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starmocha · 2 months ago

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Apple of My Eye [Caleb + Son ★ 2k words ★ Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] A silly morning making breakfast together. A/N: ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ MY BOY DAD CALEB SHENANIGAN IS STARTING YAY. I’ve been yapping about this since November lmao Tag list: @lavlynyan @miudle @alfredosaws @solifloris @nezuswritingdesk @valkyyriia @natimiles @yourlocalcatscammer @callilypso @likewhyareyousoobsessedwithme @goddessnyx216 @qyuin @asiaticapple 【 request to be added 】

Caleb had always thought the best day of his life was marrying the girl he had been in love with for nearly their whole lives.

He was wrong.

It turned out it was actually the day she gave birth to his son and made him a father.

Before that, it had always been him and her against the world, his hand in hers from then until eternity. From the moment he had first held his son in his arms, his shocked face staring down at the little baby cradled in his arms, unable to fathom that this was his child he had with her. However, the moment his son’s tiny hand grasped his finger, holding on tight with all of his strength, Caleb knew he could never imagine a life without his little co-pilot.

The sun wasn’t out yet, but Caleb had already begun to stir from sleep, completely conditioned to waking up early for as long as he could remember. However, there was one other person in this household who was adamant about being the first to wake up.

Caleb remained in bed, laying on his stomach facedown, his cheek pressed to his pillow as he lounged lazily, hearing from down the hallways the rushed soft pitter-patters of little feet on hardwood floor. He could hear his bedroom door creaking. It was never closed completely, always left opened slightly ajar so his son could come in whenever he needed to.

The little boy peeked in before pushing the door opened further and proceeded to toddle his way to his father’s bed. He attempted to climb up, the sounds of his incessant grunting and whining nearly made Caleb burst out laughing, but he managed to quickly compose himself, remaining as still as possible in bed to not rouse suspicion from his son.

The little boy continued to try to climb, his small hands unable to grasp the mattress and pull himself up. He whined in frustration before crying out, “Help! Daddy, help!”

Caleb stifled his laughter. He pretended to still be asleep.

“SOS! SOS! Daddy, SOS!”

This finally broke him.

Caleb rolled over onto his back, his arm clutching his stomach as he shook and laughed hard to the point his sides were hurting.

“Daddy!”

“Okay, okay,” he answered as more laughter unwittingly escaped. “Distressed signal received, my little co-pilot.”

With a gentle curl of his finger, he manipulated his Evol, the gravity around his son lightened and suddenly the little boy floated up giggling and kicking his feet in delight. He was lured closer to his father before dropping into Caleb’s waiting arms.

The little boy was still in a light blue onesie with little yellow airplanes all over, the soft fabric of his sleepwear brushed against Caleb.

Caleb peered down gently into a pair of identical violet eyes. His son really had taken after him in all aspects from physical appearance to his personality and even mannerism. Sometimes, Caleb couldn’t help but teased his wife about how her genes didn’t even try, their son a perfect replica of him.

The only difference Caleb saw was the sweet innocence of a child still remained in his two-year-old, and he was determined to safeguard that for as long as he could, wishing his son to always be bright-eyed and happy.

“Daddy?”

It was like looking into a mirror.

“Hm?”

“I miss Mommy…”

Definitely a copy of him.

Caleb hugged his son a little tighter, sympathizing with the child completely.

“I miss her, too,” he said, “but she is away helping other small children like you affected by a wanderer attack.”

The boy pouted, not completely understanding his father’s explanation. He didn’t know why he had to share his mommy, but he wanted her home with him again. He raised his head, his cheek puffing in frustration as his eyebrows furrowed in serious contemplation. “Can we make Mommy not go next time?”

“Huh?”

“I want her to stay with me…”

“Selfish little rascal, aren’t you?” Caleb teased. “We can try, but she would probably be disappointed in you.”

“Disap… Disap…” The boy’s brows furrowed even more as he struggled to repeat that odd word his father had just said.

“She would be unhappy with you,” Caleb explained gently.

The toddler immediately looked guilty, his pout disappeared the moment he heard his father’s explanation. “I don’t want her to be unhappy…”

“Then be a brave good little boy for her,” Caleb said, his hand smoothing his son’s disheveled hair back. He continued in a soothing tone, “Can you do that for her?”

“Yes!”

Caleb smiled, amused by the determination in his son’s eyes. He settled more comfortably in bed with the toddler laying on his chest. “Okay, let’s sleep for a while longer,” he said, letting a yawn slipped through. “Daddy will make breakfast for the two of us in a bit…”

“But I’m not…” the little boy yawned as his father rubbed his small back gently. He nuzzled his face against his father’s chest. “…sle…epy…”

“I know,” Caleb responded agreeably, his own eyes closing at the same time as his son’s. In minutes, the room was filled with the sound of gentle snoring, both father and son slipping back to dreamland in the dark, cool room.

About an hour and a half later, Caleb and his son were both fully awake. After washing up, they both headed for the kitchen with the little boy sitting on his father’s shoulders, his small hands grasping Caleb’s hair as if they were reins as he “steered” his father into the direction of their destination.

“Are we ready for landing, my co-pilot?” Caleb asked, his eyes darting up to check.

“Ready!”

Caleb smiled and used his Evol to lift his son into the air, always delighting in the little boy’s sweet giggles. “Alright,” he said, “You are cleared for landing.”

Caleb’s smile widened as his son squealed happily as he guided the boy to float gently down, letting his feet lightly touch the kitchen countertop. He steadied the boy and helped him sit down. “And how was your flight today, sir?”

“Good, Daddy!”

He laughed and leaned down, his forehead touching his son’s. “Okay, let’s get breakfast ready, buddy,” he said, “I don’t know about you, but Daddy is so hungry, he’s probably gonna end up eating his plate, too.”

“Your plate?” the boy repeated, astonished, making a face at him. “Daddy is so silly…!”

“Silly, am I?” he countered back in mock-surprise. “No, not sillier than you?”

“Yes, sillier!”

“I dunno,” he repeated, heading to the fridge to retrieve some ingredients. He set on the counter a couple of eggs, green onions, tomatoes, and a container of shredded cheddar cheese. “Who’s the silly little boy who dunked his cotton candy into water and watched it melt away after being told not to do it?”

The boy pouted and shook his head vehemently. “No, no, no, Daddy is sillier!”

“Yeah?” Caleb asked, grabbing a small cutting board and a knife from a drawer. He proceeded to finely minced the green onions and diced the tomatoes. “Sillier than a certain little boy who didn’t want to come inside for naptime, because he was too busy holding a leaf to shade his new frog friend he found outside?”

“Daddy is sillier!” he cried out in response to his father’s teasing.

“Okay, okay,” Caleb laughed, relenting, “Daddy is sillier than you.”

He leaned over and pecked his son’s cheek. “But I don’t see it as a bad thing, do you?”

He gazed down into identical violet eyes, seeing the same mirth reflected back to his. Caleb grabbed the eggs he had set to the side, bringing them over to his son along with a medium-sized bowl. “Okay, can you crack these eggs for Daddy?”

His son grinned and nodded enthusiastically, carefully grabbing the egg Caleb handed to him. He followed his father’s instruction and carefully cracked the egg on the side of the bowl and with Caleb’s guidance, he broke the egg.

“Good job, buddy,” Caleb praised, smiling softly as he could see the little boy brimming with pride. “Three more eggs to go.”

After the last egg was cracked, the toddler held up his small hands to his father, frowning as he said softly, “Daddy… my hands are yucky…”

Caleb chuckled in amusement and picked up his son to carry him over to the kitchen sink. “Not a problem,” he said, turning on the faucet, and holding his son close to the running water so the boy could wash his hands. He set the boy back over to the counter. “All good now, partner?”

“All good!” the boy cheered. “Daddy, Daddy, I can do it!”

“Hm? You want to beat the eggs?”

His son nodded eagerly.

“Okay,” Caleb said, handing the boy a pair of chopsticks. He chuckled as his son gripped them firmly in his small fist. “Just like how you usually see me do it. That’s it. Keep going, we want to break all of the yolks and have everything mixed evenly.”

He added in the earlier vegetables he had chopped along with a generous helping of shredded cheese. He urged his son to continue mixing. He could see the toddler was quickly tired out by the task. “Little buddy, permission to take over?”

“Granted!”

“Thank you, sir!” Caleb responded and took the pair of chopsticks from his son. He heated up a frying pan with oil over low heat as he vigorously beat the eggs. Once it was mixed to his liking, Caleb slowly poured the beaten egg mixture into the fry pan, hearing it sizzled gently. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught his son trying to stand up and tutted disapprovingly. “No, buddy. No standing while I’m over here. It will be over soon.”

The boy pouted and sat back down obediently. He still tried to peer and watch his father make their breakfast.

Caleb moved the egg around slowly, letting it cook gently while he turned to place some sandwich slices into a toaster. It wasn’t long before everything came together and he dished everything out onto two plates: one adult-sized and one child plate, shaped like an apple with three divided segments.

They both sat down to eat together and Caleb smiled again as he watched his son happily eat his scrambled eggs and cutup pieces of toast.

“Is it yummy?” he asked, taking a bite of his own.

The boy nodded brightly. “Daddy’s food is always yummy!”

“Well, thank you, buddy,” he quipped. “Much appreciated. What should we have for lunch later then?”

“Daddy’s chicken.”

“And dinner?”

“Chicken…”

Caleb laughed. “2 AM snack?”

“Chicken!”

“I can make so many things,” Caleb said with an amused smile with faux exasperation in his tone, “Don’t you want to try other things, too?”

“Okay, Daddy,” the little boy answered, easily swayed by his father’s persuasion. He added innocently, “But I also like Daddy’s chicken…”

Caleb smiled and leaned over, his cheek nuzzling against his son’s before giving the toddler a quick peck. “I know you do,” he said lightheartedly, continuing with a laugh, “Your mother made me make it for her for six months straight while you were in her tummy.”

The boy smiled, not quite understanding his father’s quip. Instead, he grabbed his father’s face and blew a wet kiss against Caleb’s cheek, giggling nonstop.

“You little rascal,” Caleb said with feigned irritation.

“Who, me?”

“Yes, you.”

The boy smiled back cheekily and Caleb couldn’t help but wondered if he had ever smiled or laughed as much as he seemed to ever since his son was born. His eyes widened a little when his son grabbed his hand, the vast difference in size clear as day.

“Daddy’s my best friend.”

Caleb breathed in quickly before he sighed happily. He smiled back.

“You’re mine, too,” he responded as he leaned over to press a gentle kiss to his son’s temple. “So happy you came into my life, my little co-pilot.”

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #lnds series — fly little pilot #love and deepspace x reader #caleb x reader #caleb x mc #caleb fluff #love and deepspace fanfiction #lnds fanfics #x — fanfics #BOY DAD CALEB 💖 BOY DAD CALEB 💖 BOY DAD CALEB 💖#MY DREAM HAS FINALLY COME TRUEEEE #ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

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raven-unkind · 2 months ago

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hii, congrats on the 200 followers ❤️ i really like how you write niki for your smau so i was wondering if i could get prompt 1 with him? maybe loser riki who's down bad for reader? 🤭

˚₊‧⁺⋆❤︎ annoying ft. riki nishimura

riki nishimura x fem!reader

wc. 1419 words

200 followers event: “You pierced my ears. That’s like, automatic couple material.”

tw. highschool!au, fluff and crack, inspired by my own high school (gotta love em american highschools 😭), the main situation is loosely inspired by smt that happened to me and my friend (yes we helped some guy in our school pierce his ears. pls dont do that). Saw this prompt on pinterest and I just HAD to add it to my event.

a/n. This is so long, I couldn't bring myself to stop yapping 😭 anyways I’d like to thank everyone that sent in their requests for the event & those who are supporting me!

If someone told you that helping someone would have resulted in being followed around by your school’s resident bad boy you would have laughed. Since freshman year, Riki Nishimura, had seemingly been doing everything to build himself the reputation of a delinquent. Getting into fights, skipping classes, never wearing his uniform correctly, and somehow always being late as if he didn't live 10 minutes away from school.

…

It was 4th period – physics class. Now, not only did you hate the teacher – Mrs. Makenzie – but you also had absolutely no idea what the hell was even going on in this class. So the best solution? Skipping in the bathroom. Not very exciting, but still, it's better than sitting through a 1 hour lecture about thermodynamics, slowly feeling your brain melting away. So you found yourself in the girls' bathroom, hidden away in a stall, scrolling on your phone. That’s when you heard it. A string of curses from the boys' bathroom. Something you never understood about your high school was the weird design of the bathrooms. The boys’ and girls’ bathrooms weren’t exactly private. The wall on which the sinks and mirrors are shared doesn't go all the way up to the ceiling; instead, there is a gap at the top, roughly 60 cm wide. That made it impossible to avoid overhearing everything happening in the other bathroom. You could hear conversations, the echo of footsteps, and even the sound of sinks running, as if the space between the two was just one continuous room. It was always a bit awkward, especially if you heard something you weren’t supposed to, like this time.

“Come on hyung? Please.” The first voice said. “Absolutely not- Thats unsanitary and I don't wanna be responsible if it gets infected- I’m out.” Another one said. You narrow your brows, unable to fathom what in the world these 2 guys could be doing in the bathroom. You shake your head, deciding it might be best to ignore whatever that was. You heard footsteps leaving the bathroom and assume they’re both gone. That's until about 5 minutes later when something falls on the ground, and again, a string of curses. “Fucking- I cant fucking do this.” That makes you raise your head from your phone, that noisy part of you interested. There’s a beat of silence and you can't help but let curiosity get the best of you. “You okay?” You ask, hoping you were loud enough for him to hear.

“Uh yeah.” Their voice was quick, almost stammering. Flustered is exactly how you’d describe it. Cute, you think. He clears his throat. “Hey uh… any chance you’d be down to help me pierce my ears?” You blink, phone completely forgotten in your left hand. “...Like now?” “Yeah.” You pause, thinking. That explained why the other boy you heard earlier so adamantly refused to help him. School bathrooms aren't really known to be sterile. You couldn't help but feel bad for however was on the other side; so you asked a little hesitant. “Do you have a piercing gun? Or are you like… free handing it with a needle or something?” “Nah- I bought a gun on amazon.” he answers with a chuckle. You nod, even though he can't see you. “Okay sure. I’ll help.” you get up and open the stall. You only accepted for 1 reason. He has a cute voice and he sounds a little shy. Giselle would most definitely laugh at you if you told her that but still, you couldn't help yourself. So imagine your surprise when you peek in the boys bathroom only to find no other than Riki Nishimura, leaning on the bathroom counter, dark cyan piercing gun in hand.

You stop in your tracks and Riki turns his head towards you. He gives you a lazy smirk, one you’ve seen many times before in the 3 years you’ve been stuck in the same classes as him. “Hey-.... Y/n.” “Uh hi….” The shyness of the voice you heard seconds prior to entering the bathroom is gone, if anything, he sounds pleasantly surprised that you’re there. You shake your head and step into the bathroom, extending a hand towards him. He hands you the gun. “So what ear do you wanna do?” “Both.” He says cockily, eyes not leaving your form. You nod, gesturing for him to get to your height.

The whole ordeal happens pretty fast, without anything going wrong. Tak, tak and done. Both his ear lobe red but you can't lie, the earrings did look good on him, great even. After that, he had given you an intense look, like it was his first time really seeing you and you had excused yourself, eager to escape whatever that look meant, which brings you to your current predicament.

Riki started following you around, almost like a puppy following its owner. He would appear at the most random places, bring you food and worst of all, flirt with you in the most random moment with the most ridiculous pick up lines you ever had the misfortune to hear. To make matters worse, it seemed the entire school had taken notice of the situation, people going as far as betting on their main story how long it would take for you to accept Riki's advances.

“I'm never being nice again.” You mutter under your breath. You were trying to enjoy your lunch – keyword is trying – when Riki sat next to you, turning so his body faces yours, a smile on his face. “How are you doing, pretty girl?” You look at him with a deadpan expression and he smirks, clearly not affected. “I changed them look.” He says, bringing your attention to his ear lobes. He switched the silver studs for small silver hoops, one of them with a cross dangling from it. And yeah, shocker – well not really – but it did look great. You give him a blank look and he pouts. Riki fucking Nishimura who claims to be nonchalant and does everything in is power to be cool fucking pouts at you. “Ignored by my own girlfriend.” He whines and you roll your eyes, exasperated by the childish behavior and weird infatuation he seemed to have developed for you in the past month or so.

“Riki, I'm not your girlfriend.” You deadpan, playing around with your food. “Why not?” You blink at him, finally giving him your full attention. Is he being for real??? “What in the world gave you that idea, you didn't even-” “You pierced my ears. That’s like, automatic couple material.” You can do nothing but gape at him. “THAT'S your reason???? He shrugs. “You held my hand through it. Pretty romantic if you ask me.” You sigh deeply. “Riki. Just because I held your hand doesn't make me your girlfriend. It's not like you asked or something-”

“Okay- Can I be your boyfriend then?”... “What? NO- I barely know you.” “How about a date then? If you don't like it, I'll leave you alone.” He counters. You can do nothing but stare, lips parted in surprise. He continues to stare at you, waiting for an answer. Oh. Oh he’s being completely serious. The seriousness of the situation finally dawns on you, the possibility of Riki having genuine feelings for you sounding more and more plausible. Riki fiddles with his left earring under your gaze, awkwardly waiting for you to either accept his proposal or reject him.

“... Okay.” His eyes snap to yours, full of hope and a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Wait really?” You nod, trying your best to look exasperated. Riki is beaming, like a kid who’s been told christmas is coming early this year. “I promise you won't regret it” “I like tulips. Pink or yellow.” He nods. “Tulips. Pink or yellow. Noted. Anything else princess?” You shake your head both at his question and the pet name, but you can't stop the smile forming on your lips. “I’ll text you the details.” He says, getting up. You narrow your eyes. “Where are you going Riki? Lunch ends in 15 minutes” “I'm going to buy you flowers? I’m taking you out after school.” You let out a soft laugh at the answer. You get up and press a kiss to his left cheek. “I'll be waiting at the gates, don't be late.” He gives you a lovesick look that makes you feel bad for unknowingly torturing the boy for an entire month. “I won't.”

©RAVEN-UNKIND

reblog, comments and likes are appreciated!

taglist: @annybah

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signanothername · 4 months ago

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I wanna say I'm really happy to see you explore non romantic relationships with the skeles.

As with most fandoms there is a strong focus on romantic relationships and sexual attraction (not a bad thing at all! I also enjoy that) and less on relationships that exist outside of that. I think it's hard for some people to grasp that you can have the same amount of love and devotion, if not more, for your best friend even if you two aren't ever going to be romantic or have sex.

But there is so many types of relationships out there that aren't expressly romantic or sexual in nature. So many ways people exist and care for each other that.

It's just a nice change of pace to see, so thank you!

Awww thank you!!

And yep, I completely agree!

Unfortunately romance/ sex is highly over glorified (something that I had witnessed with some comments on my own art in the far past)

So many people seem to just.. get stuck on very basic ideas about relationships

And it’s especially clear when it comes to physical affection, god forbid you have a character be openly affectionate with another character by holding hands or kissing each other’s foreheads/cheeks or cuddles, or nuzzling noses or foreheads and them actually be platonic with zero romance or sex involved

It’s like.. there’s this genuine problem with people being unable to fathom that you can be extremely affectionate with another person and it be strictly platonic

It’s actually such a big problem that I sometimes hesitate to post certain artworks/comics, cause I know people just can’t fathom that love can run so deep and it still be platonic

But this is exactly why I take it upon myself to show that sort of love and devotion and it strictly be platonic, I want to see siblings kissing each other’s cheeks and nuzzling noses, I want to see friends sleeping in the same bed, I want to see characters be extremely affectionate, and love each other so deeply without it having any romantic or sexual undertones

Just friends, family whether biological or found and their love and affection, their willingness to go far and beyond for who they love, and showing it in all the different ways they can

Anyway I’m extremely passionate about strictly platonic relationships, they make my heart warm inside and I’ll forever be the platonic enthusiast lil guy in the dark corner of this vast space we call the internet <333

Have some more artworks I never shared of my fave blorbos loving each other so much and being affectionate cause yes

#anothers ask #anothers art #color spectrum duo #color sans #killer sans #nightmare sans #dream sans

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mapiforpresident · 1 year ago

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Claudia Pina Angst pls! (Or literally anything Claudia Pina! ❤️🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽

How Could You Do This Part 1

Claudia Pina x reader

warnings: angst

Summary: You find out your girlfriend is cheating on you

Not proof read so let me know if you see any mistakes.

~~~

You were scrolling through TikTok on your girlfriend's phone, patiently waiting for her to finish her Cupra interview. Since your phone had died, Claudia had kindly lent you hers to stave off boredom during the wait.

Halfway through watching a hilarious dog video, a text from Patri popped up, catching your attention before you could swipe it away. It read, "just tell her before she finds out." Confusion washed over you as you tried to decipher whom or what Patri was referring to. Another text appeared, stating, "Y/n will be so mad once she finds out. Hopefully she doesn't break up with you. At the very least, you might be sleeping on your new couch for a week."

What could Patri possibly be talking about? It seemed clear that Claudia was keeping something from you, something she knew she shouldn't. Your mind immediately jumped to the conclusion that Claudia was cheating on you. You and your girlfriend had always prided yourselves on honesty, promising never to keep secrets from each other. Thus, you couldn't fathom what else she could be hiding.

Though hesitant, you couldn't resist the urge to snoop. Clicking on Patri's message, you hoped to uncover the mystery. Initially, the conversation consisted of random memes and funny videos they'd exchanged, but you stumbled upon a series of texts from two days ago that piqued your interest.

Patri: Did you meet up with the girl today?

Pina: Yeah, she was awesome. I can't wait to see her again.

Patri: That's great! I'm glad you found someone better.

Pina: Yeah, me too. Y/n is going to murder me when she finds out though. I need to tell her soon.

Patri: Take her to a nice dinner and then try to break the news.

Pina: I might. I keep trying, but every time I go to mention it, I chicken out. I don't want her to be upset.

Recalling the fancy dinner Claudia had taken you out to the previous night, her nervous demeanor suddenly made sense. You had assumed it was related to her upcoming interview, as she never enjoyed media engagements. It was unfathomable to think that she had started seeing someone else, especially with Patri's encouragement. A whirlwind of thoughts flooded your mind. Your girlfriend of over three years was cheating on you. Feeling overwhelmed, you dropped the phone onto the chair and rushed out of the room. Claudia remained engrossed in her interview, oblivious to your sudden departure.

You raced down the training ground hallway until you found a bathroom, locking yourself in the first stall, overcome by sobs. How could Claudia betray your trust like this? You believed you had the perfect relationship, and just that morning, she had seemed so deeply in love with you. She had made you breakfast and cuddled with you on the couch until the last possible moment before you had to leave. She had always been affectionate, constantly holding and kissing you. You were at a loss, unable to comprehend what you had done wrong.

"Y/n, is that you in there? What's wrong? What happened? Do you want me to get Claudia?" It was Alexia's voice. You hadn't heard her enter the bathroom.

"No, no, don't get Claudia," you called out desperately.

"Why? What happened? Did she do something? Let me in." Alexia was very confused at this point because whenever you were sad or hurt or upset, you immediately asked for Claudia, and Claudia always immediately came to your side no matter what she was doing.

You silently unlocked the door as Alexia squatted down in front of you. When she saw your tear-stained face but no visible injury, she decided to try and help you up, knowing you were physically fine. "Oh, bebita, what happened?"

Alexia now had you standing and hugged you tightly as she tried to get you to calm down enough to explain what had made you so upset.

"Clau... Clau..."

"It's okay, it will be okay. Take some deep breaths for me." You did as Alexia told you, trying to take a few deep breaths as your sobs turned into sniffles.

"Clau... she cheated... she told Patri... that she... found a better girl... she said she met up with her," you choked out as Alexia started to look furious. She loved Claudia, but if this was true, then she wouldn't hesitate to confront her.

"Did she tell you this? Did Patri?"

"No... I saw their text messages... I was just TikToking while she had her interview."

"God, I am going to kill them both. You are coming to stay at my place tonight. I will text Olga to make up the spare room. I am going to have a talk with Claudia tomorrow and then Patri. I will bring Mapi too." Alexia was basically talking to herself at this point as she led you to the locker room to quickly grab her things.

Just as she was about to lead you towards the door to leave, Claudia burst through.

"There you are, amor, what happened? I couldn't find you anywhere. Are you ready..."

"Get out," Alexia said in her loud, stern voice.

"What... what happened? Is y/n okay..."

"Get out now," Alexia said again. "Don't ever come near y/n again, I swear, Claudia."

Neither you nor Claudia had ever seen your captain look so angry and so disappointed. Claudia was stunned; she had no idea how to react. She turned and ran out the door, not knowing where she was going. What did she do wrong? She didn't think she had done anything wrong, but you had clearly been crying, and Alexia looked furious, so she must have done something.

~~~

Claudia ran out onto the pitch and grabbed a bag of balls laying off to the side. Everyone had already left, but she didn't want to leave until she figured out what she did wrong.

She took penalty after penalty until her leg could barely kick the ball into the net. She finally decided to go to her best friend for help, maybe Patri could help her figure out what she had done wrong.

It was well past the sun going down as she pulled into the parking lot of Patri's apartment complex. Patri was shocked at hearing the knock and opening the door to reveal the most sad she thinks she had ever seen Claudia.

"Hey Claudia, what happened, aren't you supposed to be at the movies with y/n tonight. She's been waiting for it to come out for months." Patri said as she moved to let Claudia into her apartment, but before Claudia could fully enter she broke down.

"I messed up, I don't know what I did. We were fine this morning, but after I got done with my interview she was gone and... and... and... then I went to go find her and she was crying in Alexia's arms. Alexia told me to get out. I have never seen her that angry before and y/n wouldn't even look at me. I don't know what I did wrong. I don't know what to do. Y/n and Alexia won't answer my calls or texts and..." Claudia ranted so fast that Patri could barely keep up.

"Hey, hey, hey slow down, everything will be ok. You and y/n love each other ok. recount your steps, there is nothing that you could have done to upset her?" Patri asked as they sat down on the couch, Claudia with her head in her hands.

~~~

Thirty minutes later Claudia stood nervously outside of Alexia's door with flowers and your favorite chocolate. She wanted to come talk to you knowing that you were most likely here. She wanted to figure out what she did wrong and how she could make it up to you.

Alexia opened the door thinking it was the food she ordered for takeout. "Hello thank ... oh Claudia." Alexia's voice immediately changed from nice and friendly to annoyance and verging on rude.

"Please leave you are not welcome her. Y/n does not want to hear from you or see you again outside of practice."

"But... but what did I do. I didn't do anything wrong. I love her please Alexia just let me talk to her," Claudia begging while trying to remain calm and not let her tears fall in front of her captain.

"Go. Now. Before I call the cops." Alexia slammed the door in the face of the girl she once thought of as a little sister. Claudia didn't know what to do so she just called Patri as she got back in her car.

"I lost her. I lost her," Pina says as she sobs on the phone.

#woso #woso x reader #fcb femení #fcb femení x reader #fc barcelona femeni #claudia pina x reader #claudia pina imagine #claudia pina #woso imagine #woso fanfics #alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader

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pippin-katz · 11 months ago

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Iron Burns

Something I'm super curious about is just how badly iron hurts when a ghost touches it. I posted a little ramble about Charles being chained and unable to help Edwin while she tortured him, and how we didn't get a reaction shot of him hearing Edwin screaming. And something clicked in my brain. I will preface this by saying that I can't prove anything, and could very well be completely wrong. This is just a possible explanation/option.

This was supposed to be relatively short, and that did not happen lmfao Here's your long post warning 😂

Charles VS Iron

This is Charles we are talking about. He is fiercely protective of Edwin, and let's be honest, can get physically violent when provoked. He was sitting there, listening to Esther, until she specifically brought up rescuing Edwin from her plans. It's only when she says that that he starts moving, and he very obviously intended to attack her.

It confirms in Charles' head that there is a specific reason why Edwin is separated from him, and that is bad. Very bad. He possessed Esther to get them out of their first fight with her; she very nearly succeeded in getting them eaten by that Forest Elemental. She is seriously dangerous, and he knows it. Whatever she has planned for Edwin, Charles knows it's vicious and vile.

That thought spurs him to physically attack Esther, without hesitation. Based on the fact that his hands are open, Charles was going to grab her rather than hit her, and, based on her proximity to him, by the throat. That is the only effective attack from his position I can think of; it's the only way he can completely incapacitate.

Logical reasoning aside, choking someone is a pretty common violent anger response. It's probably because it's the easiest way to kill someone with your bare hands; in shows, many characters use a weapon to hurt their adversaries. It's the bullet, the blade, the bat, or whatever that actually hurts them, makes contact with them. It feels different when it's literally you hurting them. Your hands are weapons on their own if you know how to use them. Ex: Vi from Arcane has boxing as her go-to fighting style.

Okay, I went on a bit of tangent there, but my point is that Charles is fucking pissed. This is Charles, who fears being like his father, wanting to hurt Esther.

Violence is the last resort for all of their cases and situations. Charles will take out his cricket bat if he senses danger, but it's more of an intimidation tactic than a true threat. Charles does not actually attack anyone with the cricket bat who is not already an established threat. He takes it out during their first encounter with Esther, when they meet the Cat King, in the Devlin House, when the Night Nurse first shows up, in the forest against David, and against the snake. Most of those encounters are not a matter of negotiation; the first fight with Esther, the Devlin House, David, and the snake were all situations where "talking it out" was not an option, so pulling out the cricket bat to intimidate them would have been pointless. When he takes the bat out in those cases, he's already fully intending to use it. When he takes it out against the Cat King and the Night Nurse, he waits. He holds it up to send a message. It says, "Don't make me hurt you, because I will if I have to."

Charles doesn't want to hurt people, and usually tries his best to find another solution; even when we see him having to fight someone, a military veteran no less, he apologizes and only defends against him because he knows this is a ghost who's cursed, and doesn't deserve it, despite his violent behavior. They attempt to talk the Night Nurse out of taking them for several minutes before she attacks him. She attacks him mentally and emotionally in a way the others don't see and can't fathom; you could even argue that it is a physical attack as well because she makes him relive being beaten by his father and stoned by his friends. The Night Nurse does not hit him, but she hurts him, hurts him bad. When Charles hits her with that music box, despite what the others see, he's retaliating, not initiating. Because again, Charles wants to find another solution first.

But with Esther? He is so far passed that. He is so furious that he wants to attack her. He wants to hurt her. And that is before she starts torturing Edwin.

When he heard Edwin screaming, do you realize just how angry Charles would have been? I can't comprehend how badly he would've wanted to break free and fuck Esther up for what she did. Charles is genuinely intimidating when he's angry; he would have been absolutely terrifying.

Tiny Note: this is the best shot of Charles in the whole show. Let my boy beat the shit out of someone without getting judged for it, please! Let him go apeshit, please!! 🙏🏻

I struggle to believe that anything would have stopped him from getting to Edwin in that state, iron collar be damned.

But Charles doesn't. He doesn't break free. He tries, and continues to fail repeatedly. Almost every movement makes the collar burn him.

The thought I had was how little Charles would care about his own safety/pain if it meant saving Edwin. This boy willingly enters and traverses Hell itself for him. He tells the Night Nurse that if he goes, he can either succeed in bringing Edwin back, or get stuck in Hell so she knows where they are. Charles admits that he would rather be stuck in Hell with Edwin than spend another second without him. When Crystal asks, "What if something happens to you?", he has no response. He honestly does not care if something happens to him, but he doesn't want to admit that to Crystal's face cause that would hurt her, so he refuses to answer.

Getting hurt does not matter to him, so just how painful was that iron that Charles, at his angriest, and in his most desperate state, could not break out?

We see him pulling on the chain and struggling, but he's moving as little as possible because he's trying that hard not to touch the collar. He lets go because it hurts too much. Even when his bag is just out of reach, which is the solution to all of his struggles, he can't bear the burning long enough to get his foot under the strap.

Based on all of that, my brain told me this: the iron burning was so painful that Charles could not endure it long enough to escape, even in his angriest and desperate state, listening to the most important person in his world screaming in a way he has never heard before, and pleading for Esther to stop hurting him.

Like, that sounds crazy to me. Seeing how angry he got at the Night Nurse, and the intensity of his rage in that scene makes me wonder what was going through his head while chained up.

Edwin VS Iron

But my brain was not done with this information. One of my favorite details that I want to be explored in the future is how nonchalant Edwin is while his hand is burning.

He did not notice it was burning until Crystal pointed it out. He looks and sounds genuinely surprised when he sees it. His expression and the way he says he was careless makes me feel like he wasn't in pain and trying to play it off, but was upset with himself for making a very noticeable mistake in front of Crystal while trying to show off and prove a point.

Edwin's pain tolerance is so high that he does not even notice a simple iron burn.

The second time he gets touched by iron is when Esther knocks him across the garden. He looks down at the burn that's what's hurting him, but I don't buy it.

This boy just got swatted like a tennis ball across a courtyard into a small greenhouse.

We all know that Charles does the fighting/takes the hits, so Edwin getting hit like that is probably a new feeling. Since iron makes them tangible for a couple seconds, he probably physically felt it when he landed.

Being burned and crashing into things are two very different sensations, and one of them Edwin hasn't experienced in thirty years. The burn is localized to his hand, and it's a burn. It stings. Hitting a structure that fast and landing like that is going to effect your whole body. It's aching, it bruises every part of you, from your skin down to your bones. It's so much more uncomfortable and hindering than a simple burn. If you burn your hand, you can still operate day-to-day almost normally, but if you mess up your body in some way, you're not going to be able to walk without being in pain. If you asked me which one I'd rather have happen to me, I would take the burn so fast.

Point being that him looking distressed and hurt after that hit makes a whole lot of sense, despite his high pain tolerance. It probably surprised him more than hurt him. It doesn't last long either.

The only time we see him truly react to iron is in Esther's torture device, which is obvious but I'll talk it through anyway.

The cuffs restraining his arms are touching his bare wrists, tightly and constantly. His wrists smoke from it. Him gasping at that makes sense.

But the real kicker here is obviously the rods. Upon first glance, it looks like they touch down on his torso, zapping him or whatever you'd call that, on a surface level. But if you pay close attention to the shots where he's somewhat transparent you can see that those prongs are actually going through him, at least a little bit.

I took a screenshot, up-ed the brightness, and marked where it looks like the rods hit him, versus where they actually end.

Edwin moves around a bit, so there are definitely some shots where they are just touching his skin, but that's kind of the point I'm trying to make. The rods are not moving, they are static, so when Edwin's body moves around them, they stay put. That is fucking painful.

The rod is not moving, but Edwin's body is, and there is nowhere for his skin/muscles to go but through the metal, like it is cutting through him in reverse. If you push a knife down to cut through something, like a carrot, it cuts. But if you hold the carrot, and push it down on the blade, it still cuts.

That would explain even more why Edwin reacts to whenever Esther touches him, even when the device is paused. It would also explain why he was begging Esther "don't come any closer" during one of the cutaway shots.

If you think about it, that doesn't make any sense. Esther's proximity to the device doesn't determine whether it's on, off, or higher/lower. She walks around the room with her glass of ghost juice or whatever you want to call it. She gestures with her hand when she turns it on and turns the intensity up.

Esther getting closer to him wouldn't matter since the device is already on. That is, unless she was actively doing something to him while torturing him. Considering how sadistic she is, I wouldn't put it past her to mess with him whenever she got bored of just watching. Touching him, shaking him, whatever, would almost definitely make it worse. Edwin not wanting her to get close to him would make perfect sense if she was occasionally doing something like that.

So, we have iron making him corporal, burning him, and zapping him with some kind of electricity-like energy, that are also piercing into him, and yet Edwin doesn't scream from the pain initially. There's quiet moaning that you can tell he's holding back, but he doesn't gasp or yell. This is same metal that hurt Charles so badly he couldn't escape in his angriest state. It takes hours of prolonged exposure and gradual increasing of the intensity to make him scream.

The secondary question to this whole thing is just how high is Edwin's pain tolerance that he is able to endure that while withholding making noise?

I can't comprehend it, honestly. Though Edwin spent 70 years in hell being literally torn apart over and over again. We have no idea how long he feels the sensations of his previous body after he respawns or how quickly he does so, especially since the manner of death in this case wouldn't be instantaneously fatal. If his head and heart are in some capacity intact, he'd still be alive for at least a few seconds. As Dr. Alan Grant explains to that kid about raptors in Jurassic Park, you are alive when they start to eat you. It would be believable if Edwin is basically immune to pain unless it's a fucking insane amount of it. I mean, in the Cat King's words to Esther, "Edwin has been through more pain than you, or I, could ever imagine."

That would be pretty fucking crazy if this is all true/accurate.

Is it intentional? Probably not. Could I be reading too much into it, and unintentionally hyperbolizing it? Absolutely. I'm using observation and some information about their characters that I can't actually prove to be true. Maybe I'm just seeing things with the prongs and they're not going through Edwin. I can't prove that Charles would've been angry enough to break out of restraints if they hadn't been made of iron. Maybe iron effects all ghosts differently. Who the hell knows?

Even if I'm not 100% accurate, we do at least know for sure that Edwin has a way higher pain tolerance than anybody else based on the burning hand that he didn't even notice was burning, and how long he was in that device before he started screaming, and that's badass as hell on its own.

(ko-fi)

#dead boy detectives #thoughts: dead boy detectives #charles rowland #jayden revri #edwin payne #george rexstrew #payneland

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cybermindz · 1 year ago

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oscar piastri x gn!reader

summary ─┈ · · · with an incredible but tough race, you wanted to help oscar unwind and show him how proud you were of how far he’s gotten in his rookie season.

contains ─┈ · · · 18+, explicit, fluff(?) : soft!oscar, shy!reader, oral male receiving, cock worshipping lol, all done in the shower :0, use of petnames (e.g. baby, love) wc : 3.5k

a/n ─┈ · · · qatar 2023 oscar you will always be famous!! i cant believe these photos exist, it changed lives (mine). it took me ages to finish this, the season is literally over so he’s no longer a rookie, but will always be my pookie 😔.

The weekend was tough. With Qatar being an extremely hot country, this specific grand prix was more physically demanding than any other. It really was an understatement with how humid it was, given the fact that the nation was in the Middle East—whose terrain comprises on an arid desert.

Most of the racers fell ill after because of this environment, it was strenuous and fatiguing—also considering the extra protective layers they wore under their suits for safety measures only added on to the heat.

You couldn't wrap your head around how these athletes made ends meet with the situation, continuing on with the race until they nearly pass out, some even voicing how it might’ve been the most difficult one in their career. This impressed you more than anything, even you as a spectator—watching the track on the sidelines, had sweat beading at your skin, clothes sticking to your body in a loathsome way, and all you were doing is just sitting there watching—unable to fathom what they were up against.

Nevertheless, under all of these conditions and circumstances, your boyfriend Oscar manages to gain his second ever podium in his Formula 1 career, finishing P2 at that. In addition to the day prior, he was able to accomplish winning the sprint race, snagging himself a nice heavy plaque to carry along while traveling—putting on a little more weight to his suitcase.

With him being able to achieve more than most on the grid in his rookie season, everyone was left astounded, you included. He never ceases to amaze you with how calm and collected he was—being true to his nature and staying resilient throughout the difficult weekend, all apparent with the fight he had put up within the three days. It was praiseworthy and you couldn’t be more proud of what he’s made himself out to be.

You can never get tired of his post-race glow. He looked so good the second he was out of his car, mouthing to you how hot it was once his face was revealed from his helmet. You almost felt bad for the poor guy but your knees nearly buck at the sight of his rounded cheeks flushed with a light pink tint, hair disheveled, and the sweat glistening on his pale skin was rather distracting for you.

Furthermore, he was slightly out of breath, evidently burning up so he decides to dump a cold bottle of water down the nape of his neck in hopes to cool down, and you swear your brain short-circuited. Something about that action ignited a fire within you that you choose to try to ignore.

There was just something about your boyfriend that you couldn't resist. He was so handsome and kind, consistently showering you with so much love and patience. You were incredibly blessed to have him. Even with him doing nothing but just standing there on the podium, he had your heart racing.

Everyone else watching for the duration of his journey can tell that his progress was slowly increasing significantly along with his emotions. So it was rather refreshing for them to witness him so gleeful, showing expressions and reactions he usually rarely displays to the public.

He stood so confidently and upright, gazing down at you with a wide toothy grin. Because of how much of a considerate speaker he was during media and race days—with his grounded and quiet personality he never seemed to lash out or strayed away from his maturity, remaining humble no matter the situation. Today was just an exception though, he felt happy and fulfilled with the results, so embracing it was the best thing to do right now. However luckily for you, you're able to see that cheery side of him constantly behind closed doors.

When the ceremony goes on to play, your pupils dilate automatically like they do when it's dark outside to try to adjust and let more light in, but now it's because it's the light of your favorite person.

Since the outcome was a double podium for McLaren, everyone was overjoyed with the aftermath, loud cheers and big hugs were shared amongst the team. You'll never get tired of being part of times like this, they were genuinely so heartfelt and sentimental that you hope you can experience many more like this in the future.

Oscar was so content and lost in the moment, you couldn’t withstand not taking any photos—snapping a few pictures to cherish and gawk at later only seemed like the exact thing to do. Your eyes sparkle with joy and admiration whilst you continue to stare at the drivers spraying champagne on one another. He's laughing, smiling so wide that the apple of his cheeks were so supple and plump—all too contagious that you couldn't bite back your own lips from curling upright—feeling so fortunate to be witnessing it all.

The bubbly white drink sprays and dribbles everywhere, you focus on the way it drips down Oscar's skin and soaks his race suit. He looked absolutely captivating with the fabric clinging onto his frame, broad shoulders becoming more prominent causing a sudden warm rush of need to fill your body, only adding more fuel to the flames in your tummy that you so desperately tried to push away earlier. The cogs in your brain turn slowly, erotic thoughts plaguing your foggy mind that you must act on right away or you’ll go crazy.

Once everyone was back at the garage you were the first one to immediately engulf him into a tight hug. Your peers surrounding you felt the pure fondness shared between the two of you, unable to hide their smiles from the affection being flaunted.

"I'm all wet and gross," he speaks, but not denying your embrace.

"I don't care, congratulations on getting on the podium...again." you’re giggling, pulling away to get a good look at his pretty face before giving him a soft peck on his lips. Only to quickly shy away and hide your face in the crook of his neck as you aren't one for pda.

Noticing your embarrassment he chuckles—breath tickling your neck, all the while rubbing your back to coax you, "Thank you, my love."

The edges of his eyes start to soften, even getting a little teary which appears like he can't control before closing them and resting his chin on top of your shoulder. He squeezes you a little more firmly against him to seek comfort that only you can provide for him after a tiring and grueling day.

His heart clenches in an uncomfortable way that he was incompetent of understanding. Maybe it’s because of the race that has his emotions all over the place, or maybe it’s the exhaustion taking over his body, but seeing as you were right by him supporting his every move like you always have, he feels everything all at once.

He was grateful to have someone like you, so selfless and sweet. Whatever the occurrence or situation, you were ceaselessly ready to drop everything at hand to help or support with anything in need for him. Oscar loves you too much—not only for what you are, but for what he was when he was with you. He felt more like himself around you, never putting up a front whenever you were at arms reach, being genuine with each and every part of the relationship. You were his rock, you grounded him, and he wouldn’t want to have it any other way.

“I love you.” you whisper oh so quietly that no one else can hear but he was able to pick up that sweet voice of yours easily.

“I love you more.”

Throughout the rest of the night you latched onto his side like a leech which doesn't go unnoticed by him, only chucking it up to you just being delighted with the results of the race. Though normally, you were never one to display clinginess, so when you didn’t seem to waver away from him and when your soft touches became more bold until you got back to the hotel—it came as a slight surprise. Especially when you rid of his clothes to pull him into an ice cold shower with you, intending to wash away that pent up stress and sweat he carried with him all day.

Hardly ever being the one to initiate things like this—you always backed out sheepishly, citing that you were embarrassed or self-conscious to venture further yourself before eventually having him take over the lead. At all times he respected your wishes and boundaries, only doing what you wanted. Not once did he press you additionally to do something you were uncomfortable with and anytime you both decide to get intimate with each other he makes it a point to always go slow. Taking his time on breaking you down until you couldn’t think clearly anymore was always rewarding for him in the end.

This was still fresh to him, it wasn't very often where he found himself under the inexperienced touch of his shy partner—the very same person who got flustered whenever accidentally walking in on him changing. So it didn’t come as a shock to see him hardening right before your eyes from the contact of your skin on his.

You aren’t naive, albeit bashful, yet you knew exactly what effect you had on him. But because of the confidence that exudes from him, the way he seemed to never give a fuck and not taking shit from anyone—it naturally made you feel a little intimated. Though it was never in a bad way—entirely the opposite actually. He was a hunk of a man, a head taller than you, and it didn’t hurt that he was painstakingly attractive. It was weirdly endearing, how you immediately go blank at the sight of him, the butterflies in your stomach never calming down at moments like these.

His back faces the shower head while you stood in front of him, rinsing his hair and body—cleaning off the sticky champagne and musk. The only sounds your ears can make out are the pitter patter from the cold water hitting his muscles and your feeble heart pounding erratically as your palms massage his tense shoulders.

Oscar already feels himself relaxing in your touch, melting at how the tip of your fingers begin to roam all across the rough skin of his torso, but there’s a slight hesitation to it. Your hands begin to tremble, you’d like to think it was because of the icy precipitation of the water instead of your nerves. His eyes bore into yours with concern, feeling your eagerness switch into anxiousness in an instant. One of his own strong hands reaches over to place it at your hip, thumb rubbing soothing circles on your now goose-bumped skin.

"You alright love?”

You don't answer him, opting to find the tiles of the shower behind his head more interesting, heat rising to your cheeks at once. He jerks your chin with his fingers from his other hand to have you look at him, and yet you focus anywhere but him as he searches for your eyes, “What is it baby? Do you wanna get out?”

Shaking your head in disagreement almost immediately, your irises finally reaching him with scrunched brows, clearly contemplating a thought. He can tell there was something hiding behind those eyes, he was able to read you well like the back of his hand. There was a sense of longing lingering along with uncertainty and doubt. He picked that up whenever you were aroused and desperately wanted to do something but too timid to continue and pursue on it.

Oscar wasn't trying to take advantage of your vulnerability, he would never do that. The patience of your boyfriend was admirable and you thank him relentlessly for it. All you really needed at times was a small little push so he presses his lips against yours in a soft kiss to try and encourage you to say something, anything—this benefited your worries to slowly wash away, seeping down the drain as you attempt to build up some confidence.

“Just...really happy right now." you mumbled quietly after a long pause, unable to keep yourself from shifting even closer to him.

"Yeah?" there’s a sigh of relief coming from him, another pause fills the room as he listens to you. Tuning out the sound of the shower—all white noise in the background currently as his fingers that held your chin now caresses your jaw in hopes to urge you more.

“Mhmmm,” your eyes avert to your hands resting at his chest, fidgeting with your fingernails while choosing your next words carefully, “You were real cool out there y’know? You did amazing, I can tell how capable you are of the things you do, makes me really proud.”

He smiles at your little confession, snaking his arm around you so the front half of your bodies are now pressing against each other, warming up one another, the previous efforts of trying to cool down from the insanely hot day were now pointless.

“Can I show you how much?"

Oscars eyebrows raise in surprise at the proposition, "Hm? How will you show me?”

He thinks of how beautiful his little lover looked, flustered under his gaze because of how unsure on what the next moves should be. God, how touched his heart was. You were absolutely perfect to him, so considerate and devoting.

"Wanna take care of you, make you feel good. Please?"

You felt his cock twitch from your words, and with your faces just merely inches apart, the air starts to become thicker around you by the second, getting harder to breathe. He swears he’ll never take this moment for granted, your shell finally cracking away little by little for him. Oscar yearned for this, a pleased smile plastered on his face to showcase how proud he was of you just as much as you were of him.

"Do whatever you want with me, 'm all yours love."

You took a moment there, feeling bashful from him peering down at you. Pulling away from him, just enough to reach in between your heated bodies, you take notice of his stiffened cock leaking pre-cum from it’s flushed red tip.

“Can I touch it?”

"Y-yeah, 'course baby,” he agrees but he isn’t prepared for the feeling of your soft hand encompassing the girth of his cock.

"'S so big...'n pretty." you whisper more to yourself at the observation, this wasn’t the first time you’ve been face to face with each others intimate parts, hell you’ve had sex numerous times but it was still a staggering sight no less.

He never thought he was particularly gifted in terms of size, but when he saw how big he looked in your hand, it was almost too much for him. Your fingers didn't even touch around the thickness. He's sucking his bottom lip in between his teeth when you give him a single, slow stroke. This causes him to throw his head back, water now running down his face. His breathing begins to slowly pick up as he relaxed, letting his eyes flutter closed.

The pre-cum oozing out of the head easily drips down his length, aiding in lubricating himself up.

Your movements are a bit clumsy as you didn’t do this very often for him but you really think you should because he looked so enticing, aroused by something as simple as a handjob. You, his sweet, little lover who used to shield away from kisses at the beginning of your relationshinp had his cock wrapped around your hand and he was simply going mental from it all.

His eyes goes back to lock onto the way you stroked him. The fat sensitive head peeked out from under your fist every time you moved your palm upwards before you slowly went down, gently tugging the skin with your movements.

“That feels really good,” he lets out a low curse, hissing at the pleasure.

You seem to mull over his words but this wasn’t nearly enough for you, you don’t think you’d be satiated from him coming just from your hands, so you bend down until your knees come into contact with the hard tiled floor. When he looks down to follow your body, it feels like all the air gets punched out of his lungs. Your pretty face just mere centimeters away from his aching length, pupils blown wide with water dripping down your supple skin. He seemed to get a real kick out of the sight because he’s pulsating in the palm of your hand.

Your thumb came up to rest against the tip, lightly padding over the drooling slit. Rubbing the sensitive head while your other hand reaches over to pump him—picking up the pace, your eyes flickered between his fucked out face and glistening cock. He was warm in contrast to the chilly air around you, stiff in your grip, the thick vein on the underside throbbing in time to his heartbeat. His strong meaty thighs twitched with every movement and his short breaths begins to turn into pants.

"S-Spit on it, baby," he suddenly moaned.

Not letting another second pass after his request you leaned over, lips puckered before spitting down directly on his tip. Drooling to have a taste, the muscle in your mouth peeks out to wet your lips before having it ghost over his shaft. The first soft drag of your tongue up the bottom of his cock makes him jump. He isn't ready for the way your lips softly nip the skin, peppering kisses along the sensitive skin.

“Fucking hell,” the tip of your tongue grazes the slit to force more pre-cum out, and you’re smiling to yourself, making his entire body jolt, “You’re killing me.”

You even stop to pay his heavy balls some attention, remaining gentle as you know how sensitive they are. He isn't the biggest fan of when you play with his balls but he does nothing to stop you as you slide your wet tongue along the seam, dragging it all the way up his length before dropping a wet, noisy kiss back on the leaking head.

“You taste good,” you whisper, flicking your tongue up and down the slit again, the sensation has his body buzzing from the stimulation.

He reaches forward to cup your jaw, gently urging you to open your mouth with his tip making you shiver. He lets out a stuttering sigh as you take the head into your mouth, eyes fluttering at the full flavor of him on your tongue.

"S-Shit,” he panted, wrapping a hand in your hair to tug you closer, "Just like that.”

Hollowing out your cheeks you start to drag your mouth down his cock, forcing half of him until the tip brushes the back of your throat, your hand takes up the rest of the space that your mouth can’t reach. Squeezing and stroking him as you start to suck on him.

He clamps his eyes shut as you work, showing his cock all your affection and he has no choice but to take it. His body trembles, muscles clenching every time you tease over a particularly sensitive spot, his moans getting more and more shameless and louder with every passing moment.

Oscar was blissed out, flushed and heaving looking as handsome as ever much like after the race today, your heart thrums loudly against your ribcage from the view and excitement.

With your head bobbing up and down, loud slurps fills his ears as your spit gathers increasingly to aid you into going faster. He starts to involuntarily rut his hips in tune with your strokes, dangerously close to his peak already.

When he opened his eyes again, he knew he was doomed. You're teary eyed, drool seeping down your chin and neck. You looked a complete mess though breathtakingly alluring—shifting on your knees, and rubbing yourself with your free hand. The sight makes him moan, grip in your hair tightening before his body goes taut.

"Fuck 'm gonna come,” he warns through gritted teeth.

You bravely took all of him in your mouth upon his statement, gagging around his length that sends vibrations throughout his spine. When you come back up, you take him out to breathe only to flinch as he suddenly came, the first splatter of cum hits your face catching your cheeks and hair whilst he mutters out mindless apologies.

Your boyfriend twitches and groans when you return to continue to suck on his pulsating cock, working him through his high and gulping down the rest of the cum that slowly spurts into your mouth. He becomes lightheaded while coming down, placing a hand on the slippery wall beside him in order to brace himself.

When you finish cleaning him up he helps you back up onto your feet, immediately going to wipe off the pearly beads of cum on your face with the assistance of water.

“Was it good?” you grin cheekily clearly content of your work, “Did I do good?”

“Are you kidding?” he laughs while pulling you in for a heated kiss, bits of cum still lingered on your lips and he eagerly swallowed it down, not missing the whimper you let go into his mouth, “Was fucking perfect, thank you.”

— reblogs, comments, & feedback are appreciated!

#𝐂𝐘𝐁𝐄𝐑✸𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐙 → f1 #18+ divider from cafekitsune #formula 1 #formula 1 smut #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x reader smut #oscar piastri #oscar piastri smut #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x reader smut

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hx4x4enthusiast · 1 year ago

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your papa prime head cannons are spot on! Though I wonder what papa prime would do if and when he realizes that his autobots/kids are like his sparklings (btw I love your writing style!)

Aww, thank you for the kind words. I love this so here a short story about how I think he would discover that he is running sire protocol aka

Optimus realizes he is now a dad.

Optimus fluff

Words: 812

It was a quiet day in the base, the entire week was for the bots peaceful the cons didn’t try to destroy the earth yet again and the kids were out using the holidays to visit family. Miko was in Tokyo visiting her parents and catching up with friends, Raf and his family went to Mexico for his cousins Quinceanera and to catch up and even Jack and his mom went on a trip to Canada to visit Junes Sister.

The bots used the rare tranquility, in different ways, Arcee went out more training her parkour skills, Bumblebee visit the Griffin Rock stationed Rescue Team. Meanwhile Bulkhead joined Wheeljack on a “space adventure” and even Ratchet allowed himself to rest more. Truly a perfect time to relax before the storm comes again and the efforts to end the war start anew.

And yet Optimus could not sit still, since the beginning of the week his frame has been acting up. It started with the itching of his plating as if nano ticks are biting into his mesh, then his fans and vents acted up leaving him sometimes unable to move from the cold or borderline delirious from the heat. When parts of his frame started to move, like his right leg transforming, making him stumble into his work desk he had enough.

“Old friend, could I ask for your expertise?”

“Oh? What a rare occasion to find you willingly come into the med bay. To what do I owe this pleasure of your visit Optimus?”

“My frame has been acting up in various ways and I cannot fathom on what may have caused this.”

“Well then let’s get you checked out come on take a seat.”

Optimus did as instruct while Ratchet readied the scans to run a complete diagnostic on his frame. With the last scan complete a frown made its way onto Ratchets face plate.

“Well Optimus physically there is nothing wrong with your frame, everything is in working order, energy levels are good. But what concerns me is your spark activity, normally it is in a very calm even lower compared to the others due to the influence of the matrix, but your current scan shows a hyperactivity, like you are in a high stress situation.”

“Curios, I have never felt like this before.”

“Hm, well let me run a protocol diagnostic scan maybe one of your battle protocols activated or is damaged. Lay down, go into power-down and I will see what I can find.”

“Very well, Ratchet.”

Laughter is what rose the Prime out of his power down, as his optics finally came back online he was met with the sight of Wheeljack laughing, Arcee getting a packet of rust sticks from both Bumblebee and Bulkhead and Ratchet standing on the side shaking his head in disapproval, before realizing Optimus woke up.

“Well Optimus, I have found the cause of your well, functioning problems, so I ran the protocol diagnostic scan and in good news all of your battle protocols are in perfect working order, matter of fact all of your protocols are working fine.”

“Then what would cause my flare-ups, old friend?”

“Well like I said all of your protocols are running fine and well- “

“Ha, your running sire protocol Prime, oh I never thought I see the day. Oh, this is too good.”

“WHEELJACK!”

An angry shout, followed by the sound of a wretch making contact with a piece of metal, the piece of metal being Wheeljacks helm, echoed through the base. Letting out a puff of air through his vents, Ratchet turned back around to face Optimus.

“What he said is true though, your sire protocols are running and that on overdrive.”

That day, at that time, something happened which has never happened before and will never happen again. Optimus was at a loss for words.

“But this doesn’t seem plausible I am not with a sparking neither have…I…adopted…one…”

A look of realization crossed over the Primes features.

“The children.”

“Yes, Optimus your spark has formed a spark bond with each of the children and seeing the effect it has of you they, though most unknowingly, accepted it and with that you as their sire.”

“When are the children coming back?”

“Soon Optimus, Raf is as far as I know already on his way back, they will arrive tomorrow.”

“And Miko told me she takes the plane from Tokyo tomorrow.” Bulkhead added.

“Jack and his mom should arrive either today late in the night or tomorrow morning to noon.” Arcee mentioned offhandedly.

“Well, I believe it is in the best of interest to wait until all of them arrive and see how we will proceed from there. I will excuse myself then I will see you tomorrow.”

With that Optimus exited the med bay not seeing the knowing smirk on his medic’s faceplate.

Part 2 - Masterlist

#transformers #transformers prime #maccadams #tfp #fluff #optimus prime #macaddam #papa prime #bulkhead #tfp ratchet #miko nakadai #raf esquivel #jack darby #tfp arcee #bumblebee #Wheeljack #arcee

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bellewintersroe · 1 year ago

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Okay this is part 2 from this anon request, which one of my lovely followers asked if I could do in the comments @beautifulbluejay <3

Easy Boys x Reader Headcanons - How They React To You Going MIA.

It happened just before his leave to Paris, in fact the reason Nix pushes his leave so hard is because everybody genuinely thought you had gone.

So the trip to Paris isn’t exactly a leave for him, he’s alone and just thinking about you the whole time.

Grief stricken- nobody else knew about your relationship considering it was fraternisation, so he literally feels so alone.

This one’s a lil different- but you’d be completely lost and track Winters down in Paris, all you’d need to do is ask Lewis and he’d probs blabber mouth it to you- although he does think you’re a little crazy because you’ve just gone MIA in the middle of Europe for almost a week and now you’re wanting to travel to Paris.

Anyway you’d get to the correct place, despite having a slight cut on your forehead and grazed knees you’re physically fine- but you get caught up in a German hospital during your time lost and it’s mf scary. You’re so lucky you’re still alive.

You’d knock on the door (assuming it was his) and when he answers it he kinda cracks it open only slightly, and then rips the rest fully open and has a literal heart attack.

“Dick?!” Your voice cracks and you’re crashing into his chest before he can even fathom.

“You’re- you’re here- I?” He’s overwhelmed, wondering if he’s dreaming or not until his arms wrap tightly around you, feeling you cling onto dear life.

Once the shock has worn off and tears were shed Dick can’t let you go. He’s slightly dizzied with practically the shock of his life.

When you’re sleeping he keeps watching over you, checking you’re real.

He can’t do enough for you, gets you food water (ofc), checks over any wounds you have, really talks to you about it- like Dick out of all the men seems extremely emotionally intelligent, so he wants to make sure you’re really okay.

“Just tell me and I can send you somewhere safer…”

“I’d rather just be where you are.”

Lewis Nixon:

After he was supposed to jump into Berlin and he only just made it out of the plane, he turned up to see the explosion right before his eyes. The Germans were shooting down the planes- including the ones he knew you alongside so many other flight nurses and young men were on.

Not only had it gone terribly- now his trauma of knowing you’re potentially gone makes everything 10x harder.

He’d not been able to see you much throughout the war, you’re often stationed in different areas, but he always worried about you, and just then he was so close to you, yet still so far away- it pained Lewis.

Replays the moment over and over again in his head, drinks more and more and as the days pass and he receives no letter from you or your company or family- he knows the worst is coming.

Asks Dick if he should write a letter for your family- he was there after all. Dick informs him it’s probably best to wait until he’s found out what’s really happened to you.

But the silence was screaming at him- and every time be see’s a nurse in a uniform near him he grows restless.

He’s walking near the hospital one day, where he knows hundreds of the prisoners from the camp are being treated. He watches from afar as dozens more of them pile out of trucks and vans, some of them unable to walk- the rest of them still being treated inside the walls of the camp.

He turns away when he see’s the nurses, feeling overwhelmed by the grief until he hears a quick, “Lewis!”

He turns around so quick, dropping his cigarette when he’s stunned by the sound of your voice.

Seconds later you’re running towards him, grinning and giggling. He feels his chest squeeze tighter and he’s practically scurrying towards your direction to embrace you in the biggest hug of his lifetime.

Holy fuck. Lewis thinks. Holy fuck, fuck, fuck. Thank god.

His eyes close and he squeezes you tighter, hand pressing to the back of your head as he attempts to calm himself down whilst you cling onto him.

He very quickly pulls you towards his lips, kissing you deeply, so needily, he doesn’t care who see’s.

Both of you keep talking over the top of one another, excited to be in each others presence again.

“But I thought your plane went down?!” Lewis doesn’t notice until you hold his hands that he’s shaking.

“No, we turned back miles ago, it was too dangerous- oh I’m so glad you’re okay, I didn’t know what happened to you.”

The feeling is mutual, and even if you only get a night to spend together Lewis makes it all worthwhile.

Ron Speirs:

This man is tense asf from the second anything happens.

“What happened to the nurses?” His voice is quiet yet sharp and quick. His hand grabs at Nixon’s arm, urging him to answer immediately.

“Uh, I don’t know. They were in the hospital that got bombed, we’re not sure.” Lewis sighs out slowly, clearly affected by the trauma, but he has no idea about Ron and you.

Ron takes it upon himself to literally do anything he can in his power to find you- ofc he’s worried about everybody else, but the two of you have been together in private way back since before you were deployed. His hearts in his chest.

“We got them all sir, but one.”

“Y/l/n. Where’s Y/l/n?” He attempts to keep cool but his heart is thumping, he has the worst sickness and he can barely hold back how he’s feeling.

The man pauses and shakes his head. “Don’t know, sir.”

The whole company is obviously in grieving, this is when he’s still part of D-company but he’s in misery- he breaks only when he’s alone and in front of the men he keeps an even more tough exterior than ever.

Truthfully he’s hard to be around, he tries to push you to the back of his mind, trying his best to accept you’re gone and that’s it but he can’t.

He’s in the infirmary one day, after literally being shot in the ass- he almost can’t believe what’s going on and refuses to believe it’s true. Ron for the first time feels weak and useless.

“Can somebody help?! Please!” A frantic calling from a more than familiar voice cries out as he’s laid on his side in the bed, curtains closed around his area.

This is the first thing that causes him to move. Ignoring all soreness (he probs just blocks out the pain) he crawls out of bed at the sounds of scurrying and desperate shouting of the medical staff.

Ron could’ve sworn that was your voice, and when he stands, opening the curtains and staring straight at you, he thinks he’s seen a ghost.

He mutters your name so quietly, but you look up, face dirty and slightly bruised and bloodied, uniform dusty with a GI woollen jumper hanging over your frame. Like you’re just looking at each other.

“Excuse me, please.” You’d just tell the medical staff, hurrying your way down the hospital, weaving passed people until you’re stepping closer and closer.

Ron’s breathing and heart increases in a state of shock and you nudge him back in, yanking the curtain shut before you just engulf one another in a hug.

“Ron.” You’d mutter through tears, he grips you even tighter, engulfing your smaller body. “I was so scared, Ron.”

He pulls back your face, his eyes wide and stunned before holding either side of your face and pulling you in for a deep, borderline desperate kiss.

It’s the best comfort either of you have had in days, and once your lips part you fall back into his arms.

He’s probably lost for words for the first few minutes, and he’ll become all teary eyes for the first time in front of you.

“Are you okay? What happened to you?” He speaks for the first time, checking over you worriedly after remembering you must’ve been in that shelled out hospital

“There was Germans… I took a patient and ran away in the bombings. We got lost- we only just got back here now. I don’t know if he’s okay or not.”

All he can do is comfort you and hold you close, still in a state of disbelief.

“Why-why are you in here? What’s wrong?” You’d eventually ask. “I was shot.” Ron spoke in a blasé manner. He didn’t care about himself, only you.

“Where?”

… “my ass.”

Babe Heffron:

Hear me out, you’re a little bit clumsy yet always careful with everybody’s life but seemingly your own?

Like you’ve been at war for 8 months or so and still Babe worries that you’ve stumbled onto enemy lines just because you went to find a man’s boots or something.

He looks out for you and takes care of you so much, like it’s so so sweet and everybody’s aware that you’re Babe’s girl, even if you keep it more or less hidden out of respect for the fraternisation rules.

Anyway, you’re assigned to second platoon & that’s how you and Babe got close initially, the second nurse was sadly lost, and ever since then in Bastogne, Babe has been extra worried that something might happen to you.

It’s the day after Jackson passed and everybody’s exhausted, even though they’ll be moving off the line, they’re all sick of war.

“Hey anybody seen y/n?” He’d glance around the room where she’d usually be hanging out when she wasn’t at the aid station.

“She’s not at the aid station?” Joe would ask.

“No.” Babe would frown, pushing himself up and heading out.

He tries not to panic at first, but admittingly he has an anxiety nibbling away at the back of his mind.

Something just feels off, you’re not at CP, at the infirmary, with the other nurses, where you’re billeted.

“Babe!” One of the nurses shrieks in surprise as he bursts into the house they were stationed in.

“Sorry, sorry. Anybody seen y/n?” None of them have, not since the early afternoon and it was nearing 6. Your duty ended three hours ago.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

(Okay this isn’t as extreme as some of the other cases, I wanted to change it up a bit)

20 minutes later he’s chain smoking like crazy, asking all the guys where the hell you were.

“Babe? What’re you yapping about?” Your voice appears, giggling as he snaps his head, almost doing a 360.

At first relief floods through him, but then he see’s your helping a limping soldier, bleeding just below your eyebrow.

“Jesus- what the hell?!” His voice raised, breath stuck in his chest.

“A little help here, Babe?”

After hooking up under the other side of the wounded back, he helps you both back to the aid station firing questions a million miles an hour in your direction.

“I’m fine, Babe.” You’d soothe. “What happened?! Where th’ hell were ya?!” He’d take both your shoulders, holding his hand over the cut on your forehead, in an attempt to apply pressure.

“Babe-” you’d swat his hand away, becoming distracted with the sight behind you. Clearly you didn’t realise how worried he was.

“Ya shouldn’t run off like that!”

“Babe-”

“Ya got me worried sick!”

“Edward! His leg is crushed! Let me go help!”

“Edward?!”

“Wait here, alright? I’ll be 10 minutes.”

Babe waits, watching you help some of the other nurses and medics with the man you both carried inside, tending to what looked to be a badly wounded leg. He grimaced and turned away, growing an even more profound respect for you (if that was even possible).

When you’re done you head straight back to him. “Sorry, Babe, his leg was so-” You go to hold his arm but instead he turns, engulfing you in a bone crushing hug.

“I thought I’d lost ya, never do that again.”

Finally, you’d silence and realise just how worried he was. He was border lining upset, his frustration had dissolved and turned into pure relief.

“I’m okay.” You’d whisper, leading him to the quieter area of the porch.

“Where were ya?” He’d glance over you, checking head to toe everything was okay, hands still on your forearms.

“I went to get some supplies, then I found him- his leg was stuck under rubble. I couldn’t just leave him.”

“What ‘bout ya head?”

“I knocked myself in the face, you know what I’m like.”

“Oh thank god, ya scared me, angel.”

Ugh he’s such a sweetheart, just apologise to him and promise you won’t do that again without telling him.

#band of brothers x reader #band of brothers #ron speirs x reader #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers headcanons #dick winters x reader #lewis nixon x reader #babe heffron x reader

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ratcatcher0325 · 5 months ago

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A Fraction of Justice (Chapter #35)

Chapter #35. SURPRISE!!!🎄 🎁 Merry Christmas! 🎁🎄 I couldn't leave us on that big of a cliffhanger! Not on Christmas! Anyway, here is a little holiday gift from me to you. I want to sincerely thank everyone in this community who takes the time to read this story. I am so grateful for each and every one of you! Where is Natalie taking Alexander? Is he going to love it or hate it? It's usually 50/50 with him.

Previous: Chapter #34

Next: Chapter #36

Word Count: 8,756 Read Time: Approx. 90 mins

CW: Physical intimacy. SO much physical intimacy.

Btw, DM me if you wanna be added to the tag list!

___________________________________

A Fraction of Justice

Chapter #35: La Petite Aiguille

[Alexander’s POV]

Rows upon rows of bolts of fabric in every color, shade and pattern I could fathom, lined the walls. Custom racks accommodated spools of thread all arranged in the gradient of the rainbow, while tungsten sconces bathed the room in an orange, electric glow. The solid wood beams of the ceiling gave the room an old-fashioned gravitas, while the smell of polished wood and starched linen ignited my olfactory senses.

Everything was immaculately organized, each thread having its place.

There was a break in the floor-to-ceiling shelves on the left, where a maroon curtain separated us from whatever lay on the opposite side.

On display on the tables in front of us and on the counters of the classical oak desk that served as the register, were mannequins sporting all kinds of clothing, from impressive gowns fit for a runway stage, to elaborate, themed costumes, to, yes, even beautifully crafted suits in every cut.

But the best part?

Every single article of clothing on display, from the dresses, to the outfits, the hats and shoes, were perfectly proportioned to my dimensions. This entire, wonderful place accommodated people like me.

I stared, slack jawed, unable to believe this wasn’t some sort of very realistic dream, when I felt Natalie’s gaze on me, “What do you think? This is supposed to be the best place in all of Massachusetts…” She hummed softly, the fingers of her left hand stroking the outside of the pocket, about level with my chest.

Unable to tear my eyes away, I swallowed, gripping the fabric to keep from showing her any pathetic emotions, “I—“

Before I had a chance to complete, or even begin, that thought, the sharp clink of metal rings sliding across a curtain rod hit my ears, as someone crossed the threshold.

My heart jumped. Another human. What was this one going to be like?

My hands itched for something to defend myself with. Whether she could feel my body stiffen, or just guessed by instinct, Natalie gently pressed her fingers over my heart, caressing my forearm with her thumb. I looked up to catch her gaze. Her eyes seemed calm, reassuring. I did my level best to relax.

As the figure crossed behind the main desk, I endeavored to take in all of her details, reading her for any signs, positive or negative.

Her hair was cut short, tight pin curls looping and twisting in a gravity defying mop of pure white. Her keen, bright eyes shone beyond the rim of her, golden reading glasses, perched low on her nose. Her vintage jewelry, including an elegant gold watch, sparkled in the light of the lamp beside her. Her outfit was clearly custom made, a beautiful matching vest and skirt in warm earth tones, with white dress sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her hands were lithe, yet possessed a certain air of intentionality with every move she made. She held a leather bound tome under her arm.

“Apologies for the wait, we’re at the peak of our holiday orders at the moment. How can I help you?” She locked eyes with Natalie, seemingly not noticing me quite yet. Her voice was soft and clear as a bell. She set down her book, cracking it open and scribbled something along its many columns and rows. Natalie stepped up to the counter as she spoke. I leaned forward, enjoying the swooping, artistic motions of her calligraphic script as she wrote in incredibly ornate cursive.

“Oh, hello, there.” She’d stopped writing. I looked up to find her gaze, dulled with age but not without a keen spark, was fixed on me.

I clenched my jaw as I hardly dared to breathe… I waited for the condescending comment to come next. She leaned down to address me again, “Sir? What can I do for you today?” A smile played about her lips, but it was far from anything like a sneer. It was warm, friendly.

I breathed a sigh of relief. She was waiting for my reply. She was addressing me directly. I cleared my throat. “I, uh, I believe I’m here to purchase a suit.” I raised my voice to cover the distance, trying to sound like I did this sort of thing all the time.

“More than just one. He’d like to be fitted today, please.” I whipped over my shoulder to look up at Natalie. Was she serious? When I met her eyes, she nodded and winked at me.

“So you want the full custom package?” The woman looked at me, I looked to Natalie, Natalie nodded in the affirmative. The human across from us checked her wrist, nodding with an exact precision I couldn’t help but admire, “Perfect timing. I believe I can squeeze you in between our other standing consultations. Right this way.” She motioned for us to follow her into the curtained room.

We entered the back area and were greeted by two tables with ornate lion’s paw legs. The one on the left was piled with fabric, neatly folded, with tools of the trade including rulers, pushpins, scissors and measuring tape. On the right, the surface of the table was bare, save a series of pristine white boxes, each sitting side by side, along its center. I wondered what those were.

Instead, we curved toward the left. I supposed I’d just have to wait to find out more.

We came to a stop in front of the table with its neatly organized tools. I was beginning to deeply appreciate the pristine organization of this place. It was far more comforting than Natalie’s rat’s nest approach to every inch of her living space, though I'd managed to train her out of her most egregious lifestyle habits.

I was torn from my musing when fingers descended all around me, the pad of Natalie’s thumb resting over my chest while two fingers hooked under my arms as she applied light pressure.

I met her eyes to see her arched brow, as she sought permission to pick me up and set me down. With a curt nod from me, she lifted me up and out, placing me on my own two feet in the center of the table. As she fished for my crutch, the other woman approached the table, setting a clipboard and red ink pen down on the surface beside me.

She adjusted her glasses as she pulled the chain to a lamp behind me, bathing my surroundings in a soft glow. I couldn’t help but notice the way my jaw involuntarily clenched and I held my breath as her arm loomed overhead.

I realized with a sharp pang the indignity that was about to commence.

Natalie was finally granting me the opportunity to dress like the gentleman I was, a wonderful thing indeed, but… no tailored suit, big or small, was possible without acquiring that gentleman’s measurements.

I felt a twist in my stomach, as I pictured being pinched, grabbed, and puppeted about like a doll, as string was cinched too tightly around my arm or leg to quantify the size of limbs. This strange woman’s hands who I’d admired from a distance for their precision and poise, now intimidated me in the lamplight, seeming too aged, bony and frighteningly precise in their movements to be anything but painful when they seized me.

The liver spots that dotted her arm, the thin and almost papery nature of her skin that displayed the blue veins snaking beneath and the pronounced knuckles on her arthritic, littlest fingers all reminded me of a particular set of hands I’d fought very hard to forget.

“… Alexander?” The present circumstance came back into crystal clear focus at the sound of my name from Natalie’s lips. I blinked hard and looked up at where the sound had come from. Her finger and thumb held my crutch between them, as she bent at the waist to address me, her brow slightly furrowed with worry, she gently brushed my arm with the side of her curled fingers, nudging me back into reality, “… Here you go.” She offered me my walking aide, and I cleared my throat, taking it from her while staring at the floor.

“Ah, is that your name? I don’t think we got properly introduced.” This time it was that voice that tinkled like a bell in my ears. I’d admit, it had a pleasant ring, despite my trepidations, “Hello, Alexander, I’m Marianne. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She offered a finger to shake. I admit, I was taken aback. Why was she so courteous? She was smiling at me.

It put me on edge.

When was she going to burst into laughter? Was it when I gave in to her invitation to shake, like equals, only for her to pull her hand away? Or would it be the moment I turned over my shoulder where she’d take the opportunity to snatch me up by the collar? I refused to believe this wasn’t an act.

She was still offering her finger.

I was taking too long, if I waited much more I’d be questioned.

I took a few steps forward and stiffly shook the pad of her finger with my hand. Immediately retreating the few steps back when it was over. Good. No funny business. Not yet. I decided as long as she continued this charade of being polite, I’d do the same. An eye for an eye and all that.

“Well, we’re delighted to have you here. And what’s your name, young lady?” Natalie introduced herself and shook hands with the older woman with a warmth I found reassuring. “Welcome to La Petite Aiguille.” I suppose she thought that name was terribly clever. How gouche. Of course, she probably assumed I couldn’t understand French, which would be a false assumption.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, as she addressed us again, “May I interest either of you in any refreshments?” She had my attention, now, as she acquainted us with our options. I ordered herbal tea, Natalie chose coffee. The woman, Marianne, excused herself to prepare them both.

After the clack of the woman’s shoes on the hardwood faded, Natalie leaned down, resting her chin on her forearm, setting down her free hand close to where I stood, “So? Whaddya think?” Her eyes gleamed. Always so excitable, wasn’t she?

“It…” I felt heat rise in my face. I mustn’t come across like some giddy child let loose in a toy store, “It seems like a professional and respectable establishment.”

Her face fell, she was clearly hoping for more enthusiasm from me, but I was far too embarrassed to show her just how excited I was. Before she could form a response, Marianne returned with a tray, including a steaming mug of coffee I could’ve taken a dip in if I so chose, as well as a teapot, mug and saucer balanced on an embossed tray, all sized to me. But that was not all. In hand, she also clutched a proportional end table and chair which she gingerly placed beside me. I served myself the tea as she continued.

“As you can see we specialize in custom clothing for those of nimbler proportions than our own.” Nimbler, eh? I quite liked that. “So what’re we getting outfitted for today? A holiday party? Gala? Wedding?” Me? At a human wedding? I nearly spit a mouthful of tea back into the cup.

“No, nothing like that.” Natalie swooped in to save the conversation, “He just likes to be sharply dressed. Personally, I love lounging at home in sweats and a t-shirt but this one wants cufflinks and starched collars.” Her index finger brushed the toe of my shoe, “He’s suffered for way too long in casual clothes. Now that he’s more healed up, he deserves to dress to the nines every day if he wants to.” She winked at me. My heart knocked at my ribs. Stupid, impressionable, laughable idiot! Just drink your tea and stop with the flushed face already! I swallowed everything in the cup in one go.

“A true mondain, I see. Well, you’ve certainly come to the right place. Let’s see what we can do.” What was this woman’s deal with sprinkling French into every other sentence? Was she trying to show off? She grabbed her pen and started to jot things down on the form before her.

I poured myself another cup of tea, and directed my words to the ceramic vessel, “Vous pensez que vous êtes si intelligent, n'est-ce pas? Je peux aussi parler français, tu sais.” The woman, I supposed I could start thinking of her by her name, Marianne, never paused in her writing. The line came and went without her understanding. I pursed my lips and couldn’t help the smug smirk that crossed my face. It seemed she didn’t know the language nearly as well as she’d put on. I continued to revel in my superiority, until I heard the human to my right clearing her throat theatrically.

I looked up to see Natalie’s eyebrows raised as she scowled at me disapprovingly. “Be nice!” She mouthed. I opened my hands and shrugged as if to say “What?”. She didn’t get a chance to retaliate, however, as Marianne raised her eyes from the page and addressed us.

“Now, first thing’s first, we’ll need your measurements.” Damn. I came down from my temporary high and felt my heart in my throat again.

Evidently I wasn’t as skilled at masking my feelings on the matter as I’d thought, because she reassured me while preparing her tools, “Not to worry, Alexander, there will be no rough treatment here. I’ll be as gentle with you as Natalie would.” I snuck a glance up at the woman she’d mentioned, only to find, much to my embarrassment, that she was already looking me over.

We both instantly turned our attention back to our drinks.

Marianne carried on unperturbed. I was beginning to wonder if this woman was one of the least observant people on the planet, or if she was just exceedingly polite. She scribbled things on her paper, before organizing her rulers and measuring tapes before her. She addressed me as she prepped, “So, you’re fond of gentleman’s wear, hm? Not many young men care about keeping up appearances anymore. I’m glad you’re an exception to the rule. My Henri was fond of his pinstripes and pocket squares. A perfect pairing for a seamstress, you can imagine!” Her eyes sparkled with memories long past.

“I… I’m sorry for your loss…” Natalie’s voice was kind and genuine.

“Oh, that’s alright, honey. We had many wonderful years together.” She turned to me, “I think he would’ve quite liked you, Alexander.”

Me? I couldn’t imagine how much I and an older human man could possibly have in common, besides our manner of dress. And in any case, this woman had only just met me, how could she possibly make such a rapid assessment?

I nodded politely in agreement anyway, hoping to move past this rather somber moment and return to the exciting part of getting me into a beautiful suit.

Of course, Natalie couldn’t help but ask follow up questions. Annoying, the way humans always politely placated each other with niceties and small talk, “Did he help you run this place?”

Marianne cracked a smile, “Oh, yes! The whole thing was his idea. Down to the name. I was perfectly happy to stitch away on my little creations at home, but he encouraged me to share my skills with others. He was always the gregarious one…” you don’t seem to have any problem talking at length, as far as I can see. “… and much better at putting our clients at ease, though, I try my very best. I know the constant invasion of personal space can be unwelcome.”

Finally someone acknowledges this well-known truth!

“Now, Mr. Alexander, if you’ll take a few steps forward, I’ll get your height to start.”

The flattery of being addressed so formally was quickly counteracted by an unwelcome reality that the aforementioned invasion of personal space was about to begin.

I looked about myself to set down the cup in my hand. The side table was just out of reach from where I stood. I shifted my weight, about to turn over my shoulder to cross closer to the surface when a finger brushed the length of my forearm, warm and soft. I stopped in my tracks and looked up.

Natalie was offering to take the cup from me. Her lips curled into a soft smile as my gaze locked with hers, “Don’t worry, I won’t accidentally drop this one. I promise.” She winked.

I couldn’t help but crack a smile, and shake my head before balancing the cup on the pad of her index finger. She pinched it between finger and thumb and carried it to its proper place for me.

*****

As Alexander stepped forward, away from the tiny furniture, the experienced hands of the craftswoman carefully slid a polished wooden ruler behind his back. I found myself balancing my chin over my crossed arms to get a closer look at what the measurement tool showed.

He stood very still, his posture perfect, and his chest puffed. I could tell he was stretching his spine to stand as tall as he possibly could. As I squinted to discern the tiny lines that Alexander could easily trace with his fingers, I saw his exact height for the first time.

Five and half inches, exactly.

My heart melted.

As the ruler was removed, I searched his face for signs of unease. I wouldn’t blame him for being nervous. He was already grumpy enough being handled by me, I knew having a stranger’s hands all over him wouldn’t exactly be a walk in the park.

“You okay?” I mouthed, unable to resist brushing the toe of his shoe with a fingertip. He nodded, sucking in a sharp breath. I could see he was steeling himself.

I trusted Marianne, she seemed extremely kind and respectful. Still, her fingers, though aged and thin, were each over half the length of his entire little body.

She prepared a length of bright crimson thread, tying it off in a knot in one graceful pull.

“First, I’ll ask you to let your arms rest at your sides…” he shuffled his weight, unsure what to do with the crutch in his hand.

“You okay to stand without it for a few? I can hold it for you.” I offered. He nodded, clearly disinterested in needing any help, but having no choice.

“…And then I’m going to measure the width of your shoulders, will you turn to face Natalie?” I liked that she walked him through every single step she was taking. I could see he was starting to relax a bit as he shuffled his feet to face me. Marianne used the bit of string to measure along his shoulder blades, from point to point. The scribble of her pen on paper and the hum of the heater somewhere behind us, were the only sounds in the room.

Until…

Thunk, thunk, thunk.

I think I jumped more than he did. Someone was knocking on what I assumed must’ve been the back door of the shop.

Marianne had a different reaction, “Oh!” She dropped the thread and checked her watch, “They’re early! I apologize, someone is here to drop off a bulk order. You’ll have to excuse me. This is the trouble of running things all by myself!” She looked flustered and embarrassed for having to pause, “I should only be a minute!”

She stepped through the curtain and after a few moments I could hear the sounds of a door opening and the low rumble of male voices mixing with hers. The activity faded into the background as I took in the little life before me.

“You wanna sit down? Rest your leg?”

“I’m fine, thank you.” I wasn’t convinced but it didn’t seem worth it to argue over. I found myself reaching for the bit of string that had served as his measuring tape. Threading it in and out from between my fingers.

That’s when we heard Marianne’s voice cut through, far more flustered than we’d heard before, “No! No, this is all wrong. You have half of my satin and georgette mixed in with someone else’s bolts of polyester! How difficult is it to keep your orders straight?” I could hear the clack of her shoes on hardwood growing louder as she suddenly thrust aside the curtain, “I’m so sorry for this little hiccup. I’ll just be a bit longer… Oh—“

Her eyes cast down to the crimson thread pinched between my finger and thumb. “Were you measuring him yourself?”

Alexander and I both exchanged flustered glances before I tried my best to respond, “Well, I—“

I heard the low voices of men and the shuffling of heavy feet beyond the curtain. As Marianne checked over her shoulder, her eyes widened, “Be careful with that! You almost knocked it over!” Her head of curly white hair, popped back in to address us, “No, no. Please. Go ahead! It’ll save us time! You’ll have to excuse me!” She gestured at the thread between my fingers before dashing off, footsteps fading even as I could hear her shout in exasperation about some other mishap those workers were creating in her shop.

And suddenly it was just he and I.

He cleared his throat, pulling at his collar.

“So…” I finally mumbled, breaking the silence. His blue eyes met mine when I spoke. My face felt warm.

“So.” He shifted his weight, his face splashed with pink, while he craned his neck to stare up at me.

“I guess, I’m gonna— I mean, if you’re okay with… me??”

He thrust his hands in his pockets, nodding his head, while his blonde bangs hung in his eyes, “Right, no. I mean. We must… Musn’t we? For the sake of-of the time. Like she said.”

“Yeah. Totally. Uh. Okay. So…” I twirled the piece of thread around my finger, while I glanced at the sheet of paper, “It looks like I’m supposed to measure your chest next…” My hands inched toward him. I could feel my pulse in the tip of every finger, I had to concentrate to keep them steady. Alexander watched my encroaching hands like a hawk, his spine stiff, his lips taught.

“Wait!” He threw up his own little palm. I stopped, confused. His brow furrowed as he addressed me, “You’re practically towering over me, standing like that. Do you know how exhausting it is to practically break my neck just to be able to address you? Go find a chair.” I raised my brows, he rolled his eyes, “Please.”

I pulled it up before the table and sat down, “There, better?” I was so much closer to eye level with him now, and yet, he still seemed so far away, standing in the shadow I cast.

He won’t seem so far once I’m physically touching him. I felt a thrill rush through me at the thought.

I took the knotted end and gently held it against his sternum. He rocked back on his heel from the pressure, nevertheless. His little heart was pounding against his ribs. I melted again.

After a moment, “Ahem, Natalie?” I was frozen in place, just mesmerized by the thrumming of life beneath my fingers.

“Right, right! Sorry!” I shook my head. “Okay hold that for me, please…” his lithe little fingers took over for my gigantic one, as I wrapped the string around his chest and arms. I pinched the string where it met the knotted end and pulled it away from his body. Finally, I laid it flat to the tape measure before jotting down the number. We proceeded to do this with the length of his arms, the circumference of his tiny little wrists, even his neck, which I tried to be painstakingly delicate with.

With his chin thrust in the air, I could feel him gazing up at me as he held the knot against the hollow of his throat. He opened his mouth to speak and I bit the inside of my lip, worried he might snap at me out of discomfort, but instead he spoke so softly it was almost too quiet to hear, “You’re not too bad at this, Ms. Marquez…”

As he spoke, I could feel the tiny vibrations in his neck as I very delicately brought the string around. What a mesmerizing feeling. I swelled with pride, “Oh really? Approval from the Little Nightmare? Not a single criticism yet? It’s my lucky day. What’d I do to deserve this?”

“Don’t let it go to your head… it’s big enough as it is!”

“Hey! Rude!” I released the string, pretending to be offended. To my delight, his little face broke out into that lovely crooked smile I adored so much.

“You’re awfully pleased with yourself, aren’t ya?”

“As I ought to be! It was a shining example of my cracking wit, and you ought to be more impressed.”

“You ready for the next part, Mr. Chuckles?”

“Oh! Come on!” He wrinkled his nose in disgust, “That was terrible. Was that the best you could come up with? I’ll take Xandy over that, any day!”

“What’s that? I can call you Xandy now??”

“No!!! No that’s not what I said! Don’t you dare– Hey! What’re you doing?!”

**********

As I spoke, her fingers and thumbs rushed up from behind and landed on either side of my waist. The warmth was intoxicating, her grip all encompassing, and intimate. My face flushed with color and heat.

“Don’t look at me like that! It’s the next thing on the list!” She was defensive. I twisted and squirmed feeling the tension in the thread as it rested at the small of my back.

She had to be playing coy with me! Couldn’t she see how flustered she was making me? It’d been hard enough to keep my composure when she rested her fingertip over my heart, or gently guided my arms where she wanted them, or leaned down so close while she regarded me with such care and gentleness that her fingertips left electrical pulses where they brushed against my skin. But now this?

I was finding it hard to breathe.

“You could at least warn a man before you trap him in your colossal grip! Have you learned nothing?”

“I’m not– Look, we don’t have to do this. Especially if you’re gonna get all pissy about it.” She looked crestfallen. That soft warmth dissipated as suddenly as it had appeared when she pulled her hands away, the thread dragging limply along the table’s surface, pinched between her finger and thumb.

No, no, no! This isn’t what I wanted at all. Couldn’t she see I was addicted to it now? That warmth, that soft touch? This was all her fault.

“Wait!” I stepped forward, snatching up the opposite end of the thread before it snaked away from my reach. She looked at me with curiosity, waiting to see what I’d do next, “If you’re going to hold me by the waist, have the courtesy to let me participate.” Her golden green irises dilated as her mouth parted slightly. I had her complete attention.

A tremor ran down the nape of my neck to the curve of my lumbar as I pulled the string toward me. She let this tension in the thread move her hand forward with no resistance. My heart skipped a beat. She was letting me control her.

I guided her fingertips to the soft flesh just above my hipbone, where my obliques flared and rippled as I fought to keep my composure. I transferred the thread to my right hand and fed it behind my back, allowing the tension to hold my weight as I leaned back, feeding it around to my right side. I could count each and every quaking beat of my heart as I held the crimson thread in my fist, offering it to her. She slid the tip of her index along the inside of my forearm, making me suck in a sharp breath, before uncurling my fist and taking the string from me.

“Now what?” she whispered, two pairs of a finger and thumb resting on either side of my body, waiting for my instruction.

I’d never felt so big in all my life.

I guided one set of fingers to rest on my navel. Could she feel how my breath shook when she touched me?

I grounded myself and brought the other side to meet, letting the string cross itself at the proper place. She pinched the spot with her thumbnail and slowly, gently, retreated to measure and write down her findings.

“Okay, now hips,” She held the length of string in front of me, waiting to be guided once more. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from beaming.

I performed the same little ritual with her, and this time her fingertips landed over a much more intimate part of myself. I flushed bright, hissing between clenched teeth, “Careful!”

I expected her to scoff at me, but the eyes that met my upward gaze were soft, “I’m only going where you put me. You’re in control.”

I don’t know what came over me, but suddenly my legs buckled and gave way beneath me. She was quick to act, wrapping a finger around my hips and pinning me between finger and thumb.

Dear god, what was she doing to me?!

Before I could take another breath, the clattering of human footsteps and the scrape of metal met my ears and made me jump.

Marianne’s voice cut through our built up tension like a razorblade, as she seemed completely unaware of our situation, “Okay! So sorry about that, you two!” Natalie quickly let go, as I rushed to tidy myself and readjust my crooked clothing. The seamstress rounded the corner of the table and entered my periphery, glancing over the measurement sheet “Looks like you got the vast majority completed. That’s perfect, we’ve got a great place to start.” She clapped her hands with a sharp crack, a smile warming her aged features as she leaned down to address me, “Now, Mister Alexander. What’re we in the market for?”

My head spun as I tried to engage my brain, lips and tongue again, “W-what am I—? Uh, um…” It was a truly foreign sensation for words to elude me. I shook my head trying to clear my mind, “A, uh, A classical cut is always best, single breasted, three piece, wool, tweed or cotton, with a notch lapel and double vent.” The words flowed with an easy familiarity, and I found it easier to breathe for the first time since she had left Natalie and I to our own devices.

“You were right,” She addressed the woman before me, “He really knows his stuff!” Natalie nodded vigorously and smiled, as if to say “You have no idea”.

“Ah— And no pinstripes. I hate pinstripes.” I added in haste.

“Duly noted! I think I have quite a few pieces you’ll be interested in.” She gathered the paper with my measurements, Natalaie’s chicken scratch contrasting sharply with the older woman’s elegant script. As she crossed the room, opening a cabinet and searching for something, she spoke over her shoulder, “Please, feel free to come to this other table here…” She gestured to the table with those mysterious boxes on them.

Natalie and I exchanged a glance, before she slid her palm beside me, hooking her thumb beneath my left arm. She gathered me in her hand, her other fingers supporting my weight before she lifted me off the table.

She crossed with me to the opposite side, her free thumb gently stroking my cheek. It wasn’t all that long ago I would’ve recoiled at such a caress. Now I melted beneath it.

What has gotten into me??

Soon, I was being lowered to my feet, before one of those mystery boxes. I could see now that the front was obscured by a curtain.

“Go ahead,” Marianne had just placed a polished wooden case of some kind on the table just to my right, as she seemed to register my curiosity. I took a step forward, only to feel a warmth and pressure on my shoulder. I turned to see Natalie offering me my crutch, balanced on a fingertip. I acquiesced and took it, before thrusting the curtain aside.

I’m not sure what I’d expected but it wasn’t this.

Beyond the veil of the fabric, and just a small step up, was what I imagined a dressing room to look like. I’d never been in one myself, human-sized or otherwise, but it fit my expectations and then exceeded them. On the wall opposite me was a full length mirror, held in a gilded, golden frame. A beautiful Persian rug softened the faux wooden floor. There were hooks along the wall to hang clothing, as well as a vanity complete with a mirror and chair. Along the walls were framed prints of famous art pieces. I admit, the Lady with an Ermine was the only one I recognized. Everything felt… authentic. Real. Human. Is this what rooms looked like to them all the time? There was a wide variety of plants that looked… were they real? Not just plastic bastardizations of the typical human houseplant?

I stepped into the ‘room’ and as I marveled, heard a breathy “Wow, fancy…” from up high. I craned my neck to find that this room, for all its proportional realism, lacked a ceiling, and, therefore, Nat was easily able to peer down, her arms crossed, and smile at me from above.

But there was one area in the corner, also sectioned off by a curtain, which, when I peered into it, I realized was actually fully enclosed, complete with an electric wall sconce to brighten the space.

Oh. What a relief. I wouldn’t have to change in front of these two women. I never expected humans to think of these things. This was a nice surprise.

“Is it suitable to your tastes?” Marianne appeared beyond the edge of the far wall, “My Henri designed every detail. We had such fun putting them together. Oh speaking of… try these on for size…”

A wrinkled finger and thumb descended into the space, shattering the illusion that I was in anything other than a highly detailed doll house. Pinched between her digits, was a suit jacket, vest, and matching slacks, each hanging on their own seemingly custom wooden hangers. She carefully placed each of these on one of the wall hooks. Her hand disappeared and then returned with another set and another and another.

I admit, I felt my heart race at just the sight of them. I’d missed the familiar fit of a suit so very much. My grip on the walking aide was becoming clammy as I absentmindedly bounced on the ball of my good foot in anticipation.

She also laid down a folded under shirt on the vanity (the folds were crisp and tidy. Impressive for fingers that big) and several different collared shirts on the remaining hangers.

“I’ll work on ties, belts and shoes while you start with these. How’s that sound?” I nodded in agreement, already making a beeline for the undershirt, a white collared dress shirt and the first vest and pair of slacks on the rack before she’d finished speaking.

I was just about to disappear into the changing room when a finger on my shoulder stopped me.

My mouth twisted into an instinctive grimace as Natalie halted me. What?? What did she want?? I was moments away from shedding this baggy loungewear for something sophisticated and elegant. What could possibly be so important that she needed to interrupt me at this very moment?

I turned to face her, only to realize precisely what. Offered up between her fingers was that pair of tweezers. The same ones I’d used to help myself change since I’d blessedly escaped that god awful tie dye shirt. She’d brought them from home for me.

“Just in case,” she winked at me. Oh. Now, I felt like an ass.

I breathed out from my nostrils, releasing the tension in my shoulders, “Thank you.” I even briefly patted the side of her finger as a show of appreciation as I took the object from her. I figured she’d like that, what with her love of touching me all the time.

The sudden thought of her touch and heat and softness completely overwhelming me just moments ago on that other table top made my face flush with shame.

I hurried inside the changing room, where, luckily, no one could see my changed complexion.

**********

I drummed my fingers on the table, just dying for him to throw that tiny curtain aside and reveal himself. Marianne flitted about the room, opening drawers, cabinets and boxes, finding just what she was looking for, all while peering over the rim of her glasses with the keen eye of a master at work.

Soon she had a lineup of tiny accessories displayed on the vanity table for him to peruse.

I caught her gaze and mouthed “Thank you”, she nodded warmly and winked, before catching something out of the corner of her eye and gesturing for me to look too.

That little curtain fluttered with movement, and before I knew it, there emerged one tiny socked foot, then another, with a metal and rubber crutch complimenting their rise and fall.

Then, my heart skipped.

Hello there, Alexander.

He looked absolutely incredible, and he wasn’t even fully dressed yet. The slacks sported a flattering pleat down the length of his leg, settling perfectly about his waist. The vest fit beautifully, cinched slightly in the back, the white dress shirt contrasted nicely and the sleeves fit him just right.

I immediately dropped my chin to the surface of the table to get a closer look.

He emerged with his head ducked as he gracefully threaded the final button on the vest, the royal blue wool lacing through his lithe little fingers.

Suddenly, two icy blue irises like crystals of frozen flame were trained on me and I had to bite my lip to keep from embarrassing myself. The blue of the suit made his eyes shine even more brightly than before.

“It looks like a perfect fit. How does it feel?” He craned his neck to listen to the voice looming above him. He adjusted his shoulders, made sure the vest was perfectly centered, and he toyed with his shirt sleeves until they were just right, before he turned to the full length mirror.

With my head balanced on my hand, I could just make out a sliver of my face reflected in the tiny mirror over his shoulder.

Seeing his entire body against the backdrop of one small part of mine reminded me of that first day, when I’d forced him into that ugly little doll shirt and held him up to my bathroom vanity admiring our size difference. That truly felt like a lifetime ago.

Marianne passed him a silky rust colored tie, and I watched with flustered amazement how his fingers expertly worked the flimsy material into a pinprick of a complicated knot, even and perfect. I felt like I was glimpsing into a whole other world of his, a past I only faintly understood.

With each infinitesimal adjustment of his collar, sweep of his hair, and threading of his tie beneath his vest, I felt myself staring slack jawed at this new version of the little man I thought I’d known so well.

Now for the jacket. She handed it to him, and he spread the lapels to admire the inner lining (a gorgeous, patterned silk with flowers of purple and blue) when his eyes stopped at something sewn into the collar just as the nape of the neck.

*****

I stared at the inside of the jacket, almost in disbelief.

Sewn with expert precision, were a handful of stitches that unmistakably spelled out “For My Henri”.

I was flabbergasted.

Marianne had said he was the love of her life, that they’d built this business together, that he’d encouraged her to use her talents to help others, and this man had been… like me?

“I-I can’t possibly accept this…” I shook my head, thrusting the beautifully crafted garment away from my body and offering it back up to this kind hearted woman who peered down at me.

She simply smiled, “Just try it on, at least.”

She couldn’t be serious. But it would be nice just to try it on for size. She could use it as a reference. I was determined to refuse her offer if she brought it up again, but I saw no harm in at least donning the final piece of the suit, just to see it all together.

I took a deep breath and easily twirled the garmet over my shoulder, sliding my arms along the silken lining and letting it fall around my body, gazing into the mirror once more.

Oh, hello there, Alexander. It’s good to see you again, old friend. How I’ve missed you.

It was beyond perfect. It was the most beautifully crafted suit I’d ever had the pleasure to wear. I looked wonderfully smart. My chest swelled as a small smirk creeped onto my features, threatening to boil over into a boyish grin if I wasn’t careful.

I refocused the lenses of my eyes to take in Natalie’s gaze, dominating the landscape behind me. Her pupils were dilated, her expression dreamy. I turned to face her, leaving my crutch behind for now.

I thrust a hand in a pocket, unbuttoning the jacket to show the vest underneath and spun on my heel, feeling altogether like a million bucks.

“You look… incredible” She practically breathed. The way her eyes shone when she gazed at me… Why did my knees suddenly feel weak at hearing her sigh at me like that? Perhaps I needed my crutch after all.

“She’s right, you know. It suits you. I suppose I can’t convince you to try on the rest of them can I?” The older woman issued me this challenge with a twinkle in her eye.

Natalie furrowed her brow and cocked her head. As if to say “What could possibly be the problem with that?”

Of course. She didn’t understand what Marianne and I already did.

I slid off the jacket and held up its stitching to her. She leaned in so close I could feel the heat of her exhale as she finally managed to squint enough to read the name sewn there.

“Oh, oh my god. So…your… he was…?” Natalie stuttered.

Marianne nodded, a smile sparkling with decades of memory igniting in her eyes. Eventually, she busied herself with handing me the next suit, this one a beautiful gray, continuing to address Natalie, “He was the best thing to ever come into my life. We found each other when I spent a summer in Paris, a whole lifetime ago. I couldn’t bear to return home without him. Luckily, he agreed to travel halfway across the world to be by my side. It took us a while to come to terms with our feelings, believe me, most people couldn’t possibly understand… especially not in those days. I hope you two don’t let your fear get in the way.”

My face burned and my mouth felt so dry, my voice cracked as I spoke, “Oh, no, we’re not… we-we—“

Suddenly Natalie’s louder voice tumbled atop mine, cutting me off, as she spoke through a strained smile, “Thank you.”

I sensed that I’d committed some sort of social faux pas, though I couldn’t understand what. Natalie and I weren’t… that is to say we didn’t have that sort of dynamic. Despite this, I decided to bite my tongue out of a desire to spare Natalie any unnecessary embarrassment. Judging by her bright pink complexion, she was already suffering enough from my attempt to set the record straight.

I put that interaction out of my mind, though, as I returned to the garments in my hands. I admit, I allowed myself the small pleasure of trying all four of Henri’s suits, each one as beautifully crafted as the last and still in such incredible condition for their age.

I tried on various loafers, belts, ties and even, to my utter delight, tie clips and cufflinks!

As a boy coming of age, I’d been repeatedly reprimanded after asking for cufflinks to match my larger counterpart, being told they’d be “much too small to be worth any effort to make them in the first place”.

Once I’d enjoyed everything those suits had to offer, she asked me to describe what I’d like to have custom made, letting me touch various fabric swatches and color options to help me make my decisions.

This was all a dream, right? Some sort of beautiful, wonderful dream that I never wanted to wake from? It had to be. Well, if it was all make believe, I supposed asking for what I really wanted wouldn’t hurt any.

She took notes as Natalie watched on. Why was it every time I turned over my shoulder, she seemed to be looking at me?

I sat in the chair, pulled beside the vanity, palming the perfectly proportionate cufflinks, and rolling them between finger and thumb. They were so detailed and well crafted I wondered if Henri had made them himself.

What is wrong with me? These things aren’t mine to take. No matter how wonderful they were.

I deposited the little metal pieces on the counter beside me, folding my hands in my lap, determined not to fidget anymore.

As if reading my mind, Marianne travelled around to the side of the table to face me.

“Well, you’ve been quite the model today.” I nodded in agreement, “I think we’ve put you through more than enough. Now, your custom orders will be shipped to you in approximately ten to twelve weeks. If you need any alterations at all, feel free to come back to the store.”

What a lovely dream this was.

She continued, gesturing to those beautiful suits hung along the dressing room the wall, “Which one was your favorite?”

“Oh, well… I couldn’t possibly— they’re all equally wonderful. You possess incredible skill…”

“I want you to have them.”

Both Natalie and I let out an incredulous exclamation, in sync with one another:

“No, no you’re being far too kind—”

“We couldn’t take them, they belong with you!”

She shook her head smiling warmly first at Natalie, then to me, “He would’ve wanted them to go to a fine young gentleman who can appreciate every stitch, rather than gathering dust in some box. I’d be honored if you’d take them. Think of it as Christmas coming early!”

I was completely taken aback, a rush of emotion making my chest swell and my throat tighten as my vision suddenly blurred, “I— I’m at a complete loss for words… T-thank you.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Alexander. Thank you for coming to visit today.” She leaned down to offer me her finger to shake. With a trembling hand, and biting back tears, I shook her finger tip, squeezing it much harder than was called for, and yet I didn’t imagine it was enough to hurt her, “I’m delighted you like them so much. Why don’t you wear the blue one home? It was always my favorite. Now I’ll finish packing the rest and will wait for you to check out in the other room.”

And suddenly, it was just the girl with the wild hair and warm eyes, and me. She caught my gaze, a smile playing on her lips “Surprise!” She chuckled.

The swell of deep gratitude, delight, overwhelm and pure joy flooded through me once again and I was perilous to keep it at bay. I rushed forward, my leg aching from the effort, as I crashed into her hand, squeezing myself into the hollow of her palm, as I clutched the base of her thumb and wept, mumbling my thanks between tears of joy.

“Oh, Alexander…” she breathed, gently enclosing her fingers around me, embracing me back. Her index finger on her free hand gently caressed my hair, neck and shoulders as I wiped the tears from my eyes. I couldn’t stop smiling, no matter how hard I tried. She held my chin with her fingertip, wiping tears with her thumb, “I’m so happy you’re happy. You deserve this. I’m sorry it took so long… but I’m so glad you finally got what you wanted.” She beamed at me. I bit back more tears. She arched her brow and jutted her chin in that mischievous way she always did, “Now pull yourself together and go be all dapper and shit.” She nudged my arm with her thumb. I couldn’t help but laugh along with her.

Before long, I found myself perched on the countertop of Marianne’s desk in the front of the shop, dressed to the nines from head to foot. I wore the blue suit, of course, with brown leather shoes, and belt, a silken ochre tie with matching pocket square, cufflinks, and a tie clip. I stood tall as the women above me exchanged money for goods.

I felt a lightness in my body and mind that I hadn’t felt in… well, had I ever felt it? I couldn’t be sure. I had to keep biting the inside of my cheek to stop from grinning ear to ear like some stupid little boy. I’d never been spoiled like this. I’d never been treated like this. I had no idea what to do with myself.

As we were about to leave, Marianne turned to me, her lips curled into a smile. She gazed at me over the rim of her glasses, giving me a clear view of her keen eyes. “Alexander? N'ayez pas peur de lui dire ce que vous ressentez. Il est clair qu'elle t'aime de tout son cœur. Vous méritez le bonheur autant que nous tous.”

*******

I had no clue what she’d said to him, but whatever it was, he looked like he’d been shot through with an arrow, after hearing it. His little eyes went wide and his face burned bright red.

“Hey…” I rubbed his little shoulder, and he seemed to snap out of it. I smiled apologetically at the woman on the other side of the desk, “Sorry, I think he’s just really excited and overwhelmed about everything that happened. Thank you again, for all you did for him.” As I spoke to her, I coaxed the little man into my hand, his movements suddenly sluggish and distracted.

“It was truly such a wonderful thing to meet a pair like you. You give me hope for a better future. Thank you for coming in today. You’re always welcome back at any time.”

“Thank you so much, Marianne!” I echoed her warmth. When Alexander stayed silent, I nudged him a little with my thumb and he seemed to come to.

“Y-yes! Thank you. V-very much!”

What had gotten into him? Maybe the thrill of the whole thing had worn off and he was just exhausted. Because of his dogged determination to push himself to the limits all the time, it was easy to forget how much more effort it took someone of his size to just interact with people so much bigger than him. He was also standing and walking on his injured leg without his crutch for much longer than normal. I wondered if he was in pain and trying to fight through it.

Whatever the case, I was looking forward to getting him home with me, and giving him a chance to relax.

I took in the wonderful sight of him lounging in my palm, his head resting on the pad of my index finger, his calves and ankles hanging off the far edge of my palm, his little hands spread against my skin, keeping himself steady. He stared at his tiny leather shoes, and seemed disinterested in looking in my direction. How funny he was. I wondered what on earth was on his brilliant little mind.

Strange little nightmare, let’s get you home.

___________________________________________

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#I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I do #a fraction of justice #g/t fluff #size difference #g/t related #g/t writing #gt community #gt #giant/tiny #g/t community #g/t

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enchantedtomeetyou1113 · 4 months ago

Text

Friends don’t look at friends that way

Levi x reader

A/n: helllooo so this is loosely inspired by the song ‘that way’ by Tate McRae. This is also part one of my oneshot book on wattpad ( @saige_1313) enjoy!

Summary: you and Levi are just friends. just friends….

———————————————————————

The mixed signals drive her crazy. Crazy might be an understatement, but more or less Levi runs her around in circles like he always seems to do.

It seems to her that there might be two different Levis in the regiment.

There's one that invites her to his office for tea at late hours, and another who ignores her in-front of the others. There's one who checks on her after every mission and one who acts like he doesn't know all her past traumas (that she told him after several late night tea sessions) .

There's the Levi who would listen to her rants and sit close to her while they do paperwork. Closer than socially acceptable for 'friends' and then the other the next morning would sit on the opposite side of the table and throw jabs at the way she likes her tea. But didn't he say it was tolerable last night? Why did it seem like he tried to embarrass her in-front of everyone else?

The whole day she felt exhausted physically and mentally. Everything captain related was weighing on her heavy and Levi-well he was making it worse. Today he was extra rude in-front of Hange and Erwin and the other captains saying things like "Captain y/n shouldn't be in that position-she's not nearly strong enough."

Her eyes glared at him as he stood with his arms crossed and a bored look on his face. He didn't even acknowledge it which made her more mad. And of course Erwin listened to him.

So now she sits in her office with her head on her desk completely drained from the events of today.

It was late hours and she barely felt like sleeping.

A knock was heard on her door and she knew that knock. She's grown used to it after all these months. The uninterested woman didn't pick her head up, instead hoping he'd just walk away and assume she was asleep.

"I know you aren't sleeping." his usual flat voice was muffled by the door but she could just imagine his eyes roll. He opened the door and leaned against the frame, looking at the sight infront of him. "Someone looks miserable."

She sighs picking her head up from the desk. "What do you want? I'm not in the mood for tea."

He raises one brow, "not in the mood,huh?" "Nope" she quips back.

He gazes at her, not just looking at her,but peering into her very being as if he possesses the ability to see through any wall she puts up. Of course when he looks at her like that (which he does a lot) her walls come crumbling down.

"What's got you so upset,brat." He walks towards her desk plopping into the chair infront of her. "Nothing, alright? Can't you just give me one night of solitary?" She pinches the bridge of her nose. "Hmph..I didn't know was presence was so overbearing ." He says not taking any real offense. "It seems like it's the other way around." She muttered. He cocked his brow at the words she mumbled. "What makes you think that?" He asked.

Her eyes gazed at his,disbelief plastered all over her face. Could he really be that incredibly dense or is he completely unhinged? She was unable to fathom how he was so oblivious to the situation.

"You have to be joking." Her voice heated.

"Tch, are you mad because I made fun of your tea?" He had the audacity to smirk, which made her even more furious. "I don't get it Levi-" she starts sitting straighter her body language tense.

"Why do you act like-like you LIKE me then act like you hate me infront of everyone else? It's like you mess with me on purpose! Why?" She demanded.

He looked as if he wasn't phased one bit by her outburst. "Y/n, this is never gonna happen."

She blinked,shaking off the initial wave of anger that had washed over her face,as it quickly transformed into one of hurt. Her eyebrows furrowed "what...?" She asked her voice tinged with puzzlement "Levi,so...what are we?" He looked at her like the question was deranged "Friends?" He replied matter of factly. The nonchalant response felt like a dagger to her already battered heart. "Right..." she murmured.

"Well I need to get to sleep,so you can see yourself out." She didn't meet his gaze.

The next day at training she kept catching him staring at her. Quickly looking away when she noticed as he tried to play it off. At lunch Hange asked what's going on between the two and she told them they were just friends. Which makes no sense because later that day Hange told her that he was staring at her with a 'endearing expression' and kept going on about the 'tender look' for the whole evening. This only made her more and more lost at the situation between the two. "Friends don't look at friends that way." Hange smirked at me.

5 days pass by with little to no conversation between the two but they both sneaked longing glances to another without the other noticing-most of the time.

the late hours of the night engulfed her,and a craving of tea with milk and honey made her get up and sneak to the kitchen of the HQ. To her absolute delight (horror) Levi had the same thought. He sat there drinking his black tea in the dim kitchen area.

"Sorry, didn't expect you to be here." She trails off before spinning on her heel to leave, without her tea. "Stay. I don't mind." She stops herself at his words,and cautiously walked towards the small kettle to make her tea.

She sat down with her steamy cup and before realizing that we were out of milk he spoke up. "I'll make sure there's more milk tomorrow." How could he say such sweet things with such a bored look on his face all the time? "Thanks.." she mutters. The small talk was overbearingly awkward-though it seemed that way only to her.

when she went to follow him as he stood to put her cup away the proximity of their faces made it even more awkward. "I..I can take your cup, don't worry." He says softly. She blinks a few times waiting for him to grab the cup from her, but he doesn't.

Time stops as they look into each others eyes and his dark gray eyes flickered to her lips for just a moment but she picked it up. She felt herself moving closer without realizing. Like he was a magnet and she was being pulled in. She looked up at him glancing at his lips as he did the same.

He felt himself begin to lean down to kiss her before he stopped himself, clearing his throat. Backing up he gestured for her to give him the teacup. "Don't want you being whiny at tomorrow's meeting, I'll wash these. You get to bed." He says quietly but back to his usual stoic tone.

"Y-yeah.. goodnight,Levi." She says before practically tripping on her own two feet trying to get back to her room as quick as possible.

"Goodnight, brat."

The next evening she couldn't take it anymore. She raised her hand up to his door and knocked twice. "Yes?" She heard his voice and twisted the handle and rushed into the room closing the door behind her and moving closer towards him.

"I'm fed up! I don't even know if I love or hate you anymore-why did you try kissing me last night? You say we're friends but I catch you looking at me several times a day! friends don't look at friends that way-!" She was out of breath by the time she finished her sentence and she looked at him waiting and preparing for whatever answer he saw fit.

"You don't want to be in a relationship, trust me." Is all he says. Looking back down at the paperwork he was working on. "How do you know what I want? And who are you to decide that for me!" She felt her face get hot.

"You don't understand, you brat-" he sighs. "What don't I know?! I know that I can't stop thinking about you-I know that I wanted you to kiss me last night and practically every other night we spent together-?!" He looks at her with an unreadable expression, one she's never seen on him.

"Im afraid to.. to let myself love you, because then it'll somehow hurt less when you're gone." His voice is barely audible. "I thought If could act cold with you that you'd simply utter 'fuck you' and move on, but I was selfish and couldn't stop myself from looking forward to drinking tea with you or even something as boring as doing paper work. Because it was you. Everything was bearable when I was with you."

She felt her heart beating out of her chest, "I don't want you to shut me out because you are afraid of losing me..I think if we at least try the rewards will be better the risk-because I'm not gonna just walk away and forget you. Even if we spend the rest of our lives only bonding over tea and signing stupid papers I'll do it."

He didn't understand the feelings going through his mind and he definitely didn't understand the feeling in his stomach from her words. "I was stupid thinking pushing you away would be the answer. I'm sorry for being so stubborn and shutting you out,I just didn't want to lose you, even though the fear made me do just that."

He came closer to her his hand cupping her cheek. "I don't want to miss out on a single moment with you, and I'll try..to understand how this stuff works."

She puts her hand on top of his for a moment before interlinking their fingers. "How romantic." She say teasingly rolling her eyes. "Don't be a brat." She slowly presses her lips into his and the kiss was the final confirmation for them both that there truly nothing else they could want in this world.

———————————————————————

A/N okay I wrote this while basically sleeping my eyes are working against me I can't keep them open but I hope you enjoyed. Pretend this is good 😗

Request are open! <3

#captain levi #levi ackerman #levi aot #levi x you #levi x reader #snk levi #attack on titan #aot x reader #aot fanfiction #snk x reader #snk #anime x reader

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chiyoso · 2 years ago

Text

“THE MARA'S WILL”

someone as fragile as you shouldn't have to reign the bloodied fields of cloudford, along with raging war against two powerful factions—as well as an internal presence that invaded your mind that started all of this mayhem.

content warnings; oneshot · female reader · honkai impact 3rd inspired · takes place after xianzhou arc · canon universe · manupulation · mentions of depressive tendencies · declining mental health · war · death · traumatic events · mentions of blood · fighting · sensitive descriptions · dead dove: do not eat.

author notes; an open ending is an open ending. i appreciate all your of love for this oneshot, but i won't be making pt2. ty.

The Astral Express.

A widely known faction of celestial mysteriousness that traverses across the galaxy, they dedicate themselves to the ways of trailblaze and adventure, an enormous train conducted by a rumored fluffy creature that travels through vast worlds with its starry residers.

However, you didn't expect to meet the faction like this. The time that you yourself encountered the famous members of the Express— or rather, they bumped into you.

A memorable impression, leading their hearts and minds to waver in complete uneasiness, fear and curiousity.

It was one of those moments. Moments of tranquility, replaced almost immediately with unsightly chaos, and screeching horrors.

And they weren't coming from you.

2:49 PM — CLOUDFORD, XIANZHOU LUOFU

NOW PLAYING ♪ TOT MUSICA

11 minutes until eruption.

ᚷᚨᚺ ᛉᚨᚾ ᛏᚨᚲ ᚷᚨᚺ ᛉᚨᚾ ᛏᚨᛏ ᛏᚨᛏ ᛒᚱᚨᚲ

“F- Fu-aahh.... Haah...” You groaned in pain. The sounds of alarms, crumbling and a voice of elegant dread echoed inside your mind, chanting unfamiliar, incomprehensible sounds that you were unable to understand nor fathom its sound waves.

Your flesh continued to crack as gold seeped out from the insides, bright lightning marks all around your form, accompanied with your heavy eyelids, struggling to keep your consciousness as you panted heavily. Your thoughts fogged viciously with memories of all kinds, your mind had felt like a mix between ice and fire. A flaming vortex along with an Icy storm that seethed inside, causing a severe throbbing that had you wailing in pain in heaps of volume consecutively as you grip your head.

“M- Mr. Yang!” A high pitched voice trembled, struggling on her feet while a grey haired female helped her up to stabilize her balance.

“Go. Call for reinforcements. I'll take it from here.” He says, gripping his cane while the other hand hoists his frames up to his nose bridge, returning his gaze towards the sight of you.

Reinforcements?

“H-hhgk—” You coughed up gold. Your face stained with your aureate tears, gasping for air as you clenched the area of your heart, which was beaming light, pulsating with the same color as the liquid that stained your whole being.

What was happening?

You screech, lower limbs suddenly at work, executing swift dodges that your untrained body couldn't handle physically, stretching and tearing your muscles.

Something was fighting for survival, and it wasn't you.

Your actions lowered the morale of determination from the Cloud Knights that had stationed on the sidelines, now replaced with a panic and fear from your ever so visibly increasing strength and agility, etching negative emotions into their wounded states that you have inflicted previously.

The man with the glasses, distance away from you clicked his tongue in frustration, he had summoned a multitude of black holes, raining hellish orbs of gravity towards you in such high speeds and velocity, but you... despite your poor state of self, you've managed to avoid them all.

But,

Even you weren't aware of your own skillful sequences.

ᛗᛁᛖ ᚾᛖᚷ ᛟᚾ ᚷᛁᛖᚲ ᚷᛁᛖᚲ

ᚾᚨᚺ ᛈᚺᚨᛋ ᛏᛖᛉᛉᛖ ᛚᚨᚺ

“P- Please... shut... get out of m—”

Feeble attempts of retribution, cease your resistance.

Play into submission, child of Lan.

You cocked your head to the skies, letting out gutteral sobs to the heavens, screaming and pleading your heart out while your own nails dug into your skin, your eyes weeped in gold, blurring your sense of sight.

Your thoughts were a sea of fragmented memories, bad ones, the negative ones that only fueled your transformation and the thread of your consciousness that you desperately were holding onto, was now being threatened harshly.

The man in glasses gripped his cane, firming his hold while witnessing your overwhelming presence and what was happening infront of him.

You were talking to yourself. You were visibly in pain, you were weeping, and the mara that was supposed to overcome you right now was... being barely resisted. Resisted. Resisted?

That's impossible.

You can't resist the Mara.

Beads of sweat formed trickled down along his jawline, his eyes diluded towards the sight that was all too familiar for him.

Someone- or something was talking to you, and he felt nothing but the sensation of dread swell inside him.

He didn't know what to do. Based on your own visible actions, it was clear—you didn't mean to do any harm, you were struggling more than anyone in this dire situation.

You brought your tainted hands that was darkening onto your face, trying to hold onto what's left of yourself, your consciousness.

“PLEASE! L- LEAVE M—” You choked out.

You were stumbling on your feet, drowning in pain as you sobbed your pleas of desperation.

His face scrunches, biting his bottom lip, frustrated over his hesitancy and lack of determination into going all out against you.

You reminded him of a state that reminded him of his past companions from another world, a state that only led to an upbringing of a powerful force, leading to the destruction of humanity and civilizations, a state that almost destroyed his homeworld.

But he had to remind himself repeatedly, you were just... Mara-strucked. A man-made work from the schemes of Sanctus Medicus, their work, befalling to an unfortunate character before him.

But... why the hell were you talking to yourself? Why were you pleading? Crying? How were you still able to talk? And most importantly, how were you still able to resist your supposed inevitable demise?

You peeked through your digits, your eyes pierce to the man with glasses, before lowering your hands to your sides in idle, continuing to pant heavily in place.

Your stance had your staggering legs slightly bent, your chin upwards—but your stained eyes remained on the figure infront of you.

His eyes diluded upon meeting your sorrowful gaze, his hand tightened around his cane further, seemingly ready to take on any action you will commence, but he wished you didn't engage, he wished for your attacks to cease. He didn't desire to harm you at all—You were in obvious pain, emotionally, physically and mentally, and only his veteran observations can see that.

“M- Miss—”

“Kill me.”

You said breathily with your burning throat, your voice had been accompanied with a second, mixing with your original tone with a now deeper, and sinister chord that showed the fruition of the transformation you were currently experiencing.

Your hands find their way to your throat as you coughed out more gold, along with the taste of iron that mixed with the aureate liquid that had turned into an morbid shade of color from your blood.

Your legs gave in, bringing you to your knees while you continued to choke on your own secretes, sobbing continuously from the sensations you were experiencing.

“BENEFACTOR! SHE HAS FALLEN!”

“WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!”

“END HER LIFE BEFOR—” “Gghk-... Nngh...”

“Reinforcements are on their way.”

“I- It hurts.... It HURTS!!!”

“Call for further units! At ONCE!”

“P- Please tell me I'll live...”

“BENEFACTOR ITS YOUR CHANCE!”

“M- Monster!” “M- MY ARMS!”

“KILL HER!” “HER STRENGTH IS ONLY-”

“KILL HER!” “KILL HER!”

“KILL HER!!!!”

“KILL HER!”

The man with glasses was overwhelmed with contradicting emotions, hindering his wavering will to use the opportunity of your vulnerability.

The cries and pleas of desperation from the several Cloud Knights that have fallen from your battle, ring through the bloodied field, along with your genuine—sorrowful filled sobs that only haunted and hesitated him much more.

His own thoughts were only mirroring the mess that you were in, having to be filled with deep memories of a life that was filled with death and torment, reminding him of his sins once again.

The child of the Hunt, hopelessly clings onto the wretched humanity, only to be shunned out and betrayed by your own race.

I feel their sea of desperation, their desires for your lesser existence to perish without a trace in the galaxy.

Give into the sensations of truth, let it embrace your poorly sculpted soul, for I will accept you without fail.

You were already on the floor arched, your hands had continued to hold your head, gripping your hair as you wallowed in your pool of tears, gold and blood that soaked your once beautiful skin.

“Sss-top... Stop... Please...”

You've already hurt your own kind.

“I- I... Hgk— Ahh-Haah...”

You've already inflicted enough despair and chaos to the point where these lowly humans cling onto their life in a feeble attempt of living.

“Th- That's not...”

Savor their pleas and screams of anguish as they call upon your death. You aren't wanted, you aren't needed.

“THAT'S NOT TRUE—”

The floor beneath your shaking body began to crack, the density and force around you had only drastically strengthen, creating a growing crater below you.

You are only inducing fear in your surroundings, and you are more than aware of what you're causing.

Hatred. Anguish. Despair. A need for violent measures. A selfish greed of clinging onto life from their grave wounds you placed upon them. This is all you.

All you.

Mindlessly in pain, your body unwillingly helps itself up despite your own injuries. You took a heavy step forward, only ceasing the noises that surrounded you as they witness your hauntingly beautiful yet bloodied form, but there was no attraction, they were now instilled with a new type of fear.

2:55 PM — CLOUDFORD, XIANZHOU LUOFU

5 minutes until eruption.

You were a golden death. A victim.

A new dreadful existence that was unintentionally yet successfully created by Sanctus Medicus.

The golden liquid had already burned the rest of your outfit. Your body only continued to pour gold from the rifts on your skin, your heart—or your now crystalized core, pulsated with consecutive glows, as if your former heart, and the rest of your biology had changed, in which case, it did.

That's it... Embrace it... Your perfected, honed and better self.

Shut up.

The voice chuckles, continuing to fog and envelope your whole essence.

The unwavering, unbearable pain was now released, replaced with the sensations of your skin, healing slowly. The paleness in your face had become warm once again along with your body.

Your hair only grew longer, luscious and free, your eyes glimmered in high self esteem once more, while previous cracks all over your body had almost disappear as if nothing was there in the first place.

You will never admit it, but you felt more healthy, you felt beautiful, you felt confident, you felt...

New, refreshed and reborn, and you grasped control of yourself once again.

Your newfound vigor and vitality only brought unease and curiousity to the Cloud Knights who loathed your existence being a supposed child of Yaoshi the Abundance now.

The man with glasses couldn't help but be reminded of his weakness from your newfound growth, he had hesitated until now, witnessing your upbringing and his own actions had left a sour feeling on his drying throat, unease had surrounded the man, in fear of what will commence. He doesn't know how much longer he can fight, accompanied with the knowledge of his two fatigued Astral companions seeking out help of any kind, but another question lingered in his thoughts;

What were you?

You weren't a mindless Mara-strucked individual that they've previously continuously dealt with, nor you had the appearance of golden leaves that battered and grew out of you. You were just a woman, at what he assumes to be your very prime, the high peak of your health, appearance, physicality and mental state, and your curiousity and confusion about your own state confirmed his assumptions.

“I-...” Your senses interrupt you as your instincts come into fruition, tilting your head to the right, only to reveal a Cloud-Piercing spear infront of your vision that had thrusted forward from behind. The light, horizontal slit from your left cheek which the Cloud Knight slightly grazed, begun to heal almost quickly, as well as suddenly realizing your hand was already around the unfortunate Cloud Knight's neck, lifting them up in a chokehold as their air supply begins to be cut off.

With widened eyes, you immediately loosened your grasp upon becoming aware of your actions, retorting your hand while guilt pumped into you.

“It- It was... It was instinct I-” Your voice cracked, bringing both of your hands to cover your mouth as your once blurred vision finally had a good look to your surroundings, grasping the situation and your hellish surroundings at bay.

Remember the sight.

Your mind throbbed once again, yet your nerves find ways to soothe the pain, but... even then, it will never be able to heal your aching heart and the damage you inflicted against the soldiers of the Xianzhou Alliance.

Instincts went into play once more, feeling a sudden familiar, pulling force behind moving towards you in a faster, denser velocity, only for you to barely dodge a faster orb of gravity that you had previously, went up against.

“W- Wait! I-” You turn your face quickly towards the man whom attacked you just now, only to be met with a bright, icy blade that moved quickly towards you, but both of your hands had already instinctively raise to your face, piercing both of your palms instead, grasping in the side of the bloodied tip of the cold sword that pierced you.

“FUCK!!! NNGH—!” You whimpered in pain, feeling the sensations of burning that sourced within your palms, along with the skin and nerves that was already healing, your own rejuvenating flesh, pushing out the icy sword as a 'CLANG' follows suit.

“Hmph. You're lucky I didn't throw it with too much force, otherwise you wouldn't be able to survive that!” A voice of a young boy graced the battlefield, turning the red sea into a cold, thundering storm of snow and ice, putting the injured Cloud Knights at ease and discomfort from the coldness that surrounded the environent.

“L-Lieutenant Yanqing!” A Cloud Knight gasped at his arrival, alerting the rest with jarred cheers erupting, while your gaze dilutes back and forth to the man with glasses—and a child who happens to be a lieutenant that had arrived.

“P- Please- I-”

“Save it servant of the Abundance!”

A continuing, cold breeze of snow enveloped the young boy, his aqua colored swords flying towards you once more.

Now equipped with newfound, engraved instincts that you have begun to get use to, your body- that had not tasted the ways of war and battle, danced its way around elegantly and flexibly from the skillful wrath of ice that relentlessly continued to attack you.

Despite your consciousness and having a sense of control once again, you felt another sensation, one that felt like another presence, another soul, tangled with yours, tugging at your essence, and it was most definitely the reason as to why you were moving in such a way, that continued to inflict fear and uneasiness to the Cloud Knights, and the man with the glasses whom continued to witness your dance of agility and grace against the right hand of the Arbiter General.

...

Why me...?

Imperfect.

There are many others.

...

The embodiment of failure and success.

Wh- What does that even mea—

A host of purity and defections all in one. All suited for me.

A canvas of the purest, warmest of soul, painted with absolute grief, sadness, regret, pain — yet harboring no anger, rage, hatred. A non-existent need for revenge.

Something a certain diciple of mine lacked, thus her inevitable defeat from the subjects of Akivili.

And you are mine to break and reconstruct. I can finally fathom why the Hunt had their arrows set on you.

The words gnawed your logical, racing thoughts, leaving you in a moment of disarray, visibly seen from your relentless opponent.

The Hunt... The... Reignbow Arbiter? But—

“Hhgk—!”

Tch. So flawed.

You felt another burning sensation to the left side of your waist, looking towards a deep cut that split your flesh into two from the icy blades that hailed like the rain against you, yet once again, it had begun to heal slowly, as sounds of your flesh and cells crickled, halting the young boy in his trained steps for a moment.

“What... What are y—” The young boy gets cut off.

Your gaze suddenly returns to the boy, with your left iris flickering into a golden color, replacing your original shade.

“Your demise.” The voice took over your vocals for a moment.

“N- No! you will NOT HARM ANYONE FURTHER!” You grit your teeth, holding your curled fists into each other, retraining yourself and letting the voice solely focus on avoiding further attacks.

How unpleasant.

Why do you continue to resist, child of Lan?

The sight of you... talking to yourself? No... Your voice had continued to change back and forth, only confusing him further.

Something was amiss, but the young boy and his youth couldn't fanthom the uniqueness of the situation before him, he had only one thing in his determined mind, the solution of exterminating a being that threatened the peace for the Xianzhou Luofu; You.

The boy took his stance, his flying swords once again stationed behind him, but a sudden deep voice emerges from behind him, only startling the whole battlefield in his appearance.

“Yanqing. Well done in keeping the adversary at bay.”

A commanding presence immediately intensified the trickling air of tension, only leaving sounds of sharp breaths and your continuous argument with yourself.

Hush.

Huh?

You fall into silence to its bidding, only to look around to the young boy, who was now accompanied with the famous Arbiter General, holding a glaive that had a threatening presence, along with the General himself.

“I apologies for my tardiness Mr. Yang. I had matters to tend to.” The strong presence spoke, his eyes hovering upon your naked, yet coated state, assessing the situation with an unknown gleam in his eyes.

“Where of Stelle and March?” The man with glasses walked beside him, mirroring his gaze upon the beautiful woman before their sights.

“I sent message to the High Elder Vidyadhra medic to tend to their wounds, not to worry, they will be back.” He said faced to him with a knowing smile, only causing goosebumps to your skin, he was taking in this stage you set lightly, only irritating the voice in your head slightly.

“Now... What of the contexts of this fascinating situation?” The Arbiter General's penetrating gaze returns to you, eyeing your undeniable attracting form. You were oblivious, but the voice wasn't.

Leave the premises, now.

Wha? W- Who are you to tell me what t—

The throbbing had begun once again. Their conversations sealed upon noticing your actions as your hands gripped tightly around your head, whimpering in place.

“S- Stop...”

No. If you perish, I-

...

Leave, woman.

“Is she...?” The Arbiter General looks towards the man with the glasses, his eyebrow raised slightly in speculation.

“She's... She had been at this state for more than a few minutes since earlier...” He frowned, gripping his cane, being reminded of fragments from his life that whispered evily to him.

“Who cares? Let's extinguish her presence already General!” Impatient, the young boy firmed his grasp around the hilt of his sword of ice, pointing the tip of the sharpness towards you, his sky filled eyes sending daggers to your direction with determination.

“Patience little lieutenant. One does not rush in unknown, trifling matters.” The General warns with a faint smile that doesn't reach to his eyes, and without a choice from the tone of command, the young boy's will wavers with a sigh, lowering his blade in defeat.

“P- Please, end me...”

Your words grasped the attention of the trio, while your tears began to flow, taking note of your willingness to submit in defeat.

“See?! Even—” The young boy gets cut off once more, earning a serious glare from the General that hushed him almost immediately.

“Please I-... I'm sorry for causing harm...” You continued to sob quietly, gritting your teeth while your head continued to throb mercilessly with ruthless, familiar pain.

I said leave now, and I'll cease the pain.

The Arbiter General takes a step forward, his left hand holding the body of his glaive, no words left needed to describe that despite his aloof hold around his weapon, he was more than ready for any attempt of violent assault.

NOW.

Mirroring the gesture of his, you took a step back abiding the voice's word, your glistening, heterochromic eyes lock with the readied General, only fascinating him further from your saddened, alluring gaze. Noticing your hesitancy for closeness.

“...My lady, if you escape this very moment, I will make sure that every inch of the Xianzhou Luofu will be well guarded, awaiting your presence in every corner you find yourself in to hide away from our— from my grasp.”

A silence from him ensued for a few long moments, following a faint warning smile from earlier, his gaze unwavering towards you while you weeped, assuming you aren't able to grasp his own chords.

“I- I do not... wish to harm anyo—”

“You're right my lady, I won't allow it.” He came closer, moving towards you with delicacy in his footsteps.

“ ... ”

...

...Stubborn child.

“Don't go, my lady.”

“It- It hurts... My head... General I-”

“Our High Elder Vidyadhra apothecary will assist you.” The General says firmly with undertones of softness, taking another step forward, but you remained still, weeping in silence from the continuous throbbing and regeneration of the nerves that seethed you repeatedly.

He manipulates.

S- Stop the—hhnghk... Please...

His experienced words, eons worth of vocabulary, coming into fruition, laying the power of syllables onto you. Do not—

I DON'T- I CANNOT CARE FROM THE UNBEARABLE PAIN YOU CONTINUE TO MAKE ME SUFFER IN!

A befitting punishment for your unwilling soul.

“I- I didn't mean to... General I- Hnnhk—...” Your form staggers, suffering from the internal turmoil that resumed, collapsing in place—but before you hit the floor, the sensation of warmth arrived behind your lower back and waist.

You found your crystalized golden core, your bare, coated chest pressed up against a man with command, towering and holding your suddenly weakened state that matched a situation one again in prior events.

“Jing Yuan.” He said, lowering his own golden to you, his expression, hidden with enthrall from your weakened state.

You hear the voice click its tongue.

“I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm so—”

“Hush my lady,” He said in his low, husk voice, holding your weakened body, his hand firming against the soft, coated and warming flesh of your waist, stirring a once familiar sensation that rooted in his stomach.

“General Jing Yuan—” The young boy averted his gaze with a slight flush in his cheeks. Jing Yuan had not heard him, lest deciding to tend to the injured Cloud Knights instead, grumbling under his breath.

The man with glasses came closer to the two of you, his gaze feigning ignorance on the display.

“Miss... What—” He gets cut off, both men alarmed from your sudden intense grip around his biceps, your golden, crystalized core beaming, pulsating rapidly along with your quickened breath.

A golden ray of light erupted from you surrounding you vertically in a circle, sending the light up towards the sky endlessly, alerting everyone who bore witness to the intense display.

So be it.

A powerful, echoing screech escaped your mouth, tilting your head up to the direction of the clouds that welcomed your gaze as rubbles of cement from the previous struggles of the battle began to levitate the surroundings.

”ᚷᚨᚺ ᛉᚨᚾ ᛏᚨᚲ ᚷᚨᚺ ᛉᚨᚾ ᛏᚨᛏ ᛏᚨᛏ ᛒᚱᚨᚲ”

I claim your soul, little child of the Hunt.

You will be my host, my pure, imperfection of despair.

Only I shall intertwine with you, body, mind and soul eternally.

And this mortal, blessed with the lightning guardian spirit, shall be your first prey.

3:00 PM — CLOUDFORD, XIANZHOU LUOFU

The eruption commences.

how ironic, this fic being my first successful hsr fic ended up being the reason why i got my ppl pleasing tendencies back pfft. anyways, reblogs help my audience reach, thank you!

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amyriadofleaves · 10 months ago

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outside it starts to pour — neuvillette | chapter thirteen

synopsis: in the limelight of fontaine, the prying eyes of its people never truly tears their gaze off the iudex and you, the présidence du conseil d'état, which makes for baseless rumours to fester and echo throughout the theatrics of opera. you and neuvillette are challenged by the reputations the both of you are expected to uphold, and the weighty decision to navigate these intricacies rests upon the discerning judgement of fontaine's archon.

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ao3 : wattpad ˚　.˚　　

⌗ pairing : neuvillette x fem!reader ⌗ feat : neuvillette, reader, furina ⌗ warnings : BLOOD. lots of it. inflicted trauma (both mentally and physically I fear...) ⌗ word count: 5.8K

Neuvillette watches you disappear around the bend to your residence, your stride as unmoving as ever. Were it within his power, he would’ve accompanied you to your very doorstep for no more of the lurking dangers that had come to bite your blind spot: a robber, perhaps, or perhaps your door had rendered itself faulty. Yet, in truth, despite his pitiful ignorance in denying that it was merely an excuse, every fibre of his being itched with the desire to see you — even if it meant for only a second longer.

Lady Furina once teased that without you in his presence, he resembled a lost, weeping dog without its master; and at the time, such a bold claim seemed borderline preposterous when made against The Most Impartial Man to Grace Teyvat. Yet, now, with no one but you running circles in his lawyering mind, he thinks Furina wasn’t so wrong.

What had you done that had the conservative faction onto your every bone? He dwelled upon the thought amidst the expected strain of your silence in the coach; and when you left, his chest swelled inexplicably of something he could scarcely articulate — something that evoked fear and a second thing; something the fine workings of his brain and the candid nature of his tongue are much too afraid to admit. Because he had spent the greater part of this year saying that he loved, and loved, and loved you — yet always with a measure of restraint.

Because no person in the world can fathom, let alone bear, the burden of calling the woman who hates them their lover — and yet, there Neuvillette is, with his heart laid bare on his sleeve, yet hopelessly unable to lift the cloth off it — because God forbid he breaks his word; and the Iudex never breaks his word. Not unless it’s for you.

Cut to his blood. Let it spill. And only then will they see how every cell of his body spells your name, into every corner, every crevice the reddish wine of life wishes to touch.

He never questioned why you hated him so much. Many people despise him, wish to have him burnt at the stake. But he had come to accept this bitter truth long — but that was before; before he caught the glint in your eye whenever you smiled — however fake or real. And that was when his heart caved in on itself, to make room for one extra person, despite how difficult you were, and still are.

A pit settles in his stomach, and he cannot help but wonder if whatever it is that is ailing him derives itself from himself, or from you — because if it were from you —

“Uhm, Monsieur? Where to?” The coachman has his elbow resting against his own headrest by the sheer effort of him attempting to grab Neuvillette’s attention — and that he does — just, with a little bit of difficulty involved.

Neuvillette’s blinks, slightly shaking his head to stir him back to reality.

If anything was to take his mind off things, it would be work. So, with a resolute sigh, he gathers himself and straightens his tie along with his posture.

“Ah, right. The Palais Mermonia, please.” He says this with a sort of modest dip of the head, possibly in shame, but more likely because he almost feels as if caught, subpoenaed into telling the world what he had just thought about.

He settles back against the cushioned seat, the moonlight making the blue accents of both cloth and body only fade into a natural monochrome. As the coach rumbles along, he thinks of you.

Archons save you, because whatever it is, you aren’t making a safe trip to your doorstep.

You try to disregard the echo of the footsteps mirroring your own— but from what happened earlier today, you can’t say you aren’t at least a little on your toes. A brief scrape of the wheels of the coach against the tarmac makes its final note within your vicinity before fading into the void of silence, and you mutter a prayer, however severed your belief is with the Heavens above, for someone to come save you.

Trepidation rumbles through your veins like the bass of a drum, and it rings through your already pounding head, making you a puppet to fear’s instrument. A mild shake to your head only presses the incorporeal needle deeper into your head. In an attempt to divert the discomfort, you rub your temples profusely. But, your efforts are relayed out to you in vain as you falter in your steps.

You hear a split second delay of the mimicker; and this time the step resounds a metre closer than a minute ago. Panic drives you through the streets. Reaching for the dagger up the garter wrapped around your torso, the polished sheen of the blade gleaming in the light. You hold it aloft, meeting the tight knit of your eyes in its reflection, every feature bending into every curve of the metal; but you also catch the ominous smirk of a hooded man from behind you.

Your blood runs cold. The sole of your heels rest in discomfort against the merciless cold of cement below your feet. You come to an unideal outcome: this is a do or die situation, and dignity be damned if you don’t at least leave with claw marks. You inhale sharply, the stinging tang of the winter air cool against the violent heat of your skin.

“If you’re here just ‘cause you were sent by Monsieur Moreau, I’d suggest you return to your quarters,” you start, steeling your heels into the cement of Fontainian soil. “and tell him to kill me himself.”

A rustle of cloth ripples through the wall of dull citylife, and you almost instinctively make a turn to confirm your statement — but you realise with horror that this isn’t some assassin sent by your father.

The man ruptures into hysterical, maniacal laughter. “You won’t have to do all that work, Birdie.”

His mania only ticks at your stuttered stride. You stumble to make up for the blunder, working your pace (your beauty sleep is forgotten, and you’ve long gone walked past your apartment complex). “After twenty-five years, this is how you ask for forgiveness?”

“I am not here to ask for forgiveness. I’m here to take you out myself.”

You whirl, making a move to slash at the arm blanketed by the veil of black he wears. “Couldn’t do that the first time?”

He groans, clutching at his forearm before feeling at the warmth of the liquid between his fingers. The heart encased behind your ribs threatens to break, and your fear only spikes when that look you’ve grown to know washes over his dead, dry eyes. “Still afraid to hurt me, aren’t you?”

“Oh, I’m far from afraid.”

He reaches for his own blade, and though you had gone years without seeing him, you cannot help but feel a pitiful tug of hurt in your chest. The chill of steel grazes that very spot, and you instinctively wrap your fingers around it to give yourself space between yourself and your possible cause of murder. “I don’t know, why don’t you tell me?”

You respond with you slicing his side, and he hisses — the sound of it honey to your ears. A trance washes over you in your indulgence of watching the man who terrorised you suffer, and as he stumbles backwards, the blade leaves with it.

A grunt of effort sounds from him and he reaches to slice your neck. A slight tilt of the head mitigates the blow to your right cheek, blooming in a clean line of crimson. In your haze, you are blinded with bloodlust, mindlessly throwing blows before your wrist is caught in his stronger, firmer hold — and this is where your dread festers.

Your mind flashes in a frenzy of this specific scenario, where your father throws you on the ground and places a prop sword to your abdomen — but the weapon curled around his hand is not a prop sword, and you aren’t five anymore.

The only lifeline you had slips from your hold, clinking against the floor. There’s no time, and there’s certainly no room to dwell on your weapon; because you are about to get stabbed, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Rebellious hands meet malicious ones, and you are doing everything in your power to pry the blade away from meeting your stomach.

And this is where you make your mistake.

Your diversion from left to right gives your father the perfect leeway to slam down with no force upwards — and you only realise this when your grip loosens and metal digs into your skin.

A guttural scream escapes from the very depths of your throat. When you feel the meticulous handiwork of dissolved thread rip from either side, a panicked sob threatens to leave your lips before a hand slams onto your mouth, muffling your every sound.

I keep getting distracted, you think, the wound Clorinde inflicted on you spilling open in memories and sputtering crimson.

Perfectly slicing the scar he dealt you in your teen years, you’re certain he’s out for more than just blood. He’s out to annihilate you — to silence you; for what can be uttered by a corpse?

It isn’t a lethal spot to stab, but, in some way — it is. Why would he stab through the crevice of your right rib, the one that your mother sacrificed in all the superiority of man? Some part of you hoped with a childlike wonder, that your relationship as father and daughter would bring him to relent, to feel remorse for murdering your mother.

But you realise he had done the same to you as he had done to her. He was just as cruel, and just as unfeeling.

Your mind flickers to Neuvillette, your accusation of his lack of emotion a droplet of water in the ocean compared to this absolute villain of a man standing over you,

Your eyes meet your father’s, and you feel like a rabid dog: helpless, violent, and a loser all the same.

Despite it all, he smiles, the corners of his lips dripping with malice and apathy, the look you’d come to face in all your worst dreams. “You really are like your mother. Weak, a pushover, unable to stop when the possibility presents itself.”

Your eye twitches, and you wrench his hand away from his hold on your face. Blood spills from your busted lips, and it sputters at your attempts to speak. You let out a desperate grunt of effort, finally getting out what you think might be your final words. “S—sounds a lot like you’re talking about yourself.”

He flinches at your words, the leer once etched onto his face a faulty circuit. “How dare you,” he snarls, tightening his grip on the blade. Blame it on your delirium, but it is almost as it wrings the blood on the steel, causing it to seep further into the fabric of your blouse (despite how desperately the cloth of your shirt clings to your skin, it seems to drink in the pour of blood as if parched). “You ungrateful, stubborn girl — you know nothing of power.”

Bravado. One would view your father to be a composed, successful man; but you are his daughter, no matter how much it pains you to admit it — and so you can see the cracks (bravado) in his facade just as easily as you can put up yours. One would see a broken man. You just see evil brimming in flames through the cracks of his skin.

“I know… I know enough,” you manage, voice barely clawing above a whisper. “And I know power just as much as you know selfishness.”

He winces, pulling the blade back as if to strike once more, but for once, you are quicker. With a surge of adrenaline, you ball your left hand to reduce the strain on your right, and relish in the momentary satisfaction the crack of bone brings as your fist meets his chin.

Your father staggers back as if drunk, and you squint at the notice of him diverting the direction of his heels, almost admitting defeat, admitting his plan of escape. Foolish; he had never changed his ways — mostly because you never told him that his cowardice always stayed with him. Because he always left.

Your blade is but a few steps away from you, and so you wriggle your arm with a sort of hastiness you never thought you had. It almost seems to increase in distance the more you reach for it, the sheen of the curved dagger dulling in tandem with your effort. With your eyelids shut in an attempt to regain some semblance of strength, your fingers finally brush against metal, and you grasp it with a disregard for your grip around the sharp edge.

You look up, and panic. Managing another blow to his ankle, a shard of ice manifests from your hand. Aimed at his Achilles heel, you shut your left eye. The shard veers off course, slicing just shy of its mark. Shit. His scream of agony resounds like an orchestra in your ears.

Taking advantage of his disorientation, you clutch at the wound, chewing on your lip to muffle the screams that threaten to burst uncontrollably from the very depths of your throat. Pain ripples through every ounce of your being, but you force yourself to stand, weighing on your left heel.

The chill of more unforgiving ice shoots from the tips of your fingers, wrapping snuggly around the ankles of the man who shoots you an indiscernible stare. Sometimes I forget I can do that, you think, loitering around the cool glow of blue around your waist. He’s backed against a wall, legs frozen into the ground, and there’s no where he can run to.

“You underestimate me, Father,” you grit, bringing your blade to his neck, the anxious pounding of his heart made obvious by a tense vein acting as a metronome of his unadmitted fear. “I am not my mother. And I certainly am not you.I’ve worked my way up the ranks fair and square.”

The unbothered facade doesn’t hold up as well as you’d like, and a quiver leaves your lips.

His glare reflects back into your own, and instead of a witty remark, he only scoffs. “Fair and square? Watch your mouth,” he tuts, shaking his head in disbelief. “Madame Lavigne. Willingly giving up the House of Moreau for nobodies like the Lavignes. And the Neuvillette name!”

“At least my mother died a death of honour,” you mumble, seething with blinding rage, that, under the blanket of irrationality, tells you her death was not of honour. It was of humiliation.

To be cursed wealth and to raise a child birthed out of wedlock — that is a legacy of no worth.

To claw at the decadent marble floors stained by a person in which carries himself with the arrogance of man, the sinful coin of those left bloodied under the heel of his boots, is degrading in its whole entirety.

A cruel, spiteful quirk of his lip morphs the wrinkles of his skin into a wicked mocking of his age, and he shivers with rage. “And you think you will?”

The blade at his neck falters, and so does your will. Blood trickles down your face, and even more down your legs, burgundy reveries tracing their course down to the very pads of your heel. “If that’s the question you choose to ask, I don’t think you know me at all.”

He tips his head back (as if he could go any further, given the distance between his skull and the wall), letting the blood drip in the absence of a dagger. “I think I do.” “P — prove it.” Your vision falters for a sudden, lurching moment, and you find yourself digging your feet deeper into the grooves of the city tarmac.

“Kill me then,” he commands, the authority of conman and a father blurred in the dim light of night.

“You’re making me prove I know you well enough,” Your voice lilts. “That is not what I asked.”

He persists, voice now a constant demand echoing amongst the other phantoms of the same voice, except this time, his tangible voice. “Stupid girl. Kill me.”

You should know that your father is the last person to do what you ask — but can you blame yourself? That’s all you’ve ever wished for. All you’ve ever prayed for.

(but could you call it a prayer? another, more foolish version of you sounds. it says: a prayer is whatever you say on your knees.)

With all the strength you have left, you press deeper into his skin, until you feel it give way with a pool of blood. Another push, and he’d be dead. Perhaps you’d be, too. Killing him won’t stop your own bleeding.

The teeth that anchor your tortured gasps give way to an unbidden dam of tears, each sob a betrayal of your own will. It flows — the pain — in salty rivulets, ebbing in silent streams down your bloodied cheeks. Why do you show sadness in the face of a man that just so happened to be the cause behind your own assassination? To this, you have no answer.

His expression sours into that of a grimace. “You’re weak,” is what he chokes out, gulping for air to spit out more words you think will haunt you for all the days you are blessed (cursed) to live.

“You disappoint me.”

It’s childish — how you awaited the next words with the manner of your old habit: rehearsing his lines in your head. You always find that they’re not quite what you expected.

And in that moment, your realisation comes in grim, gnawing waves. The two of you have come to an agreement; and for this you are somewhat bitterly grateful.

You would never kill your father.

This does not mean you aren’t entitled to feel rage. Rage for what he had just done to you. Rage for what he did.

Archons, you’re struggling to stand because he just drove a blade through your stomach.

And so you give him one last warning by wrenching the dagger out of your abdomen and mirroring the action to his kidney.

His scream is no longer an indulgence, but an overdose. Your mouth parts to shoot another jab, but you find you have nothing else to say. This does not stop you from searching his eyes for an answer, and within their depths, you find everything you need.

Your knees threaten to buckle, but you make yourself a promise not to show yourself weaker than you already are. Sliding with the tips of your toes, your mind springs to make a choice. You aren’t bothered enough to turn and have your father watch you return to your house. Clorinde lives too far off the city walls.

There is only one person you can think of. And with a thawing, yet stiff heart, you pick the kindest of the three evils.

It is safe to conclude that the Iudex of Fontaine has found himself mired in more distress than revelation on Lucien Moreau.

Moreau’s reputation in society is nothing short of a good, upstanding citizen — a man shooting his way up the ranks through very legitimate means. According to accounts, his dealings in business are only transacted through honest income — his wealth easily to link — traced back from esteemed family fortunes and heirlooms. The house of Moreau has always been in favour of the public.

Every document on Moreau’s particulars state the same thing: businessman; trader on occasion; wealthy by inheritance. Businessman, trader on occasion, wealthy by inheritance. All sixteen syllables of those words recur in an agonising mantra as he pores further into the records — because how can Neuvillette ever hope to protect you if there’s nothing incriminating on him?

He’s simply a man who specialises in exports.

The Iudex’s frustration can only mount as his fingers rake in a dance through his already mussed hair. Searching relentlessly for inconsistencies, he finds nothing but a man poised to perfection. But Neuvillette, the Ordainer of Justice, should know full well that no man is perfect. Not even him.

From trade logs to financial statements, connections, he finds his search fruitless.

So Neuvillette comes to a conclusion: he is not to achieve anything driven in such a state of lassitude. He draws in a sharp breath, slips the documents into a file, places it to the top of the stack of cases, and leaves.

He adjusts his hair at the foot of the office door, and realises that he is the only source of sound in the whole of the Palais. The tips of his ears suggest a sharper edge to his hearing, and though it’s somewhat true, he wonders if this is where his age comes to attack his senses. A little birdie would suggest the eerie quiet of the night is a much more unsettling endeavour than one of crickets. Although Neuvillette is not one for superstition, he still takes this thought into consideration as he tugs his glove further up his sleeve, briefly recalling your anthology of fallacy perched on one of your shelves.

A creak sounds from one of the hinges, and his eyes draw into slits, as if to hear better. How awfully peculiar, he thinks; his hands aren’t anywhere near the knob.

Another creak comes to manifest in the door’s screws, and another, and another, until it gives way under the weak weight of whatever’s on the other end. He fully expects a bull to come barreling through, but he sees… you?

What a sight. You’ve come to crawl to sit against the doorframe for support, clutching tightly around the small of your waist. The blazer you’d worn earlier today is nowhere to be found, leaving you in nothing but a soaked dress shirt clinging onto every morsel of your skin — and pants, of course. Bloodied and bruised, your lips twitch into a dazed smile.

“Hey.”

“Mon — [Name], who did this to you?” His first instinct is to pull you up and bring you to the couch, but judging from your state, it would be far more agonising than if you were to just lay where you are.

With the back of your palm, you wipe the crimson staining the corners of your mouth. “What does it matter? I would still bleed if you knew.”

Neuvillette squats down to level his gaze to yours, before his attention dips to the blood seeping from a gash from your side. Against his accord, he winces.

A breathless chuckle escapes through the gaps in your teeth. “That bad?”

“No, no, not at all. Let me help you,” he says, watching the way your head tips, almost submitting to the loss of blood. In a frenzy, he reaches out to cup your face, tapping your cheek to stir your eyes open. “Whatever you do, do not close your eyes, not now.”

Your forehead crinkles in distaste, but you force yourself awake anyway. He reaches underneath you, touch feathering lightly around your figure. “No — I’ll — I’ll stain your robes,” you deny, muttering helplessly, clenching your fingers around his arm.

Does she not recall I’ve had another robe made after I gifted her my own? he frowns, a pinch amused at the thought.

“Then let it stain my robes,” he assures, throat bobbing in boyish anticipation. Your head struggles under the effort of you nodding, and so he wastes no time in scooping you up, the warmth of your beading blood soaking through his clothes.

(He thinks he’s just been cleansed with the ichor of a goddess, but surely the impartial Judge Neuvillette mustn't say such things, lest the Archons realise where his heart truly lies. Blasphemy! he thinks they shout.)

Your lids threaten to fall under the weight of exasperation, and so, with a light poke to your temple, you are disturbed by Neuvillette’s act of keeping you awake. The groan that grows to morph into a whimper brings the Iudex to stutter in his tracks; what should he do? Should he cool you down?

He comes to a drawing conclusion that it would be best to set you down on the leather couch before choosing his next course of action. With all softness, he cups the back of your head, slowly laying you down. His soaked hands abandon their hold on you, and given your lapse in judgement, you shudder at the loss of warmth.

Neuvillette pretends to not notice it.

He turns his back to you, rummaging through his drawer, his hands coming away with a cluster of gauze. Multiple things slip from his shaking grip, and it takes an idiot to realise why: he is panicking, afraid (and for the first time in his life, a solid verdict cannot dictate how to heal his injured wife).Reaching for more, the cadence of an angel commands him to stop.

“Neuv… Neuvillette,” you sigh, eyes clenched tight in light of your bleeding. If he hadn’t known any better, he would’ve turned as fast as the words leaving your lips.

Orpheus had fallen victim to it with Eurydice, and Neuvillette had once doubted his integrity. In all renditions, Orpheus turns because her silence has driven him mad; he turns because he thinks they have triumphed; he turns on instinct at the sound of her stumble.

For if all it would’ve taken was for him to resist that backward glance, why did he falter?

But now he knows why. And he hates that he does.

“I know, [Name]. It will be alright.”

You let out another noise, and this time it’s an agonising scream that tears the very bases of your diaphragm.

You certainly are no Eurydice, and he certainly isn’t Orpheus.

And regardless, he turns.

He rushes, but he feels that his pace is sluggish, comically slow. Your hand is in his before you can even blink, but nothing beats the feeling of your father's blade embedded in you like some sort of morbid heirloom. This is one battle scar you wish not to put on display.

Neuvillette makes space for himself on the couch, his focus trailing down the streams of blood that begin to crack as they dry. He resorts to another solution, but for whatever reason, he thinks you wouldn’t be partial to it.

“I can meld this wound shut, but I must ask you to steel yourself of the pain. Do you believe you could endure it?” He searches your pained, constricted look for a response, and believes he finds one.

With desperate eyes, you nod. However hard you try to avoid his look, it still bores into you, almost relentlessly.

“Just — hold onto me should the pain become too much to bear.” He still has a layer of cloth to get through, and he fears you wouldn’t like it. So he asks. “May I — ahem — undo your…”

“Archons, just do whatever you have to do.” Noted. Extreme cases of duress do not appear to shut your brattish tongue.

He works gently at the buttons of your dress shirt, prying the cloth apart to reveal an absolutely gnarly sight of grime. Looking past the blooming bruise around the perimeter, he places one hand around the curve of your waist to steady his other hand, which glows, almost neon in the light.

Pinching the fingers of his right hand together, he mimics the thread of a stitch through your skin; and as he diverts his eyes, he still sees you, brimming with something more than hurt. Lady Furina once corrected him — said that hurt was not anguish.

Anguish. What a strange word for such a strange feeling.

He strains his hand that hovers over your abdomen, and you bite into your palm to muffle your cries. Neuvillette’s eyes flit to you just in time to catch your act of fruitless respite — and without his usual calculations, he offers his hand, beginning to trip over his own words as if he’s never spoken before.

“Uhm. Here, you can squeeze here.”

If things were any different, he would’ve smiled the moment you registered the lack of sophistication in his diction (well, he thinks you do; but that’s enough for him). However, things are the same, and instead, he’s drowning in the tenderness of your agony. A playfulness buried under the need for survival.

To his surprise, you reach for his wrist — causing him to almost lose his focus, and it’s already showing! The blue glow emanating from his right dims immediately ever so slightly at the little distraction: you.

Just before the skin’s fully stretched taut and the wound is melded closed, you let another grunt of pain.

“Did I do something?” Neuvillette asks, a little too frantic — even to his liking.

You squeeze harder on his wrist. “I think my fa— assailant poisoned the blade.”

“Do not worry. I may not be Sigewinne, but I know how to work my way around poison.”

Your chest rises in a short-lived sweetness of a laugh before you shrink back again, grimacing in pain. “I sure would hope you do.”

“Alright, I hereby suspend any further laughing for the foreseeable future,” he chastises, albeit a little playfully. He does not recognise the twist in his chest that begins unravelling at the sight of you loosened up under some sort of anaesthetic of induced delirium.

You are sound asleep, and as far as he knows, this is the most peaceful he has seen you; other than when you were passed out in your office. Similar circumstances, different couch. You sure do love your couches.

He hadn’t moved one bit, subjecting himself to a most unpleasant position on the leather seat. Given the limited legroom, he’d considered bringing you to one of the guest rooms, but he didn’t intend on disturbing your slumber, either.

Given the way you’re frozen stiff, he assumes you haven’t had rest like this in weeks. He takes meticulous steps in cleaning the blood from your cheek, and even more scrupulous effort at the tear of your lip, curved in a perpetual frown. He worries if he hurts you, even in slumber.

God, even leaving his office to search for antiseptic ailed him to the point where he constantly looked to see if you were fine. He worried to wake you even when the cotton pads reached to clean the blood underneath your fingernails, the dried tears that never fell from the cliff of your eyebags.

He lets the wads of cotton pile in the corner of the couch, scooting closer to get a clearer view of your face. Even dirtied, your skin glows like porcelain in the dim light — and he doesn’t even realise what he’s doing until you shift your sleep.

Neuvillette, Chief Justice of Fontaine, does not know the truth of power ballads and poems. He does not know how to reenact what mortals love to speak of. Somehow, he manages to find all his answers in you.

He just doesn’t know if you find the answers in him.

Rain stirs from the outside, pattering violent drums against the windows, before eventually reaching into the confines of Neuvillette’s heart and ripping them open. To the naked eye, he is just tending to a wound. To the trained eye, he hopes they see a man tending to a wound.

Leaning closer to wipe the fresh blood that begins to bloom once again, he moves to the slope of your nose, then to your brow, and further, and further upwards. His lips threaten to meet the temple of your face, exigent, brimming with want. Neuvillette has never learnt how to want.

Before he can draw any closer, your eyes flutter open, and he frantically acts as though he’s in the midst of cleaning your face (he briefly argues that kissing is an act of sanitisation, though he knows full well he’s conning himself).

Your glassy gaze peeks through your lashes, meeting Neuvillette’s stare in a solemn greeting.

What does one say to someone who has awoken in the early hours, just shy of midnight? Good morning? Good night? Whatever the dilemma is, it washes away at the sound of your voice breaking the wall of silence. “It’s okay. Go on, do what you were going to do.”

“I was merely tending to your injuries.”

“You know what I mean.”

Is there anything in the Fontainian Legal Codex that states anything of a divorce prompted by terrible romantic advancements? Because if there isn’t, he might be the sole inspiration for a new addition to a five-century-old book of law.

Your lips thin in drowsy impatience before bringing a hand to delicately trace his chin, guiding him to you with the touch of what one might mistake for a divine atlas. It’s soft beneath your calloused palm, almost reverent, the act of navigating the map etched in the fine lines of your skin a fervent current.

It is sweet, almost. Doing what is encouraged, but what is also prohibited — your own rules broken by a sick hand. Your sick hand. You are supposed to be strong, firm. But firm be damned if this is the only time you can indulge in regretful desires before your father kills you — properly this time.

Neuvillette’s lips against yours is a gentle war, the first touch of dawn, strings of sun prodding you awake.

He feels you lean forward for more, but he presses you down, afraid of hurting you any further. Desire is an odd, odd thing. Why the tug at heart? Some part of him tells him it’s simply guilt. But emotions aren’t simple.

You are the first to pull away, but not enough to rid yourself of him.

“I couldn’t help it. I’m sorry if I confuse you. I am confused myself.” What you really think of is the begrudging mercy of your blade, the one set to slit the throat of your own blood. But you are weak, you tell yourself, succumbing to the horror of your father’s prophecy. For you truly are frail, and that front you put up won’t hold forever.

He, however torturous, manages to make space between the two of you. However far he searches, he finds no semblance of culpability. That’s what makes it wrong. Impartial as he may be, he has just erred in judgement, but he thinks it’s okay. That it’s justifiable.

But is love justifiable in the face of court?

a/n: aaa KISS KISS KISS ive been dying to write this chapter for a while!! I thought it would be best to write the majority of the chapter in neuvillette's pov to really build it… I thought it'd be nice to explicitly talk about reader's impulsiveness and fluctuating moods. and I think we know where she gets it from ermmm mm m please lmk what u think of this chapter n and feel free to write your predictions hehe

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