#i was talking about this ame. we can sight sources.

[fcalty]

since we're talking about fanon. there is a lot of talk in the fanon about kylo not being part of the first order and not caring about its mission but if you read the novelization you get to see mitaka, kylo and hux's views on how they think the first order should operate in the galaxy. kylo ironically believes in the first order’s mission for galactic control the most.

it seems crazy but if you think about it this way, kylo is the closest to snoke. he is the most loyal to him because snoke brainwashed him. it's not really a surprise that he believes in snoke's goals more than the others.

[brailsthesmolgurl]

1 YOU, 1 ME

This is a one-shot request by one of the lovely readers of mine, enjoy this one :) Although I must say, this brings me back to the days when I used to be suicidal, so the experiences of mine are translated into the form of reader's POV so that you would get to take a trip of what I had dealt with as well. Just as my other one-shot Delirious, I do not take mental health as to be a joke. I am here for you if you needed someone to talk to, just like how I know you would be supportive of my works. I would do my best to cater to you as well because YOU MATTER <3.

Warnings: Deals with HEAVY Topics, Depression Mentions, Heavy Angst but yes to fluff. Please please please refrain if you are easily influenced by such topics.

XAVIER

When you had arrived at HQ today, Captain Jenna had approached you, handing you a file and informing you about the location of the wanderer as per usual. You studied the file, the wanderer looking like a saber-tooth, with fangs that could definitely pierced through skin like paper. "Good morning." You directed your head upwards and your partner stood by the side of your desk, a smile on his handsome features as he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"Good morning Xavier." You handed the blue file to him and he took it, opening up the page and started reading through the details just like you did. "This should be a relatively easy mission. You ready for it?" He gently placed the file onto your desk and he waited for you to get up, before walking at the same pace as you to get to the basement parking.

Xavier is wearing his white suit today, the silverish-blue garters an accessory that also serves as a tool. You can tell that he had a good sleep last night given that his blazer was pressed and there is barely a crease on it. Regardless, crumpling of clothings would be normal anyways given the dynamic range of movements hunters have to do to kill a wanderer.

The mission had ended early just like every other time. Your pairing is known to be the best due to the compatibility of Xavier's light evol and your Resonance evol, hence it is an added advantage when it comes to dealing with wanderers. Him dealing damage to one of the wanderers and your evol resonates the same act of his, inflicting damage upon other wanderers without you touching them.

"Shall we go and get something to eat?" Xavier asked you, readjusting his garter and wiping off some of the dried crusts of a wanderer's bodily fluids off of his shoulders.

You flicked your hand, your weapon disappearing on call and you looked over to him. "It's alright. I am a little tired. I'm just gonna head home for the night." You turned and started heading towards the direction of your parked motorcycle, the moonlight only being your source of lighting.

"Wait, don't wander around alone." His warned, footsteps catching up to yours effortlessly. "You might get lost in this forest you know."

Your lack of comeback made him ran his palm across the back of his neck out of embarassment. If only you are still interested in his facial features, then you might just be able to catch sight of him blushing bashfully. "My bike's here. I'm gonna head off. Enjoy your meal." You did not give him any time to revert the same to you. You just hiked up onto your bike and rode off into the night.

The same situation happened for a couple more times, till he got used to it. You would appear for missions, complete it and then you would leave. Just like how he did last time when you first met him but now the tables have seemingly turned. He watched you as you tried to control your breath after the wanderer was defeated. This time it was a huge creature, with a large tail lined with huge spikes that could kill with one swipe and it took the both of you a bit more time than usual to defeat it.

"Hey, y/n, do you---" He walked closer to you, leaning down to get a better view of your hidden face. The long hair of yours a brunette curtain.

"No Xavier, I am fine." You assumed he was going to ask you out for dinner but you were quick to reject, not wanting to add on to anymore complications. "I just needed some time to myself."

"I was meaning to ask, if you are okay?" He stopped for a tad bit. "Is everything alright?"

Your nod was curt but his frown is becoming more prominent by every added minute. "I can tell something is wrong y/n."

"Perhaps I have not been getting enough sleep recently." You dismissed him, walking towards your bike with him following behind you in quickened footsteps. "But I can assure you I am fine."

"But, you barely come to HQ and you have been excusing yourself from dinner with me after missions. Your reason for the past few times have only been 'I am fine' and 'I am tired' which is what's concerning me." He came up to you, obstructing you from getting onto your motorbike.

"Xavier." Your voice lowered. "I just want to go home and rest." With your tone, the blondie gave up, sighing and stepping aside to let you get onto your bike and he watched as you revved your engine and darted off into the embrace of the darkness.

┊ ┊ ┊ ˚✧

The rings of your doorbell beckoned you to get up and off of your couch, the drama on your television turning into white noise in the back. Not that you were actually watching it anyways, the screen was on but your mind was floating elsewhere. This time however, you did not falter into your state of guilt, rendering you a chance to actually sit in still silence. You are admittedly taken aback at the sound of your doorbell ringing as you do not have any visitors checking in anytime soon including Tara. You took your time to get to the door, not even bothering to check the peephole and you swung open your door.

Here he is now, in front of your door, looking down at you from his towering height, with a casual outfit and a pizza box in his hands. Yes, he did pretended he was the pizza man just to get you to open up the door for him. Now he also knows that the peephole is just a decoration for your door.

The sight of you however, made his jaw dropped mentally. Your arm was littered in cut marks, in different shapes and depth, but the crusting of the scabs tells him that this had happened a couple of days ago. You nervously pulled your sleeves down to hide your scars, making intense eye contact with the ground. It did not hit you for you to cover your scars as to a stranger, they would care less of what happens behind your doors. But maybe much of a dismay towards Xavier. He occupied himself within your door frame and you staggered backwards.

"What's wrong?" He placed the pizza box onto the shelf next to him and he gently took your arm, pushing the sleeve up. Your hiss made him halted his actions, eyeing you for a further reaction before he spoke. "Why did you do this?"

"I..." You could not make up any words, tears gathering at the back of your eyes. The guilt flowing its way through your system instantly. It was like you lost all of your control and succumbed to your emotions. The emotions that you were so scared of showing to anyone. Especially to Xavier. With him being your partner, and your crush. You did not want him to report this to the team, and you certainly do not want him to think differently about you. "I...I was scared..." Your fist tightening. "I didn't want to lose anyone else like how I lost Tara."

Ever since that day you found out about Tara's death, you got lost. Blaming yourself was the only viable way for you to forgive yourself. She was stuck with some rookie to go and defeat a wanderer on the day you had called in sick. It was that specific mission with the inexperience rookie that got both her and the rookie killed.

Yes, it has nothing to do with you but it also has EVERYTHING to do with you. What if you did not report in sick that day? Maybe things would have had a better turn? And maybe, just maybe Tara would be able to pull through till you arrived on the scene? You remembered, the way she stared at you as she laid on the battlefield, blood oozing out of all of her orifices. Her eyes a window to her soul, opened but lifeless. As if she died hoping you could have arrived on time.

Xavier said nothing, his breaths slow and steady. Approaching you, the blond haired man pulled you in by your waist, his grip solid. You had sunken into the hole of self-blame, rotating around a death circle and at this point, Xavier could do nothing but to tell you that he is here for you, through his actions. "It's not your fault that she lost her life, y/n. Please don't blame it on yourself. I am sure Tara would not want you to do this to yourself either." He slowly lifted your arm up, analysing the wounds. They are skin deep but not deep enough to damage your skin permanently but he had to wash this and wrap this up quickly before it evolves into a nasty infection.

"I just couldn't stop myself Xavier. It hurts so much in my head that physical pain is the only way to relief it." You croaked with your dry throat. "I just felt so sad you know. Like it really hurts my heart. I don't know what is this feeling." After the first few hours of you losing Tara, you experienced nausea and headaches. Then comes the crying and the grief and then to the self-blame. You had read up about mental pain being able to manifest itself into physical pain but you were too ignorant of how severe this may be. So severe to the point that you had to result to self-harm to remind yourself of the pain you had to go through because of your carelessness. Leading you towards the bathroom, the boy was careful in his words and steps. "I believe this is what one would call grief. It hurts so much mentally that it hurts you physically as well. In this case, you have to hurt yourself to relieve the pain and I think it is time for you to meet a psychiatrist y/n." He sat you down onto the toilet seat and took out the medical kit from your cabinet. His words gave you the confirmation of what you had read about being factual. Kneeling down, he seeked for your confirmation with an alcohol pad in his hand.

When you nodded, he dabbed the pad across your arm and you bit onto your lips harshly to stop yourself from screaming out in agony. You do not deserve to scream as you had done this to yourself. His pause made you look at him. "You do not have to hold back. If it hurts, you can scream. If it hurts, you can cry. If it hurts still, you can talk to me." His eyes were sincere, the cerulean orbs a vast ocean, inviting you to be within his embrace as he opened up his arms to you.

And you fell, straight onto your knees and you grabbed onto his shirt, the blood crusts on your sleeve staining his shirt in the progress but the both of you could care less. You needed a good cry while he knows that you needed comfort. "It's alright y/n, I am here for you. I will always be here for you." His fingers ran through your hair, tucking some stray strands behind your ear, your body shook with every sob you took. "I just need you to know that regardless what happens, you can always tell me. I will never leave you alone, I can't bear to see you in this state because I love you." His sudden confession halted your cries for a moment, staring up at him with the ugliest look you got.

At this moment, you really wished that you could take any other days to hear his confession rather than hearing it from him when you are in such a vulnerable state. Seriously, who would want to get a confession when they are having a break down and they have tears and snot streaked on their face as part of their 'makeup'?

"You are saying this because you pity me, don't you?" You were ready to pull back, a slither of embarassment passed your expressions. "I do not need your pity."

"I do not pity you, y/n. In fact, I had always been admiring you for the things you do. You had uphold yourself well despite you are struggling so much. I really do like you and no matter what I will always be here for you." He reinstated his point and you grabbed hold onto his neck, crying even louder, strained voice echoed through your bathroom.

"I thought, I really thought I would have to deal with this all by myself. I can't, I never know that I am this weak." Your cries a reflection of your sadness and your relief, knowing that you can finally put your heart at rest, not having to deal with the grief all alone like how you always done it to yourself. Xavier placed his hand under your chin again and you looked up into his eyes of blue, with him leaning down and pressing a kiss to your lips. The death cycle shall come to an end.

ZAYNE

You tapped your feet onto the tiled floor impatiently. Clack, clack, clack. If anyone were to be within your vicinity now, your tapping against the floor would definitely be another added on frustration towards their state. Eyes darting everywhere, focusing on one thing to another. The door in front of you still remained tightly shut. The smell of antiseptic a constant fragrance within the hospital and you were about to get a headache.

You are up for your monthly routine check-up and meeting Zayne has always been nerve-wrecking, not because your heart is desperately trying to jump its way out of your chest and to give Zayne a hug, but it is also because you would like him to examine your brain as well. You figured something has been wrong with you mentally recently, after Tara's death to be exact. You get hot flashes at night, waking up at ungodly hours and sometimes, just sometimes, you would just want to lie in bed all day and not wanting to do anything, let alone eating.

You could not pinpoint exactly what was going wrong until the day you woke up from a nightmare, your chest tightened in a way you had never experienced before. Your breaths short and rushed, but no air was going into your lungs. Your throat had constricted airflow as well, choking you till your tears are being squeezed out of your eye sockets. It was until you had to scratch your arm till you bleed then you only regained consciousness, your breathing slowed, airways opening to welcome the fresh breaths of air that you were restrained from. You thought it was an allergy reaction for a moment but you were sure none of the allergies would get you to paw through your arm, breaking the skin barrier and seeing crimson red to replace the pain you had felt a while ago. Something is clearly wrong.

You had chose to wear a loose sweater today, not wanting to reveal your so-called battle scar to random strangers. Not wanting them to judge you for 'Im so emo, I hurt myself to be cool and I preach that battle scars are a sign for me fighting for my life in everyday society'. You can hear that in your own head, slowly succumbing into a state of blurred vision as you lowered your head, your vision darkening. "It's your turn." The familiar voice brought you out of your own reverie. Another shadow loomed over your hunched body, with straight shoulders and what seemed to be an outline of a long coat, you knew it was Zayne.

"Yeah." You stood up slowly and followed behind the cardiologist into his room. As usual, you took a seat next to his desk, the padded seat warm to your bum. A knob twisting, in suit with a locking sound, it marks the start for your checkup session. The room was filled with tension, as Zayne ran his stethoscope down your back, listening cautiously to your heartbeat as you took in deep breaths. The man's eyebrows were furrowed, eyes narrowed as if your heartbeat had an arrythmia. "What is it?" You asked, noticing that the listening session of his is unusually longer then usual.

"It seems like your heartbeat is slower. And there were slight staggers of arrhythmia on your right atrium. I should run some bloodtests and perhaps get an MRI scan on your heart as well." He retracted the stethoscope away from your back and walked to the front of you, fingers scooped your chin up and you looked at the man in front of you now. Standing tall, with broad shoulders that could be spotted underneath the bulky medical coat of his. He is in his blue scrubs today, perhaps a surgery aligned earlier on and he did not have much time to change out of it.

He took a small flashlight the shape of a pen out of his coat and he leaned down, a waft of his cologne hitting your nose. Minty fresh with a mix of antiseptic, that is what he smells like on the days he has a full schedule ahead. You peeled open you eyes wider and he flashed the light into your pupils, his hazel green orbs in an uncalled staring competition with you. "Pupils are functioning well as usual, but I do realise some redness at your whites. Have you been getting enough sleep?" A slight hint of him caring for your quality of sleep went away as fast as it arrived.

"I...Actually..." Your lips froze, words forming at the tip of your tongue but you could not roll out any of them. It was like your brain was subconsciously begging you not to tell Zayne, in order to not ruin his impressions of you being a healthy individual. He is a doctor, what harm would that cause if you were to tell him that you had been experiencing some mental issues these past few days? Perhaps he would just throw you some medical facts, ask you to drink more water and you should feel better in a day or two.

Then you recalled when your grandmother had passed, he did not show any bits of sympathy towards you other than passing on the box that was left behind by your late grandmother. He did not even ask if you were doing alright when you sat right here in his office, trying so hard to hold those choked sobs back. The thought of him not showing any sympathy towards you during the loss of your grandmother gave you the ultimate decision that you will not reveal anything to him. "I had been sleeping late these days because of paperwork."

The doctor sighed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, the glasses sat comfortably at the bump he has on his nose. "If its so, try not to procrastinate in the afternoon and actually do your paperwork instead of rushing them all at once in the middle of the night." His sound advice not a bit helpful to your fib. "You wearing a long sleeved sweater in the middle of summer would cause you to get a heat stroke, which would directly affect your heart as well. So I would advice you to keep cool whenever you can." He sat down in his chair, picking up a pen and started scribbling away on the prescription tab. "As for now, take these medications for your arrhythmia. Once the MRI is scheduled I will get the nurse to contact you to come in for the scan."

┊ ┊ ┊ ˚✧

"Y/n." Tap tap tap. "Y/n wake up." An oddly familiar voice drowned your hearing, your body lifted off of the floor by a force. "Y/n. Please wake up." The smell of antiseptic filled your nose and your eyes slowly opened up, the blinding lights above made it hard for you to adjust to your surroundings. Your name was called out again and you turned your head a little, catching sight of Zayne, his eyes slightly widened. He was staring at you as if he had seen a ghost. You could barely remember what happened. Ringing in your heads made you winced and the man pulled you tighter within his arms. Your face now against his hard torso. "What happened?"

You blinked your eyes a couple more times and you looked down. Blood pooled on your wooden floors, the wax layered on top of it preventing the liquid from seeping through. Your arms were streaked in red, the evidence clear as daylight underneath your fingernails. It probably happened again, did it? "I...I don't know." You responded weakly, your lips equivalent to sandpaper. "I don't know what happened."

Zayne pushed you back a little and he held your arm up by your wrist, eyeing over all of the bloody and deep scratches to search for a sign of infection. Perhaps, a sign for why would you do this to yourself as well. Zayne decided to come by your abode when you had missed out on your MRI appointment, him knowing that you would not purposely miss out on any medical appointments and even if you have to, you would at least have the decency to make a call to inform.

That day when you left the room, he noticed your charm was lacking, your retorts were non-existent, and your face was ghoulish. You struggling to tell him a piece of your mind, only to retract back and say that you fell asleep late due to paper work caught the doctor off-guard as well. But he is not the type to intrude, to ask you questions that you would not want to answer.

He came by, searching under your potted plants for the key and it was slotted right beneath the jasmine pot that he had given you as a congratulatory present when you got accepted into Unicorn. His heart inexplicably felt warm at the thought of you still caring for the jasmine till this day. He twisted the key into the doorknob and it clicked open, slotting himself right into your doorway and he looked through your apartment. It looked neat, but the lights were not turned on. He heard a loud thud and his footsteps reacted to it, carrying him across your living room and towards your bedroom.

Another thud, this time louder, echoed through your room and he opened the door hastily, immediately catching sight of your body, laying on the floor, jolting as if you were shocked by an invisible electric current. You are having a seizure, in a pool of blood that he could only assume belonging to you. He took three long strides and he was shocked to his core. Your arms were littered with long and narrow open wounds, the culprit being your blood stained fingers. Your eyes were flipped to the back of your head, veins popped out of your neck as one of your hand latched itself onto your forearm and yo dug deeper into your wounds. "Y/n!" He shouted, unbuttoning his sleeves and pushing them up his forearm and he dived down onto his knees to heave you towards him, away from the wall.

He immediately started doing CPR, going according to the beat as he switched between pumping your chest and blowing air into your mouth. The effectivity of the CPR started kicking in when your convulsions started to calm down, your body going from tensing to limp and you laid unmoving on the floor. He leaned down to get a good hearing of your heart. It is beating in a normal rhythm, a good sign that you are still alive. The arrhythmia is gone now but the soon-to-be scars on your arms is the next thing he worries about.

He did not understand, none of the theories he had studied about one's physicality applied. The heart arrhythmia, the sight of you convulsing on the floor, the hearings of your choked breaths as he watched you, the skin deep lacerations inflicted upon yourself only with the use of your fingernails. None of the symptoms matched any of his medical theories. i am not a doctor, pls dont chew me on this :,)

Unless it has something to do out of his field, which is the mental aspect. Zayne being a doctor, although succeeded at a relatively young age, but his expertise has always been within the field of cardiology. Of course he has friends within the psychological field, but it never struck him that you would end up with a mental illness. You had always been fit as a fiddle in his eyes, both mentally and physically. But all it takes is for two accidents in a row to trigger the mental illness for you. If its so, why did you not tell him anything about it? Why did you keep it all to yourself? He knew he should have said something, he should have stayed by your side when he found out about Tara's death. It was too short of a timeframe for you to be dealing with two deaths within a few months' gap.

"It's alright, you will be okay. Everything will be alright." He only remembered during one of the mental illness campaigns he was asked to attend, they taught of ways to identify individuals experiencing mental illness and very little was talked about how can one deal with someone who is having an episode. The speaker said something about acceptance, comfort and validation. And that is to the extent of what Zayne knows.

"Y/n, I need you to take in deep breaths, I need you to calm down." He could not treat her just like any other patient in this damn moment. This vulnerability of hers is new territory for him, but it shows that she is not as strong as she portrays herself to be and this part of her provoked him to want to be there for her even more than before.

"I don't know...I don't know why I am like this." You trembled in his arms, your head spinning and you felt like you were about to taste bile anytime.

"And it is not your fault, y/n." His voice is calm, soothing to your ears. You could feel his hot breath against the shell of your ear and you looked up at him, the lights above him forming an angelic halo. "It shall never be your fault." He pressed a kiss to your forehead. "I am sorry that I was never there for you. From now on, let me be there for you." Other than the kiss on your forehead being a shock factor, the fact he wanted to be involved in your life and your 'journey-to-recovery' made your heart skipped an extra beat. "I promise you, from now on, I will always be by your side, only when you want me to."

You lifted your hand up to touch his cheeks, your palm cold to the touch on his warm face. You swore you saw him blushed for a mere second. "Of course I would want you to be by my side Zayne." And he gave you a comforting smile. The man then slowly inched down, eyes looking between your eyes and lips. When you tilt your head upwards, he took it as your consent and you both shared the first kiss.

RAFAYEL

"Do you want that?" Rafayel asked you, index finger pointed right at a banana boat plushie. Two 'flavours' to be picked from, one with the usual chocolate, vanilla and strawberry theme while the other has a caramel, vanilla and banana theme. You were about to pick for the latter but the man standing beside you was quicker in calling out shots. "I think the original one would fit you better. The colour theme just looks more harmonious than the other."

You watched as he picked up the dart and aimed it towards the target. He pulled his wrist back and with a flick, the dart landed onto the target's bullseye. The stall owner did not look a bit amused, probably thinking that he could scam Rafayel enough money for a meal. Walking over to the banana boat plushie, the guy took it down and handed it to Rafayel over the counter. "Thanks." You smiled, hugging the plushie when he gave it to you.

"Where is my hug?" Rafayel looked betrayed, the signature pout of his surfacing. "I was the one who scored you Mr.Babana here." Yes, he called it Babana. Smiling, you went over to him, arms opened wide and you hugged him, your head settling right into his chest. He smelled of grapefruit and white wood, with a splash of peach as the base. You thought he only used one perfume for all types of events as he has voiced his dislike for strong smelling scents but you were clearly wrong. Musky smelling ones for when he attends interviews, fresh smelling ones for when he attends events, and sweet smelling ones are only reserved for his outings with you.

His chin was propped right above the top of your head, and he smells fresh shampoo. You nagging him about how sakura composites are good for the hair recently is enough for him to know what shampoo you are currently using. To Rafayel, you are not that hard to decipher. In fact, you may be one of the most uncomplicated character he had ever met in his life. Your genuine emotions and expressions a direct reflection to your conscience and that is exactly why he likes you.

"Thank you for the Mr.Babana." You chuckled, pulling away from the hug but his arms remained on your shoulder, he would have opted to hold your waist but he wanted to make sure that you would not be uncomfortable in this situation.

"My pleasure of course." He mimicked your smile and this time, the both of you took a step back from each other and then walked down the path together. The cobblestones beneath your shoe reflecting the lights from the parade, painting them in all sorts of colours that offers more variety than a rainbow. "Y/n, I have to travel abroad tomorrow to attend one of my exhibitions. So, I was wondering once I am back from my business trip, would you like to go out with me again?"

Him informing you about the business trip made you hesitant to answer him. Not because you did not want to go out on a date with him again. You just did not want to be alone. Not when you had just lost a friend to a wanderer. All of the smiles you had presented today are genuine, but deep down, you were worried your remorse would eat you up and ruin the whole date for today. The last thing you want is for Rafayel to be on the receiving end for your breakdowns.

"I am waiting for a yes." You jolted at how close he is to your face, you could practically feel his breath against your skin. He smirked, taking a step back to give you some breathing space, hands tucked into the pockets of his black jeans. The young man today adorned a fitted black tshirt with a pair of jeans, pairing over it is a jean jacket. Simple outfit but definitely looks amazing on him.

"Y...yeah, of course we can Rafayel." You looked down, nervously trying to calm your hyped heartbeats. With that, the date between you two came to an end, with Rafayel fetching you home safely and making sure you got into your home before he drove off.

┊ ┊ ┊ ˚✧

Rafayel had left for his business trip for the past two days. And for the past two days, it can only be described as hellish for you. Jerking yourself off of your bed, you sat straight, eyes widened as cold sweat trickled down the back of your neck. Yet another nightmare, the same one every night. With the sight of Tara laying on the traylike bed in the morgue, awaiting for you to identify her. She was as pale as the walls surrounding her, her body laid rigid, and her eyes closed. It almost seemed like she was asleep but you knew right then and there, she would not be able to open her eyes anymore.

She had a wound the size of a bullet in between her eyebrows. They called it a fatality spot as anything that is sharp enough to penetrate that area and passing the skull would be guaranteed an instant death. Just like what Tara had gone through. The wound however, according to autopsy, was inflicted by something biological, so bullets are out of the question and the only answer you could think of is the act of a berserk wanderer. You kept trying to blink, assuming that if you blinked hard enough, Tara would be able to rise again and everything would be back to how it was like. But, that's not the case most of the time.

Instead of accepting her death, you chose to deny it. Ironic, your identification process of Tara in the morgue is validated but you yourself chose to not accept the reality of her death. You even refused to go to her funeral the day after tomorrow, claiming to yourself that it would only make you hate yourself more than anything else. You were not there when it happened as you were sent onto another mission, a much tougher one that involves civillians. So, Tara was assigned this mission, just to deal with a bunch of wanderers. Or so you heard, but her wound says otherwise. Whatever wanderer she had been dealing with is certainly way beyond what she could handle.

The date between you and Rafayel took place the day after her funeral so the wounds of your grief still remained fresh. With that stated analogy, the first few days of your denial marks the start of your wounds, freshly cut opened, breaking off the surface of the skin barrier but still not deep enough to leave a scar. Now you are in phase two, where blood starts seeping through the wound as it has broken through the skin barrier, cutting deeper. This is where the nightmares become more and more revolting, more and more realistic that you have a hard time differentiating between your trance and reality.

You buried your face into Mr.Babana and you cried like there is no tomorrow. You had to get it out somehow, and the best way you could think of is to cry yourself to sleep again and pray hard so that you would not have a continuation of the nauseating nightmare. When you opened your eyes again, you were met with the warmth of the sunlight peeking in through your window. Sunlight in general, is known to promote energy boosting for one's body but right now, it only did the opposite for you.

Your phone rang, drowning out the sounds of your ugly cries. Shimmying towards you bedside, you held up your phone and you saw the contact name 'Your Favourite Fishie'. You specifically recalled that you had saved his name under Rafayel, but when did it got changed? Maybe it was during that time when he was playing on your phone while his was charging and he seized the opportunity to change his name into something so ridiculous like this. You sniffled, trying to calm your breathing the best possible and you answered the call. "Hello." You croaked out. Shit.

"Hey, y/n. Did I happen to wake you up?" His voice came through the other side of the call. He sounded borderline concern.

"No, you didn't don't worry. I woke up to use the washroom." You spoke, if he were to be in front of you right now, he would be nagging you to speak up but thank goodness your phone has a good microphone to pick up your small volume. "How is your exhibition going?"

"Boooring." You can tell he was rolling his eyes to the back of his head. "That's why I am already on my way back. I will arrive in probably half an hour. So would you like to have dinner with me tonight?"

Contemplating, you knew that if you were to meet him in 30 minutes, your puffy face would lead to a telltale sign that you had just cried. Then, you assumed that Rafayel would be disappointed with you. You see, Rafayel had never been the type to submit towards pressure, instead, he is a notorious rebel towards it. It is like he has something personal against stress. With your current status, you immediately felt like you are not worthy to be spending your time with him. Let alone having to have a huge crush on him. What makes you think that he would like you back if he found out about your current state of distress? He would definitely not want to deal with such an issue.

"Actually, today I am not free. I have stuffs to do." You gnawed onto your lip.

Pouting, the purple haired man crossed his legs nonchalantly, sitting himself comfortably in his luxurious car as Thomas drove it. "Like what stuffs?"

You panicked, eyes watery and you sniffled. "I have to go to the doctors. I am having a flu and I don't want to infect you."

Rafayel heard that sniffle of yours and he immediately replied. "Oh, alright. Then you rest well okay? There will always be some other day that I can bring you out for a nice dinner so you owe me that alright?"

"Yeah okay." And the call ended with him saying 'bye and take care'. Hanging up the phone, your lips quivered, chills ran down your spine as you started hesitating about whether you should still stay in contact with Rafayel. You could not possibly land him to be your boyfriend, where did the confidence come from? "I am just not worth it." Your cries then came back.

The next hour went by and you were laying in your bed the whole time, no will to move, no appetite, no will to even meet anyone. You just wanted to succumb to your loneliness, the sound of the fan is the only voice you can hear. The only company you have for now. You had just calmed down from your break down, your eyes full on puffy now and you are experiencing after-cries hiccups. Your mind had a constant voice, reminding you of just how useless you are not only at your job, but also your incapability to keep your emotions in check. Feeling overwhelmed, you curled into a ball and just allow the tears to flow.

The door to your room creaked open but it did not faze you. You were too caught up with the voices in your head but Rafayel's voice made you covered your ears. You are delusional now, great. Until a hand touched your shoulder then you snapped your head towards the source, met with purplish-blue eyes that were filled with utmost concern for you. "Hey, hey what happened?" He climbed onto your bed and sat right in front of you, his large hands cupping your small face, his thumb drew over your cheeks, dismissing your tears. "Why are you crying y/n? Did someone hurt you?"

Your silence marks the end of his questioning and he pulled you into his chest. His solid torso cushioning your head as he laid down with you in his arms, on top of him. "Shh, it's alright." Rafayel held you close to him. "I know things have been tough for you."

"We should stop meeting." Your desolating suggestion made him pulled back in shock, his eyes scanning your face for any smiles or hints of it being a joke but he did not find any at all. "I like you Rafayel, and I think this is not healthy for you."

"Who are you? The moral police? Who are you to determine what is healthy or not for me?" His eyebrows are furrowed in frustration. "Even if you want to push me away, you can't because I am in love with you y/n. I am so madly in love with you that I kept thinking about you everyday, everything that I see reminds me of you, every artwork that I inspect at the exhibition only related to you. So, you can't push me away, no matter how hard you try."

"But, whatever I am experiencing now, it makes me think I am not worth---" His finger silenced you, pressing it against your lips to ask you to shut up politely.

"Do not speak for me y/n. As much as I like to hear your voice, I do not want to hear such unflattering ideas from your pretty head okay?" He ran his hand down the sides of your cheek, his gaze loving. "I want you to know that, I will never let you cry alone, ever again. Do not worry about me being stressed out or anything about you not being able to be in control of your emotions. I am sure I can handle anything when it comes to you, for I had waited a long time for someone like you y/n. Annnnd I will not let something as simple as you going through a period of depression push me away. So, why don't you do me a favour and tell me what is going on in that pretty head of yours?"

His confession surely warmed your heart, with you staring at him in disbelief. You know he had always been showing signs of him being interested in you, but you never thought you would be able to catch sight of him being empathetic towards you. Your sobs came again, this time much more stronger and you leaned into him, spending the day telling him about everything that you had went through and ended up sleeping next to him. Rafayel propped himself up on his elbow and he watched your features, puffy and reddish but you did not lack your beauty amidst all of the chaos you have to go through. He leaned down to press a kiss to your lips, a promise to you that he would stay with you forever.

This is the end of this one-shot and sorry my lovelies, this will not be getting an extra episode or anything. It shall only be ending here :,)

P.S: These are part and parcel of my actual experiences, hence I do not downplay or look down on anyone who are struggling with mental illness. As I know it is very tough to get over it. The part where Rafayel had spoken to reader, where he would be by his side blah blah, was actually what my boyfriend told me when I was having a terrible panic attack. So please my girlies, do not settle for the bare minimum and lower your standards for a guy/gurl who could not be better for you. Because you all deserve happiness oki.

[simping-berry]

A Lover's Wrath

A/N: This a crackfic. While i was playing the archon quest this was half my mind. Also i have some fics in my drafts in the proof reading phase, probs will post it at the end of the week! (AKA i wasn't dead for months) Summary: You angy, may celestia save your lover and the others from your wrath. Warnings: 3.2 SPOILERS

You were pissed.

It took a lot of time to navigate the damn domain with its complex machinery yet it cannot stop your rage as you stomped closer to the source of your undying anger. 

“How DARE he?! How DARE he do this to you?! After all you’ve done for him!” Your thoughts repeat in your mind as the elevator ascends to, what you hope, is the last room to finally see your lover. 

Once the elevator stopped and the doors opened, you wasted no time and started marching towards the huge machine displayed in front of you. Any witness be damned, you weren't here for them! You were here for him and his cheating ass. 

Meanwhile the 3 people that were already in the room stopped their face off as they saw a new face marching forward towards them, with eyes filled with anger. Lumine and Nahida were baffled to find another person, with no vision, in such a dangerous place that is filled with fatui personnel. How did you even manage to come here?  

The robot’s faceplate opened to reveal a confused scaramouche inside. Why the fuck were you here? 

“Love? What are you-” “Don't you dare call me ‘love’ Kunikuzushi!” You snapped as you stopped in front of him, making scaramouche shocked on why you were angry at him. “Kunikuzushi, you cheating BASTARD!”

“y/n what are you talking about?” 

“I heard EVERYTHING, Kunikuzushi. You have the AUDACITY to call haypasia your ‘First Follower’. What am I then? A FUCKING display?” You shouted. Scaramouche was annoyed at first. This was his day to be reborn as a God. But he wouldn't let his normal attitude show in fear for the worst. Your face says it all. Anger. Hurt. betrayal. “y/n it’s not what it looks-” “Don't you even say ‘It’s not what it looks like’! I'm not BLIND kuni!” 

You turned to the side and marched towards the traveler, who was bewildered at the sight in front of her, alongside Nahida. You gripped the traveler's arm and looked him dead in the eye. “Take me to that face plate or you will be the one to face my wrath.” Aether knows not to fuck with an angry significant other so he tried to find a way. But you were growing more and more angry as the traveler desperately thinked of a solution. 

Scaramouche, while nervous, speaks up to at least get you out of the domain. “Y/n maybe we can talk about this when we get home” 

That was your snapping point. The both of you just started shouting at each other, or rather, you shouting and Scaramouche trying to calm you down and asking for forgiveness. 

Nahida can sense your overwhelming rage and genuinely fears what will happen to the balladeer even though he was the enemy at this moment. “Traveler, we should try and block them from reaching the balladeer.” Nahida suggested to which Aether agreed. 

“DON'T YOU TEST ME KUNIKUZUSHI I WILL BE THE ONE TO DEFEAT YOU THIS MOMENT! I WILL MUSOU NO HITOTACHI YOUR ASS AND GIVE YOU TO YOUR HAYPASIA” You shouted as you threw multiple weapons at him.

That was when Nahida and Aether quickly tried to calm you down as Scaramouche was removing all the wires that were restricting him to come to you and explain himself. While all this was happening, Dottore was struggling to keep his laughter silent. He shouldn’t be laughing because his experiment was being delayed but at the sight of 3 powerful beings trying to stop a tiny human was a once in a lifetime sight. In the end he just laughed his heart out, which didn't go unnoticed by your ears. You squashed all the hands that were restricting you and ran towards Dottore and pulled him close to your face.

“YOU TOO, DON'T THINK YOU’RE SAFE I WILL ALSO BEAT YOUR ASS”

Well, Dottore now understands the panic the other 3 had. Your rage was something else. You were a weak tiny human but your strength and determination was inhuman, at least only at that time because of your rage. Your grip in his collar grew tighter as he started fearing for the worst.

Aether and scaramouche has to pry you off from Dottore while you keep struggling and fighting anyone you eyes lands on. And that’s how the disaster of Sumeru was stopped. (And how everyone, including Dottore and Nahida, found out about the Balladeer’s feral lover)

In the end, Scaramouche explained himself and you calmed down. At Least now he knows to never play with you or he will genuinely fear for his life.

[the-fiction-witch]

Away

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Daemon Targaryen Couple - Daemon X Reader Reader - Y/n Targaryen (Niece, Viserys Second daughter with Aemma) Rating - Sweet Word Count - 1122

Y/n could barely believe the sights she was seeing, you'd think he had taken her to some magical realm not this dirty street in King's Landing. But Y/n had rarely been out of the red keep so this was a whole new world to her and she looked at it with wonder,

Daemon could sense her fascination. At this moment, she was a source of entertainment for him. His eyes drank it up. He wrapped her close under one arm, and guided her down the street, past the stalls and the drunks and the children shouting in pleasure and fear at the jugglers and tricksters and acrobats.

The young princess is beyond fascinated and she trusts her uncle likely more than she should, she stays within his grip giggling away with that wide innocent smile,

Daemon found her innocence adorable. She hadn't been corrupted by the capital or by the world yet, he squeezed her close by the shoulder. Your presence made him very comfortable and he began to speak, to bring up the matter he knew would upset her. "You know I won't be gone for long, sweetling." Then he kissed her head.

"but you always say that," she said almost childishly pouting as they walk, "you always say you won't be gone long and sometimes I don't see you for months, even years. And you only returned three months ago,"

Daemon smiled. 'She’s too cute.’ he thought, "That's true. But do you know why I was away for so long?" He asked.

"fighting a war..." She pouted,

"That's right, and what else?" He asked as he looked at her in the eye. "Wasn't I fighting to bring back the Targaryen legacy? Wasn't I trying to protect that in which our family has always believed? We Targaryen must never let anyone forget that we are superior to everyone else. Our blood runs in our veins with the blood of Old Valyria, of dragons."

"I know but... You were gone so long, you were away for three whole years. And you took all your men. Father just locked himself away with his new wife, rhaenyra of doing goodness knows what" she explained, "Everyone leaves me…” She sighed, “If you’re not here I'm always alone, locked away in my chambers, not even my king's guard protector will talk to me"

"I knew you were feeling sad for my absence, sweetling. How can I not feel love for a creature so gentle and beautiful like you?" Daemon kissed one of her cheeks and smiled, feeling guilty for keeping you alone. "Would you like to know about what I was doing in those three years?" He asked, knowing she wouldn't refuse.

"fighting I suppose," she chuckled a little,

Daemon chuckled seeing his little niece laugh. It was endearing to see her laugh that way. "Now I was fighting for Targaryen cause, just as you assumed. But it was more than just that. I was gathering supporters for your dear sister. No matter how the crown falls war is coming, other members of our family are merely too foolish to see it. I was preparing the ground for her rightful claim. I want the realm to recognize her claim above all others."

"a noble pursuit," she said slightly sadly,

"Does this sadden you, Sweetling?" he asked,

"I simply... Have no interest." She answered honestly as they walked through the streets, "My father is king, and in good health at least good enough to be attempting to sow more seeds with his new wife. You are off fighting wars and when in the city you are off leading the city watch into greatness. My sister preps for the throne as is her birthright. And as father has a son with his new bride it would be a fight between my sister and half-brother. I am... Irrelevant. A spare girl. In this world I am worthless and I have no doubt soon Father will sell me off to a noble house like Lannister or Baratheon for the sake of army numbers..."

Daemon listened intently Her words were wise and she was very mature. His protective instincts towards you kicked in full force as he heard her speak of this matter.

"You are not worthless, my sweetling. You have a dragon's blood in your veins. You are special. Your father can never sell you to a random Lord. You are a princess." he explained, "And besides, you are never worthless to me. You are my very special sweetling, you know that my little Y/n." He gave her a quick squeeze and a kiss on the cheek.

"I know, but I worry Is all. One day you'll go away again and... Perhaps it'll be years before I see you again. Father will ship me to casterly rock, or storms end, or winter fell and I'll be away from everyone alone without any company at all....forced to... Squeeze out heirs of potential dragon blood,"

Daemon frowned. He hated the thought of her being shipped off to marry a boring lord who would just use her for their blood and nothing else. He felt jealous just by the thought of it. His eyes narrowed. "I won't allow that to happen, you know that." He said, his voice soft but with an edge to it, and he kept his voice so low that no one else could hear he took her by the arm and met her eyes with his,

"Father will wait till you go away again... Then he'll ship me off. No one but you would try and stop him"

"Don't worry. I promise that I won't allow your father to just marry you off like that. I would rather take to the sky on caraxes and burn the red keep to the ground than have you sent away to be some lord's babymaker." He chuckled, but he meant it. "You are far too precious for just marrying off somewhere. You are dragon blood. Valyiran blood. Targaryen.” He held her even closer, squeezing her close to his chest. "I will always come back to you and I will never let anybody hurt you or force you into something you don't want to do. Your father may be your King but I am your uncle, and I won't let anybody hurt my sweetling."

she squeezed him back even if it was clear she was frightened she knew her father had already been taking letters about betrothing her,

He found it heart-warming that she was so worried. It saddened him deeply and he felt a burning sensation in his blood, a fire boiling at the thought of her being used like a prize breeding mare and nothing more. "I know you have heard rumours about who your father wants to marry you off to but trust me, it won't happen. Not while I am here."

Part Two out now

[potassiumivy]

PLAYBOY. | jjk

❥ mdni. fic masterlist.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 005: POLARIS.

✞ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐁𝐎𝐘✞

YUUJI'S HEART WAS RACING on the way back to the dorms. everything happened way too fast back at the restaurant. right now, the five of you were cramped up in a crowded bus after bidding goodbye to the nice waitress.

"want me to sign your copy?"

the sentence was on repeat in his head, the events unfolding with meticulous detailing over and over again. not that he'll ever complain about it.

he could still feel the way your lips faintly brushed against his to ask the big question before nobara pulled you back from your tracksuit's hood, asking you to sign her arm instead. 

for the rest of the night he was stuck in a daze, looking absently at you commanding nobara to open her uniform's top buttons so you can sign your name on her tits as a better alternative.

he felt so confused. when he had met you earlier in the day, he thought your were dating fushiguro by the way you were openly showering him with affection. 

yuuji was still deep in thought when the bus stopped abruptly at their station.

"move it, loser." nobara called out, pulling him back to reality. "you're blocking the way," she sighed, shoving him aside before rudely pushing everyone else out of the way to get to the door.

yuuji's startled expression turned into a saddened one as you all made your way to the foot of the mountain. he chose to stay behind, silently observing your side profile when you talked to nobara in the front.

he wasn't insecure, but nobara's words earlier during their first mission made him a little self-conscious about his appearance. it was childish, it really was, and it didn't get to him back then. however, now that he was clearly thinking about it, maybe he really wasn't all that. he couldn't figure out your relationship with his classmate and the whole execution thing was slowly getting to him too. it was exhausting.

"a penny for your thoughts?" he looked up at the source of voice, seeing gojo walking by his side.  his head was slightly tilted to the side, his thumb curled under his blindfold. 

"thinking 'bout y/n?" at megumi's voice, yuuji's head turned back to the front, watching as his classmate had purposely slowed down his steps to listen to the their conversation. 

"yeah. yeah, i am." gojo wasn't surprised by yuuji's bluntness, but his heart dropped a little at the answer. he couldn't understand why since he had already anticipated this exact scenario.

megumi's silence encouraged him to explain more. "i was just— i don't know. i'm sorry. i figured you two might be together, so i'll back off. i just wanted to tell you the truth."

"we're not." yuuji's heart skipped a beat at the unexpected answer.

"huh?"

"we're not together." megumi confirmed again. "she's just... affectionate. i'm surprised you still believed we dated after the playboy thing." knowing that you weren't in a relationship reassured yuuji a little. he bit his lip to suppress a smile.

"can i make a move then?"nobara's comments clearly didn't matter anymore. maybe they never did to start with.

"so soon?" this time, it was gojo who interrupted. the said man didn't know why it stung. he tried to play it off as him meddling in his student's love life, but he knew he was lying to himself. he just prayed that megumi didn't find out anything. 

"yeah," yuuji immediately answered, "i don't know when i'll die, so might as well take every opportunity." 

he looked at the sky, spotting the pole star, polaris. he smiled softly. "though, it's a bit cruel that i met the person i grew feelings for the day after knowing i'll get executed."

he turned to gojo, and added, "i know that it's too soon, but it feels so right. it might just be love at first sight."

"love? didn't take you for a romantic." gojo mused. 

"well, i didn't fall in love with her yet, but i know that i will, you know what i mean? sensei?" he was desperately trying to get his point across. he wanted to illustrate the emotions he felt.

yuuji has a beautiful way with words. 

so beautiful that gojo felt it too.

"do whatever you want," megumi strarted, "but i have to tell you; she doesn't commit."

the warning didn't faze yuuji at all, he only smiled brighter.

"that's good."

he looked up at polaris again, before adverting his eyes to you. "i wouldn't want her to get too attached."

his eyes were too loving.

too loving for someone who knew the other for less than a day. 

*✧･ﾟ:    *✧･ﾟ:    *✧･ﾟ:    *✧･ﾟ:

✞ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐁𝐎𝐘✞

*✧･ﾟ:    *✧･ﾟ:    *✧･ﾟ:    *✧･ﾟ:

"c'mon pretty, don't pout like that." the man chuckled, wiping away your tears with his left hand. his right hand was slowly rubbing circles on your puffy clit, edging you for what felt like hours.

"kin—m'sorry. i'm sorry, kin, i swear i just forgot." you hiccuped and hakari almost felt bad for you. almost.

"awww, did you really?" he asked, putting a little more pressure.

you gasped, arching your back against his chest, and he stopped moving his hand completely. 

you sobbed out of frustration, before feeling the other end of the sofa shift slightly. turning towards the newcomer, you looked at them through your teary eyes and blurry vision, your hand reaching out to them, "kirara, please, tell him."

kirara watched in amusement, eyes glinting dangerously, calculating every twitch of your body. "don't be so hard on her, kin-chan." they motioned  for you to get closer, "let me show you how to treat such a pretty girl."

you crawled towards kirara, sitting on their lap. they fondled your tits, squeezing them slightly, before kissing them all over, all while their free hand found your entrance, slowly circling it before pushing in and out over and over again. 

you weren't really a moaner, just cute little gasps here and there, little kiraras and thank yous filling the air of the cold monitor room. "now, promise me you won't do that again." kirara spoke between kisses.

"i promise, i swear!" you cried out. "kin," you called out for hakari, "i swear i won't do it again." feeling him kiss your neck all over was enough insurance that he forgave you, and you turned your head slightly to kiss his lips.

kirara hit that sweet spot inside, and you came in no time, moaning softly in hakari's mouth. he kissed you one last time before sitting back, manspreading on the couch. 

he pulled you towards him, looking down at you. "why did you contact the sorcerers again?"

"i didn't. gojo called me."

"and? what did he say?"

"he told us to come back tomorrow. he made some negotiations with the higher-ups."

he scoffed at the news. "took him long enough, huh?"

kirara came closer to you two, laying their head on your shoulder, "why'd you go meet him today then? if we're going back tomorrow."

"he wanted to show me the two new first-years." you were fiddling with your necklace, the same one gojo gifted you. the same one on the playboy.

"he could've done that tomorrow too, no?"

"i think it's because one of them is sukuna's vessel." you voiced out. 

"makes sense." kirara said in boredom, swinging their legs.

a comfortable silence surrounded the three of you. 

"wait— wait, hold up. sukuna's vessel?"

✞ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐁𝐎𝐘✞

next!!

©potassiumivy, 2024. all rights reserved. do not translate / modify / republish my works.

[deedeeznoots]

Let’s Go to Malaysia, Yeah?

➺ Characters: Nanami Kento, Fem!Reader 

➺ Word count: 2.7k

➺ Genre: Smut, Fluff, Angst 

➺ Content: It’s smut so MDNI!! Specifically: Slight voyeurism (there’s no people around but you’re both outside), Oral (reader receiving), PiV, Creampie, Use of the word “wife” a lot, angst at the end because I don’t believe in happiness

➺ A/N: I thought about this on a random Thursday night at 1 AM and couldn’t rest until I wrote it into existence. 

➺ Synopsis: You and your husband Kento Nanami go on a beach trip in Malaysia and have some fun in more ways than one~

The sound of chirping birds and ocean waves wake you up from your slumber. Still groggy, you instinctively reach for Nanami, but the bed comes out empty. Rubbing your eyes, your vision lands on the open windows, the sun slightly blinding you from the view. Though it would be nearly impossible to miss completely, the bright yellow sand standing in contrast to the deep blue ocean was a sight to see. Turns out, renting a small house by the beach in Malaysia was an amazing idea, something your husband came up with. Speaking of…where was he?  

Hearing some commotion from outside the bedroom, you put on your robe and leave to follow the source. There, you find your beautiful husband making breakfast in the kitchen. Shirtless, the morning sun reflects off his back as he cuts up fruit. God he looked good, you thought. 

Moving quietly, you swiftly hugged him from behind. He jumps up a little in shock before going “Good morning, darling”.

You giggle at his reaction and simply go “Hi Kento...” and leave small kisses on his back as he continues cutting fruit. Eventually, he drops the knife and turns around, looking you straight in the eyes.

 “…yes?” You question jokingly. He doesn’t say anything, only giving you a small kiss on your lips. You had other plans though, and grabbed a hold at the back of his neck, deepening the kiss. Nanami groans in response, but doesn’t protest, lifting you up and placing you on top of the counter. As he slowly grinds himself between your legs, you joke “it’s so early…”. Your husband simply laughs and says “it’s never too early for my wife…”. As your tongues continue to intertwine, you begin to remove his pants when—

Ding

The toaster. The sound snaps Nanami out of what he was doing and he begins to remember his original plans for the kitchen. Lifting you up again, this time to help bring you back down to the floor, he tells you “Let’s not waste breakfast” with a laugh. 

Somewhat disappointed, you comply anyway as you were a little hungry and Nanami did work hard to prepare it for you two. Sitting on the table, Nanami puts down a plate of toast and syrup with a side of fruit. You weren’t sure if it was because it was made by someone you loved, but it was possibly the most delicious meal you ever had. The bread was perfectly toasted, with the syrup acting in perfect juxtaposition to the crunchy exterior of the toast. The fruit was no joke either, perfectly cut into symmetrical shapes and acting as the perfect side to your meal. God, it was amazing. Your husband was amazing. 

“…Baby are you listening?” Nanami’s voice snaps you out of your daydreams. “Huh…?” You ask, staring at him blankly. Shaking your head, you go “Oh… I’m sorry honey haha I was too focused on this amazing breakfast”, your voice slightly muffled from the food in your mouth. Your husband just laughs and goes “I was just asking if you wanted me to bring anything while we go on our walk”. 

“Oh! Let’s bring the chairs so we can watch the ocean for a bit” you say, excited. Nanami nods and you two continue making small talk over breakfast regarding your plans for the day, enjoying each other’s presence along with the beach view through the large window in the living room. 

“Man, that was a good breakfast! Thank you so much for that… you’re getting really good at making bread by the way” you say as the both of you walk around the beach. “Thank you, anything for my wife” Nanami chuckles, of course. Your husband always told you he’d give you the world, and you believe him. Why wouldn’t you? He shows you every day, and this day was certainly no exception. 

The sand is hot against your feet as you and your partner find a place to set your chairs. Looking around, you point to an empty spot close to the ocean “what about there?” you ask. Nanami just nods and takes your hand to walk you both to the spot. You set both your chairs down as Nanami puts up the umbrella for both of you. He also offers to help you put on your sunscreen. 

“Sure! Let me just go get it” you respond. 

It started out innocent enough. You feel the slight cool of the sunscreen as your husband rubs the cream onto your skin. He started with your arms, being oh so diligent to make sure your skin was fully protected. He started again with your back, once again not missing a single spot. Once he got to your shoulders, however… that was a different story. Something about it felt more…sensual, and both of you felt the change in mood. 

While rubbing the sunscreen on your shoulders, Nanami decided to begin kissing your neck. The warm kisses sent a cold shiver down your spine and you jumped up. “H-h-hey! What are you doing?” you ask, shocked. Your dutiful husband simply hums into your neck and continues kissing your most sensitive spots. Once the initial shock smoothed over, you got more into it. Leaning into his soft kisses and letting out soft moans as he continuously abused your neck. Not too much though, you were in public after all. 

Well…kind of. See, one of the main draws of picking this specific spot to go to was because of how far it was from the public area. There was  likely no people for miles, making it the perfect spot for you and your introverted lover to do all kinds of fun (in lots of different ways, of course). Still, anyone could theoretically walk to this side of the beach with no issue, but why would they? There was clearly nothing to see here. 

Except I guess…a man in between his wife’s legs eating her out like she’s his last meal. “K-Kento! We’re in public!” you yelp out in between (now much louder) moans. “Shhh… it’s okay” he shushes, the vibrations of which are felt on your pussy, causing you to moan louder. “N-ngh, God— don’t stop!” you moan out, which simply makes your lover laugh. Pulling away, with only a string of his saliva working to connect the two of you, he goes “Careful honey, we are in public, remember?”. Frustrated, you grab him by his hair and lightly push him back between your legs. You were careful not to actually hurt him, of course, and you thankfully didn’t receive any complaints from him, as he simply goes back to looking up at you while sucking on your clit, at the corner of your eye, you can see the sunscreen, now carelessly tossed to the side.

Right. This started with sunscreen. What happened with that? 

Right… after finishing lathering your shoulders he began getting to work on your legs. You were still lightheaded from having his lips on your neck, so you didn’t pay much attention while he continued rubbing the lotion on you. At one point though, he suddenly stopped. Confused, you’re about to ask him what’s wrong when he hushes you with a soft kiss. You comply, and are so zoned out that you don’t even notice Nanami beginning to remove the bottom half of the bathing suit you put on. “…May I?” he asks for your permission with his soft voice. Unable to deny him in the state you’re in, you nod. From there, he began kissing down your body. From your shoulders, to your breasts, to your stomach until finally, he made it there. 

Which leads you back to the predicament you’re in now: where you’re a moaning mess as your husband makes out with your pussy. Like always, Nanami is diligent. Making sure to catch all your sweet spots and to pay extra mind to your clit. He worked slowly, but don’t worry, he was definitely getting the job done. “P-p-please…I’m close, I’m so close please Kento please”, you spit out through incoherent moans. Nanami doesn’t say anything, he simply flattens his tongue against your clit as your orgasm continues to build up. When you finally get there after a few seconds of riding Nanami’s tongue, you’re only able to see white for a while. Breathing heavily, your legs begin to tremble as you zone out, staring wide-eyed into space.

Nanami is seemingly unfazed, however, as he simply pulls your swimsuit back up and gives you a chaste kiss on the lips, allowing you to taste a bit of yourself. He holds your hand tight and says “Let’s rest for a bit and then let’s go swim, ok?” He smiles innocently, as if he didn’t just give you the best orgasm of your life just a minute before. Slowly snapping back into reality, you kiss your husband’s hand and go “o-ok…”, still out of breath from what just occurred. Nanami let you take your time to cool down, showering you in affirmations of how beautiful you were and how he was sorry but  simply couldn’t resist you.

Eventually, you’re able to calm down enough to make your way to the ocean. Your legs still wobbly, you’re the perfect target for splashing. The cold water hitting your skin as your lover cruelly splashes water on you “Kentoooo…stop it! Haha!” You laugh as you splash him back, getting his hair wet. Getting serious for a second, he simply mutters “You’ll pay for that, darling”, before swiftly picking you up and spinning you around. Letting out a goofy scream, you go “Baby wait— you’re gonna drop me! Haha!”. To your surprise, he actually does drop you in the water. You were fine with this, as this gave you leverage to grab onto his leg and pull him down with you. Letting out a yelp, he lets out a hearty laugh as he falls into the water with a splash. “I win! Jerk!” you say in between laughs. 

Though, he  simply goes quiet and looks deep in your eyes. He lightly grabs your face and gives you a deep kiss. Pulling away, he whispers a soft “I love you”. Flushed, you’re about to say you love him back when you feel another cold splash against your face right and your husband’s laughter “…but you’re so cute when you’re mad!” He exclaims, standing up. “Hey! No fair! We were supposed to have a sweet moment!” You yell out as you climb up his back, forcing him to give you a piggyback ride. One he complies to, of course. 

After having your fun, the both of you dry yourselves off outside before going back to your small vacation home. “I’m going to catch up on some reading darling, there’s some books I really need to finish”, Nanami tells you as he starts to enter the room. “Alright, I’m just gonna take a shower and then I’ll join you” you respond. He nods as he closes the door behind him. You had other plans, of course.

You were going to join him.  

Though…it wasn’t going to be for reading. You still had to pay him back for his stunt at the beach, after all…

After your short shower, you enter the shared bedroom of you and Nanami. There was nothing out of the ordinary, except for the fact that you were wearing nothing but a towel. 

“Darling…” your husband looks up, taking off his glasses. “Aren’t you going to put some clothes on?” He asks, but you could feel it in his voice, he was getting riled up. You got him right where you wanted him. 

“Hmmm…I don’t know darling,” you say, teasing him “I think I like things exactly like this”, as you finish your sentence, you drop your towel, showing off your naked body to Nanami. You climb on top of him and sit on his lap. He was hard. Why wouldn’t he be? His gorgeous wife was sitting naked on top of him. He simply smiled as you brought your face closer to his, your lips nearly touching. “While I appreciate the sentiment darling…” Nanami grabs your wrists as he flips you over on the bed “…it seems you forgot who’s in charge here”. He now stood on top of you, his large frame hovering above you as he brought himself closer to kiss you. Finally, your lips touch and the both of you get to work removing all of Nanami’s pesky clothes. You were thankfully already taken care of, so things were much easier. 

Finally fully naked, Nanami lines himself up against you “I’m sorry baby…” he starts, “I know we usually do foreplay first but I need to be inside of you right now”. His dick is in perfect alignment with your pussy, where even through the smallest movement by you, you could have him inside. You’re just as desperate for him as he is for you, so you just nod and go “it’s okay… I’m already wet enough for you, see?” you say as you dip your fingers into your pussy before pulling out, showing Nanami proof of your arousal. He simply exhales a sigh of relief as he begins to enter you. Starting slowly, as to not hurt you, he starts with shallow thrusts until he’s all the way in. 

Finally inside, he picks up the pace, looking you in the eyes the whole time. “God— you’re gorgeous you know?” he says in between thrusts, though you’re too fucked out on his cock to be able to pay much attention. You simply moan as you’re forced to take his dick over and over again. This makes him stop, and he looks at you. Before you can ask him why, he goes “Say it, darling”. “Say wha—“ you are cut off, “Say you’re gorgeous”. 

“That—that’s so embarrassing Kento…” you reply. It did make you feel a bit shy to say affirmations with a dick inside of you, but Nanami didn’t budge, he simply kept looking at you until you said the words. “Okay…I’m gorgeous, the only one for you” you smile, it did feel good to say, but Nanami’s thick cock thrusting in and out of you right after you said it probably helped in that regard. 

You began to feel the pit in your stomach grow, and you knew exactly what it meant “K…Kento… I’m gonna cum…” you moan out. Nanami softly kisses your wrists in response and says “yeah…me too darling, let’s finish together, yeah?”. 

You both do just that, moans and grunts filling the room as you both reach your high. “I love you baby… I love you so much” Nanami moans out as he kisses you through your orgasms. 

After you’ve both calmed down, Nanami pulls out and lays next to you. “Come here, darling~” he coos, pulling you towards him for cuddles. “I meant it you know, when I said you were gorgeous…you should say it to yourself more often” he whispers in your ear. You simply smile and give him a kiss on the cheek “Yeah…I’ll make sure to try. I love you baby…” your eyes meet his, and it’s almost like you can see the whole world through only his eyes. He gives you a deep kiss and as he caresses you to sleep he goes “I love you too, my beautiful wife”. 

You groggily wake up to the walls of your room, a very different sight to the vacation home you were just in. It’s dark, with no windows open, and if you opened them, you likely wouldn’t be greeted to the soft waves of the ocean. What just happened? You think. Was I dreaming?

You instinctively reach for your husband’s side of the bed. It’s empty, of course. Still groggy and with possibly the worst headache of your life, you get up and make your way to the kitchen. 

You make your own breakfast. A sad combination of stale cereal and milk.

It’s the reality of course, but one you’re still unable to accept. In this reality, there is no beach view, there is no cold ocean to splash in, there are no birds to wake you up, and most importantly there is no Nanami. 

What is there though…are two tickets to Malaysia. Looking at them, the dates stand there bold, almost as if to mock you… spelling out the day you’ll forever hate the most. 

NOV. 1ST, 2018

Yeah…that’s right.

You two were never able to make it to that trip, were you?

-

A/N: Like Nanami? He’s also mentioned in this fic!

[mybutcheredtongue]

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around my Gravestone is Deceased

post azkaban sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (see full series list here)

1994

A few weeks after the school term ends, you stand on a deserted street at night, looking up at the line of buildings and homes in front of you.

That's where Dumbledore told you to go to number 12...but it's not here? You're in Grimmauld Place, and in front of you is Number 11 and Number 13, with no 12 in the middle?

You squint up at the buildings ahead, sighing in frustration. If this is some sort of trick, like you have to solve a riddle every time you want to enter the Order of the Phoenix headquarters you're going to be livid.

Number 12, Grimmauld Place.

A battered door emerges out of nowhere between 11 and 13, followed swiftly by dark walls and grimy windows. You gape up at the building that's just magically appeared before you, breathing out in surprise, and then you walk up to the door and, as Dumbledore instructed you to do, tap it with your wand.

There's a click, and you warily push the door open, stepping into a dimly lit hallway and shutting the door behind you. It smells old and damp, like a derelict building. Beside you, the wallpaper peels off the walls and beneath your feet is a threadbare carpet. Painted portraits, blackened with age, line the walls.

You glance down at Dubh's crate, the handle held tightly in your fingers, and then walk down the hallway towards a door at the end. On the wall, there's shabby curtains stretching across a large space — there must be a door behind it.

"Hello?" You call, your voice echoing. "Is anybody — "

"Filth! Half-blood! I can smell it on you!"

You whip your head around to the source of this vile, ear-splitting screeching, finding the curtains you had spotted now open, except instead of there being a door behind it, you're met with a life-sized portrait of an old woman, her face red with fury as she continues to scream at you.

"Scum! How dare you set foot in this noble house, tarnish it with your foul blood — "

Dubh hisses from her crate and your ears ring with the incessant shrieking of the portrait, looking around for a solution when the door to your left suddenly bursts open, and Sirius emerges.

"Shut it, you hag, that's my wife!" he barks, seizing the end of the curtains and pulling it with all his might.

"YOOUU!" the woman howls, eyes wide at the sight of him. "Blood traitor, shame of my flesh, abomination, besmirching my blood line with such filth — "

You grab onto the ends of the curtains and with immense effort, the two of you manage to close the curtains over the screaming woman and a silence falls.

Panting slightly, Sirius sweeps his long hair out of his eyes and looks at you. "Well, I suppose you had to meet your mother-in-law eventually."

Your mouth drops and you stare back at him, a surprised laugh leaving your mouth. "You can't be serious."

He raises his eyebrows, smirking. "Actually, that's exactly who I am — "

You give his arm a soft thump, rolling your eyes. "So funny. Remind me why you didn't go into comedy?"

"Oh, because a woman forced me into marriage and I could not pursue my true comedic dreams."

He pushes open the door he came out of and, gathering your bags and Dubh's crate, you follow him down a flight of stairs and into a large basement kitchen, complete with a blazing fire in the corner and a dusty long table in the middle.

You whistle, placing your things on the table and dusting your hands off on your trousers. When Sirius turns to face you, you grab the collar of his shirt and bring his lips crashing onto yours, kissing him deeply.

After a few moments you pull away, smirking. "Still think I forced you into marriage?"

Sirius blinks, looking back at you, dumbfounded, before laughing. "Definitely not."

You glance around the room, taking in your surroundings. "So...are we going to talk about the portrait of your crazy mother or..."

He sighs, shrugging. "Welcome to my parents' house — the house I grew up in. It's just horrible, isn't it?"

He's not entirely wrong. The house is cold and dark, foreboding and lacking the warmth a home should have.

"Well, it's not very homely, anyway..." you say. "It's screaming pure-blood."

Sirius winces, tracing his fingers over the detailings on an ornate cabinet pushed against the wall. "Yes, but...I'm the last Black left, so it's mine now. I offered it to Dumbledore for headquarters — it's about the only useful thing I've been able to do."

"At least we can be together again," you say softly, offering him a smile. He looks back at you, and then returns it.

"Yes." He places his hands on your hips, drawing you closer, smiling wickedly at you. "I am definitely not complaining about that."

He kisses you fiercely, clashing together in a frenzy of passion and he slowly backs you up until you hit the table, scooping you up and placing you sitting on its surface with ease, lips still locked together. It's everything — it says everything —

"It's been too fucking long," he breathes lowly, trailing a line of kisses along your jaw, then onto your neck. He's right, it has been too long. It's not long before his mouth hits a particularly sensitive spot of your neck and your breath hitches in your throat. You feel his smug smile against your skin.

"Some things never change."

You can't resist the urge to roll your eyes, moaning softly as his strong hands slide under your shirt and run along your sides, gently caressing your skin.

"Oh, shut up."

His hands continue their wandering and his lips find yours again, tangling together as he begins to unbutton your shirt, nimble fingers loosening the top button, then the next, then the next —

Crack!

You jump at the loud noise, and Sirius breaks apart from you to look to the source of the sound — a very old house-elf that's just apparated inside the room with a feather duster in his wrinkly hands.

Your eyes widen and you instantly pull your shirt closed, buttoning back up what Sirius had undone as he straightens up to fix the creature with an angry glare.

"Kreacher! What do you think you're doing?"

So this is Kreacher. Sirius had told you about this particular elf, whose unwavering loyalty to Walburga Black had made Sirius' home life even more unbearable.

Kreacher looks up, fixing his bloodshot eyes on you, and his large nose wrinkles. "I was not aware Master had a guest." Then, head bowed, he mutters very clearly, "What would my Mistres say, allowing such filth into her home..."

Sirius clicks his tongue agitatedly. "You were not aware, really? Did my mother's incessant shrieking not alert you?"

"I had assumed Master was distressing her again," Kreacher croaks, making no effort to hide his disdain for Sirius.

"Hello, Kreacher," you say, and then you tell him your name, making sure to emphasise the Black sitting on the end of it.

Kreacher's eyes go wide and he looks at you in shock, before his face twists in disgust. "Black, she says, yet she is no Black I know..."

"This is my wife, Kreacher, and you will treat her as you would any member of my family," Sirius says sternly.

Kreacher scowls at him, his hatred for him evident, before he reluctantly bows to you. "Mistress."

A little taken aback and slightly dazed, you give him a confused nod. "Kreacher."

He shuffles out of the room, exiting through the stairway door and shutting it behind him. Sirius drops his head onto your shoulder, groaning.

"He ruins everything," he says, voice muffled against your clothes. "He did that out of spite, I know it..."

You chuckle, patting his back. "I'm sure he did, hon. Now, aren't you going to show me around?"

Sirius pulls away from your shoulder to raise his eyebrows at you. "Well, I had other plans — "

"Those plans can wait," you say with a knowing smile, kissing his cheek. "I'm not too keen on Kreacher walking in on us again."

Sirius pokes his cheek with his tongue. "It could send him a much-needed message..." he sighs, taking your hands in his and helping you jump off the table, smoothing down your shirt. "Alright, I'll give you a quick tour. Word of warning, though — it's not pretty."

"Wasn't expecting it to be."

You leave the kitchen together and, as quietly as possible, sneak past Mrs Black's portrait in the hall and start to make your way up the stairs. It's dark and gloomy, but Sirius' warm hand in yours pulls you forward through the damp and dust, stopping at a door in the hallway.

"Dining room," he whispers. Then he points to another door opposite. "Study."

Opening the door to the dining room, you're met with the distinct smell of dust and mould permeating the air around you. A long dining table sits in the middle of the room, a fancy glass chandelier hanging over it and an embellished candelabra set upon the middle of the table. Pushed against the opposite wall is a tall wooden cabinet, housing items of fine china. Walking over to it curiously and peering closer, you see the plates, cups, and saucers all bear an identical crest.

"Black family crest," Sirius explains, an edge of bitterness to his voice. "It's on everything."

You drag your finger across the dining table, a long line of dust coating it when you remove it. You study it for a moment. "Has Kreacher really been here since your parents died?"

Sirius nods.

"Doesn't look like it," you say. "The place is practically untouched."

The study is equally as dusty and silent, untouched books lining the bookshelves, the only light in the room coming from your wand, held high to illuminate the room.

Retaking your hand, he pulls you upstairs, passing by a string of detached house-elf heads, stopping at the landing where three doors stand opposite.

He points to each one in turn. "Drawing room, guest bedroom, bathroom."

You follow him to the drawing room as he pushes the flaking wood door open, taking in the destitute room before you. A grand piano sits unplayed in the corner, while two antique settees stand opposite each other in front of a fireplace. A grandfather clock ticks quietly.

You run your finger along the piano keys, the ivories squeaking after so long without use. Covering the entirety of the wall behind it is a large tapestry that catches your eye. Golden thread depicts a sprawling family tree with the names of family members scrawled beneath each head, and written at the top of the tapestry in large gold letters, are the words:

The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Toujours Pur

"Ah, the family tree," Sirius says, joining you beside the tapestry. He scans the bottom of it, pointing. "There's my mother and father, and there's Regulus..."

A sad look passes Sirius' face momentarily, but he shakes it away to point at what looks like a burn mark in the fabric, blotting out a member. "My mother must have blasted me off after I ran away, no doubt." He bends closer to the tapestry, raising his eyebrows. "I haven't looked at this in years...look, there's Phineas Nigellus, my great-great-grandfather. Least popular headmaster Hogwarts ever had...and Araminta Meliflua...cousin of my mother's...tried to force through a Ministry Bill to make Muggle-hunting legal...and dear Aunt Elladora...she started the family tradition of beheading house-elves when they got too old to carry tea trays...of course, anytime the family produced someone halfway decent they were disowned."

"Sounds lovely," you remark sourly, running your hand along the fabric. "Oh, Bellatrix and Narcissa..."

Sirius follows your hand to where Bellatrix and Narcissa Black sit on either side of another burn patch. Sirius nods thoughtfully. "That's where Andromeda would have been, Tonks's mother, but she married a Muggle-born."

He straightens back up, looking around the room grimly. "When I ran away, I didn't think I'd ever have to step foot inside this blasted place ever again. Said I'd rather see the house burn to ash before I'd return to it. Well, now look at me..."

You gently take his hand. "I know. Ideally, headquarters would be anywhere else, but...just think of this as an opportunity, Sirius. We can turn this place into a real home, make it feel real and warm. I mean, this drawing room could be beautiful!"

You gesture to the room around you, smiling at him. "We can clean it, change the wallpaper, tune the piano, take down the tapestry...I think it could be really nice."

Sirius looks at you for a moment, smiling affectionately. "It surprises me how optimistic you can be."

You shrug, leaving the drawing room and stepping into the hall once more. "I think we've seen enough hardship to let a dusty old house get the better of us, don't you think?"

He kisses his teeth. "I should let you know that my mother put a permanent sticking charm on that tapestry, by the way — she also put one on her own portrait," he tells you and you groan. "Until I find a way to remove them, I don't think they're going anywhere."

You sigh. "Of course she did."

Sirius directs you through the rest of the house, showing you the many bedrooms and even the master bedroom, where Buckbeak is sleeping soundly.

"Hello, Buckbeak," you say sweetly, stroking his soft feathers once he wakes. "Good to see you again."

Finally, you reach the final floor. Looking to your right, you see a bedroom door with a sign on it reading: Do not enter without the express permission of Regulus Arcturus Black.

You can't help but chuckle, pointing at it and reading it aloud.

"Yes, Regulus was always very picky about who went into his room..." Sirius says, shaking his head. He tugs your arm and you look away from the door, instead facing another one. There's a nameplate on the door saying Sirius.

He pushes open the door, revealing a spacious bedroom. Stepping inside, you take in the incredible amount of Gryffindor banners, posters and such. In the middle of the room is a large bed, and you let out a small laugh at the pictures of motorcycles and Muggle women in bikinis on the wall.

You point to one such picture, smiling teasingly at him. "Should I feel threatened?"

Sirius chuckles, shaking his head. "They don't hold a candle to you, love...but they'll also have to stay because fifteen-year-old Sirius put a permanent sticking charm on them."

"Anything to piss off your parents, huh?" You say, glancing around at the decor — everything that his purist parents would hate. You spot two polaroid photos stuck to the wall and feel your heart warm.

The first is of the four marauders themselves: Sirius stands in the middle with James, their arms around each other and draped over Remus and Peter. They can't be much older than fourteen, young and rosy-cheeked.

"Aw..." you coo, smiling. "You were such babies."

Sirius joins you at the photo, peering closer before he gasps in disgust. "Did my hair really look that bad? I remember it looking far cooler..."

You giggle, eyes passing over the boys' youthful faces. They look so happy.

The second photo is of you and him, lying in the snow together, laughing. Your eyes light up in recognition. "I remember this photo...Bitsy took it! I can't believe you put this up..."

"Well, I did quite fancy you, believe it or not." Sirius smiles lovingly, tapping the photo. "I remember Bitsy taking that. Right after I annihilated you in a snowball fight."

You scoff, turning to him. "Don't lie, I destroyed you in that fight. You were no match for me."

"I seem to remember differently..." he hums, grinning at you.

"Then you remember wrong."

Sirius laughs, pulling you into him and kissing you. "Enough arguing." He leads you towards his bed, gently pushing you down onto the mattress before him. "I recall us having some pressing plans to get on with..."

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

You awake the next morning feeling blissfully content. You think you've just gotten the best sleep of your life. Cracks of sunlight stream in through the slivers of window that aren't covered by curtains. You can hear the gentle rhythm of Sirius' heartbeat thrumming beneath your head as you lie on his chest, his own rising and falling steadily in his sleep. You move your head ever so slightly to look at him.

His face is blissfully peaceful, all tension gone from his features. His dark curls fall across his forehead, tickling his cheeks and jaw. You smile lovingly, feeling your heart warm with affection and happiness. You gently trace the outline of one of the tattoos on his arm — a small lion, for Gryffindor. It's the first tattoo he ever got, when he was around sixteen. Just to anger his parents. It had made you like him even more growing up.

He stirs, eyelids slowly fluttering open and gazing at you through his eyelashes, smiling softly.

"Morning," you whisper.

"Good morning." His voice is low and raspy with sleep. He shifts slightly, lazily drawing shapes across your arm with his hand. "I think that might be the first time I've properly slept since my capture."

You smile. "Me too. I can't explain how good it feels to wake up next to you again."

He hums, rumbling low in his throat as he leans his head down to press his lips against yours languidly.

You feel the weight of the duvet dip slightly, and something light pads along your body. Pulling away from your husband and looking up, you find yourself face-to-face with Dubh, her eyes peering down at you curiously.

You chuckle, scratching her behind the ears. "And good morning to you too, Dubh."

She purrs lightly, sniffing Sirius curiously.

"So this is the cat," Sirius remarks, reaching out to pet her. "My replacement."

Dubh leans into his touch, eagerly looking for more attention off him. She settles between the two of you, curling up against your head, purring contentedly.

You yawn, stretching your legs out under the covers. "Time to get up, Sirius."

He groans, tugging you back as you start to sit up. "Not yet. Let's just stay here for a little longer."

You chuckle, wriggling free of his grip and sitting up. "Dumbledore said there'll be a meeting this evening...we need to get up and make sure the place is clean and tidy."

Sirius doesn't seem to register this, however. "Is that...?"

You look back at him in confusion. "What?"

He points at your back, running his hand down the soft skin. "It's a constellation. And here..." He touches the skin just below your right shoulder-blade, tapping it gently. "A paw print."

You smile. "My favourite constellation, and my favourite star."

He's quiet for a moment, eyes fixed on the tattoo as you slip from the bed, your legs shaking slightly.

"You alright? Are you hurt?" Sirius asks at once, worry clear in his voice. You chuckle light-heartedly, waving your hand dismissively.

"I'm fine, darling. It's just been a long time since I've done that."

You look around the room, eventually locating your bra and underwear that had been thrown carelessly on the floor the previous night.

The pair of you spend the day painstakingly cleaning the basement kitchen, ridding it of wayward doxies and dust bunnies. Dubh is delighted, instantly locating a mouse hole and catching the mouse for herself, dumping her prize at your feet in offering, before promptly eating it when you show no interest in it.

You discover that every portrait in the hall is impossible to remove, courtesy of your darling mother-in-law. The curtains have been closed over her portrait, but a number of times you've walked into the entrance hall to find the curtains pulled back and been hit with a cacophony of screams and screeches, all because Kreacher wanted to talk to his mistress. You've gotten better at forcing the curtains shut.

That evening, despite the aching pain in your back from working all day, you sit down at the table beside Sirius for the meeting, watching as different members of the Order of the Phoenix file into the room after you've just had to go shut Walburga Black up again after someone woke her up upon entering. You spy several familiar faces from the original Order: Mundungus Fletcher, Hestia Jones, Sturgis Podmore, Elphias Doge, Dedalus Diggle...and a few new members, too: Nymphadora Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Mr and Mrs Weasley, along with their two eldest sons, Bill and Charlie.

Remus takes a seat opposite you beside Tonks, whose hair is a bright blue today, and Moody takes a seat on your right, his wooden leg clunking on the floorboards.

You beam at him. "Glad to see you back, sir."

"Aye, it's been a while," he answers gruffly, shifting in his seat. His magical eye swivels in its socket, before fixing on the ceiling above and Moody grumbles angrily, bringing a hand up to the eye. "Damn it — it keeps sticking, ever since that scum wore it — "

With a nasty squelching, sucking sound, he pops out the eye and you grimace.

"Mad-Eye, you do know that's disgusting, don't you?" Tonks says conversationally.

"Get me a glass of water, would you?" Moody asks you, and you stand up from your chair, fetching a glass and filling it with water.

"Cheers," he says when you hand him the glass. He drops the magical eye into the water and prods it up and down with his finger. It spins erratically, looking at each person at the table in turn before Moody seems satisfied, scooping the eyeball out of the water and popping it back into his head.

Dumbledore then arrives, taking a seat at the head of the table, his presence immediately commanding the attention of the room. Chats and murmurs die down and all eyes turn to him.

"Good evening," Dumbledore says, his voice warm but serious. "Thank you all for coming on such short notice. We have much to discuss."

You glance around the table, spotting Snape sitting at the far end, eyeing Sirius scathingly. You look back at Sirius, only to see he's giving him an equally loathing glare back at him.

You sigh and nudge him, bringing your mouth to his ear. "Focus."

"First things first: Number 12, Grimmauld Place, London, will now be our new headquarters. I have placed all the necessary enchantments on the building to avoid detection," Dumbledore says, looking to Sirius. "Thank you for allowing us to use it, Sirius."

"Wasn't going to get much use otherwise," he replies, shrugging.

Dumbledore continues on. "The Ministry remains in denial, though it is not surprising. We must continue to gather intelligence and be prepared for any move he makes."

"What about Harry, Dumbledore? Is he safe?" Molly Weasley asks, her face lined with worry.

"Harry is well-guarded at the Dursleys, but we must remain vigilant. His safety is paramount, and we cannot afford to let our guard down," Dumbledore answers.

You drum your fingers on the table. "Surely it would make the most sense to bring him here with us, right? It would be the easiest way to keep an eye on him."

Dumbledore glances at you, shaking his head. "Harry is to remain with his aunt and uncle until further notice. It's where he is safest."

"But — "

"I understand your concern, but you must trust me on this," Dumbledore says firmly, giving you strong look.

You sigh, relenting. Sirius's hand finds your knee under the table and starts to draw soothing circles on it.

The meeting continues, strategies discussed and plans laid out for the future. Molly and Arthur Weasley plan to move to headquarters for the remainder of the summer with their kids by the end of the week, and you welcome the prospect of more life in this soulless house.

Once the meeting has finally drawn to a close, you sit and chat with Remus and Tonks.

"How's he been?" Remus asks quietly, glancing at Sirius out of the corner of his eye. Sirius is busy in the far corner of the room, talking in hushed voices with Dumbledore. A look of frustration passes over his face, and you can see him struggling to maintain his composure.

"Better," you say softly. "It's nice to finally be living under the same roof again but...this place isn't good for him." You sigh. "And his mother is driving us nuts — constantly screaming and shrieking."

"There's nothing you can do about her portrait?" Tonks says.

You shake your head. "She put a permanent sticking charm on it...haven't been able to find a way to remedy it yet."

"How pleasant," Remus remarks dryly and you chuckle bleakly, nodding.

"Will you ever go back to being an Auror?" Tonks says curiously. "I'm sure Mad-Eye would take you on in an instant."

You look over at Sirius, watching his brows furrow as Dumbledore says something to him.

"I never could," you admit. "Not after running away. Not after acting like such a coward."

Remus says your name sternly. "You are not a coward."

You sink your teeth into the soft flesh of your inner cheek, shaking your head. "I am a coward in every right, Remus, it's just the truth of the matter. But...if I had to do it all over again, I'd make the same choices. Teaching at Hogwarts has given me so much."

You stand up from the table, pushing your chair in with a yawn. Your eyes meet Sirius's across the room as Dumbledore dismisses him with a wave of his hand, walking away from him.

He says your name and you look up. "Thank you for your hospitality, professor."

You smile warmly back at him. "Of course."

Later, as you sit on the edge of your bed (well, Sirius's bed, technically) and pull off your socks, Sirius paces the room angrily.

"He really expects me to just sit here and do nothing? All fucking summer, stay in this stupid house and twiddle my thumbs," he murmurs. "While you and everyone else are out doing something helpful, I'm — I'm what? Sweeping the floor after Snivellus leaves half his greasy head hair here — "

"I know, love, I know," you say, pulling your shirt over your head.

"And after all this, we're not going to get to see Harry until further notice? After all he's been through, all we can do is send letters to him? And we can't even write anything specific?" He runs a hand through his hair, hissing in frustration. "After all Harry's been through, really, making him stay with those horrible Dursleys..."

"What can we do about it?" You say in exasperation. "What Dumbledore says goes, and you know he has a reason for everything — "

"Then why doesn't he tell us the reason? He loves keeping secrets, doesn't he, old Dumbledore?"

You sigh. "He certainly likes to be a man of mystery."

Sirius clicks his tongue crossly, mumbling something inaudible under his breath as he comes to sit on the edge of the bed beside you.

You rub his arm soothingly, leaning your head against his. "It's not all bad. When the Weasleys come to stay, you'll get to meet the twins, Fred and George. Oh, you'll love them, Sirius — always pulling pranks and telling jokes, they're hilarious. They remind me of you and James sometimes."

This, at least, seems to lift his mood slightly, and he gives you a small smile. "Really? So someone's still giving Filch trouble?"

You nod, grinning. "They keep him on his toes, alright."

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

You find you really enjoy having the Weasleys at the house. Mrs Weasley's cooking is divine and you enjoy the chats the two of you have when you help her. You tell her all about James and Lily, telling her the best stories from your school years involving them. Fred and George apparate all over the house, enchanting things that don't need to be enchanted now that they can do magic at home. They've nearly given you about seven heart attacks from popping up randomly right behind you when you're busy. And you were completely right — Sirius loves them. He tells them about pranks that he used to pull with the boys at school, much to Mrs Weasley's disapproval.

"Don't put any ideas in their heads, Sirius!"

Ron and Hermione are here too, and it's odd seeing them without Harry for once. Harry writes you and Sirius letters, each time begging for more information about Voldemort and what's going on and when he can see you again. You sigh as you read the latest one, handing it to Sirius for him to read.

"I wish Dumbledore would just let him come here," you say. "He'll be much happier here with everyone."

Every Order meeting is serious. Snape gives his report on what's happening on Voldemort's side, and often makes snide comments about Sirius being forced to stay in the house and out of trouble. After every meeting, without fail, Sirius comes to you to vent his frustrations about the man.

"Severus," you say as another meeting wraps up and everyone starts to depart from the room. He turns to look at you, his expression cold.

"Yes?"

You motion for him to step away from the others, and he follows you to the corner of the room where you lower your voice.

"Wormtail. You have to tell me what he's up to — "

"I have told you all I know," Snape says flatly.

"There has to be something, anything...Severus, I know I'm asking a lot of you," you say genuinely, eyes flicking to Sirius across the room. "But if Wormtail goes somewhere alone or something, you have to tell me, please. He's the only one that can prove Sirius's innocence."

Snape's eye twitches slightly, his nostrils flaring. You can tell that sticking his back out to prove the innocence of his old enemy does not sound appealing to him.

"The Dark Lord will not ignore the disappearance of his servant. He will know there is a spy."

"Then a find a way to do it without him finding out!" You hiss desperately. "Please, Severus. I know you dislike each other but...Sirius will never have a life again if Peter isn't brought to justice."

Snape's jaw tenses, but after a few moments he gives you the smallest semblance of a nod. "If the opportunity arises...I will see it through."

You can't help the smile that spreads your lips and you nod gratefully. "Thank you. I'll be forever in your debt."

He sweeps wordlessly from the room, leaving a small spark of hope in your heart.

Your duties to the Order consists of tailing known Death Eaters and taking on guard duty over the prophecy just like everyone else. You and Tonks have been tailing a Death Eater by the name of Thorfinn Rowle, watching his movements and engagements closely. After one such night of tailing, the two of you return to Grimmauld Place, exhausted and soaked to the skin by the torrential rain you got caught in.

"Bloody hell..." Tonks murmurs, shaking out her jacket as you make your way past Walburga's portrait. It's late and the basement kitchen is empty, save for Sirius who has patiently waited for your return.

"You stayed up?" You say, kissing his cheek as you pass by to turn the kettle on.

"Of course I did."

Tonks looks between the two of you, an awkward look passing her face. "S'pose I'll get going."

You shake your head, grabbing her hand and sitting her down in one of the nearby chairs. "Nonsense, Tonks, stay. We haven't got the chance to catch up yet!"

You give Sirius a 'get out of here' look and he sighs, standing up from his chair. "So cruel."

You smile sweetly at him as he approaches. "I'll be up later."

He nods, yawning. "I know." He kisses you goodnight before leaving.

Once he's left, you give Tonks a sly look and she looks back at you in confusion as you sit down, sliding a cup of tea across the table to her.

"So, Tonks...are you gonna tell me what's going on between you and Remus?"

She nearly chokes on her drink, shaking her head vehemently. "What? Remus? Me? There's nothing going on."

You raise your eyebrows, unbelieving. "Sure..."

"I — I really don't know what you're implying," she says quickly, smiling awkwardly. "Really, Remus and I are just friends, I respect him as a colleague and a man — "

"I'm not going to snitch on you, y'know." You give her a smile. "That's why I had to get rid of Sirius — he'd tell Remus in an instant. Come on, it's pretty obvious to me. He likes you."

"What? No, come on, be serious," Tonks says. "I mean — we're not kids. He doesn't like me."

"Yeah he does!" You insist, giggling. "You two are cute, honestly. You should see the way he lights up when someone mentions you. He's got it bad."

Tonks' cheeks grow increasingly crimson as she continues to deny. "You're only having a bit of fun with me now."

"I'm not, honest!" You continue. "Seriously, Tonks, it's pretty obvious. I'm surprised you haven't noticed it yet."

She shakes her head, laughing and muttering something under her breath in denial.

"But the real question is...do you feel the same way about him?"

She doesn't answer you for a moment. "Well, like, it's Remus — he's great and he's a good person and I don't know, maybe?" She sighs, wringing her hands. "I...I think he's afraid to flirt with me. We could be laughing and joking one minute and then I'll say something further and he'll just...shut off."

You shake your head in disappointment. "I'm going to be very honest with you — that sounds exactly like him. Once you reciprocate he starts to freak out."

"But how do you know that's not just him being disinterested?"

"Because I know Remus," you answer simply. "He shuts himself away because he thinks being a werewolf renders him undateable. I think you just need to show him that you're not afraid of that side of him, that it doesn't bother you whatsoever, that you're there for him."

She nods thoughtfully. "Yeah, you're right..."

You beam, feeling excited. "Oh, it's been so long since I've played matchmaker! I forgot how good it feels."

Tonks laughs. "You've given this speech to other people before?"

You shrug. "Mostly just James and Lily, honestly. Lily hated the man for half her school years! You don't want to know the amount of work I put into getting them together."

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

->-> read chapter twenty-six here!

→ all kinds of interaction appreciated ♡

time skip WARRIOR 😋✊

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[cellophaine]

Chapter V: BACKCOURT

Masterlist

Pairing: Art Donaldson x F!Reader

Warnings: Toxic family dynamic, toxic parents, mild abuse.

Author's Note: Woo this is a longer one (a little over 5k 😬). In this chapter, we dive deep into Reader's background to see how she became the way she is now. Art is not in this chapter much, but I promise he'll be back and his appearance will be delicious.

GIF Source: @/roranicuspond

2021. San Francisco.

4 AM. Two hours felt endless in your sleepless state. You sat up and, after a moment of contemplation, left the bed.

You settled on the couch with a glass of water and turned the TV on. Flipping through the channels, your eyes unfocused over the flashing images. A familiar face appeared for a brief second before vanishing. Your body went still, and your finger rested atop the forward button before reluctantly pressing backward. The image changed again, and Art's face filled your screen once more. His lips moved, but you didn't hear a thing. From the close-up, you could see the small changes in the face you had missed so much. His hair looked longer, and as he dipped his head slightly to hear the interviewer's question better, the movement pulled a strand of dirty blond out of the neat slicked back and drew it over his forehead. He looked much happier than you saw him last. You increased the volume to hear him better.

"I've been busy with the foundation. It's a lot of work, but I find it very fulfilling. I might be retired, but tennis is still an important part of my life, you know? And, of course, spending time with my family–"

The screen turned to black, leaving you to confront yourself. You stared at the empty screen, where Art was seconds ago, at your guilty conscience. After all that time, you were still stupefied at the mere sight of him. Your heart ached in your chest, and you felt a new kind of exhaustion taking over your body. Your loneliness crept along the edge of that guilt as you looked away from your own reflection. This empty apartment used to harbour the presence of another, but that was long gone. It took a while for this place to feel like it belonged to only you again.

A muffled sound of an incoming text came from the bedroom. You rose from the couch and went to retrieve it. The text was from your sister.

Call me when you can.

You opened her contact info and called. Two rings later, she picked up.

"Hey Soph. Is everything okay?"

"Everything is fine. Isn't it early for you?"

"It is, but I wasn't sleeping anyway. What's up?"

There was a brief silence on her end. You had a feeling what her call was about before she said it.

"Dad called me. He asked about you, and if you were planning on coming home this Thanksgiving this year."

"And?"

You could hear your sister's soft sigh on the other end.

"He wants to follow up with you on his cut from your second book."

The Dollhouse was partly autobiographical. It took inspiration from your childhood, grew a solid root and allowed the fictional elements to take shape and become the story it was. It spent ten consecutive weeks as number one on the New York Times best sellers list, but the aftermath dulled the achievement. Your parents picked it up, and so did some people they knew, and for a while after that, they sent you texts doused in anger and emails with thinly veiled threats. Most of them came from your dad, all of them explicitly expressed indignation and wrath, and none of them received a response from you.

"He's not getting a penny. The Dollhouse was fictional."

"I told him that, but he wouldn't listen."

"He can take it up to my lawyer."

After a moment, you asked.

"Did mom say anything?"

Your sister fell silent again. Before the release of The Dollhouse, things were already strained between you and your mom, and after, the contact slowed until it ceased to exist. You hadn't talked in a few years, and to you, it was for the best.

2006. Your hometown.

Despite school ending on the 16th, you booked the train ticket home for the 22nd. The early train was quiet as most people in this cabin retreated to their own bubbles. Some read, some slept, and some listened to music with their earbuds. The nerves in your lower abdomen seized, and all of a sudden, the cookie Grace made two days ago became so sickeningly sweet that you had to put it back in the wrapper. You sighed as you looked out into the passing scenery. Home had always been a tough subject for you, and it involved complicated feelings that you couldn't put into words. How could you confide in someone that the idea of going home filled you with a sense of dread?

Standing in front of the door to your childhood home, you took a deep breath and straightened your posture. You rang the doorbell and listened for its muffled echo from the inside. You could see that the TV was on from the bay window with the curtain swept to the side. Your dad was in his usual seat, watching a game. After a moment, you rang again. You watched as your father took a sip of his beer and placed the bottle back on the small table before reclining further into the chair. You heard hurried footsteps making their way to you, and the door opened to reveal Sophie. She excitedly called out your name and pulled you into a tight hug.

"I'm so happy you're here! How was your trip?"

"It was fine. How are you doing?"

"Hanging in there."

Your sister looked relieved now that you were here.

"How are … Mom and Dad?"

You asked, and Sophie caught onto the underlying message.

"Mom is grumpy because Dad's not helping. She's stressed out about the Christmas dinner. She hasn't decided on what to make for dessert."

"Oh, no."

Usually, by this time of Christmas, she already had a detailed plan for the big family dinner on the 25th, from appetizers to desserts to finger food before the dinner started. She prided herself on the Christmas feast, which was hosted by your family every year.

"Yep. Also, the tree hasn't been decorated."

"It's… the 22nd."

"I know. That's why Mom has been in rare form the whole week."

You grimaced. Your sister ran her hands up and down your arms reassuringly.

"You've got this. I'll be here with you."

You nodded, and the two of you headed inside. You dragged your suitcase with you as Sophie announced your arrival, but you were only met with silence. You stopped at the door to the kitchen and took in the chaos. Not a lot of free counter space was spared from the various pots and pans and unfinished dishes. Your mom was standing with her back to you, chopping vegetables and dropping them into the big pot.

"Hi, Mom."

She didn't turn around to acknowledge you, but she addressed you as she took a break from the vegetables to stir a smaller pot.

"I thought your exams were done on the 13th?"

"They were, Mom."

"Then why didn't you come home earlier?"

"I had work."

"I highly doubt that they were so busy that they needed you there."

"But … they were. It's Christmas."

"Almost Christmas. I don't see why you couldn't come home earlier and help me with the housework."

The enunciation in her words was hard to miss. She went back to the cutting board, her movement more precise now, and riddled with more force.

"I booked the train as soon as I was able to."

"My life would have been so much easier if you were a little more thoughtful than that."

"I'm sorry, Mom. I–"

She finally turned to look at you.

"Why are you still standing there? Put your suitcase away before someone trips on it and help me."

Sophie gave you a look of sympathy. You obeyed your mother's dismissal and took your suitcase upstairs to your old bedroom. Your parents made you repaint and fill in the screw marks before you left, and now it had turned into a workspace of some sort. On one side, there was a computer setup with a wooden cabinet filled with files, paper and books. The other side was your bed, with a blue sheet covering the whole bed. You pulled it off and found your old bed sheet, just like how you left it a few months ago. You wheeled the suitcase over to the old dresser, your eyes roaming over the fine layer of dust on its surface. You lowered yourself to the bed, allowing yourself a moment of seclusion away from your parents. You wanted to lay down, to close your eyes, and to escape for a while. Being here for less than ten minutes had left you with a taste of dejection. It'd started to gather in your throat, but you didn't want it to win. You were stronger than this. So you swallowed it down and buried it deep, putting on a smile before heading downstairs to join Sophie and your mother.

Your effort and helping hand in the kitchen didn't improve your mom's mood. She complained about your hair, telling you how much it irritated her eyes and making you put it up with a hair tie. She was there to criticize the ratio of the marinade and the meat, the way you prepared the rolls of grilled beef, and the piping on the cupcakes. It was exhausting, but you kept the smile on your face and did as she said. About two hours later, the fridge was filled with food and prepared ingredients for Christmas day. You went to the washroom to catch a quick break from your mother's nagging and checked your phone. There was a missed call, along with a text from Art.

I hope your trip home was good :). I wanted to call to see how you were doing.

– I'm home now. Sorry I couldn't talk. Maybe later?

He responded within the minute.

Promise?

– Promise.

A short while after that, dinner was served. The preparation was paused for the day. During dinner, you told your parents about Stanford. Your dad was silent for the most part, only responding with a grumble here and there. Your mom, on the other hand, was very inquisitive in a way that made dread grow in the pit of your stomach.

"Did you know you could also take English here? At Lawrence?"

"Yes, I know, but the program is so much better in Stanford."

"So you're telling me Lawrence is not good enough for you? I went to Lawrence."

"I'm not saying that, Mom. At Stanford, the program is really detailed, and they have so much more to offer."

Your dad decided to chime in.

"It's a useless degree anyway. You were born and raised here with English as your first language."

"There's so much more than that, Dad."

He snorted.

"So much more of my money. It's a waste."

"I promised you I'll pay you back. Besides, your money is for the rent for my first year, not tuition."

If it wasn't for the scholarship, you would have never left this place.

"If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't have a place to live."

Your father's friend from college owned the building, so you got the shared apartment at a much cheaper price. Your rent was covered by your dad since you didn't have a lot of money when you started college.

"No, I wouldn't have. I'm really grateful for your help."

"Thank you. Wasn't that so hard?"

Your sister tried to dissolve the tension in the air, and your parents went with it. The attention was taken off of your shoulders, and you were grateful for it.

/

You went to your sister's bedroom that night to catch up. You sat next to her on the bed while she lay down with her feet propped up against the wall. Grade 11 was proven to be dull and unexciting in the small town. The conversation eventually reared its head back to your parents.

"How do they treat you here?"

You asked, and Sophie sighed.

"They're not too awful most days."

She looked at you, and you could see the empathy in her eyes.

"I don't understand why they're so hard on you."

You shrugged, looking down at your socks.

"I do. Mom has said it so many times. I'm stubborn; I don't listen to them; I wasn't a good kid growing up …"

"So what? It doesn't mean they get to treat you like this."

"Maybe they do. They just want what's best for me."

"The way they show it is not okay. It shouldn't be like that."

A part of you wanted to agree. You wanted, so badly, to believe that you were a good person. Because a good person deserved good things. And if you were the person your parents had made you think you were, then you deserved nothing at all. You gave your sister a reassuring smile despite the doubt in your head.

"I know."

"I'm sorry. It's unfair."

You brushed it off.

"Don't apologize. It's not your fault that they prefer you to me. One of us has to be the favourite."

Sophie gave you an incredulous look, and you shared a laugh. You missed this, talking to your sister about anything. She turned to the side, facing you, and braced herself on her elbow.

"So, tell me about Stanford."

By the arch of her eyebrow, you could tell the conversation was going in the direction you weren't exactly thrilled about.

"It's … good. The campus looks nice, but the course work is a lot."

She rolled her eyes.

"That's not what I'm talking about. Has anyone caught your eye yet?"

Your mind went to Art, and you felt a gentle warmth that felt like a ray of sunshine enveloped your heart. You looked away from your sister briefly before uttering one single word.

"No."

Sophie sat up, pushing into your space.

"I can see right through you. You're such a terrible liar."

You kept your lips sealed.

"Come on, tell me."

There truly was no way of denying Sophie's pleading eyes, so you ended up telling her about Art after a few moments of resistance. You watched her expression change as you wrapped up the story.

"Is he your boyfriend now?"

You realized you had never had that talk.

"We … haven't talked about that yet."

"You obviously like him. Why haven't you asked?"

You shrugged noncomittally.

"I don't know. I think a label is unnecessary."

"What if someone swoops in and takes him from you?"

Sophie snapped her fingers, demonstrating the snatching of Art. You held out a hand.

"Okay, first of all, he's not an object that anyone can take. He doesn't belong to me and vice versa. Second of all, if he is so easily … taken away like that, then he never really likes me to begin with, and I'll be better off without him."

It was an upsetting thought, allowing a tendril of doubt to slither in. Sophie shook her head.

"I don't understand you."

"I just feel like we're not there yet, you know? Whenever I'm with him, I feel … seen. There's no expectation that I have to meet. That's enough for me."

"He'd better appreciate you. You're amazing."

You hugged your sister. She had always seen the best in you despite the doubts you had. You weren't entirely sure you were this amazing person your sister seemed to think you were. Breaking away from the hug, you said.

"Speaking of Art, I promised that I would call him earlier."

"Call him here."

"No."

You shook your head vehemently.

"I want to hear his voice at the very least. You don't even have a picture of him."

"No."

You jumped down from her bed, your finger pressed call on his number. Sophie blocked the door while the phone rang. To your luck, Art picked up after the third ring.

"Hey. I thought you wouldn't call."

Your sister squealed, and you had to put a hand over her mouth to keep her quiet.

"Who was that?"

You harshly whispered, asking Sophie to shut up. She enjoyed teasing you so much that she left an opening to the door. You slipped past her, but not before she sneaked the last words in.

"He sounds hot."

"Shush."

You held your phone against your chest as you went back to your room.

"Hey, sorry. That was my sister."

"Ahh. How many siblings do you have?"

"Just the one."

Art sounded sleepy on the other end.

"You sound tired."

"It's– uh … 2 AM here."

You remembered the time difference.

"Oh shit, I'm so sorry. It's only 11 PM where I am right now."

"That's okay. I like hearing your voice."

The honest confession sounded like a dream in the slow drawl of his words. Warmth dusted your cheeks, and at that moment, you wanted to ask Art to be exclusive with you. But it was a question better asked in person, you thought. So you held your tongue.

"I like hearing yours too."

His soft, drowsy sighs caressed your ear, and you couldn't contain your smile.

"But seriously, though, you should go to bed."

Art exhaled again, slow and languid, as if he didn't want the call to end. At last, he said with resignation.

"Alright, I'll talk to you later."

"Later. Good night, Art."

/

The next two days went by so quickly, with even more preparations and decorations for the 25th. Christmas Day finally came, burdened with anticipation. Uncle Eddie arrived with his wife, and Aunt Donna came by herself. The day was long, but it went by smoothly, and you hoped that it would stay like this for the rest of your time here.

Dinner came, everyone settled down, and the twenty questions game began with your uncle leading it.

"How's Stanford?"

"It's good. I'm really enjoying it."

"What is it that you're studying again?"

"English."

Aunt Donna chimed in.

"Oh. Aren't we all speaking English? Why are you taking it?"

"It's so much more than that. I'm learning the history of American literature, how it'll be shaped, and the cultural intersectionality in liberal arts. Uhm, to name a few."

Your dad decided to weigh in with his opinion.

"In other words, fancy school for useless things."

Uncle Eddie picked up from where he left off.

"What do you want to do after school?"

"I want to be a published author."

Your dad sneered.

"Great, another jobless career."

You were taken aback by your dad's downright brash statement, but you maintained the pleasant attitude you'd practiced.

"It'll be hard, but I want to do it. Or give it a try, at least."

"Writing books is not going to pay your bills. When you fail, you're going to run back here and ask me for more money."

"I'm not there yet, so we shall see, huh?"

Your father fixed his angry gaze on you. His nostrils flared, and you knew you had really pissed him off.

"You went to Stanford for one semester, and you already think you can talk back to your own father? You've forgotten your place. You can be ignorant now, but you'll see that I'm right. You'll regret not studying something that's actually useful."

"I'm not talking back to you. I just want to say that it's my life, and I should be able to live it the way I want to. And I'm very grateful that you even gave me the money for rent."

Your mom cut in.

"Grateful? You sure don't show it. And who do you think gave you that life? I did. I gave birth to you. You wouldn't be here arguing with the very people who care about you if it wasn't for me."

You had heard this argument before. Your mother continued.

"The least you can do is listen to me and take my goddamn advice so you won't end up a useless brat."

Sophie's timid voice pulled at the tension.

"Can we just get back–"

But your mother didn't allow her to finish.

"Do you know how much you cost? How much did we spend on your tutors? Private dance and piano lessons so you would have at least some skills for your future self, just for you to skip classes?"

You tried to defend yourself.

"I was 11. I didn't ask for any of it."

Your mom pressed on.

"Everything we've done is for you. But you never showed us gratitude, not even a thank you. And now, you're off to California on the way to a useless job. You will fail, and when you do, don't come to me or your father, for support."

"I will not ask you."

Your quick remark came with the bitterness that could burst at any moment, and you weren't sure if you could contain it.

"I will not take responsibilities for your failure."

At that, you lost it. Your composure, your calmness, your pleasant attitude. All were sucked out of your body, and the only thing left inside was the aggravated animosity. Its rot was spreading through you like wildfire, and you unleashed your anger. Your voice was booming, reverberating through the dining room.

"I'm not asking you to. I've never asked for any of this!"

"Shut up!"

Your dad roared. You barely dodged the gravy boat he threw at you. The ceramic bowl hit your shoulder, splashing what was left of the gravy onto your arm. The sauce wasn't as hot as it was ten minutes ago, only left a dull burn on your skin, soaking through the holes in your sweater. You sat still, not daring to move, as your body became paralyzed by what had just happened. Your sister immediately got up, only to be shut down by your dad.

"Sit down, Sophie! It's what she gets for being disrespectful."

Your mom added.

"Eat your food, Sophie. Let her think about what she's done. She's ruined dinner. She just had to make everything about her."

Aunt Donna patted your hand where the gravy didn't reach, a patronizing tone dripped in her voice.

"We're just very concerned about your future, dear. No need to yell."

Your mom and dad's voices started to blend together as they continued.

"When you crawl back from California because your dream doesn't work out, don't expect a penny from us."

"How is it that you find our life so beneath you?"

You stared at your plate, willing your tears not to fall. The conversation around you continued in apprehension, with everyone ignoring you. Your sister grabbed your hand under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze. But you didn't have the strength to squeeze back.

You half listened to your surroundings as everything your parents said kept regurgitating like a fire alarm that wouldn't stop screeching long after the fire was gone. Your body went numb, and exhaustion draped over you like a weighted blanket. You only stood up after the adults had left the dining room with their dishes on the table, understandably for you to clean up. Sophie helped you with the task.

"Are you okay? Does it burn?"

You shook your head.

"I'll be fine. It's not that bad."

"It doesn't look fine."

You stopped dead in your movement, and without looking at your sister, you said.

"Sophie. I just want to do the dishes, and then head upstairs. Okay?"

"Okay. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. It's not your fault."

"You don't deserve it."

But what if you did? You received exactly what you needed, a punishment that reminded you of the facts: you were worthless, and your future was bleak and aimless. You avoided answering Sophie, instead directing all of your attention to the dirty dishes.

/

Later on that evening, after your aunt and uncle had left, you headed to the living room, where your parents were, with an envelope in hand. You held it out to them.

"Here's my actual gift for you."

Your dad reached for it without a word. He opened and counted the bills. Your mom got up and retrieved a familiar notebook before settling down next to your dad.

"$1,227."

Your mom wrote the number into the accounting book. After setting it aside, she stared at you for a long time before finally breaking the silence.

"You embarrassed us today."

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For … talking back, and disrespecting you in front of aunt Donna and uncle Eddie."

Your mom thought about it for a moment. You hated this feeling. You knew she knew that she had the advantage, and she was making this as painful as possible.

"Hm. Have you learned nothing?"

"No, I have–"

"Do you know remember what I told you in high school? About our method of discipline?"

"Yes, I do."

"Remind me again?"

You swallowed thickly.

"You said– you said you stopped hitting me because … I was old enough to know better."

"Right. But it seems like you haven't learned anything. You still don't know better. You've always done whatever you want, you don't care about anyone, not even your own parents. Who took care of you whenever you were sick, huh? Who worked tirelessly so that you could have a roof over your head, clothes on your body, food in your stomach? And this is how you repay us?"

Your head dipped in shame.

"I'm sorry. I will do better. What can I do to show you that?"

Your dad hadn't said a word, but the disapproving glare he gave you said everything you already knew.

"You always say that you're sorry but nothing has ever changed. Get out of my sight. You're making my eyes itch."

You retreated to your room, and a moment later, Sophie knocked on your door. Her comforting presence was much needed as you drew into yourself on the bed and tried your hardest not to cry.

"I can't stay here."

"I can ask Shelly–"

You shook your head.

"No, they'll know. I can't stay here. I don't want to. I want to leave."

Sophie slid in next to you and pulled you into her arms.

"Okay, okay. I'll take you to the train station tomorrow."

After putting your clothes back into the suitcase, you sat there in your childhood bedroom, not knowing what else to do. You felt hollow, as if your insides were carved and gutted empty, and you were left with only this shell of a body. The skin where the gravy touched didn't throb as much anymore, leaving only a dull pain. Your heart was aching as if someone had taken hold and crushed it in between their palm. You wanted this feeling to go away, to disappear, so you could forget about it, so it would stop hurting. Overcame with the thought of needing some comfort, you didn't stop to think twice as you reached for your phone and dialled Art's number. You needed to hear his voice, to be reminded of what would be waiting for you when the next semester started. The ring went on and on, and when you thought he wouldn't pick up, he did. You sat up straighter.

"Art. Hi. Merry … Christmas."

The background on his end was noisy. You could hear his name being called.

"Merry Christmas."

It seemed like you had called him at the wrong time.

"Are you … are you at a party?"

"It's not really a party, just a get-together at my house. Patrick is here, and we're drinking this thing that we stole from my dad's liquor cabinet …"

He trailed off as a hiccup filled in the gap.

"It's making my head spin a little, I'm not gonna lie."

"Oh. I'm glad you're having fun."

Your voice dropped, and Art caught onto it even in his inebriated state.

"Are you okay? You sound … sad."

You didn't even realize how obvious it was, so you cleared your throat and responded in a more cheerful tone.

"I'm okay."

Art called your name softly.

"You don't sound okay. What's going on?"

"Nothing. I'm sorry for bothering you. Bye."

You hung up the phone. Seconds later, Art's call came by, and you watched as it rang and ended. Then, a text message came through.

I'm sorry, I'm a little tipsy to talk right now. I'll call you tomorrow.

You tucked your phone under the pillow, not wanting to look at it anymore. You tried to clear your head and think about something else. Still, your mind insisted on reliving the mistakes after mistakes you had made today. Exhaustion eventually took over, easing you into a fitful sleep.

/

You left without saying goodbye to your parents the next day. Sophie gave you a ride to the station, and by 5 PM, you were on the train back to Palo Alto. You received a call from Art. Just the sight of his name raised a storm of conflicting emotions in you, but the side that craved his affection overturned the other. You picked up after several rings.

"Hey. Sorry about last night. I didn't know my limit."

"That's okay. I shouldn't have called anyway."

"No, no, I'm glad you called. How was your Christmas?"

"It was fine. Are you preparing to go to the ski resort?"

You kept your voice level, hoping that you didn't give away anything like you did last night.

"Yep. We're heading there tomorrow."

The crackle of the announcement system broke out over your head, notifying you of your final stop. You were about to wish him a good trip, but Art spoke before you could get it out.

"Wait, where are you right now?"

You couldn't bring yourself to answer, but Art was determined to get it from you.

"Are you going back to Stanford?"

"Sorry, I have to go."

You ended the call. Almost immediately, Art's name appeared on the screen. You declined. Seconds later, he sent you a text.

Pick up. Please.

After shutting down his third call, you turned off your device. You went back to your apartment. It was empty. Your roommates wouldn't be here until school started, so you'd have the whole place to yourself. You felt an immense relief as you finally got to be alone, and you would be for at least another week. You didn't bother unpacking; instead, you headed for your room. After changing into something more comfortable, you crawled under the cover and pulled it to cover your head. Only then you allowed yourself to cry until you couldn't anymore, until the sobs that came out of you were reduced to soundless whimpers. Sleep came easier this time.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated! I'd love to read your thoughts on the story!

For updates, please follow @cellophaine-archives

[lunas-side-anime-blog]

AOT Icks (Eren, Armin and Mikasa)

one thing about me: i am a hater

Eren

def has mommy issues and no woman could ever compare to her like good luck to any of his girlfriends lmao

^^ that being said, as a roommate he’s a nightmare like you can tell his mom cleaned up after him all the time because it doesn’t even occur to him to do so now

toxic gym bro who says shit like “we all have the same 24 hours”

def has the the 3 in 1 bottle in his shower, I just know it

prob calls women “females” 

the cringiest instagram captions like I know he will post sum: “I think my closet bi-polar, it keeps throwing fits💯”  like dude, get a grip

attempts thirst traps, he has a ripped body so it kinda works but the content is so transparent you can’t help but roll your eyes

go out to a bar with him or something and he’s the type to try to make everything a fight

like if someone bumps into you, he's quickly in their face like "what's good bro😡” and you know its not actually about you so much as eren tryna beat someone up

i think he’ll use spit as lube thinking he’s so bad boy and lewd when it’s actually just so bad for your PH like ewwww (if u have a vag ofc)

i feel like his hair would get so greasy, mikasa and armin have had to force him down with shampoo in hand before 

so gross but you came here for icks and I don’t believe Eren believes in holding back his farts for anyone

it can be the most intense and serious event like a funeral and he’ll rip a loud one and be like “what? it’s not good to hold it in??”

Armin

nail biter who will chew on them till the bone and you hear that loud ass “crONCh"

says he hates drama but that’s just something he says to not seem petty bc at the first sight of a fight best believe he’s sitting there, watching it all go down, wine glass in hand like "🍷🤨👂" 

lil shit will even add lil comments to keep the beef alive, like i can see him loudly asking “okay but jean didn't you say her outfit made her look fat though?”

if you're in a debate with him, he’s the type to say something like “you're so uneducated about the subject, I’m actually pretty well versed in it” and your like "okay so what's all ur research then?" and he'll just quickly change the subject bc he didn’t actually have sources to cite lmao

is one of those bfs who would make fun of you for liking trashy tv but guess who eats that shit up everytime? armin.

he does that dad thing where he walks around in the living room and acts uninterested with what’s happening on the screen but he’s actually so invested and would be fuming if you dared watched an episode without him 

i think he’d also be the type to try to be friends with his ex even if they obviously still have feelings for him, but if you dared even talk to yours he’d get all huffy and puffy like “go be with him then🙄” 

got obsessed with skincare after watching your routine but u kinda created a monster bc now he’s critiquing your products and techniques? “Babe you should really consider a gel moisturizer, it’s better for your pores'' and you're like, “boy you used neutrogena when I met you???” 

is that bf who will shower at your place and use up all your expensive washes and scrubs 

not the best gift giver tbh, I think he’s a firm believer that all gifts should be practical so even if it’s a romantic anniversary date and he slides over a lil present, it’s probably just gonna be socks or something, srry

Mikasa

applies her chapstick like a man (iykyk)

“he know where home is” bitch, I hate to say it

i think she’s a girl’s girl until her man cheats on her, then she’d be the type to fight the girl and not really address her man…which is just… 😣

as a friend I think she’s sadly the type to unintentionally embarrass you bc she doesn’t get some social cues.

like you can miss a hang and ppl ask where you are and she’d just say matter of factly “oh they’re fine, they just have diarrhea rn!” and she won’t understand why you’d be mad?

outfit repeater to the max, she has like three tops that she likes and all pics of her are with her wearing one of those three tops

a lil delulu and prob genuinely believes all the tiktok pick a card vids on her feed

likes her coffee black and somehow thinks she’s better than everyone for that???

as a gf she checks your snap score and location regularly and has no shame in it 🙂

fights in her sleep like you will just be sleeping next to her all soundly and next thing you know you get punched in the face? she refuses to apologize in the morning bc she “has a right to defend myself in a nightmare” or whatever

when shes mad at someone she’ll post like ultra specific lyrics or captions and it’s so obviously targeted at one person everyone else is like "girl go to bed, don’t even post the quote…"

[cripplecharacters]

hi! i’m writing a novella that centers around a blind prince. there isn’t a set time period, but it’s pretty high fantasy. i was wondering how i could incorporate his being blind without it seeming out of place in the setting. like, what would a cane be like during that time? etc. thank you!

Hi,

Let me start with the disclaimer that we don't currently have blind mods, and I am not blind, but I have included linked guides by people who are.

I am not sure what you mean by 'that time.' Most common high fantasy media is often a mixture of eras, sort of wobbling between the medieval (500-1450s, roughly) and renaissance (1450s-1600s) eras. As you can see, that's quite a huge period of time, spanning eleven centuries.

The addition of magic further muddies the eras because things can of course be done with magic that we can't do in the real world. So this is a vague time period. But this works to your benefit, as you can fuddle with technology for it to be closer to what you want.

In fact, specifically because it's fantasy, you can also decide what is and isn't possible in your world. Sure, modern white canes were introduced in the 1930s, ish, but there's nothing that requires your world (in fantasy) to not have them earlier. If you don't want the modern look of a cane, it can look different. It could be a very lightweight wooden cane enchanted to glow faintly, for example.

If you don't have a cane at all, or maybe in addition to a cane even, your prince might have a sighted guide. This can especially work given that he's a prince and this could be a hired position, with a high degree of trust and scrutiny due to dealing directly with the prince.

Here are some sources for mobility aids for blind people:

This post by mimzy-writing-online that outlines what Orientation & Mobility is for blind people, as well as cane usage and guide dogs.

This post by the same person talks about sighted guides.

This post by blindbeta is about why writers should consider giving their blind characters mobility aids and goes into detail about them, including sighted/human guides.

This post by them as well is specifically about guide animals, including guide horses.

Hope this helps!

– mod sparrow

[george228732]

The most important number in Kirby, Number Four

I've seen a pattern in the Kirby Series that not many have talked about, or at least not that I'm aware of, being a consistent number in the saga, Number 4.

From the easiest to hardest things to spot this number we have:

How you can only use four players in games like Return to Dreamland and Star Allies.

The Four Heroes of Yore and Heart Spears.

Kirby's most famous friend group, Kirby, Bandee, Dedede and Meta Knight, being Four People.

Amazing Mirror's Four Kirbys

Kirby's main knights (Meta, Dameta, Galacta and Morpho, although this may be a coincidence.)

Elfilin's Kidnapping on the Fourth World

Star Allies' Four Worlds.

Void Terminas' Four Phases in Star Allies.

Four main groups in Star Allies for each DLC.

Four main members of the Jambastion Cult

The Four Matters of Void (Heart, Soul, Darkness and Dreams)

The odd use of fourths on some final boss battles (Sectonia's Four Eye flowers in her final phases, Star Dream's four legs on the Access Arc Phase, etc

Kirby's majority of the OST being in 4/4

Four voices voicing Void Termina

Etc

Now, what Number Four means, varies on what source you ask.

In numberology, It means, Support and Stability, rooting to care about yourself and your life.

In Tarot, it means Kingship, Power and Authority.

But the one most should be familiar with, is the common one which states that Number Four is a number that represents Death and bad luck.

What do you think? Does it make sense? Am I reaching too deep? Found other sightings on the number four in the Kirby series I missed?

[teaboot]

Since I've seen many posts about people missing how common asks used to be, I have been trying to send to more asks to engage more. I really don't want to bother anyone though so I'd love to know if you enjoy receiving asks and if so what kind of asks. Detailed? Vague? Work? Fandom? Movies? Books? Childhood? Gardening? Thoughts? OTPs? OCs? I'm sure there are way more categories, I'm not limiting you to these listed options. Perhaps if it's an easier question what types of asks do you not like?

pPAAASGGFYGGJIK THANK YOU?

Detailed asks good yes

Vague asks??? Do not understand but open to the concept

Fandom: My first Fandom was X-Men, then Lord of the Rings, then Homestuck, Transformers, Fullmetal Alchemist, Teen Wolf, Avengers (first movie, when it came out), Batman, Overwatch briefly, Mass Effect, Gravity Falls, Trigun, and now my sister's getting me into Call of Duty! Feel free to ask about any!!

Movies: Yes movies are a great topic I have SO MANY

Oh lord I haven't consistently been up to date on books in FOREVER but yes books are good, you can ask book questions, I'm reading a lot of old classics and recently finished Pride & Prejudice, am now on The One That Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest

Childhood- oh my god bud you have no idea

Gardening- My house is full of plastic plants on account of how good I am at killing things

Thoughts- Always

OTPs YO YES

OCs? YO YEAH GO FOR IT I NEVER TALK ABOUT THEM aaaaah I need to start writing again- I've been working on an urban fantasy for like. God like 7-8 years now

If I don't like an ask I'll just ignore or delete it but not much is off the table. I will not answer where exactly I live, who I am, if I'm a specific person you met, etc. for safety reasons.

I've worked in sex education so I can answer questions on that topic but if you get too personal or abrasive I will not respond.

I'm regularly flooded with donation requests and it's often too hard to figure out which are real and which are scams using stolen legit posts so as a general rule I do not spread those, I'm sorry.

And if you pop in to sexually harass me or use abusive language towards myself or others then I'm just gonna block you and delete the message.

If you want to warn me that a post I shared came from a bad source I do appreciate that, but if I do my research and can't find a legitimate reason to block someone then I probably won't.

I consider Legitimate Reasons to block someone on recommendation to be abusive language and behaviour, threats, bigotry, propagation of misinformation, production of AI content, and encouragement of dangerous behaviors that pose genuine harm to self or others. I'm not gonna block a random cause they enjoy Steven Universe and you think it's annoying. We all like stuff.

Womp-womp.

Thanks for asking!!! I probably shoulda talked about some of this myself, lol

EDIT: Terfs and radfems are block on sight, it's not your fault you're dumb but I am not capable of educating all of you

[sailor-aviator]

Fool's Fare: Prologue

Fool's Fare: Prologue

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Captain Jake "Hangman" Seresin had come close to swinging from the gallows more times than he would care to admit. He's stolen, cheated, even killed. The worst thing he's ever done? Broken the heart of a woman. Having broken the heart of the woman whom Davy Jones himself had fallen for six years ago, Jake is now cursed to live as something not dead, but not alive. He's doomed to live a half-life for the rest of his existence unless he manages to obtain the treasure Davy Jones deems most valuable. The problem? He has no idea what it is, and he only had seven years to obtain it.

Trigger Warnings: Death of parents, angst, talk of ghosts and the supernatural, Big Brother!Bradley...I think that's it?

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: I couldn't help myself, so I went ahead and wrote this. I am just as interested as y'all to see where this fic goes lol As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are encouraged and appreciated! I'll be doing Drabble Sunday this weekend to celebrate my first 100 followers! So get your requests ready!! 18+ ONLY!! And you can find me on AO3 under sailor_aviator!

Series Masterlist || Moodboards || Playlist || Jake "Hangman" Seresin Tag List

The ocean was a deep, terrifying swirl of forgotten pasts and harrowing mysteries. The vicious pull of the waves sending many sailors to their graves for thousands of years without mercy. No, the ocean was not kind. It was the source of life on the best of occasions and cruel and unforgiving on the worst.

Your father had been a sailor. Working for a large shipping company hauling various goods from one end of the sea to the other, he was often gone for long stretches of time. After months of being away, it was always a joyous reunion when he would return. He would swing you up in his arms, twirling you until your little giggles turned into full blown laughter. He would set you back down on your feet and greet your mother with an affectionate kiss to her temple before tugging you both into his arms.

“My best girls are always here to greet me when I get home,” he’d grin. Your mother would hum, running her hands through the beard he’d grow during his time away.

“Come inside,” she’d say, leading you both into your modest, seaside home. Your father would sit at the table as your mother fixed him a plate. He would tell her that he was more than capable of fixing his own plate, but she would wave him off and place the food gently in front of him with a kiss to the top of his head.

One day, when you were a little over four years old, your father had come home from a voyage with a scraggly looking boy who looked to be about twice your age. Your father had been dragging the boy by the scruff of his collar when you and your mother had come out to greet him. The boy had dark brown hair that had been bleached from time in the sun and steady, brown eyes that held steady as he took in the house before him.

“Found this one on the coasts of the Carolinas,” your father had said with a grin, letting go of the boy’s shirt. He stumbled forward, almost falling headfirst onto the ground. He looked back at the older man with a scowl before turning to look at the two of you.

“My, don’t you look a sight?” your mother had said with a small smile as she took the boy in. He puffed out his chest in a bid to make himself seem bigger and your mother had laughed. You took the few, small steps up to him, taking his hand in yours excitedly.

“My name is y/n,” you chirped up at him. “What’s yours?”

The boy studied you with pursed lips.

“Bradley,” he muttered. Your father had let out a booming laugh, causing Bradley to jump.

“That’s the first answer we’ve been able to get out of him since we caught him rifling through our supplies on the ship!” he guffawed. “C’mon now, boy. Let’s go get us some supper.”

And so your family had taken in Bradley Bradshaw as one of your own, and he settled in fairly quickly amongst the rest of you. He would help your mother out with different chores around the house, and when your father was home, he would take you and Bradley down by the docks to teach you the ways of sailing.

“You want to tie it like this, sweetheart,” he’d say to you as he guided your hands on how to move the rope. “It’s one of the most important knots a sailor needs to know. It’s called the ‘bowline.’”

“Like this?” Bradley had asked, holding up his own rope for your father to inspect.

“Atta boy, Rooster!” your father had laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. Bradley had earned the nickname not too long after he had joined your little family. Your father had just gotten back from another transporting job. He had been woken from his sleep by sounds coming from the kitchen. When he had stumbled into the room, he had seen Bradley already working on feeding the fire for the day.

“The sun isn’t even up yet, Bradley,” your father had laughed as the boy shrunk in on himself. “I doubt even the rooster is awake! Looks like you’re gunnin’ for his job.”

And the name had stuck.

Now, Bradley was more confident in his place within your family. Now, Bradley was much taller and his form was filling out thanks to the many hours spent doing the heavy lifting around your home.

“Keep this up,” your father started, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips, “and maybe I’ll take you with me on a job here soon.”

Bradley’s face lit up. “Do you mean it?”

“Let’s see, you're about, what, sixteen now?”

“Yes, sir,” Bradley nodded, a smile etched onto his face. Your father nodded thoughtfully.

“Yeah, you should be ready here soon.”

You looked down at the rope in your hands with a frown. “I’ll never get this. Why do I even have to learn this?”

“Because, my little minnow,” your father smiled, “it’s an important skill to know and have.”

“But Mama says that women aren’t even allowed on ships,” you muttered. Your father smoothed the hair out of your face with a thoughtful hum.

“It’s true, women were once considered bad luck to have on ships, and many men still consider them to be so,” he began. “But times are changing, and maybe one day soon you’ll get to set sail with us.”

“Really?” you asked him, eyes filled with hope. He laughed and nodded, turning to look at Bradley.

“C’mon you two. Let’s go see what Mother’s been cooking.”

The three of you trudged up the hill to your home where your mother was already standing outside to greet you. Greeting her with a tender kiss, your father ushed you and Bradley into the house.

When supper was finished and the table had been cleared, you all gathered around the small fireplace. Your father sat in his favorite chair while Bradley and your mother took up the other two. You sat by your fathers feet, resting your head against his knee. The smell from your father’s pipe permeated the room and left you with a sense of fond familiarity as he slowly stroked your hair.

“Papa,” you said, “will you tell us a story?”

“And what kind of story would you like to hear, little minnow?”

“An adventure!” Bradley had grinned. You shook your head.

“No,” you argued. “A ghost story.”

“Ghosts aren’t real, y/n,” the older boy scoffed. Your father hummed with a low chuckle.

“I wouldn’t be so sure o’ that, Rooster,” he smiled. Bradley fixed him with an incredulous look.

“Surely you can’t be serious?”

“As the dead, lad,” your father said solemnly, rubbing the bowl of his pipe. “Ghosts walk amongst the living, as real as you or I. Some even sail the seas, waiting for the day Davy Jones lets them pass into the great beyond.”

“What does Davy Jones even have to do with the dead,” Bradley huffed. Your father arched an eyebrow at him.

“He has everything to do with the dead at sea, Bradley,” he replied softly. “Davy Jones is a powerful man. Not quite human, not quite god. He’s as cruel and unforgiving as the sea, and some even think he was born from the waves that beat against the rocks by the shore. They say his very will controls the tides, and any man foolish enough to invoke his wrath is met with a gruesome fate.”

“Those are just superstitions,” Bradley countered with a scowl.

“You’re free to believe that,” your father began, “but you’d be a fool to. No sailor with a lick of sense is going to take that chance. Davy Jones will come for us all.”

“Why does Davy Jones stay at sea, Papa?” you chirped.

“No one is quite sure,” your father mused. “Perhaps he’s searching for treasure.”

“Would you ever go looking for treasure?” you questioned. Your father smiled.

“I’ve already found my treasure,” he said, casting a fond smile to your mother, who blushed under his gaze.

“Have you ever seen Davy Jones?” you prodded with wide eyes. Your father chuckled, patting your head in reassurance.

“No, little minnow. But those who have are few and far in between. Davy Jones isn’t in the business of letting witnesses stay alive.”

“That’s enough, Maverick,” your mother had chided. Your father had the good sense to look sheepish. Maverick was a name your father had earned during his time at sea, and your mother only called him that when she was cross. Usually, she called him by his given name; Peter or Pete.

“My apologies, Penny, my dear,” he said. Looking back down at you, he offered a smile. “Alright, y/n, it’s time for bed. You too, Bradley. I need you up bright and early tomorrow morning.”

You and Bradley bid your mother goodnight as your father followed you down the hall. When you had crawled under your blanket, he had made sure to tuck you in tight.

“I didn’t scare you too bad, did I, little minnow?” he asked. You shook your head vehemently.

“No, Papa. But, what if you meet Davy Jones one day?”

“That won’t be for a good, long while, sweetheart,” he said with a smile. You nodded, resting your head back down onto your pillow. Your father leaned over to peck your forehead before standing to walk out the door.

“Goodnight, y/n,” he said. You smiled.

“Goodnight, Papa.”

A good, long while was not long enough in the end. It was six years later when you got the news that your father’s ship had gone down in a storm off the coast of the Caribbean. Your mother had been beside herself, crying all hours of the day as you and Bradley did your best to stay strong for her sake.

Bradley had caught you crying by the fireplace one night after you thought everyone had gone to bed. He sat next to you, and pulled you to his side as you cried into his shoulder.

“I miss him so much,” you sobbed.

“I know,” he said softly. “I do too.”

“He should be here.”

“I know.”

“It’s not fair,” you cried. “We didn’t even get to bury him.”

“I know, Guppy,” he sighed, hugging you tighter. Bradley wasn’t very good with words, and he sure as hell wasn’t good with emotions. “But he wouldn’t want us to dwell on this, you know that.”

“I know,” you sniffled, rubbing at your eyes. “He always loved the sea.”

“He loved being here, too,” Bradley countered. You looked up to see his own eyes glassy with unshed tears.

Your mother had followed your father not long after. She had stopped eating and barely took a sip when you begged her to drink some water. She would stay perched by the window in the bedroom she once shared with your father, just staring out at the sea as if willing him to return. It had ended up being a fever that had taken her one early, autumn morning. It was your turn to be inconsolable as you once again found yourself buried into Bradley’s shoulder as he held you tightly. You buried your mother on the hill that overlooked the sea, forever waiting for your father to return home.

You and Bradley had stayed by her grave until the sun began to set.

The following days were filled with familiar motions and quiet sobs hidden behind closed doors long after the stars began to shine in the night sky. One night, you had set a bowl of stew in front of Bradley after he had come home from working at the docks. The two of you sat in silence for a few more minutes before Bradley pulled you to your feet. You went to say something, but he motioned for you to be quiet as he pulled you through the front door and out of the house.

“Where are we going?” you hissed quietly.

“Just trust me,” he shot back, dragging you down to the beach. The cool sand rubbed against the soles of your feet as you followed him, and he stopped you when you both were standing at the edge of the water. The water felt like ice as it licked aginst your ankles, and you felt a shudder run up your spine.

“There!” he called out, gesturing towards the open sea. You looked, but saw nothing but the white caps of waves.

“I don’t see anything,” you mutter, shaking your head. Bradley offered you a smile.

“That’s because you aren’t looking hard enough,” he murmured. He bent down, pointing his finger so that it was directly in your line of sight. “There, do you see it now?”

You squinted your eyes, trying to see what it was he was looking at. “Rooster, I don’t-”

“I see them,” he interrupted you, smiling confidantly. You fixed him with a puzzled look. “I see Mav and Penny just over there past the waves.”

Your heart stopped and hot tears licked at your eyes as you looked back at the churning waters. It was then that you saw what Bradley had been talking about. You saw your mother and your father with smiles on their faces, staring at each other with adoration clear as day on their faces. You wiped the tears away from your eyes as you looked back to see them waving at you. You huffed a laugh and smiled back at them with a wave of your own.

“Looks like Davy Jones let Mav come back for his treasure,” Bradley said. You threw yourself into his arms, holding him tightly.

“Thank you, Bradley.”

The sea could be cold and cruel, but you had the strength to weather the storm.

[milla984]

And in the Beginning...

Summary: after spending a day at D.C.’s most renowned multifandom convention Spencer and Garcia stop for a coffee. Spoiler alert - our fave Resident Genius dumps their order on Reader.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!reader (Reader is a sci-fi buff)

Category: fluff

TW/CW: swearing, mentions of food, some Star Wars-related talk

Word Count: 2k

Once again, a ginormous THANK YOU to @drgenius-reid for taking the time to beta-read the first draft (aka witnessing the horror)!

The following work is my entry for @imagining-in-the-margins' CM Meet Cute (or not) Challenge and is also part of the series Spencer Reid, my beloved

“Highlight of the day?! Jamie Hewlett signing my copy of The Cream of Tank Girl! In you face, Mr. 'Superman Can Fly'...!”

The woman carrying a Chinese paper umbrella rummaged through her purse to retrieve a wallet and pay at the coffee truck parked outside the convention center; stylish two-tone glasses matched the army green jumpsuit with a teddy bear patch on her right leg and the blue mandarin collar button-down shirt she was wearing, and her blond hair was tied up in a pair of small side buns.

The tall man beside her chuckled as he picked up two cups. “I don’t know if I should be more impressed or worried.”

“Why?! We made a deal and it’s perfect: he can have Sci-Fi-Gate, I’m keeping WashCon.”

“Sci-Fi-Gate has amazing Star Trek guests, though…”

A long and colorful scarf was wrapped around his neck and a deep red cravat necktie peeked out of the hem of a plaid design vest, combined with a single-breasted brown coat and a pair of grey pants. 

“I can't believe you would really choose the Captains of the Enterprise panel over my emotional stability,” she frowned, paying zero attention to the cosplayer in a trenchcoat with a pair of black wings attached to their back she was about to brush past.

When the feathers smacked her cheek she pulled back, the tips of her umbrella almost poking the tall guy dressed as Doctor Who in the eye; the sudden movement startled the cosplayer and a rapid swing of their dark wings created a commotion in the crowd of people waiting for their turn to order. In the confusion that followed, a random shoulder bumped into yours and pushed you out of the line and off the sidewalk, right in front of the Fourth Doctor - who was struggling to maintain his Fedora in place and watch where he was going at the same time.

Needless to say, he ended up failing at both.

“Oh my God, are you okay?” the blond woman asked. 

“I’m so sorry, SO SO SORRY—” the tall guy apologized simultaneously and she cut him off, rushing to your side.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

The frantic exchange prompted your brain to whoosh into light speed mode to elaborate and discharge the ‘Ah, shit!!’ and ‘wait… is this iced macchiato?!?!’ inputs in favor of a more suitable reaction at the sight of the considerable amount of caffeine soaking your hoodie.

“... I think I’m okay.”  

“First-aid manuals suggest removing all clothes or jewelry near the affected area within moments after the spillage of a hot liquid,” the tall guy said, and the woman gasped in shock. 

“Please tell me you didn’t get burned! Once I got this non-fat steamed white chocolate vani—”

“I’m fine,” you growled a bit. 

Someone behind you was snickering and, despite the relief of not having sustained serious injuries, the attention was already making you feel uncomfortable.

“Scalds are caused by sources of humid heat and certain types of fibers retain the water, which can be responsible for additional damage to the skin,” the tall guy explained again, speaking faster than anyone you had ever heard.

You tucked your shirt in your jeans and raised an eyebrow in his direction. “Let me guess: you’re a doctor.” 

“Well… uhm, yes, this is my…” he faltered, unable to tell if you were referencing his costume as a pun or not. “I am, actually.”

“Not that kind of doctor,” the woman added.

She sighed as soon as she realized you were standing there speechless, drenched in coffee, your gaze wandering back and forth between them. “I’m so sorry…”

“They should be more careful with the lids. I think I got lucky,” you muttered through gritted teeth as you pulled the zip down.

Thanks to the decision to splurge some money on yourself, earlier on, you had something to replace your soiled hoodie with. The Fourth Doctor looked away and focused his attention on the cups he was still holding in his hands; before he threw them in the nearest trashcan he inspected their content, confirming he’d fortunately spilled on you a combination of 98% half-caf iced caramel macchiato and just 2% regular hot americano.

The woman was still clasping the handle of her umbrella. “Listen, we were about to check out this itsy-bitsy lovely Indian place ‘round the corner, maybe you should come with us. You know… to try and get cleaned up a little.” 

You dug into the shopping bag at your feet, taking a sealed package out to rip the plastic film wrapped around a brown sweatshirt with a stylized front print of the panoramic view of the desert, Jabba the Hutt’s palace and twin suns on Tatooine, and put it on. 

“No offense, but my parents taught me to never follow strangers.” 

“None taken,” the tall guy replied, “they were absolutely right. According to the National Missing and Unidentified Persons System, about 90,000 individuals are reported missing in the U.S. every year and the National Institute of Justice estimates that approximately 4,400 unidentified bodies are recovered annually.”  

For the second time in less than five minutes, you considered the possibility he could truly be from Gallifrey. You also wondered if he was aware of his perfect facial structure: everything about his demeanor indicated he wasn’t too skilled in the art of charming people using his sculpted jawline and lean figure. 

“... do you always quote statistics about murders and kidnappings like it’s a casual topic of conversation?”  

His eyes got even bigger, showing a hint of gold on the inside. “It was merely an observation—”

“Yeah, he… does that,” the woman came to his rescue, “and even if it sounds bad, trust me it’s- it's part of his job. Our job. Except, I don’t deal with the scary, disturbing, yucky stuff.”

Your question wasn’t meant to come out in such a sarcastic tone. “You’re cops?!”

“FBI. Tech Analyst and Behavioral Analysis Unit,” she explained, and the tall guy waved a silent greeting at you. 

Even though the chance of running into the Bureau personnel stationed in D.C., at some point, wasn’t unreasonable, ‘two FBI agents walk into a multifandom convention dressed as characters from sci-fi TV shows’ could have easily been the beginning of a bad joke. 

Plus, it was hard to picture the Fourth Doctor as a G-Man. “What’s your Ph.D. in, exactly?”

“I have a Ph.D. in Mathematics. And Chemistry, and Engineering. And I hold BAs in Psychology, Sociology and Philosophy.”

“Google him. Spencer Reid, B-A-U,” the woman suggested after a short pause, in response to your skeptical expression.

Judging by her tone she was daring you to, as if the situation wasn’t already giving off major The Twilight Zone vibes… and yet, instead of bidding them an unenthusiastic farewell, you pulled out your phone to type his name. 

A plethora of results popped on the screen seconds later, so you first clicked on the link titled BAU’s newest member. 

“With three doctorate degrees from Caltech already, and a staggering IQ of 187 as well as an eidetic memory there is no psychological exam or test the FBI could put in front of him he could not ace,” the piece said about newly-recruited Spencer Reid.

“When I ask why he chose Caltech over MIT and Stanford, he quickly runs down a list of Professors he had a desire to study with. He makes no mention of the weather or girls,” an older article reported.

You skipped through at least a dozen mentions of SSA Reid’s outstanding performances in the field, then a PDF document, property of the California Institute of Technology, caught your interest and you read the title aloud. 

“Identifying non-obvious relationship—” 

“Non-obvious relationship factors using cluster-weighted modeling and geographic regression,” he recited by heart, “that's my Engineering dissertation.”

He was too prepared on the subject and too adorably peculiar to be an impostor posing as a genius FBI agent for kicks, during the weekend; you picked his Fedora off the ground as a peace offering. 

“Seems like you’re a wunderkind, Doctor Reid.”

Spencer lowered his chin so he could mask the rush of blood to his cheeks and his friend giggled, gently linking arms with you. 

“Now, there’s something relevant we need to discuss, pronto… how do you feel about veg biryani?”

An hour and a half proved to be all the time you needed to form a solid conviction that Spencer Reid going on a spiel about the original blueprints of a fictional space station was the best thing since sliced bread.

“It’s part of the iconic imagery Lucas wanted to establish, there’s no health and safety. And don’t forget it was originally designed by the Geonosians.”

You snorted at the mention of the classic ‘designed by a flying alien species’ argument. “That’s not an excuse! Even if the Geonosians designed it, they knew it was meant to be used by humanoid creatures.”

After leaving the restaurant, where you had insisted on paying for your share - much to Garcia's dismay, you’d walked back to the convention center’s parking lot and now you were waiting by your car for Penelope to get hers. As you had recently discovered, she loved mugs, old Italian movies and playing the ukulele; Spencer wasn’t as outgoing and chatty, especially about his private life, but Star Wars was for sure one of his numerous areas of expertise.

“TIE fighters don’t have a proper defense system and the original prototype even lacked structural integrity to support atmospheric flight. The Empire doesn't care about casualties, it’s safe to think they never bothered to install a guardrail or other appropriate safety measures because to them the Death Star technicians are expendable.”

“Okay… solid theory,” you admitted, making him smile as he wiped his forehead to get rid of a lock of curly hair.

“Thank you. It’s nice to have a discussion with someone who knows about the Geonosians. Or the Death Star. It only happened twice but I’ve had people asking me what that was.”

When the convertible Cadillac with a plastic Hawaiian lei tied to the rear-view mirror stopped inches from you, Garcia - behind the steering wheel - proudly gestured at the extension of her eccentric personality.

“Meet Esther. Isn’t she fab?”

You wolf whistled your appreciation, gliding your fingertips over the leather upholstery and orange body paint. “Quick question: how much do you think I’d get if I sued two FBI agents for… damages, let’s say?!”

Penelope produced a fluffy pen out of the glove compartment and scribbled something on the back of a PetMAC receipt she handed it to you. 

“Sweet pea, if I were you I'd settle for a lifetime of free IT support.”

“I’ll take it,” you said, “I’m kind of tired of being bullied by my own laptop.”

She stared at you for a moment before her face lit up, like a girl on a trip to a four-story candy shop. “... have you ever been to Baltimore ComicCon?!” she asked out of the blue while Spencer plopped himself down on the passenger seat.

You shook your head. “Do you guys—”

“We should totally go together!!” Garcia proposed. Or rather, declared.

In all honesty, the prospect of attending another convention on your own was depressing and you’d given up on the one in Maryland for that specific reason; you turned to Spencer for his approval, too, and he nodded, maybe because he knew there was no way of stopping Garcia if she had her mind set on a specific goal.  

“Baltimore it is, then…?!”

Penelope shot you a smug grin. “Keep in touch. We still owe you a nice dinner and ComicCon’s not up until September, I’d hate to run a background check on your license plate to find you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the idea and saluted them goodbye as they drove off, Esther’s taillights shining bright red.

What a weird Saturday. Meeting a real life genius and the quirkiest FBI agent ever came with a price, and one of your favorite hoodies was most likely beyond salvaging. You needed to know if Spencer Reid was well worth it.

Garcia’s words then echoed in your ears, so you sat in your car and unlocked your phone, scrolling through the most recent Google searches: you had a lot of reading to do. 

@matthew-gray-gubler-lover, @thisiscalmanditsdoctorreid, @pretty-boys-book-club, @spookydrreid, @f-me-reid, @foxy-eva, @scorpiofangirl1109, @a-potato-wearing-plaid, @cynbx, @reidsbookclub, @nagemasstuff, @hotchsdharma, @reidmainbitch, @lizzylynch1, @will-grahams-eyes, @padawancat97

»»»— read pinned post for taglist info —«««

[handoneohone]

What would happen if the reader meets Yandere Alastor after the fight with Adam? Like Alastor was in denial about his love ( obsession ) for the reader... But now something has broken and Alastor is perhaps more dangerous ( I'm trying to talk about the last episode, when Alastor goes to his radio tower which is broken )... And reader tries to be a good friend so he goes looking for alastor and finds him in this scene...

Bonus: imagine the reader delicately rejecting alastor's love, because he only sees him as a friend

you dont know how much i loved that scene 10/10 request tyyyy word count:1513

Y/N stands amidst his allies, his body aching from the excursion and injuries sustained during the fight. Despite the victory, concern covers his features as he scans the area for a familiar face. Alastor

"Where is he? He was fighting Adam and just… poof” He muttered to nobody 

Ignoring the calls from his companions to celebrate, Y/N’s concern for Alastor overrides his pain. He remembers the moment he noticed Alastor's disappearance, a sudden drop in his stomach, fearing the worst may have happened.

With a grimace, Y/N pushes through his injuries, a singular thought moving him forward: Find Alastor.

The journey to the radio tower is taxing, more so with his injuries. Y/N's determination doesn't falter; if anything, it toughens with every step he takes away from the battlefield and towards the looming structure in close distance

As he approaches, the damage to the tower becomes apparent—shattered windows, broken antennae, a testament to the battle's reach. The sight fuels a mix of emotions in Y/N; worry for Alastor's well-being, confusion over his sudden departure, and an inexplicable fear of what he might find.

Climbing the debris-strewn stairs with a limp, Y/N’s breaths come in short gasps, his injured leg protesting with every step. Yet, the thought of leaving Alastor in whatever state he might be—potentially hurt, or worse…—drives him onward.

Reaching the top, Y/N pauses to catch his breath, steeling himself for what's to come. He calls out, his voice echoing in the broken silence.

"Alastor? Are you here?"

There's a moment of nothing—no response, no movement, nothing but the whistle of the wind through the shattered remnants of the tower. Then, a shift in the shadows, and Alastor emerges, his usual poise disturbed by the visible signs of distress.

Y/N 's concern deepens at the sight, the relief of finding Alastor alive quickly overshadowed by the realization that the demon is not himself. The cheer, the confidence, the unshakeable demeanour—all seem to have cracked under an unseen pressure

Y/N, limping and visibly injured, pushes through the debris to find Alastor standing amidst the ruins, his back turned, staring at what used to be his source of power.

"Al... I was looking for you. Are you alright?"

Alastor spins around, a facade of cheer on his face, but his eyes betray a storm of emotions.

"My dear Y/N! Of course, I am. Why wouldn't I be? Though, I can't say the same for you. That looks quite nasty," he says, nodding towards Y/N’S leg.

Y/N wincesas he puts a little pressure on it "It's nothing. I was more worried about you. You disappeared during the fight."

"Worried? For me? Oh, Y/N, you do care! More than you should, perhaps." he glances away briefly.

"We're friends, right? Friends look out for each other." you reason, why shouldn't you worry?

"I... I'd like to think we respect each other, that we can be friends on equal footing."

The moment the words leave Y/N’s mouth, Alastor bursts into laughter. It's not the warm, infectious laughter Y/N has grown accustomed to; it's cold, and mocking, and it chills Y/N to the bone.

"Equals? Oh, my dear Y/N, that is rich! You, a mere sinner, and I, a being of immense power, equals?" He wipes an imaginary tear from his eye, still chuckling. "Your naivety is endearing, truly. But it's also a silly illusion. We are not, and can never be, equals."

Y/N feels a sting at those words, a mix of embarrassment and hurt. He'd always known Alastor was different and powerful- But Y/N’s hopes of finding common ground seemed to dissolve under Alastor's scathing amusement

"you see, in my world, power dictates one's standing. And I... I am on a level all my own. But don't feel bad, Y/N. It's not a slight against you; it's simply the way of things~ And in many ways, it's why I find you so... fascinating."

Y/N’s heart sinks as he realizes the depth of Alastor's conviction. The disparity in power, in their very natures, had always been there, but Y/N had hoped their friendship could bridge that gap. Now, faced with Alastor's laughter and pointed words, that hope flickers and dims.

"I see. I just... thought there was more to us than power dynamics,"

There's a dangerous gleam in Alastor's eye as he steps closer, his demeanour shifting subtly.

Alastor, his smile turning sharp, replies, "Oh, but we are, Y/N. You're a puzzle to me, a delightful anomaly in my world of predictability. That's why you're invaluable, not as an equal, but as something rare and fascinating to possess and protect. And that, my dear, is why you will always be mine."

Before Y/N can protest or even register that last part, Alastor is at his side, gently yet firmly examining the gash on Y/N's leg. His touch is cold, sending shivers up Y/N's spine.

"You've done a number on yourself. Hold still, now."

As Alastor tends to the wound, his fingers accidentally press against the tender flesh, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Y/N.

"Al! That hurts!"

"Oh, does it? My sincerest apologies. I'm only trying to help, after all. You do realize the precarious position you're in, don't you, Y/N? You're hurt and you came to me all alone. Who knows what could've happened if I didn't find you"

Y/N attempts to pull away, but Alastor's grip tightens, not enough to hurt, but enough to assert his control.

"Alastor, I... I appreciate your concern- and now i know youre okay! I think I should get going..."

Alastor's mood shifts then, his smile faltering as he releases Y/N's leg and stands up to full height, a shadow of his full demonic form flickering in the moonlight.

"Going? But we've only just started, Y/N. You see, I've been thinking about our future together. There's so much I want to show you, teach you. You could learn to love it... love me."

"Alastor, you're my friend. But that's all I can offer you. I don't feel the same way." Y/N confessed.

Alastor laughs a sound that sends chills down Y/N's spine. "Oh, Y/N. Sweet, naive Y/N. Do you think you have a choice in this? I decide what happens next. Not you."

He steps closer, his transformation beginning to take hold—his form growing, limbs elongating, and eyes darkening.

"You see, I enjoy the chase, the struggle. It's so... exhilarating. But every game must come to an end. And you, my dear, belong to me."

Y/N tries to back away, but Alastor's now elongated arm wraps around him, pulling him close. Alastor's touch is gentle yet possessive, his transformed face inches from Y/N's.

"You'll see, in time. You'll never have to be alone again. I'll take care of everything. All you have to do is say yes."

"I... I can't. Please, Alastor. Don't do this."

Alastor's grip tightens, his other hand cupping Y/N’s face, forcing him to meet his gaze. "Oh, but Y/N, you've already said yes. Every time you smiled at me, every time you sought me out for comfort, for friendship... you were leading me on. And now, you're scared? That's on you, not me."

“Al- I'm sorry i didnt… i didnt mean to! i-” you feel terrible that you may have accidentally led him on.

Y/N, caught in Alastor's gaze, found himself momentarily unable to resist as Alastor leaned in, his lips pressing against his in a possessive kiss. It was a clear assertion of dominance, a claim rather than an act of affection. Y/N pushed back, finally breaking free from the kiss, his heart racing. feels trapped, realising Alastor's power and possessiveness, closing in on him. He's terrified, understanding now the depth of Alastor's obsession and the danger it represents.

"You won't leave me, Y/N. Not now, not ever. We're bound together, by fate, by choice, by necessity. You'll see. I'll make you see."

Y/N is left shaken, realizing the full extent of Alastor's power and the lengths he's willing to go to not just possess but own him. He knows now that rejecting Alastor isn't just dangerous—it might be impossible.

"Now, let's go back to the hotel- or whats left of it… They are probably wondering where i've been!" he says cheerfully, like nine of that just happened.

Y/N follows, not because he wants to, but because he understands the peril of refusing. Alastor's arm around his shoulder isn't just an act of affection—it's a shackle.

I really like this one.. Since Alastor is an Aroace cannon, I feel like he wouldn't be sexual even with his obsession. He views the kisses as more of an act of dominance rather than getting any pleasure out of it, maybe idk if that makes sense how I phrased it. Im making a list of rules tyoe things soon for request. tysm for requesting

[wynought]

since i haven't seen it being pointed out before

all of the first stoats' names essentially mean "light"

kiran is of sanskrit origin meaning "ray of light" (and, according to wikipedia, an explicitly unisex name), uri is a hebrew name meaning "my light", hester is a variant of the name esther (of biblical/jewish origin) which comes from the same old persian root as the word "star", and, while i didn't find any particularly reliable source, various babyname websites at least seem to agree that jomei is a japanese name meaning "spread light"

additionally, their names seem to correlate with their purpose/position in last bast:

jomei is the speaker, they are in charge of propaganda - quite literally spreading the belief system and worldview of the first stoats aka the Light. it feels like this name is extremely straightforward in its meaning, but i was also unable to find much else on it, so there may be some additional hidden truth that i'm missing so far.

hester is the silence (the one with the gas mask missing their lower jaw and tongue) and their sphere of influence is secrets. now, i'm no religious scholar, and i have all of my information from quite literally the introductory paragraphs of the wikipedia article on the name esther. however, it seems that queen esther only took this name after ascending to the throne of persia to hide her true identity. this is reflected in the hebrew root of the name esther translating into "hide"/"conceal". (i am unable to provide more info on this, but anybody with a working understanding of how hebrew works and/or with more insight on the book of esther, feel free to interject/correct/add on to this)

uri is our beloved stoat pope. apparently, the name uri comes from the verb for "to shine" (to either be or to give light) and the mark of possession, resulting in the first connotation i mentioned earlier - "my light". this possessive marker, however, can also be interpreted as the name Yah which would be an abbreviation of YHWH - a marker of the divine, if you will. Therefore, Uri can also mean "Yah is my light", a very fitting name for the stoat whose department we only see called "faith".

i was unable to find a deeper meaning behind kiran's name, although to me "beam of light" feels very much like a name befitting the first stoats' leader. considering the way they commanded the wolf of theseus, it also seems to reflect the way their magic/their brand of control worked (their line of sight was part of how they controlled the wolf, indicating that was a key part of either their magic or the conditioning inflicted on the wolf - i'm partial towards the latter, considering how the wolf reacted to tula after she healed it). if anybody has anything more concrete to offer, though, i am all ears!

anyways, the first stoats' names are really cool, and we as a fandom don't talk enough about them because they died so fast. huge props to aabria for this fun bit of world building!

(disclaimer: as mentioned above, i have no background in theology or judaism, nor do i have any deeper knowledge of sanskrit, hindi, and indian mythology/folklore, nor japanese, and japanese mythology which would give me a deeper understanding of these names. my information comes from google and while i did try my best to verify the claims, i am fallible and happen to currently be very tired, so please correct me, if i made any mistakes!)