 29 next year. So are you. 

Still, it’s only half a joke because his current dating life is plastered on ‘celebrity news’ websites instead. 

He smiles, teeth and all. It’s so easy to fall back into old ways.

Somewhere in between speeches from drunk classmates and sobbing cousins, Oikawa’s hand finds itself on your knee. 

“Ever wondered why champagne bubbles rise in that straight line?” you ask, tracing the neat trajectory along the glass with your finger .

He tilts his head like it would make more sense at a 45 degree angle. “This mystery, this elusive phenomenon keeps me up at night. Please go on.”

You laugh at his obvious teasing tone. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re making fun of me.”

“You know I could listen to you talk forever.” 

The second he says it, you see it on his face. It flickers in his eyes, flecks of doubt among shards of guilt.  

You stretch your legs out and the satin of your dress allows his hand to slip away. 

He knows better than to suggest a future when you’ve both decided to leave each other in the past. The old you would’ve snapped at him for it.

“Want another drink?”

He nods.

His friends find their way to your table, bringing along rambunctious laughter followed by a polite murmuring of apologies. A junior, who you barely recognize, passes his phone number to your sister on a crumpled up napkin and Oikawa comments about the ‘audacity of these youngsters’. 

You shrug. “It’s old fashioned but cute.” Your friends hum in agreement.

A former teammate reminds Oikawa that he himself tried a similar move on an actress last year and Oikawa vehemently denies it, with his hand on his heart and eyes on you. The warmth from your stomach rises to your cheeks, mirroring the pattern of the bubbling champagne.

Another hour goes by. The line for dessert seems infinitely long so you do everyone a favour by not joining and instead, sneaking away from the main hall. 

“What are we doing?”

“Talking.” A beat. “We can just talk, can’t we?”

One of the little flower girls bumps into Oikawa, ice cream smeared all across her pretty dress, and her mother apologises hurriedly in her attempt to grab her. Oikawa puffs his cheeks out at the child and she returns the silly expression while being carried away. 

The elevator doors open, revealing warm lights and corporate jazz. 

Toeing the maroon carpet flooring, you finally ask, “What have you been up to, Tooru?” 

“Well, I’m not seeing anyone.” 

Of course, the love was hidden in the question. Of course, he easily peels away the layers of insecurity to reveal it .

You can’t help but notice that Oikawa’s hotel room is neat. It’s almost untouched with the exception of a carefully torn teabag sachet near the armchair. 

Now, his tailored blazer lays discarded on that very chair as your fingers work his shirt buttons. 

His lips meet yours, soft and pliant, until it breeds a sense of urgency. Pulling away, you murmur, “I missed you.” 

He shudders against your body, like a fever that won’t die down.

There’s an exchange of kisses, traversing familiar territories of skin, until you’re lying bare under his frame. You’re wrapped around him, meeting him halfway with each thrust.

“I’m getting old,” he reminds you, or rather himself, as he pauses to rub his lower back. 

“Tooru, you’re still the same.”

He’s too scared to ask what you mean by that. 

He moves again before he can let himself go down that road. 

In this world of winding lanes, is it not reasonable to find your way to a recognizable one when you’re lost? 

Tomorrow, on the train back home, he’ll repeat that to himself. As for now, he’ll repeat your name with a stutter that runs from his mouth, down to the motion of his hips.

The sound of your erratic breathing perforates the silence. He’s wordlessly drawing circles on your back with a nail trimmed far too short, red blooming into pain beneath the bed.

He sits up and says, in a whisper, “I wish you would’ve said something. Or fought for us to-”

“To?”

“For us to- I don’t know. To stay together till we figured things out?” 

“Why? You think it could’ve worked out?” It’s a rhetorical question, at this point.

You hear his head hit the pillow so you turn to face him. 

He meets your gaze. “Probably not. You would’ve ended up hating me.”

“Yeah, and you wouldn’t have even put in the effort to hate me back.” 

This is the end of the road. There is no way back.

A humourless laugh escapes his lips. “And you would’ve hated me for that too.”

[starlightvld]

Bait & Switch, pt. 3

<< Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 >>

Based on "I wasn't in that tunnel."

Call of Duty, implied soapghost // CW: angst, hurt no comfort (yet), suicidal ideation, violent thoughts of self harm, MWIII spoilers

---

Everything is wrong — the dead bodies surrounding him, the strange hiss in his ear, the hateful expression on Ghost's face as he describes all the things Soap doesn't remember. 

All the ways he's hurt the people he loves the most.

No wonder Ghost is treating him like he's the enemy. It's because he is.

He sits back on his heels and stares at the blue sky he thought he'd never see again. The smell of death and human waste wafts through the broken-out glass of his helmet and sends him back to his hole in the ground where he would sit in a gut-churning mixture of mold, blood, and his own shit for the days and sometimes weeks between the ice cold spray-downs just before Makarov paid him a visit.

He's dizzy. Exhausted. Horrified.

And the inescapable hiss from his helmet makes him want to stab out his ear drums. The violence of the visceral thought sends a shiver down his spine.

Years.

Ghost said he's been trying to kill the 141 for years — months upon months of being nothing more than a mindless machine, a puppet for Makarov to pull the strings and make him dance. The implications of the broken out glass and the hissing are clear. Can he even trust himself not to turn again if he takes too big of a whiff of whatever is pumping out of his helmet?

He holds his breath. The longer he doesn't breathe, the more the world goes hazy. Vicious pain slices through his temples, and his lungs convulse, sucking in huge gulps of air. His vision blackens at the edges, the compulsion for violence rising higher—

Wind buffets his face, and the blackness clears away.

He supposes that answers that question.

He tries again to remove the helmet, but it seems to be sealed to his tactical vest — a vest that doesn't have any straps to loosen that he can see. Panic bubbles in his chest, and he struggles harder, desperate to remove the thing that tethers him to Makarov. The thing that made him kill for him.

"Stop," Ghost orders, the harsh tone grating like shards of glass over Soap's skin.

He stops, though the panic still simmers in his chest and tries to leak through his mouth as a whine. He can't bring himself to look at Ghost. Can't stomach that hateful look in his eyes.

Soap thought he'd never break. Thought he'd die before ever betraying his dearest friends and family.

Apparently, he was wrong.

What is left for him now if those he loves can't trust him? If he can't trust himself?

The memory of Ghost's scarred hands trailing over his bare chest jerks him from his spiraling thoughts, and he bites back a groan of frustration at his own coping methods, especially when the subject of his thoughts is sitting right in front of him, hating him.

During the time he remembers with Makarov, Soap used the phantom sensation of Ghost's hands on his skin as a distraction from the pain and torture Makarov put him through, telling himself he could one day feel those hands again if he just held on for another day. Back then, he believed without a doubt that Ghost would love him no matter what Makarov did to him.

Now Ghost won't even let him get close enough to touch.

He wishes he'd stopped fighting when Makarov first showed him that video, when the first wave of realization and despair rolled over him that no one was coming. Maybe he could've willed himself to die and saved the 141 at lot of pain and possible death—

Dread hits him like a sledgehammer straight to his chest.

"Price and Gaz... they're alive, right?" Soap croaks through a parched throat. "I didn't... I didn't hurt them, did I?"

"Hurt, yes. Kill, no... though not for lack of tryin'," Ghost growls.

It's the barest kind of relief, like a hot breeze on an even hotter day. 

As if he can bend nature to reflect his thoughts, the wind blows the fetid smell of some kind of industrial waste their direction. Soap grimaces at trading one foul smell for another. The chopper blades cutting through air grow louder, like an axe on a swinging pendulum, coming closer to cutting off his access to Ghost with every swing.

He's not stupid. Once he gets on that helo, he'll be indefinitely detained and probably never see Ghost again. He'll be lucky if Price and Gaz come to see him at all. The thought burns his throat like bile.

"I'm sorry," he whispers to the sky. "I don't remember. Please... please don't hate me."

Emotion builds in his chest like a bomb waiting to blow. All he wants is to be held. To feel a bit of the kindness and human connection he's been missing for so long. But he doesn't know who he is anymore. He feels like Soap, though clearly he hasn't been Soap for a very long time.

"If Makarov could make a man look and act like you once, he could do it again," Ghost rasps. "How do you expect me to... to..."

Ghost trails off, and Soap dares to glance up. He finds Ghost's eyes have mellowed into hesitant distrust, which is an improvement from blind hatred, but after imagining a warm welcome for so long, it's still a slap in the face.

He doesn't blame Ghost, though. He hates himself, too.

And he's right. It kills Soap to admit it, but he's right. It's possible that whatever Makarov did to the man he sent back from Siberia with the 141 has been done to him, too. It's possible that everything he's ever known or thought about himself is a fabrication built on Makarov's lies.

The rhythmic thrum of the helo gets louder. Bubbling panic turns into a cold stone in his gut. 

Even if he is the original Soap, he let himself get caught — wasn't good enough or strong enough to either avoid capture or escape later on. He's a failure in every sense of the word.

"Ye should probably just kill me now," Soap says, though he barely recognizes the strangely detached monotone falling from his lips. "I don't remember anything, and I'm only a danger to ye."

"I'm not... I'm not gonna kill you." Ghost's gaze sharpens. "Not unless you make me."

"Nae," he says in the same monotone. "Wouldnae do tha' to ye. At least... this version of me wouldn't."

He doesn't have a gun. If the amount of bodies surrounding them is any indication, he likely ran out of ammo and threw the gun aside in his pursuit of Ghost. The knife he dropped earlier, though... 

The blade glints in his peripheral vision, a siren song of potential relief. 

Ghost is hurt. He probably wouldn't be able to stop Soap before he could reach for it and stab himself in the eye...

Ghost might still try to stop him, though, and could hurt himself in the process. Soap can't risk that.

Or maybe he just can't stomach the idea of dying knowing Ghost did nothing to prevent it.

The helo glides over the closest warehouse, sending dust and debris flying. Ghost waves to catch the pilot's attention, and it descends, hovering as close to them as it can get and less than a foot from the ground. Soap reaches over to help Ghost up—

Ghost smacks him away again. Soap can barely hear him over the sound of the helo, but it's clear as a bell in his mind all the same. That growl. That hateful tone of voice.

His chest cracks open. The knife gleams in the sunlight.

"Let's go!" Ghost yells over the noise as he reaches the aircraft and grasping medic hands pull him inside.

And even now, after everything, Soap is helpless against following Ghost's orders. He pulls himself into the helo, leaving his last hope for a swift death glinting on the pavement. A medic slams the door shut with a finality that makes him shudder.

The medical staff are already stripping Ghost's gear to get at the wound. Soap moves toward the back of the helo to get out of the way, the sense of detachment growing stronger and the stone in his gut heavier as the helo rises into the air.

He's traded one prison for another, one torture chamber for another. He's seen too much during his time in the military to hope that the government won't treat him just like Makarov did — strap him to a chair until they're satisfied they've bled him dry.

And he's seen too much hate in Ghost's eyes to hope that his one-time lover will save him.

Not that he deserves to be saved...

The medical officer in charge comes at Ghost with a syringe likely full of a local anesthetic, but Ghost catches his arm and points at Soap. "I can wait. Sedate him first," he orders.

Shock clear in his expression, the officer looks between the two of them and opens his mouth, no doubt to protest. Soap beats him to it.

"Do it. Please."

The idea of sedation is a welcome one. His despair is too potent to take much more of the distrust bleeding from Ghost's mask-shadowed eyes. 

The medical officer shakes his head but does as he's ordered, setting side the syringe for Ghost to prepare a different one while his subordinates clean and stitch up Ghost's injury. A raised bag of blood hangs on the ceiling, already draining into Ghost's body to replace what he's lost. It must have been a lot for him to need a transfusion so immediately. Soap bites his lip, a thread of worry weaving through the numbness.

Was he the one that shot Ghost in the first place? It kills him that he doesn't even know.

The officer pulls off as much of Soap's outer gear as he can — the tac vest is a mystery to him, too, apparently — and eventually cuts off the arm of Soap's shirt to get at his bare skin.

The prick of a needle and the cold slide of drugs into his system sends him spiraling.

He remembers the sensation. A crack opens in his mind, and memories slip through — a thousand jabs to the neck followed by the paralyzing cold intruding in his blood stream.

And as much as he dreads that distrustful look in Ghost's eyes, for the length of time it takes the sedative to take effect, he keeps his gaze fixed on Ghost... if only to remind himself of where he is and who he's with.

Ghost is here.

Not Makarov, but Ghost.

Perhaps it's the drugs. Perhaps it's his own mind playing tricks on him. But as he slips under, he swears he sees a flash of longing replace the distrust in Ghost's eyes.

He clings to it as oblivion sweeps him away.

<< Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 >>

[moonypears-blog]

Accidents happen.

Summary: Sofia accidentally breaks something in Cedric's workshop.

C*dfia shippers DNI.

Wordcount: 956

-

Oh no, oh no, oh no!

Sofia thought, staring at the broken glass on the floor and the green liquid spilt everywhere.

“Remind me, princess, I did bring some mugwort back from our last visit to the village?”

Sofia nodded, her eyes still on the green liquid. What if it took him ages to make and she just spilt it all over the floor? “Umm, yeah, I think so!” she put on the best voice she could. The last time she’d ruined something important in Roland’s office he was very upset, she didn’t want to upset Mr Cedric. He worked so hard on his potions. She stepped away as the green potion spilt closer towards her feet, she always knew his workshop was slanted!

“Are you alright, princess?”

Sofia braced herself as Cedric spun around on his stool. “I’m really sorry, Mr-”

“Sofia! Get away from that!”

Cedric rushed over to her, whisking her away from the magical goo. Paying no mind to the broken beaker, he grabbed her hands, checking over her. “It didn’t get on you, did it?”

“O-Only a little bit, I’ll clean it up!”

Sofia heard Cedric mumble some adult words before he knelt down to the broken glass, carefully picking up a shard with a label on it. He took a breath of relief, holding his hand to his chest. “Athena’s arena…”

“I’m so sorry, Mr Cedric, it wasn’t important was it?”

Cedric turned his attention back to his apprentice, petting her head with a level of care and sweetness Sofia had only ever seen him use with Calista. “No, no, It’s alright, love…Just go clean yourself up, it’s been known to stain. Bailywick will kill me if he finds out I let you stain another dress,” he stroked her hair gently, minding her tiara. Gods, had she scared him. This was why he tried to put his more dangerous potions and ingredients higher up. There were many things in his workshop she wasn’t allowed to handle, if he was working on a more dangerous spell or potion he'd practically push her out the door.

Sofia shook her head, running off to grab a broom from the other side of his workshop. “I’ll clean it, I don’t mind!”

Cedric rolled his eyes ever so slightly, snatching the broom from her small hands. Why was this child so sweet and who taught her to be such a people-pleaser? In what world does a child clean up glass? It’s an age-old situation, a little kid accidentally knocks over a glass, parent rushes over and yells at them to not go near it. “It’s glass, princess. I’ll sweep it up.”

“But that isn’t fair? I’m the one who broke it after all?”

“And I’m the one telling you to go change and let me clean up the very sharp sand on the floor because I’m the adult.”

Cedric watched Sofia’s face contort in confusion. “Glass is made of sand?” She was so cute. “How?”

Cedric smiled to himself, starting to sweep the glass into a little pile. He couldn’t have Sofia stepping on it. “It’s melted down into a liquid, then it becomes glass. Simple, really,” he explained, taking on a very soft, fatherly tone. He found himself speaking to Sofia like this a lot. It was quite odd, he didn't talk to anyone else like this, at least he’d never noticed it. “Now that that’s out of the way, won’t you go clean up? I’ll finish this.”

Sofia looked down at her purple dress, speckled with green potion. She really didn’t mind her dresses getting stained, it was only a dress, after all. If anything it was a reminder of a fun experience she got to endure. Even if Bailywick or Amber didn’t share her feelings.

“Do you have to remake the potion?”

Cedric shook his head. “It was defective, I’ve been meaning to throw it out. You beat me to it, princess,” he said, starting to rake up the goo. Sofia smiled a bit, she felt better knowing it would have been thrown out anyway. “I’m sorry I made a mess, Mr Cedric.”

“It’s alright, love. Accidents happen, I’ve broken an unruly amount of beakers in my time,” Cedric pulled his wand from his sleeve, pointing it at the small pile of liquid and glass and mumbled a quick spell, the floor becoming spotless once again. “See? No harm done.” Cedric put his wand back and patted Sofia on the head, making her giggle a bit. How was one princess so cute?

“You can’t go your whole life without a few mistakes, dear. Mistakes and accidents are inevitable, no matter how small,” the fatherly tone came back yet again, much stronger this time.

It was comforting to Sofia, it felt nostalgic in a way. Roland didn’t really speak to her in that tone, she vaguely remembers her biological father speaking to her in that way. A lot about Cedric reminded her of Birk, it was nice, considering she didn’t remember him all that much.

Sofia lept to hug Cedric’s waist, almost making him stumble backwards. That was a habit of hers, she was very enthusiastic with her hugs, sometimes a bit too enthusiastic. She just loved showing affection to the people she loved and cared about. Cedric very quickly caught on to the fact that she was a very sweet girl who wanted everyone to feel cared for, even if everyone else thought they weren’t worth the time of day.

“Thank you, Mr Cedric.”

Cedric smiled down at her, one hand on her shoulder, the other stroking her hair. He was growing to enjoy her hugs. A few years ago he would have pushed her off, but not anymore.

“It was only a glass, princess.”

[simpforchuchu]

Written in the scars | Tsukasa x reader

Summary: Your boyfriend knows you have insecurities about your scar and trying to comfort you.

a/n: Hi! I was writing another one but suddenly this idea came up and wanted to write it shehhd 🥰 Hope you like it too ❤️🌸

Sorry for the grammer or spelling mistakes.English is not my main language so...

Thank you and love you 🥰

Warnings: blood, injury, stabbing, fights, scars, a lot of pain, fluff i guess ?

Part2

Tsukasa silently watched his girlfriend in front of the mirror, who was carefully examining her clothes. While you were trying to decide on the scarf to tie around your neck, a thousand thoughts were bothering him.

He was aware that you had been living through hell together for months. But how long should you wait to leave the dark days behind?

Neither you nor your friends could have predicted that a normal high school fight would end so horribly that day. When someone stabbed your throat with a broken glass bottle during the fight and you slowly collapsed to the ground with blood flowing from your throat, Tsukasa knew very well that his heart had never before beaten so fast or had never been so scared in his whole life.

Neither you nor he thought you could make it. Or that a small shard of glass can take a lot from both of you…

Tsukasa had never thought that hearing your voice was a treasure for him. But he could have sacrificed his own voice for you that day, when the damage to your vocal cords caused by the cut in your throat took your beautiful voice.

When he thinks about what you've been through for months, the sweet eyeshadow color you put on your eyelid in front of the mirror made him smile unintentionally.

He wanted to cry as he remembered the days after surgery when you didn't want to see anyone. The times when he watches you with fear every night because he is afraid of you hurting yourself, the nights when you had nightmares and wake up and cry, he cries with you, the moments when you throw your phone or notebooks crying because you can't explain what you want over and over, or the evenings when you can't scream out in pain when your hand burns while cooking on the stove...

But it was the moments when you woke up silently at nights and cried secretly for a while that upset him the most. Even though he knew you didn't want to wake him up and wanted to be left alone, he couldn't stop himself from pulling you into a tight hug.

While all these moments were running through his mind, he looked at the white scarf you were wearing around your neck. He knew your voice would come back, he just didn't know when and he waited with excitement like a baby's first words. But you hated the scar on your neck so much that Tsukasa could see it clearly every time he looked into your eyes.

He slowly stood up and stood right behind you in front of the mirror. You gave a small smile in the mirror and looked at him, even if you were slightly startled as he slowly wrapped his arms around your waist.

He was looking at you with love and interest, as always. You knew he wanted to say something when he placed a small kiss on your cheek and sighed deeply.

You looked at him curiously and he nodded, stroking your cheek with his hand. You looked at him in surprise as his hand slowly moved to your neck. He blinked reassuringly and gently removed the scarf from your neck.

You looked at him in shock. He gently caressed your neck with his hand. He shook his head when you wanted to reach for your phone and didn't let you go.

"I know what you're going to say, I really do, but listen to me first"

You stopped fidgeting and slowly closed your eyes and let out a timid sigh.

“Y/n… baby… if you want to wear this scarf as an accessory, I won't say anything, but if it's to hide your scar-"

You didn't open your eyes. You couldn't. You tried to cover your neck with your hair as his hand slowly ran over the scar, afraid he might hate it. Because you did.

“Baby please look at me, open your eyes.”

He smiled when you opened your eyes and looked at him in the mirror. He tucked your hair from your neck to behind your ear with his hand and placed a small kiss on your scar.

He hugged you tighter around your waist as he saw you close your eyes and lower your head.

“I know what's on your mind. But you are wrong. This little scar doesn't affect your beauty. I love you with everything. You are beautiful with everything you have. I know it reminds you of bad memories. But I want it to remind you that you fought and how strong you are."

Tsukasa's soft voice gave you some relief. He gently grabbed your chin with his hand and lifted it up as he felt you relax in his arms.He smiled at you in the mirror as you slowly opened your eyes.

"I'm proud of you. I know this is hard for you. But we did it, we will make it. I love you, don't forget that."

You turned to him and moved your lips as the corners of your lips curled up as he whispered in your ear.

"I love you."

He smiled and placed a small kiss and looked into your eyes.

"Me too."

HnL taglist : @straysugzhpe @tiddly-winx  @ninamarie1994 @thatpoindexterpixy

[codfanficedits]

One fucking mistake - Part four

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!Reader.

Summary: Simon lost you after making a mistake on a mission.

Wordcount: 866 | Rating: E (18+ only!)

Warnings: cussing, swearing, grieving, angst with no comfort, conversation, blaming.

A/N: Part four!

Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ AO3 Link

No, no, no. This couldn’t be, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You had to come home with him. At this point it was no longer about you being alive, it was about you coming home. He wanted, no he needed to see your pretty face one more time, he wanted to tell you that he loved you one more time.

Simon made his way over to Price, he needed to see if they were really your dog tags. They had to be someone else’s, they shouldn’t be yours, they couldn’t be yours. Dear God, anyone’s but yours.

They were yours.

Of course they were yours. He recognized them from afar, his vision getting blurry from the tears when he looked at the shiny metal. His mind was racing and he couldn’t think.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He couldn’t think.

You had to be here, you just had to be. He dropped to his knees, ignoring the stinging pain of the glass shards on the floor. Raking his hands through the debris, tossing away concrete, stones, glass, everything to try and find you.

The leather on his gloves is strong, but not as strong as his love for you and it doesn’t take long for his blood to stain the broken pieces of building he was touching. He had to find you.

You had to come home to him, you just had to.

He can feel a hand on his shoulder but Simon ignores it. He just needs a little longer, he just needs a few more minutes.

“Simon.” The low bass in Price’s voice makes it impossible to ignore him. “We need to go back.”

“No.”

“It’s an order.”

It breaks Price, seeing his best soldier suffer like this. And Price himself doesn’t want to think about your fate. He hopes you’re still buried under all that rubble and debris, he prays that your dead body isn’t taken by the enemy, because he too knows how disgusting men can be.

“We have to go back.” Price usually doesn’t repeat himself, but he’ll make an exception, just his once.

Simon gets up from his knees, knowing that if he leaves now, he has to accept your fate, his fate, the fate of the relationship the two of you had.

“But.” Simon tries to protest.

“Don’t.” Price sighs. “It won’t get easier over time. Rip off the bandage, boy.”

Simons knows it is for the best, but by God did it hurt, he didn’t want to leave you, he didn’t want your status to be changed to Killed In Action, no he wanted you to be Missing In Action until the two of you reconnected again in the afterlife.

Simon holds out his hand, wanting to hold your dog tags. The only thing he is bringing home today.

He holds them the whole flight in the chopper, this thumb caressing the metal, memorizing the way your name is marked on the cold metal. He brings them to his lips, kissing them through the balaclava, hoping that you’ll feel his kiss in the afterlife.

Simon, Price, Soap, Gaz, they all know this can’t go on any longer, they all know this is breaking Simon, the infamous Ghost crumbling down at the loss of his beloved.

“A word.” Price doesn’t waste any time when they’re back to base.

“I know.” Simon sounds defeated as he follows him into an empty briefing room.

“This can’t go on like this, Simon.”

“I know, just.” Simon doesn’t want to talk, but he has to. “Just let me stay on base until the funeral is over.”

An empty casket.

Price would’ve denied anyone else, he would’ve told anyone else that the army wasn’t a babysitter, but he couldn’t deny the broken soul in front of him. He couldn’t risk losing his best soldier because he had sent him home too early.

“Of course.” Price finally answers. “But I want you to go to therapy when you’re on leave.”

Therapy. Simon finds it a filthy word. Because therapy would mean that something is wrong with him, and the only thing wrong is your death.

“I promise.” You would’ve wanted it for him.

Price had never expected Simon to agree so quickly, but he is glad Simon doesn’t put up much of a fight, although it worries him slightly.

“Don’t do anything stupid.” Price warns him.

A faint smile forms on Simons lips. “The dumbest thing I ever did was bringi-“

“Stop.” Another order from Price. “You’re beating yourself up.”

“But it is my fault!”

Silence, because the both of them know that you still would’ve been alive if Simon hadn’t begged you to come with him. The both of them know that you would still be alive if you wouldn’t have gone on that mission. But Price could never tell Simon that, he could never bring his best soldier down even more.

“Get some rest.” Price orders. “I’ll make sure that.. that..” He struggles to find the words, but it’s clear what he means. He will make sure that you’re put to rest as soon as possible. Your empty casket into the ground, your dog tags the only evidence that you ever existed.

[fang-and-feather]

Masks Off

Ikemen Vampire - Sebastian x Pureblood! Reader

I had this with the last scene pending since February, but despite everything, I finally finished it!

Written for the Love Booth Challenge by @queengiuliettafirstlady, for Sebastian's prompts: Secrets and "My composure is an act."

Words: 1,714

Summary: Forced apart and then back together by twists of fate, you and Sebastian hold on to your secrets and try to ignore the past. But with old feelings that never went away resurfacing and your secrets on the verge of being revealed, you are forced to face each other, all masks off.

Tags: Fluff, Getting back Together, Canon Divergence

IkeVamp Masterlist / General Masterlist / AO3 Link

Sebastian tried to work with you, like he’d been doing nearly every day since your arrival, but after what just happened, it was difficult with the way you were acting.

At first, you were blushing, avoiding looking at him, and jumpy when he approached. A reasonable reaction to an accidental kiss.

But through your attempt to continue normal work, he watched you frown and tense more, your breath becoming audibly heavier.

Sebastian wasn’t sure if he should go away or send you away. He could try to help, but you had gone so out of the way to be discreet about this that he wasn’t sure if he should reveal that he already knew.

When he decided it was better to be the one to leave and let you solve your problem on your own, he was distracted by you picking a glass a little too hard and accidentally shattering it. You jumped back, startled, before fleeing the scene.

Sebastian sighed and started cleaning up the glass shards before he could resume his work.

He had no idea why you made the effort to hide the truth. Not only from him, but from everyone else, too. Unaware that he already knew.

It was easy to find out as soon as he arrived in the mansion and started to learn about the vampires. Every strange thing from your past together started to make sense, including your mysterious move that ended the couple of years of your young romance.

Who would imagine two old sweethearts would meet again over a century in the past. Years had passed in your time too, and both of you had grown. Maybe way too much.

But Sebastian still loved you. It didn’t take him long after your reunion to realize that. But due to his problems, he had chosen to ignore it and pretend you were strangers again. He hoped you would return home.

And you had played along until he had a few sick days, which worried everyone. They came to visit and spend time with him, some even trying to give him gifts.

He’d never considered himself such an important presence in their lives to get that treatment. He was just a butler. Except for being a human willing to work for vampires knowingly, there was nothing special about him that they couldn’t get someone else after he was gone. He never meant to make himself anything important for anyone. Not after letting go of everything he already had in his old life.

Which wasn’t much, either.

The most worried, though, was the ghost of his past that accidentally chased him even across time. The one whose first sight of promised salvation. A salvation he’d tried to run from, but now was considering embracing.

He wanted to believe the others would soon let go of him when he was gone. But you? You had the opportunity to forget him. Sebastian thought you did, until then.

But you stuck by his side while he was ill. With whispers that he didn’t know if happened in his dreams, and were reflections of his desires, or if he was half awake and these were yours.

And he realized you had nothing to go back to. You held on to him because he was the only thing that ever made you feel alive and happy. The only one who made you feel at home. That’s why you never mentioned your family, or why you didn’t seem friends with the people who hung around you.

A part of him wanted to believe you could stay, even without him, though. You had made yourself a home with the others in the mansion, and he wanted to believe you would find happiness in here after he was gone. But it seemed unlikely as you looked at him, failing to conceal your worry.

And at the time, he wondered if you weren’t someone worth living for. You were back in his life. He knew who you were and that you could rebuild your relationship.

But was love enough to live on for? He’d so long abandoned any other purpose in life. Could he find one now?

He would talk to you about it as soon as you calmed down, even if he would not be able to make a decision about his future right away.

Comte came in soon to get you some rouge. The purebloods were the only ones you couldn’t really hide from, so it wasn’t surprising you relied on one of them in that situation.

Sebastian only saw you late at night, when he was finally done with work and you were the one to seek him out.

“Hey. Do you have a second?” You knocked on his door.

“Come in.”

You walked in with hesitant steps, only briefly looking at him.

“Sorry to bother you this late. I wanted to apologize for leaving you with all the work.”

“That’s not something you need to apologize for.”

“No, I do. I didn’t need to have taken that much time off. And the accident that caused it was also my fault. Sorry for that too.” you bowed. “Not that you care.” He heard you mutter, probably without realizing it was audible.

He did care. The past was harder to forget when it was this close to him. He was just good at masking his true thoughts and feelings, and apparently, even you, as perceptive as you usually were, couldn’t see through him.

In other circumstances, he would be happy, but at the moment, it frustrated him.

You startled when he took a step towards you, and stepped back when he took another, until you had your back against the closed door.

He had already decided to admit defeat and tell you the truth. To hold into that little hope you brought back into his life. And the moment couldn’t be better.

“Did you want me to care?”

“I… I don’t know. I just…” You looked down, a light blush coloring your face. “I feel so pathetic for being the only one who couldn’t forget the past. The only one for whom it meant something.”

He knew you had some difficulty accepting this arrangement, but you had always been so good at reading people and emotionally mature that he never expected you were hiding such negative thoughts.

But his behavior since you arrived at the mansion probably wasn’t the source of such thoughts. It was likely you had been alone with them for years before arriving here. He only accidentally fueled them.

He called your name, but when you didn’t look back at him, he cradled your chin and made you look up.

“Do you really think I would have wasted my time with someone who would mean nothing to me?”

“Well, pretending to not know me seems pretty easy for you.” You shot back, barely concealing the anger in your voice. Whether you were truly angry or just feeling cornered was hard to tell.

“It isn’t.” He sighed, and his voice softened. “My composure is an act. One that I thought would benefit you.”

“To push me away from here? Or away from you?”

“From me. I wasn’t prepared to face what your coming back into my life meant.”

“And what did it mean?”

He gave you a teasing smile.

“That depends if it was you whispering by my bedside that you could save me, or if it was my imagination.”

You finally properly met his gaze, a challenging glint that he hadn’t seen for years returning to them.

“Well, that depends on whether you were just tired or if I was right to worry.”

He sighed, but smiled back, releasing you and taking just one step back.

That was as much an admission as any. You always had good intuition. It wasn’t surprising he couldn’t fool you, even if you weren’t one hundred percent sure of what you thought you knew.

Which meant both of you knew each other’s secrets, and there was no point in pretending you didn’t.

And it also meant you were much more than he thought at first, and his choice of how to proceed from now on didn’t affect your life as much as he expected.

But it still made enough of a difference.

“You would worry even if I was just tired, anyway.”

“And would fix it at once, you wanting me to or not. But this… As much as I was tempted to fix this, the choice is entirely yours. And I can’t even say it is the best choice and you would have no serious reasons to refuse because I would be lying.”

“For someone who sounded so desperate to save me that day, you’re not being very convincing.”

“I’m being realistic. The only thing I can offer you besides healing, I don’t think I have the right to. I was the one who disappeared without a word years ago and I’m sorry, but that doesn’t change what happened.”

“It was your parents’ decision, no? For your safety, probably.”

“Or just to get me away from you. They seemed to think I was growing too attached.”

“And they were right, if the incident this morning is any indication.”

“Growing attached is different from truly loving someone. I guess it is no secret that my case was the latter. I was afraid to give away the truth, but it was hard to hide this morning.”

“Because I kissed you?”

“You make it sound as if you did that on purpose.”

Again, you blushed and looked away. Amused, he pulled you to look at him, but this time he kissed you.

You didn’t react at first, and only looked at him with wide eyes as he pulled back, making him chuckle.

“Now it was on purpose.” He whispered in your ear, finally making you jump.

“And why would you do that?!” you asked, voice almost too high.

“Because I still love you, too. And no matter where our paths will lead from here, while we have all masks and pretenses off, I wanted you to know.”

Although he had a good idea of where his path would lead. The remaining doubts would be assured in time, just like his masks slowly slipped away in front of you.

Tag List: @tele86, @nightghoul381, @natimiles, @bicayaya, @eventinelysplayground, @2-lines-and-a-circle

If you want to be tagged/untagged on future writings, you can reply to this post or send me a message

IkeVamp Masterlist / General Masterlist

[snickerdoodie]

“I can never let go”

Summary: Months had passed since that night, the night of reunion and hurt that neither of them could forget. They thought the worst had ticked by…they couldn’t have been more wrong.

Pairing: Castin Hammer x f!reader

A/N: I told ya’ll I’d post again 😋. Found this is my drafts and decided to finish and post it since you all seemed to like my last one. This one isn’t actually like a part two to my other Castin fic, but it’s another hurt-comfort situation because apparently I can’t write anything without hurting my own feelings?? Idk. But anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this one as much as you liked the other one! Enjoy!

Castin jolts awake with a choked gasp, immediately raising himself to sit up as his eyes dart around the moonlight illuminated bedroom. His vision blurry and disorienting as he tries to control his ragged breaths, soon failing as his mind thinks back to his very vivid feeling dream.

Baroness, his wife, struggling to hang onto the glimpse of life as blood squirts out from the sword impaled in her abdomen. Castins there, hands shaking as her desperately applies pressure to the wound, knowing damn well there’s nothing that can heal the every bleeding injury. He takes in shuddering breaths as he struggles to hold back his tears, the heaviness behind his eyes only increasing as he hears her own breathing become more and more shallow. As she takes in one last, staggering breath, she lets out a quiet “I love you.” His eyes widen as he lets out a wet “oh my god,” as he watches the life drain from his wife’s eyes. Looking up at the sky in hopes of a miracle, a sign that she’s living, but alas none come. He shuts his eyelids tightly, wanting to wake up, to feel her once beating heart against his own, to feel the known warmness of her now cold body. But he knows, goddess does he know the look of a dead, pleading soul by heart all too well.

Trying to decipher what’s real and what’s not, his desperate eyes soon make focus on a little bead of candle light coming from the library. As his mind switches to autopilot, his shaking hands roughly rip the sheets from his sweaty body, his stiff feet soon making contact with the cold floor, causing his body to involuntarily shiver at the feeling.

His body tries to stand in its own, not realizing its own weak state, legs and knees giving out as he grabs onto the bedside table to support himself, his quivering arms and hands knocking over glass and whatever else lays upon the table, his ringing ears not detecting the crashing and shattering of the bottles. Eyes shutting tensely when his vision blurs once again, noticing the slight sting in his palms from the shards that lay on the table and ground.

A room away the Baroness hears the commotion, looking up from her book at a source for the sound, finding nothing in her line of sight. Figuring it was her clumsy husband, she shuts her book quickly before walking over slowly to their shared bedroom, peaking over the corner, not expecting the right before her.

She sees her husband, hunched over their bedside table, shoulders shaking and head moving from side to side, his breathing erratic and quick . Taking notice in the broken bottles on the floor, she carefully starts making her way towards him, feet tapping on the floor quietly.

“Castin?” She whispers out, soon met with an uncomfortable silence. As if being pulled from a trance, her husbands head perks up, jerking to face her, but the glazed over look in his eyes makes her queasy.

“Baby,” he rasps out, voice nearly breaking. With two left feet, he tries to make his way over, as does she. But his knees soon buckle and his body falls forward, the baroness catching his heavy body in her much smaller arms. With a grunt, she tries as gently as she can to set them both on the floor, being held up by their knees. As she does, his arms frantically curl around her as if she’d disappear, face snuggling against her neck hurriedly.

“C-Castin? What-Are you alright what happened-“ Her thoughts were cut off by a small sob coming out of her husband’s mouth. It surprises her, to say the least. To hear her husband get choked up. His usual stoic and masculine self being broken down to nothing but one of a weeping child. She feels his tears soak into her sheer silk nightgown before she speaks up again, more gentle this time, much like a soothing mother.

“Castin? Oh my poor dear, what happened?” She coos, her soft hands pull his face away from her, feeling a sense of dread as she sees the absolutely heartbreaking look in his eyes. His eyes are wide, unfocused, fat tears threatening to fall down his roughed up face, eyebrows furrowed tightly as his lip quivers sadly. Surprisingly, he speaks up.

“I—I lost you..you…” he chokes up on his own words before continuing, “Oh god, you-you were bleeding ou-out e-everywhere…so..so much blood I-..” he tries to continue his thoughts but a fresh batch of tears stop him from doing so. Her hands come back up to wipe them away as they gush out. As he babbles out incoherently, she starts pressing soft kisses onto his tear soaked face as a way of grounding his scrambled mind. As if it was some kind of cure, his eyes flutter closed at the contact, piecing together the fragment of memories slowly.

Her delicate hands trace gentle circles along his rigid arms, feeling as they release the tension that lies beneath. Continuing her ministrations, she feels his body succumb to the tension and finally give out, almost collapsing on top of her if it wasn’t for her grabbing his shoulders to steady him, they both would have ended up with an even worse injury.

“Are you with me, my love? Can you feel me now?” She asks softly, one hand coming free to caress his chiseled face. It takes him a moment to compel himself to nod gently on her hold. Smiling in slight relief, her hand rests against his cheek as she watches his eyes open slowly. The moonlight catches them perfectly, the glazed over look her once held now replaced with one of a tired worker, droopy eyes meet her own sheepishly.

“My love?” He starts, voice rough and gravely, rightfully so. She nods, a sad smile coming across her features.

“Are you alright now? Whatever happened to cause that?” She questions, thumb stroking his cheek lovingly. His eyes trail down to the floor before taking a deep breath before starting.

“A..a nightmare, a very vivid one at that. I….i thought it was so real, you were…” he takes in a shuddering breath before continuing, “You were bleeding out, right in front of me. A sword straight to the stomach…I…I couldn’t stop it and…” his voice becomes watery along with his eyes once again as she shushes him gently, both hands now coming to caress his face lovingly.

“I’m right here, my love. Alive and very well, very healthy. Breathing and speaking if you wish. It was all just a dream, a figment of your imagination, none of it was real, alright?” He nods against her, hands coming to cup her own against his face, feeling the warmth of them, relishing in the fact that he can feel the pulse within. “You can feel it, no? My pulse, my heartbeat, my warmness, *thats* all real. I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere any time soon.” He smiles, eyes still casted down to the soft fabric of which she wears, thanking the stars there’s no blood or weapon penetrating her porcelain skin.

“I feel you, baby, all of you.” He adds, taking in the small smile that makes its way across her face. With a loving glance, he slowly leans forward to interlock their lips, the weight of the world falling off his shoulders as he once again feels the heat radiating off her onto him.

Pulling away gently, his eyes meet her own, blinking sluggishly. His hands moving from hers to wrap around her midsection, face once again moving to her neck.

“I don’t think there’s anything in this world that can make me stop loving you, wife.”

“Likewise, husband.”

I love finding old writing from months ago that I just completely gave up on lmao. Idkw but the idea of Castin being like..so comfort starved triggers something in my brain. I love it when warrior men get all emotionalllll. Oh, this also don’t proofread either, I don’t think any of my stuff will actually be 💀. Am I gonna reuse the same Desmond image for every Castin fic??..perhaps

I hope you guys enjoyed this one too! I’ve been trying to post more but life is life and it literally stops for no one so I might just be scattering around random writes here and there lol. As always, comment about what you liked and what you didn’t like, or leave me a request in my inbox! I love ur guy’s ideas and seeing people request stuff makes me heart so happy ❤️❤️

(P.S. does anyone know how to make a master list?? I rlly wanna make one but I’ve got no clue how to work this😭. I’m doing all this on my phone so uh, help it wanted)

[charnelhouse]

" Which one you fucking hmm?"

It takes her off guard because he can't know can he? She and Ghost are careful. But then Graves starts listing them all and she curses herself for reacting. He doesn't, he's needling at her. What an ass.

"Doubt a little thing like you could take him but fuck,-" he clicks his teeth. "I'd love to see it."

Couldnt take him? She bites back a laugh. Making a mental note to tell Ghost that she swallows her pride, resisting the urge to prove Graves wrong, to give something away that could damage her team.

"...carry you. Although you being here is probably giving them a good shot of getting out of this alive."

It stings hard but she tries to ignore it. It's not true, she knows it but she's tired, in pain and the thought that he's right niggles at her. It makes her scowl, trying to focus on the fact Graves is wrong. She knows her team. Aside from some good-natured ribbing they've never looked down her as anything less than them. They respect her she knows it but-,

Her thoughts spiral to all the times they've helped her, covered her, Graves' well placed words making her doubt against her better judgement. She zones out, feeling some of that resolution starting to waver until Graves' ramblings register again.

"Are you hoping they'll come for you? Rescue the little damsel in distress?"

"You're anything but a damsel lass," Soap's drunken voice echoes in her ears. She can still smell the whiskey on his breath as he'd leant heavily into her side. "Boudicca reincarnated without a doubt, maybe a little broonie in you too." The last was delivered with enough amusement to know it was a friendly jab, but she'd yet to look it up.

The memory gives her a burst of confidence, enough for her to finally look up at Graves, hoping the anger in her expression overrides the hurt. The flicker of alarm she sees on his face gives her a little rush of pleasure.

"I dont need rescuing," her voice is raspier than she'd like but she's calm, and Graves leans back a little as she speaks. Its the first sign of retreat he's given, and although its barely a win, it's enough that she ignores the bruising against her throat, the pain, and leans forward, following him as best she can.

I'm going to kill you myself."

‐-----------------------------

She's not been missing for long before they find her. Finding her mid-escape. He's proud of that, of her. but the fury he feels, at Graves betrayal, at her being taken, at her being tied down like a fucking dog stops him from acknowledging her outright. He feels oddly fragile.

Bloody fingers tight around what looks like a shard of glass as she saws at the belt wrapped around her throat. It's hard to take his eyes off her as he secures the room. Anger boiling hot and cold through him as he tries to catalogue her injuries. His gaze flicking from the leash around her neck to the bloody wound on her ribs and back again. The buzzing in his ears gets louder as he obsessively scans over her, anger and fear threatening to overwhelm him in a way he hasn't felt for a long time. It's not until he finds himself checking her clothes for damage that he forces himself to look away. She's alive, shes safe, that'll do for now.

Soap reaches her first, his hands flitting from the belt around her neck to her obvious injuries and back again until she snaps at him to get her out of here.

Ghost watches her out the corner of his eye as he positions himself near the door on lookout, and despite his fury it makes his lips twitch. Fucking spitfire his fox.

Soap makes short work of the belt around her throat, cutting through it with his knife and flinging it away like it burns him, words flowing from him with an accent so thick he can't understand him, but from the tone and the way he spits them he definitely agrees with the sentiment.

Ghost's eyes flick back to the glass in her hand. she still hasn't let go or even loosened her grip on it despite the pain its definately causing her and he's hit with the urge to go ease it out of her hand. Too gently uncurl her fist, pull her wrist up to his mouth and press a kiss to her bloody palm.

Soap beats him to it, gripping her wrist gently and handing her his knife before he tries to take the glass away. She doesn't even flinch as she uncurls her fist, something that should not turn him on but it does, warmth coiling low in his gut.

She pulls away from Soap's attempt to help her up, something dark flicking across her face that makes him pause, registering and cataloguing her expression as something to explore later. Soap to his credit doesn't push it, he let's her stand on her own, and resists the urge to reach out and help her when she stumbles slightly.

She makes eye contact with him and Ghost nods, a barely noticeable dip of his head but she notices. She always does. It makes her relax a little, tension easing out of her shoulders as she holds his gaze before she returns it with a small nod of her own. Fire and determination in her eyes that make his cold heart skip a beat.

"Let's move out."

Obsesseddddd. I completely agree and think this is how ghost would react to reds pain. He wouldn’t know what to do with himself. He’d panic, he’d go deep inside himself. I love how Soap was visibly upset and Red was just like grow up and get me the fuck out of here.

You got it down

[heliads]

hallo! id like to request 💌 with newt from tmr or ron weasly from harry potter!

im a pretty nerdy persn i like to collect glass shards and i like to draw as well ! :D

people say im either cold or shy at first before i open up and start yapping about all my favorite interests like saw and other spooky things !

appearance idk if you need that but i have blue eyes, snake bite piercings and short brown hair with blonde highlights

anyways feel free to skip me if thsi is not for you !

I LOVE YOUR WRITING HAVE A GOOD DAYYYYYYYYY<33333

thank u!!

masterlist

Y/N is by the water again.

Ron Weasley should not be noticing this. He shouldn’t be noticing anything, actually. He is supposed to be completing a Transfiguration essay due the next morning; even Hermione has sworn not to help him if he doesn’t get half of it finished by sundown at least, and Ron knows that he really does need to try this time, but he can’t. He can’t focus on the writing haphazardly scrawled across his parchment, because instead of thinking about the best way to turn a rock into a rabbit, he’s thinking about the student walking out by the lake, wind whipping at their robes as they slowly stroll down the shore.

Y/N L/N.

It makes perfect sense, then, that he couldn’t focus. He never can, really, not when they’re around. Ron can’t explain it. It’s just that every time he’s around Y/N, his brain starts short-circuiting. He loses his train of thought, he misplaces his bookbag, he drops things. Harry has started teasing him mercilessly about it, but Ron couldn’t do a thing about it if he tried.

So, he won’t try. Not at all. Ron abandons the essay without a backwards glance, pulling his robes tighter about him to ward off the chill as he heads out to the lake. Y/N glances up when he draws near, smiling slightly.

“Hey, Ron,” they say.

Ron ducks his head in greeting. “What’re you doing?” He asks.

He comes off a bit too brash, but Y/N has never seemed to have a problem with that. At first, Ron thought they were cold, never wanting to talk to anyone in the Great Hall, but as it turned out, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Y/N is careful in who they trust, but once Ron managed to get them to open up, they’ve been close friends. He can’t help but wish, however, that they could be closer still.

“I’m looking for glass,” Y/N tells him. “Look, the water smoothes the edges.”

They stoop and pick up a piece, then show it to him, holding it up so the faint sunlight ripples through the whorls in the glass. This shard is the precise blue of their eyes, and when Y/N passes it to him, Ron can’t help the feeling that he’s cradling a piece of them in his hand. As long as he keeps the glass close, he has them all to himself. Maybe for forever.

“Show me more,” he says hurriedly, matching their pace when they start walking again. 

Y/N smiles and starts talking about what they’ve found so far. Ron’s hand drifts to his pocket, where he carefully holds the smooth glass tight. This, at last, is something he will never let go.

harry potter tag list: @blondsauduun, @cameronsails, @neewtmas, @lovesanimals0000, @with-inked-solace, @sher-lokid7, @eclliipsed, @frenchgirlinlondon, @23victoria, @ilovexavierthrope, @faerieroyal

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[glassrowboat]

Character Story. Shaw.

Introduction.

A noble lady of the Shawn family who has long since cast away every string the name holds over the people of Fontaine, cutting those wiry threads with the same ease she now wields her claymore. 

A vagabond people call her as she flits from place to place, only recognized by the metallic sheen of a silver mask tied to the back of her head that seemed to stare back at anyone who dared to look at it too long. The sight of it alone has sent shivers down an entire village's back as the people watched her walk through without even feeling the need to turn her head to meet their eyes. Not until she met the leader of the pack and asked if there was a job to be had. 

Funnily enough, these rumors of this woman are spread all across Tevyat. All except Mondstadt, that is.

Character Story 1.

A scream erupted, filling the building as it drew everyone to it with pounding feet as they ran and ran all to be stopped in stunned silence. Jade eyes had looked up at them all, the maids, the butler, even the steward, and for a moment it was like she couldn't even process the scene around her as they stared back in horror. A painting, The Nightmare, hung behind Prudence in delicious irony.

Oswald was the first to move, to place one leather oxford shoe down as he stumbled towards his little girl. Carefully, he tried to avoid the glass now littering the ground, covering it in constellations of false stars as light reflected off of them. 

Bile had been rising in his throat, staining his tongue with the taste as he tried to tell himself to focus on one thing at a time, but in the end a shard still shattered under his foot right as Oswald stood before her.

Prudence didn't even flinch nor wipe at her face. She didn't fret, cry, or bawl all like a child should despite the fact the three moles on Prue’s face Oswald had so loved to kiss before tucking her into bed each night were indistinguishable from the blood covering her. From head to toe, she was stained red, the vibrant color seeping into the soft yellow dress she wore like it craved the taste of iron in its rich fabric.

“Mommy isn't waking up.” She finally whispered after a moment of silence. 

Oswald's gaze fell down to Penelope, lip quivering. “I know, sweetie.”

Taking his little girl's hand, Oswald ordered someone to go get her in a bath, and he'll…

With one last look to his wife, a shard stabbed through her neck, Oswald said “I'll deal with the rest.”

He just had to make it all go away.

As for Prudence? She was too young to remember the life that had slipped away before her very eyes. Or even the color of her mother's black hair in a pool of her own ichor.

Character Story 2. 

A good name was important. Anyone in Fontaine would know that. The nobles would flit amongst themselves with ease and heads held high, for only those they believed were of their level deserved to be spoken to with any sort of candor. All because names, lineage, came with power; this was simply how the upper echelons of society worked.

The Shawn family had long since established their place when they first received the title Duke centuries ago and the Ragnvindr's were quite literally there when new Mondstadt had been built after the fall of an old god had been swept away with the wings of freedom.

It made for a perfect union. 

A perfect cover.

So when Prudence's hand fell into Diluc's, the two children awkwardly standing side by side with their feet shuffling over floorboards as their parents agreed on an engagement Oswald was finally able to breathe a sigh of relief he had been holding for years.

Out here, she would be safe in the fields of green grass and welcoming arms. Out here, there would be no chance anyone would learn the truth. Not after all the effort, the ties, the mora he burnt covering it. After all, it was his word against everyone else's. Not that the dead can speak.

The silence between the four of them was only broken by Diluc after the boy had had enough of looking back between Master Crepus and his new fiancée. “It's in my vow to protect you now, just like dad did with mom, and I won't fail you. I promise you that.”

Prudence's lips twisted as she looked down at the younger man, only the age of twelve and he was already making such bold proclamations before she even had a golden ring squeezing her finger, but still, this is what her father wanted from her. Had pressed on her time and time again to the point it might as well be a brand burnt onto her very being.

‘You are to be Lady Diluc Ragnvindr. For your own good and mine.’

Along with that Oswald had told her to keep quiet about the past, to be the good girl he knew he raised, and lastly to lie if she was asked about what happened to her mother, the maids, the- about everything that had made Prudence herself so far. 

So she bowed her head in respect and responded back: “Then I shall be honored to be protected by a…boy…of your caliber.”

What was the Dawn Winery's motto again? ‘Shine True’? It seemed such a funny slogan to think back on now.

Still, she didn't mind the smile that crossed Diluc’s freckled face at her words.

Character Story 3.

He was odd. Far too full of life and a burning conviction with a never ending flame, forever stoked by Master Crepus' watchful hand that encouraged and brought Diluc back up even when the claymore the young man wielded had fallen from his grasp again and again. All for one goal Crepus had stuck himself to with an iron fist: to become a Knight of Favonius. 

She had seen Diluc dedicate himself to it with a passion, one that seemed infectious as it spread to Kaeya and Jean. Their own swords and clunky armor too small for teenage bodies were a testament, even as Prudence's eyes tore away from the sight.

Still, she smiled and encouraged him with what little patience she had when Diluc had come to her with cramping hands and the loads of pressure shoved onto him. This was simply the role of a future wife, along with endless etiquette lessons, all spewed at her whenever she was back home in Fontaine.

For while one parent helped pull someone up (even if it was too much at times), the other pushed and pushed. All for the name of perfection. 

Hours of tutelage on how to be a perfect lady, one full of grace, class were shoved down her throat for she was expected to one day be a woman who could hold her head as high as a ballerina on stage. Just like Peneople once had during her years at the Opera Epiclese. Or so she's been told. It was hard to tell when there weren't any photos of Prudence’s mother in the estate to tell the truth for her.

In the end, the one reprieve they both had away from everything else was the Mondstadt Cathedral. 

Giggles would float across the pews, followed only by the piano Diluc played. He was rusty, having gone too long since playing beside the mother who taught him, but Prudence never expected those hands to make music with how calloused they were in the first place. So it was a pleasant surprise when the starting notes of Rondeau des fleurs et des rapieres filled her ears.

A song from Fontaine.

She had let her head rest on his shoulder, closed her eyes, and simply listened.

They were both so young back then.

Character Story 4.

Behind silk gloves Prudence had hidden shaking hands, their trembling never seeming to cease as she remembered the scene from weeks ago. The silence that had followed all as red eyes watched with an emotion she couldn't distinguish, not when it was so unlike what she was used to receiving.

Perfection was what she strived for. To be the bell of the ball, the star that never failed to outshine those around her, and to cling to the rules she had been taught more than a criminal would to Iudex Neuvillette's robes as they begged for mercy after being declared guilty.

This is what her father had asked of her. So she obeyed without question. 

Until….

Her fingers curled, trying to remember the shape of a hilt in her hand. 

Until him.

Until Diluc had pulled her from the table she had been sipping tea at as he practiced, claymore swinging through the air only for it to fall into her hands as he encouraged her to try despite Prudence's protests. For a lady shouldn't wield a weapon, but Diluc had asked her what she thought Jean was then. 

Prudence's lips had pinched shut at her inability to answer. 

So she tried. Despite knowing how her father would protest, scream at her for even daring to think about holding a weapon. And it felt right. The weight of a weapon she thought would have been top heavy for her a comfort as her muscles rippled with every move. To the point tearing through a dummy made of straw and potato sacks barely even phased her. 

Not even as its head fell to dirt worn ground, and Diluc had stared at her in awe and said “I've never seen anyone take so fast to using a sword.”

But now she was left in her room wondering why the feeling of digging a blade into something had felt so familiar. 

And why she swore for a moment she saw blood on her hands.

Character Story 5.

So much for the times Diluc had called himself Her Knight. All of it might as well have been a farce hidden behind a pretty smile and stupidly charming freckles. That grin had given her hope after all the times it had been flashed at her in private moments. Between hiding together to see if Kaeya or Adelinde could find them, between that moment in the hayloft where they had kissed and kissed until Diluc had turned as bright red as his hair, and between-

A choked sob left her, only stifled when a hand fell on her shoulder. 

“Sweetie.” Her father called in a tone so soft, so comforting it had her whirling around to yell at him with a fury she had long since buried, only to turn mute at the look in his eyes.

Crepus was dead, the engagement had been broken, and her one safe haven from this had slipped from her fingers like a dove that had escaped the cage she was still locked in.

The bars, evidently, were too close together for her to slip through them as well.

Even with a hydro vision, she had been held back time and time again. Let her fear of what could happen if she let that blue glow light up her skin again shackle her just as much as Oswald had for as long as she could remember.

Be good, be silent, and be perfect.

Lie, lie, lie.

And she had enough as her hand had met his cheek. 

The had been the second time she had ever dared to lay her hands on him, and it had felt just as riveting as the first.

“I'm leaving.” Were the last words Prudence had ever said to her father.

Gamigin

All those years in silence pretending to be something she was not had proved to be useful if only for one thing: knowledge. Children naturally can't sit still for too long without being occupied, busy, and so she had fallen to books throughout all her years because between those fragile pages had laid her greatest escape.

Now, she simply had to utilize it. 

Her time in Liyue Harbor had been short as she stepped away from the Crux, Beidou wishing her well and to come back whenever she pleased after the young lady had paid for a ride and her silence; the aquabus wouldn't be able to provide the same sealed lips she needed, not when Prudence's father was as stubborn as she. 

In the end, she had fallen to using the same methods she had been taught all those years ago: gold and threats of violence did the job where she could not. 

How quaint. 

How simple.

“Humans were all the same.” She told herself, as did the creature standing before her. Left to be nothing more than wisps of a figure clinging onto life in the nation of geo and contracts. 

This, too, was quaint.

So she offered a contract, a seal that would bind it as tightly as her wings of freedom the Mondstadt people so loved to talk about had been all this time rendering them useless.

“If a dove cannot escape its cage to fly high in the sky, it only has one option left: to sink to the depths of the ocean so it may soar there.”

So she cut them off and, in turn, accepted the creature into her very being with bloody lips still tasting this creature's dead flesh as one name rang true.

“Gamigin is what you will call me.” She was told as searing pain tore through her skin 

“Then you can call me Shaw.” She responded.

The conditions she accepted didn't matter, not when she was curdling in delight.

The mask she had been forced to wear had been switched out for a silver one, something physical now tied to her hair with yellow ribbons; the face of a deity hung from her head.

Vision

It was to no one's surprise that Oswald had thrown a fit when he had learned Diluc had been teaching Prudence how to wield a sword. If anything, this was expected. To the point she had even made an offhand joke about making sure there would be tea and cake prepared for the undoubtable show.

That would be preferred, really, rather than having her own father across from her holding a sword.

“If I win, you have to give this nonsense of yours up, Prue.”

The blade was a simple rapier, held in a hand more equipped for holding a pen rather than a sword. For words and ink were Oswald's choice of weapon.

A blade like that wouldn't hold against a claymore. It was too finicky, relied too much on speed with absolutely no ability to block her if she landed a single blow. That was all she needed.

One win, one victory, one chance.

From the moment the blade of his rapier snapped in two and she just narrowly missed taking off Oswald’s full arm, Prudence knew he would have to fold. 

She stood before him for the first time.

And a vision came down, glowing.

Diluc had called them a badge of conviction, but this had to be her one chance at hope of finally escaping the shadow that loomed over her the entirety of Prudence's life as that blue shine accompanied with a hydro vision lit up her eyes.

That went dark only a second later as she grabbed the precious gem and everything around her withered. The grass turned brown, sucked of the very water flowing through it; grapes withered and fell from their branches; the pain filled tears in Oswald's eyes seemed to lash at his skin until he bled. 

All as rain fell around them.

Prudence dropped her vision to the ground.