#perhaps not to this extent but like that is what too down processing is and that is not new

[reloaderror]

just saw someone on tiktok talk about predictive processing models of cognition and perception as “paradigm shifting”. if that book /just/ came out as you claim that’s the fastest paradigm shift to ever happen and it is a shame kuhn is not here to witness it cause this is already being covered in introductory courses in psychology

[hotdaemondtargaryen]

FABIEN FRANKEL AND MATT SMITH DISCUSS THEIR CHARACTERS FOR FORBES MAGAZINE.

frankel talking about criston and daemon:

“They both have a great kind of violence inside of them, and they’re good at it.”

“So, with that kind of mindset, you’re therefore drawn to putting yourself in situations where you can let that violence out, to some extent.”

“I think they’re also kind of both suffering great loss.”

“I think weirdly for Criston, it’s like his loss of freedom.”

“I think once he left being a solider and became a member of King’s Landing, he lost his freedom in his head.”

“Then obviously for Daemon, it’s his brother - loss and violence, I suppose.”

matt smith added:

“I would sort of echo those sentiments, really.”

“I think strangely, as well, when you look at them, they are both at times - they are both kind of frightened little boys, aren’t they, without any real guidance.”

while seated beside frankel during our conversation, matt smith said to his house of the dragon co-star:

“You never really hear about your sort of family back home at all, do you?”

“Perhaps they were quite isolated as young people.”

“There’s a scene in the first season where [our characters] get together and there’s a mini sort of standoff, and I think there’s a recognition in them both that they’re probably more similar than they let on.”

matt smith on daemon targaryen in s2:

“Well, I don’t really judge his decisions too much.”

“I just try and engage in the behavior as truthfully as I can on behalf of him, so to speak.”

“I don’t think, ultimately, he’s very interested in power.”

“I think he’s more interested in chaos and disorder and the thrill of - I don’t know, it’s like being on a jet ski with an axe in your hand, riding towards an army.”

“He lives for whatever that feeling is, if you could kind of bottle that up.”

“When he’s not feeling something akin to that, he just causes problems.”

“He’s outlandish.”

when asking frankel for his thought process as an acting partner with olivia cooke during those heated scenes, he said:

“I don’t want to speak too much to sort of what Olivia and I have spoken about, because I think that it’s for the audience to decide what they see as the sort of justification for the relationship - be that the genuine love or infatuation, or whether it’s a strategic move on either of their parts, because there’s benefits for both of them, I suppose.”

“What I will say is those scenes, in general, really come down to having an amazing director and Clare Kilner, who helmed sort of the majority of mine and Olivia’s kind of romantic-type scenes, made that such a collaborative experience and such an easy one.”

“Thankfully, Olivia is a great friend and very easy to work with.”

i was curious as to what smith and frankel would say to their somewhat enigmatic characters, if only they could.

instead of answering for his own character first, smith jokingly said of frankel’s criston:

Well, I’d go up to Criston Cole and I’d go, ‘Mate, you need to change your wardrobe. You’re always in that.’

frankel added with his message for criston:

“I think I’d say - take a holiday, son.”

“I think he’s just like been - he needs to get out of there for a moment.”

“That trip to Essos sounds pretty lovely, really.”

“Get himself some fresh oranges and make a mimosa.”

matt smith concluded:

“I’d say to Daemon - have you thought of going dark?”

“Hair color, really.”

“Have you thought of a ‘new hair, new you’ sort of thing?”

“It might change your perspective.”

[darkshelbyfiction]

Personal Whore (Kink Series)

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Female Reader

Summary: This Series will explore different fetishes including an innocence kink, somnophilia, anal play, watersports, bdsm, marking, edging, and anything else you would like me to include!

In this series, you are Thomas Shelby's maid. You are innocent and shy. This is your first job. Thomas Shelby takes an interest in you and pays you to become his personal whore. He makes you have sex with him in exchange of money, every day, using perverse techniques to satisfy his needs.

PART ONE: ORAL SKILLS

"You have been working for me for two weeks now Love and you recently turned 18, right?" Thomas questioned and you nodded timidly, nervous about what might come next.

"I... yes sir," you whispered softly, averting your gaze slightly out of shyness. The room seemed impossibly large and dimly lit, accented only by the flickering candlelight reflecting off the pristine white sheets upon the bed.

"Very well, that means that you are of legal age for my proposition." His voice dripped honeyed promises.

"Now let me ask you, Love... Do you know what some of the other maids here do for me in order to earn some more money?" your employer asked quietly, watching you closely.

"They perform various tasks, sir," you answered hesitantly, trying not to imagine where he could be going with this conversation.

"That's right," he said before looking at you with even more intensity in his gaze. "And do you know what these tasks entail?"

He asked, leaning closer, his proximity sending waves of anxiety through your body.

"Well," you began cautiously, choosing your words carefully. "Sarah said that, occasionally, she would touch you down there," you blushed, feeling mortified at having revealed such intimate information, albeit indirectly. You noticed a flash of excitement in his eyes when mentioning sensitive areas—a sign that perhaps this wasn't all just talk?

Thomas nodded thoughtfully, his expression unreadable as he processed your response. Then he rose gracefully from his seat, moving deliberately toward you like a predator closing in on its prey. It felt odd being so close to someone with whom you had worked for almost two months without any physical contact beyond casual banter.

"She occasionally touches me, yes," replied Thomas, maintaining eye contact. "But it isn't always required – merely desired. So I wonder, my dear, how far would you go for some extra compensation?" He smirked subtly, inviting himself deeper into the territory where you were reluctant to venture.

The heat of the moment caused you to feel flustered and uncertain as you attempted to gauge the severity of Thomas' intentions. Your heart raced faster than ever before, threatening to escape your chest as sweat glistened lightly along your brow.

"You want me to touch your pe..., uhm, you know...down there..." your voice trailed off, unable to find the courage to say the word 'penis'. Thomas smiled reassuringly, appreciating your discomfort as he realized you hadn't quite grasped the extent of his proposal.

"Yes, sweetheart. I want you to touch my cock and, maybe, one day, you will even take it in to your mouth or let me put it into your pussy, eh," Thomas stated confidently while running his hand across your cheek, causing involuntary shivers to run up your spine.

Your face colored deeply with embarrassment, though it also held an undeniable hint of curiosity. While your desire to please and satisfy your newfound benefactor burned intensely, something inside you screamed that taking things further than simple caresses went too far - yet another layer of turmoil added to the complex relationship unfolding between you both.

Having sensed your inner conflict, Thomas chose to approach the subject tactically.

Slowly, tenderly brushing aside a lock of your hair, he asked: "How does that make you feel, sweetheart?" His tone betrayed no judgement or impatience, instead offering understanding and acceptance. "Do you think you can handle that sort of responsibility?"

You trembled underneath his gentle ministrations, torn between fear and arousal, struggling to process your rapidly evolving feelings towards your once strictly professional superior.

"I never even seen a man's private parts before, sir. I was saving myself for marriage, but some extra cash would sound nice too," Your statement came out as a quiet plea for guidance, a confession of ignorance that exposed your vulnerability.

"Well, for what it's worth, no one would ever find out, Love. Not even your future husband," Thomas said and there was a sinister edge to his tone.

"I know that you are a good catholic girl, but sometimes it is worth doing bad things for the right incentive, wouldn't you agree?" Thomas said before he decided to lay bare his plans for you. "So, listen very carefully. If you agree to carry out these tasks, then I promise you that I will give you double your usual wages for the duration of your employment. In addition, I will give you £500 for your virginity and loyalty. How does that strike you?"

Stunned and bewildered, you stared at him in disbelief. Double your pay for doing things you didn't understand fully and parting ways with your cherished purity – your whole world suddenly seemed to spin wildly out of control. Yet despite the magnitude of the choices facing you, one thing remained clear: continuing as your present self would lead to financial ruin.

With tears swelling in your eyes, you found yourself considering Thomas' offer, wondering whether surrendering everything you believed in truly amounted to nothing less than selling your soul. Still, it was difficult to resist the lure of instant prosperity, particularly given the dire straits you faced otherwise. As you struggled internally, Thomas watched patiently, waiting for you to decide. Finally, with a heavy heart, you made your decision.

Nodding solemnly, you declared, "Alright, Mr. Shelby, I agree, but I need you to triple my wages and add another £500 for my virtue."

With an approving smile curling at the corner of his lips, Thomas conceded, "Agreed. I will triple your wages and pay you a lump sum of £1,000 for your precious purity," your employer said before unbuckling his belt without bothering to remove the rest of his clothes.

"Understandably, you may need time to become comfortable enough to execute these duties adequately, so I shall start you off slowly," Thomas explained calmly before unzipping his pants and thereby exposing his erect member. Despite your reservations, you couldn't help but notice the size and firmness of his cock as he pushed down his pants halfway. 

"It doesn't look so scary, does it, Love?" he murmured, his voice holding an undercurrent of amusement, attempting to ease your apprehension as he reached for your hand, guiding it tentatively towards his penis. With an anxious breath, you followed his instruction, marveling at the weightiness of his organ, still unsure of exactly what he expected from you.

As your fingers traced delicate patterns over his length, you discovered small nubs on the underside, eliciting a deep groan from him. Uncertain about your progress thus far, you glanced upwards briefly to catch sight of his reaction, finding satisfaction etched upon his features.

"See, Love, we're making headway already," Thomas commented gently, encouraging you with warmth.

Despite your lingering apprehensions, the confidence exuded by your master proved infectious, allowing you to relax somewhat and follow the path laid out before you.

Inch by inch, your exploration continued until you encountered the tiny knobbiness located near the base of his organ. Upon stimulating it, Thomas' moans grew louder, confirming your suspicion that you had struck gold.

Encouraged by this success, you bravely moved onto his sacrum, discovering that a soft ticklish patch accompanied it. Smiling sheepishly, you proceeded to explore the area thoroughly. After satisfying yourself with a leisurely tour, you finally turned your attention back to the main event – his impressively throbbing phallus.

Feeling emboldened, you took hold of the tip, applying a slight pressure that resulted in a low grumble emitting from Thomas.

Taking hold of your hand again, he positioned it correctly, demonstrating proper technique. Encouraged by his expertise, you mirrored his movements and gradually increased the strength of your strokes, matching his fervent pace.

"That's it, love! Keep going!" he urged, his hands now wrapped tightly around yours before making a somewhat unusual request.

"How do you feel about taking my cock into your mouth, Love?" Thomas whispered huskily, watching your every move closely.

"You want me to do what?" you asked, still feeling uneasy about performing such acts. The mere idea sent waves of nervousness coursing through your body, prompting your limbs to quiver.

"I want you to practice sucking my cock, Love," Thomas insisted matter-of-factly, a commanding authority evident in his tone.

Swallowing hard, you hesitated for a brief moment before asking timidly, "Like a lollipop?" 

"No, not like a lollipop, Love," Thomas replied, his words filled with amused indulgence. "Just wrap your lips around the head first and start by licking off my pre-cum. Trust me, it won't be as terrible as you might imagine."

His assurance did little to alleviate your anxiety, but nonetheless, you nodded obediently.

Gingerly, you took his thick shaft into your small hands, immediately experiencing a strange mixture of revulsion and fascination.

Carefully lowering your head, you pressed your tongue to the engorged head, savoring the salty taste of his precum.

"There you go, sweetheart. Lick around the ridge just above the hole," Thomas instructed you kindly, clearly aware of how intimidated you were feeling.

"That's a good girl," he told you and, just as you obeyed his directive, your fingers simultaneously worked to stroke the entire length of his impressive manhood.

"Now take me in your mouth, sweetheart. As far as you can," Thomas commanded authoritatively, his voice full of raw demand as, with trembling fingers, you complied, opening wide to accommodate his girth.

"Beautiful," Thomas breathed, appreciating your attempt before holding onto your hair and pulling slightly to guide your mouth deeper down on his erection.

As your lips grazed the sensitive skin beneath his glans, a wave of dizziness assaulted you, leaving you gasping as you tried to regulate your breathing.

"There you have it, sweetheart, take it all," Thomas directed firmly, pressing your mouth harder against him. Gulping reflexively, you felt the foreign object filling your mouth, causing your cheeks to bulge comically.

"I will fuck your throat now," Thomas muttered roughly, thrusting himself further into your open mouth, causing you to gag involuntarily. Your eyes watered with the unexpected intensity of sensation. But even amidst the choking panic, something inside you recognized an undeniable thrill.

Thomas held you firmly in place, ensuring you maintained eye contact throughout the experience. As your struggle to maintain control intensified, so did his aggressiveness.

"Good girl," he growled approvingly when you managed to adapt quickly, albeit tears streaming down your face and saliva dripping from your chin.

His cock now nestled comfortably within your tender throat, Thomas began moving faster, building momentum. His touch became more forceful as you submitted to his demands blindly, consumed by newfound passion.

"Do you know what happens to a man when he orgasms, Love?" Thomas asked teasingly, raising an eyebrow playfully as he continued to use your mouth and throat for your pleasure. 

Confusion crossed your face, unable to discern the meaning behind his inquiry as you shook your head.

"Well, when I cum, seed will spill out from my cock right into your eager mouth," Thomas clarified casually while fondling your wet cheek. "Are you ready for that?"

Your brow furrowed, processing the implications of his statement. It dawned on you that your role as his sexual submissive required complete submission, including receiving the ultimate release from your employer.

You nodded silently, acknowledging your willingness to accept whatever fate awaited you. And as Thomas' hips started bucking violently, indicating his imminent climax, you steeled yourself, preparing for the inevitable outcome.

"Good girl. I want you to swallow my load completely," Thomas ordered, his voice rough with anticipation as he thrusted in and out of your throat. Without question, you opened wider, bracing yourself for the sudden explosion. As Thomas' hips jerked forward, releasing a torrent of hot semen directly into your gaping mouth, you could barely contain your shock. The searing liquid burned your throat, stinging fiercely, but you endured, determined to satisfy your master. Consequently, Thomas let loose a powerful roar, his muscles tensing powerfully, as his body convulsed in ecstasy.

Pulling away from your tender mouth after the volley was spent, he looked deeply into your eyes, searching for any signs of resistance or regret. Finding none, a satisfied smirk formed across his lips. "Very good indeed, Love. Now open your mouth and show me your tongue once again," commanded Thomas, placing one palm on either side of your face. Submissively, you parted your lips to expose your reddened tongue, waiting patiently for further orders. "Keep practicing, because soon you'll be giving me blowjobs regularly until, in two weeks or so, I will fuck this virgin pussy of yours," he informed you confidently, running his finger along your neck, arousal evident in his gaze.

Understanding implicitly that your services would extend beyond the confines of today's encounter, you silently accepted your fate without protest.

After all, despite the humiliation and unfamiliar experiences you underwent, there remained an inexplicable allure. Something about submitting entirely to the desires of another piqued an unidentifiable desire deep within you, stirring feelings that seemed almost forbidden. In time, perhaps these indistinct yearnings could evolve into something concrete and tangible. For now, however, you must focus solely on perfecting your skills as Thomas' personal pleasure provider and you soon learned that his requests are more than just a little unusual. 

[povlnfour]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ OVERDRIVE (LN4)

pairing: lando norris x f!reader

summary: a practical stranger is determined to change your opinion on cars (and maybe make you fall in love in the process)

word count: 2k

content warnings: brief mentions of alcohol, brief make out, 110% irresponsible driving (don’t take ur eyes off the road kids)

“you’re right next to me, feel the heat, going overdrive” — conan gray, overdrive

cars were never something you understood.

your friends growing up had always had a weird fixation whenever they saw specific models racing down the streets where you lived, stopping to ogle and obsess as they used key words that were entirely lost on you. when you expressed your disinterest and lack of care over a model’s ‘horse power’, you were met with groans of disappointment and a quick change of subject.

perhaps that was why those particular friendships never lasted out of teenhood. they became stagnant over the years when you found new interests and connections that led you elsewhere.

somewhere in the back of your mind, despite time making those old acquaintances nothing more than a distant memory, you wondered what they’d say if they could see you now.

so it stood true that you never understood cars, but you certainly had an affinity for pretty men driving them. and lando norris definitely fit into that category.

sat in the passenger seat of a mclaren model you had entirely missed the name of, you gained a new outlook on what made such cars so good. granted it had nothing to do with the technicalities of the car, and more the way the wind whipped through your hair as lando guided the two of you through the streets of monaco. it was dark by now, but the city still shone bright with the lights from the buildings that towered over you — casinos and restaurants much like the ones you found the driver in to begin with.

you barely spared lando a glance, too afraid to lose focus on the road ahead of you. if you were to spend too long admiring the man you might never be able to look away. he had a certain transfixing aura around him you couldn’t quite explain from just the short time you had known him.

the city whizzed by as lando made green light after green light, turning onto less clustered roads where he could finally show the full potential of the car he was clearly so fond of.

“you look like you’re enjoying yourself no matter how much you’re pretending not to.” lando commented, and for the first time since accepting his offer of a drive home, you turned to face him. he was already looking at you, paying no attention to the roads despite the danger such an action possessed, and you couldn’t help the blush the attention brought to your cheeks. “let yourself have fun. stop trying to hate it so much.”

laughing, you shook your head, amazed at how a man who was nothing more than a stranger to you less than three hours ago already had such a good read on you. you’d have plenty to tell your friends who you had met at the casino in the morning it would seem.

“i’ve got a reputation to withhold here.” you admitted, enjoying the way he laughed as he looked back towards the road that grew quieter with every passing metre.

“not a car person?” lando observed.

“not at all.” you admitted, shaking your head fondly as you recalled those times you disappointed your friends. “i don’t think i’ve ever quite understood the fascination behind it.”

lando hummed, going quiet momentarily. he made an action similar to that of checking a watch, seeming to think over a grand idea. “you don’t have anywhere to be, right?”

it was already long gone two in the morning, he knew as well as you did the answer to that. “besides my bed, nope.” popping the ‘p’, you looked back towards the man driving.

“then let me show you what you’re missing.”

you underestimated to what extent his determination reached until his foot was on the pedal, and the slick car was rushing away from the city with nothing more than a light humming sound. your laughter mixed in with the whisp of the wind as suddenly you shot off into the night with a man who was barely more than a pretty stranger.

lando seemed to enjoy the sound, one hand slipping to the bottom of the wheel so he could rest on the door of his car whilst he eased his way through the roads. he navigated with such an ease you were sure he had done this route many a time before, slowing just enough when he reached cameras as to not be caught, but keeping the experience all the same.

“you’re insane!” you laughed as he skidded the car around a perfectly timed corner, knowing your mother would be crying in fear if she saw how reckless you were being.

“admit you’re enjoying yourself!” lando prompted, still finding time to look over at you once more throughout the journey.

grinning through your lies, you refuted “you’ll have to do more than that to impress me.”

“oh come on!” he whined, no malice or despair in his voice, but a glint in his eye that told he was more than prepared to take the challenge, “you’re a hard crowd to please.”

with that, he shifted the gear once more, finding a corner at which he unexpectedly spun back around on, bringing you back onto a straight towards the city that gave him plenty of opportunity to show off.

“you’re going to kill me!” you squealed, clinging on to the door for dear life as you giggled over the wind once more.

lando barely missed a beat before he shifted speeds once again, offering a playful “i’ll make sure they say you died enjoying yourself in the obituary.”

as you swung another corner, you let the motion pull you back towards the centre of the car, the electricity between the two of you becoming more prominent than ever. lando noticed it too, swapping the hand which held the wheel as his right one found its way to your left. you looked at the contact, unsure for just a moment, until he lifted your arms above your head, letting the recklessness wash over you until it shifted into exhilaration. you couldn’t help but lift your other arm to enjoy it, till you were practically shouting with adrenaline field joy into the night.

the fear of the speed was outweighed by the thrill, and you closed your eyes for a beat, enjoying the simple sensation of wind in your hair and lando’s hand in yours.

when you began to emerge into those more populated areas once more, the sight of red lights up ahead, lando spun once again, masterfully avoiding any disturbance with a practiced ease. the motion threw you further to the side, and this time, the squeal that left your mouth was entirely involuntary. you whipped your hands down from the air, this time choosing to find purchase on lando’s bicep as you steadied yourself.

lando chuckled lowly, making no quick decision to move away. instead, his hand that previously held yours found it’s way to rest on your thigh, holding you in place against the centre console and his shoulder. his comfort made you bolder, so even when you had steadied yourself, the grip you had on his arm only faltered enough to provide him momentarily relief, staying close to his side with your hands still linked now at his elbow.

“if you crash, i’ll kill you.” you joked, lando whipping his head around to face you with a smooth wink in your direction.

“you underestimate my skill, baby.”

the way your heart fluttered at the pet name made you briefly consider your own insanity. speeding down unpopulated streets with a stranger, with no care for what may happen. selfishly, you only wanted to bask in the feeling of his hand on the scarcely clothed skin of your thigh, and the look on his face whenever he met your eye.

you spared a glance towards his lips, pulled taut into a smile as he showed off for you. there was something about his confidence that only added to the compellement you felt towards him.

before you could readjust your attention, his eyes flickered back towards you, and the sharp decrease in speed told he had caught where you were looking. you may have pulled back in embarrassment had the grip he had on your thigh not tightened in response.

the temptation to apologise was quelled just as fast when he brought the car to a less extreme speed, able to spend longer fixating on you without the imminent threat of crashing if he lacked too much focus.

“i’m gonna need you to stop looking at me like that.” he practically growled. “otherwise i’ll do something stupid.”

you considered for a moment, debating just how reckless you would allow yourself to be tonight before the words left your lips involuntarily. “nothing’s stopping you.”

it was as though something shifted in the man, his hand finally leaving your thigh just long enough to bring the car to a halt in a convenient lay-by. and before you even had the chance to react to the standstill, he was pushing back over the centre console and connecting his lips with yours.

his hands found the back of your neck with a terrifyingly practiced ease. one your own gripped onto his forearm, your other finding it’s way between his curls and giving a sharp tug that had him gasping into your mouth. he recovered fast, using his tongue to swipe against your bottom lip in a request you couldn’t deny.

as lando deepened the kiss, he tugged you towards him, one hand slipping down to your waist and helping you across the console without ever having to disconnect your lips. you planted yourself firmly against his thighs, chests connecting as his tongue encircled yours. both his hands now crept towards your ass, squeezing firmly when they found their goal.

you almost automatically rolled your hips down as he gave a tug, eliciting a groan from his lips you so desperately wanted to hear again in a less public situation. he only held you tighter in response, tugging your bottom lip between his teeth in an attempt to gain some power back. you let him take it happily, bracing your hands against the headrest to gain some stability.

you were sure your lips were red and swollen by now, too enticed by the man below you who tasted vaguely of mint from the singular mojito you had seen him nurse all night.

the alcohol in your own system would be little match for the memories of lando’s hands on your skin. his fingers found their way up your waist and between the slits in your outfit so that they could dance along your skin with a wave of electricity.

lando tugged you closer, a feat you didn’t feel possible until your bodies were flush together, your knees taking the brunt of your weight to allow the closeness to remain. you let one finger slip from the headrest to trace the curve of his neck, enjoying the way his muscles tensed in anticipation at the contact. the sly smile it brought to your lips was enough to finally break your kiss, the two of you panting shallowly as your foreheads rested together.

lando took a moment, squeezing your waist as he closed his eyes to regain some of his own sanity.

“i should really get you home.” he muttered, voice void of any real haste “you make it quite hard to let you go.”

as he tilted his head to trail sweet kisses along the side of your jaw, you couldn’t quite help the offer that left your lips. something about the man below you had you believing that a rash decision would somehow be worth it.

“i never said you couldn’t come in.”

lando grinned in response, connecting your lips again as he turned the ignition back on in a clear acceptance of your invitation.

you’d have to clamber back into the passenger seat soon enough, but for one last second you allowed yourself to revel in the realisation that your night was about to get a lot more interesting.

so maybe you didn’t understand cars, but you’d certainly thank them for this outcome.

hello pals

soooo my first one shot ?! on this account at least. i used to write terrible 1d fanfic so this is a step up lmao. written based on overdrive by conan gray, 10/10 recommend

if you’re still here, thank you SO MUCH for reading. feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments/reblogs/asks, i always love reading what people have to say. i have not proof read this bc i hate my own writing so apologies if there are glaring mistakes.

i’ve also only been to monaco like three times but these quiet streets are entirely made up that place is manic (for someone who lives so close i do not go enough)

got some ideas in the brain, mostly around lando but also a few charles and oscar bits as they’re my boys so let’s see how this goes

but for now, big love! taglist can be found in my pinned post along with masterlist i’m slowing filling out🧡

- love, gigi xx

tags: @idkiwantchocolatee @vellicora @alessioayla @bborra @crimeshowjunkie @paolexsstuff @champagnelovers101 @loxbbg @hobiismyhopeu @moonypixel @celestialpato @champagneproblems17

[shalotttower]

Permanence

Title: Permanence Fandom: Hunter x Hunter Summary: A simple evening at an art gallery turns into a daring decision to slip away from Chrollo's grasp. Word count: 2400+ Characters: Chrollo Lucilfer x Reader Notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, exploration of power dynamics, power imbalance.

Tonight you spend in the shower longer than you normally do. There're no tears, no, just exhaustion, both mental and physical that seems to be seeping into your bones deeper than ever. Waiting is the worst part. You don't know whether there will be any kind of consequences after the stunt you've pulled. You don't know if the extent of Chrollo's composure has stretched to anger - and that's after you've tried so hard to keep yourself from pushing him - or it's just annoyance. Which is not ideal, but workable.

It was supposed to be a nice, as much as it can be, evening. Just a walk through the gallery, a little bit of art admiration here, a little bit of talking there, maybe getting some dinner.

After the shower, you sit on the closed toilet lid, naked, and stare at the mirror that's still fogged from the steam. You don't like looking yourself in the eye lately, or rather what you see there. Fear doesn't become you. Neither does hopelessness. Your reflection seems foreign, unrecognizable at times when it should be familiar and safe, a thing you grew up with and are supposed to know by heart.

***

"I want to leave," you whispered when Chrollo put his arm around your waist. Yet another painting by an unknown artist; names that didn't ring a bell and suffering deities depicted on canvas twirled in an odd dance.

He didn't react immediately, so you repeated yourself. Something hinted that you should keep quiet and admire in silence, but something else entirely urged you to push. Perhaps it was too hot. Perhaps too many people were surrounding you and Chrollo's touch felt stifling rather than reassuring.

"Can we get out of here?"

He looked down at you, expression calm, and you could almost call it considering. The hand on your hipbone tightened just a notch, as if making sure you won't slip away.

"Not yet, dear. We haven't seen everything."

A sigh died somewhere in your chest before it got the chance to escape your lungs. "We've been here for over an hour," you managed. And while art usually caused pleasant emotions in you, right now it did nothing of sorts. People brushed past, paying little mind to the couple blocking one of the main hallways. You tried to not fidget under Chrollo's gaze.

Maybe he would've granted your request - who knows? Chrollo wasn't the type to deny you anything reasonable, not after almost four months of compliance - if a man had not appeared right next to you like a ghost out of thin air. You remembered him from a fine dinner, one of many. The memory was hazy, you had a glass of martini at Chrollo's indulgence which proved to be a bit stronger than expected. But the feeling, that sinking sensation of unease you got back then from the man's presence remained. As well as the smell of his cologne, leathery; it lingered behind him even after he left the table.

One look of his dark eyes was enough to make your stomach clench.

And then they started talking.

When you were a child you hated shopping with your mother. Groceries or clothing - no matter. It was not the process itself, but rather occasional encounters with other adults she knew. The chit-chats about everything and nothing could last forever, and you stood there, tugging on her hand to remind about your existence. Can we go? Can we go home, are you finished?

You weren't a child anymore, yet the impression of your own invisibility and being a silent accessory to Chrollo, although he occasionally looked down at you, brought those memories back.

The gallery room was too small. There were too many people.

The nape of your neck tingled.

You wrung your hand out of Chrollo's hold faster than any reasonable thought could stop you. He blinked in surprise, and that was the only time in four months you saw him taken aback for a small particle of a second. Before having a chance to see his composure settle back or properly regret your actions, you slipped through bodies like a fish. Stupid heels of elegant shoes with ankle straps and pointed toe tips hindered your every step. Your heartbeat hammered in your ears as if someone hit them with blunt force repeatedly. The dreadful dress he chose rustled against your legs, black velvet fabric clinging to your thighs when you tried to maneuver between visitors. You wanted to get out. Just to have some air. Just to take a breath.

"Dear," Chrollo's voice reached you from behind, but you didn't slow down. You passed paintings one by one. Saints screaming at your hasty steps and angry expressions seemed to judge you. "Dear." Louder now. People were throwing curious glances at you both.

You did not spot a waiter who stopped abruptly before you with a tray of wine glasses in time.

It was really supposed to be a nice evening.

***

You towel dry your hair until it feels acceptable enough and pull the pajama on, a silky set Chrollo gifted (replaced yours with). It is more comfortable than anything you've ever owned, but still too short on your frame and reveals way too much skin for your liking. He won't let you sleep not in the bed tonight, this much is obvious. The makeshift mattress you've made on the floor is nowhere to be seen just like you expected.

So be it.

Quietly you slip under the covers and turn on your side, facing the window. The sheets smell fresh and clean and there's even a hint of lavender underneath if you focus hard, but right now all you can focus on is getting through this night. Sleep comes quick. Or so you think because when Chrollo lies down next to you, you jerk awake. His body radiates warmth, not close enough to touch just yet, but the knowledge that it'll change soon causes a surge of nausea within you.

He shifts with a faint rustling of silk sheets. An arm comes to drape around your middle like a shackle; you move closer to the bed edge, curling yourself into a ball. It almost seems like you might fall off, and perhaps you will, really, your leg is already hanging in part.

A delicate kiss is placed at the top of your spine, bare where the shirt doesn't reach your shoulder blades. Another one follows on your vertebrae and then he pulls you flush against him. Your heartbeat speeds up and palms become cold; his - is slow and steady, like always.

"You're going to fall off," he whispers.

"Fine by me." You whisper too for some reason, despite there being nobody else to hear you.

There's a soft exhale from behind and his hand begins to rub circles on your tense stomach, lazy motions that go up to your rib cage and down to the belly button. Chrollo's breath tickles your nape and you know that if it wasn't for four months of constant touches, caresses and brushes, you would've pushed him away. Careful conditioning - that's what it is, you're not stupid. Your body knows him, his scent, his hands and voice now, even though your mind screams at them to keep their distance.

He hums when you shudder.

"Cold?" Chrollo asks. One of his fingers traces the hem of your shorts. Your hand comes over it and halts it midway.

"Please stop," you say, and it's the first time since this all started your voice is actually cracking, like an eggshell. Fragile at the edges.

He doesn't say anything but the motion ceases. Slowly, his hand retreats to come rest on your hipbone where it grants you a gentle squeeze.

Chrollo kisses the back of your head.

"Sleep," he tells you.

Easier said than done.

***

The new penthouse looks pretty much like any other you've stayed in – large bed and luxurious decor. It even has a grand piano standing in one of the corners which you have no idea how to play. Chrollo releases your hand and heads into the bathroom while you wander around, poking at things just for the sake of having something to do. A glass figurine of a little ballerina catches your attention. She seems frozen in her sorrowful stance, looking downwards to the ground beneath her tiny pointe shoes. You turn it this way and that, watching light catch on the shiny surface.

The shower starts running.

It's been only three days after the incident in the gallery and Chrollo hasn't commented upon it in the slightest. Maybe he's simply biding his time, you wouldn't be surprised.

Eventually you settle down onto the soft mattress and grab the first random book from the side table. Reading helps. Immersing yourself into fiction distracts from reality.

You thumb through the pages and find out that it's some sort of a romance novel, a period one judging by the writing style. Some duke-like character seems to be enamored with one of his maids but can't do anything about it because of social stigmas. The woman herself is poor as a church mouse yet beautiful beyond words - a bit cliché if you're honest, still there's nothing wrong with it per se, everyone can enjoy their guilty pleasures.

Chrollo emerges from the bathroom after some time, drying his hair with a towel. He moves about the room: unpacking your luggage, hanging up clothes in the closet, etc. Your eyes follow him without meaning to. There are times like this when Chrollo almost feels like a normal person. What he is doing seems domestic enough to trick your brain into short periods of blissful ignorance. Then your gaze falls onto the cross tattoo on his forehead and the illusion breaks like a soap bubble on a sunny day.

You turn another page and read half a paragraph before realizing you've absorbed absolutely nothing.

"What are you reading?" Chrollo sits by your side after he's finished unpacking. His voice is light, almost casual. Almost playful. It puts you on edge.

"Something I found." You close the book and show him the cover. "It was next to the bed."

He leans forward, glancing at the words written on the page. When Chrollo speaks, there's amusement in his tone. "Interesting."

Interesting. What's that supposed to mean? You keep your eyes trained on the text, but try as you might, the words seem meaningless, jumbled. Chrollo rests his hand on your calf. He keeps it there for a few moments before sliding it upward, slowly, toward your knee. You give him a look. "What are you doing?"

"Getting your attention," he responds with the simplicity of someone stating the weather outside.

"You have it. What is it?" It's that type of a stare he gives you that had almost transformed into his personal form of art. One that takes everything in without any effort – from your eyebrows furrowed in suspicion to the corners of your mouth turned downward into a frown.

"You know," Chrollo says thoughtfully. "I've been thinking."

Isn't he always?

He squeezes your leg under your knee, where skin is more sensitive and then you're cornered - right between him and the headboard.

"Your behavior in the gallery, dear. It was rather unexpected," he tells you and the sinking feeling turns into full blown nausea in your throat.

You knew it. Knew that he was going to get back to this, sooner or later. Fuck. "You've been behaving so well these past months and I wonder what prompted this."

Chrollo tilts his head.

"I'm sorry." You reply and shift. "I got anxious."

"Go on," he says when you don't elaborate, not sounding angry or upset, just curious. The warm thumb traces patterns on your knee cap - you hate how Chrollo does this, makes you talk when he could leave you alone and drop the subject.

You have to continue now.

"New spaces isn't really my thing, and yesterday I felt... Pressured. It wasn't intentional, I simply," you shrug your shoulders, "got overwhelmed and acted on impulse. I shouldn't have."

Your voice doesn't crack once and you're proud over that.

"Hm." Chrollo hums but it's neither approving nor disapproving, more like pondering. He moves closer so your knees bump against each other. This is dangerous territory – him being close while questioning you, you know better than to pull back now.

"You're sorry," he says, a strand of damp hair falls onto his forehead. "Are you sorry because you understand what you did wrong," each word is precise as if to drill into your head. "Or are you apologizing because you're afraid of the consequences?"

You stare at his shirt instead of his face. The top three buttons are undone, revealing a patch of pale skin. You want to button them up - knowing him, it's hardly a coincidence.

"Both, I think." You opt for honesty, because lying to Chrollo would most likely end with him seeing right through it, regardless of your efforts.

His frame effectively blocks out everything else from view: up close like this he's handsome, there's no denying it. Dark eyes framed by long eyelashes and soft lips and high cheekbones that make him look like a model out of a fashion magazine. And yet there's also coldness underneath it all, hidden behind those charming smiles and polite remarks. It sometimes gives you an uncanny impression: Chrollo seems frozen, suspended in that state of perpetual calmness, like time stopped ticking inside of his chest.

"What now?" You ask, heart thrumming somewhere deep near the bottom of your rib cage. The book lays forgotten next to you, pages bent after it slipped from your grasp and hit the mattress.

Chrollo cups your cheek with one hand, "Now we continue the evening."

Continue?

The confusion must show on your face because he chuckles. "You apologized," it feels patronizing but you try to ignore it for the sake of getting over with whatever this is. "And admitted your faults. I can overlook a single instance of defiance–especially since you explained yourself so well."

Relief washes over you, making your shoulders sag. You take the book, careful not to let your fingers brush, he seems to like skin on skin contact.

"I expect better behavior next time, dear."

"I'll try," You mutter under your breath.

His hand slips away from your thigh and moves to grab the remote - news, of course, - Chrollo watches news almost religiously every night before going to sleep. "I appreciate when you behave," he adds smoothly. "It makes everything much easier for both of us."

He settles his head on your lap, and it feels heavy, and his damp hair tickles, but you don't dare push him off.

[brucewaynehater101]

About Tim's kill count: I think Tim tries really hard to be okay with murder. He's accepted that's something other vigilantes do, that sometimes it's the most practical answer. He knows that self defense is a thing, when it's you or them... Well, no one can be blamed for choosing themselves over a villain. He is the smart, logical Robin. He can be rational about murder. Stars know someone has to, and B is too much of an emotional mess when it comes to that particular subject.

So when Tim has to blow up Ra's bases, he tries really hard to be okay with it. He gave them a three minute warning (it's not much, but he knows how fast they are), so technically it's not like it's his fault if they decided to stay. He had to do it, it wasn't even just self defense, he had a civilian hostage to take into account. It was the only logical solution that allowed him to save Batman too. So yeah, he knows his reasoning was completely sound despite the circumstances. Honestly, he deserves Kudos for not losing it considering the amount of stress he was under and the fact he nearly died and lost an organ.

So yeah, he is pretty sure he's okay with it. He knows that if Batman ever truly catches up un his RR reports of that time he's not gonna be happy. He figures he can deal with that (he can't, he can barely deal with his own guilt. Deep down he knows he'll collapse like a wet napkin).

But instead of Batman the one to confront him is Jason having heard from Talia or finding the evidence on an outlaws' mission. And Tim is relieved because this should be easy. Not only is he a master manipulator: Jason is okay with murder, extremely emotional and still feels guilty about Titan's Tower. He's not even on talking terms with B. Tim has the upper hand in this encounter.

Cue to Jason's pov and it's just so painfully obviously that Tim is trying to rationalize the guilt away. Jason doesn't know whether to acknowledge it (the kid looks like he needs to actually talk about it, sue him) or to let him be delusional for a bit longer. He isn't the biggest expert on healthy but that doesn't look like it.

Tim succeeds in getting him to promise he won't tattle to Bruce, and is really proud of himself for handling the situation. Jason is now panicking thinking about what would Bruce do if he finds out (Tim doesn't know the extent of Batman's reaction to Jason killing at first).

(I got a little carried away with the idea of Tim being convinces he's okay with murder and Jason, who is pro murder for certain people, seeing right through him like "Oh honey")

Oh!!! I've seen some fics that cover what would happen if the Bats found out about Tim's kill count or the bases, but I haven't really seen ones with dark/abusive Bruce.

Tw: abuse, murder

Here's what I'm thinking:

Jason is fantastic for being the first to find out. He'd be supportive, understanding, and non-judgemental. He'll have no moral issues with murder. Perhaps he could have some mental breakdowns on the fact his younger brother had to resort to that or the high number of deaths or that someone younger than him had to stain their hands (which could also lead into him finally processing Damian's kills as well), but he wouldn't have any issues with Tim commiting murder.

Then we contrast that with Dick. He doesn't blame Tim. He's fiercely protective of his brother and will beat up anyone who gives Tim shit for it. On the other hand, he does have moral issues with murder. He'd probably have an internal debate with himself. He wants to support Tim, but the kid killed so many people (in this AU). Tim killed in self-defense. Dick has a particular understanding due to his time as a cop, but his vigilante rules have always contrasted with his cop ones (not just killing. Breaking laws, how civilians are treated, who your "allies" are, and whether you can trust your coworkers to do what's right). He's devastated that Tim was in that position and blames himself (maybe even takes those deaths upon his own moral conscience).

Both of them love, care, and support Tim in this. They also have very different ideas about murder.

Tim is also trying very hard to deny to himself how much death is actually on his hands. He's struggling to pretend he's fine and trying to logically convince himself that the deaths are acceptable.

In this AU, Bruce obviously flips the fuck out and acts like a piece of shit. Feel free to hc how far he takes that shit.

However, this has important ramifications against Damian. Whatever his feelings are about Tim at this point, watching his father abuse a kid he adopted (and considers his own) for the sin of killing? For self-defense? What if Damian ever kills again? Would Bruce react the same? What if there was no other choice? Also, does this mean that his father will never truly love him? Will his past always be held over Damian's head? Will Bruce ever forgive him? Is his father's love conditional? To add on, Damian has complicated feelings about LoA as well. He'd need to process the extreme destruction Tim enacted against the LoA. Just Damian having mental breakdowns.

Cass's confliction with murder and her love for Tim could also be added into this. I don't know much about the arc where she becomes a villain, but that would add to her turmoil.

Now, Alfred is a confusing one. How dedicated is he to Bruce? Is this the characterization where he sasses the man, not so subtly hides his guns around the Manor, and will stand up to the man? Or is this the one who will follow Bruce's lead even if it means psychologically torturing his grandkid? Is he somehow both at the same time? Can the kids trust Alfred to protect them or choose them over Bruce?

Babs would be protecting Tim (and the others in their support of Tim) to the best of her ability. In my mind, she's chill about murder due to her dad being a cop and her working with murderers (like Harley). She'd run interference to protect Tim until Bruce finds out, and then she'd be trying to get him away from Bruce.

Anyways, I'd love to see all of the characters, their feelings/experiences, and the conflict expanded on.

[jacevelaryonswife]

Golden and Silver, my new colors | part one

Your marriage to Prince Aemond was promising in the eyes of your parents, however, as almost everything that is known suffers from imperfections, the dynamics between you and your husband could not be different.

∴ pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Wife!reader

∴warnings: slight angst, mature content, pregnancy, some reader’s thoughts may be a little aggressive to the topic of pregnancy, spiteful reader, english is not my first language.

golden and silver masterlist

Your marriage to Prince Aemond was promising in the eyes of your parents, a young couple of noble descent whose union strengthened the alliance between the Crown and one of the most influential houses in Westeros. However, as almost everything that is known suffers from imperfections, the dynamic between you and your husband could not be different. Though he never mistreated or mistreated you, Aemond was mostly apathetic to your presence and made slight effort to maintain an active dialogue between you. He was terribly cordial, polite and did his duty vehemently, but nothing more than that, there was no desire to sow good seeds for a promising future or to open a small gap to allow you in, despite your many attempts.

You knew the prince's fame before the quick engagement and marriage process, a reserved young man, quiet and almost too intimidating. You were also aware that building the relationship could be really difficult and tumultuous, but not to that extent, not like this. Nothing happened between you and Aemond, not one step more or less, it was as if an infinite inertia had settled into your marriage and refused to leave. But again, not because of your attempts. For months you tried various types of approaches, some more delicate than others, almost timid or more incisive. It wasn't like he ignored you, no, he answered patiently, but he never sought to deepen a conversation with you, or anything beyond the basics. There was a wall between you that he refused to tear down. To be honest, there were some moments when he gave himself a little more in your relationship, when asked about his favorite books and when you wore black dresses with purple details — the latter made him squeeze your hand harder initially in public, but eventually it returned to rigidity. About the books: he asked you back what your interests were and kept a sustained eye on you for long seconds after your answer, before retreating from your shared quarters to spar with Sir Criston Cole.

For your mother and Queen Alicent, it was your duty to spark passion at your wedding. However, no tips or tricks to make your husband more open or affectionate worked. There were no more avenues to be explored.

“A woman's duty is to maintain her marriage. If the prince is not interested in your charms, you must try harder,” said your mother.

You didn't understand why. Perhaps he didn't want the union and tried to avoid the emergence of a bond beyond the call of duty. Maybe he was just like that, an unknown that would never be unraveled inside an impenetrable shell. Or maybe he was like all men were outside of stories and novels. No matter why or what it was based on, over time, you learned that your husband wasn't interested in your affections, or the queen-colored dresses you had made (even though you hated green), or the gentle touches and wasted words. Aemond wasn't interested.

Maybe he was in love with someone else. The fact alone turned your stomach and left you hanging for days. There was nothing more tragic than being in a loveless marriage. But thinking of the possible lovers Aemond might have, no alternative seemed convincing. Still, the possibility circled your head and made you insecure, keeping you reclusive for a few days.

Much to your dismay, nothing has changed.

Your mother, the queen, and your husband... all remained the same in your absence and unhappiness. Aemond didn't ask about your routine, which didn't give away your stay in a more isolated part of the keep. But your mother and the queen — your two friends — were not as solicitous as they might have been.

Nothing would change in your situation. Nothing. This was only obvious at dinners, parties, and any situation where you and your husband shared physical closeness. Even in bed. Your friends were married women now, too involved in their lives to spend meaningful time with you. Even if they did, you wouldn't be able to say your situation, perhaps out of shame, perhaps because of the wave of unhappiness that has flooded your heart in recent weeks. Just you and your mind glancing outside the wall that separated freedom from loneliness. The freedom you'll never have. You've never felt so abandoned before.

“If you can't make your husband fall in love, I didn't raise you that well.”

Things got worse — specifically for you — when the news of your pregnancy was announced. Your family drank the image of a healthy male grandson, a fierce dragon as your father said. Aemond knowingly pressed your hand across the table with an almost imperceptible smile on his handsome features, positively attracting their mothers' attention. Maybe the arrival of a son would warm the prince's heart, but maybe for you it was too late.

There was no joy to be fully celebrated, just a twinge of spite that threatened to take over your entire body. Grudge for your mother, your father, the queen and especially your husband. There was no joy in having your worth reduced to bearing a child, especially the child of a man who didn't love you.

Oh no, you couldn't take it anymore.

“I would like to retire,” you announced when rose from your chair.

“Are you feeling well, my dear?” asked your father from across the table from the small dinner organized by the queen and king for your pregnancy.

“I would like to be alone.”

“What do you mean, my love? It's because of you that we're here today, stay here”, your mother spoke this time, drawing your impetuous and not very pleasant gaze in her direction.

No, it's not.

"I'm not asking permission, excuse me."

Going against your parents was never an option. You were a polite and affable lady who never objected to an order or raised your voice to anyone. But what did it cost? What have years of obedience done for you?

For a brief moment when Aemond touched your hand, a part of your brain lit up to the feeling and it almost made you recoil from your next acts, almost made you forget what you had accumulated over a lifetime and specifically in the last four months. You wouldn't accept crumbs of what you deserved to have entirely. The blindness of resentment was incisive in guiding you through the corridors without caring about your family members. If you had been paying attention, you would have seen the negatively surprised expressions of your parents and the queen and heard King Viserys I's attempt to remedy the situation as he said:

“The good mood of pregnancy never fails.”

Aemond, for the first time, directed a different look in your direction. Not that you saw it either, in fact, steps followed your path a few minutes after you left, maybe it was your parents, you thought, or the queen, but for the second surprise of the night, it was your husband walking beside you. You didn't deign to look at him, just identifying the sound of his cautious voice.

“Is something wrong, my lady?”

“I have expressed my wish before, husband.”

Again, your grudge didn't make you notice the one-eye prince’s brief retreat. Now he cared about your needs? Funny.

“Just wanted to make sure of your well-being”, his tone was lower than before, but it didn't do much to lessen your displeasure. Damn, all of them, all damn. “If there is any-“

“There’s nothing, my prince, have a good night.”

You didn't have to scream or struggle, though you particularly wanted to, even say a cursed word. But you were cultured, polite and polite. A good lady, a good daughter and a good wife. You learned from the best teacher that indifference is the best way to show apathy for someone. Let them feel it from you until they drown. Aemond didn't continue to follow you, too dismayed by your attitude to take another step.

Some people settle for fractions of attention, love and respect. With cracks of broken happiness, with the shadow of unhappiness. You were one of those people for a long time. No more. You would be seen as you deserved, by your mother the queen, and especially your sweet husband. The next day you went to the artisan to order new dresses to replace your current ones.

“Green, my lady? Or black and purple?”

"Golden. Gold and silver, my new colors.”

[transchesters]

sam doesn’t know how he let it get this bad.

it’s just that… sam’s a chubby kid. it’s not even that he eats too much or doesn’t exercise -- they can’t afford to eat too much anyways, and dad is always putting him through some rigorous training or another. but he’s short for his age, and his body hasn’t figured out how to distribute fat and muscle.

it’s starting to piss dad off. he pushes him harder and screams at him when he’s too slow, when dean knocks him down too easily, when he gets winded too fast.

this is what ends up making sam hyper-aware of his size. so he starts to change things about his lifestyle.

it started small. he ordered less at diners. he ate small bites of the cold pizza dean brought home. he grabbed an apple before school and called it breakfast and lunch, then had a few spoonfuls of peanut butter for dinner.

it wasn’t that he wasn’t hungry. he was, to an extent. but he liked feeling hungry. it reminded him he was alive, because sometimes he doesn’t feel alive at all.

he’s fourteen when this started. he has no control over anything in his life. dad moves them from town to town without caring about the ramifications on his sons. dean bosses him around and beats him up, coercing him into sparring practice and ordering him to dig into whatever lore dad needed to know. he’s practically just a puppet for their amusement.

but there are little things he could control. like what food he puts in his mouth, and how much of it, and when. it’s not like he has any friends to notice that he doesn’t eat in the cafeteria during lunch. he’s invisible to them, and he’s invisible at home, too. dean and dad would only notice if he disappeared next time they needed information on how to kill a djinn or if vampires were solitary creatures.

it gets worse when dad’s home. dad, who drills him on the lore. dad, who coaches him on his right hook so he can take down a monster three times his size. dad, who looks at him like he’s a soldier. or perhaps a toy.

sam drops weight like crazy. dad tells him he looks great. dean stares at him more than usual like he’s trying to figure out what’s wrong. but he must be doing something right, so he keeps at it.

the first time sam passes out, it’s… a mess. he was on a run, because that’s about the only thing he can do to get away from the motel. but he hadn’t eaten at all that day, so in hindsight a run was a terrible idea.

he stumbles down into a ditch when his vision starts to go. he doesn’t remember falling to his hands and knees, nor does he remember vomiting up what little remains in his stomach. soon it’s just green bile and spit and he’s heaving and heaving until he can’t breathe at all.

he comes to just a few minutes later. he’s staring up at the sky, slowly growing dark. he’ll miss curfew. he’s not sure if he cares.

after that incident, sam tries to be smarter about this whole thing. he can’t go around passing out any time he has to run. he knows that any day now, john’s going to start bringing him out on hunts. he knows dean was his age when he started hunting. it’s only a matter of time.

so, trying to be rational, he starts eating a bit more. an apple for breakfast. a granola bar for lunch. maybe some toast for dinner, since he knows carbs keep you going longer.

no one notices the rings under his eyes. they don’t notice that his wrists are so small, a child could wrap their hand around them. they don’t notice that sometimes he only manages two bites of bread before he’s excusing himself from the table and hiding in his room.

—

sam is nineteen when someone notices. jessica moore, with her wild hair and her loud, wonderful presence, wants to have sex with him. and sam doesn’t know what to do, so suddenly he’s shirtless and jessica is staring at him like he’s a freak.

he’s out the door of her dorm room and fleeing across campus before she can process it.

sam thinks it’s over. he’s sure he’ll never see jessica again, that she’ll block him out and tell their friends to ignore him, too. but then she shows up at his favorite study spot the next day, sitting down across from him at the library. she sets a folder on top of sam’s laptop and smiles tentatively. sam looks down at it.

“how to cope with an eating disorder.”

they learn about it together. jessica tells sam about safe foods and asks what his might be. they eat in private, refusing offers to go out to eat with friends. she makes him salads and makes sure to buy organic, because sam says that even though it’s stupid and more expensive, it makes it seem cleaner. she makes him smoothies with tofu for protein and sam learns that he really loves fruit. at least, as much as he can love food.

sam has bad days. he has really, really bad days. one night, he discovers the momentary joys of binge eating. he eats an entire salad, a microwave bowl of mac and cheese, and a sleeve of oreos.

he spends the night hovering over the toilet, violently trying to expel every last bit of the filth he put inside himself. the next day, he stays in the bathroom. he doesn’t deserve to go out, to let jessica care for him. he tells her to go away when she knocks on the door, and the sound of him throwing up gets her to move.

but he has good days, too. one day, he drinks an entire smoothie, eats an entire salad, eats a few handfuls of trail mix, and in the end he doesn’t want to kill himself. he calls himself stupid for thinking this to be some sort of grand achievement, but jessica scolds him and tells him she’s proud of him.

and then jessica dies.

jessica is ripped away from sam by the foul monster who ruined his life in the first place. she burns on the ceiling of their apartment and sam hates dean for not letting him burn with her.

dean doesn’t notice that sam doesn’t eat for days after her death. he thinks it’s just a coping mechanism. or maybe grief. but at least sam is hunting again. at least sam is with him again. that’s all that matters.

—

sam is twenty-two when he’s possessed by meg. she takes one look inside his screwed up head and laughs.

“oh, sammy. it’s a mess up here.”

she lets sam be present, which is the cruelest thing she can do, and she eats. she eats so much goddamn food.

she goes to local bars wearing sam’s skin, downs several beers and orders two burgers. she takes one back to the motel room she’s camping in, and she eats it in front of the mirror so sam can watch. you could say she picked up a lot of tricks in hell. and yeah, she kills people with his hands. she makes him watch that, too.

call him fucked up, but the eating is worse. the eating is so much worse.

when sam spends two days after the whole meg ordeal locked up in the bathroom, the awful sounds of vomiting hardly being covered by bad tv, dean thinks it’s just because being possessed must have sucked.

—

sam is still twenty-two the first time he dies. he’s twenty-two when he learns that his brother sold his soul to keep him alive.

dean finally begins to notice, because sam doesn’t eat much of anything during his last year.

and when dean is gutted by the hellhounds, sam doesn’t eat at all. it’s not until ruby finds him, drunk and nearly emaciated, about to be killed by some demons, that he forces himself to try. he can’t very well bring dean back and kill lilith when the thought of eating a goddamn apple sends him spiraling.

so he gets stronger. ruby offers him her blood and he drinks it and he eats solid food for the first time in weeks. and when dean is back, and sam is hopped up on demon blood, things seem like they could be okay.

and then sam raises the devil. and dean doesn’t trust him anymore. he hits him and sam lets him. sam loses ruby, and he loses any semblance of an appetite he may have had. he only eats when dean forces him to, being stared down by his older brother in musty diners in the middle of nowhere. he shovels lettuce and tomatoes in his mouth to satisfy dean, and he keeps hunting.

—

sam is twenty-five when he throws himself into the cage. sam is a thousand years old when he’s pulled out, scarred and mangled, but still standing. something is different. his entire being aches less. he breathes easier, he hunts better, and he never feels hungry. he doesn’t sleep or eat and he doesn’t lose weight. he’s perfectly fine. he meets his grandfather and some distant relatives. he learns about his mother, even though he doesn’t care so much about that anymore. he’s reunited with dean, who is immediately put off by sam’s whole vibe. because he’s different. he’s wrong.

even though sam feels the best he’s felt in years.

and then death shoves his rotted soul back into his chest, and sam has never wanted to die more.

nothing is real. reality is slipping and sam can’t keep a single bite of food down without retching up bile and acid from the depths of his stomach.

—

sam is twenty-nine and one thousand years old when he starts the trials to close the gates of hell. he had been doing so good these last four years. he doesn’t talk to dean about it, but dean seems to understand that his brother prefers light meals with fresh vegetables, so he makes himself burgers and salads for sam.

but now, sam is doing something meaningful for once. he’s going to close the gates of hell, and he’s going to be cleansed in the process.

he has an excuse not to eat. he feels like he’s dying — according to cas, he is. so he downs a few spoonfuls of dean’s soup and tells him he isn’t hungry. which is true. it’s just not because of the trials.

the trials are good. they’re a gift from god. they rip out his insides and force him to puke them out.

and he’s ready to die to finish them. he’s excited to die, at the end of this. he will finally be free of his broken body and his broken soul and his empty stomach. he doesn’t care if he ends up in heaven or hell. at least he can just be done.

but dean isn’t ready for him to die. dean fights for him, tells him to stay, says all the right words to have sam let the trials go.

and then he still almost dies.

and when he comes to, he feels different. it’s hard to put his finger on, but he’s losing time. they pass fifty mile markers in the span of two minutes, and sam feels like he might be going crazy.

but at least he isn’t hungry, and he isn’t dying from starvation. he doesn’t have to eat, for some reason. he doesn’t think about why and instead accepts it as the blessing it is.

but then he learns why. dean tricked him into saying yes to some freak angel, and now kevin’s blood was on his hands.

and his body is all sorts of fucked up.

and his autonomy was taken from him once again.

so he retaliates the one way he knows how.

sam doesn’t each much at all these days.

[divinesangel]

did his members know about the situation beforehand?

https://x.com/kchartsmaster/status/1828953792571736528?s=46&t=l6tYn2l2BxbL4AefpTI_1w

it seems that the members weren’t really aware of everything that has been happening. it took them by surprise, and they didn’t expect this at all. now, they’re left feeling uncertain about their future as a group and unsure of how to process the situation. many members feel stuck and overwhelmed by everything that’s been going on, leaving them in a state of confusion, not knowing how to feel or what to think. they want him to get judged.

i'm sensing that some members may have argued with him or at least thought about confronting him to understand why he did this. it’s not something that’s easy to move on from quickly. as for whether the members knew, it seems they were aware of the connection he had with this person. they knew he was dating or talking to someone, but they didn’t realize the full extent of what was happening. he spoke to them about his connection with this person, and they understood it as just someone he was talking to and had plans to be with. but it turned out to be something completely different.

it seems that taeil may have shared certain things with his members, or perhaps his behavior made them feel a bit uneasy. some of them might have had doubts about his character or personality because there were specific actions or behaviors that they found odd. however, at the time, they likely brushed it off as him just being a bit strange. they didn’t think much of it beyond that. some of them sensed that something unusual was going on in the connection, and it seemed like they might have thought he could be cheating on this person. however, they didn't delve deeper or ask too many personal questions about the situation. it felt like a boundary they shouldn’t cross, so they chose to leave it as it was. they felt like he was going through some ups and downs with this person. did he talk about marriage? it's coming up all the time. there's someone he's been thinking about marrying, someone he's been looking forward to being with. as things start catching up to him, he's eager to move forward, almost like he believes getting married will help him put everything behind him. he knows it's a rushed decision, probably not the best one, but still, there's definitely someone in his life right now, and he has plans to marry them. in his mind, this seems like a chance to move on quickly from the current situation. deep down, he understands there's not much else he can do but face this on his own.

now that everything is coming to light publicly, they’re beginning to connect the dots and realize certain things. it appears that most of them were aware that he was in a relationship with someone, but he seemed to focus on the positive aspects of that connection—telling them about the good things he did and the effort he put in. because of this, the members believed he was genuinely committed to making that relationship work.

the members are now reflecting on how to move forward from this situation. they're trying to stay positive about the future and their careers, but it seems likely that they will be more cautious about what they say and do in public. there's a lot of stagnant energy, and a sense of being stuck is present. some of them feel that their once familiar environment has changed drastically, and things will never be the same again. the burdens of this scandal weigh heavily on them, and it seems that some have already started to distance themselves from taeil, both in their personal lives and on social media, as they’re really trying to avoid further trouble.

at the moment, i don’t sense that much will happen to him legally, at least with the current energies. of course, energies can shift, so this could change, but as things stand now, it seems like he’ll be able to move on from this situation. there appear to be plans in place to prevent anything extremely serious from happening to him legally. he’s likely thought through his alibi or what to say, and it seems possible that he may just need to pay a fine or some amount of money to resolve things. overall, i don’t see this having a significant legal impact on him—though i do hope i’m wrong.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Let Me Love You - 6

Character: college!Bucky x Female!Reader

Summary: On a mysterious, rainy night, Bucky witnesses a distressing encounter involving his crush.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , Chapter 7 ,Chapter 8.

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Please let me know what your thoughts are. I'd love to hear your feedback. Thank you once again.

Leaving Lloyd stunned by the reveal that Bucky turned out to be one of the wealthiest persons in the country, Bucky led you over to his table.

You were half-stunned too, your mind reeling with the sudden revelation. "Wait… you—" you began, struggling to find the right words.

Bucky, appearing somewhat awkward under the unexpected attention, interjected, "Are you surprised?"

You nodded slowly, still trying to process the information. "Mmh," you murmured, a mix of awe and disbelief evident in your voice.

Bucky chuckled nervously, attempting to downplay the situation. "It's my father's business, haha. Not mine. But I want you to meet him."

The realization hit you like a bolt of lightning. Does this mean you're going to meet the CEO?

Quickly, you smoothed down your hair and straightened your clothes, trying to compose yourself for the encounter.

Meanwhile, Michael returned from speaking with Lloyd, though you hardly noticed, your attention completely consumed by the impending introduction to the CEO. Unbeknownst to you, Lloyd's gaze lingered on you from afar, his expression unreadable.

As Michael approached, he extended his hand toward you, a warm smile gracing his features. "Hello, Y/N. Nice to meet you," he greeted, his tone friendly and inviting.

“Nice to meet you, sir,” you replied, your voice tinged with nervousness as you addressed the boss of your boss. Despite your apprehension, Michael's friendly and humble demeanor put you at ease, much like Bucky's.

Meanwhile, Nicky bit her nail nervously, her thoughts racing as she grappled with the sudden realization that being with Lloyd, the popular guy on campus, paled in comparison to Bucky's family wealth and influence.

Once accustomed to being the center of attention due to her father's status, Nicky now was overshadowed by the prestige associated with Bucky's family.

No longer the belle of the night, she received no compliments or attempts to impress her, a stark contrast to her previous experiences.

Frustrated and perhaps resentful, Nicky grabbed her phone and began typing furiously, reflecting on her inner turmoil and uncertainty about her place in this new dynamic. Only time would reveal the true extent of her intentions.

*****

After the party, Bucky dropped you off at your apartment building. As you exited the car, a sense of unexpected gratitude washed over you. You had anticipated hating tonight, yet you found yourself enjoying it instead.

Typically overshadowed by Lloyd's presence, you often found yourself relegated to small talk, only engaging when prompted. However, tonight was different. Bucky and his father had actively included you in their conversations, making you feel valued and appreciated.

"Thank you so much," you expressed sincerely, looking at Bucky as if he were an angel sent to rescue you from the otherwise dreadful night.

"Good night," Bucky nodded in response, his gaze lingering on you as you closed the door and made your way inside.

Once alone in his car, Bucky drove back to his apartment, his thoughts lingering on the evening's events. Upon parking, he noticed a familiar car nearby.

Curiosity piqued, he approached the vehicle and knocked on the back seat window. To his surprise, the window rolled down, revealing his father inside.

"That's her, right?" Michael's voice cut through the night air, his tone carrying a hint of amusement.

Bucky glanced at his father, feigning innocence. "What do you mean?" he replied, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

"Don't lie to me, boy. I was once young too, you know," Michael retorted, his gaze penetrating.

Bucky chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck. "Hehe," he muttered, unable to suppress a sheepish grin.

His father's next question caught him off guard. "Are you mad? I suddenly call you to come here and make an appearance," Bucky asked, concern evident in his voice.

"It's my son's request. How could I ignore it?" Michael responded, his tone softening with paternal affection. "Besides, you rarely ask for anything."

"Thanks, Dad," Bucky replied, gratitude shining in his eyes as he exchanged a meaningful glance with his father.

Then, Michael's gaze turned probing. "You like her?" he inquired, his voice gentle yet probing.

Bucky nodded without hesitation, his heart suddenly feeling lighter with the admission. "I do," he confessed, his voice earnest and sincere.

A proud smile spread across Michael's face. "A quick, honest answer. That's a real man," he remarked approvingly before rolling up the window and leaving Bucky to his thoughts.

🎓

As you walked into the university like usual, you couldn't shake the feeling that all eyes were on you, whispers following your every step. Dismissing it as mere paranoia, you made your way to your seat and sat down, hoping to ignore the incessant murmurs.

But the whispers persisted, growing louder until one of your classmates nervously approached you.

"Y/N?" she called out, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

You turned to her, a questioning expression on your face. "Hmm?" you responded, curious as to what she had to say.

"Is this true?" she asked, holding out her phone for you to see. The screen displayed a news headline in bold red font, the words striking a nerve you had hoped to forget after leaving your hometown.

"Hysterical local woman screams in the middle of the road because of her cheating husband."

The words hit you like a sledgehammer, dredging up painful memories you had buried deep within your psyche.

The article depicted the turmoil of your family's unraveling, captured in a moment of anguish as your mother's cries echoed in the street, desperately trying to stop your father from leaving town after his infidelity was exposed.

You remembered the photo accompanying the article, the image of your mother's despair etched into your memory, and your own face blurred out because of privacy.

The silent solidarity of your hometown community proved to be a saving grace amid the turmoil caused by the resurfacing of painful memories.

Recognizing the deep-seated pain your mother had endured, those who knew each other decided unanimously to keep the news from spreading further.

It was a testament to the empathy and compassion that bound the community together, a shared understanding of the need to protect and respect your family's privacy.

In a gesture of collective empathy, the articles were swiftly taken down, erasing the painful reminders of past traumas. It was a small yet significant act of kindness, shielding you from further anguish and allowing you the space to heal in peace.

As you processed the weight of the revelation, a shiver ran down your spine. The realization that only you and Lloyd knew about your family's painful past cast a shadow of dread over you.

Closing your eyes, you couldn't suppress the tremble coursing through your body.

This was what Lloyd meant by a "crazy mother-in-law," the hidden reason behind his parents' apparent disapproval of you.

Was this his way of expressing his anger?

Was he holding a grudge against you for something beyond your control?

The weight settled heavily on your shoulders, the implications sinking in with each passing moment. It was a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that the person you used to love and grew up with harbored such resentment towards you, all because of a past you couldn't change.

Feeling a mixture of betrayal and hurt, you couldn't help but wonder how long this revelation had been festering beneath the surface, poisoning your relationship with Lloyd from within.

As you stormed out of the classroom, consumed by anger, you barely registered Bucky's greeting as you passed by him. "Good morning..." he called out, his voice trailing off as he watched you go.

Bucky wonders what's wrong with you. This could be the first time he saw you look this angry.

Their fellow classmates exchanged worried glances, sensing the tension in the air. Steve sighed heavily, explaining the situation to Bucky. "This article is on the college homepage," he informed him.

Bucky's eyes narrowed with fury as he read the article, his anger evident in his expression. "Someone tried to embarrass her. Using her family issues? It's a privacy violation. She could sue that person," he muttered, his voice laced with indignation.

Though his words were spoken softly, the intensity of his anger was palpable. Those nearby paused in their gossip, their attention drawn to Bucky's righteous indignation.

The realization that Bucky, with his influential family background, was taking a stand in defense of your privacy silenced them immediately.

Recognizing the potential repercussions of their actions, they hastily deleted their comments on the article, understanding that stirring up controversy with someone connected to such power was unwise.

🏈

Lloyd's grip tightened around the weights as he tried to channel his mounting frustration into his workout. The rhythmic clank of metal against metal provided a brief respite from the storm raging inside him.

His solitude was abruptly interrupted by the arrival of his fellow teammates, their voices pulling him back to the present moment.

"Have you seen the university news bulletin?" they asked, their expressions tense with anticipation.

Lloyd shook his head dismissively. "Nobody reads any news from that," he replied, his voice laced with disdain.

But as they showed him the article, his heart sank. With growing disbelief, he read the words printed before him, his mind struggling to comprehend the gravity of what he was seeing.

"What?" he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, his brows furrowing in confusion.

And then, amidst the clangor of the gym, a voice cut through the noise like a knife. "Lloyd!"

Turning abruptly, Lloyd's gaze met yours, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of your furious expression. As you stormed towards him, your eyes ablaze with anger, he felt a pang of guilt wash over him, realizing the extent of the pain he had caused you.

Meeting your gaze, he could see the raw hurt reflected in your eyes, and the weight of his actions settled heavily on his shoulders. "How dare you!" you exclaimed, your voice trembling with emotion.

"I thought you understood how painful this was for me. You were there the whole time. How could you do this to me?"

As your words hung heavy in the air, Lloyd felt the crushing weight of his betrayal, knowing that he had caused you more pain than he ever intended.

With a heavy heart, he searched for the right words to express his remorse, but the damage had already been done, and he could only watch helplessly as you stood before him, your trust in him shattered.

As Lloyd reached out to touch your shoulder, seeking to offer some semblance of comfort, you recoiled from his touch, the pain of betrayal still fresh in your mind.

His expression softened as he realized the depth of your mistrust. "It wasn't me," he began, his voice tinged with remorse. "I'm a jerk. I know that. But this is not me."

You wiped away your tears, your gaze piercing as you challenged him. "Then who? Only you and me know about this."

Lloyd opened his mouth to respond, but his words caught in his throat as a sudden realization washed over him. His heart sank as he remembered the one person he had confided in about your family's struggles: Nicky.

"Nicky," he muttered, his voice filled with dread as he pieced together the puzzle. Without another word, he hurriedly left the gym, his eyes scanning the surroundings in search of her.

But she was nowhere to be found, leaving him to grapple with the consequences of his mistake and the damage it had caused to your fragile trust.

Gritting his teeth in frustration, Lloyd cursed under his breath. The realization that Nicky's loose lips had cost him any hope of reconciliation with you gnawed at him like a festering wound.

Anger boiled within him as he realized this spoiled princess had ruined his chances of earning your trust back.

As he glanced back at you, the look of pure hatred in your eyes cut him to the core. It was a stark reminder of the depth of the betrayal you felt and the certainty that you would never forgive him this time.

At that moment, Lloyd knew that he had lost you. The love and affection you once held for him had been replaced by an unbridled hatred, leaving him to grapple with the consequences of his actions and the bitter taste of regret.

You hate him.

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Author Note:

Hey friends,

If you've been enjoying the content, I've set up a Ko-fi account. Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating. Only if you feel like it!

Here's the link: Ko-fi

Thanks a bunch for being fabulous followers!

[eevees-hobbies]

The Taste of You - NSFW (Fem!Reader x Kyojuro Rengoku)

Author's Note: I won’t apologize for my lust for this man. In fact, I’m here to shove it in your face. There honestly needs to be more depraved shit of Rengoku out there, but fine I’ll personally contribute to the debauchery. Be the change you want to see or whatever. Based on this post. I got to thinking about Kyo’s love for food, and I came across this article, which details some facts about the sense of taste. And you know what I thought? Let’s turn this into smut. 

Synopsis: There’s nothing better than indulging in the taste of Kyojuro Rengoku’s favorite meal: you. A headcanon of what that looks like.

Content Warning: Female reader receives oral, LOTS of oral, overstimulation, pussy sniffing, squirting, humping, premature ejaculation, etc. Also, it might be crack, but I need to believe that this is how he'd act, so let me have this one. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Word Count: 2.4K

Dividers by Saradika. Banner by me. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are appreciated. Requests are open.

“Taste is not only one of the most pleasurable of the five senses, but a surprisingly complex sense that science is beginning to understand…”

Kyojuro Rengoku is a man of honor, morals, and impenetrable discipline. When picturing his life post-demon slaying, he imagined courting the love of his life, making an honest woman of her, and consummating the marriage after a lavish wedding ceremony. 

What Kyojuro didn’t plan on was being enraptured by the essence between your thighs during a heavy petting session that went a little too far. It was your fault, really, allowing him to remove your clothes and encouraging him to kiss lower and lower until he was at eye level with your pretty pussy. 

Between hushed whispers, soft gasps, and gentle words of encouragement, “Yes, right there, Kyo,” “I love being licked there,” “Just like that, Kyo,” and “O-oh, your tongue is so long,” you had unknowingly sealed your undoing.

He wanted nothing more than to be respectful of you and your body, waiting to taste you after he gave you his last name, but what you have between your legs transforms him into nothing but a horny, pitiful, and feral mess, so please don’t deny him when he’s only begging for “just a taste.”

The Kyojuro Rengoku you know now is debauched, insatiable, and obsessed with eating your creamy cunt, and his stellar sense of taste only makes the experience more otherworldly for him. 

Let’s walk through it together.

Everyone has a different number of taste buds.

It’s reported that the average person has between 2,000 - 10,000 taste buds and that those taste buds are located all over the mouth—including the inside of one’s cheeks, the back of the throat, and the roof of the oral cavity. That means that every drop of you that passes beyond his lips, every drop of you that drips languidly on his tongue, and every drop of you that slides down his throat is savored to the same extent that a parched man savors his first drop of water from an oasis. 

He descends between your legs, his large hands gripping the soft flesh of your inner thighs, spreading them wide enough so he can settle his shoulders among them. With eyes half-lidded and pooling with arousal, he’ll swallow thickly as he gazes upon you, his favorite indulgence. 

God, I’m drooling; he’ll chastise himself mentally, fearing that you’ll find him too desperate, and he is desperate, so pathetically desperate for you. 

“You’re so wet for me, my flame. Have you been like this all day? Sitting in your sweet mess, perhaps? Here, let me have a taste.” 

It’s a delicate process, bringing two fingers up to your sensitive mound and spreading your lips in a way that exposes every inch of the velvety flesh to his intense and appraising eyes. Your clit is a deeper red, a little swollen, and ready to be kissed, licked, and touched. It doesn’t matter how often he’s done this; his heart will be drumming in his chest at the mere sight of you. 

He’ll suck your puffy lips into his mouth resulting in an approving groan from you before he releases them with a loud smacking sound. Kyojuro has already lost his wits at the smell and taste of you, and when that happens, it doesn’t matter how much you beg or plead of him; he’s a different man now, a man who doesn’t plan to show your delectable pussy any semblance of mercy. The 10,000 invisible sensors in his mouth are driving him, so you better lay back and allow him—and his tongue—to have his way with you.

You taste with your brain.

If Kyojuro were to ask his colleagues if they enjoyed pleasuring a woman with their tongues, he would get a mix of “of courses” and “sures,” but Kyojuro isn’t asking for the purpose of striking up a leisurely conversation with friends. He’s asking because he wants to know if the insatiable pull he feels about eating YOUR pussy is normal. 

Do they think about it as much as he does? If they don’t perform the act for days, do they start to get jittery and even a bit irritable in the same way that he does? He swears he enters a new level of enlightenment when he devours you—the ability to hear and feel colors as his tongue swirls among your clenching walls, making him feel higher than any drug—or any experience—possibly could. 

While you enjoy it when Kyojuro devours you, there may be an argument that he enjoys it a tad bit more. 

You can’t taste well when you can’t smell.

Sometimes, Kyojuro wonders what it would be like to have Tanjiro's smelling ability. He considers his sense of smell to be above average, maybe not on par with his sense of taste, of course, but he has always been able to identify when a new batch of miso soup is being prepared from a few hundred feet away. But when he lowers himself between the sanctum of your thighs, he wishes his sense of smell was stronger. The scent of you simply intoxicates him.

Sometimes you squirm in embarrassment because you can hear when he takes a strong, long whiff of you, his nose rubbing against your sensitive clit as he trembles, and an embarrassing influx of saliva collects in his mouth. 

Smelling you is part of the experience for Kyojuro; it makes his dick twitch to smell your arousal, the musk of you. And sometimes, after feasting, it’ll be some time before he considers washing you from his face unless he has to leave the estate immediately after, eyelids fluttering closed as the smell of you wafts upward. He can swear he can see you spread open wide for him—just for him—-again. If he presses his thick, battle-worn fingers into your sloppy cunt, he’ll sneak a digit past his nose when no one is looking just to revisit you in his mind. Speaking of memories… 

Eating sweet foods helps form a memory of a meal.

When Kyojuro can relax, finding himself enjoying quiet time in between fighting demons or training, he’ll sit back, close his eyes, and think of every time he’s had you against his lips. He’ll remember all the times he’s begged you for a quick taste before a mission, “you don’t understand, y/n,” Kyojuro whimpers, “I need this.” 

When pressing him and asking “why he needs to eat you out,” he responds that he just does as though it’s the most normal thing in the world to be bothered over. 

He’ll remember the first time he had you bend over on all fours and tasted you from behind. The sight in front of him was the lewdest thing he’d ever seen, your sex glistening at him, clenching for him, and him able to see your other hole, the one he desperately wants to lick too, but hadn’t dared to ask yet. It was like dying and going to heaven having you positioned like that, and eaten in that way. His face was so flush against your skin that he felt every twitch of your thighs as his tongue dove deep into you. 

But his favorite way to eat you out? With you parking that juicy pussy on top of his face, watching you hover over him, your sweet nectar dripping down like honey for him, his eyes blown out with lust, “don’t keep me waiting, love. I’m hungry.” He’ll wrap his strong arms around your thick thighs and let out a pathetic groan as your cunt makes contact with his tongue, the heat from your arousal even matching his own!

God, recalling the sounds that you make when he slides his tongue inside of you is enough to make him adjust his legs and palm his crotch in public. But he’s not some pervert with an exhibition fetish, so he’ll settle with rubbing his thighs together to garner some much-needed friction. 

Some of your taste preferences are genetic.

The truth is, eating you out is innate for Kyojuro; it always came naturally to him. This was to your surprise as you had assumed he was a virgin. After your first time, you pushed his head away from your aching pussy, and squeezed your thighs shut to put a stop to his greedy tongue—much to Kyo’s dismay. 

With a heaving chest and on the verge of passing out, you asked him if he’d ever done that before. He looked at you, eyes wide in shock and a heavy blush on his face—it takes every molecule in your body not to roll your eyes at his expression and attempt to feign innocence. Kyojuro only shook his head and proudly confessed that you were his first. 

Oh, you think, before passing out from exhaustion. 

If you genuinely want to know where Kyojuro gets his pussy eating abilities, perhaps you should trace his lineage. And you don’t have to go far; his father, Shinjuro Rengoku, is a notorious eater in his own right. 

Sugar cravings have a biological basis.

If you asked Kyojuro if he was a kinky person, he’d tilt his head to the side in confusion, uncertain why you’d ask him something like that. “A pervert? Me? No, absolutely not.” 

Kyo isn’t intentionally lying to you. He doesn’t think he craves you because he’s a pervert. No, he craves you because not craving you isn’t an option. It’s so completely normal to crave your partner, silly! To want to fuck them with your tongue and drown in their juices. To desire that his chin, hair, and shoulders are drenched in your mess as you quake against his lips, his words of encouragement bringing you over the edge, “Yes, my love! Use me. Use this tongue for your pleasure. Give it to me, please.” 

And how could he not want to taste you? You’re his lover with the sweetest honey flowing from her legs; the thick juices you produce that end up sliding down his chin are sustenance for him. There’s a primal urge that makes him yearn for you. And he’s simply engaging in an act that all couples do, right? 

And now that you’re bringing it up, you notice his eyes roaming down to your pelvis, unashamedly looking at you, imagining you sitting on his face and squirting into his mouth. It’s simply one of the many ways he shows his love for you, and denying him the right to do so would be the death of him. 

BONUS

The first time Kyojuro Rengoku made you squirt was the first time in his life he had involuntarily climaxed into his pants. 

Don’t misunderstand; the man leaks when he kisses at your delicate folds, so much so that when he finally comes up for air, you’ll see a large wet spot staining his demon corp bottoms. He’ll shrug and shoot you a bashful grin, pulling his pants down to release his tan, angry cock. “Guess I got carried away again, huh, beautiful?”

Sorry, back to the first time Kyojuro made you squirt. You were on the verge of tears; his tongue, the sounds of him lapping away at you, the feeling of the bed jerking forward as he humped at the mattress while he sucked at your clit and curled a finger inside of you was just too much. 

You jerked your hips upward and whined, but his grip around your plush thighs only became tighter.

He doesn’t care what it takes to get you seizing around his tongue. Kyojuro will spitshine your pussy until it glistens back at him. He’ll lend you one, two, three fingers until you’re stretched out and your cream drips into his palm. If his jaw hurts, he’ll simply fight through the pain. There’s not much he won’t do to bring you to the point where you’re grinding into his face and screaming his name.

“K-Kyo, oh my god..!” 

You could hear and feel him moaning loudly into your cunt. The vibrations adding to the almost painful overstimulation. Your already overheating body grew even hotter, and the tingle in the pit of your stomach feels the equivalent of a roaring fire. You reach down and grip his hair, his usual hair tie pulled out and tossed to a corner long ago. 

Kyojuro takes this as a sign that he’s doing a good job. He pulls back to briefly admire his work, watching as the mixture of your slick and his saliva drip down to your throbbing hole and puddle onto the bedsheets. 

“Look at us making a mess, my flame. The sheets are drenched with our love.”

Flattening his tongue, he’ll lick a long swipe from your clenching hole to your clit, pressing the tip of his tongue against the sensitive bud and his hot breath aiding the intensity.

“I…! K-kyo, s-stop, I’m going to-“ 

But his licks only get more aggressively frantic, and even you don’t know what’s coming as your toes curl and you feel something snap inside of you. A release of pressure washes over you, and the feeling of too much wetness splashes at your thighs and in between your ass crack.

Kyojuro leaned into the squirt, embracing the warm fluid hitting his face, but he was just as surprised as you were. Had you just released a stream of yourself onto him? Was it your pee? He doesn’t have a fucking clue but welcomes it all. His pupils blow as he drinks every last drop, even licking around his mouth to capture what landed on his cheeks. Without warning, his body climaxes from the thought of you unleashing your fluids upon him.

Fuuuuuuck, I'm going to nut in my-

The usually sturdy Hashira grabs onto the mattress to steady himself as his balls clench while he shoots an ungodly amount of spunk into his pants. His moans and whimpers ring loudly in your ears, but you’re unfazed because you genuinely feel as though you could be on the brink of death. People have died this way, right?

“My flame, that was wondrous. Have you been holding back on me?” He’ll laugh, the hair from his bright, fiery mane sticking to his face. But even though he’s laughing, you can feel his hand snake around your ankle, pulling you back to him yet again, his stamina unchallenged and a threat to your health. 

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 9,001 (yeah, she's a beast!) Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria S9, post-Negan war, before the bridge Warnings: language (duh, it’s me), violence (no sexual violence), injuries to main character, blood, some kind of dark Saviors shit (not like line-up level dark but kinda fucked), mild angst, Protective!Daryl, hurt/comfort Summary: The war is over, but it isn't all peaches and cream. The Sanctuary struggles to function and Daryl and Y/N struggle with ghosts of their pasts after Rick asks them to take things over there. Deciding they've had enough, they decide to depart for Hilltop but Y/N stays behind for a couple days to help Carol get started taking over. The past comes back to rear its ugly head... A/N: This is an epilogue to the Sacrifice series, but you don't necessarily have to have read all 29 previous parts to appreciate it (though you def should!) [Spoilers (or reminders) for context start here -> -> -> The war is over, Y/N was once one of Negan's wives in order to protect her brother, she went back to Negan to break Daryl out of the Sanctuary, Daryl ends up shooting Negan to protect Y/N when a plan of theirs goes awry and the war ends, Y/N was also shot in the process but survived]

_ _ _ _ _ _

You and Daryl stood off to the side, watching the group of people gather around Rick, flooding the open space on the Sanctuary’s factory floor. You gently touched him on the arm and his blue eyes landed on your face. “Are you going to talk to him tonight?”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah. I gotta. I can’t—we can’t stay here any longer. I dun want you here either. Bein’ in here, in these walls again, it feels like it’s slowly poisonin’ us…” He glanced at the fresh graffiti someone had sprayed on the wall. We’re still Negan. Saviors Save Us

Your hand slipped down his forearm and you laced your fingers with his. “I know. It’s the right decision.”

“Yeah,” he mused. “Ain’t sure Rick’s gonna agree though…”

“Rick isn’t the one here dealing with all these people, reliving everything every day. It’s too much,” you said. Daryl nodded in agreement.

“Yeah…” Just then, Rick finished talking to the gathered group and there was a smattering of applause and murmuring. You gave Daryl’s hand a gentle squeeze as Rick wandered over. “Good luck,” you murmured.

Soon, various business that needed to be discussed was concluded and the already dim torch and lantern lights on the Sanctuary factory floor were all but put out. Daryl and Rick retreated up to the catwalk.

As they stood side-by-side, looking down at the shadowy, rundown building below them, Daryl sighed heavily and Rick could feel the tension between them. Rick broke the silence first. “So, what’s going on?” he asked.

Daryl gulped and straightened up, looking his friend in the eye. “I don't wanna be the one leadin’ these people anymore.”

Rick’s expression was impassive. “Okay... Why?”

“Bein' here, behind these walls again... It just don't feel right, man. I'm better out there. I always have been. And I’ve got Y/N to think about. After what happened to her in here—with him—”

Rick sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Things happened to you in here too,” Rick said, perhaps realizing for the first time what he’d really asked of his friend, his brother…

“Yeah, well I care more about her than I care about myself. This is where her life was a livin’ fuckin’ nightmare. His wife…” he murmured under his breath. “She wasn’t his wife. She was his damn property. Her brother died here. He destroyed her group just like he destroyed ours. What d’ya think this place reminds both of us of?” He asked, turning sharp eyes to Rick. “Hmm? Did ya even think ‘bout that when ya asked me to come back here? Didya stop to think that ya might be askin’ us to relive some of the worst shit we’ve ever gone through?”

Rick hung his head for a moment, clasping his hands together. A wash of guilt and shame came over him. He hadn’t considered the full extent of it, no. But there was no one else to do the job and so he’d asked too much of Daryl, too much of you. “But you and Y/N have kept this place together. You’ve kept people in line here. We can't just let the Sanctuary fail after everything that's happened,” he said.

Daryl shook his head and paced a small, agitated circle. “Man, s’gonna fail anyway. Nothin’ grows here. It's a damn factory, man. Look, when Negan was around, he needed people to provide for him. It's still the same. Nothin's changed,” Daryl argued.

“It's different now. We give what we give willingly,” Rick retorted.

“And how long's that gonna last? Most of the bridges are out after the big storm. The highway's done. We've scavenged every drop of gas for miles. And we can't make enough corn fuel to run the cars or the trucks. Pretty soon, it's gonna be more than a day's ride from one spot to another.”

“Well, it's on us to figure out how to make it work,” Rick said, leaning forward on the rail again.

“Man, there ain't no ‘us’ anymore. Everyone's everywhere,” he pointed out. “I feel lucky that Y/N and I are even in the same damn place.” He let out another weighty sigh. “That small group we had back in the beginning... plus a few more of the people we picked up along the way, we could do anythin’. That was right. That’s what I know.” Daryl leaned forward beside Rick, chewing on his bottom lip in that signature way.

“Well, you wanna come home to Alexandria, then?” Rick asked. “You and Y/N?”

Daryl shook his head. “No. We'll go back to Hilltop, check on Maggie and the baby.”

“Well, you go, someone's got to take your place here. Rosita and Eugene are headed to Oceanside next. Maggie's sending food, but not people, and Kingdom's got its own problems rebuilding after losing its fighters. If Alexandria sends another person out, I could use the help back home.”

Daryl only let out a small huff.

“We're not together because things have changed,” Rick said again.

Daryl stiffened. “Mm-hmm,” he hummed. His blue eyes turned to Rick again and they were intense. “The thing is, you changed ‘em, Rick.” The tension felt hot and pulsating in the air like liquid mercury. He patted his friend on the shoulder. “But I get it.” And then Daryl took his leave.

On the staircase, Carol backed away as quietly as she could, only to be startled by your voice softly behind her. “Well, that didn’t go great,” you whispered.

Carol turned to face you, her face drawn. “Daryl is right though. Rick shouldn’t have asked that of the two of you after—after everything you went through here. And he should have known Daryl would have a hard time saying no to him.”

You nodded and straightened up, stepping toward her. “Rick’s his brother,” you agreed. “And there really was no one else. But Daryl’s right. We can’t stay here anymore. It’s—it’s wearing him thin.”

“And you?” Carol asked, worried.

You gave her a tight smile and shrugged. But when you spoke again your voice broke. “I’d almost rather be anywhere else…”

Carol nodded knowingly and then grabbed you into a hug. “I’m sorry,” she said. her mind drifted back to her own abuse at the hands of Ed and she felt a swell of affection for you and for Daryl, for both of you taking this on at all after everything… When she pulled back, she cleared her throat, pushing her emotion away. “I’ll—I’ll take over here a while. You and Daryl need to get out. I want to help.”

“Carol—”

“Don’t argue with me. My mind’s made up,” she said firmly.

You nodded. “Okay. Thank you,” you said. “I’m—I’m gonna go talk to Rick,” you said. “Make him understand.”

Carol nodded. “I’ll check on Daryl. Let him know what I’m thinking.”

“Okay. Good idea… Hey—Carol. This is—what you’re doing to help, it’s huge for us. So, thank you.”

She gave you a warm smile and you passed her on your way up the stairs to find Rick. He was still leaning heavily on the railing, clearly in deep thought over his discussion with Daryl. But he turned at the sound of your steps on the metal catwalk and straightened up when he saw you.

“Hey,” you greeted him stopping beside him and also looking down over the factory floor. No one was milling around anymore. Most people had drifted away to bed. “You okay?” you asked, giving him a knowing, sideways glance.

Rick laughed a little wryly and nodded. “Yeah… Just—tryin’ to figure out if and where I went wrong,” he said, clasping his hands together. “Things I’d do differently now…”

You nodded. “You have a lot of weight on your shoulders. Daryl knows that.”

Rick met your eyes again, clearly realizing you’d overhead their conversation somehow.

You straightened up and tilted your head toward the hallway down the catwalk. “Follow me. I want to show you something.”

Rick followed you as you stopped to grab a lantern and then led him down the hallway. This part of the building was mostly empty these days, except for a few people who had carved out some private spaces for themselves. The warm orange glow flickered past many doors and other halls before you turned right and came partially down the next corridor. The nauseous feeling and the heavy pit in your stomach grew as you walked, and before you knew it, your hand was trembling slightly holding the lantern. This place was full of ghosts.

Rick looked at you with concern. “Are you okay?” he asked. The tremble in your hand translated to a shakiness in the shadows cast by the light on the walls and it was easy to see.

“We’re almost there,” you said softly.

You walked in further silence for only another half a minute before you stopped in front of a gaping dark space in the wall, barely bigger than a closet. Rick gave you a questioning look and you lifted the lantern to illuminate it. The floor was filthy with layers of smeared dirt and who-knows what else. “This is where they held us. Me, when my brother and I were captured, and Negan singled me out from my group. And Daryl after the line-up with Alexandria.”

Rick stared at the dirty, dingy space and he could almost see Daryl huddled there in his mind’s eye, wearing that filthy sweatshirt. His brow furrowed and his face contorted.

You pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Your head felt a bit light and foggy. “I—I had the doors that used to be on the cells removed, because—I just couldn’t stand the sight of them closed up like that. I kept—kept imagining Daryl was still in there every time I had to walk past. Or that somehow, I was going to end up back in there.” You glanced over at Rick who was staring straight into the darkness. He watched as you raised your free hand to rub at your bad shoulder, the one Negan’s bullet had pierced. “They took all his clothes at first. Left him in there naked. Cold. Shot. Hungry. Wondering what happened to the rest of you. And the thirst… Then, Dwight humiliated him and they fed him dog food and blasted music to keep him awake. The same song, over and over. Then, they made him work outside in the heat and humidity in that filthy sweatsuit, chaining walkers to the fence for Negan or doing whatever awful chores they could invent. He had to clean up after Negan punished someone, mopping up shit or piss or worse… Dwight made him look at pictures of—of what happened to Glenn and Abraham.” Tears burned in your eyes and Rick’s shut and he dropped his head.

He lifted a hand to wave you off. “I—I understand,” he said in a low voice, his heart breaking. He’d been careless to ask Daryl to come here, too focused on his beautiful dream in the memory of Carl to realize what this would do to you and to Daryl.

“He didn’t want to say no to you when you asked him to come back here. You’re like a brother to him. He didn’t want to let you down even though—it’s literally the last place either of us wants to be.”

Rick sighed heavily and rubbed his hand over his mouth and chin. “I don’t have an excuse… I—I shouldn’t have asked it. Of either of you… I just—I was tryin’ to make this all work.”

You nodded. “I know. So does Daryl. But that doesn’t mean that it hasn’t been… We’ve both been reliving our trauma having to be back here. And we’ve hit our limit. That’s all.”

Rick met your eyes again. You hadn’t even talked about yourself, about what you’d been through here in the cell and with Negan after, not really. You’d mainly focused on Daryl. But Rick could guess well enough what it would have been like for you being one of Negan’s wives and living in that constant fear for your brother and yourself, what you’d had to subject yourself to.

He glanced again at that dark space in the wall. “We’ll figure something out.”

“Carol said she’ll take over here for a while,” you said, turning away from the cell and starting back the way you came.

Rick looked surprised but nodded, walking along beside you.

“I’ll—I’ll stay a couple days to get her going here and up to speed. And then I’ll go meet Daryl in Hilltop.”

“Alright,” Rick nodded. “It’ll have to work for now. But I can’t help thinking it’s a patch on the issue and not a fix.”

You laughed wryly again. “Aren’t most things these days? Rick, Daryl wasn’t wrong about The Sanctuary. It’s a resource sink. It doesn’t produce anything. You’re still going to have to square with that one day. I get what you have been trying to do, making peace with the rest of The Saviors, and not all of them are guilty of the awful things that happened during the war. But things are still festering here under the surface.”

Rick looked over at you, concerned. “What do you mean?”

You shrugged, about ready to part ways with him on the catwalk again. “You saw the graffiti. Negan might be dead but for some of them, it’s not over.” You gave him one last look. “Daryl and I know you have a lot on your plate, but it’s time for us to get the hell outta here. If we don’t… this place will consume us. We can’t move away from what happened while we’re here. It’s like—it’s like having it shoved down our throats every day.”

You took your leave from Rick then, leaving him again in deep thought. You knew where you could find Daryl, at a spot outside he liked to go where most people wouldn’t be able to disturb him. It happened to be someplace the two of you sometimes went to watch the stars. When you got there, stepping just one foot outside the building, you had to smile to yourself. Daryl and Carol were just sitting together, side-by-side, enjoying a moment after being apart for so long. You decided to leave them to it.

You made your way back to the room you and Daryl had claimed together in a different part of The Sanctuary. You hastily changed your clothes and got ready for bed, knowing he’d come find you there when he was ready. And it wasn’t long before he did, coming in to see you already cozied up in the bed you shared, reading a worn paperback.

You smiled as he came in. “Hi,” you said.

He stopped in the doorway and took you in, giving you a small smile back. “Hey. Sorry I wasn’t here earlier,” Daryl drawled, sinking down beside you on the mattress. “I was out sittin’ with Carol.”

“It’s alright. I know you were. I didn’t want to interrupt,” you said, reaching for a strand of his wavy hair and running your fingers down it gently. “You haven’t seen each other for a while.”

“Yeah,” he said, pulling off his boots. “Get this. Ezekiel asked her to marry him,” he said, giving you a conspiratorial look.

You pushed yourself up on the palm of your hand. “Oh my God!” you burst out.

“Yeah,” he chuckled.

“Well? What did she say?!”

“Ah… She ain’t ready yet,” Daryl explained.

“Wow.” You thought of Carol and Ezekiel together after the close call at the museum. They were good for each other. “Maybe someday?” you asked.

Daryl nodded. “Mhm.” His hand came to rest on the graceful curve of your neck. It was cool from the nighttime air. He leaned in and kissed you softly, pulling back just slightly to study the colors in your irises. “Listen—I told Rick—”

“Yeah, I know,” you interrupted him gently. “I could hear the two of you. And Carol talked to me too. She’s gonna take over here for a while.”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah. So, we can go. We dun have to be here anymore. Figured we can head to Hilltop tomorrow. Check on Maggie and Hershel.”

You nodded and then ducked your eyes. “I’m—I’m gonna stay here with Carol for just a couple more days. Help her get started and settled. Then I can meet you. I’ll take one of the horses.”

Daryl’s brow furrowed. You could see that he was getting ready to argue.

“It’s just a few more days,” you whispered, gently grabbing onto the front of his vest. “It’s the least I can do since she’s doing this for us, leaving her family and world in The Kingdom.”

Daryl’s stomach churned a little, leaving him feeling slightly nauseous. “She’ll have Eugene,” he pointed out.

“Barely. He and Rosita are heading to Oceanside next to get the fishery going.”

Daryl sighed heavily and moved back to sit on the edge of the bed, his shoulders slightly slumped. He was chewing on his bottom lip. You knelt behind him and draped yourself against his back, looping your arms around his neck and burying your face in the curtain of his wavy hair, breathing him in and leaving a kiss on his neck. “It’s just a couple days,” you said again.

He gulped. He didn’t know why, but there was a pit in his stomach. “I dunno…” he mused aloud. “I dun like ya bein’ here without me. Here of all damn places.” His mind went back to that graffiti sprayed on the wall.

“I know. I don’t either. But I want to help Carol as a thank you. And then I’ll come straight to Hilltop.” You moved around to sit beside him on the edge of the bed. “Hey—Look at me,” you urged him. “I can handle myself. Or did you forget?” you teased him, bumping into his shoulder. “It’ll be okay.”

“I know ya can handle yerself. It ain’t that… Somethin’ just—I dunno. Somethin’ dun feel righ’.”

You sighed and nodded knowingly. “It’s never felt right being here.”

“Yeah… maybe tha’s just it. I dunno,” he said finally, but you noted that he still looked slightly troubled. It had been a long day, and his talk with Rick was intense. He stood up and started getting ready to climb in bed with you. You watched the muscles in his back ripple, crisscrossed by his scars, as he pulled off his shirt. You crawled back beneath the sheets and waited until he slipped in beside you.

“C’mere,” he murmured softly to you as he settled into his pillow. You moved into him immediately and he pulled you against him. You tangled your legs with his and gazed into his bright blue eyes. He draped an arm over you and his hand moved to find the hem of your t-shirt before slipping underneath it and pressing against your bare skin, tracing absent patterns on your side, your hip, your back. Daryl leaned in and kissed you, one that was deep and full of wanting.

You felt a pooling of heat expanding in your chest as his lips moved to your neck. Daryl listened to your breathing hitch as he kissed your pulse point and grazed the shell of your ear. His hands wandered over the shape of you beneath the draping of your shirt. In no time, the two of you were completely lost in each other, melting into sensations and quiet gasps of pleasure, bounding hearts and heaving chests, skin on skin. Daryl’s fingers laced between yours, his other hand firm on your hip. Then, after you both reached your blissful highs, you fell asleep in his arms and neither of you woke until the sun was coming up.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You walked with Daryl to his bike and stood beside him as he strapped down his gear, giving him a smile when he looked up at you again.

“Are ya sure ‘bout this? Ya dun have to stay. Carol will be fine,” he said in a low voice. That pit in his stomach had returned almost immediately when he awoke and thought about separating from you.

You gently rested your hands on his sides, stepping in close. “Everything is going to be fine. Go help Maggie. Check on her and Hershel. I’ll see you soon. Okay?”

He looked worried, but nodded. “S’yer call. Two days,” he drawled.

You nodded. “Two days. I promise.”

“Alrigh’…” He leaned in and kissed you deeply, clasping your face and pressing his other hand into the small of your back to pull your body flush against his. You kissed him back heatedly and hungrily and sighed when you broke apart.

“Miss ya already,” he said, breaking contact with you and getting ready to climb onto his bike.

“Same,” you agreed, giving him a tight smile. “Love you,” you added, waiting until the last moment of separating to unlace your fingers from his.

He nodded and studied you, drinking in the view. “You too.”

Then, in a spray of gravel and a cloud of dust he was on his way. You didn’t see him glance back at you over his shoulder before he completely lost sight of The Sanctuary.

You found Carol already on the factory floor standing with Eugene, looking over whatever list of action items were on his clipboard that day. You were absently rubbing your bad shoulder as you came up. It had been aching since the day before. Had revisiting the cell stirred things up? Probably. Carol noticed immediately.

“You okay? Shoulder bothering you?” she asked.

You nodded. “Just a little. The old war wound acting up a bit,” you said with a wry laugh.

Eugene looked up from his clipboard. “I could potentially formulate a topical balm that may relieve some of your chronic pain symptoms, though most ingredients would not sufficiently penetrate the muscle in order to reach the origin of—”

You cut him off with a smile and a laugh. “It’s okay, Eugene. I’m fine. It’s not too bad. What do we need to tackle today?”

The three of you chatted briefly about what needed to be done urgently and then each picked your tasks to start with. Several hours later, you were nearly done trying to treat the small number of plants that were still surviving in the raised garden beds for some kind of insect pest when you were interrupted.

You turned at the sound of footsteps to see one of the Sanctuary residents approaching. You stood and dusted the soil from your gloves. “Hi. What’s up?”

“The guys getting that scrap metal from the upper floors found a water leak. Can you come take a look at it? We might be able to fix it, but we’d probably have to shut the water off completely for a while.”

You sighed heavily and pulled off your gloves. “Always something new, isn’t it?” you said dryly. “Yeah, I’ll come take a look now. Lead the way.”

You passed through the factory floor, noting that the graffiti discovered the day before had been freshly painted over as Daryl had demanded. Carol and Eugene were bent over a table in deep discussion over some new plan. Your stomach flipped as it always did as you passed the oven where Negan used to heat his iron or branding rods. You turned your eyes away.

Soon you were on the upper floors, walking through the dim hallways. It always felt eerily quiet up there. The resident you were following pointed ahead to the next doorway and then stopped to grab some work gloves from a pile of gear set in the hallway. You passed him and stopped in the doorway, expecting to see the group of other people working, but the room was empty. And there was no sign of a water leak. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. “Hey, are you sure this is—”

And then everything went black.

Carol was walking somewhat aimlessly back and forth across the factory floor, weaving through the supplies and little bunched groups of people. She craned her neck trying to see if she could spot you anywhere. The two of you had planned to meet for the evening meal after everyone was done for the day but Carol was suddenly realizing she hadn’t seen you since that morning.

Her stomach began to churn. She bolted toward outside where evening was beginning to fall. The garden beds cast long, deep shadows between them, but she didn’t find you crouched among them. The final place she checked was the room you shared with Daryl, now mainly bare of your items since the two of you had begun packing your belongings to leave. Daryl had already taken his few things away on his bike.

There was no sign of you.

Her heart started to pound. She’d questioned everyone she could think of as to your whereabouts. Where could you possibly be? An anxious thought flitted into her mind. Her stomach tightened into a fist. It wasn’t like you not to arrive somewhere you said you would…

The last thing to do was to search the rarely used upper floors. She knew a crew had been working up there earlier in the day, collecting and hauling scrap metal to be reused to patch the roof and fences. Perhaps something had come up and you were still up there assisting with a problem.

Her boots made a lonely, echoing sound as she rushed around corner after corner. There was a weighty silence and the farther up she wandered, the sicker she felt. Something was seriously wrong. She could feel it in her bones. She called your name out but it strangely didn’t seem to pierce the thick vapor of silence in front of her. Every step increased her heart rate and poured adrenaline into her bloodstream. She felt almost shaky as she loosened her knife in its sheath. Just in case, she thought. In case of what?

Another minute or two passed as she searched. Each moment felt excruciatingly long. And then all of a sudden, her breath caught in her throat. “Oh my God. Y/N!” Carol bolted toward the crumpled form halfway down the hall in front of her. “Oh, God…” The front of your shirt was soaked with blood and you were lying on the cold floor unconscious. Your face was bruised and swollen. There were cuts and smears of blood on your skin. But what held her attention horrifically was that whoever had done this to you had taken a knife and began to carve a word into your chest, just below your collar bone. SA and part of a V. Carol didn’t need to guess what they’d intended to spell. They were making a gruesome point. Her hands shook as they hovered over you for a moment. She said your name again and then gently clasped your face and gripped your arm. She jostled you a little. “Wake up. It’s Carol! Please, wake up!”

You began to stir a little and a grimace contorted your features.

“Oh, thank God,” Carol sighed, hanging her head in relief for a very brief moment before the nausea seemed to rise into her throat again at your condition. “Y/N? Open your eyes, hun!”

You let out a small pained noise and then your eyes did open blearily. You were immediately trying to sit up, pushing yourself up on the palms of your hands but your head felt split in two and your muscles felt rubbery and weak. “Fuck,” you murmured.

“Whoa—okay. Easy! Take it easy!”

You reached up and touched the back of your head. It was swollen with a lump and tender and your fingers came away slightly sticky. You looked down at them and registered the deep color of drying blood. Your chest burned. You looked down to see that the whole front of your shirt was stained crimson. Your body ached and panged with sharp pains. You could feel your heartbeat in your face.

“Is anything broken? Can you stand up?” Carol asked, her brow heavy over her eyes, but the light inside frantic and quickly turning furious.

“I don’t think anything is broken,” you said softly. Your jaw ached. You gave it an exploratory wiggle left and right and immediately regretted it. Your bottom lip was split and swollen. You winced again. “What the fuck?” you murmured. “I mean what the ever-loving, royal fuck?” you growled. The hot rage welling up in you was pushing some of the pain back.

“Let’s just get you up and off the floor, okay? Slowly.” Carol helped you to your feet. Your head swam and you squeezed your eyes shut, not letting go of her hands for a long moment until you felt steadier. Her expression said enough about what you must look like… “What happened? Do you know who did this to you?” she asked.

You shook your head a little, absently pressing a hand to the burning sensation on your chest, but you stopped as the burn surged when your palm landed flush on your skin. You took in a sharp intake of breath through your teeth. “No. Well—I saw one of them… they lured me up here. Told me there was a water leak they found while doing the scrapping and—and then someone hit me on the head from behind and I was knocked out. But I don’t know why. I mean, why me?”

Carol’s expression was taught. Anger swirled in her eyes. She knew exactly why. You couldn’t see it yet, but the word was partially carved into your chest. That graffiti on the wall out on the factory floor was just the tip of the iceberg. Things were rotting here just under the surface, and since you’d once been Negan’s wife, she imagined you were a perfect target for those who wanted to make a point. “Let me see the back of your head,” she said. There was a small split in the skin where you’d been struck, your hair stained rusty red, but she didn’t think you’d need stitches there and she was extremely relieved that it wasn’t worse... not much anyone could do from something like a skull fracture in the apocalypse. She sighed heavily as another flame of rage wicked upwards in her chest. “Okay… Let’s get you back to your room. Hold onto my arm. Can you make it?”

You nodded, gripping her to steady yourself on your shaky legs, and allowed her to lead you away. You glanced back over your shoulder and were sickened to see the smears of your blood shockingly deep red on the tile behind you.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Carol had you sitting on the edge of your bed and she set down a first aid kit beside you. You were looking up at her from behind a wall of swelling and bruising on your face. You tenderly wiggled your jaw again, testing opening and closing your mouth. It felt ready to lock up. She could tell from the way you’d moved on the walk back and how you were slumped slightly forward now that there was probably substantial bruising beneath your clothes that she couldn’t see. Your movements were tentative and cautious.

You hadn’t looked in the mirror yet. You were afraid to. The pain was bad enough. The fogginess in your head was bad enough. You were worried if you saw the results of the beating, it would only make it worse, more real.

Carol began unpacking supplies. “Tell me everything you remember,” she said gently.

You shook your head. “Not much. Like I said, I was out working in the raised garden beds and somebody came up to me.”

“Who?” Carol pressed you. “If you don’t know their name, what did they look like?”

“Uhh… his name starts with a ‘G’ I think… Give me a second.” You filed through names in your head until you got the right one. “Graham. I think that’s it… He’s tall. Long black hair past his shoulders.”

“Okay,” Carol nodded, opening an alcohol swab. “What did he say exactly?”

“He asked if I could come look at a leak they found while they were moving all the scrap metal. He said they thought they could fix it but they’d have to turn the water off. I went to see and I was barely in the doorway of the room he pointed out. There wasn’t a water leak. I was just standing there, about to say something and—something hit the back of my head. I don’t really remember anything after that. Some foggy pain maybe but… mostly nothing.”

“Do you think there were others waiting up there? Or could it have just been him?” Carol asked, dabbing at a wound on the side of your face. You shut your eyes from the fumes of the alcohol. She was starting to worry about just how many traitors could be in the walls.

“There was at least one other person. When I got hit, I was looking back at him ten feet away from me down the hall.”

Carol sighed heavily and nodded. “Okay.” Her eyes drifted down to the cruelly carved letters on your chest. Your chin tilted down as you tried to look but her hand on your shoulder stopped you. “Hold on,” she said. Her face contorted with emotion she was trying to hold back. “Better you see this now. I’m so sorry.”

You gave her a perplexed look. You knew you were beat up but what was she—

Carol grabbed the small mirror off the little sink in the corner and held it up so you could see yourself for the first time. Initially, all you saw was the swelling and bruising on your face but then your breath caught in your throat. S-A- and part of a V, cut into your skin. The cuts were deep and she had already had to apply some butterfly bandages to hold certain spots closed. No wonder your skin had burned and stung there since you came back to consciousness.

You felt like you were about to be sick and Carol must have seen you pale because she hastily put down the mirror and gripped your shoulders again as if she was afraid you were going to faint. “Whoa. Deep breaths.”

Your eyes shut and you did your best to swallow down the nausea. “What the fuck,” you muttered, reeling. You blinked away angry tears.

“I’m so sorry,” she said again. “It’ll be okay. We’ll get you cleaned up and then I think I have some of my special ointment in my bag. If you apply it at least once a day it’ll minimize any scarring…”

You let out a wry laugh. “Minimize,” you repeated. “But I’ll still have half of ‘Saviors’ carved into me for the rest of my life.” Tears burned in your eyes again. It wasn’t bad enough what you had gone through with Negan, with his men, with the war—now this? Would it ever be over?

Carol winced. “I’m so sorry… I had no idea things were this bad here.”

You sniffled and mopped gently at the tears that had broken out onto your cheeks. “I knew they were pretty bad but—can’t say I saw anything like this coming.”

“Well, who could? It’s—horrific.” She gave you a sympathetic look and then surprised you by pulling you gently into a hug for a long moment. Her eyes were teary now too when she pulled back, but she pulled herself together quickly. Back to business, she returned to the first aid kit and continued her ministrations. Your mind was endlessly turning.

“I wonder why they didn’t finish,” you suddenly said softly.

“Mmm,” Carol hummed, nodding, tossing down another soiled gauze pad and reaching for a new one. “They must have gotten interrupted. Maybe heard someone in that part of the building.”

Your eyes lifted and met hers. She paused at the expression on your face. “Do you think they were going to kill me? Leave me there with—with this cut into me to make a statement?”

Carol’s mouth dropped open and she shook her head. “I don’t—I don’t know,” she said, trying to keep her tone flat. Your question had been asked matter-of-factly and Carol was suddenly reminded of all you had gone through in the war and even before any of them had met you, when you’d just been a stranger with a mysterious backstory. “But obviously they knew they couldn’t take you in a fair fight. Fucking cowards,” she growled. “Had to ambush you to even have a chance.”

You sighed, shaking your head again, your eyes dropping to your hands. “They sure beat the shit out of me though,” you mused aloud. “It’s probably good Daryl isn’t here. He’d lose it,” you said, fiddling with another gauze pad which Carol took out of your hands and taped down over the now cleaned cuts below your collarbone.

She cleared her throat. “About that…”

You met her blue eyes again. “You radioed him? He’s probably way out of range by now. He’s probably already in Hilltop,” you said.

“Rosita rode out on the quad immediately to get within range. Eugene is doing a headcount as we speak to see who, if anyone, is missing…”

Another wry laugh left you and you nodded. “That’s why you took so long. And I just thought you couldn’t find the damn kit,” you said, shooting her a look, tears burning in your eyes. “Daryl is gonna go on a rampage,” you said softly.

Carol nodded. “Probably. But he should be here with you. And if I didn’t radio him, I’d be on the receiving end of that rampage. And I think we should focus it on the assholes that did this to you instead.”

You nodded and a sob tried to burst out of you. You suppressed it as best you could and it came out as a hitched breath. “Yeah,” you said, your voice a little strained.

Carol quickly grabbed you into a hug again. “Everything is going to be okay. Daryl will be here soon and we will figure this out.”

You hugged her back and nodded into her shoulder, grateful again for your found family.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl was there in an hour, stomping through The Sanctuary with Eugene at his heels, mostly ignoring the stream of words out of the mullet-headed Texan’s mouth. Rosita finally grabbed Eugene’s arm and stopped him, clearly realizing Daryl wasn’t hearing a word of it, didn’t give a shit about anything but going to see you. He was at the door of the little room the two of you had shared before anyone could come to tell you he’d arrived.

Daryl froze and made himself knock lightly, rather than barely in. The last thing he wanted was to startle you. His stomach turned as he waited to hear your voice on the other side, inviting him in. “S’me,” he drawled, the jittery feeling that permeated his body translating to an ever-so-slight tremble in his voice.

You sat up in bed. “Come in,” you said hurriedly, already feeling the tears burning in your eyes again. You were in clean clothes now and thoroughly patched up thanks to Carol, but that wasn’t going to change how rough you looked and how hard it was going to be for Daryl to see it.

The door opened slowly, measuredly, and he took shape in the doorway. He froze for only a split second as his eyes roamed over your face, taking in the swelling and already deep purple bruises. Then he rushed to you and hugged you in against him gently. That was all it took for you to go to pieces against him, clinging to his leather jacket. “Jesus, what the hell did they do to ya? ‘M sorry. ‘M so sorry I wasn’t here. I shouldn’ta left ya. ‘M so sorry, babe. I shoulda been here,” he said into your hair, kissing you on the top of the head, holding you gently so he wouldn’t hurt you but firmly so you knew you were safe.

You sniffled and mopped the tears from your cheeks as he clasped your face and brushed your hair back. “Don’t—don’t apologize. It’s not your fault,” you said, looking up into his blue eyes. They were stormy and turbulent. “You couldn’t know…”

“Lemme see ya,” he said, looking you over. His heart ached as you showed him the bruising on your stomach and ribs. “Sit back. Rest,” he said, climbing into bed beside you where you were propped up against the headboard and wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

You tucked in against him. He left a kiss in your hair again.

“Did—did Rosita tell you what they—that—”

Daryl’s brow furrowed. “She didn’t tell me anything specific except that some assholes had hurt ya bad, beat ya up, and that I needed to get back here,” he said. “Tell me what?” His stomach churned around a hard knot. His mind began inventing all kinds of horrific scenarios immediately. What did you mean?

You could see him whirling and quickly tried to explain. “I was unconscious but—” Your hand landed on the gauze pad taped over the wounds below your collarbone. His eyes flitted down to it. “They used a knife and—” You couldn’t get any more words out so you simply lifted the bandage to show him, gingerly peeling back the medical tape and bandaging. Daryl froze completely. Every part of him stilled. He stared at the brutality someone had inflicted on you and hot rage boiled inside him. More tears leaked out onto your cheeks as you saw what it was doing to him to see that on you. You hastily covered it back up.

He softened again, coming back to himself, letting his anger flow away, and wiped the tears from your face with his thumbs. “Hey—it don’t matter to me what they—how they marked ya like that. Ya know that, right? Ya got every right to feel however ya feel ‘bout it. Ya do. But to me—” He shook his head. “It don’t matter, okay? I just see you. It’s all gonna be alrigh’.”

You collapsed into him again, finally letting yourself completely break down, wondering how the fuck you’d gotten so lucky as to find this man. He held you against his chest, his strong arms securely around you. He could feel the bump on the back of your head where they’d hit you. He could feel the swelling on your face and under your clothes, and he internally yelled at himself for leaving you behind, even if it was only supposed to be for a couple days, even though no one would have guessed that anything like this would happen, even though he knew how strong and capable you were. “‘M so sorry,” he murmured again. “I shouldn’t have left ya here… here of all places, with them.” His hands clenched into fists. “I’m gonna track down every one of these assholes and put ‘em in the fuckin’ ground,” he growled.

You couldn’t stand him blaming himself and you pulled yourself together. “It’s not your fault, Daryl. And—maybe… maybe I should have known something like this could happen…”

His brow furrowed. “What do ya mean?” He took a beat, his heart seemingly suspended somewhere in a gaping space that had opened in his chest. “Did somethin’ happen before this?”

You bit your bottom lip, your eyes still glassy. “No. No, not exactly. Nothing happened. I mean, people have—said things to me before. Made comments. I just—”

Daryl frowned, his brow heavy over his eyes, casting them in a deep shadow. “Like what? What kinda comments?”

You sighed and turned to face him more fully. You rested your hands on his sides. “Just—little shitty things. Because of what I’d been here,” you explained. “As Negan’s wife…”

Daryl was boiling again inside with anger. “Ya weren’t ever his wife,” he said. “That word means somethin’ else.” Your fingers went to touch the wedding band on your ring finger, the one Daryl had made with his own hands and given to you.

“Yeah. I know. It doesn’t matter,” you said quickly. “I just wrote them off and I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want it to be a big deal and I knew how upset you’d get. It just felt like shitty people being shitty at the time. Mostly…”

“Mostly,” he growled.

“I never thought anything like this would happen. I should’ve told you. I’m sorry.”

Daryl sighed and ducked his head, running his hands gently up and down the soft bare skin on your arms, marred with bruises and abrasions. “Don’t apologize. Ya didn’t do anythin’ wrong. I get why ya didn’t tell me… and yer righ’. I woulda beat the shit out of anybody sayin’ or doin’ anythin’ like that to ya. But tha’s my job. I wanna protect you.”

“I know,” you said. “We’ve just had so much on our plate here. I didn’t want to add something else. And I never thought—I didn’t think—” You grimaced as a wave of pain and dizziness hit you.

“I know. I know. Hey—it’s okay. We’ve talked ‘bout this enough. Ya need to rest. ‘M here now. S’okay.”

“I am really tired,” you agreed, shutting your eyes and waiting for the lightheaded feeling to pass.

He clasped your face again, his eyes flickering from this injury to that, and then he kissed your swollen lips as gently as he could. You managed to give him an overwhelmed, somewhat sad smile which he returned. “C’mon. Let’s lay down.”

Daryl helped you settle down on the mattress and fitted himself beside you. You tucked yourself against his body, breathed in his smell and safety, and shut your eyes. His fingers brushed through your hair, reassuring and grounding.

_ _ _ _ _ _

The next morning Daryl was awake early while you slept on. He carefully, ever so slowly slipped out of bed and pulled a change of clothes on. He snuck out and headed to find Carol, Eugene, and Rosita.

He spotted Eugene first and nudged his head up in a nod as a greeting. “Well, what d’ya got to tell me?” Daryl asked hurriedly.

“We were short five of the former Saviors at the headcount last night, and five again this mornin’. Carol and Rosita have been questionin’ people all night. We don’t think anyone here knew anything about it. They weren’t exactly gentle with their lines of inquiry.”

Daryl rubbed a hand over his mouth and nodded thoughtfully. “Alrigh’. As I thought then... Cowards took off right afterwards.”

“Indeed. I suspect they knew Justice’s hammer would fall hard and swift on them once their atrocious deed was discovered,” Eugene agreed. “No way to know now where they’re headed.”

Daryl sighed. “Hopefully righ’ into a fuckin’ herd of walkers,” he drawled. “Alrigh’. Well, we need to send out runners to get word out to The Kingdom and Alexandria so ev’rybody can watch out for those pieces of shit... Y/N and I will take news to Hilltop today, and keep our eyes open for any sign of ‘em on the way. If I get sight of ‘em, I’mma strangle ‘em with my bare fuckin’ hands…” He sighed again, even more heavily this time. “Thanks. For everythin’ ya’ll did last night.”

“Of course,” Eugene said sincerely. “How is her condition today?”

Daryl sighed and shook his head. “She’s still asleep. She was exhausted. ‘M gonna get back up there. I dun want her wakin’ up here alone and ‘m still afraid there could be somebody in here—” he hesitated to speak his fear lest it become real. “She’ll be alrigh’. She’s tough. But she was shaken up pretty good and I can’t believe how bad they beat her up... and what they did,” he said vaguely, referring to the letterds on your skin. “But she’ll be okay.” He patted Eugene on the shoulder gratefully and headed straight back to you.

_ _ _ _ _ _

With hasty goodbyes and thank you’s to your close, chosen family, still at The Sanctuary you departed for Hilltop on the back of Daryl’s bike. You held extra tightly to him the whole way, and often his right hand left the handlebars to smooth over yours for a moment. The Sanctuary shrank smaller and smaller behind you and then disappeared into a cloud of dust. Neither of you knew it at the time, but you’d never come to that place again while it was a semi-functional community. It would be only ruins when you sheltered there during the storm eight years after the war.

On arriving at Hilltop, Maggie threw her arms around you and tears of shock filled her eyes when she saw your bruised and swollen face. Enid insisted on checking you over again, but gave you the all clear after much expressed anger and concern. Maggie quickly carved out a space for you and Daryl to stay, close to the room she shared with baby Hershel in the big house up on the hill.

Your body had stiffened overnight and on the bike ride. Every movement caused aches and pains to shoot through you and Daryl was attentive and worried as you settled into your new home. When you settled into bed at first, Daryl kissed every part of you where he could see a bruise or injury. His fingers were light and gentle on your skin, and you were amazed as you always were that he could be so soft when he was so strong. Finally, the sun sank below the horizon and you were again laying side by side, your head tucked up under his chin, listening to the whoosh of air in his lungs and his steady heartbeat.

“I had an idea,” you said softly, breaking a long but comfortable silence.

“Hmm?” he hummed.

“Maybe when I’m all healed up, if—if it scars bad, I can get someone to do a tattoo over it to cover it up.”

Daryl smiled. You were already thinking ahead to the future, thinking of solutions. That was a good sign. He hugged you more tightly against him. “What would ya get?”

“I don’t know. Something pretty… to cover up something so ugly,” you mused aloud. “Like, there are these flowers that only bloom once in their lifetime and it can take decades to happen.”

“Nah, tha’s no good,” Daryl said quickly.

“What? Why?” you asked, looking up at him with surprise from beneath your lashes.

“It don’t fit ya. Yer bloomin’ all the time. Every day. Ya always have been, even when ya couldn’t see it,” he drawled. He pressed a kiss softly to your forehead.

You smiled at him sleepily.

“Was that too cheesy?” he asked with a gruff laugh.

“No. It was just the right amount,” you said. “Okay… maybe I’ll just get ‘Property of Daryl Dixon’,” you joked.

“No good. Ya ain’t nobody’s property. Ya belong only to yerself. ‘M just lucky that you share with me,” he said, his fingertips tracing vague shapes on the bare skin of your hip, exposed from the way your shirt had draped.

You sighed and nuzzled in against his neck. “I was only kidding,” you said, closing your eyes.

“I know. But it’s true.”

You yawned. “Maybe. But I do also belong to you, by my choice. I have since that night you fell through that rotten floor,” you said with a laugh. Daryl’s chest moved as he joined you with a low chuckle. In another minute, you were asleep. Daryl whispered ‘I love you’ into your hair, and shut his eyes too.

He meant what he’d said—he’d find whoever had hurt you and end them if he could, but after that, he wouldn’t allow the shadow of the past to dim another day. He’d walk with you forward, facing the sun in the same way you’d been doing together since the end of the war. And he hoped this time all of it, all the Saviors, The Sanctuary, the fear and pain, was really behind both of you.

[bee-in-my-bonnet]

Thoughts on Taigen's switch from wanting greatness to happiness

Random theory/thoughts on Blue Eye Samurai/Taigen/Mizu because it's taken over my brain. Also ~SPOILERS~

I thought it was kind of odd that Taigen went from being obsessed w/ regaining his honor/seemingly marrying Akemi (imo) mostly for the status to suddenly being like "I just want to be happy and have a small happy life". Like all his actions up to that point seem to point to him wanting to be *great* not *happy* (see him insisting to Ringo that *he* is great, and being pissed off hat he doesn't get the respect he deserves)

Maybe his mindset switch is just exhaustion from all the violence, but that doesn't seem very him since he is, after all, a samurai. Maybe instead it's his quiet admission that he will refuse to actually partake in the duel/attempt to kill Mizu. If the only way for him to regain his status is to kill Mizu, and he cannot bring himself to do that, he has to give up on being *great*. Happiness, perhaps, is the next best option (also, an obvious way to maybe subconsciously still get the most out of his relationship with Akemi, since it fits with the moment). I also like the concept of the bridge representing that switch in his mindset - in the castle, with Mizu, he is still dedicated to greatness. By crossing the bridge and leaving Mizu behind, he is also leaving his desire for greatness behind.

I wonder if too, a small happy life seems more palatable after his time with Mizu in their hometown. I doubt he's thought it through to this extent, but it felt almost like a little slice of life/shadow of what a small, happy life with Mizu could be. Bringing her breakfast (*the* move for any MLs) and getting straddled by her by the fire (and clearly liking it) perhaps put a new concept in his head of what he truly wants. He spent so much time assuming he would hate a small life because of his own experience with his father, but maybe he starts thinking...but wait, this is actually where I want to be.

In the moment he pushes it aside and projects this newfound desire (of a person, and the concept of a life) on Akemi ("I guess I miss Akemi") because that's an easy way for him to process a TON of new emotions (desire for who he thinks a man, doubts about his entire life path, a reframing of his entire ego)

very curious to see what goes down in S2 👀

[odyssean-flower]

The Winding Path of Fate Chapter 13 - Summer: Nighttime Perils

Masterpost

Pairing: Neuvillette x Female Reader Summary: A terrible incident occurs during preparations for your first meeting with Furina as Neuvillette’s wife.

Warnings: Assault, injury, drunk people Note: If you want to be on the taglist for this fic, please make a reply to this post, send a message or send a private ask

Have a pic of Neuvillette in Domus Aurea

Previous | Next

“I’ve got nothing to wear…”   

Uttering that complaint for what felt like the thousandth time, you flopped down onto your bed, which looked as though your closet had exploded all over it. Not for the first time, you lamented the excess of practical, modest, and exceedingly plain clothing in your wardrobe.  

It was said that the clothes one wore reflected the soul. In that case, your soul was fully on display to an embarrassing extent.   

You pictured you and Neuvillette standing next to each other. Though his outfits didn’t vary much in color or style, they were always elegant and well put together, befitting his status and position. Meanwhile, with your sensible sweaters and plain knee-length skirts, looked more like the Chief Justice’s secretary than his wife. That wouldn’t be a problem normally, and in fact, it would be preferrable due to the secretive nature of your marriage. But this particular occasion wasn’t normal.  

Furina had agreed to the meeting. By Neuvillette’s account, she was most enthusiastic about it. It would be taking place in three days and held in his office.   

The bravado you had felt before in his cozy study, as you brushed his long, silky hair, had all but dissipated by now. Instead, you were left with a growing anxiety and doubt that gnawed at your mind.  

The chief of them being, Will this go smoothly without any incident?  

It was true that your great-grandparents had personally met with Furina (it had become somewhat of a point of pride), but this was very different from a mere appointment to ask for a favor from the Archon. In your case, you were going to present yourself to her as the wife of Chief Justice.   

You were well aware that this whole meeting was a chance for Furina to probe at your marriage and more specifically, you.   

Anything strange, out of the ordinary, or unusual would be pounced upon by the drama-loving Archon. Therefore, you had to maintain a perfect, unassailable front. You had to present yourself as someone who looked like she could be Neuvillette’s spouse. That started with appearance. Unfortunately, that was the biggest hurdle you were facing right now.  

You never had a problem with your wardrobe until now. Sure, your clothes weren’t the trendiest or most luxurious, but they were durable and comfortable, and you took pride in the fact that you took good care of them, mending tears and ironing out wrinkles regularly. You considered wearing the black semi-formal dress you wore for interviews at the Palais Mermonia for the governess license qualification process, but it seemed too plain and austere for the occasion.  

As the first person in your family to meet with the Hydro Archon in generations, and as Neuvillette’s wife, you needed to make a good impression.  

“Well, your tastes certainly lean more towards the practical, Madame,” Marie said. She was sitting on a chair and carefully looking through your clothes. You had asked her to come to your room as a second opinion. “It wouldn’t be a bad idea to go shopping for clothes that are more befitting of your current status.”  

“A status that I will lose at the year’s end,” you reminded her, but you didn’t disagree with her suggestion. As someone who was raised by frugal parents, you were more prone to saving up your Mora and only spending when it was necessary. That was what you did with the allowance that Neuvillette gave you, but…perhaps the time had finally come to use it. After all, one could make the argument that nice clothes were essential in situations where you had to make a good impression, and let’s face it, Neuvillette wasn’t exactly hard up for money…  

The fashionable but expensive clothes that you could only admire from afar until now came to mind. Now, you had the means to obtain them for yourself. You felt little bubbles of excitement in your stomach at the thought.   

“I suppose I’ll be hitting up the shopping district tomorrow,” you said, sitting up. “It’s long overdue, anyways.”  

“Indeed, Madame,” Marie looked very excited for some reason. “Honestly, Monsieur Neuvillette should have taken you out shopping a long time ago.”   

“He’s always busy, so it can’t really be helped. He already gave me plenty of money to spend anyway, so I can just shop on my own. Besides, does he even enjoy doing things like shopping?”  

“Mm-hmm,” Marie sounded like she wanted to say something, but held her tongue. “In any case, he is in for a wonderful surprise to see you all dressed up.”  

“I’m not doing it for him ,” you protested, even as you had to admit that you were curious to see Neuvillette’s reaction to you in clothes that you didn’t normally wear. What would he say? What expression would he make? Would he like them?   

You hoped he would. No, you wanted him to.   

“Perhaps you could model your outfit for him when he comes home tonight,” Marie carried on, seemingly not hearing what you just said.

“That’s a good idea,” you said. The idea hadn’t occurred to you. And while you were at it, you should have a discussion with him about what you were going to say to Furina. You had to come up with a good story to tell.  

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” you told Marie as you folded up your clothes to put them back in your closet. “You’re always so full of good advice.”  

“If only my own children thought the same way as you, Madame,” she laughed.  

s you stared in bewilderment at the row of high-end boutiques stretching out before you, you couldn’t help but feel that you were in way over your head.  

The low, colorful buildings sparkling in the sun reminded you of jewelry boxes that looked too expensive to touch, lest you leave a smudge on them. The impeccably dressed and coiffed shop clerks standing in front of their doors smiled invitingly and greeted passersby, but their eyes reminded you of the mothers working tirelessly at every ball you had attended—sizing up everyone who walked by and trying to sniff out the ones whose wallets were in need of a little lightening.   

But what intimidated you the most was the sheer variety of shops. You were surrounded on every side by fashionable clothing in a multitude of colors, sizes, and styles. Every time you saw something you liked, another caught your eye that you liked even more. This particular district was very different from the usual, more limited selection of stores that you usually visited. Now that you had the money to spend, you were quickly learning that having more choice wasn’t necessarily more convenient.  

It would be so much easier if I had my sister with me, or my friends, you thought wistfully , but quickly put it out of your mind. They would no doubt pepper you with questions you had no idea how to answer. You still weren’t sure what you were going to say to Furina yet.  

Just as you were standing there, uncertain as to what to do, you heard a familiar high-pitched voice calling out to you. “Madame! I didn’t know you were going shopping today!”  

You turned and saw a group of Melusines and, for some reason, Clorinde, walking towards you. These Melusines all worked for the Marechausee Phantom, but they were in civilian clothing instead of their uniforms. Perhaps this was their day off.  

“Oh, hello, everyone,” you greeted them. “Something came up suddenly, so I needed to do some clothes shopping right away.”  

“Something came up suddenly?” The Melusine who called out to you—Rhemia was her name—repeated. Her expression then changed, and she grinned, as though a realization hit her. “Oh, I get it! It certainly is a very urgent matter, then.”  

The other Melusines seemed to have also caught on to whatever it was, as they all giggled. You had a bad feeling that they were under some kind of mistaken assumption, but as Clorinde was here, you couldn’t correct them. “Can we join you, then? We’re also about to go shopping for clothes.”  

“Sure, that would be lovely,” you said. It was good to have company, even if you weren’t sure if the Melusines, with their unique perception of color and style, would be very helpful.   

Your gaze shifted to Clorinde, who had been standing silently behind the Melusines until now. Her face showed no hint of what she was thinking. It was as though this was the first time you had met each other.  

“Hello, Miss Clorinde,” you greeted her, not wanting to make things awkward. “Are you out shopping as well?”  

She shook her head. “The girls asked me to come along, and as I had some free time, I agreed.” She paused, then added, “I did not know you were married, Madame [Name].”  

“Just [Name] is fine,” you quickly said. “Or Madame, like everyone else does.”  

Clorinde had seen you walking with Neuvillette in the early morning, and now she learned that you were married. It didn’t take a genius to connect the dots.  

Fortunately, she didn’t question you any further, nor show much emotion to the revelation. Neuvillette said that she wasn’t the type to gossip, so you supposed there wasn’t anything to worry about for now.  

“Come on, Madame,” Rhemia was tugging on your hand, pulling you towards the nearest shop. “There’s no time to waste!”  

The sun shined brightly down upon your little group, heralding the start of a long day.  

There is a certain danger in shopping with others, you thought as you trudged back home, hands laden with shopping bags.   

You had assumed that you were just going to buy a few new outfits. But somehow, you ended up buying a whole new wardrobe, plus more things that you weren’t even sure you needed, like accessories, makeup, and even perfume.  

Despite that, you felt a sense of tired contentment, the kind that came after a long day of satisfying work and ample rewards. It had been a very long time since you enjoyed a day out with a group of friends. It was also a nice feeling, being able to spend money on whatever you wanted without worrying about the price or whether you actually needed it. You now understood why the ladies of the upper class frequented the shops every day. What a frightening slippery slope.   

You were certainly feeling the effects of it right now—it felt like your arms were about to fall off. Come to think of it, I do wonder if these clothes would all fit in my suitcase when the time comes to leave. Perhaps I should get another one…  

Clorinde, who seemed stoic and aloof at first, was surprisingly easygoing, if not very talkative, as you had discovered during the course of the day. She knew the best shops and had plenty of good advice on what to pick and wear.  

She had offered to help you carry your bags home, but you declined. You weren’t sure how much she knew about your relationship with Neuvillette, but it was better not to assume anything.   

“I could go and fetch Monsieur Neuvillette instead,” she said.   

You were aghast. “I couldn’t ask him to drop his work for such a trivial matter,” you protested.  

“I don’t believe he would see it that way,” Clorinde said. “Besides, he’ll be off work soon.”  

Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to ask Neuvillette to come all the way here just to help you carry your bags. He would have to make a detour on his usual route home from the Palais. He should have a leisurely rest at home after a long day at work.  

There was another, sillier, reason behind your decision—you wanted to surprise him.  

You couldn’t help but picture his reaction to the clothes you and the others picked out. Would he like them? Secretly, you hoped he would. You wondered what he would say. You wondered how he would look at you.  

The thought of being looked at by him, for whatever reason, sent a shiver down your spine. All your life, you had become accustomed to being overlooked, to being invisible. It wasn’t a bad feeling at all. While others had the spotlight cast upon them, you were happy to remain in the shadows, free to do whatever you wanted. True, it bothered you sometimes that you might be a ghost in the lives of others, only remembered as a presence in the background, but surely the benefits outweighed the negatives, right?  

But Neuvillette was different. He was always looking directly at you. When you were with him, you felt more…solid. Like you mattered. Like you had some importance in his life—to him. It was wishful thinking that you shouldn’t entertain, but from time to time, you succumbed to it.  

After you parted ways with everyone, you slowly walked back home. You weren’t very familiar with this area, but as it was still daylight out and there were plenty of people walking around, you weren’t worried.   

Then, suddenly, you spotted a used bookshop tucked between a flower shop and a jewelry store. Your eyes would have skipped over it if you hadn’t seen the store sign.  

You eagerly made your way inside and was greeted with the invigorating scent of old books. After saying hello to the owner, you disappeared between the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Mysteries, romances, fantasy…they called to you with their siren songs, but you didn’t stop until you reached the one section you were looking for—the history section.  

You let out an embarrassing squeal once you reached the shelf. Luckily, there was no one around to hear you.    

The shelf was filled with everything from glossy textbooks to jacketless tomes that went out of print decades ago. Not even the library had some of these books. And they were all at reasonable prices, too… Oh, but I’m already carrying so many things. I can’t possibly buy these heavy books as well. But what if someone buys them before me?   

There was a comfy-looking couch nearby that was beckoning you to curl up on it with a book. Well, just one read wouldn’t hurt, right?  

You picked a book at random. This one was titled Boethius: Harmost and Villain. It was right up your alley, and it wasn’t too thick. You could probably finish this one in an hour. You sat down on the couch and immersed yourself in its world.  

“Miss, we’re closing soon.”  

A voice broke through your reverie. It belonged to the store owner.  

“Huh…?” you blink up at her, feeling as though you had just emerged from underwater. “O-Oh! I’m sorry, I completely lost track of time…”  

You hurriedly got up and reshelved the stack of books next to you. Feeling bad that you didn’t end up purchasing anything, you inwardly promised to come back here tomorrow.   

As you made your way to the door, you stopped in shock. It was completely dark outside. How long had you been reading?  

Ugh, this always happens. Once you got absorbed in a book, hours could pass in the blink of an eye.  

“Be careful out there, Miss,” the owner told you, and you nodded, bidding her good night.   

The sun had mostly set, the stores around you were all closed, and there were few pedestrians on the streets.  

Luckily, you could still see the Palais Mermonia soaring high above the city. If you headed towards it, you would surely be able to find your way back home. With that in mind, you walked on ahead quickly.  

I should have asked the bookshop owner for directions, you thought as you turned down a narrow lane, but you weren’t sure if you could find your way back. The streetlights were coming on, but the harsh, dark shadows they cast made you speed up a little bit more. I could ask it to stop near Neuvillette’s neighborhood and walk the rest of the way back…  

However, you saw no carriages around. In fact, there was no one around at all. Oh Archons, I made a huge mistake!  

Even back in your sleepy little hometown, your parents always cautioned you to never stay out late. You heeded their advice in the Court of Fontaine as well, very conscious of the fact that it wasn’t rare for young ladies like you to get kidnapped off the streets. And yet, here you were, ripe for the picking with your arms laden with shopping bags.  

I’m an idiot, I’m an idiot, I’m an idiot… you berated yourself in your head as you quickened your footsteps, your heart racing. Your earlier refusal of Clorinde’s offer to accompany you home now seemed to you a stupid, short-sighted decision.   

I’ll just stay close to the streetlights for now, you decided. You fixed your gaze on the Palais and tried to focus on reaching it. Deep, calming breaths, [Name]…almost there…  

However, every time it seemed that you were on the verge of reaching it, a sudden turn or twist in the road would divert you further away from it. Eventually, you had to admit that you were hopelessly lost.  

What’s worse, this particular area you found yourself in had a shady air to it that raised the hairs on the back of your neck. You weren’t sure if this was one of the less savory parts of town you had always been warned about, but it sure felt like it. The darkened windows of the buildings felt like eyes staring down at you. Maybe you were being watched. No, don’t be paranoid, you told yourself, but to no avail.   

In any case, I have to get out of here.   

But just then, a figure emerged from the shadows ahead of you, heading in your direction. Your steps faltered slightly when you saw that it was a burly man dressed in a surprisingly fine business suit. He was swaying from side to side and muttering to himself. A drunk?  

Instinctively, you tightened your grip on your bags and stuck close to the shadows. Perhaps he would be too drunk to notice you.  

Unluckily, just as you were about to pass him, he called out to you in a slurred, hoarse voice.  

“Lovely evening, eh, Miss?”  

Even from here, you could smell the stink of alcohol on his breath. His eyes were glazed over, and he was teetering on his feet. He must be terribly drunk.  

“...Mm,” you said, giving him a brief nod and not looking him in the eye. You tried to sidle past him, but he grabbed your upper arm. His fingers were thick and sweaty, his grip firm. Goosebumps rose on your body.  

“Where ya going in such a hurry, huh? Why dontcha join me for a drink?”   

You tried to shake him off, but he didn’t budge. In fact, his hold on your arm only tightened. That’s going to leave a bruise in the morning, your thought distantly.  

“Hey, why aren’t ya talking? You a mute or something?”  

You pursed your lips and gave him the nastiest glare you could manage, even as you felt your heart threatening to burst out of your chest. Reasoning with a drunk, especially an aggressive one like him, was futile. You should scream for help. The other end of the alley was not that far away. Maybe a patrolling Garde would hear you.   

You took a deep breath and was about to let out a scream, but barely a squeak left your mouth before the man’s meaty hand clamped over your mouth. For a drunk, his reflexes were fast.  

The man turned your head to look at him. His face was redder than before. It was from anger. “Not a mute after all, eh? Whatcha going around screaming for? I just wanted to have a nice little chat with ya. Why don’t we go back to my place and get t’know each other better?”  

Oh no, he’s going to drag me away somewhere! It all felt so unreal, like it was happening to someone else. Fear gripped your heart, and you did the only thing you could do in the situation—you bit down on his palm so hard that you drew blood.  

“Fuck!” the man shouted in pain and let out a string of curses. His grip loosened, allowing you to shake him off and run as fast as you could to the end of the alley, which suddenly seemed a whole other world away. You pumped your already-tired legs, pushing them to their limit, but the heavy bags in your hands slowed you down. You should throw them away, but sweat glued their straps to your palms and there was no time to stop and pull them off.   

You heard the man shouting curses and his heavy footsteps as he chased after you. He was catching up to you quickly.  

Fate must enjoy playing cruel jokes on you, for rain began to pour down heavily at that very moment.  

It got into your eyes and soaked into your clothes. The stone-paved road suddenly became hazardous. Every time your feet almost slipped on the wet stones, panic threatened to overwhelm you.   

After what seemed like a lifetime, you reached the end of the alley—only to be met with a crossroads. Which path to take? With your blurred vision, you couldn’t see the Palais Mermonia or anything at all.   

You dared to look back, and your heart nearly stopped. The man was right on your heels, his face a hideous twisted mask of rage. He lunged at you, and you managed to dodge in time. He fell forward, landing on the ground with a heavy thud. You were about to run away, but your feet twisted under you. You tripped.  

Oh, I think I twisted my ankle... Pain blossomed in your right ankle, your knee, and your palms. You tried to pull yourself up, but the man’s large hand clamped around your hurt ankle, holding you in place. His grip tightened, and you could practically hear your bones grind against each other. You gasped as white-hot pain lanced up your leg. He’s going to break it...!  

“You little bitch...you’ll pay for that!” the man growled. He was trying to drag you towards him, and you scrabbled desperately at the ground for something to hold onto, but it was no use. “Who d’you think you are, biting me ?”  

“Heard there’s some guy lookin’ to buy girls. I think I’ll sell ya to him. It’ll serve you right!” the man continued to rant and rave. He didn’t seem to feel the rain at all. There was a strange light in his eyes. Was he really drunk on alcohol? You had no idea. All you wanted to do was get away.  

“My husband knows I’m gone! He’ll come looking for me!” you shouted, but even you knew it was an empty threat. There was no way Neuvillette would know where you were right now, right?  

The rain... The image of Neuvillette standing in the rain came to mind. There was a connection between him and rain. You didn’t know what it was, but it definitely existed.   

It was an absurd, baseless idea, but you were out of options. “Neuvillette!” you screamed. “Neuvi--ah!”  

Your ankle was squeezed even harder. He really was going to snap it in two at this rate. How can anyone be so strong?  

“Shut the fuck up! Ain't no one here to help you now, not even—” he suddenly let out a scream of agony. His grip on your ankle slackened.  

You stared at the sight in front of you, feeling as though your brain skipped a few seconds ahead in time.  

Just a moment before, it was only the two of you in this alley...until it wasn’t.   

There was a heel grinding into the hand grabbing your ankle. You knew even before looking up who it belonged to.  

Neuvillette was standing above the two of you, his cane in hand. There was a wavering blue light behind him. His face was an emotionless mask, but his eyes seemed to be glowing, figuratively and literally. They were filled with a cold hatred—no, something even more primal and basic than that. It was as though he was looking down at a worm, something far beneath him.  

For the first time since you knew him, you thought he seemed completely inhuman.  

The man was whimpering in pain. He tried to heave himself up, but couldn’t. He turned to look at who was stepping on his hand and gasped. “M-Monsieur Neuvillette? W-What...how...”  

“You are under arrest, Mr. Moreau, for assault,” Neuvillette’s voice was low and deep, carrying well even in the cacophony in the rain. Like his expression, it was void of emotion, but you thought you could hear something else behind it, like a shadow lurking in the depths of the sea. “The Gardes will be here shortly. I suggest you prepare yourself.”  

The man seemed too overwhelmed to speak. All he could do was stare up at Neuvillette blankly, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. You weren’t any better yourself.  

Seeming to no longer deem the man a threat, Neuvillette immediately turned to you. The terrible look from before was gone, replaced with naked worry and relief. “Madame!” he helped you sit up, then quickly took off his coat and wrapped it around you. “Can you walk?”  

You simply stared at him, unable to speak. In the distance, you heard shouts and footsteps running over here. It was probably the Gardes.  

His question registered a few seconds later, and you shook your head. Your ankle felt as though it was on fire. You didn’t want to look at it.   

Neuvillette studied your ankle, his brow creased with worry. His fingers brushed against the skin, and you let out a yelp. “My apologies,” he said quickly, pain flashing across his features. “I shall take you to the infirmary right away.”  

The Gardes had arrived by then and became busy with arresting the man—Moreau. Neuvillette spoke a few words to them, then turned back to you. “I shall be carrying you in my arms now,” he whispered in your ear. “I’ll ask a Garde to bring your bags to the infirmary.” He hooked an arm under your knees and circled the other around your waist, lifting you and holding you close to his chest. He seemed uncaring of the fact there were others around. None of them were looking your way, though.  

“Madame, you’re safe now,” he murmured. He sounded like the Neuvillette you had always known. That, along with the gentle warmth and crisp cologne that suffused his coat wrapped around you, finally thawed your frozen emotions.  

“Neuvillette...I was so scared!” Hot tears spilled down your cheeks, and you buried your face in his wet shirt, sobbing into his chest. “If you hadn’t shown up, he would have...!  

“There is no need to say anything more,” he whispered. He was now walking away from the scene. “I am with you now. No one can harm you any longer. The emergency room is not too far away. A carriage will bring us there.”  

His hand combed through the strands of your wet hair. The motions were awkward, but they brought you a comfort sweeter than anything you had known.  

Maybe it was just your imagination, but the rain seemed to abate with every stroke of his hands.  

At the emergency room, a nurse examined your ankle and declared that while it was badly sprained, it was not broken. An ice pack and bandages were applied to it, with instructions to rest in bed the next day and to change the ice pack every few hours. Your knee and upper arm were bruised, and your palms were scraped, but other than that, you weren’t seriously injured.   

The nurse also helped you change into dry clothes. Miraculously, your newly-brought clothes were mostly unscathed from the rain, so you chose a sweater and pants. She also offered you a hot cup of coffee, which you gratefully accepted.   

Not long after that, a Garde came to question you about the incident and record the injuries you sustained. It mercifully didn’t take very long.  

“Would I have to testify in court?” you asked Neuvillette nervously after the two of you were finally left alone. He had been with you through all of this, silently sitting at your bedside and rarely leaving it. You couldn’t help but wonder what other people thought of this, but mostly you were just glad for his steady presence.  

“It may not come to that,” Neuvillette said slowly, which was not reassuring to hear. “You have given your statement, and there is enough evidence for a prompt conviction without requiring victim testimony. And with the past history of the accused...”  

He trailed off, a shadow passing over his face. “You knew that man—Moreau,” you said.  

“Yes. Mr. Moreau is a wealthy businessman with many high-ranking friends in government. I have met him at several functions, and, well...you will have to excuse me for refraining from speaking of his character due to my involvement in this case. It has long been suspected that he has been engaging in various underhanded dealings, but no concrete evidence has ever been found. But to think that he would even stoop to human trafficking...it’s simply unconscionable.”  

You wondered why a man like that would be walking around the streets drunk and attacking people. If he was so good at concealing his crimes, surely he wouldn’t do something so stupid and brazen that would get him arrested. You recalled his hideous mask of a face and the eerie light in his eyes and shivered. Neuvillette, seeing this, reached out and took your hand in his, squeezing it. You could feel his wedding ring pressing into your fingers through his glove.  

“There is no need for us to dwell on this any longer,” he murmured, rubbing circles in the back of your hand with his thumb. “Focus on recovery. If there is anything that is required of you, you will be given ample notice beforehand.”  

You stared into his eyes. You would never admit this to anyone, but you enjoyed looking at them. They were the most expressive part of his face—which wasn’t saying very much—and you thought you had become rather good at grasping the emotions flickering behind them, like trying to catch a slippery fish in a pond. Right now, you would say that there was a mix of lingering panic and an earnest desire to make you feel better.  

“Thank you,” you whispered, feeling tears well up in your eyes again. Neuvillette took out another handkerchief from his breast pocket and handed it to you. You dabbed your eyes.   

“I only wish that I had gotten there sooner,” he said, and you could feel the regret and anger at himself rolling off him like waves. “So that I could spare you from having to go through something so traumatic.”  

“Don’t blame yourself. It was all my fault. If only I hadn’t gotten distracted by books and lost track of time, if only I had familiarized myself with the roads more, none of this would have happened. I made you worry about me. It’s what I deserve.” You had recounted everything that happened to him while riding in the carriage. He must think I’m an idiot who can’t even take care of herself, you looked down in shame.   

“Madame, please look at me,” Gentle fingers tilted your chin up, his lavender eyes transfixing you. “None of this is your fault, not a single bit of it. A bit of absentmindedness does not deserve punishment. The only party in the wrong here has been taken into custody and will receive a fitting sentence for his crimes.”  

“...Mm,” you managed to nod. His face was very close to yours. From this distance, you could see every single one of his long eyelashes in stark detail. For some reason, your heart started beating faster again.  

“So...how did you find me?” you moved away from him a little, though you left your hand in his. “I did tell Marie that I was going to the shopping district, but I don’t think I was anywhere near there by the time you found me.”  

“Marie told me where you went when I returned home in the early evening. When you didn’t return home by dinner time, we became worried, so I went out in search of you and asked the Gardes to assist. Then, I heard you screaming my name and followed it.”  

“Hmm...I see,” it felt like he cut out some important details out of that explanation, but he was clearly not about to divulge his secrets. “The sudden heavy rain must have made it quite difficult,” you said, glancing at him.  

“For the others, perhaps. But it was hardly a hurdle for me.”  

A short silence followed. You wanted to push him for answers a little more, but sensed his discomfort and decided to drop it.  

“You know, we’ve known each other for some time now, but this is the first time I’ve seen you with your cane up close,” you said. “Actually, this was the very first time I’ve seen you so angry. I hope it's never directed at me.”   

The memory of Neuvillette’s look of fury flashed through your mind again. That blue light you saw behind him must have been his glowing horns. It reminded you that he was, in actuality, an unfathomably powerful being.  He could have done much worse to Moreau than merely stepping on his hand.   

“My apologies. Did I scare you?” a small furrow appeared between Neuvillette’s brows, the corners of his lips turning downwards slightly. It was such a contrast from that previous expression that you almost felt like laughing. “I am often unaware as to how my face might appear to others. It is something I try to work on outside of court. Although, I must admit, I was not thinking very amicable thoughts at the time. It might have shown on my face.”  

You mulled his question over. Were you scared of him back then? To be quite honest, your mind was already preoccupied with fear by the time he arrived—there simply wasn’t enough room for more. Yes, you certainly had been shocked at first, but…  

Even if his eyes and horns (that was his horns, wasn’t it?) were glowing, it was still Neuvillette.  

“You should have been even more terrifying,” you told him sincerely. “If you ever do something like this again, you should show up riding on the back of a vishap.”  

He stared at you in bafflement for a few seconds, then turned his head away, but you caught the ghost of a smile on his lips.  

Mentally and physically exhausted by last night’s events, you slept like a log until noon. When you woke up, you were greeted with a platter of all your favorite dishes.  

With the new day and the cozy familiarity of your room, the events of last night seemed like they happened a lifetime ago. The fear had mostly subsided, leaving mortification and regret in its wake, especially as everyone was acting so considerate towards you. Looking back, you had no idea what you were thinking, and you realized once again just how lucky you had been.   

Your ankle’s swelling had gone down considerably the next day, but it still hurt whenever you put even the slightest bit of pressure on it, so you spent most of the day in bed, reading books, drawing, or staring out the window at the gray sky. You weren’t without company, though, as Marie sat with you in your room often, changing the ice pack and helping you put away your newly bought clothes in your closet. She had been horrified when you came home last night in Neuvillette’s arms. “How awful, Madame!” she had lamented as she helped you get to your room and change into your nightgown. “Thank the Archons that Monsieur Neuvillette arrived on time!”  

Marie wasn’t the only visitor to your room. The Melusines, including those who hadn’t gone shopping with you, also came to see you throughout the day. You supposed that Neuvillette told them about you, for they all brought you cakes and other desserts as get-well presents (you also suspected that they also reported back to Neuvillette about your condition, for when you mentioned to one Melusine how you would like to drink some Fonta, your wish was granted by the next Melusine who visited. However, she also heartily recommended that you drink water from Snezhnaya instead, which held a coolness that was good against swelling, and if you wanted, you could ask Marie to fetch a bottle of it for you from Monsieur Neuvillette’s personal stash. She also added that you need not hesitate to ask, as he had more than one bottle. Perhaps all Melusines shared his specific tastes in water, but you didn’t quite believe that was the case).  

Rhemia and the other Melusines who had been with you yesterday had been the most distressed upon seeing you bedridden. “I’ll stick to you like glue from now on, Madame! No criminal will escape my sights!” Rhemia had declared, and her sisters nodded vigorously in agreement.  

“There really is no need for that,” you tried to decline her offer. Privately, you thought that there wasn’t much a Melusine could do against a man of Moreau’s size anyways. “The whole incident only happened because I was careless and in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’ll be much more careful next time, so I doubt it will happen again. Just because I’m Neuvillette’s wife, it doesn’t mean that I deserve special treatment or anything of the sort. And if he put you up to this, then—”  

Rhemia blinked at you in confusion. “But this has nothing to do with Monsieur Neuvillette. Not entirely, anyways.”  

“It doesn’t?” Now you were confused.  

“Nope! I’d do this for all the people important to me! Oh, but I guess you’re more than that, since you’re married to Monsieur Neuvillette! That would make you our mother, I suppose.”  

“Um…” There was the m-word again. You considered correcting Rhemia, but she continued, seemingly not noticing your discomfort.  

“You’re always so kind and patient with us, just like Monsieur Neuvillette. You greet us whenever you see us, and you always ask us about our days and listen to our troubles. Oh, and Madame, you’re such a good teacher too! I’ve gotten so much better at drawing humans thanks to your lessons!” Rhemia turned to her friends. “Am I right?”  

Her friends nodded enthusiastically. They began recounting all the times you’ve spent with them.   

“I’m glad to hear that you all think of me as your friend,” you said after they finished, a little embarrassed but also pleased. You hadn’t expected them to remember so much about you. But you felt a little guilty as well. At first, you decided to become friendly with the Melusines because everyone knew that Neuvillette treasured them greatly and you wanted to be in his good graces so that he wouldn’t have any reason to kick you out. They had always been the ones to come up to you first, especially in the first few weeks after your marriage, and while you didn’t consider yourself to be a particularly friendly and warm person, even you weren’t heartless enough to be cold to such a cheerful race of creatures.   

“It’s not just us! I’m sure all the Melusines in the Court of Fontaine feel the same way. You’re just as important to us as Monsieur Neuvillette.”  

“Oh…” Looking at their bright, earnest faces, you didn’t know what to say. Your eyes suddenly became misty. Before this marriage, you hadn’t given much mind to Melusines. They were just the public servants you would occasionally pass by on the street. But now that you were connected to them through Neuvillette, you were belatedly learning just how wonderful they were.  

“Thank you,” you said at last, patting each of them on the head. Your hand still stung a little from last night, but you ignored it. “It means a lot to me that you think so highly of me. Truly. Still, you don’t need to follow me around. If I ever need help, I promise that I will come straight to you. And…I hope that you will all come to the sunflower viewing party we’re holding here next month.”  

“Of course, Madame! We wouldn’t miss it for anything!” the Melusines chirped in unison.  

By evening, the deluge of visitors had finally ended. You sank into your pillows, feeling exhausted. You weren’t used to having so many people fuss over you. It was unfamiliar territory, one that you weren’t quite sure how to navigate.   

Still, as you gazed at the teetering pile of confectionary boxes covered in Melusine stickers on your bedside table and remembered all the get-well wishes you received, a rush of warmth flooded your heart. How did I get so lucky? You wondered. Perhaps even after I leave Neuvillette, we can still be friends…  

As you were lost in your thoughts, Marie came into your room again.   

“Oh, Madame, I completely forgot to give you this because of everything that happened yesterday. It appears to be from your family.”  

Marie handed you an envelope made of thick, creamy paper. You recognized the stationery as the kind used by your father for formal correspondences, and the address written in familiar, flowery cursive on the front was indeed that of your family’s house.  

“Ah, that would be from my sister,” you said, tearing the envelope open and taking out the contents. The envelope contained two cards made of similarly thick paper. They both had an elaborately drawn border of Lumidouce Bells and Rainbow Roses and had an invitation written in the center. This was new.  

You are cordially invited   

To a celebration  

Honoring  

Justine’s nineteenth birthday  

Semi-formal attire requested (Floral themed outfits are preferred)  

P.S. Sister, please tell me if Monsieur Neuvillette has any allergies or requires any accommodations!  

“Oh no…” you groaned, putting your palm over your face. “I still haven’t gotten her a present yet!”  

You had planned to get something for her yesterday after you finished shopping for yourself, but meeting up with Rhemia and the others caused it to completely slip your mind.  

While we’re on this topic, shouldn’t she have sent the invitations much earlier if she wanted people to RSVP? It’s just like her to do things last minute! And why is she acting like it’s already decided that Neuvillette’s coming?  

“Marie, could you please fetch me my pen and paper?” you asked the housekeeper. After you received them, you began to write a reply to tell Justine that while you were coming, Neuvillette definitely wasn’t. But just as you got to that last part, you paused. The idea of the Chief Justice attending a teenage girl’s birthday party all the way out in the countryside was absurd, of course. You tried to picture him sitting at your family’s worn dining table, singing “Happy Birthday” eating the butterscotch cake your housekeeper always made for birthdays, all the while fending off the barrage of questions from your family and friends. I can’t imagine it! It’s just too ridiculous.  

It would be better if he didn’t have too much contact with your family, in order to avoid them asking too many questions, and to make the eventual divorce go smoothly.  

He rarely even attended the far more glamorous functions of high society, so something like this would be out of the question. His answer would go without asking.   

Or would it?  

You didn’t really know why you were entertaining the idea. Perhaps being with Neuvillette these past few months had greatly inflated your sense of self-importance—but then again, you thought that the two of you had gotten close enough where asking him wouldn’t be so preposterous. You were friends, and wouldn’t it be ruder to not at least extend an invitation to a friend? Wasn’t the act of asking in itself greatly appreciated?   

And…there was a little part of you that would like to show him around your hometown. It was pretty much in the middle of nowhere, and all you could see for miles around were fields of wildflowers and mountains—a common sight in Fontaine—but there were a few spots that you had fond memories of. Since Neuvillette showed you his favorite places, it was only right to repay the favor, even if none of your favorite spots were as exciting as the giant willow tree or Merusea Village.  

Recent events, including the latest incident, had taught you the folly of making assumptions, even for seemingly inconsequential things like this. Just because you thought   

The worst thing he could say is no, you reasoned to yourself. And it’s not the end of the world if he does. Sure, Justine will be disappointed, but everyone knows how busy and reclusive Neuvillette is, so she’ll understand if he declines.  

As if on cue, you heard the front door open downstairs. Neuvillette had returned home. After a brief conversation with Marie, the sound of his heels briskly ascending the stairs and heading in the direction of your room until it stopped in front of your door. There was a soft knock.  

“Madame, may I come in?”  

“Yes,” you called out, and Neuvillette opened the door and stepped inside your room. He was about to close the door behind him, but then he looked at you. A thought seemed to cross his mind, and he left the door ajar.  

Um, why is he just standing there? You stared at him, confused when he didn’t take a seat right away. He simply stood there stiffly, his gaze a mixture of worry, uncertainty, and something else. For a second, you wondered if he was that caught off guard by your disheveled appearance that was a result of staying in bed all day. It took you a minute to realize that he was waiting for you to ask him to sit down. Really, this man… I thought we’re past such formalities.  

“You can pull up a chair,” you said, nodding towards the cushioned chairs in the center of the room. He complied, clasping his hands in his lap after settling in his seat and leaning towards you slightly. He stared at you intently, as if afraid that you would disappear before his eyes. You squirmed uncomfortably, suddenly very aware of the fact that you were wearing only your rumpled nightgown and that you were lying in bed. You surreptitiously pulled your covers up to your chest.   

Come to think of it, this is the first time I’ve ever had a man who isn’t my father in my room, you mused, though you were also aware that this wasn’t really the occasion to think about such things. Well, I guess it technically isn’t the first time, but this is very different.  

Thankfully, Neuvillette broke the silence and (once again) prevented your thoughts from going down a potentially thorny path.  

“How are you feeling, Madame? Regrettably, I was not able to take some time off to come and see you.”  

“There’s no need for that. Marie took very good care of me, and I got plenty of visitors today,” you indicated the tower of cake boxes on your bedside table.   

Neuvillette nodded, his face softening slightly. “We should postpone the meeting with Furina.”  

“No,” you said quickly, putting your hand on his. “The sooner we get this over with, the better. I’ll drag myself up the steps of the Palais if I have to.”  

Neuvillette looked like he wanted to argue, but he swallowed back whatever he was going to say. “There’s no need for that,” he said at last. “I would be happy to carry you into my office, if you should ask.”  

“Carry me into your office?” you repeated incredulously. Was he serious? But by now, you already knew the answer to that question.  

You leaned back against your pillow with a smile. You sometimes wondered if Neuvillette realized how unintentionally funny he could be. “Wouldn’t that give people the wrong idea?”  

“You do have a point. Then, I propose that we arrive at my office early in the morning, before the Palais employees come into work.”  

“How about instead of carrying me, I borrow your cane?”  

Neuvillette seemed to be pondering your words seriously. “But that would also run into the problem of rousing people’s suspicions. Someone might wonder why my cane is in your possession.”  

You turned your head away to smother your laugh.  

“It seems that the Melusines have made their visits,” Neuvillette said, looking at the tower of boxes on your bedside table.  

“Yes, they were all very sweet. Although, I’m not sure how they expect me to eat all these…” You liked dessert and all, but not to this extent. Perhaps you could bring some of them back home with you to share with your family and friends.   

“Clorinde also asked me to pass on her well wishes to you. She was very sorry to hear what happened.”  

“I see. Please thank her for me, and tell her not to blame herself for my foolishness.”  

“I will do that,” Neuvillette nodded, then was silent for a moment. His solemn gaze as he looked at you made it seem like you were diagnosed with some terminal illness rather than merely spraining your ankle badly and hitting your knee against the ground.   

“Neuvillette?” you called out his name in hopes of getting rid of that grave look in his eyes. It made your chest feel heavy.   

“Ah, by the way, I consulted with a friend of mine about your injury. She made this drink for you,” Neuvillette manifested a green, ridiculously adorable cup from out of nowhere. It reminded you of the bulky and colorful cups toddlers drank juice out of. “She says that it will help your body recover quicker.”  

“A friend of yours?” you repeated, your interest piqued. While Neuvillette would happily talk to you about the Melusines for hours on end and occasionally talk about his (human) acquaintances, you had never heard him call anyone his friend before.   

“Yes. She is the head nurse the Fortress of Meropide’s infirmary, and one of the kindest and most considerate people I know. I hope the two of you can meet one day.”  

“That’s high praise coming from you,” you said, making a mental note of this mysterious friend. “Why don’t we invite her to the sunflower viewing as well?”  

“What a wonderful idea. I shall do just that,” he said, then held out the cup to you. “Now, Madame, you should drink this.”  

“Alright,” you took a sip of the drink and nearly spat it out. “Bleakness” was the only way to describe the taste. It almost made you want to get out of bed and walk so that the pain could distract you from the torture of your tastebuds. For a heartbeat, you wondered if Neuvillette was trying to poison you. “A-Are you sure this is h-healthy?”  

“Of course,” Neuvillette said, looking baffled by your question. “I’ve drank it on numerous occasions, and I’ve always found myself quite refreshed and invigorated afterward. I asked Sigewinne to make it taste more palatable for you, as I’m aware that her concoctions are not for everyone. She truly hopes it makes you feel better.”  

This is palatable? You thought. Did I do something to this Sigewinne person? Whoever she was, she shared the same incomprehensible sense of taste as Neuvillette.  

Speaking of Neuvillette, he was looking at you expectantly. Oh Archons, is he expecting me to finish it in front of him? Just as you were trying to come up with an excuse to not drink it, those efforts were dashed by his next words. “Is it not to your liking?” he said quietly. You were vaguely aware that it had started raining outside.   

“I…um…” you didn’t know what to say or where to look. You suddenly had the impression that a large puppy was at your bedside, staring at you with sad eyes. Gah, he must be doing this on purpose! Either that, or he must really be fond of that friend of his. “Well, when it comes to medicine, it’s not really a matter of liking it or not liking it, right? A-And since you’ve gone to the trouble of asking your friend to make this for me, it would be rude of me to not drink it, right?” You sounded like you were trying to convince yourself.  

“If you do not like it, then you do not need to force yourself—”  

“No, no, I mean, I’ve taken plenty of bitter medicine when I was little, and I survived. This will be no different,” you brought the straw up to your mouth and held your breath. Let’s just get this over quickly, you thought, then emptied the cup in one go. Fortunately, there wasn’t much to drink. However, the lumpy texture was still a struggle to swallow. You felt as though you had just eaten concrete.   

“That was…certainly something I’ve never drank before,” you managed, flopping back onto your pillows to recover. You opened a box of lemon tarts and shoved one into your mouth to get rid of the taste. Honestly, you wanted to drink some Fonta instead, but decided that it might be a bit uncouth. Of course, some might say that it was unladylike to eat cake in bed in the first place, but you doubted those people ever had the misfortune of having to drink that so-called “healthy drink.” “Please thank your friend for me.”  

Neuvillette nodded, watching you as you ate a second, then a third tart. Lemon wasn’t your favorite flavor, but anything would do right now. You offered one to him, but he politely declined. His gaze dropped to the papers in your lap. “…Were you writing a letter to someone?” he asked.   

“Oh!” you had almost forgotten about that. “My sister Justine sent us invitations to her birthday party. It’s a bit short notice, but it’s in a few days.”  

“Ah, yes, I’ve heard you mention it before,” Neuvillette took a pause, as if he had only just taken in the entirety of your words. “Did you say ‘invitations’?”  

“Yes,” you nodded. Your hands suddenly felt sweaty. What were you so nervous about? “Since we’re, you know, husband and wife, it’s only natural that invitations would be sent to the both of us. Funny thing is, Justine thinks you’re already coming and has asked me if you require any accommodations, but, obviously, you haven’t given any answer as to whether or not you’ll be attending the party. I-I know that you usually don’t attend public functions, but birthday parties in our party don’t tend to be very extravagant affairs. It’s usually just a small gathering of close friends and relatives. We can even make everyone sign a contract of confidentiality, if you want. You don’t have to bring any gifts either. I think your presence will be a gift in itself for my sister, haha…”  

Oh no, I’m rambling again…why do I keep doing this? It’s a simple question! You toyed with the edge of your comforter, suddenly too nervous to look at his expression. Would there be a look of disgust there? Why would there be? Your brain argued back. You haven’t asked anything offensive!  

Finally, you dared to sneak a peek. He was staring at your face, as though scrutinizing it for answers to a difficult question.   

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” you said, thinking that he must be trying to find a way to let you down gently.   

“…Do you want me to attend?” he said at last.   

You hadn’t expected that question. “What do you mean?” you frowned.  

“What I mean is…would it please you—would it make you happy if I attended your sister’s party?”  

The question threw you off guard. You didn’t know what he meant by it. What did it matter what you thought?  

“Well, it’s not my party, so my opinion doesn’t matter,” you said slowly. “My sister will certainly be overjoyed if you attended.”  

“But your opinion does matter quite a lot to me,” Neuvillette said. He was oddly insistent about this.  

Oh, I get it. He doesn’t want to come, but doesn’t want to offend, you thought.  

“If you want to come, then come. If you don’t, then don’t,” Realizing that your words might sound too harsh, you softened your tone. “It’s okay to say no. I won’t hold it against you. I’m sure my sister and everyone else will understand.”  

Neuvillette stared at you with an unreadable expression in his eyes. You could hear the rain pounding against your window, and you turned your head to it. The sky was a dark, leaden gray. It’s been raining pretty frequently these days, hasn’t it? You thought distantly.  

“Unfortunately, I have a trial to oversee on that day,” he said. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him clench and unclench his fists. You wondered why he didn’t mention the trial earlier. “I do not think it would be wise for me to attend, in any case. It would be a needless distraction.”  

“Alright then. I’ll tell my sister you can’t attend,” you said lightly, then turned your attention to your unfinished letter. You picked up your pen and began to write. Focusing your mind on producing the words helped distract from the tumult of emotions within you—emotions that you didn’t know quite what to make of. Was it relief you felt, or disappointment? Relief for what? Disappointment about what? Were you seriously expecting him to say “yes”? That made no sense at all. In fact, it would have been stranger if he had agreed to attend.   

It was better to keep expectations low. That way, it wouldn’t feel so terrible when they were inevitably let down.   

In any case, it’s over and done with, you told yourself firmly, signing the letter with a flourish. Maybe too big of a flourish. I’ll post this first thing in the morning—that is, if I can walk by then.  

You glanced up to see Neuvillette still sitting there. He was drinking from his cup, but he was watching you over the rim. You had long gotten used to him studying you like you were some kind of strange specimen, but it was still awkward, especially in this silence. Your room, which had always felt needlessly spacious to you, suddenly felt very small.  

Just as you were debating whether or not to fake a sleepy yawn and ask him to leave, he spoke again.  

“You haven’t yet bought a birthday present for your sister, yes?”  

“Uh-huh?” you replied, wondering what he was getting at.   

“I won’t have any time tomorrow, but I do have an hour or two to spare after our meeting with Furina. We shall go pick out a present together then.”  

You gaped at him. “Together?”  

“Is there something wrong with that? It is customary for married couples to give presents as a pair, is it not? Since I cannot attend the party, allow me to make it up to your sister with a birthday present.”  

“…If you insist,” you said, since he seemed so adamant. Neuvillette was so hard to grasp sometimes. Sometimes, he was clear as a fresh water spring. Other times, like now, you had the sense that you were staring into the sea, unable to see all the way to its bottom. “She’d be happy about that.”  

“Then it is settled,” he said with a note of satisfaction in his voice, then leaned forward and cupped your cheek. It happened so quickly that you didn’t even have a chance to react. “W-Wha…” was all you could manage to stammer out. There was only a millimeter of space between your faces. Your heart sped up a little when his gaze moved to your lips. His thumb moved to the corner of your lip and brushed against it. It took you a moment to realize that he had flicked off a cake crumb.  

"That has been bothering me for a while,” he murmured, removing his hand from your cheek. Despite that, you could still feel the smooth silk of his glove and the press of his long fingers against your skin. “I will take my leave now. Please rest and get well soon, Madame.”  

“I-I will,” you nodded, suddenly feeling shy. You took a box of Conch Madeleines from your bedside table and handed them to him. “Please take this. It’ll take me a year to finish all these desserts anyways. There’s a little packet of whipped cream included, so if it’s too dry for you...”  

“Thank you,” he took the box from you, then stared into your eyes for a moment longer before turning on his heel and leaving your room. It was only when you heard his footsteps recede to the other side of the house that you realized that it was no longer raining.   

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[kunikinnie]

a/n: oddly specific prompt as it's based on recent experiences lol lemme indulge (also lowkey a mess but whatever HAHA) warning: some profanity

comforting you after a breakup (and you getting sick in the process)

featuring: Kunikida, Akutagawa x GN!Reader

Kunikida Doppo

He'd drop by your place more often that he should. But it's not that it was uncalled for (although of course he was worried that he was overstepping boundaries). In fact, you were always grateful for his help.

"How are you feeling?"

"A bit better," you'd reply with a weak smile. It was always like this every visit and for every other visit to come. He'd bring you some food, sometimes those which he cooked himself, your favorite snacks, and whatever it is you requested from his previous visit.

While you were glad you had a friend around to brighten up the place in your darkest moments, sometimes the guilt would get to you. Wasn't he spoiling you a bit too much?

Perhaps he was, but to him, this was hardly anything at all. Yes, he was doing it for you, but he was also doing all of these things to ease his own guilt and pain from seeing you like this.

He promised he would always be there for you. It shouldn't have been hard, given how loyal of a friend he was (and given how deeply he had fallen for you) , yet he'd failed at looking out for you when you needed him most.

Maybe if he'd acted sooner, you wouldn't have fallen for that bastard. Maybe if he'd tried a little harder, you wouldn't have to sacrifice so much for a man who would never have done the same for you. Maybe if he'd had been more honest, you would've realized that you were loved - so greatly loved, really - even if that came from a person so unworthy such as himself.

The moment he found out your bouts of illness weren't just unlucky coincidences was the moment everything crashed down for him. There was nothing more painful for him than seeing you in pain, whether it be emotionally or physically. That's why he couldn't take it anymore when everything started going downhill for your health and your relationship.

He's glad that at least the initiative to break up with that scoundrel came from you. However, the temptation to strangle him if Kunikida ever bumped into him always lingered in his mind. Perhaps it was fate that spared both of them the headache; he never ran into him since you two broke up.

How could your ex waste your love and affection like that? Why did he leave you hanging in the air when you needed him most? Why did you have to fall for him anyway?

Of course he didn't want to think of himself as being the better choice as he also has his own weaknesses and issues to work out, but at least Kunikida knew he'd never let you second-guess or tire yourself to death.

He'd never force you to fit his ideal because he's learned to love you for the person you are.

"Thanks so much for all this."

Your smiles alone made all his worries vanish into thin air. Didn't you notice how much brighter they are now? It's the only reward he could ever ask for, even if sooner or later those very smiles would be reserved for someone else.

"I'll come again tomorrow. Just let me know if you need anything."

"Nah, it's fine. Your presence is more than enough."

Words couldn't encapsulate the joy he felt from hearing that. If only he could return those same words with the same level of honesty...

"Aww, he's happy to hear that."

W-was it really that obvious? Then did you also notice-

"Okay, okay I'll stop teasing you. You should go home now, it's late."

"I'll be fine. You should be fine too. Don't forget your meds. Also you can heat up the-"

"Yes, yes, I got it. Don't worry about me too much. I think you should be worrying about Dazai-san's latest case instead-"

Ah, right. Sometimes he wished that his partner would at least spare him half the trouble so that he could visit you more often...

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke

He couldn't understand anything of what was happening to you, and to some extent, to himself as well.

He was aware he had no idea nor any intention as to knowing what "love," let alone being in a relationship meant. So when he learned that you had been dating someone else, he had been largely unaffected.

Well, at least that was what he said. It was obvious to anyone close to him that he was, in fact, extremely affected. The mere mention of your name was enough to shake him and sometimes even sour his mood.

But if this so-called "love" was the reason your smiles seemed to be brighter, then he had no right to feel the way he did.

As time passed, he distanced himself from the very thought of you. There was no point in dwelling on something that causes you pain, he claimed. Sure, sometimes you'd bump into each other and he'd feel lighter when you greet each other, and maybe he'd look out for you during missions as he always did, but they were just out of duty as your superior.

Yet the moment he found you one night crying in the middle of the rain, his resolution had been all but forgotten.

He used Rashoumon as an umbrella for the both of you before (awkwardly) asking what had happened. You suddenly hugged him tightly, despite being drenched from the rain, and continued to sob into his shirt.

"I guess he has no place for someone weak like me," you barely managed to say.

That statement puzzled him. You? But you were one of the most capable members the mafia, not just in terms of power and agility, but also in intelligence and strength of character.

It was not until he finally brought you to the hospital (because of course you got a fever from crying in the rain, dumbass) that everything was made clear.

You were diagnosed with a rare disease that had no treatment. Turns out you found a few days ago and were about to tell your partner that night, until he left you (literally) stranded in the middle of the rain for no good reason. He must have been tired of dealing with your symptoms - that was your conclusion.

"And still you refused to seek shelter like the idiot that you are," he said with great annoyance, but with no harshness in his tone. He could understand where you're coming from, of course, but compromising your health as if you were seeking death over something like that irritated him.

But what angered him more was your ex's (he supposed he was already your ex) behavior. To someone like Akutagawa who didn't even claim to truly know what "love" meant, it was disgusting to see someone abandon their lover like that. Worst part was that had to be you.

You having an illness, terminal or not, was not an excuse. If anything, that should have made him more determined to be by your side until the very end, right?

He hadn't realized you had already drifted to sleep. Despite your pale and reddened face and your puffy tear-streaked eyes, seeing you at peace for even just a moment brought him some peace of mind as well.

He was caught in a flurry of thoughts, ranging from wanting to choke your ex to coming to terms with the idea that he himself had fallen in love with you, and even to wishing that he could take your illness instead.

None of those really mattered right now, at least. The one thing that was clear was that you had to recover quickly and fully. If that meant he had to distance himself even further, then so be it. But if him being around would help in any way at all, then he'd swear to never leave your side and nothing - I mean nothing - can deter him from that.

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[salaimoi]

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ‘like an angel’ by artemas is responsible for this. re-upload bc I was too sleepy to realize how horrible & unfinished this was when i first uploaded it

Most men would call you distasteful words during sex, but not Choso. The two of you had only fucked a handful of times thus far, but when you did, he would remain in utter silence as he admired you.

And to you, his untainted purity was a refreshing sight to behold among this blemished world – so you didn't mind his lack of words.

Choso was fairly new to the dating scene, but he heard buzz from the other jjk men that you're supposed to talk to your partner during sex. He didn't completely comprehend the notion, since he believed your physique communicated with his gaze in a way no words ever could.

Alas, he decided to give it a try, blurting out the first line that crossed his mind during that moment.

“You fuck like an angel,” he praises mid session while his hands latched onto your hips as you maneuvered yourself on top of him. Even the way he held you with a mellow grip mirrored his temper, aiding your efforts by guiding your body and gently pressing you back down against his pelvis every time you felt as if your knees were going to give out.

You were too out of it to comprehend a single syllable, so you babble an incoherent “uh huh,” not giving what he said much thought.

But Choso meant every word; to him, you were divinity fully realized. He was almost 100% certain you would give him a heart attack, but he would die for his angel. Perhaps he welcomed death as long as it meant immortalizing the breathtaking scene before him.

And as if his first comment wasn't enough, he went on to cement the notion of just how dearly he admired you.

“From my rotting body, flowers shall grow, each one being only for you – and you alone,” he gazed up at you with a tooth-rotting, beaming expression before going on, “and I'd be honored to be the favored flower that adorns the enchanting garden your body is.”

While his composed demeanor didn’t change, the color of his cheeks told a completely distinct narrative.

Your eyes widen, causing your movements to come to a complete halt as the sudden unexpected, but heartfelt, words finally process in your mind.

One of your hands moves towards Choso’s cheek, a tenderness that directly translates to your voice as you reply, “I love you sweetie, but I’m gonna have to teach you how to properly dirty talk.”

“But isn’t that how other people do it?” He raised an eyebrow, completely unaware that the definition he gave to the concept of sex talk was flawed.

He assumed other couples used this time to praise their partners, since they were handing over a very vulnerable part of them. And he was right to an extent, but other couples did not spew beautiful poems like he did — but you had no heart to tell him that.

So instead of shattering his wholesome beliefs with reality, you nodded, leaning forward to press a warm kiss on your boyfriend’s forehead.

“Yeah, that’s how some of them do it.”

The reassurance was met with his arms wrapping around your waist, his face burying itself in between your bare chest. It was almost enough to forget the vulgar deed you were engaging in a few seconds ago.