#feeling like my heart had been torn to shreds by no surprises playing in the background

[houseswife]

how unserious would it be if I made a hilson edit to you’ll be back from hamilton. because on one hand it’s the right level of ridiculous that matches most of their scenes & also encapsulates a certain level of authentic toxicity. on the other hand it’s fucking. from hamilton

#also if I remember correctly. hugh laurie literally is the one who named it? #WILD. #I feel like I should be allowed to… as a treat. #house once freestyle rapped with lin manuel miranda. nothing is too outrageous. #I still remember the absolute terror I felt in my soul when I was in tears over the 6x1 opening #feeling like my heart had been torn to shreds by no surprises playing in the background #and then I saw That Name appear on screen…. #such a juxtaposition of emotion dawg when I tell you I CACKLED through the pain #just thinking about house interacting with him was enough to make me rethink my momentary anguish

[aurorawritestoescape]

The Devil in Me

Pairing: DEVIL!Dieter Bravo x fem!reader (no use of y/n)

Genre: smut and fluff, Devil AU

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, porn with almost no plot, allusions to sa, reader struggles with self worth, praise kink, breast play, thigh riding, blood play, vampirism, unprotected piv, daddy kink, oral(f receiving), fucking the Devil, creampie, religious themes, men’s thighs)

Summary: being an aspiring actress but failing to succeed, you decide to use an unorthodox method to get the desirable money and fame. You perform a summoning ritual in order to sell your soul to the Devil. Lucky for you, he pays you a visit and happens to be devilishly handsome.

Word count: 4,3k

A/n: the moment I saw Pedro’s Met Gala look, this thot was nailed into my brain. Hence the fic. Big thanks to @ozarkthedog for giving me a necessary push with this post. English is my second language, sorry for any mistakes or general fuckupery of the story;) <3

As long as you remembered, your only wish was to become a famous movie star with millions of fans who worshiped you. So you took various and fucking expensive acting classes, went to dozens of auditions where you acted your heart out. And still every time another nepo baby got the job of your dreams. You felt bitter as hell. You couldn’t bear the rejection, the harassment, slimy hands and hungry glances of producers and agents. Under the pretences of helping you, they hunted for your body like predators and gave nothing in return. The debts were pilling up, and waiting tables at a lousy café didn’t promise you any financial stability. You kept jumping high but still couldn’t grab that lucky ticket in the air. 

So when, at a flea market, you happened to see an old spell book, it immediately piqued your interest. You looked through the pages and noticed a ritual called "Summoning the Devil to Sell Your Soul." You laughed at first but, to your own surprise, paid for the book and brought it home. It was on a whim. You didn’t believe any of that hocus-pocus shit, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

…..

You were in your rented one-bedroom apartment, sitting on the bed and reading about the preparation for the summoning. You let out a laugh. It was so easy. Make the room dark. Light some candles. Say the spell. And voilà! The Devil himself would appear and give you everything you wished for in return for your  precious soul. You didn’t think much of it. 100% that it wouldn’t happen. But if by some crazy magical supernatural chance it did, you’d be ready. Your soul had been torn to shreds by disgusting and power-hungry men, so you’d be happy to replace it with the long awaited fame and money. 

You followed the simple instructions: drew the curtains to keep the light of the sunset out and lit all the candles you could find at home. You looked around and found the atmosphere quite relaxing. The air was heavy with a sickly mixture of scents - vanilla, pine, strawberry. Yet it was hiding the greasy smell of the Chinese you’d had before. The candlelight bathed the room in a golden light, its flickering flames making shadows dance on the walls. You plopped down on your bed and placed the spell book on your lap. At the back of your mind, you were laughing at yourself for being such a fool. But to an outside eye you’d have seemed serious and focused. Your lips silently moved, reading the spell several times. Then you cleared your throat with a cough, said "Fuck it!" and read the spell loudly.

….

Nothing happened. You were still alone in your shitty room, shitty apartment, living your shitty life. It wasn’t a surprise. You sighed heavily, closed the book with a thump and threw it on the floor. You climbed on your bed, got under the covers and buried your head in the pillow. Disappointment was gnawing at your gut. How could you hope that ridiculous summoning spell would work? You shut your eyes, feeling the tears fall on the pillow beneath you. 

You didn’t know how much time passed. You were in that trippy state between wakefulness and sleep. Then your whole body twitched and chills covered your skin. You weren’t cold, quite hot actually because of all the candles. All of a sudden, you felt the weight on the other side of the mattress. You turned rapidly and saw a man sitting next to you on the bed. His back was leaning on the headboard and his legs were stretched out and crossed at the feet. You jumped out of the bed with a scream and stared at him paralyzed with fear, eyes round and breath unsteady. In contrast with your own reaction, he seemed relaxed. His dark intent eyes had a humorous spark in them, looking at you with amusement, his plump lips were curled up in a smirk. His skin was tan, the colour of caramel and rich honey. He had an aquiline nose, a salt and pepper patchy beard and a moustache. His dark hair was neatly slicked back. He was, without a doubt, the most handsome man you’d ever seen. But the most peculiar thing about him was his attire. He had a bright red coat with a red shirt underneath and a thin black tie. You glanced down to see that he was wearing black shorts which were covering little of his thick thighs. On his feet, he had black high patent boots with black socks peeking out. 

His smirk was replaced by a blinding grin and you heard his deep comforting voice. 

“Hi, darling,” he said, rolling R with his tongue, making the word sound delicious. 

“Wh...who the fuck are you?! Why are you in my apartment?!” you exclaimed in a panic, wrapping your arms around your middle. 

The stranger’s smile fell, and he looked at you with sad puppy eyes and furrowed brows as if you’d slapped him on the face. 

“You summoned me, remember?”

You couldn’t believe your eyes or your ears. With your voice lowered to a whisper, you asked him as if somebody could hear your secret, “Are you the Devil?”

His wide smile returned, making the wrinkles around his eyes more pronounced. He opened his arms to present himself to you and announced enthusiastically, “Yes, I am! The one and only King of Hell, darling!”

 You were speechless.  What do people say in these situations? Would you like a drink, Satan? Why are you in shorts? It was crazy. So you kept standing there with an open mouth and widened eyes. 

Noticing your confusion, the Devil sat up, bent his right leg and started scratching his knee. “I understand your shock and all, but I’m a busy man, you see. People desire a lot of things these days. Thank God for consumerism,” he added, putting his hands together in a prayer and looking up. “Do you still want to sell your soul?” the Devil inquired as he tilted his head and narrowed his eyes.

You closed your mouth and opened it again. “Yes! But to be honest, I didn’t expect the spell to work …and you look like this…it’s a lot,” you explained to him while fumbling with the hem of your t-shirt.

At that, the Devil’s face fell, and he looked down at himself straightening his coat and shirt.

“What’s wrong with the way I look? …wanted to try something new. And I’ve been told that it’s very stylish,” he retorted, glancing at you sideways.

In truth, you loved the clothes and the boots, but his childish reaction amused you and, feeling a little bolder, you decided to tease him.

“Been told by who exactly?” you smirked at him. “Demons,” he replied with his plush lips in a pout.

“Ha! They’re telling you what you wanna hear. They’re kinda your employees.” You crossed your arms and continued your taunting, “And this lip ring. What’s that for?”

The Devil sucked in his lower lip, touching the ring with his tongue and replied, “It makes me look edgy”. You raised your eyebrows at him, “Why do you need more edge, man? You’re the fucking Devil!” Oh, you enjoyed it. At hearing that he shrugged, growled, took off the lip ring and tossed it in the direction of your wardrobe. He then stared at you with narrowed eyes, as if trying to burn a hole in your face. You almost burst into giggles, seeing him like that. The big bad Devil got bullied by a human girl.

By the look of you he must have realised that you‘d been playing with him and his grin returned to his face.

“Haha, very funny,” he said sarcastically and leaned his back on the headboard again. “Let’s talk terms and conditions then, style expert. You give me your soul, I give you what you desire. What is it you desire, darling?” he added with a luscious smile.

The endearment made you blush. You cleared your throat and replied that you wanted to be a famous actress. He nodded and waved his hand as if brushing away your concerns. 

“No problem! You will be, beautiful! We just need to make the deal, and you’ll be the happiest and wealthiest star till the day you die. You’ll live for many wonderful years, but when the time comes I’ll see you in Hell” he explained with excitement on his face. You were aware of that condition but hearing out loud about the prospect of burning in Hell for eternity made you drop your head in doubt, a surge of nerves making you pace the floor along the bed.

Seeing your unease, the Devil crawled to the side of the bed you had previously occupied and sat there with his feet on the floor. You took a step back and looked at him as your fear returned. He was the Devil after all. His exposed legs were spread widely, almost touching yours. His long coat was laying on the bed like a crimson cover. 

He took your hand and placed it between his big, hot palms. To your surprise, the physical touch made your core tingle and the heart skip a beat. 

“You know what, if you aren’t sure, I won’t pressure you. You can go through some more auditions, do a couple of tampon commercials and may be one day your fame will find you.”

“No!” you exclaimed, almost startling yourself. You knew what he was doing, painting your dream impossible to achieve on your own, but the desire to make it big was so strong, all you needed was the smallest push. “I  can’t live like this any longer. I want it here and now.” 

Then adoration and content blossomed on his face and your chest swelled. 

“That’s wonderful,” he purred. “Now we need to do the deed, and it’s done.”

You swallowed loudly. “The deed? Mmm… As in ‘to have sex’?” 

His gaze drifted lower, taking in your form in front of him, and he responded in a husky voice, “You shall give yourself to me completely and fully, and then you’ll be mine forever.”

Of course. Men in power always wanted a piece of you, why would the Devil himself be different? But in a weird way, you trusted Him more than anyone else to make your wish come true, and so you whispered “O… ok.”

His whole demeanour changed in a flash. His face darkened, previously adoring eyes got flooded with lust and desire, the soft smile morphed into a hungry animalistic grin. 

It scared you. You glanced down at yourself, suddenly aware of your old almost see-through t-shirt and sleeping shorts covering not much of your body. You’d felt too comfortable with him before, in part forgetting who it was in front of you. At that moment, the air grew hotter and heavier. The candle flames began trembling rapidly without any breeze and the whole room got darker, resembling a crypt. The Devil’s red coat and shirt looked maroon. 

He still had your hand in his palms and gently pulled you closer to him. You were all the way between his legs and the Devil moved his right leg, slid the knee between your legs, placed his hands on your waist and pushed you down, so you could straddle his right thigh. You grasped his shoulders to stable yourself. He wasn’t smiling anymore, his expression was determined and lustful. His plush lips found your neck and you whimpered. The Devil smelled like smoke and your eyes watered a little. He started leaving open mouth kisses on your neck, making your eyes close. Your chest was flush against his broad shoulder, and you were sure he could sense your heart fluttering. 

“I promise to give you everything you desire, darling. But before that I’ll  make you feel devilishly good,” he whispered, nipping on your earlobe. “Do you agree?”

You nodded, but he needed to hear it.

“Words, baby.”

“Yes,” you replied, and a peculiar feeling rushed through your body. Your eyes darted down and you gasped, finding yourself completely naked. Your clothes just vanished. His lips left your neck, and he was leering down at you, devouring your form. “Fuck…you’re gorgeous.” The praise made your head spin and your core tingle. Chills covered your whole body and you shivered.

“All trembling for me,” he murmured. “Such a good girl.”

His hands snaked down to your ass, palming your cheeks and pushing you closer to his torso. Your clit rubbed on the material of his shorts and a quiet moan escaped your lips. The devil grumbled, hearing the sounds you made for him. You felt his huge bulge pushing into your thigh. He lowered his head, reaching your breast with his mouth, and started to lick and suck on your bud.

“Delicious little thing,” the Devil cooed at you between his ministrations. You needed more, so you began grinding on his thigh at a steady pace whimpering softly. Your movements made the hem of his shorts rise up, and you felt his bare leg with your cunt. You were so wet, making a mess of his shorts and thigh. You’d never been so aroused before, and the need for a release was overwhelming. Soon your body and forehead were covered in beads of sweat, your legs trembling from exhaustion. He was guiding you with his strong hands gripping your hips and kissing you wherever he could reach. Your clit was throbbing, and soon you felt your core tighten and the burning in your stomach increase.

“Fuck! m'go… gonna cum!” you moaned through heavy breathing. 

“Yes, cum for the Devil, baby!” he ordered and slapped your ass cheek, leaving a slight burn. Your head fell back, the spine arched, and a hard orgasm shook your whole body. The strength left you, so he continued moving your body, helping you to ride it out. When overstimulation hit, you fell on his chest. You put your forehead on his shoulder, as aftershocks shook you from time to time. 

“No rest for the wicked,” he said, and suddenly took your exhausted body in his arms bridal style, and plopped you on the bed carelessly. 

You got a whiplash from the rapid change of position. You were on your back, and the Devil climbed on top of you, straddling your thighs. The tail of his coat was covering your feet. You couldn’t help but gawk at him. A strand of hair fell on his forehead. His broad and tall frame was towering over you, and his looming shadow covered almost all the room. It made you feel tiny and powerless under him. One moment you could swear his shadow had horns and giant wings, but you blinked, and it was normal again. The devil was leering at you with hungry obsidian eyes and, feeling exposed, you tried to cover your chest with your hands. But by some invisible force, your hands were yanked over your head and held there tightly. As if being touch starved, the Devil began kneading your soft breasts. He twitched one nipple hard, making you scream, but the pain was replaced by pleasure when he put his mouth on the burning bud and circled his tongue around it. He wasn’t rushing it, sucking on each breast for a long time until you couldn’t take it anymore. Overstimulation made you squirm and rub your thighs together, as your cunt was crying for attention.

Happy with his work, the Devil set up again, admiring your abused puffy nipples.

“Daddy’s thirsty, baby. Will you help me out?” You bit your bottom lip when you heard what he’d called himself. It was so twisted and your stomach was overflowing with desire for him. 

But the question confused you. As if to give you an answer, he placed his hand on your belly and, following his gaze, you noticed long, sharp claws on his fingers. You were sure they hadn’t been there before. You swallowed loudly and squeaked, “Don’t hurt me, please”

His grin widened as he cooed at you, “Don’t worry, darling. You won’t feel a thing."

The Devil pressed his index finger below your belly button and made a vertical cut with his pointy claw. You gasped, although the pain was bearable, just a little sting. You saw drops of blood appear, and his eyes sparkled. He dropped his head to your belly and licked the blood, moaning avidly. He made a few other cuts and cleaned them with his mouth. Though a bit scared you enjoyed feeling his tongue just inches above your cunt. You desperately wished he would move lower. When he was satiated, his head fell on your stomach, and he caressed your thighs and legs with his now both normal hands, humming quietly. A strange wave of affection took over you. You asked him if he could free your hands. He looked up at you with an air of confusion in his heavy-lidded eyes. It seemed that he’d forgotten having tied you up at all.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” he replied finally in a hoarse voice. When your arms could move, you began combing his soft silky hair with your fingers and gently scratching his scalp. The Devil purred. He was still rubbing your thighs so you knew he didn’t fall asleep.

“Are you ok?” you finally inquired as if you were just talking to your lover.

“No one ever asks me that,” the Devil replied as he looked up. He gave you a sleepy smile and still seemed to be drunk on your blood.

You were awestruck, thinking how much he was like a human man, aside from the claws and the blood thirst. You wondered if he was lonely but didn’t want to break the comfortable silence.

After a few minutes he sat up and you noticed that all the cuts on your belly disappeared. The lustful expression returned to his face once again.

"Thank you, darling. You tasted divine,” he whispered as he climbed between your legs. “Would you like me to fuck you now?” he asked, leering at your spread cunt and gently tracing your slick folds with his finger. 

“Yes!” You said louder than it was intended. 

“Then beg for it, baby! Pray to your Devil!” he ordered with a mischievous smirk. Your cunt couldn’t bear another second without his attention. “Please! I beg you, fuck me please! Make me cum!”

Your words seemed to satisfy him. 

“Oh, I’d be happy to. Lay back and enjoy yourself. Daddy’ll take care of you.” Then you felt two thick fingers enter you. You moaned, arching your back and your fingers grasped the covers. His digits were thick, but you’d been dripping on the bed for a long time, so he entered you easily. 

“So tight, darling. We need to work you open first to receive the Devil’s cock in all its glory.”

He was pumping his fingers in and out, curling them inside and pulling the filthiest sounds out of you. Then you felt his hot mouth on your cunt. He was lapping at your juices, swirling his tongue on your hardened clit and working his fingers. Soon he added the third and the fourth digit and fucked you steadily.  You never expected to stretch that much, but you guessed everything was possible with the Devil. He seemed to enjoy eating you out as much as you did, as he growled into your cunt, the vibrations taking your pleasure to the highest level. 

“Such a nasty girl, giving your soul and pussy to me,” he said, leaving your cunt for a second and licking his lips.

You whimpered at the sight. He was turning you on even more than you could imagine. Soon, his and your moans created a sinful harmony together

“God!” you cried out and he slapped your cunt with his free hand. “Devil, baby, not God!” The pain mixed with pleasure sent electricity through your core and another orgasm hit you. You gushed all over his hand and lower face and he drank you up like it was the tastiest nectar. Finally, you pushed your legs together to stop him from licking you. 

“Now you’re ready for my cock”, he said, sitting up, then grabbed your hips and span you on your stomach. Your face hit the pillows, and your body felt cold as the covers were soaked with your sweat and juices. 

“Elbows and knees, baby,” he ordered. The motion was so rapid you needed a moment to obey, but he impatiently yanked your hips in the air with his big hands.

You heard the rustling of his clothes and then his cock landed on your ass. By the weight of it, it was huge. You turned your head to get a peek and saw his enormous erect member with red angry tip leaking precum on your ass cheek. You got nervous, and he smirked at that. 

"Don’t fear, my dear. I’ll be gentle." 

That was a lie. One moment you felt his tip at your entrance, and in the other he plunged his hard length into you to the bottom. You yelped, suddenly feeling full to the brim. 

“Mmm, such a greedy pussy. Sucking daddy in so well.”

His first push made your front slide forward on the bed, so his arm circled your middle to keep you still, the other hand pushed between your shoulder blades, making your spine arch even more. He started fucking you with strong and deliberate thrusts, and the bliss in your core made your eyes roll back. Loud moans were leaving your open mouth as you were drooling on the pillow. You could sense every vein of his thick cock, and his tip was pushing at your cervix, causing a delicious ache. 

“You gonna come again, baby”, he said and it wasn’t a question. “I can feel you squeezing me. Let daddy help a little”.

Suddenly you felt pressure on your clit. You looked down but didn’t see his hands as they were still holding you in place. The invisible force returned and began circling your bundle of nerves in tight strokes and gently twitching your nipples. You didn’t need much time to reach the third orgasm. Every nerve was electrified, making your limbs and torso shake uncontrollably. Your cunt was flattering around the Devil’s cock and that made him growl, “Yes, that’s my girl.”

The invisible hands left your body as soon as the muscle strength left you. If not for him holding you by the waist, you would have plopped down on the bed. His pace increased and the slapping of his hips on your ass was getting faster. At last, he started cumming. You felt his cock pulsate inside your channel, filling you with his hot seed. He was pumping his cum and your juices back into you vigorously accompanied by lewd sounds and his snarls. Some time passed and he was still going. You were completely spent, and your eyelids were heavy with exhaustion. When he finally stilled and pulled out, he lowered your hips gently and laid down next to you. You felt his cum leaking out of your hole.

Then the Devil took you in his arms, so you could rest your head on his chest, and he covered your legs and ass with his coat to keep you warm. 

He pinched your chin with his fingers and tilted your head up to face him. You were looking at each other with gratitude and satisfaction. His dark eyes were trailing the lines of your features as if they were constellations in the sky. Your breath was once again stolen by his beauty.

Then the Devil kissed you. His plush lips were first gentle, but when his tongue slipped inside your mouth, he tightened his arms around you and kissed you hard. He tasted like something sweet and spicy. You were glued to each other for a long time, and you purred in his arms. It was a parting gift and at the same time the kiss sealed your destiny. When the Devil’s lips left yours, you whined. He smiled at your greediness.

“Before you go to sleep, we need to sign the contract, darling”. You followed his eyes and saw that he was holding a big parchment. 

“Let me help you, baby.” He took your hand and put your index finger in his mouth. A sting made you wince. He pulled it out and pressed your fingertip onto the paper. It left a crimson mark on the contract.

“That’s it. Now you are mine forever,” he explained with a soft smile and licked your finger making the bite mark disappear.

You furrowed your brows looking up at him, grabbed his tie and tugged him closer to your face.

“Wait. You told me that we just needed to fuck to seal the deal. Was it even necessary?”

He chuckled and then whispered in your ear “Well darling. You’re so stunning. How could I not? You should’ve known better than to trust the Devil.

You giggled and pushed your face into his neck. He still smelled like smoke, and you thought that it was your favourite smell in the world. You closed your eyes and soon drifted off to sleep. 

When you woke up, the bed next to you was empty, the candles had burnt out and the morning sun was peeking through the curtains. You sat up and wondered if it all might have been a dream. The contract, the Devil and the best sex of your life.

But the next moment your phone buzzed with a call and, when you picked it up, your whole life changed. 

😈

Thank you for reading! <3

Comments and reblogs are appreciated💋

Part 2

#dieter bravo x reader #pedro pascal #met gala #pedro pascal fanfiction #devil au #pedro pascal met gala #dieter bravo #devil!dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x female reader #dark!fic #fanfic #pedro pascal characters #the bubble

[lambtotheslaughterr]

The Thorne

CHAPTER ONE

[THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN THEMES OF NON-CON/DUB-CON, MENTAL-EMOTIONAL-PHYSICAL ABUSE, ETC. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. 18+. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

WC: 4K

SERIES MASTERLIST

Dividers provided by @firefly-graphics

            This is my night. The club is full & they are all here for me. I can see their lip-biting grins now, full of want, lust, power. Their heads spinning with alcohol in their system & images of me beneath them, or on top—really however they want. I am the sole reason they leave their wives & kids on the weekends, faking a business trip, just so they can leave the island to come inland: all for me. I feel powerful. These men, these might men with big names & everything to lose, risk it all for me.

            Suppose it’s in my blood, with mom having been an entertainer back in her day, as well. She made a name for herself—a lady of the night—which secured my reputation before I was even born. But fortunately, she got knocked up by one of the elite. So, I grew up with the finest of them; massive beach house & expensive clothes included. For a long time it didn’t matter who my mother was—at least not enough to make high school difficult. I partied with the best of them & was quite popular, surrounded by girls who wanted to be me & boys who wanted to be with me. But when something isn’t truly yours, it never will last for long.

            The first time I stepped on this stage, I hadn’t been surprised how natural it came to me. I was nineteen at the time. Kenya Steele—the owner & my boss—let me audition but I recalled her having a knowing smirk on her face. She knew who I was, too. Didn’t matter if you were raised on the island or on the mainland, whores recognize whores—at least that’s what mom always told me. My mom was never ashamed of her past—something else I learned from her at a young age: to not let the snobs in this town treat me otherwise. She was tenacious, driven, independent, proud: all the traits men feared in a woman, unless of course that woman was your escape for the night, a reason to indulge in your fantasies. It’s how she secured my bourgeois upbringing. I never learned who my father was, but I didn’t need to. Mom played both roles: a fun loving parent who was fiercely protective of her young & would string em’ up & eviscerate them if you looked at her family poorly. I am incredibly proud of the woman she is—and the one she raised me to be.

             Becoming a lady of the night was only supposed to be for a short while, a way to put myself through school, but I soon fell in love with the career. The lights, music, clothes—or lack thereof. More so, that look in their eyes: the men who would kill their best friend on their right to have a single night with you. It was power. And I wanted more of it. I dropped out of college & focused solely on the club. Outside of dancing & stealing the souls of the wealthy & shameless, the club was incredibly important to me. Kenya had only begun lightly training me a year ago to potentially run the place—or start my own when I outgrew the stage. That wouldn’t be for a while though. I’m only 22 & just getting started.

            Steele Your Heart is barren tonight. It’s the middle of the week. I’m not performing tonight. Kenya reserves my performances for the weekends to rake in the money unless I am requested for a private dance. Tonight, I work the bar. As much as I enjoy walking around in nothing but a tiny pair of underwear—if you could even call them that—I too enjoy finding ways to accentuate my body with clothing. Like tonight, I wear high-waisted daisy dukes paired with fishnets that disappear into my oldest pair of combat boots. The top I wear is a shredded Guns N’Roses crop, holes torn throughout with just enough side boob. My phase with wearing bras had been short-lived & restricted to middle school. Growing up with a mom who argued for women’s bodies to be dressed how the woman damn well pleases allowed me to grow comfortably in my skin. My tits were just small enough to never need a bra but just big enough to collect sweat underneath during the hot & humid months that came with living in the South.

            Kicking open the swinging door from the kitchen that led to the bar, I haul in a single keg. One of the many benefits of being a dancer is the impressive strength one gains. Though I’m not muscular to the eye, I’m quite strong & have proven so with a few men who liked to break the rules. Emma—who goes by Skiz on stage—sits on a stool at the bar, counting out the tips she’s made thus far. I snicker to myself as I quickly estimate how much she’s made, turning my back to her & kneeling, changing out the kegs.

            “Oh, shut it.” She mutters, “Not everyone can have their own show to bring in the dough.”

            I shake my head in response but remain smiling, “So, talk to Kenya.” I tell her over my shoulder, “You know she’d give you a few trial nights a month in place of me. Not like I can do it forever.”

            “Psh.” She tuffs, “Like she’d give up a weekend of dollar signs out the ass for a nobody like me.”

            “How else do you expect to get known?” I counter, slamming the cupboard shut, turning to face her, “Think I was just given the spot I have?”

            Emma quits her counting to stare knowingly at me, a single eyebrow raised, “Exactly.”

            “Okay okay.” I chuckle, “I’m just saying. She respects initiative so if it’s something you really want, take it to her. What’s the worse she’ll do? Fire you?”

            We share a laugh knowing full well Kenya would never fire any of her girls without a damn good reason—like sleeping with a customer, on or off the clock. I glance at the time on the wall, only 10:00. I sigh, glancing around the club space.

            There are three stages throughout the club, save for the private ones in back. Two that flank the sides with a wall of lights behind them to provide silhouettes of the dancers. On some theme nights thin curtains are hung to provide only silhouette dances, an aesthetic popular enough to bring back twice a month. Then, in the center of the club space is a long-oval shaped stage, where the main shows take place. Me & two other girls are the highlights of the weekend nights. My performances usually lasting 30 minutes, twice a night, Thursdays to Saturdays. Overhead are circular lights carved into the ceiling that vary in color throughout the nights, though typically they remain a magenta hue. The seating throughout the club consists of single luxurious deep purple velvet chairs that offer both comfort & elegance. Kenya took a risk in purchasing that many, but anyone caught ruining them with their bodily fluids is fined for public indecency, blacklisted from the club, & their name showcased in bright lights on the sign above the club in the parking lot. One foolish man decided to challenge Kenya & did exactly that: pulled his puny pee-pee out & finished all over one of the seats. In the next hour, the man was getting escorted out of the club by some officers while Kenya sent one of the bodyguards up a ladder to plaster the man’s name on the sign. Since then, no one has been stupid enough to try.

            A few men are seated throughout, most by themselves, but there’s a small group of older men on the right side, watching intently as one of the newest girls’ glides down a pole. I sigh, craving more action. Emma notices this & glances over her shoulder to check out the ghost-town of a club. She clicks her tongue, lining up her tips & handing them to me, “Stash this, will ya?”

            I collect the wad of dollar bills & 20’s from her, unlocking a safety locker beneath the register, placing it in a mason jar with her name on it. She peers over my shoulder into the mirror that backs the bar, adjusting her barely existing top & brushing her bangs out of her eyes. Cracking her neck, she bends forward to touch her toes before rising again, “Guess I should get back up there; can’t let the new girl steal my thunder.”

            Smiling after her, I return to the bar, wiping down taps & taking inventory. I’m nearly through the rum shelving when Kenya appears beside me, “You’ve been requested.”

            “Right now?” The question leaves my mouth in ridicule.

            “No.” She responds, taking the clipboard from my hands to double check my work, “Tomorrow night. You, Skiz, & the new one.”

            Relief washes over me, “Okay. Returning customer?”

            “No.” Kenya’s short responses never got old, but they always left much to be desired. Content with my work on inventory, she hands the clipboard back & begins to walk away, “Dress fully. Client requested a full show, not the 15-minute stuff. You’ll be entertaining them for as long as they want.”

            I nod in response, already going over in my head the dresses I have back home & which one I’d be in the mood to wear tomorrow night. Requested private dances in the middle of the week weren’t uncommon but in trios was. Must be a larger party, I think to myself. Working a larger party was always nerve-wracking. Men tend to egg each other on & half the time things get out of hand quickly. I’ve seen it all: men fighting over which girl gives them a lap dance to getting sloppy drunk to the point that the dancing is redundant since no one has their eyes open—and with no eyes open, how else do we make our money?—even to the most dangerous, when there’s 10 of them & only 2 of you & they decide that the rules don’t apply to them. Not often does the latter happen but it does happen.

            When Kenya opened this club six years ago, the first thing she focused on was security. Every private room in the back has a single wall that is all mirror from one end to the other, the secret is that the mirrors are all one-way. Bodyguards will be watching from the dark confines of their caves to ensure the safety of the girls. Furthermore, every private room has a panic button should things get out of hand &, for whatever reason, the guards can’t get into the room. The panic buttons are placed inconspicuously on the poles themselves, just an inch off the stage floor. One press & the police are notified, along with the rest of the club as the lights throughout will go from dimly lit to brights being flashed at you on the freeway. Fortunately, a panic button has yet to be used, but there have been plenty of times bodyguards have had to step in from their confines on the other side of the mirrors.

            But tomorrow with Emma should be effortless. While I could handle a larger party comfortably with a guard hidden inside the wall, Emma was an additional force to be reckoned with. The two of us together were a dream-team. We worked a room beautifully, emptied their wallets, & left them wanting more; more importantly, we left them happy.

            Once I finish taking inventory of the bar, I rest my elbows on the counter behind me, gazing across the club watching as Emma crawls seductively toward a man who appears all too eager for her to get closer. In my opinion, Emma had potential for her own show—she has what most refer to as ‘come hither’ eyes—a physical trait that draws the attention of the room. However, despite her teasing eyes & good-looks, she lacked the drive to gain the role of a weekend show. Her downfalls, though admirable, are a mix of fearing taking away money from girls who needed it more & not being good enough, experiencing rejection. But I knew she was capable if she only brought it up to Kenya.

            Speaking of which, Kenya—from her office on the second floor that overlooks the main floor of the club—makes eye contact with me & beckons me upstairs. Tossing a rag into a bleach bucket, I make my way toward the back hallway where the private rooms are, as well as the stairs to her office. Unless you know about her office on the second floor, one would never find the stairs since they’re hidden quite well. Ascending them, I knock once on her door before entering. Kenya is sitting at her desk, her face illuminated by the computer screen before her, she has her booking journal before her—the one for private sessions.

            “What’s up?” I question, standing by the windows that overlook the club. Emma is topless at this point, draping herself over the man, his hands gripping the armrest as Emma rubs slowly against him.

            “About tomorrow night,” She begins, “One of the members of the party is the son of a prominent family on the island.”

            I nod once, gesturing for her to continue, “He’s known to be trouble. I want you three to be prepared for any problems tomorrow night.”

            “Okay,” I half laugh, half scoff, “Nothing new there. Almost everyone who comes from the island is a pretentious prick. You know we got this, right?”

            “Yes, I do.” She shuts down her screen to lean back in her chair & look me over, “But this is different. He has a history with getting his way. So, before you even start tomorrow, I already want you three to be preventing any potential problems.”

            “Geez, okay. You sound worried, more than usual.” Kenya’s hazel eyes meet my own emerald ones, “Who is he?”

            “The less you know the better.” Her logic stumps me. I rebuttal, “How the hell does that make sense? If you want us to de-escalate before it even begins shouldn’t we know which one is the trouble-maker?”

            “In most cases, yes,” She agrees, brushing back her long straight red hair to lean forward, “this is different though. I don’t want any of you to show any bias towards the clients. I want you to perform & entertain like normal, but just with the knowledge that problems may linger. Do you understand?”          

            Unfortunately, I do. If we know which one of the men is the problem we may avoid him, which could in turn cause the very problems she wants to avoid, “Understood. I just—” I pause, unsure of how to phrase my concerns, “How well do you want us to perform? I mean, you’re worried enough to warn us but not enough to tell us who he is. Do we want them to come back, or do we want them to have a good enough time just not well enough to return for some more?”

            Kenya exhales heavily, pondering my question. After a beat of silence she shakes her head once, “Enough for them to not come back. It’d be in yours, mine, & the clubs best interest to not garner the attention of a well-known, living, breathing problem.”

            “That bad.” She tightens her lips, responding to me with, “One problem & he could shut us down.”

            “I see.” A chill falls over my body & I shake the goosebumps off, “Okay, I’ll let the other two know.”

            “No.” Kenya starts. I open mouth to question, yet again, why the hell not when she puts her hand up to silence me, “Only you need to know. I trust you to entertain & manage on your own. Skiz is good but she’s a ball of anxiety, & the new girl, well, we’re still feeling her out in regard to private shows. Just you.”

            I sigh, knowing she’s right, “Okay, heard. Just me.”

            “Great.” With that, Kenya turns her screen back on, her indirect way of dismissing me. Closing the door behind me, I lean against it to relieve myself of the last bit of goosebumps that lingered. Never before has Kenya kept information like this from us. If a client is concerning enough we’re typically given the full details of who they are, what they’re like. But if Kenya—one of the toughest women I know—is scared, then we should be too.

            Emma, the new girl—whose stage name is Eureka—& I are in the dressing room in the basement of Steele Your Heart. We arrived about thirty minutes ago with our dresses, wigs, & makeup, preparing for tonight’s private show. Emma sits to my right, adjusting her shortened blonde wig, which pairs well with her milk chocolate skin. Behind us, in the reflection of the mirror, Eureka is finishing putting on white nipple pasties before reaching for a little black leather dress. She’s younger than Emma & I, 19 I believe, but she looks confident, excited. It was difficult to not inform them of what we were potentially walking into, but Kenya’s fears reminded me to keep my mouth shut.

            Before we arrived, in a group text, the girls & I decided against going with a theme. Instead, since it was going to be a group, we made the choice to dress differently as a way to cater to different tastes the men may have. Eureka, underneath her leather dress, wears a brightly colored pink & blue tie-dye thong with pasties on her tits. Her role being the bubbly playful entertainer. Emma’s role tonight is the tease, a role she plays well. She wears a fishnet one piece which only covers her breasts & private area, though they both can still be made out due to the material. Her dress is a skin tight bright orange strapless dress. As for myself, my role is the dom—fitting thanks for my secret role as the night begins. The lingerie under my dress greatly emulates that of Lara Croft: the top is mesh that leaves plenty of underboob exposed, the bottoms mesh as well but come paired with straps that wrap snugly around my thighs. The dress I wear is mesh but patterned after a zebra. Not my favorite but I wasn’t in the greatest state of mind when perusing my collection of dresses. It’ll do though.

            Emma, content with the placement of her wig, meets my eyes in her mirror, “You alright? You’re quiet.”

            “Fine.” I lie, a smile appearing on my face, “Just didn’t sleep well last night.” Emma goes to respond when her eyes narrow on her reflection, “What are you doing?”

            She turns around & following her gaze, I see that she’s staring at Eureka. Eureka, having just finished adding extensions & throwing her hair in a long pony-tail, stops abruptly in her movement, “Sorry?”

            “You can’t have a pony-tail. That’s Thorne’s role remember?” Eureka glances at me & I nearly forget that I am indeed supposed to be resembling Lara Croft, my own long brown hair already placed in a single braid down my back. Eureka falters in her movement, unsure of what to do.

I look her over, reassuring her, “It’s okay,” I stand from my personal vanity & cross to her, reaching for her hair, “Keep the extensions but leave your hair loose, we need variety.” Eureka smiles smally at me, briefly glancing at Emma in contempt, “Thanks.”

            Eureka fixes her hair then departs from the dressing room. “You didn’t have to be so rude,” I remind Emma, who rolls her eyes at me, “I’m serious. You remember what it’s like. She’s learning. We gotta look out for each other.”

            She continues to roll her eyes but grumbles, “I know. Just nervous for some reason.”

            I want to share that I am too, though for other reasons; instead I opt to giving her a gentle rub on the shoulder, “We’ve done this a hundred times. We got this. Dream team, remember?”

            We trade smiles, “Dream team.” She repeats before we blow kisses to each other in the mirror. In that moment Kenya appears at the door, Kavanaugh & Robins, two of the body guards, flanking her on each side, “Show time.”

            Emma, Eureka, & I follow Kenya & the boys upstairs to the private hallway. We can’t see into the rooms so we’re still unaware of how many men wait for us inside. But part of our routine is going into the cave to get an idea before making our appearance. Before we follow Kavanaugh & Robins into their post for the night, Kenya stops us, facing us with an expression that breeds worry, “Do well, ladies.”

            Emma & Eureka nod once before filing into the darkened room, leaving Kenya & I to trade knowing looks, “Remember what I said.”

            “I know.” She steps to the side, “You’ve nothing to worry about.”

            Kenya departs down the hallway. I step into the cave. Kavanaugh & Robins are already in their seats, leaning forward in surveillance. Emma & Eureka stare into the one-way glass with their arms crossed.

“I was expecting more.” Eureka notes.

“A lot more.” Emma adds.

Joining them at the glass, I peer to the other side, the men completely unaware of our existence. Unlike what I would have expected, a party of men, there were only three, all of whom looked rather young, younger than myself. They dressed casually but still reeked of the island snobbery that they came from. On the left was a tall, skinny blonde who sported sun-kissed skin, evident of his days on the beach; he wore a pristine white polo shirt lazily tucked into navy blue trousers that cut just above his ankles, his feet hidden inside light brown loafers. In the middle was an equally tall though more athletically built dark-skinned man who wore a sexy pout & a blue button down, paired with dark denim jeans & that covered the neck of some Chelsea boots. Finally, on the right, was another rather skinny, tall man with light brown hair that had stray hairs brushing against his forehead. He wore a grey hoodie underneath a denim jacket with black jeans & pure white sneakers.

The three men talked amongst themselves jovially, clearly in high spirits, something that gave me great relief. They already had a few bottles on the stage before them & were slightly red in the cheeks. Emma & Eureka appeared displeased by how little men there were which meant less money, but I reassured them, “They’re island brats, lots of dough.”

“You’re right, I s’pose.” Emma clicks her tongue, “Well, let’s get this show on the road.”

Just before she turned to lead the way to our entertainment, the man on the right in the hoodie gazed into the mirror from across the small room. He couldn’t see in, but it felt invasive. I felt seen. Then he smirked, a very knowing very cocky smirk, in response to something one of the other two said—then it hit me. Like falling from a bridge & making impact into cold solid water, I recognized him. That smirk, those knowing eyes…

“No fucking way.” A gasp leaves my mouth as I step forward, desperately trying to convince myself that he wasn’t who I thought he was.

“Thorne, what is it?” Emma’s voice sounds faded, muffled. My heart beat is thrumming inside my ears, my breathing shallow. I left the island many years ago to outrun that family, never wanting to share the same zip code again. Yet here one of them was, the most volatile one, too. Kenya’s warning from the previous night comes flooding back to me, He’s known to be trouble, always getting his way.

I swallowed though my mouth & throat were dry. Kenya didn’t know how right she was. Because if Rafe Cameron was anything like his father, tonight would only just be the beginning of the club’s problems.

Here is the first chapter to a new Rafe Cameron fanfiction (which I always like to fukkfiction). Scheduled posts are up in the air right now due to a busy life but I will post as often as I can.

This story will contain original characters created by me, including even an additional Cameron, Rafe's older sister (not owned by OBX).

Please, share your thoughts with me, I look forward to hearing from ya'll. Thank you, thank you(:

Beau<3

(P.S. I know my grammar can be atrocious at points, it's not my strongest writing suit but until I can sit down & properly edit, please enjoy the story so far).

CHAPTER TWO

#dark!rafe cameron #dark!fanfiction #outer banks fanfiction #rafe cameron x original female character #rafe cameron fanfiction #canon divergent au #rafe cameron

[crimson-lilith]

———midnight nocturne

ritsu x f!reader

「The words slipped out without any effort on his part, spilling from his mouth like nectar. A sob escapes him, muffled by the fabric of her dress and by her own body, and she wraps her arms tightly around his shoulders, pulling him closer than she ever had before.」

Read here or on AO3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Epilogue

「now playing : ghost of you - 5 seconds of summer」

The rain is heavy, and the wind whips around the corner in a howling fury. It is raining harder than ever outside on this lonely corner of the kingdom, but as Ritsu watches the dark storm clouds gather outside, he cannot help but find comfort in its presence, despite all that it represents.

He can see the castle in his mind’s eye, looming tall with its white turrets and golden spires rising into the sky like some kind of mythical beast. He has spent hours in the gardens there every day, staring up at the towering walls and admiring the view from above. It was his home in every sense of the word—the place where he was born, where he grew up, and where he found his place in this ever-changing world. It was a place full of stories and memories, both good and bad, joyful and painful, light and dark. It had been broken before, stained with the blood and tears of the ones he held dearest to his heart, flooded with broken hearts and broken promises that could never be salvaged. It had been torn apart, ripped to shreds, abandoned. But it would never be forgotten.

Today, Ritsu will make it a home again.

The horse lets out a low grunt as it skids to a stop right in front of the gates. It looks up at him curiously, one ear flicking back. Ritsu smiles down at it fondly before he dismounts, reaching over to pat the animal's flank as soon as his feet touch the ground. "Thank you for bringing me here, Valentine."

He grips the lead rope as securely as he could before advancing towards the courtyard—once teeming with brightness and color and life, now barren and desolate. There are no flowers left to bloom or birds to sing, and yet the place still reeks of nostalgia that it almost makes him want to weep. His steps are slow and measured and all of a sudden he feels strangely distant from everything he had just considered familiar.

He approaches the entrance to the castle itself just as a guard is coming around the corner. The man looks surprised to see him there so early, but quickly recovers when he catches sight of Ritsu’s face. “Sir Sakuma! We didn't expect you back until after a few more weeks. Are you sure you should be up so soon?"

Ritsu offers a small smile. "I'm alright, there's really nothing particularly wrong with me. The rain actually already delayed my arrival for quite a bit. Is Her Majesty about?"

"She's in her study, Sir. I'm sure she would be most delighted with your presence."

"I hope so."

The guard offers to take Valentine to the stables, to which Ritsu immediately obliges, continuing on into the castle. He lets out a deep sigh as he scans the surroundings. Despite knowing the way around by heart, his eyes continue roving the area, desperate for something to distract him from how empty and cold everything looks. After a moment, though, he shakes his head and begins walking towards the study.

The hallways across the palace were wide open and inviting, allowing the cool breeze from the cracks of the windows blow across his damp armor. With each step forward, the feeling in his chest grows more pronounced, hammering across his chest like an artisan with a new sword. He feels oddly anxious, like he is walking through an old friend's living room or even someone else's bedroom. It makes it hard to breathe.

He reaches the study after what seemed like an eternity, and it felt as if he wasted another one contemplating his own feelings as he pushed open the door.

It was exactly as he expected it to look like. There was fire crackling by the fireplace, the smell of smoke overpowered by the gentle aroma of lavender and rose. The rain was gently tapping on the glass windows, and, despite the obvious cracks on the walls and the ceiling, there was still that familiar air of safety and peace that permeated the room.

His gaze finally fixates on the person he had been looking for, who had been standing rather motionlessly behind her desk with her hands folded neatly in front of her as she stared out the window. She doesn't turn around.

He walks slowly towards her, careful not to startle her, and stops only a few feet away. "Your Majesty," he whispers reverently, dropping to one knee and bowing deeply to her.

"You're finally back." Her voice sounds soft and fragile, unlike the tone he had last heard from her, and he thinks of how much she must have missed him when he had gone off to war.

The war.

For a long time he had tried desperately to avoid thinking about that. To try and pretend that it hadn't happened; try and pretend that none of the things that transpired ever really did.

But he had failed miserably. His mind had been plagued by dreams, nightmares, and waking visions from the past month. The memory of his friends—family—being engulfed by the enemies' fire and their very own blood remains an image that will forever be engraved in the back of his mind. And the scars that decorated his skin right underneath the armor he finally once again dons is a further reminder of the painful experience that no amount of medicine nor even magic could fully erase.

He lifts his gaze off the ground, and when he finally stands back up, his eyes meet hers once more. There was sadness in them; pain, sorrow, regret, and… love.

They stare at each other for several moments before she closes her eyes and bows, just like him. Just like they used to do.

"Welcome back, my Knight."

Ritsu couldn't help but let out a breathy laugh. "My Queen, I've come home." He moves to kiss her knuckles right as she opens her eyes, and then she turns towards the desk and leans against it, watching him carefully. He stands firm right on the other side, a small smile dancing on his thin lips. "It feels strange for you to still think of me as your knight."

Her eyes flick up at him. "Why wouldn't I? You have always been by my side since we were learning how to walk."

He sighs, letting his shoulders drop considerably. Even his gaze travels down from her eyes to the chipping polish of the Queen's wooden desk. "After everything that had happened," he mutters quietly. "how am I still worthy of such an honorable title?" He looks back at her, forcing himself not to drown in her eyes. "I failed you, Your Majesty. I wasn't able to protect you during the one time that you needed me the most. I wasn't there when the enemies made their move. You even almost died—"

"Almost, Ritsu." There is a hint of a smile in her eyes, but Ritsu could barely read the expression on her face. "I did almost die, but you came." She stands up from behind her desk and makes her way to the Knight. "You were there, Ritsu. You saved me." She reaches up to place a hand on his cheek. "Don't you dare say you failed me. You never did, and you never will. I won't just stand by and watch you blame yourself for something that was beyond both of our control."

Her thumb softly caresses his cheek, and Ritsu feels a thousand different emotions burst through every crack and corner of his soul; he couldn't help but close his eyes and lean into her touch, savoring every bit of warmth radiating through her fingertips. Such a familiar feeling—one that he could never be able to trade for anything, the overwhelming tenderness flowing in waves and surging all across his veins like an ocean in a storm. It fills him with a likewise overwhelming amount of joy.

"I love you, Ritsu. I always have."

Her voice is gentle and soothing, and Ritsu can feel his eyes beginning to well up as his vision swims and tears begin to trickle down his cheeks. This time it's his turn to wrap his arms around her waist, holding onto her tightly as he buries his face into her shoulder. "I love you more, My Queen."

The words slipped out without any effort on his part, spilling from his mouth like nectar. A sob escapes him, muffled by the fabric of her dress and by her own body, and she wraps her arms tightly around his shoulders, pulling him closer than she ever had before.

They stay like that for a while, and Ritsu finally lets himself drown in the comfort of being close to the woman he had sworn to protect for the rest of his life. The only difference now is the fact that this time, he knows he's not leaving, because they have found a future together—one full of promises and hopes and happiness, in a place that they will always be able to call home.

< Previous Part

#enstars ritsu #ensemble stars ritsu #enstars #ensemble stars #ritsu sakuma

[loonymarshian]

Oath

Day 13 of #BG3FicFeb - "NPC shows up at camp unexpectedly" Alfira shows up at camp asking to join the cause, but Bhaal has other plans for her...

I'm introducing ya'll to my Durge today! Nightshade is a wood elf oath of vengeance paladin who is trying really really hard to resist her dark urges. She is also romancing Astarion, so unfortunately there will be no Tragedy and Nightshade crossovers.

890 words, named Durge, Alfira, tw: lots of blood and graphic descriptions of injuries, death, panic attacks, nightmares.

“Alfira?”

Dread settled itself in Nightshade’s gut. Alfira was a welcome surprise, the colourful tiefling bard a ray of sunshine compared to many of the wood elf’s travelling companions. But there was something about this visit that unnerved her, and she didn’t know why.

“Nightshade! I’m glad I caught you, I wasn’t sure how long you’d stick around. I was hoping…” The bard trailed off, nervous, or trying to find the right words perhaps. “I was hoping you’d let me join you.”

Nightshade’s eyebrows shot up, her dark red eyes wide in shock. Join me? The wood elf ran her fingers through her dark hair to hide the slight tremor that was beginning to develop in them. She ought to be delighted that Alfira wanted to join her merry band, so why did she feel so anxious?

“Join me? Why? What I do is dangerous, Alfira, you could get hurt.” Nightshade didn’t think she would be able to dissuade Alfira so easily, but she had to try.

“I know. But you inspired me. I want to help, to fight, to protect my people. To avenge Lihala. I’m good for more than just a pretty song you know, I can handle it.” Alfira’s fiery orange eyes shone with determination, and Nightshade’s own resolve crumbled. Alfira deserved a chance to at least cut down a few gnolls, for her mentor’s sake. The pursuit of vengeance was the one thing Nightshade couldn’t deny to another.

“Alright then, welcome to the team, Alfira. Find yourself a spot and get settled.”

The rest of the evening passed by in merriment. Alfira was a wonderfully skilled bard, and for the first time since they’d all fallen off the nautiloid, Nightshade and her companions spent the evening all around the fire together, talking and laughing and listening to Alfira play. The tiefling would make a good addition to the team, especially if she was capable of keeping them all in good spirits like this. Morale was just as important as combat skills after all. For the first time she could remember, Nightshade went to bed happy that night.

It did not last.

Nightshade’s dreams were a kaleidoscope of murder. Sprays of blood, flashes of sharp silver, the occasional glimpse of brightly coloured fabrics. There were no clear images, just blood, blood… blood. Nightshade’s eyes snapped open, her skin damp with cold sweat, her heart fluttering in her chest, and… a maniacal grin on her face? She shook the expression off, and realised she was standing. Standing? Why am I-

Blood. Nightshade glanced down and noticed a mangled corpse on the ground in front of her, the body ripped to shreds, barely recognisable. It was Alfira. The tiefling’s blood had been spread around the corpse in an image resembling a spell circle or a ritual symbol. Countless stab wounds decorated Alfira’s lifeless body, her colourful bard garb stained red. Her clothing looked like it had been torn before the stabbing started, strands of her hair had been ripped out and littered the ground around her head, and one of her horns had a large chunk carved out of it. Her face had been slashed to pieces, her eyes, still open, just bloody pools where such lively black and orange had been just a few hours earlier. Her mouth had been sliced from the corners, giving her a terrifying wide smile, her back teeth on full display. Runes and symbols similar to the large circle on the ground were carved sloppily into her forehead and cheeks. If it weren’t for the horns and the colourful clothing, the corpse would have been entirely unidentifiable.

Nightshade’s heart beat faster and her breathing became laboured. She slowly looked down at her hands, dreading what she would find there. As she expected, her hands were completely drenched in the tiefling’s blood. Her lightly tanned skin, patched with pale vitiligo, faded away into nothing but red below the wrists. I did this. The wood elf panicked. Her limbs shook and tingled with numbness. Her chest was tight and she couldn’t breathe. She collapsed, landing on her bedroll and curling herself into a ball. I did this, I did this, I murdered Alfira, oh gods what will I tell the others, will they attack me, I probably deserve it, I’m a monster I’m a monster I’m a monster. Her hands were in her hair, threatening to rip it out, blood tinting the short strands even redder than they already were. 

There was nothing Nightshade could do but wait for the sun to rise, blood on her hands, trying not to hyperventilate and failing miserably. At some point she realised her face was wet with tears, but she didn’t know when she’d started crying. All she knew was that she was a murderer, that the dark thoughts she’d been having since she woke up on the nautiloid had somehow taken over. 

As the sun rose, and she finally got her breathing under control, the paladin steeled herself with determination, and swore her oath. It was an oath she had no memory of swearing, but she knew in her heart that she had sworn it before. She would find whoever or whatever had made her like this. She would find them, and she would destroy them. She would be a slave to these dark urges no longer.

#bg3 fanfiction #bg3ficfeb #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 dark urge #bg3 durge #I hated this scene in the game #I knew it was coming but I was still so upset #Alfira is my favourite #why did it have to be her #I hope you guys like Nightshade

[infinitesuckuyome]

Puppyboy Tobi

18+ content, Minors do NOT interact:

ᴥ Tobi is such a cute and loyal puppy, always so hyper & affectionate

ᴥ He’s constantly on you and hates to be apart for too long- it’s really hard on him when you have separate mission assignments since he can hardly think of anything other than getting back to you as quickly as possible 

ᴥ Needs to hear your pretty soothing words, craves your delicious scent- the memory alone has him drooling & whining into his pillow 

ᴥ Loves to wrap himself around you to lave heavy stripes up your neck, nose pressed to your pulse point 

ᴥ Can’t hold back happy moans when you run your fingers through his hair while he lays in your lap or nuzzles against your chest, it makes him feel so safe & cared for

ᴥ Praise isn’t something that Tobi will specifically ask for but it’s something he deeply craves, he’s never had much positive reinforcement so it just blows his mind when you tell him how well he’s doing or when you call him your good boy

ᴥ  He’ll blush so pretty & doesn’t know what to do with himself because on one hand your words are bringing him so much comfort that he wasn’t aware he desperately desired- and on the other hand all your praise/encouragement is getting him so worked up that he’s starting to feel a little feral 

ᴥ Body Worship King [both giving & receiving, he needs both] It’s important for him to feel that you like his appearance and genuinely find him attractive- becomes putty in your hands when you tell him how cute / adorable / sexy he is 

ᴥTobi is insecure about a lot, so your words of affirmation mean the world to him, especially if/when he decides to take his mask off infront of you for the first time

ᴥHe needs reassurance that you’ll accept his scars / past and won’t change your mind about wanting to be with him- he’ll be beyond happy since all he’s ever wanted is to be loved & accepted 

ᴥ When you first started to be intimate, Tobi was so nervous and embarrassed to tell you that he was virtually inexperienced- he was very grateful with how sweet & patient you were with him while he fumbled and figured out how to make you feel good too 

ᴥ He’s so lovestruck especially when he draws out those beautiful noises you make when he’s buried between your thighs or when he’s rutting into you

ᴥ Total Service Top, he gets off on getting you off- has cum from eating you out on more than one occasion 

Warnings: Language, NSFW, Petplay, Praise Kink, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Unprotected Sex

It had been a little more than three weeks since you had been sent out on a solo mission and Tobi was losing his mind. He kept telling himself to be patient & that you’d be home before he knew it, but at this point, he wasn’t thinking rationally anymore. With each passing day, the hours seemed to go by slower than the one before, while his need for you grew by the second. This was the longest you’d been apart since the two of you had gotten together- the separation anxiety was suffocating, he misses you so much and fuck did he need your touch.

He flopped down onto the bed, groaning into a pillow when memories of your lovely face and beautiful body came flooding into his mind. Tobi tried to think about anything else but found that despite his best efforts, every train of thought just brought him back to you. He felt painfully hard & with a pitiful whine, he glanced down at the large damp spot that had formed over the straining erection in his pants. 

“Y/N-Chan will be home soon” he muttered to himself, gnawing at his lower lip. Though he knew those words were true, they did nothing to curb his need, especially since every passing thought of you had his ball clenching.

Giving into his base needs, he walked over to your dresser to fish out a pretty pair of your lace panties. He gripped the fabric tightly, letting out a shaky breath as he recalled the numerous times he’d taken them off of you and how delicious it looked when they were sticky & soaked with your arousal.

With a deeply flushed face, he went back to sit himself on the bed- hastily pulling down the waistband of his pants as he wrapped the fabric over his leaking head. Tobi hissed when he felt the delicate fabric rub against his skin but it just wasn’t the same- not nearly as soft as he’d hoped and nowhere near as warm. He winced, every sensation suddenly feeling too rough & it made him miss you that much more. In a desperate attempt to relieve the ache between his legs, Tobi closed his eyes and grit his teeth as he pumped himself furiously. 

                                                    * * * * * *

After an absurdly long walk, you’d finally made it back to the Akatsuki hideout, breathing a sigh of relief when you were inside the main entrance. It seemed unusually quiet, you figured that most of the other members were off on missions of their own, but you were surprised Tobi hadn’t greeted you at the door like he normally did. You pouted, but shrugged it off, thinking he may have taken on an extra mission or was simply busy antagonizing one of the other members- either way you were just glad to finally be able to relax and unwind. After hanging up your cloak, you made your way to your room, eager to spend some time in your own bed.

A quiet gasp left your lips when you opened the door to your bedroom, eyebrows shooting up at the sight before you. Tobi’s eyes were squeezed shut while he roughly fucked his fist against your favorite pair of panties- grunts and whines of your name tumbling out of his mouth. You bit your lip at how adorable yet how lewd he looked, vigorously rutting into the now tattered fabric, With a slight shake of your head, you called out to him “Tobi, I’m home!”

“Y-Y/N-Chan!” Tobi yelped, covering himself with a nearby pillow. His eyes were wide, eyebrows furrowed - he was torn between wanting to run to you and trying to hide the evidence of what he’d just been doing. He had the decency to be embarrassed by how needy he was, hanging his head as a deep blush crept its way up his neck. 

Your expression softened, knowing you shouldn’t be too hard on him- you knew how he got when you were away for too long. “Why are you hiding, puppy? Did you do something bad?” you asked, quirking an eyebrow as you made your way over to him. 

Tobi whined, not wanting to look you in the eye. He clutched the pillow to himself tightly as a wave of embarrassment and shame washed over him. 

“Give me the pillow, puppy” You sighed, feeling his grip loosen. You gently took the pillow from him, pursing your lips as you removed the shredded lace from his reddened cockhead. “I really liked those...” you tutted, flinging the material towards the waste bin. 

Tobi glanced at you hesitantly, searching your features for any sign of disappointment or anger- when he found none, he finally lifted his head to meet your gaze. “Sorry” he mumbled, shifting slightly to adjust his insistent erection.

“Awe, it’s okay, you’re still my good boy” you cooed, affectionately carding your fingers through his hair. “Such a big boy too!” you giggled, eyeing the heavy way his dick twitched between his legs. 

Tobi perked up at your words, relieved you weren’t upset with him. “Tobi missed Y/N-Chan so much!” he said nearly bouncing in his seat. 

Any fatigue you’d felt from your trip melted away when you saw the twinkle in his dark, eager eyes. “I missed you too” you husked, sinking down to your knees. “What a pretty cock, can I play with it?” 

He nodded frantically, digging his nails into the bedsheets. “Yes, yes! Tobi wants to play!” His heart thumped loudly in his chest, excitement and lust nearly making him tremble when he felt your warm breath just inches away. 

“Mhm” you mused, taking his shaft in hand, licking a long slow stripe from the base to his head. You looked up at Tobi as you swirled your tongue around his reddened tip. 

He let out a choked out groan, nearly falling backwards at the inviting warmth of your mouth, barely catching himself on his elbows- propping up just in time to see your head begin to bob. His eyes rolled back at the way you worked his dick, moaning loudly when you hallowed your cheeks. 

Your fingers grabbed at his thighs, eyes fluttering closed as you set a rhythmic pace- taking in as much of his length as you could. 

Tobi panted as he watched you, feeling delirious with pleasure that was steadily bubbling up within him. “S-soo good!” he keened, instinctively bucking his hips.

You hummed in response, happy to see your puppy getting the attention he needed. You sank down on him until your nose grazed the soft hair at the base of his cock, feeling the stretch of your lips accompanied by the slapping of his fat balls against your chin. 

Taking one hand off his thigh, you moved it to cradle and massage his neglected balls, noting how heavy they felt in your palm. “Ngh- Y/N-Chan!” he howled, tossing his head back. “Cu-cumming now!”

Tobi came almost violently- weeks of being pent up all channeled into the thick, hot ropes currently swelling your mouth. You’re mildly shocked by just how much there was, swallowing around him as best you could, yet still unable to stop the steady stream that was seeping past your lips. You coughed a few times after finally pulling off his softening cock, strings of saliva still connecting you to him.

“Tobi’s Turn!” he panted, grabbing at your forearms to haul you onto the bed. 

“Ah!” you squealed, suddenly laying on your back with Tobi hovering over you.

“Y/N-Chan is home, never letting you go!” he whined, kissing and lapping at anything he could get his mouth on. “Gone for too long..” he pouted, pushing your shirt up to bury his face between your warm breasts. 

“I’m sorry puppy, I'll talk to Pain so it doesn’t happen again.” you assured him.

He tensed up, growling at the mention of another male’s name, “No Pain, only Tobi!” 

You smiled, almost forgetting how territorial your puppy was. “Only Tobi.” you cooed, cupping his cheek.

He nodded in approval, nuzzling your palm as he tugged down your bottoms. He settled between your thighs, drooling at the sight of your drenched panties. Pressing his nose up against the growing wet spot, he flicked his tongue over it as he breathed in your scent. “Off!” he grunted, not wanting to destroy another pair of your underwear. 

You lifted your hips, allowing him to drag them down your legs- casting them aside, along with your discarded shorts. He ran his tongue through your folds, moaning at your taste, feeling the blood rush straight to his crotch. He pulled back for a second, wanting to spread you open with his fingers. “Pretty!” he cried, eagerly diving in to lave over your clit.

He dug his tongue into your bundle of nerves, kneading at the plush skin of your thighs as he dragged your hips up and off the bed- nudging his chin forward to drive his tongue in as deep as it would go. Tobi savored every minute of it, shutting his eyes to immerse himself in your heat, nuzzling his nose against your swollen clit. He continued his relentless lapping, holding you flush against him- brain so focused yet hazy at the same time. 

You tugged at his hair, feeling so dazed, you weren’t sure you could form words, settling instead for writhing & sloppily rocking your hips. 

Tobi’s eyes snapped open, cock jolting at the way you were responding. Pride bloomed in his chest when he felt your legs begin to shake, high-pitched moans of his name freely falling past your lips. “Cum for Tobi!” he groaned, doubling down- watching every twist and writhe, taking in every sweet cry you gave him. 

“Puppy!” you wailed, thrashing against him as wave after wave of pleasure tore through you. 

Tobi humped the mattress, slurping lewdly while you shook and cried in his grasp. You tried to push him off but he wouldn’t budge- opting to suckle at your pussy lips before sealing his mouth over your poor swollen clit. Your taste was driving him insane, he didn’t stop even when you sobbed and whimpered out a “too much!”. He just kept sucking and rolling his heavy tongue over you, reveling in the way your body twitched and spasmed. 

“Not enough, need more!” Tobi grunted, taking one of your ankles in each hand to spread your legs apart. He thrust his leaky cock against your little bud, rocking back and forth to feel the pulse of it against his slit. He growled, the slickness of you making him feel near feral with need- he quickly lined himself up with your entrance, slamming into you until you cried out.

Tobi’s head spun as he sank into your tight heat, keening at the way your were sucking him in. His cock throbbed with arousal, loving the loud squelching of your pussy, knowing he was the one who’d made such a mess of you. 

You whined, lower lip trembling as you teetered on the edge of consciousness. Tobi’s crazed thrusting sending shockwaves through your overstimulated body. “P-please” you stuttered, struggling to keep your eyes open as your puppy continued to plunge into your gummy walls. 

Everything felt so messy and hot, Tobi’s head tipped back when he felt you cream around his length. His sanity slipping a little more with every tremor and gush of your sweet pussy, making something snap inside of him. He frantically pumped into you, the harsh snap of his hips making you gasp and seize. “Hold on- hng- so close!” he said through clenched teeth. He dropped your legs, pushing your knees up to your chest, curving his form over yours- driven by pure hunger and the instinct to fill you up with his cum & breed your pretty cunt. 

Your vision was blurring in and out, hips aimlessly rutting against him- feeling like a ragdoll in his grasp. Animalistic thrusts causing your body to jolt against the bed springs. “Good boy- ah- such a good boy!” you babbled. 

“Tobi is a good boy- Y/N-Chan’s good boy!” he pants, reaching between you to rub circles on your clit- determined to tip you over the edge one more time before reaching his own breaking point. With every thrust, a yell is dragged from you- body shaking uncontrollably as your vision goes white. 

“Fuck! Fuuuuck!” Tobi growls, feeling your pussy flutter and convulse around him- his lower half completely drenched with the fluids you had just sprayed all over him. He drives in and out of you with reckless abandon, swearing he’s beginning to see stars. He bites down on your shoulder, grumbling fucked out moans against your skin as thick spurts of his seed paint your insides white. 

You shiver when he finally pulls out, clutching at him weakly when he uses his fingers to push his cum back into your cunt. “’S full”. you whimpered, completely limp and exhausted. 

“Shh” Tobi cooed, kissing your sweaty forehead. “Sleep now, Y/N-Chan.” 

#naruto #akatsuki #tobi #tobi uchiha #obito #obito uchiha #tobi x y/n #tobi x reader #obito x y/n #obito x reader #tobi smut #obito smut

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

bite me | kth

pairing(s): taehyung x reader

summary: Your ex-boyfriend is trash, so what do you decide to do? That's right, trash the painting he spent countless hours on. A dark-haired stranger walks in on your, um, rampage. Oops.

warnings: language; violent destruction of art, painting supplies, and your own shirt; stranger, artist!Taehyung x (maybe has anger management issues), recently single!reader

--

now playing – bite me by avril lavigne

i bet you taste me on the tip of your tongue i fell fast when i know i should have run

You tilted your head.

Your eyes roamed over the canvas. The delicate brushstrokes, the etched lines, the intricate details of the rural landscape brought to life in elegant artistry. Stunning warm colors with subtle contrasting cool tones at key points to bring out the beauty of nature at golden hour. Every color had been carefully considered and placed onto the canvas. Meticulously planned.

It must have been mulled over for a long time.

You raised your hand.

Flicked your wrist and wicked silver shot out.

“Bite me, dickhead.”

Your arm shot forward and you punched the blade into the canvas, slicing downward, feeling a chaotic grin and rush of adrenaline burn through your veins as you slashed apart the canvas your ex-boyfriend had so diligently painted. Satisfaction in revenge, listening to the sound of thick fabric ripping, torn apart so easily by sharpened metal, your fingers clutching the black body. You had stolen the switchblade, not because you couldn’t pay for it, but because there was something about stealing it that seemed right. Besides, you didn’t feel that guilty when you were busy feeling like shit.

Alright, so you weren’t a saint.

You would have to take it up with the Devil at a later time to explain yourself.

“How nice was fucking that bitch behind my back, huh?” you snarled in the empty art studio, pacing, cutting it all up into shreds, chest tight, no longer caring about right or wrong. Too much anger, too much rage, too much pain. “How many weeks was it? Months? Is that why you were always here, insisting you needed a clear head to paint so you could enter those art contests?”

You kicked the wood frame, splintering it, tearing off chunks of sliced canvas, throwing them everywhere in a ferocious wrath.

“You fuck her on this floor, you lowlife piece of shit?”

You impaled a fallen piece of canvas and dragged down the blade forcefully, yelling at no one, gutting it all the way to the end. Flipped the blade back into the slot and clamped it into your palm, gripping the two flaps you had cut.

“Was it worth it?”

You hissed to the collapsed frame and what was left of the canvas clinging limply onto the cracked wood.

There was no one to answer.

“Was it fucking worth it, asshole?!”

You ripped the piece of canvas into two pieces with raw strength, the fibers screaming as they tore apart, loud and visceral and vibrating the thin wood walls of the art studio.

“You should have known better than to fuck with someone like me.”

Spitting your words like venom, breathing hard, refusing to cry.

“Should have had the guts to just say goodbye,” you muttered, kicking aside a piece of wood. It slid across the concrete floor and hit the cart beside the mutilated canvas. The metal cart was stocked with various painting supplies.

You stared at them.

Then you started destroying those too.

It was a lot. Sure, it was. You knew it was. You didn’t have to do it. You could have just been the bigger person and walked away. He lied, you got played. That should have been it, if you were mature adults.

But guess what.

Being a mature was overrated and you were pissed.

All that time? Planning birthdays and selecting gifts? Supporting his art degree and his dreams of being a great artist? Getting a well-paying job, paying the bills, making sure he had a bed to sleep in and kisses on his forehead? Cutting out paper hearts and writing love notes on them to stick into his wallet and surprise him – but they turned out to be just that, fucking paper, that was all it was to him, paper, mashed-up dried wood pulp with ink on it, not even bothering to recycle it, throwing it all away for someone else, someone he probably didn’t even give a shit about because he didn’t give a shit about you, so why would he give a shit about anyone else?

You overturned the cart with a feral growl and the contents spilled out, paintbrushes and paint, water cups and palettes. Ceramic shards, tumbling tubes of used paint, dirty brushes flying about, glass mason jars cracking and breaking, so fragile. Something slipped out from the wreckage.

A paper heart fluttered to the floor.

You recognized your own handwriting.

Can’t wait to be your wifey.

“You dumb bitch,” you snarled at your past self.

You squatted down and punctured a tube of paint, smashing it into the paper heart over and over, splattering it with brick red, over and over, pulverizing it into your pure, innocent handwriting until it disappeared, caked and soaked with paint, over and over, getting streaks of red onto your short blue plaid skirt and black leather jacket. You stopped suddenly, breathing hard.

This band shirt.

He bought you this shirt at that concert you both attended two years ago.

You roared, throwing off your jacket and ripping the t-shirt over your head, suddenly cold, fucking freezing, but the rage kept you scorching hot, throwing your shirt down and slicing into the band logo, dragging the paint-stained blade down, smearing it with red and cutting it up, snarling like an injured animal.

“What are you doing?”

A startled, deep voice cut through your frenzied anger.

You whipped your head up.

A man was standing at the entrance of the art studio. Tan skin, wide brown eyes, long-ish brown hair and a voice like smooth honey, even in the pure shock of seeing you on your knees hacking up your shirt in your black bra, pleated blue skirt, thigh-high laced black boots, and leather jacket thrown to the floor, surrounded by a destroyed canvas and mauled painting supplies.

Oh.

Shit.

The adrenaline was dying out, but you were too angry to be embarrassed.

“Er… the art process?” you got out meekly, shifting your eyes.

The man blinked slowly.

Then he said the name of your ex-boyfriend. Annoyingly, it made you want to die inside. This sting of pain was too much for someone so worthless. Hmph. Well, it was just confirmation that you hated his guts and didn’t regret making this whole mess. You were sure you were the best damn thing he had ever had and would be for the rest of his life.

“Doesn’t he rent this studio?” the newcomer was saying, stepping inside with his big brown coat and white turtleneck. “I rent the one next door…”

“He does,” you huffed, picking up your jacket. You slung it back on, closing the blade and tucking it in the inside pocket. “I’m his ex-girlfriend.”

The man blinked at you, lips pursing, looking like he didn't believe you. He had a very handsome face. It didn’t seem real, almost as if it was CGI. It was somewhat unsettling looking at him, because he seemed like moving art himself.

“You’re not the girl he brings here.”

Ow.

You winced, flicking your head. “Hence why I’m the ex.”

His eyes widened.

“Oh.”

Yeah, dude.

Oh.

“We broke up yesterday when my friend caught him at a bar humping some girl out in the open when he said he was here working on his painting. Turns out they had been secretly seeing each other for a long while, probably months.”

“Shit,” he breathed. “Sorry you went through that.”

You waved a hand, shrugging nonchalantly. “Well, we didn’t really break up, it was more him yelling as I locked him out of the apartment and threw his things off the balcony, so we didn’t really say the words, per se, but I got my point across.”

He called you crazy.

A relative term.

And you weren’t a sad, weepy kind of bitch. You were a ‘chuck-the-PS5-off-the-balcony’ kind of bitch.

You looked up. The man was standing inside the studio, door closed behind him, but he didn’t move any closer to you.

“Oh… so… why did you, um…?”

He pointed to the mangled painting.

You coughed. “Because he spent hundreds of hours on it.” Stared into those dark brown orbs watching you, taking in your words. “Because he used it as an excuse to avoid me.” Felt the pain of the fresh scar as you said it out loud, reigniting your rage. “Because maybe he didn’t give a shit about the stupid-ass painting at all and was too busy being a coward, thinking he could use me, thinking he could be a bad boy or some dumb shit like that, but he bit off more than he could chew, pretending to act all innocent, saying we could work it out, ugh, idiot, and now we’ll be together never.”

You kicked your shredded shirt and it smashed into the remains of the painting, causing it to clatter and fall over, slamming onto the floor with finality.

Breathing hard, feeling like you had run for hours.

It really hurt so much, but this carnage helped. Slightly.

You stood up, turning your head to the man witnessing your outburst. “Er, so, um…” You waved your hand, prodding for his name.

He seemed to come back to life, jumping slightly. “Oh, uh, Kim Taehyung.”

“Right, so, Kim Taehyung, can you, possibly… maybe… not tell my ex-boyfriend it was me?”

He blinked slowly, scratching his head. Then he pouted, somewhat childishly, dark eyebrows furrowed.

“Who, me? I went straight home. I didn’t hear anything,” Taehyung tutted.

You grinned.

“Thanks.”

You began to walk away from the mess, but Taehyung held his large hand out, stopping you. He waved it to the side, to your shirt. “But you shouldn’t leave that. That’s evidence.”

You almost protested, wanting to leave it as some sort of message, but Taehyung smiled ruefully and, shit, was it your broken heart or was he fucking gorgeous and jaw-droppingly handsome? Maybe you really were crazy and it had nothing to do with the boy.

“It smells like you, right? He doesn’t deserve to keep that.”

You felt your cheeks burn. Quickly, you scrambled over to pick it up, collecting the maimed band shirt with some disdain, balling it up, backing away from the ruined canvas.

“Well, I don’t want it, I hate this memory,” you muttered, glaring at it.

“There’s a public dump nearby. You could toss it over the fence.”

You froze, realizing you were now right in front of Kim Taehyung, staring into his broad chest. You snapped your head up, taking a step back, startled that he smelled so nice, like a warm forest.

Taehyung blinked, glancing down.

Then he turned bright red, jerking his head away quickly from your bra-covered tits.

“S-Sorry, u-um…”

You yanked your jacket closed, clearing your throat roughly. “No, no, sorry, it’s my bad, er, I should have thought ahead, whoops…”

But there was something cute about it, how flustered he was.

“You know, the guy that rents this studio is kind of a dick,” Taehyung gulped as you zipped up your jacket. “I don’t really like him.”

You laughed. “Yeah? Sure fooled me. Everyone thinks he’s so nice.”

“Actually, I never talked to him. Sometimes my friends come over to watch me paint and he would give us dirty looks, especially to Jungkook, and I never really got why, but then again…” Taehyung frowned, pensive. “The girl that was with him were always looking at me and my friends.”

You snorted. “Fat lot of nerve, being a jealous twat.”

He opened the door and you both walked out into the late, bitingly cold night. There was no one around, but the sidewalk was flooded with streetlights for safety purposes. You didn’t feel as if you were in danger though. If anything, Taehyung should have called the police on you, but he didn’t. That was nice of him. He was easy to talk to, too. Or maybe it was his deep, attractive voice that was helping you calm down. Hold on. You didn’t just think that. Right. Yeah.

“I can take you to the dump.”

Taehyung suddenly pulled a face.

“I don’t normally take pretty girls to the dump, er, don’t misunderstand, I just want to help y-you…”

You felt your cheeks heat violently. “P… Pretty?”

Now Taehyung was red again. “Um… yes?”

Both of you seemed to forget your rampant, rage-fueled, psychotic breakdown moments ago.

“There’s a cool retro bar nearby, if you want a drink. The bartender is real nice too, he’ll make sure you get a taxi home and stuff,” Taehyung coughed, ticking his head to the left. “Maybe you want one after all that… and I could leave after I show you, I don’t need to intrude any longer…”

You clutched your soon-to-be-thrown-away shirt, crushing the memory.

“Listen, Taehyung, I know I looked a bit crazy back there…”

“A tiny bit,” Taehyung jabbed playfully with a chuckle.

You grimaced, rubbing the back of your head with your other hand. “A teeny tiny bit, yeah, but I promise I’m not like that unless I’m lied to and made a fool.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

You blinked at him.

Taehyung cleared his throat quickly. “In general. To anyone, because that’s fucked up.”

You cleared your throat too. Strange that there were so many frogs in both you and Taehyung’s throats.

“Y-Yeah, it is. It is. Super fucked up.”

You looked up at him, sheepish smile.

“So, uh… wanna take me to the dump and then to the cool retro bar? Seems like the natural progression of meeting someone for the first time.”

Taehyung laughed, rich and full.

You hoped to hear it again and again.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

--

drabbles masterpost | masterpost

#taehyung x reader #bts drabble #taehyung x you #taehyung drabble #kim taehyung x reader #kim taehyung x you

[cherrybarba]

Dandelions - R.B.

Pairing: Rafael Barba x Reader

Rating: PG13

Warnings: BRIEF SMALL TINY MENTION OF SUICIDE (not main character) mutual but oblivious pining, crushing, FLUFF

A/N: all !!! the !!! feels !!!

Based on the song Dandelions by Ruth B

"Maybe it's the way you say my name.

Maybe it's the way you play your game.

But it's so good, I've never known anyone like you ."

The whole squad knew you and Rafael liked each other, that much was for sure. It was obvious, with the flirty banter constantly echoing between the two of you. In fact, they were sure that everyone knew, except the two of you. The looks the two of you managed to sneak at one another when the other's back was turned made the squad's hearts swell. The problem was, the two of you were convinced that the other was just being overly nice. How could you not? A new detective and the star ADA? It was asking for trouble and paperwork that you were sure that neither of you wanted.

That didn't change Rafael's slight obsession with you from growing with every waking moment. You had a heart of gold, and your genuine kindness was one of the things that made you an asset to the team. You had a way with victims, your pure sunshine convincing even the most stubborn of them to confront their abuser in court. He admired how much courage you gave these women to share their story.

You of course were no better, with your favoritism for the man. You brought him coffee when he stayed late, even dinner if you had enough time to grab it. His assistant, Carmen, had picked up on this and eventually she figured out that the two of you liked each other. She made a point to grab your number and to text you if the man was having a particularly harsh day, in which you would swing by with coffee for the rescue. The squad had taken bets one day, trying to figure out when and which one of you would finally crack and admit it.

Carisi had taken the long bet, committing to over 6 months from that point and that it would be Barba. Liv and Amanda, the hopeful romantics, wagered on Barba spilling in 2-3 months. Fin, to everyone's surprise, bet on you in 2 weeks, hoping the two of you would just bonk already. They each placed twenty dollars into an envelope that got tucked into Olivia's desk and not another word was spoken about it, until 3 weeks later.

"And I see forever in your eyes

I feel okay when I see you smile."

This case had been especially hard on everyone. The weight of it, however, had fallen particularly hard on you. You had pushed and pushed the victim to testify, convincing her that it would help assuage her pain. She ultimately had, but the defense had torn her to shreds on the stand. After leaving the courtroom, the victim drove home and threw herself off the roof of her building. You had lost it when you reached the scene, convinced it was your fault. Carisi had to hold you up and drive you back to the precinct to calm down, too afraid to drive you home to be alone. Barba obviously had seen the whole thing, his heart shattering at the cries leaving your body.

He had made a point to return to the precinct with Liv to discuss what they were going to do from this point forward. When he entered, he saw you cuddled into Carisi's side, sipping on coffee, wearing police issued sweats. Rafael's heart was set aflame at the sight of you snuggled close with someone who wasn't him. That was supposed to be his job, and here was Carisi stealing the light from him. He didn't even get a chance to fight the urge before he rushed over to you two.

"(Y/N), are you okay? You know this isn't your fault," he rushed out.

You sighed deeply, beginning to reply before Sonny cut you off, "(Y/N)? Since when are you two on a first name basis?"

"I'm okay, Counselor, thank you. I just didn't expect her to do that. I really thought I had gotten through to her in the hallway after her testimony. I told her that she had nothing to worry about," your voice trailed off as the tears resurfaced in her eyes.

Carisi began rubbing your back again, trying to coach you through another episode. Barba drank in the sight, his eyes narrowing in anger. If he disliked the man before this incident, the hatred was only intensifying by the second. He huffed before muttering that he'd be right back and marching off into Liv's office.

Your eyes crinkled in confusion, dismissing the man's weird behavior as stress from the case. But, Carisi knew better, because he knew exactly what was running through Barba's head at the moment. Carisi excused himself, claiming to need to use the restroom, leaving you in your lonesome. It wasn't a few more minutes before Rafael had returned from your boss's office before taking a seat next to you. Unbeknownst to you, the ADA and Olivia had not been talking about the case, but rather, you.

"(Y/N), talk to me. Are you really okay," he asked softly, turning to you.

"Well of course not. This is at least partly my fault. I pushed her to her limit and then forced her in front of Buchanan. I did this to her," you muttered out, tears streaming down your face.

Rafael reached a shaky and nervous hand out to you, beginning to rub your back with just the pads of his fingertips. His heart hammered in his chest, sure that you were going to freak out at him touching you. You, much to his astonishment, relaxed into his touch, allowing his hand to make full contact with your back. You were just as nervous as he was, hoping that you weren't crossing some sort of line with the older man. He moved again, this time to move your hair out of your face. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, making eye contact with him.

The moment seemed so right to you, with him staring into your eyes. You knew that if you didn't take the chance now, that you were going to end up missing it all together. You leaned in slowly, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, letting yourself linger for a moment before pulling away. The look of pure shock on his face was enough to make you jump to your feet, mumbling an apology before rushing off to the bathroom, bumping into Carisi on the way. He looked down at your figure on the ground before you got up again and rushed off.

When Sonny reached the squad room, he saw Barba sitting still in shock in the spot Carisi had previously been. Carisi stalked over to the sitting man, a fury in his eyes.

"What the hell did you say to her Counselor," he questioned urgently, worried about his friend.

This snapped the counselor to reality, finally, "Which way did she go, Carisi?"

"What do you mean? She ran off towards the restroom. What happened?"

With this the ADA took off, running in the same direction you did. Carisi's eyes widened as he realized what was going to happen. He turned on his heel, stalking off towards the Lieutenant's office.

"Lieu, (Y/N) took off, and Barba actually ran after her. I mean he really took off. I think it's happenin'," He giggled like a child.

Liv simply smiled and nodded, "I hope that it does. I may have tried to talk some sense into him. I am just so tired of watching those two pine for each other."

You were pacing in the bathroom when Barba reached you. You were borderline blubbering to yourself when he opened the door. His heart clenched again at the sight, knowing that you were beating yourself up even more now. He stalked over to you before grabbing your face and staring into your eyes. Tears welled up in them as they again twisted in confusion at the man standing in front of you. He had come after you?

As quick as he walked over to you, he leaned down, fully connecting your lips to his. Rafael desperately held you close to him, kissing you with such passion you thought you were going to pass out. When he finally broke away he stared down into your eyes again before peppering your face with kisses. You giggled softly as they tickled your face.

Finally he huskily whispered to you, "How long?"

Without even asking for context, you answered, "For a very long time, Counselor."

He smiled before breathing out a simple, me too.

"Here why don't we go talk about this in a separate room. Not to be that person, but the bathroom isn't really that romantic," You whispered to him.

He nodded and allowed you to lead him out of the restrooms, towards what seemed to be an interrogation room. You guys were so wrapped up in each other you didn't see the squad staring at you two with looks of mixed approval and shock. When you finally reached the room you turned to him and he immediately kissed you again. You chuckled into it, pulling him into you as you sat down on the table in the room. The kissing deepened, his grip on the small of your back tightening. You broke the kiss slowly, pressing another one to his nose.

"Counse-," you began quietly.

"(Y/N), I think we're past the point of formalities, you can just call me Rafael. Now, I have something I need to say before you do," He spoke with a tone of adoration, "I never thought that I would be able to have feelings for anyone after what my ex-girlfriend put me through. You really shook my life up, in the best way possible."

You nodded for him to continue.

"I think you are the one for me, cause it gets so hard to breathe when you're looking at me," he breathed out, a nervous quality in his voice, "I've never felt so alive and free."

"Well, Rafael, I feel the same," you smiled at the man, hoping to ease him into a calm state of mind, "When you're looking at me, I feel so happy."

He smiled at this and swooped you in for another kiss. You guys stayed in this embrace for a while, just basking in each other's presence. You almost didn't hear the soft knock at the door, you two springing apart and standing decently far away from one another. In walked Liv, a huge smile plastered on her face. She looked between the two of you knowingly, her smile widening as she took in the sight.

"You two do know that the whole squad watched you walk back here right? I just had to make sure you weren't 'confessing' on the table. Which you were," She chuckled.

A blush dusted itself over your cheeks, at the realization that indeed the whole squad had known about your crushes on each other. Rafael stumbled over his words for the first time, and Liv held a hand up to stop him, another chuckle leaving her lips.

"Don't even start Counselor, we knew long before this public display. You two really are extremely oblivious, did you know that?"

"Well, if I had known Olivia, I would've made my move a long time ago," the lawyer spoke.

She smiled cheekily before speaking again, "I won't keep you two. Just, don't have sex on the table please," with that she left the room.

You two shared a look, before sharing one more kiss and leaving the room behind her. You met the expectant faces of the squad, who all quickly turned to do something as the two of you walked in.

"Finally," Fin whispered to himself, neither of you catching him.

Just like neither of you saw Sonny slip the older detective an envelope full of money.

"And I've heard of a love that comes once in a lifetime

And I'm pretty sure that you are that love of mine."

#law and order svu #rafael barba #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba x you #svu fanfiction #svu x reader #barba imagine #law and order fic #Spotify

[snelbz]

Life As We Know It {Chapter 23}

Summary: After the sudden deaths of Nesta’s sister and Cassian’s best friend, they gain guardianship of their nephew, Nyx.

Based on Life As We Know It (2010) and a prompt sent in by anonymous for our Nessian fanfic contest. This is a modern au.

Instead of doing a tag list for this story, we have decided to have a set posting schedule. Chapters will be posted weekly on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays. Occasional surprise chapters could be posted at miscellaneous times. Chapters will be posted on both my and Tara’s blogs! >> @tacmc.���

Life As We Know It Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist

Nesta was torn.

Half of her thought that Cassian was overreacting, but the other half of her thought that his anger and frustration was perfectly justified.

What exactly were they getting into? And, was it what was best for Nyx? Yeah, the last month had been great, but if it didn’t work out, what would that mean for him? Would it be better if she and Cassian had simply remained two friends, co-parenting under one roof?

Nesta’s heart began to beat a little faster.

She felt like she was going into a panic attack.

Cassian and Nyx had been gone for an hour, and every second that passed became more and more unbearable.

She needed him to be there.

She needed to figure this out.

She just didn’t know what the answer was.

Alis had gotten into her head, there was no doubt about that. A little over an hour ago, she was living in a dream, then Alis came in, out of nowhere, and brought her back to reality.

She was sitting on the couch, almost exactly where he’d left her, when he finally returned. He was covered in sweat, his t-shirt sticking to him. Nyx was having a conversation with him, more to himself though, since it didn’t seem like Cassian was even close to paying attention to him. But his eyes went directly to Nesta as soon as he walked in.

She’d changed. She no longer wore his t-shirt, instead in a loose shirt of her own and a pair of jeans, and her hair was loose and wet around her face. As if she’d need to shower their night together, shower him off of her. Not a shred of that beautiful skin was showing, not like she’d been doing lately. Leggings and shorts and tank tops. She’d been comfortable around him.

With a scoff, Cassian set Nyx down on the floor. He headed for the stairs, but Nesta stood, nearly toppling the cup of coffee she’d been clutching over as she set it on the coffee table. “Cassian, we need to talk about this.”

He paused, waving a hand towards her. “What for? It looks like you’ve already made your decision.”

“I need you to calm down,” she said, steadily. “I need you to think logically.”

Cassian closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I need you to tell me.”

Nesta hesitated. “Tell you what?”

“If this is something you want to pursue or if I just wasted the last couple months falling in love with you,” he finished.

His voice may have lacked emotion, but Nesta felt every word like a stab in the chest. Falling in love with you. Those were the words she was going to tell him today, under much different circumstances.

Now, she didn’t know what to think.

Now, she was overwhelmed.

Now, all of her thoughts were rushing toward the same spot in the middle of her skull at a thousand miles an hour, and when they got there, her head would explode.

“It’s not that easy,” she said, and her voice cracked.

“But it should be,” Cassian said. “If you feel the way that I do, it should be that easy.”

“We have to think of Nyx,” she breathed.

“I am thinking of Nyx,” he said, struggling to keep his voice low. At the sound of his name, the baby turned to look at him. “I want him to grow up in a happy home, seeing two people who love each other, and damn it if that isn’t how it’s been for the past few weeks.”

“It’s not that simple,” Nesta said, shaking her head. “What happens if we break up? What happens if we get in a fight or something happens to one of us? What then?”

He had strode down the stairs and was in front of her before he could stop himself. He framed her face in his hands, like he had so many times the past month, to kiss her, to make love to her, to show her how he cared for her. “Why are you worrying about the what if’s? Why are you worrying about what could go wrong, rather than how right everything has been?”

Because everything goes wrong eventually. The only reason we’re together is because we were shoved into this house after the worst thing imaginable happened. They died. We took over. What right do we have to be happy?

The words flooded her mind, but stilled on her tongue.

Nesta didn’t push him away. She wanted to reach up on her toes and kiss him, softly, but she didn’t.

Instead, she met his gaze. “Cass,” she breathed.

The pain in his eyes nearly shattered her heart into a million pieces.

Nyx had walked up to them and was hugging Nesta’s leg, as if he knew that she needed the comfort.

“Dont say my name like that,” he whispered.

Nesta slowly shook her head. “I just think this has all happened too quickly. We haven’t been thinking, we’ve just been acting-.”

“You’re pushing me away,” Cassian interrupted, swallowing harshly. “Damn it, Nesta.”

“You don’t understand,” she pleaded.

“Because you’re not making sense,” he argued. “Things have been perfect—”

“They’re dead!” She cried, pulling from his grip, scooping Nyx up. “Things have been far from perfect. We’re only like this now because Rhys and Feyre are dead.”

The words seemed to freeze something inside of Cassian and he stepped back as well. “So what? We go back to how we used to be? I’m back in the guest room and we awkwardly exchange good mornings over breakfast?”

She closed her eyes, trying to block out the sight of him, the scent of him, everything. “I don’t know, Cassian, I don’t—.” She took a shuddering breath, her arms wrapping tighter around Nyx. “I just need some time to think, to breathe…”

When she looked back up at him, his jaw was set and he was slowly nodding. “Fine. Take your time.”

And then he was moving, back up the stairs before Nesta could even ask what he was doing.

A few minutes later, he was back with a duffle bag in his hands.

“Wh—what are you doing?”

“Giving you space,” he said, refusing to meet her gaze.

Nesta opened her mouth but nothing came out. She was frozen where she stood, her feet stuck to the floor, her mouth hanging open, that panic rising from the pit of her stomach into her heart, which was beating far too quickly.

Cassian kissed Nyx on the forehead as he passed, but paid Nesta no mind as he went for the door.

“Cassian!” She called, at last.

Cassian stopped just in front of the door, keeping his back to her, one hand on the doorknob.

“You're just going to leave?” She asked, quietly, bouncing a sleepy Nyx on her hip. “Just like that?”

Cassian didn’t turn around. “Are you going to ask me to stay?”

Yes. No. I don’t know. Nesta said nothing.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he grumbled, exhaustion lacing his tone. “Maybe I need time to think, too.”

He opened the door and shut it softly behind him.

*

He didn’t know where else to go. He didn’t have anywhere else to go.

He knew where he wanted to be, but right now…

He couldn’t look at her.

It didn’t escape him that when he’d told her he’d fallen in love with her, she didn’t say it back. He couldn’t even act like he hadn’t seen her eyes flare in panic. So he couldn’t stay there. Couldn’t go back to sleeping in that guest room, not when he’d become so used to sleeping with her in his arms every night.

So Cassian had ended up here, knocking on his brother’s door, thankful that his car had been parked in the driveway when he pulled up.

He needed a drink. He needed someone to tell him he was being an asshole. He needed someone to listen while he vented and bitched. He knew Azriel would do all that for him.

When he answered the door, Seph was in his arms, pulling on his bottom lip. She smiled when she saw Cassian, but Azriel’s surprised smile quickly faded.

“Do I want to know?” He asked, looking at the duffel bag tossed over Cassian’s shoulder.

Cassian sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “Can I sleep here tonight?”

Azriel stared at him for a second before stepping aside and letting Cassian pass.

“Are we talking about this now or later?” Azriel asked, shutting the door behind them.

“Beer?” Cassian asked, dropping his bag beside the couch.

“Fridge,” Azriel said, slowly, watching him.

Cassian made his way to the kitchen and threw open the refrigerator door, grabbing a cold bottle and chugging its contents.

Azriel followed, leaning against the countertop and Seph continued to play with his lips.

“Where’s Elain?” Cassian asked, tossing the empty bottle into the trash and getting another.

“Work,” Azriel said, sighing. “So, if this involves smack talking Nesta, you may want to get it out now.”

He shook his head. He didn’t want to do that, barely wanted to think about her. But he owed Azriel at least some explanation.

“The social worker stopped by this morning,” he sighed, leaning back against the counter and opening the beer. “And honestly, yeah, it was unexpected, but I figured it’d be fine. Last time, Nes was drunk off her ass, but we— I figured, since we were more of a family this time, things would be great.”

Azriel blinked. “They’re not taking Nyx, are they?”

Another shake of his head. “No, gods, no. They— She could tell he was in good hands, but she immediately picked up on Nesta and I. What we’ve…become.”

It seemed, just like Cassian, Azriel didn’t see it as a problem. He wasn’t following. “And?”

“And Nyx was hungry so I left the social worker and Nesta alone to get him breakfast. I came back and she’s gone and Nesta is second-guessing our relationship. She asked if I’m just fucking her out of convenience.”

The thought made him sick to his stomach, almost as badly as it hurt his heart.

“And you replied with…” Azriel began, trailing off, waiting for Cassian to finish the sentence.

“I went for a jog,” Cassian said, shrugging.

“So you ran away?” Azriel pushed.

Cassian shot him a look. “No. I went for a jog.”

Azriel sighed. “And when you came back?”

“She said she needed space,” Cassian said, emptying his bottle.

Azriel set Seph on the floor with a plastic spatula, which she instantly start banging on the cabinets. “And that’s when you ran away?”

“I didn’t run,” Cassian snapped. “I gave her what she wanted. I gave her space.”

Azriel slowly shook his head. “Did you even try to talk things out?”

“Yes,” Cassian said, the word clipped. “Told her I was falling in love with her, and guess how she replied?”

Azriel watched his brother.

“Didn’t say a fucking word,” Cassian finished.

When Azriel didn’t speak, he walked back to the trash can, dropping the bottle inside.

“Quit looking at me like I’m the bad guy here,” he said, unable to turn around and look his brother in the eye. “She was ending it. She was calling things off and I’m supposed to, what? Just keep living there like we were before? Pretend nothing has changed?” He swallowed hard, willing the damn tears clouding his vision to fade. They wouldn’t. “She didn’t even ask me to stay.”

Azriel sighed, opening a cabinet beside the fridge that Seph couldn’t reach. He produced a bottle of whiskey and set it on the counter. “I can’t drink until Elain gets home. And I absolutely think you need to talk to Nesta, but I think you’re right. You need to stay here tonight. Give her space.”

Cassian blinked, and a tear that was holding on slid free, down his cheek. He angrily wiped it away. He felt ridiculous, but it had been a long time since he had told a woman that he loved her. He’d never said it in his adulthood. A couple times in his teens, before he knew what the word really meant, but never as an adult.

He’d said it.

He’d meant it.

And she hadn’t felt the same.

Cassian nodded and poured himself a glass of whiskey.

*

Nesta stared at Cassian’s contact on her phone screen.

She wanted to press the call button, but didn’t.

She did open a blank text a few times, but couldn’t type anything.

She didn’t know what to think, didn’t know what to do.

She knew what she wanted.

She wanted Cassian.

But, she didn’t know if that was a good thing or not.

She had never been one who was dependent on a man, had spent most of her twenties single and having no problem with it. But suddenly, she couldn’t imagine her day to day life without Cassian in it. And that terrified her.

She heard murmuring on the baby monitor sitting next to her on the side table and glanced over to see Nyx sitting up in his crib.

It had been nearly three hours since Cassian left, and aside from putting Nyx down for a nap, Nesta had barely moved. She still sat in the same spot on the couch she’d been in when the social worker had shown up and when she’d ignored that Cassian had said that he loved her.

The words should have filled her with joy and she should have screamed from the rooftops that she loved him, too. Instead she locked up and thought she was going to be sick.

What was wrong with her?

Wiping away the tears she didn’t even realize had fallen, Nesta hurried up the stairs, and into Nyx’s nursery. He reached for her the moment he saw her, his own big, blue eyes beginning to fill with tears.

“What’s wrong, bubba?” She cooed, resting his head against her shoulder.

After a deep sigh, he looked up at her and reached for a tear that had fallen down her cheek. His lip began to wobble.

“I’m okay,” Nesta promised, even though her voice cracked and those tears continued. “I’m okay, buddy, I promise.”

Nyx knew, though.

He knew something wasn’t right.

He knew Cassian was gone.

He knew Nesta was heartbroken.

Little did he know that her heartbreak was self-inflicted.

Nyx laid his head back on her shoulder and clung to her. He stayed like that as she walked back downstairs and sat back in her spot on the couch.

He held onto her, looking around the room. She knew he was looking for him and was about to tell him he wasn’t here when he spoke. The word wasn’t a mash up of noises like it had always been. No, it was a true and steady word. His first word.

“Dada?”

Nesta froze. She didn’t even know what to say. Should she tell him Cassian wasn’t his father? He probably wouldn’t even understand, just like he didn’t understand where Rhys and Feyre had gone.

But…for all intents and purposes, Cassian was his daddy now. And she was his mama.

So she pressed a kiss to his dark hair and whispered. “He had to leave, baby. He had to go for a little while.”

Nesta hoped and prayed that Cassian would walk back through that door, and yet, she couldn’t muster the courage to ask him to.

That night, instead of Cassian taking up the spot next to her, it was Nyx, who held her hand until they both fell asleep.

#snacmc lawki #life as we know it #lawki #snacmc collab #snelbz tacmc collab #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #nessian #nesta #cassian

[wolferine]

Unforgivable - Part 2

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: When the reader loses their temper, it causes them to commit an act they can never take back...

Warnings: Violence, blood, torture, death

Word count: 2372

Part 1

Tags: @yeetus-thyself @phoenixofash @lilclownx @yeeterthekeeper @alessiapn @diaryoflife

AN: Please read to the end before you come after me. :)

Everything is a blur. The last thing you remember is cradling Natasha in your lap and seeing the pain of betrayal in her eyes. You did this to her. You couldn’t control your anger and now she had a bullet—shot out of your gun—in her back. You hurt her and there was no way you could ever forgive yourself for that. 

You finally let Tony get close enough to take care of her, because you realized you don’t deserve her anymore. 

You run away from the Avengers Tower, your leg slowing you down, but you don’t care. Each step feels like a knife rubbing against your bone, but even that’s not enough to distract you from the pain in your chest. It feels like someone has torn you open, ripped your heart out of your ribcage, and thrown it into a bonfire.

But you have no one to blame than yourself.

Tears stream down your face as you stumble through the streets, eventually finding some privacy in a nearby forest. Your sobs echo through the trees as you crawl hand over hand, your uniform shredding open on bushes and branches. The trickle of a creek calls to you and you dunk your bloody hands in the freezing water, desperate to wash yourself of your failures.

You can’t believe what you’ve done.

The scene of Natasha falling to the floor plays over and over in your head and you would pay anything to unsee it. You curl into a ball, wiping your nose on your knees. You deserve all the pain and misery for your actions. You’re so caught up in your head, thinking about all the ways you can punish yourself, that you don’t notice the group of men sneaking up on you from behind.

“Over there! Over there!” 

“By the creek, see?”

“Wait—that’s an Avenger?”

“Looks like someone had a bad day.”

“Hey, Y/N.”

At the sound of your name, you finally lift your head, only for the butt of a shotgun to slam into your face. Your nose breaks and blood fills your mouth. You turn away, not even interested in protecting yourself. If they killed you, you would thank them.

“Aw, come on. At least give us a reaction,” someone says.

The shotgun butt smashes against the back of your head and you wouldn’t be surprised if it cracked your skull. Someone kicks your leg where you were shot, and you bite your lip to hold back a scream.

“Well, this is anti-climactic.”

“Hey, if it makes our job easier, I’m not gonna complain.”

“I still think Hammer’s weird for wanting Y/N over the other Avengers.”

“Given the circumstances, he couldn’t really be picky—”

“Stop standing around and get to it!” someone yells. 

The men surround you, punching and kicking every inch of you. The bulletproof vest of your uniform does little to lessen the impact of their blows. You feel bruises forming along your ribs and your rattling teeth bite your lips bloody. It doesn’t take long for you to black out and the peace is blissful.

***********************************************************************

Sometime later—you have no idea how long—you jolt awake, finding yourself strapped to a metal chair in the middle of a dark, concrete room. A man in glasses and a gray suit with white gloves stands in front of you. 

“Hello, I’m Justin Hammer,” he says, offering a hand, then withdrawing when he realizes your arms are tied to the chair. “Sorry, force of habit.”

You stare at him. Your tongue pokes around the inside of your mouth and you notice some teeth are missing. There is a painful crick in your neck every time you try moving your head and every breath you take feels like a razor blade scraping the inside of your lungs.

“You’ve probably never heard of me, but I’m very familiar with you and your work with the Avengers. But the reason I have you here today is to talk about this man.” Hammer pulls out a folded photograph from his pocket and shows it to you.

It’s Tony Stark, but you have no desire to even think of that man anymore.

“Your best friend, right?” Hammer teases and you curl your lip at him. “What’s wrong? He’s the one who got you a spot on the team, isn’t he?” You look away from him. “I heard what he did to your girl,” he continues. “That must’ve felt like the betrayal of the century.”

“What?” you ask, confused as to what he’s referring to.

“I heard about what happened at the Avengers Tower. So tragic.” Hammer crumples Tony’s photograph and drops it on the floor. “Romanoff didn’t deserve that.”

“W-What are you talking about? Is she okay?” Your bottom lip quivers in fear.

Hammer kneels in front of you. “She’s dead, Y/N.”

“No, no…” You feel like he’s punched you right through the chest. “T-That’s not possible.”

“I’m sorry. I know she meant a lot to you.” Hammer stands again.

“How do you even know what happened at the Tower?” Given its security, there was no way news like that reached the public. At least not the truth of it. Maybe Hammer was just trying to mess with you.

Hammer motions behind him and a blonde woman steps forward from the shadows. Her face jolts your memory, but you don’t remember exactly where from.

“Recognize her?” Hammer asks. “She actually works for me, but she’s been pretending to be a SHIELD agent for some time now. She was right outside the door when your little spat with Stark went down.” Your mind flashes back to when you returned from the mission with Natasha. On your way to the private Avengers’ quarters, you remember passing the same blonde woman right outside the door.

“She heard everything that happened inside,” Hammer says as the blonde woman retreats into the darkness again.

“N-Natasha’s…She’s…She’s not dead,” you stammer.

Hammer shakes his head. “She went into surgery after Stark shot her, but due to the placement of the bullet, there were some complications and she coded on the table. They couldn’t revive her. That part was all over the news.”

You feel so sick you want to vomit. “I…I killed her?”

“No. You didn’t kill her. Tony Stark killed her.”

You start gasping for air, only worsening the pain in your chest. “No—But—He—I’m the one who pulled the trigger—”

“But you weren’t aiming for her. You were aiming for Stark, and he’s the one who deflected the bullet into her,” Hammer says. “He’s also the one who sent you two on that mission to begin with, wasn’t he? The reason you lost your cool and pulled your gun out? Think, Y/N. All of this is Stark’s fault.”

But the sadness of thinking you’ve killed Natasha is too overwhelming. You can’t focus on anything but your own guilt. You will burn in hell for this and you won’t even mind.

“Listen to me, Y/N!” Hammer snaps, striking you across the face. His rings cut into your cheek and blood fills your mouth. “I hate Stark just as much as you do. He’s been my business rival for years and I need someone to help me take him down. Who better than you, a former friend of his, who knows how to hit him where it hurts?”

You start crying at the thought of having to exist in a world without Natasha Romanoff.

Hammer tries getting your attention by slapping you again, but you’re unresponsive. You’re too lost in your grief to process anything he’s saying, and eventually he gives up, promising to come back another time to reveal his master plan to you.

It takes an entire month before he can even communicate with you. Your depression is all-consuming and their threats on your life have no effect. They’re startled to learn you actually enjoy the torture because you believe you deserve it after what you did to Natasha. But Hammer is relentless and finally figures out how to manipulate you into his bidding.

Six months after your capture and the accident, you finally crack. Your agony and pain turns into pure rage and hatred for Tony Stark. You can’t bring Natasha back, but you can get revenge on the man who took her life. After training with Hammer’s technology, which is almost as advanced as Tony’s, you’re deemed ready to be let out in the real world. Hammer personally asks for your help to kill Tony Stark, and it’s an offer you accept gladly.

***********************************************************************

Three months after the accident…

Natasha wakes up and looks to her right, disappointed to see the bed still empty. She’s tricked herself into believing that one day you’ll show up, ready to pick up the pieces and continue where you left off. But nothing has been the same since you left.

She sits up and turns the lights on. She scoots to the edge of the bed and carefully lifts her body into the wheelchair parked there.

The bullet had struck her lumbar spine, shattering her L1 vertebrae and paralyzing her from the waist down. Tony requested help from the best doctors he knew, but even the greatest modern advancements couldn’t repair her spine. He had personally designed her wheelchair, and she knows she should be grateful to still be alive, but she’s never felt so helpless and alone. 

After the accident, you ran off and no one could locate you. Secretly, she held onto the hope you would return one day, but she knows your guilt and shame are keeping you away. She wants to tell you that it wasn’t your fault and that she doesn’t hate you, but you’re not even giving her that chance.

Tony made the public announcement that Black Widow had retired from the Avengers. No one knew she had been paralyzed, nor that you had unofficially resigned from the team. Without you, without Black Widow, Natasha didn’t know who she was anymore.

She leaves her bedroom and goes into the kitchen. Tony arranged most of the food and dishes down to her new height but she feels like she’ll never adjust to not being able to stand anymore. She locates a bowl and a box of cereal and rolls over to the table. She chokes down dry Cheerios and pours her second bowlful when Tony walks in.

“Thank God you’re finally up,” he says. “When you’re done, I have something to show you.”

“Y/N?” She perks up.

“Uh…no…”

Natasha knows Tony blames himself just as much as she does for her accident, but it wasn’t his fault either. She wrestled between anger and guilt, sometimes blaming you, sometimes blaming him. But in the end, it’s easier to blame herself. She should have stopped you the moment you took out your gun, regardless of whether or not you pushed her. But she got so caught up in the moment she froze, and now she was paralyzed and you were gone.

“Just come down to my workshop, okay?” Tony disappears again.

With nothing better to do, Natasha takes the elevator down to Tony’s workshop. She doesn’t visit often, but when she does, she’s always impressed by his latest inventions and gadgets. She rolls down the aisle of old Iron Man suits displayed in glass cases, admiring the subtle differences in each one.

“Where are you, Tony?” she calls.

“Over here!” He waves her down from the other end. “I’ve been working on this for a while, and I know it’s a little premature, but I couldn’t help myself.” Tony stands next to another Iron Man suit, but it doesn’t quite look like it will fit him.

The suit is curved to fit a woman, black and red instead of Tony’s iconic red and gold. Natasha sees a red hourglass emblazoned on the belt buckle.

“What…What is this, Tony?” she asks, tears in her eyes.

“It’s an Iron Widow suit,” he says. “Or, whatever you want to call it. You’ll have to get in and test it out for yourself, but it’ll allow you to walk again and…be an Avenger again.”

Natasha wishes she could throw herself into his arms, but pulls him down to her level instead. “Thank you,” she whispers, wiping her face. She never thought she would be able to serve as an Avenger again, but she’ll take the opportunity if it means taking her mind off recent events.

“Ready to try it out?” Tony presses a button on the side of the suit and the suit opens up, bending into a crouched position so Natasha can get in it like a chair.

 She smiles for the first time since the accident.

 “I am.”

***********************************************************************

Six months after the accident…

Natasha is in the gym, lifting dumbbells on a bench when Tony walks in. Although she now has a legitimate excuse for skipping leg day for the rest of her life, she now has to make sure her upper body is twice as strong to make up for it.

“Look who decided to slide through my DMs this morning,” Tony says, shoving his phone in her face.

Midnight. Central Park Carousel. Come alone.

The text was from you.

“Oh, my God,” Natasha says, setting the weights down. You haven’t even texted her since the accident, and she’s a little hurt you didn’t reach out to her first. “What’s this about?”

“I have no idea.” Tony shrugs. “I know it says for me to go alone, but since it’s from Y/N, I wanted to ask if you wanted to tag along.”

“Of course.” In a way, Natasha feels like the text is really meant for her. Central Park was where you had asked her to be your girlfriend. That couldn’t be a coincidence.

“I’ll need you to be on your A-game. We have no idea what Y/N’s been up to these past six months. I don’t know if you’re gonna like what we find,” Tony says.

Natasha has spent countless nights wondering where you’ve been and what you’re doing. Now she has the chance to find out. “It’s going to be okay, Tony,” she says.

He shakes his head. “Just so you know, I’m praying more for you than me right now.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Click here for Part 3!

AN: I never went to medical school, so forgive my medical inaccuracies.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fanfic #black widow #black widow fanfiction #marvel imagine #natasha x reader

[jellyluchi]

Sid, congratulations on the milestone!! ❤️🎉🎊

If it's not too late, can I request a scenario/hc with a reader-insert? Either sfw/nsfw. It goes somewhere along the lines of Pros surviving after the train incident and leaves the mafia life behind to finally settle down with someone. He gets a peaceful life, albeit a little disgruntled making a compromise for it (but he does get used to it!) since he's a house husband now and his wife is the provider - who's not good at handling household responsibilities (e.g. cooking, cleaning, etc.).

Basically I'm all in for this guy getting a happy ending and am overly fond of male wife!Pros because he'd probably be a great one lol.

A/N: Pen!! Thank you for requesting!! AHHH you're already activating my trap card with House Husband!Pros ✨_✨ my domestic senses are tingling...This is sfw but I will do the nsfw version some day bc this man deserves to be taken over the counter after he's done cooking a meal. Thank you for your patience!!!

House Husband!Prosciutto x spouce!Reader; “Softly”

— warnings: none

— genre: fluff

— Word count: 1.1k

Leaving the mafia is no easy business. For someone who used to instruct others on the lifestyle of the perfect mafiosi, Prosciutto made quick work to move on. It obviously wasn’t his dream job. His aspirations had long been torn to shreds when his loyalty to Passione was established. He enjoyed the profits for what it was worth but his heart lay somewhere else, with you. Ever since your presence made itself known in his life, he wanted nothing more than to hide away and take you with him, his safe haven.

The thought proved to be difficult to make into reality. You were, and still are, a simple civilian who happened upon him by happenstance. Sometimes Prosciutto thought you two were never supposed to meet given how far removed you are from mafia life. However, he considered you his beacon of hope, a ray of sunshine leading him to the end of the tunnel. He promised himself he would survive for your sake.

And survive he did. His bloodied remains on the train track were rescued in the nick of time. It’s an understatement to say you were surprised. While you knew the nature of his work, it never occurred to you how close he was to death’s door. It made both of you cherish each other’s presence all the more.

Had some bastard told this man 5-6 years ago that he would be a 'house husband' he'd have slapped them across the face for looking down on him. It's ironic that now the most adrenaline he experiences is from bargaining with the local vendors or trying to get free coupons. He understands his mistake now, looking down on house spouses all those years ago was born from ignorance. Grocery shopping, cleaning, cooking, baking, they are no easy tasks.

He ponders his current lifestyle silently. Some classic Italian pop song from the 80s plays on the radio on the countertop where his floured dough rests. Prosciutto never considered himself a baker. He thought his hands were too bloody for something so refined. The softness of the dough akin to the flesh he once held before turning it cold and pruned. Now he marvels at browned bread, having given it life through his hard kneading.

The clang of his metal arm meeting the counter-top makes him click his tongue. He thinks about touching the dough with his prosthetic, feeling it but also not. The sense of touch has always been quite personal to him and he remembers the way he used to hold his comrades to give them a pep talk, how he used to age enemies faster. The thought is quickly abandoned as he realizes he would have to clean the thing of sticky dough if he did.

The silent click-clack of a pair of keys and ‘darling, I’m home!’ alerts Prosciutto from his stupor. He leaves the dough inside the bowl before covering it. He sometimes wishes he could age it to it’s proven state.

You find your dear husband in the kitchen, in his usual sweats and t-shirt. “Welcome home dear,” his voice is as soothing as you remember. Nothing keeps you going like the thought of coming home to his embrace.

Ever the traditional man, he must give you a kiss upon arrival every single day. It’s not like you’re complaining.

You notice the resting dough when you embrace him. “Pizza?” and he nods at your inquiry. “Margherita. Your favorite.” and he delights in your small burst of excitement. Being a house husband has washed the harsh edges off of Prosciutto’s body. If he was drowning before, he’s now surfaced and made a life on the beach with you.

He takes your jacket, gently, and places it on the rack where it can always be found. Your shoes which never stray from it’s spot near the front door, your keys that never leave its decorative bowl. Prosciutto spent too much of his life running after disappearing things, cruel magic tricks that bring more gloom than entertainment. Your belongings remind him you’re going nowhere, he has no one to chase, he can rest.

“Would you like me to run a bath for you?” he asks you quietly while washing his hand at the sink.

“That’s alright, I’ll freshen up quickly. Besides, it’s too cold tonight.” As you leave for your room, your husband readies the other ingredients for dinner. He used to memorize lists of names but now they’ve been replaced by grocery lists. When he thinks about it, there wasn’t much of a difference, Passione had a peculiar code naming system.

Even if he’d never admit it, Prosciutto was once nervous about life with his prosthetics. He thought he’d never be able to make your favorites, or even go on date nights with you. But he quickly realized his fears were born of a privilege that comes from a life where he’s not expecting to die the next day. And if there is one thing he can do, it’s persevere to make life comfortable for you. You who pays for his living, you who takes care of him and you who loves him despite the ghosts that haunt him, you who kneaded his harsh planes into soft edges.

He’s almost done chopping the veggies when you come back downstairs. “Can I help?” he always makes you feel a bit bashful. You don’t miss the smirk on his sharp lips even if he tries to mask it.

He hands you the mozzarella along with a knife, knowing you would fumble over your fingers with anything else. When you two first met, he wondered how you were able to waddle your way through life. Where he was methodical you were clumsy where he was routinely you were spontaneous. Sometimes he thinks it’s only fitting that he should be the house husband of the messiest person on the planet. It gives him a home to worry about and mundane experiences to look forward to.

You’ve never seen someone do house chores so eagerly and professionally and you think about his journey from taking lives to making homes. The unspoken ways in which he thought his hands could do no good during moments of uncharacteristic self-doubt always made you remind him of all the times his hands have done more good than harm. Like when he grew flowers in the garden, or when he decorated for your birthday, when he fixed your tattered clothes and put back together your broken heart.

“What would I do without you?” you ask when he pushes the pizza into the oven. You snack on some biscotti in the meantime. He would scold you for spoiling your own dinner but he knows you’re quite famished.

“Burn this kitchen down, no doubt,” he jokes. You laugh heartily and he silently thanks his fate for not taking away his hearing on that fateful trip to Firenze.

#prosciutto #prosciutto x reader #jojo prosciutto #jjba prosciutto #prosciutto jjba #prosciutto (jojo) #prosciutto jojo #la squadra di esecuzione #la squadra x reader #la squadra jjba #la squadra #yeah i watch the way of the house husband yes pros is literally tatsu no i dont take criticism and yes im right :) <3 #not sorry for projecting onto reader 100% <3

[amjustagirl]

CHAPTER 2 - FALLEN

Fic Summary:

The sky Oikawa Tooru’s heart seeks is a world away from the earth yours is buried in. You are a fool to trust him with your heart anyway.

Where Oikawa Tooru tries to recapture your heart. 

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3

Pairing: Oikawa Tooru x fem! reader

Genre / Wordcount : Angst (7k words), cameo from MSBY 4

Warnings: One non-explicit bedroom scene.

Masterlist link here!

Tag list link here!

You catch sight of Oikawa Tooru as you bustle through the hospital’s sliding doors, your usual cup of coffee in your hand that you buy on the way to work. He’s seated in the waiting area next to a middle aged man you guess must be his manager, from the way he jumps to his feet immediately to act as a human shield as you call out breathlessly - 

“T - Oikawa? What are you doing here?” 

Tooru’s head swivels around to meet your gaze, and you’re shocked by the lifelessness in his eyes until you glance at the bandages wrapped around his swollen knee. 

Oh. 

You try not to stare, but you do so anyway. The sight of your ex-boyfriend makes you feel as if you’re seeing a ghost, a specter from some past life. You last saw him when he was twenty one, young and proud, wax wings fully spread, a speck in the skies. What a difference five years makes. His shoulders are still broad, and the tilt of his jaw is still proud, but the light in his eyes has faded to darkness, and the pallor of his skin suggests far too much time spent away from the sun. 

Icarus, Icarus. Your hubris has led you to such heights, but look how far you’ve fallen. 

It’s surprising there’s no news of his injury, considering he’s one third of Japan’s trifecta of setters in the volleyball scene’s monster generation. With the Olympics rapidly approaching with just over a year to go, an injury must be devastating, especially to Oikawa Tooru, with dreams of Olympic greatness and victory on his native shores. 

A nurse materialises to usher Oikawa away for surgery before he can respond to the pity in your gaze. You look around. He’s alone, save for his manager. No one deserves to be wake up alone after surgery, so you call after him - 

“I’ll check in on you after you’re done! Gambatte!”

He responds with a thumbs up and a weak smile. 

You flip through his medical files once you get the chance. 

Oikawa Tooru, twenty six. Pro-volleyball player for EJP Raijin previously, currently playing in the Argentinian league. Narrowly missed out on making the cut for the previous Olympics, but went on to represent Japan in the last three World Cups, alternating with Miya Atsumu and Kageyama Tobio. Obviously hoping for another shot at the Olympics, but that’s looking bleak from what you’re gleaning from his medical records. 

His right knee has always bothered him, even during his high school days. Now, a decade later, it looks like he’s managed to tear his tendon to shreds. 

Volleyball is a cruel, demanding mistress, especially for one not born a genius. 

The surgery to repair a torn knee ligament is delicate work, requiring an experienced surgeon, and the road to recovery requires extensive physiotherapy. It’s no wonder he’s resorted to the modern Tokyo hospital you work in rather than returning to his native Sendai to recuperate. The downside of doing so though, is that he’d have to recover alone. 

You wrinkle your nose. He may be your ex-boyfriend, but he doesn’t deserve that. 

The sun is setting when you finally find the time to slip into his room. 

As expected, he’s still asleep. The anesthetic will take some time to wear off. From the looks of the surgeon’s notes, the surgery was a success - though you know from the nature and extent of the injury that his road to recovery will be long and winding.   

So you seat yourself in the visitor’s chair with a hot cup of tea and an onigiri to stave off your hunger at not finding time for a break any earlier. You had an awful day at work today, two of your patients puked on you, another tried to fight you when you drew his blood, and the senior registrar in the ward assigned you a mountain of paperwork that you only just managed to complete, so you give in to sleep yourself as exhaustion settles into your bones.

“Princess?”  

You snap awake at the familiar nickname, ignoring the flush working its way up the back of your neck as you leap to his bedside to check his vitals, only relaxing when you’re satisfied everything’s fine. 

“You’re just waking up after a surgery, Oikawa”. When his forehead crinkles in confusion at the sound of his surname, you correct yourself. “I mean - Tooru”. The corners of his cracked lips tilt up in satisfaction. 

“Will you stay with me?” Tooru murmurs, eyelids beginning to droop again. 

You smile fondly despite yourself. “Do you want me to?” you ask. 

He manages to pout even as he’s falling back asleep. “I asked, didn’t I?” 

You smooth his hair from his forehead, slotting your hand into his. “Fine, fine. Go to bed, sleeping beauty”. 

He huffs an amused breath from his nose before he closes his eyes, contented. Trust Tooru to be shameless enough to cling on to his ex-girlfriend without a shred of awkwardness. You end up staying in his room for hours, watching him sleep.

The heart that you’ve locked away behind bars of bone and steel twitches, just once. 

You frown when the nurse catches your sleeve. “A patient’s looking for you” she says, just as you’re about to go off on a short break. 

“Who?” you reply, wondering whether it’s Sato-san who vomited this morning, or Imai-san whose blood pressure niggles at your mind. You do not expect the nurse to flush pink as she replies - “Oikawa-san”, describing the sweet young man with lovely brown eyes and such a charming voice. 

You slip back into his room when your shift ends. You expect to see a shadow of a man with broken wings, and you do catch a fleeting glimpse of Tooru staring wistfully out of the window, face tilted towards the sun before he turns to you with a wide smile and a pleased - “you came!”  

This is the Oikawa Tooru you are accustomed to dealing with. “Stop flirting with the nurses”, you tell him briskly, bustling over to look at his files. “They have jobs to do, don’t use them to carry messages to me.”

“But I’m boredddd.”

“I’m sure you have volleyball videos to watch.”

“I watched them all day today. ‘Sides, I watched all the matches on today already, twice – and I have plenty of time to watch them a third time. I have plenty of time to catch up with you, I haven’t seen you in so long!”

Five years since you broke up to be exact, but you sidestep that fact neatly, pouring over his medical file instead. His doctors’ notes indicate his recovery is promising. He brightens up when you tell him so, playfully complaining that hospital food is shit in a thinly veiled attempt to steal your food, a habit he’s clearly not outgrown. But you’re not all that hungry anyway, so you split your pork bun in half and hand it to him, dropping into the visitor’s chair. 

“So how’re you feeling?” 

“Like shit. My knee hurts so muchhhh.” 

You shrug, careless. “That’s pretty expected, to be honest.”

“Hmph. I thought they’d have taught you some bedside manners in medical school”, he snipes, though the effect is rather lost when his cheeks are comically round and full of food. 

You laugh, the stress from your day lifting from your shoulders.  

“I seem to forget them when it’s you.”

“So mean”, he pouts, hiding the familiar gleam in his eye that appears whenever he’s trying to analyse his opponents, take them apart. “As punishment, tell me about yourself. What have you been up to these days?” 

You decide to treat him like any old friend, giving him the condensed run down of your professional life,  how you’ve graduated from medical school (with top marks I bet, he interjects), how you chose to stay in Tokyo instead of returning to Sendai (your parents must miss you he says, and you brush him off with an airy they have other children, they’ll survive), how you chose to work in this hospital because you’re considering a specialisation in Orthopedic surgery (because of your grandma, I bet, he says, and you choose not to correct that, using your silence as a lie).  

He in turn tells you about the highlights of his career, how he’s spent a year at EJP Raijin before he was headhunted to the Argentinian league, how he spent four years overseas save for summers back in Japan to train with the national team, how he’s hopeful, even now, of recovering and fighting for his spot on the Olympic roster next year. 

You already knew all of that from news alerts on your phone you never forced yourself to delete, diverting him instead with a question about life in Argentina, nodding as he reminisces about his apartment in San Juan where he gets to watch the sun set over the Andes mountains, the kitchen that he stuffed full of Japanese groceries like daishi and mirin and sake and miso in his first year there just so he has a tangible reminder of home. 

You stop yourself from wondering whether he thinks about the little home he shared with you with such fondness. That time has passed. 

His voice wavers as he spins you stories about his teammates - Matteo, whose family owns a vineyard and taught him to appreciate wine like a proper Argentinian, Miguel, who makes the best empanadas and gets roaring drunk every time they win a match, Gabriel, who takes him to his family’s home in the mountains every other weekend because his grandmother is convinced that a single young man without family in the city will starve if he’s left to his own devices. 

It seems his wings were durable enough for him to soar across the oceans, his grit and determination the foundation of the new life he’s built, whole continents away. 

“It’s funny how the world works”, you remark off hand. “I never expected to see you again.”

His eyes gleam again. “The universe seems to work in funny ways.” 

You start spending breaks in his room, scarfing down your lunch and dinner while he talks your ear off about the horrible sitcoms or ridiculous game shows he’s watched today. You catch him watching a video of Kageyama’s serves and you’re amused when he practically hisses when you comment idly that his kouhai has certainly improved since his high school days. 

You ignore his spluttered protests that service records aren’t everything and besides, his own spike serves have definitely won Japan a game or two last year until, with the air of a boy king, he commands you to sit next to him on the hospital bed so he can pull up a compilation of his serves and his best moments. 

Years might have passed, but you’re still hopeless at refusing him. Besides, isn’t it better that you distract him from the sorry state of his knee? So you do as he says, ignoring the faint flutter of your traitorous heart as he leans into your side. 

“See? I told you my spike serves are amazing?”

“Yes, yes. I already knew that. I watched so many of your practices in university, remember?”

He looks at you strangely. “Did you?” he asks, leaning his head on his hand, eyes boring into yours. 

You think of evenings spent sitting on the bleachers, homework in your lap as you watch as the boy you love builds the strength in his wax wings in preparation for his eventual flight. “Yes”, you admit, sheets rustling as you shift away from him, avoiding his perplexed frown. “You were probably too focused on practice to notice.”

You already know you shouldn’t spend so much time in his room, but you’ve spent most of your life doing what you should instead of what you want to so just this once, you ignore rational thought in favour of sentiment.

After all, he’ll be discharged from hospital in a week, then you’ll never see him again. 

Tooru promptly proves you wrong the day before he’s scheduled to be discharged. 

“I need someone to help me move into my apartment.”

“Hire a mover”, you tell him. You don’t even look up from your notes. 

“Already did”, he chirps, undaunted by your apparent disinterest. “But it’d be nice to have a friend who I know will be nice enough to help poor old crippled me put my stuff away.” Then he grins cheekily, “plus I checked with that pretty nurse – Yuna-san was it? Anyway, she told me you’re off tomorrow, so you might as well spend the day with me.”

There goes your excuse to wriggle out of having to spend your rare day off with your ex. 

“I have a mountain of sleep debt to pay off”, you protest, but faced with wide brown eyes and an embarrassing wobble of his lip, you comply. Still, you manage to get the promise of a free dinner out of him, so you suppose it’ll do.

Tooru doesn’t have much to unpack, a couple of cardboard boxes of clothes and books, probably because most of his belongings are still in Argentina. He laughs and raises his hands in an attempt to placate you when you lift an eyebrow, first at the lack of kitchen equipment in his furnished apartment, second at the weights and volleyball he tries to smuggle in behind your back. 

“You’re not supposed to exercise for at least a month or two”, you cluck your tongue, sighing with disapproval at the furtive look he casts at the volleyball sitting at the corner of his living room.

“I can set while sitting on a stool! Don’t scold me, my heart can’t bear it”. He throws a hand across his face, brow creased dramatically. 

Icarus, Icarus. You’ve already fallen once. Will you seek out the sun again? 

A string of familiarity loops into a knot over your heart. If you close your eyes and count to ten, you can imagine that you’re eighteen again, chiding the boy you love for practicing too hard. But you’re twenty six now, a full fledged adult who should know better than to dabble in sentiment again (especially when it comes to brown eyed boys who only dream of the sun), so you slash through the threads connecting you to him with a flash of your teeth, bury your beating heart deeper into the dungeon you’ve built years ago of white bone and solid steel.  

“Do what you want, but your neighbours will hate you if you keep thumping that damn ball against the wall.” You say, simply, dismissively. 

“No one could ever hate me”, he declares with bravado. “I’ll charm them all with my charm and good looks.”

“Ridiculous”, you huff, dumping the last of his clothing into the cupboard. “Where’s the dinner you promised? I want ramen and gyoza at least.”

“So demanding”, he lilts. “I’ll order in. Tonkatsu ramen with char siu, bamboo shoots, extra spring onions with gyoza on the side?” 

Your heart struggles against its shackles. He still remembers your order.  

“Yes”, you finally say. “You got that right.”

He grins at you cheekily, as if to say of course. 

After you gulp down your ramen, devour your gyozas, you pack up, ready to leave. You have an early shift tomorrow, and you’re already dreaming about your soft bed whilst dreading the cup of coffee you’ll have to down tomorrow morning just to stay awake. 

He catches your wrist, presses the spare key to the apartment into your hand.  “Come back. I want to see you again”, he says, an order and not a plea. 

You are about to make up an excuse, tell him anything but the truth that you suspect it’s bad for your heart to keep seeing him again. 

“Please” - he adds with a tint of fragility to his voice. 

“I’ll be back when I can”, you finally say. 

“Tomorrow?” he looks up at you with hopeful eyes. 

“We’ll see”, you pry your hand loose from his grasp, slip out the front door. 

You stay away for two days, citing your work schedule as an excuse until he wears you down with a barrage of cutesy line stickers aimed at driving home how lonely he is and how much he misses your presence. You’re being dramatic as usual, you text him dryly, but you turn up anyway at his apartment on a Friday night, letting yourself in with an armful of reports and a bucket of oden. 

“How’re you doing? Are you listening to your physiotherapist? Eating properly? Sleeping well?”

“You sound like my mother”, he grouses, rolling his wheelchair to the dining table. 

You flick at his forehead, he slumps back in his wheelchair.  “Stop bullying the cripple’, he wheezes through his chortle. 

“You deserve it”, you retort. “Don’t run away from the question. How’re you feeling?”

“It still hurts”, he admits with a mock sniff. “It should stop hurting by nowwww.”

You push your glasses up the bridge of your nose. “That’s to be expected. Your sinews just got stitched together two weeks ago. Not sure why you’d expect any less.”

“Bah, rude. At least you didn’t say I told you so”, he grumbles, spooning oden into his mouth. “That would be insufferable.”

“Well, maybe you’ll listen to me now that I’m actually a doctor”, you inform him pertly, batting away memories of a teenage boy with hazel eyes shouting indignantly at you after practice in the Seijoh gym.

Tooru snorts. “I can’t believe my eighteen year old self was dumb enough to open my future self up to a jab like that”, he complains, chewing on a cabbage roll grumpily. 

“We’re all dumb at eighteen”, you remark. “You’re no exception.” 

“You were dumb enough to date me”, he teases with a mocking smile.  

Your spoon slips from your hand momentarily. It’s the first time he’s alluded to your past relationship. 

“I was, wasn’t I”, you say lightly, before turning the conversation to Tooru’s physiotherapy sessions. 

You have no wish to delve back into the past, but you’re willing to be his friend since he seems to need one for now.  

Tooru’s knee recovers enough for him to shift from his wheelchair to crutches, which he points at you playfully, mimicking a gun every time you pop by for a visit. He seems to plan his physiotherapy session around your schedule, just so he can wheedle you into paying him yet another visit when your shift at the hospital end, bribing you with a cup of coffee with a hint of chocolate from the café across the street that you’ve never found the time to visit. 

“Thank you, kind sir”, you say, accepting the coffee with a laugh. 

“You’re welcome, my lady”, he answers with a smirk, motioning you to follow him for yet another evening to be spent in his home sitting across him, red ink smeared on your hands as you mark up the reports in your lap. 

His façade that he’s coping with his injury just fine slips every so often. You catch him more often than not watching compilation videos of Kageyama and Atsumu at the World Cup this year with a strained expression on his face, or resting his chin on the windowsill whilst staring wistfully at the birds in the sky. 

He does not confide about his worries to you. You’re not sure you want him to. 

But you can’t explain to yourself the impulse to purchase a bird feeder for his balcony, nor the glow-in-the-dark poster of the constellations that you cart into his bedroom until your heart has to scramble for equilibrium when he thanks you, his smile soft. 

“In exchange for all the coffee you’ve bought me”, you reply, turning away to hide all evidence of your heart’s betrayal, the diffusion of blood in your cheeks.  

A month passes. Then another. 

The crutches get kept in the storeroom. A limp remains, but the degree which his knee can bend increases by the day. His mood improves even further, and you constantly find yourself swerving to avoid his affectionate gazes, his attempts at flirtation. 

“You’re looking so pretty today!” he lilts, fitting his arm snugly into the crook of your elbow as you walk down the neon lit streets of Tokyo. He insisted on this outing, and in the custom of your rekindled friendship, managed to convince you to accompany him on your off day so he can get crepes from Harajuku notwithstanding the fact that it takes forty five minutes on the train and his knee still acts up from time to time.  

“It’s my first time downtown in a month”, you tell him. “Of course I’m going to dress up.” You don’t tell him you spent far too long in front of your closet, tossing outfits on your bed until you found one that complements you just right. 

He buys you trinkets, hair accessories that you’ll never wear, tries to win you ridiculous stuffed toys from the claw machine. 

“You’re wasting money”, you scold, wiping the whipped cream from his mouth. 

“It’s not a waste if it’s for you”, he tells you, with startling sincerity that you still doubt.

He doesn’t mean it, you tell yourself. It’s just Tooru being Tooru. 

You refuse to admit what’s staring you in the face until you have to duck your head to avoid his attempt at pressing his lips to your cheek. 

“Goodnight, Tooru”, you manage to say before you bolt off into the night. You check to make sure your heart is still under lock and key. 

It is, but it beats resentfully. Tooru, it beats against its bars with frightening intensity. Tooru. Tooru.  

You ignore it. You know what’s best for it.

You stay away from him for a fortnight, requesting for a change in your schedule without updating him, taking the other exit from the hospital so you don’t have to see him. You stay away until he manages to wear you down yet again, texting you the most ridiculous conspiracy theories about your absence from his life – you must be abducted by aliens, he texts you once, or your mother forced you to marry some stranger, I can break you out if you just say the word. 

He has a guest, you hear another voice, deeper, filled with gravel and intensity, so different from Tooru’s lighter lilt. You do not mean to eavesdrop, but you don’t want to interrupt Tooru when he has a rare guest over, and there’s nowhere else for you wait save for the dusty front step, so you settle yourself in, pen poised to continue your work. 

“What did the doctor say? When are you coming back for practice?” 

“I’m doing good! The physiotherapist thinks I can try light exercise next week. If all goes well, I’ll be back to practice in a month.”

“Sounds promising.”

“I had a good medical team. And I’m actually resting properly!”

“Shittykawa. Stop sounding so proud about doing what’s necessary for your recovery.”

“Iwa-channnn, stop being mean to meeee!”

Ah, Iwaizumi, of course. You haven’t seen him in years, but you remember him from school, a stoic boy with a good heart. You wonder if he’s changed. 

“Are you planning on heading back to Argentina?”

Tooru answers without hesitation. “Of course”, he says airily. “As long as they take me back.”

Your foolish heart shudders with disappointment. Of course. If you run your fingers down his spine, you’ll probably find blooms of wax attached to his very bone. 

You are about to stand up and leave when Tooru speaks up again. 

“But I’m going to enjoy my time in Japan while I’m back. Did I tell you I reconnected with my ex? She’s great, it feels like I never left.”

The firestorm of blood in your ears nearly drowns out Iwaizumi’s growled ‘piece of shit’ (he truly hasn’t changed after all), the clatter of glassware as Tooru protests that he’s not playing with your heart, he truly cares about you, his sullen silence when Iwaizumi demands what’s going to happen when he leaves Japan for Argentina, when he inevitably leaves you behind (yet again).   

Of course. 

You know his heart longs for the sky. There is no space for you. 

You barely have time to react when the door swings open, Iwaizumi on the verge of storming out. You plaster a smile to your face that does not fool him, but you hang on to it nonetheless, cracks appearing only when he gives you a wide eyed look of sympathy that only pours oil onto the flaming war between your brain and your heart. 

“It’s fine”, you say, and though he clearly does not believe you, he bows and leaves anyway. 

Tooru stares at you, mouth open, stumbling over himself with apologies and demands for you to tell him what you’ve overheard, but you motion for him to just stop with your hand, wave aside his protest that he means what he said, he truly likes you.  

Your heart screeches in delight, but your mind is firmly in the driver’s seat. 

“Let’s just pretend I never heard you say that, and we can continue just as before.”

“As friends?” he says, twisting his lips as if the words taste sour in his mouth. He clutches at your shoulders.

“I want more. I want you.”

Your heart thrums in agreement, but you recall assembling the remains of your heart back into your chest whilst kneeling on the cold bathroom floor half a decade ago. The span of five years should have molded you to view your shared past with pragmatism, but your heart seems to have forgotten its lesson. You shake your head.

“There’s no way you truly want me. I don’t think you’ve only ever had space in your heart for anything but your goals.” 

Your response emerges more bitter than you intend. 

“That’s not true”, he weakly protests. “I care about you.”

Not enough, you refrain from telling him. “Let’s remain friends”, you do say, and he opens his mouth to object again, but at the hard look you give him, he slumps back with a defeated nod.

He tries to respect your decision, never complaining when you keep a careful arm’s length distance from him, though you can feel his heated gaze on you whenever he thinks you won’t notice, hear his quiet sighs whenever you shy away from any accidental touch. He droops when you turn down his invite for lunch with his family when they come down for a visit, citing work even though he knows you’re off for the day. 

Still, it’s manageable and he says he needs you, so you return for visits, at least twice weekly, offering encouraging smiles and friendly words when he returns first to light exercise, then to rehabilitative practice a month later, just as he predicted. 

He carves out time for dinners with you, taking care to ask about your day, preferring to spin you stories about the pigeons and doves and crows crowding his balcony rather than talking about volleyball or his practice. He insists on escorting you to his apartment after work when you allow him to, offering you his arm with a soft smile that disarms you, dissolves any resistance. 

It’s an uneasy equilibrium, but it’ll suffice. 

The careful balance you’ve maintained in the space between you and Tooru is shattered when you find you’re not the only one who’s decided to pay him a surprise visit on a Friday night. 

“Tooru, ya didn’t say ya got yerself a pretty girl during yer break”, a man with bleach blonde hair wolf whistles appreciatively when you step into the apartment. 

“I’m just a friend”, you reply confusedly before Tooru’s shout “Shove off, Miya” confirms that one Miya Atsumu has decided to invade Tooru’s apartment. Well, him and what seems like half the MSBY team, with Hinata Shoyo, Bokuto Koutaro and Sakusa Kiyoomi squashed uncomfortably on Tooru’s tiny sofa, long legs stretched across the living room. 

It turns out the MSBY team just finished a game in Tokyo, and Hinata dragged his teammates to visit Tooru in a wholesome bid to cheer him up. You try to excuse yourself after exchanging nods with Sakusa (he hasn’t changed much from his university days) when Miya Atsumu blocks your retreat with a drawled invite for Izakaya and the promise of karaoke after. 

Tooru mouths playfully at you don’t leave me alone with these clowns (you’re tempted to point out that he’s very much one himself), and before you can even blink, you find yourself dragged along to the nearest Izakaya, impressed by the amount of food each man polishes off - skewers of chicken hearts and cartilage, bowls of potato salad and rice with braised pork belly, listening to stories of their exploits on the national team together, stumbling into the karaoke bar tipsy from the beers that Miya Atsumu pressed into your hand, head heavy enough to allow him to wind an arm around your waist. 

“She’s too old for you, ‘Tsumu-kun”, Tooru trills, inserting himself in between you and Atsumu, mouth taut with aggravation. 

“I’m not old, just a year older”, you roll your eyes, as the blonde setter backs away, lips turned up in amusement. Tooru is not placated, muttering how the younger setter is a douche and a sleeze bag as he drapes his jacket over you like a blanket. You nestle against his side, head on his shoulder as his arm rests protectively around you. 

Atsumu watches this with raised eyebrows, whistling slowly, opening his mouth to remark that he’s never seen Oikawa so smitten before when Hinata interrupts with a chirped  “‘Tsum-Tsum, join me!”, handing him a microphone while bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

Karaoke is the most fun you’ve had in ages. Hinata and Bokuto and Atsumu sing all their favourite anime theme songs with gusto - Atsumu even gets misty eyed when he croons Sparkle by Radwimps, reddening when everyone teases him for being a romantic sap, Bokuto shaking his hips to Western pop hits, Hinata showing off his Spanish skills. Sakusa refuses to even touch the microphone but you suppose it’s a win that he’s even in the karaoke booth with all of you. 

Tooru slaps away Atsumu’s attempts at handing you any further alcohol, forcing you to down cups of water until you are no longer glassy eyed, but still tipsy enough to agree to sing ridiculous K-On songs with Hintata and Bokuto, not stopping even when Tooru whips out his phone to video the entire performance with an indulgent smile. 

“Delete it!” you squeal, losing your balance when you try swiping the phone out of his hands, tripping into his lap instead.  

“In your dreams, princess”, Tooru chuckles, his arms snaking around you like a vise. 

“Anndd that’s our cue to call it a night”, Atsumu quips, herding Hinata and Bokuto out onto the street, Sakusa heaving an audible sigh of relief. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, kids!” he calls over his shoulder, throwing you a wink. 

“I’m technically his senpai, cheeky brat”, Tooru mutters, the irritation in his voice washing away as you giggle. “C’mon, it’s too late for you to get home and my place is nearer to the hospital so you might as well stay over tonight. You can take the bed, I’ll take the sofa.”

You shake your head, arguing that you couldn’t possibly turn an invalid like him out of his bed but he huffs at the insinuation that he’s anything but well, his knee almost whole again. You give in after he convinces you that it’d be more inconvenient for him to escort you all the way to your own home rather than put you up for the night, and you allow him to loop his arm around yours and lead you back to his apartment. 

It’s not the first time you’ve been in his apartment this late, not by a long shot, but it is the first time you’re over with the intention of staying over. The t-shirt you borrow from Tooru hangs off your frame, the scent of the fabric softener Tooru uses is familiar. You would’ve preferred being tipsier to dull your senses, but alcohol would only impair your logic, allow your heart to prevail, so you try to quell the thrumming of your blood in your veins by curling up on a seat by the window with a cup of tea when Tooru emerges from his shower. 

“Ready for bed?” he asks, towelling off his hair, frowning when you shake your head. “It’s late, you have work tomorrow, even if it’s the afternoon shift.”

“It’s fine”, you say without turning your head to face him. “Go to bed, I’ll take the couch.”

“I’m insulted, princess. What kind of a man d’you think I am to make his guest sleep on the couch? ”

It’s less dangerous to ignore him, so you pay him no mind, choosing instead to lean your chin in your hand and look up towards the night sky. It soothes you, the moon an old friend, reminding of five years’ worth of quiet nights spent in your own flat, filtering your younger self into adulthood. 

“What’re you looking at?” He takes a step forward, kneels down next to you. 

“The moon and the stars”, you say dreamily. “They’re pretty tonight.”

A myriad of weather conditions must coincide to allow the stars to even be visible in the polluted Tokyo night sky, but tonight of all nights fate intervenes, the stars align. The sky is cloudless, the full moon hangs heavy, the stars shimmer and dance.  

“Are they?” Tooru whispers. “I haven’t noticed.”

You finally turn to look at him. “Why’re you staring at me?” 

The unconscious echo of your past - a boy and a girl, falling in love under the same night sky makes his mouth twist wistfully, eyes faded gold.

“Because you are my sun, my moon and my stars. I love you better than anything in the sky.”

Your mouth falls open, your heart suddenly roaring, pounding against its restraints. 

“You can’t mean that”, you whisper. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

“I do”, he says, with heartbreaking sincerity. “And I always will.”

Nostalgia, aided by the lingering alcohol in your veins opens the gate to your foolish heart. You want to pretend that you are eighteen again, without a care in the world, indulging in the warmth of his hand on the small of your back, the caress of his breath on your cheek. Your lips beckon his, swallowing the catch of his breath when your hands slide under his shirt. 

“Are you sure about this?” His eyes are hungry, almost ravenous, but his hands still hover at the hem of your top. 

“Yes”, you murmur, pressing open mouthed kisses to the column of his neck. “Please, Tooru - please.” 

He carries you into the bedroom, undresses you with shaking hands, chanting your name with reverence, almost a prayer. His eyes darken with desperation and need, unwilling to allow himself any release until you fall apart boneless, caged in his arms.  

“Stay with me”, he murmurs, after you’ve both cleaned up a second time, tugging you into bed. 

It’s laughable. Five years on, Oikawa Tooru still has the power to make your mind lose all reason (however temporarily). With a single heated look, he commands your heart to break willingly in his hands. How could you not have learnt your lesson? The conversation between him and Iwaizumi merely confirms what you’ve known all this while.

(The sky his heart seeks is a world away from the earth yours is buried in)

Even now, you can see the glimmer of golden wax feathers budding along his spine, gleaming under the pale moonlight. 

You lie under the covers until his breath evens out, then you stumble out of bed. You force your heart to relinquish the keys to its freedom, handing it back to logic and rationality, pulling on your clothing, folding your borrowed clothing aside.  

Tooru mumbles your name, his hand outstretched towards you. “Come back”, he says in his sleep, fragility tinting the edges of his words. 

Your fingers miss the doorknob by an inch. You dash your foolish hopes against the darkness of the room, put on your resolve like armour, leave your spare key on the kitchen counter. 

Without looking back, you slip out into the night. 

​

#haikyuu angst #oikawa tooru #oikawa x you #oikawa x reader #oikawa x y/n #oikawa tooru x you #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa tooru x y/n #seijoh #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu!! #hq #msby 4 #haikyuu romance #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu writing #hq writing #haikyuu imagines #hq imagines #haikyuucafe #Icarus

[windblooms]

childe scenario – being taken care of

he’s used to taking care of his own wounds, but having your hands on him instead is a welcome change.

gender neutral reader.  mentions of blood (injuries).  nsfw implications.  1889 words. 

with his unmatched agility, keen attention to detail, and combat technique prowess, childe considered himself to be a warrior. 

you, on the other hand, thought of him as a fool playing hero – reckless, pretty much.

sure, seeing him slash with his hydro dangers was hot.  witnessing his deft rotation to a bow, firing arrows at a speed that your eyes could hardly match, was equally, if not more drool-worthy,

but childe, in his acute taste for strong opponents, is incredibly dumb when it comes to taking care of himself.  

this is when you come in.  when he’s taken combat a bit too seriously with marks on his face, clothes torn to shreds, and breath more uneven than the fatui agenda, you’re there to snap him back to the senses he has left.

not like he has that many, you murmur inwardly, dragging him back to his room by the arm.  he’s reassuring you that he’s fine, that he’s endured worse in terms of injuries, and he’s had practice in bandaging himself up –

you’ll have none of it.  watching childe throw himself into combat is like watching a lit match being chucked into a bucket of gasoline.

hazardous.  potentially lethal.  preferably avoidable.

“sit,” you command, plopping him on the chair behind his desk while rummaging through the drawers with your other hand.  his body melts into the chair and he sighs, contentedly, before suddenly remembering that he’s supposed to be putting up a fight.

“i can handle this myself, you know – ”  he reaches towards your hand with his own, grasping for the gauze bundle you found, only to have it swatted away.

“the last time you bandaged yourself, you were bleeding through your shirt and onto the chair.  no way in hell am i trusting you with this.”

“we’re not in hell, we’re in my office.  you’ve got more important things to do, yeah?”

you scowl, already moving towards him to unbutton his shredded coat.  despite his words, he lets you, and you toss it across the desk. 

his chest would be smooth if not for the ridges of muscle that trail down his stomach.  you’ve seen him like this too many times to be fazed, however that doesn’t stop you from appreciating the intimacy of the moment while it lasts.  “i’m paid to look after you.  so, no, nothing better to do.”

after inspecting the lacerations across his chest and the disturbed flesh on his arms, you go fetch a stool to sit at the same height as him.  standing up isn’t practical when he would be beneath you, and kneeling on the ground is definitely not an option.

once you’re back and situated, you take care in measuring appropriate amounts of herbal medication for his wounds (courtesy of grinding qingxin and violetgrass together). 

he watches you work, head propped on his fist while you have his other arm flat on the armrest, and you begin to feel your face burn.  does he have to stare at you like that?  admittedly, you suppose there’s nothing better to look at while he’s waiting, so you just grumble quietly to yourself.

you’ve measured out the quantities, so you get to work applying the paste to his arms fist.  you dare not apply it with your bare hands since it’s unsanitary medical practice, and instead with the back of a chilled spoon.

at least you have an excuse to look at his arms.  muscular, with wrists thicker than your own, and fingers definitely longer than yours.  of course the youngest harbinger also has a great bod – it’s not like he already has a pretty face and a voice that could melt even the tsaritsa’s frigid heart.

you convince yourself that you should get paid more for this, to deal with his careless attitude and impressive visuals.  

“tell me if it gets to tight,” you warn, unwrapping a strip of gauze from the bundle before he lifts up his arm, and you proceed to secure the paste under the fabric.

childe winces slightly, although he’s quick to conceal his discomfort.  you know that even he bleeds, and doesn’t have to keep his tough-guy act in the privacy of his own office. 

your hands repeatedly touch his skin to tighten the gauze, before proceeding to roll on each new strip.  his skin is unbearably warm – although it’s natural with the blood rush – and he inhales sharply as you wrap the final strip over his arm.

“sorry,” you mumble, before pushing the armrest so that childe’s body is fully facing yours.  “you might have to stand up for this one, since your chest is, uh, bleeding a lot.”

it’s his turn to scoff, but he nonetheless complies with an oh well smile.  you help him steady himself, and he grins in thanks.

“this one shouldn’t hurt as much,” you affirm after inspecting his chest for the second time.  the gash is shallower than the one on his arm, although it runs from one side of his chest towards the opposite collar bone. 

you pause for a second too long, and childe takes the opportunity to interject.  you can hear the grin in his voice when he does.  “you gonna check me out even longer, doc?” he inquires, and you’re not dense enough to miss the implications of his words, “it’s cute that you think i don’t notice – ”

“this is purely professional, and you know that.” you interrupt him vehemently, pressing your lips together.  “i can’t treat you properly if i don’t know what i’m dealing with.  you just happened to get injured here,” you jab at his chest, before turning towards the paste.

“i guess you’re right.  but you like what you see, right?  that’s good news for me.”

“you’re built.  if someone as active as you weren’t, then i’d be surprised.”

“so you admit it!”  childe exclaims, as if he’s won something out of you.  you remain steadfast in your reasoning, not willing to give him any more ground.  

“i’m just stating what i see.  you’re built.”  not a second longer your hand is on his chest, somewhat forcefully in your embarrassment, and you apply the paste.  you hate that he’s taller than you; it feels daunting to be in a position literally beneath him in an immature discussion like this. 

“aha,” he nods his head, although he’s not convinced in the slightest.  he might be slightly tired from his last battle, but doesn’t let it deter him from making fun of his subordinate.  "you should be careful where you touch in a closed office like this.”

he takes a hold of your hand with the gauze, and snakes his arm behind the small of your back.  you stiffen immediately, taken off-guard by his boldness, and fight the urge to screech at his bare skin against you and his face so close to your own.

“this isn’t appropriate – ” you gag, hands flying to his shoulders, not quite pushing away.  and out of no-where –

you whine despite yourself, flustered at his change in behavior.  “childe, don’t make this a bigger deal.  you didn’t even want me to take care of you – ”

“you’re right, i didn’t,” he agrees, and his voice stops you from continuing.  he winks at you from behind his bangs, and you gulp.  “but i can indulge someone who cares about me, yeah?”

is this a trick question?  you can’t tell where he’s coming from, since your relationship has always been professional up to this point, and you don't think you’ve made it obvious that you found him physically attractive before.  he’s got to be messing with you, you’re sure of it, and stutter out a response. 

“a-again, i’m paid to take care of you,” (although, you can see on his face that he’s not buying it, and the bastard intertwines his fingers with yours,) “there are lots of other people you could do this with if you're feeling . . . peckish.”

“peckish, huh?”  he murmurs lowly, and removes his arm from your back.  but he still holds tight onto your fingers, gauze having been discarded onto the table.  you step back tentatively, firm in your assertions. 

“i don’t think you’d put up with me if you didn’t care,” he reasons aloud.  even though this is the first time you’ve physically dragged him into his office to tend to his wounds, you had remarked in the past that he was being too careless with himself.  you press your lips together, thinking, before slowly squeezing his fingers back. 

“i do care about you,” you begin, and he blinks curiously, intently studying your face.  “but i also can’t lose my job.  superior-subordinate interactions like this aren’t exactly good either.  you do realize that, right?”  

he’s playing you like a fiddle, you’re certain of it, and are trying to play your cards as carefully as possible.  he’s never shown interest in you in quite this way before.  always teasing, insufferably frustrating in his ways, but never invested in you.

you’re not even sure how to tell if he’s being sincere.  your peers have always told you that childe is difficult to read, that, especially since he’s practically your boss, you should consider his words as lip service.  sure, he’s physically attractive, and you’ve already made peace with yourself in thinking so.

you never imagined to be in a scenario like this with him, and after analyzing your face for mere seconds, it seems as if childe is following your thought process.

he lets go of your fingers, and you flex them cautiously.  you’re both quiet as you gradually go back to bandaging him up, and you notice that, despite your tense discussion, his body seems oddly relaxed against your light touch.

you don’t touch him any more than you need to, almost afraid of being burned by any other remarks he can come up with.  you probably won’t offer to do this again for him due to the pure awkwardness of the situation; if he pulled this stunt to dissuade you from approaching him in the future, it was a very cunning and manipulative way to do so –

suddenly, childe scowls.  you pause, looking up at him, and are surprised once he pats your head.  your mouth opens, trying to produce sounds, and you feel like a fish –

“don’t think too much,” he reassures you, voice reassuring.  “i’ll wait with whatever you decide, doc.”

if anything, his words leave you even more conflicted, and you’re dumbfound enough that you don’t finish securing the gauze.  childe grins in your stupor and secures the bandage himself, leaving you to think of what words to say next.

he heads to his closet by the door, retrieving a new coat before sliding it over his head and chest.  you reflexively run over to go help him, although stop half way.  it’s difficult for you to think of something witty to respond with like usual, although you suppose that simplicity could settle for now.

“thanks,” you settle for as he opens the door, “i might get back to you on this.”

mind?  a mess.  body?  feels like jelly.  childe?  undecided for now.

#genshin impact #childe x reader #childe headcanons #childe scenarios #tartaglia x reader #childe imagines #genshin x reader

[xaharadesert]

Return to the Lazaret Alone Pt. 4 - Headcanon

Muriel x MC

A/N: I haven’t played Muriel’s route yet, so I feel like this might be inaccurate. I’m always looking to improve my characterization, so if you have any constructive criticism I would love to hear it! This is part 4 for @snarkfinnicksoup! Hopefully it’s okay! Requests are open! Again, sorry for the delay with posts, I’ve been studying for an upcoming AP English exam that’s less than a week away!

TW: crying, isolation, relationship insecurities, anxiety, Lazaret, mentions of death

💚Muriel💚

When he went to bed after your fight, he already felt terrible

He hated fighting with you, and always struggled to communicate properly both during and after the argument

Which meant that when he woke up and found that you were gone, he somehow managed to feel even worse

On a regular day he knew that you would never leave this early in the morning without telling him where you were going and when you would come back

You two both worked hard on communication, and letting him know when you would be away helped a lot with his anxiety

So having you just disappear like this made his anxiety skyrocket

He knew that it was his fault, without a doubt

You were angry with him after your fight, and now you had left, clearly

In his mind he was fighting with himself, unable to decide exactly what to do

If you were in the forest, then it wasn’t safe for you to be alone and he would need to find you as quickly as possible

But if you were in a part of Vesuvia you knew well, then you likely wouldn’t want him to bother you

In the end Muriel decided to check the forest, just in case, and if he found no sign that you were there or that you had been hurt, he would return home

It took quite a while to thoroughly search to a point where he was satisfied that you weren’t in the forest, and by then he figured you may have come home of your own decision

But when he arrived, you still weren’t there

His anxiety and fear that you hated him made his throat feel tighter than usual, and he prayed that you were just sorting through your feelings

He didn’t know what he would do if you genuinely left him forever

A small shred of logic in his mind attempted to reassure him that you were likely going to spend the night with one of your friends, and he held on to that hope for the rest of the night before he fell asleep

Muriel knew that you and Asra were particularly close, so he would check with Asra tomorrow to see if he had been with you

Unfortunately, the next day when Muriel did just that, he discovered that Asra hadn’t seen you either

On the other hand, with Asra there to help it wouldn’t be hard to put together a spell to help find you

Soon enough Muriel discovered the truth, and it was worse than any possibility he could have come up with on his own

You had gone— of your own free will— to the Lazaret; the place you had died years prior

Obviously Muriel wasted no time racing to the Lazaret as quickly as possible (and if he took somebody’s boat without asking first, well, he would give it back later)

His heart felt like it might burst out of his chest; the implications of your isolation at the Lazaret terrified him

He should have never left your argument unresolved, he should have tried harder to work things out

But it was too late to focus on the past now

He had to get you home as soon as possible, and find out exactly what was going on in your head

Searching the Lazaret alone for you wasn’t easy, especially since he had a hard time fitting into the smaller spaces, but he found you eventually

His heart hadn’t calmed down since Asra told him where you were, but it somehow managed to speed up even more, throbbing painfully as though it would burst out of his body

You looked so small and fragile, not at all like you normally did

He always did his best to be as gentle with you as possible, but now he felt as thought if he so much as laid a finger on you you would shatter

He settled for hovering within your space, words failing him as he saw your expression change from one of surprise to guilt to full blown sobbing

Muriel wanted to help you so badly, and he was torn between cradling you as close as the world would physically allow, and not wanting to hurt you any more than he felt he already had

He could feel tears welling up in his own eyes as his nerve-wracked mind tried to figure out what to do

In the end, the two of you simply cried together, neither of you prepared to do much more

Once all of your tears had dried up, Muriel didn’t push for you to talk

He knew better than anyone that sometimes one just needed space and silence to work things out themself

As much as he struggled to communicate during fights, he hoped that you understood that he would help you however you needed him to

If you wanted to talk, he would listen patiently and offer whatever appropriate comforts he could think of

If you just wanted to keep quiet about it, he would hold you close and reassure you in his quiet, peaceful way that he loved you and that you would never need to hide anything from him

Even if he wasn’t very good at talking things out himself, he was learning how to respond to your particular brand of communication

For now, he would take you home as quickly as possible, away from a horrible past that he hoped you would never have to face alone

#the arcana #the arcana headcanon #the arcana hc #arcana #arcana headcanon #arcana hc #Muriel #Muriel headcanon #Muriel x mc #Muriel arcana #Muriel hc #Muriel arcana hc #Muriel arcana headcanon #Muriel x mc arcana #Muriel arcana x mc #arcana Muriel x mc #tw crying #tw isolation #tw Lazaret #lazaret #tw relationship insecurities #tw anxiety #tw mentions of death #pt 4/6 #pt 4 #almost there! #Asra up next! #I have a super big exam coming up #so in an attempt to avoid studying I’ve been writing more headcanons! #thanks for your patience and I love you all!!!

[genshin-garbage]

Regret and the Truth

Lumine falls for the distant alchemist, Albedo, but he doesn’t realize his feelings until it’s too late. He hurts her in a way he can’t undo and regret settles in his heart. Regret can be ignored for a while, but it always comes back.

When Lumine first saw the alchemist, her first thought was that he was really pretty. When they officially met, she found the rumors about his coldness to be unfounded. He was quite pleasant to work with and engaged in conversation avidly. Albedo wasn’t shy about asking questions about her nature as a traveler of worlds, and was curious about her biology. She initially chalked this up to being about his research, but as the questions became more and more personal, she couldn’t help but be curious about him in turn.

Over time, their talks started to resemble normal conversations people have to get to know each other. Questions like: what are your hobbies and what’s your hometown like. Lumine eventually forgot how insatiable his curiosity really is and came to consider him a close friend, later even developing feelings for him. She went to visit his camp on Dragonspine whenever she was free, and when she had to stop by the Knights of Favonius headquarters she always asked if he was there.

It didn’t take long for most of the knights to realize Lumine’s crush, Klee especially was excited as she wanted to see the honorary knight be happy with her big brother. Aside from Klee, the knights generally supported her. A few who were closer to Albedo however, were a bit hesitant and tried to steer her away from him. Sucrose and Timaus in particular tried to tell Lumine about his one-track mind, and how he has a hard time understanding normal emotions. However, Lumine’s feelings couldn’t be stopped and those who were reluctant do eventually stop trying to sway her.

There came a day when Lumine had finally worked up the courage to confess her feelings with the support of her friends (and maybe a little bit of alcohol). It was sunset and Albedo had been collecting research materials in Dragonspine, she was a bit tipsy and waiting for him in his lab.

“Hm? Lumine? What are you doing here?”

“Albedo I, I need to tell you something.”

“Yes?”

Lumine approaches him, she was too nervous to look him in the eyes. “I, I like you a lot!”

“Hmm, I see. Then I wonder…” He leans over and kisses her. Lumine doesn’t kiss back out of surprise but quickly leans into the kiss. Their hands roam each other's bodies as they kiss, feet taking them to the couch nearby. As Albedo lays her down on the sofa, he kisses her down her neck and leads the night in a more passionate direction.

Lumine wakes up naked next to Albedo. Her head stung a little but she remembers clearly what had transpired. She blushes hard, she felt there was a possibility of Albedo returning her affections but she didn’t expect the night to turn in that direction. It felt good though and she doesn’t regret it. He never properly said he liked her back however, which irked her a bit, but there was still time. She feels Albedo stir below her, one hand moving from her waist to rub the sleepiness out of his eyes.

“Mhmmm, good morning.” He sits up carefully so as to not push her off the couch.

“Good- good morning.”

“How are you feeling?”

“I feel great. A bit sore but I really enjoyed last night.”

“Nothing out of the ordinary? No changes anywhere?”

“No?” She hesitated, dread washing over her. “Last night, you never really told me how you felt.”

“About that, I don’t want you to misinterpret my actions. I was merely curious about your biology and how your kind reacts to romantic interest, nothing more. Perhaps if the results were different we could have continued this charade a bit longer, but they turned out to be the same as any average person in Teyvat.” He reaches over to grab his shirt from the floor. “Please excuse me, I have work to do and I must record the data from this experiment.”

Lumine shifted off him but remained silent, tears began to well up in her eyes as she felt her heart be torn to shreds by every word that came out of his mouth. To him she was nothing more than an experiment, a specimen in his research to find the truth to this world. She was had, used, and now was being discarded as if she was nothing. “So last night, my confession, it all meant nothing to you? All those times you called me beautiful, was it all a lie?”

“No, not entirely. You are attractive and your company is pleasant enough.” He puts on his clothing as he speaks, his tone disinterested and his face neutral. It was clear he didn’t care what happened next or how Lumine felt. “However, beyond my research I don’t feel the need to be anymore than acquaintances. It was simply convenient to use your attraction to get a better idea of how you work.”

“I see.” Her voice cracked and Albedo turned to look at her. Tears fell down her cheeks and a fake smile plastered on her face as she put on her clothing. “I’m- I’m glad that I was at least some use to you. I, uh, I need to go. Paimon must be wondering where I am. Goodbye.”

She rushes out the door leaving a surprised Albedo alone in the lab. While he did expect her to be upset, he didn’t expect her to still treat him with such kindness. He expected her to beat him screaming at him for playing with her emotions. He felt a tinge of regret before smothering it, there wasn’t time for regret in the pursuit of knowledge. It was a necessary step in getting the data he needed. Still, the hurt expression lingered in his mind as he planned out his new routine until the people of Mondtstadt forgot about this incident.

The next few weeks, Lumine was emotionally absent. It was hard not to notice how she robotically went through commissions, taking more of them as well as bounties. Paimon noticed that what little sleep she did get on a daily basis was cut from her schedule, and that she had started eating less. Whenever anyone asked what was wrong, she would always say that she was fine. They knew it had something to do with Albedo, but he was more elusive than usual. He was the last to come and first to leave during meetings, all of his experiments now took place in Dragonspine, and his time spent babysitting Klee was now spent studying the area around Star Snatched Cliff.

One night, they had finally had enough and managed to convince Diluc to let Lumine drink in hopes that some alcohol in her system would finally get her to tell them what was wrong. He agreed, and so Lisa, Jean, and Amber took Lumine out on a girls night out while Diluc manned the bar.

Lisa was the first to prod after Lumine was decently drunk. “So Lumine, What happened between you and Albedo? You haven’t asked about him in a long while. Did your confession not go well?”

“He- he doesn’t like me in that way. I’m nothing but a specimen in his research.” Lumine takes another long sip of her drink. “He said it himself, ‘beyond my research I don’t feel the need to become anything beyond acquaintances’.”

“I have a feeling that if he had simply rejected you, you wouldn’t be this upset.” Jean stated. “Something else happened between you two. You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to, but as your friends we want to help you in any way we can.”

“Yeah! Like Jean said! We all hate seeing you all mopey and sad! If Albedo did anything to you I’ll make it my personal mission to set Barron Bunny on him!” Amber added, crossing her arms to exaggerate her point.

Lumine, touched by their words, and incredibly hammered at this point, began to cry. “Tha-thank you guys. I- after I confessed we spent the night together, it was consensual and I enjoyed it, but the morning after he admitted that he only slept with me as part of his research. I- I really thought he liked me back, but he used me! I feel like there’s something wrong with me! I feel so dumb for falling for him, Sucrose and Timaus even warned me! Am I just not good enough? I thought I had a chance, but I was so foolish for thinking I was good enough. Why would he fall for someone like me? I’m nothing but an outlander!”

The rest of her words become unintelligible babble and wails. Amber held her in a tight hug as she bawled her eyes out. Looks were shared between the three women and Diluc as a roaring rage began to burn in their eyes. How dare he use Lumine like this. How dare he play with her feelings, then cast her aside like a toy. Any sort of respect they had for the alchemist beyond his genius had dissipated in the wind.

It wasn’t long before everyone in Mondstadt knew what had happened. He found the increased difficulty in obtaining items in shops and finding people to assist him irritating but not unexpected. He didn’t care about the glares from adults, but the questions from Klee did sting.

“What did big brother do to big sis Lumine to hurt her feelings? Klee can go get Jean and see if she can help big brother make up with Lumine!”

“It’s ok Klee, I’m sure Jean and Lumine have better things to do.”

“But-”

“Klee, it's fine. How about you go play outside.”

“Ok…”

As Klee exited the lab, Sucrose came in. She had an anxious look and was fidgeting. “Master Albedo? Do you have a moment? I wish to speak to you about something.”

“Very well, what is it Sucrose?”

“Why- why did you do that to Lumine? There were other ways to get the data you wanted without hurting her. So why did you do it?”

“It was simply the most convenient way at the time, and the data I collected was easier to analyze since I didn’t have to rely on a third party. It was simply easier to get objective information.”

Sucrose clearly didn’t like that answer as her body tensed up and her face had a hurt expression. “I see. I’ll leave you be then. I won’t be available to assist you for a while. I hope your research was worth Lumine’s pain.”

She stormed off in a quiet rage and left Albedo alone in the lab. He seemed to be alone more, he attributed it to the lack of hands helping him but he knew deep down it was because Lumine wasn’t there anymore. For the second time, regret flared up in his heart before he smothers it again. If loneliness was a consequence of getting closer to the truth, then he shall make himself the loneliest man alive.

The month after the confrontation with Sucrose, he overhears that the traveler had returned from Liyue with someone. He pays this no mind until he sees her with the man himself. An ugly feeling rears its head as he sees her laughing and smiling with a green haired man. If Albedo hadn’t been so observant he would have thought the man to be annoyed by her presence, but he notices how soft his eyes look at her and how he stands in a position ready to protect her if anything were to suddenly happen. When the man pulls a fallen leaf out of her hair, the ugly feeling grips harder.

Before he can stop, he realizes that he’s walking towards them. It’s too late to turn around as they notice him. “Welcome back, Lumine. May I ask who this is?”

Lumine shifts uncomfortably in place, she turns to hide herself a little. “Oh, uh, hello. This is Xiao, Xiao this is Albedo.”

“Is he the one you’ve spoken about in the past?” Xiao’s expression has lost its softness as he looks at Albedo.

Lumine hesitates to answer the question, nervous of his reaction. “Yes… yes he is.” She grabs his arm when she sees him tense up. “Please don’t do anything, it’s in the past. I just want to forget it happened.”

“Hmph, fine.”

“I shall take my leave. Enjoy your stay in Mondstadt and a pleasure to meet you Xiao.”

“I cannot say likewise.” He growls.

As Albedo walks away, he sees in the reflection of a store window that Lumine had kissed Xiao on the cheek.  Flustered Xiao turns away, but not without holding her hand in return.

“That could have been me.” The thought stakes its claim in his mind. As much as he tries and tries, he can’t smother the feeling of regret in his heart. He loves Lumine, but he hurt her, and now he can never have her. When he turned into his lab, he sunk down onto his knees and truly let the feeling sink in. He was a genius but clearly he still had much to learn, he just wished he had realized sooner what his teacher truly meant when she told him to learn the truth to this world.

He closed his eyes and hoped that if he were to ever be reborn he wouldn’t make the same mistake again, then let the darkness consume him.

#genshin impact albedo #genshin albedo #gi albedo #genshin impact lumine #genshin lumine #gi lumine #genshin impact xiao #genshin xiao #gi xiao #albelumi #albedo x lumine #lumine x albedo #xiaolumi #lumine x xiao #xiao x lumine #genshin impact #genshin #gi

[evileyeamulet]

snippets from the tragic love story of Foggy Nelson and Stilt man

*[pssst for a fully immersive experience, play the audio while reading]

Foggy strained his neck to look up at his dearest. He knew this had to happen and he'd been dreading this moment since what felt like eternity. The rain drops pitter-pattered as they hit his umbrella and titter-tattered as they hit Wilbur's metal helmet.

"What are you saying, Foggy?" Wilbur said in an emotionless tone. But that was because he talked through a voice distorter that always made him sound monotonous and robot-like, so this was normal and not particularly significant.

What he wanted to say was that this was the kind love he'd never even dared to dream of, that their fates were tied together, that every breath he took was Wilbur's name. If Foggy asked for it, he knew that Wilbur would snatch their happy ending from destiny's cruel grip. He would bend and crumple God's will with his bare hands.

But Foggy couldn't ask for that. This wasn't what they could be, no matter how much he wanted it.

"Do not do this to me, my love," said Wilbur. "I cannot live without you. You're my entire world, Foggy."

Foggy shook his head, tears blurring his vision. "Goodbye, Stilt-man. Goodbye."

----- ✿ -----

"We broke up,"

Matt's jaw dropped in theatrical surprise. "Oh no. This is... devastating news. I'm devastated."

"I know," Foggy said. He would never hear that flat voice again. He would never have to stand on the roofs of skyscrapers just to kiss his helmet again. He would never feel the comforting and cold metal of Stilty-boo's armour.

"Stilty-boo?"

"That's what I used to call him," Foggy choked. "But no more. We have parted ways."

Matt put his arms around him and stroked his hair gently. He said nice things about how Foggy would get over him soon. That sometimes, it just wasn't meant to be, you know? Everything would be fine.

"You'll find someone just as good, Fogs. Maybe someone even better."

Perhaps Matt had meant to say it in a consoling manner, but Foggy couldn't bear to hear that. "How dare you? Don't you ever speak about him like that again!" he sobbed, pulling away from him. "I will never find someone half as good as the worst parts of him! Can't you see my heart has been torn to shreds and eaten up by merciless wolves?"

Matt said he couldn't see it without missing a beat and grinned as he adjusted his glasses.

This was not the time for. For puns you fool. You wretched devil.

"Okay, yes, I can see it, figuratively speaking," He admitted. "I understand. What can I do to help, Foggy?"

Foggy was still hurt from the break up, Matt's less than ideal reaction, and in his frustration and bitterness he said something he very much regretted within half a second of having said it. "What can you do? You can never understand. You've never been in love."

Fuck.

Matt's eyes grew misty and his lip trembled. He made a wounded noise so small that it sounded like the whimper of an ant being crushed, provided ants could speak.

He didn't walk away angrily or slam the door, or scream at Foggy. In fact, he did not move at all. They sat on the floor in silence, periodically sniffing and wiping their noses until they fell asleep next to each other.

----- ✿ -----

#daredevil #stilt man #stiltfog #matt murdock #foggy nelson #am i writing this ironically? unironically? no one knows #not even me #daredevil comics