#I did expect he’d be unable to harm her but I didn’t think he’d just. outright acknowledge it like this

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Aya’s new dad count goes up again in the worst way possible

[ithebookhoarder]

A Work in Progress (Din Djarin x Mechanic!Reader)

Summary: Working at Peli’s repair shop, you’d never expected to find yourself growing close to a customer - let alone a Mandalorian, of all people. Yet, somehow, with every visit you seem to be getting just a little closer to the mysterious man behind the Beskar...

A/N: First of all, I love my Mando baby, and have been dying to write for him. So, thanks to the anon who sent me the message about Din being Demi-sexual. You really gave me the inspiration for this one. Also, I have to say, I totally agree with your head canon. Personally, I know what it feels like to have to have a close connection before you can even feel remotely attracted to someone. With Din’s beliefs and practises I feel he would need to feel connected before he could consider entering a relationship with you, let alone a physical one - but that’s just my opinion...

Warnings: N/A - but let me know if you think I missed any

Masterlist

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You’ve grown to know the Mandalorian quite well in the last couple of years; he’s a frequent customer at the junk yard and repair shop you work at, having returned multiple times since he’d first been forced to ask you for repairs. 

The Razor Crest was now a familiar ship and a smile always slid into place as soon as you saw it entering the atmosphere. Sure, you were instantly rewarded with Peli’s teasing, but you knew she meant no harm - if anything, she seemed to have a soft spot for the Mandalorian and the tiny green child he now towed about with him. 

Why else did she give him such a big discount? 

Why else did she always insist you prioritise him over any customers you already had waiting? 

Why else did she make sure you were the one to do the work - her ’best damn mechanic in the whole galaxy’ - when she could have done it herself? 

He would only get the best… which was probably why he always tipped the best too.

In fact, more than once, you’d been surprised by the purse of credits he’d place in your hand just before leaving, refusing to take it back no matter how much you protested. 

“Mando… This… this is too much.” 

“No,” he’d chuckle, “it’s the least you deserve.”

“But, it was a simple job-”

“Simple? Yes, but you did it well. You earned it, so keep the money. Please.” 

What else could you do but accept? It was just part of your odd relationship and the steady routine you’d fallen in to as time had gone by. 

Just like how he’d always make sure to talk to you when he was around, letting you ask questions about what he’d been up to since you’d last saw one another. 

Just like how he’d let you tend to his wounds, once or twice, after a hunt had gone a little awry and he was unable to do so for himself. 

Just like how he’d started bringing you little things from his trips to different planets, including the beaded necklace you never took off.  

It was all of these things that made him your favourite customer… that made you consider him more as a friend and a good one, at that. You were also pretty sure he felt the same. Otherwise, there were plenty other places he could have chosen to spend his time, but he chose to spend it with you. 

Today was one of those days. 

For some reason, Mando had managed to secure his bounty much earlier than expected and cashed in the reward he’d been chasing. As such, you weren’t quite finished with making sure his ship was safe to fly again. You’d thought you’d have a couple more days at least. 

He assured you there was no rush - he wasn’t desperate to leave the planet anytime soon - which was a relief. You hadn’t been ready to say goodbye just yet, nor had you had the ship ready for him either. 

Still, you were also kind of happy at the change in schedule, especially when it meant that Mando had decided to loiter next to you, watching as you finished your work. And, Maker above, did you love to having him there… even if it made butterflies erupt in your stomach. 

It didn’t matter that you couldn’t see his face, concealed as it was behind that helmet of his. You’d learned his mannerisms well enough to understand him through his body language and modulated voice-box. 

Like now, for example, the way his head tilted and seemed to track you as you dithered about the place told you he was studying you with great interest. You could even swear you heard the odd hum of approval… but that could also have been from the child, who was also watching you eagerly from his perch next to Peli’s office.  

“You know you can rewire this so it doesn’t blow so often.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah,” you chuckle, turning to stare at the Mandalorian, surprising him with your suggestion. You knew he was a capable mechanic in his own right, having made enough patch jobs over the years to see him through his travels. Still, you could tell he enjoyed listening to you and sharing your expertise. “Come here and I’ll show you. That way you won’t have to come in the next time it starts acting up… or force that sweet baby to climb inside the engine.”  

“O… ok - but I would argue it was only once.”

“Still! He’s a baby!”

The Mandalorian chuckled under his breath, and held his hands up in surrender. He knew better than to fight with you on something like this. “Alright, I get your point. It was a bad idea. You better show me how to do it myself then.”  

If you didn’t know better, you’d have said he almost sounded disappointed at the prospect of not needing to visit so often. However, he dutifully slotted into place next to you and began handing you tools when you asked for them, like you’d been working together your whole lives. 

You spent the rest of the day like that; passing tools between you and talking, feeling the tension grow every time yours hands brushed one another. Every time your gazes met. Every time you’d laugh at something the other said. 

It felt good… it felt, easy… it felt right - like something between you had clicked into place as easily as the machinery you’d been working on. 

If only you could understand it so well. 

Instead, your heart was in your mouth as darkness fell over the planet. For the first time since you’d met the Mandalorian, you actually felt nervous. You didn’t know why considering how well you knew one another by this point in your lives, but perhaps it was because you were supposed to be closing up the repair shop soon. 

It was now past closing time, if you were being honest, but you’d been having too much fun with Mando to even consider dismissing him for the night. Besides, Peli wasn’t even back yet to lock up and Mando was making no effort to try and leave. If he was still around it was because he wanted to be. 

Or so you told yourself as you tried not to blush for the hundredth time that day. It was just hard when his hand kept brushing against yours, and he was always somehow stood right next to you, despite having the whole garage to yourselves. The amount of times you kept turning around and bumping into him was getting comical now. 

“So,” he started, surprising you as he tore you from your frantic thoughts. “Don’t you have someone back at home to rush off to? I’m sure they’re probably wondering where you are.” 

“I uh… it’s still just me,” you answered quietly, surprised by the somewhat personal question. Sure, you often talked about personal things, things you never talked about with other customers, but his curious tone still caught you off guard. “No one to worry about me, thankfully. Means I can put in the extra hours here, given how busy we’ve been lately.” 

The Mandalorian hummed to himself. He didn’t say anything for a few minutes after, which was enough to make your nerves fray even more. Your hands were shaking so badly you practically dropped your tools as you tried to put them away neatly, back in their boxes. 

It was the heat of his eyes on you that made you feel light headed. What you wouldn’t give to know what was going on inside that helmet of his… 

“What about you? I know you have the kid now,” you replied hastily. “No one else in your crew to keep you two out of trouble?” 

“Uh, no. Just us two, still.” 

“Oh.”

Now it was your turn to fall silent as you tried not to read into the answer. Of course he didn’t have anyone given his private nature and slightly nomadic lifestyle. He’d only even taken Grogu on thanks to the failed bounty, rather than simply because he’d wanted company… even if you knew he was grateful for it nonetheless. 

“Can… can I ask you a question?”

You nodded. “Of course. Shoot.” 

“Do you … that is… dank ferrik, do you like me?” 

You blinked in surprise. You hadn’t expected that question. “Uh… of course, I do. Don’t you like me too?”

“Yes… but… I mean, not just as friends? or as a customer?” 

A small laugh escaped you as you realised he sounded every bit as nervous as you did. 

“Mando, you stopped being just a customer a long time ago. Ever since you brought me back those cookies from the market because you simply thought I looked hungry.” 

His warm laughter made your heart flutter. “I’m still sorry you only got to eat a few.”

“Who knew the little tyke had got so clever, huh?”

“That’s one word for it.” 

You couldn’t help but feel the paternal pride radiating off of the Mandalorian at the mention of his adopted son and his ever growing abilities. 

You could also feel the tension, building with every second his original question went unanswered. 

If you didn’t know better, you’d have sworn the bounty hunter was blushing, even beneath the beskar helmet that concealed the face you’d often dreamed about. 

As it was, he flexed his hands by his sides, as if trying to rid himself of his anxiety. 

“So, if I’m not just a customer then can I ask what that makes me?” 

He’d taken the words right from your mouth. 

Well, maybe you didn’t need words after all to communicate how you really felt about the man who had slowly stolen your heart piece by piece, with every visit... 

So, you took a deep breath. 

You stepped forward. 

To your relief, he didn’t flinch or step back from your advance - or shoot you point blank. 

No. Instead, his head titled and you heard him begin to try and ask you what was happening. 

“Y/n-“

He never got to finish the sentence. 

He was rendered speechless as you gently reached your oil stained hands up and rested them on either side of his helmet, holding him as if there wasn’t the layer between you both. 

You then rose swiftly on to your tiptoes, before pressing a kiss against where his forehead would be. 

The metal was cold under your lips. Yet, before you could worry that you’d somehow made an ass of yourself, his hands rose to rest delicately on your hips and pull you closer. 

His touch sent shivers through you, the feel of him holding you electric - even through the gloves. 

His head then tilted forward, so that the helmet was resting against your forehead instead, the gesture meaningful enough to make your heart skip a beat. 

“That uh… that answer your question for you?” 

A soft chuckle escaped him, causing you to release one of your own; it was all too surreal. 

Here you were, in your garage, blushing like some school kid with their first crush, after kissing the customer you’d never even seen without his armour disguising him… yet you knew him. 

Or, at least you knew what was important to know about him - enough to know he was a good person. A kind person. And a lonely one… 

“I think that clears most of it up, yes,” the Mandalorian murmured. “And there was me thinking I was imagining things.”

“Imagining things?”

“Yes, like that you weren’t just being nice because you were working on my ship, for example. Or because Peli asked you to be.”

“Peli asks me to do a lot of things, Mando, and I don’t know how you haven’t noticed by now that I don’t always do them.” 

Your laughter was unanimous, and loud enough that you both almost missed the sound of footsteps echoing from beyond the doorway - followed by a broken cough.  

“So this is what you call working?” 

You froze. 

Both you and the Mandalorian suddenly leapt apart as if you’d been burned. 

Thankfully, the owner of the voice waited a few more seconds before entering the room, giving you ample time to act as if nothing out of the ordinary had been happening only seconds ago. 

"You're… you’re early, Peli,” you choke, trying not to die of embarrassment as your boss sauntered into the garage. The smile on her face was a smug one, as if she knew exactly what had been happening. “I thought you wouldn’t be back until later.” 

"Good thing I decided to swing by early or I might have walked in on you two doing something entirely different," she teased, raising an eyebrow at the sight. “I’m just glad - by the sounds of it - you finally got your heads out of your asses and made a move. The tension was getting unbearable.“

"Oh… right.” 

"Be gentle with them, alright? They're a gentle soul,” Peli stated simply, gesturing to you. “And my best mechanic. Just remember that, Mando. You break it, you buy it.” 

You and Din were in unison without even trying as you both suddenly turned. 

“Shut up, Peli.”

[dis0rderly-cl0wn-nerd]

Crack A Smile and Cut Your Mouth

Ledger!Joker Origin Story

Chapter Fifteen - Crack A Smile and Cut Your Mouth

Warnings: Violence, self harm, self mutilation, gore

Chapter Summary: After an extremely rough night, Jack finally snaps and makes a life altering decision.

Author's Note: This is it! We're at the home stretch! One more chapter to go! I apologize for the wait. I seriously overestimated how long this would take me. I think I may be experiencing a little burn out. Anyway, this is the moment we've all been expecting. Everything the past few chapters have been leading up to. I hope I did this justice.

Taglist: @alittlesmartcookie @furisodespirit @lightsabergirl

< Previous - Next >

His insomnia only got worse. Now there were nights where he would get no sleep whatsoever. 

He secluded himself even more than usual. All of his energy was depleted. He even stopped going on his nightly runs. He had no desire to go outside unless absolutely necessary. He felt comfortable and more at ease that way. At this point he was incredibly fragile. The slightest thing could trigger him. 

To put it simply, Jack was miserable. 

It was spring time now, nearing the end of March. Gotham was just as strange and bustling as usual. With the seasonal change came increased rain showers which did little to improve Jack’s state of mind. He hardly wanted to go out, much less in the rain.

Tonight he was feeling brave….and hungry. He needed food. That was his purpose for leaving.

Jack threw on some halfway decent clothes, not really caring what he looked like, and pocketed his wallet and keys as he went out the door.

He didn’t feel good at all. His head was killing him. He moved almost lethargically due to his lack of sleep. He’d barely made it down the stairs and already he wanted to go back.

Just focus on the task. You need something to eat and a few groceries. Once you get that, you can go back and lay down.

As he walked out of the building’s double doors and turned, Jack bumped into a woman passing by. She did nothing to hide her face when she saw his scar. A look of disgust and horror flashed across her eyes. Before Jack could apologize to her, she quickly grabbed her purse that she dropped and speed walked away from him. 

Jack stood stunned for a moment. He furrowed his brow and scowled. Bitch. 

Trying his best to ignore what just happened, he kept walking with a tired sigh. He didn’t have time to feel hurt over people he didn’t even know reacting to his hideous face. He survived a war. He could get over a few mean looks. What did they know?

The trip to the grocery store was short but irritating. Tons of people were there doing their weekend shopping. Jack cursed himself for always picking the worst times to go. He ran into even more people that were incredibly rude. 

What the hell was wrong with everyone today? They crowded around him in the aisles, invaded his space, jumped in front of him to grab things from the shelves, and of course stared at him. Everyone constantly stared. It was really starting to grate on his nerves. He wanted to scream.

Now that the shopping was over, Jack just had to get dinner. He chose the deli he frequented on nights he didn’t feel like cooking. When he was inside, he saw groups of people sitting down at the tables and a small line formed at the counter. He contemplated leaving but decided against it. It wasn’t that crowded and the food was good. It would be worth the wait.

A worker he’d never seen at the deli before was behind the counter. She had her dark hair in a messy bun and flippantly handled the customers. Her expression was bored and annoyed. When it was Jack’s turn, he stepped forward and she looked at him like someone would a piece of gum stuck to their shoe. 

“Uh, hi. Can I just get a turkey melt on white bread?” Jack said softly and fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, unable to keep eye contact with her.

The worker huffed and snapped her fingers. “Speak up, bud! Can’t understand all that mumbling. These fuckin’ druggies, man…”

“I’m sorry?”

“I said, whaddya want? I ain’t got all night, pal.”

Jack repeated his order and she wrote it down, eyeing him sharply. He stood perplexed off to the side as she made the sandwich.

She thinks I’m on drugs? Am I really in that bad of shape?

He would laugh if it wasn’t so pathetic. 

When she was done, the worker handed him the food and Jack gave her a 20. He walked away with a smirk before she could hand him his change. He could care less and you know what, she could have it. 

As he stepped outside of the deli, raindrops and a cool wind hit his face. The rain picked up a few moments later, drenching his clothes. 

“Lovely…” Jack muttered to himself and pulled his hood over his head. 

He started the walk back home, grocery bags and sandwich in hand. As he went further along, the rain started to lighten up. He shivered as the wind blew against his soaked clothes. Cold, wet, tired, and hungry, Jack just wanted to go home and curl up in bed.

The sound of a sharp whistle coming from an alleyway up ahead startled him out of his daze and made him jump. He scanned the area to see what made the noise. A group of three men were standing there ogling a young woman walking past. 

“Ooh, hey there, pretty thing. You lookin’ for a good time?” The leader of the trio said with a slimy smile that made Jack want to vomit. 

“Yeah, where ya going girl? Want some of this?” One of the others joined in.

Jack rolled his eyes. How fucking pathetic. He could tell the woman was incredibly uncomfortable. She didn’t say anything to the men but her disgusted expression said it all. 

The woman looked around trying to figure out what to do as the men laughed and jeered at her some more. It was then that she saw Jack. She visibly tensed. Their eyes met from afar and Jack gave her a sympathetic look. 

He patted his hip to show he was armed and motioned for her to go on. If the men tried to bother her, he would take care of it. The woman nodded and mouthed thank you before she turned and resumed her walk, going at a quicker pace this time. 

The men noticed her absence and mocked their disappointment. “Aw, where’d you go, sugar?” One called out.

Jack continued walking and passed the alleyway with caution, keeping his head down. To his dread, one of the men spoke to him. 

“Hey man, ya got a light?” He asked.

“Sorry, I ain’t got mine on me.” Jack said gruffly. 

That was a lie but he didn’t want to interact with these thugs anymore. He didn’t stop as he responded and tried to keep walking. Apparently they didn’t take the hint.

“Well, do you at least have any cash on ya?” 

Jack stopped and sighed, exasperated. “No, I don’t.” 

Another lie.

“Jeez man. Help a brother out. Ya know, I get the feeling you’re lying to us. Might just have to take it from you then.” 

Jack whipped around just as they sprung out and grabbed him roughly by his jacket. The leader shoved him up against the wall and smirked.

“Tonight is not the night, man…” Jack growled, sending them a venomous glare.

The man laughed. “Pfft. What’re you gonna do? Make my day, tough guy.”

Something inside Jack snapped. Without warning, he punched the guy in the nose and slammed his head against the brick wall repeatedly. His eyes gleamed with pure rage. He said nothing as he felt his body operate on autopilot. He had little control over himself. This wasn’t going to be just a few punches in self defense like last time. He’d had enough of guys like this. Scum was all they were. 

The man, now severely bloodied and barely conscious, threw a weak punch in Jack’s direction. Jack caught it and pummeled him into the ground, landing blow after blow. The man eventually passed out, bleeding from his nose and missing several teeth. 

The other two men, at first frozen in fear, looked horrified, but still tried to fight back. One lunged at him, but Jack drew his knife and stabbed him once in the shoulder and once in the leg. The man howled in pain. As he laid on the ground writhing, Jack kicked him in the stomach.

Utterly terrified, the remaining thug turned and tried to make a run for it, but Jack was too fast. He easily caught up with him and tackled him to the ground. He punched him in the jaw and slammed his head against the concrete until he blacked out.

Jack stood up, sweating and panting like he’d just ran a marathon. He wiped away the blood from his face and ran his fingers through his messy hair, slicking it back. He looked down at his bloody hands and gasped as he realized what he’d just done. He’d nearly killed them. 

Trembling, he scooped up his scattered belongings and got the hell out of there. As he ran from the bloody scene in a similar fashion to the fight he had many weeks ago, he didn’t feel much of anything. This time it wasn’t at all exciting. Sure they deserved it but he couldn’t believe he went that far. 

What was he becoming?

Seeing his bloody hands sent his mind reeling. It made him think of when he was kneeling in the sand, clutching his injured cheek and watching in horror at the amount of blood pooling in his hand. His thoughts began to spiral down that rabbit hole and his anxiety rose. He could hear explosions faintly in the distance but he knew they weren’t there. Another ptsd attack was coming on and at the worst possible time. 

Jack approached his apartment building and entered the lobby on weak, wobbly legs. He could barely focus on walking towards the stairs but he forced himself to keep going. He refused to have an episode out here.

Mrs. Vernon was at the front desk sorting through some papers. She looked up at the sound of his heavy footsteps and saw him panting and struggling to walk. Her eyebrows shot up in confusion.

“Jack?” She called out, concerned. 

Jack ignored her and trudged up the stairs, leaving a faint trail of watery blood as he went. With shaky hands, he unlocked his door and pushed it open. He collapsed to the floor once inside. The bags of groceries spilled out of his arms, sending the contents rolling on the floor.

The visions consumed him. 

“No…please...” He said weakly.

He was there again. That fateful day when everything changed. Facedown in the burning sand. In the back of a humvee screaming and choking on his own blood. 

Jack whimpered and curled in on himself. He covered his ears with his hands and rocked from side to side, trying to ride out the attack like he normally did, but this time it wasn’t going anywhere. The scene replayed in his head over and over again. It was suffocating.

When it finally subsided, he slowly uncurled himself from his protective position and sat upright. He regained control over himself and steadied his breathing. He assured himself he was okay over and over again but it did little to calm his racing mind. He moved into the bathroom to clean himself up.

After washing his bloody face and hands, Jack stared at himself in the mirror. A gaunt, scarred figure gazed back at him. All life had been drained from his eyes. He was a shell of a man. Broken and barely hanging on by a thread.

He wiped away the warm tears flowing down his cheeks with his sleeve and looked down, gripping the counter tightly. He couldn’t bear to look at himself. With a snarl of rage, he hurled his fist into the mirror, shattering it into hundreds of pieces. 

His breathing hitched and the streams of tears turned into hiccuping sobs. This was long overdue. All of his pent up emotions in the last two years were coming out at once. He sat down on the cold tiled floor and brought his knees to his chest as he sobbed.

Why was this happening to him? Why couldn’t things just get better? Would they ever? Or was he doomed to be stuck in this hole of constant pain and despair? Why did he even have to get to this point in the first place? Why why why? 

He should’ve been at home with his mother who shouldn’t have been killed, recovering from the war with her help and living a happy life. This was not supposed to happen to him. But fate had other plans. 

It made him beyond angry. He didn’t do anything to deserve this. Any chance he had at a normal life was cut short at the young age of 24. Now he was nearing 26 and everything seemed hopeless. It wasn’t fair. People his age were starting families already. They had it all together. Jack? He was nowhere close. He couldn’t even take care of himself right now, much less someone else.

Though, he had to admit that he had some fault in this. Why did he ever think he could handle things by himself? He should’ve listened and gotten some help. He recalled Davis’ words from the day before he left Afghanistan. He predicted Jack’s whole future.

Jack shook his head as more tears fell. No, what good would therapy ever do him? It would be a waste of time and money just for someone to tell him to ‘practice mindfulness’ or ‘be in touch with his feelings’. All that fluffy, sunshine and rainbows bullshit. Or even worse, to take the easy way out and drown everything out with mind numbing meds. He wouldn’t allow it.

Besides, society was not designed for guys like him to settle into after being taken out and thrust back in. It was nearly impossible. 

The state of the world infuriated him. Everyone had their established order and way of life. Everything had to be a certain way. Anything out of the norm, like him, was rejected and ridiculed. 

People only thought of themselves. They had no concern for others. It was cutthroat and brutal out there. Every man for himself. The weak were preyed upon. The innocent were slaughtered. The wicked, the rich, and the powerful prospered.

The overall evil of humanity was evident and more clear to him than ever before. He was all too familiar with it as he had grown up in harsh, violent conditions. Then the war had really opened his eyes. Now? He was seeing it in the people who were supposed to be the normal, upstanding, civilized ones. 

Jack had an epiphany. No longer would he sit by and watch. No longer would he lay down and take it. He could do something about it! He could get his revenge and get rid of the scum of the earth. He had the capabilities. He was a trained ex-soldier. This could finally give him a purpose. It was too perfect. 

But just how would he do it? Any old clown could start their own circle of organized crime and remain unnoticed. It happened everyday. He needed to stand out. To be different. He needed a persona. His message would be radical and shake the city to its core. 

Wait. Clown… That’s it!

Jack knew exactly what to do now. The wheels in his warped head began to turn and suddenly everything became clear. He’d be like the joker card. Unpredictable. Invincible. Leave them guessing. Upset their established order. He’d put on a mask, like the circus clowns. The world shouldn’t see his pain and despair, it should see him laughing as he burned it to the ground. 

He picked himself up from the floor and wiped his eyes. A determined and angry yet delirious look was etched onto his face. Any ounce of sanity that he had left had officially slipped away. 

What he was about to do was unthinkable and absurd. But to him, it made so much sense. The picture was incomplete. And you should never leave a job halfway finished. 

Jack fished his knife out of his pocket and flipped it open. He examined the blade and decided that it would do. He sighed and stared at his fractured reflection. He knew what must be done.

He held the knife at the corner of his mouth on the pristine, unmarred side of his face. He closed his eyes and titled his head back. In one quick upward movement, he sliced through his skin. 

The blast of pain was immense and hurt ten times worse than his previous scarring. A soft moan escaped his lips. His eyes brimmed with more tears. But Jack kept going. He hardly noticed the pain. It only existed in his subconscious. 

Using what was left of the mirror, he watched carefully as he sliced up and up and finally curved the knife back down once he reached his cheekbone. Jack felt a wave of dizziness wash over him. He put the knife down and gripped the countertop again, panting and grunting until the world stopped spinning.

The white porcelain sink was now splattered and stained with red globs of blood. Shards of glass from the mirror had fallen in and were now also dripping with his blood. His knuckles bled.

The dizziness soon started to fade out. Jack moved to the next step. The cut he had made was nothing but two flaps of skin. It was an almost comical sight. This would never heal right on its own. To obtain the desired effect, it needed some help. He grabbed a needle and synthetic thread from one of the drawers.

Slowly and painfully, he began to stitch up his own face. In and out he weaved the thread through skin and sinew. He reached the top curve of his newly extended smile, tied the thread, and cut off what was left.

“Perfect.” He murmured. His vision was coming to fruition. 

The room spun again and by now Jack was too dizzy to stand. The blood loss must’ve been getting to him. He plopped back down on the floor and buried his face in his hands. He cried all that was left to cry and eventually ran out of tears. 

He mourned his old life. He mourned Jack. It was all he knew. But it was time to move on. He was becoming a new man. He was being reborn. This was who he was now.

His quiet sobs morphed into laughter at the thought of it all. They would all see. Every last one of them. They wouldn't know what hit them. As he laughed hysterically, his body gave out. With the shock and blood loss, it could only handle so much. 

One last pained giggle could be heard before everything faded to black.

[the141ghost]

Seeing Johnny look so in love, and then to see his sisters also seeing that look and proceed to tease him among themselves…

It all felt so sickeningly domestic. He’d take walking into the line of fire over this any day, at least before he’d met Johnny. Now? Well, he was feeling nauseous anyway from the pain medication. What harm could a little more do if Johnny was there with him? He’d manage.

Simon offered a smile and a calm response, though he was feeling anything but. “I’d appreciate th’chance, Ms.MacTavish. Like to be able to make a good impression on you all, too, but…” He trailed off, pointing idly to the thick bandages that were covering one side of his head. He didn’t really think he needed to say anything else on that, they spoke for themselves.

It was odd, though, hearing that Johnny apparently hated the nickname, well, Johnny. But every time that it came from his mouth, Simon swore the Scot could light up the room with the smile he wore on his face.

He hated it, just not from him.

Simon found himself unable to let that lie. “Special just for me, ey?” he teased lightly, though it was clearly an attempt at turning the situation from one of embarrassment for Johnny into something much sweeter. The realisation made Simon feel like he was wrapped in a warm, fluffy blanket as opposed to Price’s heavy, smoky-smelling coat. If it was still embarrassing for him, Simon would just have to blame his unintentionally dry delivery of the line. It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t figure out what emotions he needed to use in his voice when he was stressed.

His sisters had laughed anyway, unfortunately for Johnny it did seem to be at his expense, and as the conversation continued, Simon found his gaze lingering on Johnny’s other sister a little longer, Beth. Then, worried that the watching would unnerve her—he wasn’t exactly the most soft-looking person on the planet, or even in the fucking building–he blinked and cast his gaze back to Johnny.

She looked a bit like her. She looked a bit like Tommy’s Beth.

Through all of his pondering and the sickening realisation that he might not actually be able to do this at all, Simon had missed the next chunk of the conversation, only zoning back in after Johnny’s mother had scolded them all.

It was odd, hearing that they wanted to make a good impression on him. He couldn’t figure out why. They didn’t know that he and Johnny had spent the better part of two hours cuddling on a single bed, nor that even before that he’d been trying to devour each other's faces and touch as much skin as they could.

So… was that what Johnny had told them about him? That he fancied him? That was these strangers’ first introduction to him?

Simon felt his face flush and he shifted a little where he was sitting, Price’s coat finally slipping down from his broad shoulders and falling into his lap.

Well, while it was already going downhill…

“Afraid I do have to apologise,” he began, trying to school his voice back into professional legibility. “Johnny only got hurt because of me, he came back to help me when he didn’t have to. I just… thought you should know. Your son saved my life, Ms.MacTavish. If he hadn’t come back for me, I’d be dead.”

It was blunt, and Simon struggled to make eye contact with anyone other than Johnny after speaking, but he managed to get it out. Johnny had saved his life, though not just back in that building.

But, now it was time for Simon to have somehow already managed to push Johnny’s family away as far as he could get them. Really, what response did he expect after telling a mother he nearly got her son killed?

He realised that was maybe why he’d admitted it. He’d already thought once that he couldn’t do this and now, without even noticing, his brain had started devising a plot to get him out of the situation.

It’ll just take time, he promised himself silently, keeping his jaw clenched shut tightly so he didn’t fuck anything else up.

It took everything in him to not laugh at Simon’s reaction to Lorna’s comment. While Johnny had made sure to lower his painkiller dosage a bit so he could be a little more present for his family, Simon certainly hadn’t, if the giggle that came from him was anything to go by.

As his mother mentioned Simon’s face, though - as unaware as she was about the implications of her phrasing there - he did start to get slightly worried. He doubted Simon was comfortable in the slightest, having to meet his family like this, and his reply confirmed it, as did the expression on his face. He noticed how strained the smile was, even if none of the rest of them did.

When Simon called him Our Johnny, though? Even through his worry, which he tried his best to keep off his face, he felt his adoration for the man bubble up to the surface. Lorna no doubt caught the smitten look that briefly passed over his face, grinning herself and nudging Beth.

“Ah, well,” Elsie shook her head with a smile, “Perhaps ye’ll have tae visit at some point, aye? We can pretend none o’ this ever happened, reintroduce ourselves under better circumstances.”

“Thought ye hated the nickname Johnny,” Lorna pointed out, raising her eyebrows at Johnny suggestively. He was beginning to regret allowing them to come and visit, he felt like all his best kept secrets were being outed and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

“Aye, when it comes from you maybe,” he mumbled, embarrassed.

Usually he did hate it, she wasn’t wrong. The nickname ‘Johnny’ just felt too soft. If anyone called him Johnny, he would usually tell them to shut the fuck up. It was Soap or it was John, depending on whether it was work or home. Nothing else.

Except when it came to Simon. From Simon, the nickname just felt… right. It fell from his lips like sweet honey, the softness of it only mixing with that he already felt for the man. It just worked.

Lorna snickered, sharing a knowing look with Beth. He was so going to get the both of them back for this once he was on his feet again.

“Mhm, so your boy-” Lorna was cut off by Beth shushing her loudly, barely able to contain her giggles as she did.

“Lorna, I hear one more word from you and I will not hesitate to get out of this bed and-”

“Children,” Elsie sighed, truly sounding like a tired mother, saving Lorna from the rest of Johnny’s threat. “Yer all adults, are ye no’? Would ye act like it, at least? Try and make a good impression,” she jerked her heard over towards Simon. Clearly, she shared the in-joke of teasing Johnny about his ‘crush’, because she spoke that last sentence while pursing her lips to hide a smile.

Johnny had half a mind to roll over and bury his face into his pillow, maybe even suffocate himself in it. Or maybe he could pump up the painkillers again, that might make this easier to deal with. At least he wouldn’t remember it, that way. Instead, he simply let out a long groan and flopped his head back against the bed.

At least, he supposed, Simon and him had talked about their feelings. This would have been so much worse if they hadn’t.

[tommyspeakycap]

Shelby!Sister getting poisoned whilst at dinner with the whole family?

changed it up a bit; reader is roofied at one of Tommy’s fancy ball type parties and there’s one particular gentleman around to help her out.

Good Team

Tommy had, since you were merely a little girl, endeavoured to introduce you emphatically as (y/n) Shelby, with your surname stated soaked in ferocity and warning. You are a Shelby. You are his little sister. He makes sure people know this. He makes sure they’re aware. He sees it as a pre-warning, the kind that lets them know that you are very very important to him without actually saying those words. He sees it very much as a pre-warning for grievous bodily harm had any trouble befell you at another persons discretion. It was made incredibly clear from the moment you were born that you were so far from off limits to the enemies that it didn’t even need to be spoken.

However, it was a relatively occasional occurrence that this message was not accurately conveyed no matter how clear your elder brother was about the matter.

You were usually so cautious and so careful, but you were in your brothers own ballroom with his own supplied champagne and you had very few worries of such a simple business gathering for Christmas. You were adorning an extortionate dress that Tommy had made for you with a beautiful fur shoulder wrap, cheeks dusted with a champagne blush and a gorgeous smile as you mingle with rich business people and rich couples who were born into money. They were amazing at times to ogle at, coming from such a poor background. It was hard enough to adjust to your new life flaunting pretty dressed and walking around with a purpose and a job that had significant purpose.

But it would be safe to say you weren’t so worried around these people. You should’ve known better.

You keep blinking, squeezing your eyes shut to try and find vision again that wasn’t restricted by blurriness. The heels on your feet didn’t aid you much in the way of keeping your balance as you stumble into a long hall. You don’t remember where you last saw Tommy and you can’t remember where the glass you were holding had gone. You don’t know much, but you know you have to find one of your brothers.

Heavy footsteps behind you send a rush of hazed adrenaline through your veins, forcing your legs to move you faster, your arms scratching off paintings lining the walls as you attempt to use the wall as a stabiliser.

“Someone’s ‘ad a bit much, eh?”

Your eyelids flicker as you try to keep them open against the light that makes you feel like your head is exploding. “No, no I- there’s someone trying to get me!” You hiss in a slurred whisper with arms that flail somewhat aimlessly as you attempt to point out the person behind you. The man with his his on your biceps steadying you leans around to get a good look behind you. “Mhm, there me no one there love.” He says, confused. You can only vaguely make out who the person is that holds you up and it’s someone you know your brother only invited so as to attempt to talk him into taking on more Blinders for distillery protection.

Alfie Solomons wasn’t entirely the most trustworthy person that surrounded your family. Him and Tommy had a bit of a tendency to betray each other, no matter how expected it always was. The London gangster probably wasn’t the best person for you to bump into and definitely not the most reliable, but he was who you had ended up with and although it could have been him that drugged you, it didn’t seem incredibly likely. He told Tommy and Grace when greeting people at the front door; “No need for the fucking niceties eh Tommy? I’m here for the free booze mate yeah?” and walked on through with a pat on your brothers back.

Despite the fact you didn’t have much trust in him, you really holed that he wouldn’t pass you off as being overly drunk and leave you alone. You feel dreadfully unwell. Alfie looks down the hall, then back at you and with a sigh, he slips his strong arm around your waist and pulls you into his side for your stability. “I think you’re right, Shelby.” Alfie mutters under his breath, barely loud enough for even you to hear. “Something‘s just not right.” He turns to you, using his arm that wasn’t wrapped around you to lift up your eyelid. Beyond the terror in your eyes in huge pupils. “You’ve been drugged,” he states, his voice still low. “Better find those brothers of yours.”

That brings you some form of relief, but the terror still remains. It’s a scary situation, to know what you want to do with your limbs and know exactly what you want to say, but to be unable to speak or walk or even hold up your head. Your heart hadn’t stopped racing and you were drenched in sweat. It’s a shock you didn’t recognise you had been drugged before hearing Alfie say it.

His arm is tight around the waistline of your expensive ballgown, keeping you steady against him as he walked as quickly as he could manage while supporting your weight. He only vaguely knew the way around Tommy’s huge country house, but he did know where the man’s office was, and he’d likely have a maid in waiting there who Alfie could send to fetch him once he got you there. As you both rounded the corner into the corridor that would take you to Tommy’s office, there a man dressed like a waiter standing seemingly waiting for you. “Mister Shelby sent me to collect his sister when he heard she was overly inebriated.” The man spoke. Alfie furrowed his eyebrows tightly, but nodded and walked you closer to him. You want to protest, but your mind still won’t coordinate with your body and the most you can do is grumble. “She’s a bit hard to deal with,” Alfie admits, “So a tip you should really know for the future?“ He pauses, moving as though he’s going to pass you over to the arms of the other man. Alfie leans in until he’s only a few inches away and whispers a warning “I fucking hate liars,” before sharply drawing back his head only to but it forward forcefully into the man’s face.

He stumbles back and Alfie takes that opportunity to grab the front of his suit jacket and throw him behind the two of you with a kick to his ribs a few times for good measure. He wraps his arm back around your waist and continues on down the hall as if nothing had ever happened. “Could tell by his-fuck!”

A yelp leaves you as your legs tangled when you attempt to bare your own weight and instead clatter to the floor with a thud. Alfie grunts and you fight to open your heavy eyelids to see that a man had dove out at him from a doorway along the long hall and there were now two of them and two of you, except they were both conscious and had full control of their own bodies, whereas it fell upon Alfie to fight for both of you. The Londoner truly does not know why he has put himself in this situation for anyone, never mind for a Shelby he had only met a handful of times. But every time he had met you, you were incredibly sweet and kind to him. He knows that they’ll stop attacking him if he allows them to take you and do as they please with you, but something in him prevents him from doing that. There’s a part of him that encourages him to spit the blood from his mouth and stand in front of where you lay in and out of consciousness on the fell, ready to fight for you like he had something to lose if he couldn’t protect you. Tommy would never know Alfie was there with you if he walked away now, but something in him wants to be there. Wants to fight for you.

And so fight he does, throwing punch after punch, trying to take on two at once. Alfie managed to take the blonde assailant out of the game by cracking the wall with his blonde head of hair, leaving him out cold and potentially dying on the floor. When he does that though, his moment of glory is short lived before the other appears behind him with an arm tightly around his throat. Alfie squirms and grunts, kicks and scratches attempting to get him off, but the attacker holds on despite the blows. Alfie thinks he may well have to accept his fate.

Then he clocks you again on the floor, except this time your hands and trailing up your leg, hiking up your dress and he is utterly confused at your behaviour, thinking that it must be the drugs acting weird in your system. That is, until your dress reaches your upper thigh and the London gangster feels what he thinks may be butterflies when he spots the holster and gun that had been well hidden by your long ballgown. He would laugh, grin even if he wasn’t being strangled nearly to death. He watched with blurry vision as you try to steady your hands enough to point the gun at the attacker that was too bury trying to hold Alfie Solomons down to notice your movements. Alfie squeezes his eyes shut as you move your finger over the trigger and he hopes to God your heads are steady enough to shoot the right person.

The bang goes off and very suddenly he can breathe again. He notes that’s a good sign. He scrambles away quickly, turning around to press his foot onto the bullet wound in the shoulder of his attacker. “I will come back for you.” He growls in warning, pressing his foot harder to elicit a scream before he nods and turns back to where you stand. He wipes the blood off the bottom of his shoe on the carpet before he steps forward to swoop your gun off the floor to slip it back into your thigh holster, and then he helps you back up. Except this time, he opts to sweep you off your feet and into his arms bridal style.

“Good shot.” He notes. You breath a chuckle with hooded eyes in response, but can’t manage anything else. If you hadn’t been severely drugged, Alfie might’ve kissed you.

He makes it to Tommy’s office with ease, ordering the maid to get your brother immediately. Alfie lays you down on the soft couch in the office, placing you carefully on on your side for safety in case you’re sick. He uses the not blood tinted side of his handkerchief to wire some blood splatter and sweat from your face gently, and offers a gentle smile. “We make a good team, Solomons.” You hum with words slurred and jumped, but he understand what you said nonetheless. “That we do, Shelby.” He rumbles back in response.

The moment is as any moment of yours often is, interrupted by your elder brothers storming in. Immediately, Alfie is ripped from your side by Arthur slamming the him roughly against the wall with a loud clatter and bang. John goes to stand by Arthur’s side, and Tommy takes a knee beside you. The patriarch places his cool hand against your forehead before dipping down to place his ear just above your lips. “She’s breathing.” He concludes, “What the fuck did you do to her?” He sneers through gritted teeth as he takes steps towards Alfie.

“And why the fuck and you covered in blood.” Alfie sighs heavily, rolling his eyes and flaring his nostrils at the proximity of the three Shelby brothers. “Funny story, you see Tommy.” He grumbles discontentedly, “Seems as though someone tried after your sister right under your fucking nose, mate. Drugged her drink, removed her from the crowd. I found her wandering the halls all fuckin’ disoriented yeah. Now I don’t like a man who targets a woman, much less has to fuckin’ drug her to achieve it.” Alfie shrugs. Tommy narrows his eyes, but something in him believes what the Camden Town Gangster is saying. Alfie doesn’t have much in the way of necessity for taking you and it wouldn’t make sense for him to have the opportunity to but instead to bring you here. Right to them. “Doesn’t explain the fucking blood.” Arthur hisses, slamming his back against the wall again.

Alfie holds up his hands. “You’re little sister isn’t such a damsel as you make her out to be, Thomas. She has a fantastic shot. Some cunts-“ Alfie’s words drop with pure venom as the reminder of the man nearly strangling him to death reenters his mind, “Came after her. On that note, you’ll need a carpet cleaner and some body bags just along that hall. Don’t let the missus see that mess.”

Tommy paused for a moment, his eyes not leaving Alfie’s even when he speaks. “John, check that corridor.” He orders, making his younger brother grunt in annoyance but do as told nonetheless. “Arthur,” He grumbles, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Take our sister upstairs and get Polly.” Arthur is hesitant. Tommy might believe the words that Alfie speaks, but Arthur despises him and the only thing he hates more than Alfie is the thought of Alfie’s hands on you without any of them being there to help you, protect you. He knows that he and a Tommy are asking themselves the same question. How could something like this happen to you right beneath their noses. How had someone managed to get to when they were so close, literally right in the same room in an event organised by them. Arthur couldn’t answer the question, but could probably have killed Alfie in his rage at that moment. “Arthur,” Tommy repeats more firmly, “Go.”

This time, he listens. But that’s not without a warning glare at Alfie, who simply offers a smirk in response. “And you,” Tommy says finally, turning his attention to Alfie, “Fuck off.”

Alfie chuckles, but begins to walk past Tommy to leave the office when the smaller man grabs his arm in a vice like grip that makes the tips of his fingers tingle with the strength of it. Alfie feigns the urge to fight back in reaction to the pain. Tommy leans in close to his ear with a low snarl, “You don’t just help people. I don’t care what the reason was eh, but don’t you ever go near my sister again.”

Then he lets go and Alfie simply shakes off his arm and walks away. He hasn’t listened to Tommy Shelby any time in the past, and it appears as though today will be no different.

[atozfic]

lessons in law.

⎘ pairing: fem!reader x choi san.

⎘ genre: dilf!san, lawyer!san, tutor!san, law-student!reader, smut, all parties are of legal age!!

⎘ warnings: dom!san, sub!reader, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, hair pulling, light name calling, mentions of punishment, san is a simp in denial.

⎘ description: sometimes, there’s nothing wrong with an oral exam.

⎘ word count: 1.6k

⎘ author’s note: this was supposed to be a less-than-500-words timestamp. 🧍‍♂️

⎘ taglist: @yunhobabygurl, @eonghwa, @iusrene, @nari-nim, @couchpotatoaniki, @vanishingboots, @yoheyyosup, @spacepiratehongjoong, @rainteez02​ unable to tag: @harry-the-pottypus

masterlist.

navigation.

© atozfic, 2021.

“for a d-defamation lawsuit to turn out success- fuck!” from the moment your resolve slips, you regret it, almost going as far as to complain verbally, if you didn’t already know better.

talking back will only get you punished, and not in the way of whips and chains and all things spice, but in the way of being left high and dry, pussy wet and unfilled. 

cold air brushes up against your sensitive folds as the man beneath your desk pulls away from your sopping core. you glance down in time to catch the way he swipes his tongue over his lips, collecting the juices you’ve covered him in, in as little as the three minutes he’s been down there.

he’s looking at you with one eyebrow raised, expectantly, awaiting you to correct the error of your ways.

“did i tell you to stop reading, princess?” his voice, the way the gruff in it curls over his words and his beautiful lips move as he speaks, sends a fresh rush of arousal down your nerves.

“no, mr. choi.”

“and what did you do?” 

“stop-” you start, only to do the very thing you said when you jolt in your seat, moments after he’d blown air onto your pulsating heat, torturing you with the minimum amount of pressure against your clit. it takes a deep, calming breath on your end to centre yourself again. “i stopped reading.”

“tsk.” his response worries you. so vague, you’re yet to figure out if he’s going to even bother continuing with the pleasure he was giving you. as if sensing your unsure nature, the drag of his pointer finger over your soaked entrance becomes his answer to the unasked question. “how am i supposed to know you’re studying the notes i gave you if you do that, hmm? do it again and we’ll have to cut the tutoring lesson short today.”

he could have whispered the words and you still would have heard him loud and clear. your eyes reluctantly snap back to the textbook instead of staring down at the sight of him between your legs, hair perfectly slicked back and begging to be messed up, tie undone and hanging from his neck, shirt sleeves rolled up his arms and straining against the muscles of his forearms.

“the act of defamation occurs when someone makes a false and harmful statement...” you begin reciting the words again, after you’d cleared your throat.

as san’s face lowers back onto your aching cunt, you remind yourself over and over to read, just read. that’s all he wants you to do and, in exchange, he’ll take you to heaven with his tongue. but oh, it is so much easier said than done. your hands soon find a grip on the edge of the desk, a place to root yourself down while his tongue drags over you lazily.

“there’s two different types of defamation-” his tongue teases at your hole and you want to beg him, scream at him to shove it- or any other part of him- into your cunt, walls clenching around nothing but your own wetness, causing it to ooze out onto your tutor’s waiting tongue. “libel is the name given to any defamatory words that are written...”

“my princess has the prettiest pussy.” a hand snakes it’s way up your leg, wrapping a tight grip around your thigh before he props it onto his shoulder. when his tongue finally breeches your walls again, it’s at a whole new angle than earlier, and that alone has you wishing you could throw the textbook off your desk only for you to bend over it while mr. choi takes you from behind.

“slander is spoken defamation, and often more trickier to prove in court...” instead, you keep reading so that he’ll keep eating.

“what would your dad say if he knew this is what you use our tutoring sessions for, huh?” san continues to taunt you between licks of your cunt, switching his focus between your hole and your clit. he’s trying to get you to disobey him. “if he knew his dear friend who he asked to help his pretty little daughter get accepted into his law firm has actually been teaching her how to take a proper cock? oh, and just imagine his face if he knew that i fucked you under his very own roof.”

“d- defamation cases are often costly and are a long procedure...” you can’t help it when, instinctually, your hand flies down to tangle itself in his perfectly done hair. instead of pushing you away like you’d thought he would have, san only closes his eyes and let’s out a moan as you tug his hair, face nestling itself deeper between your legs and causing his nose to bump against your clit.

“you have no idea how much i think about you, baby.” his free hand lands on your heat, cupping it as he pulls back to stare up at you. “got me wishing i could have you every hour of the day. that you were mine alone to touch, and fuck, and kiss.”

“w-what would-” you become brave suddenly, spurred on by the moment of vulnerability from the man between your legs, looking so much more at your mercy than ever before, like he’s begging to worship the only goddess he’ll ever know. “your son, or your ex-wife, say if they knew you were doing this, hmm? that you took on an apprentice only to corrupt her?”

“you were corrupted long before i got my hands on you, y/n.” he smirks up at you, only to chuckle when he thrusts a finger into your cunt, no warning, and you gasp, tugging on his hair again. “the only thing i’ve done is show you how good sex can be when you’re doing it with someone experienced instead of some sweaty frat-boy who finishes in two minutes and doesn’t even know where your clit is.”

“you’d be surprised, some of them are better than you give them credit.” you’re lying, without an ounce of shame about it. and it’s more than worth it to see the way his eyes darken, his eyebrows frown, his hand picks up the speed that his finger thrusts into you.

no warning comes when he inserts a second finger. 

“really? can they make you beg for their cock like a bitch in heat?” he doesn’t bother to stall any longer, head diving back down between your legs to shut you up.

his mouth latches onto your clit, rolling it between his lips and prodding at it with his tongue while he continues to fuck you with his hand. a third finger enters you and you throw your head back, body curling off the leather of your desk chair while you tighten your grip on san’s hair.

“mr. choi, please.” you’re not even sure what you’re begging for.

“yeah, just like that. a little slut begging to be fucked full, that’s all you are, right? and no one knows how to give you what you want but me.” every whine, moan of your voice, every time your walls tighten around his digits, it strokes his ego and keeps him giving you more, more, more.

when the coil in your body is so close to finally snapping, he rips his hand from you. it’s a moment of devastation only, until you feel his hand, soaked in you, clasping around your other thigh and dragging it over his shoulder too. then his tongue is back in you, drinking in every bit of essence your quivering hole offers him.

when you cum, it’s with your body more sat on him than the actual chair, hands on your ass and holding you against his face as his tongue continues to work you through the electrifying feeling, nose bumping over your clit every so often. while your jaw is slacked open in a silent scream, san makes no attempt to hold back the moans and grunts ripping through his chest.

“shh, shh, i’ve got you.” he coos when he rises from under your desk, lowering your still quivering body back down onto your chair. you have half the mind to wonder if he’s a completely different man to the one who’d been buried between your thighs minutes ago, as he brings up a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. instead of a smirk or a scowl, he wears a smile, even when you feel his fingers dip back between your swollen folds.

“mr. choi, i need a break first-”

“shh, it’s okay.” and you believe him, as he retracts his hand and brings it up to your mouth, commanding you to open it. your eyes flutter shut as your mouth wraps around his fingers, tasting yourself all over them. “so pretty, aren’t you?”

you can only nod, so relieved he gave you what you wanted even though you’d stopped reading. you’re unsure how long he lets you sit there with his fingers in your mouth but him removing them brings you back into the room instantly. coating your cheek in your own spit-mixed cum as he cups it, he leans down to place a kiss on your neck.

“i need to go make a quick call but, when i come back, i expect you to be naked on your bed, ass up and face down.” this time it really is nothing but a whisper, yet you hear him loud and clear.

“why?” it seems like a silly questions to ask, when you already know exactly why he wants you in that position.

“you didn’t think i was really going to let you get away with talking back to me, did you?”

[detroitbecomeyandere]

Hey There Little Red Riding Hood.

Werewolf Gavin x Little Red Reader.

You wrap the fresh bread in soft cloth and place it gently in your basket along with a bottle of mead, herbs and vegetables from your garden and some dried and fresh meat. The weather was starting to turn chilly and as the only other member of your family it was your responsibility to look after your aging grandmother in times like these, she was still the same fiery woman who has raised you after your parents died. But just because she thinks she's a woman in her fifties doesn't mean her body agrees, the seventy year old had pain in her joints and hands whenever the weather turned cold and could hardly cook for herself. Glancing out your window you see the sun was starting to set but there should be more than enough time to get to grandmother's before dark. Slinging your red cloak around your shoulders and locking your home you set off into the woods.

You know this path so well you could walk it blindfolded, the scenery is so familiar it almost felt more like home than your actual house. The leaves have begun their change and the whole forest just feels warmer despite the nip in the air, perhaps you'd stay with grandmother this winter to enjoy the snow covered woods. You pull your hood to keep the cold from making your ears chapped and start to hum to yourself completely unaware of the hungry eyes following you.

Gavin follows you closely never losing sight of you, everything about you is devine and he had thought so from the moment he saw you. He was a recluse and lives deep in the woods by himself never wanting contact with the village closest to him but every now and again he needed to trade pelts for other goods to keep him going. That's when he saw you, your big soft eyes that reminded him of a doe, your soft laughter when your friend made a joke, your scent almost made his heart leap from his chest. He knew then that you were his but he didn't approach you to worried he'd lose control so close to the full moon and harm you, he'd go to you when the time was right and until then he'd have to be content.

That was three years ago now, he always told himself that tomorrow would be the day, tomorrow would come and he'd find himself on the outskirts of the village watching you from the trees unable to approach you. So here he was again, following you to your grandmother's. Tonight was harder than ever before with the full moon tomorrow, every instinct in him screaming to throw you down and claim you as his. Gavin was about to give up the walk with you and head back home to deal with his urges there when a sudden wind blew by and he caught you on the wind, you were fertile right now. And like that every rational thought flew from his mind as his inner beast started to take over, the last bit of his humanity hanging on wouldn't let him take you on the forest floor, your first time needed to be special. So he gave your unsuspecting figure a final glance before dashing head.

Unaware of the danger you walk to the door of the home and knock, the walk had taken longer than expected due to some trees down in the path and it was dark by now. You'd have to ask some men in the village if they could clear it for you when you get back. Knocking again you hear a soft "come in" come from the back of the house, stepping inside you notice that the fire was nearly out so after latching the door you set you basket down and work to build the fire.

"Sorry I'm late grandmother, some trees were down and it was kind of a hassle climbing over them." You hear a small hum in acknowledgement and continue, "I'm going to see if Luther can clear it when I get back, I'll ask if he can bring some to you too. Grandmother have you eaten yet? I can make you something to eat, I've brought bread and meat."

In your rambling you don't notice the figure approaching you and your hood blinds your peripheral, a large hand lands on your shoulder and you are pulled from the hearth and spun around.

Gavin hears your heart speed up as you come to the realization that this was not your grandmother, you start to scream and push his arm away but he wraps his other arm around your waist pulling you into him and forces his tongue down your throat. With strength that impresses you the stranger lifts you with the one arm and sits you down on the nearby table. When you start to run out of air he pulls away and sweeps everything off the table and onto the floor. In the warm light of the fire you see the man and vaguely recognize him, he takes advantage of your shock and forces another kiss on you this one a little more tender than before. The man forces your back onto the wood beneath you and starts to bunch your skirts up to your knees and just like that your fight is reignited and you pound against his chest.

When he pulls away a string of saliva connects the two of you, one of his hands catches your's when you try to scratch his face. His other hand holds your face as his thumb sweeps across your bottom lip and mumbles to himself "What soft lips you have, the better to kiss."

"Stop please.. where is my grandmother. You didn't hurt her did you!"

He buries his nose into your neck and inhales "How kind you are, here you are pinned underneath a beast and all you can think about is your sweet old granny." His teeth graze your skin as he grinds his manhood onto your clothed cunt, "Don't worry sweet one, she's safe." He pulls away from your neck and pins your hips down to the table, taking your skirt between his teeth he pulls it to your waist and glances up at you. "I really wanted to wait, but you are just so tempting. You should really stay out of the woods so close to a full moon sweetling. But I know you'll forgive me for being selfish just this once."

And with that he disappears between your legs and presses his tongue flat against your slit groaning as your taste fills his senses. You tasted sweeter than any berries in this forest. You grasp his hair and try to yank him off you but he ignores your pulling and instead wraps his lips around your clit and starts to swirl his tongue around it. Your spine arches as a jolt of pleasure shocks you, you've never felt anything like this and your body welcomed it relaxing into his grip. Gavin hears your heart go steady and he knows he has you, he prods your entrance with the tip of his tongue before pushing it into you. He growls into you when he feels your walls clamp down onto him and he goes feral on you, sloppy eating you out while his thumb makes tight circles on your clit. Switching again he sucks on your bud and replaces his tongue with two of his fingers, he scissors them inside you trying to prepare you his knot.

You pull him closer to you as the pleasure starts to build to an almost unbearable tightness in your stomach. Every gasp and moan pushes Gavin into a more animalistic state. Just as the knot is about to snap he pulls away from you, you don't get the time to mourn the loss before he is pushing his swollen cock into you. The small amount of prep before did nothing to ease the burn as his cock pushed into you, your eyes water and hiss in pain when he gives you no time to adjust to him. Gavin shuts his eyes as he finally fucks you, none of his fantasies came even close to the way you feel around him.

A whimper brings him back to reality and he opens his now yellow eyes and sees tears streaming down your cheeks and your brow drawn together in pain. He stops his thrusting to cup your face in his callused hand and forces you to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry sweetling, I can't help myself. You're just everything a big bad wolf could want." He presses soft kisses to your lips and gives you a moment to calm down. Once he feels you relax around him he looks back at you, "What big eyes you have, the kind that drive me mad. Keep them on mine." His thumb swipes another tear away as he pulls out until only his tip is inside you, Gavin rolls his hips and sheathes himself fully again. His eyes stay locked onto your own as he repeats the motion several time slowly working you open and once you roll your hips back into his he picks up the pace, letting the animal inside him take over again.

The man above you terrified and excited you at the same time, your mind knew this wasn't something you wanted and yet your body succumbed so quickly, you didn't know which was the right feeling to have and all you did know was that you wanted more of him in the moment. You wrap your legs around his waist and pull him closer to you, the trapper growled again as the angle let him in deeper and through his parted lips you saw his teeth were becoming pointed before your eyes. The surge of fear only heightens your pleasure as you feel the knot start to build again rapidly.

Gavin smells you fear and it pushes him more into animal than human as he starts to pound into you, trying to force his knot into you before it swells completely. The only thing running through his mind is "breed", the werewolf in him completely taking over as his nails grew into claws and his fangs fully formed.

At the feeling of something bumping against your opening you raise your head a little and see a knot on his cock, transfixed you watch as it grows and as it starts to work it's way inside you. The added stretch burns a little but it's soon forgotten when you see it fully disappear inside you and suddenly you feel so full that you are pushed off the edge and your vision goes white. You grasp his forearms to try and ground yourself as you cum and your eyes flutter closed as you let the sensation wash over you.

He growls as you cum around him, your walls squeeze in a vice like grip. His claws dig into the cape beneath you and he rips holes into it when he feels his knot catch on your walls locking the two of you together. He continues to rut into you trying to forced himself as deep inside as possible, once his cock head kisses your womb he cums. Gavin shoots thick ropes of cum directly into your womb and he howls as he finally becomes one with you. After painting your insides white Gavin looks back to you, your eyes are glazed as you look up at him, your skin flushed and covered in sweat. Leaning down he captures your lips again, this time you return the kiss and drop your legs from his hips as your body goes limp. Soon enough all the pleasure leaves you and your mind starts to clear and the fear from before returns.

You try to pull away from the kiss but Gavin follows your lips so you try to wiggle your hips out from under him hoping to pull yourself off of him and get out from under the man. But when you do you feel him locked inside you and he growls into your lips before pulling away slightly with a dark chuckle, "I know you must be eager for more sweetling, but you need to stay still. I can't guarantee that I won't try to fuck my knot deeper into you, let's just enjoy the moment." He wraps your legs back around his waist and lifts you off the table, the both of you groan at the position change and you have to bite back another moan as he starts walking to the back of the cottage. He lays the two of you onto the bed and nuzzles into the crook of your neck, humming back to you the song you sang on your way here.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Broken trust, pt.2

Part one

Summary: Too quickly does the Darkling find his rogue Sun Summoner, but his arrogance will cost him. 

Warnings: slight fluff, angst

==========================

Faith – Y/N’s floated away from her a very long time ago, like a leaf being pulled away on the tide, and into the sea to become lost and alone, likely drowned. But she had faith in Aleksander. She always trusted him, not doubting he’d protect her. That’s why this is much more painful than it had to be.

“Running doesn't matter, I'll hunt you down if I have to.” Kirigan spoke through gritted teeth, as if he knew she could hear him, feel the palpable anger and betrayal he struggled to contain.

And still she ran. She ran without looking back, cutting through the forest with her breath caught in her throat. She ran, flinching with branches leaving cuts across her face, but she couldn’t stop. If she stopped, he’d find her and if he found her, Y/N didn’t know if they’d both walk away unharmed.

Finding a cave, she ventured inside. She sat curled up against a wall, shivering in the darkness. She clutched the kefta she wore in Little palace, clinging to his already faded scent. Just hours ago, his arms were wrapped around her, his lips claimed hers. She was his, undoubtedly in love with the very man who turned out to be the enemy.

A sob escapes her, whimpering as her hand covers her mouth to assure her silence. Risking being found because she needs to cry is stupid. Aleksander would expect her to cry.

“Where have you been?” The Grisha asks, breathless as it seems.

His presence alone commands awe, respect and his charisma can make any human stop and forget what they’re doing so long as it pleases him. He is magnetic, electric, someone you can get lost in before knowing what’s happening.

“Answer me.” He insists, lower his head to her level. His eyes narrow at her quivering lips, just then realizing she’s shaking.

“Leave us!” He orders the Grisha who came running once the light reached them outside the tent.

He taps her shoulder, the air around them turning static with contact, “What is happening?” Her shaky voice sounds and his eyes soften.

“You truly don’t know?” Raising an eyebrow, the Grisha steadies Y/N before letting her go. “My name is general Kirigan and you”, he points at her, his forehead wrinkling momentarily, “are the Sun summoner.”

A breathless chuckle escapes her, shaking her head in disbelief. “I’m a map-maker.”

“No”, Kirigan raises an eyebrow. He steps closer, his hands gripping her arms gently, “You are a Grisha.”

Swallowing thickly, her eyes flood with tears. One by one, they make tracks down her cheeks, stunning Kirigan.

“You need not worry”, wiping the tears off her left cheek with his thumb, Kirigan smiles softly, “I will protect you.”

Huffing, Y/N shakes her head. “I never should have trusted him.”

Suddenly, she felt her airways constrict. Gasping for air, she clutches her chest, unable to breathe or think clearly. Darkness etched into her vision, blurring it until there was nothing left. She felt her mind drift, the last she heard was a whisper she once adored.

“I’ll carry her back.” Aleksander states, his eyes never moving from her. He didn’t expect to find her, especially not as quickly as he did, but the ring she wore lead them straight to her location. Once again, she trusted the wrong person and once again, it brought them closer together.

Upon his return, he had laid her on his bed, hoping to speak to her somewhat peacefully this time around. If she could just feel the way his heart aches for her, maybe then she’d believe him he’d never do anything to bring her harm.

Groggy, Y/N groans. Her hand moves to her forehead, rubbing her temples.

“You’re safe”, Aleksander tells her, but the sound of his voice made her open her eyes wide, sitting up so quickly her vision blurred.

“St-stay away!” She pushed herself back, hitting the headboard.

“I won’t hurt you. I saved your life." Kirigan leans in, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"How? By taking my freedom, mind and identity?" She snaps at him, her nostrils flared with frustration and anger bubbling up to the surface.

"The chains are broken now.” Kirigan sighs, “You know the truth.” Wetting his lips, his eyebrows knit together, “Are you really free?"

Shaking her head, she narrows her eyes at him, "You are still my captive, no matter how beloved you once were."

Giggling, Y/N stumbles back and into the table. A few figurines fall to the ground, but it doesn’t seem to phase Aleksander who smirks as he rests his hands at each side of the table, essentially trapping her.

Raising an eyebrow, she looks up at him, batting her eyelashes. “Are you about to ravish me, oh sweet Darkling?”

Chuckling, he cranes his neck just enough for the tip of his nose to brush hers. Hearing her inhale sharply and hold her breath, Aleksander couldn’t help but peck her lips. It felt innocent enough, something that wouldn’t scare her but would satisfy his need to feel her closer to him.

“Don’t go looking for trouble, sunshine”, his lips twitch, amused how her hands have clutched his hips, pulling him closer to her.

“Maybe I like trouble”, she whispers, breathing heavily so much so he could count each and every breath passing the lips he wished her could kiss for an eternity, uninterrupted.

Biting her lower lip, her hand rests on his left cheek, caressing the scruffy beard with her thumb. “Come on, Darkling”, she teases, “What are you afraid of?”

“You”, he responds without a second thought. His response came so quickly, catching Y/N off guard. “I’m afraid of loving you”, he exhales through his nose, his clenching under the palm of her hand before he speaks again, “Afraid of losing you.”

“Please”, crosses his lips and Y/N’s heart skips a beat. Aleksander is a man of many virtues, but begging wasn’t one of them. He’s the man who demands and makes things happen. Such men don’t strike you as someone who plead often. And this was Aleksander pleading, asking her to do something irrational, to trust him, the only thing she couldn’t do.

“What could you possibly say to make this okay?” She swallows thickly, averting her gaze as if looking at him for too long could destroy her very essence.

"They called me the Darkling as an insult. You were the only one who used it as a term of endearment." Aleksander reaches for her hand, but she pulls away once again. “Let me put your mind at peace.”

Pressing her lips, she exhales through her nose, “You made me into a weapon. I'll never find peace.”

“I didn’t make you into anything”, he remarks, “You were born as my equal, to be my other half.”

Nodding to herself, she swipes her thumb under her left eye, “I sure feel like your equal now”, glancing at him she bites the soft flesh on the inside of her bottom lip, “You can still do the right thing. I believe there is a good person inside of you. The man I fell in love with must be somewhere underneath the darkness you're flaunting. Be him.”

His eyes narrow, clouded by his own sorrow, “It's too late to go back. You can't even look at me.” Standing, with his back turned on her, Aleksander allows tears to fill his eyes, “Do you even love me?”

“Of course I still love you, but trusting you is a different question.” With a heavy sigh parting her lips, she stands too. “You can’t force me to stay with you and expect unconditional love. That’s not how this works.”

Blinking fast, Aleksander refused to look at her. All she’d see is his weakness – his feelings for her have made him soft, too easily swayed by emotions and he mustn’t reveal it.

“You can’t catch sunshine, my dearest Darkling”, she wraps her arms around his waist. Resting her right cheek on his back, between his shoulder blades, she pulled him into her embrace, “You need to let me go and find my own way.”

“You’d be dead by nightfall.” He snaps, trying to push her off but she holds onto him even tighter, silently weeping.

How can she stay when every cell inside her body is screaming for her to leave? How can she leave when every single molecule she’s made up from is aching for just one more touch?

“If you love me, you’ll have to trust me”, her voice is shaky, unsteady as she feels. “Staying will make me resent you. I need some distance, time.”

“I can’t”, he shakes his head, wiping his tears away before she can see any.

“Then I need you to remember”, her hold on him lessens.

With a frown etched on his forehead, he turns to her with a lump at the back of his throat, “Remember what?” His words rip through her like glass shards do to skin, but he can barely tell if she’s shaking because he’s started to tremble himself.

A smile breaks on her lips, just as bright as the light she once emitted to contrast his. “Remember I love you.”

And once again, without a warning, Aleksander found himself on his knees.

He didn’t love her, he desired her most of all. He desired her gaze on him as desperately as the air he needs to breath. He desired her skin against his as the food he’d need to live. He desired her lips to speak his name in ecstasy more than the water as he thirsted for her light more than anything else in this world.

And in his desire for her he had lost himself entirely. He had lost his cold exterior, becoming putty in her hands. He had lost his ruthlessness he planned to aim her way, directing it to any and all who’d harm her. He had lost his resolve to stay away, so he’d give into her with all he is.

So with that desire and the loss of him, he hated her for all of it. He hated her with burning passion. He hated her so much it consumed him.

Or so he told himself so. For in the end, he did nothing to push her away.

He couldn’t.

Not now. Not ever.

Logic demanded him to stop her, but his entire logic went out the window the day he found her in his tent, stealing his grapes. He’s no longer a part of the living anymore either. She’s become his cornerstone and no matter how hard he tried to deny it, it didn’t change. It’s become factual.

He didn’t hate her, not even a little, not at all. Aleksander Morozova, Aleksander Kirigan, The Darkling, the unforgiving general, the Black Heretic, the Shadow King – all of him loved all of her, even as she had put a knife through his heart. The very heart that beat for her was now bleeding because of her. A betrayal, he realized, the very same as she had felt when she learned of his lies.

“We will see each other again”, she croaks, her tears crashing around him.

Gasping for air, he desperately fights the pain so he can keep his eyes open longer. This might not kill him, but it will slow him down. This time around, she’ll run and as she takes off the ring, he realizes it won’t be so easy to find her again.

She kisses his lips, so softly he’s unsure if it’s a well crafted dream.

“Moya lyubov'”, he manages to say as she stands and heads to the door. He can’t speak, but he’s screaming on the inside, hoping she’d look back at him. If she does, there was hope.

Reaching for the knob, Y/N sighs, glancing over her shoulder at her Darkling with unimaginable pain tearing her apart. But sometimes you have to break in order to create something more beautiful. She knew he’d hate her for it, but she walked out the door anyway.

PART 3

[amayadartan]

CHAPTER 4

Dartan released the energy he’d been holding that kept him visible in the dark.  In light she’d always be able to see him now that they were bound, but she was blind in the pitch blackness of the moonless night.  Moving to her, he put his hand under hers and raised up so she could feel it.  If he’d hit her or pushed her, she would have felt that too, but as angry as Dartan was, he would not harm the small female. He was not “good” by any measure, but there was something about her…

“How are you doing that?  I can feel it.”  She asked with a bit of awe in her voice as she wiggled her fingers slightly on top of his hand.  It didn’t quite feel like a normal human hand under hers, but she could feel something there.  There was a slight tingling and a pressure against her skin; the sense of “something” being there that she couldn’t quite place.  It was not a feeling she had ever experienced before, even when doing magic.  She tried to think back to all of her spell casting to see if there was anything similar that she could compare it to, but came up empty.

“It comes with the bonding that you did.  When there is light, even though I am incorporeal, you will be able to see me.  Here in Imperium everyone will be able to as well, but if we determine a way to be able to return to where you’re from no one else will, just you.  So you will have to be careful when you’re talking to me if that happens, or people will think you’re insane.  Things are very different in Imperium than anything you have experienced before.  This is one of the natural lands of the dead.”  Dartan began to inform her as he slowly led her over to where there were a few fallen trees leaning up against each other.  He was impressed she didn’t even try to fight him after their tense introduction to one another.  He would not have blamed her if she had, he hadn’t exactly done anything to instill trust in her.  The beautiful brunette kept looking in the direction of her hand, which he knew she couldn’t see, like she was expecting to see something.  He found that mildly amusing.  

Once they got over to the fallen logs, he guided her hands to where things were so she could find the best way to rest.  She should be able to figure out a good position to sit or lay on one of them and lean against the others.  It would keep her off of the ground at least, which would keep it from leaching the warmth from her.  The air wasn’t too cold, so hopefully she would be okay for at least the first night.  Since he was still incorporeal, he couldn’t help keep her warm which bothered him.  He wasn’t familiar with the area, so he was hesitant to build a fire. Attracting anything or anyone in the area to them might not be the best thing to do at night, especially with her completely unable to see.  Any of the realm’s animals that came around he felt confident that he could handle, at least in Imperium his being a spectre wasn’t all bad.  Why he didn’t have a solid form was still a bit of a mystery to him, and it was one he wasn’t happy about in the slightest.  It might have to do with the summoning ritual she did, but only time and finding someone with hopefully more familiarity with it would tell.l.

“We are going to rest here til first light, then we’ll be able to fully see exactly where we are and where we need to go to get to the Palace of Imperium.  I should be solid here in Imperium, but I’m not for some reason.  All dead souls of any kind should appear just the same as a living being, which means something is wrong.  We’ll have to find out what and why later.  I shouldn’t be able to move through you since we are bound, and I tend not to go through solid things if I can help it..  The sensation is not pleasant of something solid going through my body” Dartan informed her as he scanned the area for anything that might be a danger or that he could use to provide her added comfort or protection.  Of the two of them, he was the one better suited for their current realm, and so until they could find someone to fix the situation, he would have to protect her.

Maya nodded while listening to him and trying to find a comfortable way to sit on the logs that Dartan had led her over to.  After figuring out the best position without being able to see her surroundings, she put her back against one of the logs and curled up on another one. Leaning her head back, she closed her eyes and tried to relax some, drawing herself up as small as she could.  She was an experienced witch, no matter what Dartan thought; and while she had spells go wrong in the past, nothing like this had ever happened.  “I’m sorry.” She whispered, knowing he could hear her, a tear slowly making its way down her cheek and leaving a glistening trail in its wake.

“You are forgiven, little witch.” His deep voice was closer to her than she had expected but it didn’t righten her; it was almost right next to her head it seemed, but there was not the derision in his voice that there had been up til that point. There was honesty and a calm that had not been there earlier when they had been talking.  Now his calm and slow speech made his voice almost soothing.  She could not see him at the moment, but he was kneeling next to where she was sitting, leaning against the tree and watching over her very closely. That is what he would do, keep watch over her, till morning to make sure that she was safe.  While he still blamed her for the situation, anger would not serve them in any way and allowing her to be harmed would not either.  He might be quick to anger, but he was also pragmatic.

As he knelt there, he heard the soft shift of her breathing as Amaya slipped into tenuous sleep.  Her breathing evened out and he heard her shift slightly as she relaxed a little.  He looked over when he heard her rustling and noticed her shivering and wrapping her arms more tightly around herself.  Dartan leaned against the tree more heavily and let out a deep sigh, not knowing why he cared that the little witch was cold or why it bothered him that he could do nothing to alleviate it.  She was nothing but a pain in his ass and the sole reason he was there and not back at his home. He tried to trace to his home or even across the clearing, but was unable to do even that; yet another side effect of the spell she had woven.  Possibly the reasoning was to keep him from abandoning her?  It was a logical conclusion, but until he could find someone who understood the totality of the spell, there would not be a definitive answer.   He could only hope that someone within Imperium would have the power and the knowledge to either undo what she had done or bring him into a corporeal form and restore his power so he could do something himself about it. Otherwise, this was going to be a very long and arduous existence for them both..

The hours passed slowly, nothing really marking the time for Dartan as he kept silent guard of Amaya while she slept.  He found it odd that he felt no fatigue and no desire to sleep himself. Contrary to what many believe, some beings do sleep in their afterlife which is just a continuation of their life just in a different plane of existence.  However, since he’d been summoned to Imperium, Dartan was not feeling any sense of fatigue or even hunger.  Being as this was unusual for him, he pondered over it in the hours that stretched until daylight.

By the time that there was a modicum of light starting to appear, Dartan was starting to believe he was untangling the complex knot that was the spell Amaya had cast.  The reason he could not trace, the lack of hunger, thirst or fatigue, even his lack of full corporeal form began to make sense. He had gone over all of the words and actions she had used to cast the spell, and because whomever had given it to her had either purposefully or accidentally gotten some of the pronunciations wrong, the spell was altered.  Not just altered, but incomplete.  The language used was one he could understand, but forming the completion of the spell was beyond his ability.  For that he would need a powerful mage that knew what they were doing.  A witch with the right knowledge might also be able to do it, but he was sure that neither he nor Amaya would be able to.  That mean that they had to get to the Palace on foot without her being detected by any of the beings in Imperium who considered humans a food source.  That fact caused a feeling to rise in Dartan that he had never felt previously: fear.

[sukirichi]

earned it [05]

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it. But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins. He also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

cw. domestic abuse, car accident, slight angst, sexism, suggestive scenes, unedited and my naoya simping is obvious with this one, 

notes. TEAM NAOYA LET’S GOOOO *sighs* finally got this out from my drafts. anyways, here’s an earned it update while i recover from migraines because my schedule was so hectic last week and i’m so tired, might be sleeping a lot these days hence the hiatus :( also ik i keep saying this but future chapters will finally be more...UH SPICY AND MORE DRAMATIC, I guess? this is mostly an angst fic btw so please don’t expect too much fluff of heartwarming romance. there WILL be romance,,,it just takes some time hehe, anways ENJOY...or not :)

series masterlist

Women were weak. Trained to be voiceless, compliant, and unable to fight – Naoya found them weak.

His own mother was the perfect epitome of that. For years, he’d watched her leave his father’s room with dried tears, wiping them away with the back of her sleeves. When she saw a little Naoya standing at the edge of the hallway, she’d immediately usher him back to his room, her tears replaced with a smile so convincing Naoya wouldn’t have believed she’d been crying if he hadn’t seen it for himself.

Naoya wasn’t stupid. How could he be when day and night, he’s surrounded by tutors, expected to take over his clan and lead them all to a brighter future?

How could he be stupid when he can’t sleep at night, for the screams and cries of his mother, the sound of palm hitting cheek resonating just from the other room, accompanied with the insults directed her way by his own father?

How could he be so stupid when he looked up to his mother – who he believed was the only source of light in the rather desolate walls of their manor – only to see that her beauty faded with each passing day, the brightness of her eyes now filled agony, with pain, with fear? She no longer smiled; not even for him. She no longer came around his room to read him bedtime stories no matter how much Naoya pleaded because he’d gotten tired of reciting scriptures and poetry. She no longer kissed him on the forehead as a morning greeting, opting to stay in the sidelines with her head bowed, acting as if she was a servant and not his mother.

Naoya wasn’t stupid. As the future leader of the Zen’in Clan, it was his duty to hear and see everything, to be wary of everyone around him and to observe. He knew his father abused her. He knew his father hated her, looked down on her, stepped on her at each moment he could. And as if that wasn’t enough, Naoya found out they weren’t married in the first place.

She had been nothing but a mere concubine whose role was to birth an heir. Now that Naoya had come to life, her purpose to live ceased to exist. And people who had no role in the Zen’in estate had no reason to stay any further.

“Mother,” Naoya cried out, tugging at his mother’s sleeve. “Mother, please don’t go, don’t leave me!”

She was crying again; he wished she’d stop doing that, that she’d stop being so weak. He wanted his mother to be strong and fight back, but she’s not even attempting to wipe her tears away this time, displaying her vulnerability and meek self to him. Had his father been there, she’d be scolded again, claiming that Naoya shouldn’t be exposed to behaviors of surrender and weakness.

His mother cupped his face, trying her best to keep the younger version of himself from dangling onto her robes; the expensive, silk material the last evidence she’d ever been a part of them.

“Naoya, baby, it’s okay. You need to grow up strong and be the clan leader, okay?”

“But why do you have to leave? Why do you never fight back?”

“I’m sorry, dear...” was all she said, finally kissing him on the forehead like she’d failed to do so for the past months. Somehow, it didn’t make him feel any better. Instead, Naoya’s cries grows louder with each minute, loud enough that he caught the attention of his manservants who paled at the Young Master’s wails that was sure to displease his father locked inside his study. His mother sent a glance their way that expressed messages he couldn’t yet understand due to his innocence. Strong arms wrapped around his smaller frame until they dragged Naoya away from his mother, the sight of a luggage behind her turning him weak in the knees.

“Remember, Mother always loves you.”

“No!” he fought against their hold. His servants did all they could to not harm the Young Master’s skin, but Naoya was too strong, too desperate that they were unable to hold him back.

Naoya kept running and running, uncaring of the fact his loose robes hindered him from going at full speed. He didn’t stop, even as his servants had trailed after him, desperate pleas for the Young Master to come back falling into deaf ears. His mother had arrived on a nearby bus from the open roads that led outside the Zen’in Estate’s outer gates, her hand frozen on the doors with her head slightly tilted to the side.

That slight moment of hesitance – to look behind or leave everything behind – was what made Naoya stop in his tracks. He breathed hard, sweaty palms on his knees as he silently prayed to the divine beings to bring his mother back, for her to look at him one last time.

But she didn’t.

And Naoya was frozen in his tracks, everything colliding into one crash and burn that he failed to make sense of everything. He stood there and watched his mother hop into the bus, her decision to leave him behind final and irrevocable. What had rung louder then? The way his heart shattered into pieces, or the loud honking of an incoming car that not even his skilled team of guards could protect him from?

Naoya figured it must’ve been the muffled cries of his mother behind the windows that rung the loudest even if he hadn’t heard it.

Until now, he carried the mark his mother left behind; a gnarly scar running inches from his kneecaps that throbs until now. It reminds him every day what could happen to someone once they’re weak, once they’re vulnerable, the horrifying consequence of not being strong enough to face in this world like a huge slap in his face. In a way, he felt grateful for the scar; at least it was proof he’d done his best to run after his mother, and this injury just taught him it was best to face things head on instead of running away.

This scar would always tell him that running away was never the option, and that was why Naoya felt so strong, so disappointed when he met you. Naoya saw much potential in you – the wrath firing in your eyes and the will to fight back is what pulled him in on the first place – and yet you were already trembling on the ground, your sweat dripping on the floor.

“Stand up!” he demanded, tapping his cane on the ground as he wobbled to his feet. “Do you really think being weak will make you survive in this world?”

“I’m trying!”

“You’re not trying hard enough,” he spat out, matching the intensity of your glare. Had you been any lesser of a woman, a servant, he’d have your eyes gouged out. But to him, you were a vessel of hope, an embodiment of strength he could help you hone that he let you off. Still, he felt extremely let down that he expected so much from you, and you’ve been pathetic so far.

Naoya shook his head as he left. “You’re going to die the moment you step out of here. And to think I actually had high hopes for you. As expected, you women are weak and pathetic. Each one of you is useless.”

He didn’t get very far when his injury throbbed again. Naoya fell to his knees and immediately bit down on his lip to conceal his groans, but it was too late. You’ve rushed to him in an instant, already pulling his slacks upwards to get a good look at his knee. Worry is painted all over your features still drenched in sweat and exhaustion, and he pried your hand away, a frown deep on his lips.

“Get away from me. I don’t need a woman’s help.”

“You’re so uptight, you know that?” you rebutted with a roll of your eyes. Naoya watched as you skipped to the nearest medical kit he always kept in his training grounds (which he rarely used) and popping out painkillers to hand to him. “Just shut up and let me take care of you. Unlike you, I don’t walk around calling people weak, and you having this injury never made you weak in my eyes, but you’re not impotent either,” scoffing at him, you pushed the bottle of water to a very annoyed looking Naoya. “At least let me take care of you every once in a while.”

His whole life, Naoya knew nothing but the familiar bitter cold. Being served tea, scaring his servants with his mere presence, the toxic view that everyone was below them drilled into his own head – that had been his life, and his feelings about it were neither hot nor cold.

To him, it was just the way he’s supposed to be.

But the warmth of your hands, the tenderness of your touch to his scars not because you found him weak but rather you cared for him…it tugged at his heartstrings. That had been at least five years ago and Naoya still remembered that moment very clearly.

He couldn’t understand whether he hated his inability to run away or not, because to be around you confused him to no end. One moment, he saw you as nothing but his one way ticket to fortune, but when he was alone with you, he was beginning to see you more as a woman rather than a pawn to his game. Soon, you became more than that, and nothing had terrified him even more that he let someone in his heart just like that.

Did he love you? No, most definitely not. A man like him didn’t know how to love. But with you – every time he saw you – Naoya is confident to admit that he could somehow understand what love meant.

It had been a hellish trip – one he’d never admit it out loud that he wished to never go on again. He was just happy to be home before he laughed, because home? He’d never thought he’d ever say that, yet there he was, beaming at the sight of you pushing your weight off the limousine.

You looked as stunning as usual, running up to him even with your heels before wrapping your arms around his neck. Usually, Naoya didn’t like public displays of affection since it could greatly deter his reputation, but everyone knew both of you weren’t each other’s weaknesses that he didn’t care whether his people could see their leader grinning as his wife welcomed with a kiss. Naoya balanced himself on his cane to encircle a hand to your waist, pulling you closer and burying his face in your hair.

“I missed you,” you mumbled with your head buried in his shoulder.

Naoya’s smile wasn’t any less affectionate. “I missed you more.” And he did – a whole lot. Even as you both made it inside the limousine, the tablet passed to him per the usual to update him on what happened on the few days of his absence, Naoya couldn’t keep his hands to himself. His cane balanced between his knee and the door, while his free hand intertwined with yours, mindlessly caressing the matching rings that symbolized more trust than love.

“How did it go?” he brought your knuckles up to his lips and kissed it, his attention still focused on today’s stock market. “Did you convince him to lend us the lab?”

“Yes, my love, everything is under control. I told you I had it.”

“Cunning little minx,” he smirked at the confidence and triumph dripping from your voice. Naoya shut his tablet off with a click, hauling you until you were resting on his lap. Giggles erupted beautifully from your lips as you pressed your forehead to his, both your smiles equally mischievous. “Did you sleep with him?”

“No. Satoru is still hopelessly in love with me, so it didn’t really take much to push him to the edge with a few tears and white lies,” you smiled at him, soon dropping from your face when Naoya’s eyes darkened with an unreadable – no, unfamiliar hint of worry behind them. “Naoya,” you caressed his leg, “I don’t care about him anymore, you’ve got nothing to worry about. I just want to survive and put everything behind,” you cupped his face and forced him to look you in the eye, making sure he heard every bit of sincerity in your voice. “You know I love you, right? I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth. Him coming back doesn’t change a thing.”

“I know that,” he said, although deep down, in the dark recesses of his heart, something agonizing stirred within.

You were a smart woman – too intelligent that he may have feared you had he been any lesser – who could easily read through him, but Naoya wanted to be a step ahead of you that he caught your lips to stop you from seeking beneath his soul already. He knew that if you looked a little too close, you’d see everything, and that would be the last thing he wanted.

Snaking his tongue past your lips, he greedily swallowed your moans. Naoya’s touch was possessive as he gripped your thigh, seconds away from ripping off the material of your dress. He only stopped once he saw his driver pale in awkwardness, and he chuckled to himself, squeezing your hips to stop you from grinding on his thigh.  

“You’re always so good for me,” he praised, “I might just reward you once we get home.”

Home. Prior to meeting you, home had been nothing but a word in his extensive vocabulary. Home had been nothing but something that carried a meaning but no significance in his living, but now that he’d met you, home felt familiar. Home smelled like rose-scented shampoos, it resonated of bubbly laughter and curious hands finding its way to its belt. Home…you’d just given him something to lose.

As per the plan, you managed to sneak past Satoru’s defenses. Naoya had once said that your secret weapon was not your tempting nature as a woman, but rather your intelligence that sometimes put his to shame. He’d shamelessly announced his plan to use you again with the goal of taking matters into your own hands, looping Satoru into the picture until you have him wrapped around your finger again.

It turned out to be easier than expected. Truthfully, you wanted to refuse. It wasn’t because you were worried you’d beat yourself in your own game and fall for Satoru again, but because it felt so uncomfortable to hold him like that, to kiss him like that.

Each second you spent with him just served as a painful reminder of how he’d mindlessly pushed you to the side from a failed plan of ‘protecting’ you.

However, you couldn’t complain nor deny Naoya’s wishes. He wanted to use your abilities to the fullest of its extent and bring out your potential. Besides, you trusted him wholeheartedly that you’d never question his motives, even if it included seducing Satoru with crocodile tears and a faux broken heart to get him to bend and move at your will. After all, your will was also Naoya’s, and that was what made the both of you so dangerous together.

Standing here now in Satoru’s laboraty, sending him phoney desperate glances as you clutched your husband’s hand, the game had just begun.

He was giving you both a tour of what you could use from his laboratory, and Naoya had kept silent the whole time. The whole drug manufacturing was more your expertise than his. He simply observed everything with watchful eyes, his gaze darting between Satoru’s longing ones and yours. It was a play pretend of push and pull, everyone in the room except for Satoru unaware that soon, you’d bare your fangs to rip his neck apart, and then you’d stand aside and let Naoya finish the business.

You would’ve laughed had Naoya not tightened his grip on your hand. Both you and Satoru paused as Naoya desperately shushed you up, his eyes wide and floating from one corner to another.

Suddenly, a loud explosion came out of nowhere. The blast crushed half of the building to bare rubble and concrete and you saw nothing but black, inhaled so much smoke that your lungs quivered. The ringing in your ears didn’t stop as you wobbled to unsteady legs, waving the smoke away and coughing whatever filled your system. Satoru was right beside you, his long limbs quicker than yours before he hauled you up, checking to see if you had injuries but you were too scared, too desolate to care for his worry.

For your husband laid under a pile of rubble, an arm and his head the only parts of his body saved from the explosion.

“Naoya!” You screamed and pushed Gojo away, taking your heels off before darting straight to where he was. Jumping from broken debris to one another, your feet scraped and burned with each contact, the ringing in your ears growing louder along with the pounding of your heartbeat.

“Naoya, baby, no!” you tried to pick up the heavy slab of concrete that had crushed his body, tears blurring your vision until Naoya’s blond hair swiveled with his dark clothes. “Don’t leave me, don’t leave me, don’t you fucking dare-”

“Gojo,” he choked out blood. You fell to your knees as you cupped his face and grasped his hand all the while, your entire body shaking. His name kept falling from your lips as you asked him to stand up but he pushed your hand away, not sparing you another glance as he glared at the shock still man behind you. “Take her someplace far – somewhere he won’t find the both of you. It’s T-Toji.”

“No, Naoya, please! I’m not leaving without you!” It was too late. Satoru had easily carried you and threw you over his shoulder, running away from the scene because that was what he was best at. You pounded at his back as the smoke enlarged and covered the entirety of the building that had fizzled with chemicals inside, your husband starting to disappear from view. “Satoru, let me go! We can’t just leave him there!”

“Listen to your husband! He knows what he’s doing!”

As the smoke cleared for a split second, your world stilled. Naoya’s face was smothered with dirt and stains, pain evident on his twisted features, and yet – he was smiling. “Go,” he mouthed, hands outstretched far enough for your matching rings to glint under the sparkling lights. “Live.”

You slumped into Satoru’s arms. It was too late.

You couldn’t comprehend the events that happened afterwards. Satoru had pushed you inside his car before taking off to who knows where. All you knew was that you’d left your husband behind, and you stared emptily at the streets that flashed by, unable to feel or understand anything. It wasn’t until Satoru dragged you out by the wrist and a plane whirring before you snapped you back to life, your feet turning heavy as you plant yourself on the ground.

Satoru looked back at you.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you shook your head, “I’m not leaving him behind, Satoru, he’s all I have. I need to save him – even if it means I die.”

“You’re not going to die,” he starts off slowly. Satoru moves to place his hands down on your shoulders as if to brace you, even going as far as to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, but you couldn’t really listen, not when the plane hummed to life and remnants of the explosion still clung to your skin.

“Listen, Naoya is a smart man, okay? You know that yourself. He’ll survive, you just need to trust that he’ll make it. Now we have to go before Toji catches up to us and we end up all dying here!” he shook you back to life when your sobs overpowered his speech that fell on deaf ears, and you cried harder, much less like a little girl who quivered in his arms. Satoru sighed, perhaps just as broken from seeing you this way. “He told you to live. Naoya isn’t asking you to die for him, he’s asking you to live and if you don’t get on the plane, we can’t fulfill his wish,” he convinced, but you only bit your lip, still looking back at the car. You could steal it – one punch to his nose and you could easily get away, get back to Naoya, until he said, “You love him right? So respect his wishes.”

You love him. You love Naoya. He would’ve wanted me to live. He asked me to live.

That was the only consolation you could give yourself as you allowed Satoru to take you inside. His right hand man, Geto or something, quietly closed the cabin doors behind you. He was making sure his boss was situated, who in turn was fretting over you. All it took was one last warning glare sent Satoru’s way before he backed off, raising his hands in surrender and falling back to his seat.

Sooner than you’d like, the plane had took off, leaving your heart right behind with each passing second. The higher you flew up in the air, the number you became.

“Where are we going?”

“I have a base in Italy. We should be safe there for a while. Gather resources, plan our next move, contact friends...we’ll be fine,” Satoru pinched the bridge of his nose. It was hard to believe things would be fine when he too seemed restless; whatever happened between him and Toji must’ve really left a scar; not that you cared. You huffed away from Satoru and stared outside the windows instead, your heart dropping the farther Japan was becoming. “Hey. You should get some rest. You’ve had a long day.”

“Whatever,” you snapped at him. You couldn’t stand his voice, not even if he’s saved you.

The only thing that mattered now was living up to Naoya’s wish, and as much as you hated it, Satoru was right. You had to hope he would survive.

The chances of him making it out were low, but knowing Naoya, low chances weren’t zero. As long as he had a little bit of something, he would keep pushing. You just had to place your trust in him.

Kissing your dusty ring, you wiped away your tears one last time, eyes shut tight as you chanted over and over, live, live, live for me! Live! Naoya couldn’t give up that easily. You both had a long way to go, still so many places to travel, thousand more enemies to conquer and defeat. He promised you the fun was just beginning and that you’d get your revenge soon, and Naoya never broke his promises. So you had to trust, had no other choice but to believe that soon he’d be right beside you. He may not be able to completely walk anymore, though none of that mattered. You just wanted to be with him again.

You didn’t realize you’d fallen asleep until Satoru’s hushed whispers woke you up. Sitting up straight, you saw him scowling to whoever he’s talking to on the phone. He looked grim, long, slender fingers caressing his forehead as he sighed. Whatever he heard, it couldn’t have been good, and curiosity got the best of you before you could help it.

“What is it?” Satoru stilled at the sound of your voice, having not expected you to be awake. He refused to meet your eyes as he shut his phone. It angered you further and you stalked his way, slapping a palm down the table before him. “I said, what is it?”

“It’s Naoya...” he said through clenched teeth, still refusing to look you in the eye. “He didn’t make it.”

notes. team naoya...let’s go...cry 😭 when I said I would write more gojo x reader scenes and that they’re still the pairing, I meant it, I just had to take a dark route anyways DO YOU GUYS UNDERSTAND WHY IT TOOK SO LONG FOR ME TO UPDATE THIS, I DIDN’T WANT TO DO THIS TO NAOYA BAE 😭 but on the bright side, italy arc is gonna be SHEESH

taglist open (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @sixeyesgojo @shingekiyofeels @q-the-rockaholic @whatthefuckisthatthing @rogueofbullshit @kat-su-ki @kellyyween @sebootyforlife @asshxcm @charlie-xo @aoi-turtle @ladywaifuuwrites @savantsoulfinder @my-reality-is-in-my-head @hannya-quinn @90s-belladonna @tinyfrogsinmybrain @kinekyuroo @evesmores @ambiguous-something @lilith412426 @kakashiharusohma @aizawap @yumeneji @dora-the-grownup @jotazinha @themrsgojo @d34r-s4t4n @marai-t @toji-bee @hai-cool @badsadbby @stesphy @peach-buns-unicorns @misslezah @riri-marley @gracefullyfallinglikeanime @iwaplant​ @mikiminaccch​ | bolder users cannot be tagged

[missinghan]

cold sun ⤖ han jisung

❖ genre : soulmate au; fluff; angst

❖ word count : 2,6k.

❖ warning : slight swearing

❖ summary : in a world where one will lose something if their soulmate doesn’t reciprocate their words of love once they turn sixteen, jisung is willing to take the risk so you won’t have to bear the burden.

❖ note : i just realized how i always tend to write for jisung when i'm down :')) anywho this piece is a little different than what i usually come up with but i hope y'all enjoy it ♡

It’s the first day of the week.

“Hey, Y/N. I like you!”

And Han Jisung is really annoying.

Those words come out so easily. It's casual in a way that makes you bury your red nose deeper into the soft fabric of your scarf, which makes your footsteps quicken unknowingly as his voice chases after you loudly. Either way, this isn’t the first time Jisung has said so. In fact, it’s become a habit for him to remind you every other day.

There’s no particular reason why. Or at least that’s what you think.

It’s the end of the week. Jisung decides to hang himself upside down on your bed while you’re stressing over a presentation. “Hey, Y/N.” A cold winter breeze comes rushing against the perplexing glass of your window, shaking the frame violently before all motions come to silence.

Until, “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N,” he creeps up from behind you and chirps into your ear.

“What?” you let out a groan of displease when tempting warmth embraces you whole, prompting you to drop your attention and looking over your shoulder.

Jisung pouts, “You didn’t answer me.”

“It’s because you’re annoying,” you sigh.

“Answer me when I call your name,” he pulls you in a fraction tighter, careful enough not to hurt you but firm to not let you slip away at the same time, and cradles your neck warmly, “So I’d know that you’re still here with me.”

“Alright, stupid.”

The all too familiar gummy smile returns instantly. “Hey, Y/N?”

And you can’t help but roll your eyes. “Yes, Jisung?”

“I like you,” he giggles into the hug, “I like you a lot.”

Han Jisung really is annoying.

He’s annoying because he talks too much. He’s annoying because of how he always asks for your notes after a gaming night with Felix just to nap in class. He’s annoying because he’d drop you in a heartbeat for a single slice of cheesecake from Jeongin’s mom’s bakery. He’s annoying because of how well he can get along with everyone.

Chatty, down-to-earth, easy-going with a lovable smile—attractive, very attractive.

It’s the week after that. “What...happened?”

“He lost his voice,” Jeongin sighs, looking like he genuinely wants to facepalm himself against concrete while walking with an incoherent Jisung to school; expressive hands with his mouth agape and all.

You tilt your head, “...for real?”

“For real.”

After a few seconds of eyeing Jisung struggling with converting what’s in his head, you exhale deeply and quickly rummage through your backpack, “Just stop, you look ridiculous.” And he does just that, zipping his mouth metaphorically and giving you those typical puppy eyes. “Here, use this.”

His eyes light up like stars when you rip off a page from one of your notebooks and offer it to him along with a pen. Truth is, you’re expecting something as predictable as ‘I like you’ or ‘It’s alright it’s just the worst cold I’ve ever caught’. But then, what’s displayed on the piece of paper right now only baffles you.

Park is going to murder you if he sees some uglyass tear in your Ochem notes :)

A forced grin splits your lips open. “Not if I murdered you first and then the entire school and then myself.”

The first genuine smile blossoms on his lips when you give him a mini-sized notepad and pencil the day after—his sixteenth birthday.

And Jisung decides this is it.

It happens when the sun hasn’t even come out yet and the irritating blue light from his phone reads 5:32 AM.

It happens when he sees your reclined figure leaning back against his mattress, his pupils tracing your delicate features. Perplexed emotions fill his eyes to the brim, fulfillment bursting within his chest when you stare right back at him with such purity. So pure that it seems you can do no harm to him and neither can he.

“Hey stupid,” you murmur quietly, shoving a notepad and pencil against his chest, “Happy birthday.”

Jisung gives you a bright smile, opens his mouth, and snaps it close mere moments later. Sixteenth birthday. Early in the morning. Tired grins. The fondness of being so disgustingly in love.

He can’t help but lean in and caves into the taste his soul has longed for as long as he can remember.

Two weeks have passed since Jisung has lost his voice.

Nothing has differed if you’re being completely honest. Han Jisung is still annoying. His lack of ability to speak doesn’t appear to be a problem to him at all. He loves chatting with people even though he’s more of a listener now. But with the small notepad you gave him a few days ago, being socially active is the norm for him even now.

Thanks to his rather short-period experiences of observing people’s expressions and how their features contort in certain ways when they’re feeling certain emotions, Jisung catches onto your mood more quickly during bad days to help you release your inner turmoil by scribbling down something stupid on the notepad. It’s kinda nice like this, you’d think to yourself sometimes.

Other times, you’re more scared that you might have forgotten what his voice sounds like.

“No wonder you got a fucking cold. Stop taking midnight showers already.”

You wave Jisung over when he closes the wooden door to your bedroom, droplets dripping from his hair as he scratches his stomach tiredly. His hair is a mess when he lazily crawls onto your bed, the cushion beside you dips slightly.

His index finger pointing at his post-shower head and a shit-eating grin are all you need to snatch the white towel around his neck.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” you mumble while rubbing the cotton fabric into his hair, “But you’re awfully upbeat for someone who’s lost their voice. Can’t you at least pretend to be sad about it?”

A noise of protest escapes his throat like second nature as your eyes carefully read the quick movements of his mouth. “And can you not be so mean to someone who’s lost their voice?”

A faint smirk creeps its way up to your lips. “Still like me now?”

Jisung thinks hard for a few moments before jumping out of bed to snatch his notepad from your studying area. Of course, I like you. I like you a lot. Your heartbeat momentarily spikes at his scrawny handwriting. Just when your gaze is averted away to cool the blush on your cheeks, he tugs at your sleeve again and points at a different mess of scribbles. You’re more gentle when I’m like this. And you’d always find me if I ever got into trouble. What’s there for me to be sad about?

“Annoying little shit,” you swallow your pride and let him settle his head against your chest.

His presence melts into yours during the hardest hours of the twenty-four, heartbeats on heartbeats and warmth on warmth. Your one regret is that you’re unable to register his tears that night, only the incoherent, breathless hiccups almost as to desperately call out your name.

It’s been a month since Jisung’s lost his voice. And the night when he kisses you for the second time, his notepad is long forgotten next to your pillow.

I-can’t-talk. Give-me-a-break.

Jeongin. Cheesecake. Please? Pretty please?

I’ll fucking kick you.

Wait, there’s homework?!

...so you’re telling me LMAO isn’t how French people laugh?

“This is what you’ve been doing during breaks huh…” you mumble under your breath while lazily flipping through the papers. The occasional ‘I like you’-s do pop up every two pages or so, which is more than enough to make you smile like an idiot. But that is until a peculiar paragraph yanks your attention by its neck and tosses it against a brick wall.

Mom, promise me you’re not going to cry.

He made auntie cry?!

I lost my voice for real now but it wasn’t supposed to be like that at first. I just wanted to mess with Y/N and freak her out for a day.

I’m seriously going to punch him.

She was a lot softer toward me after that, you know. I know it’s extremely selfish of me but I just can’t help being so happy. I’m sorry, mom. I really am.

Han Jisung you fucking idiot.

I was going to surprise her on my birthday by saying ‘good morning’ out loud but nothing came out. My voice was gone.

Guilt, anger, remorse take over you. You knew nothing of this. You never once questioned for a logical reason behind the loss of his voice and kept moving onward as if it’s not that big of a deal. You didn’t suspect it as a kind of prank, either. But you still care, all this time! You have been doing everything in your power as a way for both you and Jisung to treasure himself even if he can’t speak anymore.

I went to a check-up last week. Nothing came up. I’m sorry. Please don’t cry.

However, without fail, the obnoxious part of you will keep wandering back to the concept of soulmates that has been engraved so deeply into the society you’re living in. It makes no sense to you that Jisung lost his voice for no reason right before his sixteenth birthday. This explains it all now.

It’s going to be okay, mom. Because I have Y/N. I know she would come running toward my side over and over again even if she can’t hear me anymore. I really don’t know what I’d do without her in my life.

Jisung knew the penalty for being the first to exchange any words of love yet he still did it. And you were too busy overlooking that stupid pride of yours to say those three words back.

It’s getting to the point where I’m starting to forget what I used to sound like. I’m sorry. Please don’t cry.

Jisung fixes the strap of his backpack, looking up at his mom after slipping into his sneakers. She ruffles his bed head and hands him a small white box with Jeongin’s bakery’s signature logo on it.

He tilts his head in faint confusion, peering at the box of pastry in his arms.

“Give it to Y/N on the bus, okay? Her parents aren’t home right now. You know how she would always skip breakfast when they’re out of town.”

His eyes light up instantly in realization and Jisung nods, preparing to bid her farewell. Just then, his front door comes flying open. It can’t be a mere acquaintance because there are very few people other than his parents and himself who know of the spare key hidden under the welcome mat.

As Jisung turns around, he’s keenly aware of your teary eyes already trained on him. Which in hindsight, makes no sense. As a result, panic rises within the hollowness of his chest, his lips falling agape but no coherent words come out.

“Y/N, sweetheart,” his mom flinches, slightly caught off guard, “Is everything okay?”

A scowl stretches over your contorted features as you shut the door loudly. “What the hell is this?” you question, shoving the familiar notepad into his chest. “A prank? A prank?! Do you think that this is funny?”

Jisung’s frantic eyes move to read the paper and every single color on his face drains tremendously. He easily recognizes the peculiar paragraph by how much lighter the ink is compared to the rest of the messy lines because his pen was running low and his hand couldn’t stop shaking.

Your voice.

His eyes avert back to look at you. His brows furrow timidly and shaky breaths burst from his lips almost like a desperate cry for help. There’s too much he wants to say, too many things to explain, and too many questions running through his head that he can’t process what to do next. He might just overwhelm both you and himself.

I need to hear it again.

And you might not stay by his side this time.

“Okay, don’t answer me then, I guess,” you chuckle lowly, dipping your head and turning around.

Jisung grabs at your sleeve instinctively and drops the pastry box, his gaze empty and all too knowing. Sorrow glazes over his starry eyes when it starts becoming hard to breathe properly. The outlines of his lips are moving non-stop yet nothing comes following after that.

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” you rasp out and tug at his hand. Then it hits you. He’s like this because of you. Jisung lost his voice because of you.

His mom cuts into the conversation, “Y/N, you don’t understand!”

“I’m sorry, auntie,” you smile sadly and take off running into the streets.

You, in the midst of your self-loathing and guilt, allow your feet to go wherever they want as your vision spirals into a blur. A single droplet threatens to fall when a forceful hand yanks you back to reality.

It takes Jisung a moment to regain his regular breathing pace. And when he finally gets it, all he can do is call out to you with the same inaudible sounds and the same desperation in his eyes. It seems as though he’s fully aware that the prank was the stupidest, most irrational thing he’s ever done. But there’s more to the ocean within his eyes than just remorse.

“I already told you,” you clench your jaw and slap his hand away, “I don’t fucking know what you’re saying!”

A deep sigh. “Why am I mad? Of course, I’d be mad! It’s because of me that you lost your voice! It’s because I like you, too! Yet I never said it back… You lost your voice because of me! Don't you get it? Why can't you just hate me for the sake of it?!”

You miss his voice. You miss it a lot.

You want to hear it again. You want to hear him call you by your name. You want to stay up late and talk about anything to the ends of the Earth and back with him. You want him to be the obnoxious, chatty Han Jisung you've always known.

You miss how annoyingly loud he is.

“Y-Y...Y/N…!”

Jisung collapses onto his knees, a hand on concrete while the other is on his neck. His chest rises and falls unevenly, muffled noises of discomfort echoing deep down from his throat. Despite that, what you heard just now, is his voice.

“Answer me when I call your name. So I’d know that you’re still here with me.”

“I promised you, didn’t I,” you spread your arms and smile warmly, “That I’d always answer when you call my name. As long as I can still hear you, I will come running toward you over and over again. Doesn’t matter what it takes, doesn’t matter where you are.”

Jisung lifts his head and tears come rolling down on his cheeks. His throat feels swollen when he stutters with difficulties, trying to convey what’s in his head, “Y-Y/N, don’t- don’t go! Please don’t leave me...!”

“Come here,” you close your eyes with the widest grin on your lips, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Only when Jisung grows closer and throws his arms around you, sobbing into your uniform do you convince yourself that all of this isn’t a hallucination. The hug is a lot stronger than what you’d expect. First of all, you nearly fell over from the impact and your arms are pinned so tightly to your sides that you feel like your ribs are going to snap.

Everything is so overwhelming that all you can say is, “Ow.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles into your hair and loosens his arms a bit so you can loop your hands to the nape of his neck and hair.

“You’re so annoying, Han Jisung.”

He purses his lips, sniffling, “You tried to make me snap on purpose. Meanie.”

You quirk a playful brow, “Still like me now?”

“Yeah,” Jisung smiles, “A lot.”

Because he knows that he has you. Until every last star in the galaxy explodes as a supernova, Jisung has you.

[liliesinrequiem]

The Truth

A/N: I’m back! I’ve been working on this for a while and kept changing it up. I think I’ve reached a version where I’m rather happy with it. I hope that y’all enjoy <3!

Pairing: Diluc x Reader

Summary: You have figured out that Diluc is the Darknight Hero. Now you have to confront him about it.

CW: Mentions of blood

You slightly moved the chair side to side as you waited for your husband to return. The white cloth in your hand only made you more upset than you already were. You put it down and spread it out on the desk. The bright candlelight permitted you to look at the design clearly. 

There was no mistaking it. The brilliant oranges and reds that made the owl on the handkerchief were undeniably the same colors that you had procured early on in your marriage to Diluc. It’d been a lot of negotiating back and forth to get the threads in the exact color that you wanted. You had sewn an owl, the animal that he greatly admired, in an array of colors that also reflected that of his vision. It’d been some trial and error (and many messed up handkerchiefs) to be able to create a product that you liked enough to be able to give him. 

The handkerchief had been a birthday gift for him. 

You were surprised that he even still carried it around when he had countless other handkerchiefs. Archons, you even thought that he’d long forgotten about it. While you felt happiness in knowing that he still used it, you could not separate the fact that you were upset with him from it. 

“The Darknight Hero?” you asked out loud. The words rolled off your tongue so easily and yet, you felt it difficult to consider. Not because you thought that Diluc was incapable of actually being the hero. It made a lot of sense that the man that did not like the Knights of Favonius was also the one taking matters into his own hands. 

What made it difficult to consider was how he had been hiding everything from you. What would happen if he went missing and no one knew where he had gone? How could you sleep at night not knowing if you could have done something? The idea of Diluc being injured in his activities made you spiral into despair. 

“Oh, Diluc…..” You wished to understand his reasoning in doing things at times. If only for a minute, you wished to understand why he had hidden it from you. The only reason you had even come to the conclusion was due to an array of increasingly odd actions by your husband and a rather fortuitous meeting with Kaeya. Diluc had been unable to have meals with you with greater frequency. He’d been spending less and less time in the manor. Yes, he was a busy man, but he always made time for you. You’d wake up and he was gone and go to bed with him still not being home. He’d become so much more evasive with you. 

What culminated in everything was an odd conversation that you overheard. Whether Kaeya had intended for you to coincidentally arrive as he was speaking with Lumine and Paimon about an odd handkerchief that they had picked up from the Darknight Hero, you were not sure. It just seemed to fall into place too conveniently. You didn’t question the fact that he even handed you the cloth by the end of your meeting. You understood what he meant. 

You heard the door knob of the office being turned and gripped the cloth tightly. All the emotions that you had been mulling over threatened to flood over. Your shoulders sagged when you saw Adelinde walk through the door. “I made you some tea,” she said. She placed the tray and you quietly thanked her. You made no move to drink the tea and Adelinde remained. 

“Will you rest soon?” she asked. “I can stay with you, if you would like.” You looked out the window and saw that the moon was high. Based on your estimations, it was late. It was probably a bit past midnight. The early hours of the new day were approaching. Where was he? Was he facing something horrible? Would he make it home tonight? You prayed to Barbatos that he was safe.

You turned back to look at Adelinde. “I’ll rest soon,” you answered, “I’m sure he’ll be home soon. But Adelinde...go to sleep. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be alright.” She only nodded and stopped at the threshold of the door for a brief moment. You knew that she did not want to leave you alone, but she would be unable to convince you. You were going to stick around until he came home. 

Time seemingly passed as the tea in the teapot turned cold. You had barely touched the tea in the cup that Adelinde had served a while ago. The moon seemed to be moving down more and more. The exhaustion of not having slept yet was getting to you. You’d put your head down on the desk to rest your eyes a bit when you heard the door opening once more. You looked up and half-expected it to be Adelinde, but you felt your heart stop when you saw it was Diluc. You remained quiet as he entered and dropped his sword on the ground. 

Your husband looked at you in surprise and said, “(Y/N)?” You noticed that he looked extremely tired. His outfit seemed to be in disarray. The coat was dirtied with mud and you could only wonder if the red stains on his white shirt were his or the monsters that he had killed. His hair was disheveled. While you were concerned about his well-being, you had come too far to not confront him. “What are you doing up?” 

“Waiting for you,” you said. “How’s the Darknight Hero doing?” You dropped the handkerchief onto the desk and you watched how your husband reacted. Immediate recognition of the handkerchief lit up on his face. He looked at you with a frown.  

“(Y/N), it’s late. Why don’t we talk tomorrow?” Exhaustion weighed on his voice. It was your turn to frown. 

“No,” you said softly, “I want answers, Diluc.” You had spent so much of the day going over many things in an endless loop. You wanted to know everything. His shoulders dropped and you bit your lip. You had no desire to argue with him. You just wanted to know. You stood up and moved around the desk to be standing in front of Diluc. “Are you the Darknight Hero?” 

Your heart beat loudly as you waited for an answer. Then, “Yes.” The simple response was all that you needed to fully accept it. You closed your eyes and sighed deeply. You looked at Diluc. 

“Why didn’t you tell me, Diluc?” you asked. “Do you not trust me?” Your voice cracked with the last question. It’d been the one thing that your mind had been circling back to the entire day. Lumine and Paimon knew that he was the Darknight Hero. Kaeya had figured it out. How many more people knew this information? How come he hadn’t told you?

Diluc gripped your hands, a surprising move, and said, “(Y/N), I do trust you. But I don’t want you caught up in all of this. I don’t want to cause harm to you. I…” He did not finish his sentence. You remained quiet. While you knew that he had good intentions, you hated that he had hidden a lot from you. You let go of one of his hands and placed your hand on his cheek. 

“Diluc,” you said, “Isn’t it more dangerous for me to not be aware of what you are? Knowing all of this now, I can be more alert about everything. As much as I appreciate it, I would like to know who my beloved husband’s enemies are. What if you’re seriously hurt and we don’t know where you went? You can’t just rely on yourself, you fool! Look at you right now! Ready to keel over. Were you going to try and wrap up any wounds on your own?” You pointed to the darkening red stain on his white shirt. He looked down at it. You also noticed that he had gotten paler than when he came in.

“I’m sorry,” he said. 

“I don’t think that it was okay to hide this from you, Diluc. But….I understand why you did. Just..just tell me the next time that you head out to do whatever the Darknight Hero does. It’d be better to know than to be left in the dark. If anything happened to you…” You trailed off. The idea of anything bad happening to him made you greatly upset. 

“I will,” he said. Suddenly, he seemed to lose his energy as he fell forward and into your arms. You panicked a little, but calmed down when you felt him gripping your waist gently. He was still conscious.

“Diluc, let’s sit you down. I’ll get some bandages and work on your wounds, okay?” you said as you sat him down. You were aware that he had some first aid in his office and looked around through one of the drawers and pulled out the bag. You hurried over to him and started to help him out of his coat and his shirt. You pulled out the cotton pads and poured out the wound cleaner. You kneeled to work on his wound.

“I’m sorry for causing you distress,” he whispered. You didn’t stop wiping away at the blood that came out. Your thoughts kept swirling around as you worked. Your concern for him being the Darknight Hero was well-warranted, it seemed. Your mixed feelings had mostly disappeared because he had admitted who he was. Your worry had only gotten worse as you worked on stopping the bleeding.

“I love you, you know? Of course I’d be worried about what you’re doing when you’re avoiding me! I’m just happy to have been able to catch you tonight. How would you have dealt with this?” you said. You pressed the cotton pad and breathed a sigh of relief when the bleeding stopped. 

“I love you too,” he said. You smiled softly and pulled out the bandages to wrap them around him. His hand held onto your shoulder as you worked. Though he did not speak, he did wince at times as you wound up the cloth. You finished wrapping up the bandages, stood up, and kissed Diluc’s forehead. 

“Now, how about we go to bed? You need rest.” 

[reporterleroux]

hihi!!

there is absolutely no rush in this, take your time, but fo you think you could do a p!platonic! trio & reader where they all go to the beach but despite reader wearing a swim suit they have an oversized hoodie over it. Leading to the boys asking her why she isn't swimming with them and she explains it's because she has visible past self harm scars on her upper legs that aren't covered by the swimming suit? you can take it from there if you wish <3

again, no rush!! take all the time you need :)

Ofc!

Characters: bench trio x reader (PLATIONIC)

A/N: I don't know if you meant bench trio? If not just lemme know and I can change it, it's not to much of a fuss.

!TW! MENTIONS OF PAST/HEALED S3LF H*RM SCARS. DO NOT READ IF THIS IS TRIGGERING

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When the boys said "come to the beach with us" you were not expecting the fact you had to swim. Or atleast not until it was to late. You were getting ready to go, long shorts to cover your scars on your upper legs, a short sleeve shirt, and basically what you would normally wear. You were just about to leave your room, to then leave your house when your phone buzzed one more time.

TimmyAinit (can change if other trio was intended)

Don't forget swimsuits were going swimmin

You sighed. The last thing you wanted was to have to swim. It's not cause you couldn't, or didn't enjoy it, it's just the fact that the swimming costume you had wouldn't cover your scars like the shorts once did. You went back into your room to find your swimming costume, thinking about how you could hide the scars. The only thing you could resort to was an oversized hoodie, you knew the boys would pull you straight in as soon as you got there, and it was meant to be hot for the rest of the week so it would soak your only current availabile pair of shorts, which you didn't want. You went downstairs, slid on some sliders, grabbed your stuff and left. "Let's hope they don't ask" you said to yourself if repeat.

When you eventually got there, you didn't know where they were, so you sent them a message.

Y/N

I'm here now what do I do where are you guys

Ranboob

We're at the beach rn we had to save a spot

Y/N

Who's we?

Ranboob

Me and Tommy

Bathtub

Im almost there when I do you better come get us Ranboo

Ranboob

Yeah yeah alr whatever

You stood there anxiously waiting for Tubbo to arrive. The sooner the worst, opposing what people normally say. The sooner he get there is the sooner you'll have to face alot of questions, which you didn't want.

Unfortunately, but also fortunately?, he arrived. You stood there in your oversized hoodie with your swimsuit underneath hoping no questions will be asked. Tubbo and Ranboo don't normally ask about stuff like that, despite the fact Tubbo never thinks before he speaks, it's more Tommy to worry about. He normally blurts out a question really loud and when (if) it makes someone awkward he immediately regrets it. "Hey Y/N!" Tubbo called from just over the car park. You swallowed a lump in your throat, hoping not just him, but any of the others wouldn't ask. "Hey Tubbo." You called back, signalling him to come over with a smile on your face. He ran over as fast as he could, almost tripping over the bags full of things to do at the beach, like buckets and spades, nets for ball games etc etc. "Could you maybe let Ranboo know we're here? I've kinda got, uh, full hands." He asked, holding up the bags he almost tripped over. You nodded and pulled out your phone, opening Discord.

Y/N

Alr he's here now be quick he's got like 5 bags full of stuff to do and almost tripped over them running towards me

Ranboob

I- damn ok omw

Little did you know while you were messaging him, Tubbo was looking at your attire, questioning why you were wearing what you were wearing on such a warm day. But he decided not to question, continuing on with his day. Ranboo finally turned up, and he made a strange look at you both, you unable to tell if it was about your attire or Tubbo with his 5 bags behind you. "Right, let's go then." He said, before walking off with you both following behind.

You finally turned the corner to see Tommy with the beach set up, which surprisingly wasn't abandoned or destroyed. You and Tubbo waved at Tommy before you all sat down and began to talk. You were counting down the time until Tommy blurted out the question, and you made a bet he'd do it within 10-12 minutes of you turn up. You only cut short on that bet though, as he blurted it out a mere 9 minuted in. "Why you wearing that hoodie?" He shouted not to loudly, but still loud enough. The other 2 looked at you, curious to get an answer to the question they've been asking themselves since the start of the day. You sighed, and took a moment before answering. You knew they wouldn't force you, but you also knew that they wouldn't mind giving you a confidence boost if you told them. You took another breath before explaining. "It's cause of self harm scars that aren't covered by the swimsuit. I know it's stupid that it happened in the past but it still makes me self conscious and makes me think people are constantly staring at me." The boys all looked at eachother, before Tubbo reached into one of his many bags and pulled out a spare pair of shorts. Everyone looked at him in confusion, including you, questioning everything about him until this point. "Well? Do you want to use them or not?" You took the shorts and put them on, taking off your hoodie afterwards. You looked down at your legs to check, and they sure did cover what you wanted covered. "Now come on, let's go!" Tommy grabbed your wrist pulling you off your chair (which made you almost fall) as he dragged you at full speed to the water. The day was filled with laughter and no one shutting up, resulting in alot annoyed people around you.

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A/N: FINALLY FINISHED IM SO HAPPY IVE BEEN UNMOTIVATED AF RECENTLY BUT ENJOY

Taglist: @bozowrites

[high-functioning-lokipath]

SH - Sherlock x Depressed!Reader - With a Little Help from My Friends - Words: 2,793

IMPORTANT A/N - PLEASE READ: As stated in the title, this story contains discussions of depression. There is mention of suicidal thought and self-harm. I personally don't think it's too intense in it's descriptions HOWEVER!!! If this will trigger you, for your own health and safety please do not read. My messages are always open if you'd like to talk. I wrote this partially based on my own feelings so I can understand to at least a degree. You're amazing and I love you all. As far as this story goes, just remember: it has a happy, very fluffy ending but it doesn't start that way. I hope you enjoy it, feel free to leave a comment!

Brief Backstory: Reader is friends with John and Sherlock. She is a nurse who works with John. The three met shortly after Sherlock came back. Sherlock and Reader have crushes on each other but won't admit to it. I think the story explains everything else.

"Y/N, I'm going to be honest," John said, putting his hand on your shoulder comfortingly. "I may have PTSD but I cannot fully put myself in your shoes. My depression is different than yours." You had called your best friend, John Watson, in a mild panic. You had been feeling depressed for some time, as he knew, but that day had been especially bad. There was no particular reason but your depression had gotten so intense that you knew you needed help to get past this particular wave. John invited you over to 221B, assuring you that his flatmate would be out for the next couple of hours. "As a doctor, I am going to prescribe you some medication. Lowest dose possible and only because I want to help you get some immediate relief but I know you do not want them to become permanent. Let's work on finding another solution for you, ok?"

"I don't know, John," you replied. You'd asked John to be your Doctor since you didn't go to one regularly and he didn't mind your irregular checkups. "I've tried just about everything. The only outlet that seems to help is writing and even then," you trailed off, trying not to cry again. "This feeling just won't go away and I don't even know why it's there in the first place. I just want it to stop."

"I think you should talk to Sherlock."

"What?" You squeaked. "Why in the world would I talk to Sherlock?"

"I can't tell you why, Y/N. As both your Doctor and Sherlock's, I have to respect certain amounts of patient confidentiality. However, as your friend, I think you should talk to him."

"I don't know."

"Trust me," He replied. Smirking slightly, he added, "Doctor's orders."

"Ok, John," you chuckled. He smiled and hugged you. "Thanks."

"Now how about we go and fill this prescription and then maybe get some ice cream?"

"Well, honestly," you sighed. "The ice cream sounds great but I didn't sleep well last night. I was actually wondering if I could just take a nap here for a bit. I sleep better here sometimes." You blushed but John nodded understandingly.

"Of course," He replied. "I'll run down to the drugstore and fill this for you. Meanwhile you get some rest. I'll let Sherlock know you're here just in case he ends up getting back before I do. Will you be ok by yourself?"

"Yeah," You smiled. "This is a safe space for me. I'll go grab a blanket. Thanks again."

"Don't mention it. Just remember, talk to him."

"I'll try."

About 15 minutes later, Sherlock arrived back at the flat. He'd gotten John's texts.

John: If you get home in the next 45 minutes, be quiet. Y/N is over and she's taking a nap. I have to run out for something.

Sherlock: Is everything ok? - SH

John: She said she had a bad night.

Sherlock: She must have had a reason to come over in the first place though. - SH

John: She's going to need to tell you that herself. Don't ask. Do you understand me? Let her tell you. Be nice, ok?

Sherlock: When am I not nice to Y/N? - SH

John: Ok, that is true. You like her too much to be rude to her. If you could just hold back your deductions for one second I will say this: you two have more in common than you think.

He hurried home, not to wake you up of course, but because he wanted to see you. If there was something seriously wrong, he wanted to try and brace himself for it first. He couldn't help the smile playing at the corner of his lips when he thought of you. You two were good friends, that much was obvious to everyone. But Sherlock could see the potential for something more. He liked you a lot. You were just as smart, sassy, and sarcastic as he was. But you also could be extremely kind and caring to others and especially to him. He still didn't quite understand why you cared for him so but he was grateful. Before he could dwell on that too much longer, he arrived at 221B.

He quietly slipped inside and smiled at what he saw. You were curled up on the couch, sleeping like a baby. Apparently, though, you'd kicked off the blanket you had grabbed. Instead of picking up the blanket, he decided to take off his long coat and carefully lay that over you. You quickly cuddled into the warm fabric, unconsciously taking a deep breath, inhaling his unique signature left behind on the coat. Satisfied with what he'd done, he took off his suit jacket and went to the kitchen to prepare some tea for when you woke up. He knew you had a favorite tea and, unless John moved it or drank it all, there still would be some in the cupboard.

You woke to the smell of your favorite tea and a hushed exclamation from the kitchen. Opening your eyes slowly you saw Sherlock in at the counter trying to set up a tray with the teapot and cups. Recognizing your surroundings a bit more, you realized what was on top of you. Sherlock was just about to bring out the tray but you decided to pretend you were still asleep. The chances of fooling the Detective were low, but you wanted to try.

"There," He whispered to himself, setting the tray on the coffee table. You could hear him settling down on his chair, likely getting into his 'palace pose' as you called it. For a moment you were happy. You had actually gotten some quality sleep, you were currently cuddled up in Sherlock's famous coat and Sherlock had even made you tea. But that feeling quickly faded. Tears threatened to spill out of your still closed eyes as self-deprecating thoughts filled your mind.

'John probably told him to make me tea. He probably covered me with his coat so I wasn't as much of a distraction. He doesn't want me here. He never does. Why does he even tolerate my presence? He probably wishes we'd never met,' You thought. Your mind was going a million miles an hour and gaining. Without your notice, the tears began rolling down your cheeks and quiet sobs escaped your lips.

"Y/N?" Sherlock whispered. You're eyes shot open. You hadn't heard him get up. Now he was kneeling right next to you, one hand hovering over your arm. "Are you ok?"

"Oh, Sherlock!" You cried. "I-I wish I knew."

"C'mere," he said, motioning for you to sit up. Once you did so, he pulled you into a tight hug.

"What's this for?"

"You always give me and John a hug when you see us. You haven't done so for the past 5 days. I-" he paused briefly before lowering his voice and continuing. "I missed it."

"Oh." You weren't quite sure how to reply to that. You leaned into his embrace, letting yourself get lost in the moment.

"Y/N? Is there something I can do to help?"

"How much did John tell you?" You asked. You wouldn't have been mad exactly if John had told Sherlock to talk to you, but you wanted to think Sherlock was reaching out on his own.

"He told me you had a bad night."

"That's all?" You asked, surprised. You pulled away slightly and stared into his eyes. Sherlock nodded, frowning slightly as he tried to deduce you.

"Why are you afraid to talk to me?" You turned away, embarrassed and unsure what to say. "Be honest."

"I don't want you to make fun of me. I have-" You took a deep breath, steeling your nerves and preparing to just jump right in. "I have been extremely depressed lately and I didn't want to hear another speech about how all I need to do is exercise and eat right and stop thinking about sad things. Well you know what? I can't stop it! I can't help it if I feel like a useless pile of trash that should be thrown in the bin and burned." By the time you finished your little tirade, you'd gotten up and started pacing the floor. Then you turned and faced Sherlock. His expression was neutral but there was an obvious sadness in his eyes, one you didn't expect to see. It wasn't of pity. If you had seen that you also would have given up on the conversation. No, it was almost an understanding, an empathy. His eyes were actually glistening with tears.

"Have you ever felt like," he paused, voice unsteady. "Like giving up?" He whispered, unable to hold eye contact. You nodded silently. He got up slowly and walked towards you. At first, you thought he would hug you again but then he started unbuttoning his shirt.

"Uh, Sherlock?"

"Just wait a moment. I want to show you something." He carefully shrugged off the purple shirt that you, admittedly, loved so much and tossed it on the chair. "Only one person knows about this. You will be the second. You remember I told you about Moriarty's network?"

"Yes, the day we met. I asked you about your work, a simple question. And I got an answer that lasted 3 hours." Sherlock chuckled dryly.

"Yeah, sorry about that."

"Oh, no. Please don't apologise. I-" You sighed, rubbing your forehead. "I tend to make jokes when I'm nervous."

"I know." He smiled at you with, yet again, a completely unreadable expression. "You remember though." You nodded, opting to stay silent as he explained. "Well, those 2 years dismantling his network weren't easy. Not physically and certainly not emotionally. As a result of the different missions, I received many wounds on my body in various locations. I was," He paused, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. "I was depressed, guilt-stricken and suicidal. I figured I had hurt my friends enough. If they thought I was dead maybe I should just go on with it."

"What changed your mind?"

"I didn't want to do it on a mission. I wanted to see home again one more time. So to temporarily relieve the pain I," He sighed. Well, I wouldn't let my wounds heal. I'd pick at them. Mycroft finally convinced me to come back officially because he needed my help. I never told him about this. I think he knows but we don't discuss it." He looked down, obviously embarrassed and feeling more emotionally naked than physically. "You can look," he said. It was as if he'd read your mind. You were trying to be respectful and not stare but you realized that's what he wanted to show you. You had, on occasion, seen him shirtless before but you had never realized how bad some of the scars were.

"Sherlock, I-I don't know what to say. I-" You were completely shocked. Not offended. But actually comforted that he understood you. "Thank you," You finally said.

"Actually I wanted to thank you. I didn't just show you this to prove that I understand your feelings." You looked at him confused. "The day we met. You were leaving work, correct?" You nodded.

"It had been my first day there. John had been happy with my work and requested that I stay assigned to his office permanently. John had already finished up and headed home but there was some paperwork I had to finish so I was leaving about an hour late. Come to think of it, John said he had plans with you that evening. Why were you there?"

"That's what I wanted to tell you. I met you less than a month after I came back. I had still been quite depressed so I was still picking at my injuries. That day had been a bad day for me. So I cancelled my plans with John and I decided to go back to where I started this whole mess and finish it."

"Wait, are you telling me that-"

"You saved my life." Sherlock took one of your hands in his own and held it tightly. "I had memorized the work schedules of most everyone there and knew how to slip in unnoticed."

"But you didn't factor in me."

"Correct. When I ran into you, quite literally in fact, as I was entering the building, I was surprised. Not just by your presence but by what I deduced about you. You intrigued me. I had to find out more about you so I invited you to have a cup of coffee with me."

"Which turned into dinner." Sherlock nodded. "And since you were so intrigued by me, you forgot all about that."

"In a manner of speaking. You weren't a cure-all, mind you. You helped, though, by giving me a new mystery to investigate: you. That night, when I got home, I told John everything. He helped me too and when I mentioned you he couldn't stop singing your praises. He is very proud of you and your work you know."

"Yeah, I guess so," You replied, a little embarrassed. "Thank you, Sherlock. I'm sorry that you went through all that, but, I'm glad I have someone who understands. And I'm glad you're here to help me."

"Me too, Y/N. Me too," He replied.

"Can I, um, can I have another hug?" You asked, blushing and smiling. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"If you must," He sighed, holding his arms out. Any other day, you would have thought he genuinely didn't want personal contact. But today you realized he was simply teasing. You wrapped your arms around his waist and leaned your head on his chest. You felt him relax as he leaned forward a little to cocoon you in his arms. "I care about you, Y/N. I don't care about many people but you mean so much to me. I-" You looked up at him and pressed a finger to his lips to quiet him.

"You don't have to say it, Sherlock. I know." He smiled and looked somewhat relieved. You knew he wasn't good with feelings and that was fine with you. "I love you too."

"I wanted to be the first one to say that," He pouted. You chuckled softly and booped his nose.

"You already have." He smiled and kissed your forehead lightly.

"I know this won't fix everything right away. I know you'll still have bad days. But I wanted you to know you could come to me too."

"I know. Thank you again, Sherlock." At that moment, John walked in with a bag from the store.

"Oh, hello!" He chirped, happy to see you hadn't gotten into a yelling match. Then he noticed Sherlock's shirt, or rather, lack thereof. "So, uh," He stuttered, unsure of what to say. "What should I do with this?"

"First of all, thank you, John, for giving me the guts to talk to him about this. And second, I think I'll give it a try. You know, to try and prevent a really bad day when you guys aren't available or if talking still isn't enough. But for today I think I'll be alright," You said, turning to John with a smile.

"Well, I'm glad. So did you just talk about that or did he finally tell you that he's had the biggest schoolboy crush on you from the moment he met you?"

"John!" Sherlock yelled. You laughed loudly.

"Not in those words exactly, John," You replied. "Don't worry," You added, turning to Sherlock and ruffling his curls. "Your secret's safe with me."

"Good. Now if you don't mind, I need your input on this case."

"Me?" You asked, quite surprised.

"Yes," He said as if it was obvious. "You're a woman after all!"

"And that is important because?"

"The killer was a woman obviously but I can't understand why she would do it!" The two of you went off into your own little world, completely ignoring John as he cooked dinner.

John: Ok, mates, get your tuxs out. Won't be long now.

Greg: He finally proposed? 😀

John: Not yet, give it a week.

Mycroft: John, you forget I monitor his spending habits.

John: And?

Mycroft: He's had a ring purchased for some time now.

Greg: 3 days tops.💍

Mycroft: I would estimate about 3 days as well, Detective Inspector.

Greg: We're in a Group Text. Talking about our friend like a bunch of teenage girls at a slumber party. I think you can call me Greg.

Mycroft: If I must.

John: So, girls, will you help me make the plans?

Mycroft: Of course. He is blood after all.

Greg: Count me in! Wouldn't miss it! 🕵️👰

Sherlock BBC Taglist

@lucywrites02

@delightfulheartdream

@bartv21

@another-crazy-fangirl

@ladylulu143

@gaitwae

@for-hearthand-home

[loveofafangirl]

72 Hours

[Baron Zemo Masterlist] [Marvel Masterlist]

Pairing: Baron Zemo x Reader/You (no gender, race or body type described)

Synopsis: You are tasked with watching Zemo for the weekend while he assists you in providing tech support and intel to your teammates in the field.  *Sort of: Enemies to Lovers* *One-Shot: Not same “reader” as my other stories.

Word Count: 2.2K (sorry this is longer than I intended)

A/N: This is a request for @purebloodwitch, where y/n is part of the Avengers and used to taking care of everyone, but at Zemo’s safe house he starts taking care of her and she is uncomfortable at first. I hope this fits what you are looking for. I hope you enjoy it. 

3 days.

72 hours.

That's how long you had to suffer his company. You stare out the window, taking in the country view. The car was taking the two of you to one of his safe houses. You had wanted to go on the mission with the rest of your team, but you were the most organized and could most easily relay intel to different groups as you uncovered it. Plus, it had been decided you were the least likely to bring physical harm to him. Though, you weren't so sure at the moment.

You had been against Bucky's plan to release Zemo. You remembered the bombing at the U.N. and the fallout that began that day. You blame him for the Snap and the loss of so many of your colleagues. If he hadn't turned the Avengers against one another, maybe Thanos never would have collected all six Infinity Stones. Maybe no one would have vanished, tearing the world apart—twice: once when they disappeared and again when they returned. As far as you were concerned, Zemo was the catalyst that led to Thanos, the need for the GRC, and the rise of the Flagsmashers. Everything began that day at the U.N. 

You look at your watch:

71 hours and 26 minutes.

When you arrive at his safe house, he insists you let him hold the door for you. You had always stood on your own, caring for those around you. You weren't used to gestures such as these, nor did you want them, least of all from him. 

Your fists clench when he refuses to go in first. Reluctantly, you proceed, allowing him to hold each door for you.

"Would you like a tour?" He gestures grandly around the lavish apartment.

"No," you state coldly, ignoring his coy smile that seemed to dip slightly at your tone. "Just tell me where to set up."

"Perhaps by the windows," he suggested. "The panels are one way. You can see out, but no one can see in. It should give us a good vantage point to keep watch without being noticed." 

You begin moving the bags of equipment you brought.

"Allow me." Without waiting, he takes the bags from you and carries them to the area he had previously pointed out. 

You follow wordlessly.

"There you go."

You nod your gratitude, unable to bring yourself to say thank you to him.

"Is there anything else?"

"No. When I'm done setting up, you'll need to tell me everything you know about Project Typhon and get me the decrypted files you insisted that only you could access."

"Of course, I am at your service."

You keep an eye on him while working. You still couldn't believe you got stuck babysitting. Now your focus was split between the work and making sure he didn't get into any trouble. 

He moves about the kitchen, grabbing this and that. He returns with a tray in his hands containing a teapot, two cups and saucers, small sandwiches, and a tin of cookies. "I had the pantry stocked before our arrival."

You give him a curious expression.

"I did not want you believing they had been sitting for the years." 

"I'm good."

He pours two cups of tea, offering one to you. "You haven't eaten since early morning. Please, help yourself."

You breathe deeply, trying not to give in. You had packed some rations, but you hadn't eaten any yet. You hate how appealing everything looked. You begin reaching for it, but pull back, now convincing yourself it could be poisoned. You turn your attention back to your work after a quick glance at your watch. 

65 hours. 

The evening passes slowly. You juggle your Zemo-sitting duty with decoding his cryptic replies into useable intel to relay to the two teams you were monitoring while also keeping an eye out for any digital chatter that may hinder your mission.

"Why me?" You sigh to yourself, thinking back to how you had asked Sam that same question when he first told you this was your assignment.

"You're good with people, Y/N."

"So you're sticking me with him?" You pointed an accusatory finger over your shoulder to Zemo.

His head shifted to the side, "No offense taken. I understand the difficulties. If you allow me a moment to explain."

"You understand nothing," you chided. Your gaze narrowed to a glower. 

"Easy, Y/N," Bucky interjected. 

"You of all people—" Your head shook in disbelief. "I was there. I saw what he did."

"We need him. He's the lesser of two evils right now."

You crossed your arms, not sure that was true. 

Your thoughts drift back to the present. You check the time again:

63 hours.

Zemo lounges beside you, nursing a drink in his hand. "I surmised you would decline a drink like my own, so I brought you a coffee instead. I noticed you had a few over the past days." He gestures to the warm mug on the table beside you. 

The rich aroma captivated you as you breathe in its bold notes. You really needed it. Begrudgingly, you took your first sip. It is better than you expected. A hum of delight slips from your lips. 

Noting his growing smirk, you muster the strength, uttering, "Thank you." You surprise yourself at the sound of your tone. It was much more cordial than you had intended it to be. 

"It was my pleasure, Y/N."

The two of you remain in silence, except for the occasional exchange needed for the mission. You were so focused on the job you hadn't even noticed him refill your coffee cup until you picked it up, expecting to savor the last drops but found a full cup met you instead. 

He kept working, seemingly not looking for any credit. You didn't offer any, but you had to bite your lips back to stop a smile threatening to erupt. 

57 hours. 

You rub your eyes and stretch your arms. "I'm going to try to get some sleep. Don't even think about trying anything."

"Wouldn't dream of it." He stood as you made your departure. "Gute Nacht. Sleep well."

You walk away without looking back. You knew there were agents strategically placed along the perimeter so he wouldn't get far, but you still worried.

Warm sunlight streams in the window of the large bedroom, gently caressing your face. The mattress is so soft and amazing; it sucked you into its depths immediately, and you fell quickly. You nuzzle in the soft fabric of the bedding, not wanting to move. It was your best sleep in months, even though it was only for a few hours. You think to yourself that you could get used to this.

Your body tenses at the thought as you remember where you are. You jump out of bed and quickly get dressed. Your team is counting on you. You swipe your phone checking the time.

52 hours.

You head straight to your setup; your fingers float nimbly across the keyboard as you attempt to focus solely on your work. Your stomach growls, pulling your focus. The scent of bacon frying greets you. You turn toward the kitchen, and for the first time, notice Zemo.

He catches your eye. "Would you like to join me for breakfast? I've set the two places." Sensing your hesitation. "I can bring it for you as well."

You glance at your phone. No new communications from the team. No alerts from any of the traces you had set up. Nothing to keep you there. Before you know it, you're walking in his direction.

He moves around the counter, pulling out one of the high bar chairs for you. 

You sit, even allowing him to push it in for you, a warmth spreading over you. 

"Please." He gestures to the plate in front of you and takes the seat opposite you. "Enjoy." 

You nibble on a piece of bacon and let the taste linger on your tongue. It was just the way you liked it. He sips his black coffee, watching you enjoy the first bites. You cover your mouth, feeling self-conscious suddenly. You shake your head, trying to brush away the feeling as you question why you care what he thinks. 

Your phone lights up, but it's nothing important. You glance at the time 7:11. You try to remember why you cared. Your attention shifts once more to the man across from you; that was why. 

51 hours. 

The two of you go about the day. Zemo is more useful than you expected. He quickly decodes and unscrambles messages and relays them to the team. Like you, he thrives on analytics and strategic thinking. There were moments where you actually enjoyed the conversation that developed. 

A few times, your fingers brush against his while reaching for the same thing. He always offered his apologies with that smile that made you forget what he'd done that day.

Before you know it, he's bringing you dinner.

"Is it really that late already?" You question, glancing at the time. You accept the plate. "Thank you." 

You enjoy a pleasant evening together, sharing the meal he prepared for you. He was a great cook to your surprise. This was better than anything you had eaten at the Avengers compound lately. 

As the night lingers and you wait for your team to send you new intel, he tells you stories about Sokovia. Once, he mentions his son before pausing and quickly changing the topic. 

In your rush to label him as a terrorist because of that fateful day, you never listened to his reasonings. They didn't excuse his actions, but he wasn't the cold-hearted killer you had expected based on his military profile. He was just a man who lost his entire world. 

When you part for the evening, you gaze back, lifting your hand. "Good night, Zemo."

The next morning, you wake softly, breathing in the comfort of the bed. You reach for your phone; his file is still open from where you fell asleep reading it. You wanted to understand him. There was so much more than you gave him credit for. 

You realize you were wrong. He wasn't the cause of everything that happened. You were. Everything began not the day at the U.N., but that day in Sokovia, with Ultron, and with the Avengers. They had created Zemo; he was merely a product of their haste. They were the catalyst to their own undoing. He had just shone a light on it. 

You lie back thinking over the past two days—the conversations that you'd shared, the kindness he had insisted upon, even when you tried to care for yourself, and those small touches that elicited a feeling you couldn't understand. 

Your last day together followed much of the same patterns: sharing meals, breaking down and relaying intel, keeping watch.

You notice how at ease you are. Your body is calm with no tensions or worries. You hadn't checked the time since—well, you weren't really sure. A look of horror flashes on your face as you realize you were enjoying this—enjoying him. 

"What did I miss?" He questions, strolling in from his bath, still in his robe.

Your body flushes, and your eyes cascade over his form. Realizing what you had done, you turn away and clear your throat. "Can you please put some clothes on?" 

He shrugs and walks off. As soon as he turns away, you find yourself chewing your cheek as you watch him leave. "Snap out of it! The only thing that matters is the job," you scold yourself. 

For the rest of the day, you keep your distance, averting your gaze, and avoiding him as much as possible. When he wishes you good night, you don't reply, hurrying off as quickly as possible.

You hope to find reprieve in the quiet of your room in the comfort of the softest mattress you had ever known. However, you toss and turn all night, your mind restless with growing thoughts of him.

You skip breakfast, or so you had planned. When you didn't come out, he left it outside your door.

You pack up in silence, catching glimpses of his curious look. You know he is probably wondering what changed, but he doesn't pressure you.

As you leave, you take one glance back at the beautiful apartment.

He waits at the door, holding it open for you.

This time, you don't protest and even offer your thanks. A smile fills your face as he opens the car door too. 

Your eyes close, remembering all the good moments from the past 72 hours. Without thinking, you turn into him, brushing a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you." 

Your gaze lingers on his soft brown eyes longer than you intend. You feel trapped, unable to break away, but you don't want to either. You lick your lips, wanting more, but worrying what it would mean. You decide to go for it, but as you move to him, he's already there, meeting you halfway until he pulls you entirely into his embrace. His lips are warm and inviting. You feel the world around you melt away under his tenderness.

Your heart flutters when you finally pull away. "That's a one-time thing."

His head tilts to the side, considering your words, and then nods in agreement.

You get in the car, your gaze still focused on him, a devilish smirk forming on your lips. "Unless I decide it's not." 

Marvel Perma(til the end of the line): @the-soot-sprite​​​; @fandomxreaders ;  @moonstuffsteve​

Zemo tags: @montypythonsholysnail​​​ ; @killsandthrills​​​ ; @noavengers​​​ ; ​@nalabarnes1031 ; @trelaney​ ; @willowtheewisp​ ; @marchingicenotes7 ; @valquiria3000​

[padawanlost]

Hello there! I just wanted to ask about something that’s been confusing me real quick: did Anakin lord over others with his Chosen One status or not? Because I thought he was insecure, disliked all the expectations that came with it, and didn’t really believe in that old prophecy to begin with. But, in Jude Watson’s books he thinks he deserves all these things because of it and rubs that status in other faces? I just need some clarity please lol thank you so much and I adore your blog ❤️

No, not at all. If anything, one of Anakin’s biggest difficulties was to assert himself in front of others (specially people in power).

This is a man who is considered a hero of the galaxy, of the most powerful jedi ever, married, soon to be father, beloved and respect by his men and even complete strangers…yet…look at how easily he submits.

If Anakin had been anything like some ‘fans’ like to pretend he was, he wouldn’t be the character portrayed on screen. He’d more like characters like Tony Stark, someone who is completely confident in his abilities and is not ashamed to admit it. But that’s NOT the character we see on screen, or anywhere else for that matter.

The Jedi Council didn’t want me, either. Being the Chosen One didn’t count for anything. Master Yoda wouldn’t train me, or Windu. Every member of the Jedi Council had had something more pressing to do than help him work out what this terrible, galaxy-changing power of his meant, and how he should live in its shadow. He still wasn’t sure. Anakin recalled standing there in that grand, polished Jedi Council Chamber, surrounded by what felt like fear, and disdain, and bewilderment—who were those Masters to feel bewildered, that the only person there who cared if he lived or died was Master Qui-Gon Jinn. And they stopped him training the Chosen One. Qui-Gon hadn’t cared what the Jedi Council said. He’d trained him anyway, a Padawan in all but name. Why am I thinking of all this now? Haven’t I put it behind me? Haven’t I had enough bad memories since then to take their place? Haven’t I vindicated Master Qui-Gon? [Karen Traviss. The Clone Wars]

Anakin enjoyed praise from Obi-Wan, but often became sullen when he was reprimanded. Obi-Wan assured him that he himself had been frequently reminded by Qui-Gon to be more mindful of the Force, but somehow even the slightest criticism managed to leave Anakin feeling stung. First they tell me to do my best, then they tell me I’ve gone too far! ANAKIN SKYWALKER IN THE RISE AND FALL OF DARTH VADER BY RYDER WINDHAM

Despite Anakin’s desire to distance himself from the slave he had once been, he was unable, or unwilling, to shed the other aspects that had defined him on Tatooine. He still dreamed of glory, still craved adventure, and never lost his appetite for high-speed thrills and the desire to prove himself in competition. THE RISE AND FALL OF DARTH VADER BY RYDER WINDHAM

Anakin was liked by the other students, but he had no close friends. He was not loved. Obi-Wan told himself that Anakin’s gifts naturally set him apart. But in his heart, he grieved for Anakin’s loneliness. JUDE WATSON [JEDI QUEST: THE WAY OF THE APPRENTICE]

Just when Anakin thought he’d passed that elusive finishing line that said adult, experienced, seen it all, he realized he was still twenty, Jedi or not, and the wounded boy in him still rose to the surface—provoked into angry violence, scared of abandonment, and still in need of approval. KAREN TRAVISS [STAR WARS: THE CLONE WARS NOVELIZATION]

[Obi-Wan] knew, glancing at his Padawan’s eager face, that Anakin meant well from the bottom of his heart. If Obi-Wan saw a shadow on that heart, he knew it would pain his Padawan to know it. In many ways, Anakin was still a boy. A wounded, loving, anxious boy with great gifts he did not fully understand. Yet he was also a young man, close to maturity, who could do great harm. To others, yes. To himself, most of all JUDE WATSON [JEDI QUEST: THE SCHOOL OF FEAR]

“I just…” Anakin stopped. He took a ragged breath. “I thought you would be proud of me.” I am proud of you. Obi-Wan wanted to say the words. They were true. He was proud of so much in Anakin. But now was not the time to tell him that. Or was it? JUDE WATSON [JEDI QUEST: THE SCHOOL OF FEAR]

Fixing broken machines was like a meditation. Fixing broken machines was an antidote to every pain, every loss, every fear, every defeat. Fixing broken machines kept him from going mad. CLONE WARS GAMBIT: STEALTH

You are very observant, Ferus, but you must accept that I know him better than you,” Obi-Wan said carefully. “Anakin can be arrogant. I know that. But he is also learning and growing. He is respectful of his great power. He does not abuse it. He is younger than you, but he has seen much injustice, many terrible things. I do not think it so wrong that he wants to change things. You must understand that it isn’t ambition that drives him. It is compassion. OBI-WAN KENOBI IN STAR WARS – JEDI QUEST: THE CHANGING OF THE GUARD BY JUDE WATSON

Taking them, she looked up at him and shook her head, even though it still ached. “It’s odd. You’re nothing like I expected.” “Why?” he said, perching on the edge of the nearby chair. “What did you expect?” “I don’t know,” she said, floundering. “I can’t say I’ve ever given the Jedi much thought. I mean, not as individuals. I never expected to meet one—let alone two. I don’t tend to go places where your skills are needed. But—well—you’re gentle.” That made him smile. “As opposed to what?” She swallowed the pain-tabs, washing them down with a mouthful of water. “Oh. You know. The HoloNet news—it portrays as you as this—this—heroic warrior. Larger than life. Charging into battle, lightsaber flashing. Scourge of the Separatists. That kind of thing.” She shrugged. [Karen Miller. Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth]

“Ten years in this place, and still he was an object of interest. Of speculation. All their hopes and dreams hanging on him like decorations on a bantha skeleton at Boonta Eve. He hated it.” [Clone Wars: Wild space, Karen Miller]

[Anakin] did not like the fact that he had won. It seemed wrong that he had stepped so far out of line, and yet had been retained as a Padawan. He did not like the unease this victory, if victory it was, produced in him. Above all weaknesses, arrogance was the most costly. They keep me here because I have potential they’ve never seen before. They keep me in training because they’re curious to see what I can do. I feel like a rich man who never knows whether his friends are true-or whether they just want his money. This was a particularly galling thought, and certainly neither true nor fair. Why do they put up with me, then? Why do I keep testing them? [Greg Bear’s Rogue Planet]

The only piece of media where Anakin is more ‘openly’ arrogant is in The Clone Wars (2008) but even then, he doesn’t flaunt his alleged ‘status’ over everyone. His arrogance is reflected more through his disobedience, not open defiance and antagonist behavior towards his peers.

But hey, what do Hayden Christensen, George Lucas and most Star Wars writers know? lol

PS: thank you! <3