#I’m too impatient for recovery

[scriberated]

3 days post-op myomectomy and I’m so ready to do something other than sleep.

[suhkusa]

HELL OF A WOMAN.

PAIRING. Bakugou Katsuki x f!Reader

CW. slight enemies-to-lovers, some angst but not heavy, fluff, you're both snarky (romantic), ~4k words, slice of life, reader has a healing quirk

A/N. i'd say slowburn but it's only slowburn because i barely ever write fics this long lol

Throughout your time in the nurse’s office as Recovery Girl’s student apprentice, you’ve met many different students. They all varied– whether it be their quirk, their grade, or even the injury they had come in for. 

Students from the general education, support and management departments rarely ever made their rounds to the nurse’s office, only coming in for a simple cut or bruise. 

That left you with those in the hero department.

You got along well with nearly all of them, even going as far as becoming friends with a few. And while that was true, of course there were gonna be some who you couldn’t get along with. But, there was specifically one student you could not stand. And he’d probably say the same thing for you as well. 

It was none other than Bakugou Katsuki.

———

The first time you really interacted with Bakugou Katsuki was within the first month of your apprenticeship. It was in your 3rd year, and you had already been managing well. 

Your day had started off fantastic. Recovery Girl had left you to run the office by yourself, thoroughly trusting your working and communication skills, so that she could run errands out of town. 

The office hadn’t been too busy, allowing you time to finish a bit of your homework at your own little desk next to hers. A few people came and left, just needing a simple healing of their arm or leg. 

You had been lost in thought when he slammed the door open, practically huffing as he walked in. Putting your pencil down, your wide eyes looked up and met his own. It felt as though he was burning a hole straight through your skull with the way he stared you down.

You didn’t even have to ask to know who he was. In your first and second year, his face was plastered nearly everywhere throughout the media. Bakugou Katsuki. But you’d never talked to him. Well, until now.

Assuming he’d be like every other person who walked through that door, stating their business then quietly leaving, you broke the deafening silence.

“Uh, yes?” you let out, cringing internally at the way the words came out.

Bakugou looked around the room before back at you, “Where the hell is the old woman at?” he spat.

You were seemingly surprised at his not-so-subtle entrance and dirty language. 

“If you meant Recovery Lady by “old woman”, then she’s out of town for some errands. I can help you if–”

“And who the hell are you?” he snapped before you finished, impatience laced in the way he spoke and stood before you.

You could practically feel how your jaw dropped and eyebrows furrowed at his blunt question. If he didn’t hold back, then why should you?

“I’m Y/N L/N, I’m Recovery Lady’s helper. Now,” you put on the most calm and collected voice you could manage, “what the hell do you want?”

The day was going well, before now at least, and you were not going to let some egoistic, cocky guy ruin it for you. Tug of war is a game with two different sides, and you weren’t gonna let him win victoriously. 

Bakugou’s face scrunched up at the words you spat right back at him, opening his mouth to retort something– probably an insult– before letting it fall shut with a grunt. 

“What the– Just put a bandage on this shit,” he held his arm out for you to see a scrape wound running up the length of it.

You raised an eyebrow as you glanced between the injury and his eyes that looked down at you expectantly. And waited.

“The fuck you staring at?” he spoke– yelled, really– before stepping a bit closer.

A smirk tugged up at the corner of your lips before you sat back in your spinning chair, crossing a leg over the other. Like you were the one expecting something.

“You–”

“Please.” you cut him off, lifting a hand to inspect your nails nonchalantly. Hm, maybe you should get them done.

“Like hell I’m saying that, do something about–”

“Please.”  you repeated, emphasizing the word in a louder tone. You looked at him from behind your lifted hand, the smirk that once teased at your mouth now sitting there fully– mocking him.

“Fine! Fuckin’ fine!”  Bakugou snarled, his pearly whites peeking from under his lips. “Will you please do something about this?”

Satisfied, you responded, “‘Kay,”

———

Perhaps you should’ve bit your tongue before you spoke to the oh so great Bakugou Katsuki. In your defense, you didn’t know he’d hold it against you. You were joking, obviously. It was obvious. Right?

And so, everytime he walked into the nurse’s office, he’d send you the same nasty glare, practically seething through his teeth as he made eye contact with you. You knew exactly why he did the gesture every time he came in, but how long did this guy hold grudges for? It wasn’t like you publicly humiliated him or anything. 

“Why are you always looking at me like that?” you asked him one day as the Recovery Lady escorted him to one of the vacant cots, leg stretched out as you leaned back in your chair. 

“Hah? Like what?” he grunted in your direction as he took a seat, an eyebrow raised in curiosity? Irritation? Probably both.

“Mm,” you looked up to the roof as if you were thinking, “Like you like me or something, I mean it’s really flattering but you don’t have to sta—”

“As if. I’d rather watch an elephant take a dump than stare at your face any day,” Bakugou inputted as he lifted his arm to allow Recovery Lady to heal the injury along his bicep.

“Oh really? I didn’t know you were into that kind of stuff, Bakugou,” 

You fidgeted with the pen in your hand as you watched his face scrunch up. 

“You know what—”

Just as he was about to rise and stand from his spot, Recovery Lady quickly and gently pushed him to sit back down. 

“Y/N,” she emphasized your name with a familiar tone, “I think we’re running low on bandages, could you go get some from the storage room?” 

Even though her words were anything but hostile, you and Bakugou could tell she was scolding you. You let out a sigh. 

“Yeah, I can,” 

Getting up from your seat, you set your things down before making your way to the door. Not before stealing one more glance at Bakugou. He was also staring back at you, but this time there was a bit of cockiness in his eyes. Getting the last word never hurt anybody.

You slid the door open, eyes still locked with his, “You know, you’d probably look cute as well if you didn’t look like you were constipated 24/7,” 

“The fuck—”

Quickly sticking your tongue out at him, you shut the door before he was able to finish his sentence.

———

The nurse’s office had been particularly quiet today. The slow day in the office gave you more free time to yourself, which allowed you to catch up on a couple past assignments. Only two or three people came in before the lunch bell rang. After packing your bag, you waved off Recovery Lady as you excused yourself to the cafeteria.

And when you returned, it was still quiet. You quickly noticed that it was also void of Recovery Lady, the short woman nowhere to be seen. As you slid the door shut behind you, you heard a hushed groan come from one of the beds. Your head snapped to the source of the noise, quietly stepping closer to the person. 

Almost naturally, you recognized the disheveled blonde hair. Bakugou. 

But this was different. New. He was quiet for once, and the eyes that almost always were glaring at you were closed shut. Your body relaxed at the unusual sight of him. And maybe if you were crazy, you would’ve thought he was cute. 

As you got closer, you noticed the slight crease in his eyebrows, as well as the bandage that was wrapped around his torso. 

Perhaps you got too caught up in the moment, though. Too caught up in the way his chest slowly rose with each breath, the way his skin seemed to glow under the sun’s filtered light. So caught up that you didn’t realize those familiar crimson eyes were staring back up at you.

“You a pervert now?” his voice cut through silence, causing you to tense and step back. “The hell are you looking at?”

For a moment, it felt like your voice was caught in your throat. You caught yourself trying to find something to look at. Something other than him.

“Looks like you’re in quite a predicament,” you commented with a breathy laugh, not really knowing what else to say. Stupid joke.

“No, really?” sarcasm was laced in his tone, but you could hear the struggle as he grunted quietly afterwards.

Maybe you’d spare him for the day.

“Recovery Lady hasn’t gotten to you, yet?” you asked as you slowly made your way to your desk, setting down your bag.

“Nah,” he let out a huff as he sat up, “Shit— she wasn’t here when I got here,”

Letting out a hum in response, “Do… Do you want me to help you then?” you asked, even though you already knew the likely answer.

“What the hell do you think—” 

“You know, on second thought I have some homework—”

He let out an exasperated sigh before surrendering once again, “Yes. Yes, please. Help me,”

Biting back a small smile, you turned back around to make your way back to the injured man. You pulled up a chair next to the bed, sliding in closer. After gesturing him to lay back down, your hands carefully peeled back the bandages that covered the wound. You’d never get used to the sight of blood. 

You could feel the way his body tensed every time your hand neared his injury, though you tried your best not to touch it at all. 

“Sorry if it hurts a little,” you said, lifting your hands over the gash, “Just do your best to relax,”

“Whatever,” Bakugou responded as he turned his head away from you. 

It happened in a flash. From his peripheral view, he saw your hands glow, and the next thing he knew: he was fine again. Not a scar, scratch, or wound in sight. Like it wasn’t even there. 

Though you enjoyed the perplexed look in his eyes, you could feel yourself becoming rather light-headed. You took a deep breath before standing up and going back to your desk to get your water bottle. 

As you took a sip of your water, you watched as he sat up in the cot, lifting up his shirt to examine the skin. 

“Never seen a quirk before?” you laughed at his amusement.

His face quickly snapped back to his normal grouchy look, “No, just didn’t know you had a quirk at all, you usually just bandage my injuries up. Plus healing quirks are rare,”

“Mm, I get that a lot,” you mused, twisting the cap back onto your water, “It’s just a normal healing quirk though. I’ve been working with Recovery Lady to train it’s capabilities,”

Bakugou grunted in response. Silence filled the room for a moment before he decided to speak up. 

“Gonna head back to class,” he stated curtly, swiftly putting his blazer back on before stepping towards the door, “Thanks, I guess,” 

With one last glance back at you, he was gone. Leaving you and the rapid thumping of your heart alone in the room once again. 

———

“Is anyone sitting here?” a gruff voice came from above.

With the rest of the noise in the cafeteria, you nearly didn’t hear him. Your eyes gazed up from your food toward him, eyebrow shooting up in question.

“Uhm,” you swallowed the food in your mouth before responding, “what does it look like to you?” 

You gestured to the empty seats around you before going back to poking at your lunch.

“Tch, just asking,” Bakugou murmured under his breath as he tugged a chair out from under the table and took a seat.

As you ate, you couldn’t help but sneak a couple of glances his way. Just why was he sitting with you? Was this his own silent way of tormenting you?

“So,” you started before clearing your throat, “what do you want?”

You could see him freeze mid-bite, eyes shooting up to you.

“To eat? What else?” he grunted nonchalantly.

Well no shit.

“Oh really? Didn’t know that,” you rolled your eyes, “why not eat with your friends?”

“Don’t wanna,”

Your lips pulled into a thin line before you gave up. You dismissed him as you continued to finish your lunch. After this you’d probably have enough time to take a nap in the nurse’s office. In an attempt to finish your food without starting some random argument with the blonde next to you, you kept the interactions to a minimum.

After you finished, you debated your options. Did you say goodbye or just… leave? Just leaving would be rude, wouldn’t it? Well who cares, you sure don’t–

“Hold on,” he called out, catching your attention.

You watched as he quickly finished the rest of his lunch, gathering his stuff before standing up. 

“What–”

“Alright, let’s go,” he said as he walked past you towards the garbage can.

“Uh,” you followed shortly after him with your trash, “go where?”

Stacking his tray with the others, he sent you a glare with a rough, “Where else?” 

When you didn’t respond with a word but instead with a confused look, Bakugou sighed and continued. 

“The nurse’s office,” 

Your mouth dropped open in a silent “Ohh”. You tugged your bag over your shoulder as you walked up next to him.

 The walk through the halls was rather silent other than the couple of students that walked past the two of you. But not a word was said between the two of you. At least until he opened his mouth. 

“So, what are your plans after graduating?” he asked, hands in his pocket as he continued to walk by you. 

You let your eyes scan the exterior through the wide UA windows when you responded, “Hm, I think I’ll find a job in a hospital? I think I wanna work in some field with heroes, but I’m not quite sure yet… And you?”

“Obviously I’m gonna a hero,” Bakugou scoffed with a smirk, “Gonna be the best one, at that,” 

“I see,” you let a light laugh slip out at his confidence.

“What’s funny, huh?” he asked, voice suddenly scarily serious. 

Your eyes widened, “Nothing, nothing– It’s just we barely have normal conversations like this. I guess,” you quickly added.

Bakugou hummed in response, coming to a quick stop as the two of you reached the nurse’s office’s door. 

“Well,” you step closer to the door, “Thank you for walking me here, Bakugou,” you smiled.

“Katsuki,”

“Hm?”

He rolled his eyes, “Just call me Katsuki,” he turned the other way quickly before waving you off, “Later, nerd,” 

A laugh escaped you as you watched him walk away, waiting a couple of more moments before walking into the office.

Maybe if you stared for a little longer you would’ve seen the way his ears reddened at your smile.

———

“Oh! Good afternoon Bakugou and Kirishima!” the voice of the elderly woman snapped you awake, causing you to jump in your seat.

You could hear a snicker come from a certain person as you turned to see the two who entered the room.

Your eyes were met with a seemingly beaten up Kirishima and Bakugou, the two having scruffs, scratches and bruises on their skin.

“What were you guys doing this time?” Recovery Lady escorted the two to their own beds, tending to Bakugou’s injuries and gesturing to you to help Kirishima.

“Ah, just training, same as always,” the red head responded with a smile, “Oh, hey Y/N,”

You could feel the ends of your mouth tug upwards at his greeting, “Hey,”

“How’s everything been?” 

As you continued your chatter with Kirishima and helped him with his injuries, you didn’t seem to see or feel the daggers of stares that Bakugou sent in your direction.

On the other hand, Bakugou didn’t even know why he felt like this. 

What was he pissed about? It’s not like the two of you are friends. Did you consider him a friend? Yet why did it feel so utterly annoying to watch you interact with some other guy? 

That was beyond Bakugou. 

Maybe he already knew the answer. And maybe he didn’t want to come to terms with what that answer held.

Either way he couldn’t take another second of this.

“Bakugou? Where are you going—”

The sound of Recovery Lady’s frantic voice caught the attention of you and Kirishima. Your eyebrow raised in confusion as the blonde made his way to the door with the little lady following him.

“You’re not fully healed yet,” the old woman claimed.

“It’s fine,” 

“Let him,” Kirishima said after Bakugou slammed the door shut. “He’s been a little off lately,”

You wrapped a bandage around Kirishima’s elbow, “Off? How?”

Kirishima’s eyes looked up in thought, “He’s been kinda closed off lately; barely comes to our hangouts,”

“Ooh,” you sighed as you continued helping the guy in front of you.

There was a seedling of worry planted in your stomach, and you barely had any clue why. It’s not like you guys were close. He was just some guy who came to the nurse’s office like every other student. Maybe those late nights staying up were finally catching up to you. 

After cleaning up and sending Kirishima off, you were finally left alone. Recovery Lady had left a while ago to fetch some supplies from the storage room. And so that left you and your thoughts alone in the office.

———

A week had gone by.

A week had gone by, and there had been radio silence from Bakugou.

Either training had slowed down or he was completely avoiding you. And either way, it still made you a bit sad. Only a bit. 

Days in the nurse’s office were slow and lonely. You never made a real connection with anyone. People came and people left. They come to get healed and leave. No side talk, albeit a few exceptions. Bakugou being one of those.

 There were times where you thought you saw him entering the nurse’s office when you were leaving, but the glimpses were so small that you chalked it up to your imagination.

It felt like he was consuming your every thought, so you had no choice but to accept the fact that maybe you had a crush on Bakugou. Maybe.

But so what? That was normal, everyone had a crush on him at one point. Too bad you fell victim along with the rest of them, though.

Admitting to yourself that you liked Bakugou was hard, but having to actually deal with the feelings you had was harder. One, because you’ve never really had a serious crush. And two, he was nowhere to be seen. Having a crush on him made your heart beat so quick that you’d use your quirk on yourself to make sure you weren’t having heart problems.

Soon, one week turned into two.

And it seemed like the office was only getting busier as the third years prepared for their finals. Everyone was in and out as they practiced their hand to hand combat more vigorously and more often.

The first couple of days, it was easy. But towards the end of the week, you began to fatigue. Having to balance your own finals and running around the office having to use your quirk over and over was doing a number on you. 

The injuries were becoming worse, the amount was increasing. At times, you were dizzy with how many times you’d have to keep turning around from bed to bed to help someone new. 

Then there was a calm. You barely noticed a full week of finals had swung by, leaving the clinic empty and quiet. 

“Is it alright if I nap during the passing period?” you turn in your chair to Recovery Lady, who is stocking up the medicine cabinets.

“Of course, you should be fine, if anything I can handle anyone who comes in,” she tells you.

You sigh in relief as you walk to the nearest bed on weak legs, basically melting into it as soon as your body hits the cushion. You knock out on the spot, letting your well-deserved slumber overcome you.

———

 Your slumber is interrupted by a slight jolt to the bed frame you’re lying on. You groan as you flip onto your other side. The light escapes through your lashes, creating a blurred light illusion with a silhouette. Your eyes shot open, a silhouette? 

You become conscious of yourself as soon as you realize the one before you is none other than Bakugou Katsuki. There’s a stupid grin on his face which makes you want to slap it right off of him. You sneakily nudge at the drool on the side of your mouth and adjust your clothing and appearance.

“Finally awake, sleeping beauty?” he says from the seat beside you, and it feels like forever since you’ve last heard that voice of his.

“Yeah, because of someone,” you grumbled, eyebrows scrunching up. He laughs, laughs, as his eyes focus on you.

“It’s getting late,” is all he says.

You have half a mind to respond, until you remember that he’s been avoiding you. Your eyebrows tighten together impossibly closer, as you flip to face away from him.

“You’re a dick,” you say matter-of-factly. “You’ve been avoiding me, I’m not stupid,”

Your eyes are jittery as they look everywhere. Trying to focus on something in the room to distract yourself from all of the possibilities of what might come out of his mouth.

“Why do you care?”

His words cause you to sit up, facing him once more. “What do you even mean, why? I used to see you everyday, then suddenly you just walked out and I never saw you again,”

Bakugou’s eyes slightly roll at your words, and it kind of hurts.

“I just thought maybe we were…” your words trail off causing Bakugou to stare at you more intently.

“Were what?”

“I don’t know, friends, or some shit,” you bury your head in your hands out of embarrassment.

“Did I say we weren’t?”

“Well, you never said we were,”

“Didn’t think I had to,” he says, “Thought you were smarter than that, doc,”

You smile at the nickname. “You can leave now, I’m awake, I just have to close up the clinic. Why were you here in the first place?”

“Had to make sure you weren’t dead or something,”

Laughing, you get up to fix the bed sheets. The words that fly out of your mouth come out on their own. 

“What, do you like me or something?”

“Probably,”

His careless response didn’t register in your mind at first, but when it did, you could feel the heat rush from the back of your neck up to the tips of your ears. 

“W-What? You can’t just say that… weirdo,” your eyes flick up at him then back down to the sheets, fluffing up the already neat pillows. 

Silence filters through the room, the only noise filling your ears being the noise of cotton and linen being moved around. Along with the sound of your heartbeat thumping in your ears. It felt so loud, that you swear he could probably hear it as well. You didn’t know what to do, was this real life?

Did those words really just come out of his mouth?

His head tilted and you could feel his gaze on you. It was nerve-wracking, and you were just hoping and praying he’d say something that’d clear your mind. A small, “just kidding,” would be nice right about now. The hurt you’d feel from that would be better than the anxiety you felt at this instant. 

“Say what?” he mocks, and it causes your eye to twitch.

You decide you’re not playing these games with Katsuki Bakugou today, “Oh nothing, must’ve been the wind,” you flutter your eyes before turning the other direction to fix up another bed that looks like it’d been used.

A hand on your wrist puts a stop to your motions, and it immediately makes your head turn back to meet his eyes. 

“B- Katsuki–”

You’d usually be able to come up with something snarky, but right now all your words were caught in your throat. You were actually scared to say the wrong thing for once.

“You were joking right?” you ask him, nervous for what his answer might be.

Bakugou is quick to retort, “Depends, were you?”

You gulp down your anxiety before giving him a response, “N-No,”

“Then? Use that smart little brain of yours, doc,”

“Say it,” you demand, “I’m not playing this little game with you, so say it,”

His ruby eyes roll before connecting gazes with yours once again, “I like you, or something,” he mimics your words from earlier.

You can feel yourself fluster. The dizziness in your head almost made you convince yourself that you were dreaming. If this was a dream, you wanted All Might himself to pop out and punch you across the face.

“Why don’t you say something now, hm?” his grip around your wrist loosens to a more gentle grasp.

His face closens to yours, the distance between the two of you is only breaths-length. 

“Since you’re so smart, you tell me,” you sass, “Take a guess, smartass,” 

A smile quirks at the corner of his mouth, “You’re such a dick,” he whispers under his breath before closing the distance completely, his lips locking with yours. 

Your eyes widen at the pure shock, but you ultimately melt into the kiss. It’s sweet and you can feel the two of you smiling into it. 

When the two of you part, you can feel slight embarrassment wash over you. “You’re an ass, you didn’t even let me confess, my high school sweetheart experience is ruined forever, 

Bakugou lets out a breathy laugh at your words, “Thought you wanted me to take a guess,” 

“And if you were wrong?” 

“Hah, as if,”

© all writings belongs to suhkusa 2024. do not repost or change.

[anaconamor]

can u make a small blurb of jude coming back to his and y/n’s apartment finding her passed out from studying so much. he wakes her up, sets up a bath for her, orders her food, and just takes care of her overall. 🙏🏼

okay bye… cause why is this actually me rn?? i’m so so so exhausted from uni and work i need to sleep for 2874828 days…🥲🤍

wc: 1.3k | masterlist | jude's masterlist

it was weird you hadn’t responded to any of jude’s calls or texts from the last hour. he found it strange you didn’t at least read or made contact since the morning when he last texted you. he had a full day of recovery and media shooting with the team and all he wanted was to be with you.

“hi baby… erm- it’s me… i’m starting to get worried that you’re not answering my calls, did i do something wrong? just please call me back when you get the chance, i miss you darling…” jude said into your voicemail once again, resisting the urge to freak out or overthink.

from jude:

are you okay?

y/n you're starting to worry me

call me back please

okay I'm headed to your place right now.

he sent you one last text before finally deciding it was just best to make sure everything was okay and go to your flat in person. he grabbed some of your favorite takeout and a book you’ve had on your list before finally heading over.

jude slowly knocked on your door with no answer, waiting impatiently and biting the inside of his cheek to hear a response but nothing was heard. he knocked again, calling out for you, and then wasted no time to slide the extra key you gave him into the slot, twisting it open rapidly and opening the door.

“y/n?”

he looked around and saw your office door open, setting the food and book down before sprinting to you. a full panic mode in him as his pulse raced at any scenario of you being left alone or something happening to you.

"y/n? are you okay?" jude asked carefully as he was faced with you slumped on the huge bean bag asleep. your hair in a messy bun, glasses almost falling down your face, ipad full with notes, a spreadsheet and planner open with your pencil on the floor, and a video lecture continuing to play as you slept soundly.

jude chuckled before crouching down and pressing kisses on your head, a small groan escaping your lips as you wiggled around in the bean bag. "y/n... wake up my love..." jude laughed as he felt you pull him closer to you, taking your glasses off and grabbing all your school stuff and setting it onto your desk.

"jude? w-ha-t what are you doing here?" you yawned squinting your eyes before rubbing them to get used to the lighting. "cmon up up up, stretch your muscles out, you were sleeping in an uncomfortable position baby," jude said as he helped you up. "no no," jude chuckled as you hugged him tight and almost made him lose balance.

"i missed you too," jude snuggled you closer, kissing your head repeatedly as you muffled your words. "how come you didn't tell me you were coming? i could've made something," you said with your eyes closed, snuggling into his neck as you breathed in his cologne.

"i did! i left you like five voicemails, and so many texts because you didn't return my calls," jude says still smiling at your sleep state. you gave him a confused look, detaching yourself and looking through your watch and seeing all the missed notifications from your boyfriend.

"oh my god! you did! i'm sorry jude, i didn't mean to make you worry handsome. i was studying for my test and i must've slept through all of them," you ran a hand along your face clearly upset and fatigued from the past exhausting few days. "i think i fell asleep right after our call this morning."

"if anything i'm glad you were sleeping and catching up on rest. all you've done this past week is uni and then study, study, study. you know how proud i am of you always for being dedicated to school, but you also know how much i hate seeing you overwork yourself," jude kissed your hands softly and then pecked your lips twice lovingly earning a hum from you.

"and before you say it, i know how hard the term is and how much you have to pay to every single detail, but right now i don't care. i'm going to run my beautiful girlfriend a bath, and after she's done her favorite takeout will be waiting for her, okay? how does that sounds?" jude said in a sincere voice making your heart melt with adoration and feeling grateful for him.

"that... actually sounds very nice..." you sighed out a breath of relief, following jude who was now in your restroom. jude touched the water to make sure it was hot to your liking, adding epson salt, some of your favorite scented oil, and a vanilla bean bath bomb.

jude helped undress, kissing every inch of your skin, and muttering praises how beautiful and proud of you he was, helping you get into the bubbly bath. "i'll be in the living room okay? going to order some food and those red velvet cookies you love so much," jude felt you squeeze his hand thanking him.

"thank you jude."

"just sit back and relax.”

“that was actually so nice…” you say drying your hair with a towel walking into the kitchen, feeling refreshed without worries of uni or work. you look around and gasp, seeing candles lit and a fresh bouquet of flowers sitting on your island. “what’s all this?” you ask jude who is leaned on the counter with his arms crossed.

“if it’s going to be a proper self-care night, we need candles lit, the house to smell like flowers and maybe this?” he pulls out a book from your wishlist. jude sees your eyes go wide full with excitement, “oh my god? how did you know i’ve been wanting this?” you try to each for it but he lifts it up in the air.

you squint your eyes at his teasing matter, “nuh uh. you made me think i had done something, and the last i want is to spend my night with my girlfriend dug into her deep book instead with me,” jude shakes his head seeing your frown. “to my defense, i was getting my well deserved sleep, no?”

“and you ignored my calls…”

“jude.”

“y/n.”

“fine you win,” you say rolling your eyes, placing the towel on the chair before leaning up and kissing him like a starved women. jude releasing a groan and slowly bringing his arm down to wrap around your waist, “can’t get enough of you y/n… especially when you smell so good.”

“let’s eat, cookies will be here before we finish eating. i’ve already set up the living room with warm blankets and your favorite soap opera,” jude says with a small smile, earning a squeal from you and clap of your hands. “you tried to deny about liking the show, saying you hated it, but what do we have here?” you tease as you sit down in the chair. “for someone who slept the whole day you sure are blabbering a lot,” jude scoffed playfully.

after eating dinner and finally being able to read at least the cover and back page of your new book, jude laid on top of you as you watched the tv, two uneaten cookies and your empty mugs on the coffee table. “are you feeling better?” he asks, looking up seeing you almost sound asleep. “mhmm, just feeling tired now…”

jude traced his hands on your are thighs, drawing small shapes and his name as you drift off to sleep to soothe you. his eyes grew heavy, but wanting to finish the episode to find out who the main character would end up with to tease you the next day. “don’t watch it without me. i see you falling asleep, so sleep,” you deadpanned slapping his shoulder gently and turning the tv off. “love you jude. goodnight.”

“goodnight beautiful.”

[junrenjun]

Understand

alpha!seungcheol x female beta!reader (side alpha!seungcheol x omega!jeonghan, with implied ot13 x reader)

genre: angst with a fluff ending

wc: 1736

warnings: mentions of injury, a/b/o dynamics, arguments

summary: seungcheol is pushing himself too far in his injury recovery. y/n calls him out and cheol says something he wishes he could take back.

a/n: couldn't sleep because this idea was stuck in my head. wrote some stuff down in google docs to get out of my brain and somehow ended up here. enjoy my first ever written fic i guess?

Seungcheol was getting fed up. Between not being able to work, not seeing the rest of his pack for most hours of the day, and having to deal with the pain in his knee, he was seconds from shutting down. You being home and scolding him like a naughty child for trying to be independent made it a whole lot worse. 

He knew you just wanted his knee to heal correctly, even if it took longer than he wanted it to. But he was impatient and he just wanted to get back to work. Working on standing without his crutches was something he should probably do with his doctor or physical therapist. But he was fine, they were going to work on it at his next session in a few days, so why not start a little early. The pain would be worth it if it meant he could go back to dancing sooner.

You however, did not feel the same, turning the corner into the kitchen and catching sight of him wincing in pain whilst holding onto a chair. “Choi Seungcheol! If I see you try to stand without your crutches one more time, I’m calling your doctor and having you put on bed rest.”

It shouldn’t have sent him over the edge. It was a threat with zero malice behind it, and he knew you wouldn’t really call his doctor. But for some reason, this was his breaking point. “I’m just so over everything y/n! I’m so frustrated with this stupid injury. I can’t work anymore. I can’t do anything that makes me happy and I have to watch the rest of the pack do it without me.”

You frowned. You knew he was upset with the injury taking him out of work for a few months, but you thought he would at least have some respect for his own body and health. “I know Cheol, I understand this is frustrating but hurting yourself isn’t the best way to address your feelings.”

“No y/n you don’t know! You’re the only beta in the pack, the only girl, and the only one who isn’t an idol. You don’t get to tell me that you understand because you don’t. Betas don’t understand emotions like alphas and omegas do.”

Seungcheol regretted it instantly. Tears filled your eyes and threatened to spill past your waterline. Your scent soured and Seungcheol flinched as it hit his nose. He watched as you took a shaky breath before calmly replying, “no Cheol, I guess I don’t understand,” promptly turning on your heel to return to the bedroom. 

Sighing, Seungcheol grabbed his crutches from where they leaned against the kitchen table. He hobbled back to his room, flopping onto his bed carelessly. He didn’t even care about the pain in his knee anymore, too preoccupied with the pain in his heart. Frustratedly, he grabbed the pillow next to him, pushed his face into it and let out a sound that was halfway between a yell and a growl. How could he say something so stupid?

Seungcheol was too drowned in his own misery to hear your footsteps as they traveled down the hall and toward the front door. He wasn’t even aware you had left your room until the sound of the front door closing caught his attention. It was too early for the rest of the pack to be back from rehearsal, so it had to be you. The thought of you being so distraught that you had to leave the den was enough to make what was left of Seungcheol’s sanity snap. He pushed the pillow even farther into his face and sobbed until there was nothing left to cry.

.

Seungcheol groaned as the pillow was removed from his arms, letting the overhead light in his room shine harshly in his eyes. He almost let out a growl, warning the person who decided to disrupt his misery-induced sleep to leave him be, but the scent of his sweet omega left it hanging in the back of his throat. 

Jeonghan’s face appeared above him, finally blocking out the light that was threatening to cause a migraine. He heard the omega sigh in relief before saying, “well at least we know why you weren’t answering your phone. Do you know where y/n is? You smell like shit by the way.” 

Seungcheol just grunted in response. Jeonghan sighed and called out to Wonwoo, who Cheol assumed was in the main area. He didn’t listen in on their conversation, too busy trying to get rid of the buzzing in his head. All he could make out were a few repeated words: y/n, location, and phone.

After a few minutes, Seungcheol felt Jeonghan shift on the bed to lay next to him. He paused a second before saying, “I don’t know what happened between you two but if it makes you feel any better, she didn’t go too far. Just to the cafe a few streets down.”

Cheol sniffed. “How did you even know something happened?”

Jeonghan huffed before responding. “Neither of you were responding to our texts and calls when we were on the way home. Then we walked in and the main room smelled like upset beta and angry alpha. It didn’t take long to put two and two together.”

They laid in silence for a few moments. Seungcheol broke the silence with a broken sob. “I’m such a bad pack alpha,” he cried as he turned into Jeonghan’s side. 

The omega immediately closed his arms around the alpha’s side and released some calming pheromones. “No baby, you’re not a bad pack alpha. You and y/n have been around each other every second of every day since your injury, an argument was bound to happen eventually.” 

Seungcheol buried his head farther into Jeonghan’s chest. He cried a little longer before he softly uttered, “I made fun of her subgender.”

Jeonghan couldn’t hold back his surprise. This couldn’t be the same Seungcheol that defended y/n’s subgender to all their fans when it was released that she had joined their pack. This couldn’t be the same Seungcheol that immediately switched her new primary care physician when he told her that she, “shouldn’t worry about birth control since her alphas were probably too busy with their omegas anyways.” This couldn’t be the same Seungcheol who made everyone wear blockers when they first invited her to the den, because he knew that betas were more sensitive to scents. Finally the omega released a small, “what?”

The alpha sniffled again. “I told her that she didn’t understand my problems because she was a beta. I didn’t mean it Hannie. I feel so stupid. What even possessed me to say that?”

Seungcheol felt Jeonghan release his hold a little bit, so that he could rub circles into the small of his back. “I don’t know why you said it, baby. But I know you didn’t mean it. The rest of the pack knows you didn’t mean it. I’m sure she does too.”

Slowly, Seungcheol pulled his face away from his omega’s chest. Jeonghan’s heart broke at the sight of his pack alpha’s broken look. “Has she come back yet?”

Jeonghan rolled over a little to look out the open door of their room. “I don’t think so. Wonwoo went to pick her up from the cafe and walk her back home. They should be back soon, I hope.”

Seungcheol just nodded and went back to sulking in Jeonghan’s arms. The omega couldn’t help but release more calming pheromones and continue rubbing his alpha’s back. He knew Cheol couldn’t help it, but his distressed scent was leaving a bad taste in his mouth. He wished it would go away soon. 

A few minutes later, they both perked up at the sound of the front door opening and subsequently closing. Shoes were tossed on the tray by the door and before they knew it, you were standing in the doorway. The alpha’s scent brightened a bit. You paused when you saw Jeonghan in the bed with your pack alpha. He just smiled at you and began to pry himself away from Seungcheol, who let out a pathetic whine. 

Despite the day’s earlier events, you couldn’t help but softly smile at Cheol’s “less alpha-like” tendencies. Yet another reminder that he didn’t mean the words that left his mouth a few hours before. Seungcheol was not someone who believed in stupid subgender stereotypes. 

Jeonghan made his way out of the room, but not without leaving a small kiss on your forehead and a brush of his nose on your scent gland. A subtle reminder that he was here if you needed him. You took a moment to ground yourself before making your way over to the bed. “You smell like shit.”

He laughed. “You smelled worse when I made that comment earlier. But yeah, I’m sure I reek. Hannie said the same thing when he first came in.”

You smiled. His sense of humor was still intact at least. You took the lighthearted moment to cuddle up next to him and rub your wrist against the gland on his neck. “I know you didn’t mean it, Cheolie.”

Seungcheol sighed in relief. He believed Jeonghan when the omega said he was sure you knew his harsh words didn’t have any real meaning behind them. But it was still nice to hear the words from you on your own. “It wasn’t very pack alpha of me though.”

He heard you sigh a little. “No one is perfect. No pack alpha is perfect. You’re a human being too. You need to treat yourself like one Choi Seungcheol.”

He nodded as your words sunk in. He knew the double meaning behind them before you explicitly stated it yourself. “That goes for work too. You need to stop pushing yourself to recover faster. It’s just going to hurt more later on. I know you just want to get back to doing what you love but you need to love yourself first.”

His beta knew just the thing to say to tug on his heartstrings, huh? For the umpteenth time that day, Seungcheol sniffled. “I love you y/n. I wouldn’t want anyone else as my pack beta.”

You replaced your wrist with your nose, scenting him as you happily sighed, “I love you too Cheolie. No other pack alpha could ever compare.”

[ruiniel]

What You Choose

Fandom: Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba

Pairing: Rengoku Kyojuro x f!reader

Count: 2K

Rating: T (M later)

Part I

Summary: Rengoku survives the fight with Akaza, but some battles are not so straightforward.

Tags & Warnings: Rengoku lives AU, blood, injury, death, pining, angst, second person POV, demon slayer!reader, tsuguko!reader, Rengoku POV, eventual smut

Author Note: I am not OK and will never be OK about *waves hands* all that, so this is now a multichapter story.

II.

“Once again, you’re a guest in my healing ward.”

Kocho Shinobu speaks softly, as is her manner. She's seated by his bed with the afternoon sun shining gently on her features, highlighting the amethyst in her hair and eyes.

“I seem to be the only one,” Rengoku replies, looking at the empty infirmary. He’s still bedbound and can barely move his limbs. It hurts to breathe more often than not, and there’s a dull ache where his left eye used to be.

Her kind smile never falters as Kocho looks at the liquid in the syringe she’s preparing. Rengoku always admired her decision to honor her late sister this way, by holding on to that smile Kanae loved so much. After all, everyone has a keepsake of their loved ones in their heart, driving them forward. Memories, moments, words that hone one’s spirit and meld with determination, acting as a guiding light in the darkest places. He knows this all too well. 

“At least you won’t be lonely during your convalescence, those three have been coming here every day, even before you’d awoken.” She giggles, seeking a vein in his arm. 

Oh, of course… young Kamado… the boar lad, the yellow-haired boy. All of them gifted, resilient, and unwavering. He’d promised to train them, but…

That was… before. 

Another image appears before his mind’s eye, drenched in fog—you, running towards him. He, ordering you not to interfere. “Kocho. Tell me, please. How long before I can leave this bed? What is lost, what can I regain?” 

She sets the used syringe aside on a tray, then places her hands on her knees. “My, my, impatient already?” 

Rengoku tries a smile of his own, though it hurts the muscles in his face. If not for the strong sedatives and painkillers administered to him since he regained consciousness, he imagines he’d be squirming in pain. “I want to self-assess myself. Besides…I have promises to keep.” 

She understands. He knows she does. The Insect Hashira gazes out the window, and a small sigh leaves her chest. “Your fatal injuries have been healed by the peculiar blood demon art of young Kamado’s sister.”

He nods. Remarkable. He thought that would be his last battle, and he’d have passed without regret into the land of Yomi. Nevertheless, his gratitude is boundless.

“... your muscle and organ tissue has regenerated and there was no internal bleeding. However, there is still some damage to several vertebrae in your spine, severe trauma to your head I’ve not fully assessed yet, and you have eight fractured ribs.”

“Hah, I can feel them, too! I miscalculated by one, I thought there were seven.”

She looks his way, with that odd expression people sometimes have when he sounds unreasonably high-spirited. He supposes not everyone shares the same outlook, and that’s all well. But what use is there to bow down in dismay and accept the worst life throws my way? 

“Your left eye was smashed, and irrecoverable,” Kocho goes on. “We removed it with surgery and placed an implant inside to fill the empty eye socket. The recovery period in these cases is typically a year, as now you must adapt to your monocular status. But this also depends on the individual, and… this might mean alterations to your fighting style, of course.” She rises and picks up the tray. “I’m convinced that with time, you can return to a state allowing you to perform your duties. For now, please rest, that is a foremost priority.”

My friend, you know all too well that time is never on a demon slayer’s side. “Thank you, Kocho.”  She is right, though: he does feel exhausted, as though he’d climbed a mountain without rest or ever reaching the summit. Expected, though bothersome.

“We’ll do our best to help your recovery. Aoi will return later to change your bandages,” Kocho adds.

Rengoku turns his head as Kocho greets someone on her way out, and sees you, standing in the doorway. “Hello.”

“Hello.”

“You heard?”

You nod, nearing the bed. “Ms. Kocho told me of it all while you were asleep.”

“I’m sorry.”

You tilt your head in bemusement. “What ever for?”

“Because, I won’t be able to help with your training for a while.”

You’ve been at his side often. While in a coma, even if he couldn’t react, even if his body wouldn’t listen, he knew you were there. The thought is a warm one, a foreign sensation: different from the heat bursting in his body during a fight. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t look forward to your visits even now, to see how you’re faring, to hear the latest news on the Corps.

“No,” your voice brings him out of his thoughts, “but that does mean I can help you. When you’re ready, that is,” you add quickly. “With rehabilitation training.” 

“Of course!” The fatigue in his body is stubborn, clinging to him like heavy wet wool. “And… I don’t believe I’ve told you this yet: I’m happy you returned safely.”

You look away, appearing utterly miserable. It confuses him. Rengoku’s seen that shadow in his father’s eyes countless times, so often he can’t stand it: self-loathing.

“Forgive me, Master. I should have been able to do more, after all you strived to teach me. I… I could barely be of any use.”

But you were there, you helped protect all those people. You did your part. “You were unflinching, fast, and aided those who needed it precisely like I taught you. You are rank Kinoe, and what's your demon kill count?”

“Thirty-two.”

“There… now that I think about it, even without further guidance from me or anyone else, you’ll make Hashira soon! Our numbers are dwindling while demon activity increases. You’ve seen it. This is a struggle that needs all of us.” Rengoku pauses. The word ‘need’ felt odd coming from his mouth. But the statement is true. Why does it feel incomplete when he says it to your face?

You look down at your hands. “How can you do it?”

He blinks, frowning. “Do what?”

“Be so supportive and encouraging even when you’re lying broken in an infirmary bed. Sometimes… sometimes you are so very strange, Master.”

You do say that to him often, though less so than before. A smile trembles on your lips—it took you a long time to smile again, he recalls. 

“I merely speak the truth…” He can barely stay awake. The slow drip of liquid in the IV infusion is magnified, drowning out all other sounds, and your face becomes hazy as he drifts away.

Three years prior

The path of blood leads straight into the farmhouse, looking as though someone had been dragged inside by force.

His eyes narrow, and he centers his breaths as he walks forward with his blade drawn. The silence of the glade is eerie, the reek of decay nauseating in the heat of this humid summer.

Soon, he stands on the threshold. Two, there might be two of them. Near the farmhouse is a toolshed, he’ll look there next. Rengoku covers his mouth with his sleeve, eyes closing in pain.

The bodies lie there, some with scattered limbs. This was a family, no doubt about it. The brutality of the mutilation makes his stomach turn, but Rengoku steels his resolve, extending his senses for any hint of the entity’s presence: there is none. He sheathes his katana and enters the space proper. Three hours until dawn.

He descends to one knee, finding the fireplace in the middle is out, but the ashes are still warm. The tatami mats are sticky and stained dark. This all transpired recently. He reaches out a hand, touches an inert arm: not yet cold. Too late, I am too late. But I’ll find you, wherever you are, you damn beasts. 

It’s only due to his reflexes, honed with endless hours of training, that he turns around fast enough, leaping backward before the descending attack.

At first, he thinks it’s the demon, his katana at the ready.

“Don’t you dare touch them!” 

He pauses, nearly too late in avoiding the second strike. A girl’s voice, a human’s heartbeat. His arm shoots out, catching the wooden staff in a strong grip. 

You’re panting, eyes wild and glimmering in the moonlit night. “Let—go!”

“Wait, I’m not an enemy!” he says, taking a better look at you, still holding your makeshift weapon even as you try to wrest it from his hand. 

“How do I know that! Demon!” Your voice is hoarse. Half your face is caked in drying blood, and there must be multiple injuries on your body judging by the torn clothing and the widening dark stains. 

“I’m not a demon,” he speaks calmly but urgently. “I hunt them. Please, they may still be close.”

You jerk your chin towards a corner of the room. “I had him… I don’t need you. Get out of my home!” you yell, more desperate with each word. “Get out, get out, get out!”

Another body lies there in the dark, slitted pupils dark against its milky eyes. The head had been nearly completely crushed. Rengoku freezes in disbelief. You did this? Alone? “Wait, you don’t understand, there’s another—”

A loud crash severs his words as the ceiling collapses, and he barely has time to leap forward, catch you in his arms, and throw himself outside. He rolls onto the ground, pain erupting in his left shoulder with the impact. When he opens his eyes you’re there, safely held against him, face tearstained and body rigid with shock.

But there’s no time to explain further—he feels it. The gurgle of inhuman hunger as a figure emerges from the wreckage of the farmhouse, eyes fixed on them. It does not speak, but growls in hunger; it must be of the feral kind, no reasoning left as the transformation rotted its memories. 

Rengoku rises, changing his stance. “Stand back,” he urges, looking over his shoulder at you as you struggle with your own body. He looks back ahead, grinds his teeth, his breathing attuned to his thought. 

First Form: Unknowing Fire.

It doesn’t last long. He’s been running from mission to mission, dispensing with different kinds of fiends, and this was yet another run in a long chain that will only end with his own life. 

Once the head is removed, the battle is over. Sometimes there is someone left to check on after the fact; often, there isn’t. But now, Rengoku hurries towards you, descending and slipping a hand under your back, aiding you to sit. “Where are you hurt?”

“Thank you,” you say instead, eyes glazing over. He hopes the Kakushi will get here soon. You point towards your ruined home. “Set it ablaze… please.” 

“Hey, hey, stay awake!” Rengoku urges even as your body turns heavier and your eyes roll back. 

He expected this to come. Kneeling and with his forehead pressed to the ground he sits still, prostrated before the leader of the Demon Slayer Corps. 

A voice like the lull of spring reaches him, setting his worries aside. In his heart, he thinks he’s done what is right.

“Rank Kinoe Rengoku Kyojuro, you are summoned to explain why you have brought a non-combatant to headquarters, instead of having the Kakushi transport them to a civilian hospital.”

“Master, the girl shows extraordinary potential. Her family has been murdered by demons, and yet she managed to fell one before I arrived, alone, despite grievous wounds and bloodloss. Forgive me if I overstepped, but I believe…” 

“Go on.”

“I believe once her body heals and her focus returns, she will join the fight. I believe she will want to. If I'm wrong, I accept all consequences.”

“You sound fairly convinced of this, young Rengoku,” says Ubuyashiki Kagaya. “Though there is no reason to know for certain one way or the other.”

He stays quiet, his heart raging in his chest. It will all depend on you, of course. You may want to have nothing to do with this. 

“But… you’ve not failed us thus far. I will allow it.”

“Gratitude, Master.” And then, almost in the same breath, “If she chooses this, I will guide her myself.”

TBC

[theredrenard]

Shout out to my depressing-ass post-sniper/recovery wip that I’m impatient to finish + post.

Sneak peek:

Eddie must have been silent for too long, because Buck raises his gaze to Eddie’s face, his bottom lip quivering as he speaks again. “People don’t keep me around forever, Eddie. I’m temporary. Good for a night or two, and then it’s on to the next thing. You’ll get tired of me, and then you’ll leave too.”

Buck has self-worth issues ✨

Anyway. Catch me on ao3 if u wanna read the finished product later

[phyx-m]

Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 13: Ruiner

Content warning: Sukuna POV, violence, murder, oral sex (brief), Sukuna's two cocks

🔗 Songs for this chapter:

The Becoming - Nine Inch Nails Something I Can Never Have (Still) - Nine Inch Nails

* * * * *

Chapter 12 | Chapter 14

* * * * *

Four years ago…

The trees stand skeletal, their long, bony branches stretching skyward like grasping fingers. A slight breeze stirs, dislodging leaves that drip to the ground, blanketing the earth in a sea of dirty golden brown. It’s all the King of Curses needs to know—it’s time to head out.

Walking down the longest corridor toward the shrine’s front entrance, he feels his impatience growing. Such an emotion is unlike him, but perhaps the impending carnage stirs it within him. Or maybe it’s something else entirely, but he pushes the thought away. Allowing it to linger would be worthless.

As he reaches the massive doors, he senses a faint presence behind him.

“Leaving, Master Sukuna?”

He turns, red gaze lowering to meet the pink eyes of his white-haired subordinate, who stands with hands tucked neatly inside their kimono.

“Yes,” he muses. “I’m heading north.”

North. It hadn’t always been an obsession—not like it claws at him now, its pull growing stronger with each passing year. It was once just an impulse, a return to forsaken lands he had tried to forget. But something changed the night he first set foot back in the northern territories. Since then, the call has only deepened, dragging him back again and again.

“This will be the second time this year,” Uraume observes. It is. “Are you targeting the territories under the snake’s rule again?”

Sukuna clicks his tongue, unable to hide the hostility that twists his features with contempt.

“The snake.”

A man with a surprising amount power for someone who is nothing more than a power-hungry despot. Sukuna finds it laughable that the bastard’s people remain loyal despite his tyrannical grip over the northern region. But they do. Every time Sukuna makes his twice-yearly visit, the snake throws everything he can at him—warriors, trained men, young boys, even children. All of them meet the same fate. All of them are nothing but fodder.

The fact that the people haven’t risen against their ruler is a testament to their stupidity and blindness. They are all fools—every last one of them.

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to,” Sukuna hums before pushing open the massive doors and stepping outside.

The late October wind rushes toward him, sharp and biting, and Sukuna wonders if the northerners know he’s coming. They should by now. This marks the third consecutive year he’s launched his incursion, always in the same seasons: summer and autumn. Those are the times when the North is most vulnerable. The weather plays its part—resources dwindle, and recovery takes longer. By the time they manage to rebuild, he’s already back to tear it all down again.

He rolls his shoulders, anticipating the next miserable village he’s about to snuff out. Technically, he could go straight for the snake’s head and sever it, but that’s too easy. He wants the snake alive. He wants to toy with him, slowly strip away everything—his land, people, power.

Maybe even more than that.

Sukuna takes the first step down the shrine’s grand entrance, and the sound of hurried footsteps echoes down the corridor.

“Master Sukuna!” His irritation spikes the moment Sayuri’s voice reaches his ears. “Where are you going?”

She brushes past Uraume, coming to stand before him. The once-tangled and dirty black hair she had when she first arrived is now sleek and well-kept. Sayuri is a different woman, born anew. But over the last year, she’s grown far too comfortable for her own good. It shows in the way she presents herself, in the way she looks at him with those stormy brown eyes, and in the way she yearns for more—something utterly worthless, something he can never give her or anyone else.

She steps closer, ignoring the expected bow, and instead places a delicate hand on his kataginu, her fingers sliding up the fabric to rest against his chest.

Sukuna’s nostrils flare.

“Please, Master, return to your chambers. I can help you forget wherever it is you think you need to be.” The sultry tone that spills from her lips is sickly sweet, making his mouth curl in disgust.

If anything, Sayuri is a poison—a parasite. He knows there may come a day when he’ll regret allowing her to worm her way into his life and shrine. But for now, she serves her purpose. She amuses him. She entertains him with the way she sucks his cocks and the way she allows him to use her body.

“I have better things to do than watch you squirm beneath me like a filthy whore.” His voice is devoid of heat as he uncurls her fingers from his clothing.

The dark-haired woman shrinks, taking a step back, face faltering. Good. She needs to be reminded of her place.

Without sparing her another glance, Sukuna tips his chin toward Uraume.

“I’ll be back in a week, maybe more,” he gruffs before descending the steps.

Mounting one of his obsidian horses, he gives the reins a tight fist and nudges the creature’s flank. With a sharp motion, the horse bounds forward, and in a heartbeat, he’s gone.

* * * * *

The ride northward takes three days.

When Sukuna arrives, he enters a region of the North he has never visited before. And it’s in shambles. Dismounting, he greets the sight with a cruel smile on his lips.

Overgrown weeds choke the withering crops beneath his wooden sandals. A thick, dank stench of putrid waste hangs in the air, clinging to his garments and lingering in his nostrils. The field, fallow and useless. Sweeping his eyes further, he notes the irrigation canals are clogged with mud and debris, while flies murmur over stagnant pools of water, long since turned swampy. Beyond the neglected crops, a decaying village looms in the distance, its rooftops sagging under the weight of neglect.

The snake makes it so easy for him. The way he disregards his own people, allowing them to weaken, while those who keep him in power gorge themselves at his table, growing fat and bloated—it’s almost too delightful to witness.

Though Sukuna isn’t much better, once he subjugates a region, he keeps it under his rule—relatively safe, if only out of fear and respect. As long as they meet his demands, they can “thrive” together, though thriving under Sukuna’s rule is a twisted thing, more survival than prosperity.

By the time he reaches the outskirts of the northern village, the autumn sun is dipping low, casting long shadows that curve along the broken roofs. The silence presses against him, a quiet that speaks of desperation, of people huddling inside their homes, praying for mercy that remains abandoned and unanswered.

Sukuna pauses, shutting his four eyes to savour the moment—the cooling air, the scent of decay, the fear seeping through the cracks of the village.

It’s intoxicating.

With grace, he brings his upper hands to the front panels of his kimono and peels it down, letting it hang at his hips, revealing the black ink that covers his chest. He left his kataginu with his mount, farther back, safe from the hell he’s about to unleash.

Opening his crimson eyes, he lets his energy rise to the surface, simmering beneath his skin. He knows it won’t take much to level everything in his surroundings.

He rolls his shoulders, takes two more steps, then lifts his upper right arm. With a flick, he extends his index and middle fingers, his voice quiet as he simply utters, “Knock, knock.”

* * * * *

Everything collapses in perfect chaos.

The homes topple like kindling in a fire, snapping and breaking apart. Soot and ash rise from the destruction that carpets the ground. Mounds of wood and debris groan and crack as they settle into the wreckage. Strewn across the earth are shattered belongings and mangled bodies, concealing much of the ruined landscape beneath.

From the edge of the village, Sukuna watches as people flee their shattered homes. He makes no effort to hunt them down, unless they stray too close. It would be a waste of effort, and that’s not his purpose here. He’s hoping the snake will send reinforcements or at least some kind of opposition, something to sink his teeth into for a real challenge. Rumours suggest the man has been forging connections with more powerful clans, potential threats that could make future encounters intriguing.

For now, Sukuna waits. And waits, and waits.

To his dissatisfaction, the bastard sends no one, abandoning the people of this shithole to their fate. At least now, Sukuna knows he'll need to target wealthier communities. Perhaps then, his efforts will provoke a more satisfying response.

He adjusts the front panels of his kimono, drawing the fabric up and threading his four arms through the sleeves. There’s no point in lingering any longer.

He takes one last look at the devastation before turning to leave, but something approaching catches his eye.

A skinny, greasy man drags a young woman by the handful of her hair. She staggers weakly, a grimace of pain on her face. When they reach Sukuna’s feet, the man roughly pushes her down.

“Please, my Lord,” the man begs, bowing with an air of false superiority that makes Sukuna sneer. “I offer you my niece in exchange for sparing what’s left of our village and aiding us in restoring it to its former state.” Still gripping her hair, he gestures to the woman.

Sukuna’s gaze falls on the girl. At a glance, she’s a pitiful sight—cowering meekly with her head bowed in submission.

“Show me her face,” Sukuna commands, stepping closer, his presence looming over them.

Without hesitation, the hand fisting the woman’s hair pulls sharply. Her head snaps back, bending uncomfortably, chin jutting upward. She lets out a muffled cry as he roughly brushes aside the strands framing her face, fingers lingering far, far too long for her comfort. The woman flinches, struggling to pull away from her uncle’s invasive touch.

As Sukuna studies her face their eyes lock. She’s not afraid of him; rather, she’s more terrified of the man clutching her.

“You can remove your hand,” Sukuna chuckles, circling the pair. “She won’t be crawling away from me anytime soon.”

Reluctantly, the man lets the woman crumple to the ground and glances over his shoulder at Sukuna.

“Will you accept my offer?” he asks nervously, trying to hold the four-armed demon’s gaze.

“Perhaps,” Sukuna replies, his tone turning chillingly light as he raises an arm. “But—” he tilts his head, “—it’s a shame you won’t be around to find out.”

“Pardon? My Lor—”

Before the man can finish, Sukuna’s hand parts his flesh like sodden paper, punching through the tissue and fluids that sustain his spinal cord. His fingers curl around the fragile threads of the man’s spine, which pulses like a ribbon against his fingertips as he strokes it.

The man’s throat emits wet, gurgling sounds that quickly dissolve into a flat hiss as he collapses to his knees. Sukuna chuckles softly, nudging the nerve trunk through his neck. With a final, decisive tug, he partially dislodges it from the man’s back.

Withdrawing his hand, gaze stony, the King of Curses watches the body fall, slumping to the ground, as if it were nothing. With a flick of his wrist, he attempts to rid his hand of the blood and fluids, repeating the gesture as if the mess personally affronts him.

“What’s your name?” he drawls, attention snapping back to the woman, who remains silent and unmoving despite the gruesome scene before her.

Slowly, she rises to her feet, eyes fixed blankly on the body of her uncle.

“Ren, my Lord,” she replies quietly.

“Ren,” he laughs deep and low in his chest, “what a dreadful name for a woman. Your parents must truly despise you.”

“My parents are dead,” she hisses, the words sharp, rough like a point, prompting Sukuna to reconsider her.

“Was that my fault?” Casually, he tips his chin toward the remnants of the village he just tore to the ground.

She shakes her head.

“No. They died a long time ago. Starved. Hungry. Because no one cares about us here,” she spits the words out.

He tilts his head.

There’s something intriguing about this woman, Ren. Unlike the weak, timid creatures who scurry away like rats, she doesn’t flinch before him. She stands firm. In the face of death—in the face of him—there’s a resilience that he finds both oddly fascinating and entertaining.

What’s even more curious is the sensation wriggling inside, compelling him to bring her back with him. It’s not driven by personal sentiment but by a cold, pragmatic sense that she might prove useful for a purpose he can’t yet define.

“Come,” he says, turning away and expecting her to follow.

And she does, without hesitation.

In the years that follow, Ren settles quickly at the shrine. She proves to be a remarkably diligent subordinate—adaptable, intelligent. However, the fire Sukuna once saw in her eyes gradually fades, replaced by a rigid hardness. It seems she is waging a war known only to herself—a struggle that no one, not even Sukuna, fully comprehends.

What confounds him most is the night he discovers her waiting for him in his chambers, offering herself. Not to his surprise, she isn’t alone; Sayuri is there, too.

And this is just the beginning.

* * * * *

Three months ago…

Six heavy-lidded eyes stare into Sukuna’s four.

Each pair belongs to the three women who have ended up at his shrine under varying circumstances. Their differences are as pronounced as the paths that led them here.

Ren drapes herself over him, straddling his right tattooed thigh, while Sayuri clings to the center, her eyes filled with unspoken longing.

The third, Hina, a woman with deep copper-coloured hair, hovers to his left. About two years ago, she had arrived from a slowly dying village in the east. When her home had fallen to ruin, she had learned to survive on her own, honing her skills in hunting and killing. But sustenance was fleeting, and on the first of the month, she had come to him, offering herself in exchange for survival.

Now, they surround him with their three pliant bodies.

Each of them takes turns trying desperately to please him. Sucking and pumping his hard dual cocks.

Writhing, squirming, moaning.

The sight alone should satisfy any man, but it does nothing for him.

The situation grows increasingly intolerable the moment Sayuri looks up, his lower cock between her lips, eyes imploring not just for his attention but also his affection.

Sukuna remains impassive, his expression unreadable as he reclines on the futon, his four arms curving over a plush set of cushions. His silence, rather than deterring, seems to embolden her further.

Suddenly, Sayuri maneuvers her body, climbing up and turning around, her cunt sitting directly in his face as if expecting him to pleasure her.

His lip curls up as he looks at it.

“Off,” he grunts, voice carrying a menacing bite. His sneer begins to reveal the sharpness of his canines as his patience wears thin. “Get. The. Fuck. Off.”

When his command goes unheeded, he shoves Sayuri aside. She tumbles across the futon, forcing Ren and Hina to quickly retreat as he swings his legs over the edge and plants his feet firmly on the floor.

“Get out,” he snaps.

Gaze deliberately averted, he retrieves his discarded haori and slips it on.

Behind him, he can hear the muted sounds of clothing being smoothed, the shuffling of feet. The door slides open with a soft rustle, and they are gone.

Silence.

Sukuna exhales deeply, running a hand through his swept back pink hair.

Barefoot, he crosses his chambers toward the garden door. With a simple tug, it glides open, revealing the evening dark. The moon hangs directly overhead, lonely. Stars appear one by one, scattering the sky with pinpricks of light.

The warm breeze sweeps through, carrying a reminder. He inhales the night air, feeling its subtle nudge to head north.

Tomorrow, he decides, is when he’ll go.

The following morning, the bright, fat sun taunts Sukuna. Its harsh light pierces through the garden door of the private room and plagues his meal.

Impatience creeps in.

He should have left hours ago, mounted up, and headed north by now. But something told him to stay, to eat first. So he did, though the decision irritates him now.

From where he sits on the cushion on the floor, he notices Sayuri, sulking like a spoiled child, aware that he’s leaving today. Her pouting only puts him in a sour mood.

“Fuck.” He exhales, “Just—come here, you stupid brat.” With his lower hands, he beckons her to come to him.

Sayuri’s face beams bright, and without hesitation, she eagerly slips onto his monstrous lap.

Swivelling her hips, she attempts to get comfortable, making him grumble wordlessly.

“Better?” he grunts, though the proximity does little to quell his annoyance. She smiles up at him, dark eyes gleaming.

“Yes. Thank you, Master Sukuna,” she murmurs, leaning in and nuzzling his chest. Affectionately.

Fucking pathetic.

He’s about to toss her off when the door slides open, revealing Uraume.

“Master Sukuna,” they begin, bowing respectfully as they step inside. His four eyes shift from Sayuri to the white-haired monk. “A messenger just delivered this.”

In their hand is a piece of parchment, seemingly insignificant at first glance. Eyeing it more, he notices it's neatly folded and tied with a high-quality silk cord. But what truly catches his attention is the wooden seal holding it together.

His eyes narrow, and he stretches out an arm, palm flat. Uraume places the message there. 

Lazily, he brings it closer, holding it before Sayuri’s face.

“Tell me what you see,” he croons, placing his upper right hand against her back.

Sayuri shifts, wets her lips, and studies the paper.

“I see a seal,” she replies. Sukuna nods, urging her to continue. “I see… a snake, my Lord.”

He clicks his tongue, a smirk stretching across his face.

“Good girl,” he coos, patting her back twice like a dog.

Slowly, his lower hands begin to untie the silk cord. It unravels with a soft rustle and falls to the low table. Without bothering to read the contents, he gestures to Hina, who has been hovering nearby.

“Read it,” he commands flatly.

Hina obediently steps forward and takes the parchment from his hand. She unfurls it carefully, eyes scanning the ink blots scattered across the paper. Though the copper-haired woman isn’t fully literate, he knows Uraume has been teaching her, slowly cultivating her ability to decipher the written word. 

“To the, um, most Honour’ble and I-illust—”

Sukuna barks out a sudden, sharp laugh, not at her stumbling over the words but at the thought of the snake who penned this letter. The idea of that man being forced to address him as ‘honourable’ is a delicious irony; Sukuna knows the man despises him.

“Continue.” The smirk on his lips grows.

Hina shifts on her feet.

“To the most H-honourable and I-illust-rious Suk-un-a Ryo-men, the King of—”

“Too long,” Sukuna interupts. “Ren.”

Ren quickly steps forward. She bows before taking the parchment from Hina’s grasp.

“To the Most Honourable and Illustrious Sukuna Ryomen, the King of Curses,” she begins, voice steady. “Like two rivers, our paths have collided, flooding the northern lands with strife and destruction. Yet even rivers can find harmony when they merge, flowing stronger together than apart. Recognizing the futility of further conflict, I propose an end—”

“Sayuri,” Sukuna barks.

Ren hands the parchment to Sayuri, who squares her shoulders, straightens her posture, and smooths the paper a few times.

“Yet even rivers can find harmony when they merge, flowing stronger together than apart. Recognizing the futility of further conflict, I propose an end to this turbulence—” She pauses. “—by…”

She lifts her eyes, casting a sharp glance at Sukuna.

His eyes darken, and his grip tightens.

“By offering you—”

Another pause, a beat.

“By offering me what?” he growls.

Sayuri swallows.

“By offering you… my daughter in marriage.”

Silence descends upon the room.

An invisible string tugs at the corner of the King of Curses’ mouth.

Finally.

He dips his chin.

“Continue.”

Sayuri’s eyes begin to glimmer with unshed tears before they reluctantly drop back to the parchment.

“Through this union, our clans can finally channel our energies toward more productive pursuits. You can retain the territories you have subjugated and gain a longstanding foothold in the north without further waste of time. Let us resolve this swiftly, so that we may turn our attention to more pressing matters. Signed—”

Sukuna plucks the parchment from her fingers, crimson eyes narrowing as he scans the closing line.

“Kasai Takuma, Lord of the Kasai Clan.”

* * * * *

Present day, moments ago…

Sukuna’s going to kill you.

That decision was made long ago—when your father first proposed the marriage, when the wedding day approached, when he first laid eyes on you. The decision was simple. Final. You were the daughter of the snake, after all, and your fate was sealed from the start.

He’s going to kill you.

And yet, for some inexplicable reason, he hasn’t done it. Each time his eyes meet yours, something stirs within him, something he doesn’t want to acknowledge, something he desperately wants to—

Fuck.

He exhales deeply, dragging a hand through his pink hair, frustrated by the persistence of this hesitation. He should have let that polearm tear you apart instead of stepping in to protect you. But he won’t allow anyone to harm you—if anyone should, it will be him.

He’s the one who's going to kill you.

Even now, as he walks away, out of the kitchen and down the shrine’s longest corridor, the irritation grows. It's an irritation he knows is tied to you, to the way you’ve started to seep into his thoughts more and more, occupying space in his mind that he doesn’t want to give.

He cannot give. He will not give.

By the time he reaches the front entrance, the irritation has grown into something darker, more unsettling, and he knows that despite his decision, despite the certainty with which he made it, you’ve become something he didn’t anticipate—a complication.

A distraction.

You are a fucking nuisance. 

He’s going to kill you. That decision was made long ago...

Opening the doors, he steps out into the cool night and heads for the stables, where the creatures offer a welcome reprieve. The familiar routine of caring for them soothes his mind, pushing his thoughts aside—if only for a moment.

But it isn’t enough.

By the time he mounts one and guides it toward the dirt-packed road, he feels it—an uncomfortable tug in his chest. An urge to turn back, to return to the shrine.

To return to you—his wife.

He ignores it.

He rides off, away from the shrine and, more importantly, away from you. Distance, he thinks, will clear his head.

Yet as the cold air lashes him, a nagging sense of regret creeps in, an unsettling awareness that he should have known better, that leaving was a mistake.

Because after all this time, he should have known what was coming.

* * * * *

🔗 Chapter 14

[pokemenlovingmen]

Okay!! I was able to counter act the links being funky in my app by opening your blog in my mobile browser!!!! so I was able to read your rules n stuff so now I can finally request (yusss!!! also, I saw the "ingo,,, again" under the PLA characters you write for and it made me think "ingo 2,,, electric boogaloo" heheheh. also yeah fuck kamado, all my homies hate kamado)

okay, could I please request a lil drabble (if you only do hc's thats fine of course! I just couldnt find it clearly if you only do hc's) of Adaman taking care of a reader who is on bed rest and healing? the exact stuff of how and what is up to you, for me its more so the comfort and caring side, not so much the angst side (so like, nothing thats like "omg reader was near death" pls?). gender of the reader I dont mind, just do what youre most comfortable with and yee!! thank youuuu

Hi you’ve been such a kind supporter I’m sorry it took me so long to get to you!! And yeah. Fuck Kamado. That exile would have been my villain origin story if the game gave me more agency, I swear to god.

And conversely, we love Adaman. They put him in pokemas and my quality of life has improved significantly <3

Oh and I’m sorry about the lack of clarity of what I do! I do only HCs, but at the level of detail I can’t stop myself from including, they’re kinda like a weird fusion between drabble and headcanons.

Healing Takes Time — Adaman x M!Reader

💎 — Hisui is a dangerous place and injuries ranging from minor to severe are all too common. So Adaman’s not exactly a stranger to presiding over loved ones on bed rest.

💎 — Doesn’t mean he’s good at it, though.

💎 — Mai reminds him that the slow passage of time is just as important as things that happen in the quick, efficient manner that he prefers as well. It’s not a slight from Mighty Dialga being displeased, it’s just the nature of time. But he can’t just stand around when it comes to your health! Yes, rest takes time, he’s aware, but all this waiting feels the same as doing nothing to him.

💎 — Mai basically has to keep him away from you constantly because he’s always fretting over you, which is definitely sweet of him even if it’s not exactly helpful, but it is funny to watch the cartoonish shenanigans of Mai trying to constantly shoo Adaman away from the medical tent.

💎 — Even if what you’re recovering from isn’t serious, you’d never be able to guess that from how he behaves.

💎 — He essentially becomes your primary nurse and seldom lets you out of his sight if he can help it (thanks to Mai being the reasonable one, he usually can’t).

💎 — Once things calm down though, after the first two or three days when your recovery progress is becoming quite apparent, he’s less frazzled and more willing to leave you be. He just can’t help that impatience winning out, though, sometimes.

💎 — He’ll be there to help you with maintaining yourself while you rest, sitting beside your futon while you recover, brushing your hair so you don’t have to, keeping a fresh cold compress on you at all times if the problem is that you’re sick and feverish, changing your bandages if it’s an injury, all that.

💎 — If you’re okay with it, he’ll also happily bring his Leafeon to see you for some good old fashioned grass-type aromatherapy. I know Leafeon can’t actually learn the move aromatherapy, but it’s clearly made of plants and must have some kind of floral/herbal smell.

💎 — And since we know he is a house husband in the making guy with an interest in cooking, you bet he’ll be bringing you all manner of home-cooked meals.

💎 — He’s so dutiful, oftentimes he doesn’t go back to his own tent for the night and will instead fall asleep on the cold floor next to your futon.

💎 — Adaman is very sure to keep you abreast of all goings-on in the clan, usually nothing much of interest, but he does uncharacteristically bring you all sorts of gossip. It’s not that he likes to gossip, but while you’re bedridden he can’t think of much to entertain you with so this is what he’s settled on. And also he probably would like to vent his multitude of frustrations with Melli specifically because you just know 3/5 instances of drama involve some kind of category 5 Melli moment.

💎 — Once you start to recover and leave your bedridden state, he’s still just as present as he was before.

💎 — If it was an injury he’s always making sure you’re not overexerting yourself, and if it’s something that happened to your legs, he’s volunteering to help you walk around so you don’t put too much pressure on the injury.

💎 — For illness he’ll always be on your case about taking whatever medicines/remedies you were instructed to, because your recovery has already taken ages (to him) already, and he’s not sure he can bear seeing you sick for much longer.

💎 — Regardless of the reason you’re bedridden, he’ll always give you a kiss on the forehead when he enters the tent and before he leaves—though if you’re sick, he musters the self control to wait. Ideally he can keep that up, but he might get a little impatient… oh well. He needs to remind you how much he loves you, and if he ends up getting what you have, he knows you’ll care for him just as dutifully as he did you.

[muzzlemouths]

prompt: “please”

Moon adjacent // Wordcount: 4088

-

“Can we talk for a minute?”

It’s the end of your shift. The kids are all picked up, the toys put away, the daycare cleaned, and you’re headed for the door when Sun sets a hand on your shoulder.

You’ve already said your goodbyes, of course, and he hadn’t bothered to say anything up until now, so the sudden insistence to have a chat catches you off guard. As does his expression.

“Oh, uh… Sure,” you turn around to face him fully, “what’s up?

The way he’s looking at you, like he’s hesitant to speak up even now, leads you to believe it’s something serious. Coming from Sun, of all people, that’s more than enough to make you set your bag back on the front desk and give him your full attention.

Sun’s hand draws back and folds in with the other at his waist, his fingers intertwining and pinching together with anxious little taps, “It’s about Moon,” he mumbles, and his eyes fall to the bells on his feet and stay there, “something is wrong.”

Now, that kind of remark isn’t abnormal, especially concerning Moon. Management isn’t all too favorable with the animatronic and you get the feeling the techs down in Parts and Services aren’t the best of friends with him, either. You could put money on either of them making up complaints if only to get Moon off their backs. Coming from Sun, though?

That scares you.

“Oh?” You put up a face, doing your best not to show how much the suggestion gets to you. “What’s going on?”

“Are you aware of yesterday’s…” his rays shrink with a note of visible discomfort, “situation?”

Your eyebrows pinch together, “No, I hadn’t heard anything. Did something happen?”

He makes a face, and you imagine he might have rolled his eyes. “Of course,” he sighs, “I’m not sure why I was under the impression that management would fill you in.” True enough. Trying to get information out of them - even concerning your own job - is like pulling teeth. “Well,” his head tilts in the opposite direction now and his fingers stretch and flex, moving with restless little motions that tickle the bells at his wrists, “there was a little oopsie-daisy sometime after you clocked out.”

“Like…?”

“A break in,” he clarifies, clearing his throat. His eyes snap to front and center as his hands fly to reassuring you, “Nothing was actually stolen, and I’m told the employee who was assaulted is promised to make a full recovery–”

“Whoa, wait,” your hands raise to stop him, “back up. Somebody was assaulted?”

“Stabbed!” He says, going stiff in place when he realizes that doesn’t make the situation any better, “O-Only a little,” his hands wring together, fidgeting, the ring of his bells constant now, “and like I said, they’re already patched up and looking swell. The assailant, on the other hand–”

“What about Moon?”

Sun twitches, looking somewhat irked about being cut off twice in a row now, “I’m getting to that,” he barks, “if you would kindly let me finish.”

“Sorry, sorry,” you reluctantly back down, “please, continue.”

A deep sigh escapes him. “Moon discovered them soon after the actual incident took place. I’d go as far as saying he’s the whole reason your coworker made it out alive, seeing as they were able to escape before any more damage was done. But…” His voice peters off into silence.

“But…?”

He hesitates, shifting his weight from foot to foot. His hands hold each other for support, then flex. Curl, then flex. Again, and again, and again, until your expectant look pries his mouth open again. “He took a couple bad hits. Nothing they couldn’t fix, of course, and he’s right as rain as far as that’s concerned.”

“And the robber?” You ask, trying not to sound too impatient.

Sun shrugs, his eyes lowering back down to his shoes. “Moon took care of them,” he mumbles, “of course.”

“Of course,” you reply with a nod, “that’s his job, after all.” Reaching for Sun’s arm, you give it a comforting squeeze and hold your breath, only continuing when his gaze lifts from the floor, “So, what’s the problem?”

His shoulders dip as if he’s grieving, and all at once the fidgeting stops. “I don’t–” he takes in a mock breath and holds it, staring you down, then deflates with a defeated sign, “I don’t know!” He finally wails, “Something is wrong, I’m sure of it. I just can’t tell you what it is exactly.”

“Sun,” you reach for him again, but for once Sun pulls away - an action that makes you tense in place, “I’m sure he’s just tired after last night. Let him have his space and–”

“But that’s just it!” His voice is shrill as he interrupts you, “I’ve given him plenty of space, I don’t have a choice either way about it. He’s gone quiet,” and then, before you can argue, “headspace is quiet. He won’t talk to me. I–I haven’t heard his voice since last night.”

“Oh,” is all you manage at first. That changes things. “Well…what do you want me to do about it?”

“Come back tonight,” he asks - though it comes out more as a plea, “the lights go out in half an hour. You can stick around so you don’t get locked out, maybe get a snack, o-or talk with one of the Glamrocks, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.” He looks nervously your way, the trademark smile momentarily crushed under the weight of his anxiety, “I know I’m asking for a lot,” he says, “but I just think…” and it returns, if only by the upturned edges, “if he won’t talk to me, maybe he’ll talk to you.”

Your lips press into a thin line as you think it over. If management found out you were hanging around after your shift it could come back to bite you, but on the other hand, if you didn’t do this, Sun may never trust you again. Saying nothing about your own concern for Moon.

He looks less like a child pleading for sweets, instead frowning in a way that is desperate, and deceptively human. Taking your hands in his own and squeezing them tight, his eyes searching yours for any semblance of pity, he whispers, “…Please.”

That alone is enough to convince you.

“Alright,” you relent after a breath, “I’ll see what I can do.”

- - -

It’s easy enough to slip past management. You let Freddy in on the situation and, though he’s reluctant (evidently knowing something you don’t) he eventually agrees to host you as stowaway in his room until closing hours. After that, it’s just a matter of busying yourself with brainless little tasks until you’re sure enough time has passed for Moon to be fully out and about.

Only, he isn’t. Checking your fazwatch at the half-hour mark reveals him to be missing in action, an odd occurrence for the normally punctual Moon who should have already been well on his way through the security patrols by now. You decide to cut him some slack, figuring that he was, again, only tired from yesterday’s situation.

That being said, he’s no where to be found at the end of the hour, either, and by then you’ve leaped past concern into full-blown panic. He’s not in the atrium, or the laundry room, or the many, many halls. You know he wouldn’t be caught dead in Parts and Services and don’t even bother checking. A quick glance in the Daycare - dark as normal - yields no better results.

Your search leaves only one place in mind.

It takes you no time at all to push your way back through the Daycare doors. Your flashlight cuts through the dark expanse without the usual relief of a nearby crimson glow or even the ring of a quiet bell. There is nothing to prove your theory correct and yet you proceed regardless, plenty stubborn enough to go off a hunch and a hunch alone.

Admittedly, his absence fills your gut with a worsened sense of dread. Normally he is all too eager to sneak up behind you and play boogeyman. How strange - and troubling, at that – to be left to your own devices. You shake the feeling from your shoulders and continue on.

Nearing the ballpit, a noise crosses your ears. Not a bell, or a snicker, or the usual weight of metal headed your way, but instead, a voice.

A song, to be specific.

So low that you strain to hear it, you pick up on the humming of a familiar lullaby, and you’re able to trace it back to the exact location you had suspected; the bedroom.

“Moon?” You call out to him, your voice carrying strangely in the still room. Silence answers you. Even the humming cuts short, every sound from above quickly falling into nothing at all. Your eyebrows pinch together. “I know you’re up there!” You try again, “will you come down for a minute? I want to talk.”

A minute passes, then two. Nothing occurs. No movement, no sound, and certainly no sign of him doing as asked. Your impatience gets the better of you.

Turning on your heel, you dully note the feeling of eyes on your back as you head out of the main Daycare area and into the theater, instead. It takes you less than a minute to locate the Captain Foxy’s Pirate Adventure poster, and once there you waste little time pushing through the secret entry behind it and down the hall, through the blue door.

Inside, the first thing you see is the state of the room. Not it’s usual haphazard mess but worse, somehow; toys aimlessly strewn, several torn apart and severed at the limbs, broken shards of glass from an unknown source, and most distressing of all, a collection of children’s drawing that had evidently been ripped from their home on the wall now lay shredded across the floor.

Moon, himself, sits with his back to you. He’s fiddling with something in his lap that you can’t make out from this distance, perfectly silent, and he looks fit to ignore you entirely. Out of spite, apparently. You know he heard you enter. You saw him double-down on the slouch clear as day.

There’s something else, too. Something different about him that you can’t quite place in the dark.

Warily, you step over each outcasted item as best you can, all the while squinting through the pitch, not daring to bring your flashlight anywhere in his direction. Only when you’re standing just behind where he sits do you properly make yourself known, clearing your throat.

“Moon?” Your voice remains soft, like you might scare him away, “Why didn’t you answer me when I called earlier?”

His motions still, shoulders going tight like a wind-up doll, “Why are you here?” He answers your question with one of his own - then, as though it’s only an afterthought, “Didn’t hear you.”

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you round him to face his front. “You and I both know that’s bullshit,” you crouch down to his level, “and as a matter of fact, I’m only here because you didn’t bother answering me–”

Directly in front of him, now, you can finally see the shine against his faceplate. The lack of a hat. Evidently, it’s what he’s busying his hands with. He pulls at the fabric with a dull and apathetic weight, bringing the end to a rise before allowing the bell to fall into his lap.

He waits a beat, as though allowing you the chance to finish your thought. When it appears you have nothing left to say, however, his gaze finally lifts to meet you. “Did Sun put you up to this?” He asks.

It takes everything in you not to habitually respond with a lie. Moon knows when you’re lying. You don’t know how, whether it’s programmed or just something he’s picked up on over the years, but he can always tell. Besides, you’re sure the answer is obvious either way.

“Yeah,” you admit with a nod, frowning when Moon has the gall to scoff, “he’s worried, you know.”

“He worries too much,” Moon replies.

You tuck your bottom lip between your teeth, “Well, what about me?”

“What about you?”

“What if I’m worried about you, too?”

Again, he returns nothing but silence. It’s hard to tell what goes on in that big, flat head of his, and you’d give an arm and a leg to find out, but for now you’re stuck attempting to translate the entirely blank expression on his face.

Today there’s more than that to go off of, if you listen close. A rumble like distant thunder in his throat, barely there, it brings every word into a foreign pitch. He leaves you little time to overthink it before deciding on an answer.

“You shouldn’t,” is what he comes up with.

This time, you do roll your eyes. “Yeah, well, I have a bad habit of caring about my friends. Doubt that’ll be wrung out of me anytime soon, so uh, get used to it.”

“We aren’t friends.”

Oh. That stings more than it should. It’s a bitter sort of feeling, acid pooling in your stomach and crawling up the sides, and for a moment you think it might even drive you into full-blown nausea, but you swallow it down. Stomp out what remains.

“I–”

“Not like that,” he interrupts, suddenly eager to correct himself, “I didn’t mean–” the hat goes taut between his fists, straining at the seams until he forces himself to relax, “I mean that we shouldn’t be friends.”

“Oh,” is all you manage.. It’s a poor excuse for a reply, and you know it, but there’s very few places for this conversation to go that won’t end in further heartbreak. “Why…Why not?”

You finally settle on the floor completely, crossed at the legs, prepared to continue anyway.

He won’t look at you. Instead, his eyes drift back to the hat in his hands. “It’s dangerous,” he mumbles, “I–” and you see him tense, again, the bell moving with a jittery ring, shaking in his hand. “I’m dangerous.”

It falls from his palm, then goes silent. The entire room, in fact, lapses into a jarring silence. If only for a minute.

“You’re not–”

“I am,” he corrects you before the words are even fully between your teeth, “last night–”

“Last night was a fluke,” you try to shrug, “you were only doing your job.”

“My job?” He’s shaking, and if you only had better light you might see the anger in his coiled joints, “My job is to patrol, to intervene.”

“And you did that–” you try to reason with him, “–had you not stepped in, my coworker might not have made it out of there. You did the right thing, Moon. The assailant–”

“I killed him.”

It shuts you up. Maybe not for good, but for the time being, it’s blunt enough to make you pause. His methods of security are no mystery to you, of course. It’s not a secret and never has been, but not once has he ever openly stated it. Certainly not with such vehement conviction, at that.

“I…” you hesitate, letting your eyes fall into your lap, “I know. But that changes nothing, Moon. You were put in a bad situation. Had the circumstances been different–”

“I’d have killed him anyway,” Moon speaks with an ease that sends chills down your spine. Like he’s discussing the weather, nothing more. Like it’s insured. A fate that’s already sealed. “The situation doesn’t matter,” he continues, “it never matters. There’s this– this feeling –and once it starts, it doesn’t stop. Not until I’m satisfied.”

The silence draws on for ages, his words filling the space between you and interrupted only by the occasional ring of the bell as he picks it up, lets it fall, picks it up, lets it fall, picks it up–

“I don’t care,” you swallow hard, forcing your chin up to look at him with a steeled resolve, “I know you, and I’m not scared of you, no matter how much you want me to be.”

“You’re stupid,” comes his warbled growl, “what if it’s not a robber next time. What if it’s you.”

“It won’t be.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I–” Your hand lifts - so fast that he flinches - and it finds his chest. His heart. “Because I trust you, Moon. You won’t hurt me.”

The sensation of him trembling beneath your hand doesn’t go unnoticed. You aren’t sure whether it’s out of anger, or relief, or something else entirely. Not until he finds his voice, once more, and you finally place the odd sound in his throat.

“Please…”

It’s a shudder. A subtle heave of breath containing too much at once, an emotion and action so perfectly human and veiled behind the guttural robotics of his voice box that you nearly missed it.

The sound of someone holding back tears.

Slow and careful, your hand falls to rest on top of his own and you give it a gentle squeeze. “Maybe that makes me stupid,” your smile is firm, sincere, “but you can’t convince me of otherwise, and you never will, no matter how many times I need to reassure you. I’m not changing my mind any time soon.”

He’s quiet above all else. So quiet, in fact, not even the ring of his bell, that you worry you might have overwhelmed him. Or, worse still, that he continues to doubt you. That your convictions aren’t honest. If he can’t trust you, how can he possibly expect - or accept - that you trust him?

But the silence is broken with a string of laughter, faint and leaving as quick as it came. His throat clears some of its blues. “You’re going to get yourself hurt,” he sighs, something like gratitude in every word, “but it– it’s your funeral. I won’t stop you from trying.”

Your smile turns bright. “Good, because I’m going to keep trying, again, and again, and again, until you get the picture.” A laugh escapes your own throat, light with relief, “I won’t stop until you know how much I mean it.”

Finally, finally, the barest upturn of a smile. “I don’t doubt it,” says Moon, “you’re annoying like that.”

A roll of your eyes, lighthearted, and you practically bounce to your feet, “Come on, loser. Get that hat of yours back on so we can start your patrols, already. I’ll even join you.”

Only a little, his smile dims. The hat is tucked further into his palms. “I can’t,” he tells you, “I mean– I’d rather not.”

Your own smile follows, crumbling instantly. Something is still wrong. “Why not?” Your eyes catch on to his tension, following it down to his hands, “Is something up with your hat?”

The way he freezes instantly answers the question for you. A good thing, too, because he doesn’t make any move to reply, only tucking the fabric away even deeper out of sight, bundling it into his hands.

“Moon…” you reach – again, your hand finding his own – only here it stays, your thumb gently swiping over his wrist, then his fingers, and then it curls beneath so he’s forced to loosen his grip. “Let me see,” you plead with him, only a whisper, “…please?”

He relents.

It’s a reluctant defeat, one he tries to hide by immediately shoving his hands into his pockets once the hat is securely in yours.

There’s nothing immediately wrong with it. You turn the fabric over in your palms and listen to the bell ring, wondering what has him so bent out of shape as to not even bother putting it on. Everything appears normal - that is, from what little you can see in the dim crimson light his eyes provide.

Then you feel it. A broken seam, a gap of fabric that two of your fingers slip beneath easily. You lift it from the side to get a better look and confirm your suspicions.

A hole. It tears through his hat two inches wide and clear into the other side.

“How–”

“Got caught up in the knife fight,” he shrugs, acting as though it’s less world-ending than the crack in his voice would have you believe. A hole in his hat, his favorite hat, his only hat, and blood, red and bright, staining the edges of it.

You’re surprised, more than anything else, that he’s holding himself together as well as he is.

“Sun said they fixed you up after the fight,” you begin, “they didn’t patch it…?”

“Why bother?” Another shrug, this one notably heavier, “I don’t interact with the kids anymore.” He gives you a shaky, wry smile, “No reason to keep up appearances, right?”

Immediately, you find yourself shaking your head. No, no, you wouldn’t let this one go. “I’ll fix it, then,” you promise, “help me down to the Daycare. I’ll fix it right now.”

He looks taken aback. You aren’t sure why. For all the annoyance he claims you bring him, surely, he should have seen this coming. Maybe he does, because in the next moment he’s shaking his head with another dry laugh. “It’s too big of a tear, starlight,” he tells you, “jagged at the edges. The knife tore some pieces out.” He outstretches his hand, fingers gesturing for you to give it back. You don’t.

“I’ll find a way,” you tell him. Then, making yourself more firm this time, “Take me down to the Daycare. I am going to fix it.”

Again, he pauses, fixing you with a flat expression that you don’t bother trying to figure out. Finally, he answers you with a sigh. His hand falls back to his side. Then, with one final shrug, “Fine, I guess you’re welcome to try.”

The trip down from the balcony is the fastest of your life. You don’t fight his hand around your waist, or squirm away when he gives you that stupid, cheeky grin as you wait for the wire to be called so he can literally sweep you off your feet. The second they touch ground, again, you’re pushing out of his hold and making your way towards the front desk. You’re on a mission.

“Find me the sewing kit,” you order with a wave of your hand, “I have an idea.”

You’re quick to gather everything you need. A pair of scissors and a water bottle from the desk, and your backpack from beneath it. The bottle is uncapped and a small amount of its contents carefully poured over a section of your backpack. Then, dividing the scissors to use one blade as a knife, you ease away the adhesive with an icky ssshhhmmmmack.

Moon catches up with you a second later and hands over the kit. “What are you doing?”

“Shh.”

You bring the retrieved section over his hat, ensuring, first, that it will properly fit. Then you get to work; thread the needle, knot the end, and begin stitching away. As suspected, there’s still a portion of it left where fabric was lost in the scuttle.

Next, you bring in phase two. An iron-on patch – black and purple with a planet surrounded by stars – which was previously housed on your backpack next to a few others. Now it would find a home here.

“That’s–”

“Shh,” you hush him, your hand already hard at work. Thread, knot, stitch. The patch covers it perfectly.

At long last, you hold the completed work up for him to see. “What do you think?” You ask with a hopeful grin, “You said management didn’t care about keeping up appearances, so they should have no problems with some added flair, right?”

A beat of silence where he says nothing, only takes it into his hands, smoothing a thumb over the new texture with widened eyes.

Finally, he sighs. “It’s perfect,” he whispers, “I think–” and he looks up with that same warbling tone as before, “I think it’s perfect, starlight.”

You try not to look too proud of yourself. It’s a small victory, you think, but one you’re happy with all the same. Sure, you’re going to miss the patch, but you think it suits him better.

And anyway, you can see it as often as you want, can’t you?

“Now come on,” you yawn, jab an elbow against his side, and feel yourself relax when he returns your smile, “we’ve got patrols to do.”

[crguang]

ok so I was thinking abt how kafka does drunk babbling abt r but what if like kfr is at like a club or smth, they’re drinking wtv maybe acheswan is there too and Kafka steps out for like a smoke break or smth idk, and r goes out to check on her or smth but Kafka thinks it’s like another memory, where r was checking on her when they were kids or smth. Idk where this is rlly going but maybe r realizes that Kafka missed them (crazy concept ik) and they have a very angsty convo abt the past.

also was rereading the first violinist au post and they were eachothers first kiss when they were younger??? I always love that w childhood friends and they never talk abt it.

Idk I feel like they need smth to make them talk abt all the shit that happened in the past (cough cough elio cough) and I just need r to find out that Kafka literally thinks abt them every time she plays her instrument.

will send u the drawing somehow whenever im finished (I got sick and am dying) might redo it bc it doesn’t rlly look like Kafka, the google searches for references is very funny tho.

happy holidays <3 (hope u got those headphones bc that playlist…omg)

-🌠

okay well now i need that club scene. their big Talk is happening in r’s teenage bedroom after a (eventful) dinner with r’s family. please trust me on this yall like it’s them sharing a bed for the first time since they were kids and confessing to each other how they felt after the 607 Bus Breakup pleaseee it’s gonna be so detrimental to their relationship… but i really like the idea of their friend group going out before that just to have fun now that theyre all adults and r getting a bit tipsy, kafka’s downing drinks to avoid the atmosphere getting awkward and then finding each other in the back alley of the bar with only a single light source illuminating half of their faces as they let slip that they’ve missed the other. ugh… yeah i need that. but i need their actual conversation so be when they’re both sober and in a familiar and/or safe space for the both of them

they were each other’s first kiss yeah. i haven’t actually thought about it more but to me it just makes sense. they were the “kissing to practice/see what its like” kind of best friends. it likely happened really young like at 12 years old or something and that’s why they don’t mention it anymore but trust— the first time they kiss in present time they’re both seeing fireworks. they’re a lot more experienced and the act comes with deep seated feelings now so it’s kinda life changing for them. my losers💔

i hope youre feeling better!! wishing u a speedy recovery if you’re not <3 i ordered headphones days ago, they should be there next week tho. so i have yet to listen to the kfr playlist in full but i’m impatiently awaiting the moment i can

[bballlvr8]

Do you feel like the progress that azzi is having is impressive? So impressive to the point where it’s commendable? And maybe that’s just me talking because besides the Ole Miss game I think she’s had what three other games other than that it’s been stagnant progress if that makes sense but maybe I’m saying that because I really wanna see the part of her game to start landing that we know AZ the most for which is shooting so I think I’m the problem. I think I’m getting impatient and I also think I’m getting impatient too because I’m looking at other players who have like recovered from like ACL tears And are like over here doing triple doubles so each game not that I’m saying I expect easy to do that cause I don’t it’s just I want more. That’s why I get excited to see her play to see what more she’s going to give. You know what I mean?

I think that’s the beauty of basketball and especially when you have a player who has the ability to score more than one way.

To me like obviously we want to see her hit a couple threes every game but what’s more impressive is the fact that she’s actually getting in the paint and scoring she’s bodying people. I don’t think it’s stagnant progress at all her shots look great. They’re just not falling and that’ll be fixed the more she shoots

also, somebody else’s recovery and progress is not linear nor is it going to look the same for everybody else. Olivia Miles had almost 2 years of recovery so that is why she’s coming out having triple doubles.

Azzi also had two ACL injuries as well as knee injuries in the same knee so she looks great for what she’s been through 

I would definitely say that you are getting impatient, especially considering the great game she had against Ole Miss 

[shady-tavern]

Vampire’s Lullaby Part 2

Part One

Warnings for implied harm and death that happen off-screen. Otherwise, this chapter turned out to be rather soft.

***

The morning came, pale and peaceful and nothing was amiss. If anything, when she passed by the other hunters of their street on her way to work, they were in good spirits. They wished Dion a speedy recovery and told her to talk to them if she or her family needed anything.

She did not walk too fast, as she did all mornings now since saving the monster boy, making sure the shop was bathed in pale light by the time she arrived. It was almost strange, how normal everything was. She set the shop up as usual and greeted Mr. Bell when he arrived.

She had half expected things to go wrong, for some kind of punishment to come down upon her head for mingling with night creatures. Or that the vampire herself was going to do anything. But nothing.

The day passed like any other and that night the vampire was back once more, sitting on the roof and keeping watch. They spoke with each other for a moment and the vampire was polite and even friendly. Annabelle once again fell asleep to soft singing and woke to pale morning light, everyone she knew safe and sound.

A week passed in this manner and Annabelle started to look forward to the nights a little. To how quiet it had become and to the soft bit of conversation she shared with the vampire.

Right up until Mr. Bell sharply called her name during work, startling her out of her focused work.

Hurrying out of the back, she drew to a stop when she saw the man standing on the other side of the counter. Dressed in expensive, embroidered brocade, a necklace heavy with emeralds hanging about his throat and buttons gleaming golden. He must be one of the nobles and he looked very impatient.

His attitude did not improve as they took his order. The baron, as he introduced himself, was less than eager to be here, but apparently he needed to get something done fast and they had been recommended to him. He promised a pay hefty enough that Annabelle nearly gasped out loud and left them with a handful of gems he wanted to be part of the front cover.

"You're a true treasure," Mr. Bell whispered as soon as the baron had left, getting into an equally gleaming and elegant carriage, drawn by two snow-white horses. "You worked so hard even the upper crust heard of us."

Annabelle felt a small, hysterical giggle escape before she bit back the rest. Mr. Bell and she stared at each other, before they both started grinning and bustled into the back, chattering back and forth as they rapidly got to work.

If this man was satisfied or even happy with his order, they might get more expensive clientele. Mr. Bell was singing a cheerful song that usually was usually heard in taverns over an ale and Annabelle joined in, neither of them caring that they were not great singers in the least.

The day passed far too fast and even though Mr. Bell stayed until the final bell of the evening, they weren't quite done with the baron's order yet. The baron wanted to retrieve his book first thing in the morning and while such an order would have been nearly impossible for anyone else, they really wanted to get it done.

"We best get going," Mr. Bell said with great reluctance. "I'm sure we can finish it at dawn."

Annabelle glanced down at the book, then outside, gauging the position of the sun. "I'll finish up and run home," she said. "It should be done in just a few more minutes, right? Half an hour at most, it will still be bright enough that not many night creatures are out and about."

Mr. Bell hesitated, then sighed, "If you are sure?" At her nod he grabbed his things. "Alright, but don't come in first thing in the morning, understood? You deserve to sleep in after all this. And no matter what, your life is more important than money, understood? If you get worried or scared, go home right away."

She couldn't help but smile and nodded, focusing back on the book as he left. It was going to be a beautiful piece, made of dark green, thin leather, embossed with gold letters and decorated with the gems the baron had left them with.

When she was finally done, feeling satisfied and her back cracking as she straightened, she looked up and felt her heart drop into her stomach. It was pitch-dark outside.

How? How had she gotten so lost in her work that she had missed the way light had disappeared, only replaced by the lanterns and candles Mr. Bell had left on. Her mouth turned dust dry.

There was no way she'd get home safe. Maybe, if she was really, really quiet, managed to extinguish all light and hid under her desk, no night creature noticed her in here. Maybe she could hide here and hold out until morning.

The tinkle of the bell of the front door made her flinch and startle onto her feet. Had Mr. Bell not looked the door? Had he left the lights on out in the shop as well?

"Hello?" a woman's voice called out, curious and a little befuddled. "I saw the lights on, are you still in?"

It took her a second to recognize the voice over her panic and pounding heart. It was the vampire she had asked for help. What was she doing here?

"You didn't return home," the vampire continued and Annabelle heard the muffled sound of steps, as though the night creature was walking slowly up and down the shop. "If you are done for the day, I will wait outside for you. Unless you'd like to walk home alone?"

And be eaten? Surely not. "Thank you," she found herself saying, her pounding heart finally easing a bit.

"I told you I'd look after you and yours," the vampire said and Annabelle heard the tinkle of bells. "Those books are beautiful, by the way."

Then the vampire was gone and she exhaled in a rush, sagging a bit as tension drained out of her. Her hands shook a little when she rubbed them over her face, before she reached for her shawl.

She was scared to go outside, but she couldn't stay here. If she stayed, so did the vampire and then who would look after her family? Extinguishing all the lights, she wrapped the shawl tightly around herself and stepped outside.

Nerves made her hands a bit clumsy as she locked the door, glancing around. It was quiet and no street lights were lit in the crossroads, since no one lived here and the city had considered it a waste of resources. It took her a moment to notice the large shadow in the dark, wings half unfolded for balance as the vampire crouched on the ledge of a roof.

"I'm ready," she whispered, shoulders tense and heart still pitter-pattering nervously. She tried to calm down, taking a few deep breaths until she felt less like she was going to scream in fright at the next thing that moved too fast and too unexpectedly.

When she started walking, the vampire followed easily above her. It was surprisingly calm all around and she neither heard nor saw anything. The vampire didn't have to snarl or hiss, just paused once and tensed, clacking her claws warningly against shingles, then moved on like nothing had happened.

It made her wonder how powerful the vampire must be, to so easily command the space she walked through. By the time Annabelle hurried down the main road towards home, she felt...safe. Unexpectedly so, considering she was outside in the dark.

The other hunters of their street were worried and glad to see her, escorting her to the front door of her home and reprimanding her for staying out so long.

"You were very lucky," a rough looking woman said, the one Dion always chatted with while waiting for the sun to disappear. "What would I have said your brother if you got yourself killed while he's not there?"

"It won't happen again," she promised, before the door swung open and her ashen faced mother dragged her inside and into a hug.

Annabelle endured the scolding and worrying of her family and after a quick dinner, she excused herself. She hesitated, then opened the window.

"Miss Vampire?" she whisper-called, leaning forward a bit.

When the vampire appeared, upside down, between one moment and the next, she bit back a startled scream by the skin of her teeth. Instead she inhaled sharply and flinched back a step, pressing her heart over her chest.

"Was that necessary?" she found herself gasping out, glaring at the vampire who tilted her head, mouth opening into an impish grin and wings twitching. "You're impossible." She took a calming, deep breath. "But, thank you, for bringing me home safe."

The vampire chittered at her almost softly, then waved a hand towards her bed in a shooing motion.

But Annabelle was a bit too awake now to consider sleeping. Instead she lit a candle and glanced between the clothes she had to mend and the book she had intended to read. With a soft sigh she reached for thread and needle first. Work before pleasure, her parents had always said.

A tap of claws against iron made her glance over and the vampire was gesturing at the book. Did she wish to read it? Annabelle hesitated, then picked it up.

"Return it to me before you leave," she said as she walked to the window. "Treat it well, please. Books mean a great deal to me."

The vampire took the book with visible care and disappeared. Annabelle turned back to her sewing, when she heard the vampire's voice, clear and close enough that she must be right above the window on the roof. Reading the book out loud.

Annabelle sat still for a long minute, then she found herself smiling a little and started to sew. Two chapters in however, the vampire had clear opinions on the book.

"Is this considered romantic?" her voice was full of disbelief and offense. She pitched her voice, re-reading a sentence she had just read out loud, "'Not to say you aren't beautiful, however this hair style simply does not match you.' Who asked for this fool's opinion?"

Annabelle had to bite back a startled laugh and she couldn't help but agree. The book was dreadful. However, as the vampire continued reading it genuinely got better from there. Not because the book got better, but because those affronted comments were quite funny and very amusing.

The vampire got increasingly more offended at the contents of the book and Annabelle found herself laughing at last, quickly clapping a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound.

"I'll bring you one of my books," the vampire groused, audibly thumbing through the book at rapid pace. "Three hundred pages of this nonsense? How are you still sane?"

"I haven't read it yet," Annabelle answered, mirth bright in her voice and that was when she realized that she had stopped being afraid. 

Somewhere between being guarded for a week, being brought home safe and being read to in an increasingly incredulous, pained manner, she had stopped fearing for herself. "I have another one you could read instead," she offered.

Instead of answering, a pale hand appeared at the top of the window, still holding the book with care. The vampire wore a delicate gold ring and a golden bracelet studded with topaz. The long sleeve that fell down to nearly her wrist was black with pale, shimmering embroidery.

Annabelle took hold of the book and traded it with one Mr. Bell had given her a couple of days ago. She settled down again as the vampire began to read and she seemed far happier with this book. In all honesty, Annabelle enjoyed this tale far more as well.

She listened to the story of a young boy who found a lost star and their journey to bring the star back home. It was the first time in far too long that an evening truly felt peaceful.

It was quiet outside, no monsters to be heard and the breeze drifting inside was cool and brought with it a refreshing scent.

Had the world been like this once upon a time? Before the dark had to be feared like it was feared today? Had there been a time when people sat together to read and chat beneath the starry sky? She had only heard about such things in stories and in this moment, she couldn't help but dream of a world so different to her own.

Something gentler, something almost peaceful. She wasn't foolish or naive enough to believe danger would disappear forever just because she wished it, but there had to be a way to make the world better than it was now.

"May I have your name?" she asked when she finished mending and the vampire paused, having read the last sentence of the book. "I would like to call you something."

The vampire hummed softly, thoughtful, but answered, "I'm Charlette, and who are you, sweet human that I guard?"

Feeling a little surprised and quietly flattered at those unexpected words, Annabelle hurriedly put away her needle and thread. "I'm Annabelle and I can honestly say that it is nice to get to know you."

Charlette chuckled. "You're the first human to say so." Annabelle heard her close the book. "Are those the sort of stories you enjoy reading?"

"Among others." Annabelle leaned back, her chair creaking softly. "I mostly love stories with happy endings."

Charlette hummed thoughtfully. "I see. I think I can find some of those." Her arm appeared at the top of the window again. "Here, I quite enjoyed this one."

Annabelle accepted her book and her breath caught in her chest when her fingertips brushed Charlette's accidentally. She was cool, but no colder than Annabelle's hands would be if she were outside right now.

"Why do you night creatures hate us so much?" The question slipped out unbidden in a soft whisper.

"I don't hate you," the vampire answered without a moment's hesitation. Then she added, "I've never had much of a problem with humans."

"Then what have we done to earn such wrath from the others? So much bloodshed and death?"

Charlette was quiet for a long moment. "I've heard rumors," she answered at last. "That humans killed the Night King."

That was the first time Annabelle heard of such a thing. "Who was the Night King?"

"A powerful and old night walker," Charlette answered. "You wouldn't find them anywhere anymore, he was the last one. I don't really know what he was like, but I know that the night folk felt safe under his protection. I don't really know much else, I haven't been long in the city and I lived in a remote, rather isolated place before that."

Annabelle frowned to herself in thought, absentmindedly tracing the letters of the storybook. "Is there a way to find out what happened? Or how to change what's happening?"

Charlette hummed, a strange, inhuman note underlying the noise. "I could look into it, if you'd like," she offered and Annabelle heard the faint tink of claws tapping thoughtfully on shingles.

"You would?" Annabelle couldn't stop the hope from singing through her voice. 

There was a soft, near chirping kind of noise. "I find I'm...I quite like you, Annabelle. It won't be much trouble to bug some acquaintances or to poke around."

Relief made her feel lighter than she had in years. She peered out the window, though she saw nothing of the vampire. There wasn't even a shadow to watch tonight, not with clouds gathering in the sky and quiet disappointment shadowed the relief. She would have liked to see her face right now. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Charlette shifted on the roof and a moment later, Annabelle saw half of an elegant, black shoe dangling into view, along with the hem of a black dress, studded in clear crystals.

"Would you like anything in exchange?" Annabelle asked, finding herself leaning forward a bit and peering up, as though she could finally spot a glimpse of the vampire's face. "I would owe you a great deal if you could uncover this mystery."

And possibly bring an end to all the death and pain and horror.

Charlotte chuckled, low and darkly amused. "That's a dangerous promise to make to my kind. What if I'd like a sip of your blood? All your good dreams for a year? An invitation to your house so I can feed on you and your family while you sleep?"

Annabelle frowned, head tipping to the side. She didn't feel worried, not when Charlette had never done anything to her or threatened such a thing.

"I don't think you would." She swallowed and stood up straighter, even if there was no one to see her posture. "Not if I asked you not to."

This time the chuckle sounded less dark. "You seem to have me figured out. Then I'll think about what I'll ask for," Charlette answered, then her voice turned mock-dry and she sighed theatrically, "Since eating you is so evidently off the table."

Annabelle had no idea why that made her laugh, the sound quickly muffled by the hand she lifted to her mouth, half horrified at herself for liking such a macabre joke. It seemed Dion wasn't the only one in the family to enjoy such humor. 

"I'd be pleased to find them all alive in the morning, thank you very much," she answered.

"Then you shall." Charlette sounded both amused and unexpectedly sincere. "I would hate to never hear your laugh again."

Annabelle felt surprised and touched at those words and found herself biting back a smile, lifting the book as though to hide her face from prying eyes. She hadn't known that night creatures, no, the night folk, could be so...sweet. Strange and frightening, yes, but also sweeter than she had thought. And kinder.

She didn't know what to say to that, lightly clearing her throat. "Well, if you keep doing what you're doing I guess I'll be laughing more in no time."

"Oh, consider it done," Charlette answered in a near purring tone that made heat gentle rise to her cheeks. "I don't think I could spend my nights any better than I currently do."

Flustered and flattered and having no idea what to do with any of those feelings, Annabelle shuffled away from the window.

"Speaking of night, it's, um, it's pretty late. I think I'll head to bed now," she said, pressing wind-cool fingertips against her heated face. "Good night."

She hurried to get ready for bed, accompanied by Charlette's quiet, throaty laugh.

"Good night," Charlette said as she slid beneath the sheets. "I'll keep watch until sunrise."

Curling up beneath the blankets, Annabelle kept watching the window. "Thank you." Ever since the vampire was there, Annabelle had felt safer than ever. Had slept better than ever.

When Charlette started to sing, the song was quiet and soft and Annabelle fell asleep, silently wishing the vampire could stay forever. Could be here every night, even once Dion was all healed up.

.*.*.*.

Annabelle visited Dion the next morning, using Mr. Bell's order to show up late to drop by the clinic first. 

"Is everyone well?" her brother asked in a heavy voice, while looking as though he was going to fall asleep again at any moment. "Mama and Papa don't seem to be very alright."

Their parents looked worn and tired and Annabelle worried they weren't sleeping well. Her other brothers were quiet and withdrawn, faces tense and marred with deep frowns. It made her wish she could tell them that she had a deal, a promise, of safety from a vampire. At least until Dion was fully healed.

They would not react well to that at all, however. She'd be dragged to the priests right away, to make sure she hadn't been thralled or otherwise influenced. Someone would then stake out in her room to try and kill Charlette. The very thought made her stomach clench and her heart ache.

"They're fine," she reassured Dion, offering a calming smile. 

She quickly distracted him by telling him about everything that had happened yesterday. She had visited him on her free day last, her parents and older brothers dropping by more often, since they were a bit more flexible with their time.

Halfway through her tale about the baron's visit, his eyes fell closed and his breathing deepened into slumber. Annabelle exhaled quietly and smoothed an edge of the blanket down. Sunlight shone through the windows, the bars casting thin shadows across his sickbed.

Her mind kept snagging at what Charlette had told her last night. The hope that had been ignited within her that this horror could end. That Dion could heal and go home and never again would he or anyone else be forced to pick up cold, hard iron in order to keep their loved ones alive.

She got up after another minute. Dion was fast asleep and he would remain like this for a while. He needed his rest. She left with a polite, grateful goodbye to Dr. Under, who waved her off with a vague noise, taking care of another injured hunter.

Mr. Bell was bustling around the shop when she arrived, in high spirits and praising her for how beautiful the book had turned out. The baron showed up an hour later, turning his ordered book this way and that, sniffing in acceptance, somehow simultaneously looking satisfied and not happy at all. He handed over more money than Annabelle had ever seen at once.

"It will do," the baron said in parting, sweeping outside as he added, "I think I shall be back."

Mr. Bell and she watched him leave with wide eyes, before they looked down at the money, at each other and then they were giggling like children, excited and almost speechless.

"Look at this!" Mr. Bell exclaimed, immediately starting to divide up the money. When he handed her what he said he owed her, she felt her breath catch. That was more than they had agreed upon first.

"You'll be able to hire a hunter now, while your brother heals," Mr. Bell said with a smile, waving off her sputtering protests. "We can always buy another printing press later, don't you worry. Besides, I'm sure we'll see that sour fellow again sooner or later."

She felt her eyes sting a little and couldn't help but pull Mr. Bell into a hug, who laughed and gave her a grandfatherly pat on the shoulder.

"Now, none of that, you hear me? There is no need for tears. Besides, we have more than enough work to take care of."

She nodded, sniffling once and pulled back, quickly pocketing the money before she took a deep breath and got to work with renewed determination. Mr. Bell chuckled and sat down at his desk, humming a soft, happy tune under his breath.

It was a good day and they kept working in high spirits, the other clients who dropped by to pick up their orders remarking on the good atmosphere. Mr. Bell left as he always did, a spring in his step and he told her not to stay too long, that she deserved to go home early as well.

Annabelle sang to herself as she finished up the last work of the day, the bell of the clock tower warning her about the setting sun. But for once she didn't feel scared, didn't startle into a flurry of hurried motions in order to get home in time.

She cleaned up and locked the door and went home with a smile on her face, nodding at people along the way and wishing neighbors a good night. The hunters on their street waved at her and she waved back.

Her family looked exhausted when she arrived, but they were glad to see her happy.

"We're safe," she tried to reassure them. "Everyone says they'll keep an eye out until Dion's back."

Guilt ate at her like sharp teeth when she kept the money she had made a secret. She wanted to save it, for when Dion was healthy again and Charlette wouldn't watch their house anymore. She wanted to buy her brother some more restful time if possible.

Charlette didn't show up that night, to her surprise. Instead, Annabelle heard a rumbly sort of growl and looked up, inhaling sharply in startled surprise.

"It's alright, you're safe," the large werewolf across from her on the other roof said quickly. "Charlette asked me to keep watch tonight." 

Then the werewolf straightened, ears perked and placed a hand on its chest. "Thank you," it said with utter sincerity. "For saving my son."

Oh, this was the boy's mother. Now that she took a closer look, her heart calming back down from it's frightened beat, she did recognize the werewolf.

"You're both well?" she couldn't help but ask, remembering the limp, whimpering and bleeding lump the werewolf had been in Charlette's arm.

Those ears flicked once and the werewolf grinned, making her look even more frightening and fearsome, but her yellow eyes held a spark of warmth. "We are. He's been talking about you, you know. Says he forgot to ask you if you liked his picture."

"I did," Annabelle slowly, cautiously approached the window. Just because Charlette hadn't hurt her didn't mean other night folk wouldn't take the chance when they got it. "He seems to be a sweet kid."

"He is." The werewolf preened in pride, then settled down, looking relaxed. "And don't worry," she said, a growl slipping into her voice. "I'll keep you lot safe." She snorted, amused. "Not that I'm necessarily needed here, considering Charlette thoroughly claimed this area. But she said you'd feel safer if I was there."

Annabelle felt her heart warm at those words, a smile tugging at her mouth. "That's sweet of her."

"She can be," the werewolf agreed, elbow on her thigh and chin resting in her palm. "But only if she likes someone. My son and I were the only ones she cared for for a long time, so I'm glad to see she's found someone else whose company she enjoys."

Annabelle's smile grew. "Well, the feeling is mutual. Tell her I'll miss her and that I hope she's safe. And thank you, for being here."

The werewolf grinned again and this time it looked a little less frightening. "She'll be very happy to hear that. And of course, after you saved my son and made Charlette's nights better, it's the least I could do. But don't let me keep you up if you're tired."

It was probably for the best to get some rest. "Good night. Oh, if any of the hunters notice you, just leave, they won't abandon the houses they protect."

The werewolf nodded. "I'll be careful not to be spotted, but they don't have to fear me either way. I never hurt people who don't try to kill my family first."

Fair enough, Annabelle would not act very kindly or sweetly if someone tried to harm those she loved in front of her eyes. She got ready for bed and decided to leave the window open, in case the werewolf needed to get her attention for something.

When she laid in bed, she found she struggled to fall asleep. It was simultaneously too quiet and not quiet enough. There was no pleasant singing, no vampire on her roof and somehow that absence was loud in the gentle, calm of the night.

She fell asleep after long minutes of staring up at the dark ceiling, trusting in a promise being kept and a fierce werewolf guarding the house.

.*.*.*.

It took three nights before Charlette came back. By then Annabelle had gotten to know the werewolf, whose name was Ophelia.

Since Charlette had apparently claimed this part of the city as hers, Ophelia pretty much had nothing to do. They had ended up talking quite a bit with each other as a result and Annabelle had put books on her windowsill for Ophelia to read.

Still, Annabelle had missed the vampire, had missed her company and singing and the steady, calm and unshakeable safety she brought with her presence alone. 

It had been a bit of a shock at first, to realize just how fond she had grown of Charlette. How there was a quiet sting of disappointment every night she saw Ophelia instead of her, even if she liked the werewolf.

"Welcome back," Annabelle said when she saw the large bat land quietly, a glad smile appearing on her face before she knew it.

"Finally," Ophelia said with good humor, leaning closer to Annabelle since she was sitting right across from her on the edge of the roof. The werewolf lifted a hand in front of her face to mock-whisper, "This one's pinning had gotten bad."

Pinning? Annabelle barely had a moment to properly process that, before Charlette tackled the werewolf straight off the roof and into the alley. There was growly laughter and hissing and startled shouts from a nearby hunter.

The two night folk quickly fell quiet after the hunter's warning yells and a few moments later, Ophelia hopped back onto the roof, while Charlette appeared suddenly in front of Annabelle, hanging upside-down in front of her window.

Annabelle smiled again, not even startling a little. Others probably considered this to be the height of foolishness, but she didn't fear Charlette. She didn't even find her nightmarish bat-form terrifying anymore. Oh, she knew Charlette was still frightening, that she could rip any human apart like wet paper, but Annabelle didn't think it was going to happen. Not to her, at any rate.

"I hope you're well?" she asked and Charlette swiftly ducked out of sight again, her voice answering a moment later.

"I am. I hope my friend took good care of you?"

"I'll take offense to that," Ophelia answered dryly. "But I'll forgive you this once. Now, please excuse me you two, you can make moon-eyes at each other without me having to bear witness."

With a jovial wave, the werewolf left, easily hopping across roofs and Annabelle heard a soft, aggrieved grumble from Charlette.

"Meddling friends," the vampire muttered. 

"I wouldn't know," Annabelle found herself saying, Charlette falling silent. "I haven't really had a friend in years."

Not since their old neighbors had moved away when she had been twelve. After that it had been hard to connect with others and nowadays she spent all day at work and was locked up at home afterwards. It didn't leave much time for socializing and the few times people had flirted with her at work hadn't really led to anything.

"We could be friends," Charlette offered. "And Ophelia likes you as well, she said as much every time she came back at dawn. I'm pretty sure she already considers you her friend."

"Are other humans and night folk friends as well?" Annabelle asked, genuinely curious. Charlette and Ophelia couldn't be the only nice night folk in the world, after all. "I've never heard of such a thing."

Charlette huffed, amused and wry all at once. "Of course not. From what I could gather, you humans don't take well to such connections. But there are a couple of friendships and relationships across the city."

There were? So she wasn't strange or alone in not hating or fearing the night folk? Or rather, Charlette and Ophelia. She still feared the others and what they could do.

"Speaking of which," Charlette continued before Annabelle could answer. "I think I found out what happened to the Night King and why there is such carnage now."

Annabelle stepped forward, fingertips brushing the windowsill. "Please tell me."

"It's not pretty," Charlette warned, then continued, "The night folk demand revenge for the murder of their king. Until the price is paid in blood, there will be no peace."

Annabelle knotted her fingers together in worry. "I understand that, but it isn't fair to punish all of us for the transgression of a few." Then she frowned heavily. "And it's been so long already since the attacks started, the ones who did it are most likely already dead."

A moment of heavy silence followed. "I forgot," Charlette murmured, an unhappy note to her voice. "You humans don't live all that long."

"We live plenty long enough," Annabelle answered, feeling a little affronted. "It's you lot who live a ridiculous amount of time."

Charlette huffed a gentle, amused noise. "I guess you're not wrong."

Annabelle felt her lips twitch into a small smile, before it fell again. "Is there something that can be done?" she asked softly. "To make the night folk stop?"

Charlette exhaled heavily, almost sighing. "Someone strong enough could." She sounded reluctant now. "Once someone seizes control and calms the frenzy, things could change."

"Why won't anyone do that?" Annabelle found herself staring up, as though she could will Charlette into view to look straight at her. "Hasn't this gone on long enough?"

"It doesn't feel that long to them," Charlette answered. "Many night folk have fallen into mindless bloodlust and they cannot regain their senses by themselves anymore. There are only a small handful left who could take control, but they like to eat and drink as much as they please. They like terrifying humans too much to stop."

Annabelle was silent for a long moment, arms wrapped around herself in a imitation of a hug. "So this is it?" she found herself whispering. "We just have to endure this until one of the strong night folk decide they've enjoyed themselves enough? Or until they've killed us all?"

A low snarl curled through the air. "I would not let them," Charlette answered, voice hard. "Nothing will happen to you."

"I believe you." She really did. "But...this is no way to live, Charlette. To cower and hide and...and just endure until I'm old and frail and at last my bones return to the earth."

She felt exhausted and bitterness wrapped around her like a too-heavy cloak. Annabelle closed her eyes, trying to fight back the burn of tears. Weeping wouldn't change anything, no matter how much she wanted to cry.

Shattered hope was a horrible feeling, she realized as she stared down at her hands, cold and ink stained. She had only realized how fiercely she had hoped for an end for all of this now that there was nothing to be done. All she could do now was endure and that...that was no way to live, was it?

Charlette was silent for so long that Annabelle started to get ready for bed, her heart a heavy weight in her chest and her mood dreary and dark. She just wanted to lie down and not get up for a long while. She blew out the candle, casting the room in darkness when the vampire spoke up.

"You're right." Charlette's voice was soft. "I want more for you. And better."

Annabelle swallowed past her dry mouth as Charlette added, "That is really no life worth living."

Annabelle made a quiet, slightly rough sound in agreement. She couldn't keep living like this for the rest of her days. Frightened, small, scurrying. Scraping together what coin she could, working herself to the bone during the day, only to be terrified of all that came at night. Worrying she'd bury her brother, then her parents, then her other older brothers, until she was all that was left.

Even if Charlette would guard them all her days, something could always happen. Besides, other people still died. She would see the blood in her way to work, would see the haunted faces of hunters who stared at the sun like it was pure salvation.

"I'd do anything for things to change," Annabelle found herself saying, voice hollow and tinged in bitter sadness.

"A dangerous promise." Charlette's voice was soft and utterly devoid of teasing. "Don't give that promise to someone else, they'll ask for things you won't wish to give."

"Like what? My blood? My beating heart?" She'd give both if it meant the night folk stopped their rampage. 

"No." Charlette sounded grim. She was quiet for a second, then asked, "Would you invite me in, Annabelle?"

"I think the bars are in the way." She wouldn't go and unlock the door, not when Gerard was still awake and weaving and Charlette could be seen entering the house by one of the hunters.

Charlette huffed, darkly amused. "Those are child's play. They don't keep me out, but I cannot enter a home I'm not invited to. No vampire can."

She hadn't known that, but it explained all the warnings to never answer any luring, sweet calls. And why one should never get thralled. Did she want Charlette in the house? In her room?

She did, she realized. She felt so cold and hopeless, she wished to at least finally see Charlette's face. Annabelle turned towards the window.

"Charlette, I invite you into my home, please enter," she said, soft but clear. A moment later that elegant hand came into view and slowly, steadily, pried the bars out of the brickwork.

Charlette was careful enough to avoid making a noticeable amount of noise, taking the time to wriggle the bars out bit by bit, until she could pull them away entirely. Annabelle found her heart beating a little faster. She had never invited anyone into her room since she had been twelve and her friend had left.

A moment later, a tall shape dropped onto the windowsill. For as much as Charlette looked like a human now, she did not move like one. There was a predator's grace as she smoothly stepped inside, feet utterly silent on the floor. Only her long dress made a soft sound as the fabric fell down to her ankles.

Charlette stood with a confidence Annabelle had rarely seen, something unshakeable and true. The vampire knew she was powerful and dangerous and saw no need in proving either by needlessly puffing herself up. For everyone else would know she was dangerous by simply looking at her.

"You don't look at me anymore as though I'm frightening," Charlette said, voice soft and clear and she took slow steps closer, bridging the distance between them. 

There was just enough light cast by the moon outside for her to see her face. She was beautiful, her red hair long and her eyes the color of blood.

Annabelle looked up at the vampire, who stopped in front of her. "I don't fear you."

"I'm glad." Charlette's voice softened further, gentling into a near whisper. "I like seeing you happy."

Annabelle found herself smiling a little, almost shyly. "I think I owe you a favor," she said softly. "For finding out what you could about the Night King."

Charlette was quiet for a moment and Annabelle saw the the humorless smile appear on her face. "There is one thing I would ask, but not now. I think I need to earn a bit more of a favor for that."

Surprised, Annabelle tipped her head a little, trying to see her face better in the dark. "What do you mean?"

Charlette didn't answer and instead reached out, hand hovering near Annabelle's face without touching her. "May I?"

Annabelle felt her heart beat a little faster now, realizing it did so in the best of ways. "Yes." Her voice was quiet but clear in the silence of her room and the quiet of the calm night outside.

Gently, almost reverently, Charlette's cool hand settled on her cheek. "I don't think you know how much you captivated me," the vampire said softly, red eyes warm where her skin was not. "Your bravery, your laugh, your sweetness. How fearless you are and how much I enjoy speaking with you."

A cool thumb brushed along her cheekbone ever so gently. "I want to ask for something very brazen," Charlette continued in a near whisper. "Once I earn more of your good graces."

"You could ask now," Annabelle answered just as quietly, eyes caught by that blood-red gaze and she tipped her head a little, turning her cheek into that sweet touch. "Because I don't think you realize how much I enjoy your company, how fond I've grown of you."

This time, when Charlette smiled, it revealed a hint of fangs that would have looked frightening to Annabelle in the past. Now she was merely curious, knowing she had nothing to fear.

"What if I asked for a kiss?" Charlette said. "One you want to give me because you like me, not because you feel indebted."

"Then I'd say you should kiss me," Annabelle whispered back, her heart beating faster in excited anticipation. "If you like me as much as I like you."

"Oh, of that there is no doubt," Charlette breathed the words more than she said them, leaning in and Annabelle rose up on her toes. Long, soft hair brushed her cheek before lips ghosted across hers for just a moment. She smelled like fresh air and something soft and sweet, like flowers.

Before Charlette could pull back, Annabelle rose to her very tiptoes, pressing their lips together gently. Her hands came up, one lightly touching Charlette's arm and the other reaching up to cup her face, fingertips lightly tangling into silk-soft hair.

"Will you let me court you?" Annabelle asked in a soft whisper, opening her eyes. Charlette looked almost unbearably soft and it squeezed her heart in the best of ways.

Charlette laughed, quiet and brief and achingly fond. "I think I'm meant to ask you that. If you allow me to court you as well, I will gladly say yes."

Annabelle found herself grinning, the previous heaviness of her mood gentled and lightened, even if it wasn't gone entirely. 

Charlette brushed a feather light kiss against the corner of her mouth, as though tasting her smile, before pressing another one to her forehead. She then gently rested their foreheads together, free hand rising to take Annabelle's, tangling their fingers together.

"I think I know what to gift you," Charlette said. "If you're willing to accept something intangible."

Now that made her curious. "Of course." She gave Charlette's fingers a little squeeze. "I think I have an idea for a gift as well."

They smiled at each other for a long moment, until Annabelle had to pull back, hiding a yawn behind her hand. Charlette smiled softly, brushing fingertips over her hair.

"Rest, my love," she said. "I will stay until dawn."

"Can you sing for me?" Annabelle asked. "I find I sleep better if you do."

Charlette's eyes seemed brighter, now a liquid red. "Of course."

And sing she did and when Annabelle woke in the morning, she found a red rose lying on her desk, on top of a letter.

A letter that held the promise to change everything.

.*.*.

Part Three.

[roseykat]

It's me again, on a poly minsung brainrot again

I've already talked about this before but I want to spread everywhere: Minho and Jisung are the type to fuck you with your clothes on, specially if you wearing their clothes. It's a kink of theirs. When they get so impatient and horny that they simply can't waste time undressing you completely, they simply remove it enough to reveal what they want. They love it when it's messy and chaotic.

If you're wearing their clothes, your natural smell mixing with theirs, your legs stop working for days. Legit they wouldn't let you leave the bed until they have obligations that forces them away. You're just half naked all the time because they love burying their noses in your skin and sense the remnants of their colognes/sweat in you. It drives them mad with arousal

All of this to a T. Bc imagine getting railed by them and you’re wearing one of their jerseys or t-shirts and imagine how hectic and frantic they’d be to fuck you too - with clothes on. Not wanting to rip them off but just to shove their dicks in you bc it drives Minsung nuts. And yeah, the recovery period after getting run through by them 💀 good luck lol they’ll have you walking funny

I’m literally about to leave for work and I see this 😭😵‍💫

[clarepreed]

Practice

Story Summary and Content - 4,834 words. As promised, Holly teaches Ginnie CPR. Semi-explicit sex. 🏳️‍🌈

Previous installment: First Date.

--

“I really like your place.” Ginnie stood in Holly’s living room, eyeing the exposed brick and large windows. “Though I bet it gets cold in here in the winter!”

“It does.” Holly slipped her arm around Ginnie’s waist. Ginnie was wearing a soft, long tank top and a pair of leggings, and she felt nice pressed against her. “I have a lot of blankets. Was it a long trip on the bus?”

“Only because I was impatient.” Ginnie turned into Holly and tipped her face up to the light.

Holly dipped her head, pressing her lips to Ginnie’s. She ran her fingers into the silk of Ginnie’s hair and heard her make a soft noise of satisfaction. When they ended the kiss, Ginnie’s eyes traveled across Holly’s face and her hand came up tentatively to rest over Holly’s heart.

“The bruises are all gone?” Ginnie asked, her voice soft.

“Faded away. Nothing hurts. I feel normal.” Holly arched an eyebrow at Ginnie, her tone light despite the serious nature of the conversation. “What about you?”

“I’m fine. I take my beta blocker like I’m supposed to and go to my cardiology appointments. Everything looks fine. She said I probably won’t be on those forever.” Ginnie leaned her head against Holly’s shoulder. “I’m supposed to get regular exercise, so I started running again.”

“I can help you get exercise,” Holly said, her voice wry.

“That sounded dirty.”

“I mean…”

Ginnie giggled. “Are we going to practice now?”

Faint heat spread across Holly’s cheekbones, but she grinned and nodded, gesturing at the items laid out on the coffee table. She’d laid out gloves, first aid supplies, different types of ventilation barriers, and a borrowed Laerdal Mini Anne mannequin. “I thought we would make use of my fluffy rug. I vacuumed it for you.”

She watched, both surprised and endeared, as Ginnie kicked off her shoes and dropped onto the rug on all fours, her hands splayed out in the fluff.

“I approve,” Ginnie said, laying down and then rolling onto her back. She brought her arms up, tucking her hands behind her head. “This is great.”

“Um.” Holly kneeled beside her, then leaned over Ginnie, carefully sweeping her blonde hair back. Then Holly planted her hands on either side of Ginnie’s head. “I’d like to kiss you.”

“Please, do…”

Holly leaned closer, her eyes taking in Ginnie’s facial expression. Everything was still so new; Holly was afraid to rush her. But Ginnie seemed relaxed, her eyes slightly unfocused at this distance. Holly kissed her. Their lips felt nice together. Ginnie’s were soft, her mouth sweet.

“Is that official first aid procedure?” Ginnie asked when Holly pulled back. Her mouth curled in a sweet smile. “Or do I get special treatment?”

“You get special treatment.” Holly moved one of her hands to Ginnie’s shoulder. “So, this is actually a good place to start. We can go over the recovery position and your ABCs.”

“I learned my ABCs a while back,” Ginnie said, raising her eyebrow and grinning.

“Not those ABCs, silly!” Holly squeezed Ginnie’s shoulder, then traced her collarbone with her thumb. She smiled down at Ginnie, then tried to school her expression to something more serious. “Hey, listen. If at some point anything upsets or bothers you, just tell me and we will stop.”

Ginnie nodded earnestly. She had a faint scattering of freckles across her cheeks. “You, too, Holly.”

“I promise. Ready?”

“I’m ready.” Ginnie pulled her hands out from behind her head and put her arms down by her sides. “Rescue me. Or show me how.”

Holly squeezed Ginnie’s shoulder. “So, if someone is unconscious, you wanna start by trying to get their attention. You can tap them, call their name loudly. I’m not gonna demonstrate because I don’t think you want me to yell in your ear.”

“That’s accurate,” Ginnie said, grinning.

“So if they don’t respond, this is where the ABCs come in.” Holly put on her best instructor voice. “Do you know what that stands for?”

“Oh! I do remember that! Airway, Breathing, Circulation!” Ginni’s cheeks grew pinker the longer Holly leaned over her.

Holly brushed her knuckles against Ginnie’s cheek. “Right!”

“I know how to open an airway,” Ginnie said. Her face took on a mildly anxious look, and she turned her gaze off to the side. “At least, I don’t think I made it worse…”

“You were perfect,” Holly said, quick to reassure her. She put her hands to Ginnie’s forehead and her chin, gently tipping her head back. “Can you feel that? I bet it’s easier to breathe.”

Ginnie took a deep breath and relaxed, her face in Holly’s hands.

“Yes,” Ginnie breathed. “It’s like… yoga. Meditation. I would probably fall asleep if we stayed here like this.”

“I’m going to look, listen, and feel for signs of normal breathing,” Holly leaned her ear toward Ginnie’s mouth. “For ten seconds. Is it okay if I put my hand on your chest?”

“Yes!” Ginnie squeaked out, her skin flushing pink. Holly moved her hand from Ginnie’s chin to her chest, resting on the skin above the neckline of her top. Ginnie’s breath quickened, and Holly could feel her pulse beneath her palm. Thump-thump! Thump-thump! Thump-thump!

“Our patient is breathing,” Holly said. “So we want to put her in the recovery position.”

“Go for it.”

Holly huffed out a laugh and nodded. “Alright. So I’m going to take your arm that’s closest to me and cross it over your chest. Then I’m going to take your leg closest to me again, and bend it.”

Ginnie’s hand was cool to the touch when Holly grasped it, crossing Ginnie’s arm over chest and laying her palm on her shoulder.

“Are you cold?” Holly asked, rubbing her hand up and down Ginnie’s arm.

“I just have cold hands. And feet.” Ginnie laughed. “But yours are warm!”

“Well, let me know if you get cold.” Holly gently bent Ginnie’s leg at the knee. Then she reached for her shoulder and hip. “Then you turn your patient on their side. Make sure their hand stays up by their mouth. Um… like a little vomit ramp.”

“Ew! Really?” Ginnie asked, struggling to stay still as Holly rolled her. 

Holly adjusted Ginnie’s hand, then leaned back, resting her hand on Ginnie’s hip. “Yeah, sometimes people barf, and it can be very bad if they inhale it. Anyway, that’s the recovery position. If you haven’t already called 9-1-1, you wanna do it now because if your patient is still unconscious there’s something wrong. And then you just make sure they continue to breathe.”

Ginnie pushed herself up and turned toward Holly. “Thank you. Could I practice? On you?”

“That’s the idea!” Holly laid down on the rug, smiling up at Ginnie. “Then I’ll grab the mannequin. And maybe some wine? I have to clean her after, anyway.”

“That sounds nice.” Ginnie took Holly’s arm. “So, I fold your arm across your chest like this… Then I bend your knee.”

Holly tried to keep herself limp, her limbs putty in Ginnie’s hands. She allowed Ginnie to roll her onto her side and felt her adjust the placement of her hand. Ginnie had petite hands that she moved delicately, her touch soft.

Ginnie leaned over and pressed a kiss to Holly’s cheek. “You are recovered.”

Holly grinned and moved onto her back. Ginnie looked down at her, face frames by a curtain of hair. Holly reached over and laid her hand on Ginnie’s knee. “Good job. Kiss me for real?”

The kiss was sweet, heating up as Ginnie laid her hand on Holly’s side, her fingers wrapping over her ribcage. Holly let her lips part and Ginnie deepened the kiss, reaching up with her other hand to rake her hair out of her face. A moment passed, or several. Holly wasn’t sure. Then Ginnie broke the kiss and said: “I want to kiss you, but I also want to learn CPR.”

“Okay,” Holly said, pushing herself up onto her elbows. “CPR now, kissing later?”

“Yes, please.” Ginnie blushed often, Holly realized, and she was doing it now.

Holly moved onto her knees, pausing to ask: “Would you like some wine? White, since we’re about to make out with the mannequin?”

“That sounds great. What kind?”

“I have a dry Riesling. Would that be okay?”

“I have no idea,” Ginnie said, shrugging. “I trust you. I am still pretty new to wine.”

“It’s good,” Holly said. “You can stay on the floor. I’ll be right back.”

Holly hurried through retrieving and opening the wine, her eyes flicking periodically back to Ginnie. The other woman had her arms wrapped around her knees as she eyed the small CPR mannequin on the coffee table. Ginnie looked so sweet and pretty to Holly, sitting there with her spine straight and her hair loose, her petite features serene.

Holly poured wine into each glass and then pushed the cork back into the bottle. “I hope you like it!” she called out, bringing the glasses into the living room. She handed a glass to Ginnie and watched her sniff the contents. 

“It smells good,” Ginnie said, before holding the glass out toward Holly. “Cheers?”

“Cheers!” Holly clinked her glass against Ginnie’s and took a sip, watching Ginnie expectantly.

Ginnie slipped from her glass and nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, this is good!”

“Awesome!” Holly drank some more wine, then sat her glass on the table, reaching for the mannequin. She sat it on the floor, just past the edge of the rug. “So, this one is especially odd-looking, but it was easier to get on the bus. And cheaper to replace if something happened to her.”

“Her?”

“Not everyone’s nipples are in the same place!” Ginnie exclaimed, laughing.

“Her name’s Anne. Poor Anne is always in cardiac arrest. Anyway, I know you said you took a class before, but I’ll go ahead and show you what to do.” Holly scooted over next to the mannequin and got into position. “So, they used to tell people to follow the nipple line, but—”

“Exactly! So you’re feeling for their breastbone. Their sternum. You want to stack your hands like this…” Holly interlocked her fingers and placed the heel of her hand on the lower half of the mannequin’s sternum. “Straight arms, shoulders over your hands. Want to try?”

“Yeah, thank you.” Ginnie smiled at Holly. “This is not so bad. Anne’s kind of silly looking, and it makes it easier to not be scared.”

“I’m glad,” Holly said, scooting a few feet to the side to make way for Ginnie. Then she guided her over the Mini Anne mannequin, one arm around her shoulders. “Yep, leaning forward like that. Good placement for the hands. Now, aiming for a two-inch depth, you want to push down.”

“Two inches, two inches, two inches,” Ginnie muttered, then she rocked herself over her hands and the mini mannequin made a clicking sound. Ginnie rose up and then rocked into her hands again. “I like that clicking sound! So I do thirty of these and then two breaths?”

“Actually,” Holly said, leaning back to give Ginnie some room. Ginnie kept compressing the mannequin’s chest, a rhythmic click emitting each time. “Current bystander guidelines—that’s what you are, a bystander—are for compression-only CPR. The exception would be for asphyxiation, such as drowning. Then yes, thirty compressions to two breaths.”

Ginnie, who’d been pumping away while Holly spoke, stopped and looked with wide eyes over her shoulder at Holly. Her voice came out in a shocked whisper. “Holly… Oh, but Holly…”

“Oh!” Holly exclaimed, immediately realizing what the problem was. “You did the right thing, Ginnie. You didn’t hurt me. They only switched to compression-only CPR because so many people took too long to switch back and forth, or refused to do CPR at all because they didn’t want to do the breaths. You did a good job, Ginnie. Thank you.”

Holly reached out and rested her hand on Ginnie’s back, rubbing in a slow circle until Ginnie nodded and looked back down at the mannequin.

“Was I going at the right speed?” Ginnie reached for her wineglass and leaned back on her heels. “I was singing a song in my head.”

“‘Staying Alive’? Ha! Yeah, you did a great job. I am not certified to certify you, but if I could, I would.”

Ginnie took another sip of wine, a thoughtful expression on her face. After a moment, she said: “I expected ‘Circulation’ to involve checking for a pulse.”

“Pulse checking is above your pay grade. But I’ll show you anyway.” Holly sat her wineglass on the coffee table and stretched her hand out toward Ginnie. “Give me your wrist?”

Ginnie stretched out her arm, palm up, and Holly cradled her wrist in her hand. Then she took two fingers and ran them down the inside of Ginnie’s arm, smiling when she giggled. She settled her fingers on the correct spot and applied a small amount of pressure. Ginnie’s pulse beat against her fingertips; a good, average pace. Not too slow, and certainly nothing like that day in the stairwell. It was a calming rhythm.

“Right there,” Holly said. “That’s your radial pulse.”

“What’s the one in the neck called?”

“That’s your carotid.” Holly reached up and pressed her fingers to Ginnie’s neck. “Right there.”

“I should have guessed that,* Ginnie said, sighing. “You’re groping arteries!”

Holly laughed. “I am groping arteries.”

To her surprise, Ginnie reached up and took Holly’s hand, pulling it down and clasping it between both of hers. “Hey, um. What about the third spot?”

“The third spot?” Holly asked. “Oh! You mean femoral? The groin?”

“Yeah,” Ginnie whispered.

“You’ve seen that one?” This question came out tentative and worried. Ginnie’s face reflected anxiety instead of the humor from seconds before. Ginnie nodded, but she didn’t speak. Holly asked: “When I got hurt?”

Ginnie looked down and nodded again.

“Oh. Okay.” Holly wanted to ease the tension and hopefully steer things back in the right direction. “Um… Hey. This calls for a sip of wine.”

That made Ginnie smile, even if it was weak and tremulous. They disconnected from each other long enough to pick up their glasses and drink. Holly sat back on her heels, considering Ginnie. Her cheeks were flushed, hair slightly mussed. She still looked anxious, but her posture was open, her shoulders visibly relaxing as Holly watched. 

Ginnie glanced up at Holly. “I’m sorry I brought the mood down.”

“You’re fine, hun.” She reached out and rested her hand on Ginnie’s leg. “We had some intense experiences.”

Ginnie nodded, draining her glass before she sat it on the table. She seemed to mull something over. Finally, as Holly finished her own glass, Ginnie asked in a soft voice: “Would you like to feel my femoral pulse?”

Warmth gathered between Holly’s thighs. Her eyes widened. She nodded, watching as Ginnie laid back down on the rug. Holly sat her empty glass on the table and stretched out alongside Ginnie, leaning over her. Ginnie shifted, opening her legs and bending her outside knee. Her own heart racing, Holly reached out and found the top of Ginnie’s thigh through her leggings. She slid her fingers along the crease, searching for the right spot.

Her femoral pulse was a little difficult to locate through Ginnie’s leggings, but when Holly found it, she glanced up at Ginnie’s face. The other woman was chewing on her bottom lip, her eyes on Holly’s hand.

“There it is,” Holly murmured. “Is this okay?”

“Yes. How does it feel?” Ginnie’s voice was breathy and curious, her eyes intent. 

“It’s distant. Almost didn’t find it through your clothes. Nice, healthy rate, though.”

Ginnie swallowed and looked up, giving Holly a rare moment of eye contact. “Would you like to try without my leggings?”

Want, or need, lanced through Holly. She felt Ginnie’s pulse pick up the pace. Holly nodded. “I would.” No pretense about it being a better demonstration. Just desire.

Ginnie slipped her thumbs into the waistband of her leggings and pushed them down, arching her hips off the floor. Holly helped her, rolling the tight fabric down Ginnie’s legs and off her feet. Holly couldn’t help herself, running her hand all the way up Ginnie’s leg and along the edge of her underwear. She pressed her fingers into Ginnie’s skin, her eyes falling closed as she felt her rapid pulse against her fingers. 

With her eyes closed and her attention dialed in, Holly caught an unmistakable whiff of musky arousal. She opened her eyes and shifted her hand, pressing her palm to Ginnie’s thigh and finding her pulse with her thumb. Ginnie’s face was pink again, her eyes dilated and her lips parted.

“You like this,” Holly said, the words slipping out of her before she could think them through.

“Yes,” Ginnie whispered. Her lips trembled.

Holly stroked her skin. “Want me to show you how to find your landmark on a person instead of a mannequin?”

Ginnie nodded, and Holly moved her hands up to her abdomen, stroking her sides through her shirt. “I won’t hurt you, okay? I’m just showing you where.” Holly traced her fingers along the bottom of Ginnie’s ribcage, grinning when Ginnie shivered.

“That tickles!” 

“This is your sternum.” Holly ran her fingers over Ginnie’s top, tracing a line between her breasts. “You’re aiming for the bottom third.”

Then she stacked her hands, pressing them between Ginnie’s breasts. Her fingers overlapped the soft flesh, and she felt Ginnie’s nipple pebble underneath the cloth. Holly straightened her arms and moved her shoulders over her hands, though she didn’t press down. 

“You want to keep everything straight like this,” Holly said. “That way you can more easily push down two inches. If you do it at an angle, it will be too hard to push down enough.”

Ginnie nodded. She moved restlessly, her fingers tapping against each other and her thighs rubbing together. “That makes sense.”

Holly removed her hands, leaning down to kiss the skin just above Ginnie’s neckline. Simultaneously, she moved one of her hands just under Ginnie’s left breast, palm pressing firmly. “I can feel your heart here, too.”

Holly gave Ginnie a chaste kiss. The smaller woman was panting, and reached up to stop Holly from sitting up. They kissed gain, deeper this time, the taste of wine on Holly’s tongue.

When they came up for air, Ginnie stroked Holly’s cheek. “May I practice on you?”

“Yes!” Holly leaned back so Ginnie could sit up. Then she reached for the hem of her shirt. “I’ll make it easier for you to see what you’re doing.”

Holly peeled her shirt off and dropped it to the side. She could feel Ginnie’s eyes on her as she laid herself out on the rug. When she looked up, Ginnie leaned down and kissed her.

“You’re very pretty,” Ginnie said, her voice soft and reverent. “And it’s okay for me to touch you there?”

“It’s more than okay.” Holly took a steadying breath. “You can touch me anywhere you want. Anywhere, Ginnie. Do you understand?”

“I understand. I’ll take you up on that.” Ginnie brought her hands to Holly’s sides, hesitating before she touched her. “Of course, I don’t want to tickle you, but it’s probably gonna happen.” 

“It’s okay. I promise.”

Ginnie bit her lip, but she trailed her fingers along Holly’s ribcage anyway, then up over the butterfly clasp of her bra. “The clasp marks the spot?”

“That’s it!” Holly watched as Ginnie pressed her hands over her sternum and moved her shoulders into place. At first, she kept her fingers elevated, trying unsuccessfully not to press into Holly’s breast tissue. Then she relaxed, letting her fingers curl naturally. “Exactly the right spot.”

“Your head,” Ginnie said suddenly. “It’s not tipped back.”

She lifted her hands from Holly’s chest and brushed Holly’s hair back from her forehead. Holly felt her slim fingers under her chin, and then Ginnie tipped her head back, extending her neck. To Holly’s surprise, Ginnie delicately pinched her nose and then leaned down and pressed her lips to hers.

Holly parted her lips to accept Ginnie’s tongue as it plunged into her mouth. Ginnie released her nose so that she could breathe, though she kept her fingers in place. Her other hand slipped down, stroking Holly’s neck and chest before massaging her left breast through her bra. Holly reached up and slipped her fingers into Ginnie’s hair, cupping the back of her head and keeping her face close to hers.

They kissed like this for a while until Ginnie pulled back and whispered: “I wonder what it feels like to have another person breathe for you.”

Holly felt like her own breath stalled in her lungs. “I wondered if you remembered. You briefly woke up…”

“No.” Ginnie shook her head. “I don’t remember that part.”

“Do…” Holly swallowed hard, then tried again. “Do you want me to try breathing for you?”

Ginnie slowly nodded. “Is that weird?”

“Not to me.” Holly pulled Ginnie down for another kiss and then said: “Lay on your back.”

Ginnie sat up, pulling her shirt over her head and leaving herself in only her bra and panties. “Now you’re overdressed,” she said, eyeing Holly’s pants.

Holly quickly took them off and tossed them at the sofa. “We’re even now, beautiful.”

“Yes.” Ginnie laid back on the plush rug, her arms above her head and her knees bent. 

“It might take a few tries,” Holly said. “I’ve never done this on a conscious person. Usually I do this on a mannequin in class…”

“That’s okay. I want to try. If I can’t handle it, I’ll let you know.”

Holly leaned over Ginnie, running one hand up Ginnie’s abdomen, between her breasts, and up to her chin. She tipped Ginnie’s head back and gently pinched her button nose. “Ready?”

Ginnie nodded and exhaled.

Holly took a deep breath and thumbed Ginnie’s chin, opening her mouth further before sealing her lips over hers. Then she exhaled, with more force than she would if she weren’t trying to inflate another person’s lungs. Both of their cheeks rounded, and Ginnie made a muffled noise, her chest heaving. Holly broke the seal, worried, as Ginnie let out a cough. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Ginnie said, her eyes wide. Her voice was high-pitched with excitement. “I’m fine! It was just… different. Do it again. Please.”

Holly complied, blowing a steady breath into Ginnie. This time, Ginnie’s chest rose evenly. She let her exhale, then gave her a third breath, her hand moving from Ginnie’s chin to her chest. Ginnie’s lips and skin were warm to the touch, her mouth relaxed but not slack like it had been when she’d done this for real. Holly nestled her palm between Ginnie’s breasts, pushing down ever so slightly when Ginnie exhaled. The next time her breath left Ginnie, the other woman moaned.

She does like this. Just as much as me.

“I’m going to change positions,” Holly said. Ginnie took a few breaths of her own as Holly swung her leg over hips. She curled her hand around to pinch Ginnie’s nose and then angled her head. Ginnie exhaled as Holly took a deep breath, relaxing when Holly filled her lungs. 

Holly felt incredible, her body tingling and a telltale sensation of moisture between her thighs. She braced herself on the floor next to Ginnie’s head, felt Ginnie’s hands come up to run up and down her sides. She let a bit of her weight sit on Ginnie’s hips and felt the smaller woman grind up against her. This time, she was the one moaning as she breathed for Ginnie, as she felt Ginnie’s body respond to her air. Ginnie’s cheeks puffed out and her chest swelled. Then the air came out of her in a rush.

Holly heard a snap, felt the clasp of her bra release, followed by Ginnie’s hands on her breasts. At Ginnie’s next exhale, she took her own quick breath and murmured: “I’m getting lightheaded.”

“I’m sorry!” Holly leaned down and pressed a series of kisses to Ginnie’s jawline. “I should have thought of that!”

“I’m okay,” Ginnie said. She cupped Holly’s breasts with both of her hands and circled her thumbs around her nipples. “Kiss me.”

Holly did, trapping Ginnie’s head between her hands. She shifted, coming up long enough to slip her thigh between Ginnie’s, and felt Ginnie buck up beneath her. Moving one of her hands down to Ginnie’s chest, she pushed her bra up and over her breasts. Ginnie moaned into her mouth as Holly cupped her breast, her nipple hard against Holly’s palm.

“Is this okay?” Holly gasped out. “We didn’t talk—”

“This is great, I’m great, you’re great…” Ginnie arched her back, panting. “I’m going to cum just from this, Holly!”

“I’m close, too…” Holly slid her hand between Ginnie’s breasts. “I’m going to try something, Ginnie. Stop me if you don’t like it.”

“Oh!” Ginnie gasped. Holly pressed the heel of her hand to Ginnie’s sternum and pumped ever so slightly. She was afraid to use any real pressure, but she pushed at the correct rate. Or as professionally as she could manage, her rhythm growing more and more erratic as the two ground against each other. Ginnie made soft mewling sounds, her hands clutching at Holly until she arched her back again, her mouth opening in a small, silent “o.”

Holly kept moving, writhing and pressing until the tension forming in her pelvic floor reached a peak, pleasurable sensations running through her, concentrated in her clit. She stopped pressing Ginnie’s chest and dropped her face into her neck, letting out a low cry.

She felt Ginnie’s arms come around her, squeezing her tight. They were all soft skin and silken hair, with only scraps of cloth between them, their chests heaving. 

Holly kissed Ginnie’s neck and pulled back so she could see her face. “Was that okay?”

“Surely you could tell that it was,” Ginnie said, a small smile lighting up her face. “But, yes.”

Holly rolled off onto her side, pulling Ginnie with her. They remained tangled up together on the soft rug, hearts slowly resuming their normal cadence. Ginnie trailed her fingertips down Holly’s back.

“You have very beautiful, soft skin,” she murmured. Her eyes were on Holly’s neck. “And I can see your pulse.”

Holly leaned forward and kissed her, their lips gentle. When she laid her head back down on the rug, she said: “We skipped over some talks. Namely… Can I call you my girlfriend?”

Ginnie’s face flushed pink again. “Yes! I was going to ask you the same thing. I was working up to it. I was just nervous.”

“You can ask me anything, sweetheart. Anything. Tell me anything. Please, don’t be anxious.” Holly rubbed Ginnie’s back soothingly. “I’ll always do my best to be open-minded and gentle with you. I… Correct me if I’m wrong, but I get the impression that you haven’t always had that?”

“You’re not wrong.” Ginnie bit her lip, and Holly was dismayed to feel her tremble.

“What’s wrong?” Holly draped her leg over both of Gennie’s and pulled her closer.

“I’m trying not to be anxious, but I want to tell you something.”

“Okay.” Holly kissed her forehead. “Take your time.”

Ginnie took in a sharp breath and then blurted: “I’m autistic!”

The shaking increased, and Holly quickly responded with: “Okay. Great! That’s cool… It’s okay, Ginnie, take a deep breath for me.”

She felt Ginnie comply, her breasts pressing against Holly’s. Wine-scented air wafted across her face. 

“You know,” Holly continued. “Most of my friends are neurodivergent. And my favorite cousin has OCD. I know it’s not the same thing. But, Ginnie, it’s not a turnoff! It’s great. I really like you, okay? You are who you are and I wouldn’t change you!”

Ginnie sniffled, a single tear running across the bridge of her nose and down her cheek. “Sometimes people get mad if you don’t tell them before they go out with you. But I know you’re not like that, Holly. I wouldn’t like you so much if you were.”

She shivered, and Holly squeezed her tight. “Are you cold?”

“Yeah,” Ginnie said, her tone sheepish. “I am now.”

“Stay here! I have blankets!” Holly disentangled herself from Ginnie and stood, letting her unclasped bra slip off her arms. She skipped the slightly scratchy crocheted blanket draped over the back of the sofa and pulled a softer blanket from the big basket on the floor.

As she kneeled beside Ginnie, the other woman sat up, pulling her bra up and over her head. Then she laid back down, reaching for Holly. Holly stretched out beside her, wrapped her leg over Ginnie’s, and covered them both with the blanket.

“Nap time?” Ginnie asked, yawning.

Holly pulled her close, savoring the skin-on-skin contact. She felt her girlfriend relax in her arms and closed her eyes, content.

[the-al-chemist]

The Prodigal Son

For Day 3 of @thethreebroomsticksfic’s Weasley Week, I present a little Percy angst.

Warnings: mentions of Christmas, when right now it’s only October.

December 1995

It was Christmas Eve, and in the Ministry of Magic Headquarters, work was slowly grinding to a halt. From the window of his office on the uppermost floor, Percy had a clear view of the festive memos that left a trail of glitter in their wake as they flew back and forth across the atrium. Far below, colleagues were bidding one another glad tidings, and the fireplaces flashed green as staff clocked off and went home to the families impatiently waiting for them to return.

Now that day was growing late, Percy must have been one of the only people left working. He was certainly the only person left on his floor; even the Minister for Magic himself had gone home to the bottle of brandy that he said was calling his name. As he left, he had praised Percy for his commitment to his work.

Percy was committed to his work. If it were not for his conscientiousness, he would never have secured such a prestigious job role at such a young age. He was living proof that diligence and determination could get a person far in life.

In truth, however, it was not his excellent work ethic that kept him at his desk this Christmas Eve. It was more of a case of him having nowhere better to be.

Still, as the lights in yet more office windows deluminated, and the crowds down in the atrium dwindled further, Percy had to admit that he longer wished to remain where he was. He may have only had a tiny, empty, and extortionately expensive flat to return to, but being there alone couldn’t be worse than being alone at work. He could hardly spend the night before Christmas sleeping at his desk, after all.

He passed no one in the corridor on his way to the elevator, but as its doors opened on the second level, he was joined by a tall and familiar-looking wizard a few years older than him. The wizard had dark brown hair and fine lines around eyes, and a stack of books floated in the air beside him.

“Evening, Weasley,” he said. “Merry Christmas.”

Percy’s Christmas was unlikely to be merry, but he forced a smile and replied stiffly, “And to you, Davies.”

“I heard about your dad’s accident. He’s out of St Mungo’s now, isn’t he?”

In response to Chester Davies’ question, Percy gave a curt nod and made a humming noise. He had not visited his father during his stay in hospital. He felt guilty about not doing so, but given the way the two of them had argued the last time they spoke, he imagined that his presence would not have been particularly conducive to a speedy recovery. Percy had not yet entirely forgiven his father for the things he had said during their argument; he could only presume that the lingering resentment was mutual.

“Your family must be relieved to have him home for Christmas,” Chester continued. “I suppose that there’ll be a lot of you at your parents’ house this year.”

The way he spoke made it sound like another question, and Percy felt compelled to answer.

“I’m not certain,” he said. “I’m not spending Christmas with them this year. Too busy with work.”

Chester looked almost disappointed, but he quickly recovered himself as the elevator came to a halt and opened out into the atrium.

“Well, when you see your dad, give him my best. And your mum and Bill, too.”

Percy couldn’t bring himself to tell Chester that he would not be seeing his family to give them anything. Not that he hadn’t been sent anything from them. Just that morning a soft parcel had been delivered to his flat with a label written in his mother’s hand. He knew without having opened it what would be inside. Every year since he could remember his mother had knitted him and each of his siblings a jumper. It was a tradition, just as much as the turkey on the table, the gnome on top of the tree, and stockings opened beside the roaring fire.

Without warning, Percy was struck with a sudden pang of homesickness, one that he couldn’t ignore. He wished profoundly that he had never argued with his father, that he had never left the Burrow, that he could be there now enjoying Christmas with his family.

But, he thought, perhaps he could. He had assumed that he would be unwelcome, but if his mother had sent him a jumper, then maybe she would have left a place at the table for him as well. The more he considered it, the more Percy was certain that this was the case. The jumper was more than just a gift, it was an olive branch. It was his mother’s way of saying that he was still loved, that he still belonged. Surely, he would still be welcomed with open arms. After all, what was Christmas if not a time for forgiveness?

His mind made up, Percy stopped in a Muggle shop in the London street above the Ministry of Magic and bought a large bottle of sherry, the most expensive in the shop. He tucked it under his arm and ducked into an alleyway so that he could Disapparate without being seen.

He thought longingly of the Burrow, of home, of the ramshackle house with its drafts and mess and the wailing ghoul in the attic. He thought of the piles of shoes in the porch and numerous odd socks in the washing and the chickens that pecked in the yard. He thought of the warm woollen blankets, the smell of his mother’s cooking, and the cosy golden glow of the lights that shone through the windows during the darkest nights. He took a deep breath and smiled as he Apparated to the front garden, where he found the house…

Empty.

The place was silent. The lights were all off. No one was home. It was Christmas Eve, and the Weasleys were elsewhere. Percy didn’t know where exactly, because no one had bothered to invite him. Clearly, no one missed him that much.

Percy was half-helplessness, half-bitterness. He felt like a small child, lost and alone. He felt like an old man, aching and world-weary. More than anything, he felt angry. His anger only increased when he returned to his flat to see the still-unopened gift his mother had sent him resting on the table.

Jaw clenched and fingers trembling, he picked up the parcel and carried across the room to the window, where his owl Hermes was resting on his favourite perch.

“Take it back,” he told Hermes, who blinked at him and let owl a low and doleful-sounding hoot in response. “Just take it back.”

His voice was louder than he’d intended it to be, and his eyes began to sting. Hermes ruffled his feathers, but he took the strings of the parcel in his talons. Percy exhaled.

“Thank you,” he said, gentler this time. He stroked the feathers on the top of Hermes’ head with the back of one finger. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

As he opened the window to let the bird out, a chill entered. Percy steeled himself against it, welcoming the feeling of physical discomfort, appreciating the way it distracted him from the pain he felt in his heart. And as the last friend he had left in the world disappeared into the midwinter night sky, carrying the last piece he had left of his family, the clock struck midnight.

It was Christmas, and Percy was all alone.

[saiyanwitcher]

I have been waiting for part one to be finished, because when I first started eyeing Prince of Death, it was close to being done. And oh my it hit just right. I devoured the whole thing.

I love it, my honor. It is the perfect combination of high-stakes plot, romance, main characters being a self-sacrificing dumbasses (always peak literature) and everything i was looking for. So from all those ingredients, you have created the perfect meal and I have been fed and watered and everything is great.

The whole thing just flows so nicely. You have a very clear, lovely writing voice.

I think I understood everything I needed to with ample additional mystery to be uncovered, but I never felt like I had no idea what was happening even though I had no prior knowledge of the universe. And this is indeed a feat, because honestly sometimes I read whole published books and I’m like, "Wait, what? WTF is happening?"

Another thing that is so hard to master, which you just got down here, is the pacing. It never stalls, but there are enough quiet moments for me to breathe and get to know the characters. And for Max and Charles to fall in high-stakes, low self-esteem love, which is just chef’s kiss.

Talking about Max and Charles, they are so dear to me in this fic. I live for the protective boyfriend trope and this is all set up for greatness in that regard. Kicking my feet, jumping in joy. I’m just overall a happy reader when it comes to this fic.

Also, I need to make a shout-out to all the effort you have put in outside of just writing the fic. All the pictures and posts and playlists. It adds a lot and I know that it must take effort and time; it is appreciated.

To conclude this rambly too long ask: thank you for writing this and sharing it with us. You are a gift and a treasure.

I may come here with some more superlatives later. I hope thats alright 😅

Hello there!

I always forget that people wait until fics are finished to start reading. I'm so impatient, I generally just jump right in and then get stuck on a cliffhanger and want to kms. I respect the self-control I definitely do not have!

So happy that you enjoyed part 1 ❤️ As I stated in my authors note at the start of the work, this is literally the first thing I've ever tried to write and I almost trashed the whole thing at least a dozen times through the learning process. I'm also pleased to hear that it isn't confusing or like boring to read (things I've been very worried about).

Pacing is something I wasn't quite sure if I got right either, so I appreciate the feedback! I love slow burn as much as the next person, but I also want to be engaged with a work and not get too bored with slice-of-life type stuff. I'm also a huge fan of "okay, we're together now, but the universe isn't going to let us be together," which is the definition of this entire fic. 🫣

If the angst doesn't make my chest doesn't ache every few chapters, I don't want it your honor lol

Max will continue to struggle with many different issues (as he should) in part 2, and Charles will have to learn what his triggers are and how to handle someone with such a traumatic past. He will be over protective and do some things that Charles/the reader might be confused by, but the poor guy has been through some shit, and he needs some time. I'm really looking forward to exploring that dynamic if I'm honest. I've read a lot of fic where it's either, all the trauma and no recovery or trauma happened off camera and it's all focused on recovery. Attempting to have both feels like a big ask, but I'm certainly going to try!

Making an edit for the start of each chapter was a fun idea I had starting on chapter 2, and then quickly got out of control by the time I was on chapter 20 😅 but I really like visual aids, and I will probably continue to make them for part 2 as well.

Come back any time as my ask box and DMs are always open! There's a lot of clues and subtle things in the finer details that may not have seemed important in the early chapters, but on second or third inspection, have HUGE implications on the later plot for this story.