#she probably does have a change of heart eventually too

[parfaitblogs]

'tis the damn season ❀ s. reid x reader

in which christmas is the season to crawl back into your ex's life, and you accidentally do so one drunken night. 

pairing: ex!spencer reid x fem!reader genre: flangst tags: still in love exes. alcohol consumption. (sleepy) drunk reader. spencer reid's fear of dementia. word count: 1.3k a/n: obligatory do not contact your exes this holiday season. just fantasise about doing it to spencer reid. it’s opening night for my play so!! here is this while i go off to do that!!! :D

❄︎ advent calendar masterlist

Fourteen missed calls.

Spencer Reid had fourteen missed calls, from a number he did not have saved, but could recognise despite the months that have passed and the seasons that have changed. 

Why did he have fourteen missed calls?

Christmas was always an awful time for him. The striking reminder that he was alone in a big city, for his mother does not remember him this year, his father does not exist in his life, and his friends have families of their own. 

And then there was you. Oh God, there was you. 

He thinks even when he grows old and his brain begins to delete files from his expansive memory, you will stick around forever. He thinks he is physically incapable of forgetting you, even if he tried. Sickeningly so. 

Shaking hands answer the sixteenth call before it can ring through, having watched the fifteenth come and go. He was met with a lot of silence, and he had to question if he even had picked up the call. 

But yes, you were there. Quietly. Breathing into the phone, perhaps surprised by the fact that he had actually answered. Or maybe this wasn't you. Maybe you had changed your number, or gotten your phone stolen, or—

"Spencer?"

If anything were to pierce the silence in his apartment, it might be the shattering of his heart as he listens to you speak his name for the first time in thirteen months. Your voice was so familiar, yet so different, too. You had thirteen months of growth, and yet you sound the same as you had the day he first met you.

"Hey," he finally breathes out, and he hears you shakily exhale. 

"Can you open your door? S'really cold out here."

He freezes. The causality in your tone tells him there's something else motivating your random reappearance in his life, followed closely by the faintest hint of a slur in your words. 

Oh.

He heads to his door, and sure enough, on the other side of it, stands you, in something borderline ridiculous for the December weather. No wonder you were freezing. 

"What're you—why're you—come in—it's freezing," he stammers out, eventually deciding on stepping to the side to let you into his warmer apartment, the visible relaxation of your shoulders providing some comfort to him in light of your state. 

"Your hair," you say, eyes wide as he coaxes you inside and to his kitchen countertop. His fingertips probably burn holes through the fabric of your dress as he guides you. 

"My hair," he replies, and though it isn't posed as a question, he is confused. 

"It's longer," you clarify for him. "I like it."

He provides a weak smile. "Thank you. Are you cold?"

"Not anymore," you shake your head, finding a seat at his island, folding yourself in half over the edge of it, resting your head on the marble. "Your apartment's warm."

He nods his head, walking around to the other side of it, using his hands to lift your head back up. "Don't fall asleep."

"'m not," you mumble in response, though your head growing heavier and lolling into his left palm claimed otherwise. 

"Liar," he muses, and you huff, quietly, but force your eyes open regardless. He ignores the heavy feeling in his chest when the two of you lock eyes. "There she is. Why're you here?"

"I dunno, actually," you say, and his heart sinks. "My friends put me in a taxi an hour ago. Or two hours. I don't really remember," he presumes one hour — you were still so drunk. "And I asked him to drive me around. He said okay, but he needed a final destination too. I guess I gave him your address."

"Why?"

"Habit, maybe," you murmur.

"It's habit to take a taxi back to my apartment?" 

You shrug your shoulders. "'Cause I used to. Back when..."

We were still together, hangs off the end of your sentence. 

"Christmas party?" he then asks you, and your head nods against his palm. 

"For work," you end the word with a yawn. "I wanted to Merry Christmas my way back into your life, I guess."

He knew it was your lowered inhibitions spilling these details out to him, and he should pretend you aren't saying things like this for your own benefit. But he also couldn't stop the visceral reaction he has towards your admission of wanting to reenter his life. 

"You shouldn't," he replies. 

You pause, searching his face all too intently. "D'you not want me to?"

It's a loaded question, and he knows the response he wants to say is vastly different to the response he should say. But you're staring at him, albeit inebriated, and he has nothing left to do but curse his impeccable memory for reminding him of everything he hasn't had for thirteen months. He misses you. 

"I don't want you to do something you regret," he settles on saying. 

"Well, 'm already here," you mumble, and his hands soften on your cheeks, before he slips them away. 

"Yes. You are," he nods, standing up straighter. "Do you have a way home?"

"Um, Uber, I guess."

"It's too late and you're too drunk for an Uber alone," he disapproves. 

"I took a Taxi here alone—"

"—I'm not letting you go home — alone —from my apartment in your state," he counters immediately. "I don't really care how you got here."

You relent quite easily though, murmuring a quiet, "Okay," that shocks him. 

"Do you want to shower?"

You nod, your feet slipping from the stool and landing on the floor. He's moving back around to you to help the second he watches your hands brace on the edge of the countertop, an arm looping around your waist that makes your stomach swim. 

"I can walk, y'know."

"Uh-huh," he doesn't believe you fully, and you don't have it in you to fight with him as he leads you to an all too familiar bathroom. As he sits you down on his toilet lid, he says, "Stay there. I'll get you some clothes."

"Yes, Doc."

His cheeks puff as he expels a sigh at the nickname, shaking his head as he disappears back into his bedroom. 

By the time he's returned, your eyes are fluttered shut, your head sitting probably uncomfortably against the wall next to his toilet. But your chest is moving evenly enough for him to conclude that you had fallen asleep that quickly, and he didn't have the heart to wake you back up. He'll take your frustration in the morning.

You barely stir as he carries you into his room again. Instead, he swears you curl further into his bedsheets the second he places you down on his mattress. 

"Spence?"

He's barely two footsteps towards his door when you speak again, and his heart shatters. He turns over his shoulder, and though you're speaking, your eyes are barely cracked open. 

"Where're you goin'?"

"The couch," he says, confused by the frown that tugs your lips down. "What?"

"Come back. This is your bed."

"It is," he nods. "But you're in it."

"'m not gonna bite," you say, your hands weakly stretching out towards him.

He takes a few beats to determine whether or not he'd take up your offer. But he is too weak of a man to not give in, and he doesn't know if he'll ever get you in his bed again. So, he sighs, and begrudgingly climbs back into his bed next to you.

"Hey," he turns his head, a question dancing on his tongue. But when he finds you again, you're fast asleep once more. Habitually, as if it hadn't been thirteen months, he brushes the hair that had fallen out of your face, and he smiles.

And, to no one in particular, he murmurs, "I'm glad you Merry Christmas'd your way back into my life."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[sqgeism]

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ 𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝 | mark grayson x gender neutral reader

love mail — mentions of S3 plot but no real spoilers. ι(｀ロ´)ノ mark grayson you will be famous !!!!!! hiii guuuuyyss... i know i said hsr but please watch invincible i swear it's peak.. also i might go thru a layout change again, forgive meeee o(T□T)o

there's not a life out there more suited for mark than this very moment.

in his bed lies his lover — oh, his lover. how he loves you, the way your hair almost perfectly sprawls itself all over his pillows, how peaceful you look at this very moment, and the fact that you even chose to date him at all. you're perfect in his eyes; no one could compare.

though, there was another person he loved. just as much as he loved you, which seemed impossible — yet it was true.

and there he was, cradling your little sister in his arms, soothing her nightmares as he cooed soft words of comfort. his voice was a sweet — saccharine — presence in the looming night as she cried in his arms.

"you're okay," mark says in hushed whispers. he's afraid his heart is about to burst hearing the saddened cries of his (yes, he's practically adopted your sister as his daughter) cranky baby. "papa's right here. don't worry."

this life was too perfect. he once believed he'd never find an escape from the hurt he faced, and here he was, unbelievably happy — with the love of his life and a 'baby girl.' (he wants to be a girl dad; is that such a crime?)

mark wants to tear up, but he stays strong. after all, he doesn't want to wake you to comfort two people.

but a life so perfect only exists in one universe — and mark has always been a little selfish.

when his variants invaded his earth, it didn't take long for them to wipe out half the population. it didn't take them long, to mark's dismay, to find you. he swore you'd be safe if you hid, and for a while, you and your baby survived the chaos. but the moment the steel door you locked yourself behind, that the isolation was too peaceful, you knew it was over.

you tremble at the all-too-familiar sight. it was mark — your boyfriend, the man you planned a future with and were in the process of living it. but his suit was different. the look in his eyes... was not one of love. perhaps he thought it was. after all, when you find out that your shithead alternate universe counterpart is happy, when you've torn your own world to pieces trying to search for such euphoria, who wouldn't be a little curious to find out what it's like?

"stop—" you gasp, clutching your barely three-year-old little sister in your arms, her head against your shoulder as you softly press her head further into you. she shouldn't have to watch her demise — or who exactly it is in the hands of.

this was terrifying. your mark, for all his strength, would never dream of hurting another person unless absolutely necessary. but here he technically was, covered in so... so much blood. you fight the urge to throw up as small bits and pieces of human remains are stuck against the dried crimson that stains his suit and body.

"when that big-headed idiot told me that the mark here had a loving family, a lover... a child... i couldn't believe it."

mark walks slowly, intentionally, almost methodically towards you. your breaths are shaky, and you can feel your little sister start to fuss after being held in the same position for so long. "please—" you plead, shutting your eyes as you hope for the death to simply be quick. you don't want to feel the life seeping from your very body or watch what he does to your little world. just let it be quick enough that your mark won't know it's your bodies that he'll eventually find.

but even as you know he's right in front of you, there's nothing — just the sound of your sister's fussy cries and the shaking of the ground as the mark variant you were so afraid of falls to his knees, as if defeated.

now you were confused. what kind of maniac crumbles to his feet after he's destroyed cities, probably his own planet, his own family? you didn't know, and to be quite frank, you weren't going to question him. you were still alive, and you just hoped mark wasn't going to snap your neck. "mark..?" the call of his name seemingly falls on deaf ears, as hands that killed thousands reach for your sister, and all you can do is watch. it's futile to run—you've accepted it. so you let him... even if every inch of your body screams at you for doing so.

his crimson red fingertips are delicate, holding her head to support it, and he presses her close to his chest. the world is quiet for once — no screaming, no explosions — just the sound of fire crackling outside and the cries of a baby turning into happy coos. she doesn't know it isn't him, her 'papa,' but it looks like him. for all the damage that he did, that changed him physically and emotionally, she still thinks it's her mark. "she's so..." the gentleness in his tone surprises you, and you hate how your heart aches at that. you want your mark, not any other, but this one is here, and you can't help it. "..perfect. i... i can't believe it."

that ache for a normal life, even in universes where mark is evil, never really goes away. it follows him, like a shadow — something he can't escape. so to think... after meeting so many variants who have lost everything — there's one who made it...

mark allows himself to be greedy. again, and again, he will take.

you can barely get a word in before you're taken into the air, unable to process what's going on until your feet are no longer on the ground and arms are wrapped protectively around you and your little sister.

when the invincibles came to your earth, you always assumed that they had killed their versions of you... or at least, lovers they had in their lives. perhaps the cause of their sanity was the cruelty of their universes. with no one to lean on, they had simply lost it all.

but it had never occurred to you that the possibility was that you simply never existed in such universes. that the invincibles — particularly the one kidnapping you right now — simply did what he had to, to have you. after all, a man's selfish greed will one day precede him.

[hexhomos]

little random but i really appreciate your dissections and analysis of Mel mainly bc the fandom either adore her and won't admit she is a flawed character and get over defensive when you call her out, or straight up hate her and make her out to be completely evil.

Mel is written as morally grey for a reason and when ppl try to act like she was morally correct in everything she did, it goes against the whole plot. yes, she regrets most of her actions by the end of the series and is left to deal with her family's leagacy and the weight of her actions, but that doesn't undo anything she did. and her eventually starting to care about Jayce doesn't just cancel out that she manipulated him (you'd think this would be obvious)

what bothers me the most i think is meljay shippers who say Jayce mistreated her and that Mel only ever helped and care about him and aided him in rising to power politically, and how she was so understanding of Jayce's and Viktor's friendship. yes, encouraging methods of political corruption in order to gain more power is so caring and kind of her! ❤️

Mel might've told Jayce to go spend time with Viktor after finding out he was ill, but the one time in the show she interacted with Viktor was... prejudiced to say the least. she never directly spoke to or answered Viktor, and the expression on her face any time she looked over at Viktor was so clearly full of dislike. it shocks me ppl still believe Mel and Viktor could get along and respect one another, especially romantically. no way.

anyways, sorry for the rant. just tired of how many bad takes there are in this fandom and very fond of your account lol

you are right and you SHOULD say it re: that oft repeated argument about her "only wanting what's best for him" bothers me so much. Its just... weirdly patronizing and spousing pro-piltover nationalism every time i see it being brought up. "She's doing what anyone would do/what is best for the city!" IDK MAN I AM NOT ROCKING WITH THAT. Im not an ubercapitalist. I don't think any of that was the good option actually lol. Probably I hate piltover too much to humor these arguments but from day 1 we are shown this is a city of immense class inequality in which the elite few holds all the power and all the profit gains at the cost of everyone else's submission and humanity. (Not for nothing: these are also the classic old guard Noxian tenets of supremacy. That's how they do colonization.)

The interactions Mel has with Jayce for majority of the series, before she watches that bomb come in and has her rapid onset change of heart, are her talking about how investors want his work and how she can use his discovery to advance this city (which is already built on exploitation!) or instigating his rise to power as a new ringleader for the council's rigged mercantile operations, and this is just not good or heroic in any way to me. This isn't love either, it's industrial convenience. The fact that she's conflicted by the end doesn't cancel these actions out! Jayce realizes that he's been used in ways he strongly disagrees with and any the affection in that dynamic vanishes instantly. The time he spends in isolation replaying his mistakes in that cave has an emphasis on mel/heimerdinger's voice on the council too, all of his regrets with blindly following someone else's vision or disappointing an idol he held in high regards.

And Jayce DOES care about the state of the cities, or he did before the writers forgot: He's the one who pleads for Zaun's independence at the end of season 1! He's the one who spent all his life trying to work towards improving the lives of common people, giving them the miracles they've been denied!

Viktor is a fucking nobody. He is extremely worthless in the eyes of the piltovan upper crust, only kept around on the merits working with Jayce have afforded him; and they still don't care. They're probably hoping he dies quicker. We *SEE* him being singled out and alienated during that weapons discussion where Mel is pleading for Jayce to think about "protecting his people" (only piltovans, never, ever zaunites- protecting piltovans against the zaunite menace.) and Viktor is set off at that whole exchange because it doesn't matter how loud he screams, these people can just tune him off and pretend he doesn't exist anyway. It's what they're used to doing. It drives me insane!!!!! His indignation is extremely under-explored and very inline with his act1 speech of feeling like an undesirable presence in piltover and having to push through with the grit of his teeth. It's open faced classism and I still see people pretending it didn't happen. Fandom makes all of these characters FAR less interesting by defanging them. The heart is in the friction and in the ugliness of them fucking up because they have very, very different conceptions of "utopia" - and some of those utopias require the death of the other characters present.

A lot of the Arcane character arcs have to do with realizing the above, and weighing if the sacrifice is worth the risk. Sometimes it turns out their utopias were shit.

[into-fiction]

something short and ridiculous just for fun. inspired by an idea from @tweenlove-n-hate

also posted on ao3!

///

Listen- Galinda isn’t actually sure how it happens, she swears. All she knows is one minute, Elphaba is there, she is standing in the room as Galinda closes her eyes and clenches her toes and waves that stupid, silly training wand through the air. 

One minute, Elphaba is there. The next, there is nothing but the plant. 

Yes. That’s right. A plant. A small, potted plant, of indiscernible species, rich green in color and with four skinny, slightly pointy leaves sticking out of the dirt. 

Galinda gapes at it, looking around as though waiting for Elphaba to jump out and say “gotcha!” She never does. Heart pounding, panic rising, Galinda steps up to the little pot. She leans down so her face is level with its leaves. 

“Elphie?” she whispers. 

The plant does not answer her, but she swears she sees a leaf wave. Fuck. 

She needs to get Fiyero. 

***

“What do you mean you don’t know?” 

“I mean I don’t know, Fiyero! One second Elphaba was here, and the next- poof! She’s gone! And that is sitting in her place!” 

Fiyero groans, rubbing at his temples. “You turned your roommate into a plant.” 

“I didn’t mean to!” Galinda wails. She’s been going crazy all morning, apologizing to the little plant, moving it into the sun, taking it out of the sun when she worried that would burn it. 

“I don’t know how to take care of a plant, Fiyero, help me!” 

“Oh, well, here’s a thought, how about turning her back into a person!” 

“I’ve tried that!” 

“What about Morrible?”

“Morrible? Madame Morrible? She would kill me!” 

“Well- you may have killed Elphaba!”

“I didn’t kill her- she’s right there!”

“As a PLANT!”

The conversation continues in that vein, none of which is all that helpful. Fiyero eventually leaves, saying he’ll see if he can find anyone who knows more than them about plant care. To care. For the plant. Which is also, possibly, maybe, probably, her friend. 

Galinda has owned exactly one plant in her life. It was a cactus. And it died. 

She may or may not be freaking out. 

***

Taking care of plant-Elphie is stressful. 

She needs water but not too much. Sun, but not too much. The room has to be warm, but not too warm. 

Galinda keeps moving the pot around, trying to find the place where it looks and feels the best. She watches closely for any signs, for the stems to wiggle or the leaves to wave. Something. 

“We have class soon, Elphie,” Galinda whispers. It’s been three hours. She’s already losing hair. 

“I know how much you hate to miss class.” Galinda sighs, tapping her nails on her chin in thought. She could just…bring Elphie with her. Surely, their professor wouldn’t mind. She’s quiet, non-disruptive. She can just sit on Galinda’s desk- that way she’ll still be able to listen to the lesson. 

“Okay, sounds like a plan!” 

Galinda continues to chatter to Elphie as she gets ready, frowning when she realizes that the little red pot Elphie is sitting in will clash with her uniform. “Hm.” Galinda doesn’t have time to wait for paint to dry and she has no other appropriately sized and colored pots on hand. 

Rustling around for her spellbook--cringing as she remembers what happened last time--Galinda flips to the bookmarked page for color changes. This is the first spell she ever mastered. Closing her eyes, she carefully casts the spell on the pot. 

Only the pot. 

She blinks one eye open cautiously, carefully, and beams when she sees it’s been a success. The little green plant now sits in a delightfully pink pot. “Perfect!” Galinda cries. She reaches over and pats a leaf gently with a single fingertip. “Pink goes so well with green.”

***

Galinda makes sure to bring Elphie to every class- her friends noting the green girl’s absence but accepting Galinda’s explanation with minimal raised eyebrows and questioning remarks. Galinda keeps a close eye on the pot, making sure it’s not too close to the edge of her desk where someone may bump into it and knock it off. 

In between classes, when usually she’d study with Elphaba, she instead takes some scrap pieces of cloth and stitches Elphie her own little bag, placing it carefully around the pot. She smiles, nodding sharply, and then turns back to her research on reversing spells. 

At lunch, she rocks back and forth on worried heels, eyeing the options and then eyeing the pot. “I don’t think plants eat food, Galinda,” Pfannee reminds her. “Just sun and water.”

“What about fertilizer?”

“Well, that’s to grow, right? How long do you expect Elphie to remain in there?”

He’s right. Galinda sighs. She was meant to go to the library later that day to try and find some new books to help her turn Elphie back. She’s a lovely plant, very pretty really, but Galinda would really rather have a human roommate. 

***

“It’s not working.” Galinda growls under her breath, resisting the urge to run her hands through her perfectly curled hair in frustration. She’s tried every reversal spell she can think of, and Elphie is still a plant. 

At this point- Galinda is going to have to give up and go to Madame Morrible for help. And then she’s really going to want to cry. 

“Oh, don’t be sad, Elphie. I promise I’ll figure it out.”

Galinda has now pinned a small pink bow to Elphie’s pot. Just to make her feel a little prettier. Her leaves were just a touch bland, not that Galinda would ever say anything. She’s not sure why Elphie isn’t a flowering plant. Elphie is much too beautiful to just be a handful of leaves. 

Galinda sighs, slumping down in her chair and reaching over to pull the pot to her chest, one arm wrapped securely around it. “I’ve got you,” she mumbles. “Don’t worry, Elphie. I’ll fix this.”

***

Galinda tries closing her eyes. She tries spinning around. She tries yelling and waving and leaping. She sticks her tongue out. She clenches her butt cheeks. She does just about every trick in the book, wand waving through the air, and she gets no closer to a human Elphie. 

It evening now, and Galinda had almost had a breakdown when she realized there’d be no sun. What if Elphie got cold? What if she got hungry? Plants ate sunlight, right? What if she starved to death overnight?!!

Galinda ends up calling the boys over, getting them to pore over books with her. Elphie sits carefully in front of the stack of books, a pen balanced across the top of her pot because Galinda didn’t want her feeling left out. 

“Anything?” Galinda asks, hours later. 

Both boys shake their heads sadly. Boq leans back on his hands, rolling his neck after hours spent bent over books. Galinda watches him anxiously. She’ll have to tell his girlfriend tomorrow if she still hasn’t fixed this. 

Nessarose deserved to know her sister is a plant. 

Actually. Speaking of--

“Where is Nessa?” she asks. 

Boq blinks at her. “She’s with her father today. He’s in town for something and wanted to meet up, so she’s not getting back until late tonight or early tomorrow morning.”

Oh, right. Elphaba had mentioned something about that. She hadn’t seemed very pleased her father was in town. 

Galinda goes back to her books, muttering spells to herself and glancing up occasionally to see if anything has changed. Elphie remains the same, skinny leaves shining in the lamplight. Eventually, Galinda knows they have to call it quits. 

She’ll need to confess everything in the morning. Dread pools in her stomach at the idea of facing Morrible. 

“Hey, Galinda, I think I figured out what kind of plant she is,” Fiyero calls out. He turns a gardening book around, tapping the page. “She’s an artichoke!” 

Galinda stares, horrified, for all of five seconds before she bursts into sobs. 

***

Perhaps it’s a cruel form of karma. The universe teaching her a lesson for being so very mean those first few weeks of school. 

Galinda shoos the boys out with tears still dripping off her cheeks, slamming the door shut and crossing the room to collapse in front of the little pot. She stares at it, sniffling loudly. 

“I’m so sorry, Elphie,” she says. “I didn’t mean to, I promise.”

Galinda checks how dry the soil is. She inspects the leaves for any spots or discoloration. She triple checks the thermometer telling her how warm the room is. And then, just in case, she wraps the pot in Elphaba’s favorite gray blanket and places it on her nightstand.

She sings to it as she goes about her nighttime routine, voice echoing through the room. Something soft and loving. Something sweet. And then, when there’s nothing else to do, she sits crosslegged on her bed with the pot in her lap, gazing forlornly at Elphie’s tiny leaves. 

The room feels a bit too big and empty with just her in it. She sniffles again, new tears crowding her eyes. She misses Elphaba, even if it’s really only been a single day. Even if she knows Elphie is right here, in her lap. 

It’s not the same. 

Galinda sucks in a shaky inhale. She blinks quickly, wiping at a stray tear with a knuckle. “Hey, Elphie?” she says quietly. “Can I tell you a secret?”

The plant doesn’t respond, but she really hopes its listening. 

“I really missed you today. We didn’t get to eat breakfast together. Or lunch. Or dinner. And we didn’t study after history. And we didn’t nap together after lunch. And we didn’t take a walk in the gardens before nightfall. And- And-” Galinda swallows hard, a real secret sitting behind her tongue. “And I really missed you.”

She had. It’s the truth. Even running around trying to figure this out all day, she kept turning to look for Elphaba. She kept reaching for Elphaba’s hand. She kept opening her mouth to tell her something or ask a question or seek reassurance. She hadn’t realized how important Elphaba had grown to her everyday life. 

How much Galinda needed her. 

Galinda brushes a fingertip down a soft leaf’s edge. “I need you, Elphie,” she whispers. “Please.”

Her eyes slide shut, her magic swells, and Galinda hopes and hopes and hopes. But when she opens her eyes, all she sees is the same four leaves, still and unmoving and unchanging. 

What if some spells are never reversible? 

Galinda places Elphie gently on her nightstand again, tucking her blanket around her. She has a cup of water waiting nearby in case Elphie is thirsty in the morning. She’s moved her nightstand so it’ll catch the sun’s first rays through the window. 

Lastly, Galinda reaches over and taps her finger gently against the edge of the pot, pulling on her magic and letting a wave of black coat the outer shell of the pot. After all- Elphie would hate to wear pink pajamas to bed. 

“Goodnight, Elphie,” Galinda whispers. “I love you.”

***

Sunlight wakes Galinda slowly, the blonde humming under her breath as she stretches languidly and cracks her jaw on a yawn. She blinks her eyes open, brow scrunching. Was she forgetting something? 

With a gasp, Galinda shoots up, looking over to her bedside table. Which. 

Is empty. 

Galinda screams. 

It echoes around the room, piercing and shrill, her foggy, freshly-woken mind flooded with panic. She’s still screaming when Elphaba bursts out of the bathroom door, toothbrush in her mouth and eyes wild as she searches the room for a threat. 

“What- What is it?! What are you screaming about?” 

Galinda gapes, mouth wide open. She stares and stares, Elphaba staring, bewildered, right back. And. Then. 

Galinda screams. 

It goes on for long enough that Elphaba dives across the bed and slams her hand over Galinda’s mouth. “Galinda!” Elphaba hisses. “You’re going to wake the whole school! What is the problem?”

Her voice softens then, hand loosening. “Did you have a bad dream?”

Galinda thinks she’s still dreaming, actually. “Y-you’re here,” she croaks out. 

“Um. Yes?”

“B-b-but-- The plant?”

Elphaba blinks, rocking back. After a second, her eyes light up with understanding. “Oh! That little guy. Yeah, I put him over there by the window, see? I about knocked him over when I bumped into your nightstand this morning, which- I don’t know why it was all the way out there.”

Galinda follows Elphaba’s finger to a little black pot on the desk by the window, four skinny leaves and a tiny pink bow. “I see you gave him a makeover,” Elphaba teases. 

Galinda swallows hard, mouth dry and head hurting. “He?”

“Uhhh. Or she, that’s fine. I don’t think plants have a preference.”

Galinda thinks she may combust. “You- you aren’t a plant?”

“What?” Elphaba huffs out a startled laugh. “Um, no? No, I’m pretty sure I’m very human.”

Galinda squeaks, scrambling out of her bed. She sways, blinking spots from her vision as Elphaba reaches for her. “You were never a plant?”

“Nnnoo…Galinda are you okay?” 

Galinda looks at the pot. She looks at Elphaba. She looks back at the pot. 

She kind of wants to scream again. 

“I-I-I thought--”

“Wait.” Elphaba’s lips twitch, laughter bubbling in her chest. “Did you think I turned into a plant? That plant?”

Galinda’s veins are shaking. “Yes!”

“Why in all of Oz would you--”

“You weren’t here! You disappeared! And-and- there was just that in your place!”

Elphaba laughs openly now, nearly doubling over in mirth. “Galinda,” she wheezes. “Galinda, I told you I was leaving and going with Nessa into the city. You were so locked in on whatever spell you were practicing that you weren’t paying me any attention.”

Galinda gapes at her, breathless. 

“I got the plant as a joke, remember? From the gardening club?” Elphaba shakes her head fondly. “You weren’t listening to a thing I said yesterday morning, were you?”

Galinda thinks she’d very much like to be a plant now. 

“So, so you were never--” 

“I can assure you, I was never a plant. I was in the city all day. Nessa can vouch for me.”

A beat passes. All the air gusts out of Galinda and she collapses back to the bed with a groan, flopping onto her back and throwing an arm over her face. “I spent all day--” 

Elphaba laughs again. “Well, I guess that explains the black paintjob. Though- a bow? Really?”

Galinda moves her arm to glare upward. “The whole pot was pink yesterday,” she sniffs. 

Elphaba cocks a single eyebrow. 

“Hey! Pink goes well with green.”

At that, Elphaba grins, rolling her eyes fondly. “It so does,” she finishes. 

She’s still chuckling to herself, backlit by morning light in a way that creates a little halo around her figure. Her eyes are mirthful and bright, her teeth flashing in a smile. She looks so--

She’s so--

Oz, Galinda had missed her. 

“Hey, Elphie?” she questions. She swallows hard, looking at the plant one last time. “Tell me a secret.”

“What?” Elphaba blinnks, thrown. “We only do that at night,” she reminds. 

Galinda gives her a shaky, nervous smile. “You weren’t here last night,” she whispers. “And I really missed you.”

Elphaba softens, reaching out and taking Galinda’s hand when the blonde waves it around in the air. She moves closer, standing over Galinda’s flopped down form. “I missed you, too,” she says gently. 

“Really?”

“Really.”

Galinda smiles, dimple popping and eyes crinkling. A feeling like honey spreads through her, slow and warm. She doesn’t want to wait until tonight. She doesn’t want to wait another second. 

“Hey, Elphie?”

“Yeah?”

Galinda slowly turns their joined hands over, palms up, Galinda’s hand cupping Elphaba’s. There, sprouting in the center of Elphaba’s green palm, is a single brilliant poppy. A little plant magic. For luck. 

“What’s this for?” Elphaba asks. 

“For you.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you.”

The poppy quivers, its petals shaking as Elphaba does. She gapes down at Galinda, emerald eyes wide. Then--

“I love you, too.”

Galinda beams. Elphaba blushes. The poppy dances. On the desk by the window- a little plant stretches just a little taller. 

[scarluna]

KNOCKOUT (002)

⸺ ݂ ํ Synopsis : ꣒

Y/N is a depressed, closed off, anxious and insecure plus-sized girl. She does not believe she deserves love nor anything good in her life. However by destiny, she meets Jungkook. A fighter, a biker and a guy that changes the way she sees the world.

⸺ ݂ ํ Characters : ꣒ Jeon Jungkook x Y/N

⸺ ݂ ํ Chapters: 2/?

⸺ ݂ ํ Trigger warnings : ꣒ mature language, mental health problems, depression, su!c!d1l thoughts, fatph0bia, illegal substances, smoking, anxiety, body dysmorphia, maladaptive daydreaming, making out, traumas, emotional eating

⸺ ݂ ํ Other warnings : ꣒ grammatical errors.

⸺ ݂ ํ Author's Note: ꣒ GUYS PLEASE I HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO MAKE A TAG LIST, SOMEONE EDUCATE ME T____T Hence why I am unable to add yall there. :C Also, lemme know what you think of this chap. Wink Wink.

Time doesn’t feel real anymore.

I couldn’t tell you if it’s Monday or Thursday. If it rained yesterday or the day before that. I keep the blinds half-shut, the room dim enough that the daylight doesn’t mock me but bright enough that I don’t lose all sense of time.

I haven’t gone back to the park.

I haven’t gone anywhere, really.

Just rotting in my apartment, wrapped in the same blanket, wearing the same hoodie, scrolling through the same three apps on my phone like they’ll eventually give me a reason to feel alive.

They don’t.

Every day starts the same.

Wake up too late. Answer emails too slowly. Fake interest during work calls, mute myself and nod like I’m present. Lie when my mom texts asking if I’ve been “getting out more.”

"Yeah, totally. Been trying to take walks!"

She replies with a heart emoji. Like that’s enough to count as connection.

My dad called once. Drunk, probably. I didn’t answer. Let it ring out and told myself I’d call back later.

I won’t.

Even Vicky’s texts have started slowing down. She knows me well enough to give space when I go quiet like this, but part of me wishes she’d just barge in again. Force me out of my own head.

But I won’t ask.

I never ask.

I just sit here. Work. Eat. Scroll. Sleep.

Repeat.

The only real interactions I have are with food delivery drivers. Strangers I see for five seconds at a time but who, lately, feel like they’re starting to see me too much.

Like they know.

Like they can tell.

That I’ve ordered from the same chicken place four nights in a row. That I haven’t brushed my hair in two days. That my voice is hoarse from not being used. That I look like I haven’t been touched or held or smiled for real in longer than anyone should.

The last one gave me a weird look. Not mean—just… curious. Pitying.

Like he didn’t expect me to be the one behind the door. Like maybe he thought the name on the receipt belonged to someone different. Someone who didn’t open the door in a hoodie with food stains and bare feet and eyes that screamed don’t look at me.

I said “thanks” too quickly and slammed the door before he could say anything back.

And then I stood there.

Back against the door.

Heart pounding like I’d just run a mile.

Why does it feel like every moment lately is some slow-burning humiliation?

Why does existing like this feel so loud?

Even when no one says a word.

I eat half the food, then leave the rest on the counter like some kind of offering to the version of me who should be doing better by now.

I wish I could stop spiraling.

I wish the guilt wasn’t its own kind of meal—chewed on between bites, swallowed down with shame and soda.

But I can’t stop.

I can’t make myself care enough to break the cycle.

And deep down, I know what’s happening.

The same thing that always happens.

I’m fading again.

Not in a dramatic, cry-for-help way.

Just… fading.

Quietly. Slowly.

-

I didn’t sleep much.

Again.

The apartment smells like old fries and leftover stress. My laptop screen glows too bright in the dim room, and the clock on the bottom corner blinks 9:59 a.m.—one minute before the weekly team meeting.

I throw on a different hoodie. Kind of. Technically it’s the same as yesterday, just a slightly less-wrinkled sibling. Hair’s in a messy bun. Face untouched. My camera’s always off, and I plan to keep it that way.

I log into Zoom and brace myself.

The team meeting starts the same way it always does—bad small talk, muted laughter, awkward pauses while someone forgets they’re on mute.

And then Katherine’s voice cuts through like glitter and caffeine.

“So…” she says, practically bouncing in her chair. Her camera is on, obviously. Background blurred, face glowing. “Can we tell them now?”

Our manager, Greg, chuckles like he’s part of some secret joke. “Yeah, yeah, alright.”

My stomach knots.

Greg leans forward. “Okay, team. We’ve got something fun coming up—real fun, not fake-corporate-fun.”

Katherine’s smile stretches even wider.

“We’ve booked out a section of Riot Club downtown this Friday night. Fully paid. Open bar. Food, music, everything.”

Someone lets out a “woo!” like we’re in a movie.

Riot Club.

Of course it’s Riot Club. I’ve heard of it—one of those trendy places where the lighting’s low, the music’s loud, and the people are confident. Beautiful. The kind of place where I’d normally rather light myself on fire than be perceived.

Greg keeps talking. “It’s a team-building thing. You know, for morale. We’ll have a reserved section upstairs, so it’s private, but feel free to bring your dancing shoes.”

Katherine claps. “This is going to be so fun. I’ve already got a dress picked out.”

Everyone’s reacting. Laughing. Making jokes about shots and karaoke and someone inevitably dancing on a table. People are already forming plans in the chat.

I just sit there, stiff.

Invisible.

Until Greg squints at the list of muted names and lands on me.

“Y/N—you in?”

My body freezes.

What?

No. No no no no no. This wasn’t part of the script. I was supposed to just sit through the meeting, nod silently, and then disappear like always.

But everyone is watching now. Katherine leans toward her screen with a curious smile. A few others are glancing sideways like they didn’t even know I existed before this moment.

And my mouth opens.

Before my brain catches up.

“Yeah,” I blurt.

It’s small. Quiet. But clear enough.

“Awesome,” Greg says, giving a thumbs-up. “Glad you’re coming.”

The moment passes.

The conversation moves on.

And I sit there, stunned.

What the fuck did I just do?

I didn’t mean to say yes.

I didn’t want to go.

I didn’t even want to be asked.

My heart is pounding. My hands are shaking slightly under the desk. The rest of the meeting blurs into static. I stare at the little camera icon on my screen, grateful it’s still red and crossed out.

They didn’t see the panic on my face.

Didn’t see the way I just agreed to willingly walk into a nightmare.

A club.

Downtown.

With people.

With Katherine.

With me, in the middle of it.

I log off the second the meeting ends and slam my laptop shut like I can shut reality with it.

I press the heels of my palms into my eyes and exhale hard.

What the hell am I going to do?

An hour passes.

I haven’t moved from the couch.

My laptop’s still shut, my hands tucked under my thighs, fingers curling into the fabric of my sweatpants. I’ve just been sitting here, replaying that moment over and over again in my head like a horror film on loop.

“Y/N—you in?”

“Yeah.”

God, why did I say that?

My phone buzzes on the cushion beside me.

I flinch, already bracing for it.

Katherine (1:19 PM):

Omg I’m SO glad you said yes!!! 🖤 This is going to be so fun. Honestly didn’t think you were the club type but I love a wild card 👀

I swallow hard. The nausea in my stomach doubles.

I stare at the screen for a full minute before typing.

me:

I didn’t really mean to say yes. I panicked.

It sends before I can change my mind. I instantly regret it—but not enough to delete it. I just stare, waiting.

Three dots appear.

Then disappear.

Then return again.

My chest tightens.

Katherine (1:22 PM):

LOL honestly same thing happened to me when I went to my first team party But hey—if you panic-committed, then now you’ve got a reason to go And if it helps… I’ll come pick you up No pressure. No stress. Just a ride with a semi-decent playlist 😎

My throat clenches. That’s... really nice of her. Too nice. Too much.

Why is she being so nice?

me:

You really don’t have to do that

Katherine (1:25 PM):

I know But I want to You’re part of the team. You deserve to be part of the fun too Besides, it’ll be easier walking in with someone than alone, right?

That part hits harder than I expect.

Because she’s not wrong.

Walking in alone would’ve destroyed me. I would’ve hovered by the entrance pretending to check nonexistent texts for twenty minutes, trying to disappear through the floor.

But now the panic shifts.

Because if Katherine picks me up… if I go…

They’ll see me.

Not blurry camera me. Not muted Zoom square me. Not vague voice-on-a-call me.

Me.

My body. My face. My everything I try so hard to keep tucked behind oversized hoodies and safe little rectangles on a screen.

And I won’t have Vicky.

She’s too far away. Hours away. No teleport button. No last-minute rescue.

I glance at the corner of my room where the dress Vicky once made me buy is still hanging—tags on, dusty from months of pretending one day I’d wear it.

My fingers hover over the keyboard again.

me:

They’re all going to see me for real

I don’t even know if I meant to send that. But I do.

And she replies instantly.

Katherine (1:29 PM):

Yeah And that’s a good thing You’re more than just a voice on Slack. You’re cool. People will love you. And if they don’t? Screw them. I’ve got your back.

I stare at the message until the letters blur a little.

I don’t know what I expected. A brush-off? A vague “you’ll be fine”?

Not this.

Not kindness.

Not support.

And instead of feeling reassured, all I can think is: I’m going to let her down. She doesn’t know how weird I look. How awkward I am in real life. How I fold in on myself when people make eye contact.

My hands shake as I put my phone down.

I feel like a burden.

A walking, talking inconvenience.

But Katherine didn’t make it feel that way. She didn’t hesitate.

And now the clock is ticking.

Two days until the event.

Two days until I have to be seen.

Two days until there’s no hiding.

The next evening

The sky is already dark when my phone buzzes again.

Vicky’s calling.

I almost let it go to voicemail—I’m too wrapped in the knot of dread sitting in my stomach—but then I remember her last text:

"You better answer or I’ll assume you’ve turned into a blanket goblin."

Fair.

I accept the video call and flip the camera. My hoodie’s still on. Hair’s up. Bare face. Blanket wrapped around me like a depressed burrito.

Vicky’s face lights up the screen the second the call connects. She’s got a clay face mask on and a mug the size of a soup bowl in her hands.

“Yooo,” she says, squinting at me. “There’s my favorite gremlin. Look at you. So glowy. So... suspiciously bundled.”

I manage a weak laugh. “Hi.”

She narrows her eyes. “You look like someone who accidentally agreed to something horrifying. Tell me everything.”

I exhale slowly, sinking deeper into the couch. “I said yes to going to a company team-building party.”

Her brows shoot up. “What?”

“Yeah.”

“Like… willingly?”

“No. I panicked. They asked me in the Zoom meeting. Out loud. In front of everyone.”

Vicky winces. “Oof.”

“I said yes because my brain short-circuited and I didn’t know how to say no. And now Katherine’s all excited and she’s picking me up and everyone’s going to see me.”

I drop my face into my hands.

There’s a pause.

Then Vicky gently says, “Okay. Breathe. Just… pause the spiral for a second.”

I peek at her through my fingers. “I don’t want to go, Vick.”

“I know, babe. But maybe… hear me out… it’s not the worst thing ever?”

I roll my eyes.

She continues, sitting up straighter. “Look, I get it. Being around people is exhausting. Especially people who’ve only ever seen you from the neck up through a laptop screen with soft lighting and pixel blur. But maybe it’s also—kind of—a big deal that you said yes?”

“I didn’t mean to say yes.”

“But you did. And maybe that’s your soul doing some sneaky internal growth while your anxiety wasn’t looking.”

I snort, despite myself.

She grins. “I’m serious. You’ve been hiding for so long. What if this is your brain’s way of going: hey, what if we just tried for one night? Just one.”

“I don’t think I’d look good in anything…” I mumble. “Everyone’s going to look amazing and I’ll look like someone’s exhausted older cousin who wandered in by accident.”

“You are so dramatic,” Vicky says, sipping her tea. “You’re beautiful, Y/N. And if you want, we can raid your closet together. I can help you pick something. Virtual wardrobe montage, 2000s romcom style. Or maybe you still keep that pretty dress I gifted ya?”

I let out a quiet laugh. “Of course I do..” I took a glance at the dress hanging in my wardrobe whose doors were wide open and sighed quietly. Maybe I should just wear it?... “God, remember when we used to actually do that?”

“Yup. And you always looked better than me, so shut up.”

“You’re literally perfect.”

“And you’re literally going to be fine. Put that dress I gave ya and some sexy smoky make up and you’ll get yourself a man immediately once they see how pretty you are.” She joked. Or did she?

I exhaled slowly, chewing on the edge of my blanket.

Vicky’s voice softens. “I know it feels terrifying. But it’s just one night. You don’t have to perform. You don’t have to be the life of the party. Just show up. Have a drink. Exist.”

I pause. “That’s already a lot.”

“I know,” she says. “But I also know you. And I think… deep down… some part of you wants this. Wants to be seen. Wants to be out there, even just a little.”

My chest tightens at that. She’s not wrong. That part does exist.

I just don’t know if I can handle it.

She raises an eyebrow. “Also, let’s not forget… there’s always a chance Jungkook shows up.”

I groan. “Oh my God. Vick—”

“I’m just saying! Downtown club? Underground fighter with rich-kid rebellion vibes? Sounds like his kind of scene.”

I bury my face again. “He doesn’t even know my name. I was literally wearing a blanket and panic-wheezing the last time he saw me.”

“Which is iconic,” she says with a smirk. “A mystery girl with a nicotine aura and oversized hoodie chic? He’s probably haunted by you.”

I laugh, this time louder. It feels weird to laugh this much.

It feels good.

I sigh. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You can,” she says simply. “And if it sucks? You leave. You can lie, say you feel sick. Blame a mysterious food allergy. I’ll back your story from four towns away.”

I smile at her through the screen, heart aching in that familiar way. “I wish you were going with me.”

“Me too,” she says. “But you’ve got this. And if nothing else, you’ll get free drinks and something to text me about at 2 a.m.”

My chest still feels tight, but a little less so.

Maybe, just maybe, I can survive this.

Maybe.

Friday. 7:45 p.m.

Any minute now.

Katherine said she'd be here at 7:50 sharp, and her texts have been consistently enthusiastic in that exact “I-will-drag-you-out-with-love-if-I-have-to” tone.

The clock on my phone reads 7:45.

I’m standing in front of the mirror.

And I can barely look at myself.

But I do.

Because I have to.

The dress Vicky gifted me hugs my body in places I usually try to erase. It’s soft black fabric—slightly structured but flowy enough to move in. Not tight. Not shapeless. Somewhere in between. It cinches a little under my chest and floats down from there, and yeah—it technically hides the parts I always try to shrink… but it doesn’t make them disappear.

Nothing could.

My arms. My thighs. My belly.

Still there. Still mine.

I shift my weight. My shoulders are hunched, posture defensive like I’ve spent a lifetime trying to take up less space. I force myself to stand straighter, but it feels foreign—like wearing someone else’s confidence.

My hair’s curled, but not polished. Messy on purpose. Loose and imperfect. I let a few strands fall over my face to soften everything, hide a little behind the veil of effort.

My makeup… I surprised myself.

A soft wing of eyeliner that actually looks even. Mascara that didn’t smudge. Clip-on earrings—little silver hoops—because I’ve always hated needles. And the lipstick.

God.

Red.

Bold. Loud. The exact kind of color that draws attention, and I don’t know what possessed me to wear it but here it is. On my mouth. Like a statement I’m too scared to say out loud.

I bite my bottom lip, testing it.

Still there.

Still vibrant.

And then the boots. Chunky, black, reliable. My little leather jacket. A crossbody bag just big enough for my phone, my ID, and my emergency excuses if I decide to flee.

The whole look… it’s not perfect.

But it’s mine.

And it’s been so long since I looked like this. Since I tried.

Since I showered, styled my hair, painted my face with intention instead of hiding behind foundation and prayer.

It’s strange.

I look almost like a version of myself I used to imagine. Not the girl on Zoom. Not the girl curled under blankets avoiding the world. Not the ghost who scrolls through Instagram and feels like she lives on the outside of her own life.

No—this version?

She exists.

And she's going out tonight.

I take one more look.

And then another.

I wish I could say I love what I see. That I feel powerful. Beautiful.

But really—I just feel… real.

And maybe that’s enough.

My phone buzzes.

Katherine (7:47 PM):

Outside! 🚗✨ You ready, queen?

My stomach flips.

This is it.

No turning back now.

I swipe on a final layer of confidence, inhale slow through my nose, and grab my bag.

One shaky step toward the door.

And I whisper to my reflection—so quiet I barely hear it myself:

“Let’s just try.”

The door clicks shut behind me.

The night air hits my skin like a soft warning—cool and sharp against the warmth trapped under my leather jacket. The street glows in soft orange hues from the overhead lamps, casting my shadow long across the pavement.

My boots clink softly with every step.

Each one feels louder than it should. Like they’re announcing me to the world.

I spot it almost immediately.

A red Chevrolet Camaro, sleek and shining like something out of a movie, parked right in front of my building.

Of course it’s Katherine’s.

It fits her—bold, polished, unapologetically attention-grabbing.

She’s already in the driver’s seat, one perfectly manicured hand on the wheel, the other holding her phone, probably cueing up a playlist. The interior lights glow faintly, outlining her profile like she stepped out of a commercial for glam and success.

I pause at the curb, take a breath, and circle around the car.

The closer I get, the more aware I am of everything—how my dress moves, how my hair feels, how exposed my legs are above the boots. I hope the lipstick hasn’t smudged. I hope I don’t look like I’m trying too hard.

I open the passenger door and slide in, the leather seat cold against my thighs.

“Hey!” Katherine beams, bright as ever. “Oh my God, look at you! You look gorgeous!”

I blink. “Me?”

She nods so fast her ponytail bounces. “Yes, you! I mean, I always suspected you were hiding a baddie under those hoodies, but damn.”

I laugh, quietly. “Thanks… you look amazing too.”

And she does.

Her platinum hair is curled and glossy, her skin glowing like a dewy Instagram filter. She’s in this glittery blush-toned mini dress that hugs her like it was tailored just for her. Her lips are glossy pink, heels sparkling like something ripped from a Barbie runway.

She looks like she belongs in a club.

I… look like someone playing dress-up in her big sister’s closet.

The confidence I built in my room wavers just a little. Just enough to notice.

But I breathe past it.

I try.

Katherine pulls away from the curb, music low, windows cracked just enough to let the air drift in.

We make small talk. Work stuff. Light jokes. I let myself laugh, even if it sounds a bit too high-pitched.

“You nervous?” she asks, glancing over at a red light.

I nod. “A little.”

“You’ll be fine,” she says, smiling like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You already did the hardest part—you showed up. Everything else is cake.”

I nod again, forcing a small smile. “Cake.”

We were supposed to arrive at 8:20.

But traffic hits just outside downtown. One of those long, inching slogs where brake lights stretch out in front of us like a never-ending warning.

Katherine doesn’t seem fazed. She just leans back, taps her fingers on the wheel to the beat of the song playing, and throws occasional commentary about the guy in the next car who keeps checking her out.

I, on the other hand, sit perfectly still—my fingers clenched tight in my lap, counting down the seconds, watching the time slip away like it’s water running through my hands.

8:30.

8:40.

8:50.

Finally—finally—we pull up in front of Riot Club.

The street is already buzzing. Neon lights pulse against the sidewalk. There’s music thumping through the walls like a second heartbeat, and the line to get in snakes down the block.

Even with our name on the list, even with a reserved section upstairs—just seeing the crowd makes my breath hitch.

People everywhere.

Laughing, talking, dressed like they’re made for the spotlight.

My smile falters.

Every instinct in my body screams go home. I could walk back to the car. I could make an excuse. Say I got sick. Say I forgot something. Say anything.

But Katherine’s already opening her door.

She climbs out in one graceful move, standing tall in her heels, dress glittering like it’s alive.

She walks around to my side and opens the door before I can stop her.

Her hand extends toward me like a challenge.

“You ready?” she grins.

I glance at the club entrance. The crowd. The bouncer. The stairs.

My throat tightens.

But I reach out and take her hand anyway.

Because it’s too late to turn back now.

And maybe, just maybe, I don’t want to.

The bass hits first.

Even before we step fully inside.

It pulses under my skin, loud and relentless, like someone’s holding a speaker up to my chest and daring my heartbeat to sync with it.

The bouncer checks our names—Katherine flashes him a smile that probably gets her through most doors in life—and just like that, we’re in.

Riot Club lives up to the name.

The air is thick with heat and sweat and perfume that doesn’t quite mask the alcohol. The lights are low—deep reds and pulsing blues, flickering like a heartbeat in strobe—and the music...

“Dime por qué lloras / De felicidad…”

“El Teléfono” is blasting through the speakers like it’s 2008 again and we’re dancing in someone’s garage after drinking vodka from a water bottle. The beat pounds so hard the floor itself vibrates. People crowd the dance floor, hips moving, arms lifted, heads thrown back in laughter.

Everyone looks like they belong here.

I feel like I just walked into someone else’s dream.

We push our way through the crowd, Katherine’s hand hooked around my wrist, guiding us like she’s done this a thousand times. And maybe she has.

I stumble once. Apologize to someone who doesn’t even hear me.

And all the while, my brain spirals.

I’m twenty-six years old.

I have a full-time job. I pay my rent on time. I buy my own groceries. I have a plant that hasn’t died yet. I’m technically a grown woman.

But walking through this crowd?

Hearing this music?

Heading up the stairs to the VIP section of a club like I’m someone who does this regularly?

It feels wrong.

Like I stole this night from someone else’s life and I’m going to get caught at any moment.

Because no matter how much time has passed—no matter how many birthdays have stacked up—I still feel sixteen sometimes.

Sixteen and anxious and deeply unsure of myself.

Sixteen and pretending to be cool when I never knew how to dance.

Sixteen and quietly guilt-ridden about staying out past ten, even when no one cared.

My parents never checked in. Never enforced curfews. I could’ve stayed out till dawn and no one would’ve blinked.

But I still tiptoed home.

Still felt like I was doing something wrong.

Still played the part of the good girl.

The quiet one. The one who didn’t drink too much. The one who didn’t get into trouble. The one who didn’t let anyone too close.

And now here I am.

In a club. Wearing red lipstick. Walking past strangers with glitter on their cheeks and drinks in their hands. Climbing the stairs to a private section like I belong here.

And I don’t.

I don’t.

I grip the railing tighter.

Katherine glances back at me once, beaming, shouting something I can’t hear over the music. I nod, smile faintly, keep walking.

Even if I wanted to leave, I wouldn’t know how to say it. Not without sounding ungrateful. Not without disappointing her. Not without confirming what I already believe:

That I can’t do this.

That I don’t fit.

The VIP section is a little quieter. Not by much. Just enough that the bass doesn’t feel like it’s rattling my teeth. There’s a sleek couch setup, a long glass table filled with small plates, fancy drinks, and coworkers already laughing, already loose.

They see Katherine.

They see her.

And then they see me.

Eyes flick over me in passing—some smiles, a few nods, one girl I recognize from Zoom gives me a friendly wave—but no one says anything just yet.

Still, I feel it.

Seen.

And not in the romantic, movie kind of way.

In the raw, terrifying, naked kind of way.

The kind where the hoodie doesn’t save you anymore.

I sit at the edge of the couch, trying to make myself small. The leather squeaks under me. I smooth my dress out, sip water from a sweating glass, and try to remember how to act like I belong in my own life.

Maybe if I fake it long enough, I’ll start to believe it.

The lights up here are softer.

Warmer.

Still dim, still flickering from the music below, but not as harsh. The kind of glow that makes people look a little better, a little more relaxed, a little less intimidating.

I sit with my drink—water, for now—gripping the glass too tight and trying to remember how to function.

A few coworkers drift over. People I recognize from work chat and project check-ins and endless Slack threads.

Samantha from accounting compliments my earrings.

Miguel from marketing asks if I like reggaeton.

Liam—who’s always joking in meetings—offers me a plate of mini empanadas and says, “You clean up nice.”

They’re all friendly. Genuinely.

There’s no cruel undertone. No judgment. No whispered looks.

Just warmth.

But I’m still quiet.

Smiling politely, saying thank you, answering questions with short but safe replies. My hands never quite stop fidgeting in my lap or tapping the rim of the glass. My eyes scan the room too often, like I’m waiting for someone to tell me I’m not supposed to be here.

Because I don’t feel like the girl they’re talking to.

I’m still wearing that invisible hoodie. Still hunched, still hiding behind practiced small talk and careful laughter.

But if Vicky were here?

I’d be different.

She’s seen me sobbing in the dark, surrounded by snacks and shame and silence. She’s seen my worst spirals, my messy breakdowns, the parts of me I try to keep hidden from the rest of the world.

And she stayed.

That’s the difference.

That’s why I can be silly with her. Loud. Soft. Raw.

With other people? I’m just this version. Polished edges and apology eyes.

Until—

“Alright, alright, look at this crew!”

Greg walks in like he owns the room—because technically, he does. Our manager. Balding but confident, shirt half-tucked, wearing some kind of printed button-up that says cool boss energy more than business formal.

People cheer, a few stand to greet him.

He raises a glass of something amber and laughs. “Glad you all made it out of your caves. I was starting to think half of you were AI.”

More laughter. Even I smile.

Then his eyes sweep the room.

They stop on me.

And something shifts in his expression. Not unkind—just… surprised.

“Y/N?” He squints, then chuckles. “Wow. I didn’t recognize you without the hoodie and messy bun.”

The comment makes me freeze for a split second—but he says it casually, without malice. Just surprise.

I laugh.

A real one, kind of. The kind that’s a little unsure, but still genuine.

“Yeah,” I say, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, “I almost didn’t recognize me either.”

People chuckle softly. Katherine beams.

Greg walks over and clinks his glass gently against mine. “Well, you look great. Glad you’re here.”

He takes the empty seat beside me and starts chatting with everyone—asking Miguel about his dog, teasing Samantha about her Spotify Wrapped, telling Katherine he still doesn’t understand TikTok.

And slowly—so slowly—I start to relax.

I take a deeper breath.

My shoulders loosen.

I set my empty water glass down on the table, flag down the server, and when she leans in, I hear my voice say:

“Can I get a cherry vodka and Red Bull?”

She nods.

My heart hammers.

Bold.

Stupid?

Maybe.

But I want to feel something. I want to taste something sweet and fizzy and wrong. I want to be a little more than this shell. Just for one night.

Just for a few hours.

The music shifts to something smoother, more danceable. People start standing up, moving closer to the balcony railing that overlooks the dance floor.

I lift the drink when it comes. It’s pink and fizzy and tastes like rebellion.

And for the first time tonight—

I let myself smile.

Not the polite one.

The real one.

The vodka’s hitting.

Not in a dizzying, blackout kind of way—but warm and weightless. Like I’ve floated half an inch above all the anxiety pressing on me for years. My limbs feel light. My smile keeps slipping out easier.

I’m laughing with coworkers. Actually laughing.

Samantha and I bond over our mutual hatred for Slack emojis. Miguel and Katherine are fake-arguing about who danced worse in high school. Liam keeps sliding plates of snacks toward me like I’m going to vanish if I don’t keep eating.

I let myself exist here.

Music hums through my bones. Bass in my ribs. My third vodka tastes like childhood candy and bad decisions. I sip it anyway.

I don’t know how long it’s been. Maybe an hour. Maybe five minutes. Time doesn’t work properly in clubs.

I lean back into the plush couch, my knees tucked close, boots dangling off the edge. I’m warm, surrounded, not invisible for once—and weirdly okay with it.

Until it happens.

Voices at the stairs.

Low, laughing.

Footsteps on metal.

I glance toward the staircase, not really focused, eyes soft from the buzz. Just another group coming up to the VIP—nothing unusual.

But the shift in energy is immediate.

A few people at our table—Katherine, Miguel, even Greg—perk up, smiling, waving.

“Yo! You made it!” someone calls out.

I blink.

Samantha lifts a hand, grinning. “That’s my cousin—he actually showed up!”

I follow their line of sight without thinking.

A small group of guys is climbing the stairs. Most of them dressed in that effortless, too-cool-to-try way: dark shirts, silver chains, tattoos peeking under sleeves. Confident. Comfortable.

And at the back—

No.

No way.

Everything stills.

The vodka buzz disappears like it was never there.

Because he’s there.

Jungkook.

Climbing the stairs, slow and deliberate, head slightly tilted as he surveys the space. Black button-up open just enough to show the tattoos crawling down his chest. Sleeves rolled. Hair messy, damp at the ends. Silver hoops in both ears, a glint of light catching the ring on his lip.

He looks like a storm barely leashed.

Like he’s too real to exist in the same night I’m pretending belongs to me.

My heart lurches, tight and hot.

I don’t move.

Katherine shifts beside me—and I can feel her stiffen.

She knows.

She remembers.

“Oh my God,” she mutters under her breath, wide-eyed. “That’s Jungkook.”

I already know.

Of course I know.

He reaches the top of the stairs just as a few people from our group go over to greet them. There are hugs, loud voices, handshakes.

And then—

He looks up.

And sees me.

Our eyes lock.

Just for a second.

But it stretches.

His expression doesn’t change—no dramatic reaction, no double take. But I see something flicker in his gaze.

Recognition.

Memory.

Stillness.

Like maybe he’s just as surprised as I am.

Maybe.

I can’t move.

I can’t breathe.

Because in all the daydreams, in all the hypothetical versions of this night where something wild and cinematic happens—I never once imagined he’d walk through the same door.

And I never imagined I’d be seen like this.

Not by him.

Not without the hoodie.

Not without the shield.

Just… me.

In red lipstick and messy curls and boots that suddenly feel too loud.

The moment breaks when someone claps Jungkook on the back and laughs too loud.

Just like that, the energy shifts again—back to motion, to noise, to people moving around her like the ground isn’t still tilting beneath her feet.

The guys from the stairs reach our group, folding in with the kind of ease that only people born into comfort can pull off. One of them—tall, handsome, full of charisma—grins and raises his drink like a toast.

“This the famous marketing team?”

Laughter.

Greg stands, already pulling chairs closer, greeting them like old friends.

“Glad you made it, man. We were just talking about how you never show.”

Someone’s cousin. Someone’s friend. A small flood of introductions happens as people shift to make room.

They’re laughing, shaking hands, slapping backs, sliding into the booth with practiced ease. And then one of them—black curly hair, a cheeky grin—gestures around the group.

“I know Katherine, and Sam, and this loud dude—” (he points at Miguel, who mock-scowls) “—but I don’t think we’ve met everyone. Introductions?”

Katherine, ever the social butterfly, takes the lead.

She starts going around the table with names and small “she’s the one who handles client crises at lightning speed” or “this guy eats peanut butter straight from the jar at work” types of comments. Everyone laughs along.

But they’re getting closer.

And then Katherine’s hand gestures toward me.

“And this,” she says with a soft smile, “is Y/N.”

My stomach drops.

All eyes shift to me.

I feel the weight of it instantly.

His eyes, especially.

I can feel them on me like heat through glass.

I stiffen. My cheeks flush—instant, impossible to stop. My fingers tighten around my glass, and for a second, I debate saying I forgot how to speak.

But I don’t get that choice.

Everyone’s watching. Expecting.

So I force it out.

“I—uh—hi. I’m Y/N.” My voice is small. Nervous. But it doesn’t shake.

One of the guys smiles, nodding. “Nice to meet you.”

Another throws out a “cool name.”

I nod, offering a tiny, polite smile.

But I can feel how red my face is. I can feel the way I’ve curled into myself again—shoulders hunching, legs crossed, one boot tapping lightly against the floor.

And when I glance—just a flicker, just for a second—

Jungkook is watching me.

Expression unreadable. Not intense. Not amused. Just… there.

Still.

Present.

I look away fast, heart rattling in my chest like it's trying to crawl up my throat.

Greg says something to the group that makes them all laugh, and the attention shifts again.

Relief and embarrassment swirl together in my stomach like oil and water.

No one said anything weird. No one laughed at me. No one even stared too long.

But still—I feel like I just stood under a spotlight with a sign around my neck that said this is what anxiety looks like.

I take a slow sip of my drink, the cherry vodka suddenly too sweet, too sharp.

And all I can think is:

He knows my name now.

The music thumps through the walls like a second heartbeat.

It’s late now. Maybe close to midnight—maybe later. Time has gone slippery.

Most of the group has thinned out. Some are on the dance floor, bodies weaving under flashing lights. Laughter spills from the stairs every few minutes. Katherine’s nowhere in sight—last I saw, she left giggling with one of the guys, disappearing into the haze of music and bodies.

The couch is quiet now.

Except for me.

And him.

I’m sitting at the far end, drink mostly watered down from melted ice, cradled between both hands like it’ll anchor me to the moment.

Jungkook sits at the other end, legs spread, elbows resting on his knees, thumbs moving lazily over his phone screen.

The silence between us is loud.

But not awkward.

Just heavy. Like static before a storm.

I glance at him once—just a peek—and catch the slope of his nose in profile, the soft curve of his bottom lip, the way his dark lashes shadow his cheekbones in the low lighting.

He’s real.

And somehow still unreal.

I look away.

Focus on the condensation dripping down the side of my glass.

And then, after what feels like an entire hour compressed into ten seconds, he puts his phone face-down on the table.

I feel it before I see it.

His eyes on me.

I look up.

And he’s looking directly at me.

Expression unreadable. Not intense. Not soft. Just... real.

And then he speaks.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

The question hits harder than I expect.

My breath catches.

“I’m not—” I start, then stop.

He raises a brow, like he’s giving me a second chance to be honest.

“You are,” he says calmly. “At the store. At the park. That night at the fight. You keep running.”

His voice is quiet. Low enough that it doesn’t rise above the music, but it slices straight through it anyway.

He leans back slightly, his gaze still locked on mine.

“I try to talk to you,” he says. “Be friendly. Say hey. But every time, you act like I’m about to bite you.”

I open my mouth. Then close it. Then open it again.

“I…” I swallow. My cheeks are burning. “I’m just… not good at—”

He waits.

I try again. “At talking. To people. I’m not used to... this. Attention. Or—whatever this is.”

His head tilts slightly, the edge of his lip quirking. “But you’re here now.”

I blink. “What?”

“You’re here,” he says, motioning around with a small gesture. “At a loud-ass club. In makeup. In a dress. Sitting across from me. Talking.”

I fidget with the straw in my glass, fingers slippery with nerves.

“I didn’t really mean to come,” I admit, voice barely above the music. “They asked in front of everyone, and I panicked and said yes. Then Katherine guilt-tripped me into following through.”

Jungkook chuckles. It’s soft. A little amused. “And the park?”

I bite my lip.

He continues, voice low, not teasing. Just… curious. “You sit there like you want to disappear. But you keep showing up.”

I don’t know what to say to that.

Because he’s right.

I do keep showing up.

Even when I don’t know why.

Even when I’m terrified.

“I just…” I try to find the words, voice catching halfway through. “I don’t want to waste your time.”

That gets him.

His brows draw together, like he’s actually confused by that.

“Waste my time?” he repeats, slowly. “Why would you think that?”

I shrug. “Because... I’m not like the people you’re usually around.”

“Meaning?”

“I’m not interesting,” I murmur. “Not fun. I’m awkward. Quiet. I don’t look like…” I gesture vaguely toward the dance floor, where people are laughing, effortless, magnetic.

His expression doesn’t change.

He just watches me.

And then he says, simply, like it’s obvious:

“I wouldn’t be sitting here if I didn’t want to be.”

That silence comes back—thick and humming between us.

I can’t look at him.

But I feel it.

The shift.

The undeniable fact that I’ve been seen.

And not just noticed.

Seen.

The moment between us teeters—suspended in some strange, weightless pause where I almost feel like maybe, maybe, I belong in it.

But then, the universe does what it always does.

It reminds me.

A voice cuts through the moment. “Yo, Jungkook, what’s up, man?”

I blink, and a coworker—Jake, I think, from another department—plops down on the other side of Jungkook, grinning, already pulling him into some conversation about mutual friends and “remember that night at Noir?”

Jungkook gives me one last glance, like he’s trying to hold the thread of whatever just passed between us.

But the moment breaks.

I stand quietly, smoothing my dress out of habit.

“I’ll be back,” I murmur, not sure if anyone hears me.

I slip away from the couch and head toward the exit—out of the music, out of the lights, out of that sudden, overwhelming visibility.

Outside, the air is cooler.

Crisp, biting.

I dig into my jacket pocket for my cigarettes and lighter. My fingers are clumsy, the adrenaline from earlier still lingering in my veins. My boots click lightly against the pavement as I make my way a little off to the side of the club entrance.

But I’m not alone.

A group of guys—maybe four or five—are huddled nearby, already smoking. Laughing in that careless, half-drunk way that makes everything sound louder, meaner.

I light up and keep my distance. Hug the wall. Eyes down.

I just need a minute.

A breath.

But then I hear it.

At first, it’s just fragments.

“Did you see that chick inside—” “—the one with the big boots and the red lipstick?” “Dude, she was huge.” “Right? I didn’t know they let heavyweights into VIP.”

My heart sinks.

My hands freeze.

They don’t say my name. But they don’t have to.

I know.

My throat closes.

My eyes burn.

I don’t move. I don’t say a word. I just keep smoking like maybe the nicotine will hold me together. Like maybe if I stay perfectly still, they’ll forget I exist.

But the words keep echoing.

Fat.

Huge.

Laughter.

It doesn’t even matter if they meant it to be cruel.

It still hurts.

And I hate how used to this I am.

I hate how practiced I’ve become at not reacting.

My eyes sting harder, and I blink fast, trying to will the tears back. My lips tremble, but I take another drag like that’s going to help.

Then I hear footsteps.

Heavy ones.

And before I can look up, I hear a low, familiar voice—tight with something dangerous.

“Is there a problem?”

I glance to my side.

Jungkook.

Standing there.

Still. Cold. A different kind of presence entirely.

The group falls silent immediately.

One of them—a guy in a bomber jacket, who was laughing the loudest—straightens up, eyes wide.

“Oh shit—Jungkook, bro—nah, man. No problem here.”

The others murmur quickly in agreement.

Jungkook doesn’t smile. Doesn’t move.

He just stares at them.

The air feels like it’s holding its breath.

The guy in the bomber jacket laughs nervously. “Didn’t know you were out here. We’re just chilling, man. All good.”

Jungkook’s voice is calm. Steady. But it cuts.

“You sure?” he asks, head tilted slightly. “Because I heard something different.”

More stammering. More backpedaling.

They recognize him.

Not just as a guy—they recognize who he is. What he’s capable of.

“There’s no problem,” one says again, voice lower now.

Jungkook looks at them a beat longer. Then turns, stepping between them and me, placing himself just enough that it feels like a shield without saying it out loud.

He doesn’t look at me yet.

Not until they’re gone.

And when they finally scatter, awkward and mumbling and fast-walking down the block, he finally turns back.

His voice is soft now. So different from before.

“You okay?”

I don’t trust my voice, so I just nod.

But my eyes give me away. They always do.

He looks at me, really looks at me, and says, “You don’t have to act like it didn’t hurt.”

And something inside me almost breaks open.

Because no one’s ever said that to me before.

Not like that. “Would you like me to drive you home? I am with my car and I haven’t drank any alcohol..”

I shake my head again, trying to keep my voice even though everything inside me is fraying. " I—I’m okay. I’ll just get home on my own."

He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t push.

Instead, Jungkook crouches a little so his eyes are level with mine. His expression is careful—not pitying, not forced. Just… present.

“Okay,” he says softly, like he actually means it. “Cab then?”

I hesitate, my fingers tightening around the strap of my bag.

“I know we barely know each other,” he continues, like he’s reading the swirl of panic in my chest. “So I won’t offer to drive you. But I can call a cab. One of the companies I trust. They’re discreet. Safer than calling some random app.”

My throat tightens.

This shouldn’t be this hard—saying yes to help. But my brain is spinning. My skin still feels too thin from earlier. From everything. And yet, the way he says it, like he’s handing me a choice instead of cornering me into one… it makes something in me ease. Just a little.

I nod. Barely.

He stands back up and pulls out his phone.

The silence stretches between us. Not uncomfortable. Not heavy. Just there.

He doesn’t fill it with words.

And I’m grateful for that.

I swipe at my cheeks again, trying to fix the damage, but I can feel the dried salt along my skin. I probably look like a wreck. Red-rimmed eyes, broken voice. Meanwhile, he’s standing here looking like a painting with bruises—too vivid, too unreal.

I shift awkwardly. “I’m sorry,” I mumble. “For… being like this.”

His brow furrows.

“Don’t do that.”

I blink, startled.

“Don’t apologize for feeling something.”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

“Whatever it is you’re carrying,” he says, eyes never leaving mine, “you don’t owe anyone an explanation for it. Least of all me.”

And goddamn it—

That does it.

The tears threaten again, fast and hot, and I hate that he’s seeing it, hate that I’m breaking apart in front of someone I barely know, but also… some traitorous part of me is grateful he stayed. That he didn’t walk away the second things got messy.

His phone vibrates, and he glances down at it.

“Cab’s three minutes out,” he says. “Black Toyota. Plate ends in 52.”

I nod again, trying to gather the pieces of myself, trying not to fall apart in this alley outside a warehouse full of noise.

He doesn’t speak again.

But he doesn’t leave either.

We stand there in quiet, shoulder to shoulder but not touching. Close enough to feel his presence—warm, grounded, steady.

I don’t look at him.

But I feel his gaze on me, not heavy or invasive. Just aware. Like he’s keeping watch. Like I’m not alone for the first time in a long time.

And for some reason… that’s what almost breaks me.

Not the noise. Not the night.

But the kindness.

The softness in a place built for hard things.

I don’t know what this is. Or what it means.

But I know this much:

I won’t forget it.

Not tonight.

Not him.

Not the way he didn’t try to fix me.

Just stood close enough to make the silence feel safe.

The cab pulls up, headlights cutting through the haze of the alley. I turn to thank him one more time, my voice small, frayed at the edges.

“Thanks again. For… everything.”

Jungkook nods once, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, his bruised jaw catching the glow of a nearby streetlight. He doesn’t smile—not really—but there’s a softness in his eyes I hadn’t noticed before.

As I reach for the car door, he speaks—low and steady.

“Next time you see me…” His voice pauses like he’s picking his words carefully. “…don’t avoid me.”

It’s not a request. Not a demand either. Just… something in-between.

A truth offered.

I swallow hard and look at him, really look at him, the air thick between us.

I nod once.

And I get in the cab.

The ride home is quiet. My phone stays in my lap, untouched. The driver makes a couple polite comments, but I’m too far gone to answer. I keep replaying his words in my head.

Don’t avoid me.

He noticed. Somehow, he noticed I was trying to disappear.

By the time I reach my apartment, the exhaustion hits like a freight train. My body feels heavy. My mind is foggy.

I strip off the dress, drop it carefully onto the chair like it’s made of glass. Wipe off the makeup with shaking hands. My face feels raw without it, but also… clean.

I throw on a giant sweatshirt and fuzzy socks, the familiar cotton hugging all my softest parts. The mirror reflects someone who looks like she almost let the world see her—and didn’t die.

I fall into bed like gravity doubled, pulling me straight into the mattress. The last thought in my head is him.

And then nothing.

The next morning

It’s still early when I wake.

Too early.

But the light filtering through the blinds is soft and peach-colored, like the sky is still deciding what kind of day to be. I don’t usually do this—wake up before the world—but something feels different today.

Lighter.

Not good. Not fixed.

But less heavy.

I pad into the kitchen, make my usual coffee. Black, no sugar. The bitterness feels like a small punishment I’ve earned.

I open the balcony door and step outside into the cool morning air, hoodie sleeves pulled down over my hands. One cigarette, one lighter, one breath.

I sit down in the old rusted chair I thrifted years ago and take the first drag, then sip the coffee while the smoke curls up and disappears.

My phone buzzes.

Vicky 💜 Morning weirdo. You awake or still emotionally hungover?

I smirk, thumb tapping quickly.

me: Awake. Balcony. Smoking. Watching the world not fall apart. You?

Vicky: Laptop. Lecture in 30. Hair in a bun. No bra. We thrive.

She calls me seconds later.

I answer, camera off.

“Morning, professor.”

She groans. “Don’t. I already spilled soy milk on my notes and the Wi-Fi’s acting like it’s allergic to responsibility.”

I laugh, and she immediately softens.

“You sound better,” she says.

I stare out over the rooftops, watching the sun ease its way up over the buildings.

“I feel… less awful.”

“Want to talk about it?”

So I do.

All of it. From the moment I ducked into that bathroom and overheard those girls, to the way my brain spiraled out of control so fast it almost derailed the whole night.

“I know it was stupid,” I say quietly, flicking ash off the edge of the balcony. “Like… why did I let it get to me that bad?”

“Stop.” Her voice cuts in, firm but warm. “It wasn’t stupid.”

“I just—I felt like I was nothing again. Like I was thirteen, hiding in the locker room, praying no one noticed how much space I took up.”

Vicky sighs softly, the sound of her fingers clicking on keys in the background. “Y/N… you reacted like a person who’s lived through real pain. That’s not something you just… outgrow. It lingers. Triggers happen. Doesn’t make it less real just because it looks small from the outside.”

I blink hard, pressing my lips together.

“And,” she adds, voice sly now, “you didn’t let it ruin everything. You still showed up. You let someone help you.”

I hesitate.

“He called me a cab,” I admit, softer now. “After I told him I didn’t feel safe getting in a car with someone I barely knew. He just… listened. Said he’d order it for me if that’s what I wanted.”

There’s a pause.

Then a delighted gasp.

“Oh my God.”

“What?”

“That’s so hot. Are you kidding me? Gentleman behavior and emotional intelligence? Marry him immediately.”

I snort. “He’s just… I don’t know. He’s kind of terrifying. But also not? Like, he looks like he could ruin your life but also fold your laundry.”

Vicky cackles. “Danger with a heart. A classic. We love to see it.”

I smile, blowing out a stream of smoke and watching it fade into the sky. My chest still feels bruised, but not broken.

“He told me not to avoid him next time.”

“And are you going to?”

I pause.

Let the silence stretch.

Then quietly: “I don’t want to.”

Vicky hums. “That’s my girl.”

She sighs. “Okay. Gotta go pretend I’m an expert in child development now. But I love you. And I’m proud of you. Seriously.”

I nod, even though she can’t see me.

“Love you too.”

She hangs up.

And I sit there for a while, cigarette gone, coffee cold, but heart just a little warmer than yesterday.

Maybe next time… I won’t run.

Maybe next time… I’ll let him see me.

Really see me.

Even the parts I’m still learning to look at myself.

I’m still on the balcony, staring at the last swirl of smoke disappearing into the sky when my phone buzzes again.

Katherine 🖤 Hey girl. You okay? You left kinda abruptly last night.

My heart skips a beat.

I pull my hoodie tighter around my arms and unlock my phone with a thumbprint I wish could delete anxiety.

me: Yeah. I just wasn’t feeling great. Needed some air.

She replies almost immediately, like she’s been waiting.

Katherine 🖤: That’s what Jungkook said. He told everyone you weren’t feeling well and called you a cab. Total protector mode 🥺

My stomach flips.

He told them?

I can’t decide if that makes me want to curl up and die or… smile.

me: Wait—he told you that?

Katherine 🖤: Girl. The second someone asked where you went, he just said “She wasn’t feeling well. I got her home safe.” Dead serious. And then he dipped.

me: He left?

Katherine 🖤: Yup. Like 10 minutes after you. Wouldn’t even take a drink. Just left. Honestly? Kind of hot.

My blush hits hard and fast, warming my cheeks like I just stepped into a furnace. I pull my knees up on the chair, hiding behind the ceramic coffee mug like it might cool me down.

Katherine 🖤: Also… I got laid 😇

I blink. Hard.

me: WHAT???

Katherine 🖤: Yeahhhh. One of Jungkook’s friends. Tall, dimpled, criminally good at neck kisses. Literally the best sex of my life. Like I think I astral projected at one point??

me: Oh my god, Katherine.

Katherine 🖤: Don’t “oh my god” me. You’re the one who got rescued by a bruised, tattooed underground prince and rode home in a cab he summoned like a damn knight.

me: I rode home. You rode a man.

Katherine 🖤: LMAOOOOOO okay point for you. But still. How are we in the same city and you get the brooding fighter who leaves parties early for you?

I bite my lip, trying to smother the growing smile, but it’s useless.

Jungkook.

The way he stood there in that alley.

The way he didn’t push, didn’t question, just… saw me. Called a cab. Stayed until I was safe. Told them I wasn’t feeling well so I wouldn’t have to explain myself later.

And then left.

For me?

Katherine 🖤: Just saying… if you don’t text him, I might.

I roll my eyes, thumbs already moving.

me: Back off. He’s terrifying and possibly capable of reading minds.

Katherine 🖤: Perfect. He can hear me thinking you better text her, you emotionally unavailable legend.

I laugh, clutching the mug to my chest as the city wakes up around me.

Something about today feels different.

Not fixed.

Not perfect.

But maybe… like the beginning of something.

Like maybe I'm allowed to be seen.

Bruised, messy, soft, and still worthy.

And maybe the boy who left early to make sure I got home safe... maybe he saw that too.

[forever-rogue]

Ok, just got an idea of tasm.

What about a first introduction with May, like reader is so anxious about meeting her and when she finally does so she realizes May is so sweet with her 🥺

Aunt May being so sweet with Peter's girl just got me ✨😭

AN | No, but May is the best! She’d absolutely adore Peter’s girl❤️

Pairing | tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader

Warnings | Language

Word Count | 2.5k

Masterlist | Main | Peter

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆���. ───

A million thoughts were racing through your mind; unfortunately none of them were good. You were about to meet the most important woman in Peter’s life, beside you, and all you wanted was to make a good first impression. You had no clue what you would do if she didn’t like you. You’d probably be dumped and heartbroken. 

“Stop being stupid,” you groaned at your reflection as you fixed your hair. You wanted to look perfect without looking like you were trying too hard. Ugh. You were definitely overthinking this. It was supposed to be a simple dinner, not some sort of life changing event. But…it kind of was. For you anyway.

“Hey Bug,” you hadn’t heard Peter let himself into your apartment. When you looked up, you found leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest as you met his gaze in the mirror, “you look beautiful.”

You relaxed at his words, letting out a soft sigh as you turned around to face, “are you sure? It’s not too much or not enough?”

“It’s perfect,” he took a few steps closer to you, “you could wear anything and it would be perfect.”

“Shut up,” you gently pushed at his chest but he didn’t budge, instead only softly laughed, “I’m nervous, Pete.”

“Don’t be nervous,” he cupped your face, brushing his thumb over your cheek, “there’s no reason to worry. May is going to love you - she might even end up loving you more than me.”

“I hope she likes me at least a little bit,” you whispered, leaning into soft touch, “what if she doesn’t for some reason?”

“That’s impossible,” he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head as you huffed at him, “trust me.”

“I do…mostly,” you leaned up and pressed a kiss to his lips, “but you know, the whole not telling me about the fact that you were Spider-Man doesn’t help your honesty credibility.”

“To be fair, Bug, I didn’t and wasn’t going to tell you,” you raised an eyebrow at him as his cheeks flushed lightly, “I mean, I was going to eventually…but you beat me to it.”

“You weren’t exactly subtle, Peter Parker,” you remembered the evening you discovered his alter ego like it was yesterday, “you came into the bedroom in the suit and bleeding profusely, remember? Or did you lose too much blood and forget?”

“I remember,” he mumbled softly. It was one of the first nights you’d stayed over at his apartment but duty had called; he left in the middle of the night while you slept soundly in his bed. He’d intended to be back and next to you in bed before you even woke up. Unfortunately it hadn’t happened that way at all, “it was…not how I planned on telling you.”

“Nevertheless, you lied to me…sort,” you waved your hand around before leaning against the counter with a heavy sigh, “so what you’re doing that to me now and you just know May will hate me?”

“I…” he paused for a moment, incredulous at your little theory as you pouted at him, “do you really think I’d do that?”

“No,” you sighed softly, your shoulders sinking as he pulled you into a hug, tucking you perfectly into his frame, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “I just want this to go well, Pete.”

“It will,” he rubbed your back in soothing circles as you mumbled something against his chest, “it’s just May and me. Nothing is going to go wrong.”

“Fine,” you finally gave in as Peter chuckled softly, “let’s just go and do this.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You walked up the steps to May’s house, clutching on Peter’s hand tightly; if he was superhuman you might have even broken it. In your other hand was a bouquet of flowers that you’d picked up just for May. Your heart was beating so loudly you were positive that Peter could easily hear it. Once he knocked, you listened with bated breath for the door to be answered, trying to see if you could hear May coming.

And yet, it still took you by surprise when the door was gently opened and there stood May Parker, the woman, the myth, and the legend herself. She was a smaller woman but she had a giant presence about her; you could see how much Peter loved her just from the way his lit up, “Aunt May!”

“Peter,” he gently let go of your hand and wrapped her up in a giant hug that caused her to chuckle at him, “it’s good to see you, sweetheart.”

She pressed a kiss to his cheek before shifting her gaze over to you. You half expected to see some sort of judgment, but in reality you saw nothing of the short. If you thought she softened for Peter, she was even more gentle with you. 

“Hi Mrs. Parker,” you held out the flowers to her, hoping you didn’t appear too intimidated, “it’s nice to finally meet you.”

She said your name, so warm and tenderly, before taking the flowers and pulling you into a hug as well. There must have been something in the Parker family that caused all of them to give the best hugs; Peter probably learned from her, “it’s so good to finally meet you. It feels like it’s been so long and Peter never shuts up about y-”

“Alright, alright,” Peter’s cheeks pinked as you looked at him with a huge grin. Your heart felt like it was going to burst with all the affection that you had for these two people, “let’s, ugh, get inside before it gets too cold.”

“Oh Peter, don’t get all shy,” May wrapped her arm around your shoulders before leading you inside, “I think it’s wonderful that you have some to love so much.”

You flashed him a grin over your shoulder as you stepped inside the Parker home; he was a very bright red that gave you enough pause to hang back and press a kiss to his cheek. 

“Peter, can you please put these beautiful flowers into some water for me,” the kitchen and the entire house smelled absolutely divine. You’d been told that she was a good cook and that almost made your mouth water in excitement, “dinner’s almost ready.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” you couldn’t help as but cast curious eyes around the kitchen and dining area, looking at all the photos that were hung up and items that were displayed. A photograph of a young Peter caught your eye as you walked over to it and looked at it closer. He was super cute as a kid and you couldn’t help but wonder what your kids would like…you hoped that you’d get to find out one day, “oh my gosh, Pete! You were so precious!”

“Peter really was the cutest and sweetest boy,” May agreed as Peter looked mortified; he wished the floor would open up and swallowed him whole, “he was such a good boy.”

“Wonder what happened?” you teased as May laughed. Alright, you already liked her a lot. Your nerves were still there, but they weren’t nearly as bad as they had initially been. 

“Oh haha, you’re so funny,” he stuck his tongue out at you, before instinctively going to set the table. May had really raised him well, “one day I’ll get to see your old pictures and we’ll see how you like it.”

“It’s so fun to tease you,” you walked back into the kitchen to help May, “besides, maybe one day our kids will be that cute.”

It was no secret that Peter wanted a family one day, and you’d both agreed that you wanted at least one child together. Your comment definitely caused Peter to feel a certain type of way and his eyes grew wide as he looked at you. He was definitely going to hang onto this feeling later when it was just the two of you. May, meanwhile, made a small sound of agreement, “you two will have adorable kids, that’s a given.”

“Oh,” your entire face warmed up as you stole a glance at Peter. He looked a mixture of both excited and embarrassed, “well I guess we’ll just have to wait and see one day.”

That seemed to quell them both as your stomach exploded with butterflies. You knew that Peter would be a great father one day and were equally sure that May would be a wonderful grandmother. You felt lucky to have them in your lives; but then, you’d known that Peter would be something special to you from the day you met him.

May hummed in content as you helped her to finish dinner. She had such a warm and calming presence and you already loved being around her. It was easy to fall into a rhythm and pattern with her and before you knew it, the three of you were sitting around the table and eating dinner. She was an excellent cook and it was such a welcome thing to behold a home cooked meal. 

Afterwards when you were all stuffed, Peter helped May with a few things around the house while the two of you cleaned up. 

“You know,” her voice was tender and gentle as she dried the dishes that you had washed, “I haven’t seen Peter this happy in a long time. It makes me happy to see him doing so well. He deserves it.”

“He does,” you agreed softly, “he makes me really happy too. He’s a good man and I…I’ve never met anyone like him before. He’s special to me.”

“He’s always been a good boy,” she agreed, looking into the living room and finding him softly speaking to himself as he moved some furniture around for her, “it was hard for him, with what happened to poor Gwen, and it took a long time for him to be himself again. I was worried I’d lost my boy too, but slowly over time he got better. And then, when I noticed just how happy he seemed, he told me about you. Well, when he first met you, I should say.”

 “I met him and we were friends for a long time before we started dating,” you looked at her in confusion but she only responded with a knowing smile. You inhaled softly as you looked over at your boyfriend. He must have felt you looking at him because his gaze quickly shifted to yours and his entire face lit up, “oh. Oh.”

“Mhmm,” she put the last of the dishes away before giving your arm a small squeeze, “needless to say I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for a long time.”

“Oh May,” you blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over before hugging her. In truth Parker fashion, she hugged you tightly and rubbed your back in soothing motions, “I’ve been so nervous and excited to meet you. Peter speaks so highly of you and I understand why. Thank you for being so kind and welcoming. Peter is amazing and he always says he owes it to you. I can understand why. You’re both great.”

“There’s nothing to be nervous about,” she promised softly, “as far as I’m concerned you’re family, sweetheart. If you ever need anything or need me to have a word with him, just let me know, alright?”

“I will,” you beamed at her, “I will.”

“Hey May?” Peter walked into the kitchen sheepishly, “did you, umm, make dessert by chance?”

“Of course I did,” she tutted at him before exchanging a look with you, “I made your favorite.”

“Yes!” he kissed her cheeks, “you’re the best.”

“And don’t you forget it!”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

By the time you and Peter left May’s it was late; you hadn’t expected to be gone for so long but it was just so easy and fun to hang around with Peter and May. Peter held your hand, a knowing  little smile on his face as got into the cab to go back to your apartment. You, naturally, had a big tote full of leftovers to take with you. 

You’d fallen asleep next to him, resting your head on his shoulder. He was reluctant to wake you up but he did so gently before scooping you into his arms and carrying you upstairs. You wrapped your arms around his neck and held on tightly, burrowing your face into his chest. 

“That wasn’t so bad was it, Bug?” he asked as he set you down and bent over to help slip off your heels. You felt so incredibly warm and fuzzy at the sweet but simple gesture, “you lived.”

“Shut up, Parker,” you sighed gently as he pressed a kiss to your ankle before standing back and towering over you. You moved to take off his jacket and hung it up by the door, “I think you might be officially demoted to my second favorite Parker.”

“Wow,” he put his hand on his chest and sighed dramatically, “that’s hurtful baby. I should have known better than to introduce the two of you. My favorite women are ganging up against me already.”

“Never,” you reached for his hand and started to pull him towards your bedroom. You were tired and all you wanted was to cuddle up with him. He easily obliged, lacing his fingers through yours, “you’ll always be my favorite, Peter Parker.”

You quickly stripped off your clothes before tugging at Peter’s and getting him down to his boxers. You’d worry about your makeup and everything else later. Peter pulled you into his arms as soon as you were both lying down and under the covers.

“What am I your favorite of?” he whispered, causing goosebumps to raise up on your skin as he ghosted his fingers along your soft skin. 

“My favorite everything,” you replied as thought it was the most obvious thing in the world, “my favorite best friend, my favorite boyfriend, my favorite superhero…all of it.”

“You’re my favorite too,” he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, “in case that wasn’t obvious.”

“Hmmm,” you hummed in content, “will you stay tonight? No Spider-Man-ing?”

“Yes,” he gave you a gentle squeeze, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Unless it’s an emergency.” 

“Unless it’s an absolute emergency.”

“Good,” you horribly stifled a yawn before settling further into the pillows, “love you, spider-boy.”

“I love you too Bug.”

[wordsarelife]

—merry christmas, please don't call

pairing: theo nott x malfoy!reader

summary: after breaking up a few months ago, theo and you meet again at the yearly christmas ball at your parent's house. you're both dealing with the grief of a relationship that ended too soon.

warnings: angst, post breakup, bittersweet

notes: felt inspired by the song, but idk what this is.. lol. also used the word 'soft' way too often, but honestly couldn't be bothered to change that..

the lights glisten above your head as you make your way to the extravagant decorated room. it's stunning, really, with the warmth of christmas flooding the place, almost like it always feels warm and like home in these halls.

christmas is probably the only time of the year you feel any warmth in the malfoy house.

during that special time, it resembles hogwarts a bit and anything that resembles hogwarts ultimately feels like home.

the dress you're wearing is suprisingly comfortable, not comparable to the ones your mother normally chooses. it does fulfill two purposes at once: it looks gorgeous and elegant, while it fits your form perfectly and doesn't scratch or hurt.

the party is not in full swing yet, but a few guests are already there, talking reservedly or sipping on their champagne. the buffet isn't open yet, but you smell the delicious food offerings to where you're standing.

your eyes fall on draco, who walks closer with an unusual caring look on his face.

"mum told you to look nicer again, or what?" you asked. around these festivities draco is the only person you can speak normal with, considering your mother makes you study before speaking to guests. she would get a heart attack if she heard you speak one informal sentence during the ball.

draco shrugs, before he steps next to you. to the guests you make the perfect picture siblings, both stunning to look at, while you look like you harmonize like twins.

draco is a bit older than you, but growing up in a house like that ultimately leads you to make strong ties with the people that are caught together with you.

"no" draco finally says. he speaks slow and his voice is almost a whisper, as if he's trying not to make too much noise or dare one of the guests to come and converse with you.

you turn your head to look at him, brows furrowed. he stares straight ahead. draco normally isn't the one to hold back. he's straightforward even with unnerving topics, but this seems to even make him uncomfortable.

"theo" he eventually mutters and your hand clasps around his arm in such a hurry, like he just slapped you. draco's eyes fall on you and he looks almost scared. "he's coming"

"i thought mum said he couldn't make it?" your voice is two octaves higher than normal, begging for this to be a simple misunderstanding.

"well" draco sighs, "change of plans"

tears well up in your eyes. "draco, i can't—"

"you must" draco says, even though it seems like he's reluctant to do so. "you can't afford to mess this up"

"draco" you mutter once again, pleading.

"i'm sorry" he squeezes your hand. "you don't have to speak with him, okay? i'll take care of that. just act normal"

you nod, biting back the lump in your throat. the tears are thin and you pat them away from your face quickly. "okay"

most of the evening goes by like a gentle breeze. draco stays true to his word, taking care of the situation without you having to do anything with it.

a few times you can feel eyes gazing over your form, but you don't give into the overwhelming call to turn and look at him. you know that you can't or the night would be over.

theo isn't trying to disturb you either. he never comes closer, makes no move to talk to you and even though you can feel his eyes linger, he knows that it isn't his place. you aren't his to look at, he isn't yours to notice.

the lights and the music of the room make you feel like someone wrapped you in a massive bubble wrap, stumbling through the room and making polite conversation any time it is needed, laughing at the right times and looking down gracefully when someone compliments you.

your mother would be proud if she had the time to notice through the stress of the party.

faster than you had hoped, the thickness of the night develops into a full blown headache, drowning out the sound around you as your head practically begs for a moment of silence.

that's why you slip away at around eleven, walking up the stairs and down the hall until you reach a room no one ever visits.

the room is dark, only a small light illuminating the space. in the middle stands an abandoned piano, the one your parents had bought as soon as they had found out they were expecting a girl, hoping for you to be musically inclined.

you never developed a real interest, but through various years of teaching and practice you can play a few songs. that seems to have been enough.

you sit down on the bench in front of the piano, moving your fingers to hit a few notes that echo along the walls of the small room. the silence that follows is defeaning. it's the happiest time of the year, but you feel anything but happy.

right when you think about returning the party downstairs, the door softly opens behind you. when you turn around you expect to be met with a disapproving look on draco's face, but it's not your brother who stares back at you.

"theo" your breath hitches and for a second you're sure you're going to collapse right here on that ugly carpet. but you just look at the boy and he looks right back at you.

every unsaid word, every unfinished sentece is hanging in the air between you.

theo closes the door.

"hey" he finally says, slowly stepping closer, like he's trying not to scare you away.

"hey" you answer. another few seconds of silence settle between you, until theo clears his throat.

"i would ask how you have been.." he hesitates, before he shakes his head. "honestly i'm not sure i want to know the answer"

maybe it's just the calmness in his voice that makes you relax almost immediately, but you know it's actually the truth behind his words. you feel the exact same, fearing that anything you would've found out would have made it worse.

"come" you say, patting the bench beside you. "sit with me"

theo obliges, settling down in close proximity to you and although you feared it would, it doesn't make you uncomfortable, not even in the slightest. his presence is familiar and that makes it all the more jarring.

"that's a beautiful dress you're wearing" he compliments.

you smile slightly. "thank you" your eyes are caught by the pattern of his tie. you sigh. "that's the same tie you wore the last time we danced together"

there's an icy look in theo's eyes as he seems to remember the day of your mother's summer ball. the way your eyes had sparkled the entire night. the way you had circled around him, laughing at everything he had said. the way you had looked at him like you had never seen something better. the way you aren't looking at him like that anymore.

"sorry" you mutter, your gaze dropping away from his face and onto your fingers. "i don't know why i just said that"

"it's okay" theo assures.

you're sure he's lying.

"it's just— everything is so different suddenly" he mutters. "i don't know how to act, how to speak with you. it feels like you died"

you flinch, his words hitting you harder than expected, before you settle down, realizing that he just put into words what you had been feeling these past months. "i think i know what you mean" you admit. "it hurts so much, because i know you're still there. but you're not mine anymore and nothing happened to you, but you will never be the same again either" you pause, before you look up at him again. "not to me at least"

theo's jaw tightens, his shoulders sag, the weight of your words settling over him like a shroud.

“i guess that’s what hurts the most” he finally says, his voice barely audible. “that we’re still here, breathing the same air, but we’ll never be... us again. not even close.”

you nod, a tear slipping down your cheek before you can stop it. “it feels like grieving someone who’s standing right in front of you. like i should reach out and touch you, but there’s this... wall, and i don’t even know who put it there.”

theo looks at you then, his gaze softening, just for a moment. “maybe we both did.”

the words hang between you, heavy and undeniable. you both look away, staring at the floor, the past, the impossible distance between who you were and who you are now.

the music from the ball filters faintly through the walls, a haunting melody of what once was.

you smile through the tears, closing your eyes and breathing in the smell of the air. theo's smell. "you still smell like winter—like frost and firewood. i thought i’d forgotten."

theo freezes at your words, his breath hitching as he looks at you, a flicker of something unspoken crossing his face. "and you still... sound the same" he murmurs. "like you're about to laugh, even when you're crying."

you let out a quiet, bitter chuckle at that, wiping your eyes quickly. "funny how nothing changes and yet everything does, isn’t it?"

he doesn’t answer, just watches you with that unreadable expression—the same one he used to wear when he was trying to hide how much he cared.

“do you remember that night at the summer ball?” you ask softly, your voice trembling. “i thought i’d never be happier than i was in that moment. you were smiling so much, and i—” you cut yourself off, shaking your head. “it feels like it happened to someone else.”

theo looks away, his jaw tightening. “maybe it did. we were different back then”

the silence stretches again, the music drifting like a ghost between you. finally, he speaks, his voice barely above a whisper. “i don’t know how to let go of that night. of you.”

you bite your lip, holding back the sob rising in your chest. “maybe we don’t have to let go” you say, your voice trembling. “maybe we just carry it. like a scar. something that hurt, but proves it was real.”

theo’s lips curve into the faintest, most bittersweet smile. “then it will be the most beautiful scar i’ll ever bear”

you smile softly at him.

theres a few seconds of silence until his voice reaches your ears once more. "it won't be good again, we will not be good again, right?"

"no" you softly shake your head, another tear rolling over your cheek. "but we will heal from this" you mutter, your eyes crashing into his. "not yet, but... one day"

"i know" theo nodds. "i just miss what we had"

"so do i" you reply, your voice breaking as you admit it. “every day.”

theo watches you while your fingers slowly wander over the keys of the piano, playing a soft melody. the way he looks at you feels a bit like before all this happened, but you can't allow your mind to wander.

theo follows your lead, pressing a few keys too. you smile as he hits the wrong one on accident.

you lay your head to rest on his shoulder, as your hands continue to pass by each other on the piano, never truly meeting but not being too far either.

"merry christmas, theo" you mutter softly.

"merry christmas, y/n" theo smiles, his voice carrying it's usual warmth. "you were the best thing about me"

—

tag: @bakingintheshire

[system-to-the-madness]

Heart to Heart - Zuko x Reader

Word Count: 2 870 Warnings: mentions of war and death Summary: Zuko and you share a quiet moment at the Western Air Temple A/N: Can be read as a oneshot; Part Five of the series Perfect (10 times Zuko thought you were perfect and the first time he told you)

“So, you decided breaking into a Fire Nation prison would be a good idea, huh?”

Zuko sat at the edge of the ruin of the Western Air Temple, looking out into the valley, his feet dangling in the air. At the sound of your voice, he looked up.

“Well, perhaps not a good idea, but we ended up with pretty good results, I’d think,” he answered, watching as you sat down next to him, your knees pulled up to the chest as if you were cold.

“True, I’ll give you that,” you admitted with a smile. “And I think it’s definitely gotten you some sympathy points from Katara.”

“You think,” Zuko asked hopefully. “I desperately need those. She hates me!”

“Give her time,” you said nonchalantly. “To her you embodied pretty much all that is evil, topped probably only by your sister and your father. She’ll come around.”

“How about you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do I embody all that is evil to you, too?”

You turned to look at him, taking in his appearance for a good while, making him self-conscious under your intense eyes.

“For a while you did, I guess,” you answered eventually.

Okay, not the answer he had hoped for, but what had he expected? That you confessed you had always known he was good at heart? Hardly. He had tried to capture or kill the Avatar and his friends a few too many times for that.

“But Katara didn’t see you put yourself in danger to free Appa,” you continued. “It made me doubt the things I knew about you. The conversation you had with your uncle did, too.”

Zuko nodded, turning to watch the sky. A few clouds drifted past, thousands of stars lighting up the night.

"I made a lot of mistakes," Zuko admitted. “I can’t blame any of you for not trusting me, for not wanting to trust me.”

“Things are changing, you know,” you told him, reaching over and gently nudging his shoulder. His breath hitched at the soft contact. “You helped Aang to gain his confidence back about Fire Bending. He still has a long way to go, but it’s amazing that he agreed to try it again in the first place. And it’s kind of reassuring that you’re drawing your power not from anger anymore.”

The last sentence made Zuko smile a little.

“It feels different now, my Bending,” he explained. “Before it always felt violent, and… sort of hard, I guess. Like volcanic glass. Even when I trained it always felt like with each shot I fired, I was kicking or punching against a wall. Now it feels like it’s flowing, somehow. Like the heat and the fire is not some wild animal I have to force out, but a power that bends to my will.”

“That does sound like a big difference,” you agreed.

Zuko shrugged. “I’m still not as powerful as Azula though,” he mumbled. “I had hoped that with the new technique I might gain some ground on her, but it still feels like she’s miles ahead of me.”

“Right, you encountered her when you went ‘fishing’, right?” You drew quotation marks into the air, making Zuko roll his eyes in amusement.

“Yeah, she almost would have caught us, doubtlessly to put us in a snug little fishbowl where she could tease us the whole day.”

“This might sound like a stupid question, but,” you hesitated for a moment, “what would you do if you were more powerful than her, powerful enough to easily best her.”

Confused Zuko turned to you. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… would you try to kill her? Capture her? She’s your sister after all. Even with all the messed-up things she’s done, nobody here expects you to kill her.”

Zuko turned back to look out over the valley. You were right. All this time, for years, ever since childhood, ever since she had first beaten him in training, he had wished he would be good enough to overpower her. But then what?

“I don’t know,” he admitted, “I don’t know what I’d do.”

For a moment he just looked out into the canyon. In the starlight he could faintly make out the other buildings hanging from the ceiling into the abyss. What had it been like when the Air Nomads had still lived here? Every window of every tower must have been lit up, thousands of lights like a mirror of the sky above. Had Sky Bisons roamed between the houses? Drifted slowly through the night? What other animals had populated these temples? Had it truly been as peaceful as he imagined it now to have been? Zuko inhaled deeply.

“The thing about Azula is… I was always chained to her in a way.” He could see you furrowing your brows at him questioningly from the corner of his eyes. “There were no kids my age living in the palace, but Azula had two friends, Mai and Ty Lee. And I was always expected to play with the three of them. Often, I thought it was stupid, they made me feel stupid. I was older than them, and had other interests, but it almost seemed a game to them to find something I hated or would humiliate myself doing… Mai was the only one who would speak up for me sometimes. But only when it was about smaller things; she was too scared of Azula. I can’t blame her. Actually, I ended up dating her for a while.”

“You had a girlfriend,” you asked, but Zuko didn’t notice the hesitation in your voice.

“Yeah, we were together for a while after… after I betrayed my uncle. But I ended things, to join you. She saved our lives, on Boiling Rock. She stopped the guards from cutting the line to the gondola.”

“She sounds like a good person, and brave,” you said quietly. “You must miss her.”

Zuko stayed oblivious to the unasked question in your statement.

“I don’t know… not really. If I’m honest, I’m not even sure why I was together with her,” he shook his head. “It sounds cruel, but the only reason why I got together with her was because it felt like the right thing to do, after returning home. I knew she had always liked me, and somehow, I thought if I were dating someone, it would stabilize the life I was hoping to live. I like her, yes, but not the way you’re supposed to like the person you’re dating. I’m just sorry I was selfish enough to hurt her without a second thought.”

“You’re young, all of us are. I think it’s inevitable to make mistakes when it comes to things like love. Only the luckiest ones can claim to never have hurt someone,” you tried consoling him.

“The thing is, I knew it was going to hurt her. But I kept doing it anyway. Maybe I was hoping my feelings would catch up eventually, but they never did.”

They couldn’t, Zuko thought to himself. Not while the idea of you had taken root in his heart. The thing that made him feel almost the guiltiest, was that even though you were hardly anything like what he had imagined you to be, he still felt enchanted by you. Glancing at you from the corner of his eyes, he only felt his sentiment confirmed. You were sitting there, wrapped in a thin coat to protect you against the chill of the night air, hair dancing slightly in the wind, face glowing from the fresh air and eyes reflecting the stars above. You were beautiful like this, perfect and beautiful. He was sure to never have seen anyone who was as beautiful as you in that moment.

“As I said,” you interrupted his train of enamoured thoughts, “we all make mistakes.”

“Some more than others,” Zuko frowned.

“That’s not what I meant,” you quickly denied. “I didn’t mean-”

“I know, don’t worry,” Zuko sighed. “I’m just upset with myself. I think some things were inevitable along the way. I mean, everyone grows somehow. But breaking Mai’s heart really wasn’t necessary. I could have avoided that if I had been a little more confident in myself.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” you agreed, clearly not sure what else you were supposed to say.

“I’m just hoping, Mai somehow knew we wouldn’t last,” Zuko continued absentmindedly. “We fought, quite often actually. I know I can be difficult, but it also often felt like she didn’t even try to understand me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like… I know I can get jealous easily, so her anger at me for those instances was probably justified but… sometimes I just need time to think, you know? Not about something specific but… for example there was this war meeting and Azula was invited but I wasn’t. I was upset, because it made me feel like my father was rejecting me all over again, as if I weren’t good enough for him. I was upset and Mai… I know it wasn’t easy for her to see me like that, but it felt like she was trying to distract me so hard. Every time I had a problem or was concerned or worried about something, she tried to cheer me up and distract me, instead of allowing me to just give those feelings space.”

“I know what you mean. Sometimes you just want to give those feelings time, to process everything. Even if it’s difficult. But like you said, it probably was really hard for her to see you unhappy,” you offered your own thoughts, making Zuko nod.

“I guess you’re right. But we ended up getting into disagreements over things like that more and more often. Even if I would have stayed, I don’t think we would have been together for much longer.”

For a while silence settled over you, as you watched the night sky. Zuko wondered why the hell he had just shared all his relationship problems he had had with Mai with you. Maybe because he hoped you would understand him better if he did, would see him more as a human with emotions than the antagonist he had been for you over the past months.

“How about you,” he eventually asked, not sure if he even wanted to know the answer. “Do you have anyone special?”

You shrugged as if it wasn’t somewhat weird for him to ask that.

“Not really. I mean… being on the run from the world’s most powerful army makes it kind of hard to form any meaningful relationships outside of the group,” you answered. “And I don’t mind, really. I’m not like Sokka, who can just flirt with every girl he sees. I don’t think I’d feel comfortable with someone who I haven’t fallen in love with.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

“No,” you shook your head, “you?”

Zuko turned to look at you again, taking in your form sitting beside him, knees still pulled up to your chest, chin resting on them, eyes fixed on a point far away.

“No, I mean… maybe once,” he answered. Was he in love with you? He certainly didn’t know you well enough to be in love with you, right? Maybe he was?

“If you don’t know, you probably weren’t,” you chuckled, turning your head to meet his eyes. “I think you’d know when you fall in love.”

“It’s difficult, okay,” Zuko defended, making you laugh quietly.

“Or maybe you’re just bad at figuring out your own feelings,” you offered with a teasing glint in your eyes.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Zuko grumbled and turned his head away embarrassedly. Another gentle shove against his shoulder made him look back at you.

“I’m teasing,” you told him, with a soft smile that made his heart melt. “I’m sorry if I-”

“No, I know, don’t worry,” Zuko took a deep breath. “I’m just not used to being teased without it being with some kind of ill intentions, I guess.”

“Well, Sokka’s gonna get you used to that real quick,” you laughed. By all the spirits, he loved your laugh. “He’s brilliant when it comes to making plans and coming up with ideas, but he’s also the biggest goofball I’ve ever met. He cares more than he tries to let on and is one of the most reliable people I can imagine when things go south.”

“We fought my sister together,” Zuko recalled. “It was weird, a few weeks ago we would have ripped each other apart, but when we went up against Azula together, he really had my back… he makes it very easy to trust him.”

“He does, doesn’t he,” you agreed. “He might not outright say it, but he really appreciated you going to look for his father with him. Thank you.”

“I’m just glad I was able to help. There have been enough families that got torn apart because of me. Knowing I could help reunite at least one is… it feels good.”

You grinned at his side. “It was a brave thing to do, to break into that prison just like that.”

“Brave? More stupid than anything, but thanks.”

“Bravery and stupidity are not as far apart as some would like to believe,” you chuckled, making him smile.

“My uncle would like you,” he confessed, watching your smile shift into a questioning expression. “He’d probably share his wise phrases with you all day long.”

“Your uncle sounds like a good man,” you said, and Zuko nodded.

“I think, I understand him better now than I did before. He lost his son in the war, and he was never the same again. I think, he developed a strong dislike for any kind of conflict and when my father exiled me, he decided to come with me… I don’t know why, maybe to save me from the fate Lu Ten met… I think Uncle Iroh was more a father to me than my own father ever was. It’s strange seeing Sokka and Katara with their father, seeing what normal parents are like with their children. It makes me mad at my father, that he wasn’t like that. Mad and… vulnerable, I guess.”

“I can’t imagine what that’s like,” you mumbled. “I don’t remember much of my father, but even my stepfather was always caring towards me. I’m sorry you didn’t get to experience that.”

“I guess, over time I’ve gotten used to it. Which didn’t stop me from begging for his approval, I’ll admit that. But now… I just hope I can see my uncle again and apologize to him for all I’ve done. After all these years that he accompanied me… I don’t know how I can make up for all the support he has given me, and how I betrayed him.”

“I’m sure when the time comes, you’ll know what to say and do. I think your uncle would be proud to know how you finally stood up for yourself.”

Zuko nodded thoughtfully. He just hoped your words would come true. He didn’t even know where Uncle Iroh was right now, whether he was even alive. If he ever got to see him again… how was he supposed to make up for all his uncle had done for him? How could he ever earn his uncle’s forgiveness after that terrible betrayal?

“Can I ask you something?”

Zuko perked up at your question but nodded.

“Earlier you said… you said your father exiled you,” you carefully asked. “I’d understand if you don’t want to talk about it but…”

“No, it’s fine,” Zuko shrugged. “What do you want to know?”

“Mostly just… what happened?”

“It was… foolish, both of me and my father. It started over-”

Before Zuko could even really begin telling you his story, Toph’s voice carried through the night.

“Katara made hot milk with honey for everyone!”

“Let’s talk another time,” Zuko offered, getting off the ground. His feet felt strange, standing on solid ground again after dangling in the air for so long.

“Another time,” you agreed, taking the hand Zuko had offered you and let him help you to your feet.

Your hand was small and cool in his, and he had to resist the urge to keep his fingers closed around yours, just to feel your skin against his for a short while longer. When he hesitantly let go of your hand, it felt like a wave of ice was spreading from his heart, and he immediately ached for any sort of contact with you again.

He really was an idiot, wasn’t he, he wondered as he followed you past some rubble back to the others, who were sitting around a campfire. Seeing all these people, who so willingly had adopted him into their group, another ache, the warm and gentle kind, spread through his body. After all this time, for the first time in his life, he felt like he truly belonged somewhere. He had earned his place in this group. And when you motioned for him to sit down next to you and offered him a cup with steaming hot, sweet milk, he couldn’t help but think that he didn’t want it any other way.

Tags (it seems like some of the tags aren't working, sorry...):

(@ghoststookourlifes )

@ashcal99

@4acoffee

(@pxrplewalnxt)

(@toomuchboredd )

@banished--prince

@oddobsessionbutotay

@makik0

(@joysflower)

@hamdehlesmis

@mitski9328373

@angstylittleb1tch

(@lovecalll )

@sy1v30n

@sagemastah

(@buzzbuzzlilbee)

[bluexiao]

#monsieur neuvillette’s relationship headcanons

NOTES. finally a work after months. i missed this, tbh. but hey, here’s my new husband for you. might also have a part 2 of this i feel like i haven’t written everything yet

WARNING. real identity spoilers (nothing too explicit from the current archon quest i haven’t even done it yet oops)

NEUVILLETTE

(Before)

Before the relationship began, it took a long while for him to truly process what he had been feeling towards you—to be frank, he even thought he was getting sick (which was impossible. He never got sick.), though that thought comes to an end the moment he realizes that the effects only happen when he is around you. Only you.

He had heard of love before. Had seen love. Had read about love. Not just the platonic or familial ones, but also romance and more. And yet, he does not understand them, simply because he considers them as something someone like him would not eventually feel.

And yet, it all changed when he first saw you. Curiosity turns to admiration, and admiration turns to anxiety—which is never good; the sweating on his hands and the back of his neck, and the pressure on his chest whenever your presence comes.

He was only reminded of the term romance when he consulted Sigewinne about it.

“Does it only happen around a certain person, Monsieur?” “Monsieur, I think you are simply in love,” she says. “Humans do tend to have the same symptoms but it does not necessarily mean you are sick. It appears to me that you feel the same as well. Does their presence give you happiness?”

He did not even need to ponder over his answer. What he does ponder over is how he should deal with it. The evidence is overwhelming, and there is only one verdict. And yet, where does this lead to?

Contrary to popular belief, he will confess as soon as he is sure of his feelings. He is an honest and honorable man. He would confess his feelings if he could, but it did take some time knowing how busy his schedule was.

The only thing that probably was able to push him to go through was the Melusines. It took them weeks to have him clear his schedule up for a nice little dinner date that they had planned and suggested to the Monsieur.

“Recently, I have come to realize that I have developed a romantic interest with you, Y/n.”

“I do not intend to put pressure on you. I shall accept whatever judgment you make. I do not wish for you to change how you treat me in any way.”

“If you may… I can only ask to indulge in this meal with you for tonight. Your company eases me greatly.”

Brutally honest. It may even drive you crazy how this all seems so easy on him.

But in reality, his palms were sweating underneath his gloves and the slightly cool sensation of the utensils as he blurts out his intentions for setting up such an occasion. His heart was pounding but he could not process whether this was about how you looked especially good tonight or his nervousness with finally confessing his feelings for you.

Or maybe both. Either way, all evidence of such leads to only one thing—you.

Bonus; I do think he’ll reveal who he is first before he gets into a relationship with you but that really depends on how observant you are.

(During)

It was a surprise to him, at the very least, how he had managed to keep you as his lover despite what he lacks. He knew how he was not well-versed with “feelings” per se (just in his mind), but you, the angel that you’ve always been, chose to be with him.

The sudden change did not occur to him much, actually. But he did notice how much his mind lingers to you more often than not, and how he will end up recalling how you are now his one and only lover.

It takes time for him to adjust, but it all started with frequent conversations (much more than before), then sending flowers to your place every other day (constantly), though most of the time they’re delivered by someone else, knowing how busy he is as the Chief Justice.

Or when he started to first brush his gloved fingers to yours.

When he does something, it will be constant. (Maybe this also comes from being responsible and disciplined as shown by being the Chief Justice). All the things that he did before, he still does them now—unless you’ve told him no, of course.

He is definitely a man of his honor!!

And would always ask for your permission first before he touches your hand, or holds them, or hugs you, or kisses you.

He does like pampering and showering you with “offerings” though.

Stuff like buying your favorite flowers or trinkets once or twice a week, making sure you have enough supply of the best water out there. And even with how he always has an umbrella or parasol for you (ones he got ever since you got together; one in his office, one that’s foldable for him to carry under his coat, and one he gave to you for every time you leave the house.

Through the course of the relationship, he learned about the beauty of life, which is how he sometimes brings you flowers despite its short life. However, he still secretly prefers giving you trinkets for your hoard of gifts from him, mostly because it symbolizes his everlasting love for you. (He’s very romantic like that, even if he does not know he is)

He will also introduce every single Melusine in Fontaine. At first, it may surprise you how he knows all of their names, but it will surprise you even more the moment you realize you could do the same. If you do, he’ll love you even more (which he thought was impossible at first as he knew he already loves you very much).

The Melusines will treat you as their other parent the moment it is known amongst all of them that you’re his lover. Sigewinne, for one, would always give you a personalized gift. She would also always send you letters to ask how you are and probably be quite excited whenever you accept an invitation for a cup of tea.

Monsieur Neuvillete is not jealous, but he is possessive and territorial. It’s a dragon instinct, forgive him.

It also comes with being protective. Though he’s not feral, he would make sure to always shield you away from any harm, or anything that might take you away.

One time, he had to deal with a bunch of… shameless individuals who had tried to make a move on you, and though he has great trust on you, he cannot help but have the same self-deprecating voices in the back of his mind.

Though instinctively, he finds himself buying you trinkets or flowers again.

“Hm? You just gave me one earlier, didn’t you?” You look up with a confused look but still hold that smile that stirs butterflies in his chest.

He nodded. “The flowers reminded me of you, mon amour. I could not help but feel the urge to give it to you.”

It does not stop him from giving you offerings.

Of course, he cannot just give up on you. The ruling of whoever deserves your love and affection the most. Of course, he is at an advantage knowing that he’s already your lover.

“Is there something wrong?” You looked up to him, hearing the pitter patter of the rain outside through the taps on the windows. You had your hands on his shoulders, gently rubbing them with your palms.

“It’s nothing, mon cœur, no need to worry.” He flashes you a reassuring smile, and yet, at the back of his mind, he wondered how you could have thought to check on him. Is it perhaps the gloominess in the atmosphere?

You frown as you look at him intently, “There are times when you’d shower me gifts with a saddened look on you. I’m worried, is all.”

He stares at you then. Ah, so you noticed, he thought.

He chuckles as he shakes his head and stands right next to you. “May I?” He opens his arms and you nod and dive right into his chest. He enclosed you into an embrace, relishing the feeling of your warmth.

He kisses your forehead then. “Allow me to bask in your presence for a while.”

For short, one of the best. Definitely a 100/10.

[professoruber]

A reminder that Batman Eternal did Crystal Brown dirty (and is probably the reason she hasn't appeared in a decade)

A few moments later...

Batman Eternal (2014-2015) #4

I just thought this might be worth posting since sometimes I do see folks wondering where Crystal Brown is, hoping she returns, and wondering why DC apparently kinda forgot that Steph's got a living mother.

The reason is cause Batman Eternal's re-introduction of Stephanie Brown and her family kinda just ruined Crystal's character entirely, made her a terrible mother, and then moved on.

Batman Eternal (2014-2015) #8

This really sucks, because of how her relationship with her mother was such a significant part of Stephanie's character, and how Crystal was able to eventually sober up and mend that relationship.

But N52 Crystal is, as these panels show, honestly a terrible mother and it makes sense (solely in the context of this continuity) why Steph has had nothing to do with her.

Instead of being depicted as victim of Arthur Brown's abuse, and struggling with drug addiction, this version of Crystal seems to be not only doing fine for herself, but also a willing accomplice of her ex-husband's crimes and benefiting from them.

Batman Eternal (2014-2015) #42

While this story does admittedly end on a somewhat bright note of Crystal claiming she didn't know how far Arthur would go, and then planning to take Steph and leave the city for good. Which is nice, but kinda too little too late (also Steph promptly gets kidnapped by Catwoman and Crystal never shows up again).

N52 Crystal is either...

Somehow did not think Arthur intended to harm Steph despite despite calling her, panicked by her dad trying to kill her

Was aware of what Arthur intended and had a change of heart / crisis of conscience and so was lying to Steph here

Either way, pretty horrible. And real sucks to turn a complex mother-daughter relationship into... whatever this is. Also as I mention, Crystal Brown has never appeared since.

There is a very stark difference in how many appearances Crystal has had before and after Flashpoint.

All of Prime Earth Crystal's appearance were in Batman Eternal.

Apparently infinite frontier means everything is canon now or something, so let's hope that eventually someone remembers Steph has a mother who loves her.

Please.

To end things off, here... have some wholesome Stephanie and Crystal Brown;

Batgirl (2009-2011) #24

[sansaorgana]

— HUMBLED (II)

PART ONE

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!Vala!Reader // Morgoth x fem!Vala!Reader

SUMMARY — Driven by guilt after abandoning him, you went back to the place where Mairon had been slain. You find out that he is still alive but in the weakest form and shape. You take him in to nurse him back to health in the solitude of your Mirkwood fortress where you are hiding from the Valar, disguised as an ordinary human.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — 👀 The Reader in this fic is a Vala (and Varda's sister but she remains undescribed as well), so she changes her appearance like Sauron does but I am not describing any of her forms in any details. The smut part is not with goo!Sauron although I'm sure some of your freaks would probably want that. 😂 I know that the fortress in Mirkwood was built by Sauron much later in canon but I wanted to use it in this fic, although I didn't use its name, so it doesn't have to be the exact same one anyway. Once again I want to thank @dinsbeskar & @olchr-1 💚 Special mention to the queen of Sauron fics @just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace and her fanfic Remade where the iconic evil!Reader is nursing goo!Sauron back to health as well. 🥺

WARNINGS — Reader is evil (reshaped by Morgoth but not completely evil), mentions of domestic abuse (with Morgoth) & of Sauron and Reader being tortured by Morgoth, goo!Sauron, murder, SMUT, dom!Sauron (with sub undertones)

WORD COUNT — 3,830

🔞 THIS FIC IS 18+ 🔞

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

HUMBLED (II)

Perhaps it was embarrassing for a Vala to feel so enamoured with a Maia but you could not help it – Mairon was all you could think of after your departure.

And after finding out that he had been slain during his coronation after your departure, you could not help a pang of guilt filling what was left of your heart. You had abandoned him and left him all alone at the mercy of all those dark and rotten creatures your husband had created and lured. Of course your sweet Mairon would never handle them on his own, without your support.

You missed him, too – your devoted servant who had worshipped you like nobody else before. When you were being an object of his desires, it was as if you were no longer Varda’s rival because Mairon could make you feel like the most important goddess in the whole world.

Therefore, after many years of being tormented with guilt and yearning, you decided to go back North and inspect the fortress where he had been slain. You could easily trace the very floor where he had laid dead because a black stain remained there. And you tilted your head while examining the cracks between which his blood had to be streaming down.

Your instincts led you underground where you found yourself in a cold and damp cave filled with sinister, ominous presence. There was no doubt that whatever was left of your servant still lived there.

And then, as if it was drawn to you, you spotted an odd, small form creeping towards you on the floor. It was not humanoid but visibly alive although its breath was barely present. The way it moved caused your heart to clench inside your chest out of pity. When it found itself by your feet, it wailed pathetically and whined.

You had a new form now as you were disguising yourself as a young woman of the human kind but his spirit would recognise Mother of Flames everywhere and in every form. Just like yours would always recognise him.

“My poor, sweet Mairon…” You crouched down to touch the malicious substance gently. “I am so sorry for abandoning you,” you whispered as you opened your hands and watched him struggle to slide onto them. “Just a little, my darling, you can do it. And once you’re with me, I will take care of you,” you promised. “I will nurse you back to health, my Mairon,” you encouraged him as he eventually managed to crawl up to lay in your hands. He sighed out of exhaustion and you chuckled softly.

You stood up and brought him closer to your face. He was like a little, gruesome pet and you found it adorable in a way as your godly instincts to take care over weaklings awakened.

“I shall take you away from here, my sweet spirit. Rest now, darling, you are safe now,” you cooed to him.

And inside your hands you took him safely back to the place where you had been living in hiding these days – in the southwest of Mirkwood where Hill of Sorcery was and you spent your days there alone in a fortress long-abandoned, away from everyone, trying not to attract any attention.

Having Mairon with you in his odd shape was merely counting as a companion although you were speaking to him all the time and he would answer with squeals, whines or sighs. You prepared him a cosy spot near the fireplace, which was always lit up due to your control over that destructive element.

As a fallen Vala, you had no power anymore to create life – not in the same, pure way as the others at least. Therefore, you did not want to risk bringing him back to life with your will because it could end up badly. You’d rather the process of his healing take centuries than to bring him back twisted and deformed in any way.

You felt bad for not being able to help him more, so you devoted your days to finding him wild animals to feed on and sometimes you would allow him to feed off of your own godly energy to gain strength as you would caress his foul form and coo to him.

As time passed, slowly but progressively, his shape was growing in size and getting more and more humanoid. He was even more gruesome now because he no longer resembled a pet but became a dark shadow that was creeping around the fortress as he kept following you around obediently.

Oftentimes, he would exhaust his weak form by doing so and you would turn around with a soft sigh and a smile at the sight of him breathing heavily on the floor.

“My sweet, Mairon, you should rest,” you crouched down to help him move back to his usual spot by the fireplace. “I am not going anywhere, do not worry, my dear. I shall never abandon you ever again, you have my word,” you caressed him.

He reached out his limb towards you and you smiled lovingly at the gesture.

“You seem to be quite ready, don’t you think, my dear? Should I fetch you a bigger meal?” You asked him.

You were excited to finally bring him back fully but on the other hand you had grown so used to this shadow following you around for the past few centuries that you were not sure if real, bratty Mairon was someone you wanted to handle again. However, you did not want him to suffer anymore.

The dark shape nodded, eagerly and you leaned in to place some sort of a kiss upon where his forehead would be.

“Be patient, dear. Soon, you will be back with me. And now, regain your strength,” you assured him and watched him fall asleep.

When he did so, you left the fortress and hunted for a human or an Elf who would walk around unguarded. Not that you would not handle someone of this sort – you were a goddess, after all. You simply did not want any witnesses. The woods were dark and mysterious, therefore one disappearance would not alarm anyone but to have a rumour going around that there was some dark spirit living amongst the humans and the Elves of Mirkwood – that you did not want.

Therefore, using your craft of deception and luring, you teased a young lumberjack into your fortress. He was in a trance but once you locked him inside the same chambers where Mairon’s shadow laid, he screamed out loud with terror. However, he was too far away from the nearest village for anyone to hear him.

You smirked to yourself as you paced around impatiently, waiting for Mairon to deal with his prey. The sounds coming out of the room were concerning but you knew that an act of rebirth required lots of dirty work.

Finally, the doors creaked as someone opened them slowly and you turned your head around rapidly.

There he stood in front of you – your Mairon. He chose a new form for himself this time, a little shorter, with curly brown hair and beautiful green eyes. He was in a human shape but you assumed he was not strong enough yet to create a form as pure as Elven. In fact, he looked like a commoner – him wearing his victim’s clothes was not helping the impression.

He was smiling proudly and taking deep breaths in as you watched him with widened eyes.

“You… You look different,” you pointed out, taken aback.

“So do you,” he answered and you cracked a smile at the sound of his new voice. What a privilege it seemed to be now to be able to hear his voice. “My Lady,” he added and bowed his head slightly. “I am yet too weak to take more noble form but in this one we both look the same. I would never dare to take a form higher than yours. I know you need your disguise but so do I. I hope you do not mind this choice.”

“Not at all,” you shook your head and approached him. “I have nursed you when you were a… A shadow. How can you think I would ever be able to cast you away because of your shape or form?” You cupped his cheeks as his stubble scratched your hands.

Short silence occurred, in which you two were staring at each other intensely. You were the one to make the first move as you pulled his face towards yours to plant dozens of tiny kisses all over his face while your hands brushed his curls.

Filled with joy to be in your arms and to be greeted by you this way, he wrapped his new, strong arms around you and made an attempt to give back at least half of those hasty and desperate kisses.

“My Lady, my Queen,” he whispered between them, “my saviour, my Goddess.”

His kisses grew more hungry and passionate as his lips moved down to your neck, kissing it eagerly and sucking on the sensitive skin. His hands, shaky from anticipation, worked on the lacing of your gown. He was too desperate to ask if he could stain you with his touch but you would never reject him.

Whatever was between you two now had differed greatly from whatever you two had back in the day. After all those centuries of taking care of him in his weakest state while you two were hiding away from the outside world, you felt that the connection between you two was as strong as ever. Perhaps even stronger than the one you had once had with Melkor.

“Mairon…” You gasped when his hands finally untied the corset of your gown and he tore it off of you like a wild animal in heat, pushing you down onto the floor.

This time it was you underneath him, at the mercy of his will and his desire. And you should mind that but you did not – in fact, you craved it. It had been ages since he had a body and now his flesh was filled with uncontrollable desires. You wanted to be the only subject of them as you would never allow him to fulfil them with anyone else.

“You are mine,” you reminded him when he grabbed your wrists and crossed them above your head, pinning you down.

He looked deep into your eyes as his pupils widened and nearly overtook the beautiful green colour completely. He growled and leaned in to give you yet another hungry kiss and you wrapped your thighs around his waist, pulling him closer. You could feel his erection already because the clothes he had taken from the commoner were thin and loosely put on.

“You belong to me,” you whined between one hungry kiss and another while he took both of your wrists into one of his hands now to be able to remove his clothes with the other. He was chaotic while doing so, desperate to get rid of anything between your bodies. “Tell me, Mairon. Do you serve me still?” You asked.

There was a new energy about him in this form. He was still only a Maia but you were a very weakened Vala and he was no longer a pathetic spirit you had remembered. He reminded you of your husband in a way that you were now anxious about.

“I am yours,” he breathed out and held onto your hip with his free hand as he buried himself inside of you and groaned out of pleasure. You shivered as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Your hips bucked up as your walls throbbed around his length, welcoming him in by greedily sucking him in deeper. “I am your servant and yours only. There is nothing holy to me except for you,” he confessed and let go of your wrists to squeeze your cheeks, which caused your hazy eyes to open and look deep into his.

They were no longer green; not even black. He was too driven by desire to be able to control his form and his eyes were terrifying and animalistic as if he was a serpent and not a human. Yet, the sight only made you throb around him some more.

“In your name I shall heal this realm and you will have your temple like I have promised,” he hissed out. “But if you ever abandon me again, I shall give up on you, too. Like I have given up on all the other gods,” he threatened and perhaps he had earned a reprimand for that but you couldn’t help a moan at his words as your hips bucked once more and he began to thrust into you.

His rhythm was far from steady; it was chaotic and desperate, rough and fast. He groaned and buried his face in the crook of your neck, assaulting your skin with kisses and bites as his big and strong hands held onto your hips to be able to fuck you even deeper.

You tangled your fingers in his brown curls and pulled on them, which only spurred him on and with your other hand you scratched the flexed muscles of his back. Your moans and whines filled the whole fortress and lucky were the habitants of the near villages to live far away enough to not be able to hear you.

Like two desperate animals with your clothes scattered around and torn, fucking on the floor. There was nothing holy about you two at that moment and nothing noble either. Even your forms were human, therefore you had to resemble two primal and primitive creatures instead of the regal and holy spirits that you had originally been.

“I will never abandon you again, sweet Mairon. Have I not promised you already?” You whispered. “Whatever path you want to take, I shall take with you. Reunite all the dark creatures of this realm for you again, command your armies, I shall do it. Stay here forever and get lost in each other’s embrace for the whole eternity instead? I shall do it, too,” you confessed.

Your devotion – the loyalty of the one he had been worshipping ever since his creation – was enough to make him spill himself inside of you with a groan of pleasure and relief after such a long time of yearning. He moved up to look at your face and he caressed your sweaty cheeks while he kept thrusting in and out of you to make you reach your peak, too.

“Once we heal and take over this realm, I will defile you on every altar built for you,” Mairon promised you in a raspy voice, his eyes back to normal now but still foggy from his orgasm. “There will be no more Valar for our subjects, there will be only you. The only goddess. Any form of worship of the other Valar will be considered blasphemy,” he whispered sweetly and you moaned, feeling the muscles of your abdomen tightening as your walls clenched hard around him but he kept on fucking you. In fact, he picked up his pace. “Such a goddess you are and look at you, so humbled underneath me. How humiliating it must be for you, my Queen,” he teased, cruelly and instead of getting angry or ashamed, you finally came all around his cock, shivering and moaning as he watched in awe with a smirk, fucking you throughout your orgasm.

He was slowing down alongside your breath going back to normal and his rough human hands were caressing your cheeks now, brushing out the hair strands away from your sweaty face. 

“You forget yourself,” you breathed out eventually.

“You liked it,” Mairon pointed out. “And I shall do everything to please my Queen,” he chuckled with a sparkle dancing in his eye. “I bet you would like to do it again, my Lady.”

“I do,” you grinned but he shook his head as he laughed.

“Work before play,” he leaned in to place a kiss upon your forehead. “And we have a lot of work to do,” he pointed out and moved away as you whined at the sudden emptiness.

“What are you talking about? You have just regained your form back,” you sat up and tilted your head at him.

“I have had centuries to come up with a scheme and I do not wish to waste more time,” Mairon told you, gathering the scattered clothes from the floor to put them back on.

You sighed and rolled your eyes before laying back on the ground.

“What is it, my Lady?” He furrowed his brows at you.

“Nothing, my sweet,” you chuckled. “You’re back at it, are you not? You cannot ever just let it happen or have fun. You must always work and be a perfectionist about it.”

“I might have a new form and a new will but some things never change,” he answered.

“I wonder sometimes why the Valar have not found me yet,” you sat up again to look at him and he froze at the mention of the other gods. “I mean, they are not searching for me hard enough because I am not that well disguised. Yet, they have not come for me yet and I know that in their eyes I deserve a punishment.”

“Do you have any theories about it, my Queen?” Mairon asked, curiously.

“You are my punishment, I reckon,” you told him. “I am humbled to be enamoured with a servant and I have to endure your annoying ways,” you added but with a playful smile that signalled your affection.

Mairon smirked nervously. He had once fantasised about something similar when his heart had still been pure and he had been Aulë’s disciple in Valinor. In what a twisted way his dream turned out to be real. He pitied you at that moment.

He crouched down next to you and caressed your cheek gently before leaning in to place a kiss on the top of your head. 

“I wish to perfect myself as much as it is allowed for me to but I will never be your equal, which I am aware of and it will forever be my biggest regret,” he confessed. “If only I could… All I want is to be worthy of you like he was. My master.”

You flinched at the mention of your husband. Melkor was immortal like you were, therefore he was not dead but locked away instead. You were still his wife because of that and you would forever remain in the eyes of many but at that moment, you would not mind to break the tradition and become Mairon’s bride. Even if it would be considered a great humiliation.

“I wonder what he thinks of us,” you mumbled out. “But I care not,” you looked up to meet Mairon’s concerned gaze.

“Even if he comes back by any chance, I shall not allow him to hurt you or take you away from me. No matter what it takes,” he promised with all seriousness and you batted your eyelashes to dry out your fresh tears.

“If he comes back by any chance,” you chuckled sadly, “it will be me having to protect you from his wrath, my sweet Mairon,” you caressed his cheek and leaned in to place a gentle kiss upon his lips.

You would never leave his side and you would always watch over him, take care of him and nurse him back to health whenever he would need it again. 

He was your lesson in humility but you were a very eager student.

You were sitting by the fire amongst all those poor villagers who had lost their homes. Mairon had his arm wrapped around you as you clinged to his chest as if you were cold, pretending to shiver slightly. The old man named Diarmid who had taken you both alongside with him squinted his eyes at the two of you and decided to join you by sitting next to you after a while of hesitation.

You moved slightly to make more space for him and he smiled.

“Halbrand and Brynn,” he addressed you by your new and fake human names. “How much have you lost there if I might ask?” He asked but there was no rudeness about it, only genuine concern.

“Everything,” you answered, refusing to look him in the eye as you watched the flames dance. It was the very element you had full control of but now you just allowed it to burn naturally as you smiled at the memory of casting the very first fire that had ever existed in Arda. Mairon leaned in to kiss your temple and he was the one to look at the old man.

“This might be a second chance for us,” he said. “I like to think of it as such. We are free now from the burdens of the past. As if we were new people.”

“And that is how you should be perceiving it,” Diarmid pointed out as he nodded. You smirked a little because he was so naive and so oblivious to your Mairon’s malice.

“My husband’s always been the more positive one,” you mumbled out. “I like to perceive things the way they are,” you added.

“That is certainly a useful quality,” the old man smiled at you. “But sometimes we all need a little hope and a little white lie here and there. Such wisdom comes with age that the true purpose of the fairytales is not to entertain the children but to bring hope to grown men and women for the reality of life can get too gloomy to bear faith for a better tomorrow. Yet, we must keep going. No matter what.”

You looked up at that moment and locked your gaze with his as your heart skipped a beat. The man kept smiling at you softly and you would never tell Mairon about it but he was no ordinary human. He was a spirit sent to you – he was one of the Maiar with a task given to him from the Valar.

They knew about you and Mairon and they wished for you both to redeem yourselves and choose goodness this time. Indeed, it made your heart clench deep inside of your chest as you remembered them all, especially your sister – the one you had betrayed the most.

But it was too late for you and too late for Mairon. Melkor’s corruption and darkness were reaching deeper within your souls than the Valar’s lightness ever would. You two were the most exquisite subjects of the Dark Lord’s torment.

Instead of fixing your malice with his love, like Marion had once dreamed of, you both descended into the paths of sin and destruction disguised as the act of healing. Together, at least.

MASTERLIST

[emilys-bangs]

not a lot, just forever | e.p

Tags: flangst, momily, hurt/comfort, nightmares, typical momily guilt, this is actually not a reader insert fic because reader isn’t here (yet), idk where they are honestly, single mom!emily, probably inaccurate portrayals of children because I’ve never spent more than an hour around a toddler

Summary: Nightmares haunt the Prentiss household—more recently targeting its smallest member—but this time, Emily may have found a solution.

Word count: 2.2k

Emily is not a heavy sleeper. She used to be, when she was knee deep in her idle teenage years and wading through conjoined shadows of depression and loneliness, but that changed. Her body did. It was a rewiring in her brain; the more she became conscious of the world, her own vulnerability in it, the less she dipped into subconsciousness. The change began slow: after a couple of months in Interpol—a gun on her hip that followed her home to take up space in her bedroom safe—a year-long stint in Tuscany. By the time she joined the BAU her barrier between sleep and wakefulness was paper thin. 

Then she became a mother.

The dip of her mattress goes unnoticed. It sinks beneath a familiar weight, and then she’s conscious of a knee pressing into her stomach, bony elbows and the scent of baby shampoo pulling her awake even before a sniffled Maman? breaks the silence.

Her eyes peel open. Emily sits up groggily on instinct, her spine straightening off the mattress then curving beneath the heft of her exhaustion. It stiffens again when she sees her son. 

Matthew’s silhouette is blurred even though he’s only a few inches from her face. Tears shine on his cheeks, dripping off his chin and soaking her pajama shorts like warm patters of rain. Emily doesn’t get to blink the sleep from her eyes before he’s crumpling into her chest, arms tight around her neck, his hiccups only slightly stifled into her skin. They echo off the walls, loud as gunshots as she wraps her arms around him, automatically shushing, her hands rubbing wide circles on his back—limbs heavy and lined with sleep, tongue barely unstuck from the roof of her mouth. Her heart pounds from the fright of being woken up, and her son’s crying doesn’t help any in calming it down. 

“Hey, hey.” She rasps, barely audible over the sound of his crying. Matthew’s chest stutters against hers, his breathing jagged and uneven. A sigh gets trapped in her lungs, gets buried down next to the knot in her gut that forms each time this happens.

“It’s okay. You’re okay, mon coeur. Maman’s got you.” Emily gathers him fully onto her lap and sags back against the headboard, blinking hazy exhaustion from her eyes as she continues to whisper nonsense into his hair. Her heart twinges through his sniffles, the heat of tears on her neck just about cracking it clean in half. 

Nightmares have become more often lately. Like clockwork, always between the hours of 3 and 4, the stillness of the night breaks beneath Matthew’s cries. There’s no apparent reason, none that she can find, and it’s sending them both half insane. Some nights he’s too terrified to go to bed; all the cuddles and stories and reassurances swirl down the drain, fear poisoning his thoughts until he’s begging to sleep with her, a small tremble to his lips. She relents most of the time, guilt knotting in her throat, but she’s been trying to put her foot down.

And this is what happens when she does.

Emily should know what to do by now, but the uselessness washes over her every time, hitting her like a brick. She still isn’t used to his nightmares, fumbling her way through the same words that dissolve in the face of yet another bad dream—it’s not real, you’re safe, it’s okay to be scared. 

Words have never been her strong suit, and Matthew needs them. He doesn’t know how to speak the silent language she substitutes for words, and she’s still trying to learn how to reassure and comfort with nothing but her tongue. Eventually the repetitive reassurances turn to ash in her mouth, useless and falling on deaf ears, so she resorts to whispered sweet nothings instead—mostly in French, the rumble of her voice working in tandem with the heel of her hand pressing down on his back.

It doesn’t take long before Matthew goes limp in her arms, sniffling weakly as his fists loosen to flat palms on her shoulders. By the time he’s quieted down she’s wide awake, her shirt damp with tears and snot, the inside of her chest bruised from the still frazzled beat of her heart. She rubs between his shoulder blades and grimaces; his body is warm, his shirt damp where it sticks to his back. 

Matthew lets out a protesting noise when she stands and lifts him onto her hip, his grip tightening on her shirt.

“It’s okay,” Emily soothes. “I’m not going anywhere. We’re just gonna get you into some new pj’s, sweet boy. These are all sweaty.” She makes a stop in the bathroom to wash his face before making her way to his bedroom, all in the semi-dark, her eyes barely picking out the edges of the shadows. 

Matthew calms down after the water, but he still clings to her so close she feels the lingering tremble in his bones. This she’s used to—his nails digging into her arm and shoulder like he wants to rip a hole in her skin and bury under it. Nose skimming her collarbone, head just under her chin; every unsteady exhale beats across her skin, loud in the stillness of the house.

Emily sighs. “That nightmare did a number on you, huh? Wanna tell me about it?”

“No,” he mumbles into her shoulder. The rough grate of his voice stabs through her skin.

She chews on her lip, squinting when she walks into the warm yellow of his nightlight, and takes out a pair of pajamas from his closet. Her eyes don’t miss the twisted sheets of Matthew’s bed, his stuffed animals knocked carelessly to the floor. “That’s fair. I don’t like talking about my bad dreams either.”

Matthew frowns a little as she sits both of them down on his bed, his lips curving into a sullen pout. “Mommy gets bad dreams too?” He rasps.

Emily presses her lips into a smile, the edges of it curling downwards as she smooths some of his unruly hair back from his face. Bad dreams hardly covers the bloody horrors her mind conjures in its sleep. “Yes, Matthew.” She murmurs. “Everyone gets bad dreams sometimes, even me. It’s normal to have them.” She strips him of his sweaty shirt and tugs the clean one over his head. 

The word is acrid on her tongue. It feels like a lie, though countless articles and pediatricians and even—heaven help her—her own mother have reassured her multiple times that yes, it’s normal for her preschooler to wake up kicking and screaming several times a week for no apparent reason. She doesn’t have a scale for it, her more than anyone else. Emily’s nightmares were never close to normal. Blood and guns and Matthew’s hand suddenly disappearing from her own have haunted her for so long she forgot what technically classifies as a normal nightmare.

Matthew is silent as she guides his arms through the sleeves. He’s always been quiet, inching towards shy—clinging to her pant legs and stifling mumbled words into her body. Emily has mostly learned how to coax them from him, but he’s taught her to be patient. Sometimes they stick to the roof of his mouth with cement; sometimes it only takes a nudge for him to spill rivers of words in her ear. She lets him be, even when curiosity eats at her, when she wants to know what it is that swirls deep beneath his raven curls. 

His brows furrow in thought, a crease forming above his damp eyes. 

“Even Sergio?” He asks after a few quiet beats.

The question makes her laugh. “I don’t know, bug. I never thought of that.” Emily tugs him up, switches Spider-Man pants for space rockets. “I think his worst nightmare would be running out of tuna.” She stifles a yawn, words lost in a vortex of warm air. 

“But…” Mathew’s lip wobbles. “He’ll be—he’ll be scared.” He looks up at her with wide eyes—exactly like her own and so, so much more tearful.

Emily sighs quietly. She takes him back into her chest and he latches on to her, arms and legs tight around her neck and waist. Again she feels herself about to stumble, words already weighing her tongue down. Her thoughts pulse sluggishly, the movement of her hand far more adept as she rubs down the ridges of his spine. 

“The scary feeling doesn’t stay forever, Matthew. We just think it does, but it’s…it’s tricky. It’s not forever.” 

She cringes into his shoulder. God, does he even understand what she’s saying? He’s still so little, just turned four, and the nonsense she’s spewing hardly even registers through her own head. Emily’s head spins, the thick sluggishness of sleep unshakeable.

“You know what I do after I have a bad dream?” She blurts out, going heavy at the thought of more tears. Matthew’s hair tickles her jaw as he shakes his head. Emily rubs at his back, coaxes him away from her shoulder so she can meet his eyes. His shiny, red-rimmed eyes that openly reflect every emotion she’s spent most of her life hiding. 

Most of her life, until she had him. 

Emily cups his small cheeks, the soft roundness of them filling her palms. “I close my eyes really tight and I think of the good stuff. Everything that makes me happy.”

Matthew rubs a fist into his eye. “Like what?” He mumbles, the nightlight catching stray tears smeared on the back of his hand.

“Like you,” Emily whispers, pulling his hand away and running her thumb under his eye. She feels the slippery tears gone cold on his skin and wipes them away.

“Me?” He frowns.

“Yes, you.” She presses her finger to the small wrinkle between his brows, smoothing it out. “I tell myself, “hey, remember that time when Matthew spilled flour all over himself and Serg? And they both had to get into the bath ’cause they got flour everywhere?”” Matthew lets out a raspy giggle at the memory. Emily’s chest lightens; she laughs, too. “Wasn’t that silly? Sometimes I think of my friends at work, too. Or the plans we’ll make for tomorrow. It helps me forget the scary stuff.” She murmurs, combing the dark tangle of his hair away from his face.

“And cinnamon rolls too?” He whispers, tripping over n’s and m’s, chewing them together in a way that makes her grin.

“And cinnamon rolls,” Emily laughs, finally feeling that she’s doing something right. “All the good stuff I can think of, until I stop being scared. How about we try that now, sweetheart? I’ll sit here with you, and you close your eyes.” She stands and straightens out the sheets, then gathers the fallen soldiers littered on the floor and returns them to their perch by Matthew’s side.

He looks at her uncertainly, brows pinched in a frown far too serious for his young face. Emily gives him a reassuring smile, leaning down to press a kiss to his hair. “C’mon, bug. It’ll be okay, I promise.”

It takes more coaxing and nudging to get him under the covers, even as his eyes grow heavy the deeper they slip into the night. Emily tucks him in and gives him his stuffed bear—creatively dubbed Mr. Bear—to hold, before settling down on the fluffy, carpeted floor beneath his bed. He’s reluctant to close his eyes; Emily grabs his hand and holds it between both of hers, softly rubbing against the back of it until he finally relents. She feels the exhaustion settle in her own body, a heavy weight returning to its perch on her shoulders, but she blinks the sleep away and focuses on her son.

“Want me to help you out?”

Matthew nods.

“Okay. Hmm, let’s see—you mentioned cinnamon rolls a little while ago. Those are good, right?”

“Uh-huh. With the”—he wiggles his fingers, sprinkling invisible garnish over Mr. Bear’s head—“the thingy on top.”

“Pecans,” Emily laughs. Matthew’s eyes shoot open as he grins, two half moons of dimples in his cheeks. She gently touches his lids, forcing his lashes to flutter shut. “Well…what do you say we go get some tomorrow? And we’ll eat them in the park, and play on the swings.”

“And play with my bike.”

“And play with your bike,” Emily agrees, swallowing back a yawn. She tries to count the threads of his closed lashes as Matthew mumbles about getting a hot chocolate with his cinnamon roll (lots of cream on top), and wearing his light-up Spider-Man sneakers, and inviting an unsuspecting Henry to play with his scooter. Emily nods and hums and agrees, her thumb skimming over the flat of his wrist and feeling for his pulse as it begins to slow. He doesn’t get to elaborate much further before his words start to stick together, honey-coated and sleep-drenched, muffled into the cushion of his lips.

Emily takes a second even after she’s sure he’s asleep. A second to rub one more path over his hand, to scan the way his chest moves evenly up and down. His hold on her hand still hasn’t loosened; she carefully unfurls his fingers from hers, ignoring the cold sweep of the air on her skin as she presses a kiss to his forehead.

On her way out, she spots Sergio curling up at the foot of Matthew’s bed. He blinks sleep hazed eyes at her, trilling softly when she scratches between his ears.

“You’ll keep him safe,” she whispers, bending to kiss his forehead too. “We both will.”

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @justhereforthosefics @storiesofsvu @ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi @temilyrights @professorsapphic

[rin-sith]

*That* scene in Six Hundred Strike is not about vengeance, it's about vulnerability ... because the Vengeance saga isn't about vengeance

To think all of this started because I was trying to determine why it feels so natural to read intimacy into the torture scene in Six Hundred Strike ... See, I'm personally not someone who reads an angle like this into things easily, but this time I found myself doing it too. And I just needed to know why.

It just made no sense for a while, because if you look at it superficially, it shouldn't make sense; it's a freaking torture scene. But I don't know, somehow, I must have felt that there was something there ... and I think I figured it out.

See, the reason why it feels so natural to read intimacy into this scene is because ... it actually is incredibly intimate. Not in an actually sexual way, but more so in a, "Imagine you were suddenly able to read someone's mind, and they yours" kind of intimacy.

It's really easy to just assume Six Hundred Strike is literally about vengeance, but it isn't. Now, please stick with me for a bit because we are going on a bit of a tangent here, but I promise we'll get back to this eventually.

The tangent I want to explore first is (as you've probably seen in the title) that the whole Vengeance saga is, ironically, about the unnecessity of vengeance and how destructive grudges and resentment can be. Think about it:

In Not Sorry For Loving You, Odysseus lets Calypso rant and then walks away without confronting her or accusing her, even telling her what she wants to hear one last time. I already discussed why Odysseus is an incredibly non-judgmental, non-resentful person in my Monster essay, and here is another excellent example of that.

Charybdis (I'm skipping Dangerous because he doesn't encounter any enemies there) is the first "monster" enemy he leaves alive since Polyphemus (Scylla doesn't count because he still "kills" for the sake of getting past her, even if it's in the form of sacrificing his men.) While one might argue that he had no choice since Charybdis is virtually impossible to kill, I think placing this encounter here might be an intentional choice especially since it differs greatly from the way that Charybdis is in the Odyssey. There has to be reason behind this change.

In Get In The Water (my beloved 🫶) we are explicitly shown that Odysseus offers Poseidon (the god who killed his whole fleet and is responsible for most of his suffering) forgiveness. The reason Odysseus has to torture him in the first place is Poseidon's own refusal of this mercy—he's literally torturing Poseidon in order to make him finally release the grudge because he has proven that this is the only way to actually get through to him. It actually shows perfectly that Poseidon's own inability to release his resentment became his downfall in the end, disproving his own "ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves" motto as his own ruthlessness bit him in the a** this time, as I talked about in this post.

... And there is no resentment or vengeance in Six Hundred Strike either.

On one hand, it's easy to assume phrases like "For every comrade, every one of my friends, almost all of whom were slaughtered by your hand" or "How does it feel to be helpless? How does it feel to know pain?" indicate resentment, but ... not really.

We already know that Odysseus doesn't want vengeance, or he wouldn't have tried to lead from the heart one song earlier.

And then make yourself aware of something else: Not once during any of their encounters is Odysseus actually accusing or resenting Poseidon for anything.

"Almost all of whom were slaughtered by your hand" is an objective fact. It's just true. Someone vengeful may have said "I'll make you pay for all of those you slaughtered" or "All of their deaths are your fault" ... Odysseus just says, "for every comrade". He doesn't specify what he's doing for his comrades ... and it sure as hell isn't that he's (trying to) cause Poseidon pain or harm for them (which would be vengeance.)

For every comrade, he is fighting Poseidon, in order to finally reach his goal. For every comrade, he's doing everything that he has to do in order to get home, and in order to end this feud.

And then we get to the torture scene and it's ... actually so incredibly freaking intimate. Because it's not actually about vengeance, it's not about accusing Poseidon, or making him pay, or suffer more than necessary. If Odysseus were speaking from a genuine vengeance angle, he'd probably sound more like, "You killed my friends, now you pay for it. You did this to me and now it is your time to suffer." But he doesn't.

The torture scene in Six Hundred Strike is actually ... just another, much more extreme, repeat of Odysseus' lines from Get In The Water (my beloved 🫶): "Aren't you tired, Poseidon? It's been ten years, how long will this go? We're both hurting from losses, so why not leave this here and just go home?"

Odysseus tried saying it nicely ... now he's stabbing him with his own trident, hoping, practically begging, that he finally listens and accepts. Just lets them both go home.

And the thing is, this time, he isn't just saying "we're both hurting from losses" ... All you have to do is repeat to yourself Odysseus' entire monologue that he unleashes while he's stabbing him in a calmer, gentler tone and you'll see that what he is actually yelling out at Poseidon are all of the reasons why he is hurting. Sharing with him all of the pain that he probably hasn't shared with anyone ... ever.

"How does it feel to be helpless? How does it feel to know pain?" -> How does it feel to be vulnerable? I've felt vulnerable for so long without anyone to talk to or because no one truly understood me or what I'm going through.

"I watched my friends die in horror, crying as they were all slain. I heard their final moments, calling their captain in vain." -> This is why I am hurting. These are my losses.

"Look what you turned me into. Look what we've become." -> Look what I could be if I actually followed your lessons. Is this what you really want? Why can't you understand the harm that this is causing both of us?

"All of the pain that I've been through ... haven't I suffered enough?" -> Aren't you tired, Poseidon? It's been ten years, how long will this go? We're both hurting from losses, so why not leave this here and just go home?"

"You didn't stop when I begged you." -> I asked you to "Stop this, please" mere minutes ago. You didn't stop. That's why I'm doing this.

"(You) told me to close my heart. You said the world is dark. Didn't you say that ruthlessness is mercy?" -> I'm doing what you said you wanted me to do. Do you really want this? Do you really believe this? Can something like this really be mercy?

The first time I heard this, I firmly believed that Odysseus was actually crying during this part, and honestly, I believe that to this day. The canon visuals don't show us his face and I want to almost say that's intentional.

This whole scene is about vulnerability. Forced vulnerability, in a lot of ways, but raw, real vulnerability nonetheless.

This isn't just a torture scene; it's actually one of the most intimate scenes we've ever seen Odysseus share with anyone on screen. Seldom do we see him this honest in front of others (the vulnerable scene with Circe at the end of There Are Other Ways is the only other example I can think of.) Otherwise, all of his honest, raw songs are his solo songs (Monster, Just A Man, ...)

But here, Odysseus is essentially using the symbol of Poseidon's invulnerability—his trident—to force him into the most vulnerable position that he's probably been in centuries, if not ever ... and at the same time, he is being incredibly vulnerable himself. He's opening up to Poseidon in a kind of absolute way that we have actually never seen him open up to anyone.

... If that is not intimacy in its rawest, most painful, uncomfortable, and yet cathartic forms, I don't know what is.

As if that weren't sad enough... The saddest part about all of this is actually Poseidon's "Monster!" ... Because it tells us without a doubt that he is actually incapable of receiving or understanding those words from Get In The Water (my beloved 🫶). He is incapable of understanding vulnerability. All he can see is the "monstrous" act that accompanies it because that is something he knows and recognizes.

Although I believe, in the end, Odysseus did get through to him, and did get him to drop the grudge, I believe it happened on a kind of subconscious level rather than genuine acknowledgment or agreement. It's further proof of how Odysseus is capable of growth while Poseidon isn't (yet.)

Poseidon remains stuck in his ways, in his "ruthlessness" philosophy, because he isn't ready to acknowledge its flawed nature, essentially making it his own cage that prevents him from growing or moving forward. Meanwhile, Odysseus is walking away, walking ahead.

... Part of me almost wants to claim that he started begging Odysseus to stop so quickly not because of the physical pain, but because of his words. Because the vulnerability forced on him was hurting in a way that physical injuries, even from his own trident, never could. Because deep down, very deep down, he must've ... "felt" what Odysseus wanted him to understand and feel anyway.

Remember how I compared this type of intimacy to the sudden ability to read someone's mind before? I chose this analogy for a reason. What is intimacy if not using the very source of a god's invulnerability, essentially putting yourself into his divine shoes, doing what you know he would do to you ... in order to force him to connect to your mortal feelings and pains, even if he can still not truly understand them?

Here is where we see, for the first time, maybe ever, what even Odysseus and Athena couldn't do (yet), and the core reason why their partnership broke apart: a mortal and a divine genuinely understood each other's perspectives ... saw themselves in the other, even if only for a moment.

Given all that ... there is absolutely nothing I can say against kicking my feet and giggling excitedly over this scene.

[wardensantoineandevka]

i haven't watched CR since CR1 - what's the status of the VM crew? Curious but i know in my heart im not watching another campaign to find out

So, I've summarized their epilogues as they play out in the finale of Campaign 3. I've tried to not editorialize and stick to facts, but as always I do recommend people check my work! You can read a transcript of the episode with this link starting at where the VM epilogues start.

Grog is an ambassador to the new Krevirian Republic on Ruidus. He and Gaz Tomo, one of the officials of the Republic and a former revolutionary who fought the prior imperial regime and who is not dissimilar in temperament to Grog, hit it off immediately. Grog has also taken to introducing himself as Grogory.

Scanlan and Cerkonos of the Fire Ashari (who was played by Robbie Daymond during C3) developed a really hilarious but actually fairly touching friendship over Cerkonos's attempts to woo Lieve'tel. Shortly after the events of C3, in the time where Pike has no duties to tend to, he asks her to spend some time adventuring with him again before they both have to hang it up for good. Pike wants to say no, but admits that she still loves him and loves spending time with him. He says they don't have to marry again, but they're probably going to get married again (again). For now, though, no labels. He also casts True Polymorph on her too, so they are both adventuring as centaurs.

Lieve'tel continues to serve as a high warden of the temple at Vasselheim. She is still out there gettin' it.

Percy, feeling that he is getting old, exacerbated by the fact that years have been very difficult and hard and stressful, and that retirement is fast approaching, has decided that he and Vex need to start thinking about preparing their children to take over some of their roles in Whitestone and the world at large. Percy wishes to try to locate the reincarnated gods before anyone, because he is paranoid about trouble starting, but Keyleth convinces him to allow this to be something the generation after him decides how best to approach and worry over. Whitestone is among those places that open themselves to Ruidian refugees, and it benefits from an increase in residuum trade in the aftermath of the shift of magic following the Rite of Catatheosis.

Vex eventually steps away from her duties alongside Percy as he gets older to spend time with him in their several vacation homes across Exandria and their cottage on Ruidus. They are mentioned to own both an Evil Babies painting by Braius and a Lavorre.

Keyleth is among the first, if not the first, to know when a god has been incarnated into the world by communing with the roots of the primordial trees throughout Exandria. She does not tell Percy.

Aside from and probably after her time with Scanlan, Pike for a long time feels a sense of loss and grief without the Everlight's presence and feels uncertain what to do with her life, so she continuously tends to the Everlight's temples until one day, fifteen years later, she receives news that the Everlight has been found.

Vax no longer carries out his duty as the Champion of Ravens alone, but now has a partner in Morrighan, perhaps with others to come in the future. Together, they are expected to eventually find and protect the incarnated Matron of Ravens. Thus, he returns to live in Exandria, with a little more vitality and color in him than before. He returns to Keyleth. She says that she has changed in the years since, and he asks to start over with no expectations. She agrees to another beginning, and they introduce themselves to one another again: "My name's Keyleth, and you're the love of my life." "If you will have me, I am yours, Keyleth of the Air Ashari."

[writerunnamed]

note: I am both shocked, and grateful at the response this story has gotten. I didn't tag anyone, and I expected maybe a few people to be into it but you proved me so wrong. So thankful that you all like it, please don't be shy. Slide into the dms, spam me with asks, lets go nuts together. xo (thanks so much for going through and betaing this chapter @frannyzooey xo) Joel(stepdad), significant age gap, female reader. 18+ legal, reader is 20 (warnings: pov sex, shower sex, really inappropriate dirty talk, slight Dom-Joel vibes, daddy kink, heavy guilt) 4k word count masterlist

--

The guilt doesn’t creep in, it consumes like a five alarm fire. It’s weight holding you pressed to your bed as the shadows in your room stretch out with the fading of the golden hour light. The darkness helps, but not nearly enough to make any kind of a difference. 

He’d left after, closing your bedroom door behind him with your slick still smeared all over his dick and the realization of what you’ve done keeps hitting you. It keeps dropping stones in your gut, further weighing you down, naked, in the incriminating wet patch on your sheets. You hear your mother open the front door an indeterminable amount of time after. Your face burns, your heart races, she has to know. Surely she’d felt it, like a phantom limb while she was working, a ghost knife in the shape of her daughter, stabbing her in the back. 

You wait, barely breathing, sheets clutched in the talons of your fingersfor her to storm in, to rip you out of the house by your skin but it doesn’t happen. You hear him laugh, hear them chat as though nothing has happened. Your heart rate steadily lowers, and it becomes apparent that her wrath isn’t pending. 

The ax hanging over your head is being held by you, and no one else.

You stay there, uncomfortable, ashamed, cold, until it’s late enough that the house falls silent. Then, and only then do you get up and change the sheets. You pad out to the bathroom and shower, silently telling yourself that it was a temporary lapse in judgment. It was a psychotic episode. It was a hallucination, there’s no way you’d actually done that. It must have been imagined, but then you clean between your legs and feel the soreness and curse yourself all over again. 

You do your best to wash him off of you, wash the whole encounter, the whole mistake, and vow to yourself to never give it another thought. You console yourself with the thought that he must feel awful too, surely. He was probably lying there next to your mother, terrified with guilt. The devil on your shoulder, that cruel thing inside laughed at your naivety, practically yelling at you to smarten up. He doesn’t feel guilty, he’s probably snoring, his balls empty, his body pleasantly tired without a care in the world. 

Sleep eventually finds you, giving you the blissful respite of the dreamless dark.

—

A week goes by and you can almost convince yourself it had been a dream. Your mother is her normal, distant, distracted self. Joel works and blessedly you have managed to avoid any unsupervised interactions. Your brain however, has splintered and each shard has its role. The first keeps you sane, it does it best to make sure you focus on anything but the event you will not name. Another convinces you that things have almost fixed themselves since… well, that. It fools you into believing that it was somehow a cure. Things feel better in the house. The tension is gone, Joel seems disinterested, your mother is preoccupied. A tentative truce has somehow been enforced. 

There is another shard, an unwelcome and unruly and now untethered part of you that screams for a repeat performance. It begs and pleads for you to corner Joel and take what he gave again and again. The other aspects keep it restrained for most of the day. Work, responsibilities, the general needs and demands of the day take up most of your bandwidth but at night, at night it reigns supreme and without opposition. 

In the comforting dark of your now tainted space, that illicit part of you floods your mind's eye with the vision of Joel there, in your bed. It recalls the feeling of his mouth on your nipples with crystalline clarity, makes you feel the way he molded your body to take him, the way you came around his cock with that word in your mouth.

You were grateful for the toy, but he’d been so frustratingly right about it not doing much. After him, the toy was a tease. It was barely a taste of what he’d been able to do, but it didn’t stop you from using it. It was the safest option, until you could find someone appropriate. 

Or get the fuck out of that house and forget about the whole thing. 

-

More days pass, and that tension filters through your defences, It glides in and fills every angle of the house, every corner with a need borne of your interlude. 

Joel’s eyes linger again, he tracks your movements whether your mother is around or not. He smiles, he tests, pushes your limits with a passing hand on your lower back. His fingers linger when he hands you a plate or a mug, he sits close enough for his thighs to press to yours on the couch, the soft light of the tv and the lamp casting shadows across you both. 

Your mother doesn’t pay attention, or doesn’t see it. You are not a threat to her relationship, why would you be? In any normal, healthy family this would never be something to be worried about, not in a million years. In a proper family, a stepfather would not fuck his stepdaughter. 

A stepdaughter would not fantasize about it either.

The guilt builds the more time passes, but it wars with another, less wholesome feeling. Desire. Unadulterated lust. There is a part of you, a growing, strengthening part that craves him, that bombards you with different ways to have him inside you again, to beg him to fuck you harder, to give it to you longer, to beg for him to come inside you and mark you as his own and this scares you half to death. 

Soon though, it eclipses that guilt and takes you to the breaking point. 

It comes to a head one day, when you come home to both of them smiling and happy. 

“Hey babygirl.” 

He smiles when you set your bag down and you ignore the way your body comes to life with that endearment. 

“Go on up and get dressed, I’m takin’ my girls out for dinner.” 

Your mother beams, sliding her arms around his waist with a dreamy smile. “I got a promotion, Joel is going to treat us.” She’s in a very good mood.

“Oh, I’m alright, bit tired but you two go ahead. Have a drink for me.” You smile your sincerest smile, urging them to leave you alone. The toy floats in your brain, calling to you with the promise of the momentary relief it brings, however paltry compared to him. 

“Nonsense. Go on, we’re all goin’.” He raises an eyebrow, and you sigh, already resigned. “Go on, don’t make me ask you again, we gotta celebrate.” There is a playful, yet iron-strong tone that you know in your heart you cannot disobey. 

“We can go on our own if she wants to stay.” Your mom combs his hair back with her fingers, fixing it and he lets her, smiling down at her as you make your way up the stairs. 

“We’re all goin’-” It’s the last thing you hear him say before you close your door and go about getting dressed. 

-

It’s a pretty fancy steakhouse, a place you’d only ever been to once on a date. He’d put on a nice shirt, and your mom wore one of her nicer dresses. You couldn’t exactly wear leggings, so you’d dug out a dress of your own and trudged along despite your wish to be anywhere but. 

He slid into the booth beside you. You said nothing.

Your mother talks about her job, about how happy she is they’re taking notice of all her hard work and you’re genuinely proud of her. Growing up you don’t remember her holding down a job for more than a few months, Joel had changed that too. He’d pushed her to buckle down and take her employment seriously and it had paid off. It was just another one of those contradictory things about him, something you should have loved him for, a genuine, paternal thing but it didn’t mesh with your new dynamic.

Paternal. What a joke. 

The food is good, and you enjoy it in relative silence while your mother prattles on about her work, her manager, her team while Joel smiles and looks her in the eye. It’s almost pleasant, almost normal, the three of you, mother, father and daughter in a dark little booth celebrating a win. 

It’s almost nice, until you feel his hand on your knee under the table. 

You jump, the shock of it making you drop your fork. 

“You alright babygirl?” He smiles, genuine concern on his face as heat floods your body and you nod, frantically. With a tight smile you go to pick it up but he stops you, and ducks under the table to fish for it. Your mom laughs it off and you smile, blood pounding when you feel his hand again while he’s reaching for the fork. It moves your skirt up, exposing  more of your thigh. 

“I’ll ask the waiter for a new one.” He sits up and winks, adjusting himself so he’s a little closer. His hand lands back on your thigh and his thumb strokes at the skin, little circles that make you lightheaded. 

“I think I need to use the little girls room.” Your mother puts her napkin on the table and for a moment you think this is your chance. If she asks if you need to go, you’ll jump at the chance – but his hand tightens, just enough to let you know to stay put. 

She doesn’t ask, and when she rounds the corner he turns to you, eyes bright with the same lust you’ve been stomping down inside. 

“Happy you’re here babygirl, been missin’ you.” His hand slides up until it’s pressed against your core. Your breath comes in pants, and you’re rendered silent. 

“Been dreamin’ about havin’ you again. Been fightin’ the urge to sneak in and spread you out on that little bed, eat that pretty little cunt til you’re cryin for me to fuck you.” 

He presses close, tilting your face up to press his lips against yours soft enough to tickle. “You been thinkin’ about me?” He presses another little kiss, and you pull away, terrified to see strangers staring at you disgusted. 

No one is looking though, and he knows. 

“Joel, stop, not here.” You’re frantic, heart racing, pussy leaking. 

“Who am I?” he raises his eyebrows, expecting. 

You close your eyes, letting out a sigh. “She’ll be back any minute.” 

“Say it babygirl, say what I know you’re wantin’ to say. Who am I?” His hand lands on your thigh again. 

It’s on the tip of your tongue and you hate that he’s right, you do want to say it. You want to scream it. 

“...Daddy.” It’s barely a whisper, but it feels so good.

“Little louder honey.” He slides up, pressing his fingers against your clit. 

“Daddy, please–” You give in, and it comes out almost a moan. There’s that sense again, of falling into a trap you hadn’t seen him set but it’s secondary to the self-satisfied smile on his face, to the way your body primes itself for whatever he deems fit. Your thighs clamp around his hand, the restaurant falls away and all that matters is his warm breath ghosting across your face, his strength, the press of his fingers.

“That’s better.” He smiles, and moves away and it’s with an unspeakable relief that you see your mother round the corner again, eyes on her feet while you adjust and move further away. The guilt gnaws at you, but the other thing rages, paints her as an interruption for a moment before you reign it in. She smiles when she slides into her side of the booth. 

“How ‘bout we get dessert? I could do with a little somethin’ sweet.” He smiles, and she agrees. 

-

They chat idly on the drive back to the house. She mentions how the excitement has given her a headache, and he urges her to go rest. It’s terrifying, the change in him: his attitude with her, his obvious care and the juxtaposition to his behavior in the restaurant. 

Needing a break from the tension he built inside you earlier, you grab a change of clothes and run for the shower, grateful for the temporary oasis. 

You try to take your time, to focus on anything and everything except the overwhelming need to be fucked into your matress. A few, blissfully steam-filled minutes later you hear the bathroom door open. 

“Mom?” You call out, but after a few silent moments you think you might have imagined it. Until the curtain opens and Joel steps in as naked as the day he was born. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” You let out  a terrified whisper and your first instinct is to cover yourself. 

“Calm down, your mama’s sleepin’. She was feelin’ drained' from work and everythin’ so she took an ambien.” He steps towards you, forcing you to take a step back. “This water’s fit to burn my skin off.” He hisses but doesn’t adjust the temperature. 

He steps under the spray while you tuck yourself against the corner, shaking from the chilly tile pressing against your back. Your arm is pressed to your front covering your breasts, and the other is cupping your pussy, hiding your bits from his gaze. In contrast, he’s unbothered by his nakedness. His cock is soft, his arms are strong, his middle a little soft, but his beauty is undeniable. This is a man’s body, and you take it in with increasing want.

Your eyes betray you, your body betrays you, everything inside you seems to scream betrayal when he’s alone with you like this. He tilts his face up into the hot spray. He’s so fucking handsome, so virile, so hung. You kick yourself as you stare at his cock, already knowing that you’re going to give in to him, despite your mother being asleep just down the hall. 

“Come on babygirl, get under the water with me.” He reaches forward, taking your hand and pulling you towards him. You let him, heart fluttering like a bird in a cage at the feel of him pressing you close to him. The water cascades over you both, steam billowing out and his hands travel the expanse of your back. They slide over your shoulders, reaching down to cup your backside. He pulls you closer, pressing his mouth to yours and you can’t help but moan. 

He smiles, moving his kisses to your neck, your shoulders and that thing inside you wins yet again. Your hands press against his chest, they move over the muscles of his arms that you cannot help but stare at, they caress his back and up to curl through the hair at the base of his neck. 

You pull his face to yours for a deeper kiss, the kiss you’ve been craving since he left you wet and trembling in your bed. He groans when your tongue licks into his mouth and then it changes. From an almost sweet exploration, to a desperate need to consume one another. His cock hardens against your belly and your cunt aches at the feel of it. 

“Give it to me, I want it.” Someone who cannot be you begs him, clutching at his hair when he licks at your neck, his hands palming at your breasts as your back hits the tile again.

“What do you want, baby?” He lifts your thigh, wrapping it around his hip as he slots his cock at the seam of your cunt. He doesn’t press, just glides it between your legs, never notching the blunt tip of it at your entrance like you hope he will. The head of it nudges at your clit and he rocks it against you, teasing you into madness. 

You know what he wants, you want it too. As hard as he is, as desperate as you know he is to slip inside, he has all the patience in the world.

He knows this. He also knows that you are much more desperate than him. 

“I want your cock daddy, please, I need it.” You all but moan, some, pathetic, half-human thing burning with a fever, begging to be fucked like a whore. Begging him. The one person you shouldn’t beg this from. 

“Such a good girl, such a quick learner.” He finally grasps himself in hand, making sure you watch him as he angles himself and slides home in one smooth, brutal stroke. The moan you let out is a loud, filthy thing. 

“Shh, can’t have you makin’ all that noise honey,” He slips his forearm under your calf to open  you up wide, his other hand coming up to wrap around your throat. He snaps his hips hard enough to make everything bounce and you cannot imagine ever being this fucking turned on, this hot for another person. 

“Or maybe you do, maybe you want your mama to come in here, see how well her babygirl takes her daddys cock.” 

You close your eyes at that, it’s too filthy, it’s too depraved but your cunt still drools out its passion for him.

“You get so wet when I tell you how well you take it, even here I can feel her soakin’ me.” He stares at the juncture of your thighs- watches himself spearing you with his cock. Your eyes are half-glazed, admiring the way his neck strains, the definition in his arms, the way his mouth hangs open. His skin red from exertion and the heat of the water.

He’s right, something inside feeds off his praise no matter how fucking wrong it is, you need it.

“Yes daddy, I like it.” You confess, already damned anyway. 

“I know baby, I know.” He lets go of your throat and holds onto your ass before sticking his tongue down your throat. You whimper into his mouth, holding onto his neck for dear life while inching closer and closer to the orgasm building in your hips, in the base of your spine.

“Wanna feel her now, come all over me honey-“ he begs in your ear, his hips stuttering slightly and a madness overtakes you as you shove your fingers into his mouth and slip them down over your clit. He moans, pressing his palm into the hinge of your knee, somehow opening you up even more and then it’s there, in your fingers, in your limbs and in your very soul. 

“Yes, that’s it baby, yes-“ he turns his thrusts into a grinding roll, and it’s with a horrified glee that you feel him paint your insides in his come. Your eyes glued to the place you’re joined, a curious thought springs up unbidden: nothing in the world could pull you away from him at that moment, with his cock inside and his hands on your body. That realization should scare you but it doesn’t. Would your mom bursting through the door make you come to your senses? Do you really want to know the answer to that question?

“Daddy… I can feel it really deep.” You say the words in what feels like a drunken stupor and he lets out a punched out groan, pulling out to watch as he drips out of the place you now know he fucking owns.

“That’s where it belongs, honey. Nice and deep.” He lowers your leg, but pulls you close and tucks you under his chin. 

“Daddy loves you, you know that right? I’m so proud of you baby.”

You’re exhausted, but the guilt doesn’t come as quickly as the first time. It’s hard for it to make it through the comfort of the hot water, the cocoon of his arms, the steady reassuring thump of his heart under your cheek. The soft press of his lips to your forehead. 

He stays. He washes your hair, cleans his come from between your legs and the fatherly lines of him blur even more. 

It’s wrong. You know it. It’s obviously so fucking wrong. But it feels so right, it feels good, it feels safe for him to shield your eyes from the suds, for him to massage the knots out of your back, for him to kiss you soft, for his fingers to pluck at your soapy nipples. 

When you’re done and in bed, you fall asleep, and dream of a steamy bathroom and soft, chapped lips at your temple.

–

The next morning finds you well-rested. That might actually bother you more than it should, comparatively speaking. That he would be the person to fuck you well enough to give you a good nights sleep seems like some cosmically cruel joke. Memories of your mother sleeping in on Saturdays after a night out with him make you groan into your pillow. 

Any acceptance, any complicity was far and foreign in the unforgiving light of day. All of the comfort you’d felt in the tail-end of that unholy shower now angered you. It was manipulation, it was coercion, how could you do that? Let him in, in all of the different ways he’d managed to push inside you in the time since you’d been home, past your protective walls and quite literally between your fucking legs. It had to be something he’d done to make you crazy. A temporary insanity, surely, 

You let out a huff, noting but almost unseeing the dust motes dancing in shafts of light coming in through the window. The guilt was heavy and hot in your belly, and not only because of the betrayal but because you knew, deep in your soul, that you would not–could not deny him. That was a fact. 

The pillow at your side found itself pressed to your face to cover the groan of frustration at the cringy realization that you were just another woman with daddy issues.

Hours you laid there, torturing yourself with so many flavors of guilt. 

Guilt at indulging, guilt at craving, guilt at knowing that you’d most likely doing it again, guilt at tentatively imagining other places you wanted him to fuck you. Guilt at the look of devotion on your mother’s face when he smiled at her. Guilt at the dark, cruel little thing that rejoiced at him wanting you so bad. 

They were both sitting at the kitchen table when you finally came downstairs. Your stomach dropped at the sight of him sitting there, in his usual place with the paper in his hands. His face gave nothing away when he looked up at you, a talent he shouldn’t have. 

“Good morning, sleep okay?” Your mom smiled, moving to the sink.

“Yeah, slept great.” You smile back and you almost feel Joel’s chest puff out. You ignore him. 

“That’s good, why don’t you come do groceries with me? I’m going to do a big trip so you guys aren’t starving while I’m gone next week.” 

She misses your frown as she empties the dishwasher. Something big wraps itself around you, something foreboding, something inescapable. His paper flicks almost imperceptibly in the corner of your eye and still, you ignore it. 

“What do you mean?” You question her, but it’s almost prophetic, because you already know.

“I thought I’d told you, I have a work trip. A conference, because of the promotion. I’m leaving on Monday morning, and I’ll be gone until Thursday. I wanted to leave the fridge full so the two of you don’t have to worry. Want to come?” 

She’s still focused on putting away the dishes when you finally meet his eye. Your stomach rolls at the wink he flashes you. You can feel his thoughts like a sunburn, skin tight with the burn of it, at the promise of all of the things you already know he’ll make you do. 

The things you know, deep down, you’ll beg him for. 

Fuck.

[shinobushaori]

Hey dere 🤓. Could you do a Jealous Shinobu x Fem reader. The gist is Shinobu has been busy with helping patients and with Hashira work making reader feel alone. She talks to Shinobu about it but Shinobu just suggest to make friends with a hashira. Y/n ends up becoming bestfriends with Giyuu. Y/n tells Shinobu she made a hashira friend but didn’t say who bc Shinobu didn’t ask. Shinobu thought it was Mitsuri, until one day when coming back from a mission she notices Giyuu and reader hanging out. Reader is laughing loudly and Giyuu is smiling. Immediately already seeing Giyuu smile, upsets Shinobu but she boils in anger when realizing he’s smiling at reader. She marches in anger to them and tries getting in between them. Y/n’s confused and notices Shinobu’s odd behavior but doesn’t question her. Shinobu keeps on being touchy with Y/n infront of Giyuu making it awkward. Shinobu’s also bragging about their relationship to Giyuu. Eventually Giyuu leaves and Y/n immediately asks Shinobu why she’s acting like this. They fight a bit because Y/n finally made a friend and Shinobu’s all jealous. Y/n leaves to be alone and Shinobu thinks hard. Shinobu realizes how she’s been acting and feels bad so she tries apologizing to Y/n who is locked in her room.

A/N: My longest oneshot yet. Sorry this took a whole ass week to make!! I yapped at first when writing it then absolutely hated it and butchered it until it was just an ok for me. Theres a little change that tbh u wont rlly notice. I hope you like it!

UNEXPECTED FRIEND

- kochou shinobu x female!reader

warnings: none i think, lesbians wanting each other too much they create unnecessary chaos(/j)

word count: 5.7K

"Okay, can you stop that?!"

You sigh for possibly the 5th time this day and Aoi has had enough of your antics.

For the whole morning you've been gloomy, broody and absolutely pathetic, a stark contrast to your usual chirpy, mostly childish demeanor. She already does have an inkling of what could be likely upsetting you.. Well, more like who because there's only one person who could retract that much of a reaction from you.

Usually, she could not care less. Your relationship with Shinobu was not her business and never will be, she hopes. Rolling eyes thrown towards your direction when the two of you are acting unprofessional in front of patients, sure, that has happened and probably will more. But this? If she had to sit through your pathetic and absolutely not subtle way of sulking, she might just confront Shinobu herself.

Aoi pinches you and you recoil, snapping out of your trance before you eventually start tearing up.

"It's nothing, Aoi-chan.." You blink your blurred sight before looking down.

"It's just.." You bit your lip, "..she's been busy and I miss her, that's all."

The romantic development between you and Shinobu wasn't easy at all, never will be, you lament. She was a Hashira, a position many admired including yourself. They had many duties to attend to. Either slaying demons or patrolling in their supposed location. Not to mention the added work on your girlfriend, who had the proud title of the saviour doctor of the Demon Slayer Corps. Perhaps this was what attracted you the most.

She was selfless, caring, and endlessly talented. Catering to many, tending to their injuries and slaying demons along the way, all that with such a pretty smile. You've long accepted that there will be no such thing as endless peaceful days between the two of you as lovers. There will always be circumstances that need Shinobu and her limited attention.

But sometimes, you wish you could be selfish for once.

Make time pause or maybe just slower, so you could enjoy the moments you have with her and heal the longing you had in your heart. Wake up in the mornings with boring, mundane worries such as what to cook for your family, or how to stop Shinobu from being flirty in front of the girls. Not— worrying if you could see your lover be alive for another day after a hectic time at demon slaying work.

"You stupid girl, have you even talked about it with Shinobu-sama?"

You shrink in your place, silent.

Aoi shakes her head, scowling at you. "Well, you should! You should know by now that Shinobu-sama cares for you and would want you to open up rather than doing whatever it is you're doing!"

She takes the mountain of clothing on your side and glares at you. "So, go ahead and talk to her now!"

You flinch, heart tugging at her words. "Wha-what!? Now!? Aoi-chan, don't be ridiculous! With the amount of injured slayers this month, she's barely functioning as it is! No way, that's too much!"

Aoi rolls her eyes, "Fine!" She gives you an accusing point of her finger.

"But you better talk to her soon about it, okay!? Now, help me with these and quit sulking as well!"

"Ye-Yes!"

Aoi, as harsh her words are, she's a good kid you're glad to have as your family.

-

Aoi's words has stuck itself in your mind the whole day you did chores alongside the other girls and it wasn't long before night fell and you gathered the courage to talk to her.

As you heard a muffled, audible "Come in." You slid the door open and inhaled at the sight of Shinobu Kocho, in all her glory. She's still wearing her uniform despite it being already late into the night, she must have been too busy to change again.

You smile as you catch her eye, setting her warm dinner on her work table.

"Hey, beloved. I heated up your dinner."

She smiles at you and gives you a grateful nod. "I appreciate that, thank you."

You hum as you stood behind her, arms sneakily slithering around her head in a playful manner, lightly hugging her head from behind. You grin at the blush coating her cheeks.

"You've been here for so long. Why not take a break already after you finish dinner?" With me.

Shinobu seem to give it a thought, before glancing at the piling paperworks. She lightly grimace and you frown when she shook her head apologetically.

"Sorry, beloved." She spins around to give you a short kiss. "As much as I want to, I need some of these done tonight."

You nod grimly, trying to not make your disappointment obvious. "I understand, but don't you go overworking yourself, okay?"

Shinobu, who had always been good at reading you like an open book, caught on easily. She takes your cheek, caressing it with her thumb. You close your eyes, hand bringing up itself to clasp with her own. You take in the familiar aroma of wisteria that had always lingered itself around the woman and seem to ingulf you in her work office.

"[Name].. you can always talk to me about what's on your mind, okay?"

As usual, your composure easily crumbled under her intense gaze. Your shoulders drop and Shinobu stops the urge to coo at your protruding bottom lip.

"It's been lonely without you.."

Shinobu sighs, taking you in a warm embrace. She hears you sniff and her heart painfully tugs. Just as much as you, she's longed long for your presence as well. Wanting nothing more but to bask in the warmth and love you've always provided for her.

Alas, duty calls and instead she has to disconsolately spend her time away from you, who's usually busy with other chores as well.

Suddenly, your arms around her waist tighten as you rub your head further down her neck. Shinobu feels the bubble of laughter pop out, chuckling while stroking your flushed nape.

"You've missed me so much, huh?"

You groan, burying yourself even more. "Of course I do, Shino! I wanna cuddle with you so bad but you're always away.. it's so lonely!"

Shinobu pats your head sympathetically, "I'm truly sorry, [Name]. Y'know if you keep this cute act up, I might just ditch these and kiss you till sunrise."

You immediately recoiled from her touch, face flushed at the absurdity of her words. "Shinobu! That's too harsh! These paperworks are important for a reason!"

She weakly smiles at your words, well aren't you just confusing? She means that as lovingly as possible before giving up and teasingly gives your cheek a kiss. "Hm, you're right.. I'll continue.." She looks up at you expectingly and you redden more at the sight of her battling eyelashes.

"..with some motivation, perhaps?" You groan at her teasing tone, pushing her away and Shinobu simply giggles.

"But I know what might help you, [Name], sweets."

You hum, playing with her fingers and leaning onto her. "Help with what?"

"Your loneliness silly. I'm thinking of.. a friend maybe? I've seen that you.. don't really interact with anyone else other than the girls. That's not a good habit now, is it? You'll be totally friendless, [Name]~!"

You pout at her but nodded. She's right. Looking back, when you just started demon slaying, you preferred to keep things to yourself. Even Shinobu took time to fully invite you in her estate and become one with the family. After all, friendship was intimidating for you, especially in this kind of workplace where death is often the leading reason of friends separating.

The possibility of you having a friend outside of the Estate wasn't unappealing. Not at all. You guess you just don't know where to start and who to befriend.

As if reading your thoughts, Shinobu smiles and leans closer to your ear. Her warm breath worsens the red state of your skin. "Actually, I know someone you might get along with."

You perk up, tilting your head as you catch her purple tinted eyes. "Oh, really?"

Shinobu nodded, "Yes! Actually, they're a very open-minded individual. You'll get along just fine!"

Your eyes seem to sparkle and Shinobu giggles at this. "Okay, who is it? Can you introduce me to them?"

You blinked when your lover shook her head, the familiar grin stretching her lips easily inducing a whine from you.

"Shinobu..!!"

"Uh-uh," She takes your hand and brings it to her lips, trailing soft kisses on your flushed skin.

"You have to befriend them your own, I'm afraid. You need to be sociable, after all!"

You groan, leaning most your weight as you melt like a puddle beside her. "Ehh, but it would be easier-"

"Nope!" Shinobu chirps out and you sulk more.

She smiles and takes you by the cheeks, causing you to look back at her. "Just be yourself, okay? I'm sure the moment you two meet, you'll instantly gain a new friend!"

You sigh, tilting your head onto her hand. "Fine," You stare at her and her smile widens. "But in return, you gotta reserve some of your time for me okay?"

She chuckles at your cheeky words and nods, "Of course, I would want nothing more, my beloved."

-

You walk around the Butterfly Estate, visibly giddy on your feet.

Just not too long ago, you've finally finished all your assigned tasks! Although, double checking the patients was a bit difficult to do, since that roudy trio had invaded the rather peaceful environment of the mansion. Especially and specifically the two slayers, you grumble under your breath.

You've heard of these three, it seems that they occasionally get injured in missions a lot and it always happens when you're away. It wasn't a very good first impression, you concluded.

Actually it was a rather baffling situation to be in, in which one was asking for your hand in marriage despite your many endless attempts of saying that you've been spoken for. While, the other was as annoying as the former, firm on demanding a fight and trying to headbutt you. If it wasn't for the unbelievably patient third guy, you would've suffocated each of them, courtesy by their own pillow.

Either way, you're glad that was over. Thankfully, Aoi was there to save you and threaten them with no lunch, that seems to quickly shut the three up.

You hum a fun tune, thinking of ways you could somehow slither your way in Shinobu's lab, silently giggling at your thoughts.

Speaking of Shinobu, she was still pretty adamant on keeping the mystery person she told you about three weeks ago a secret. Simply waving your attempts of knowing more with a, "They'll visit soon!"

Heck, even the softest kisses wouldn't crumble her composure like it usually does. Gosh, that woman! She's so dreamy you might melt! You thought to yourself as you giggle more.

Although, slips still happened and you slowly knew more about your future friend. You assume they're a Hashira like her. Based on Shinobu's words, they often work together, that basically confirms it. And is in Shinobu's list of close friends as well. They also visit often and get along well with everyone!

You were pretty excited to meet them, they seemed fun to be around. Maybe they'll distract your simple mind for a while until you can't handle it anymore and scratch Shinobu's door until she stops working.

You really hope your desperation won't come to that point, fingers crossed.

You were fully immersed in your thoughts, occasionally chuckling by yourself. Well, until you swerved a corner and suddenly planted face first on something.

Or, wait.. someone?

"Oh, sorry."

You blink, taking a step back as the stranger spoke with a monotone voice. You bowed your head quickly, "I'm sorry for bumping you, sir!"

The man, who was notably a slayer like you was wearing a two-tone haori. One burgundy, the other yellow green with a unique pattern, with blue eyes and black hair tied up to a ponytail. He simply nod once and cleared his throat.

"It's fine."

You both silently stand still, facing each other and you sweat profusely under his intense gaze- or rather his blank one?

Seeing the man having no intention to move whatsoever, you cough to interrupt the silence. "So, uhm.. are you injured, just visiting.. orr??"

Seeing you tilt your head, the man blinks. "Ah," He slowly raises his arm and you suppress the urge to facepalm seeing the terribly bandaged bloody hand. How did you not notice that.

Immediately, you tell him to follow you and he does. You lead him into one of the more quiet rooms and gestures for him to take a seat. He silently did so and you secretly grimaced at the loud silence.

"So, uh.." You gulp, trying to see if smalltalk would work.

"You come here often?"

He blinks at you as your fingers did a quick work on his hand, untying the previous bloodied bandages.

"Sometimes."

You awkwardly give him a glance as he plainly replies, before you nervously chuckle.

"Right, so did this bad cut come from a mission?"

You look down at the wound and it wasn't exactly a very bad cut. It was thankfully only a bit deep and only seem to bleed a lot due to the poorly done wrapping. Still, your mouth involuntarily said so and the man didn't seem to really care much.

As blank as ever he replies, "Training. The wooden sword was a hassle."

You nod, taking the newly set bandages you set aside and started to wrap it around the cut after you thoroughly cleaned it. "Oh, yeah. Pretty relatable. I often get small splinters too, Shinobu always teases me for it. " You smile at the memory of her giggling at your misery while taking her time to slowly pick out the small wood on your skin.

You hear him huff, as if suddenly annoyed. You were confused but chose to focus on your current work. With quick precision, you softly tightened the white material and hum as you straightened yourself, facing the black haired man with a polite smile.

"Alright, that's all! Although, you need to come by often to get these regularly changed." You put away the previous bandages before continuing, watching him eye his hand. "Then, I'll give you a small cream which will help with the irritation afterwards."

He gives you a slow nod, "Thank you, I appreciate it."

Your smile widens and suddenly Shinobu's words enters your mind. Hey, isn't this a good opportunity to befriend someone? The guy looks nice, not one for conversations but you don't mind it! With a new objective in mind, you happily reply. "No problem! I'm [Name], by the way!"

He went silent for a few seconds, enough seconds for your heart to tug and for you to quickly regret saying anything.

"Tomioka Giyuu."

The man, now named Giyuu in your head replies. You nod, happy to get his name but your mind suddenly blanked in realization, the name suddenly being familiar to you.

Tomioka.. Giyuu? As in.. Water Hashira Giyuu?

Your eyes almost plucked out itself recognizing his name. Instantly, your gaze settles itself on his uniform and eyes widened even more seeing his golden buttons. In actuality, he is that Giyuu!

In a state of panic, you quickly bow your head. "Hashira-sama! I-I wasn't aware, I apologize!"

Giyuu was quick to be caught off guard by your sudden change. He stiffly sat still as you continued to deeply bow your head.

"Uhm.."

Finally, you straightened yourself to face him. "Uh, oh! Right, I'll get you a personal room..!"

The man sweatdrops and quickly interrupts you. "That won't be necessary, I'll be leaving soon."

You purse your lips, "Well, If you insist.."

How unlucky! To think the person you bumped into was a Hashira! Thankfully, it wasn't the Serpent Hashira or worse! The Wind! Those two didn't have the best reputation, especially with lower ranks. Although, you know Shinobu will quickly be by your side, you'd rather not get into that kind of situation.

As your lover easily resurface herself in your thoughts, you were quick to relax on your place. Seriously, you're grateful it was Giyuu who you met. What a nice pal.

Wait.

Wait...

A Hashira? Someone you could easily get along? Possibly friends with Shinobu?

"U-Uhm!" You, once again, break the silence making Tomioka look away from his hand, facing you with a small tilt of his head, indicating for you to go ahead.

"Do you.. happen to be close with Kocho Shinobu?"

Hearing her name, Giyuu visibly deadpans but you were too busy staring with sparkling eyes. He looks away and shifted around his seat in discomfort.

"Yes." Was his short reply and your eyes only shines more. He furrows his brows in confusion.

Meanwhile, you were inwardly celebrating. Thoughts all over the place. What an amazing coincidence! The Hashira you accidentally face planted into was Shinobu's mystery friend in the end! Isn't this practically a good sign that the two of you will be good friends after all? As always, Shinobu's right!

Giyuu instantly jolts when you took his hand, shaking it rapidly with a wide smile, "Giyuu-san!"

"Uhm, what is it?"

"Let's be friends, please!"

-

Shinobu breathes out a sigh of relief.

Finally, after the seemingly endless pile of paperwork overflowing around her desk, she has now finished reading over the last one. Just her signature and she'll get her well-deserved break.

And as the pen hovered above the messy sign, she immediately slammed it against the table, breathing out a tired exhale. Shinobu feels an exhausted smile stretch her lips. A week's worth of paperwork, ultimately finished. Unless there's more to come, maybe another order for a set of glass due to the mysterious broken window by the ward, perhaps? Highly likely knowing the current trio residing the estate. Aside from that, nothing else should come in for a whole week.

And she is beyond joyous.

Shinobu stretches her limbs, groaning when her back pops a satisfying muscle. Alright, now that she's free (from paperwork only) for the rest of the week, she contemplates what to do next. Thankfully, she expected this moment and have already requested a break from her demon slaying career. If everything is in order, her work should only consist of being the master of the house and doctor duties.

'Mm..' She looks over her window and sees the bright blue sky and white fluffy clouds hovering over them. 'I suppose it's a bit too early for sleep..'

The Hashira decidedly went out of her office to check on the other residents of the mansion to see if the girls were doing well and particularly, how you've been doing.

To be frank, you've been more distant for the last few days. Well, distant was a bit of a stretch. Shinobu thought while giggling. If she put it bluntly, you weren't as clingy as you usually were. Not that she's complaining since it did help with completing her work but it's just worrying that's all. She's aware though that this must be due to the friend you've gained a few days ago.

Truly, she was proud of you. While you were a friendly creature, often chatting with patients to ease their nerves, it never really went past acquaintances. So, imagine her happiness when you suddenly barged into her office, mindlessly chattering about your new best friend? My, what a surprise it was. Although, she couldn't even comprehend your babbles as you seem to talk faster than she could hear, she's still overjoyed for you.

Did she mention she was also surprised? Shinobu didn't know Mitsuri had already visited the estate. Seriously, that girl is hard to ignore, much less not notice. At the same time, she had to consider that she practically locked herself inside her office so it shouldn't be shocking she didn't hear the usual squeals and shouts echoing around the place.

Either way, she's still happy for you. She's been basically edging you on about your future friendship with the Love Hashira, staying rather vauge on her depiction on the pink haired woman. There were a few close calls but nothing she could easily wave away with a few tender touches.

She grins when the sound of laughter reached her ears, noting it was coming from the rehabilitation room. Maybe training with those troublesome trios?

However, just as she was about to step inside, someone suddenly collided all together onto her.

"Oh! Sorry, Shinobu-sama!" The triplets voiced out apologetically, looking up at her.

"Oh my, be careful girls. What's with the hurry?" Shinobu smiles at them, chuckling at the obvious dampness on their hair and clothes, the bitter aroma of brewed medicine surrounding the three girls.

"Ah, we were-!" Just as Naho was about the explain, your loud laughter suddenly cuts them off and Shinobu blinks when you were basically coughing and crying. She suppress a laugh of her own while the three girls didn't bother and laughed alongside you.

"We're actually just playing around right now! Kanao and Aoi are making lunch so we decided to enjoy ourselves a bit.." She thanks Kiyo for her explanation and was just about to send them off when, "Oh, and we're with Tomioka-sama as well!"

She tilts her head, looking at Naho. "Oh? Tomioka-san is here?"

The triplets nodded, "Yes! He visited earlier."

What a surprise indeed. To think that klutz visited without even bothering on greeting like a normal person should, he will never change, will he? Not very shocking knowing that aloof guy.

She inwardly sighs, letting the girls clean up after themselves and finally entering the room where she found you folded in the middle of the space, body uncontrollably trembling from laughter.

"G-Giyuu, that's- pftahah-!" She couldn't help but grin wider at your current state.

"Having fun, are we?"

You breathed out heavily and looked up before gasping outloud seeing Shinobu, weakly reaching out to her, "'Nobu! Ah- You can't believe what this guy said- pfttt-!" Once again, you fell into a shivering mess, coughing between your laughters.

Shinobu shook her head, walking towards you. She was about to tease your shameless act when she paused in her place, stunned at the sight of the man beside you, usually so reserved and stoic, firm on being by himself yet is currently smiling softly at you as if you've hung the moon and stars.

Suddenly, her chest tightens before an eye unconsciously twitches itself.

You continue to be all sprawled out on the floor, chest heaving and slowly riding out your giggles. Then, you shouted an exhausted cry. "Hah! Gosh, Giyuu! You could've worded that betteraAH-!?"

Both you and Giyuu blink when Shinobu instantly snatched you upright, sight dizzying and air being knocked out of your lungs from the sudden grab. "Mmf-! Shino..Shinobu?"

Her fingers hooked around your waist, chin planting itself on your shoulder as you hear her purr and you flushed almost immediately, especially when you were facing Giyuu who simply deadpans at the two of you.

"U-Uhm!? Sh-Shinobu, why are you..?"

"Hm?" She leans closer to give your cheek a kiss, eyes intentionally locking with Giyuu's before it catches your widened ones. She relishes on the red tint on your skin with a smile resembling that of a cunning cat. "Can't I miss you, my beloved?"

You bashfully looked away, "Well, you, you can but Giyuu is-"

"Oh!" Shinobu smirks. "You were here all along, Tomioka-san? My, I didn't notice! You're basically too plain to see, much less recognize! Now, that's just sad, hm~?"

"Mm." The guy simply hums, lips compressing in a thin line. Shinobu feels a vein popped when he basically ignored her to look at you, who's still as flustered as ever.

"Right, uhm. Me and Giyuu were just-"

Her hold tightens around your waist and you tilt your head in confusion.

"..me and Giyuu were just talking about Tanjiro and the others!"

She raises a brow, "Is that so?" Then she faces Giyuu again. "Well, why don't you go entertain the trio and give my wife and I some alone time, hm? Tomioka-san?"

You jolted, steam leaving your head. "W-Wife!? But we're not married..?"

She giggles and held you closer. "Not yet~!"

"Shinobu!"

You clear your throat, trying to keep yourself upright, quickly failing as Shinobu keeps you tightly in place. "Anyways, that's not how you should treat your close friend, right?"

Shinobu felt the urge to gag, "Friend? Tomioka? Him?" She points at the poor blank guy, who remained entirely unfazed until he realized what you said.

You nodded, "He's the friend you told me about right? You're right, he's really nice to be around!"

Giyuu blinked and tilted his head, "..you see me as your close friend, Kocho?" He was surprised that not one but two people actually became his friend.

Although, he was quick to take it back when Shinobu looked absolutely disgusted behind your back as you obliviously smiled and cheered their so called friendship, entirely missing the obvious hostility radiating from her.

"So, he's the best friend you've been telling me about, beloved?"

You nodded with a grin, "Yup! We've been hanging out these past days!" Your words worsens the brewing distaste in her stomach. If she found Giyuu to be someone she somehow tolerated, that's all gone now.

"Ah, is that so? A few days could hardly compare to our endless time together, right?" You tilt your head in confusion, of couse it was, that shouldn't be a question in the first place.

Shinobu gleefully smirked at the man's direction, "Did you hear that, Tomioka-san? You must be unaware of the years we've been together, huh? You can say you're jealous, it's fine!"

Giyuu rolls his eyes, sighing afterwards, "I don't care."

"Heyy, no need to bottle it up! You'll eventually find someone else, don't worry! You should worry about your lack of decor for now!" She giggles at his clear misery.

This goes on for about 20 minutes. A one-sided conversation full of verbal jabs from Shinobu and an occasional grunt from a tired Tomioka. You stood between them as they banter, growing increasingly confused before restless at the amount mean comments the woman had said that not even you can ignore nor wave as playful.

"See? Now, that's just-"

"Shinobu."

The woman paused, head snapping towards you as you frown at her. You sent Giyuu an apologetic smile, standing up at your place and taking Shinobu with you.

"Giyuu, can we excuse ourselves? I think we'll take lunch first. The trio might eventually come here for their training so you can spend your free time with them." The man blinks and stares as you immediately left the rehabilitation room, dragging an unusual quiet Shinobu.

"..did I do something wrong?"

-

The doctor pursed her lips, had she gone too far with her words? She inwardly sighed and cursed for allowing herself to let her emotions get loose.

In an attempt to stop your sulking state, she pulls you in the opposite direction causing for you to halt.

"[Name]-"

"Shinobu, what was that?" You questioned with furrowed brows. "I know you have tendencies to tease people but that was a bit too much."

The woman stayed silent in her place as you continued, slowly growing agitated. "You were being rude!"

"..was I?"

You scoff at her sarcastic tone, "Yes, Shinobu. I thought you would've stopped at the ninth insult but you didn't!"

You sigh before rubbing your neck,  you didn't wanna cause an argument right now. "I'm sorry for shouting but that was really an inappropriate behavior to show towards our friend."

You placed a hand on her shoulder, rubbing her tense form away. "But I know that you might just be tired, so go rest before we have this talk, okay?"

Before Shinobu could open her mouth, you spun and walked away. Not leaving any time for a counter argument. The woman hissed, brushing her bangs upward in distress.

She really took it too far, huh?

-

You placed your folded sheets aside, thoughts still lingering at your lover who you had been avoiding for two hours now. Although, it felt childish, you were truly upset at how mean she was. Was she not happy that you gained a friend after a while? You tisked, of course she is, you shouldn't think of that.

Letting out an exhale, you stood from your place and walked towards your door, wanting to take a fresh breather on the garden and stare at the koi pond as long as you possibly could.

But as you opened your door, you blinked seeing Shinobu with her arm raised, as if about to knock.

Before you could speak, she pulled you in an embrace. One, in which you almost immediately melted on. Curse muscle memory!

".. I did it, I apologized."

"Huh?" You unintelligently replied. Body as stiff as a rock, leaning most your weight on her.

Her arms around your neck tightened as the woman sighed on your neck.

"I apologized to Tomioka."

"Oh." You stayed silent before a smile slowly crept on your face, arms slithering around her waist as you tightly held onto her like she was your lifeline. She could be and she is.

Shinobu exhaled, almost sounding so lovingly, "Yes, I did." She left the hug to face you, pausing to stare at the goofy smile that stretched her lips with one of her own. "..now stop being mad at me?"

You giggled at her lowkey pleading and cute expression, it was so unusual on her and yet you loved it anyways. You pulled her by the cheeks to lock lips, instantly feeling her smile into the kiss as it slowly deepened.

She pulled away, slightly heaving. "Don't ever do that again." You tilt your head, grin widening.

"Be mad at you?"

"Make me apologize to Tomioka." Shinobu shuddered.

You snorted while Shinobu smiles, caressing your cheek in a way that instantly caused your skin to be tinted red.

"But that too." Again, she pulled you in a soft kiss, one that screamed nothing more but love and adoration you had for each other.

From the start, this is what Shinobu should've done, in order to immediately cease every occuring thoughts of you possibly straying away from her.

And it worked. She thought of nothing else but you and your warm touches as she pushed you further inside your private room and closed the door behind. Giggling at your stunned expression.

"I promised to reserve my time to you, didn't I?"

-

+BONUS SCENE!!

"Ah, is that so, Tomioka-san?" Tanjiro spoke while munching on some crunchy snacks given by the triplets and Aoi. The three of them were just about to start training but when they went inside the room, they were surprised to see Giyuu sitting alone in the middle of the space with nothing other than the table full of watered down medicine in front of him, in which he calmly stared at.

Zenitsu was immediately spooked at how eerie the guy looked when in reality he was just being lonely on his own. Meanwhile, Inosuke was instantly driven to win against him in a tea game and sat on the other side, demanding to fight but went out completely drenched in nasty medicine.

Thankfully, everything calmed down and they sat down together to eat for lunch as Giyuu retells the previous interaction that happened.

"They must have been hungry! Yeah, that must be it!"

Zenitsu sneers, looking smug as if he knew something that they don't. "You're so naive, Tanjiro. It is clear that you just got away between their romance!! Of course guys like you couldn't tell." He spat out some food from his mouth.

Giyuu and Tanjiro tilted their heads in unison and confusion. "Ehh, really?" Tanjiro said.

Inosuke scoffs, "What the fuck is romance?" He roughly shoved the food in his mouth.

Zenitsu huffs, ignoring the disgusting boar and pointing an accusing finger towards the three guys in front of him.

"Look! When two people are in a romantic relationship, they should only focus on each other! You getting in the way would only result to either getting beaten up in a pulp or rejected by the girl!"

Tanjiro pouts, "But Tomioka wasn't aiming for one of them romantically, right?" He looks at Giyuu and the man nods.

Zenitsu simply rolls his eyes, "It doesn't matter! That's why when trying to befriend girls, always check if they have a partner or not! You can't be too sure if their partner is terrifying and scary!"

He remained oblivious to the widened eyes of the other guys in front of him and confidently continued on relying his experiences.

"Especially someone pretty and nice like [Name]-san! Pretty girls always pair up with absolute maniacs, I swear! That's why you should be careful of them!"

"U-Uh, Zenitsu you should stop.."

He continued to ignore Tanjiro's pleas, only confused when it seemed like there was a shadow forming on him from behind.

"Don't deny the truth, Tanjiro! Do you know how many times I have been punched either by the gut or with words because of their awful partners!?! Shinobu-sama is pretty and all but she's absolutely frightening!"

"Oh, am I now, Zenitsu-kun~?"

A cold sweat dripped down Zenitsu's temple as a familiar chirpy voice rung. He started to tremble before slowly twisting his head and an absolute horrified expression etched on his face upon seeing Shinobu standing and looking down on him with a dark shadow on her face.

"Zenitsu!?"

Shinobu ignored the chaos that ensued when Zenitsu instantly fainted on his spot with Tanjiro immediately going towards him.

Instead, she strode towards Giyuu's direction who grew restless and uncomfortable at the way Kocho stared at him blankly.

Just before he could open his mouth, Shinobu cuts him off. "I'm sorry that I insulted you." Her tone was definitely far from apologetic.

And slowly, a polite smile reached her face as she patted Giyuu's shoulder. "You may continue being friends with my [Name], okay?"

Not bothering on hearing a response, she walked off the room, leaving the ruined peaceful atmosphere.

Giyuu blinked before a small smile slowly stretched his mouth.