#Cracks in the Mental Armor

[adara-of-the-flame]

thehouseofivo

Bradford never liked others prying in ways like this. He never liked others seeing this far into his mind. It was why he wanted normalcy. It was why he wanted nothing more than for things to be simple and explainable. So he could keep all his secrets and trauma to himself.

….Wait, like her? What could Luna possibly have endured that would still have her be as cheery and incessantly upbeat as she is? She couldn’t have gone through as much as he had and still be the 'Director of Mental Health’ as she was….

…..Could she?

“What does the tree speak of?” Bradford heard himself ask, trying not to.

adara-of-the-flame

If Luna realized Bradford considered her 'cheery and incessently upbeat', she would have offered a chuckle. She took great pride in hiding her emotions, and 'cheery' was not the image she'd tried to present.

"What? Did you forget so quickly what I told you the day Regina attacked this city? The day I proved myself?" If one took the time to notice, one might pick up on her rigid posture; her focus on keeping both eyes forward. In the child Luna currrently appeared to be, there was a desperation in her need to not look over her shoulder.

Because behind her, two sillouettes rose with the tree's words: A man, and a woman, looming. Maybe in her own mind, they were larger than they had truly been. She'd still been so small when they'd fallen.

The family behind young Bradford was much larger: Parents, brothers. Maybe she envied him that.

"My world ended when I was little, too."

All Within It’s Season

It was a short message, written out on large, unassuming index card. 

“Dear, Director Buzzard,

You’ll be happy to know your season of dread had ended, and it’s time for you to accompany me on a trip to the outdoors, as was our agreement. 

Meet me in the morning tomorrow at the Fortress Entrance with anything you wish to bring with you. I’ll provide the rest.

Sincerely,  Luna DelMar, Director of Mental Health.”

[heartsfromia]

knight in shining armor — j. wonwoo

pairing: non-idol! wonwoo x f!reader

word count: 7,350

genre: fluff, angst, mild crack, college setting

warnings: cheating (not wonwoo tho our boy is sweet, it's reader's shitty ex), curse words, implicit violence (black eyes, cuts on lips mentioned)

author's notes: y'all pray that one day i have the energy to proofread my works ;_____; BRO I STG I WORKED ON THIS FOR OVER THREE MONTHS AND IDK HOW IT GOT SOOO LONG T___________T

“Hey, I’m planning on finishing my paper for International Law in Holly’s, come with me?”

With your hands intertwined with your boyfriend, Hanwoo, the two of you walked towards the parking lot by your university, just having finished a class together. You were hoping to spend some time together since Hanwoo had been preoccupied with the major association he’s a member in, as the collegial organization is holding its elections in the next week and he had been approached to help out as a committee member. Since the two of you have the same classes together, and the paper was due next Monday (it being a Thursday now), you thought you could get, at least the introduction down, while having some quality time in the 24 hour café with your boyfriend of six months.

“We’ll be there all night and you can distract me from my paper and I will do the same to you, and then we can down a ton of caffeine before passing out on the bean bags they have,” you tried to convince him, leaning into his side as you two approached his car. “And then we can go home and talk about how we should’ve finished our paper, plan another night in Holly’s and do it all over again!”

“Although that does sound tempting,” Hanwoo began, releasing your hand to reach for the car keys and unlocked the doors. He leaned down to be eye-level with you, as his hand reached for the door handle of the passenger seat, he uttered, “But, I have a meeting later tonight.” Pressing a quick kiss to your cheek, he pulled your door open and stepped aside enter the car. A pout found its way to your lips, pulling your favorite move to get what you want, but he wasn’t budging and only nodded his head for you to climb in.

“What meeting?” You asked once he climbed into the driver’s seat, pulling the car out of the parking lot and on your way to your house to drop you off.

“The election, since Monday evening will be the debate between president and vice president candidates, so we need to discuss the topics of the debate, all the technical stuff tonight,” he explained, “we’re planning on pushing a lot we need done between today and tomorrow, so we can have the weekends free and do finishing touches on Monday.”

“Ahh, being Event Organizer really isn’t easy… so you’ll be busy today, and tomorrow?” He only nodded, briefly sending a small smile her direction. “Alright, then, I’ll just see if Wonwoo is free tonight.”

Hanwoo threw his head back, asking, “Isn’t Wonwoo a Computer Science major?”

“Yeah, but he’s really good at research so I think he can help.” Hanwoo didn’t bother asking more, turning the music up to let it fill the silence as you arrived by the driveway of your house. “Good luck on your paper, yeah? Don’t drink too much coffee.”

“No promises,” you responded before kissing his cheek and climbing out his car. You waved him off, watching as the car disappeared in the distance before turning to head inside and up to your room just left of the entryway. Tossing your bag on your chair, you flopped on to your bed, too mentally exhausted from the three lectures today to even change your clothes, feeling sleep begin to fog your head. You were on the edge of dreamland when you heard a clink, then a few seconds later another one, and then another one, and it seemed to be never ending before you pulled yourself out of your drowsiness and headed to your window—which just so happened to be adjacent to your next door neighbor, Wonwoo’s window.

“You seriously need to reconsider throwing rocks at my window before you shatter it, Wonwoo.” Your neighbor only chuckled, so you took this as an opportunity. “Hey, can you come with to Holly’s? I’m planning to stay overnight there.”

“What for?”

“I’m holding an executive meeting for us to discuss a ten-step plan to overthrow our government,” you grinned, and he pondered, tapping his chin lightly before shaking his head.

“I can’t overthrow the government yet, I have a quiz tomorrow.”

You rolled your eyes, a soft laugh escaping your lips. You could always count Wonwoo to go along with your poor attempts at sarcasm. “I have a paper to work on and I don’t want to be alone.”

“Where’s your boyfriend? What’s his name? Yohan?”

“So close! It’s Hanwoo,” you retorted with a deadpan as you reminded him of your boyfriend’s name. Wonwoo hasn’t been discreet in his distaste towards your boyfriend—it’s been six months since he asked you out, and it’s been six months of Wonwoo never remembering his name. “He has a meeting today since the upcoming election debate for my major’s organization.”

“Is he running or…?” Wonwoo asked, despite his lack of interest with the topic.

“No, he’s the EO, and will be occupied for the next couple of days.”

“Aah, so I’m a back-up to you? Got it.” You knew he was being sarcastic, it was a running joke between the two of you since splitting when choosing college majors—you had done the same when he asked you to accompany him to watch a movie he really wanted to see, only to find out he came to you because friends from his major were busy.

“Do you want to come with me or not?” You asked again, “you don’t need to if you don’t want to.”

“What time?” Wonwoo asked, not hesitating. “Eomma is making dinner tonight, and asked me to ask you to join in case your parents are working late.”

You turn briefly, listening in to your parent’s room across from yours and can hear the muffle conversation behind the walls. “I think they’re home, but knowing my dad, he won’t be cooking so I think all three of us can head over to your place for dinner?”

“Sure, I’ll tell Eomma,” Wonwoo informed, “so after dinner then, we can go? Did you ask your parents for permission to spend the night working on the assignment.”

Dread immediately washed over you, colour draining from your face and to your feet as you remembered you haven’t asked permission from your parents, especially your dad who isn’t fond of you working long hours for an assignment you could’ve finished from when it was assigned. Force habit, dad, it’s not my fault you raised a chronic procrastinator, you couldn’t help but think. An innocent chuckle left your lips as you pulled your signature puppy-dog eyes to Wonwoo, who—without you having to utter a single word—understood what you were doing.

He heaved a heavy sigh, closing his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, I’ll ask them.”

“You are the best! Did you know that you’re the best person I’ve ever met? You’re absolutely awesome, smart and so, so, so kind, Wonwoo!” You blew a kiss in his direction, like how you watched Sunjae in Lovely Runner do so. “Love you!”

He waved your exaggerated gestures off, ignoring the heat forming in his cheeks and spreading to his ears, as he turned away, yelling back at you, “Yeah, yeah, just hurry up, I want to get this over with.”

“When do you think International Humanitarian Law is applicable?” You turned to Wonwoo after reading (re: skimming) a journal regarding the topic for your paper. Despite having only been studying the material for about twenty minutes, you could feel yourself losing it by the second. You didn’t hate International Law, but you always thought that the professor assigned too much reading, and is so strict about the entire paper itself—specifically using APA style, it has to only be footnotes (no in-line citations, despite that being the easiest in your opinion and you always preferred Chicago over any other reference style).

Oh, and the International Law professor is biased and lowkey a bitch.

So, being reluctant to work on an assignment given by your major’s most disliked professor wasn’t a priority even with the deadline closing in.

“During world conflicts?” You and Wonwoo stared at each other briefly, before you nodded, “That is true.” Wonwoo stifled a laugh. Seeing you look so drained and empty every single time you worked on an assignment, never failed to make him laugh. He enjoyed accompanying you, and despite the different majors and study programs you both have, he always tried to make sure he is more help than company. Even though you never really wanted to help you work on the assignment, knowing he has his own to deal with as a Computer Science major, but he’s well aware of your habits that even if the due date is Monday and you are working on it right now, you won’t completely finish it until Sunday, if not with Wonwoo’s aid.

“What’s the paper about?”

“The application of International Humanitarian Law in a specific study case,” you responded, tone flat. The more you talked about it, the more your soul was being sucked into the void. “I chose the Femicides in El Salvador.”

“Alright.” Was all Wonwoo said before he opened Google Scholar and began his own little research.

“Wonwoo, you don’t have to—”

“Y/N?” Cut off mid-sentence, you and Wonwoo turned to find Joy approaching your table, her hair tied and a lanyard around her neck, she must’ve just gotten back from campus.

“Joy? Hi, what are you doing here?” You smiled, internally sighing in relief because you had a reason to not look at the journal you were reading of femicide reports in the past decade.

“I just came back from an internal meeting with the EO’s for the upcoming debate,” Joy responded, noticing Wonwoo and waving at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m working on Michelle’s paper,” you answered, exaggerating the slouch in your shoulders and pout in your lips. You then realized, sitting up straight, head cocked to the side with your brows furrowed. “Wait, you’re an EO for the debate?”

Joy pulled a chair to sit across from you, resting her arms on the table and nodded.

“So you were with Hanwoo?”

It was her turn to furrow her brows. “Your boyfriend?” You nodded, and she shook her head. “No I wasn’t.”

“What? But he told me he was having a meeting with the EO’s for the debate, maybe you didn’t see them?”

The crease between your friend’s brow only deepened. “Y/N, the EO’s are only four people, not including the PIC—I’ve also met them all, and Hanwoo isn’t a part of us.”

“That’s weird,” you muttered. Did your boyfriend lie?

“Maybe he got his position switched? Maybe he’s not an EO? You could try asking tomorrow,” Joy tried to reason, and you only nodded. Hanwoo had been telling you that he was an EO for the past couple of weeks, ever since the announcement of election was released for the major association. He explained to you in great detail what the position would entail, and well, frankly speaking, you trusted him. It tugged at your chest at the possibility he might’ve lied to you.

And Wonwoo can see it. The deep glare in your eyes as you stared at the article you were reading, but you weren’t actually reading the reports from representatives of the El Salvadoran government, instead you were reading into the situation with your boyfriend. Gears were turning in your head, making connections, coming up with excuses as to why he had chosen to lie to you about something as trifling as his position in a collegial committee. He could tell that no matter how many paragraphs you read, how many relative research articles you pulled up from the internet, nothing will allow you to progress in your paper until the nagging feeling of your fibbing boyfriend is at ease.

“Y/N, do you want to head back home, call it a night?” Wonwoo asked, before quickly raising his phone, “My brother just sent me a text, that he needs the car early tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, yeah sure, let me just pay—”

“You pack up, I’ll pay for our food.”

You knew that he knew. Your lips pressed into a tight smile, “Thanks, Won.” He nodded, returning your smile before heading to the counter.

“Should we continue tomorrow night, then?” Joy asked. You nodded. “Sure,” then added, “depends though.”

On whether or not your boyfriend is lying.

“Wonwoo, do you have notes from Beom’s class? Last weeks’?” Seungcheol sat across from Wonwoo in the cafeteria, picking up a fry from Wonwoo’s plate and tossing it into his mouth. Wonwoo merely stared at his friend, unamused by his lack of manners, causing Seungcheol to chuckle.

“You know I do, Cheol, but why should I give it to you?” Wonwoo asked, his baritone voice holding a twinge of sarcasm, still upset by Seungcheol’s unwarranted act of property theft.

“Who says I want them?” Seungcheol turns away, flustered that Wonwoo caught on too quickly to his motive.

Wonwoo shrugs, and continues eating his lunch. “Alright then.”

“Can you email them to me?” An innocent, close-lipped smile etched across Seungcheol’s face, his dimple deepening as he clasped his hands together, pulling the same trick as Y/N usually does to get what they want.

“Stop that, I already get enough of puppy-eyes from Y/N,” grunted Wonwoo, rolling his eyes. “I’ll send them tonight, just send me a reminder.”

“Great, thanks, man.” Wonwoo expected him to leave, allowing for Wonwoo to spend the rest of his lunch alone before he heads to his next class, but Seungcheol stayed put, eyes on his phone. Not feeling like making any conversation, Wonwoo shrugged it off and continued eating. That is, until Seungcheol spoke up again, asking, “Hey, doesn’t Y/N have a boyfriend?”

Wonwoo couldn’t help the heat that rose at the back of his neck. “Yeah, why?”

“Isn’t it that Hanwoo guy?” Wonwoo nodded, but Seungcheol only looked even more perplexed. “They’re still going out?”

“Yeah…” Wonwoo confirmed, but the question only made his curiosity grow. Why did Seungcheol look so surprised? “Why?”

“It’s just… I mean, if you say they’re still together then it might not be- I must’ve made a mistake,” Seungcheol tried to change the subject but Wonwoo wasn’t going to let him do so.

“Tell me what you’re talking about or you won’t get Beom’s notes,” Wonwoo threatened, earning a look of genuine offense from Seungcheol, whom briefly rose a brow, a bit unconvinced. “I’m serious, Cheol.”

“Ass,” he muttered, before shaking his head, “Nah, it’s just… last night I saw a guy pick up my neighbor from across the courtyard, and I thought he looked a lot like Hanwoo.” Wonwoo’s eyebrow rose in suspicion, Seungcheol spotting it. “But if you say they’re still going out, then it must’ve been someone else.”

“What do you mean?”

“Any guy would be stupid to cheat on Y/N, especially since she’s your best friend and all.”

That only made him more confused. “Why would you say that?”

“It’s not like you’d let anyone hurt her, Won,” Seungcheol retorted, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world (it was), “and Hanwoo would be a huge dumbass if he even thought of cheating on her.”

Even though Seungcheol was right, Wonwoo wasn’t convinced—Hanwoo had a meeting last night when they were at Holly’s but Joy confirmed that he wasn’t even a part of the EO committee.

“Are you sure it wasn’t him?” He tried to make sure.

“I mean, it was dark and I wasn’t wearing my glasses so it was a bit blurry—all-in-all I would say 50%, either he was or he wasn’t,” Seungcheol explained, being no help to Wonwoo’s growing suspicion of your boyfriend.

“I’ve gotta go,” Wonwoo uttered, standing and packing his things, tossing his backpack over his shoulder.

“Where are you go- class is that way!” Wonwoo paid no mind to his friend as he continued walking towards the parking lot. However, he could hear Seungcheol as he was almost out of earshot, “Y/N, your knight in shining armor is on his way.”

The corner of Wonwoo’s lips quirked up. “I’m not sending the notes then!”

“Oh, come on, man!”

He couldn’t wait any longer. Suspicions and of course, anger, only grew the more steps he took towards his car, knowing the destination was you. If what Seungcheol said is true and he did, in fact, see Hanwoo with another girl, then that means he’s openly seeing someone else behind your back.

His hand reached for his phone, sparing quick glances between the screen and where he was walking as his fingers swiped for your contact, immediately dialing. Pressing the phone to his ear, he let his other hand pull out his car keys and unlock the door just as the line started ringing.

You picked up after two rings.

“Wonwoo? What’s with the sudden phone call?”

“Where are you?” He waited in the front seat, keys dangling from the ignition. Your answer would decide whether he starts the car or not.

“In the cafeteria near the engineering majors, why?”

“Are you with Hanwoo?” You were taken aback by his question, not because of what he asked, but by the fact that he got your boyfriend’s name right.

“Yeah, I am… Why?”

His shoulders sunk with your confirmation. “Just… just checking, sorry to bother you guys.” You muttered something that he didn’t catch before he hung up, exhaling a heavy sigh. Maybe it was paranoia. He had known you since you both were in middle school, of course he was protective over you, like every friend out there, he never wants you to get hurt.

Little did he know that as you put down your phone, a grimace had taken over your features as you looked at Joy.

“What did Wonwoo ask?”

You wanted to tell her the truth, but even you couldn’t wrap your head around the obvious that was happening. Wonwoo thinks you’re with Hanwoo, but you’re not and Joy’s tip about your boyfriend never having been involved in the election committee—you knew, and if your best friend had asked and even remembered Hanwoo’s name, then that must mean he knows, too.

“If I was with you,” you answered before her suspicion grew. “He wanted to check if I was up for lunch with him, but I’m with you already.”

“Ah… I think it’s good that he isn’t here,” Joy prefaced, pulling her phone out. “Do you remember I use to be a student supervisor for our major’s freshman camp?”

“Yeah, why?”

“So, I follow most of the kids that were in my group, right? And I was scrolling through my Instagram stories when you were buying lunch, and then—“ Joy scrolled through the following list of her account, stopping her explanation as she found who she was looking for. “—I think it’s better if you see for yourself.”

She slid her phone face-up to you, an Instagram story of a junior you didn’t know of was opened. The picture wasn’t revealing much of anything that seemed of significance to you, just a photo of her holding hands with a guy and it was posted in her Close Friends—most likely an attempt at soft-launching her boyfriend.

For a moment you were confused, then you spotted it—the username. It was Hanwoo's Instagram account. Dread grew at the back of your head as your brain couldn't grasp on to this fact, even exiting out of the story and searching for his username, hoping it was one letter off and your suspicions would be wrong, but unfortunately, that wasn’t the case and both the username in the girl’s post and his username were the same.

“I’m sorry, Y/N…” Joy uttered, in hopes to break the silence and tension that was building, but it was to no avail. Your throat tightened, and tears burned in your eyes, but you knew they weren’t from sadness, or heartbreak even, you were furious.

The audacity this piece of shit has to think he can cheat on me? You locked Joy’s phone, sliding it back to her before picking up your things and standing from the table.

“Where are you going?” Her eyes were filled with genuine concern, worried that you were a ticking time bomb, just waiting to blow up at the worse time.

You sent her a reassuring smile, and shrugged. “Where else? To plan my revenge on him, of course.”

Wonwoo thought he was hearing things. As he paused his game, he waited and listened for a moment before shrugging, chalking it off to probably a feature in the game he never noticed.

Clink!

That couldn’t have been a feature in the game, he was breaking wood—a clinking sound against glass doesn’t seem like something you’d hear while hitting a tree repeatedly in Minecraft.

He removed his earphones this time, waiting for the sound again, and when he did, he stood and walked to his window, finding you standing outside his window.

“Finally, oh my God!” you groaned, rolling your eyes. “Do you know how many pebbles I had to look for to throw at your window?”

Wonwoo’s eyebrows bunched together as he stared at you dumbfounded. “Why did you need to throw pebbles, we’re ground level. You could’ve just knocked.”

“That wouldn’t be so romantic, now would it?”

Wonwoo rolled his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he heaved a heavy sigh. “You’ve got to stop sneaking around like this, though, people are going to think you’re a burglar.”

“Whatever, Won,” you waved him off. “I need your help.”

“With what?”

“I—“ You paused. The fact that Hanwoo is actively cheating on you, probably even at this very moment, felt almost surreal to you, but ever since Joy showed you the picture, you’ve (to some extent) came to terms with it—there were signs after all, signs you chose to ignore or were so subtle, they flew over your head. However, coming to the realization that you’ve been cheated on felt easier than to utter it out loud—it felt more like a confirmation, that once the words were spoken out into the universe, it confirmed you were too blind in love to see the fact that he played you like a violin.

And it felt worse to admit to Wonwoo that his suspicions of your boyfr— ex-boyfriend being a douchebag were right.

“I need your help to trash Hanwoo’s car tonight, he’s at a friend’s house and left his car by his apartment.” Might as well hold off telling the truth until after you’ve released your anger.

Wonwoo could see you were holding something back, and by your proposition, making a guess as to why you did so, was easy.

“I’m not going to ask, but I will need you to explain later.” You subconsciously thanked him for not asking for a reason to your borderline act of vandalism. “Come around to the garage, I think I have a baseball bat from when I played little league.”

Ignoring the last bit of Wonwoo’s childhood anecdote, you watched as he left his room before taking the route to circle towards the front of his house where the garage was. You heard a lock turn and a bar slide before door opened, revealing Wonwoo, nodding his head to follow him.

“Do you, like, a Swiss Army knife or something sharp?”

“I think my dad has one his tool box, let me check,” he says, then points to shelf behind the car. “You can check there for the baseball bat.”

“Alright.”

Once the equipments were prepared—consisting of Wonwoo’s baseball ball, his dad’s Swiss Army knife, and your dad’s spray paint from one of his furniture restoration projects—you were all set to get back at Hanwoo. You both tossed them into the back of his car, climbing in and Wonwoo started up for Hanwoo’s apartment.

“And how do you know he left his car?” Wonwoo asked after three minutes of complete silence (AUX cord was broken and nothing that could fit a drive to vandalize your ex’s car was on the radio).

“Because I texted him earlier, asking if he could drive me to the store because there was a book I needed to get, and he explained to me that he was at a friend’s house and left his car,” you explained, your tone flat throughout as you mindlessly played with the zipper of your hoodie.

“And you’re sure he’s with friends?” He asked, his tone cautious, as he watched you freeze briefly.

You weren’t sure. Instead of admitting that, you chuckled, “He wouldn’t be with his girlfriend without a car.”

Despite your efforts at breaking the ice, Wonwoo wasn’t able to laugh at your joke, and only you could muster a dry chuckle before leaning back, turning to face the window.

You seemed to float throughout—as if watching yourself in a third person point of view, almost numb to the fact that you were on your way to ruin your ex’s car. It wasn’t that you were in denial that he is cheating on you, you refused to believe it was happening to you. You always felt that you were doing so much, showing him so much love, prioritizing him when he needed, never doubting that you felt the same way for you.

What did I do wrong? What about me wasn’t enough?

You hated those thoughts that began flooding your head. You hated those doubts. You hated that because of what he did, you’re blaming yourself—making it seem that you were the one that wasn’t doing enough.

“Y/N?” Wonwoo’s baritone voice pulled you out of your self-loathing. “We’re here.”

“Oh, you remembered the way,” you finally took note of him never asking you directions throughout the drive.

“Unfortunately.” You couldn’t help but laugh at his snide comment. Looking out to his side of the window, you see Hanwoo’s white range rover. You knew he cherished it—making sure to get the oil changed routinely, weekly car washes and having it waxed monthly. In retrospect, he probably loved the car more than he did you.

Maybe destroying he loved could make you feel less shitty.

“Let’s go—“ Before you could climb out, Wonwoo grabbed your wrist, stopping you.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Y/N?”

Again, the truth choked you. As you stared at Wonwoo, the concern laced all over his features, it felt the question should’ve triggered a flood gate to open, but alas, you persist. I need to not use poor humor as a coping mechanism. You cocked your head to the side, the corner of your lips lifted. “Why? I honestly thought you’d be the most excited of us to trash his car, Won?”

Of course, being your best friend since middle school, he saw right through your façade.

His hand moved from your wrist to clasp your hands, wrapping his fingers around yours. “Just promise you’ll talk to me, yeah?”

The bile rose, once again, urging you to cough out the truth. Knowing well enough you wouldn’t be able to utter anything without your words breaking, you nodded and sent a stiff smile.

As you stood near Hanwoo’s car, looking through the window of his vehicle, memories of the two of you seated side-by-side there came flooding in. How when you would go to a drive-thru for late night snack runs, the way you reached over the console with a fry and feeding it to him as his eyes focused on the road. When you’d pull over into a parking lot, your legs stretched over to rest over his lap as the two of you talked about everything and nothing at all, or when he would purposely make wrong turns just so you would spend more time with each other when he was supposed to drop you home.

Moments that you held so close to your heart, now worth nothing in a blink of an eye.

You squeezed your eyes shut, urging the tears to fall back and return to their sockets, inhaling a deep breath and pushing it out almost immediately as you flipped the knife to one of its sharpest options and pressing the point to the driver’s door. There’s no backing out now. You let the knife drag itself across the paint, a ragged line following your hand as you made your lap around his car.

Now, there really wasn’t going back now.

Before you could hold yourself back, your arm extended back and punctured one of the tyres—then one became two, and then three. Air spewing out of three of the tyres filled the tension around you, and you found yourself breathless. Breathless because you were angry. Breathless because you were hurt. The tears had escaped, creating warm trails down your cheeks.

“Give me the bat,” you urged, glaring at him with bloodshot eyes and wet cheeks.

“Y/N—“

“Wonwoo,” you pressed, “it’s either you give me the bat, or you go home—I’m going to do this whether you agree with it or not.”

Wonwoo shouldn’t even be against what you’re doing right now. He’s obviously on your side when it comes to this, Hanwoo deserves getting his car destroyed for hurting, manipulating and thinking he could go behind your back this way. However, the more logical and law-abiding side of him is reluctant—especially since you’ve already slashed his tyres and ruined the paintwork, so breaking the windows seemed to cross the line.

“If we get arrested, just tell them I did it, alright?” Wonwoo uttered, handing you the bat and taking the knife with him. You smiled for the first time tonight, a genuine smile that reached your eyes as he said that. He then added, “I’ll get the spray paint—you do your thing.”

And after a bashed in windshield, a very poorly written “FUCKING CHEATER” was spray painted on all sides of the car and on the hood. You and Wonwoo drove away from the scene of the crime, driving to a nearest convenient store where Wonwoo hopped out, buying instant ramen, drinks and snacks, deciding to make a last-minute picnic in his car because in his words: “Vandalism works up an appetite.”

“They didn’t have the carbonara one, so I got you cheese.” Wonwoo returned in less than ten minutes, the noodles already boiled, only needing the seasonings. You smiled at him, mumbling a thanks as you took the cup noodles from him, tearing the seasoning and busying yourself with stirring, and continuously stirring, your eyes dazed off at the curly noodles as they spun in a faint orange mix.

“Y/N, I’m sure your noodles are well stirred,” Wonwoo commented, hoping to divert your attention. The leather beneath him squeaked as he adjusted his position, leaning his back against the door as he folded his knee under him, fully facing you at this point.

He called, “Hey.”

You lifted your head to meet his eyes, and immediately, Wonwoo straightened up, his jaws clenched and shoulders tensed. Tear stricken cheeks, bloodshot eyes and everso present frown evident in between your eyebrows and downturned lips.

“Y/N…” Wonwoo took the noodles from your hands, placing it on the dashboard and pulling you by the wrists, engulfing you into his arms, then there goes the floodgates—the emotions you locked away throughout the evening, released in that very second your face was against his shoulder.

While you were bawling, grieving the relationship that reigned to be good to be true, Wonwoo was hatching up his own revenge plan on the piece of shit.

The incessant ringing of your phone pulled you out of your slumber, and you knew for a fact it wasn’t your alarm, because one; you snoozed that ten times already, and two; it wasn’t your usual Radar tone.

Sliding the screen with one eye open, you placed it by your ear without seeing who it was.

“Hello—“

“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO MY CAR, Y/N?!”

Well that was one way of waking you up. You sat up, slowly, taking your time with adjusting your position while Hanwoo was screaming on the other line. Once you were sitting up, you glanced at the screen—the name you had changed last night once you got back home displayed as ‘IGNORE’, in hopes that you would do so when he called you. But then again, you thought he’d call you when you were conscious.

“—Y/N FUCKING ANSWER ME!” Rolling your eyes, you heaved a sigh before placing the phone back by your ear.

“And to what do I owe—“

“You were you even fucking listening to me?“ Hanwoo snapped.

“No.” Your answer was simple, honest, and obviously uninterested with whatever he wanted to say. Was the modification that you made to his beloved vehicle not enough of an announcement that you knew what he was up to all this time?

“I was asking what the hell did you to my car?”

“Can’t you tell?” you teased, “I gave it a makeover.”

“You ruined my paint job and popped my tyres, what kind of makeover is this?”

“The kind that fits a cheater like you.” Silence. Complete silence came from the other side and if you listened closely, you could hear the static along with his ragged breathing knowing well enough he was caught. “Cat got your tongue, dude?”

“Y/N…”

“Save the sob story, we’re not dating, I don’t see why you’re fucking calling me other than to cry about your stupid car—“

“How about the fact that your fucker of a dog punched me?” He interjected.

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I mean, Y/N,” he scoffed, “it wasn’t enough to ruin my car, you had to send your dog to ruin my face too.”

It took you a second to realize he was talking about Wonwoo, which means that Wonwoo had punched his face.

Wonwoo punching someone in the face? That wasn’t something you had heard before, nor expected. The image itself was enough to cause you to burst out laughing, your phone falling from your hands, leaving Hanwoo confused and annoyed.

The idea that Wonwoo would go as far as to punch someone was such an unrealistic accusation Hanwoo had made, but nonetheless, had successfully made you laugh after a long night of crying yourself to sleep.

“Are you done?” Hanwoo asked once you placed the phone back to your ear after your laughing fit.

“Wasn’t enough for you to lie about your relationship all this time, now you want to lie and accuse Wonwoo of something he’d never do,” you defended, scoffing at his poor attempt.

“I’m not lying about this, Y/N!”

“So, you admit that you were lying about our relationship?” This time you interjected, wanting to hear him confirm it. It was mostly due to that nagging voice at the back of your head that still doubted what Joy had shown you, that the picture was friendly and not romantic.

It was so pathetic how even after everything, there was a sliver in you that hoped he would deny it.

“Y/N- let me explain—“ In other words: ‘I was, but you haven’t heard my reason’.

“Fuck off, Hanwoo, don’t ever call me again,” you warned, “and if I hear you spread bullshit about Wonwoo like you did just now, it’ll be more than just your car that I ruin. Bye.”

He managed to slip something before you got the chance to hang up. “What about my fucking eye, Y/N?”

“Why don’t you ask Gia to help you with that?” Grateful to have the last word, you hung up immediately, tossing your phone to the side. The phone call wasn’t closure, but it was enough to put those indenial thoughts to rest.

Wonwoo punched him? The thought wouldn’t leave your head as you got ready for the day. Trying to imagine Wonwoo walking up to Hanwoo and giving him a black eye wasn’t something you could see him doing. Besides that, when did Wonwoo get the time to punch Hanwoo if he did? He ended up driving you home around three in the morning, and it was past six now, meaning he had a three hour window.

Unless…

No, that would mean after dropping you off, he had stormed straight to wherever Hanwoo was just to punch him.

You had to make sure, even if it was hard to believe, you had to make sure Wonwoo was okay. As long as you’ve been friends, you’ve never seen him get into any physical altercations with anyone, and if it did happen, it might be possible that Hanwoo wouldn’t have let him walk away unscathed.

Your legs carried you to his house, to his front door and after greeting his parents, to his bedroom door. You knocked, listening in to hear rummaging noises, as if he was panicking.

“Wait, Eomma, I just finished showering—“ He called out from the other side, which you found odd because you knew him, he wouldn’t even be awake at this hour.

“Wonwoo, it’s me.”

The noise on the other side of the door paused for a moment, before Wonwoo called out. “Y/N?”

“Yes, can you open the door?” You asked, waiting for it to swing open but it didn’t.

“No, I’m- uh, I’m watching something, you don’t need to see it,” Wonwoo tried to think of an excuse but cursed at himself because why the hell did that come out instead? You, on the other hand, found his obvious panic hilarious, his excuse eliciting a chuckle.

“I know you met with Hanwoo,” you informed him, making sure to keep your voice down so his parents wouldn’t hear. “So, can you please open the door and let me check the damage?”

You waited a few minutes, hearing him toss a few things away, the noise causing your brows to furrow. The lock turned and the door swung enough for you to squeeze yourself in, knowing well enough that Wonwoo wasn’t about to reveal himself in fear his parents would see (they wouldn’t have, they were on the other side of the house, he was just paranoid). Once you were in, he pushed the door closed, his back against it and you could see what damage Hanwoo had done to your next door neighbour.

It wasn’t bad, admittedly you thought it’d be worse considering his lack of experience.

It was a scratch and bruising surrounding his left cheek, that was most caused by a ring Hanwoo was wearing, but other than that, and a tear in his lip, that was all he took.

“I honestly thought you’d look worse,” you thought out loud, Wonwoo’s brows furrowing at the comment.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You shook your head, lightly laughing. “Nothing, do you have anything I can use to clean that?”

“Uh… I do, actually.” He dips to look on his bedside table. “Stopped by a drugstore after because I saw the blood.”

“And when did you get the time to pull it all off?”

“Well, after I dropped you off, I asked Seungcheol since he knows—“ Wonwoo stopped, realizing that this information wasn’t ever supposed to reach you. “Uhm… How did you know I was hurt?”

“Because a psychopath told me,” you informed, and his eyes darkened for a moment, rolling in annoyance.

“I told him to never bother you again,” he groaned, before his gaze softened as he turned to you. “Did he hurt you? Are you okay?”

“He just called my phone, I’m alright,” you reassured him. Taking a step towards him, your fingers gently touched the wound on his cheek, inspecting it. You could see that he didn’t tend to it once it started bleeding, evidence of dried blood surrounding the wound and there wasn’t any antiseptic used either to ensure an infection didn’t happen.

While you were playing nurse, Wonwoo became very aware of the lack of space between your face and his, and he had to hold his breath. It only worsened when your eyes darted to his, the two of you holding eye contact for what he thought was an eternity.

“Let me clean it up for you, Won,” you uttered, breaking the silence and eventually the tension as you turned to walk into his ensuite bathroom. He followed after trying to calm his heartbeat, finding you on top of his sink, soaking a cotton pad with antiseptic and tearing a bandaid from its package.

“Come here,” you urged. Wonwoo stood between your thighs, not wanting to meet your eyes, but you didn’t mind—almost finding him being flustered cute.

“Ow,” he winced when the antiseptic touched the wound after you had wiped it clean of the dried blood.

“It’s a small sting, stop being a baby,” you teased, earning a glare from him. “How come you only came out with this?”

“Got me at the last minute,” he answered.

“And how was he?” Your question was responded with an eyebrow raise instead, causing you to roll your eyes. “I don’t care about him, Won, I just want to know if it was worth it—if you, at least, are satisfied with this decision.”

The corner of his lips turned up, a smug look etched across his face as he answered, “It was. I hurt him enough to send the message and keep it with him for the next couple of weeks.”

“I never knew you could fight,” you said honestly.

“There’s a lot you still don’t know about me, Y/N,” he mumbled, but because of your close proximity, you heard it loud and clear. Before you ask further, he spoke up, “Have you had breakfast yet?”

“No, not yet.”

“After this we can have breakfast, I think my mom made doenjang jjigae,” he informed. You smiled, nodding, “Sure.” You finished tending to his wound by plastering on the Kuromi bandaid, teasing him about it, to which he used the ‘there wasn’t anything else’ excuse.

He grabbed your elbow as you hopped off his sink, the action caused you to stumble out of balance instead of helping, made you bump closer to him, his free arm automatically holding your waist.

Cue the eye contact and pink-tinted cheeks, the move could’ve made you laugh as if it was straight out of a cheesy rom-com, but you were too occupied with trying to think that you couldn’t do so. I’m heartbroken, I’m vulnerable and haven’t been feeling loved for the past week, this is just a fluke, you tried to rationalize the thoughts and your racing heart, knowing well what could work to get out of this.

You tapped his chest, gently pushing him. “Go shower, Wonwoo, you reek.”

“Shut up, I do not,” he protested, laughing to cover his shaky voice. He then added, “Thanks, Y/N, although you didn’t have to do all this.”

“And let you get an affection?” You retorted.

Wonwoo rolled his eyes, and without thinking he uttered, “A kiss would’ve sufficed.” It was too late for him to take back his words, noting your wide eyes and mouth slightly agape, his cheeks flushed when he realized what he had said. “Y/N, I wasn’t thinking—“

You pressed a kiss against cheek, beneath his bandage, shutting him completely. “Take it as a thank you for all you’ve done for me.”

It took him a second to compose himself, grinning, “I am your knight in shining armor, after all.”

You threw your head back in laughter. “Are you riding a horse, my knight?”

“Yes, a pink horse,” he answered, smiling endearingly down at you.

You frowned at his choice of color, “But you hate pink?”

“And you love pink.”

“Gosh, Wonwoo,” you flushed red, taking a step away from him, finding his comment both cringey and touching at the same time—it was shocking you could feel those two simultaneously. “When did you get so cheesy?”

He merely shrugged, a faint smirk on his lips. “I told you there was a lot you don’t know about me.”

[yandere-wishes]

Hi!!

I have a question... what do you think sentinels prime punshiments would look like? :3 what would be the worst one?

｡˚ ❀ ˚｡ He's so evil and sadistic...so why do I love him so much?!?!

𝄞 Real Men by Mitski

❀ The Icon of Iacon

❀ He loves the rogue sparks that fly inches from his face as he burns or rather "engraves" you. Sentinel uses his torch to engrave his name (Or rather a pretty cursive signature) somewhere on his darling's chassis. Similar to what he did to Megatron. He'll trail his digits over the resplendent scar later on. Making sure he feels every dip and curve of his name across her armor. Every shiver and shutter that runs ramped through his beloved darling's frame.

❀ Sentinel Prime isn't a gentle bot. He prefers to not see himself as barbaric just determined, steadfast. That's why he plucks the tires from his darling's body, not because he's cruel but because he'll do anything to keep her by his side. Although it's hard to find an excuse for how he relishes in the warm energon that coats his digits as he thrusts them into her open lacerations. Hard to find the right words when he's trailing open-mouthed kisses between gaping iron and savoring her ethereal taste as he eagerly licks her gushing wounds. Not cruel, no immoral...just in love.

❀ Her alt mode is rendered utterly useless. Pretty shiny thing that can't move. It leaves his darling ruined emotionally. She can't bear the state she's in. The grotesque useless thing she now has to transform into...

❀ So Sentinel rips out her T-cog. He does it to preserve her mental state, he swears. Does it so she won't have to turn into the form she's come to despise so wholeheartedly...And maybe if he's allowed a moment of selfishness he'll confuse in hushed tone whispers that he may have also done it to prevent her from running away.

❀ Although the procedure entirely depends on how his darling behaves. If she's sweet and docile, only ever trying to escape from his golden grasp. Then he'll take pity on her and permit her to remain unconscious through the whole thing, he's only doing this for her after all, he doesn't want her to suffer but it's necessary to keep her safe. Things are always "necessary" with him.

❀ However if his darling is feisty headstrong and constantly putting up a fight, a constant threat, metallic rose throne at his side, daring even to try and harm him. Then he'll definitely rip her T-cog straight from her chest, making sure she feels each wire snap, the grotesque unnatural expansion of her metallic chest. The rigorous pop of your diodes. The gory crunch of circuits snapping, forced to release the precious organ. He wants her withering in the pain. Looking into his optics and finally understanding that he owns her.

❀ The thing about a bot like Sentinel is that they can so easily look in a mirror and only see justice and golden paragons. Blood-soaked rhyme and reason that always ends with them draped in innocence relishing in the thing they want most. Bots like Sentinel, bots whose deific power ripples through every vein of a planet. Can never be painted as monsters, as wretched. They have too much authority and excuses to be anything but wholly perfect.

❀ You'd been so used to internal pain. The righteous crack of sparks, blunt anxiety cascading through your circuits. Maybe it's cause there isn't much that can harm a Cybertronian, not much that dents and rips celestial steel. But with him, everything is outwards. The churn of a nervous stomach is nothing compared to the rippling agony of a broken leg. Sentinel rips the pain from your metallic viscera, baths you in your own ichor, bedaubs you in pain as he calls you his "sweet little lover".

❀ "I hope Primus sends you straight to Unicron!" You can't help but scream between tears and traumatized sobs. You straighten your spine, knees folded to your chest. Your energon pools beneath you, pouring from his latest mauling. Open-ended wires spark as they make contact with your blue essence.

❀ Sentinel only chuckles, sky-hued optics playfully darting to the ground. 'Dear Primus, I don't believe in you'... but all he offers his darling is a sweet sugar-laced smile and a saccharine peck on the cheek.

❀ Sentinel will never admit it, it's hard to show such benignity when you rule an entire planet, but maybe -just maybe- at the end of the cycle his favorite misery to besiege upon you, is when he grips your chin or cheek and tugs you towards his lips. Savouring your ethereal taste. When he guides your servos to his chassis, pulling you closer till both are one. When he can just hold and kiss you. Just be with you. A romantic scene framed eternally by Cyerbtron's setting sun.

❀ If you close your optics, you can almost pretend to be in love...

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

*NSFW* Breathe (Yandere!Monster x AFAB!Reader)

CW: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, bed bug inspired monster, minor character death, Non-Con, traumatic insemination, blood, physical torture, mental torture, impregnation, necrophilia

(Reader) breathed deeply, bouncing side to side in the back of the armored vehicle. The men and women by their side held equally grim expressions, not knowing what they were about to face. Three days ago an outpost went radio silent, the group of military scientists sent out an SOS before cutting communications. (Reader) had no idea what the scientists were studying, nor why they needed military protection in the middle of nowhere, but it wasn't their place to know. That's what they continuously told themselves as they practiced their deep breathing, secretly unnerved by how little their team was informed about this mission, and by how uneasy their teammates were.

The van rattled as it parked, and everyone exited the vehicle, guns pointed and night vision on, patrolling their designated routes throughout the empty land. (Reader) was followed by Davis and Jones, surveying the backside of one of the buildings, and praying for someone to be found alive. It was a bit dramatic, assuming that everyone was dead, but with how everyone seemed to keep this mission "hush hush", keeping important info from the men and women entering the "possibly dangerous" area, with the goal of "information retrieval" being considered a higher priority over extraction of survivors, it didn't sound like even their superiors were hopeful.

Everything was suspicious, and made everyone on edge. That worry became a very real fear when (Reader) entered the building through the back door and found the floor painted in blood. A body was mere inches from the exit, and the back of his head was torn open, exposing a cracked skull.

"Jesus Christ.." Davis covered his mouth.

(Reader) bent down, turning the body over to observe the face, comparing it to the portfolios of the personal working at the outpost they had memorized on the drive. They clicked on their walkie, speaking low. "This is (Reader), we've discovered a body, appears to be Dr. Romero."

Rodriguez's voice crackled quietly in their ears. "Copy that, this is Rodriguez, I've got two more bodies over here."

"What the hell happened to him?" Jones whispered.

(Reader) couldn't answer. There were scratches on the skull, and the skin was red and puffy surrounding it. The face was purple from the pooling blood. It didn't look like a gun shot, but (Reader) couldn't imagine what it could have been otherwise. "Let's continue on." The three left the body behind, creeping down a hall in procession.

"Movement." Behind (Reader), Davis urgently hissed, motioning towards what looked like a rec room. The formation changed, following Davis as he entered the room, focused on a couch. As they drew closer, a quiet gurgling could be heard, along with something wet dripping onto the tile flooring.

What looked like a man, naked and hunched over, was cradling a corpse, rocking back and forth. In the odd lighting of the goggles, they couldn't tell that there was something wrong with him until it was too late.

"Turn around, and put your hands up." Davis commanded, frightened and ready to shoot. The head of the corpse lulled back, revealing it's neck was completely devoured. In the second it took to blink, the creature had lunged at Davis, tackling him to the ground. (Reader) and Jones opened fire, but the bullets seemed to bounce off his back in the dark. Seeing a slight difference in texture between his back and neck, (Reader) took a chance, aiming at his neck.

The creature screamed, holding his neck and jumping to his feet, taking a moment to reveal his almost human face to (Reader), before crawling up the wall, and through a trap door in the ceiling.

"Davis!" Jones picked up his brother, patting his armor.

"I'm fine! I'm fine!" Davis panicked, grasping at Jones to ground himself. "I think he was trying to bite me, but- but couldn't get past my mask."

(Reader) got on the radio again. "This is (Reader), we've just been attacked. No injuries, but.. but I can't explain what just attacked us. It looked like a naked man, but it crawled up the ceiling like a bug."

"Not funny, (Reader)."

"That wasn't a joke, Rodriguez. I unloaded a clip into it, and it didn't die. It went into the attic, do I follow?"

"We're on our way, wait for backup."

Davis looked horrified. "I don't want to go up there!"

"C'mon, man-"

"No, Jones. You didn't see that thing's mouth!"

Everyone went silent as something scraped against the floor boards above them, clenching their weapons in suspense.

The front door was kicked in, Rodriguez and her crew entered the rec room, lowering their guns. "Alright, what happened here?"

"Something Humanoid was in the center of the room, eating.. whoever the hell that once was. Davis told him to put up his hands, when it knocked him to the ground, trying to bite him. Jones and I shot his back, but it didn't seem to affect him. I hit it's neck, but that only got him off of Davis, then he climbed up the wall and went through that door." (Reader) pointed at the attic door.

Rodriguez narrowed her eyes in disbelief, glaring up at the ceiling. "Let's find another way up. If there's nothing up there, we'll go back to the van, check your body cams."

Davis raised his voice defensively. "You think we're lying about this?"

"I think, it fucking reeks in here. It doesn't smell like a gas leak, but I don't believe in monsters. I'm not ruling out a hallucinogen of some kind. (Reader)-" She then nodded to (Reader), signaling to get a move on.

They searched the rooms before finding a ladder, and no other doors leading up. (Reader) sighed. "Good enough."

Davis held the ladder as (Reader) climbed up, followed by Rodriguez, then another soldier, Alistair. Inside the attic the smell was worse, like rotten fruit. It was so bad that Alistair gagged a little, trying not to throw up. "Fuck me, what is that?"

(Reader) flinched, seeing something curled up in the fetal position. "Rodriguez."

The three approached the figure carefully, the smell worsening as they approached, then, (Reader) was close enough to see that the creature wasn't breathing. They kicked it, putting a hole straight through it's stomach.

"Oh God!" Rodriguez recoiled.

However, (Reader) almost threw up, not because of the stench, but from the overwhelming fear that suddenly pulverized their spirit. "It's a shell."

"What?"

Rodriguez bent down, gingerly pulling (Reader's) foot out and examining the body, finding it to be a combination of hard shell and molted skin. "I can see why you couldn't kill it. It's back is like a bug's exoskeleton. Looks like the front is a more... human.. texture."

"But doesn't that mean it's still here somewhere?" Alistair nervously asked, glancing around in the dark.

"We need to get back to the van, call this in to our superiors." Rodriguez commanded before picking up the walkie, calling out the the other three person team. "Jackson, return to the van."

Silence.

"Jackson, you there? I said get to the van."

A barrage of shots fired from outside, echoing through the encampment. Everyone raised their weapons and fell into formation, rushing outside quietly while scoping the area. A scream from one of the newer lieutenants pierced the silent air, before choking loudly, and then returning the outpost to silence once more.

The team splintered apart, separating back into their three man groups, covering more ground in hopes of finding the last three members of their team. (Reader) smelled that fruity stench again, and motioned to their men to follow them in the smell's direction. They entered a tent covering what looked like an excavation site, a deep hole roped off with caution tape. A uniformed body laid headless in the dirt next to the entrance. In the bright green view of (Reader's) goggles, they could read Jackson's name on the vest.

Further down the large tent, a disgusting squelching noise was rhythmically slapping, along with animalistic grunts. (Reader) stepped as soundlessly as possible, stepping over torn clothing; a military vest with Adams' name, her jacket, her tank top, and even her bra, torn to shreds and strewn about, leading to the noise.

Behind a metal desk, seconds clicked by like minutes, the adrenaline forcing (Reader) to take in every detail of the horrific scene. The monster, now much larger than it was before, had Adams' corpse in it's arms, her nude upper body violently shaking as it ground it's pelvis into her abdomen, splattering blood around them. As the scene came together, (Reader) began firing, aiming at the side of his head, hoping to hit a soft spot.

The creature angrily stood up, Adams' body sliding off of what appeared to be a curved spike protruding from it's groin. It screamed, rushing (Reader) and ramming into them, knocking them off balance which sent them tumbling down into the hole.

(Reader) heard their team cry out for them, and gunfire, but they kept falling, bouncing off the walls of the hole before landing hard at the bottom, snapping their arm at the bottom.

The shouts of terror didn't last long above ground, ending with sounds of bones cracking and bodies falling. (Reader) struggled onto their feet, feeling discomfort in their rapidly swelling ankles. There didn't seem to be any rope or ladders to get back out, and they didn't know if it was safe to call for help on the radio.

Spinning around, something moved in the dark, scaring (Reader) onto their ass and fumbling for their gun. In the dark, another naked monster, smaller than the previous one, crawled over on all fours towards (Reader), chest heaving like he was sniffing the air. He approached (Reader) who still couldn't find their gun, and cautiously tapped on their goggles, searching their masked face with deep, sunken eyes. His mouth was split open, showing off his jagged, saw like teeth. This monster was about the size of the first one before it molted.

It continued open mouth sniffing (Reader's) head, almost making them vomit by it's rotting body odor, when suddenly it flinched, whipping his head up to see the bigger creature climbing down head first into the pit. The younger looking monster grabbed (Reader's) face tightly, pressing his hands against their mouth and squeezing, forcing them to hold their breath.

Sweat felt like lice as out dripped down the fine hairs on (Reader's) neck. They hadn't prepared to be holding in their air, so they were already beginning to feel light headed. The larger monster paused halfway down, sniffing hard into their air before screeching at the smaller creature. He howled in response, still keeping his hands in place on (Reader's) face. (Reader) understood that the two were communicating, and that it seemed like the smaller monster was on their side, because soon the killer turned around and retreated back up, more than likely to kill more of (Readers) brothers and last remaining sister.

After a painful amount of time, he removed his hands, and (Reader) wasted no time grabbing their walkie. "Hello? Does anyone read me?" They whispered frantically.

"(Reader), we found more bodies-"

"Jackson and Adams are dead, possibly Davis and Jones as well."

"Jesus.."

"We found the monster in a large tent covering what looks to be a dig site. I was thrown into a hole, broke my left arm, lost my gun, and possibly sprained both ankles." (Reader) swallowed their rising bile, watching the monster mimic their movements. "Don't breathe. If you hear rustling, don't breathe. The monsters can see, but I think they find their victims through their breath or something."

"What? Wait, did you just say monsters?"

"There's a smaller one here in the hole with me. I think he saved my life. The one from the attic is much bigger now, this other one is still small. He made me hold my breath and it made the bigger one leave me alone."

"Jesus, alright. That sounds crazy. But.. look, just stay there, we'll be there soon. Can you see a way out?"

"No. No ropes or ladders down here."

"'Kay. Stay quiet, call back if that thing down there tries to attack you. Even if we can't get you out, I can at least throw you down a weapon."

"Thanks. Stay safe up there."

(Reader) leaned back, the pain settling in as the fight or fight response cooled down. They groaned in pain. The monster hopped up, crawling back over to inspect (Reader).

"Curious little monkey, aren't ya?" (Reader) panted, becoming nervous at how he sniffed the air excitedly as they did so. He crept back over, becoming far too close again, and starting touching their mask and goggles, confused. Long sharp claws reached under the mask and pulled it down, startling himself. He retreated to the other side of the pit while whimpering.

"Hey, that was just my mask." (Reader) tried to console him. They didn't know if it was because he saved them, or if because he acted like a scared child, but they weren't nearly as scared of him as they were the other one. Seeing that it was just a piece of fabric, and not (Reader's) face accidentally being ripped off, he shuffled back over, rubbing his dirty fingers across their lips.

He tapped his nails across their teeth, pulling open their lips carefully, feeling their jaw and chin, running his hands over every little bump and scrape. Learning that the bottom half of (Reader's) face had been covered by a mask emboldened him to tug on the goggles, coaxing (Reader) into removing them, leaving them completely blind in the dark. His breath tickled their face as he shuddered, purring deep in the back of his throat as he placed his nose on (Reader's) forehead, pressing into them in an almost cat-like manner, smelling them and rubbing his oily skin over (Reader's) entire face.

Uncomfortable by their lack of vision, (Reader) replaced their goggles, much to the monster's dismay. "I need these. Protection." They put back on the mask as well, ignoring his whines of disapproval.

Dirt fell onto (Reader) as Rodriguez stepped near the opening. "You still alive?" She stage whispered down into the chasm.

"Yeah. Can we get out of here?"

"Yeah. I think with the footage we got, and the documents, they'll understand if we don't take any bodies back with us." Her words were harsh, but (Reader) knew she was just as distraught as they were. "Your gun's up here, want me to throw it down?"

"No. I'm guessing you didn't find a ladder?"

"No."

"Then I'll try to climb out."

"Didn't you say your arm was broken?"

"Unless you killed that other creature, it's too dangerous to hang around here." (Reader) readied themselves to climb, immediately hissing as they grabbed into the dirt. The monster panicked, growling at (Reader). But they didn't stop, kicking a foot in, creating a hold, and pulling up. White hot pain flashed through their body.

An arm grabbed them around their waist, and swung (Reader) around; the monster had picked them up like a sack over his shoulder, and began climbing the wall with one arm.

"Jesus Christ." Rodriguez grabbed at (Reader) as soon as they were within reach, yanking them away from the monster. He snarled in response, trying to cover (Reader) with his body, but (Reader) wearily pat him on the head, trying to show that they were fine. He calmed down, but still glared at Rodriguez suspiciously. "What the hell are you?"

"Where's the rest of us?" (Reader) questioned, only now seeing that Rodriguez was alone.

"Only one other guy made it, Davis. He was fucked up when we found him, I got him in the van."

"I'm sorry.."

"It wasn't your fault. Let's go." Rodriguez helped (Reader) to their feet, handing them their gun, and the three left the tent.

Bodies of (Reader's) mates were in pieces, littering the ground with organs. Everyone was wrinkled. Whatever blood hadn't spilled on the ground while being murdered appeared to have been siphoned from their bodies, the chunks nearly mummified. The two soldiers watched their new companion as they snuck back through the outpost, using him like a blood hound to sense if his more dangerous relative was near. There were moments when he would pause, a frightened look crossing his face as he clung to (Reader), and both humans would hold their breath, desperately clinging to the faith that this monster was actually trying to save them.

The sun was still hours away from rising, and horror movie plots drifted through (Reader's) mind, pondering what kind of creature was clinging to their arm at that moment, and what could possibly kill it. (Reader) sped up their pace, rushing to the driver's side door as Rodriguez pulled the unwilling monster into the back with her, wrestling him as he tried to follow (Reader).

Each team leader had a spare key for the truck, so it didn't matter who drove it back, but Rodriguez did have more hands on experience with first aid, so it made sense for her to be in the back with the barely conscious Davis during the ride, just in case his health took a turn for the worse.

The van started up, worryingly loud in the silent town. (Reader) pulled off their goggles and flipped on the lights, flooring the gas as they took off, knowing it was no use trying to be quiet at that point. From the back of the van, the monster started crying.

"Hey, something's wrong with this thing!" Rodriguez called out to (Reader), before the entire van shook under the weight of something dropping onto the roof. "Shit!"

Without thinking, (Reader) spun the wheel to the left, throwing the bloody monster off their vehicle and sending him tumbling into the road. He was able to shake off the fall, standing upright and staring at (Reader) from the road. Now without the night vision, (Reader) saw him clearly in the headlights, the difference between his brown armored shell pieces, and the mammal like skin, almost paper thin in the light, pulsated with the blood of (Reader's) teammates and the doctors they were sent to find. The skin was stretched tight over how swollen he was, growing to almost twice its natural size.

"Hold on!" (Reader) barked, speeding towards the man in the road.

His head snapped forward as his chest connected with the grill, bouncing off the hood as (Reader) drug him back towards the buildings, driving him towards the house with the rec room. (Reader) kept on full speed until they crashed into the wall. Blood splashed across the wall and van as the monster popped under the force of the collision.

"Shit! Are we good?"

The body twitched a few times, choking on it's stolen blood as it feebly clawed at the metal crushing it before falling still, finally dying. "Yeah. We're good."

Back at the base, it was a horrifying shock for the troops awaiting their return, guns raised and pointed at the young monster they brought with them, however, they didn't shoot, as he held onto (Reader) tightly, making no move to attack anyone. They uploaded their body cam footage, corroborating their testimonies of what they saw, save for Davis, who was rushed back to the hospital wing for emergency surgery. (Reader) and Rodriguez were also eventually treated for their injuries, Rodriguez only needing a couple of stitches and getting diagnosed with a concussion, while (Reader) had their arm placed in a cast, and both ankles had to be wrapped up for compression to fight the mild puffiness.

The two sat next to each other, finally alone after the military dragged their monstrous savior away. "God, I need a shower." The dark haired woman complained, sniffing her hair that had been let down. Her face scrunched up in disgust. "I smell like those things."

"Ha. Yeah, like rotting fruit."

"Rotting raspberries. So gross." Rodriguez's forced smile melted, incapable of pretending to feel relief. "Why do you think he saved you?"

Clashing with the smell of the sanitized hospital and the saline aftertaste from the IV drip, (Reader) could still smell the pungent scent of the monster on their body, just as Rodriguez pointed out. "I don't know."

"What do you think those things are? Vampires?"

The image of Adam's limp body sliding off of a thin spike resurfaced in (Reader's) mind, making them nauseous. "I don't think so." They leaned forward, scooting closer towards Rodriguez. "I didn't see your body cam video.. did you see mine?"

"No. Why?"

"Did any of the bodies- I mean, this is going to sound.." they sighed, licking their lips and trying again. "When I entered that tent, with the hole, I found the monster with Adams. It had.. torn off her clothes, and it looked like he was.. stabbing her abdomen, with a claw out of his pelvis."

Except for the normal hospital beeping, (Reader's) words left the atmosphere feeling far too silent. "Are you saying it raped her?"

"I don't know.. maybe. Did you see any other naked bodies?"

"..no." They both laid back, exhausted, and frightened. "But if you're thinking that it could tell she was a woman, why weren't we attacked? I mean, I know you're not a woman, but if those things went by smell or pheromones.. I don't even know what I'm saying." She drug her dirty hands over her face.

"Maybe because our's is a kid. I mean, he's the size of that first monster before it molted, so maybe he isn't.. sexually mature?"

Before Rodriguez could think of a response to that a doctor came in, asking to see her out in the hallway. "I'll be right back." She promised, patting (Reader's) shoulder as she left the room.

(Reader) nestled back into the thin pillow and accidentally fell asleep while waiting for their friend to return, the awful rotting smell never fading.

It wasn't until a banshee worthy scream echoed throughout the hospital that (Reader) woke up, looking up at the clock on the wall and seeing that it was 19:31, revealing that they had slept through an entire day, and that Rodriguez was not in the room with them. Something down the hall shattered, followed by another terrified shout. Unarmed and now incapacitated, the only course of action their adrenaline flooded mind could think up on the fly was to hide, ripping out their IV and sliding under the cot, hidden from view by the crossing metal bars and plastic barrier.

Footsteps passed by (Reader's) door. They took a deep breath, holding their face to keep in their air. The door opened and whoever it was entered the room. (Reader) was only capable of seeing the bare feet painted in blood as they stepped closer to the bed. The bloody individual leaned on the mattress above (Reader), pressing their weight into it, before stepping away, touching other things around the room. Blood dripped onto the tiles from the drenched body. (Reader) began shaking, trying not to take a breath as they waited for the thing to leave, tearing up at the possibility of it being the creature they willingly brought back with them. The feet disappeared from view, then they heard the door close. Still, just to be safe, (Reader) kept their hands to their mouth for a few more seconds, unable to hear if he left because of the blood rushing through their ears. Quietly, they released the lungful of air and slowly sucked new air back in.

A hand grabbed one of their swollen ankles and pulled (Reader) out from under the bed. In the dim light of the flashing buttons, (Reader) saw the freshly molted monster, smiling down at them with blood coating their face and dribbling from their lips.

"No!" A casted fist attempted to punch him, but he caught it, rubbing the puffy fingers against his face affectionately. He leaned down, rubbing his nose across their face like he had done back when he had first saved them, sniffing loudly. (Reader) began sobbing, knowing what would happen to them after Adams. The thin hospital gown was easily ripped off, pleasing the monster who made that purr-like rumble in the back of his throat, still smiling.

A long, thinly tipped aedeagus unfurled itself, curved and sharp, just like (Reader) remembered it looking.

"Please don't.. please.. I don't want to die!"

Their words weren't understood by the monster, too busy rubbing (Reader's) side. He laid down beside them, hugging (Reader) tightly as he positioned himself, still sniffing their neck as he did so. Between (Reader's) pleas a stinging pain entered their side as he pushed his hypodermic penis into their midsection.

The sound of pain (Reader) made was unlike anything they had ever made, or heard, before. Incapable of jerking away because of his hold on them, he continued making noises of pleasure, rolling his hips as he pressed deeper, splurting blood as he wiggled back and forth inside of them, trying not to puncture anything important until he could get deep enough to what he needed.

His prick pierced (Reader's) uterus, the burning torture as they felt something inside getting stabbed was hell. Their eyes rolled back as his hips rubbed sensually against their side, unable to hold on as they began to pass out. He screeched horrifically, scratching (Reader) as his grip constricted happily, cumming straight into (Reader's) uterus. Even after they fell limp in his arms, his fluids continued pouring out, overfilling the poor organ; his elastic liquid solidifying near the hole like a polyp.

Contrary to what (Reader) thought, the monster who caressed their body was intelligent. He was far smarter than his brother, who had been so desperate to implant his seed he fucked that poor woman to death, not taking into account that human females hadn't evolved to handle the method of reproduction that their species used. Even their own could die if they mated multiple times, so he really should have been more careful. He held onto (Reader) dreamily, using their gown to stop the bleeding as he pulled out. He took the time to ensure nothing was damaged inside his wonderful little mate, so the only bleeding he had to worry about was the skin. Some of his sperm clung to the tip of his needle like cock, so he rubbed it across (Reader's) face as they laid unconscious, just so that if another male of his species did somehow follow them, the could smell that (Reader) had already been claimed.

When he was searching the hospital for (Reader) he had seen stitching, and learned what it was for by watching a doctor from afar before killing him and the patient. It wasn't too difficult to figure out.

(Reader) would live. It would hurt, but imagine how happy they'll be when they awake to find themselves pregnant! It made him purr with joy, wondering how many children he'd have with his beautiful human.

After all, unlike humans, his species only needed to fuck once and their sperm would survive inside the host body for years, creating a kind of sac to plug up the hole in the uterus and protect the sperm from the forming infants, releasing sperm whenever there is a vacancy in the uterus to immediately impregnate the host again.

His mate shifted under the needle in their sleep as he fixed them up. It brought him such pride, imagining that he could almost see them becoming pregnant at that very moment. He knew from the second he smelled (Reader) down in the dirt he was unburied from that he was born to be their mate~

[marysfics]

Shifting Glances 2

Week after week, you see her in the waiting room.

Angst, EMDR, Comfort, Fluff

Part 1

Note: In this story, you'll find references to EMDR therapy. I’ve undergone EMDR therapy myself for several years, and while it has been challenging, it has also brought me relief. It's important to note that EMDR can be a unique experience for everyone. The way it's depicted here reflects my personal journey. If your experience with EMDR is different, that's completely okay. Feel free to share your thoughts, but let's all remember to approach these discussions with kindness and respect for one another's experiences.

The next time you see Alexia, it’s different.

It’s not the waiting room glance or the brief nod of acknowledgment. This time, she’s sitting across from you at a small café just down the street from the clinic. The air is heavy with the scent of coffee and the quiet hum of conversation, but you feel like you’re in a bubble, isolated from the world. The connection between you has grown since that night outside the clinic, and though you’ve met up a few times now, the weight of the unspoken things between you has only intensified.

You’re sipping on your drink, watching her fingers nervously trace the rim of her cup. She’s quieter today, more reserved. You can see it in the tightness of her jaw, the way her leg bounces restlessly beneath the table. She’s holding something back.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of silence, she speaks.

“It’s my knee,” she says quietly, her voice carrying a heavy undertone of frustration. “The doctors thought it healed, you know? Two years of rehab, and I thought I was fine. But… after a few matches, it’s been acting up again.”

She looks up at you, and the vulnerability in her eyes nearly undoes you.

“I don’t know if I can do this again,” she admits, her voice cracking slightly. “I thought I was past it, that I could just… move on. But now I’m back to square one, and it’s messing with my head.”

You listen, the guilt already rising in your chest. You want to offer her comfort, to be there for her like you promised. But the walls you’ve built around yourself—those same walls that have protected you for so long—won’t come down. You can’t find the words, can’t let yourself be as open as she is being with you.

“I don’t think people understand,” she continues, her gaze distant, as if she’s lost in memories. “It’s not just the physical pain. It’s like… everything I worked for feels like it’s slipping away again. The surgery, the rehab, the time off—I went through all of that, and now, here I am, questioning if my body will ever be what it was. If I will ever be what I was.”

Her words hang in the air between you, thick with unspoken fears and the weight of her struggle. She’s opening up, showing you the cracks in her armor. And yet, you can’t bring yourself to do the same.

“I’m sorry, Alexia,” you say, your voice soft but hesitant. It feels like a weak offering, barely enough for the depth of what she’s sharing. “That must be really hard.”

She looks at you, her eyes searching yours, as if she’s waiting for more. Waiting for you to open up in return, to meet her vulnerability with your own.

But you can’t.

Instead, you offer a small nod, a quiet acknowledgment of her pain. You feel like a coward, sitting there with your heart locked up tight while she’s spilling hers out on the table between you.

“I just…” she hesitates, her voice trembling slightly. “I don’t know who I am without football. And now, with this happening again, it’s like everything I thought I’d regained is slipping away. My confidence, my mental health—everything.”

Her words hit you hard, because you understand exactly what she means. You know the feeling of losing parts of yourself, of watching pieces of your identity crumble. But still, you remain silent, trapped in your own fear.

Alexia takes a shaky breath, wiping at her eyes quickly, trying to hide the tears that are forming. “I’m sorry. I’m dumping all of this on you, and you… you barely even know me.”

“No,” you say quickly, feeling the guilt twist tighter in your chest. “I’m glad you’re telling me. I just—I don’t know how to help. I wish I could.”

You hate how hollow the words sound. She’s reaching out, and you’re standing on the edge, unable to take that leap with her.

“I don’t need you to fix anything,” she says softly, her gaze holding yours. “I just… I need someone to understand. And for some reason, I feel like you do.”

Her words make your heart ache, because she’s right. You do understand. You understand the pain, the fear, the uncertainty of not knowing who you are anymore. But the thought of opening up about it, of letting her see the parts of you that you’ve buried for so long, is terrifying.

“I wish I could be more… open,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “But it’s hard for me. There’s a lot I’m still trying to figure out.”

Alexia’s expression softens, and she reaches across the table, her hand brushing lightly against yours. It’s a small gesture, but it feels monumental.

“I get it,” she says gently. “I do. But just… promise me you’ll try. We don’t have to talk about it right now, but… when you’re ready, I’ll be here. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to go through whatever it is alone.”

Her words are so kind, so understanding, and it makes you feel even worse. You’re sitting here, feeling her pain, but you can’t bring yourself to reciprocate that vulnerability. You want to, but the walls you’ve built are so high, so thick, that you don’t know how to bring them down.

“I promise I’ll try,” you say quietly, though it feels like a lie, even as you say it.

She nods, offering you a small, sad smile, as if she knows that your promise is just as fragile as you feel. And maybe she does. Maybe she knows that breaking down those walls takes time—more time than either of you might have expected.

The rest of the conversation drifts into safer territory after that. You talk about small things—her training regimen, your next therapy session, the little frustrations of everyday life. But there’s an unspoken tension between you, a knowledge that you’re both holding something back. For her, it’s the fear of losing everything she’s worked for. For you, it’s the fear of letting anyone get too close.

As you part ways, Alexia pulls you into a brief, tentative hug. It catches you off guard, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you let her hold you, if only for a moment, and in that embrace, you feel the weight of everything you haven’t said.

And as you walk home, the guilt gnaws at you. You know she’s trying to break through to you, to offer you the same understanding you’ve given her. But no matter how much you want to, you can’t let her in. Not yet.

Maybe one day.

But for now, the walls remain firmly in place, and you can only hope that when you’re finally ready to let them fall, she’ll still be there, waiting for you.

The next week, you wake up with a knot in your stomach. It’s an ominous feeling that lingers, whispering that today’s session is going to be harder than usual. You push it aside, forcing yourself to get out of bed and go through your morning routine. But the feeling doesn’t fade; it clings to you like a shadow, and you can’t shake the sense of dread.

When you arrive at the clinic, the usual air of anticipation is replaced by a heavy sense of anxiety. You check in with the receptionist and take a seat in the waiting area, your heart pounding as you wait for your therapist to call you in.

After what feels like an eternity, your therapist, Dr. Collins, finally opens the door and gestures for you to come inside. “Hi there,” she says, her tone warm and inviting, but you can sense her professional concern. “How are you feeling today?”

“Uh, not great,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. You can’t meet her gaze, focusing instead on the floor, as if it might ground you in the swirling chaos of your emotions.

Dr. Collins nods, leading you to the familiar chair in her office. “That’s understandable. EMDR can bring up a lot, especially when we’re working through difficult memories. Let’s take it one step at a time, okay?”

You nod, but your stomach churns as she sets up the equipment. The rhythmic beeping begins, and you know you’ll have to confront things you’d rather keep buried.

“Take a deep breath,” she instructs gently, her eyes steady on yours. “Focus on your thoughts, your feelings, and what comes up. You’re safe here.”

As the session progresses, you find yourself slipping into a dark place—a memory of a childhood fight with your mother that you thought you had buried. The anger, the confusion, the hurt—everything comes flooding back. Your breath quickens, and panic begins to rise.

“Focus on the feelings, the sensations in your body,” Dr. Collins urges, her voice a steady anchor in the storm. “You’re safe. Just let it flow.”

But it’s harder today. You feel like you’re drowning in it, and the sensations become overwhelming. Each pulse of light from the machine feels like a wave crashing over you, and the emotions threaten to pull you under.

“I can’t—I can’t do this!” you gasp, gripping the armrests of the chair.

“Just a little longer,” she replies, her voice calm yet firm. “Stay with it. You can do this.”

Finally, when the session ends, you stumble out of the office, your heart racing and your skin clammy. You feel nauseous, the world spinning around you.

“Take your time,” Dr. Collins calls after you as you exit the room. “It’s normal to feel this way after a session. Just breathe.”

But you barely hear her as you push through the waiting area, desperately needing air. You step outside, the cool breeze hitting your face like a splash of cold water. It feels like a brief reprieve, but it does little to alleviate the sickness in your stomach.

And then you see her.

Alexia is sitting in the waiting room, her knee propped up on a chair, her expression a mixture of worry and relief. The moment she sees you, her face lights up, but it quickly shifts to concern as she takes in your pale complexion and the sheen of sweat on your forehead.

“Hey!” she calls out, her voice strained with worry. She rises, limping slightly, and instinctively, you feel your heart clench. “You’re late. I was getting worried.”

“I—I had my session,” you manage to say, though your voice trembles, and you can feel the nausea rising again.

“What happened?” she asks, approaching you slowly, her brow furrowing deeper with concern. You can see the tension in her shoulders, a reminder of her own struggles, and suddenly you wish you could lean on her, but the walls are still up.

“Are you okay?” she asks, her voice laced with urgency. “You’re early. I thought you weren’t coming.”

You swallow hard, trying to steady yourself. “I—uh, it was… really hard today.” Your voice is shaky, and you can see the worry deepen in her gaze as she takes in your pale face.

“Come on, let’s get you some air,” she insists, her hand gently guiding your elbow. But as she moves closer, you notice the slight limp in her gait. “Wait,” you say, alarmed. “Your knee—”

“It’s fine,” she cuts you off, though her expression betrays her. “I just want to help you. Come on.”

Despite your protests, she leads you out of the clinic and into the fresh air. The moment you step outside, you feel a wave of coolness wash over you, but it’s not enough to quell the sickness rolling in your stomach. You take a moment to breathe, but Alexia is already taking charge, her determination unyielding.

“Let’s go to my place,” she says. “You need to rest. I can’t just leave you like this.”

“No, Alexia, I can’t—” you start to argue, but the look in her eyes silences you. She’s limping but still firm, her concern for you overshadowing her own struggles.

“Please,” she pleads. “Just let me take care of you for a bit. You look like you need it.”

You hesitate, torn between your desire for solitude and the undeniable pull of her concern. “Alexia, I don’t want to impose—”

“Stop.” She interrupts, her voice firm yet gentle. “You’re not imposing. You need someone, and I want to help. Just let me be there for you for once.”

The sincerity in her voice makes it hard to argue. Maybe you do need someone right now. And despite your reservations, you find yourself nodding, letting her lead you out of the clinic.

As you walk together, you can’t help but glance at her knee, concern prickling at the back of your mind. “Are you sure you’re okay to walk? I mean, you’re limping…”

Alexia shrugs it off, though you can see the grimace that flashes across her face. “It’s just a little sore from the last few recovery sessions. I’ll be fine.”

You don’t know if you believe her, but you’re too exhausted to press the matter further. The two of you reach her apartment, and she pushes the door open, ushering you inside. The familiar surroundings feel different somehow, heavier with the weight of your emotions.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she says, leading you to the couch. “I’ll get you some water.”

You sink into the cushions, trying to settle your racing heart as you watch her move about the small space. She’s taken the time to make it her own, with photos on the walls and plants dotting the shelves. But even in this comfort, you feel a tightness in your chest, a reminder of everything you’ve just unearthed.

“Here,” she says, returning with a glass of water and a concerned expression. “Drink this.”

You take the glass, your fingers brushing against hers. The touch sends a jolt of warmth through you, and for a moment, you let yourself feel grateful for her presence. “Thanks,” you mumble, trying to focus on the water rather than the chaos in your mind.

After a few sips, you set the glass down and exhale shakily. “I’m sorry for dragging you away from your session. You didn’t have to do this.”

Alexia sits down beside you, her expression softening. “I wanted to. It’s okay to lean on someone, you know? You don’t always have to be the strong one.”

Her words hang heavy in the air, and the guilt twists in your stomach again. You want to tell her how much it means to you that she cares, how deeply you appreciate her willingness to be there. But the walls are still up, the barriers you’ve built holding you captive.

Yet beneath that weight, there’s another feeling rising within you—an overwhelming desire to feel her close, to have her warmth beside you, to let go of the isolation that’s been your constant companion. The thought scares you. The fear of vulnerability mingles with a yearning for connection, and it sends your heart racing.

“Alexia,” you find yourself saying, your voice trembling slightly. “Can we… could you stay close for a bit?”

She looks at you, surprise flickering in her eyes, but then her expression softens. “Of course. You don’t have to ask twice.”

You shift a little on the couch, turning to face her, your heart pounding in your chest. As she settles in next to you, her body fitting against yours, a wave of comfort washes over you. She wraps her arms around you, pulling you into a gentle spooning position. Her warmth envelops you, grounding you in a way you didn’t know you needed.

You close your eyes, grateful for her presence and the soothing rhythm of her breathing. You can feel the subtle rise and fall of her chest against your back, and for a moment, everything else fades away—the memories, the pain, the suffocating anxiety. All that matters is this connection, this shared space that feels both safe and terrifying.

“Is this okay?” she whispers softly, her voice a soothing balm against the tumult of your thoughts.

You nod, feeling a weight lift slightly as her embrace tightens around you. “Yeah, it’s perfect,” you murmur, though the admission feels both exhilarating and frightening. It’s one thing to crave closeness; it’s another to let someone in this deeply.

“Good,” she replies, her breath warm against your ear. “Just breathe. I’m here.”

You focus on that reassurance, letting it seep into your bones. With her close, you can almost forget the turmoil swirling within you, the fears and insecurities that cling like shadows. You let the moment wash over you, finding solace in the shared silence, the warmth radiating from her body anchoring you to the present.

As the minutes pass, the tension in your chest begins to ease. You can hear the faint sounds of the show playing in the background, but all you’re aware of is the comfort of her hold and the gentle rise and fall of her breath. For the first time in what feels like forever, you feel a sense of belonging.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” you finally say, the words spilling out before you can second-guess yourself.

“I’m glad too,” Alexia replies, her voice soft and steady. “You don’t have to face anything alone. I promise.”

You close your eyes tighter, trying to let that promise sink in, trying to let go of the guilt that threatens to creep back in. As you lay there, cocooned in her embrace, you realize that maybe, just maybe, this is the first step toward letting those walls down—one small moment of connection at a time.

[fluff-n-cookies]

Hey!! I was wondering if you are taking requests.

If you are, then. Couln you please write and Father Aizawa x daughter in which she is like really really depressed and he is sick worried for her?

Thankss 🤍🤍

Hello! thx for requesting! I'm not sure if you wanted a little story like a drabble or headcanons so I'm just going to default to do a mix of both. I also wrote it with clinical depression in mind I hope that's okay.

TW; clinical depression, angsty shit, I wrote about the symptoms of depression here: if you have multiple of these symptoms please consider getting diagnosed by a doctor. Aizawa had depression, fem reader.

Aizawa never was good with emotions, he was never the one to express his feelings because he never exactly needed to. Aizawa wouldn't exactly talk to her at first, instead opting to see it as her having an off day.

however, the weeks flew by and he saw less and less of her around the dorms, her friends who once talked to forever never seemed to see her anymore, and her smile. her smile had now been replaced with dead eyes and a soul corrupt.

another week, when disrupted she would bite back. her usual reply to the question "how are you today?" was once "wonderfully really!" about now it was either a comment overflowing with sarcasm or a harsh "leave me alone."

she then start to bounce her leg a lot more, scratch her arms, and doom-scroll on her phone like a life line rather than train to be a hero like she would during her previous years at UA or read her favorite book genres.

and the dead look in her eyes told him everything.

he too had that look in his eyes in his life too.

he had the tattoo of a semicolon with a heart to show for it.

it was the dead of night when he finally approached her, the sun had set and the stars that night felt as dull as her mind. the blinding white lights of the kitchen remain on as she wept amongst her sorrows. sleep deprived eyes turned redder than they already are from the sting of her never ending tears.

she did not deserve this.

the air was cold in that room, clammy hands shaking didn't help much either.

Aizawa said nothing when he saw the slight before him,

he had done the same at one point too.

this situation was delicate glass, for the person before him was not the strong girl he "knew". this was the soft, misshapen, confused, and scared blob that no longer had the hard and heavy armor to protect her.

he wanted nothing more to hug her when she looked at him with scared eyes and a tear stained cheeks.

"Aizawa Sensei I-" she started, the voice cracks made it all the more pitiful.

"I came to get water." his voice unwavering, there was only room for one mentally unstable person in that tiny kitchen and he loved her too much to take the position of being the one crying.

he felt bad, he knew that feeling of either being empty or being overridden with that burden in your heart you don't know the name of. a constant reminder of doom that has your heart in a choke hold.

but this was still as fragile as anything.

he poured himself a glass of water,

the tension was thick and odd.

he sat down,

he could practically feel the labored breaths she took, the shaking, the empty feeling in her chest. like she was dying and from the inside out. the crying must have taken a toll on her too for her cheeks were red from the tears.

he sat next to her, sitting in front of her may make her feel like he was going to scold her.

"would you like to talk about it?"

"...please... no... I don't think I can..." it was hard to believe this was the voice of the girl he remembered so fondly as his favorite student.

I suppose even the moon has a dark side.

"okay, you need to though." voice steady like a rock you trust never to crumble.

"what?" her voice quivering.

"It know it's hard,

I know it's going to take a while,

but you can succeed,

just please let me help you."

the room went silent for a moment, he passed you the glass of water.

"drink, tomorrow, you are spending your day with Hound Dog, you don't have to talk with him about this specifically, just talk with him until we can understand what is actually happening. you need someone to talk to. you can bail at anytime."

"what is happening to me though? I- I don't know anymore."

he knew that feeling so well.

"I'm not entirely sure," those words came from his heart. "but I'm willing to help you through it. we can take you to a psychiatrist to know for sure."

"...okay."

Aizawa got up, pushing the glass towards you again, excessive crying often leads to dehydration. and he started doing what his mother would do, he started prepping fruits, in this case it was oranges. he lined them all up on a plate, smiling a little at the thought of waking up from a nightmare as a child and defaulting to devouring blueberries.

he put them in front of you, started speaking as a usual person would, about stupid criminals he had recently put behind bars and crazy super fans that created elaborate photo shopped photos of him and them for social media.

for the first time in a while

the phrase

"are you okay?"

wasn't even mentioned.

for the first time in a while

she felt human.

----------

edit: while writing this I noticed I had a lot of the symptoms, so I went to the doctor and turns out it wasn't just burn out it was severe depression! and asthma apparently...

[mjr-acourtofdreams]

Drowning

Warning: depression, suicidal thoughts and actions, anxiety. torcher, blood (If missed anything lmk) Description: realizing that she was never enough for him and deciding the world might just be better without her in it

part 2

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The clashing of metal singings throughout the top of the mountains being carried off with the wind. Sweat beads on my brow my labor breath is becoming louder by the passing minute I lift my sword again towards the right missing the target that was Infront of me the big Illyrian, the general of the powerful Night Court armies the smirk forming on his makes me want to slap it right off. "Oh, come on y/n I know you're better than that." he swiftly movies and swings his blade at me I dodged it just in time dropping down to the ground swing my legs and knocking him off his feet flat on his back I jumped up and just my foot on his chest with pressure and pointing the blade of my sword at his throat "Yes I know I am." I smirk matching his that claimed his face just moments ago.

It has been just over 3 years since the war against the King of Hybern I just shortly after the war was won so much has changed with my found family and with the new additions to the family the Archeron sister, bless the mother for bringing us Feyre bringing her to Rhysand. I am beyond happy that he has found his mate, his other half that makes him whole. I see from the beginning that day we went to their mansion to ask to host the mortal queens to talk that the tension with Cassian and Nesta was going to lead to something more those two were cut from the same cloth what more than the perfect match the Lord of Bloodshed and Lady Death herself. I can't forget about sweet Elain, the way that Azriel looked at her like she was the reason for him to breath and her deep brown eyes seem to lighten looking up at him, it was kind of cliche in a way the darkness and the lightness meets and blends so well together.

I remember when Azriel went into the middle of the enemies camp to rescue Elain even though he could of easily of been killed and that day before the last battle he gave her truth teller. I sat stood across the way putting on my leather and armor when I caught the seen unfold something cracked in my chest, since the day that Nesta and Elain was thrown into the cauldron Azriel always kept a close eye and helping hand to Elain, I could tell from the way he looked at her that it was much more than just being a good friend helping our High Lady's sister adjust to High Fae life he was falling for her, first it was Mor he was pinned over her for the longest time that never seen to bothered me to much. Mor confined in me about her love for other women so I knew nothing was ever going to help between her and Azriel but that still never eased the hurt I felt the way he looked and acted with her. I don't know why I thought there was ever going to be a chance of me and Azriel becoming something more all he sees is the poor broken female hung between those trees deep in the cold forest bleeding pouring form the wounds on her back forming a pool of blood under her feet.

I shook my head trying to shake the memories away grinning again I held out my hand to Cassian he reached up and I helped him back up on his feet. "oh its good to have you back y/n!" he slung and arm around my shoulders and we made our way back down the stairs towards the dinning room. "You never leave us like that again, got it?" I side eyed him "I just needed some space Cass." I signed "To many things happened during the war and everything else going on it was just to much mentally..." Cassian stopped and turned me to face him he had a worried look on his face "I know you do not like to talk about things much but I hope you know that you have me.. you have all of us if you need someone to talk to about thing.." he paused and put a hand on my forearm "I mean it." I just looked at him gave him a small smile and nodded he just did the same.

We walked in silence the rest of the way to the dining room has we walked through the doors a glanced up at the large table sat in the middle of the room there he was and so with everyone else, i mean everyone. Cassian made is way over to Nesta and planted a kiss on her forehead and sat down I stayed in the doorway just staring at everyone. "Come join us y/n." I shifted my eyes toward Rhysand who was looking at me with is smirk he always seems to wear. "It has been far too long since we had everyone for a family dinner." I swallowed hard and blinked everyone now was staring at me waiting for me to come and sit was them or just waiting for a reply. I avoided looking in the direction and the shadow singer and the lovely flower that stay by him I turned and locked my eyes with Rhys "I'm sorry but I think I'm going to have to pass tonight, I am just far too exhausted" he gave me a worried look the same has Cassian did in the hall I felt him trying to break through my mental walls I just shut him out and gave a weak smile and turned to head back up to my room feeling a heavy stare on my back that sent shivers running down my spine.

[househrt]

househrt's Non-Physically Hurt fic rec list

Fic recs where Wilson and/or House is emotionally/mentally hurt (obligatory: mind the content warnings/tags). I've tried to tag authors' tumblrs where they exist, but pls tell me if I've missed any!

Hurt!Wilson and Hurt!House

Involuntary Commitment by ignaz Creator's summary: House heads to rehab. Things go pretty much as well as you'd expect. Rec notes: 42k. Established Hilson (established in this fic, where they get married for Reasons). Wilson is sad and lonely, House is in rehab and detoxing. They both (separately) get dragged to therapy, as god knows they need

and i fight time (it won in a landslide) by vadeofspades Creator's summary: But the image of Wilson eating the garden, the morning sun on his aged face, the wind in his fully gray hair, and the smile, on his cracked, ever so slightly cyanotic lips, is enough. It has to be. It is time with Wilson. They got five months. Then they got two weeks. Now they have one day. On Wilson's final day, House gets stuck in a time loop. Rec notes: 6.6k. Hilson. Time loop on Wilson's last day. Made me sob

hail mary by ictus Creator's summary: House can't let go. Rec notes: 12.8k. Hilson getting together. House doesn't accept Wilson's diagnosis, and does morally dubious medicine to try and fix it. Made me cry (not a death fic)

Hurt!House

my blood is water with red dye i'm hollowed out with nothing inside by wishbone Creator's summary: What happens after House tells Cuddy he's not okay. Rec notes: 1.1k. Pre-Hilson. 5x24 missing scene. House is hallucinating, crying, and Wilson takes him to Mayfield

Being There by Flywoman Creator's summary: When things get bad, he’s all you can count on. But when things get really bad, it’s impossible to be certain even of him. Missing scenes from 5X24, “Both Sides Now.” Rec notes: 1.9k. Gen. House is hallucinating, having a bad time, and Wilson looks after him

At the Violet Hour by Topaz_Eyes Creator's summary: Wilson's done some hard things in his life. This counts among the hardest. Rec notes: 2.1k. Gen. 5x24 missing scene. Wilson taking House to Mayfield

my armor falls apart by orphan_account Creator's summary: Unintentional touches from Wilson made House realize just how touch-starved he was, but he’d be damned if he ever showed it. Wilson catches on and cares for House when he starts to spiral. Rec notes: 8.8k. Hilson getting together. Touch-starved!House is lonely and sleepy and sad. Wilson is concerned and caring and they're soft together :)))

the amber bracelet by blackbeardskneebrace Creator's summary: The woman laughed, her red glossed lips parting and outstretched her hand. “Rina.” “Hou-” House went to take her hand and froze. Hanging off the wrist of her proffered hand was a bracelet, translucent and honeyed. “Hal?” She asked, brow furrowed, confused at this sudden shift and the hand that stopped inches before hers, now trembling. House got up, gripping his cane tightly and taking a step before mumbling, “I have to go,” over his shoulder leaving both Wilson and Rina bewildered. or: House gets triggered by someone's amber jewelry Rec notes: 1.5k. Gen. House has a panic attack and feels guilty about it

'Samson's Mistress Cut His Hair, Thus Removing His Strength' by Sparklesinthewater Creator's summary: Set in season 3. Stacy doesn't come back. Tritter doesn't interfere. But the drugs and the infarction keep getting House into trouble anyway. Wilson is trying his best (but his best may not be what's best for House). Or: House gets himself a girlfriend. Life goes downhill from there. Rec notes: 129k. Hilson getting together. House is in an abusive relationship with an OC, Wilson is well-intentioned but keeps doing the wrong thing (for a while), House suffers

help me (make it through the night) by vadeofspades Creator's summary: It is Wilson who arrives at House's apartment when he almost relapses. Rec notes: 3k. Hilson getting together. Emotionally hurt!House

and you're trying not to tell him that you love him by Anonymous Creator's summary: House finally registered two hands holding his face so softly it was like they were afraid he’d break. He wasn’t just staring at the bathroom tiles anymore, either. Now there was a body in front of him; rumpled shirt, slacks, dress shoes. A familiar tie he remembered hating. He hadn’t even heard the front door open. He held himself back from yelling. It’s not as if he didn’t want Wilson here. Christ, House thinks he’s the only person besides maybe Cuddy who he’d tolerate at that moment. But seeing him ached. aka what if it was Wilson who showed up at the end of 6x22? and also what if there was even more pining and near missed kisses? Rec notes: 2k. Hilson getting together. Hurt!House

Machete by orphan_account Creator's summary: After the events of One Day One Room, House makes a drunken confession. Wilson turns to Chase for advice. Rec notes: 5.6k. Established Hilson. Wilson learning about and (poorly at first) dealing with House's past trauma

Now What? by mnwood Creator's summary: With Wilson only having five months left to live and House faking his own death to avoid going back to prison, they hit the road with the goal of going to as many national parks as possible. Thinking it's now or never, they get together. Then, Wilson doesn't die. Rec notes: 21k. Hilson getting together. Post-canon road trip, jealous!House

Hurt!Wilson

Control by apographical Creator's summary: All of his life Wilson has felt powerless, out of control. After the whole debacle with Tritter he decides to take control in the one way he can, his diet. Rec notes: 6.6k. Hilson getting together. Trans Wilson has an eating disorder, House is caring (in a canon-typical way)

Illusions to Live By by willywonka3435 Creator's notes: Wilson kills himself slowly. No one notices. Rec notes: 4.2k. Gen/Hilson. Wilson has an eating disorder, House helps (in a canon-typical way)

the arms of the ocean delivered me by RMarie124 Creator's summary: "People are talking around him, but Wilson barely registers what they’re saying. He should be paying more attention, he knows he should. He’s the head of the department, and it’s his responsibility to listen and be the compassionate, patient, caring man they’ve all come to know. The man they expect. That man is nowhere in sight. He hasn’t been for days." Rec notes: 2.4k. Hilson getting together ish. Wilson is depressed, dissociating and vaguely suicidal

thumb, index, palm by PaintedVanilla Creator's summary: Wilson takes his mood levelers. He takes his antidepressants. He has has good days and he has great days and fine days and okay days. He has bad days. He has abhorrent days. Some days he’d like to curl up in House’s arms and be talked off the edge. But he can’t ask for that. He has no reason to be on the edge in the first place. Rec notes: 4.1k. Established Hilson. Past child abuse (Wilson). Wilson has BPD and has a bad time that he (attempts to) hide from House, who runs a DDX on him, trying to figure out his trauma

pills & drinks don't mix by cafewrites Creator's summary: Wilson glances at their glasses stained with alcohol and suddenly remembers his psychiatrist’s words. "Anti-depressants don’t mix well with alcohol," she had warned. "I recommend you lay off drinking until your body grows accustomed to the medication." Rec notes: 1.1k. Hilson getting together ish. Wilson having bad side effects/reactions from drinking on anti-depressants. House helps (in a canon-typical way)

Like Cinnamon and Sunflower Oil by Reddish_Wolf Creator's summary: He could still feel her last breath, warm on his skin, still remembered the grip of her hands on his arm. Wilson pressed his face into her neck, clutching at the hospital gown around her shoulders. OR Amber is dead, and Wilson is great at coping /sar Rec notes: 2.5k. Wamber and Hilson. Grieving Wilson having a bad time feat. canon-compliant hurt!House

Camel's back by fayding_fast Creator's summary: Everyone has a breaking point. Rec notes: 1.4k. Gen. Wilson has a mental breakdown and dissociates (continues in this series)

Three Months by willywonka3435 Creator's summary: "Three months," he said. "Three months since anyone's--" And Wilson's voice trailed away. He knew House didn't go for that kind of thing, and it was a ridiculous admission under the best of circumstances. Rec notes: 3k. Hilson getting together. Touch-starved!Wilson and House who cares in a canon-typical way :))))

Here and Now by hoppa12345 Creator's summary: Set before 1.10 Histories. Wilson has a panic attack. His trigger: losing people. Rec notes: 1.4k. Gen. Wilson freaks out, House helps

Don't Touch Me by OneLastTime (this is me. hi) Creator's summary: James Wilson hates physical contact. It makes his skin itch, his teeth vibrate, and he needs to shake his hands out to remove the residue from the touch. People keep touching him and he wants to scream. Rec notes: 2.3k. Gen/Pre-Hilson. Wilson is austistic, trans, touch-averse and having a very bad time about it

i keep so quiet (it's hard to tell i'm alive) by itooaminthisepisode (anarchy_opossum) Creator's summary: “You’re alone,” he mutters to himself as he paces the room, clawing at the suddenly-too-tight fabric of his tie. “He’s not here, he can’t get you, Wilson, you’re okay...” If he says it enough, maybe it’ll come true. or: A face from Wilson's past returns to haunt him. Rec notes: 1.3k. Gen. Wilson with past trauma being triggered and having a panic attack (Part of Whumptober 2024)

got a sunset in my veins by itooaminthisepisode (anarchy_opossum) Creator's summary: 'He should have seen the signs. Wilson’s been withdrawn for days now, this air of melancholy about him that House had puzzled and pondered and pestered him about to no avail. Then just yesterday he had come alive again, that ruddy flush to his cheeks and a sparkle in his eyes, and House had thought everything was right again, and they would continue on like usual. Then came the call. or: Wilson tries to kill himself. House does his best to pick up the pieces. Rec notes: <1k. Gen. Depressed!Wilson in the aftermath of a suicide attempt (Part of Whumptober 2024)

at the rind by ShanaStoryteller Creator's summary: Wilson keeps having nightmares about House dying. They feel more like memories. Rec notes: 18k. Hilson getting together. Panicky, stressed Wilson dreaming about House dying (in all the ways he almost/could've died in canon).

[feel free to send me fics you think should be on this list and I may add them. The rest of my fic rec lists are here. Last updated 05 October 2024]

[redheadspark]

i had a small idea yesterday for the prompt session! druig with #’s 3, 15, and 18. maybe with reader after the emergence. they’re both EXHAUSTED and even though druig’s hurt, he still wants to make sure his s/o is okay after fighting. you can change things around to your liking ofc!

A/N - YAS! I do like this a lot for Druig! Thanks for requesting this, dear friend!

Scars and All

Summary - Druig seeks you out after the Emergence

Warnings - angst and fluff mixed together

“How is she?”

“I’m more concerned about you since you took a beating from Ikaris on that beach,”

Druig huffed as Phastos was looking him over with some of his equipment, being ever patient but not willing to sit through a thorough exam.  He was sitting on what was left of Phastos’s work table, his armor stripped, and was only sporting his black pants and nasty bruises along his ivory skin.  Phastos and Thena were with him and taking the proper measures to check on him, Sersi was talking to a now-human Sprite in the Meeting Room, leaving Makkari to tend to you in your shared room with Druig.  Although Druig knew that Thena would hold him down in order for him to get checked over and be cleared, he would rather be with you.

You both took a beating on that beach in order to save the world.

Druig took on Ikaris’s beams head-on, thinking for a split moment that he wasn’t going to make it out alive.  It left him both physically and mentally bruised, not to mention the mental fatigue that he endured ignorer to take over the mind of a full Celestial.  Throughout the centuries that he has been on Earth, this was truly the first time he felt beyond tired.  

Not tired, exhausted.

“Your internal organs are still good,” Phastos hummed as he scanned Druig’s backside slowly and with determination, Druig’s leg bouncing on the workstation table as he was sitting Indian Style.  Even his fingers were fidgeting while he was staring dead ahead at the wall.  He was half listening, mostly thinking about you and how you were holding up.  Seeing you on the beach covered in scratch wounds and pale to the touch made his heart sink.  Saving the world didn’t matter to him anymore, nor did stopping Ikaris and stopping Tiamat.  All that mattered was you.

He needed to see you and make sure you were alright.

“The bruises are gonna last a bit,” Phastos explained as Druig was still sitting rather impatiently, Thena was watching like a hawk and not moving an inch while Phastos placed his instruments down and gave Druig a brotherly kind of stare, “I can have Makkiar get some herbs to make a paste and make the bruises shrink down a bit.”

“Not a fan of modern medicine I take it?” Druig asked with a hint of sarcasm, though Phastos cracked a grin.

“Modern medicine is too tame compared to what we endured in the glory days,” Phastos hummed, then pausing for a brief moment before he spoke again, “Plus, we need to be careful since we don’t have Ajak to help us,”

It made the mood more somber in the room, even when it was rue.  Ajak was always there to heal them, from the smallest scratches to the more massive wounds that they would get from Deviants.  The healing was more than the physical, her soothing tones and words of encouragement for every Eternal.  Even Druig, though they both clash plenty of times when it comes to the philosophy of Eternals, admired Ajak all the more and missed her terribly.  

“Thanks, Phastos,” Druig replied with a soft smile, hopping down from the workstation table.

“Get some rest,” Thena instructed him with a small tilt of her head to him.  Druig nodded back.

“Will do,” He replied walking past both Phastos and Thena to the hallways that lead to the living quarters.  He was glad that he was cleared from needing anymore assistance, and he was not thinking about himself at the current moment.  

“Couldn’t gone worse for him if it wasn’t for her,” Phastos said to Thena as Druig was walking away, his eyes going right down the hallway and nothing slowing him down.

“She saved his life, as she should since they were meant for each other,” Thena replied in an optimistic hum, which made Druig wish he could smile from hearing that from the warrior herself.  He might have been too tired to smile, or simply more concerned about you to smile from the comment.  But it still warmed his heart nonetheless, adoring Thena all the more.

Once he made it to your shared room, He carefully and softly opened the door to see nothing but darkness.  Your king-sized bed was against the wall, you were nestled amongst the satin sheets and already sleeping with Makkari sitting by your side and keeping a close eye on you.  

Makkari, still clad in her armor, saw Druig and immediately sped over to him, She’s okay.

“Thanks, ‘Kari,” He whispered to her as he gestured his head over to your sleeping form, “How bad is it?”

Her cuts are deep, but they’ll heal in a few days, She explained to him, I know how to make a paste for her wounds to make the healing go a bit faster.  I’ll make some for you too, I think you two need some rest,

“You might be right,” he agreed, seeing her crack a smile slightly before she leaned over to hug him gently.  He hugged her back, feeling her warmth in the embrace.  Once Makkari pulled away and slipped out of the room, Druig looked over at your sleeping form with both concerns and warmth.  

Warmth that you were alive and still with him in this life, and concern that you took a beating to protect him. 

He loved watching you sleep in the past, seeing how soft and content you were as you dreamed away with nothing haunting you.  There were even moments when he would watch you and be amazed at how peaceful you seemed to be in a chaotic and ever-grieving world around you.  He loved that about you and he wished he had that in himself sometimes.  

You had enough love and compassion to fill the both of you up instantly and overflow.  

Moving without him making a single sound, Druig lifted the sheet to finally see you.  The distinct slash marks along your skin, the deep bruises etched near your neck and hips. It was all too much for him to see.  You were never one to harm a fly or start trouble, it wasn’t in your nature.  Yet now, you looked so broken to Druig that it made his heart shatter. 

Immediately he moved, wrapped you close in his arms, and avoided some of the fresher wounds.  You stirred, your head against his neck now as he hummed to alert you.

“…Druig?” You said in a hoarse tone.

“I’m right here, darlin’.  Go back to sleep,” He mumbled to you since the last thing he wanted was for you to wake up and lose sleep.  You moved your arms, grimacing from the drained energy and the tender bruises along your arms.  

“You okay?” You asked him.  Of course, you would be worried for him and his health, not even worried about your own wounds and exhaustion.  Druig loved you for your selfless heart and need to care for others before yourself, both a blessing and a curse for him to witness as the love of your life.  He kissed your forehead, feeling his own energy draining within moments from being in a safe space with you and being in one piece.

“I’m alright now,” he reassured you soothingly, “We’re both alright now.  Let’s sleep, alright?  I got ya,”

As you both slept and healed together, all you both could dream of was your future together.  No matter that there was no village to go back to, losing some of your own to both the Deviants and Ikaris at the same time, none of that mattered compared to what you two wanted in your future together.  Somewhere quiet and away from chaos, maybe near the sea or deep in the forest.  Just you and Druig against the world, scars and all.

The End. 

September Prompt Session

[arctrooper69]

As Iron Sharpens Iron

"As Iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another." Proverbs 27:17

Beta-read by @dragonrider9905

Chapter 3:

Previous // Next

Warnings: Jealously. Mentions of masturbation (nothing explicit).

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Despite the initial crash landing, the mission seemed to have been successful and the trip back to Ord Mantell was, so far, uneventful. The ship lay in a sleepy silence, punctuated only by Wrecker’s occasional snoring from where he lay on the ground against Gonky with Omega and Lula tucked safely in his arms. Phee and Tara played a quiet game of Dejarak and Echo sat watchfully in the co-pilot’s chair beside Tech, who was engrossed in something on his datapad until the ship dropped from hyperspace and landed smoothly back on the planet.

Hunter took moments like this whenever he could get them. It was rare to have time to himself, especially now that Omega and you had joined the squad. But right now, rest did not come so easily to him.

Your outburst at Tara, the way you zoned out during his mission brief, not to mention the cold shoulder you'd been giving him for the past few days - it just wasn't like you.

From a tactical perspective - as your squad leader - he knew that he should go and find you as soon as possible, sit you down and demand you tell him what was going on. It was his duty, after all, to make sure his squad was okay both mentally and physically. It was imperative that he knew everything in order to be able to move smoothly and efficiently as a team.

But for some reason, Hunter felt glued to his seat. Something fought that well-trained commando logic from inside of him, pressing upon him, crushing him like a foot on his chest.

Taking a deep breath, he sat up straighter, cracking his neck.

“Emotion is natural. Fear is natural.”

Hunter remembered the words of one of their trainers on Kamino. He'd laughed it off with the rest of the squad. Scared? Genetically enhanced special forces commandos? Not likely. It was so long ago, he barely remembered the lesson. It wasn't important at the time. Maybe it applied to regs, but not to him. Hunter was their leader, their older brother - he couldn't afford that kind of weakness. So why had he suddenly remembered it now?

“They are in every man's very nature, but you're different. You don't have the luxury to dwell on those feelings. You freeze, you die, so train yourself to let it pass. Focus on the task at hand.”

Hunter let the strange emotion pass, willing the weight to lift from his chest

It felt different though, everytime he glanced towards your bunk, he couldn't help but to recall how you felt cradled in his arms. How your breath caught in your throat when you met his eyes. You hadn't even noticed, but he did.

The door to the fresher opened and you stepped out, turning towards him.

Hunter stood, intent on coming to the bottom of whatever this was. A faint, peculiar scent wafted from you. The feeling he’d so skillfully pushed away only moments ago, bubbled to the surface again. It swirled in his stomach, pooling with tangible heat beneath his skin. It made him hungry in a way nothing had before. He shifted uncomfortably, thankful for the way his armor hid the growing bulge in his pants.

Touching your face, feeling your body in his arms, wishing it was anything but the brutality of battle that called you to him.

He’d been with women before - a drunken fling, or a way to blow off steam after a long mission. This was different. You felt different.

He glanced away, shame springing to the surface at the hopelessness of his desires - but he could hear your body tense, and feel you turn away.

Oh gods, she knows.

Maybe it was the moment his hand rested far too long on your knee. You had stared at the gesture - but it was one of the rare moments when he couldn't really tell what you were thinking. Perhaps the way you stiffened signified your discomfort - perhaps he'd misread that small spark in your eyes.

Hunter stood quietly for a moment, opening his mouth as if to call you back to him, but he made no sound. He closed his mouth again, drawing his lips into a frown, codpiece loosening in a melancholy disappointment.

No. I have a job to do.

“Hey,” he called over to you, keeping his voice low so as not to draw attention from the others.

You froze. Oh gods, he can probably hear my heartbeat. He can smell me and I just…. You glanced back at the fresher door.

Oh gods, he knows.

The thought of him was too much. His hands on your skin, his lips on yours, those beautiful amber eyes that bled sincerity and comfort - it was all too much. It was a lie. You had to let it go or you would explode. Finally alone in the fresher, you could close your eyes and imagine that it was his fingers that caressed your sex and not your own. The release you craved had come almost too quickly and now you were left with an empty longing.

“What.” Your reply came sharply, colder than you’d intended.

“Are you okay?”

The question caught you off guard and you nearly found yourself telling him everything.

I can’t do that to him.

Airing the stupid schoolgirl crush you had on him would only serve to make him feel guilty. You didn’t want his pity.

“I’m fine, Hunter.”

I’m not fine, this is killing me.

“Are… are you sure?” He paused, unsure what kind of response he even expected. You sounded tired. “It’s important you let me know if something is bothering you.” he finished.

“I said I’m fine.”

Hunter shook his head, suddenly incensed by the cold rebuttal. There had to be something wrong and he would find out what.

You can fix this, a voice in his head demanded. Man up and fix this. That's your job isn't it?

“What’s going on with you!?” He snapped, visibly frustrated.

That was not what he'd meant to say - or maybe it was. Hunter didn't know anymore.

Immediately he shut his mouth, seeing your expression phase from one of shock, to one of anger that mirrored his own. He just wanted to help! He just wanted to make things better. Why did you have to make it so hard?

“Excuse me!?” Your eyes flashed, matching his frustration with anger of your own.

It forced its way through your veins like red-hot coals.

What the hell am I doing? You thought. Pining away like a lovesick teenager for a man I work with!?

You sighed.

But he’s so much more than that. The feelings you tried so hard to beat down, forced themselves up through your anger like weeds growing in the cracks of a walkway.

You mowed them down. No. It’s a fantasy. It isn’t real. Get it together before someone gets hurt.

Hunter doubled down, “You heard me. I just want to know what your problem is so we can work out whatever it is!”

“My problem!? Oh my gods, Hunter! I’m fine! I told you I’m fine so please just leave me alone!”

Hunter opened his mouth and closed it again, unable to put words to the whirlwind of confusion, grief, and anger that spiraled about him like a storm.

He watched as you spun sharply around and headed out the door.

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[shellswritesstuff]

squad damocles hand holding hcs!!! i love these three so much

꒰sᴍ𝟸 ᴛʀɪᴏ ʜᴄs! - ʜᴏʟᴅɪɴɢ ʜᴀɴᴅs ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ s/ᴏ꒱ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

ah how sweet and heartwarming!!! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ pls hold these guys close, the horrors of the 40k universe must do numbers to their mental,,, id faint even seeing a cherub HSAJK- 

Gadriel

Tries to be nonchalant about it. 'Oops, didn't mean to touch your hand..' type deal.

You don't buy it for a moment, though. If it was such an accident, why is it happening for the third time this week?

After a few more attempts at playing the cool guy facade, you go ahead and make the first move. 

"You're so cute, Gadriel." You shoot him a knowing look, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. "Oh, and that was an accident, too." 

You'd run away, leaving the space marine behind. 

Next time you wouldn't get away that easy. He'd grab your hand just before you would take off, and offer a rare smile. 

Bonus points if Chairon happens to be walking by when it all goes down. He is NEVER gonna let him live that one down! "Oi, Lover Boy." 

Chairon

A lot more straightforward than Gadriel. Who knows if he'll be here tomorrow? He makes it a point to tell you how he feels before it's too late.

Chairon holds your hands, one of his more than enough to encompass both of yours. He'll bring them to his face, your knuckles feeling the texture of his surprisingly soft lips.

He's a romantic at heart, one in a million in this world. Will pick you an exotic flower from whatever plant he was dispatched to. (This may or may not have lead to a fire in the barge. Captain Acheran scolded him about "getting laid at th expense of his brothers.")

 He now settles for pretty rocks. A radiation risk waiting to happen, but I digress.

"I made sure to thoroughly clean off the guts this time." Chairon would lean against the door, surprising you with an early return. "I and don't just mean myself."

Titus

Imagine you're out assisting his squad on a mission. (Okay, lore accurate maybe not but work with me here. ;;) You hang back, providing fire from behind Titus, picking off any snipers. 

You're too concentrated on your lover that you failed to notice the two hormagaunts jumping for your skull. 

Titus, the knight in shining blueberry armor he is, rushes over to your rescue. He throws the first tyranid to the dirt, stomping it flat. You heard its thorax collapse under the weight of his boot, it's structure cracking and crumbling like rotten wood. 

Once that was dealt with, Titus snatched the second bug out of the air. He put his hands on either side of its head, plunging his thumbs into it's now oozing eye sockets. As you fell backwards, your lover ripped the monster in half. The sight of it's organs stretching to accommodate the tear; it almost made you throw up.

"Are you alright?" Titus dropped the corpse to the ground, forgetting it in favor of you. You gazed up at him, your bloodied protector held out a hand for you to take. 

And that's the story of how you first held hands with Titus. It was a lot more romantic to the man then it was to you. 

[captaincrusher]

Part of what makes Dukat such a compelling character is his core belief in his own superiority and that he is the main character of the universe. This is accomplished through writing but also because Marc Alaimo really, really believed in Dukat as a character. He never plays him with a hint of self doubt. If he experiences opposition to this self image Alaimo plays him as deeply embarrassed, angry or even mentally compromised - all signs of someone who's self hinges completely on this image of himself he has constructed. To the point that any real opposition, like the realisation the universe doesn't revolve around you, crushes him if he can't reconstruct it to fit his own narrative.

Alaimo wanted redemption for Dukat and a romance with Kira. I'm very glad that didn't happen. But the fact that Alaimo never accepted Dukat as fundamentally bad is part of why Dukat works. Dukat can't be redeemed. Not because he doesn't have the opportunity. But because he is fueled by greed and lust for power and that's always behind the choices he makes.

So he needs to be played without self doubt. Without a trace of any remorse. Another actor might have been tempted to play Dukat with cracks in the armor of his bravado where he shows remorse or realisation. Because we want to believe villains have complex feelings about their behavior, right? That deep inside, they doubt? But Dukat always carries this unfaltering belief in himself. He doesn't feel sorry. He doesn't regret anything. In fact, he revels in his crime. In his oppression of the Bajoran people.

It really is interesting how Alaimo having a different view of the character is such a big part of what makes him a good villain.

[elysiaheaven]

do you take requests? if you do, could i request ronin with a jirai kei/landmine mc? (landmine is typically used to refer to a girl (although, it can also be a guy) who is mentally unwell and on the verge of exploding, usually someone with bpd or bipolar)

if not, i 100% understand 😊

hi! I'm really tried my best to research if it's not accurate I'm so sorry.. also it's so cringe I made it so fluff imaooo

Words:1000!

Summary: you are bandaging him after a small accident

Genre: Fluff

Devotion-Ronin x G.N reader ^^

The air in your small apartment stinks of antiseptic. You’re kneeling on the stained carpet, frantically wrapping Ronin’s arm in gauze, trying to keep his skin together before the bleeding gets worse. His grin—obnoxious, smug, and endlessly irritating—remains intact despite the gash running from his shoulder down to his elbow.

“Should’ve seen it, babe. You should’ve seen how his face split open,” he chuckles, his voice raspy and far too casual for someone who just narrowly escaped murder charges. “I swear, it was art.”

You yank the bandage tighter than necessary, making him flinch.

"Ow. Easy, sweetheart."

“Shut up,” you snap, the sharpness in your voice cutting through the room like a knife. Your fingers tremble as you fasten the gauze into place, rage bubbling in your chest, threatening to boil over. It’s like every nerve in your body is frayed, ready to snap in half. “Just shut the hell up, Ronin. For five seconds. Do you know how close you were to getting caught? I had to drag your stupid body out of there!”

He doesn’t even flinch at the outburst. In fact, his grin grows wider, eyes gleaming with some twisted amusement. He’s enjoying this—the way you’re unraveling in front of him like a ribbon being pulled too hard from both ends.

“You’re so cute when you yell,” he says, leaning his head back against the wall, as if you aren't seething just inches away. "All dolled up in that pretty skirt, screaming like a little time bomb. God, I love you."

You grab a loose pillow from the couch and throw it at his face.

The pillow bounces off Ronin’s chest, but he catches it effortlessly, laughing softly under his breath. The sound grates on your nerves like nails on glass. You shove his shoulder—his injured shoulder—and he winces, though the grin never leaves his face.

“I swear to God, if you don’t stop—”

Before you can finish, he moves faster than you expect. His uninjured arm snakes around your waist, yanking you against him, despite your furious squirming. “What didja think, huh? That you were just gonna walk out on me?” His voice drops, a teasing drawl laced with menace, his words slithering into your ear.

"Let me go," you hiss, thrashing against his hold, but it’s no use. He tightens his grip, holding you firm like he’s cradling something precious that might shatter at any moment—and, God, maybe you will. The tension coiled inside you, the pressure building up like a bomb, is unbearable.

“Not happening, sweetheart.” He presses his lips to the top of your head, a mockery of tenderness. “Where else would you go, huh? You need me just as much as I need you.”

You hate how his words crawl under your skin, how they make you freeze for a moment too long. He knows exactly which buttons to push, exactly how to sink his claws in. You’ve tried so hard to stay composed, to keep the storm inside at bay, but with Ronin, the cracks in your armor spread faster than you can patch them.

"Don’t…" your voice falters, but you push at him again, weaker this time. "Don’t act like you care." The frustration and sadness twist together, tightening your chest like barbed wire. You hate him for making you feel this raw, this open.

“Oh, I care, darlin’. I care so much it hurts.” His hand slides up your back, slow and deliberate, grounding you even as you try to shove him away again. "That’s why you patched me up, didn’t you? You were scared."

"You almost got caught," you whisper, barely keeping it together. Your breathing’s erratic, the words stumbling out in broken pieces. "And now I’m stuck here… cleaning up your mess… again."

Ronin’s hand drifts up to your jaw, tilting your face toward him. His thumb traces the edge of your lips with a gentleness that makes your stomach turn. "You don’t have to fight me, sweetheart. I like you exactly the way you are—messy, angry, perfect.”

And that’s the worst part: You know he means it. He loves the chaos, feeds off it. Every time you teeter on the edge of breaking, he pulls you closer, cradling your madness like it’s something beautiful. And it scares you—how easily you could fall apart in his arms, how much you want to.

You sag against him, exhausted from the struggle, your body giving out before your mind can. Ronin’s arms tighten around you, holding you like a lifeline, like he knew all along you’d give in.

“There you go, Darling” he murmurs, a smile curling at the corner of his lips. "I’ve got you."

You lean into Ronin’s embrace, the tension in your muscles slowly unraveling as you sink against him, the warmth of his body contrasting with the chill of your frayed nerves. The soft thump of your heart beats steadily in your ears, a chaotic rhythm matching the swirl of emotions fighting for dominance within you.

“I know, I know,” he whispers, his voice low and soothing, almost conspiratorial, as if he’s sharing a secret meant only for you. “You’re a walking time bomb, but that’s what makes you so interesting.” He leans back slightly, just enough to catch your gaze, his devilish smirk never fading. “I mean, who wouldn’t want to watch a beautiful disaster unfold?”

You scowl at him, not in the mood for his games. “You think this is funny? You’re the reason I’m falling apart.”

Ronin chuckles softly, clearly amused. “Oh, babe, it’s way more entertaining than funny. You’re like a high-wire act without a safety net. Plus,” he adds, nudging your shoulder with his, “it’s not like I’m the one keeping secrets in a bloody basement.”

You sigh, rolling your eyes. “You don’t get it. This is real for me.” The shadows of your bipolar disorder loom large, threatening to engulf you. Some days, you can handle everything—navigate the chaos, juggle the highs and lows—but other days? It’s like being caught in a whirlwind, and right now, it feels like you’re spiraling toward the edge.

Ronin’s expression shifts, the playful glint in his eyes replaced with something deeper, more earnest. “Then let’s just be a mess together, yeah?” His fingers brush against your hair, tucking a loose strand behind your ear. “I mean, we can be extra dysfunctional, and I’m all in."

“Dysfunctional isn’t the half of it,” you mutter, your voice softer, the edge of your anger dulling as you look into his dark eyes, searching for a flicker of understanding.

“Ah, but that’s where the fun lies.” He leans in closer, his breath warm against your cheek, teasingly whispering, “Besides, being a little devilish is my specialty. It’s like… embracing the chaos instead of running from it.”

You want to resist his allure, the way he pulls you in with every word, but there’s an undeniable comfort in his presence. He seems to understand the storm raging inside you, even when you barely grasp it yourself. “What if I explode?” you ask, half-joking, half-terrified of the reality that sits beneath the surface.

“Then I’ll catch you,” he promises, deadpan, but his eyes sparkle with mischief. “And we’ll make a real mess of things. I’ll grab a mop, and you can scream all you want. Just don’t think for a second that I’d let you go.”

You let out a shaky laugh, the tension in your chest easing just a fraction. “You’re impossible.”

“Exactly.” He leans back against the wall, still cradling you in his arms. “And that’s why you love me.”

You push at his shoulder playfully, but there’s no real force behind it. “I don’t love you. I tolerate you.”

“Oh, please.” He raises an eyebrow, grinning like a cat who just caught the canary. “You’re wrapped around my finger, darling. But that’s okay; I like you a little unhinged.”

“Unhinged?” you echo, the term sending a shiver through you. It’s a label you often grapple with, one that feels too close to home.

“Yeah, it’s like a badge of honor.” His eyes gleam as he continues, “You’re wild, unpredictable, and a bit of a mess. It’s like your own personal chaos aesthetic.” He lifts his hands in mock exaggeration, as if you’re some rare work of art. “And don’t forget—you’re mine. I can handle the explosion.”

His confidence in you is infuriating, but also oddly reassuring. You take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “You really think I can just… manage it all?”

Ronin nods, his gaze unwavering. “Of course. It’s all about balance, babe. You’ve got the fire; I’ve got the chaos. Together, we’re a beautiful disaster.”

You shake your head, a small smile creeping onto your lips despite yourself. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet, you keep me around. See? That makes you the worst, too.” His smirk returns, cocky and playful. “You’re just as twisted as I am.”

“Not even close,” you retort, but the laughter in your voice betrays you.

He pulls you even closer, wrapping his arms around you tightly. “You just wait, sweetheart. I’ll help you embrace your wild side. You’ll see.”

The uncertainty lingers, but for now, you allow yourself to melt into his embrace, comforted by the warmth and chaos he brings. And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough for today.

You sink deeper into Ronin's embrace, the tension easing from your shoulders as his warmth envelops you. Your mind is still a jumble of emotions, but the soft fabric of your oversized hoodie—a faded black with intricate, pastel-hued patches—feels comforting against your skin.

“Nice hoodie, babe. I love how you rock that look,” Ronin said sarcastically, his fingers grazing the delicate lace trim at the sleeves. “So perfectly chaotic. It’s like you’re ready to explode at any moment.”

You roll your eyes, but a smile threatens to break through. “It’s called style. Not everything has to be about violence, you know.” Your hoodie hangs off one shoulder, exposing the frilly strap of the pink lace tank underneath. You feel ridiculous, and yet… it’s part of who you are.

Ronin chuckles, tugging playfully at the hem of your hoodie. “It’s a cute look. That top is like a warning sign, and the ruffles are practically screaming for attention.” His tone is teasing, but there's a hint of sincerity behind it that makes your heart flutter.

“Like your bloody bandages aren’t attention-grabbing enough?” you shoot back, gesturing toward the makeshift dressing he’s wrapped around his arm. You can’t help but notice how the contrast between your softer, pastel colors and his dark attire highlights the chaos you both embody. His signature look—black ripped jeans, a loose maroon tee, and a battered leather jacket—only enhances his devil-may-care attitude.

“Hey, it’s all about the aesthetic,” he says, his grin wide and unapologetic. “You can’t have a true chaos vibe without a little blood, after all.”

You snort, shaking your head at his ridiculousness. “You’re such a punk.”

“And you’re my..darling.” he retorts, the wicked glint in his eyes making you blush. “Just think of it this way: We’re the perfect match. You’re the ticking time bomb in frills and lace, and I’m the charming devil.”

The juxtaposition of your two styles feels almost poetic in its absurdity. Your layered fishnet stockings peek out from beneath your frayed mini skirt, adorned with silver hardware and mismatched patches that tell stories of their own. Each piece of clothing is a reflection of your inner turmoil, each stitch a reminder of the battles fought and the scars worn like badges.

“Do you really think I’m cute like this?” you ask, vulnerability creeping into your voice. It’s not something you often share, and you can’t help but feel a rush of warmth at the way he’s studying you.

“Absolutely,” he replies, his tone suddenly serious. “You’re beautiful, even with..."

The soft fabric of your oversized T-shirt brushes against Ronin’s arm, the pastel pink covered in faint rips and band logos, a perfect reflection of your chaotic style. The high-waisted black skirt, shorts you wear flares slightly as you shift, the hem adorned with delicate lace that clashes and complements your chaotic aesthetic all at once.

You roll your eyes, the playful banter bringing a flicker of warmth to your cheeks. “Shut up. At least I’m not wearing a beanie indoors.”

“Hey, this beanie is a fashion statement,” he replies, his tone dripping with mock indignation as he pats the plum-colored fabric atop his head. “It keeps the artistic vibes alive, you know?”

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you glance down at your outfit. The contrast of your clothes—delicate ruffles and lace with a touch of punk rock—makes you feel both fierce and fragile, just like your mind. The jirai kei aesthetic reflects you.. it's just your style..

“See? You’re practically a walking art piece.” Ronin shifts slightly, cradling you tighter against him, his thumb tracing the edge of your lace-trimmed collar. “I mean, who wouldn’t want to have a person like you on their arm?”

You huff, your expression softening despite your best efforts. “Just because I wear ruffles doesn’t mean I’m not capable of causing chaos.”

“I know,” he whispers, his voice low, and suddenly serious. “That’s what I love about you. You’re a contradiction, and it’s beautiful.”

His sincerity catches you off guard. You want to protest, to throw his words back at him, but instead, you find yourself melting further into his embrace. You can feel the tension in your body start to dissolve, even as the swirling storm in your mind rages on.

“Do you remember the first time I saw you in a stupid call?” Ronin continues, a playful lilt returning to his voice. “You were wearing that black and white striped shirt with a collar—adorable, and yet I could tell there was something simmering underneath.”

“Yeah, and you wouldn’t stop staring at me..I think?" you shoot back, trying to redirect the conversation, but the warmth in your chest only grows.

“It was the combination of the pastel colors,” he says, pretending to think deeply. “You looked like a cute little time bomb, just waiting to go off.”

Your cheeks flush again, and you fight the urge to bury your face in his chest. “Stop it.”

“Nope,” he says with a playful grin. “I’ll never stop. You’re like a little —adorable on the outside, and then boom!” He gestures dramatically, hands exploding outward as if reenacting your metaphorical detonation.

You can’t help but laugh, even though a part of you is still tense, a storm cloud brewing in the background. “I am not like that! I mean it's we....”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he replies, his tone teasing yet tender, “you definitely are. But that just makes me want to be around you more. I’ll be here when you go off. I’m not going anywhere.”

You shift your weight slightly, the hem of your clothing brushing against his jeans. “You might want to reconsider that.”

“Never. I’m addicted to your chaos.” He smirks, running a finger along the edge of your lace. “And besides, I think you need a little devilish distraction in your life.”

“Distraction?” you echo, raising an eyebrow. “Or danger?”

“Both. It’s a package deal,” he winks, the devil-may-care attitude shining through. “And trust me, with your flair for the dramatic and my penchant for chaos, we’ll create our own beautiful mess.”

You breathe in deeply, the tension slowly ebbing away as you absorb his playful confidence. The combination of your styles—his dark punk vibes and your jirai kei flair—creates a unique blend that feels so distinctly you.

“I guess I’m lucky to have you around to catch me when I explode,” you say, a soft smile breaking through the storm clouds in your mind.

“You bet,” he replies, his grin wide and mischievous. “But don’t think for a second I won’t enjoy the explosion, darling. I thrive in the chaos; I’ve told you before.”

You shake your head in disbelief, unable to suppress a giggle, “You’re incorrigible.”

“True, but you love it.” He pulls you closer, the warmth of his body wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

You shift slightly in Ronin’s embrace, the soft couch enveloping you like a cocoon, but the clock on the wall catches your eye. It’s getting late, and a wave of anxiety washes over you. “I really should head home,” you say reluctantly, glancing towards the door.

“Why?” He looks at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’ve already made a mess of my heart, darling. You think I’ll let you just waltz out of here?”

You can’t help but laugh softly, the weight of your worries lightening for a moment. “I don’t want to disturb you, Ronin. I mean, you probably have… things to do.”

“Things to do?” He quirks an eyebrow, feigning incredulity. “What could possibly be more interesting than this?” He gestures dramatically around the room as if it’s a grand stage, but the intensity in his gaze is undeniable. “Just stay. I promise I won’t bite—much.”

You feel a flutter of excitement mixed with anxiety. “I don’t know. It’s late…”

“Please?” he adds, his voice lowering, taking on a soft, coaxing tone that makes your heart race. “Just stay a little longer. What’s the harm in that?”

Your resolve wavers, and you can feel the familiar tug of his devilish charm pulling you closer. “I really should…” you start, but he interrupts, playfully pushing you down on the couch. You can’t help but gasp as he pins you gently against the cushions, his body hovering over yours.

“What was that about going home?” he whispers, his face inches from yours, the warmth radiating from him sending shivers down your spine. Before you can respond, he leans in and kisses you, his lips brushing against yours with a teasing softness.

“Stay,” he murmurs against your mouth, kissing you again, deeper this time, his fingers tangling in your hair as if anchoring you to this moment.

You melt into him, the taste of him overwhelming your senses—spicy and sweet, the essence of him intoxicating. His kisses are fervent, almost desperate, as if he’s trying to convey everything he feels without words.

You push against him slightly, your thoughts a chaotic swirl, but the way he holds you tight makes it hard to think straight. “Ronin…” you whisper, but he kisses you again, silencing your protests.

In that moment, nothing else matters. Your worries slip away, replaced by the warmth of his body and the intensity of his gaze. You pull him closer, surrendering to the need building inside you. His kisses become a frantic melody, a rhythm that drowns out your thoughts and worries.

You realize you’ve given up the argument, leaning into him, the hesitation fading away. This is where you want to be—lost in the chaos, the devilish embrace of someone who understands your darkness. No words are needed; the warmth of his kisses speaks volumes, each one whispering a promise of what could be.

Ronin’s hold on you tightens, a possessive gesture that makes your heart race even faster. He can be so devilish, and yet, here in this moment, everything feels just right.

[mr-thundercloud]

Demon twins au (Pt 2/5-6?)

(Link to the Pt.1)

-------------------------Same Pov as last time--------------------------

Compartmentalizing had always been my way. I learned early on that emotions could be a liability, an impediment to my mission. But as I sped toward Wayne Manor, my heartbeat drummed an erratic rhythm in my chest, each pulse a reminder that I had just discovered I had a son, a son who was in danger.

Traffic was nonexistent, and I hit every green light, but I felt as if the very air in my lungs was suffocating me. Each second is impossibly long. Images flashed through my mind: a boy with dark hair and an impish grin that mirrored my own. The worst-case scenarios clawed at my thoughts, but I shoved them aside. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—let grief overtake me. Not now.

When I entered the Cave, Damian was already working furiously at the Batcomputer, analyzing the video where Danny appeared, a fleeting shadow caught against a window. There was uncertainty in the frame, but we knew it was enough to find him.

I suited up quickly, the familiar weight of the cowl settling over my face, my heart steadying as I did so. All the world faded away, save for my son’s fragile existence hanging in the balance and my singular focus: save Danny.

Damian and I wasted no time. Through the crack in the window of that grainy footage, we could see an expanse—an unmarked yard with only a distant sign that read RK, ILLINOIS, a three-digit population number I could not decipher yet. Discussions turned into lists and plans. The mundane rattled in stark contrast to the urgency in the air.

With the locations narrowed down to six, I could sense my pulse quickening again—not from haste but from fear. What if we were too late? Mental checks and balances slipped as the thought danced across my mind, but I suppressed it. Running Danny’s image through facial recognition, I felt a flicker of hope.

“Daniel Fenton, Amity Park,” I read aloud, the name heavy with implications. I could hear my heart thumping as both excitement and dread coursed through me. I was a man on a mission, but now, more than ever, I was a father.

We took flight in the Batplane, the roar of the engines drowning out the frantic pounding in my chest. Damian was on the lookout for any sign of movement on the streets, relaying any potential clues. The silence between us weighed like steel, rich with unspoken truths.

I broke the stillness, drawn to my son’s story. “Why didn’t you tell me?” The question hung in the air, sharp and biting.

Damian’s voice was steady but tinged with something more resounding. “When an assassin is killed, they are erased,” he replied, and I felt an ache for the son I didn’t know, an ache that twisted and coiled. “He was forgotten…until now.”

“What’s he like?” I dared to ask, urgency blending with curiosity.

“Danny is older than me,” he began, a tremor of pride creeping into his tone. “He prefers gardens, avoids unnecessary violence… He defied our grandfather’s wishes quietly. He’s more than what they made him to be." Laying bare my son’s defiance and individuality pierced through the armor I wore like an extra skin. I was building a picture of a boy who was both mine and not mine—a spirit living in the shadow of my world.

As we zoomed into Madison, the van’s trail flickering across Damian’s tablet drew my focus. “They have government identification,” he reported, an alarming new detail. It reminded us both that this was bigger than just family—this was a battle.

When the white van vanished from the screen, leaving nothing but question marks, we powered down the Batplane miles from the town. Each sharp breath echoed the growing weight of responsibility. We used our bikes to scout the area, adrenaline thrumming.

The cottage stood in sharp contrast to the looming castle registered under the mayor’s name. It begged investigation, hushed whispers felt like echoes of the past. Two buildings, two purposes—a question to unravel.

“Let’s check the cottage first,” I declared, and as we approached that weathered façade, my heart sank with the looming reality. The world shrunk to one singular thought: I was going to save my son. No more compartmentalizing; this was personal now.

I would find Danny. I had to. Before the darkness could claim him, I would wield my fears as a shield. I had only just found him; I wasn’t about to lose him again.

[gaysindistress]

Limits of a Fae Heart - four

Pairings: Azriel x Reader Summary: With war looming over their heads, the Inner Circle is desperate for a solution. The one they found comes in the form of a resurrected female who’s fated to not only their Shadowsinger but once to their enemy as well. Word count: 3.9k Warnings: mentions of past abuse (but no detailed descriptions), suggestive themes, things are heating upppp. One | two | three | five | six taglist: @dr4g0ngirl @isa1b2h3

Stern and tight voices make their way from downstairs to my room. I try to ignore them however the high pitches of their concern makes it hard to drown them out. Having finished bathing and scrubbing the blood from my skin some time ago, my hair is mostly dried so I leave it down as I dress. Clad in a pair of fitted high waisted black trousers and a simple black halter top, I make the awful decision to find out what the voices are talking about. 

Elain, Nesta, and Mor are sharing the sitting room couch while a red haired male stands by a window. Rhys and Feyre are against opposing doorways while Cassian and Azriel are between them. The sight of Rhys makes my skin crawl after my encounter earlier but I push down as I quietly descend the stairs barefoot. The shadows take notice of my entrance and start to grow restless causing a scene as Azriel hisses under his breath at them to behave. 

Feyre smiles at me and turns to face me while the rest of them simply watch me. While some are pleasant, they all view me with red tinted glasses and are guarded around me. I know the sight of me being so casual in their home makes them uncomfortable and even more so as my wings and scars catch the light. The red haired male peers at me through one russet colored eye and one golden mechanical eye. Nesta is stone faced and tight lipped as usual while Elain drifts from being a life sized doll to an unsettling wise woman. Mor lounges while Cassian watches his brother who is staring with a purpose at the wall. 

However none bother me more than Rhys at this moment.

With his Daemati talons, he’s trying to find a crack in my mental shields but to no avail. Add my earlier run in with the Ravens and to say I’m on edge is an understatement. The grating feeling of those talons against my mind is enough to make me forget my impulse control for half a second. I send him flashes of what happened on the rooftop as well as my time spent in between life and death. His violet eyes wide with what I think might be the closest thing to fear he’s let anyone see in years. If he wasn’t leaning against the doorway already, I’m sure the stumbling step back he takes would’ve sent him to the ground.

The entire room tenses and Feyre is at his side in the blink of an eye. She shoots me a fury filled look before her own caress touches my shields. The other three males have turned and are ready to attack if needed although it seems to pain Azriel to do so. 

I decide it’s better to not do the same to Feyre and simply shove her out. I take her place against the doorway, leaning against it with my arms crossed and wings drawn in tight. No one says anything and with how thick the air is, it appears that they’re all waiting for my explanation. 

“Next time I won’t be so gentle,” I inform Rhys with a saccharine smile while inspecting my nails.

“You were attacked and didn’t tell us,” he states, intentionally choosing to ignore my comment. Shadows dance nervously around the room and a few brave their way towards me. I let them come closer but my arms remain crossed over my chest and offer them no welcome to climb further. It concerns them more than anything and their chirping silence fills the room with unease.

I rolls my eyes at the way that everyone stands on even higher alert, “I handled it didn’t I?”

“That’s not the point.”

“So what is then?” I casually ask and the shadows curl around my legs, acting as a sort of armor. “You all knew already so why does it matter if I wasn’t the one to share that information?”

Rhys’ jaw tightens at my words and and so does the thread in my chest. My eyes dart to Azriel and there’s something sharp to his silence. He’s usually quiet and reserved but there’s an edge to the utter stillness and silence about him right now.

“We need to have trust between us. We can’t let…”

I cut Rhys off, “Trust? That’s an awfully big request considering our situation but the wrong one nonetheless. We don’t need to trust each other, we don’t even have to tolerate each other. All we need is an understanding; if you get what you want and I get what I want, then we’re all good. You brought me here to kill the King of Hybern and I’ll do that but only if you agree to leave me the fuck alone afterwards. I don’t think that’s too much to ask now is it?”

“You can’t…”

“I don’t think that’s too much to ask now is it? Or is this your way of telling me that you’re the one that can’t be trusted? I hope that you’re smarter than to try to pull one over me because the moment that I catch wind of anything untoward, I will make Velaris bleed.”

Cassian steps forward but Rhys holds his hand out and stops him. They share a look, more than likely speaking to each other via Rhys’ daemti abilities and stand down. Feyre steps up beside him, the perfect image of the High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court.

“Do not threaten my city or my family. You are not as irreplaceable as you’d like to think.”

“The same can be said for you.” I almost laughed as I said those words but Azriel kills the sound in my throat. The bastard tugs on the thread that connects us and sends a shiver through my body. The shadows around me hug closer as my wings flare out against my will and I hit my back hard against the doorway. 

He’s moved to stand in front of me as well as moved his shadows to do the same, effectively blocking us from everyone. 

“What are you doing?” I hiss at him although it sounds far more breathless than I intended. My body feels foreign; tingly and warm while fighting to remain frigid and distant. The heated memory of our kiss is still fresh on my lips while the image of his disbelief face flashes in my mind. 

“Stand down,” he whispers to me like I’m a cornered feral dog, “I don’t feel like cleaning up Cassian or Rhy’s blood.”

This infuriating male gazes down at me with all of the tenderness that I don’t deserve….i don’t… I don’t want it.

“Bold of you to assume you can command me,” I hiss at him and my wings twitch against the door frame. While he’s significantly taller than me, our wings stand at the same height. They’re almost perfect mirror images of each other, as if we were meant to be mates.

Shit.

Now staring at him, trying to be irate with him, the bond finds a way to make me want his tender heart and his sweet lips. It makes me want his coy smile and gentle touch. It forces me to want it all and it vibrates with joy. 

It’s rather quickly ruined by a wave of concern and subtle anger as Azriel’s eyes move from my face to my exposed skin. Raised red marks and indented brown ones litter my shoulders, arms, and back. His matching hands reach out for my arms. 

Our shadows fall away and reveal my room instead of the crowded one downstairs. The dark creatures find their place against the door, acting as a barrier between us and them. The male before me grasps my arms with such care and affection that it threatens to make my anger melt. He holds my elbows and turns my arms so they face up and he can actually look at the scars. A poignant sadness is etched into his features as he memorizes every little blemish. 

My wings quiver nervously when we make eye contact. I have to crane my head up to look at him with how tall he is. He’s taller than any other fae I’ve ever met and far more handsome as well. The beauty that lays effortlessly in his features makes even the world’s natural beauty look dull. His brothers are handsome but this male, Azriel, is ethereal and my soul is inexplicably tied to his. 

“Did he do this to you?” He finally asks with an intensity I wasn’t expecting. 

I can only nod, suddenly feeling the will to be stubborn and hardened fall away. He shakes his head and his grip grows firmer as he steps closer to me. I expected him to pull me into him but the fact that he was the one to close the distance feels too intimate. I make a half decent attempt to pull away and he loosens his grip, still keeping our eyes locked. There’s another lighter tug on our bond, this time it’s more of a question than a distraction. 

“Is this okay?” It seems to ask. 

Shaking my head, I pull away entirely but stay in my place. “No amount of kind gestures will convince me to accept the bond.”

“Reject it then.”

Confused hurt flashes across my face, “excuse me?”

“Reject the bond then. If that’s how you’ll accept my ‘kind gestures’ as you put it, then reject it.”

“You asked me not to only a few hours ago.”

“And I’m seeing now that I shouldn’t have. It wasn’t right of me to ask you to do something that’s already caused you so much pain,” his voice cracks slightly however he remains strong in his certainty. 

I can’t help the green envy that licks up my spine, “I suppose the youngest sister has nothing to do with your sudden change of heart.”

Azriel has the audacity to look offended. “Elain has nothing to do with this.”

“Elain,” I sneer at him and take that damning step towards him. He stays quiet and allows me to say whatever cruel thing I can think of to push him away. He takes my anger and makes it into light that spreads across our unaccepted bond. The fact that we can feel so much more than I did with the King spins webs of confusion in my heart. Nothing with Azriel feels the way it did with the King and I don’t know why. 

“I thought I might’ve felt something for her before I met you but I’ve realized that it was nothing more than platonic feelings. She knows that and she understands that nothing will ever happen between us.”

“Friends don’t rush to your side like that.”

His face breaks into a small smile, “maybe not but I didn’t notice. You were the only one I was looking at.”

That takes me by surprise. I find my resolve starting to crack even more as he continues to shock me. My mind races with a thousand thoughts and I can’t pick a single one to focus on. Instead what falls out is something I wish wouldn’t have, “Rejecting it could drive you into madness.”

Azriel steps closer, bridging our gap so we’re almost chest to chest now. He brushes my hair over my shoulders and cups my neck as he brings out foreheads together. My hands fly up to his chest, ready to shove him away if needed. 

“I’d rather live in madness than see you suffer like this.”

“You can’t mean that,” I breathe out as my eyes flutter closed to stop the tears from falling. 

“I already told you that I want only what you want. I will do anything you ask of me without any questions. If this is what you want, then it is what I want.”

The this feels like a double edged sword; this as in accepting him or this as in rejecting him. 

Our noses bump against each other and Azriel lets out a content sigh. I can feel his eyes close as his lashes brush against my cheek bone. The hand on my neck slides up until his thumb is under my jaw and is gently rubbing against my jaw bone. The sensation causes a tingling shiver to overcome me and my skin breaks out in goosebumps. I wasn’t aware of my hands sliding up his chest until they found their home playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. I didn’t feel his free hand on my hip until it digs into the soft skin there and urges us impossibly closer. 

“What do you want, sweet girl?” He whispers against my lips. They’re warm and soft and teasing and oh by the cauldron my brain ceases to work. I’m not even sure how my lungs are able to function either. All I know is that I can’t say the words so I push up on my toes and smash our lips together.

As if this male couldn’t get under my skin anymore, he moans into our kiss and drags me flush against his chest. The leather of his fighting gear is cold against my skin but it does nothing to soothe the feverish burn I’m starting to feel. 

Azriel lets me lead, keeping his kiss gentle but no less firm and passionate than mine. The hand on my waist drifts to my lower back and brushes past my wings in the process causing them to writhe in its wake. My own pathetic moan slips out and my hand grips at his hair, tugging it as I kiss him harder. His tongue finds its opportunity to slip in and I gladly welcome it by opening my lips to allow our tongues to mingle. 

Breathing feels more like a burden as it forces us to part and we reluctantly pull away. I let my hands fall from his hair and rest them on his chest. He softly guides me into his chest, letting the hand at my jaw slide back to my hair and the one at my back to wrap around my shoulders. I slide my own arms around his middle and cling to him as if we’ve been mated for years. He drops his head to rest on top of mine and I can feel his labored breaths against my hair. 

Our bond feels full and complete as we hold each other. 

Once, many years ago, I had dreamed of finding this and thought that I did in the King. I had been so full of hope and patience to make it work no matter how painful it was for me. For every token of affection I gave him, he returned it with insults, actions, and looks that were tenfold worse than before. I don’t know when I lost that part of me but I lost it so easily. It felt like it happened in a matter of days. One day that bright eyed and hopeful young Fae was there and then the next, gone. She slipped from my fingers like water does when you try to cup it. I hardly even noticed that she wasn’t there until it was too late and I couldn’t get her back but then I realized I didn’t want her back. She fell from me like a teacup that dropped onto an unforgiving kitchen floor. One day we were laughing and smiling at the sky and the next day, gone. It was like she was never even there to begin with. She walked right out and never turned back, leaving me to try and cope with the aftermath of her dreams. She left me when I needed her the most. I needed her to guide me through the years of abuse that I suffered at the hands of a male I thought I was Fated for. I needed her to stay and help me push through so that I could find a way to have the life she planned for me. 

I had resigned myself to a life of agony and caring for scars that would never truly heal. That was until the moment I saw Azriel. That was the moment I realized that everything I had believed for so long could’ve been wrong. When I saw this beautiful creature with twinkling eyes, soft lips, delicate cheeks, a perfect nose, and glowing skin emerge from the shadows, my reality shifted. When that bond snapped, I couldn’t imagine that this magnificently and terrifying beautiful male felt it too. I knew that I would never be satisfied with just being near him. I need him more than I would need myself. 

But when I so awfully told him that we were mates, I saw that look in his eye; it had snapped. There was a chance I could have him and he could have me. I could love him and watch the sunlight dances across his skin as he looks at me with the same adoration in his eyes. I could tell him about the admiration that runs so deeply that I don't know where it ends and I begin. The moment that that realization hit me, it shattered my reality and ran away to lick my wounds in isolation. 

Now as I hear his heartbeat and feel his breath in my hair, I can’t fathom why I would do such a thing. 

“It’s time to wake up.”

Blinding pain bursts through my body as I take my first breath of air after waking up. My lungs seize for a moment and I gasp for breath while I shoot forward on my bedroll. The calming scent of the forest and mist wrap itself around me as I slowly regain my senses. A small chuckle drifts from beside me and its owner makes a poor attempt to hide his smile as he pretends to dig around in his pack. 

“Say another word and I’ll slit your throat,” I mumble as I sit up and drag a cold hand over my face. 

“Wow you’ve just woken up and you’re already snapping at people. That’s a new record for you,” Cassian says with a sarcastic chuckle as he enters the pathetic excuse for a tent. 

I’m blinded by the sunlight that he lets in but I welcome its warmth after having slept on the freezing ground for the last couple of nights. Azriel moves to sit beside me and offers a thick sweater as well as some food to me as he tells his brother to kindly shut up. 

“Unless you want her to snap you, I’d suggest you leave her alone until she’s had time to…” he pauses for a second and glances down at me with a breathtaking smile, “to process that you’re real and not a figment of her imagination.” 

“You know, I thought when you found your mate that she would make you friendlier and generally a warmer person but this one has had the opposite effect on you.”

Azriel is still smiling at me and I can only handle his open affection for so long. Quickly, I pull the sweater that is absolutely his as it smells just like him and settle my bored gaze on Cassian. 

“Or you’ve just gotten more annoying and he’s fed up with it.”

Cassian gaps at me and looks at Azriel for help who just shrugs his shoulders. “I’m deeply wounded that you think I’m annoying. I’m a pleasure to be around. I am a delightful person once you get to know me.”

“As I am,” I throw back at him with my own small smile. Cassian doesn’t catch it as he leaves us but the male next to me does.

Azriel doesn’t say anything but his gentle actions towards me tell me that he saw it. He takes my hands, rolls up the sleeves of the sweater, and pulls my hair out of the collar. A shiver races down my spine as his fingers brush against my skin and his smile grows into a smirk. It falters as he catches a glimpse of the raised lines that trail across my shoulders and neck before disappearing under his sweater. I thought it would be better to hide my wings while we were on our little mission. I refused to let Rhys or Feyre near them, choosing to use an elixir that a healer made for me in Velaris. The effects would only last for a few days but having them visible and therefore vulnerable isn’t something I want. Besides that the only one I’d even let come within a ten foot radius of them would be Azriel; a fact I haven’t told him but one he knows to be true in his heart.

The mission that we are on is one that I reluctantly agreed to. Rhys was given permission to search my mind for any information that they could use against the King but as I’d already told them, he found nothing of use. The Ravens that attacked me had not been the only ones in the city and they had unintentionally left a trail of breadcrumbs back to a war camp about 20 miles outside of Velaris. Rhys thought it would be worthwhile to send Cassian, Azriel, and myself to investigate and gather what information we could. I knew that it would be pointless and I tried to tell Rhys that but he didn’t seem exactly interested in hearing what I had to say.

Although I agreed to his mission, I made it clear that I would be calling the shots and that included having authority over his brothers. Cassian had a fit while Azriel didn’t seem to have a problem with it. Of course that incited teasing and banter from both Cassian and Rhys but Azriel held strong in his approval. 

“She knows the King the best. I’d trust her judgment more than anyone else’s,” he told them and my chest swelled with pride. 

Cassian challenged him by asking what if he didn’t agree with it and Azriel repeated his statement. 

“If I didn’t think I could fully trust and rely on her to do this, then I wouldn’t have bothered even telling you she existed.”

A part of me wanted to believe his sweet words but the other side told me that it was all an act to manipulate me. The bond between us, however, preened with warmth unlike before.

I find myself smiling as he softly calls my name and brings me back to the present. 

“Are you ready?” 

“Yeah,” I sigh and pull on my boots that were waiting for me next to my bedroll. After I finish tying the last one, I turn to see him still watching me with those twinkling eyes. “Can I help you?”

“May I kiss you?” 

My brows shoot up and I stare at him skeptically. He repeats his question as if I hadn’t heard it. 

Shaking my head, I tell him, “No I heard you. I just wasn’t expecting that.”

Azriel dips his head down and tilts my chin up with his forefinger so he can look me in the eye. “It surprises you that I’d ask to kiss you?”

Words fail me as I search his face for a hint of something, anything at all that would tell him he’s being disingenuous. There’s nothing but those tempting plush lips and a hooded look to his eyes.

His smirk returns in full force and he draws me closer to whisper against my lips, “Why wouldn’t I want to kiss my sweet girl?”

“Because I’m not your sweet…” my thoughts trail off as my eyes flutter close and I take in a sharp breath at the feeling of his lips ghosting over mine. 

“You’re not what?” He pulls away just as I start to lean in and I nearly growl at him. 

“I’m not your sweet girl,” I growl as frustration grows inside of me.

The bond even sides with him and waves of several emotions flood me but the one that hits me the hardest is his desire. Flashes of white hot pleasure crash into me and I surge forward to capture his lips. He reciprocates eagerly and we both immediately get caught up in branding each other’s lips. I barely notice him leaning us backwards until my back hits my bedroll and he’s between my legs.

I become too preoccupied with the overwhelming feeling of him all around me and without thinking, I arch up into him drawing a heated moan from both of us. Azriel’s hands were firmly planted on either side of my head but after my moan slipped out, he dropped down to his forearm and is now holding my thigh against his hip in a bruising grp. He tentatively rolls his hips against mine, pressing his growing bulge against my core, and on instinct mine meets his and so begins the desperate dance of grinding hips. I feel a smirk tug on his lips at the wild movements of my hips. 

Arching my back and tightening my leg around his waist, I bit down on his bottom lip and as his hips stuttered with a drawn out moan, I smirk back at him. Before he can get his revenge, Cassian calls out for Azriel. He pulls away from me with a heavy sigh and drops his head into the croak of my neck. 

“Your dog is calling for you,” I say with a breathy chuckle and playful shove at his shoulders. The male above me groans but climbs to his feet and pulls me up with him. 

“He’s not a dog.”

“Fine your bat is calling for you.”

“Don’t let me hear you say that,” he chuckles while gazing down at me with desire. He presses a quick but powerful kiss to my lips with a promise “We’ll finish this later, sweet girl.”

“I’m not your sweet girl.”

“We’ll see about that.”

[awkward-tension-art]

Bacta and Bandages Chp.4 (Rex x Reader)

Chapter 3. Chapter 5.

Rookies and Broken Hands

CW: Fives and Echo, slow-burn, Anakin trying to be supportive, Reader is gender neutral, no use of (Y/N), reader is a doctor, if I miss a tag LMK!

After Cherenity, you’ve adapted well. Your first mission was a relatively easy success. From there, you had more confidence and mental preparation. You didn’t even freeze when you were exposed to combat on the next mission. 

Truthfully, you might not have frozen up anyway. The hospitals on the lower levels of Coruscant weren’t strangers to criminal violence and attacks. 

And, to be blunt, the droids weren’t as cruel as some of the criminal empires back home.

Right now, everyone was on The Resolute, winding down from another successful battle. The planet of Jorin was officially Republic territory, thanks to the efforts of General Skywalker, Commander Tano and General Kenobi. 

You weren’t out and about mingling. Instead, you were in the medical bay, patching up your third trooper with cracked knuckles, broken fingers and fractured hands. 

The cause of such wounds? Punching droids.

For some reason, every time a clone had a chance, they would swing a fist at the metal body in front of them. Of course punching metal with no hand armor was, to be frank, damaging to bone. But these soldiers wouldn’t even feel the pain until adrenaline wore off. 

The first time one of these guys punched a droid, you assumed it was just a moment of pure will to survive.

The second time was a coincidence. Something you could write off as just a minor occurrence. 

The third time? You asked Kix if they were specifically trained to punch the damn things in front of them.

The straw that overloaded the ship was when you witnessed Commander Cody literally throw his rifle and tackle one of the droids that got too close to where you were treating the injured. When he stood back up, General Kenobi just handed him his gun as if this was a regular occurance. 

After that, you weren’t sure who was more fucking insane. The 501st or the 212th.

You sent the last trooper on his way and opened the door to the hallway. However, as soon as the metal doors split, you came face-to-face with an unknown trooper. He had his hair styled in the standard military fashion, however he sported a goatee. There was a tattoo on his temple, but you couldn’t make out what it was from where you stood. 

“Oh!” You were, admittedly, somewhat startled, “Hi, I’m sorry, do you need something?” 

“Well, yes I do.” The trooper had a flirtatious tone to his voice, “I wanted to come meet the 501st doctor. And let me just say, you and I could-”

A second trooper had dashed forward from down the hall and slapped his hand right over the lips of the first, “Fives! I can’t leave you alone for more than 3 minutes! Do you ever stop with your flirting!?” He was exasperated, clearly, “I’m so sorry for him. He’s a moron.” 

The first trooper, Fives, pulled the hand off his face. He kept his smirk, “What Echo is trying to say is-”

Echo, you gathered, cut off his friend, “What I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry we’ve bothered you, Doctor.” 

Echo and Fives….oh! The new recruits from the Rishi outpost!

You gave the two of them a kind smile, “You’re no bother at all, you can come to me for anything you need.” 

Fives made a show of putting his hand over his heart, “Doc, I’m feeling lovesick-”

“It was nice to meet you, doctor. I’m going to take this di’kut and throw him out of an airlock.” Echo returned your smile, but you could tell it was tense and annoyed. The trooper began to drag his friend away, all the while Fives gave half-hearted struggles. 

You finally saw the full symbol on his temple. It was a ‘5’ in Aurebesh. A very ‘on the nose’ tattoo to distinguish him from his brothers. 

Something told you that this wouldn’t be the last you saw of them…

After the two soldiers had scrambled away, you walked through the venator ship to find Rex.

Your first guess, the hangar, was correct. He had a datapad and was overseeing the loading and unloading of weapons, supplies and other crates that were received from Jorin. You paused, the captain was busy and you didn’t want to bother him…

He spotted you first and gave a small smile. The blonde clone handed the datapad to one of the troopers at his side and walked over, “Is something wrong Doctor?” 

You sighed, “It’s about the men. Can you please tell them to stop punching droids?” 

Rex blinked in surprise, “What? Why? Sorry doctor, but the men are trained to take down clankers in whatever way possible.”

“They keep breaking their hands, especially their fingers.”

There was silence from the Captain. After a moment he responded, “I…see. No one had ever said anything. Are you sure it's them punching droids-”

“Captain, please use your fist to punch the wall with all your strength and take note of the results.” You deadpanned, brow raised. There was a grin on your lips, clearly indicating your sarcasm. 

He snorted, “Alright alright, point made.” the clone in front of you put a hand on his hip, “I’ll…think of something. I’m sure armor would help…”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, “It’s easier to create armor for hands rather than tell the men to stop suckerpunching droids.” Your smile hadn’t left your face when you responded, “You know what? I think more armor is a wonderful idea. In the meantime, can you tell them that when they throw a punch to leave the thumb outside the fist?”

You didn’t know that Rex felt a small twinge in his heart at your laughter. It was a burst of joy that he made you happy. Something he hadn’t felt before.

“Yea. Yes!” He caught himself getting lax in his attitude, “I’ll tell them. Thank you for your concern over the men.” 

“Of course, it’s my job.” You nodded, feeling somewhat relaxed now, “I’ll let you get back to work. I’ll see you around, alright?”

“Yes, of course, doctor.” Rex watched you leave the hangar. Unconsciously, he sighed before turning back to the working soldiers. He, however, was face-to-face with Anakin.

The Jedi had been replacing a part in one of his fighters when you had arrived at the hangar. When he saw his captain and doctor both talking…

Well, a good general would help his men in all their endeavors. 

“So, Captain.” General Skywalker couldn’t stop the smirk, “You and our wonderful Doctor are rather friendly.”

Rex’s eyes widened, “I…don’t know what you mean, sir.” 

“Come on, Rex. It’s just you and me here,” He put a hand on the clones back, “Man to man? You can tell me.” 

“Sir…” 

Anakin didn’t give up, “It's natural to have feelings, Rex. Heck, I encourage it!”

“Feelings? Oh! No, General! I-I can’t…” The clone captain stuttered, tripping over his words. The two of them were standing off to the side, making sure no one could hear them.

The Jedi laughed, “What? Yes you can! Come on, it's alright.” However, looking at his friend's serious stare, Anakin’s face fell, “Rex?”

The clone captain sighed, “Sir, clones are taught early on that romantic feelings are forbidden. We’re soldiers, we’re not supposed to have partners or spouses. We’d be going against regulations if we pursued personal relationships.”

Something shifted in the General, as if he had been slapped. He stepped back, eyes holding sadness and understanding, “I’m sorry…That's…” He looked down with a sigh, “That's not fair…” After a second he furrowed his brow and looked up at his captain, “I’m not going to stop anyone from having a relationship if they want. No one should be forced to…box up their feelings.” 

Rex felt a flash of confusion and even worry. Anakin sounded as if he fully understood. 

Jedi aren’t allowed attachment…

Did General Skywalker really understand?

After a beat, the Captain nodded, “Thank you, sir…I’m certain some of the men will feel better knowing they have that freedom.”

The Jedi frowned. Rex was a man with high walls, even to his General, “I am serious, though. If you…need help with figuring things out…well, I’m your guy.”

“Thank you…General?” The clone captain watched, entirely confused when Anakin walked away to return to his fighter. 

What a strange conversation…

Rex couldn’t have feelings for you. He wasn’t programmed to have them.

That feeling in his heart was something different entirely. 

Right?