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ultimate-chickennougat · 2 days

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| I just want attention! |

Toji Fushiguro x Wife!Reader (Requested!)

Asking Toji for a divorce.

Word Count: 1.5k

CW: SFW, domestic mostly fluff and some angst, happy ending.

A/n: TYSM to the anon who requested! I'm not very experienced with writing angsty stuff so if it's bad my apologies. (Also tag: @chilichopsticks)

From the moment you met Toji, he was nothing but a gentleman to you. Maybe that was why you fell so hard and so quickly, so that when he was on one knee with a ring you didn’t hesitate at all after only a few months of being together.

He always swept you off your feet, when you got off work he picked you up and took you wherever you wanted to go. He always tried to make you happy and spend as much time with you as possible, buying you flowers when you got a promotion and taking you to an early screening of a movie from your favorite franchise, were only a few of the many things he would do often for you.

All he asked for in return, was for you to accept him, faults and all. He had made mistakes in the past, and still worked as an assassin, which was the only job he felt he was well suited for. With you in mind, he quit his gambling habit. After so many loses he finally got some sense knocked into him and decided to saved up his money, so that the moment the two of you tied the knot you wouldn’t have to work at all.

To most, Toji was seen as arrogant, if not invisible since he kept to himself, something that you never understood. On the day of your wedding, you were picked up in his arms and carried directly to the car, where he drove the two of you to your honeymoon destination right after the ceremony and fuss was over. Two weeks of hot springs and relaxing in a small town awaited you, where your husband doted on you more than ever. Every morning you awoke to a sweet kiss on your forehead, and warm arms engulfing you, making you wish you could sleep forever in the comfort of his protection.

You made sure to snap plenty of shots of walking around to the different shrines and temples, and your husband wearing a yukata which he realized he was rather fond of. By the end of your trip you were more in love with him than ever, and even more ready to embrace a wonderful life as his wife in your new home.

Somewhere in your heart you knew that feeling might not last forever, the butterflies you got every time Toji was around you. But everyone always said the honeymoon phase lasted at least a few months… not the length of the actual honeymoon. Nothing your family and friends had said about marriage prepared you for this reality, that the fade to normal life would be so sharp.

By the time the two of you got back to the house, your husband was already heading right back to work as usual. You kept yourself busy with unpacking all the boxes and setting things up around the house, but in a way that only made getting used to a routine harder. Toji didn’t come back for four days, being on a job he got unexpectedly.

His quick call barely did anything to calm your nerves. He was always so careful about telling you about his work before the two of you were married, trying not to worry you. Of course you knew Toji was strong, and you tried not to doubt him, but you could barely sleep from thinking about it. Now living with him you could feel his absence by the empty side of the bed and the single plate of food on the dining room table.

As soon as he was back, you were overjoyed by his presence, almost thinking that feeling you were missing had returned. But, it wasn’t for long. No matter how many hobbies you took up at home, or how many friends you made in your new neighborhood, the absence of your husband would always bother you. When he was right in front of you, he was still the gentleman you always remembered, who you loved with every ounce of your being. But when he was away, you couldn’t help but wonder if he thought about you as much as you did about him. If he even missed you, he was gone so often for his assignments. As weeks turned to months, it blurred into routine and so did the wall that started to grow between the two of you.

That day, you had finally had enough. After contemplating it in your head for a few weeks, you realized that the two of you were still relatively new into your marriage, and you could still probably get your job back even if things changed. Of course you still loved him, and you couldn’t imagine your life without him, but right now, that was almost what you were living. He got less and less affectionate every time he came home, and it was too stressful to have to worry every day that he got home safe in a job that you didn’t fully understand, as he couldn’t tell you much for your own safety.

You had promised him you would stay by his side for anything, but he had done the same for you. And right now, neither of you were anywhere near each other. Toji had no idea you had taken up watching the neighbor’s kid after school some days, or that you baked a fresh loaf of bread at the start of every week, something he was never there to try. You didn’t know where he was or sometimes for how long, not getting much more than a promise that he’d come home safe.

“Smells good, what’d you make?” Toji inhaled deeply as he walked into the house. For the first time in your marriage he was home on a Monday, bread making day. “It’ll be ready soon,” you referred to the loaf sitting on a cooling rack. You forwent the normal welcome, though you did it so rarely that it seemed to go unnoticed. Making a cup of coffee to go with a slice of the bread, you shifted you feet uncomfortably, making Toji watch your movements carefully. “Thanks,” he muttered, grabbing the bread off the plate while you sat down in front of him.

The two of you sat in silence. Starting it off with that question felt far too daunting. “Y’know what, I was thinking we should take a vacation,” he started, “for a week or two.” You lifted your head up to look at him. “Haven’t done that in awhile, huh,” he groaned, hand rubbing his neck at your bland expression.

He dropped his hand and sat up straight when he saw your face change. Your eyes, usually so cheerful and lovely, looked only of pain as they flooded with tears. “Toji, you know that I love you, I…” he watched you carefully as you spoke. “I… just can’t do it anymore,” you started to breath deeply, turning away to avoid your husband’s eyes.

Toji grabbed your hand softly, encouraging you to squeeze it back as he listened. “I love you too, okay? Just talk to me,” he muttered, trying to decrease the tension though he knew in his gut what you were going to say. Clearly it had been on your mind for a while, you just wanted to get it over with. “I miss you, a lot, but I know you’ve got your work and everything,” you grasped his fingers, pressing into them lightly. “But I just don’t know what I’m doing here, aside from worrying about you. I’m not even doing anything for you.”

Tears flooded down your cheeks as Toji reached up to wipe them away with his thumb. “Maybe we just shouldn’t be together,” as much as he was prepared for your words, they still hit him like a ton of bricks. If only he could express how special every moment the two of you had together was to him, and how excited he was to make new ones. “I love you, okay? I didn’t marry you for nothin’, remember that.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I don’t want to be without you, but my work takes me away a lot.” Toji frowned, realizing your apprehension to fall into his arms was something he should have noticed beforehand. “I’ll quit, I’m serious. I just want you to be happy, okay? I don’t want to get divorced.”

“It’s not just that, it’s-” he tucked you into his chest. “You’re right, just calm down and we can talk about it,” you nodded against the fabric of his shirt. “I just want some attention, it’s like we don’t even know each other sometimes,” you whined, wrapping your arms around him as well. He smiled as you brought your head out, face dry of tears but still a bit pink. “I want to learn everything about you, yeah? Like how’d you get so good at baking…” he bit off a chunk of bread, now room temperature and slathered in butter.

“This isn’t the time for joking, I just told you I wanted to get divorced,” you sulked as Toji laughed. “I’m just glad you changed your mind,” he let out a sigh of relief. “I still want to talk about this, but let’s leave it off for a bit,” he held you tighter, “I’d rather relax before I have to tell Shiu I’m quitting…”

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x reader #toji fushiguro #toji zenin #jjk toji #toji fushiguro x reader #toji zenin x reader #toji x reader #toji x you #toji fluff #toji fushiguro x you #jujutsu kaisen toji #fushiguro toji #fushiguro toji x reader

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allfearstofallto · 2 days

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A Boon from the Tsaritsa

Arlecchino x Fem! Reader

A/N: Reader is a simp

She's beautiful from all angles. That's the only thought that's running through your mind as you kneel before her. Her haunting beauty is a sight to behold, her face like that of an angel. Or maybe, a demon, with the way she tempts you. Even the look of disinterest, of lack of care for you, sends a chill of adoration up your spine. All it took was one glance at her in passing and you were absolutely smitten.

“I was told you requested me personally?” She spoke, her voice echoing off the wall and sending a familiar tingle to your groin. Her words, spoken coldly like ice, made your heart beat even faster in your chest.

“Yes, Sir! I did,” you stuttered back enthusiastically. Her dark eyes were on you and you could feel them practically melting through your skin. And the feeling was euphoric. Her painful gaze was like heaven to you and you wished to bask in it, if only her impatience with you wasn't so palpable, “I did well on the previous mission, sir, as I'm sure you've heard. I'm actually the sole survivor of it. I was told by the Tsaritsa herself that I could have any gift I desire for my job well done.”

Arlecchino cocked an eyebrow, crossing one of her gorgeous legs over the other. The way her thighs squished against the heavy fabric of her pants had you nearly drooling, your eyes tracing up and down her long legs to where the heel of her shoe where she tapped her foot against the marble floor, “I'm assuming you have something you want from my orphanage then, seeing as you asked for me. I do not give my children up, if that's what you're asking for, so I suggest calling on someone else for your ‘reward,”

“I want nothing of the sort,”

“Is that so?” She hummed.

“What I want is something only you can give me,”

“And that is?”

Your eyes fell upon her lips. Plump and wet with gloss. The natural pink shade making them stand out against her pale skin. They were pressed together in a frown, but even that displeasing expression excited you, “I want a kiss. From you.”

She was dumbfounded for a moment, you could see the slightest change in her expression, then she went back to her neutral expression, trying to pretend that what you’d asked for wasn't phasing her. She waved her hands, shooing the other Fatui guards out of the room and they left with little sound, their feet sounding like little patters of rain against the floor.

“A boon from the Tsaritsa is not an easy thing to acquire. People typically ask for things like land or status,”

“I'm aware,”

“Yet, you're giving it all up for a peck on the lips?”

When she said it like that, you did feel a little stupid. But you were steadfast in your ways and insistent on what you wanted. Her lips plagued your dreams day and night. And passing her on your way to assignments made you mentally curse whatever fate kept her from being your superior. Although, you doubted you'd get any work done if you had the opportunity to ogle at her as much as you pleased.

“I do not feel as if I'm wasting my boon, I've wanted this for a very long time,” affirmation coated your words, showing that you meant every bit of them.

Maybe she could feel that. Feel your honesty in the way you spoke. In the way you look up at her with admiration. Most would be upset that they were made to kneel, yet, you dropped to the floor before her without any hesitation the second the order left her mouth.

You watched her feet as she stepped towards you, her heels clicking against the floor. She cupped your face, just beneath the chin. You'd never touched her before, how could you? But the feeling of her gloved hands against your skin, of her sharp nails practically testing your flesh, it was euphoric.

Bending over at the waist, she pressed her lips against yours. You would've melted into a puddle right there, had it not been for her firm grip on your cheeks. She tasted sweeter than you expected, but her lips were as soft as you'd dreamt of. Her smell up close was intoxicating, and even though you would've been more than satisfied with just her lips, you felt her tongue forcing its way into your mouth.

The way she kissed was dominating. It was suffocating. It was heavenly. You let her do whatever she desired, practically sitting there like a ragdoll for her to toy with. You wanted to remember every bit of her taste, the feeling of her lips. Her touch. You savored it, whining in sorrow when she pulled away, her lips wet with your saliva.

“Do well again,” Arlecchino spoke in a hushed whisper right against the shell of your ear, “So you can get another.”

#genshin #genshin x reader #genshin impact #arlecchino x reader #genshin arlecchino #genshin arlecchino x reader

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rush-the-stars · 2 days

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AFFECTION'S EDGE: PART I

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|| alpha!suguru getou x omega!afab reader || E/18+ || wc: 6.5k || ao3 || Part II -> coming soon! || masterlist ||

minors and ageless blogs do not interact, 18+ only

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“You’ve got it all wrong,” he murmurs, “but what am I to expect from a stray like you? You’ve lived off scraps and abuse your whole life; of course you don’t know what to do now that I’ve given you food and shelter.” Suguru’s fingers ease up towards your neck as he continues, “a warm bed to lie in. Toys to play with. A collar—so you’ll never be lost again. No one’s ever given you this before, hm?”

***

Suguru tries to tame you.

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✧ SPRING FEVER collab masterlist ✧

cw: omegaverse, brat taming, mind games, toxic behavior, yandere suguru getou, yandere reader if you squint, biting, blood, marking, eventual forced bathing in later parts, eventual forced feeding in later parts, eventual smut in later parts; masturbation, voyeurism, a blurring of boundaries, consent as punishment?

a/n: this is for @lorelune 's SPRING FEVER collab!! i have been working on this for awhile now and i am excited to share it! this should be about 3 parts...i am very close to finishing the whole thing so i should be releasing a part a week for the next two weeks!

thank you for reading!! i would love to hear your thoughts <333

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“I think you’d be perfect.”

Suguru’s voice is a caress, low and soft, as he sits across from you.

Somehow, he always makes you feel like he is just beneath the surface of your skin, even if there is a respectable distance between you. He always makes you feel as if he is lurking somewhere in the lowest parts of you, pulling at strings you once thought hidden to yourself.

You’ve kept your distance for this reason.

You swallow hard.

And then you manage to get your voice to unstick, to find it somewhere inside of you and bring it to life. It’s firmer than you’re anticipating and you’re proud;

“I don’t think I would be.”

Suguru looks at you in a way that makes you feel as if he’s seeing through you, pulling you open slowly to gaze at all the inner workings of you. His dark eyes are keen, so sharp, even if they’re shaded by half-lidded lashes.

He smiles pleasantly and indulges you, but you know he believes very firmly that he is, in fact, right, “why not?”

“I told you when I agreed to join you—all I wanted in exchange for helping you, was to be an unbound Omega.” You force yourself to meet his eyes and to not get sucked into the dark tide of them.

“You asked for my protection.” He reminds you.

Your eyes flash this time, heated, a little spark that skitters to life inside of you.

“I didn’t—“

“Is that not what you’d call it?” Suguru asks, “when I interfered, every time, to be sure no other Alpha got to you? Or when I scented you to keep them away?”

Prickling warmth dots your cheeks, can feel at the back of your neck, too, the tips of your ears. You try a different tactic.

“I’m not a homemaker.”

His smile is soft, “I don’t want a homemaker.”

“I’m not obedient.” You counter again, as if you could dissuade Suguru Getou once he’s made up his mind.

“You’ve been quite good for me.” Suguru says smugly and this time, a little noise of embarrassment or frustration eeks out of you. A short, sharp little growl from your throat, almost a groan of irritation.

“I—I’m doing your dirty work. That’s our agreement! You give me assignments that I complete and in return, I get my freedom.”

“I don’t know why you’re so opposed to this. Is it not similar already to what we have now?” He asks simply, “I’d still let you roam, if that’s what you’re so scared of.”

“No it’s that—that power and mentality that I don’t want you to have over me.” You snap.

“I already have it,” he says and it isn’t intended to be cruel, but certainly is, “how long do you think you’d last, without the protection of an Alpha?”

“I didn’t have any before you.”

“You were starving, injured, and constantly on the run before me.” You open your mouth to protest, but he cuts you off, “it would still give you what you want.”

“I don’t want to be yours.” You say frankly, perhaps to be cruel yourself. And then you show teeth a little, flash them in warning, “I don’t want your mark.”

Suguru looks amused, if anything, by your display.

His smile is knowing and insufferable. It makes your anger ratchet up inside of you, hackles rising. You feel a little growl working its way out of your throat. It tears out of you in annoyance, when he says, “I don’t believe you.”

You slam the door so hard on its hinges that it rattles the entire wall. You wish it would rattle all the world.

***

Your cursed technique rips to life like a star exploding outwards.

Beast that you are, it overtakes you, transforms you until you are all claws and dripping, little fangs. Your body elongates, elegant, and built for speed, viciousness. The horns atop your head are sharp, too, curled the slightest into a crescent shape. The beast in you stretches and pulls at your bones, fits your skin to it in a way that you have come to know well.

(“Cursed technique: Cursed Creature,” Suguru hums, “allows you to turn into a cursed version of yourself, a sort of,” he pauses, looking you over, “monster?”

“That’s right.” You tell him, body trembling all over, in dire need of food. Care. Sleep.

He places a large hand on top of your head, strokes gently, until his hand nudges your cheek, beneath your chin so you are forced to look up into his eyes. Depthless violet.

“You have a deal.”)

The sorcerer is cast backward with the force of your transformation. In this form, everything heightens, sharpening into brilliance. So much brighter, clearer. So much more overwhelming.

You are a flash of darkness when you move, a mass of lethality.

The sorcerer doesn’t stand a chance, the moment you dash past him with a deep swipe of your claws, you know this will be an easy match. You chitter in this form, excited, warbly little sound erupting from you before you careen towards him again.

This time, he is warped away.

But you are fast, changing your trajectory mid-step to catch up to where he was warped.

Except, this time, a white haired sorcerer takes his place.

Your claws meet air.

A growling hiss erupts from your throat.

Satoru Gojo.

Suguru told you to stay away from him. At all costs.

And speak of the devil, your name is called, whistled almost. Your head turns to find Suguru appearing, too.

Faintly, the more human part of you wonders what the occasion is.

For a moment, all you can see is threat. Your hackles rise as your growling gets lower, more sinister, your form moving behind Gojo as if you might circle him, unable to let down your guard.

“Call off your pet,” Gojo says.

Suguru calls your name again and there’s something else in his tone now, a little sharper.

(Fear, you wonder faintly, in some far away part of your mind. Is he worried Gojo would hurt you?)

You come to heel at Suguru’s side, remaining in this form, making a low, threatening sound still. Warning. Your claws still drip with the blood of that sorcerer.

“Go,” Suguru says to you.

Your head snaps to look at him, eyes narrowing. “I’m not leaving,” you snap and the words have a bite to it, around the curves of your fangs. You look back at Gojo. If this comes to blows, you don’t want Suguru facing Gojo alone–you don’t want to leave his back suddenly unguarded.

It’s counterintuitive to you, goes against all of your instincts. You don’t leave him, you don’t leave his side, his back.

“Go,” Suguru says, harsher this time and the command seeps into you. You waver. And then, “I won’t tell you again.”

When you hiss at him in that warbling way of curses, he smiles faintly, almost fondly, as your teeth drip with venom. But you do listen to him this time.

And with your heightened hearing, you hear Gojo underneath his breath as you slink away;

“How interesting.”

***

When Suguru returns to you, he is unharmed.

You’d paced the length of the hallway outside of his room in the compound until you could have worn a hole into it.

Few would be brave enough to wait for Suguru outside his door.

When he arrives, he is mildly surprised to see you, before his expression melts into a sort of—smugness. A knowing glint to his eyes.

“Why would you send me away?” You snap.

“You could’ve gone in, you know, if it would’ve soothed you.” Suguru says instead, head nodding towards the door to his suite. “Would you like a key?”

You blanche, taking a half step back, “I don’t—“

It allows him to get to his door and open it. You’ve been here before, in the privacy of his suite, but now it feels strange. A little different. He holds the door open for you.

You glance at the threshold and feel as if you’re making an important decision.

“Come on,” he says smoothly and before you can think twice about it, you are being led inside, his hand drifting somewhere near your lower back. He never touches you, the feeling is a phantom one, the impression of it. You shiver a little.

But you round on him again, “why would you send me away?”

He doesn’t acknowledge you, instead he goes rifling in a drawer, digging around a little.

His suite is larger than others. The living room is open and attached is the kitchen. It’s all light wood, with tall windows that overlook the courtyard. You know, despite never being inside, that his bedroom is down the hall and to the left. The bathroom is across from it. You’ve sat many times on the floor of his living room with him, going over assignments, plans that he has, and what he’d like you to do.

When he finds what he’s looking for, he makes a soft noise, before turning to you with a small, gold key.

“I don’t want a key!” You snap.

“It’s a spare, take it just in case.” He replies and when you don’t move to grab it from him, he takes your hand in his much larger one, and opens your palm to him.

He places the key in your hand.

And then his eyes catch yours, “you were worried.”

“No-!” you get out, “I don’t like being—I’m supposed to protect you.”

Suguru smiles, hand still swallowing yours, “isn’t that sweet?” he remarks, “an Omega attempting to protect an Alpha.”

Immediately, you jerk away from him.

The key is still in your shaking fist.

“Don’t start,” you snarl, low and vicious and hurt, “I’ve always been the one at your side.”

“Yes,” he agrees, hand falling back down to his side listlessly. “I already told you that.”

You’ve always been at my side, he’d said, when he was trying to convince you to–

“That’s not what I meant!” Your voice rises without your consent and you feel an embarrassed, angry flush through your face for being so worked up. The room is thick with your worry and anger and frustration, all of your pent up energy like a knot in your chest, in your voice. It’s in your heart and the way you look at him.

“It doesn’t matter what you meant,” Suguru says easily, “it’s still the truth.”

When you slam the door this time, you hear something fall from the wall.

But the key is still in your trembling hand, digging indents into your palm, and your heart is still a beast in your chest.

And behind the closed door, Suguru Getou smiles fondly, and retrieves the fallen, shattered frame from the floor.

***

For a while, you avoid Suguru.

You stuff the key he gave you in your nightstand drawer, far in the back, in an attempt to keep it out of sight and out of your mind.

And at first, you think he is respecting your boundaries; you receive assignments through others from him. You see him only in passing and he never speaks directly to you. He hardly acknowledges you.

But after a week and a half, it begins to feel like punishment.

And the key is starting to burn and itch in your mind. You think about it at night, tossing over in your bed; you think about unlocking his door at this hour. What would you find? Would he be asleep? Awake? Alone? Fully dressed?

You think of him half bare and lounging, hair slipping over his shoulders, and the scent of sandalwood and fig. Tonka or something woodsy, maybe. You know it well and it lingers long after he leaves you.

You suddenly miss it, crave it.

Him.

You twist beneath your sheets.

Why did he have to–

You make a soft noise of frustration, turning over again.

You’re restless.

Something beneath your skin begins to itch and squirm.

Previously, Suguru had hardly mentioned your status as an Omega. He rarely acknowledged it; you were too brilliant of a sorcerer for him to care, you thought. You were too powerful. The only instance he brought it up was to scent you, a form of caution in a particular instance, for a particular mission. The memory still simmers in your mind, the way he’d rubbed the gland on your wrist with a careful thumb. He’d given you clothes of his to wear. He’d had you sit in his quarters for long hours, until it seemed as if you were his, in some way.

But now that he’s actually brought it up, offered you his bite, to be his, it paints him in an entirely different light.

Had he always…wanted you?

Was he always planning this?

The naive, desperate parts of you want to believe this is a recent thought of his. Previous to this, he only ever saw you as another sorcerer, a powerful one that aided him. You had always been one of the closer ones to him, at his heel, his beck and call.

You’d be lying if you said you’d never thought of Suguru this way; as an Alpha. An unmated one, who kept your company.

And he does, no matter how badly it burns to admit it, protect you.

You know he wards off Alphas.

You know he perhaps does more than even that.

But you don’t want—

You don’t want to be mated.

You don’t want to suddenly be coddled by him, held back, don’t want to be the little thing that keeps his bed warm.

Your face heats with the thought.

Images flash through your mind, flickering, melting together like film that bleeds and runs, of him overtop you. Shrouding you. His hair on your shoulders and back. You think of his mouth on your throat, teeth in your neck.

You rub at your eyes suddenly as if to clear them.

You know he leaves on a mission for a week in two days.

You assume, at some point, he’ll speak to you. And break this strange silence.

You’ll both return to normal then.

And then perhaps you won’t lose any more sleep over him.

***

Suguru never says goodbye to you.

It shouldn’t bother you as much as it does—you just figured he’d finally drop this silly little silence game.

You suppose he must’ve thought the same of you.

Besides, what were you expecting from him? An apology? It’s foolish to even entertain. You knew you weren’t going to apologize either. The least you’ll do, when he returns, is act as if all is normal again. Perhaps it’s better that way, not to address what he’s put in his head recently.

The more you speak of it, or think of it, the worse it unravels in your mind.

On the second day that he is gone, you realize you miss his scent.

You realize it has become such a staple in your everyday life that its sudden disappearance is almost alarming. It makes you more irritable, more vicious. You snap at the others faster, bite out insults and brutalities.

You—

Well, you miss it.

Him, maybe.

The admittance is a hard one to swallow around. It burns going down.

On the third day, you’re genuinely craving his scent in a way that makes your teeth ache. You had no idea you could even miss a scent like this, need it so bad that your body would betray you with a physical pain in your chest. Somewhere in your mouth, under your tongue.

You try to ignore it.

You go on with your life.

But by the fifth day, you are agitated and aggressive. Everyone knows something is wrong with you. You know something is wrong with you. You can feel it beneath your skin, crawling, squirming. It makes you want to tear out your hair, rip at your nails, or sink your teeth into something. You’re restless.

You can’t sleep.

You can hardly eat or think.

And as you lay awake in your bed, kicking at sheets, sweating and twisting, you know what it is you need.

You’ve known the whole week.

You throw back the covers and wrench open your bedside drawer.

The key rattles, hot, like it knows it’s finally about to be used. It’s musical sound a siren song, it’s been burning away in there the whole week.

You swipe it and turn sharply from your bedroom. From your own apartment.

It’s the middle of the night; not a soul sees you in the compound.

Like a person possessed, you walk. Your back is straight. Your steps are quick. Your mind is set, on fire.

Suguru’s door has haunted you the whole week.

The key in your hand digs into the flesh, carving it’s divots there like your hand might be the lock itself.

You try not to think about it–you unlock the door. You throw it open.

You shut it behind you, slide the lock back into place.

Darkness greets you.

You wander in like you know the place (you do, you do–)

You wander in like it’s yours to wander in.

Instantly, something loosens inside of you.

You exhale hard.

Inhale sharp.

The smell of him, fainter because he’s been gone, assaults your senses, sweeps over them. You take in a lungful like gasping for air, you smell faint traces of fig and sandalwood. Notes of tonka that you long for, that urge you to move deeper into his space.

In the dark, you make your way down the hall, towards his bedroom.

You haunt the arch for a moment.

Guilt or regret or embarrassment almost seize you. They make you pause.

Some sane part of you is clawing at your insides, wailing to turn around and leave. Leave now.

But he gave you a key.

He gave you a key, you think in circles, again and again. He gave me a key.

You cross the threshold.

You sink down into his bed and his scent is strongest here, even still, after several days it’s his.

You turn over the covers to get beneath them, cool sheets against your legs, sliding and smooth. You turn your face into his pillow and inhale.

A soft little groan works it’s way out of you.

Instantly, your muscles slacken.

Everything leeches from you; your anger and irritation and restlessness.

It soothes you so deeply and so swiftly it makes your head spin.

You curl beneath his blankets and take deep pulls of breath, squirming a moment if only to bring his scent tighter around you. You envelope yourself in it.You shroud yourself in it.

And finally, after five days of restless nights, you fall asleep almost instantly.

Not a single dream. Not one moment where you wake or stir.

You sleep deeply.

In the morning, the sun warms you through the broad windows like a content cat.

You stretch lazily like one, too.

Suguru will be home tomorrow.

You know you need to leave his bed, hope that your scent dissipates by the time he returns.

You didn’t do anything wrong, you know—he gave you a key.

He gave you a key.

But rather, you know he would never let you live it down. He would use it instantly, as ammunition for his argument, the debate that the two of you keep circling.

You don’t quite leave as quickly as you should still, though:

You linger.

You’re comfortable.

Calmed for the first time all week.

And when you do slip out, it’s silently, locking the door behind you.

Like maybe you won’t ever let yourself back in there, trying to shut it like it was a one time indulgence and gone now from your mind and body.

But his scent clings to you.

And little do you know, your scent clings to his sheets—and to Suguru, it’s sweet as can be and unmistakable—irreplaceable.

He collapses in his own bed when he returns and knows you’ve been all over it. He can smell the crush of dark berries, jasmine, the soothing note of vanilla that clings to you, that he’s come to adore.

He grins to himself and knows then, he’s got you right where he wants you.

***

For a moment, you think Suguru is going to make you be the bigger person and apologize upon his return.

Instead, he finds you.

And he doesn’t say he’s sorry for his recent behavior, but he does say;

“I’d prefer if you didn’t avoid me in the future.”

It feels like sorry enough.

And for some time, things return to a state of normal.

A version of it.

It isn’t quite like it was before—in fact, you seem to spend more time around him than previously. He calls on you more. He brings you into his space more frequently, often urging you to eat with him, beside him, at his table.

This is ideal for you. Close but not too close.

Although, he begins to ask, don’t you have your key? Can’t you let yourself in?

You say you haven’t used it.

He hums like he knows differently, but doesn’t press you.

Until finally he asks you to retrieve a notebook in his study and bring it to him.

Fetch, he says.

“It’s locked, isn’t it?”

“You have your key.” He answers simply, not looking up from the book he is reading.

For a moment, you almost protest, but something stops you. Maybe the twitch in his brow.

It’s a useless argument to pick, anyways.

You do have a key.

It would be fastest, easiest, to just use it.

So you do.

And you hand him the notebook he asked for, fingers brushing against his as he takes it from you with gentle hands.

“Thank you,” he adds, voice so smooth and low, almost tempting.

You swallow a little.

Then you quickly avert your gaze.

“Whatever,” you grouse, but he smiles fondly, amused.

And it opens another door, more than just the one to his suite.

***

Tentatively, you begin to come and go.

The first (second) time you use your key to enter without his order, he is careful not to react to you any differently than how he usually does.

His eyes brighten a little, though, like a leopard that’s caught something interesting in its sights and is waiting to see what it’ll do.

Still, you grow more comfortable entering his space on your own.

You claim portions of it; a corner of the couch. A particular cushion around his low table. All of the sunny patches in his suite become yours, scented with you, indented with you. More than that, some horrible, hidden part of you adores that your scent is all over his space.

It’s comforting to find it beside his scent.

It soothes a part of you that you don’t wish to admit to.

His hands grow bolder.

Now they’re always hovering at the small of your back, the nape of your neck. He tucks strands of your hair away from your face and though you jerk away from him, it’s often half-hearted. You snip at him and he only smiles.

Pleased. Smug. Knowing.

His hands guide you as you walk beside him.

You grow accustomed to his touch in some way—he makes sure of it.

Then, as if to prove something—

Another cult member begins to cause trouble with you; he is another Omega. He begins with snide comments and remarks that test your patience. He doesn’t stop until you are growling and bristled and ready for a fight.

And all it takes to stop you is Suguru’s large hand coming down on the nape of your neck.

His thumb rests atop one scent gland at your throat, fingertips pressing delicately into the one on the other side. Hand wrapped around the back of your neck.

“Easy,” he murmurs and just like that, you can feel some of your aggression slip from you, deflate like a balloon.

It’s involuntary, the energy and anger unspooling from your body in an instant. In the back of your mind, you’re alarmed; how easily it was for him to effect you. It’s terrifying.

You swat his hand away, lurching from him, another little growl in your throat.

But you don’t fight him or the look in his eyes, the way he tilts his chin up in the barest hint of dominance.

You storm off.

Instances as such continue to happen, though, where he’s able to sooth or quell your temperament with a touch. A word. A look.

It comes to a head while you’re eating dinner with him.

“You’re so wound up,” Suguru comments lightly, “your scent is so sharp with it. What’s bothering you?”

Reflexively, you snap, “you are.”

And it’s meant to be some sort of insult but Suguru’s lips twist into this hitched little smile. “It’s my fault you’re wound up?” He asks lightly.

“Don’t twist my words.” You respond, fixing him with a glare, “you bother me.”

He’s still deeply amused by this, you can tell by the twinkle in his eyes. The smug way he holds himself.

“Would you like me to help you?” He asks.

“No,” you say reflexively.

A beat of silence before he says, “come here. I’ll help you.”

There’s a command in his voice, laced there, and doing something strange to your head.

You hesitate.

He pounces, “just a massage.” He soothes, “I can tell your shoulders are knotted up and tense. I can see it.”

His voice has dropped into that soothing lull.

Warily, “away from my glands?”

He smiles, “of course.” And then, “come here.”

Your body moves easily now and he murmurs, “sit in front of me. Back to me—there, that’s it.”

It feels more vulnerable than it should to show your back to him, to sit in front of him like a child to their mother. You try to keep your posture straight and careful.

But then he sets large, warm hands to your shoulders. His fingers dig into the meat of them gently, pressing into your muscles which spasm and twitch in pain. You yelp, jerking away.

Suguru tsks, “see how tense you are? You’re in pain.” He scolds softly and you feel heat smart across your face, “sit still for me. I’ll be gentler.”

True to his word, he eases up, fingers careful as they run into your tense muscles.

He finds bundles of twisted up tension in your back and shoulders, pressing into them until a noise springs from you—a groan, a whimper, a little growl. He works the sounds out of you. You swear he’s doing it deliberately and you wouldn’t be surprised if it was all just to humiliate you a little.

But you finally loosen and slacken for him.

When you finally sink into his hands, he murmurs, “I don’t know why you fight this so badly.”

You let go of a heavy sigh, “you do know why. Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you.”

“Because you’re stubborn?” Suguru asks lightly and you snort, despite yourself, “because you don’t know what’s good for you?”

“You’re no good for me.” You respond.

Suguru’s turn to sigh and if he digs his fingers in to make you yip in pain, he’d never say it was purposeful.

Reflexively, you jerk away from his touch, you turn to look at him over your shoulder with a sneer.

“I’m not a pet.”

Suguru does not heed your warning and instead gently pulls you back towards him by your waist.

“No?” He asks lightly, fingers resuming their steady massage. You go completely still like prey, unsure, wary. Angry. Humiliated. “It’s not a bad thing to be a pet. You’re thinking about it all wrong.”

His fingers ease up towards your neck and you stiffen again.

“Suguru,” you say in warning as he nears your scent glands. Perhaps to what he’s said.

“You’re my pet now,” he continues, “though you don’t like to admit it. It’s not so bad, is it?”

Stubbornly, you don’t answer him.

But after a moment, you say, “if I’m already yours, why do you need this last bit of me? If you already see me as your pet, why do you want me so terribly, in this way—“

Suguru suddenly pulls you back deeper, into his lap, against his chest.

You squirm, but he holds you tight, hooks his chin over your shoulder.

Alarm bells ring frantically in your head now that he’s so close to the glands in your throat.

“Don’t play dumb,” Suguru muses, half-mocking, “it doesn’t suit you.”

“Let me go,” you snarl low and hot.

“What are you scared of?” Suguru responds, “that I’d trap you? If you’d take my Bite, I’d let you roam further than I do now. You’d be safe.”

“Liar,” you hiss, “I’m not dumb.”

“I’m not trying to stifle you, I’m trying to set you free.” Suguru almost purrs and his voice is warm and low and creeping up over your spine and trying to find its way inside you.

You begin to squirm this time, thrashing in his hold until you manage to wriggle free, falling forward onto your hands and knees.

Instinctively, you turn to keep your back protected, scrambling away from him. You bare your teeth at him.

“I don’t believe you.”

He watches this show of aggression with amusement, tilting his head slightly. And then he sighs, “I don’t think anything I say will convince you at this point.”

You narrow your eyes at the tone. Your hackles rise.

In an instant, he has grabbed you by the ankle and pulled you back to him.

Underneath him.

You shove hard at him, twisting and fighting as he settles himself over you.

You realize how solid he is, how strong, and large. He doesn’t budge. He doesn’t even flinch.

“Suguru,” you hiss at him, pushing as hard as you can on his chest.

“See how easy it was for me to subdue you?” He says then, voice smooth and low. “If I wanted to take you, I simply would’ve already. You’re no challenge to me; if I wanted to trap you, I would’ve.”

“Get off me!”

You thrash hard beneath him and in an instant, he has your hands uselessly pinned above your head, stretching you out beneath him.

His nose dips, near the scent gland at your throat. You squirm.

He squeezes your wrists, “stop squirming.” He murmurs low, “or my instinct will be to bite.”

Your stomach does a horrible flip, a flutter of—fear, excitement.

“Just—get off—leave me alone!” You get out, voice high and tight. You try not to arch away from the way he lets his face fall to the crook of your neck.

“Hush,” Suguru hisses, nudging his nose beneath your ear.

He’s scenting you.

He’s done this before and despite everything in you, you finally go slack. You force yourself not to tilt your head or offer up more, rather let him urge you into the way that he prefers.

He nudges his cheek and nose against your jaw. He lets out a relieved breath, fitting more of his body to you and you feel the push of chest into yours, his hips.

You squirm a little and a growl erupts from his throat.

You fight back the sound that almost works its way out of you now, swallow around it.

When he’s finished, he asks, “would you like to scent me?” And instinctively, you want to say yes, but you temper yourself. Then he adds, “I’m sending you away on a mission alone. I’ll be scenting you until the day you leave now.”

You catch his eyes, glinting.

“So, I thought it only fair if you’d like to scent me, too.”

You don’t know why, but something squirms inside of you, something a little hurt.

“You’re sending me away?”

Suguru hums softly, “I need you to take care of something for me. I only trust you to do it.”

You flex your hands a little in his hold, but he doesn’t budge.

He nudges at your jaw again, gentle, and murmurs, “this would be easier if you’d take my mark.”

You turn your head then to shield your throat, and face him. His nose nearly brushes yours and you look up at him through your lashes. You bite your tongue from any further complaints, dipping down to the crux of his throat now.

Easily, perhaps eagerly, he bares his throat for you.

Satisfaction erupts beneath your skin as his scent washes over you, dark fig and oud, sandalwood and musk. Carefully, your nose runs along the column of his throat.

“I’m not even—“ you huff, retry, “I haven’t had a Heat in—it wouldn’t take, anyways.”

“Ah,” Suguru says and you wish you hadn’t told him at all. Realization dawns over his features the way a cat might realize it’s caught its mouse beneath its paws. “Is this what you’re so scared of?”

“No—I prefer it this way. It’s another reason that you can’t. It wouldn’t work.” You say stubbornly and perhaps in your irritation, you burrow further down into the crook of his neck, tuck your cheek to his skin to nudge.

“I could give you a temporary one,” he murmurs, “I’d let you do the same in return, of course.”

You go quiet, brushing your lips against his skin, hesitating.

“I don’t need it.” You finally decide, even as you let the blunt side of a tooth nick gently against his neck. “I can protect myself.” You pull away to look at him again, “am I not one of your strongest?”

“You are my strongest.” He agrees, he praises. “But am I not also strong?” He asks, “and yet you still insist on protecting me.”

You open your mouth to protest, but he takes your chin in hand suddenly, words dying before they can escape.

“You are my strongest.” He says, “I would like the world to be aware of it.”

“I told you, I don’t want to be yours–”

“Then stop protecting me. Flee. Run away and never return.” Suddenly, his touch, his body, all of him is gone. He rolls off of you and onto his back beside you. Cold air sweeps in. You can feel his touch like burning imprints on your skin.

You turn your head to the side to look at him.

“You would hunt me down if I ran.”

A flicker of a smile ghosts his face.

“And if I ran from you?” He asks, “if I discarded you?”

Something twists so viciously and sharply in your chest that your eyes sting with it. You lock your jaw tight. You stare up at the ceiling.

“You refuse to speak but your scent is spiced with distress, sour with despair.” He turns to look at you, “not so easy to hear, is it?”

“I can’t stand you or your games.” You get out.

“There are no games.” He says evenly, “only the one you’re playing with yourself.”

You scoff, “which is?”

He sits up slightly, over you, looking down at you, the inky silk of his dark hair sliding over one shoulder.

“Seeing how long you can outrun what you want.”

You exhale roughly, in exasperation, and then you ask dryly, “and what do I want, Suguru?”

“To be taken care of.”

“I don’t need–”

He cuts off your growl before it can start, taking your chin in hand to turn your head towards him once more. “You never have, but it doesn’t mean you can’t want it.”

“I don’t want it either.” You snap. “You have some grand delusion of me in your mind that I am some weak, submissive creature in need of your care.”

“I’ve said none of that, have I?” He hums. “Now you’re twisting my words, being purposefully churlish–in hopes of, what? To scare me off?”

His palm opens up against your jaw, your cheek. His thumb touches your bottom lip.

“You snap and you snarl and posture as some ferocious, independent creature to scare everyone off. I don’t blame you–I am certain you protected yourself many times this way from lesser people.” His voice is soft, almost a lull, you allow his palm to open against your lips, to turn your face into the cup of his hands. “You don’t believe anyone can handle you and you hope if you bite hard enough, tear into them, they’ll run off. And then you’ll feel vindicated; you were right, you are too much to handle. You were right, you are a monster. You’re unworthy of care or companionship or protection.”

His hand moves upward, baring his wrist to your mouth now, “go on,” he encourages, “bite me. As hard as you like. Scream and cry and tear into me. Loathe me and scorn me.” He leans closer, over you, as he hushes like a mother to their child, “I’ll still be here, with the rings of your teeth marks littered in my skin. I’ll be the only one, bruised and bloody, still taking care of you–no matter how badly you fight me.”

Out of anger or frustration or something else entirely, tears prick your eyes. As if to hide them, you open your mouth against his wrist, gentle first–warm and soft lips and tongue. He looks enraptured. He looks starving.

You sink your teeth into his skin viciously.

He hisses in pain, sharp, but doesn’t pull away. “There,” he coos, leaning over you, sinking into the pain, “is that what you wanted?”

Blood bursts into your mouth in a way that is almost startling, sharp and metallic. It should be gross and horrible and–you whine a little, somewhere in the back of your throat and bear down harder.

If that’s what he promises, you’ll make him prove it.

If he wants to be the one beside you, you’ll make him pay.

He leans down to kiss at your cheeks, gentle, humming. You realize there are tears. Your jaw aches.

But you don’t let go and he doesn’t even flinch.

“Does that feel better? To get your teeth into someone who isn’t scared of you?” He murmurs, nudging at your tense jaw, kissing there. “Shall I do the same to you?”

You release his wrist and shove him off, hard enough that he gives and he goes.

You stand up and storm out of his chambers, slamming the door on its hinges as hard as you can. You hope it knocks over every painting on his walls. You hope the entire compound somehow hears it. You hope it breaks something in the same way that something has been broken open inside of you.

You wipe his blood from your mouth with the back of your hand.

Suguru doesn’t even bandage the wound. And he wears his sleeves high, so that all the world might see it.

#suguru getou x reader #suguru geto x reader #getou suguru x reader #geto suguru x reader #suguru getou x you #getou suguru x you #suguru geto x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #cw: omegaverse #cw: yandere #cielo writes!#cielo's writing!

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catnipaddictt · 23 hours

Note

Hi!, its my first time here in tmblr and I rlly love your works, Can i request a Anakin Skywalker x reader, where he's like straight up Gomez Addams To Her? (Like he's so lovesick for y/n?) ?, if you're not taking any req it's okay js ignore this!! , thank u!

lovesick

anakin x gn!reader:

wc: 0.4k

tw: fluffy, slightly suggestive content?, head over heels anakin, reader is refereed to as princess

comment: hey anon! sorry this took so long to write but hopefully its kinda what you were thinking? my writers block still has an iron grip on me grr

Anakin Skywalker was head over heels for you. And even that was an understatement. The boy practically followed you around like a lost puppy when he was off duty. Unfortunately for him this meant missions were his left favorite thing, especially if they were long and oh so far away from you. You were all he could think about, constantly on his mind.

Sometimes it got so bad that his focus on missions would slip, resulting in stern words from Obi Wan, who was aware of your and Anakin's relationship, however he chose to ignore it as he knew how it felt to be young and in-love. Anakin would count down the days until he would be reunited with his love, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet when he got to visit you.

When he was with you he would bathe you in kisses treating you like the princess you were. Every mission he brought something small back for you. This could be a piece of jewelry, or a pretty rock he had found on a distant planet. You would never have to lift a finger when you were around him, he would make sure you were always comfortable and looked after. At night he would check and double check that you were warm enough or not overheating. He refused to let you catch a bad night's sleep.

Pressing a kiss to the side of your neck Anakin mumbles against your warm skin “just missed you so much baby.” His curls tickle you as he shows you just how much he had been craving you while on his latest assignment. You close your eyes, basking in the comfort of the jedi, wishing he didn’t have to leave you again in the morning. As if he can sense your thoughts he speaks softly “let me take care of you, okay?”

This boy is willing to sacrifice anything for you. When you two first got together, he made it very clear that he didn’t care about the jedi’s rules about attachments. He just wanted you, and only you. Although sneaking behind the backs of his fellow jedi is difficult, he will not give you up. Even if it risks losing his status and being ousted by the council.

Anakin was always patient and understanding with you, he would let you talk about your worries and doubts. He would offer advice and tell you how you were already perfect to him. This man is just so in love with you, and he will continue to love you until the end of time itself.

#star wars #hayden christensen #anakin skywalker #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen imagine #revenge of the sith #the clone wars #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x reader #anakin x you

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deepouterspacecandy · 3 days

Text

Spared

I intended to write a short drabble about Abby being immune to Cordyceps, but alas, it morphed into approximately 5k words right before my very eyes. How does this happen? Anyway. I appreciate your presence, taking the time to read these fragments of my mind. Thank you for being here. I hope you enjoy. This is a darker, more angsty, gore-filled journey and, as always, it’s intended for 18+ audiences only. Violence and sexual themes.

A man on a mission, Dr. Jerry Anderson devoted himself to eradicating the plague that wreaked havoc on the world.

Developing a vaccine against Cordyceps consumed his life.

In their quest for answers, people would come from all corners of the globe, hoping to be included in his trial. Despite undergoing countless procedures and surgeries in a desperate pursuit of a cure, most patients tragically succumbed to the treatments themselves or to their initial infections. As the years passed and resources became scarce, his experiments progressively lost their footing.

Mere weeks before his untimely demise, Dr. Anderson conducted his last trial on a patient. The experiment unfolded in a way he never anticipated.

After receiving the injection, the patient, without previous exposure to the virus, experienced a perplexing mutation, developing far more than immunity to the perils of infection.

She possessed the ability to communicate with it and maneuver through it, like a ghost.

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

“You wanted to see me.”

Isaac extends his arm, signaling for you to have a seat at his desk. He swirls a decanter filled with a rich, dark liquid before pouring it between two sturdy glasses.

With a jarring crack against the maple surface, Isaac sets one glass before you.

“I don’t drink,” you say.

As you bring the potion to your nose, the pungent smell of the liquor assaults your senses, and you search for a compliment to give out of courtesy. Hoping to dissuade him from making further gestures of rapport, you decide against it.

“Is this an issue I need to be aware of?” he asks. “I have no patience for drunks.”

Leaning back in his chair, he peers at you intently over his glass.

“No, sir.”

Given the stories you’ve heard about his inebriated escapades, it’s quite ironic to hear such a statement from him.

You feel the uncomfortable burn of his glare, a demand for you to elaborate. Clearing your throat, you offer him a hesitant explanation.

“I prefer to keep my head straight. It’s important in my line of work,” you say.

Unimpressed by your reasoning, he leans forward and flicks your glass, producing a sharp sound that resonates through your chest.

“Do you smell smoke?” he asks.

“No,” you say. “But I’d really rather not—”

Silencing you with a raised hand, he swiftly cuts you off.

“Good. I don’t recall setting a fire. Have a drink,” he orders. “We have matters of discretion to discuss.”

As usual, his matters of discretion connect you to his hidden mercenary, a soldier you have treated multiple times throughout the years unbeknownst to your comrades. She’s Isaac’s most lethal weapon, a secret you wish you didn’t have to protect. What he is doing with her feels cruel, using her impenetrable body for brutal warfare and then leaving her isolated with her injuries, all while she waits for the next assignment.

It takes weeks for the roiling feeling in your gut to subside after meeting with her.

“When do you plan on ending this?” you ask.

Maybe the booze is taking effect, emboldening you beyond your usual self. It’s impossible to bite your tongue, the torment of watching this unfold gnawing at you.

“Excuse me?” he drawls.

“Sir, she’s alone out there. It’s not right,” you say, reluctantly downing the last remnants of the glass before pushing it across the desk. “There are factors you need to consider. Mental decline, her physical limitations. If you’d consider bringing her in, she’d make a promising squad leader.”

Trying to reason with him about her basic human needs will be futile, so as with every other matter, it’s more effective to approach the situation from a tactical standpoint. His perception of human beings as living entities is questionable as is.

“Do not underestimate her faculties,” Isaac says. “She’s built differently. This is the purpose she serves to keep her people safe, and she does it willingly.”

“I hear what you’re saying, but sir, if you’d just give me a minute.”

“Do I need to find someone else to handle this case?” he asks.

It’s a loaded question, a double barrel to your temple. The act of assigning someone else to handle her case doesn’t entitle you to be included in the mission rotation again.

Only you hold the key to the secret of her existence, and it will die with you.

“When do I ship out?” you ask.

“Tonight,” he mutters.

He turns his back to you, and you can hear the faint sound of liquid pouring into his glass. When he dismisses you by consuming it alone, you see yourself out.

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

The journey to the prison is a tumultuous one.

The absence of infected is a relief, but the spray-painted rattle snakes garnishing the buildings and the maze of explosives on the roadways dangle ominously in your face. With Bear, your devoted canine companion, you make it as far as the gas station before a spike strip shreds the front tires of your Humvee. The sunken road, slicked by rain and oil, causes the vehicle to lose traction completely, sliding sideways into the long-abandoned propane tank sitting at the edge of the freeway.

Warmth spills through your eyebrows, prompting you to reach up and touch your forehead to locate the source. Your fingers, stained bright red, begin to tremble as you observe Bear—his ears flattened with every dark hair along his spine raised in alarm.

It’s a matter of seconds before a pair of violent hands tear you from the vehicle and toss you into the dirt, jarring rock granules forcing your eyes shut. You blink them away until all you see is a mangled police visor staring down at you, its surface speckled with dried blood, a menacing baton swinging an inch from your nose. Though the mask muffles the voice behind it, there’s a barbed, frigid edge to his tone.

Bear lunges out of the cab, seizing the enemy by his throat and forcing him to the ground. It grants you enough time to scramble to your feet, only to be met with the disturbing view of an infected hoard stumbling toward you from the hillside, chains dragging behind some of them.

Your vision becomes increasingly blurry as nausea ferments in your stomach, twisting you inside out. You pilfer the rifle off your attacker, as a group of his mates emerge from the shadows. You lean against the Humvee, examining the firearm before chambering the only bullet attached to the limp body at your boots.

“Fuck ‘em up,” you command.

Bear is a missile, darting through the rubble, his target set everywhere at once. Next to Isaac’s best kept secret, your dog is a diabolical killing machine.

“Shoot that fucking dog!”

Your eyes narrow in on the enemy poised to strike Bear, and you steady your aim. The roar of your scream lingers in your ears as you fire the only round you’ve got. An aggressive swarm of infected are moving toward the chaos in a cluster of rot and tangled limbs and you’re frozen. A horrific slaughter, surpassing any level of violence you’ve encountered, breaks out in a flash.

The infected shred your attackers apart, ribbons of flesh and shattered bone coating the pavement. The moment you call out for Bear, the sudden noise turns a dozen vacant, pustule eyes on you.

With no weapons at your disposal, you frantically scramble onto the roof of the Humvee, scanning the surroundings for an escape route. A sea of infected pool together like a rancid colony of ants.

Some say that the pain from a Clicker attack is unlike anything else. Perhaps it’s their blind, frenzied hunger that makes them so vicious.

You’re on the brink of discovering it firsthand when the decaying corpse, with its outstretched arms and gnarled fingers, halts mid-motion.

The infected stop in their tracks one by one, haunted marionettes with abruptly yanked strings. Save for the sound of your own blood pumping in your ears, the silence becomes deafening. Their bodies writhe in an eerie synchronicity as you try not to breathe.

In rare form, you squeeze your eyes shut to escape the fear. The sudden weight of a hand on your shoulder causes you to swing violently in its direction, your fist caught by a solid, calloused palm. Your piercing scream permeates the silence before you instinctively clamp your hands over your mouth.

Despite your shock, the lifeless figures remain unaffected, and you squint to make sense of it.

“I don’t understand,” you say.

Through tangled locks of greasy hair, celestial blue eyes stare expectantly. Her intense gaze rakes over you, a familiar pearl-white streak marring only one iris. It’s been a while, but her angular face is a sight you remember well.

“They can’t hurt me?” you ask.

“They can,” she explains, reaching up to examine the gash on your forehead. “But they won’t.”

“Bear,” you blurt.

Using her thumb and forefinger, she turns your chin until you spot your dog at the edge of the hoard. You can feel his confusion as his tail wags anxiously, ready for your next command. The simple act of turning your head sends a tsunami of vertigo crashing over you.

Out of nowhere, your mind becomes a jumbled mess, making it a challenge to string coherent thoughts together. She senses your trepidation, and her hands immediately find your hips, offering stability as you falter.

“I’m dizzy. I need to get down,” you stammer.

Her grip tightens and you try to focus on the sharp sting of her fingertips digging into your skin. The world tilts, the infected shuffling and groaning as they slowly snap out of their trance.

“Breathe,” she says. “Stay with me.”

Darkness cloaks your vision before you can summon the energy to respond.

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

As you blink awake, the biting cold hits you first. The source of the unwelcome breeze draws your attention, as the chilly gusts sneak into the room through a slit in the concrete. It’s meant to be a window, but it falls miserably short of the mark.

You’ve spent countless nights inside this prison, mending the wounds of Isaac’s soldier in the dim, flickering light. It’s the first time you’ve landed yourself in her bed.

The blanket, enveloping you like a cocoon, is unpleasantly musty, and you peel it away. Rising from the rigid steel slab, the room spins, deterring you from getting on your feet. Your body feels heavy and sore, a relentless ache pulsating behind your eyes. You give it another shot and stumble to your feet, using the walls as a crutch until you regain your balance.

Bear sleeps peacefully at the foot of the bed, his gentle snores filling the room. It’s intriguing how he finds more peace in the prison than in his own home, but he certainly deserves some rest.

The clank of iron plates echoes down the corridor, and you follow the sound. Your bare feet recoil against the chilly ground, and you’re left pondering when exactly you misplaced your boots. The hiss of heavy breathing and the occasional strenuous grunt accompanies your journey from one cell to the next, guiding you down the hallway toward the sound.

You peek around the corner and wild blonde hair appears in your line of sight.

Chances are, she already senses your presence, but you give a gentle warning that you’re approaching just in case.

“How long have I been out?” you ask.

Performing dips on a rusted bench, she maintains her focus, her back turned to you. Muscles flex and bulge with each repetition and you notice she’s adopted fresh scars across her ravaged back since your previous visit. Without a word, she powers through her reps and smoothly transitions into her next set.

It took several visits before she would give you anything more than a frosty response. Despite the feeling of regression, it’s possible she just needs time to adjust.

“I noticed you grabbed my bag,” you say, idly fidgeting with your hands as you linger in the doorway. “Thank you for that—for all of it, really. I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you.”

Her body stiffens into a plank, losing momentum in her push-ups. Beads of sweat roll down her face and drip to the ground, her solid body trembling. She takes a deep breath before releasing it in a huff, continuing her routine without pause.

“Have you eaten? I packed some spices I think you’ll like.”

With a frustrated growl, she shakes her head, trying to dispel the irritation. Your instincts tell you to leave her alone to finish her workout, but for some odd reason, you find yourself unable to hold back the torrent of words.

“I thought it’d be cool to start a garden here. Herbs are nice to cook with, you know? Some for healing, too. There’s a decent spot in the yard for it.”

“What’s next—rose bushes?” she mutters.

“Roses can be great for tinctures,” you explain. “It’s a learning curve, but you get great sunlight for them.”

She props herself up on her elbows mid-push-up and lets out a choppy breath. When she raises her eyes to meet yours, anger fills them to the brim, and the hostility is scalding.

“I want Isaac to stop sending you.”

The pain of the unexpected dagger is far more intense than you could have ever imagined. You often wish that Isaac hadn’t implicated you in his secret, but you’ve grown to care for this wounded soul.

“You might as well take me out back, then,” you chuckle humourlessly. “Because that’s a death sentence.”

“Give me five minutes,” she sneers. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Look, I didn’t ask for this,” you say, a kernel of truth wrapped up in a rather emotional reaction to her painful barb. “I’m his soldier, too.”

Springing up from the ground, she snatches her shirt off a nearby chair and pushes past you. Before she slips the tattered garment over her head, you catch a glimpse of a deep, jagged laceration at the base of her neck.

While you make a mental note of it, you ultimately decide against bringing it up.

Rather than hounding her when she clearly wants to be alone, you decide to hunt for that old claw bathtub, desperate for a soak and maybe a good cry.

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

This tomb scatters beauty, but you easily find its seeds.

The copper tub catches the flickering candlelight, and the gleam is otherworldly against the lonely shadows. The moment you step into the hot water, you can feel your skin buzzing with gentle licks of heat and your tired muscles begin to surrender to the relaxation it brings.

You can recall the day she dragged this old bathtub into the prison, the legs of it squeaking across the concrete floor as if the claws belonged to a corporeal animal. Showers alone proved ineffective in hastening her healing process and cleansing her wounds and, surprisingly, despite her initial uncertainty, she took your advice.

The candles differ from the ones you previously left behind, so you assume she still makes use of the hollow luxury when the mood strikes.

Submerging your head, you study the muffled sounds brought about by the density of the water. Everything is disparate beneath the surface, the low-pitched hoots of an owl muted and distant.

“I made food.”

“Jesus Christ!” you choke, body thrashing and creating a chaotic spray of water in every direction.

Your actions soak the woman standing beside the tub and, when she averts her gaze, droplets of water slip from her dirt-slicked lashes.

“Knocking helps!” you say, bracing your arms on the copper ridges.

“Count the doors in here—I’ll wait!”

Her sarcastic wit catches you off guard, and you feel your cheeks sting as confused gaiety tugs at them.

“What’s that face for?” she snaps.

It’s difficult to discern whether she’s asking a genuine question or if she’s in a defensive stance, so you wager it’s a blend of both.

“You’re funny,” you say. “When you’re not being a jerk.”

This time, when her eyes meet yours, the fury dissipates. There’s something soft and temperate where you’ve only ever witnessed the bane of unforgiving steel.

The pads of her fingers are a deep pink hue, and it dawns on you that the porcelain bowl must be extremely hot. You gesture to the side table disguised as a wooden stump and she sets the dish down.

“Can I have a look at that?” you ask, reaching for her hands.

The tub and clever positioning shroud your naked body, but the rest is all about her and her sudden ardent manners. With her face turned away, she offers you her palms first.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine,” she says.

While inspecting the burn and its surrounding wounds, you notice her shoulders dropping.

“You can sit, if you want,” you say.

Upon surveying the area, you’re aware that the number of chairs matches the number of doors, prompting an apologetic chuckle. A tiny smile teases her mouth as she crouches at your side instead.

“You need to run this under cold water, okay? And I should dress these cuts, so they don’t get infected.”

“What about you?” she asks. “I tried to clean it out, but it’s ugly.”

She moves to touch the gash on your forehead, and her quick movements startle you. When you flinch, her hand lingers in the air until she decides to rework her pace, taking a more languid approach.

“It’s been forever since someone called me ugly,” you jest.

“Missed opportunity,” she mumbles, biting her bottom lip to keep her grin at bay.

“You haven’t polished off that honey I brought yet, right?”

Her expression resembles a guilt-ridden thief caught in the act, and you struggle to suppress a burst of laughter.

“I should’ve known better. Maybe you need a hive instead of a garden,” you say.

She snorts at your suggestion before grabbing the cloth hanging on the tub and dunking it into the water. Instinctively, her weathered hands shape the fabric to dab gently at your injury. The surface is bruise-tender and the pain throbs outward in torturous sparks. She cups your jaw with her other hand to keep you from squirming.

“What if I’m allergic to bee stings? Because that’s a death sentence,” she mimics.

“I’ll try not to throw you in then,” you say. “No promises.”

A wide, earnest grin spreads across her tough features, and you forget how to breathe for a spell. She’s filthy and in desperate need of a hairbrush, but she’s still prettier than anyone you’ve met.

“What’s your name?” you ask.

Isaac never refers to her as anything other than his mercenary, and every time you had considered asking her in the past, your better judgement advised against it. Her preference for anonymity is clear, but you have so many unanswered questions.

In a smooth motion, she glides the cool cloth across the bridge of your nose.

“Do you really want to know?” she asks.

Seeking a moment of connection, you grasp her wrist, pausing her ministrations. Her gaze meets yours with a sense of urgency and she doesn’t break eye contact.

Water trickles from your hands, twirling along her wrist and cascading down her forearm. She fights to keep her eyes open, a raspy hum building at the back of her throat until goosebumps skate across your skin.

“I really want to know,” you say.

Her nod is slow and deliberate, contemplating the price she will have to pay for her decision.

“Once you see me,” she warns, and it’s uncertain whether she’s cautioning you or herself. “There’s no going back.”

“I can live with that,” you whisper.

Just when it looks like she’s ready to share, her body tenses up and you can almost touch the impenetrable barrier rising between you.

“Your stew is getting cold,” she says. “I’ll grab you a towel.”

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

Away from the stadium lights, midnight is a mesmerizing weave of glistening diamonds spilled across an indigo sky. The sight of the Milky Way reminds you of her. That blemish etched along her iris—a celestial river carving through blue canvas.

You curl up on a bedroll in the tall grass and listen to the melodious ensemble of crickets and frogs, yearning for extra time in the countryside. There’s a sense of security here, with no sign of danger for miles. The tall and formidable walls back home do little to drown out the blood-curdling cries of the infected. Their presence is always looming, close enough to unsettle you, but never close enough to harm. It’s enough to disrupt your sleep, their ruined faces bleeding into your nightmares.

The once spirited and untamed landscape of home now only grows the carefully cultivated visions that Isaac orchestrates, depriving both his plants and his people of freedom.

Prior to Isaac recruiting you for his mission, you contemplated abandoning your ties to the WLF. You didn’t want to spend another moment on this planet living in a perpetual state of war, never knowing when you’d catch a stray arrow.

The peaceful ambiance of birdsong in the early morning tempers the harsh world for you. It’s a reminder that amidst famine and devastation, there must be more.

“You’re not sleeping inside tonight?”

Bear’s collar jingles, bringing you a sense of comfort as the dog keenly explores the prison yard before heading back indoors to nap. Your pup instantly feels at ease with the mysterious woman from the middle of nowhere, and you have no trouble comprehending why.

“I am,” you say. “I just wanted to see the stars first.”

“You don’t see much of that where you’re from?” she asks.

When you pat the ground, she sits cross-legged next to you like an old friend.

“Not really. It’s too bright in the city,” you explain. “I’m going to need to stitch that up—don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

While shooting you a disapproving look, she absentmindedly traces the cut near her collarbone before leaning back on her rugged arms. She tilts her head to study the cloudless sky, and it draws your attention to the neat braid resting at the nape of her neck.

A fresh and woody scent emanates from her, with a subtle hint of pine carried to you by the wind.

“I’ve always wondered why there are no infected here,” you say. “You keep them away when I’m around, don’t you?”

You know it’s her, the one responsible for it all, but you’re still in the dark about her methods. The extent of its impact on her remains elusive to you, but you’ve witnessed her increasing exhaustion. Her strength and abilities set her apart, but they also have the power to decimate her reserves.

“They’re closer than you think,” she says.

“If I get up right now and walk out those gates, am I in danger?” you ask.

“Yes,” she says, a look of agony flashing across her features. “But not for the reasons you think. I can’t—it’s people I can’t control.”

“I wasn’t imagining things, then?”

Her teeth grind in apprehension, as she plucks blades of grass from the ground to build a small mound above the laces of her leather boots. You let the gears turn, patiently waiting for her to come to her own conclusions. The struggle lies in wanting her to confide in you, wanting to divide the burdens that shackle her.

“I’m here,” you say. “Whenever you’re ready to talk.”

“What if I can’t?”

“I’ll still listen,” you say.

When she turns her head to face you, fragile threads of trust blur her stern demeanour, a courageous step taken in silence. She lumbers from the ground until she finds her feet.

“Where are you going?” you chuckle lightly. “You need rest.”

Brushing the dirt off her pants, she makes her way to the perimeter fence, beckoning you to follow.

Left untended, the field beyond it is a forgotten acreage of towering weeds, sun-stretched wildflowers wilting beneath the somber moon. The ringing chorus of quick, guttural frog croaks fades as a Runner emerges clumsily from the treeline.

Your heart skips as her rough fingers intertwine with your own, a bolt of sweet lightning cleaving through your chest. You can feel the strength in her grip as she guides your joined hands to the chain-link. She squeezes, pressing the tips of your fingers around the galvanized wire.

You’re left bewildered, staring at her, before she gestures towards the field with a subtle tilt of her chin. The writhing, infected body creeps nearer and your heart pounds. With every graceless step the creature makes, nervous vibrations fuse between your ribs. It stumbles, festering limbs lunging forward, and it takes every ounce of self control to keep from screaming.

The warm body at your side inches closer to ease your erratic breathing. Her composure is remarkable, as if she has performed this action countless times, a mastery of the dead—a striking juxtaposition to your tight, hard swallow resonating through the lonesome field.

Behind the disease-ridden shell, the faint traces of a woman’s features start to emerge as the battered body reaches the other side of the fence. The infected woman is so close to you that you can see the intricate network of veins in her eyes, and the red, inflamed rims of her eyelids where her eyelashes once were. Every muscle in your body freezes, not daring to twitch or even let out a breath.

The septic woman pushes her forehead to the fence, head tilting at an unnatural angle, seeming to study every detail of your face. The putrid odour hits your nostrils with such force that it’s impossible not to recoil. As terror grips you, it spreads like wildfire.

“How?” you rasp, your voice so faint, it’s barely a whisper. “Why isn’t she attacking me—doesn’t she want to?”

“It’s all she wants.”

Your attention falls to the soldier whom Isaac has bound you to restore, and you notice she is rapidly losing strength, her skin growing paler as the life force ebbs away.

“Okay, that’s enough. Make it stop,” you order, panic rising as her nose trickles a thin stream of red. “You know what? Fuck it!”

Without hesitation, you reach for the knife holstered on her thigh, sliding the sharp blade through the fence, until the spindly body collapses to meld with the soil.

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

Your hands move with care as you suture the wound above her collarbone, the heat of her breath fanning your face. Positioned behind her is a mural she painted, featuring a serene beach and a shipwrecked boat nestled against the coastline. Decorated with kelp and dappled with rust, the sailboat’s intricate detailing is striking.

“I’ve never been to the beach,” you say.

Her blue eyes, wide with curiosity, lock onto yours, and a huff of quiet laughter escapes her parted lips.

“What’s so funny?” you ask.

“I’ve never been, either,” she admits.

You take a step back to observe her, noticing the lines etched on her face that tell stories of resilience. There is a captivating depth that makes you long to delve further.

“Well, you had me fooled,” you say, reaching for the scissors on the surgical tray. “You’re a talented painter—I’m sorry I hadn’t noticed sooner.”

With a dismissive shrug, she makes it seem like transforming a gloomy prison into a magnificent cathedral of art is a piece of cake. Her artwork is so impressive that you would never guess she has spent little time at the beach.

“Nah, it wasn’t here last time,” she says, adjusting her stance and widening the space between her thighs to provide you with more room to work. “I thought I’d try something new. We’ll see if it sticks.”

You lean in closer, gently tending to the cuts and scrapes that have gathered along her shoulders and neck. Her skin, adorned with freckles, is a beautiful mosaic of its own. Some strands of her braid have unraveled, perhaps because of a lack of practice, but the untidiness complements her.

“I’ve always wanted to learn to braid hair,” you say, pondering for a moment if, for her, it’s a self-taught skill or something guided by someone more experienced. Her mother maybe. “It suits you.”

Her nose wrinkles skeptically as she lifts her hand from her lap, her fingers carefully tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Why aren’t you afraid of me?” she asks.

Given the antics outside, it’s a valid question. You can’t think of a scenario that sent chills down your spine quite like that one. But with her by your side, you felt an unspoken sense of protection. She nudges you with her knee, her eyes narrowing in anticipation of a response.

“I think I am,” you confess, pulling the steel cart to the other side of her brawny frame to better access the supplies you need.

“And yet, you stay,” she asserts. “I guess you don’t have much of a choice.”

“I always have a choice.”

While you meticulously inspect her newest scars, cleansing the wounds that besiege them, she takes hold of your hand, motioning for you to stop.

“Abigail,” she says, worrying her bottom lip. “My name—if you still want it.”

In an instant, your inquisitiveness peaks, keen to uncover both her origin and the path that led her to this place. All in good time, you suppose.

“Abigail,” you say, appreciating how smoothly it rolls off your tongue. “That’s a really pretty name.”

You watch in awe as a blush creeps up her cheeks, giving her a rosy glow.

“Thanks,” she murmurs. “It doesn’t feel like it belongs to me anymore.”

“Maybe we can change that,” you whisper.

#abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby x fem!reader #abby x reader #abby x you #tlou abby

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wonitten · 2 days

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DETECTIVE TROUBLEMAKER (YJ)

Part 3. Part 2 ; Part 1

synopsis: In a desperate attempt to salvage her career, a klutzy detective plans to kidnap a corrupt minister as part of her final assignment. However, her plans go hilariously awry when she mistakenly kidnaps a charming mafia boss instead. But perhaps there was more to it.

pairings: Mafia boss! Jungwon x detective! readerft. Boss! Heeseung, assistant! Sunghoon, hot delivery man! Jake

genre: Comedy, romance, crime, Dramedy

warnings: death, mentions of blood, organ trafficking

wc: 1.4k

The morning sunlight filtered through the blinds of the detective agency, casting long shadows across the cluttered desk where Heeseung lay snoring amidst a mountain of files.

There can't possibly be anything that could get him up from his deep sleep—His peaceful slumber was abruptly interrupted by the shrill ring of the telephone, prompting him to groggily reach for the receiver.

"Detective Heeseung speaking," he slurrs, rubbing the remnants of drool from the corner of his mouth.

"Hello, this is Jake from your local Papa Jones and you know what we just finished making? Your fifty large pepperoni pizzas and I'm on my way to deliver them. Better have the cash ready," the voice on the other end chirped cheerfully.

Heeseung shot up in his chair, suddenly wide awake. "Hey! Hold on a minute! I didn't order any pizza! Hello!? Are you listening to me?" he exclaimed, but the line had already gone dead, leaving him staring at the receiver in bewilderment.

"And that is the story behind my motivation", Heeseung muttered, while scribbling down on his notes furiously.

Sunghoon, his assistant, raised an incredulous eyebrow. "So let me get this straight, you work this hard every day because you're still in debt to Papa Jones for fifty pizzas, turns out you also found the delivery man attractive, so you accidentally gave him your bank details to avoid looking broke... God, tell me this is a bunch of bullcrap."

Heeseung shrugged nonchalantly, burying himself back in the stack of files before him. "Believe what you will, but the truth is often stranger than fiction."

Just then, you breezed into the office, exuding boundless energy and enthusiasm. "Good morning, Boss!" you chirped, flashing a bright smile.

Heeseung nodded in acknowledgment, his attention already diverted back to his work.

Sunghoon watches your energetic greeting with a knowing look. His gaze wanders over your file, before landing them on the familiar bracelet on your wrist.

"Oh where did you get that bracelet from Y/n", He frowns lightly, while asking. Then laughs awkwardly. "It looks very pretty".

"Really? You can take this then", You shrugged casually, unhooking the bracelet and offering it to him. "Some careless person left it in my pocket, so it's all yours."

"Some careless person...", Sunghoon mutters to himself, holding onto the bracelet with 'YJ' initials before reminiscing yesterday's memories.

"My friend has a girl, and he proposed a date indirectly to her, but like she didn't get it," His boss mutters, thinking about the scenario. "But when he asked indirectly again if they were on a date, she looked at him in disgust, panicked kind of way, which is weird because why would anyone not go on a date with him? He is literally a whole package."

"Either he is stupid, she is stupid or the girl has someone she likes? Can I get the name of the girl you like so I can research about her?", He says.

"Yeah her name is....", Jungwon paused, as his words sinks in his mind. "Wait. It's not me!".

"Whatever you say boss"

"Some careless person as in...", Sunghoon puts the bracelet inside his pocket. 'Yang Jungwon', he thought.

He got out of the office and smacked his head for not realising it sooner. After all, the town was smaller; why did he think his boss would have any better taste in women?

Obviously, Jungwon was talking about going on a date with you, while you wanted to go on a date with Heeseung, and Heeseung is an oblivious idiot — this has gotta be some load of triangle nonsense.

"Lord Jesus Christ, help me."

______________

It was evening.

And everyone was eager to head home, including the officers of the detective agency. However, their plans were put on hold when they were called to an urgent case that has occured the cafe.

The same cafe where you waited for Jungwon to repay him.

After gathering details from the cops, Heeseung had relied the information that the woman had died at 9 pm. Surprisingly, the CCTV cameras showed her getting out from the train from city, then laughing and talking on her phone before suddenly throwing up blood near the cafe.

Sunghoon furrowed his brow as he examined the pictures of the victim, intrigued by the discrepancy as they showed otherwise. In the photos, she had been stabbed brutally in the stomach.

Perhaps the CCTV footage had been tampered? But the eyewitnesses called for the ambulance, and claimed the same. So who was lieing? The corpse? The eyewitness? The cctv camera? All of them couldn't lie together.

Something was missing here.

Sunghoon raked his fingers through his hair, before checking on the cctv again, while Heeseung continued to talk with the cops.

He saw as the the woman looked perfectly fine, talking to her friend with excitement, when suddenly she gasps loudly, and drops her phone onto the ground, blood flowing from her mouth as she looks at the passer-by for help. And then one of them calls the paramedics, and soon they enter, and lift her onto the stretcher. It ends there.

He tilted his head confused, before turning towards the two people standing beside the cafe who gave the testimony. "I have a question for you two. Did you see blood on her stomach, after she was lifted onto the ambulance? It's not clearly visible here".

Jun answering with glee," Blood was everywhere, sir! It was hard to understand since everyone was panicking."

"We called the ambulance and they came sooner than we expected, within two minutes, and then the paramedics lifted her up on the stretcher and brought her to the hospital I believe", his friend said, looking up as if trying to remember.

Sunghoon thanked them, before turning his attention towards you, who was sipping on apple juice. "You've been sipping on that for a while. Help me around here."

You shrugged, still sipping onto it, while being absorbed on your phone.

"I'm not paid enough for this," Sunghoon groaned, turning away.

Heeseung approached both of you, raising his eyebrows. "Any clues?"

When Sunghoon shook his head, Heeseung smirked. "Well, I've got one from my good friend. He contacted me."

Sunghoon parted his lips in realisation. The good friend was none other than the anonymous benefactor helping them solve clues once in a while. That person is the reason why he was tasked to infiltrate in the detective agency as an assistant, and to inform about his whereabouts and deductions to his real boss, Jungwon.

"It's the paramedics"

"The paramedics? Why would they—" Sunghoon started, but Heeseung interrupted him.

"They never arrived. Think about it. Why would paramedics arrive within two minutes when the nearest hospital takes at least half an hour?" Heeseung played with his pen, jotting down notes. "She was murdered in the ambulance, which is why the hospital concluded she died the same time she fainted."

Sunghoon widens his eyes in understanding. "Ah, I see now! But what could be their motive for killing her? And what about her vomitting blood in the beginning?."

"That?" Heeseung gestured towards the police officers. "The cops said they will bring it out themselves since some gangs and organ trafficking are getting involved here."

Sunghoon's eyes glisten with interest at that. "Oh? I guess it's the same as the case before."

"It seems so. Ugh, I wanna go home now" Heeseung said, stifling a yawn. "Come to think of it, I haven't slept for three days."

You gasped "No way, Heeseung. You should sleep right now. Sunghoon, drive him home!"

"Why me?" Sunghoon protested. "You do it!"

"I don't know how to drive a car," you pout.

"Then... then..." Sunghoon groaned. "Fine, I'll drive you home."

As they both walk away, you smoothly threw the empty can of apple juice into the nearby dustbin. With your other hand slipping the phone back into your pocket, a subtle flicker of curiosity dances in your eyes—a momentary lapse in your typically chaotic demeanor that goes unnoticed by both Heeseung and Sunghoon.

Your gaze casually drifts towards the photographs of the crime scene. Though your expression remains neutral, there's a subtle undercurrent of amusement in the way you study the images.

"pity"

Tearing your gaze away, you seamlessly rejoin Heeseung and Sunghoon and effortlessly slip back into their conversation.

author note? : enhypen album is near, exam is near. And the combination of both, doesn't usually go good, does it? Atleast the album will serve as my gift for exams.

Series Tag list: @drunkhee @booooooooooooooooooooooos @suhiiiiiii @mrsyangsikmoa @nyfwyeonjun

#enhypen #enha imagines #enha x reader #enhypen x reader #jungwon #jungwon enhypen #jungwon x reader #enhypen jungwon #sunghoon #enha heeseung #jake enhypen

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i-guess-im-into-this-now · 2 days

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The Apothecary Diaries

S1E15 First Watch

Here's where I watch The Apothecary Diaries for the first time and give my thoughts, analysis, predictions, and occasionally I stumble into a joke.

To start at the beginning:

Episode 1

My character/locations cheat sheet

Suiren - Jinshi's attendant

Lakan - mysterious officer

Lihaku - the military officer who took Maomao out of the Rear Palace

Basan - an officer who works in the palace

Xiaolan - Maomao's servant girl friend

Palace gossip! Lihaku has done a good job handling the fire investigation. But he had help from Jinshi's personal assistant! Didn't Jinshi just buy a beautiful courtesan from Verdigris House?

This shit is worth sitting up for. Master Lakan, who's peaceful nap was interrupted by gossipy military bitches, would like to hear more about Maomao. Should I be worried about this guy's interest in Maomao?

Gaoshun would like Maomao to look into an old case. If you want to close a cold case, then Maomao is certainly the one to ask.

Side note: Gaoshun just offered to take Maomao to a restaurant to eat raw pufferfish. Is Gaoshun going to get a date with Maomao before Jinshi does? Bwahahaha!

So Gaoshun was asked to investigate this case years ago. Which makes me wonder what his position is/was. I thought it was mentioned that he has been with Jinshi since the day he was born, but that can't be right either, or he would have noticed the baby swap. Unless, I mean he is not always around Jinshi, so maybe the swap happened when he was out investigating a case? Also, can people not recognize one baby from another? Or did the swap happen so quickly after the births that people really didn't know what their child looked like. Whatever, the details probably aren't that important.

So after hearing about Jinshi's new servant/concubine who can solve mysteries, Lakan approached Jinshi's man, Gaoshun, to ask for help solving a case. Uh yeah, that dude knows a thing or two about strategy and maneuvering others. Is this guy dangerous?

A similar case has arisen, a bureaucrat has fallen into a coma after eating raw pufferfish.

Maomao: Master Gaoshun. Forgive me, but is it appropriate for you to be discussing this with me? Gaoshun: It won't be an issue. Unlike certain individuals, you understand your position.

What a loaded response from Gaoshun.

He's clearly taking a dig at Jinshi. Gaoshun was frustrated when Jinshi was assigned to care for the Rear Palace, and thinks that using his appearance as a test against the concubines is beneath him. But he also has been witnessing Jinshi spiral further and further away from propriety with Maomao, and can't approve of it. I thought Gaoshun had decided to support Jinshi and Maomao when he intervened to get Jinshi to Verdigris House and rescue Maomao. But, perhaps his motives weren't to support a romantic relationship between the two, rather to bring Maomao back to the palace where she would be under their protection and within their control. The second half of his statement to Maomao, "you understand your position," is also a bit of a reminder or perhaps a warning to her. He's also saying don't try to exceed your station. Gaoshun is delusional if he thinks the situation between Maomao and Jinshi can be maintained as it is.

Gaoshun lays out two similar poisoning cases. Maomao's keen mind is already rolling through the possibilities and she asks for some more information.

Jinshi scares the living shit out of Maomao when he startles her by asking what she was talking about with Gaoshun. I find it interesting that this request came directly through Gaoshun via Lakan, and that Jinshi was not aware of it. Why not inform Jinshi? I had wondered before about Lakan, if he might be some kind of rival of Jinshi's, since he seemed to take such an interest in the gossip about him. That Gaoshun, avoided informing Jinshi about this, makes me think there is something between those two gentleman, that isn't friendly. This scene also shows us that Gaoshun does sometimes operate outside of Jinshi's domain. We saw that in the past he was an investigator, and that now he sometimes does tasks that aren't given by Jinshi. Also, Jinshi is in casual robes, with wet hair. He clearly just got out of the bath. Was Gaoshun trying to have this conversation with Maomao while Jinshi was busy. Was he trying to hide this from Jinshi?

Jinshi: You seemed to be listening quite intently to Master Gaoshun's story.

Jinshi has become a bit possessive where it comes to Maomao. We saw that when he brought her back from Verdigris House, and again when Gaoshun gave Maomao a cloak last episode. Here it is again, with her having an intense conversation with Gaoshun. I wonder what Jinshi's actual thoughts are on his possessive actions. I mean I can see that his emotions for her are making him jealous and he's not bothering to try and hide that, but in his mind, does he think he has a claim on Maomao? He may actually have a legal claim since he did buy out her contract at the brothel, but in what way does he intend to exert that claim? Does Jinshi see Maomao as something he owns? Is his jealousy connected to that? Is he frustrated that he just bought a concubine and she wants nothing to do with him romantically? Or are the feelings of jealousy that we're seeing simply from his attraction to her? Does he simply wish her to return his feelings, and want to keep other guys away from her, so they won't get a chance to pull her attention away from him?

Maomao: People tend to pay attention to stories they actually find interesting. Jinshi: Now hold on. Is that why you frequently cut me off midsentence- Maomao: Oh dear. It's getting late. I suppose I'd better take my leave.

So the ambiguity of the relationship between Maomao and Jinshi has not affected their ability banter. Maomao is still teasing Jinshi, even if the conversation may indicate that Maomao has been avoiding Jinshi. Is she afraid they may have to talk about what it means that she's had her contract purchased and is living in Jinshi's house? Is she afraid her feelings may tip over into something that is even more difficult to hide from? Is she afraid she'll have to confront Jinshi's true identity and all the repercussions that come with it? All of the above? This situation feels so untenable.

Jinshi: Come back here. I'm not done talking with you- Suiren: And I have not finished drying your hair. Hold still

Suiren really controls everything that happens in this house doesn't she? What are this lady's goals? What does she think about Jinshi and Maomao?

Jinshi watches Maomao walk away and rumbles in frustration. He's ever trying to get closer, while Maomao keeps her distance. What will it take to change this?

Gaoshun returns with the details Maomao requested.

Maomao: I knew you would deliver.

There is a real trust and comradery developing between Gaoshun and Maomao. She doesn't have the same reservations she has with Jinshi and she isn't nearly as critical of Gaoshun. Indeed, she routinely views Gaoshun with glowing praise. In many ways he's the ideal man in Maomao's eyes, even if she doesn't see him as a match for her personally. I wonder how she would accept knowing Gaoshun's true identity.

Jinshi is delighted to come upon Maomao and Gaoshun discussing the poisoning mystery. He can't resist teasing Maomao for getting stuck on this case. It's rare that she doesn't figure out the solution right away, which means she probably hasn't had all the clues presented to her yet. Not only is she very good at solving mysteries, she's very perceptive and good at recognizing clues. So far everything she's been presented are clues gathered by other people. I have no doubt she could solve this if she were able to investigate herself.

Suiren: Careful, or you'll ruin your appetite. Jinshi: I'm a grown man. Maomao: Highly debatable from what I've seen.

Okay, I'm going to side with Jinshi on this one. Like, let the man eat if he's hungry. Also, isn't this his house? Why does everyone get to have an opinion on when and what he eats? Or how he behaves. Jinshi already lives in a fishbowl with eyes on him and every action he takes. It would be nice if he could have a little slack in his own home. But that is not his fate. He's destine to be slowly driven insane by endless demands and expectations.

Finally, Maomao will be able to see the kitchen where the poisonous meal was prepared. No doubt she'll be able to solve this now.

Maomao meets up with Basen. And it took me a moment to remember where I heard that name before, but this was the officer Jinshi was sparing with (shirtless!) way back in episode 5. He was kind of a hot-headed fighter, but was humble enough after Jinshi kicked his ass. He's being a dick to Maomao here. Now I just want to see Jinshi beat his ass again. Maomao says she's never seen Basen before but that he looks a bit familiar. What the hell? Like, is he related to someone she knows? You know what, I'm already working on trying to figure out Maomao and Jinshi's parentage, I'm not going to waste thoughts for fricking Basen.

I lied. This is actually going to bother me.

The only thing I can think of off the top of my head is that he has crazy hair just like Lakan, but Maomao hasn't met him, so how can he look familiar. Fuck it.

So Maomao and Basen take one step into the kitchen and a dude runs up and demands they leave. It's not at all suspicious.

Damn it Basen does look familiar doesn't he? But like who?

Maomao finds the seaweed that is out of season and steals some on her way out. Thievery is becoming a habit for Maomao. She explains that the seaweed was improperly prepared before being shipped to this region, so it was never detoxified. She implies that it may have been intentional and the others know what to do from there.

We see a humous scene of Maomao explaining that the seaweed is toxic and proceeds to eat it. Jinshi is about at horrified as he can be. To be clear, he has the appropriate reaction for when someone consumes something poisonous. Jinshi forces her to take an emetic agent and vomit it back up before she can allow her experiment to begin. Once again we see her disregard her own wellbeing to pursue her study of poisons. It's reckless behavior. I understand that she doesn't have an ethical way to run these experiments, but one doesn't risk their own life or health for the pursuit of knowledge without having a pretty messed up sense of the value of their own life. She could have done this experiment in private and tried to hide it, but instead chose to do it in front of Jinshi and Gaoshun. I wonder if she was curious to see their reactions, or if she was even hoping they would respond this way. That they prevent her from hurting herself is a sign of their care for her. Will she be able to understand that and internalize it? I'm not hopeful.

Oh, that not at all suspicious younger brother was the culprit who bought the foreign seaweed? You don't say. Okay so he felt he wasn't treated well as the younger brother. Is this the same dude from the end of the last episode when someone was whining about being "worthy too?" So the mysterious guy who happened to be around the night Sir Kounen died, was also around to suggest to this murderous little brother, that he import toxic seaweed from the south. What is that serial killer up to? Does he have a larger goal? Is he part of a conspiracy?

Maomao, I think is tidying up Jinshi's bedroom, and is in a terrific mood, dreaming about how to use her caterpillar fungus. She accidentally is overly welcoming to Jinshi, and it is too much like a scene from one of his fondest dreams, so he smashes his face against the wall. These two cannot keep going on like this. Jinshi is desperate to move things forward with Maomao, even if he is holding back for now. And Maomao cannot pretend to be oblivious to his feelings forever.

Jinshi is exhausted. He has a lot of work to do, and Lakan has been making his life harder than usual.

Finally we get more information about Lakan. He's past forty, a high ranking military office, and a weirdo. I'm always looking for long lost parents, and this guy is a prime suspect. And he could work for Maomoa, Jinshi, or Basen. The fact that he's a "weirdo" makes me lean towards Maomao. Also, his strategic mind. Though I suppose that could be descriptive of Maomao or Jinshi, I think it fits Maomao better.

Jinshi says he thinks Lakan has it out for him, because he keeps causing trouble, plus the man has been in his office for the last few days. Probably ever since he heard about Maomao.

Jinshi is opening up and sharing his frustration about something going on in his life, and Maomao decides it's not her problem, so she doesn't need to care.

On the one hand I get it, she's trying to stay out of things that aren't her business. We see that consistently with how she avoids gossip. She may also feel that since she is merely a servant, that her opinions wouldn't be welcome here. But either way, Jinshi has decided to open up and share something, and she just disregards that. Frankly, it's rude.

If a friend wants to share something with you, you should make some effort to listen, it's how you build and nurture relationships. Of course that is likely the heart of the problem here. Maomao is terrified of intimacy, and this is a lot like actually being friends. She can't allow it. At least not with Jinshi.

We have seen Maomao sit and listen to Xiaolan, chatting about all kinds of different things, and I'm trying to remember specific examples but I think she would be willing to listen to the ladies of the Jade Pavilion or Verdigris House. I at least don't remember her ever straight up bailing on a conversation like this. It's really only Jinshi that gets this kind of treatment, and it's because he's the biggest threat.

She could be friends with just about anyone else, but with Jinshi, it's a slippery slope. If she allows a deeper friendship to grow, what's to stop her from continuing to tumble, until she fall completely in love?

Foreshadowing:

Maomao: Enough of that. It's not like it affects me, right?

Right.

And for as much as Maomao would love to check out of what Jinshi was saying, in truth she's bothered by it. The skies are cloudy, and Maomao's got a bad feeling about Lakan. She's worried about Jinshi. I wish Maomao had a therapist.

So we finally get a scene between Jinshi and Lakan. And what a scene it is!

Lakan arrives with fake smiles and words with hidden meanings. Jinshi is on guard from the start.

Lakan wants to talk about Verdigris House. He had a connection with a courtesan there who was a master at Go. Lakan lost his chance to buy her when her price went up during a bidding war. The courtesan he's talking about was an interesting one, who sold her skills but not herself, and wore a haughty expression. Jinshi unwillingly relates to Lakan when he describes the joy of being glared at.

Jinshi can't help himself and keeps asking questions even though he is aware that Lakan is luring him deeper into this conversation. Does Jinshi have an interest in this conversation? What Lakan's goals are here, Jinshi doesn't know, and I don't either, but Jinshi and I are both pretty sure it has to do with Maomao.

Lakan did something to the courtesan to lower her value, but doesn't want to reveal his misdeeds without a favor. Lakan asks to meet Maomao, and refers to her as Jinshi's servant rather than his concubine, which is interesting, following the conversation that preceded this ask. There is a mystery that Lakan wants to get to the bottom of, and he wants Maomao to take a look. Jinshi allows it. Maybe trying to find some peace from the endless trouble that Lakan has been causing him, or maybe he is agreeing to something, something mysterious that was being discussed in this conversation, that wasn't said aloud.

So time for a wild theory. I'm wondering if Lakan is Maomao's father and if the courtesan might be Maomao's mother. The thing he did to lower her value may be to impregnate the woman. Was he able to purchase the woman? Did he move her into the annex? Is Lakan a rotten piece of shit, and Maomao's mother faked Maomao's death and asked Luomen to help get her away from Lakan? If so, and Lakan suspects who Maomao may be, then his conversation with Jinshi may be a chance to see what Jinshi knows. Lay out some pieces of the story and see if Jinshi reacts.

And now I wonder, just how much does Jinshi know?! Does he know about Maomao's parentage? Is that why he couldn't help asking more questions? Is that why he agreed to allow Lakan to see Maomao. Is this some kind of tacit agreement, like fine you can see her, but don't tell her any of this shit?

In the final scene the rains have come. Trouble has arrived.

To start from the beginning:

Episode 1

Next Episode:

Episode 16

#the apothecary diaries #apothecary diaries #maomao #jinshi #jinmao #jinshi x maomao

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comicarc · 2 days

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𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

Part 1

wc: 1833

365 Days After That Night

Jason Todd was the Red Hood. Jason Todd was a criminal. Most of all, Jason Todd was a murderer, for he murdered the only remnant of love I had left in my soul. He was my breaking point.

It’s been a year since the night he left and though I tried my hardest to bury his memory in my mind, his recent headlines made for incessantly annoying reminders. Though the ghost of Jason’s lacking presence haunted me every day, I was able to suppress those thoughts. Luckily, my job at the Gotham Gazette came with a considerably generous salary, often encouraging me to forget all the undesirable aspects of the job, including him.

Tonight, I was staying late at the police station, waiting for my interviewee, Dick Grayson, to arrive from Bludhaven. He had been working a case on a notorious serial killer who had recently broadened his horizons and began to kill in Gotham. He was the only one overseeing it, thus, taking note of his busy schedule, I had set up an appointment weeks prior. Though he was already an hour late, I decided to wait, for an opportunity like this may not come as easily again.

I sat at his desk, resting my head in the palm of my hand and darting my eyes across the room to cure myself of my boredom. One particular photo caught my eye as my gaze trailed to the framed pictures on the desk. Dick was with a younger, lively boy, posing for their photo in front of Wayne Manor. Curious, I inspected the photo closer to notice that the other boy had azure eyes and curly black hair, just like–

“–Ah, I see you’ve taken an interest in my brother, eh? It’s my favorite photo from when I was still living in Gotham.” Dick had finally made his entrance.

“Detective Grayson,” I said, surprised by his voice.

Sitting down he asked, “You must be y/n? I’m sorry for arriving so late, the route from Bludhaven to Gotham is always littered with traffic.”

“Yes, I’ve heard.” With that, I began my questioning. It eased into a conversation the deeper we dove into the topic until eventually a few hours had passed and Dick had to head off to another crime scene.

“Before you leave, may I ask…which of your brothers is that? I’ve only heard of two others and they seem to be too young to have been in that photo when it was taken.”

“Jason Todd. He kinda of fell off the face of the Earth on his enlightening retreat, so almost everyone forgot about him. Now that he’s back, he's done well to stay out of the spotlight.”

To ask more questions would be to intrude on his personal life, and so, tempering my desires, I quickly left.

Jason Todd was Red Hood, a criminal, a murderer. And a liar.

4 Days Later

Days passed, giving me barely enough time to digest the information that Dick had given me. After some of my own research, I found that Jason was alive and well. The night he left me was the night he reunited with his family. The very family he claimed to hate…he left me for them.

Now sitting in my cubicle at the Gazette, my thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion, for my feelings for Jason had begun to resurface. I longed to see him, to hear him to be with him. But I couldn’t blame him anymore, for my fantasies led me to break my own heart. I wanted something that was never there, and I had to accept that. I shook my stupid ideas away as I looked at the whiteboard across the room to see my next assignment. My stoic expression turned into one of horror as I read: “Y/n → Wayne Gala”.

I rushed to the chief editor’s office and begged to be reassigned, but all my pleas were in vain because no one else was available to cover for me. Begrudgingly, I went back to my desk and looked down at the invitation that was put on it. The bold letters embedded at the top of the card were as searing as a blade, for they sliced my heart into a million pieces. I went home immediately, for I had very little time and a lot to do to prepare.

Jason would be there as well and I wanted to catch his eye to make him feel jealous and regretful for leaving me, but for that, I needed a statement dress. Thus, I decided to head to a nearby shopping plaza, to spend as much money as I could on a dress that I would never wear again, all for a man that may not even remember me.

After a successful trip, I roamed around the plaza in search of a light snack before getting ready for the night's festivities. Wandering my eyes, I caught sight of a familiar man on the other side of the nearly empty area. Walking closer to clear my suspicions, I recognized him to be the one and only Jason Todd.

He was with another woman who seemed to be a thousand times prettier than her. Her gorgeous red hair was tied in a high ponytail and fell down to her hips, her lean figure resembled that of a model, and her face seemed too proportional to be true. She was perfect. And she was kissing him on the cheek. The sight made me want to cry out right then and there. He had moved on.

Later that Day, in the Evening

As I made my way through the entrance doors entranced by the beauty of the domain, I was welcomed by a breathtaking display of opulence and extravagance, transforming the Manor into a realm of sheer elegance. Crystal chandeliers dangled from the high ceilings, casting a cascade of shimmering light across the grand ballroom. The walls were adorned with rich tapestries depicting scenes of Gotham's history, each thread telling a story of wealth and power. Exquisite floral arrangements of velvety red roses and ivory lilies graced every corner, their intoxicating fragrance mingling with the soft strains of a string quartet that filled the air.

Guests, dressed in their finest attire, moved gracefully through the lavishly decorated rooms, their laughter and whispered conversations creating an enchanting symphony that resonated through the space. A grand staircase, adorned with a crimson carpet, beckoned guests to ascend toward the upper levels, adding an air of regal grandeur to the soirée.

In the heart of the ballroom, stood Jason Todd. He was a magnetic presence, a striking figure that effortlessly drew the eye. Dressed in a tailored black suit that accentuated his lean and muscular frame, he appeared both rugged and refined. The dimmed lighting highlighted the chiseled lines of his jaw, the shadow of stubble giving him an air of mysterious allure. His dark, tousled hair framed his face, adding to his rugged charm. His piercing blue eyes were like sapphires in the night. He moved with a confident grace, his every step commanding attention and admiration from those around him.

He was so captivating that I continued to stare until his gaze locked onto mine. For an instant, the world around us seemed to fade into obscurity. It was as if time itself had stopped. There was a flicker of surprise in his eyes, a hint of regret, and a trace of something deeper, something that mirrored the tumultuous history we shared. It was a gaze that carried the weight of our past, and in that moment, I knew that the night held more secrets and emotions than I had ever imagined.

Stop. I’m imagining things.

I focused my mind on the task at hand, to distract myself from him. My every move was meticulous, like a well-rehearsed dance. My professional demeanor was unwavering as I discreetly took notes on the evening's proceedings, capturing every detail and nuance of the event. I engaged in discussions about Gotham's elite, current events, and the philanthropic endeavors the gala aimed to support. All the while, my smile remained fixed and my words carefully chosen, masking the emotional turmoil that raged beneath the surface.

Suddenly, in the midst of conversation, Jason's warm and inviting hand gently wrapped around my wrist, guiding me away from the bustling gala and into a secluded garden nestled within the sprawling grounds of Wayne Manor.

The garden seemed to come alive under the moon's tender caress. The moon was like a radiant pearl in the inky sky, spilling its ethereal light through the dense canopy of trees, creating an enchanting interplay of shadows and soft, silvery beams. As we stood, the night's gentle breeze carried the fragrance of blooming flowers, adding a layer of sensuousness to the charged atmosphere.

Before Jason could utter a single word, my pent-up emotions, like a dam bursting, spilled forth with a hiss of anger and hurt. “What the hell? Who the hell do you think you are?” The words tumbled from my lips, carrying the weight of a year's worth of unanswered questions and unresolved feelings.

Jason stood before me, his expression a complex interplay of emotions. His eyes, once piercing and intense, now held a hint of regret and remorse. In the stillness of that moonlit garden, the unspoken words hung heavy in the air, waiting for the right moment to find their voice and bridge the chasm that had grown between us.

“It’s Jason…remember.”

“No.” All I do is remember.

“You’re my best friend.”

“I’m sorry, but you’ve got the wrong girl. I don’t know anyone named Jason.”

“What the hell is going on with you? Why can’t you remember me?”

“You’re the one that needs to remember.”

“What?”

“Remember that night? It’s been a year and you’ve clearly moved on. I’m glad you got your happy ending with a girl even prettier than me. That begs the question…why even talk to me with the intention of leaving again?”

“Y/n, I–”

“–Save it. I can’t do this anymore.”

My rapid footsteps echoed on the cobblestone path, and the sound of my heels clicking with every step rang in my ears. I paid no heed to the gasps and whispers that trailed behind me like a ghostly chorus of judgment.

In my haste, I collided with a solid figure, and the impact sent a shiver through my frame. I looked up, and it was none other than Dick Grayson, his eyes a curious blend of mockery and amusement. In my agitated state, I only heard his attempt at humor as a blade deepening the wound that had been freshly reopened.

This gala was a set-up, a trap and I fell face-first into it. But, it did allow me to realize something.

Jason Todd was Red Hood, a criminal, a murderer, a liar. And a fool for thinking that I may ever love him again.

#batfam #dc comics #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd x reader #jason todd #dick grayson #angst #song fic

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raccoon-eyed-rebel · 2 days

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Part 31 - The bathroom equation

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 30 -- Part 32

Summary: The guys (and girls) take to the group chats to discuss some serious issues

Warnings: Post contains generalizations. Please don't murder me for that.

Word count: Exactly 3k!!!!

**A/N: **SO! The guys joined me in the shower yesterday (not as sexy as it sounds, unfortunately) and as @geralts-yenn and I had had a discussion about what the house groupchat would look like (including very necessary shadow-group with just the girls, and a group chat with everyone who regularly spends time at that house...) this is what I came up with.

[The guys' chat is 179CS🏡, the girls are 179CS🧠🧠, and the everyone-group is 179CS Full🏡]

@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @summersong69 @livisss @sillyrabbit81

@ellethespaceunicorn @ylva-syverson @poledancingdinos @thelastsock @wa-ni

@proud-aroace-beastie @totalwool

Mike:

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Story2cats (@story2cats)

instagram

Sherlock: Great, she’s asking me what I’m laughing at.

August: If you value your life, don’t show her.

Sherlock: And if she steals his phone and sees it anyway? Xoxo Elena

Marshall: Paramedics or police?

Charles: Both.

August: Both.

Leon: Both.

Marshall: 👍🏻

Sherlock: They’ll never get here in time 😈

Mike: Nice knowing you, buddy ❤️

Elena: Dani, get your man in line.

Dani: What he do?

Elena: [video]

Ange: I mean…

Sol: He’s not… wrong…

Dani: He sent me that 🙊

Lexi: Is he okay?

Dani: Was he okay to begin with? 😂

Ange: Not that we know of…

Sy: Speaking of showers… We need rules.

Mike: Eh, why?

Sy: Because I was late for my date yesterday.

August: Which is our problem… how?

Leon: It’s not.

Charles: 👆🏻

Sy: In a house shared by eight guys there’s no excuse for a line for the bathroom!

Mike: Some of us have ✨girlfriends✨

Mike: You should try it sometime

Sy: 🦆🫵🏻 ❤️

Mike: Aww ❤️

Charles: He has a point, though.

Charles: Don’t appreciate getting yelled at for taking a shit in my own damn bathroom.

August: Not to mention the hair.

Sherlock: I don’t see the problem there? Just ask them to clean the drain when they’re done?

Leon: Spoken like a man who has never once in his life watched a woman clean a shower drain…

August: Good luck and farewell, Holmes

Sherlock: ?

Mike: Tears will be cried. Drains will be cleaned — by you.

Mike: Murder may be committed.

Sherlock: Surely, it can’t be that bad?

Geralt: No, he pretty much nailed it.

August: As much as I hate to admit it, the man is right.

Sy: So. New rules?

Leon: House meeting?

Mike: Sure. We’re all home, right?

Sy: Nope.

Mike: What? Why?

Sy: … sometimes when a date goes well, you end up staying over.

Sy: Are there other questions you need answered, bud?

Mike: I think I’m good…

Charles: Ladies, enough with the gossip

Leon: Right. Some of us have work to do.

Charles: Exactly

Sherlock: I highly doubt he was referring to you, Brandon.

Mike: Oooh, mad shade!!! xoxo Dani

Charles: Thanks. Sy, the complaint?

Sy: I had to wait in line to take a shower because the bathrooms were overrun by women.

Leon: Noted. The proposal?

Sy: I’m just pointing out the problem. Someone smarter than me can worry about the solution 🤷🏻‍♂️

Sherlock: Am I right to assume asking the girls to just… spend less time in the bathroom would result in murder, as well?

Sherlock: Never mind, Elena is nodding violently next to me right now.

Mike: What do you want us to do? Assign all the girls to one bathroom?

August: That might work, actually.

Leon: Doesn’t sound like a terrible idea.

Charles: Yes?

Mike: Wow, the one time I have a good idea, I don’t even realize it’s a good idea…

Mike: Wait, no.

Mike: I’m not permanently sharing a bathroom with seven of you because we sometimes have girls over.

August: Kid has a point.

Mike: I’m on a roll today! 😎

Sherlock: That leaves us with the question of how many women would have to be present to necessitate giving them their own bathroom, correct?

Marshall: If you desperately want to make it sound like math, then yes.

Sherlock: Not math. Logic.

Sherlock: And I find myself compelled to point out that I understand and enjoy logic.

August: Dealing with women is an aggravating experience, then, isn’t it?

Sherlock: Absolutely mystifying. But I’ve found that thus far the benefits outweigh the costs.

Mike: You know, for you… That’s actually kinda sweet 😂

Marshall: Romantic 👍🏻

Leon: Don’t tell her that…

Charles: Guys, seriously!

August: Right. Sol and Ange together never caused any problems.

Sherlock: Neither have any… liaisons of a fleeting nature

Mike: Hookups. You mean hookups.

Sherlock: You couldn’t pay me to say that.

Charles: Moot point. The average walk of shame happens before the shower.

Leon: It’s not like they stay for breakfast…

Leon: Beat me to it 😂🤜🏻

Charles: 🤛🏻

Geralt: The both of you are unbearable.

Geralt: August is right.

August: But…

Geralt: Sol and Ange don’t cause problems because Sol doesn’t take forever in the shower.

August: Right. But Angel is a nightmare, and so is Elena. Those two alone are enough to cause traffic.

Sherlock: Correct me if I’m wrong, but ‘Elena and Anjelica together, or either of those combined with any two others, or neither of them but a minimum of three others’ sounds like the kind of rule that will ensure we won’t even need it for the foreseeable future.

Sy: It also gives me a headache.

Mike: I don’t think I even understood enough of it to get a headache…

Sherlock: Minimum of 3, then ask me and Angie to not occupy both bathrooms at the same time. 🙄🙄🙄 Problem solved. You’re all still in trouble for even talking about this ❤️❤️❤️

Ange: They’re giving us what now???

Elena: Bathroom rules…

Dani: Tell me you’re kidding 🙃🙃

Elena: Dead fucking serious 🙄

Sol: Why?

Elena: Apparently 🙄🙄🙄🙄

Elena: We caused a traffic jam last night and made Sy late for his date???

Elena: Fairly sure Alicia didn’t mind because he’s still over there 🙄🙄🙄

Ange: What are the rules?

Elena: I don’t know. I’m glaring at Sherlock from a distance now.

Elena: I’m pleased to report he looks terrified every time I do 😈😈

Elena: They’re considering a girls’ bathroom.

Ange: I’m considering permanent occupation of all bathrooms.

Elena: Your boy called us both nightmares, by the way 😇😇

Elena: Apparently we take too long to shower, idk

Sol: You both take your time, sure…

Elena: Okay, fine. But he doesn’t have to point that out 🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️

Ange: Funeral invitations to follow…

Ange: No but seriously

Ange: He thinks I take too long in the shower?

Ange: Fine!

Ange: I’ll take shorter showers!

Dani: He really said that? 💀

Ange: Let’s see how he feels about that in a week or two.

Ange: Enjoy flossing, August 🙃🙄

Dani: 👀👀 [the agonizing scream you just heard was brought to you by me spitting my drink over Mike’s keyboard]

Lexi: 🙊 Mike and keyboard both okay?

Dani: Keyboard fine, Mike hyperventilating. He’ll be alright, back to you Ange.

Ange: I might have to rescind this attitude…

Ange: As much as I want to get back at him for this, I don’t want him to run…

Sol: You really think he’d care? Ange… he loves you…

Ange: Not that much…

Lexi: Girl, please?? Have you seen the way that man looks at you?

Ange: … He’s never seen me, like… untweezed and unshaved and whatever

Dani: Never?

Ange: Never ever ever.

Sol: 👀👀

Sol: But why?? I only shave when I feel like it – which is almost never – and Geralt has never said anything??

Ange: Girl, you’re a blonde 👀👀

Ange: I don’t wax this stache, 2 weeks from now you’ll be confusing me for August. I swear.

Lexi: Okay there’s literally no way that’s true.

Dani: And even if it was, he’d still love you.

Ange: Yeah but I’m not about to find out, thanks.

Lexi: It’s your body, obviously

Elena: Do what feels comfortable

Dani: But if you do ever miss a day and he does say something nasty…

Elena: I’ll grab the shovels 😇😇

Leon: Ladies and gentlemen — mostly ladies. A little PSA regarding an update in the house rules at 179th Crescent Street. It was recently brought to my/our attention that the addition of a number of regular overnight guests has created a somewhat unmanageable situation in the realm of bathroom use. Therefore, the new policy is as follows: When three or more of the girlfriends are staying over, the upstairs bathroom is all yours! Management is currently unavailable for negotiation.

Charles: TLDR: take your long-ass showers on the second floor. Please.

Ange: This message was deleted.

August: I saw that.

Elena: Oh, I’ll say it with my chest

Elena: You all suck.

Sherlock: No…

Mike: Whatever you do, man, don’t finish that thought 😂

Sherlock: I think they got the message regardless.

Ange: Oh, we got it alright…

Dani: You’re lucky you’re cute, Sherlock 🙄

Mike: Hey!

Lexi: I’m so sorry to say this but… Over my cold, dead body am I walking up a flight of stairs in the middle of the night to pee.

Charles: @Leon Told you the ‘not up for negotiation’ thing wasn’t going to work.

Leon: It was worth a try.

Geralt: We’re not banning anyone from the house for using the ‘wrong’ bathroom

Sol: Then why the pointless rule?

Sy: Because yesterday BOTH bathrooms were occupied for well over two hours!!!

Sy: Seriously, what do you do in there?

Mike: Elaborate satanic rituals?

Sol: Occasionally.

Ange: Let’s see… Do we actually enlighten them?

Mike: Please do, I’m curious now…

Charles: I know what happens when I’m also in the shower… 😏

Ange removed Charles

Ange: Any other takers?

August: Angel…

Ange: Don’t tell me I’m overreacting!

August: I didn’t say a word 😑

Ange added Charles

Ange: Behave.

Charles: 🤐

Elena: Good boy.

Leon: Do you say that to Sherlock, too? 😏

Ange removed Leon

Marshall: Jesus, Ange…

Ange: Ugh, fine.

Ange added Leon

Mike: Seriously, girls… Other than summoning the occasional demon — what are you doing in there?

Sol: I’m gonna let Elena and Angie handle this one…

Ange: Alright. So first I check if I have all 4059834 items I’m going to need. Then at some point you’ll have to get naked, unfortunately…

Dani: Look at everything you hate about yourself for a solid 5 minutes until you’re nice and depressed

Elena: Didn’t come here to be called out like this, but thanks 🙄🙄

Sol: Poke your boobs and watch them jiggle because it’s funny until you’re less depressed

Mike: Getting jealous…

Ange: Then you turn on the shower and wait for the water to warm up

Lexi: To those ungodly temperatures from the pits of hell, you know? 👀👀

Mike: I’m not apologizing for that video, just so you know.

Lexi: That’s actually useful time to make sure you find the right playlist ✨✨

Sy: YOU DON’T NEED A PLAYLIST FOR A SHOWER

Lexi: Hard disagree

Elena: Yes, we do.

Sol: … Am I supposed to listen to my own thoughts in the shower?

Ange: I’d never be able to suppress my homicidal tendencies ever again, holy shit…

Dani: Then we actually get in the shower and warm up because the bathroom is cold, just like our souls.

Marshall: I’m genuinely learning more than I’ve ever wanted to know…

Mike: This is already taking longer than my whole entire shower…

Ange: And we’re not even close to being done.

Elena: @Ange Especially us…

Leon: Okay, fine, I’ll bite… Why is it different for the two of you?

Sol: Because they have curls?

Charles: That makes a difference?

Sy: So?

Mike: Why does THAT matter?

Marshall: Is that… important??

Elena: You’re all so clueless, it’s almost cute 🥺

Ange: @Marshall you actually might want to pay attention to this…

Ange: Alright. By the time I’m warm, my hair is usually wet all the way through

Ange: Massively heavy, by the way.

Ange: It’s hair-washing time! Which, idk about @Elena, but I have to do this in at least 4 sections if I don’t want to miss half of it.

Elena: I can get by with 2, but 4 is better.

Elena: Of course, 9/10 times I fucking forgot to section it before getting in the shower.

Ange: Obviously. So now you’re wrangling your wet hair into submission

Elena: Which is damn near impossible.

Ange: Exactly. But when that’s finally done, you can get to washing it.

Elena: And rinsing it until there’s absolutely no way there’s still any shampoo left.

Ange: Which takes a long ass time, BTW.

Ange: Then it’s ✨deep conditioner✨ time!!! Like… it’s always deepco time. I don’t even use regular conditioner anymore because my hair thinks it’s pointless. So like. That.

Elena: Mood.

Ange: And that stuff needs to sit in your hair for like 15-30 minutes

Mike: That’s like… 3 whole showers…

Charles: I don’t even spend this kind of time on my schoolwork 👀

Geralt: That’s not something to be proud of.

Sherlock: Imagine what you could do if you did.

Ange: Either way, it’s okay, because next… We exfoliate.

August: For those who haven’t been keeping count, we’re on step 12 or something. Jesus.

Charles: @Leon what the damn hell does our water bill look like?

Sol: Pay attention! Exfoliate! Then shave. Which, when you’re 6 feet tall in the showers here… damn near impossible, by the way.

Elena: (Cut yourself at least twice no matter how long you’ve been doing it…)

Lexi: Ohh! Cubicle yoga while holding a razor!!!

Dani: And while wet and slippery…

Ange: We’re superhuman 💃🏻

Sy: You’re nuts is what you are. All of you!

Dani: Anyway, when we reach baby dolphin status…

Dani: Which doesn’t happen until we’ve checked at least three times if we haven’t missed any spots…

Dani: I personally squeeze in brushing my teeth and skincare before rinsing my conditioner.

Elena: 👆🏻

Ange: Same! If I’m paying like 30 dollars for a hair mask that’ll barely last me two weeks, I’m gonna at least spend some time with it 👀✨

Sol: So that’s teeth and face wash in the shower. Then rinse that conditioner.

Ange: Which — again — takes a while if you have curly and/or a lot of hair.

Ange: Also, before I rinse my hair, I spend an ungodly amount of time detangling it with my fingers, which I have to do while the mask/conditioner is in. So…

Marshall: And at this point you’re finally nearly done, right?

Sherlock: … please, for the love of God, let it almost be over!

Ange: Oh, my precious little babies ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Lexi: At this point we’re slowly considering getting out of the shower, yes.

Dani: But the rest of the bathroom is cold, so we take our time gathering the courage to get out.

Leon: 🤦🏻‍♂️🤦🏻‍♂️🤦🏻‍♂️

Sherlock: The entire bathroom is hot enough to steam salmon at this point!

Mike: And yet, they manage to emerge from Mordor absolutely freezing…

Sol: When we do finally manage to make it out, we wrap ourselves in the biggest towel we can find…

Ange: By the way, ladies, you can thank me and Sol for the presence of the big towels in this house.

Sol: Oh GOD I remember the first shower I ever took here.

Geralt: The towels were fine.

Sol: …………. Geralt, I love and respect you, but you’re wrong and also stupid. ❤️

Ange: You’ll pay for that…

Sol: Looking forward to it 😈😈

Mike: Please continue…

Dani: We’re left with the rest of our skincare. So; toner, 1-3 serums, moisturizer. Sunscreen or oil, for me, depending on the time of day.

Ange: But the mirror is fogged up from the shower, so you have to deal with that…

Leon: YOU KNOW WHERE YOUR FACE IS, DON’T YOU?

Ange: Yes, but it’s also very pretty so I wanna look at it. Thanks.

Lexi: How can I meticulously study all the imperfections in my skin if I can’t see my face???

Dani: Exactly! (To both of those things, simultaneously)

Dani: So, after that, it’s time to moisturize everything you’ve exfoliated and/or shaved.

Elena: Which is… pretty much everything.

Sol: Cue deep sigh because this is where you find out you actually did miss a spot somewhere.

Ange: And then it’s back to the hair for the curly girls!

Elena: Leave in ❤️❤️❤️

Marshall: What?

Sy: ??

Mike: Wut?

Ange: It’s like conditioner, but you don’t rinse it out.

Sherlock: @Elena the stuff that smells good?

Elena: Yes 😂😂😂

Dani: Which reminds me; @Elena, is that your Quench in the bathroom or mine? I can’t remember…

Elena: Oh, God, me neither…

August: Settle this in the shadow group, ladies.

Lexi: You know about that, huh? 😂

Dani: Shit, they figured it out…

Sol: Not surprised… They’re not completely clueless…

Ange: Just mostly…

August: Thanks. Enough of that.

Ange: Okay daddy 🥺❤️❤️

August: 🙄

Ange: Anyway. After the leave-in and maybe two or three other products, I wrap my hair up in my hair-towel — or hair-tshirt.

Charles: Another towel? Why in the fuck?

Ange: Boys. I understand that you don’t give a fuck about this, but…

Ange: Regular towels are actually not good for your hair.

Elena: 👆🏻👆🏻👆🏻

Lexi: Besides… You can’t dry long hair and your body with 1 towel…

Sol: What she said.

Sol: What they both said, actually.

Leon: Are we finally at the end of all of this?

Leon: I’ve literally never been more glad to not have a girlfriend, jesus fucking christ…

Dani: Yeah, pretty much… You get dressed, dreading the cold of the hallway, and then we quickly go find a boy to snuggle up to who can then tell us we smell nice and are very soft, so we can convince ourselves we didn’t just spend an unholy amount of time doing all of that for absolutely nothing.

August: All of this is… insane.

Ange: Hey! I can stop doing half of this, if you think it’s so unnecessary 🙄🙄

Elena: Now that I think about it… It wouldn’t even save any time, because you still need to let the conditioner sit, so…

Charles: Right, ladies, this was very interesting…

Charles: I’m going to take a shower now.

Charles: Talk to you in about… 10 minutes 🙄

Sy: Remind me to never ask any of you any questions literally ever again…

#henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill characters #mike hellraiser #sherlock holmes #walter marshall #august walker #napoleon solo #charles brandon #captain syverson #college au #fluff

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