#that line about him not realising he had stopped seeing everyone as just characters

[nanyangjj]

aaaaaaaaaaaa i'm going to scream!!! sqq in the midst of feeling horrible pain: as expected of the protagonist! THE PROTAGONIST LUO BINGHE!!!

[igotanidea]

I am Robin : Damian Wayne x reader (pt 1)

Summary: Damian x fem!s/o, who has no idea he's Robin. And who is scared of Robin. And who one day happens to meet Robin...

***

They weren’t living together, and definitely not in a leaving toothbrushes at each other’s place way. But their relationship wasn't casual either. After almost a year together, given Damian’s character traits, it could never be casual.

But Y/N wasn’t the type to rush him into anything and definitely not nagging to start sharing space. It was all right if he didn’t want to stay the night too. He was committed to his family and that was okay. Considering the fact that his father was Bruce Wayne himself, the Gotham’s persona, who tended to act a little eccentric, it was completely understandable that Damian wanted to check on him more often than not.

Who knew what kind of crazy idea could possibly enter the bored mind of a rich man.

It truly was no one’s wish to find some scandalous news from the first pages of the magazines.

So yes, she was full aboard on the idea of Damian’s checking on his father and his family.

Who seemed a little weird from the very beginning either way. The first time she met them all his siblings were nice, even awfully so, but she had this crazy feeling of being watched like a prey.

If only she knew why.

But yes, it was okay, because at least she wasn’t in a relationship with Mollycoddle, who demanded care and wanted to be treated with kids’ gloves.

But sometimes, only sometimes, she was wondering if it would be like that forever.

That she would have to sleep in the bed alone, wishing for him next to her.

That she would be forced to deal with her nightmares and loneliness and after work tiredness alone.

That almost every time she asked him to stay over he would prevaricate, giving more or less vague answers.

If only she knew why.

***

He was in the middle of patrolling with Batman and the rest of the family when Barbara’s voice came through the comms.

“Robin.”

“Yes? What is it, Oracle?”

“Y/N keeps blowing off your phone.”

Oh.

Obviously Damian did not take his device with him and definitely could not check whether his girlfriend was trying to contact him.

Barbara, on the other hand, was in charge of everyone’s notifications while they were busy during night hours, just to keep up the pretences of the batfam being completely normal citizens.

“Shall I respond?” Babs muttered to the comm, mentally rolling her eyes at the fact Damian was still keeping Y/N in the dark about his other identity. He was treating this girl seriously, it was obvious and even Batman would see reason in ensuring his blood son didn’t blow up a chance at happiness. Even with a civilian. And if not, Barbara would be more than happy to throw Bruce’s own mistakes in the area right at his face. And most likely the other batkids would gladly join her in this quest. Just for funsies. And for Damian obviously.

“Don’t you dare touching my phone, Oracle!” The last thing he needed was his more or less romantic and more or less spicy conversations with Y/N to come into the light!

“Do you want me to read the text to you?”

“Don’t you dare touching-“

“Robin, why can’t you just come forward and tell her?”

“Cause that would be putting a target on her back!”

“You are putting a target on her back by keeping her in the dark!”

“This is not—” Damian tried to argue, but never finished the sentence, realising, somewhere in the half of it, that Babs was actually true. “I don’t know what to do.” He finally settled on a deep sigh.

However, before Oracle could give him any relationship advice, Batman’s voice echoed from another line, calling his accomplices to order and stopping any personal discussions.

***

Meanwhile, Y/N was standing in front of the club, unsuccessfully attempting to reach Damian.

The party she was dragged to was a surprise to one of her work friends, who broke the news about getting married. Some of the girls decided it was a perfect opportunity for unofficial celebration and the party moved from club to club in the entire Gotham district.

It was impossible to not go. Y/N would be called antisocial, unfriendly and stiff the very same night.

But then it was late and cold and dark and she found herself far from her apartment, not sure how to proceed. Obviously, walking alone was a huge mistake, considering the location, but standing like a salt pillar was starting to turn even more stupid, as the lonely and bewildered woman unmoving on an empty street was the easy target for any thug.  

And Damian was not picking up his phone or responding to texts, that started to become more and more desperate as Y/n lowered herself to almost begging for help.

When nothing came in return, with a heavy and a little broken heart she decided to try and get home by herself.

It was better than being a sitting duck and freezing to death.

***

“Robin.” The voice came through the comms again

“What do you want, Nightwing?”

“I got eyes on Y/N.”

“And why do you bore me with such unimportant details?” Damian muttered, not really paying attention to what his brother was saying. The youngest Wayne was simply too focused on his target for the night.

“Um… Robin?”

“I am busy, Nightwing.”

“Damian-“ Dick dared to say Robin’s real name, getting  a bit desperate to get his attention.

“What now?!”

“I got eyes on Y/N!”

“Wh-what? What do you mean you got eyes on Y/N? She’s supposed to be home, safe and tucked under the cover, turning over on the other side while sleeping!”

“Well, she is not. She’s walking the street with someone on her tail, clearly chasing her.”

“What street?!”

“I’m going to take action now-“

“Don’t you dare, Nightwing.” Damian’s cold voice almost bore a hole in Dick’s head through the comms. “Oracle, give me Y/N location. I’ll be the only one taking the action when it comes to her.”

***

She knew she was being followed.

The man wasn’t exactly subtle when it came to it after all.

The heavy clatter of his boots echoed through the entire empty street, in perfect sync with the accelerated beat of her heart.

Headlines from the newspapers from the entire previous year flashed through her mind.

Rape.

Murder.

Assault.

Unexplained disappearance.

Y/n started to curse herself, instinctively reaching for the pepper spray, greedily clutching her fingers on the tiny, yet effective, bottle.

Though before she could actually use it, there was a loud thump behind her and she stopped with shaking hands and eyes closing, already saying goodbye to her life.

The man sure had a gun and that was the sound she heard. She was already dead. And no one will even know. She will bleed on the street, dying alone and in pain in the dark Gotham street, no news about her till the early morning and-

“Y/N.”

She spun around immediately. Whoever was talking, be it the man who was chasing her or someone else, he knew her name.

Robin. Batman’s sidekick.

The street light colours palette Robin.

Robin, the Gotham’s vigilante.

And one of her worst fears.

***

The thug was lying on the ground, blood was everywhere, including Robin’s uniform and she couldn’t make a single movement.

The most natural thing would be to thank him for the rescue and run away before he got too focused on her, reading right through her, seeing everything she did wrong in her entire life and bringing her to justice.

But she could hardly breathe let alone form one coherent sentence.

When he took a step towards her, she took a step back, almost tripping over her own feet, but miraculously finding balance.

He stopped, looking at her with a predatory smile, tilting head, waiting for a moment to strike.

His teeth shone in the dim light of a street lamp, growing, becoming sharper and she could almost imagine them tearing at her throat like a werewolf or some other supernatural creature, causing her pain for all the bad things she did and—

“You’re safe now.”

She blinked a few times, brought back to reality by his voice that was surprisingly soft. Calm, a little cold perhaps, but gentle regardless.

There was no blood, he was not a werewolf, and she was not in danger of being torn to pieces and having her insides dragged through the entire street.

But she was still scared, and not because of the thug, but because of the vigilante himself.

***

“You’re safe now.” Robin said calmly, keeping his distance. From Damian’s perspective under the mask, it was the worst thing he ever had to do in his life. Instead of rushing to her side, taking her in his arms, and giving her comfort and reassurance he had to keep hiding his face in the shadows. Unbeknown to him, Y/N was more than grateful about this fact.

“Uh-huh…” she stuttered, making Damian want to hug her even more. She was so shaken after being chased like this. After being put in danger.

It didn’t cross his mind, that she could be scared of him.

“Do you want me to walk you home?” This was not really a question in his head, but it was important to slowly assure her she was now protected.

“Uh-huh…” she stuttered again, with wide eyes and pale face, that Damian blamed on the aftermath of terrifying events.

“Okay.”

It was hard to not reach for her hand, envelop her in warmth and walk with her to her apartment. Making her her favourite tea and cuddling on the couch (a weakness he would never admit to his family). But he had to keep his mask, literally and figuratively. Therefore, having escorted her to her building and spinning on his heel, he left her alone.

Not for long though.

***

It took him fifteen minutes to change from Robin costume into regular, civilian clothes, almost searching for a phone booth like a freaking Superman, knowing that if Jon knew it, he would never let him live through it.

Meanwhile, he finally got hold of his phone and read through the desperate messages she’s been sending him for the last hour.

“Dami, please come pick me up. I’m at the XX”

“Dami, please…”

“I don’t know why you are not responding, but if I did something to make you mad, I am sorry…”

“Dami, I need you…”

“Please, it’s cold and I’m scared…”

“Dami… 🥺”

Oh no.

As if seeing her scared after dealing with the threat was not enough, now he also got the insight of what she was feeling and thinking while walking home alone.

That he left her.

That he didn’t care.

That she was alone.

And it made him speed the pace of the changing even more.

And causing Robin to make one, teeny-tiny mistake.

***

A knock on the door made her almost jump, settling on pretending she was not at her apartment. Or that she was sleeping – whichever seemed more plausible at 3 am.

“Y/n!”

The voice seemed familiar, but it could have been just the whispers of her stressed mind, combined with a desire for the presence of that one person she so desperately needed.

“Y/N! Open up, it’s me! Damian!”

She whimpered and moved deeper into the corner of the sofa, covering her ears.

He had to change tactics.

“I know where you keep the spare key. But if you don’t open in five, I’ll kick the door without the need to get it!”

An empty threat that could have only been made by him.

Four seconds later the bolt on the door rattled and Y/N stood face to face with Damian, who had absolutely no intention to put his words into action, just getting her to open.

“Y/N.” He sent her the most comforting and reassuring smile he could muster.

“Dami…” she sobbed, diving into his arms. “why weren’t you picking up your phone? I was scared and – and this guy-”

“Hush, dear.” His hands wrapped around her, taking a few steps forward so they were now inside her apartment and not in the hallway. “You’re safe now. I’m here and no one will hurt you.”

“But why weren’t you picking up?” she repeated nuzzling into him, the mix of emotions finally finding a way out in the form of uncontrolled sobs.

“My apologies, beloved. It was never my intention to make you feel abandoned. But I’m here now.”

“Mhm…”

“You’re okay. Shall I make you your tea? It will ease your nerves after being chased on the streets like that.”

“Yes, please…” she whispered and then a thought hit her. “Dami? I- I never told you I was being chased…”

“You know, it was quite evident. It’s Gotham. It’s late and your text was pretty clear-“ His green eyes met hers in a poor attempt to cover up for the obvious fail, trying to fill in the holes in the facts and silence her questions before they even arise.

But it was too late and she was too smart for being played like that.

There was no way Damian could have simply figured out what happened solely from her messages and ragged pieces of information.

His first question, right after comforting her, should have been what happened?

And how the hell did he get into her apartment almost right after she got in?

Right after Robin escorted her here?

“Dami--?” she stuttered with wide eyes, pulling slightly back, causing a little struggle when he tried to keep her in his arms.

Causing a little too much movement.

“Y/N, listen to me, I can—hey, are you all right?”

She was not.

She was not okay, seeing the familiar and well-known domino mask that fell from Damian’s pocket onto the floor in her apartment.

“You- you are—” her stuttering mixed with paleness and terror reflected in her eyes made him travel back to the conversation they had a few months earlier. 

Oh, no…

How could he forget…?

to be continued...

Part 2

[grandline-fics]

Unconscious Protector

DESCRIPTION: When you suddenly lose consciousness 

WARNINGS: Descriptions of fainting

CHARACTERS: Luffy, Zoro

WORDS: 1,042

A/N: Just want to say thank you to each and everyone of you who have been reading these fics. Hope you enjoy this one

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

MASTERLIST

----------

LUFFY

This island was far too hot, probably just as bad as the fire side of Punk Hazard. The only reason you were struggling more this time was because you were trying to keep up with your excited Captain. You’d drawn the short straw to be his babysitter as he explored the wilderness while the others got to stay in the town and shop. You admired Luffy greatly but he just refused to pause for two seconds to take a break. At times like this you were even more jealous of his seemingly unending reserve of energy. You’d tried earlier to convince him to stop in the shade for a moment but then he’d spotted a mountain in the distance he was adamant about climbing it before stopping. So you had to just endure the heat if you wanted to keep pace with him. 

You just had to keep telling yourself this was like training, just something to keep yourself motivated because if you stopped now you didn’t think you would get back up. As the incline of the mountain got steeper the more your legs shook. Just a little further you told yourself while roughly shaking your head, trying to focus your vision as it blurred once more. You could make out the outline of trees at the top. The thought of lying down under the shade was your reward for trekking this far without stopping. You could do this. You would do this. Over the growing ringing in your ears you could make out Luffy’s excited cheering when he got to the top and calling your name to see the view. Shakily you let out a laugh. “Coming, Luffy.” You tried to call out but could only manage a weak huff.

Only now did Luffy turn and see you stumble up the mountain towards him. He frowned heavily, finally seeing the struggle you were pushing through. As much as his hands itched to stretch out and lift you the last few feet he resisted the impulse. You’d gotten this far and suffered because of him. To treat you like a weakling now at the last hurdle would have been an insult. You had a strength he greatly admired, you wouldn’t be part of his crew if you were frail. He had to just watch. Finally you staggered to a halt beside him and doubled over, breathing heavily and eyes swimming. Forcing your head up you took in the amazing view of the town far below and you could see just how far you really came. “I did it…” you cheered in an exhausted whisper only for your eyes to roll back and your body slumped over. Luffy’s arms caught you with ease and he lifted you towards the thick line of trees.

“Just rest now.” He grinned, throwing himself down onto the ground, holding you close and safe against him. When his hand lightly touched the top of your head he noticed how warm it was. That was his fault too he realised, he was too excited to go exploring he hadn’t given you much time to prepare for the trek. Ah well, he’d apologise when you were awake and on your feet again. With a grin he pulled off his hat and draped it lightly over your head, letting the extra shade it created cool you down. His grin only got wider when you relaxed more against him. 

ZORO

That had to be the last of them, please let that be the last of them. Paranoid and alert your eyes swept around the destroyed battlefield. You’d pushed yourself too far this time. You knew that but it was necessary. The others were scattered and engaged in their own fights and that left you to protect the entrance to the building where Luffy was currently fighting your group’s current enemy. That enemy however was a coward and kept sending subordinates to try and overwhelm Luffy to try and gain the upper hand in the fight. That wasn’t going to happen, not while you had any breath still in your body. 

You felt a sudden presence by your side and you reacted, whirling and throwing your sword out in an attack only to freeze when it was blocked by a familiar blade. Relief flooded you and a smile broke out over your face. If more enemies came now, protecting Luffy would be a whole lot easier. You adjusted the hold on your sword and pulled it away from your crew-mate, eyes returning to the battlefield in search of anyone approaching. 

Zoro could see the dimness in your eyes, the tremble of your limbs and the shallow breaths you were taking. You were only standing and acting out of instinct and loyalty at this point. He could see the toll the exhaustion that fighting waves upon waves on enemies and using your Devil Fruit had taken on your body. While he was concerned it didn’t lessen his pride and respect for you. He put his own sword away and reached out to curl his fingers around yours that still held yours in a vice grip. “Hey it’s okay. The fight’s over.” He coaxed, his voice holding its usual deep rumble but there was a softness in his tone that he reserved only for you.

His words were all you needed to finally let your body succumb to what it needed most. Relinquishing your weapon and yourself into his care, your eyes slipped closed as his free arm settled around your waist, supporting your deadweight against him like it was nothing. Taking the utmost care with you, he lifted your body to cradle against his chest while he sheathed your weapon and stood to lean against the wall you’d been protecting so fiercely. Zoro’s eye moved across the destruction you’d caused and chuckled as he took it all in. You certainly were a force of nature and one that pushed him to be stronger too. He knew no one else would come by here and that it wouldn’t be long before Luffy wrapped up his own battle and everything would settle once more but he couldn’t help but enjoy this moment of being your protector even if it was for a little while.

[asharasasylum]

Pretty Baby I ♡  Rafe Cameron x Step/Adopted!Sister Reader

author's note: I needed to publish something and I found this saved in my drafts. It’s in 2 parts. (Part 2 in now here) It’s not really edited either and not amazing so I’m sorry about that. I do want to say the main character is inspired by Nicola Peltz character in backroads. Please really read the warnings with this one. warnings: Dark. Abuse. Violence. Child Abuse. Parental abuse. Angst. Trauma responses. Obsession from both ends. Manipulation. Gaslighting. Toxic relationship!! Aged up characters. Step-cest. Eventual Smut. Eventual character death. 18+ MDNI

He's your saviour, your knight in shining armour but he can also be your own worst enemy.

It was your tenth birthday when your father was finally arrested. 

While he deserved it, truly deserved it, you didn’t care. 

All you could do was cry as you sat at the back of Peterkin’s car, babbling about how you just wanted to see your daddy. 

It must have been a few hours later, time rolling into the late hours of the night and you were still with Peterkin. Only you had found yourself in the police station, tear stained face as you bit at the nail of your thumb. 

“Y/N.” 

You turned to look up at Peterkin to find her standing beside a man you didn’t recognise. 

“This is Ward Cameron,” Peterkin introduced you, with a small smile. 

The man tried to give you a smile but his face dropped as soon as he took you in. You hadn’t realised how bad your appearance was then, the purple marks that covered your skin were a normality you were accustomed to. 

Peterkin took Ward a few steps from you, somewhere they thought you couldn’t hear. 

“Did he- Did he do that to her?” Ward questioned. 

Peterkin just nodded. 

“But he’s her father,” Ward was in clear disbelief as he spoke, pointing at you. 

“And now she has no one.” 

That’s all Ward apparently needed to hear, throwing his jacket over your shoulders as he directed you to his car. 

He tried to make light conversation in the car, bringing up things he thought you might like, only to find him stumbling on his words each time you said you didn’t know what he was talking about. But he never stopped trying, and you think you were glad for that. 

It was the next day that you met everyone, all of them welcoming you with open arms, excluding Rafe. 

He had glared at you, eyes narrowed and nostrils flared. It was almost as if he was waiting for the opportunity to crack your school open on the wall behind you. He just needed you to give him reason enough to do so. 

You didn’t know when he stopped looking at you like that but eventually a few years down the line you and Rafe were more akin than you had ever believed possible. Even if there was still that anger that bubbled underneath Rafe’s skin when he looked at you, a tinge of coldness behind those eyes. 

You were fifteen when Rafe saved you and at that age you still seemed to hate each other more than ever. 

“I can’t believe you’re forcing me to come to the wreck with you and your stupid friends,” you huffed, leaning against the car window. 

“Dad said I need to look after you while they’re out for a few days,” Rafe argued back, yanking your arm off of his window. “You’re going to get marks over my car.” 

You rolled your eyes at him, settling for resting your arms in your lap. “I’m sure he just meant to watch out for me, not drag me to everything you’re doing.” 

“It’s food at the wreck. I’m sure you’ll cope.” 

You didn’t know who you hated more at times, Rafe or his friends. The arrogance that radiated off of them at all times made you want to vomit in your mouth. You never understood why they bothered to come to this side of the island if all they wanted to do was sit and make jokes about the people that lived here. 

It was within ten minutes that you found yourself outside, walking along the boardwalk. The gentle North Carolina breeze brushed against your skin as you stared out into the bay. It was quiet, too cool outside for people to be lingering. 

That’s what you had thought until a familiar voice was calling your name. 

“Y/N… it’s you, isn’t it?” 

Your stomach dropped and as if your body was working on autopilot, you froze to the spot. 

This wasn’t supposed to be happening. Precautions had been put in place to stop this from happening, restraining orders filed and prison walls to keep him locked up and away from you. Wherever Ward had needed to do, he had made sure to do it. 

But clearly it hadn’t been enough as your dad stood a few feet away from you, inching close every second. 

“Baby, I’ve missed you so much,” he said, hands reaching out for you. 

He looked the exact same, the blackness around his eyes from years of addiction and the cracked lips. He sounded the same too. 

And when he took a step forward, you were ten years old all over again. 

“You can’t be here,” you finally spoke, voice barely above a whisper. 

“I-I had to s-see you,” he stuttered, hand reaching forward as he got closer. 

Only now you were finally walking back. 

“Baby. It’s me.” 

“You can’t be near me,” you spoke louder this time, trying to put space between the pair of you.

But your dad was faster and without warning his hand latched around your neck, yanking your body towards him. 

“Dad, please,” you pleaded, eyes wide as you tried to pry his hands from your throat. 

“It was you that put that order against me,” he spat, grip tightening. “I knew it was you.” 

He was shaking, veins popping out the side of his head. You knew the look, it was the first thing you saw when you closed your eyes at night. But it changed slightly, he had never been this enraged before. It was like he wanted to kill you, like taking his temper out on you for years wasn’t enough. 

“It was you that called the police that day, wasn’t it?” 

You shook your head, a sob caught at the back of your throat as you told him, “No, I swear.” 

“Don’t lie to me.” 

“I swear it wasn’t me.” 

“I did five fucking years in that prison because of you.” 

His grip was bruising and you weren’t sure if the fact you couldn’t breathe was because of his hands on your neck or because you were choking on your own sobs. 

Your ears were ringing so loud that you didn’t hear Rafe running over to you. But you saw him when his fist flew into your father’s cheek and you watched as his foot slammed into your father’s body over and over again. 

“Don’t you ever touch her,” Rafe screamed into the man’s face, dropping to his knees as he drove his fist into your father’s face. 

Kelce and Topper eventually pried Rafe off of your father, realising that he probably wasn’t going to stop until he killed him. 

You were surprised he wasn’t already dead yet, his lifeless body covered in blood and bruises as he wheezed out a breath. 

Rafe was quick to cover your view, grabbing your face in his battered hands as he held you. 

“Are you okay?” Rafe questioned, eyes staring into yours. 

You were crying, you hadn’t realised how badly until Rafe touched your soaked cheeks. 

“Why didn’t you scream for me?” His voice was panicked, blue eyes running over you to check you were okay. 

“I’m sorry,” you broke into a fit of sobs, unsure of what else to say. 

Rafe pulled you into his chest, holding you tightly as he wrapped his arms around yours. “You don’t need to apologise. You haven’t done anything wrong, Y/N.” 

Rafe didn’t leave you alone that night and you were grateful for that. It must have been hours before you calmed down, sobs turning into sniffles as Rafe consoled you. But eventually it happened. 

“No ones ever done something like that for me,” you told Rafe, eyes finally peering up at him through wet lashes. 

“I care about you,” Rafe’s voice was gentle as he spoke, a sincerity to it that you had never heard before. “I’ll never let anyone hurt you.” 

You chuckled then, you hadn’t meant to because what you were thinking wasn’t really funny but you had. 

“What?” His eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“I thought you hated me,” you confessed.

“I don’t hate you.” his lips lifted into a smile then. “I guess I haven’t always been the best brother.” 

“That’s okay.” 

“No, it’s not okay. You deserve better.” 

There was a sort of silence that fell over the pair of you then. One you were eager to fill, unsure how to process Rafe’s words. 

“Can I stay here tonight?” You asked.

“Of course.” 

It was Rafe’s gentle breaths that eased you into a sleep that night, face buried into his chest as he continued to hold you. 

That was the first night of many. 

Everytime you found yourself awoken to your own gasps of breath, it was Rafe who you sought after for comfort. You’d always be knocking on his door at odd times in the night, wet round eyes looking up at him, pleading for entrance that he was so willing to give. 

It was Ward that had to intervene, finding you in Rafe’s bed one morning. 

Then sleepovers with Rafe were switched for therapy sessions and while you were desperate to get them back, you knew that going against Ward wasn’t something either of you really wanted to do. 

So you didn’t even though you always really wanted to. 

From then on it was a thin line that you and Rafe tread along. 

One that was quickly blurring with each word that slipped past his lips. 

“It’s fucking disgusting, do you know that?” Rafe spat, storming away with your phone in his hand. “Fucking throwing yourself at my friends like a slut.” 

“He gave me his number. Not the other way round,” you shouted at him, chasing him through the greenery. 

All of Rafe’s friends were staring at you, used to the constant arguments between you and your older brother by now. But luckily you had put some space between you and them, the words that were threatening to spill from your mouth you didn’t want them to hear. 

“And you were lapping every single bit of it up,” he shouted, facing you now. 

“Is that so wrong?” You asked, throwing your hands up in frustration. “I think you seem to forget that my dating life has literally nothing to do with you.” 

You could feel the anger pouring off him, nose flared and eyes narrowed as he stepped closer to you. “It’s hard not to make it my business when you embarrass me in front of all my friends.” 

“Fuck you, Rafe.” You hit your hands on his chest in a pathetic hope it would hurt him. 

He seized your arm, yanking your body towards his. 

“I hate you,” you swore, wishing the words into existence. Even though you knew they’d never come true. 

Rafe saw right through you, shaking his head as he laughed. “You hate me?” 

“I fucking hate you, Rafe. You’re awful.” 

“I guess you won’t mind if I do this then.” 

Within a second your phone was smashed to the ground, his foot following it. 

You screamed at him as he did it, fists flying at him as you kept repeating that you hated him. It’s like he didn’t even hear you, didn’t even feel you as he continued to break your phone into pieces on the ground. 

“You’re a fucking psycho,” you hissed.

He turned to you, eyes clouded with a darkness that almost frightened you. Almost. 

When his hand reached to touch you, you slapped it away. 

“Let’s go,” he demanded, stepping over your phone as he walked to the direction of the car park. 

With a tearful gaze you followed him, not even bothering to pick up your shattered phone on the way. 

There was no use fighting him, not when he was like this. It’s not like you wanted to argue against him, not here anyway. There were things you were itching to say. Things that couldn’t be said in front of the likes of the people here. In front of anyone really. 

When he shoved you into the car, those feelings bubbled up into your chest, hard to ignore when his fingers touched your skin. They dragged along the column of your chest, eyes following them as they trailed upwards, reaching to grip around your throat. 

“Do you like embarrassing me?” He said, voice low as it cut through you. 

“Do you like hurting me?” You retorted back. 

He shook his head, kissing his teeth. “Don’t…” 

He bit down on his words, hand dropping as he turned away from you. 

But you knew exactly what he was going to say. 

Because you were thinking it. 

//

Rafe had been walking on eggshells around the house all evening with you. He lurked behind corners when you were around, clearly waiting for the right moment to talk to you. 

It wasn’t till you were fighting with your late night thoughts, making your way down to the kitchen for a moment of peace, that he found you.

You felt him before you heard him, feeling his body slowly gravitating towards you. 

“Can’t sleep?” 

“No,” you were cold as you answered him. 

“You’re still mad at me,” he stated. 

You twisted around to look at him in the darkness of the kitchen, wanting to glare at him, to cuss him out but you struggled to find the energy to even do so. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

But he didn’t need to apologise, his words barely touching your ears when his scent was crowding your senses. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Rafe shook his head, age turning away from you. “Stop.” 

“I don’t mean to,” you croaked, unable to take your wet gaze away from his face. 

He sighed, rubbing his jaw with his thumb as if taking a second to contemplate something. All it took was another look at you and it was as if his decision had already been made.

“Dad’s gone for the weekend,” he told you, eyes finally lifting up to yours. “He won't be back till Monday.” 

He didn’t need to ask, you both knew what he was saying and you both knew what your answer would be. You’d never said no to Rafe before. Why would tonight be any different? 

You always took the left side of Rafe’s bed. It was the closest to the door, easiest to get to in ungodly hours when you needed him. He was always accommodating, leaving the space for you free even after months of you not being there. It was second nature for both of you at this point, even when you didn’t want it to be. 

There was something oddly comforting about it. The fact that Rafe after months still slept on the same side of the bed as if he was always waiting for you to take the other side.

For years it had always just felt like a delusional fantasy. But in the last few months, especially with the way Rafe had been acting, you felt your mind starting to believe that the feelings you had could possibly be shared. 

It's all you could think about as you stared into his eyes, his fingers playing with yours. It’s all you thought about.

“Rafe,” you whispered. 

He hummed in acknowledgment, fingers sliding under the bottom of your top as he rubbed your sides. 

You couldn’t help but sigh at the subtle touch, stirring a heat inside you that was hard to ignore. 

“What is it?” He asked. 

“You know,” You swallowed, struggling to get the right words out. 

There were so many things to say but how were you even supposed to say them? 

Rafe closed his eyes, hand tightening around your hip as he gripped onto it. He wasn’t trying to hurt you, it was more of a gentle squeeze, something you mistook as reassurance. 

It was hard not to lean into him, brushing your nose against his. Everything about it felt right, even if it was entirely wrong. 

“Rafe,” you breathed, your words touching his lips. 

His hand retracted from you and suddenly his words were saying things you didn’t want to hear. Things you hadn’t expected to hear. 

“Don’t,” it was quiet, hardly above a whisper as it left his lips. 

“What?” You were taken back entirely.

“You can’t stay in here if you’re going to kiss me,” he answered through clenched teeth. 

“Right.” 

But nothing about this felt right as you retreated from him. 

Had you completely misread all the signs? Had you really been feeding so much into your delusional fantasies that actually believed they could come true? 

His hand being snatched was like a final cord that snapped in you and just couldn’t hold back anymore. 

“So you don’t want me but you don’t want anyone else to have me?” You asked, sitting up on the bed. “Make it make sense.” 

“You’re my sister, Y/N. Am I not allowed to be over protective with you?” He retorted back.

“No, because it’s not just that,” your words were getting caught in your throat, desperate to come out. “You- You don’t act that way with a sister and you know that.” 

“You’re reading into things-“ 

“Fuck you, Rafe,” you hit at him, this time it had been with a force that meant to hurt. “I’m not crazy and don’t make me feel like I am.” 

Everything was rising to the service suddenly, all the feelings you had bottled up for years, threatening to drown you if you didn’t let them out. 

“You know how I feel.” Tears filled your eyes as you gazed down at him, pleading for some sort of reaction. 

“Maybe I step over the line of being inappropriate with you,” he tried to say. “And I don’t mean to do that but that doesn’t mean-“ 

“Oh my fucking god,” you almost laughed at his words.

He was spouting bullshit at you, words he probably told millions of other girls after leading them on for ages, only to drop them as if they were nothing more than the dirt on the bottom of his shoe. 

But you weren’t just any girl. 

“You’re going to wake everyone up,” he hissed as if he was mad at you. 

You wanted to hurt him then. You had never wanted to hurt Rafe before, maybe get under his skin from time to time or push his buttons. But you wanted him to bleed for you like you did for him. 

“You’re sick,” you spat at him. 

His hand reached out towards you and you slapped it away. 

“I’m not some random fucking girl, Rafe,” you cried, shaking beside him. “You’re evil.” 

You couldn’t even look at him, too scared of how you might react. 

You needed to leave that room, try and save the last bit of sanity you might have left. 

It wasn’t hard when Rafe didn’t even try to pull you back in, not even saying anything to make you stay. 

“You know I didn’t want to say it before but you do remind me of him.” 

The last place you had expected to find yourself had been the cut, drinking and smoking with Sarah and her friends. But after a week of you wallowing in your own self pity, Sarah was growing incredibly worried. Most of your household was. 

You wondered if they knew what happened, especially with the way you acted in the house. It wasn’t hard to notice you were avoiding Rafe in your own home. You two were always drawn to each other, practically spending every second together in that house, to laugh, to chat, to fight. It didn’t matter how happy or upset you were, you were always found together. 

But every time he stepped into a room, you were looking to find the quickest exit. Never being in a room with him for longer than a second. 

You needed space from him as much as you possibly could get. As much as he would even allow you. 

You weren’t sure if Rafe knew where you were and there was some part in you that hoped he did, wanting him to be so angry with you in this second. You just wanted him to feel something for you, even if it came through a deep anger that had you flinching from him. 

You swallowed the rest of your drink at that, trying to forget even if it was just for a few seconds. But there was always something pulling you back in. 

This time it was Sarah, phone in hand as she grabbed your attention with a call of your name. 

“Yeah?” You asked, trying to muster a small smile. 

“It’s Rafe,” she told you, signaling to her phone. “He won’t stop calling me. He’s asking to speak to you.” 

“No,” you simply said but your face twisted into something hideous. 

You could tell in the way Sarah instantly listened to you, telling Rafe some excuse about why you wouldn’t talk to me. 

But you knew she wouldn’t drop it that easily. It’s why seconds later you found her sitting next to you, wearing a weary look as she took you in. 

“You know you can talk to me,” Sarah whispered, hand reaching out for yours. 

“I know,” you nodded. 

“Did something happen between you and Rafe?” She asked, squeezing your hand. 

You looked at her then, furrowing your brows. 

“Did he do something to you?” 

You snatched your hand from hers, eyes widening at her suggestion. 

“I see the way he looks at you,” she continued, a scowl sitting on her lips as the thought crossed her mind. “It’s sickening.” 

“He didn’t touch me,” you confessed.

How were you supposed to tell her that was the reason you were upset? Because he wouldn’t touch you. 

“Can’t I just be mad at him because he’s the biggest asshole on this whole island?” 

“You can say that again,” she agreed. “We all hate him here.” 

“I don’t hate him,” the words rolled off your tongue like second nature, always ready to defend Rafe even when you knew you shouldn’t.

“I don’t get it,” she sarcastically laughed, shaking her head. “I swear Rafe could burn this whole island to the ground, taking me and the rest of our family with it and you’d just hold his hand as he did it.” 

“That’s not true, Sarah.” Your face softened when you looked at her. “You mean everything to me.” 

“But Rafe means more, right?” 

“No.” You shook your head. “It’s different with Rafe. You know that.” 

“But he’s a bad person.” 

“You know how he’s been there for me. When literally no one else has. You know what he’s done for me.” 

“I know that he saved you from your dad-“ 

She reached out to touch you again but this time you didn’t want to hear it, moving to walk away. But Sarah followed. 

“I know that must have been awful for you but you can’t just let him hold that over you,” her voice grew as she chased you, catching the eyes of the group. 

“I don’t let him hold that over me.” You both knew that was a lie. 

“He treats you like shit,” she screamed at you, making you finally turn her way. “He treats everyone terribly but I honestly think he treats you the worst. I don’t get it because you just let him.” 

“You don’t have to understand,” your voice was shaky as you spoke, arms crossing over your chest. “I don’t need you to understand because honestly I don’t understand it myself.” 

“He’s never going to treat you the way you want him to treat you.” Sarah looked at you defeated, arms held up as she backed away. “It’s not in Rafe’s nature to be nice.” 

You couldn’t tell your sister that you didn’t exactly want Rafe to be nice to you. 

In reality you couldn’t care if he was nice to you.

You enjoyed it when he was mean to you, bitter words cutting through you when he wanted to get under your skin. 

And sure if the only way he was going to touch you would be a bruising grip on your wrists or his hand wrapped around your throat, you’d take it. 

But you did also crave for him to be nice to you, sweet like when he soothed your cries with his fingers grazing your back. His voice gentle as he hushed you, lying beside you in his bed. 

You wanted every bit of Rafe you could get, the good and the bad. You wanted all of it for yourself. 

But that wasn’t happening anytime soon, not with his arm draped around some random girl. 

You hadn’t known why you forced yourself to come to this party, the annual bonfire was usually something you attended with Rafe by your side. It was your thing. 

The idea of booze and friendly faces, had been a nice idea earlier this morning. But as you stared around the familiar faces, you felt nothing but dread. 

Dread at the thought that this was how life was going to be. A constant numbness holding your body captive. 

“You want another one?” JJ asked, holding a can out for you. 

“Thanks,” you nodded, taking it from his hands.

“You know you don’t have to stand over here by yourself,” JJ stated, bumping his elbow with yours. “We don’t bite even if Rafe says we do.” 

Your face flushed in embarrassment at that, you didn’t want them to think you thought of them like that. There had been days when you possibly had judged them too harshly, you had never meant to, it was just easier to listen to Rafe then. 

Even though you could tell JJ meant it as a joke, your lips parted instantly wanting to defend yourself.

“It’s not like that,” you tried to reassure him. “I’m just-“ 

“I’m joking with you,” he chuckled lightly. 

Your body relaxed at that and you couldn’t help but smile. 

“You want to talk about what’s got you so down?” He asked, taking space beside you. “Or are you one of those that drinks their problems away.” 

You took another swig from your, answering his questions. 

“I see.” 

“I’m not actually much of a drinker if I’m honest,” you told him. “My- uh-” You weren’t sure why you were saying it but JJ made you feel comfortable, feeling the honesty slip from you. 

“Your dad?” The amused tone had dropped from his voice, smile faded as he took a swig from his beer. “I know the feeling, trust me.” 

“Yeah.” You forget that almost everyone knew about your situation. Rafe’s saviour moment when you were fifteen had been spread across all local newspapers. 

“But you know can’t let trauma hold you back.” He pressed the bottle to his lips with a smirk and a wink in your direction. “When in Rome.” 

You laughed at that, catching you off guard as you responded, “We’re not in rome.” 

“I know.” He shrugged, smiling along with you. 

JJ would be good for you. He seemed sweet and genuine, he understood a lot of the trauma you had gone through. You had heard enough about him through Sarah and Kiara when they were around and if he treated girls anything like how John B treated Sarah, you were sure he would be a catch. 

But as your eyes peered into his and your laughter died down, you could only think of one person. The same person who was burning holes in the back of your skull as you turned to face him. 

Rafe was still standing on his side of the bonfire but the girl that had been all over him before was nowhere to be seen. He didn’t walk over to you, didn’t say anything or motion to follow him but as feet took off, you already found yourself making an excuse. 

“I’m really sorry but I got to run,” you told JJ, trying your best to give him an apologetic glance. 

He nodded, not seeming too disappointed nor surprised at your sudden departure but there was a slight look of confusion on his face. 

You ignored it, not really caring about it as you pushed yourself to your feet. All you could think about was following Rafe’s larger steps, letting him lead you to where all the cars were parked, where no one else would be able to see you. 

His truck was in a secluded area, parked by trees that shadowed it. It wasn’t close to any walkways and it was enclosed by other surrounding cars. 

It didn’t surprise you when you were suddenly slammed to Rafe’s door, a hand wrapping around your throat to keep you held there. He always lurked in the eerie silence, waiting for a moment to pounce Rafe, especially when it came to you. But what had surprised you was how tight his grip was, finding yourself wheezing for air as you looked at him. 

“You like slutting it out for pogues, hmm?” He hissed, leaning into you. 

Even in the darkness you could see how blown out his eyes were, the light shade of blue being overpowered by black. When his grip tightened even more, you actually became frightened, eyes widening at the sight of him. 

“Like opening your legs for trash?” He spat. 

You let out a strangled breath, becoming frantic as you tore at his hand to get off. Normally that was all that it would take but today Rafe wasn’t letting up and your pleas were being ignored. 

“So angry with me that you would debase yourself like that. I mean my friends were one thing.” He shook his head, jaw clenching as tears glazed his eyes. “But fucking JJ Maybank.” 

He dropped you then, letting you collapse to the ground as he took a step away from you. 

You were gasping for breath, hand holding onto your neck in disbelief of what had just happened. 

All of a sudden Sarah’s words rang in your head and you thought maybe you didn’t want to be treated like this anymore. 

“I can’t even look at you right now.” 

Your head twisted around at that, finding Rafe’s pacing form as you said, “You can’t look at me right now?” Tears were streaming down your face as you took a second to get up, staring at him in disbelief. “Are you serious?” 

Rafe turned around, eyes narrowing at you. 

“You’re exactly like him-” 

“Don’t fucking start with that bullshit,” He went to argue, pointing in your face. 

“No, you are,” you laughed, finally realising. “You’re exactly like my dad. Everytime you hurt me you always have a reason to blame me. It’s always my fault.” 

Rafe smirked at that, nodding as if he was in agreement. “Yeah, it’s why you always come running back when I apologise. So eager for more.” 

Your hand connected with his face and you heard it before you felt it. Your hand stung afterwards and when Rafe began to laugh as a reaction, you immediately regretted it. 

“Is it my turn?” He questioned, a smug smirk on his lips. 

“You’re sick.” Tears were streaming down your face, painting your cheeks and chin. Yet he didn’t seem to care one bit. 

He only turned away, stepping round the truck and calling out to you. “Get in.” 

Without hesitation you did. 

(Dividers by @cafekitsune)

[hopeless-avo]

AU | SY Transmigrates as Someone Else | WQW Edition

ヾ⁠(⁠*⁠’⁠Ｏ⁠’⁠*⁠)⁠/~

In this world, when attempting to transfer SY into SQQ, the system glitches.

This glitch happens as the ‘SQQ villain’ role is still occupied, meaning SQQ would have still been present in his body, probably being able to counteract/treat the Qi deviation when it started, as he had some magical herb or another that he had on him due to his previous occurrences and history of bad deviations, so he survives.

SY is just there in the system’s waiting room, watching this screen and text glitch out.

He questions this malfunctioning system on wtf it wants him to do /who he would have become, cause come on, obviously he was gonna be isekai’ed and has suspicions on where he would be going as of what he was going off about and the voices he heard before he expired.

He chooses to shelve his panic and grief for later when he has time to process and mourn once he removes himself from whatever the fuck this situation is, cause like duh, he is dead he’ll never see his family againohmygod-

Anyways, he finds out that he would have been placed in SQQ’s body and nope what the hell do you want me to die?!?! and tries to see if he could be anyone else, ‘cause like come on, it’s PIDW!

He wants to at least be able to see all the cool flora and fauna if he has no choice of what world he will be living in, and although living as a woman may mean he gets to live longer, there is the threat of the heavenly pillar and the sudden transition of living as a man to a woman would be just too jarring.

So! After the system sorta relents at seeing that this guy is giving it another way to operate as well as saving its ass from being taken to see its higher-ups, it gives a list of potential other people that he can become that sorta has similar power and potential to affect the plot as being SQQ would have granted, although never as much given SQQ’s natural predisposition.

SY gets given the choice of LQG, QQQ, The Old Palace Master, Gongyi Xiao, and a few others.

Given his desire of wanting to live a relatively alive existence, he forgoes the more plot-present characters, such as Gongyi Xiao and The Old Palace Master, as well as LQG (cause he does not want to get shanked by SQQ, please and thank you), and due to previous arguments and reasons, he forgoes QQQ.

He looks over the remaining names and sees WQW, a character that doesn’t actually appear or get mentioned much in PIDW, is known to be the peak lord of the sword-forging peak, has massive muscles and has literally, like, one line when LBH got sent over and picked up Zheng Yang.

Additionally, the guy owns that sword that can tell if someone is possessed, so he would only have to stay away from the thing if the system doesn’t ensure that he can’t be ousted as such.

With this, SY as WQW would be living his best life as this guy bc he can fly on his sword all day and stay away from the plot while planning his escape when Cang Qiong Mountain Sect sets alight!

So with his choice made, SY, now WQW, wakes up half-disorientated, his forearms aching and the sounds of crying children and concerned/panicked teenagers.

After he gets dragged to Qian Cao Peak, the still-glitching system gives him the rundown of the situation of how he entered his new body; apparently Original!WQW got caught up in trying to stop a disciple from experimenting with volatile sword materials and the forge blew up as he tried to do damage control after he got everyone out, gaining a head injury and leaving him with plausible temporary amnesia, in addition to a sort of broken/glitched OOC lock that gradually corrupts over time till it's gone due to the vague understanding of the guy.

SY|WQW [we’ll just call him WQW from now on] realised that he was placed in PIDW a few months before the disciple choosing where LBH officially enters the sect, gets picked, and then is abused by SQQ [future him problem!!!] and although he doesn’t want LBH to face all those injustices, the system will not let him take purposeful actions to change certain plot points in the face of system punishment.

After he is fully released from Qian Cao Peak, he is expected by both the sect and mandated by the system to attend the disciple choosing.

While watching the poor children climb the massive staircase and start digging their hole to the best of their ability in an attempt to become a part of the prestigious sect and change the course of their life which they would most likely wish they didn’t join when LBH sets this place on fire…and sees what he thinks is a smol fluffy girl who has the determination and a spark in her eye attempting to dig a massive hole meticulously to catch the eye of a peak lord.

He runs through each wife in LBH’s harem to see if he can match this cute jie-jie with, and can’t seem to match her.

Looking around, he takes note that the other peak lords are overlooking her, seemingly disinterested or glancing her over with slight disgust at her thoroughly worn-through but obviously meticulously cleaned-up/washed clothing.

His eyeing had caught the eye of a little girl, most likely NYY who stood next to who he could only assume to be SQQ. She asks SQQ something about having a new martial sibling, which draws the attention of both SQQ and LQG to the girl.

Obviously having changed something as now NYY is eyeing this girl instead of her future demon harem husband system don’t punish me, as well as placing this jie-jie in the lane of SQQ, who is eyeing her with an unnamed but obviously not good look cause this cute girl is in front of a lecherous man as well as in the sight of LQG who wow has such a womanly visage I'd have thought that he would be more gruff who is set to die off in a few years and is peak lord of a boyish and brutish peak which he doesn't think that such a pretty jie-jie should be on, there is only one thing he can do!

So, at the end of the day, he ends up picking this smol bean before these ppl can get their hands on her, as obviously she wasn’t accepted in the original PIDW and if she had lived would have most likely ended up as a harem member, cause no way would such a cute bean not grow up and not catch the eye of LBH!

Obviously he won't let her suffer such a fate or leave her in the hands of SQQ. This causes some of his martial siblings to side-eye him, as he has a history of choosing more well-built candidates and not skinny dirty runts that look like death-warmed-over.

This smol jie-jie has sparkles in her eyes as she gets called over by one of WQW’s runners, which light up more the closer she gets to her new to-be-Shuzin!!! HIM!

WQW feels proud of his choice and decides that that is enough of tempting fate and the system, so he turns to leave, promising himself to ensure this little jie-jie lives her best life away from the plot [and LBG and his harem] on his peak!

…not seeing the system glitching and erroring to hell and back, not able to punish him as it was not a purposeful choice and raging in its system space at the hell that its higher-ups would put it through.

All because SY|WQW didn’t take note of the child’s outerwear. :)

[love2reid]

Stop pretending you’re not in pain

Aaron Hotchner x reader

Overview: in which reader secretly gets hurt on a case, and in which Aaron knows her better than she realises.

Word count: 920 words

Warnings: mention of injury, general criminal minds case talk.

A/N: This is my first time ever writing a piece of work for a character but I’ve wanted to for a while so I thought I’d give it a go!

You move your position for the 3rd time, battling the urge to try and be somewhat comfortable and the need to not disturb the other members of the BAU who were currently resting in their respective seats across the jet.

“Are you okay?”

Shit. Clearly not as quiet as you thought.

You look up to see Hotch staring at you, brows furrowed in concern as he scans you for any sign that you may in fact not be okay.

“Yeah yeah, I’m okay just can’t get comfortable today for some reason. I swear they’ve changed these seats since we arrived in Michigan.” Your attempt to laugh off your pain falls on deaf ears as Hotch approaches the seat next to you and settles into it comfortably, placing his case file on the shiny oak desk in front of him.

“We’ll talk about this when we are off the jet. For now try and get some sleep.”

He lifts the armrest separating the two of you and moves his arm back, beckoning you to lean into his side. You follow his instructions, immediately breathing a sigh of relief when the new position eases some of the aches currently present in your side.

“Y/n, Y/n.” You hear a voice gently whisper through your sleepy state.

You open your eyes and do a quick scan of your surroundings, to see that the jet has been completely emptied except you and Aaron.

“Why has everyone already gone?” You ask.

As you ask Aaron the question, you stretch your body in an attempt to get out of this drowsy state you’re currently in however quickly regret your actions as intense pain courses through your side making you wince.

The alarm on Hotch’s face is clear as day at the sound of you wincing.

“What happened?” Hotch asks gently but firmly, trying not to let his concern override the need to keep calm if he wants to find out what’s troubling you.

“You can’t get mad”

He lets out a low chuckle. “You know when you have to say that it’s probably not a good sign. But I promise I won’t get mad.”

You take a deep sigh before explaining.

“Remember when you sent me and Reid to the unsubs house that we thought was derelict?”

Your mind casts back to the events of the past few days as Aaron responds, “Yes, I also remember you telling me you weren’t injured and that you hadn’t hurt your leg when I asked why you stumbled.”

“Well technicallyyy the second part is true, I’ve got no issue with my leg.” You glance up at him, giving him an innocent smile that instantly makes the frown lines on his face soften.

Aaron reaches over and takes his hand in yours, gently rubbing it with his thumb. Your relationship was somewhat new, with the team remaining unaware, and due to that, all signs of a relationship were strictly off-limits around the team.

However, in the empty shell of the jet, the unspoken moment brings comfort to your troubles and prompts you to continue as you begin to recount the events to him.

“So when we arrived it seemed almost certainly empty so we decided to split up” Your mind flicks back to the event.

You and Reid had just pulled up to the suspect's house, Roy James. The Michigan air is thick with humidity, leaving you much more tired than usual.

“Well it doesn’t look like anybody is living here, or at least not very well.” Reid observes, getting out of the passenger seat of the SUV and wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

You cautiously walk towards the house, gun safely in your holster.

“Yeah, best stay slightly cautious though, the guy we’re looking for is a suspect for a reason.” You both do your job of checking the outside surroundings and looking through the windows before deciding to split up.

Spencer speaks up, “Hey, I’ll go look in the outhouse whilst you start with some of the house”.

“Yeah, no problem!” You shout back as you watch him descend into the outhouse, and you twist the rusty door handle to the main house to find it unlocked.

“And so we split up, I’d searched the kitchen, living room and dining room when I heard a bang from upstairs.” Aaron is watching you intently as you take a pause. “I checked the first two rooms and they were clear, but when I got to the last room I got a sudden slash to my left-hand side and fell down a few of the stairs.”

You recall the events to him as though it’s just a casual day-to-day event and as though you hadn’t been attacked by a serial killer.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone? Why didn’t you tell me?” Aaron whispers.

“We’d caught him, rounded up the case and honestly the last thing I wanted to think about was going to hospital and dealing with more technicalities about the incident.” You pause then make an admission that would be out of place if not for the level of vulnerability of the conversation, “ I just wanted to get home to you.”

Aaron’s face softens as he helps pull you to your feet, wrapping his suit jacket around your shoulders.

“C’mon, let’s go home, I’ll sort you out there. Jack will be happy to see you tomorrow anyway.”

[fiendforbyler]

wait y’all i just realised something that is probably niche as fuck but anyway! if you know/have read the Keeper of the Lost Cities series in it’s entirety you will understand the relationship/love triangle between sophie, fitz and keefe. from the beginning fitz is set up at sophie’s love interest, even as young kids (i believe she is 12 in the first book? and he is maybe a year older? not 100% it’s been a while). she crushed on him for majority of the series and finally in book 7/8 they get together with a seemingly very romantic gesture from fitz, with many hints during the series that fitz liked her back. point is: we were all rooting for them. it is imprtant to note that it’s also always been hinted at but later in the series confirmed that keefe has major feelings for sophie as well. for me, this is representative of mike/el/will love triangle, with sophie being mike, keefe being will, and fitz being el. now, i don’t really like fitz but i LOVE el so yeah this isn’t a flawless comparison but ANYWAY back to my main point!! keefe (will) is so likeable with a tragic backstory, troubling plot line, has a lot of trauma AND a sorry crush on a girl (boy) who (supposedly) has eyes only for one person since the beginning- something that has been clearly set up and formed into a seemingly sweet relationship readers have been rooting for from the beginning. yeah this is sounding familiar? here’s the problem (or solution for sophkeefe/byler shippers like i): ITS NOT WHAT SOPHIE THOUGHT IT WOULD BE. fitz pressures her into trying to find her bio parents so they could be matched, he is aggressive and possessive over her (not in a good way) and she breaks up with him. during this, i’m pretty sure she begins to crush on keefe as well- keefe in permanent denial she could ever like him back of course- and feels terribly guilty about it, because she still has feeling for fitz. (yeah i told you, not the perfect comparison but you understand what i’m getting at right?) while things with fitz get worse, sophie starts genuinely discovering how she really feels about keefe, with lines like “if she was really really honest- and really really brave- she had to admit that the idea of being with keefe sounded… kind of amazing. Yes, it was scary. and yes there were risks. but wouldn’t it be worth trying?” wouldn’t it be worth trying? ladies and gents, we just discovered mikes inner monologue!!! scary, risky, but worth it? its what will is to him! mike has always been “too insecure to let (him)self see what’s right in front of (him)” (a line taken from the book!!!!!!) will is in front of him. he is being so distracted by his internalised homophobia that he has NOOO idea what he is missing!! “‘SERIOUSLY, STOP!’ she told herself again…/ adding those kind of feelings to a friendship pretty much ruined everything. ( talking about fitz)”

and it’s all oh so familiar…

BUT WAIT! THERES MORE! finally, FINALLY, during our long awaited kiss scene, she says this:

“some tiny part of her head had always wondered if kissing keefe could really be as great as everyone claimed. but kissing keefe was so. much. better.”

yeah. and then blah blah they get interrupted by who? of yes of course fitzy the ex boyfriend is here. and he says what when he finds out? OH YEAH. “you kissed him? you didn’t even kiss me!”

THAT SOUNDS A LOT LIKE “you never say it/i say it” AND “i didn’t say it/you didn’t have to” or pretty much the same way mike acts around will vs el.

you know what else? mikes inability to say i love you to el (hasn’t kissed fitz) but so clearly communicate it to will (kissing keefe)

if you haven’t read all this (and i don’t blame you!!) just read this next paragraph!

but back to my main MAIN point. sophitz was the ship EVERYONE (except maybe a select few) wanted right up until they got together!! it was perfect on paper, cute, with history and seemingly ‘connected’ character (as per the plot), and as soon as they got together, everything fell apart, as well as sophie closing herself off and beginning to lose fitz even before the downfall of their relationship due to her suppressed feelings about keefe. (cough cough MIKE) they need to break up for her to realise keefe was the better match all along. keefe, who never thought he as a chance. keefe, who loved her from the start. KEEFE, WHO LET HIS BEST FRIEND HAVE HER IF IT MEANT HAPPINESS TO THEM.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? please tell me i’m not crazy!! thank you for reading this it took me a long time to write but it also felt great to write this out even if no one reads this. hail to byler and a reminder we are one day closer to seeing them on screen. have a great day/night!

[luveline]

𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 | 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

four | chapter list

Finding out you’re a princess isn’t half as intimidating as suddenly acquiring a full-time bodyguard. Especially when that bodyguard is disarmingly handsome, charming, and can’t seem to stop flirting with you. 

bodyguard!james, fem!reader, implied chubby!reader, shy!reader, princess diaries au, all characters in their 20s or older, star-crossed lovers/ forbidden romance, slowburn, background wolfstar

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

You hadn’t realised moving right along your hemisphere would be enough to change the weather. The UK is cold and often rain-soaked, while Genovia has been nothing but sunny. It's a nice change, and the sun on your skin almost removes the insecurity of wearing a dress that isn’t yours. You feel pretty. You feel as yourself as you have in the days since this whole thing began. 

“Sorry,” James says, standing in the sunshine with his hands crossed primly behind his back, “you’re what?”

You sit up properly in the window seat. He deserves every ounce of respect that you can give him, he’s been nothing but caring and kind since you met. You almost regret your decision to leave, if only because you wont get to witness him and his nice friends. 

Who will be separated once again, your brain adds helpfully. Thanks to you. 

“I'm going home.” Your sketchbook is supple under your hands, a thick and expensive leather bending from the force of your squeeze.  

He has the most professional look on his face you've ever seen from him. “If you’ve forgotten something-”

“James,” you say. You'd said quite plainly only moments ago your intentions. “I can't be a princess.” You soften your tone. “I’m sorry.”

“You are a princess. By blood.”

Sleeping on it hasn't made it a truth that’s any easier to accept. You are biologically the daughter of the late Prince of Genovia. He was your father, and now he’s dead. It is agonising to think of, and so you can’t. You look down at the sketchbook pressed flush to your linen skirts, the fabric plain and yet gorgeously rendered. It’s the nicest thing you’ve ever worn. You wonder if they might let you keep it after you renounce your title. 

“I can't do this,” you say quietly. 

You’re ashamed of yourself, but you really can't do this. You cannot live through your life changing in such a huge way, you aren’t built for it; you've only just learned to function in your tiny flat on your equivalent uni course. You’re finally in a position, as lonely as it might be, where you feel okay with who you are. If you were to accept the task theyre trying to hoist upon you, become a princess, live forever in the limelight surrounded by a better breed of royal, it’ll destroy you.

“You can. Of course you can.”

You look up cautiously. James’ mouth is set in a line. He looked so pleased when he walked in, and he'd given you a compliment subtly and easy as breathing. You worry he wants to take it back now that you’ve thrown in the towel, but he’d never do anything so spiteful. And it’s silly —you’re thinking about a compliment while his life and job are teetering. 

It’s just one of the reasons you aren't cut out for this. 

“It’s your job to be a good judge of character, right? You read people,” you say tentatively. 

He nods. “Yeah. That’s how I know you can do this.”

You set aside your sketchbook and pencil, wringing your hands together as you stand. “You must see it, James. I’m not meant for this, I’m…” Weak, you won't say. There's no use in dramatics. You plaster a smile over your worrying and wear it like you're sure of yourself. “It will be better for everyone if I give up now.”

James looks over his shoulder. Upon his entry, the guard at your side had moved to the doorway to stand with Daniels, and so the room is empty besides the two of you. He takes a step toward you, and he drops his head noticeably. As if he could intimidate you when he's so so sweet. 

“It won't be better for everyone,” he says slowly. “Not for the people of Genovia, they need an heir to take the throne.”

“Julianna–”

“Julianna isn't eligible.” He shakes his head. “It’s hard to explain. But Genovia needs a queen, a good queen, someone with a good heart.”

Your heart leaps into your throat at the idea of ruling. “James, you don't even know me. I could ruin everything.”

“You said it yourself, Princess. I’m a good judge of character.”

You fall silent. You don't want to argue with him, you don't have even an ounce of malice for him. 

"You're a princess, you– you haven't even tried," he says pleadingly. 

You trick yourself into thinking James wants you to stay because he wants to be your friend. You know you're desperate for one. Back home, the closest you have to friends are the people who wait at the same bus stop each morning and each night, or your classmates at the college. James could be your friend, you know he would be if you stayed. He's remarkably kind. 

But James wants you to stay for a myriad of reasons. For Genovia. For his friends. 

"I just want to go home," you confess weakly. 

Heat rises to your cheeks and throat, a lump you can't swallow. 

"Okay," James says. "Alright." 

He nods at you, a picture of a perfect professional, and turns to leave. You open your mouth to say something, but you don't have a clue as to what, and by the time he's left the room you've drummed up nothing more than a pitiful, "James." 

You're part way to unexplainable tears when Remus appears. He looks startled at your expression, and you can't make any sense of it yourself, so you mumble, "Please don't ask." 

"Do you want a tissue?" he asks sympathetically. 

You shake your head. 

Remus looks unhappy again, as he had on the plane. His pale skin is nearly grey. You debate asking if he's doing okay, but you've just told him to leave you alone. You assume from his expression he'd prefer the same. 

"Do you want to come have some dinner with me?" he asks. 

"That's okay, I don't think I'll be in need of any etiquette training after all," you say. 

"As friends," he says. "Please. I don't like going down to the kitchen by myself, Marlene harasses me." 

Marlene, a dark haired, dark-eyed girl with a sweetheart shaped face and hands covered in tiny burns, does harass Remus, but not in the way you'd thought. 

"Eat up, Moony," she says, placing yet another plate in front of him, bringing the total up to ten. 

You sit thigh to thigh with him on a small bench set aside in a room just off the kitchens that says 'Staff Only' on the door. Despite this, no one has objected to your sitting down. At least, not yet. 

"Marlene, I physically cannot eat all this." 

"Ah, but the Princess will help." Marlene smiles at you. She seems genuine. "She needs to get used to our cuisine." 

You can't endure the awkwardness of explaining your situation. You smile 'til your eyes crinkle in the corners and take a big mouthful of some mysterious soup rather than speak. 

"Ah, Remus, we've been making bone broth for Her Majesty, it's supposed to do wonders for your heart," Marsha adds. She's the opposite of Marlene but no less beautiful, pale and blonde as cornsilk with fine eyebrows and translucent lashes. In the sun leaking in from the window, she's quite golden. "We can set you some aside whenever we make it for her, love." 

Remus smiles. "Thank you." 

Marsha and Marlene both sequester themselves again behind the huge silver ovens. You've never seen anything like it, a marvel of modern machinery in the industrial instrumentation that heats the room. The windows have been thrown open to combat the thick and fragrant air, but you're still sweating. 

"D'you need a drink?" he asks. 

"I can't get them." 

"Please, Princess. I don't need another person trying to take care of me." He doesn't say it spitefully, but you're sorry all the same. 

"Sorry, I wasn't trying to patronise you–" 

"I know," he says, standing up. "Trust me, I know. You're just being polite, because you're nice." He smiles. "I'll get us a carafe, okay?" 

A carafe. Of what? Do royals drink only from carafes? Is it weird to ask for a coke? You turn your gaze back to the rich foods that have been laid out in front of you and pick up a fork. Then, upon reflection, you swap the fork for the appropriate one, and finish the small portion of chicken ragù you'd set aside. 

"Ah-ha!" a familiar voice calls. "Y/N! Here you are. Is my Remus with you, or are you very hungry?" 

You twist on the bench to face him. "Your Remus?" 

Your question slipped out, really. Sirius grins and sits down to your right. "We have to talk funeral." 

"Oh. Alright." 

He clasps your forearm for a gentle second.

"Sorry. Truly. I'm so sorry for your loss. I promise I'll make this as easy for you as I can, okay? You'll be in the public eye, and I want to make sure you do nothing that anyone can fault you for." 

He has a strange mouth. Not ugly, a million miles from it, but unexpected. It pulls down into a grimace as he talks, his hand patting yours. 

"I won't have to speak, will I?" 

He shakes his head firmly. "No. All you have to do is look pretty and dress well. You're already doing the first part beautifully by yourself, and I will make sure you have plenty of options for the second part, yeah?" 

"Oh, hi, Sirius," Remus says, back with a carafe and two glasses.

"Hello," Sirius says, "did you get asked about the bone broth yet?" 

Remus sits on your other side and huffs. "Yes. Did you put them up to that?" 

"The opposite! I told them not to bug you about it because bone broth sounds a little…" 

"Old-fashioned?" 

"Inhumane." 

You laugh and fail to smother it with the back of your hand. It feels weird because it hadn't explicitly been a conversation involving you, but neither tell you off or give you a funny look. Remus laughs at your laughing and pours your drink for you, a pale orange liquid topped by slices of orange, blood orange and white flowers. 

You take a cautious sip. 

"Have you seen my darling James this morning?" Sirius asks Remus from behind you. 

"Not since he left my room."

You choke on your drink. Hands smashed to your mouth, juice drips down your arms and ruins the bodice of your dress, sticky orange and spit everywhere. The boys either side of you splutter in shock, though Sirius begins to laugh as Remus presses a tissue into your hands. 

"Are you okay?" Remus asks, patting your back. 

"I'm fine," you say hoarsely, wiping yourself down with impressive speed as the heat of embarrassment rises. 

"Something go down the wrong pipe?" 

You're honest by accident, extremely startled by your choking and the subsequent question, "I didn't know James and Remus– that you were– sorry, I was just surprised–" 

"Oh, no," Remus says, sounding almost as embarrassed as you now, "no, we aren't. I mean, he's my best friend. He's like my brother." 

"Oh," you say, squeaking, desperately hoping the ground will open up and eat you whole. 

"We aren't romantically involved," Remus says, and you get the sense that's where he plans to end this conversation. 

"Yet," Sirius whispers in your ear. 

Remus shakes his head at you solemnly. 

Desperate to get away from an awkward conversation despite Sirius' good humour, you stand up from the bench and duck your head at both of them. "Um, I'll just go get some paper towels. Sorry. For spitting." 

"Forgiven," Sirius says easily. 

You rush away from them both out of the alcove and into the main body of the kitchen. Heads turn as you walk, and some staff even take the time to incline their heads to you like a small bow, but you ignore them all and head straight for Marlene. She smiles when she senses your approach, full lips cherry red and shiny as she asks, "Is there something I can do for you, Your Highness?" 

"I'm so sorry," you begin, "I've made a mess, could I get some kitchen towel? Sorry." 

"Of course! Can I have someone come and clean it up for you?" 

"No, please, it's my mess, and you've been gracious enough to allow me in your space. I couldn't have anyone else do it." 

"It's really no problem," Marlene says, but she walks to the utility cupboard south of the huge pantry and produces a roll of kitchen towels for you. 

"Thank you." Then, because you might be leaving soon, and she should know, "I– I've never had so many nice foods at once. I can't cook, at home. Everything I eat is from a jar or a tin," —you cough, worried that was an overshare— "and it's nothing compared to all of this. You guys are amazing." 

Marlene's smile softens. You hadn't realised she was being diplomatic until genuineness welled to the surface of her expression, her eyes suddenly brighter, and her smile unrestrained. "We work hard, and we love what we do. Thank you, Your Highness."

You rub your lips together and nod. Spinning on your heel, you navigate out of the kitchen as quickly as you can without running clean into someone and return to the staff alcove, where Remus and Sirius sit with their heads together, in the middle of a conversation you can't hear. 

You hesitate a few steps away. Remus smiles widely, so widely his face changes completely, and Sirius' hand drifts to his elbow. His thumb presses into the crook, and they both giggle together like kids. You're paranoid that they're laughing at you, and wondering how you could think for even a second that Remus was sleeping with James, when Sirius tucks his hair behind his ear and says, "I can't believe we're finally in the same place again." 

You back away. Not sure what to do with yourself, not sure if what you've already done is the wrong thing. You're guilty, and you're afraid of making the wrong choice, having already made it.

A hand pats your shoulder. 

"Sorry, Mikkelson," you say. 

It's not Mikkelson. James' hand lingers on your shoulder for a half second before he takes a step back. 

"Walk with me?" he asks. 

—

James takes you out to the Palace Gardens. You insist on walking side by side, and he agrees for the most part because here is where you're best protected.

"I'm sorry for leaving so suddenly. I had something to do. How are you feeling?" 

"How am I feeling?" you ask softly. "I don't…" 

"You had some very big news yesterday. So, how are you feeling?" 

You squint in the sun. James supposes you aren't used to it, considering you'd been living in one of the rainiest cities in the UK, which is one of the greyest countries in the world. 

"I feel fine," you say. 

Truth or lie. Probably a lie, but James can't call you out on it, considering your relatively new relationship. A professional relationship at that, the lines of which he has already crossed multiple times. 

He can't help it. You're not weak, you aren't in need of his protection for lack of character —you're quite obviously very brave considering the insane pressure of your situation. Brave, but it's James' job anyhow to be your shield. 

You get this look on your face like you're deep in thought, he's seen it every day since he met you five days ago, and it reminds him of his melancholy friends. He wonders how he's going to get rid of it. 

"I've spoken to our Palace doctor." Even though it is not his job, James seems to have taken on the majority of your care. Your lady in waiting has yet to arrive, and Sirius is rather busy arranging your presence at your father's funeral (and hounding Remus, having missed him dearly). "She would love to have an appointment with you, to assess you, and to adjust for your medical needs. But it's not the physical that I'm concerned about, it's your head." 

"My head." 

"Yes. I would love for you to talk to a counsellor, or a therapist while you're here." 

"What's the point?" you ask sincerely. 

"Your father has passed away," he says. "That takes a toll." 

"I didn't even really know him." You speak so softly to him, like you're worried your voice will disrupt the summer air. 

"I know. That doesn't always make it easier. I want you to experience the compassion and care that you deserve, that's all. If you don't want to talk to anyone, I understand. But if you'll humour me, I'd appreciate it." 

"When… do you want me to see her?" 

"The doctor?" James winces at his own surprise. "You can see her whenever you want to. She's completely at your discretion." 

"Oh, okay. Well, when is best for her?" 

James doesn't smile, but he wants to. "I believe she goes home to pick up her son at six. So before then would probably suit her best. But she's on call twenty four hours a day and paid well, I promise." 

"Okay. Um. Well, how do I do that? Make an appointment, or?" 

"I can make it for you. Or Sirius can."

"I can't make it myself?" 

"No, you can. Do you want me to call for someone to get her? Or you can ask the phone to connect you?" 

You stop walking at your slow pace and turn your body to the beds of flowers lining the path. Small and dainty flowers much like a Californian wildflower bloom contained to rows. 

"Would you mind doing it for me?" you ask. You sound shame-faced. 

"No, I wouldn't mind. When do you want to see her?" James asks. 

"Not today, please. Maybe tomorrow." 

James makes a mental note to ask you about it tomorrow. She really is on call —there's no need to make an appointment. But there's also no need to correct you and no need to worry about it now. 

"The Prince, may he rest in peace, will be buried in five days. You're sure you don't mind staying until then?" He doesn't want you to leave, but the memory of your plea twists his guts. I just want to go home.

"I–yes. Of course. I owe it." 

James doesn't know about that. But the Prince never did any harm to you, though he never made any efforts to take care of you, and so it won't hurt for you to attend. Still…

"You don't have to go if you don't want to. I know that Lily and Emmeline stressed that your presence was desired, but that's political. It's the image of the country, of our country. And the UK, who's royal family, as you know yourself, are deeply embroiled in scandal and, ah, what's thought to be empty rhetoric." 

You're starting to look rather frazzled. James decides to pull back his professionalism a touch. 

"Genovia protects the image of the Royal family because they've seen how ire builds in other countries. Deserved ire. They want it to seem as though you are cohesive, cooperative, and not–" 

"A secret." 

"Yes. If you'd gone to Oxford, they would've lied," —he shouldn't be saying this, for the record— "and said you'd been extradited for your safety. Or spun some tale about a normal childhood." 

"But I'm a drop out who lives in a one bedroom flat." 

"Yes." He watches the side of your face. Your eyes are glued to the flowers and unwavering. "I don't think there's any shame in that." 

"Thanks," you mumble. 

You don't believe him. He doesn't mind. He has plenty of time to convince you of your worth. 

"Would you like to pick some of the flowers?" he asks. 

"I don't want to ruin anyone's hard work." 

"They won't mind." 

You crouch down, reaching for the flowers. Your fingers weave through the dark stems of gorgeous purple and pink flowers, their colours so marvellously vibrant yet their shapes elegant enough to suit. You choose a purple flower with white edges and pick it gently. After a moment, you pick a second. 

You stand, holding the flowers between your thumb and forefinger. 

You clutch your flowers like small lifelines as he walks you back into the palace. You worry audibly about the location of your new sketchbook, and don't seem to like it when one of the guards who'd been watching you this morning seamlessly removes himself from a wall with the book in hand. 

James asks you what you want to do and you don't know. You aren't hungry, you aren't in the mood for movies or music and it might seem disrespectful for you to be seen at the theatre —not that James thinks you would spend much time there anyhow. You don't want to do anything at all, so James suggests that you retire to your private quarters and have some time to yourself. 

He takes up station by the door, listening to the dull scratching of your pencil for a good hour. He wonders if, occasionally, you're talking to yourself: there isn't much to go off of, the suggestion of your voice rather than the reality. You could be humming. You might be clearing your throat. 

An hour later and there's silence. 

James pulls his radio from his shoulder. Guarding you when you aren't up for talking is, unfortunately, rather dull. And he worries what it is you're upto; quiet is indicative of absence. 

"Sirius?" he asks the radio. 

Sirius does not often wear a radio, and he has his pager even less. It's a wonder he gets anything done. 

"James?" Remus asks, his voice crackling over the channel. 

"Hey, is Sirius with you?" 

"He's not. He's assembling a potential funeral wardrobe for Her Highness. Do you want me to go look for him?" 

James almost laughs. "I have people for that. Mikkelson?" 

He can practically hear Mickey's groan at being picked on before the man picks up his radio and says, "Yeah, sir?" 

"Find Mr. Black, won't you? Thank you." 

Hoping Sirius is on his way, James knocks your door. 

He, professionally (and he is trying so hard to be a professional), should call you Princess or Your Highness. But both titles make your skin crawl now that they're fact, so he opts for neither. 

"Are you alright in there?" he asks. 

You don't answer. James sighs and eases open your door. He wouldn't usually, not every silence is ominous, and your privacy is a right, but your safety is the priority and at the moment you're a high level target whether James agrees with that assessment or not. If he were to ignore protocol, and you were annihilated, he would go to prison for a long, long time. 

You're asleep at the desk. 

James is honestly surprised. It can't be comfortable, and your bed is probably one of the comfiest in the world with a state of the art orthopaedic mattress and duck-down pillows and quilts. What's worse, your desk chair is solid wood and likely fifty years old. The crick in your neck and the damage to your back will be extraordinary. 

And yet, it isn't James' job to wake you up. 

Professionally, James should leave. He should go back to his posting at the door. He has no need to wake you. 

You're frowning in your sleep. When you wake, he imagines you'll have graphite rubbed into your cheek. 

James sighs and leaves the room. 

"You wanted to see me?" Sirius asks, sounding spritely as he walks down the hallway toward him. 

"Hello," James says, and if they were in school he would stand up from a slouching pose against the wall and collect Sirius into a bear hug, slapping his back, maybe pulling a lock of his hair while saying something flirtatious. 

He stands at rigid attention. 

"Drop the stance, my love," Sirius says. James snorts. "There's no one here to see you." 

"It's not the point." 

"I know. What did you want? I'm quite busy." 

"Could you start carrying your pager, please? Or better, a radio? Then you wouldn't have to cross the entire building to find me." 

"You could've called me?" Sirius suggests. 

"I don't have a phone while I'm working." 

"Well, that's silly."

"I was…" He lowers his voice. "I'm worried the Princess is lonely." 

"Then go talk to her." 

"I can't. You know as well as I do that the point of my being here is to protect her to the best of my ability, and that requires an unaffected point of view. I can't give her my full attention while giving her safety my full attention, that doesn't add up." 

"Then grab a couple of other men and then go speak to her." 

"This is my job, Sirius. I'm paid to do this." 

"Not paid to make sure she's in company," Sirius says. He smiles at James like he's won the argument and James, brimming with brotherly affection, wants to chop him in the stomach. 

"Her mental health–" 

"Yes, I know. Just as important as physical. And while you wear the badge with pride, James, it still isn't your job." Sirius leans against the wall opposite. The hallways here are huge. It is quite the gap. "I was thinking I'd make her an appointment with Cindy." 

"She said she'll make one tomorrow." 

"Oh, brilliant. You know, Cindy's getting a divorce?" 

"I didn't know that," James says. "How do you know that?" 

Sirius taps the side of his nose before crossing his arms tightly across his chest, looking smug. "She's very single now, Jamie. And very pretty, she's a redhead." 

"Sirius…" 

Sirius stands, stretches and meets James at your doorway. "Okay, fine, I can see you're not in the mood." 

"It's not because of you." 

"I know that, thanks," Sirius says, stepping on James' steel-capped boot as he pushes past him. 

"Sirius–" 

Sirius pulls his hand back from your door handle. "What?" he asks.

"She's sleeping. Try to wake her nicely." 

"If she's sleeping, why does she need company?" 

James nods toward your door insistently. 

Sirius does as he's being asked because he's a sweetheart with entirely too much time for James, despite also being on the clock. James can't see anything from his position, but he can hear your conversation. 

Sirius lets himself into the room. He likely shakes your shoulder with care as he says, "Princess Y/N, poor darling, are you alright?" 

"Sorry," you say scratchily. Here James thinks you might've lifted your head and discovered the crick in your neck. "Oh, I'm sorry, am I supposed to be somewhere?" 

"No." There's an unmistakable fondness in Sirius tone, hiding just beneath the practised facade that comes with working for Royalty. "Do you want me to help you into bed? Or call for an attendant?" 

"No, no, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to… Sorry. What did you need?" 

"I have some clothes picked out for you to wear to the funeral proceedings. I want your opinion, but I don't need it right now. You can go back to bed if you like." 

"No," you say. James feels for you. No, no, no. "I can do whatever you need me to." 

"Why don't you freshen up, first? James stole you at dinner, I'll go have him order something sweet to the fitting rooms, alright?" 

"Yes. Thank you." 

"You're welcome."  

Sirius emerges from your room and gives James an elbowing. "You could've woken her up. You're not heartless." 

"I'm technically not allowed in there if she doesn't permit me." 

"She doesn't know that, and I'm sure she'd prefer a wake up call than to be left like that." Sirius rubs one of his eyes with the heel of his hand. "Sorry, I'm not shouting at you. But I really don't think you need to worry about permission and not speaking to her. She's not Julianna," his voice drops to a murmur, "she doesn't think she's above us." 

"I don't care if she does," James says honestly. Not because he thinks you should feel superior, but because he learned a long time ago that people do, and there's nothing he can do to stop it. "Mary's back tomorrow. If she catches even a whiff of how I've been behaving–" 

Sirius holds James' gaze. "Poor girl had pencil on her face." 

"Yes." 

"They're going to eat her alive." 

"Probably." 

"But we won't let them," Sirius says. 

"Not willingly." 

Sirius nods. "Are you coming with us?" 

"Yeah." He checks his watch. "Couple hours left yet 'til six. Are you off at the same time?" 

"No, are you kidding? I finish at three like a normal person." 

"That's not normal. Ever heard the phrase nine to five?" 

"Normal compared to the royals, who work never to never." 

James shushes him. Sirius shushes James back. 

"Are we ready to go?" you ask. 

James grins at the shock on Sirius' face, as if to say, What, you didn't hear her? Even though he'd barely heard your approach himself. A picture of politeness, Sirius ushers you down the hallway with him. 

You trek down onto the first floor, through the huge foyer and into the main section of the palace hiding behind the grand banquet hall. Here resides the fitting rooms, not too far from the servants quarters in case the tailors or maids are required. 

Sirius calls for an attendant despite the horror on your face at the suggestion as he leads you into the biggest fitting room. It's almost like a shop, in that it houses racks upon racks of clothing no doubt loaned in for Sirius' perusal. 

He drags a smaller rack to the centre of the room. 

"How do you feel about trying things on? Do you need a partition?" Sirius looks at you for a few seconds. "I'll call for one." 

You look like you've been slapped. 

James clears his throat. "He knows you're shy," he says. 

You take that much better. "Yeah. I do want the partition. Please." 

James weighs up the possibility of your possible murder and decides the chances are still too high to offer to leave. He truly won't be able to see you behind the partition, and it's not worth the administrative hell in any case. He hates how his job makes him constantly aware of how you might be murdered, but he likes knowing he could protect you with force. It evens out. 

"A fancy education may have helped me be where I am today, but it doesn't account for style or taste." Sirius smiles, propping himself on the arm of a suede armchair. "Which is my saying that you don't have to like what I like, and if you hate stuff just say. I won't be offended, Your Highness." 

"Please, no Your Highness," you murmur. 

"James says I dress like a socialite with too much money and not enough taste." 

"I do say that," James says.

You laugh under your breath. "Well, I'm sure you've better taste than me. I've never been to an event like this, I don't want to embarrass myself, so, um, don't let me." 

"I won't," Sirius says. 

Sirius understands the fashion tastes of the elite even if he doesn't personally enact them. He passes you an outfit, and you disappear behind the propped up partition to change. With the windows closed and the curtains drawn, only the overhead light is in play, and your shadow is reflected onto the floor to the left. James averts his eyes. 

You try on a couple of outfits. James tries very hard to look as though he's not paying attention to your squirming unhappiness at the fit and look of your clothes. You get more and more embarrassed as time moves forward. The attendant Sirius summoned, a tailor named Melinda, offers suggestions of alterations and what she thinks would suit your silhouette most. 

"Do I have one?" you ask.

"A silhouette?" Melinda asks, a push pin in between her teeth. "Sure you do." 

"My stomach–" 

"Is that a problem area?" Melinda asks. 

"I thought so–" 

"If you're worried, we can find something that fits the to the chest and loosens at your abdomen," Sirius says, "but I don't think you need to worry." 

James agrees. You aren't skinny and James isn't stupid, he knows the immense stigma surrounding your body type must have battered your self-esteem growing up, but he thinks you're pretty and that you've a lovely shape to you. The idea that you have to hide certain body parts when there's nothing wrong with them in the first place has him biting his tongue, wanting to comment and knowing he definitely should not. You've looked nice in everything you've put on, smart and proper for an unfortunate event. 

"I don't know," you mumble. 

Sirius has amazing crisis averting senses, having micromanaged a spoiled narcissist for years. You don't require nearly as much petting or fawning, and you aren't throwing a tantrum either way. 

"Let's finish for today," he says. "We can look at everything with fresh eyes, and I'm off at three."   

James cringes and Melinda looks at him like he's grown a second head; you don't mention the end of a shift in front of the royals. He knows this, and he knows that you don't know this, so Sirius is absolutely pushing his luck. You're a thoughtful girl —you immediately agree. 

Though that might be on account of how you look like you've been thrown a life raft. "Okay, thank you," you say, beginning to put clothes back on their hangers. 

Sirius waves you away. "Leave some work for the rest of us, Your Sweetness." 

Again, second head. 

James opens the door and takes you back through the maze of the Palace before Sirius can commit a sackable offence. You're as quiet as you've been all day, your footsteps the only proof that you're present as you climb the steps to the second floor. 

Professionalism, James thinks. 

"I think you looked nice in everything," he says. 

The opposite of professionalism. Oh, he could vault over the bannister. 

He just wanted to see you smile today, a real smile, or at least hear something sure in your voice that proves he's made the right decision. That you won't be totally miserable if he convinces you to take on the mantle. 

"Yeah?" you say, though you don't give him any time to answer. "I don't– I don't want to look good for a funeral, it's a funeral, but I know it'll be on TV, and maybe in the newspapers, so I don't want to be badly dressed and I don't have a clue what I'm supposed to even like…" You nibble your lip for a while before heaving a big sigh. "Sorry, I'm doing this again, I'm giving you jobs that aren't your job." 

"It's relatively easy to tell you that you looked good. It's not a job." 

"You don't have to comfort me, is what I mean." 

"That's also easy… and it will definitely be in the newspapers. For a long time."

"Oh, sugar." 

James holds his hand out as you trip up a short step, but you don't fall, and you don't need his offered help. He tucks his hand behind his back again and follows your lead. 

"Newspapers, the news in general, people, they can all be very, very horrible, but I think the focus will be on your DNA, rather than your outfit. I mean, the gossip rags and tabloids will absolutely pick you apart, but they do it everybody, and I won't let you read those." 

People are cruel. They don't even realise it. 

"Whatever outfit you choose, you'll look good, and people will hate it anyway," he says. 

"That sounds awful." 

"It is. But… they can't stop you from being you. It's better to do what you want to do without worrying about how it'll look to everyone on the outside. You should do what you think is right." 

Okay, he's not exclusively talking about clothes anymore, but his point stands. 

"What if I look like an idiot?" you ask him quietly. 

"You'll look like an exceedingly well-dressed one." 

A sharp veer. Even the word 'professionalism' is starting to annoy him. 

"Don't stress, yeah? We'll work it all out tomorrow." 

You rub your elbow as the two of you approach your room again. "Thanks, James." 

He's on a knife's edge here. Break the rules and face Mary's wrath. Stick to them blindly and drive you further and further from the crown. 

James, selfishly, needs you to want this. And if you need a friend, a real friend, to do that, then he can toe the line. He decides it right there on your door jam.

"Princess," he says, "I have to talk to you about something." 

"Okay… what is it?" 

"When you go home, I'll be coming with you." 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed! if you did, I’d love it if you let me know <3 also sry the next part should hopefully be delivered faster lol

[undertheopensky]

Sleeping By The Gravestones 2

Whumptober Day 28: Sacrifice

Characters: Legend, Hyrule, Four

Trigger warnings: Presumed character death, violence, blood, I am dead serious about the blood warning on this one

Read on Ao3!

Missed the first instalment? Read here!

---

As they race down the narrow stone staircase, all Legend can hear is the screaming.

It’s close to the worst thing he’s ever heard. High pitched and wailing and agonised, the kind of sound no Hylian throat should ever make. The echoes make it otherworldly, reflecting back on itself until it seems to go on forever without a breath.

His eyes blur. He wishes he could just not listen but the sound reaches claws straight through to his brain and his spine and he can’t even cover his ears because he needs his hands free there could be enemies at any corner –

Instead the bottom of the stairs ends in a massive, iron-bound door. It’s so big they’ll struggle to move it even on the off chance it’s not barred, and the screaming is still so loud even with the muffling it makes Legend’s chest hurt. How are they going to get in? They don’t have time, what does he have, could he burn away the wood –?

Time hauls up his monster of a sword and Legend has a stunned moment of he’s not really going to – before the man brings it across the barrier with a thunderous crash.

The doors splinter and sag. Time hits them once more before one tears away from its hinges and they’re through, into a wide stone chamber that’s lit by too-pale torchlight and all Legend’s thoughts go to static.

The tiny smithy looks like a child laid out on the altar. Hands bound at the wrist and stretched over his head, ankles tied to the other end of the stone slab. Crimson flows off the edges in macabre waterfalls; blood soaks his tunic and floods the stone, pooling almost as far as the nearest bundle of linen. The nearest body. There’s at least a dozen, cultists in dark robes scattered around the room like windblown chaff, all of them as still as tiny Four.

Hyrule catches sight of Four – throat laid open too still and too pale – and gives a low, wounded cry.

Legend realises later that the screaming had never paused at all, but when Hyrule calls out it rises in pitch and volume into a shriek and the hazy darkness at the ceiling crashes down on them.

Legend’s thrown to his hands and knees by the force of it. It feels like a weight, there and gone again, and he’s scrambling back to his feet and laying sticky-wet hands on his sword as the others shout and grab their own weapons. But when he scans the room, there’s nothing to fight. No monster, no villain, no sign of whatever is still screaming. He knows now it isn’t – it can’t be Four.

He takes an unthinking step forward, towards Four’s body, and something sweeps him off his feet and sends him sprawling.

There’s more shouting as Legend rolls to his feet, ignoring the blood now coating his back and half his side, and tries to spot what had hit him.

The sconces lining the walls don’t stop the room from being dark. Shadows hover menacingly in every corner, drape themselves from the ceiling and gather on the floor. None large enough to hide a monster larger than a keese, but – foreboding, all the same. Like the shrieking that still hasn’t let up, muddling everyone’s voices, the echoes making the inside of this small stone room ring like the inside of a bell.

On the other side of the room – Time is moving to block the doorway, face grim. Hyrule’s already darting over to Legend. Warriors and Sky are starting to circle around the edges of the room, after a shouted conversation Legend can’t make out. He can’t even read their lips.

The light sources are magical, giving off a pale and smokeless light. There’s no reason for the room to be this hazy. Legend narrows his eyes.

When Warriors has to step around a supporting pillar, it puts him one step closer to – to the altar, and something moves and –

This time he sees it.

It’s not solid. It moves too fluidly for that, folding in on itself and spreading outwards without a care for such mundane things as bones and structure. One part of it can be so thin as to be see-through, fine fabric draped over an ever-changing shape, while another is thick and black and smoky as it lurches forward. Warriors staggers under the force of it.

Without thinking Legend steps forward, a shout on his lips that turns to a curse as the shadows whirl on him. Smoke and cloth and the heavy weight of dark magic, a hundred thousand tiny black birds wheeling through the sunset sky. They scatter to either side of the blade of his sword, untouched, to stream at his unprotected face –

Legend flinches back. His boot slips.

Warriors yells as Legend goes down again. His knees burn with the impact; his shoulder throbs, pain radiating up his arm where he’d caught himself one-handed, needing the other free to fend it off –

But it’s doubled back. Folded back in on itself to lurk in a shapeless mound between Warriors and the altar. As Legend watches, it rears up, flares gauzy wings in a threat display and screeches.

They’re too late, they’re too late, these bastards summoned something using Four’s life as the spark –

The Tempered Sword slips in his hand; Legend doesn’t drop it, but it’s a near thing, and he steps back to clean off.

There’s blood on his hands, cooling and sticky and thick. He’d known it was there. Known he’d fallen in a pool of Four’s blood. But it’s worse, somehow, seeing it; there’s a yank in his gut and a squeezing around his heart and his eyes have gone hot and blurry again –

He scrubs the blood away with his other hand, coming free in a slimy red film that makes his stomach turn. There’s still blood in the creases of his palm and between his fingers – but with the bulk of it gone –

Legend grabs the hilt of his sword and ignores the fact that the leather is wet and cold.

Sky and Wars are taking turns to dart in and cut away a few strands of smoke – though they’re making no headway. Anything that separates from the main body either falls to the floor and crawls over the stone back to the centre, or scatters to rejoin the soot cloud hanging fine and choking in the air.

Legend’s not the only one to see the problem. Sky sets his feet, and with the next swing of the Master Sword, light blazes along its edge and rushes free, cutting a path through the black haze.

It shrieks.

On the altar Four lies pale and bruised and lifeless.

Legend jolts forward, too late; the darkness is already closing in again, getting darker and more ominously solid by the second where it’s pooling over the stone. But it didn’t like the light – if they can drive it further – he shifts his grip on the Tempered Sword, calculating –

“Wait,” Hyrule calls, and Legend hesitates.

Stone splinters under Sky’s downwards strike.

It spatters away from the impact like dark blood. Splashes on the floor and pools there at the base of the altar between them and Four. Dark smoke comes streaming in from shadowed corners despite Sky’s best efforts, until it’s larger, thicker, just as powerful as it was at the start.

How do they fight it?

Hyrule steps in front of him.

The darkness screeches again.

“Four,” Hyrule calls, “it’s me, it’s Hyrule. You know me. Please, let me help you.”

The darkness hisses. Legend feels like he’s falling.

“I know,” says Hyrule, voice shaking. “I know. I’m sorry. Please, Four. You know me. You know I can help.”

There’s a moment where the world holds its breath. The screaming’s gone silent; the only sound is that of five heroes breathing hard, a shift of leather on stone as Warriors pushes himself back to his feet from the last time he’d been thrown. The cloud of dark particles sways back and forth.

Then, wavering, draws itself inwards.

The inky black takes a shape that’s almost familiar: the right height, the right silhouette, but featureless, all the detail lost in the void. It hurts, to see Four like this, and Legend lets out a sob that’s too loud in the suddenly-quiet basement. They were too late, and now Four is –

The blackness wavers; silver flashing across its surface in tiny streaks.

Then, warped and warbling and inhuman:

“I won’t let you hurt him.”

Hyrule swallows. “I’m not going to hurt him. I just want to help.”

“Don’t know you. They hurt him.”

“I know,” says Hyrule, “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t fix it!” the shadow screeches, fizzing at the edges. It steadies, reforms into something near-solid. “Won’t let you hurt him. Won’t let anyone hurt him. Not anymore.”

“But that won’t fix it either.” Hyrule edges closer.

“No! Stay back!” It lashes out, dark magic bursting into existence and cutting a slash in the stone inches from Hyrule’s feet.

“I’m a healer,” Hyrule says. He doesn’t baulk at a second flash of blackness, another furious hiss. “I know you don’t know me, but Four does. Link does. I’m a healer. I don’t know for sure what I can do, but – will you let me try? No matter what, I swear I won’t hurt him.”

The darkness wails, all grief and rage and wordless pain. It’s losing cohesion; going from a clearly-defined mirror of Four to a loosely person-shaped cloud.

“Please let me help.” At some point Hyrule’s abandoned his sword. He’s standing there empty-handed and earnest, one hand outstretched. Entreating. Please let me help you.

“Hyrule,” Legend hisses uneasily. If this – thing isn’t Four, then – what is it? Taking his shape, and fighting them so fiercely, and – it can’t really be protecting him, not when Four is already –

Already dead.

You were too late.

But Hyrule’s not listening. All his attention is on the darkness as it spreads back into that thin, gauzy veil. “Please,” he repeats.

The haze ripples; black silk in the wind, a flock of darting birds.

“Only you,” it cracks out, the words strange and warbling.

And Legend has to watch, as Hyrule walks fearlessly into the haze.

The second he makes it past the veil he breaks into a run. Blood splashes under his feet, drips from the altar; a faint and fading hope. Four’s throat is slit so deeply there’s a flash of bone as Hyrule slams his hands down on his chest and his head lolls. From all around him there’s an eerie keening sound; he blocks it out as best he can and focuses on the golden-green power streaming down his arms.

Please, he thinks. Please.

Four is so cold. Under the bruises on his face his skin’s near-translucent, too blue and too pale. His eyes are glassy. His chest is still.

All he needs is a spark, a single stubborn spark he can fan back to life. It doesn’t take much and Four’s a strong soul. Please. Please, Goddesses, if they’ve never granted him anything, give him this –

Then Four’s chest jolts. That first breath is short and strained; the second deeper, noisier, as air reaches his lungs and he starts to choke on blood.

Hyrule doubles his efforts, his own heartbeat screaming in his ears – or maybe it’s the darkness howling in relief. His arms burn under the strain. Lightning crawling down his fingertips, a spark he doesn’t need but he can’t let up now, not when Four is struggling for air, twisting weakly in his bonds while the massive wound at his throat slowly seals. His mouth gapes; his chest heaves with effort.

“Just a little longer, Four, I’m sorry,” Hyrule mutters. He hauls back on the lightning, feeling the shards of it under his fingernails, but it’s fine, it’ll be fine, Four is gasping underneath him as his windpipe seals closed against the blood that’s flowing free again, from all the vessels cut and crushed by the blow that nearly killed him. There’s a drain he doesn’t often feel. His magic is having to replace all the blood Four had lost – or at least a significant portion of it, because without it Four will die again, but magic’s not the best at creating something from whole cloth.

Some things, there’s just no substitutes.

When he slumps back, Four does too; weak from blood loss. His breathing stutters. But he’s breathing.

Almost as an afterthought, Hyrule cuts his hands free. His arms go slack, but after one brief moment of effort Four just lets them lie where they are, too weak to pull them down from above his head himself. Shit. He’s probably stiff after being bound for so long, too. “Here, let me help,” Hyrule murmurs. Desperation had scraped his soul dry of magic, but his support eases the way as he lowers Four’s arms, one at a time. “Just take it slow.”

Four winces at a particularly sharp cramp.

At some point the darkness had gone quiet. The malevolence that Hyrule had sensed, that had so frightened Wolfie – it’s gone, faded away to nothing. Or – almost nothing. The gap torn in the weft of the universe isn’t so easily healed, not when a Hero had come so close to death on this spot.

Not when there’s still shadows lingering close.

The veil around Hyrule had faded as he worked. Legend can see them now. Instead of hovering tight and defensive, the shadows are sort of – creeping up the sides of the altar, like a child peering fearfully over the edge. When Four whimpers in pain, it – it warbles back, and lurches up and over.

It trickles up Four’s form like a sunbeam in reverse; then as it gets to his chin and Hyrule is reaching with a hand covered in sputtering light, it peels itself off to hover above him. The form it takes is blacks and greys and reds, an inversion of the smithy – but clearly, definitively different to a dark.

His skin is a much darker brown than Four’s, with no sign of a dark’s ashen undertones. His eyes are red, yes – but they’re not the bright pools of malice they’re used to seeing. They’re just eyes, coloured red.

And his hair –

Instead of lifeless black or eerie white, it’s a shade of purple only slightly less vivid than the patch on Four’s tunic.

He’s looking at Four like he hung the moon and stars, and Legend realises – he’s never seen a dark with any expression other than fierce hatred or sneering, malicious glee.

Four draws up a slow smile and folds his fingers around the shadow’s grasping ones. “Hey,” he whispers, and there’s no fear in him at all.

“Hey yourself,” the shadow whispers back, and nudges close enough that their noses bump.

Four doesn’t even flinch. Just smiles a little harder so his eyes crinkle.

“Four?” He seems happy, but Hyrule has to double check. “Do you know him?” Do you trust him?

“Mm-hm. This is Shadow.” His voice is slow and wispy. Almost slurred. “Missed you,” he adds.

“Missed you too,” Shadow says, so close now his forehead is pressed against Four’s. Four’s eyes flutter contentedly shut at the contact. “Hey, no, don’t do that. You still gotta explain how the fuck you got into this situation. You’re supposed to be smarter than this, Rainbow.”

Rainbow? Legend mouths to himself, and thinks of Four’s tunic, all bright colours when it’s not covered in blood. Rainbow. What the fuck, that’s cute.

Four hums. It takes him a long time to get the words out – he’s still talking slow, so slow, and has to keep pausing for air. “It’s not… that complicated. I mean, if someone’s… going to do your dirty work anyway, you might as well… let them do it.”

“Wha – Rainbow, no, that’s so risky! Don’t you ever listen to the braincell??”

“The braincell… thought it was a great idea,” says Four, starting to grin.

“Vi, no.”

“Vi yes.”

The shadow muffles his groan in the crook of Four’s neck. Four giggles, honest-to-goddess giggles, and gets one trembling hand high enough to rest on his back. Tangles his fingers in the dark tunic with another soft hum. “Missed you,” he says again.

“We are going to talk about this later when you’re less loopy,” Shadow informs him. Four just smiles.

From outside their little bubble, Sky puts up a tentative hand. “Is that a conversation we can have somewhere else? That’s not covered in my brother’s blood?”

“Oh fuck yes, let’s get the fuck out of here,” Shadow says, head coming up from where he’d been all-but lying on Four. He swings himself off the altar, seeming not to notice the splash his boots made in the still-cooling pool of blood as he turned back to Four. “Rainbow, here, c’mon, I’ve got you.”

He’s the same height as Four, the same slight build. It should look ridiculous when he takes him into his arms. Hell, he should be struggling – Four’s small form is all muscle, and heavy with it. Instead, it looks all but effortless. Shadow nearly floats over the flagstones.

Four’s eyes flutter closed. With a soft sigh, he lets his head fall against Shadow’s shoulder, and stays there, still smiling. At his throat, a new scar shines silver.

[bijouxcarys]

I seriously can’t stop thinking about Roman’s return at Summerslam, and it’s not just because I’m a huge Reigns fan and a huge fan of the Samoan dynasty.

This man grew up with a father whose job was a professional wrestler in the biggest wrestling federation in the world. Anyone who knows anything about that industry knows it’s one hell of a feat to be able to maintain a family in tandem with working for the WW(F).

This man was a talented football player. He worked hard to get somewhere in that field. He had a good woman by his side, a good career, a tight family. He was heading straight to the top. The NFL. And then found out about the leukaemia. Back to square one.

This man got released from two football contracts after his diagnosis, headed home and worked in a furniture installation warehouse with his cousins for 2 years.

This man’s father saw it in him. Just as it was in his older brother. One push, into the deep end, and he was training tirelessly to make it in the WWE. To garner the same respect his old man had, the same respect his cousins had, the same respect given to the Samoan wrestling dynasty.

This man smashes it in FCW, smashes it in NXT, smashes a Survivor Series debut at the age of 27.

This man has a long-time girlfriend, a 6/7 year old daughter, his cousins are working in the same company, he’s getting there, he’s working it. And then the beloved faction—The Shield—implodes.

This man is then shoved down everyone’s throats. This is the guy. The new face. The new Cena.

This man loses autonomy as a wrestler. Loses his creative freedom.

This man wins the 2015 Royal Rumble, only to be booed to no end, despite him supposedly being a baby face. A good guy. No guys, this is who you should be cheering for! See how we are pushing him? This should have been the biggest night of his life, but it was marred by a crowd so hateful towards his character, that he’d rather not remember it!

This man is now married. Is the official face of WWE, whose fan base doesn’t want him. They want him gone. They chant their disdain. Every. Single. Time.

This man continues to be given poor promos, poorly written scripts, is made to say lines that make him into a mockery. But he does it. He plays the game. He knows how this goes. It doesn’t take away the fact he is still one of the most gifted wrestlers of the modern era. But the fans don’t see that. They don’t want to.

This man has his championship opportunity taken from him at Wrestlemania. Fuck.

This man, for the next few years, continues to be pushed and pushed and pushed. Fights with his whole soul. He needs that respect. He deserves that respect. His nose is shattered, his face is split open by a former UFC champion.

This man, still billed as the face of WWE, is now to do what nobody expects of him. Defeat the phenom. The Undertaker. Potentially the most beloved character in the history of pro wrestling. More booing. Nobody believes he deserves it. Just more negativity.

And then, the same exact year, this man’s big brother passes away. But what does he do? He keeps it pushing. He will endure these challenges in order to earn that respect he so desperately needs.

This man continues to be booed and mocked and undermined, under appreciated. Until late 2018.

This man announces that his real name is Joe and he’s been living with leukaemia for 11 years. And it’s back.

For the first time, the WWE universe realise this is a real man. And the absence of said man highlights just how important he is.

This man, in February 2019, announces he’s in remission. Gets a taste of the humanity in the WWE universe. But now he’s floating about. He doesn’t know who he is. He’s pushed as a face, but knows he’s destined for something different, something that will command that respect.

In 2020, this man takes a break. Reinvents himself a bit. Taps into who he is, his culture, his family, his traditions.

And then at Summerslam 2020, The Big Dog returns. And there’s something different about him.

The Big Dog is now The Tribal Chief. The Head of the Table.

And you will Acknowledge Him.

For the next few years, this man raises the bar, lifts up his cousins, has the likes of John Cena, The Undertaker, Steve Austin, Hulk Hogan, and Triple H, praising him. The greats can see it. That respect is so close, he can almost taste it.

By April 2024, this man has had one of the longest title reigns in WWE history. Over 1,300 days as the Undisputed WWE Universal Champion. He’s been pinned less than a handful of times within 4 years. He carried the company through COVID. He’s become the real face of the company whilst being himself, controlling his destiny, his promos, his image.

Yet… he’s still overlooked by the crowd. An undeserving champion some would say.

So you know what? Let’s give this to the man everyone loves. Another prodigy of a legendary family. Cody Rhodes.

Roman’s absence between Wrestlemania 40 and Summerslam 2024 proved just how loved he is. The fans thought they wanted one thing, they thought they wanted Cody. But once Roman Reigns is taken out of the equation… damn, this shit is kinda boring.

The “we want Roman” chants start. The world starts to crave his presence. They need him to come back. To have that genius moment of cinema. The way he commands a room without saying a single word.

During this man’s absence, the wrestling world mourns the loss of Sika Anoa’i. Roman Reigns’ father.

Married, 5 kids, a wife of 10 years, a career like no other, living with leukaemia, constantly working on himself… and now, the man who pushed him, the man who saw something in him, has passed on to the other side.

When those drums rang out in Cleveland on August 3rd 2024, everybody knew how big of a moment this was. Historical. Monumental. And as the Original Tribal Chief turns that corner, showing himself to the WWE universe for the first time since April… he got it.

The respect.

This man is more than a wrestler. He’s a warrior. The pop, the reaction, for his return at Summerslam… it’s never been more deserving. 14 years of trial and error, pain, loss, lack of identity, all paid off.

Because now, we all know. Everyone knows.

They acknowledged him.

Finally.

I’m so proud of him.

[ayabeanworks]

Title: Friends

Synopsis: In which you're reminiscing about how you met Gojo and became his friend, and your thoughts on the strongest sorcerer as you observe him from his teen years to his adult years.

Character: Gojo Satoru x reader

Series: Let's Meet in the Spring (SaShiSu x reader)

Notes: Pure fluff.

Gojo Satoru isn't someone a person can get close to so easily. Physically, there's his infinity, one of which can block out curses, objects etc thrown with cursed energy. But mentally, he's someone who doesn't allow others to get close to him, letting only a very select few have membership to his sacred spaces.

He likes others no matter what he says - loves people, even (not that he'd ever admit it to a living person). Except, there's a fine line between him and everything and/or everyone else. It may be the loneliness from being at the top, or the dangers of knowing or befriending someone who's one of the strongest in the jujutsu world. He's also rich and born into a prominent clan, so some may even reason that some are after his money and clan name. Or, he just doesn't care for everyone else enough that he can be perceived this way.

So it makes you freeze when you realised he'd welcomed you into his space and as a friend, that you start wondering more about Gojo Satoru, and the type of person he is under his exterior, and how it even got to this point to begin with.

In his teen years, he was an interesting person who loved making jokes and performing pranks, being the ever annoying, instigating person he was (to be fair, he kind of was now, too). By interesting, you meant that he was different from others, especially in the field of jujutsu and all that was involved, and how differently he acted to everyone else you've known in your life, not just jujutsu sorcerers. A cocky, arrogant bastard whose presence would pop a vein every time he opened his mouth, but not too many words could be said in the face of raw power, as he could probably beat you in any field considering he's a genius and if he tried his hand at things.

Ever since he saved you back then from the curse that had been attached to you for who knows how long (that you had no idea to get rid of, too), you'd thought of him as a saviour - but afterwards, all thoughts went downhill as you realised the way he acted wasn't what you thought your saviour would be like, so you were disappointed and all your expectations were thrown out the window.

Even though it was like that, you couldn't stop yourself from observing him, since it came naturally as the first person you knew from the jujutsu world. Your eyes would glance at him from time to time to see what he's doing, since there was always something interesting to see, be it stabbing his eraser, annoying Suguru when Yaga wasn't looking, trying to take Shoko's cigarettes away so she would stop smoking so much, and so on.

Even though your first impression of him was one of relief, gratitude and thankfullness, it did go downhill to rock bottom, but the longer time you spent with him, you realise he's just...Satoru. And with that realisation, you accepted that your expectation of him was too high, and that he didn't deserve to have such an expectation thrown onto him unconsciously. He was just a teenage boy, just that there was a lot going on from all angles. So from then on, you decided that you would treat him as just Satoru, not the strongest, not a Gojo, just...Satoru.

Even though he was a cocky, arrogant bastard, at times he was surprisingly a person who had great points. Some things you've noticed: unmentioned food and drink shouts (you're not sure if the others see it too, but you've caught him on more than one occasion pre-paying for the food and being the one to bring it to the table after being the one to order and pay), thoughtful conversations when you can't sleep (there were times when being a jujutsu sorcerer would stress you out, and you needed time to think, so you sat in the common areas or with your light on in your room, and he would just invite himself in and converse with you and make lighthearted jokes to make you feel better), and the ability to make someone feel better just by being in their presence. Really, you didn't think he needed to do all this, but when you mentioned it to him one time with some examples, all he did was ignore you and run away, red in the ears.

He was so embarrassed he didn't look at you for a whole 3 days, and every time you wanted to talk to him, he would find an excuse to run away. Shoko & Suguru had to coax him to talk to you. He eventually did, but like before, eyes hidden under circular sunglasses, ears burning red, he was louder than usual, trying to mask his embarrassment with cockiness. You knew better though, only laughed and gave him a hug.

You'll keep it a secret that his heart was pounding so fast and so loud you could feel AND hear it. He's had enough embarrassment for a while.

And yes, he did return the hug, resting his cheek on the top of your head as he hugged you close without his infinity.

He also didn't let go until you started hitting him and Shoko & Suguru were making fun of him for starting his first love.

Even though he doesn't admit some things, you know that underneath everything, he has a soft heart for those he cares about, and cares deeply about those who he needs to protect. You don't know how deep he cares and cannot fathom it, but seeing him care for his friends on a daily basis and sometimes on missions, albeit more on the secret side, truly makes it a spectacle. And even more surprisingly, when he begins to integrate behaviours others do that he's seen, and repeats those same actions to others that it makes your eyes widen in wonder and your lips part in surprise.

Even though you trusted him with your life, you didn't know if you could trust him with your emotions. There was something unspoken between the two of you, where you regarded each other as good friends, or maybe even more than that, bordering a very intricate and fine line. Someone each other could trust within a multitude of layers into the soul. Yet, both of you kept an arms reach away from each other, yet continued to call each other friends.

Even though he's one of the two strongest out of the first years, the more time you spent with him, you realise that he's just like the pet cat you used to own when you were younger. This realisation came late, when you were wondering what made some actions he did, incredibly familiar. And it turns out, he's just a cat, and an annoying one.

The years you observe him and his behaviours was stored in your mind like a precious memory, and once you realised that you were indeed friends with the Gojo Satoru it made you so surprised. He let you into his space first by proclaiming to the world you were friends, but you were reluctant to go in because it was him. But you had a soft spot for friends who you've come to rely on and love, so it wasn't long before you accepted it without any qualms.

Which is why, when you observe him from his teen years to his adult years, you notice all the changes he went through to become who he was today.

He's matured.

He's still silly, annoying and still a little bit of a cocky bastard, but that's just what makes up Gojo Satoru.

Your friend.

And you wouldn't change it for the world.

A/N: This is part of a little series! Gojo's is the first, then Geto and Shoko. There's bits and pieces of more background information in the others, which will help you get a fuller picture of everything happening. Think Easter eggs 😉

To read Suguru's part, click here!

For Shoko's, read here!

And for part 2 (Membership) of this fic and for Gojo's POV, click here!

[makemeactup]

Ted!George Harrison x Reader - Cigarettes

Summary: George hasn't found the courage to approach you, up until a bully takes your cigarettes and he steps in to help.

A/N: My first time writing for George, please be nice!

---

George had spotted you almost immediately, the first day you arrived at his usual Ted hangout spot. He saw you chatting away with a guy in his class, your shoulders draped in leather and cigarette loose between your lips. He'd realised, then, that you were the first proper Judie he'd actually seen.

He didn't go up to you at first, opting to watch you from the crumbling wall he'd taken as his perch; your eyes would meet his some days between the small gathering of bodies. A nameless, faceless ocean when he would spot you. Your smile was bright and warm, and yet your words, or what he'd overheard, were brash and strong.

Over the weeks, George had tried to muster the courage to talk to you. Really, he did. But each time he'd be collared by his mate or you'd disappear. Or he'd see, and hear, your classmate Daniel pick on you and he'd grow cold feet. You seemed to be able to hold your own anyway, you didn't need him to save you.

Or, rather, that was his rationale for chickening out.

But one day, it was just the two of you at that spot. Everyone else was gone, something about a fight or a new hangout location to loiter about in. He didn't know, nor did he care. He'd taken to his usual spot at the wall, watching you as you checked your watch and glanced his way every so often.

He watched intently as you took your cigarette pack out of your jacket pocket, and before you could so much as pop the lid open, it was snatched by a quick hand. Stood in front of you was Daniel, and George couldn't help but stare with slanted brows and to eavesdrop.

"Give 'em back!" You ordered, but your voice held no power. You jumped for the cigarettes, damn near in a panic.

It was your last pack, and you couldn't afford a new one yet. Not for a little while. So you were saving them, smoking sparingly to string them along. And now Daniel, in his infinite wisdom and desire to crush the weird girl down, had taken them with the threat of tossing them into the river Mersey.

"Nah," Daniel replied, dangling them over your head. "I don't think I will."

"Daniel, I swear to God!" You were yelling now, frustration thick in your voice and red on your face.

It broke George's heart to hear you like that. But, more importantly, it made his brows furrow and lips even into a straight line.

"I'll-!" You tried again, cut off by Daniel's laughter.

"—you'll what?"

"Give her the fags back," George's voice abruptly spoke from directly behind you. In the commotion, you hadn't heard him approach.

For a moment, Daniel's façade faltered. He hadn't been quite as threatened by a Teddy Girl as he was with George. In his own right, that stern look on his face and collar popped, George did look like the exact dictionary article of a Ted.

You didn't know George personally, but you certainly had watched him enough to know that this wasn't him. It was an out of character moment that excited you to witness.

"What?" Was all Daniel offered, confused and caught off guard.

"Stop bein' a dick. Give her her fags back."

"Fuck off, lad."

"Fuck right off, lad!" George seemed surprised by his own outburst, the volume making you spin on your heels and Daniel to lean away. George leered, oozing a sort of vibe that someone like Daniel didn't want to mix with. "I'm not tellin' you twice."

After a long, tense set of eye contact and hesitation, Daniel shoved the pack of cigarettes into your chest. Clearly, the Teddy Boy reputation preceded George far more than his own personal one. And for that, he was very happy.

Watching Daniel walk away and throw one last glance over his shoulder, George released a breath he didn't know he was holding. His eyes cast down to yours, and suddenly the courage and brave face he'd had moments ago was gone.

"Thank you," You finally spoke after allowing yourself a chance to admire his features. When he seemed a tad dumbstruck, you continued with an urging smile: "You're George, aren't you?"

You knew his name?

His brows furrowed, but this time in confusion as opposed to anger. He looked at your hand as you offered it his way, as if he'd never seen the gesture before.

"Uh, yeah. That's me," He mentally facepalmed when the words left his mouth. His larger hand found your smaller onel, your firm grip prompting him to tighten around your palm.

"(Y/N)," You introduced, finding the way that his lips etched into a smile that crinkled the edges of his eyes endearing. "I was wondering when we'd meet."

"You were?" George's cheeks grew hot, but he acted as nonchalant as he could muster.

When you nodded, George swore his stomach flipped. Then he watched as you noticed that your hands were still clasped together; your cheeks flushed, eyes widened, and your lips parted as you both quickly drew your arms back to your sides.

A silence settled, one both uncomfortable and soothing all at the same time. Your gaze was dancing everywhere but at him, on occasion connecting with his own falsely occupied observations, until he cleared his throat and threw a thumb over his shoulder.

George dared a smile, genuine and more him than the earlier anger was. He was bright now, welcoming. "Do you want t' get a drink with me?"

[changingplumbob]

Foster Household: Chapter 9, Part 2

CW: Mental Health Struggles - Guide to content warnings

Inside the clinic Carson waited and right on time Dr Hanks showed up.

Dr H: Hello Carson, you found the clinic all right?

Carson: Yeah, I didn’t realise they just converted a house

Dr H: Don’t want to ruin the landscape and many patients feel more comfortable visiting a place that doesn’t look too official. Ah, here he is

Out of one of the rooms came a sim who looked like they belonged on a beach more than in a clinic.

Carson: You sure he’s a good fit Dr Hanks?

Dr H: He is but I’ll let him introduce himself. I’ll see you again if we need to change your prescription okay? Look after yourself Carson

Carson: Thanks

Carson was led into one of the rooms and took a seat, feeling awkward already.

Chad: My name is Chad Harrison, you can call me Chad or C, either is good. My main focus is anxiety disorders

Carson: Disorders

Chad: Disorders are just how we classify them, it’s not a reflection on your character

Carson: I guess

Chad: I’ve coached many a kid through what you’re dealing with Carson, I can help

Carson: Can you make the intrusive thoughts stop

Chad: It’s not as simple a fix as that. It’s about retraining your brain so that when they come up you can deal with them in healthy ways

Carson: So I won’t have to always spend half my day cleaning

Chad: Not at all. It will take time though, your brain has been working one way for so long, it takes time to adjust your thinking but plenty of kids I’ve dealt with can reduce symptoms

Carson: That’d be a relief. Ever since I lost my asthma inhaler I’ve been compelled to clean everything

Chad: Did Dr Hanks explain what OCD is

Carson: Yeah kinda, well the symptoms. Like I’ll get bad thoughts like, I’m going to have an asthma attack and die or my parents will die and my brain thinks if I can just do something like keep my shoes lined up in the wardrobe I can prevent it

Chad: You got it. But talk therapy will be about helping you as a person as well as someone who has OCD

Carson: So we can discuss whatever

Chad: I generally like to start sessions with a bit of catch up talk to help relax you. What’s on your mind today

Carson: My mind? Well, a girl I guess

Chad: Is she your girlfriend

Carson: Well no, I just... I just think she’s really pretty and she’s... she’s been through some stuff but is still going you know

Chad: Are you wanting to tell her how you feel or are you happy admiring from afar

Carson: I don’t know how I feel. I mean I like her and would like to go on a date and hold hands and stuff but... I worry I’m not right

Chad: Because of the anxiety?

Carson: It’s not that, it’s not even the asthma which leaves me looking much rounder than I like. It’s...

Carson really hoped Chad would jump in with exactly what his thoughts were but nope. Guess it was up to him. Damn this was awkward, but it did seem easier to talk to someone that wasn’t his parents. And it would be cold day in hell before he discussed this topic with Reece.

Carson: It’s about woohoo

Chad: I see. Well you are almost 15, it’s very normal to be having those thoughts and acting on them solo or sometimes with a partner at that age

Carson: But see... I was talking to my best mate Onyx and... well I don’t have the same kind of woohoo thoughts they do

Chad: Everyone is an individual, it would strange if you had the exact same type as your friend. Can you tell me what bothers you about having different thoughts?

Carson: Well... Onyx, and my mates Darwin and William, when they... you know... they picture people. I don’t really picture anything, it’s just about like sensations and having an itch I need to scratch that feels good once it happens

Chad: Go on

Carson: And like I never look at anyone and think, oh it could be fun to have woohoo. Like even the girl I like, I’d love to kiss and cuddle and stuff but I don’t look at her and think, I want to woohoo her. What if my brain is just not mature, and will never mature

The counsellor was silent for a moment and Carson felt his anxiety raise. This was clearly a mistake. Chad would think he was a weirdo who didn't deserve help. He should leave.

Chad: Carson have you heard about the asexual spectrum

Carson: The what?

Chad: The asexual spectrum. Probably easier to start more basic, you know how gender is a spectrum?

Carson: Yeah, Onyx is genderfluid and their current pronouns are they/them

Chad: Attraction is also a spectrum

Carson: Yeah I know I’m bi. Mum hoped one of us kids would be pan like her but I feel like bi just fits me better

Chad: What isn’t often made clear to growing kids is that romantic attraction and woohoo attraction are different things, and they don’t have to match. Am I wrong to assume if you identify as bi you have wanted to date boys and girls

Carson: Yeah, especially pretty ones

Chad: Based on what you’ve been saying I think you may be biromantic but fall somewhere on the asexual spectrum, which is part of woohoo attraction

Carson: So I’m not just a wuss?

Chad: You’re not a wuss for not wanting to woohoo, there are plenty of reasons not to in any scenario. Anyone who forces you to woohoo or says you have to is in the wrong, you understand?

Carson: Yeah, I know about consent. But what is an asexual spectrum

Chad: Basically it’s for people who feel less woohoo attraction than the average person. There are some people who need an emotional connection before they’ll feel attracted to their partner in a woohoo way. The spectrum stretches from them all the way to people who never experience woohoo attraction. It doesn’t make you immature to not feel any woohoo attraction, there are many people who identify along the spectrum. As for wuss there are also variants for how touch averse a person is or isn't, and that comes from preference not cowardice

Carson: I’m just worried if I ask her on a date but I don’t want to woohoo I’m like... leading her on

Chad: You’re still young Carson, it’s possible the thought of woohoo hasn’t even crossed her mind. Don't feel like you need to grow up any faster than is comfortable. You said you like her right

Carson: Right

Chad: So there is nothing false in that. Don’t focus on what might happen in the far future, if you want to hold her hand now then you want to hold her hand now. Cross the other bridges when you come to them

Carson: I guess you’re right

Chad: Okay, you ready to start working on the OCD now

Carson: After that conversation it’s bound to be a breeze

Chad: *laughs* That’s the spirit

Previous ... Next

[likesomanywrecksdo]

ALRIGHT LET'S FUCKING TALK ABOUT THIS EPISODE

what i think happens

Blitzø and Millie get recruited for a job in the human world, investigating paranormal activities and its pays a shit ton of money. They arrive at the venue (which is a undercover D.H.O.R.K facility probably a hotel) and meet an off-putting receptionist. Now there are theories that this is Leviathan but i personally feel it is a right-hand man or devout believer in Leviathan's rule over the Envy ring. I feel that this receptionist is a hellborn demon, undercover as a D.H.O.R.K employe (a position that allows him to remain covert and not ever be suspected).

So the receptionist lets them do their thing slowly luring them with short hallucinations (mostly auditory) of their deepest fears (eg: Millie's guilt over not having time for her family or Blitzø's seeing Fizzarolli in the hospital). These small moments set the tone for when Blitzø and Millie get seperated. Millie get lured away with the voice of Moxxie in trouble and Blitzø with Stolas' voice (hallucinated Stolas is likely angry at him). The receptionist exposes Blitzø with the chemical that causes the acid trip (which he knows is efficient because of Agent 1&2). The receptionists attempts to pick off Millie by shapeshifting into Blitzø and get her to hurt her friends and people she loves.

Blitzø

Stolas' voice lures him in and away from Millie and suddenly he's in his van or car or wtvr outside Stolas' house and the scenes of him being angry at him and sarcastic from the trailer ensue. The reason I think this is because the clip of Stolas smiling sarcastically (above) is JUST before the full montage of everyone he's hurt in the past, so I think this whole "stolas is pissed" (makes sense since the last ep literally had Stolas singing on a stage that had 'Blitzø Sucks' on it) plays out until he says the infamous, soul-ruining line; "do you feel any remorse for what you do" . Let me explain my reasoning for this segment a bit. As of the event of the music video 'Look My Way', Stolas understand why Blitzø is closed off and he has these (literal) walls around him that prevent him from opening up ("the walls you conjured up to live, is this what you feel? scorned by a realm that cannot comprehend, what you are.")

So saying this NOT EVEN ON THE NIGHT OF THE FULL MOON where emotions are high and you can get caught in the heat of the moment (which would make more sense) would make ZERO character sense for Stolas. It's not that I don't want to see Stolas snap it's just the line honestly just seems like a manifestation of Blitzø's self hatred and not an actual line Stolas would say.

So after the Stolas scene, Blitzø is at the circus fire, then he's at the hospital, then Ozzie's while Verosika is singing. Everything is happening so fast he can't keep up. Then, it all stops at the sight of one person. His mom. Blitzø is his teenage self again, the braces and everything, crying in his mom's arms and her telling him everything will be alright and that he's not a bad person. Just as he is starting to snap out of his acid trip. The receptionist pulls him back in with seemingly real footage of her getting really badly hurt by some version of Blitzø. He's spiralling again, this time with Millie and Moxxie in his hallucinations but not for very long as once Blitzø sees Millie come to break him out, he calms down enough to snap out of it but his emotions are still running high which leads to a real-life breakdown in front of Millie (below).

and that's our acid trip guys. sorry if it's badly written, just needed to get it out of my system.

THIS ENTIRE POST HAS MADE ME REALISE HOW HARD IT TO SPELL HALLUCINATION UGH

[cheesemonky]

Chapter 1: Lesson Learned... Or Not?

Pairing: bsf!hyunjin x reader (college au)

Series Masterlist

Word count: 1.05k

Summary: Boys come and go, but you don't know how long this has been going on. You date, you break up and then you're running back to your best friend for support. Little do you know, it's more than support he wants to give.

Honestly, you saw this coming. You didn’t want to admit it but you did. And you blame yourself for falling for it again.

As you sat in the serenity of your apartment, you couldn’t help but feel that there was something wrong with your upcoming dinner date. It was completely out of character for your boyfriend to randomly make plans. Surely… surely he can’t be doing what you think he’s doing? You’re too invested in this relationship for him to break it off now, so obviously not. Right? 

No time to dwell on that. The clock kept ticking, ticking, ticking closer to 7:00 and you knew you had to prepare for it sooner or later. So getting up, you reluctantly go to choose your outfit for this godforsaken evening. ‘If I wear something nice, he’ll stay’ you thought to yourself, but honestly, even an 8 year old would know how untrue that was. You decide on something nice after all, something a bit expensive, only because it’s likely that after this, you won’t be dressing up like that for anyone else anytime soon. Grabbing your purse and sliding on your shoes, you finally make it out of your home. A sigh. “Let’s get going then…”

☆:｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

“Y/N, look… it’s not you that’s the problem, it’s me.”

There it is again. That annoyingly cliche line. It’s not just that everyone knows what it really means, but the number of people that have said it to you is just pitiful. ‘You prepared for this Y/N, just say something’. Breathing deeply, you said nothing but one word.

“I-... okay.” 

“...what? I’m not sure if you understand. I’m breaking up with you.”

“No, no, I understand. I just… how do you want me to respond?”

You couldn’t stop yourself from spilling all this random bullshit, only realising what you said after it came out. The adrenaline was really taking a toll on you, and at the worst time. You watched as he stared at you, eyebrows furrowed, eyes scrunched and lips parted.

“I-I don’t know..? I thought you’d like, beg me to stay or something… did our relationship not mean enough to you for you to do that?” 

Looking down at your lap, you tried not to let the tears welling up in your eyes fall. You couldn’t afford to let him see you vulnerable, not now, not when you decided to take this well, especially after all that preparation. 

“Well… it did. That’s why I don’t know what to do. Didn’t think it’d come to this. Didn’t want it to come to this. What about you?”

“...W-What do you mean..?”

“Did you even love me?” You can’t help but ask. It’s a thought that has been stuck in your mind since the start of this break-up date. Always claiming to love you, but then he goes and pulls this. You wouldn’t call it quits with someone you love. “Sorry, that was a bit too sudden… but please, answer it truthfully. Or I’ll leave this place, not knowing whether what we had was real.”

“At first, I guess there was something. Like, you were hot and all that, plus you get good scores on assessment pieces. But honestly? No. Not really.” He said so very calmly, as if he wasn’t just in the middle of breaking up with you. How could he be so nonchalant right now, especially about something of such great importance? As you processed what he just said, you realised now how stupid you had been this whole time. For him, it was always ‘bros before hoes’. For him, parties and drinks looked a lot more interesting than a dinner date with you. For him, any social gathering was better without… well, you. Yet, you never seemed to pick up on the signs. Or rather, you subconsciously chose not to. You chose to cling onto him, to keep him by your side, but now he was finally admitting how he had felt since the start and there was nothing for you to hold onto anymore. The gears began to turn in your head, the waterworks started flowing and that dam of resilience you had so carefully built up was finally broken.

He sighed, leaning forward onto his arms and onto the table. 

“Sorry, but could you continue crying… elsewhere? Like, at home? We’re in public, and I really would rather if people didn’t see me with you right now. You look like a mess honestly…” An incredulous look painting your face, you look up at him with disgust for his words right now. He really doesn’t give a shit about you, you realise. ‘Fine. If he wants me to go, then go I will’ you decided, ruffling through your purse for some cash before shoving it in front of him.

“H-Here. For the trouble I’ve supposedly caused you just by wanting your affection. D-Don’t bother paying me back, I-I’d rather not have to talk to you again. Bye.” You spat back at him, barely managing to get the words out. You shot up from your seat, clutching tightly onto your purse and phone, and stormed out the nice restaurant. Only thing you regret tonight is not buying anything from it. Sat on a bench nearby, you hail a taxi as soon as you can, and you’re already on the way home. Just… not your home. Being by yourself right now is probably the worst decision you could make, so where else could you go? 

You wished for it to rain, so you could feel more like a drama actor rather than a heartbroken idiot, but no, the moonlight only shined brighter as each second passed. Pulling up to the curb of an apartment complex, you paid the driver and rushed into the building, practically flying up the stairs. ‘If he’s not home, I’m going to kill him…’ you thought to yourself, the tears only falling harder at the idea he might be out right now. Finally. You’re here. You knocked as hard as you could onto the wood door, the last obstacle between you and peace. Feet rustling, footsteps getting closer, the door opening and then-

“What do you want now- oh shit. Again?”

You nod. He stood there, concern contorting the normally beautiful features of his face.

“Get inside, it’s too cold out here.”

“... Thank you Hyunjin…”

taglist: @2minstan @yangbbokari (i didn't know which acc to tag, so this one it is) send an ask to be on the taglist!!

leisel's note: god this was just me spitting randomn bullshit along the way, but its your problem to deal with pookies 😍

[ruwriteshours]

MONSTERS IN MY ROOM (PART I) ⛧ L.JN

↝ pairing: lee jeno x fem! reader

↝ genre: mortal instrumental! au, angst, gore, urban fantasy, fluff, eventual smut (MINORS DNI)

↝ warning: mention of death of characters

↝ summary: You didn't know your usual habits would become a huge significant part of your life. With little memories of your past, you are forced to remember to find your missing mother with the help of Jeno, an immortal.

"Yeah, I know I wouldn't forget." You groaned, your hand clutching onto the phone as you moved it to the other side of your ear. "You've been talking about it since last week."

You could hear grumbling noise of complaint coming from Jongho at the other line. "Well, how am I suppose to know you'll follow through. Your mom's crazy."

"Well, my mom doesn't control my life." You began sketching on your notepad, your fingers tracing on the symbol you drew as you let out your usual monologue. "I'm three more months to eighteen. Plus, she won't know a thing." You whispered out the last part.

"Yeah, whatever 'Miss Independent'." You giggled. "Just don't get both of us in trouble."

"Oh, don't be such a wuss. She won't suspect a thing." You assured, before hanging up— not even giving Jongho the chance to retaliate.

Flipping through the pages of you sketchbook, you had realised how much your sudden habbit had gotten worse. Your book was occupied with the same drawings of the symbols. All of it being repeated.

Sighing under your breath, you walked out of your room to wash up. "Hey, sweetie!" Your mother's chirpy voice greeted you by the kitchen, preoccupied with her cooking. Muttering back a soft 'hey' as you walked away only to be stopped again by her voice calling out to you.

Whining, you turned around. "What is it?"

Turning off the stove, she looked up at you with her beaming smile. "I see you've gotten busy."

Glancing down at your hand, you could see the graphite ink of your pencil had painted your entire hand— smudging your clean shirt.

"Yeah, it's for a project." You lied, attempting to rub off the dirt.

Your mother only prodded further. "Well, tell me more then." She said excitedly. You laughed awkwardly as you gestured towards the bathroom. "I would love to, mom but I'm meeting Jongho soon." You excused.

"Oh," You could hear the tease in her voice. "Your boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend!" You yelled out, a little too quickly. "He's a boy and he's my friend. He's my boy-space-friend." You explained, which only cause your mother to smile even more annoyingly. "Alright, sweetie. Have fun."

"He really isn't!" You began rushing to the bathroom to get ready. The last thing you heard was the gleeful laugh of your mother.

"Hey— woah." Startled by the sudden force being pulled on him as you hastily dragged Jongho out of your house. "What's the rush?"

"Don't want you to suffer by the wrath of my mom." You half-joked, still bothered by her comment. "Uh oh, what'd she say this time?" He laughed seeing your flustered expression.

"Nothing that concerns you." You grumbled, still holding onto his elbow to have him match your pace. He hummed, "Sure must be embarassing to have you this worked up."

"Shut up!" You hit his shoulder as it only fueled his humour, not finding your weak attack effective.

The walk towards the cafe was fairly short, your conversation with your best friend had always resulted in light bantering— not that you minded. Despite what everyone says about Jongho, (that he was someone who always plaster a cold exterior) you knew he had that warm light inside of him. His sense of humour and brightful personality was what made you want to get to know him more.

"Thanks a lot for doing this for me." Jongho spoke up. You smiled, "Don't go soft on me now, what are friends for?"

Oblivious, you didn't take notice on how Jongho's shoulder seem to slump— disappointed by your response. He was quick to cover up by bumping into your shoulder playfully, chuckling as you hit him back dramatically. Nearing to the destination, he walked up first to open the door. You didn't bother picking up on his gentleman act, having being used to his gesture.

"I'll get us a drink." He declared as the both of you found a seating. "Don't forg-" He was quick to interrupt you, though. "Forget to add in more whipped cream, got it."

With your order, he made his way to the queue. Your attention now being directed to the stage, listening to poetry slam— watching as the man stumble with his words, the beat of the drum not matching up to his speech. Letting out a sound of amusement, you turned your head to the tinted window— only to catch your attention at a certain symbol.

The same symbol you drew.

Without much though, you walked out of the cafe to take a closer look. Crossing the road carefully, you made your way to the open alley— observing excrutiatingly at the drawing. Your heart having picked up the sense of familiarity as your brain couldn't seem to remember. You didn't know you had taken so long outside until you heard Jongho's voice, followed by his hand holding onto your shoulder.

"Hey, why are you out here?" He asked, startling you out of your daze. Shrugging off, you could only utter, "I don't know."

He was about to question further when you turned to face him abruptly. "Let's go back." You grabbed his hand as you led him back to the cafe— thankfully, your seat was not being taken.

"Are you alright? You're being awfully quiet." He asked, noticing that you were in your head and was not paying attention to the event. You looked up at him with a small smile, "It's nothing, I'm just tired."

"Agony. Pain. Suffer." The voice of the performer acting out his scene.

"Tell me about it." He joked. "We'll finish up and go, you want another packet of sugar?" You nodded, "The brown one, please."

"Gotcha."

Watching him walk off, you let out a sigh of relief. You noticed a blonde-haired girl eyeing your best friend, a smile played on your lips as you observed the both of them exchanging greetings. You also couldn't help but notice that she kept staring at Jongho, obviously taking interest in him. Your heart soared, happy that your best friend had a chance to find someone. However, you were quick to assume when he walked away— rather quickly to your seat, acting as if nothing had happened.

"Why'd you leave so quick." He looked at you confused, "That girl you just talked to, she's totally into you."

He shrugged, not finding interest in the topic. "Not my type." You scoffed, "Oh please, you can go to her. I don't mind."

He scoffed back, "And leave you alone. No way." You groaned at his stubborness, "Act like that and you're gonna be single for life." You said jokingly, sprinkling the sugar onto your cup.

He didn't seem to take offense to your insult as he shrugged. "Maybe I'm saving myself for someone." You looked around dramatically, as if trying to search for who he was talking about. "Who?"

He didn't get to answer your question when the cheers and clapping sounds from the audience interrupted him, though you could see that he seemed relief to have avoided the topic altogether. Not soon after, the both of you joined in— acting as if you were listening to the awful speech.

The sky eventually went dark as the both of you took a detour, looking through every single local clubs that were available. As you past through every one of them, your eyes landed on the sign— with the same damn symbol on it. You turned towards Jongho as you pointed at the place. "Let's go here."

"Do you think it'll work?" Jongho asked incredulously.

"Of course it will."

Walking towards the entrance of the club, you were about to recite your script that you had prepared when the person behind the both of you cut through. His eyes were electric blue, hair spiked and his body covered in tattoos— all of which were random signs and symbols that had no meaning. "What an asshole." Jongho murmured.

Annoyed with the guy's rudeness, you looked up only to have an idea popped onto your head, "Actually, follow my lead." Ignoring his protest, you walked up to the bouncer with a confident facade as you pointed at the sign on top. "What does that symbol mean?"

Your question perked up the man that skipped ahead of you, turning around to look at you as he shared a look with the boucer. The man briefly whispered in his ear.

"What are you talking about?" Jongho harshly commented, his face panicking as he thought you had lost your mind. "Relax." You assured, focusing ahead as you watched the two men interact.

Not a moment after, the bouncer allowed the both of you inside. You let out a sigh of relief as you turned around to face Jongho with a smug smile.

"Did you went here without me before?" He asked in amusement.

The further you went inside the club, you squeezed your way through the crowds of drunkard people. Their bodies swaying to the side as the upbeat music echoed and flashing lights shining through the room. Jongho struggled to trail behind you, a look of discomfort takes over his face.

"Do you want a drink?" He asked— well shouted, as he was trying to overpower the loud music. You replied back with the same volume, "Yeah, but just water please!"

You looked around, your eyes catched a sight of the man who let you in the room. You were about to walk up to him, ready to ask him questions when his eyes looked behind you. Turning around, you caught sight on the most gorgeous woman in the room, her black hair swayed down her shoulders— the tight white dress complimented her curves, the tilted smirk of her lips as her sultry eyes bored onto the man.

Your eyes followed his movements, watching him walk towards the woman. You couldn't ignore the sudden feeling in the pit of your stomach, your feet following the both of them in the other area of the club— which is still in an open area, where everyone could see. You began to worry.

Something felt off.

Just as you predicted, the ring on the woman's fingers began slithering its way like a snake, transforming into a metal coil as it began wrapping itself on the man's neck. You gasped in shocked, completely in disbelief as you continued to watch the scene unfold.

The gurgling sound of the man struggling to gasp for air was spine-chilling. He clawed his hands around the metal coil but that only enrages the woman. The fury of the woman turned the colours of her eyes green as she balled her hands into fists— which made the material tightened around his throat. You looked around panicking as you noticed how the crowded room didn't seem to react at all at the murderous scene that was happening right in front of their faces, as if these people were invisible.

Shortly, a figure came in and began holding the man down— you watched helplessly as he was pleading for his life. Just then, another man came emerging through the crowd with his hood up, hiding his identity. You could only make out the black strands of his hair that was sticking out as he pulled out a weapon. His hand tracing along the lines of those threatening, sharp knife.

Without much thought, his knife sliced against the man's throat— completely decapitating his neck clean off. The blood began splattering everywhere, only now that you realised that the blood was black in colour as the fog escaped his body like acid. The sound of the man hissing in agony made you scream at the top of your lungs.

The three individuals hastily turned their heads towards the sound, seeing you in utter horror— from the way you covered your mouth as you teared up at the gruesome sight. The dead man was transformed into a horrifying parasite before it melted away into nothingness.

Your sudden screaming has also alerted the people in the room, who turned their heads towards you in confusion— not seeing the brutal death of the man. Your eyes dart towards the three people, their eyes staring back at yours. You could finally see the face of the hooded man. He was the last to fled the scene, taking a couple of steps closer towards you as his gaze was set at yours. His hooded eyes began to squint, as if trying to recognise you.

"What's going on? Are you okay?" Jongho was at your side in an instant, his hand grabbing onto your face to make you face him. You couldn't listen to his words, not when the fresh memory keeps repeating itself at the back of your head.

"I know what I saw." You rushed out of the club. "They killed that guy!" You repeated for what seemed to be the millionth time, still shaking from fear.

"Did you drink something, perhaps?" He asked, following your steps as he reached his hand out to call for a cab. "I heard that these people popped some stuff in the air to make sure we have a good time." He explained, trying to find some logical reasonings for your outbursts.

"Then how come you're not affected by it." You shot back, your makeup now smudged from the tears you let out previously— in a state complete mess. Thankfully a taxi came to a stop as the both of you hopped inside, his constant assurance only left you with more anxiety.

You knew what you saw.

After bidding your goodbye's, you were quick on your feet to make a beeline to your room— shutting your eyes in hopes to get some rests. Your vision clogged and your mind went black as you succummed to the darkness.

The morning after, groaning as you let out a stretch— rubbing your eyes but hissing at the sudden burning sensation that made your eyes water. Looking down, your hands were completely smudged with the ink of your pencil. In shock, you looked around your room as you gasped in horror. Papers were scattered across the floor, hung up and pasted on your cream textured walls. The same drawing accumulating in your room. You grabbed onto a couple and shoved it inside your bad, dashing out of your room as you made your way to the door.

However, you didn't make it far when the voice of your mother stopped you. "You went back late last night." Her usual nagging tone bugged you, not in the mood to get yelled at.

"I know, I'm sorry but I really have to go now." You pleaded, turning around to face your mother. Her eyes widened in shock seeing you in such a distress state.

The dark circles under your eyes are prominent as your hair flung in every direction. Despite the amount of sleep you had last night, it was as if you hadn't slept in days. "You can't leave."

You scowled in annoyance. "Yes, I can. I'm just going to hang out with Jongho, mom. It's fine." Your mother wasn't convinced, "So what? You're going to go off to him when you have problems, isn't that more of what you would do to a boyfriend." This time, you didn't detect any playfulness in her voice— it was as if she was hurt that you couldn't confide in her.

It was then that she realised that she needed to tell you the truth. Now. However, before she could utter a word— Jongho made his presence known as he stepped inside the house, which gave you the opportunity to fled, ignoring your mother's calls.

Showing the drawings to Jongho, you could only explain the events that had been happening as you watched his face contort to confusion— obviously not believing your spiel. Sitting at the cafe with eyes like a mad woman, it was difficult to convince Jongho. Ignoring his advice as you saw the same hooded man from the club, ignoring your train of thought. Your eyes widened in horror as you cowered away from his vision.

"What? What are you looking at?" Jongho asked exasperately as he began scouting around.

"Wait here." You said before running off, in hopes to finally get some answers— even if it killed you.

"Who the fuck are you?" You sneered nastily, shutting the back door that was leading you to an alley. The man chuckled at your rudeness.

"Lovely girl, aren't you?"

"This isn't funny! You killed someone, you're a murderer!" You accused, shouting at the man.

"I prefer to be called Jeno, actually." He stated as a matter-of-factly. "But I guess people who love to assume can call me that too."

"I know what I saw." You retorted.

"You think you know what you saw." He pointed at you, his eyes hardened.

Grabbing his hands to take a closer look at his tattoo, the same symbol being drawn on his hand— with shaking hands, you dug under your pockets to retrieve the drawing that you drew as you shoved it up to his face. "Why do I keep drawing this."

He hummed, taking the piece of paper as he observed it. "It's a mundane." He explained, as if there was no further explanation needed.

"What's a mundane?" You asked incredulously, prodding the man to continue. He looked down at you, his voice dropping an octave. "Someone that's from the human world."

"Well, if I'm not a human then what am I?"

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