#and its terrifying that i will be presenting it and not someone else

[ripdragonbeans]

Love In The Darkest Of Places // Modern!Aemond x Reader

Chapter 4: Freedom

Summary: You and Aemond are in college now, which presents itself with its own new challenges. One you didn't expect, however, was cutting off your family.

TW: unhealthy family dynamic

Masterlist

Chapter 3 // Chapter 5

The thought of jeopardizing your relationship with Aemond was too scary to even consider. As much as you wanted to say yes, to be his, you knew there was no way to guarantee you would stay together. At least with this friendship there was no way of messing it up. Or at least you hoped. Your heart and soul yearned for him but your brain was terrified. The risk that came with being in a serious relationship was too great, according to your brain. Your heart and soul said to hell with it, to jump into the deep end, but in the end you were too afraid.

For the rest of high school that’s how you two were: best friends. Never once did either of you waver. Not once did either of you date. There was an unspoken arrangement that you would wait for each other. Of course, since Aemond made his move after that regrettable double date, it would be up to you.

“Do you wish we could be together?” you asked him one night. You were spending the night in his dorm room. It wasn’t the first time you’ve asked the question.

“You know my answer,” Aemond replied, never looking away from the television screen.

It was movie night and as per usual, you stayed in his dorm. High school seemed so far away yet it was almost as though it was yesterday. The double date with Cregan had always stayed in your mind. That Monday afterwards did, too. 

“I feel like I'm playing you,” you admitted to Aemond. 

“If you actually were, I don't think you'd be worried about it.” He looked at you and smiled. “I'll wait however long and if we only stay friends then that's okay too. You're my best person in the world. Together forever, remember?”

“Yeah, together forever.”

Silence.

“What if…” you started, “what if there's someone else out there for you?”

“The only person I want is you. If someone else finds me then maybe you ran out of time.”

“What if… what if I find someone else?” 

“Then I'll let you go. I'll do whatever to make you happy.” Aemond reached for your hand and squeezed it. He looked out the dorm window. “It's getting late. Do you want me to walk you back to your house or?” He left the question hanging.

“I think I'll go back to my house alone” you replied. It hurt your heart to leave him but you did so anyway.

Aemond’s face fell when you gave his answer. He simply nodded and got up to let you out of his dorm. 

“You know I -” you began to say.

“Don't worry about it,” Aemond said with a tight smile. “I understand.” 

And with that he closed the door.

You couldn't help but press your forehead against the door. You knew you should head back to your own dorm but you couldn't bring yourself to do so. Your feet refused to move and the thought of leaving Aemond alone in his room hurt your heart. 

So you let yourself stay there. 

You could hear Aemond through the door a tiny bit. You wondered if he felt as conflicted as you. A small mirthless laugh left you. Of course he felt conflicted. You were the one making him wait. Taking a deep breath, you pulled yourself up and headed out of the dorm and to your family’s house.

Unlike Aemond’s loving family, yours refused to pay for a dormitory. You had to walk or grab a ride home at the end of every day. Normally you would ask Aemond or Helaena for a ride but you wanted to be alone right now. Asking Aemond after this movie night was out of the question as well. So instead, you basked in the brisk cold night as you made your way back to the house.

When you arrived at the house you didn't bother announcing your presence. It wouldn't have been met with anything kind anyway, if it even received a reply. While the interior was warm and welcoming to everyone else, it was cold and lonely for you. Stepping inside the building, you toes off your shoes and shrugged off your coat before retreating into your bedroom. It was your safe haven in this place. 

Plopping down on the bed, you let out a groan. The day had been going perfectly well until you told Aemond it felt as though you were playing him. You were just too scared for yourself and for him. You didn't want either of you to get hurt in any way. Gods forbid the pain is caused by you or him. You hugged a pillow, wishing it was Aemond. Soon enough, sleep found you.

You walked down a cold, empty hallway. Your footsteps echoed against the walls. You didn't know where you were going; you were just walking. One thing you did notice, however, was the deep pit in your stomach. Something was going to happen but you didn't know what. And it would be something big. 

Soon, the walls became grand. Wallpaper were plastered on and large portraits of your family lined them. Your parents looked regal, of course. If it were another time you thought they would even be royalty. Then came the portraits of your brothers, Jace and Luke. 

Ever since Luke took Aemond's eye, you’ve cut him off. You avoided him, refused to talk to him, and have even left buildings if you found out he was there. There was no love in your heart for Luke, even if you were siblings. You could never forgive him for what he did. Yet here, in his portraits, he looked like a carefree child. So innocent. So wrong.

Jace’s portraits seemed accurate, in your opinion. He was still as charming as ever but you could see underneath him, how he loathed you, how we always craved the attention from mother and father. You smiled cruelly at that thought. He would never have their full attention. It was always on themselves but you let Jace believe that maybe one day their focus would be on him. To an extent you pitied Jace but not enough to make room in your heart to love him. He did nothing while Aemond was hurt and he constantly ridiculed you. No, there was no love.

Soon, there were pictures of Mrs. Alicent, Mr. Criston, Aegon, Helaena, and Jason. Unlike the photos of your family, these were candid, happy photos. They were real and genuine. No fake smiles or practiced poses; just silly faces and love. As you approached each of their photos, you couldn't help but feel joy. You were so happy for them and you wished desperately to be part of that. 

But something was off.

In the bundle of photos with Aemond was another person. Their face was covered or they were always facing away from the camera. Aemond was either grinning ear to ear or looked at that person with…love. The person in question had long, dark, flowing hair. You didn't recognize this person but it did something to your stomach. A pit dropped and it made you want to throw up. 

You kept walking down the hallway.

Suddenly, you heard laughter. Laughter and voices. You pinned down Aemond's but didn't recognize the female one. You didn't like this one bit. Could there be someone else for Aemond?

No. No, that can't be.

You raced down the hallway to find Aemond and this mysterious woman locked in an embrace.

“Aemond?” You asked quietly.

Aemond turned around. “You're too late,” he said. His voice echoed. “I waited for you but you took too long. I found someone else.”

“No!” You cried. You had woken up in a cold sweat. Looking around, you tried to ground yourself. There is no hallway, no portraits or pictures, no Aemond with some other woman.

You sighed as you heard someone come up to your door. You had an inkling it was one of your brothers.

“Hey, can we talk?” Jace knocked on your door.

You opened it only to reveal your older brother. “What do you want?”

He looked down at his feet. “I wanted to apologize. I've never been the best big brother and that's on me.”

“Okay…” you were confused as to why he was doing this.

“I was talking with my girlfriend, Sara, and she said that we needed to talk so here I am.”

You crossed your arms and leaned on the doorframe. “Talk about what?”

Jace shrugged. “Everything, I guess.”

“...Okay. Give me a minute to get dressed and we can go to the Dorne Café.” You closed the door behind you and got ready.

Within ten minutes you and Jace were out of the door and in his car. The ride to the café was silent. It wasn't tense or anything, just quiet. When you arrived at the café there were a decent amount of people there but not too many. After both of you placed your orders you went to claim a table outside.

Sitting across from each other, you waited for your brother to say something first. You simply looked at each other. In contrast to you, he was waiting for you to speak first. Once again in your life, you were at a stand still with your brother.

Not being able to stand the silence, you broke it. “Okay, I'll bite. You, Luke, mother, and father never wanted to do anything with me. I was always on the side and when I wasn't I was teased and ridiculed.”

“That’s a pretty heavy way to start this,” commented Jace.

“Well, you wouldn't talk first, so I did.”

“I teased you because I was mad. I was upset that you were closer with Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond and not with us. You're my sister. You should've been with me and not them.”

“You weren’t the most welcoming type when it came to me, Jace.”

“That's because I didn't know!”

“That’s a shitty excuse. We could have been closer. We could have had a better relationship.”

“I know and I want to fix it!”

You sighed and put your head on your hands. “Jace, it might be best for us to just go our separate ways. Damage was done and it was constant. I just can't forget all that.”

“Yes, you can. We can start over, pretend that nothing ever happened.”

“But it did happen. My childhood was filled with your constant teasing and mother and father’s neglect. It's forever burned in my mind.”

Jace threw his hands up in the air. “Then what do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know, Jace.” You could feel a lump growing in your throat. You didn't know what to expect on your way to the café but it wasn't this.

He nodded his head. “Okay, then.” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I wasn't a better brother. You deserved to be treated better.”

“I know.”

Silence enveloped the air. No one talked. Only distant conversations and cars speeding by were heard by the two of you.

“I think it’s best if I just go to Helaena’s,” you whispered.

“What about us?”

“What about us? We're ruined Jace. We were never truly brother and sister.” You paused. “I was planning on moving in with Helaena, anyway, she needs a roomie for her apartment. I'll pack up my things over the next few days and I'll be out of everyone's hair.”

“If that's what you want.”

“I'm sorry, Jace. I truly am.”

Both of you were slow to pick up your trash. It was as though you were savoring these last few moments. When Jace dropped you off at Helaena’s apartment he walked you to the door.

“Maybe one day we’ll get better,” he said.

“Maybe.” You were hesitant but you gave him a hug. “Goodbye, Jace.”

Once he left and his car had gone out of view, you knocked on the door.

“Coming!” Came Helaena’s dreamy voice. She opened the door and wrapped you in a big hug. After letting you go she said, “I read your text, I'm so excited for you to move in! It'll be just us. No boys to stink up the place.”

“Believe me, I'm so excited.” You tried to smile but it faltered.

Helaena furrowed her brows. “What's wrong?” She pulled you into the apartment.

Once you were seated on the couch you told her everything that had transpired between you and Jace. 

“It was a goodbye and it was upsetting but it was also freeing in a way.”

Helaena nodded her head. “I understand.”

“I’m not looking forward to moving all my stuff out. I just don’t really want to go back there.”

“I’ll be with you every step of the way, I promise,” Helaena said. “And we can ask Aemond and Aegon to join us, too. They would keep your family away from us.”

You laughed mirthlessly. “You know, my mother still thinks Luke was in the right. She thinks that Aemond deserved to lose his eye. Sometimes I can’t believe I’m related to her.”

“That’s sick,” Helaena agreed.

“Gods, what even is my family?”

“A mess. They’re a giant mess. But,” she paused. “You have us. You have me, my mother and father, and Aemond and Aegon. We will always be with you.”

“I used to be so scared that you guys would push me away; especially after Aemond lost his eye.”

“Why would you think that?”

You shrugged. “I felt responsible and guilty. I blamed myself and believed that you guys would later blame me, too.”

“Don't be ridiculous. That will never happen. I promise.” Helaena pulled you into a hug.

Gratefully, you returned it. “I talked to Aemond this morning.”

“And?”

“I'm just so torn, Hel. I want to be with him but I don't want to risk our friendship.”

“You know I think you should take the leap but I can't make that decision for you. You have to do it yourself.”

Your thoughts moved to your dream. “What if there's someone else for him? Someone better than me?”

“I honestly can't see Aemond with anyone else but you. You two have been through it all. And,” she paused and obviously glanced at your collar bone. “You're still wearing the necklace after all these years.”

You brought your hand up to rub the gem between your fingers. It was an action that you developed whenever you got stressed. 

“Look, you even mess with the necklace whenever something is wrong because it calms you. Aemond calms you.”

“It’s all so much.”

“You know what I think, but I want you to do it on your own terms. If you need more time, then take it.”

You took Helaena’s hands in your own. “Thank you.”

She squeezed your hands before letting them go to clap them together. “Now, shall we start moving in now or tomorrow?”

You huffed out a laugh. “I think tomorrow will be fine. We can give the boys a heads up tonight and just chill.”

“I love that idea.” She looped her arm through yours and led you to your soon to be room.

Moving in with Helaena was a breeze, thankfully. You didn’t have much to take out from your parents’ house. Jace actually stepped in to help a little bit but said nothing when doing so. When you left with your things, all he did was give you a small nod. 

You had officially cut ties with your family.

You were free.

The air felt fresher. The grass was greener. Your mother, father, and brothers no longer loomed over you. Taking a deep breath, you smiled as you looked around your room. No one would steal anything from you. You had a whole apartment you shared with one of your closest friends. Everything was right. Everything except the hole in your heart.

Pacing the room, you went through the war in your head, trying to choose if you should talk to Aemond or not. The worst he could say was no but that would be too much. Even though the chances of him saying no is almost nonexistent. Still, the risk was there and that terrified you. Putting your gears aside, you dialed Aemond’s number and called him. 

The phone barely rang before Aemond answered.

“Are you okay?” he immediately asked.

“Yeah, I'm okay. I guess I just wanted to talk to you,” you admitted. 

“What's up?” He asked again. When you didn't respond he said, “I know something is wrong. You don't call me unless something is really messing with you.”

Sighing, you nodded your head until you realized he couldn't see you. “Can I come over?”

“Yeah, always.”

You could hear his smile. Aemond always loved it whenever you came to his dorm.

“I'll see you in a bit, Aems.”

“In a bit,” he repeated.

When you asked Helaena to drive you to Aemond's dorm she gave you a knowing smile.

“Are you finally going to tell him?” She asked you.

“I…I don't know but it's in the realm of possibilities,” you said. It was true. You played with the idea of telling him today but you were still scared.

The car ride to Aemond’s dorm was uneventful. Helaena gave you words of encouragement and tried her best to keep you calm. 

“You're going to be okay. Both of you. I've never seen two people who meshed as well as the both of you. Whatever bond you have with him is unbreakable,” Helaena told you.

You wrung your hands together. “Yeah.”

When Helaena pulled up to Aemond’s dorm building he was already out in front waiting for you. His tall frame making him stand out in the emptiness of the walkway. With his hair down and flowing slightly with the breeze he looked ethereal. You could never get over how beautiful he was. 

When Aemond saw you, a smile brightened up his face. You smiled back. It was going to be a good day, you thought to yourself. Stepping out of Helaena’s car, you gave her a quick thank you and tried to control yourself as you walked to Aemond. As soon as you were by his side he pulled you into a hug.

“You've had me worried these last few days,” he admitted.

“And why's that?” You asked him.

“You've pulled away a bit.” He was quiet.

Your eyebrows pinched together. “What do you mean?”

“Once you moved in with Helaena you didn't call or text me much and didn't offer to visit until now.”

“Oh.” You couldn't tell him everything. Not yet. “There's been a lot going on.”

“You don't have to take that on alone,” Aemond reminded you. “I'm here for you. Together forever, yeah?”

You smiled. “Together forever.”

That night you spent the entirety of it with Aemond. You put on a movie, popped popcorn, and simply enjoyed each other's company. It was as though there was no lingering feelings between you two. It was just you guys. Anyone from the outside would have assumed you were together, and gods, did you wish it was true. Aemond, for sure, wished it was. 

You and Aemond say against the wall on his bed. His arm was casually around you while you snuggled in close. At some point in the night he pulled his hair up in a messy bun. When you tried to braid his hair he swatted your hands away with a goofy grin on his face. 

“Just once!” You pleaded.

“You've already done it once!” Aemond laughed.

“When?” You put your hands on your hips.

Aemond sighed then explained, “Back when we were fourteen. You convinced me to let you braid my hair. It was in knots afterwards.”

Crossing your arms over your chest you muttered, “It wasn't too bad.”

“We needed Helaena’s help.”

Nudging Aemond with your shoulder you told him, “Fine. I won't braid your hair tonight. But let's do something!”

“What if I braided your hair?” 

You raised an eyebrow. “You know how to braid hair?”

“There's a first time for everything,” he shrugged. “It's your turn to have knots,” he bumped you back with his shoulder.

You huffed, “Fine,” and plopped yourself in front of him.

When Aemond ran his hands through your hair, you couldn't help but lean back into him. He gently massaged your scalp before carefully dividing your hair into three sections. 

“Are you sure you know how to do this?” You teased.

Aemond tugged on your hair, sending shivers down your spine. “We're about to find out,” he whispered in your ear.

You couldn't help but flush at his words. Aemond braiding your hair shouldn't be as intimate as this and yet it was. Your relationship has changed since you've both moved on to college. Now, you simply danced around each other.

As Aemond braided your hair, he would tug on it every now and then, causing a bolt of pleasure to shoot through your stomach. 

“Am I hurting you?” Aemond asked when he tugged it for the fourth time.

“No,” you let out breathlessly.

When Aemond finished braiding your hair, you turned around only to find each other nose to nose.

“Aemond?” Whispered.

His violet eye bore into yours before quickly dipping down to your lips and back. “Yes?”

You looked at him and slowly leaned forward. Meeting you in the middle, Aemond captured your lips in his. It was soft. It was tentative. For a second you froze, not knowing what to do, but then Aemond reached up to cup your face and you kissed him back. You moved so you were on your knees in front of him, just now slightly taller than him sitting down. His hands went to your waist and he held on like he never wanted to let go. 

Sitting back on your haunches, you placed your hands on his shoulders. Aemond tensed up slightly but relaxed quickly. The kiss wasn't heated or rushed. It was very slow and calm. You were both waiting and now you finally had each other.

[rattkinng]

Super terrifying day tomorrow! Wishe luck!

[ravegore]

god. god. god

[opheliac]

good therapy session.

[daisymbin]

have you ever been in love? - choi seungcheol

warnings: none

pairings: choi seungcheol x reader

genre: friends to ???

wc: 900

check out my masterlist! // cheol's m.list

"have you ever been in love?" you ask, your eyes still fixated on the carefree clouds drifting lazily through the night sky, illuminated by the city lights.

seungcheol chuckles softly, the sound getting caught in the cool breeze that surrounds you both. he takes another sip of his beer, masking the way his heart races. how much more obvious could he be? are you really that oblivious?

"i suppose i have," he answers, his voice steady and calm even as his eyes can't help but trace the outline of your face, the way your features soften in the moonlight.

"what's it like?" you turn your head slightly, curiosity written in your expression. he's not sure how he should feel about your question.

seungcheol pauses, thinking about the feeling he’s harbored for you for so long. "it’s... terrifying and exhilarating at the same time," he says, a wistful smile playing at his lips. "it feels like wanting to be someone's everything, wanting to make them smile even when the world feels too heavy for myself. it’s being so scared of losing them that it’s all you think about. but at the same time, it makes everything brighter. love changes the way you see things, you know?"

you take a moment to process his words, letting them sink in, before you say quietly, “i guess..i dont know.”

“have you ever been in love?” he asks carefully, its a past tense question so it shouldnt hurt….right?

"i'm...not sure if i’ve ever been in love before.. but lately, i’ve started feeling things i’ve never felt before, and i wonder if it’s love. that's why im asking you.”

seungcheol’s heart stops, breaking a little at the thought of you loving someone else. his voice comes out smaller, almost vulnerable. "does what you’re feelin…m-match what i said?"

you think for a moment and then nod slowly. "yeah," you admit, a soft blush spreading across your cheeks.

his breath catches & he feels his stomach churning. this isn't a past tense situation, this is present tense, NOW. "who is it?" he asks as his voice trembles. the 4 years he's spent pinning over you seems to have made him timid tonight, he's not usually like this, but still, he braces himself for an answer that he knows will shatter him.

you hesitate, your eyes finding his, sparkling with adoration. "you," you whisper, your voice firm with sincerity.

seungcheol’s eyes widen, and for a moment, the world stills. and then, without thinking, he’s reaching for you, the biggest smile breaking out on his face. "me?" he repeats, as if he can’t quite believe it.

you nod, "you...you like me too right?"

"like?" seungcheol laughs, finding humour in your choice of words, his laugh holds a hint of disbelief, his eyes crinkling with pure joy. "like?" he repeats, his voice still colored with amusement. "i don't just like you," he confesses, his voice growing softer, more sincere. "i've been completely, ridiculously in love with you."

you feel your heart skip a beat, disbelief and hope swirling in your chest. "really?" you whisper, your voice small, almost afraid that this moment could shatter like a delicate glass figurine.

his gaze softens as he reaches for your hand, his warm fingers intertwining with yours. "really," he says, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

"did you really not notice?" he asks, "i almost started to think you knew but just didnt have the heart to reject me."

your cheeks flushes as you think about all the little moments you'd noticed—the small ways he always seemed to look out for you, the way he'd remember the tiniest details about your life, and how his eyes would light up every time you entered a room. "i just... i always thought it was wishful thinking...like the time you carried extra snacks just because you knew i'd forget to eat, or when you'd always find an excuse to walk me home, even when you lived in the opposite direction. or how you’d get so quiet and protective whenever you thought someone was being unfair to me."

seungcheol's eyes widen with a mix of surprise and endearment, a fond smile spreading across his lips. "so you noticed all that?" he asks, his voice warm with a hint of embarrassment.

"i did," you say, a shy smile tugging at your lips. "but it just seemed too good to be true."

he pulls you a little closer, his eyes searching yours, filled with a mixture of adoration and relief. "it wasn’t too good to be true," he whispers, and then, with the most tender of touches, he leans in.

when his lips meet yours, it's everything and more. it's gentle, sweet, and filled with all the love that has been building between you two, unspoken but always there, waiting for the right moment.

when you finally pull away, you're both breathless, cheeks flushed. seungcheol's smile is still there, brighter than ever.

[ohisms]

↪ 𝑽𝑨𝑵 𝑯𝑬𝑳𝑺𝑰𝑵𝑮 . ( a collection of sentence starters from the 2004 film . adjust phrasing as necessary . mature themes present . )

oh , [ name ] . it's just you .

where are you going to run , [ name ] ?

what are you saying ?

why do you think i brought you here ?

you said you believed in my work .

i would kill myself before helping in such a task .

you've been so kind to me , [ name ] .

you can't kill me , [ name ] .

so , you're the great [ name ] .

we all have our little problems .

let's make it your decision , shall we ?

i wish you a week in hell .

why don't you do something about it ?

this is all a test of faith .

i can curse all i want , dammit .

you . turn around .

strangers don't last long here .

the laws of men mean little to me .

i don't need your help .

you stay here . they're trying to kill me .

nice to see you too , [ name ] .

did i do something to you in a past life ?

i hope you do have a heart , [ name ] . because someday i'd like to drive a stake through it .

your reputation precedes you .

i am hollow ! and i will live ... forever .

please , say you will not try again .

do not fear me ... everybody else fears me .

i was unprepared . it won't happen again .

do you understand forgiveness ?

i would rather die than help you .

don't be boring , everyone who says that always dies .

may he rest in peace .

how long has it been , 300 , 400 years ?

you don't remember , do you ?

what exactly is it i am to be remembering ?

it's no surprise you would know all about me .

we have such history , you and i .

have you ever wondered why you have such horrific nightmares ?

[ name ] , it's alright , i'm taking you home .

what , did you think we haven't tried everything before ?

no one knows how to kill [ name ] .

i could have used that information earlier .

would you like me to refresh your memory a little ?

allow me to ... reintroduce myself .

i think we've overstayed our welcome .

don't give me that look .

you were right . i'm sorry .

monster ? who's the monster here ? i have done nothing wrong !

look , there's still time .

you were right . i'm sorry .

do you have any family , [ name ] ?

if you value your lives , and the lives of your kin , you will kill me .

evil may have created it , may have left its mark on it , but evil does not rule it .

now you know why they call me a murderer .

oh my god ... you've been bitten .

so much trouble ... so much trouble .

now you will become that which you hunted so passionately . may others be as passionate in their hunting of you .

don't worry , god will forgive us .

how many commandments can we break in one day ?

oh my god , you should be terrified .

how does it feel to be a puppet on my string ?

neither of us has ever settled for half .

you make my skin crawl .

i'm not gonna like this , am i ?

one brief moment of pain , and we can be together forever .

you have no heartbeat .

you are nothing but damned bones , and damned souls .

well , that doesn't sound like a good thing .

we don't have a choice . just don't get killed .

you don't understand , it doesn't matter what happens to me .

god is not the only one that can create life .

you can't go until i say you can go , and i say you can go when you're dead !

you're supposed to die .

we are both part of the same great game , [ name ] , we just find ourselves on opposite sides of the board .

you are being used , [ name ] , as was i . but i escaped , so can you .

if you're going to kill someone , kill them . don't stand there talking about it .

all i want is life . the continuation of my kind .

some things are better left forgotten .

[ddejavvu]

jake with a shy!reader i feel like that man would be so down bad he’d be unrecognizable to his friends

Tailgating by the beach means sand in your hair (and everywhere else), a trash can full of beer bottles, and a whole lot of wipeouts. For most.

For you, it means Jake’s sweatshirt bunched up under your head like a pillow as your back rests against the metal grooves of his pickup’s bed. Your pinky is intertwined with the man’s own as you stargaze, avoiding the cloud of smoke billowing up from the bonfire.

“That one looks like an F-35.” He informs you, pointing at a constellation that is definitely not a fighter plane.

“I think that’s Draco.” You hum, “Not sure, though.”

Jake turns to you with a furrow in his brow, “That little shit from Harry Potter?”

“No!” You shriek, louder than you’re used to speaking. Jake has a way of making you forget your reservations, giving you the courage to speak up around him.

“It’s a constellation.” You quiet yourself, feeling Jake’s pinky tighten around yours. “I read that it was supposed to be in the sky tonight.”

“You read up on the stars?” Jake turns to you, propped on his side in the truck bed. It must be awful on his hips, but he does it anyways to gaze at your side profile.

You give him a front view, turning your head to stare back at him, “I didn’t do it on purpose, I just saw it on Instagram, I think. On someone’s story.”

He hums in acknowledgment, but neglects to return to stargazing. He’s yougazing now, his eyes tracing the curve from your chin to your cheek, then sloping down the bridge of your nose.

“Do you think-”

You’ll never know if you and Jake share thoughts on whatever matter is in his head, because a sudden thud against the mouth of the truck bed makes you startle, and Jake nearly breaks his neck sitting up to see who made the noise. You draw yourself upright but slower, more cautiously.

It’s one of his squadron members, you’ve seen the guy before in passing, but you don’t think he’s ever noticed you. He’s on the shorter side, and he’s quickly flanked by both Coyote and a taller, unknown counterpart.

“Hangman,” The short one snickers, “I was betting you were passed out somewhere with a bottle in your mouth, not schmoozing some poor woman in your truck.”

You’ve met Javy before, albeit briefly when you’d passed in the hallway of his and Jake’s shared apartment, and in the few terrifying seconds of confrontation your eyes stray over the man’s shoulder and meet Javy’s. He sends you a kind, sympathetic smile at the antics of his friend. You feel safe around him.

“What’s your name, honey?” The taller man leans over the side of the truck bed, a smirk on his face, “Last one was Brenda- no, Brianna.”

“Payback, that was months ago.” Javy snaps, and even though you know it’s true, Jake still looks guilty. He’d confessed in you that he wasn’t exactly a saint when it came to past relations, but all that mattered was the present for you; that you were the only one in it, and he’s stuck to that without a problem.

“I’m not schmoozing her, Fanboy.” Jake drawls, a vicious look in his eyes, “We were trying to have a private moment.”

Fanboy elbows Payback incredulously, shit-eating grins already on their faces, “Sex in a pickup! On the beach, in public. Jesus, man, there’s nothin’ you won’t do.”

“I won’t hesitate to break your nose if you don’t shut your mouth,” Jake seethes, and his free hand tenses into a fist even if he’s more bark than bite. Fanboy doesn't flinch, but Payback's smirk dims.

"Lay off, man." Coyote elbows Fanboy, "It's not like that."

"The only reason you've never met'er before is 'cause I knew you'd act like this," Jake scoffs, "Doesn't mean she's some cheap fling."

You desperately want to intervene, but you don't have the words to do it even if you tried. There's a thousand swirling in your brain, but there's a stopper in its drain to your mouth, a thick clog of panic.

"Well what is your name?" Payback repeats his question, more considerate this time. You're glad he seems to have dropped his bravado, even if you're not sure Fanboy has.

"Y/N," You manage to speak, glad that you know your own name well enough to utter it even when your brain doesn't cooperate. You don't say much else, though, and Javy fills in for your silence.

"She's Jake's girl," Javy smiles at you, happy to see his friend settling down, "She's not big on talking. Not to assholes like you, anyways."

"Well that's great," Fanboy's demeanor is much nicer when he's not goading his teammate, "'Cause Jake never shuts up. Sounds like a match made in heaven."

"I'm gonna send you to hell if you don't leave us alone," Jake glares pointedly at Fanboy in particular, but the expression is extended to Payback as well, "I wasn't kidding, we were having a conversation."

"That's our cue," Coyote informs the other two, who knew but weren't willing to give up their teasing leverage. He rings an arm each around their necks, bidding you a kind goodbye as he leads them away.

"Darlin'," Jake turns to you as soon as they're gone, like a guard dog that eases out of attack mode, "I'm so sorry. They don’t mean any harm, just- they seriously don't know when to quit, 'probably comes from bein' so aggressive in the air. I'm sorry they were so pushy."

"It's alright," You nod, "It's not your fault, Jake. I'm not angry, I just- I was a little embarrassed."

"I know," He hums sympathetically, leaning in to peck your lips, "I know baby. Listen, now they've met you, they'll probably back off. And if they don't, if you see 'em around somewhere and they try messin' with you, you let me know and I might accidentally fire on 'em in an exercise."

"I don't think you should murder your friends," You tamp down a smile at Jake's suggestion, because the last thing he needs is encouragement, "But I hope I don't see them when you're not around."

A hundred feet away, down on the smooth, wet sand of the shore, Coyote finally lets Payback and Fanboy go, shoving their heads down with the force of his grip around their necks.

"Ow, dude!" Fanboy gripes, but he deserves it the most, "If I'm gonna break my neck it's gonna be in the air, in some sick-ass stunt maneuver."

"Your sick ass needs to learn to shut up," Coyote scoffs, "He's serious about that girl, man! And I wouldn't be surprised if she was running for the hills now."

"C'mon, Coyote, we were just teasing," Payback pleads his case, but Coyote narrows his eyes.

"You can't tease her, not like that. Hell, the first time she ever came over I made a joke about wearing noise-cancelling headphones for them and she couldn't look me in the eye for weeks."

"The first time she came over," Payback's brow furrows, "He's been bringing her around your guys' place?"

"I told you he was serious," Coyote throws a glance back over to Jake's truck, where his hand is pointed in the air once more, "Know any other reason he'd be stargazing right now?"

Fanboy's face wrinkles in a confused grimace, "Stargazing? He's way too douchey for that."

"He's way too in love not to," Payback marvels, "Holy shit. That's- I can't process that, man, that's weird."

"Get used to it," Coyote takes a swig of his beer, "Y'know he's been lighting candles in our apartment for her? I mean, it's nice, 'cause it gets rid of his nasty laundry smell, but candles. Hangman, candles!"

Fanboy rears his head back, "What scent?"

"Lavender."

"Lavender?"

"I know!"

[shiraoyagi]

hot take ??

the only reason people say that "mafuyu and tsukasa have nothing in common" when presented with mafukasa parallels is because they equate mafuyu and tsukasa being similar to "tsukasa has depression" because the fandom equates mafuyu's personality to being depressed and nothing else.

it doesn't help that people (primarily younger people in the fandom) who DO believe in mafukasa parallels end up making the mistake of portraying tsukasa as depressed because as of right now he is not (although it's possible he was in past because of his Very Unclear Middle School Backstory but that's irrelevant)

anyways, mafuyu and tsukasa are narrative foils because their core personalities are built off of the concept of wanting to make the people around them— especially their families— happy.

they both developed personalities at a young age based on someone they looked up to. for tsukasa, it was seiichi amami's performance that inspired him to be a star— a hero that could cheer anyone up. for mafuyu, it was her mother taking care of her that inspired her to be a nurse— and you can see the similarities from there.

for mafuyu, her identity would first come into conflict when her mother expressed her want for mafuyu to be a doctor— suddenly, "everyone's" happiness didn't match what she wanted to do, leaving her in a state of disorder and eventual depression.

for tsukasa, his identity was something he nearly forgot in its entirety at the start of the main story— becoming arrogant and fully absorbed in a hero persona, forgetting the kind person he truly is. furthermore, his current character arc seems to be foreshadowing that what "being a star" to him is going to be called into question— maybe it is something more than just being the main character that saves everyone.

their insecurities are incredibly similar.

in mafuyu's first mixed, mafuyu feels insecure towards ichika because unlike ichika, she feels as if her lyrics have no genuine meaning to be expressed to other people— despite them being her very real feelings. this is brought up again in her second mixed as well.

in tsukasa's third focus event, something similar happens. when watching seiichi's performance, he thinks that his acting is "real" and feels inferior towards him, which is ironic because tsukasa has been method acting this whole time. when tsukasa is acting out rio or bartlett or really anyone at this point in the story, it's not just those characters— it's a reflection of his traumas.

just like mafuyu, tsukasa undermines his passions he's poured his feelings into because someone else's work is more genuine in his eyes.

now, then, foils have many similarities and parallels (and i could honestly list a lot more), but how i define them is that they usually have some kind of major branching difference that MAKES them foils.

for mafuyu and tsukasa it's pretty straightforward.

mafuyu's people pleasing behavior comes from external expectations and pressures— her mother's demands.

tsukasa's people pleasing behavior comes internally, from himself— if he can't meet his own standards, if he can't be the perfect big brother or the perfect star, then he is nothing.

and even then, there's some overlap.

tsukasa's behavior was indirectly encouraged by his mother praising him for being a "good big brother" over the phone instead of asking him if he was okay while home alone.

mafuyu's terrified to be herself around other people because she doesn't want to worry or bother them— she doesn't want to be a burden— and projects her mother's expectations onto them, not realizing that they would prefer the real mafuyu if they knew the truth.

and the concept of mafukasa being foils is most perfectly and blatantly portrayed in these two cards.

mafuyu, the marionette, sitting limp on the floor— puppeteered by her mother's demands and donning a mask to hide her true self.

tsukasa, the jester, standing above everything else— puppeteering silenced plushies— his feelings. he's not being completely honest with himself, and he doesn't even realize it.

mafuyu has cut her strings and ripped her mask in half. she has acknowledged her true feelings and expressed them to her mother, even if she had to run away in the end.

tsukasa has not yet cut his.

[p0orbaby]

I’d Rather Go Blind Than Let You Down

summary: the baby is here, that should calm leah down, right? right?

warnings: hospital setting

a/n: someone asked for some more panicky leah so here it is. first part here but you don’t need to read it if you don’t want to

word count: 1.3k

-

It’s a boy. A boy. Your boy. You can hardly wrap your head around it, the reality of him. He’s only been in the world for forty minutes, and already it feels like he’s upended every law of physics. Six pounds and change, but impossibly heavy in the way he roots you to the earth, demanding you stay present, stay still, stay here. His hair is a downy mess of dark brown fluff, sticking up in little uneven tufts that remind you of how Leah’s fringe used to look after her under-12s matches: matted and wild, all effort and energy. His hands—God, his hands—are the size of fifty-pence pieces, delicate and wrinkled, each finger curled tightly into its own little fist. He’s perfect. Absolutely, inexplicably perfect. And you’re completely terrified.

The hospital room smells like cheap soap and distant disinfectant, undercut by the faint, sticky sweetness of some long-spilled juice no one bothered to properly clean. It’s a symphony of beige: beige walls, beige curtains, beige linoleum. Even the bed looks beige, although it’s probably just worn white, like an old t-shirt washed too many times. Somewhere in the hallway, someone’s shoes squeak with rhythmic persistence, and you vaguely wonder if they’re pacing, as you had earlier, wearing an accidental track into the polished floor.

Leah is sitting in the uncomfortable armchair by the bed, which is upholstered in that scratchy material designed to withstand decades of spills and bad decisions. Her elbows rest on her knees, her fingers steepled against her lips in a half-prayer, half-facepalm, as if she’s mid-negotiation with some higher power. She hasn’t spoken much since the baby was born. Not because she doesn’t want to, you think, but because the enormity of it all has rendered her mute. She looks pale, unsteady, as if someone has shaken her up like a bottle of fizzy water and forgotten to twist the cap back on properly.

The baby makes a soft, snuffling noise against your chest, pulling her attention like a magnet. Her gaze darts to him and then flicks away just as quickly, as if looking directly at him for too long might somehow blind her. She hasn’t held him yet. She hasn’t even really touched him, save for one trembling fingertip brushed against his impossibly tiny foot when the midwife first handed him to you. It wasn’t avoidance, not exactly. More like reverence. Or fear. Maybe both.

You’re exhausted in a way that doesn’t feel real, like your body’s moving on autopilot while your brain drifts somewhere between sleep and shock. Your limbs are heavy, molten, but there’s also an odd lightness to you, a weightless, dizzying awe at what you’ve just done. You gave birth. You. You. Somehow, you survived it—hours of pain, pushing, panting, the raw animalistic chaos of it—and now you’re here, holding this impossibly small, impossibly fragile life in your arms. You’re not sure how you’re even still upright, let alone conscious.

“Do you want to hold him?” you ask, your voice soft, careful, as if you’re coaxing a wild animal out of the brush.

Leah’s head snaps up, her eyes wide and glassy, like a deer caught in headlights. “Hold him?” she echoes, her voice shaky and high-pitched. “Me?

“Yes, you. Who else?”

She blinks, her hands flexing and unflexing against her knees like they’re warming up for a solo on Britain’s Got Talent. “I… I don’t know if that’s a good idea”

“Leah, he’s your son”

“I know,” she says quickly, her voice climbing into that higher, defensive register that comes out when she’s trying to convince herself more than you. “I know he’s my son. But he’s just so… small. And… fragile. What if I—”

“You’re not going to drop him”

“I might!” she says, alarmed by her own hypothetical. “I might drop him. Or…or hold him wrong. What if I hold him wrong and, like, dislocate something? Babies are delicate! Like…like soufflés”

You blink at her. “Did you just compare our child to a soufflé?”

She shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know! I’m just saying, I’m not exactly… maternal, am I? I’m not one of those people who looks at a baby and just… knows what to do. I’m more of a… ‘panic and Google it’ kind of person”

“That’s fine,” you say, adjusting the baby slightly in your arms as he makes a soft, snuffling noise. “Most parents are ‘panic and Google it’ people. It’s basically the default”

Leah doesn’t look convinced. She’s rubbing her hands together now, the way she does before a big match, but this isn’t a match. There’s no referee, no whistle, no rules, no second leg if she screws this up. Her gaze darts back to the baby, then to you, then back to the baby, like she’s trying to memorise the mechanics of holding him without actually doing it.

“What if I’m terrible at this?” she blurts out suddenly, the words spilling out of her in a rush. “What if I’m a terrible mum and he grows up hating me and we end up one of those families where no one talks and we all just sit around at Christmas in complete silence, eating dry turkey and resenting each other?”

You stare at her. “That’s… a very specific fear”

She shrugs, her leg bouncing up and down anxiously. “I’ve seen it happen”

“Leah, you’re not going to be a terrible mum”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know you. And you love him. That’s pretty much the most important part”

She frowns, her brow furrowed like she’s still not quite buying it. “Love’s not enough. Love doesn’t teach you how to… to… change nappies or… or know what all the different cries mean”

“Love doesn’t teach you that,” you agree, “but practice does. And you’ll get there. We both will”

Leah’s eyes flick back to the baby, who has now fallen into a soft, twitchy sleep against your chest. Her expression softens slightly, but the fear is still there, a tightness around her mouth, a tension in her shoulders.

“What if he doesn’t like me?” she asks quietly.

You laugh, soft and disbelieving. “He’s a newborn, Leah. His likes and dislikes are limited to ‘milk’ and ‘not-milk.’ He’s not going to sit there judging your personality”

She doesn’t laugh. If anything, she looks even more stricken, like she’s just realised she might have to win over this tiny person who doesn’t even have fully developed motor skills yet.

You sigh, reaching out to take her hand. “Leah, listen to me. You’re not going to drop him. You’re not going to dislocate anything. And you’re definitely not going to ruin Christmas twenty years from now. You’re going to be great. I promise”

She hesitates, her fingers curling slightly around yours. “What if I mess up?”

“You will,” you say simply. “We both will. That’s part of it. But messing up doesn’t mean failing. It just means you’re trying”

For a moment, she just looks at you, her eyes searching yours for something—reassurance, absolution, a manual for parenthood that doesn’t exist. Then, slowly, she nods. It’s not a confident nod, not by any stretch, but it’s a start.

“Okay,” she says quietly. “I’ll try.”

You smile, holding out the baby toward her. “Then take him”

She hesitates for one last second before leaning forward, her hands trembling slightly as she takes the baby from you. She holds him like he’s made of glass, her arms stiff and awkward, but she’s holding him. She’s doing it.

And then the baby lets out a tiny, contented sigh, and Leah freezes, staring down at him like she’s just witnessed a miracle.

“He…he’s so… little,” she whispers, her voice filled with something like awe. “And warm. Why’s he so warm?”

“Because he’s a baby, not a lizard”

Leah lets out a soft, breathless laugh, her eyes never leaving the baby’s face. For the first time all night, she looks calm. Not completely, but enough. Enough to believe, maybe just for a moment, that she can do this.

That you can do this. Together.

[redvexillum]

Of course, anonnie! This is flufftober after all. I would like to dedicate this story to my wife @nyx-umbrakinesis, my poor nyxy has been feeling unwell. Here's to all the readers battling chronic pain - Alastor will hug it all better!

Pain coursed through every fibre of your being, muscles burning and twitching as they stretched and strained beyond endurance. Each breath was a test of your will, your jaw clenched tightly that the insides of your cheeks ached. The tremors that wracked your body were almost too much to bear, and you wondered, as you always did, if this was your eternal punishment.  

Hell was your new home, but to be condemned to carry the same human frailties, the same agonizing ailments that followed to the grave? It was almost too cruel, yet, fitting for where you were. 

Perhaps even God had abandoned you. You weren’t just damned – you were forgotten, left to rot with the relentless pain that burrowed deep into your bones, a ceaseless torment that whispered you deserve this.  

Some days, you could push through it, the ache a dull roar in the background of your suffering. But today? Today it was unbearable, a storm of agony that left you feeling raw, broken and utterly lost.  

Your eyes flickered toward Alastor, who stood across the room, his ever-present grin almost sharp, as if it hid the grimace of someone witnessing something distasteful. He adjusted his bow tie with a haughty scoff, and for a brief moment, you swore you saw something flicker in his eyes – a glimmer of impatience, perhaps, or even frustration. You couldn’t be sure.  

Still, you forced a smile. It was all you could offer him, even if the effort to do so made your body scream in protest. Alastor had been your saving grace when you first arrived in this forsaken place – lost, terrified, and utterly alone. Like a fragile, starving kitten, you had been desperate for shelter, and he had taken you in. You had never quite understood why, but you hadn’t dared question it.  

Now, your fingers absently played with the silk scarf around your neck, its vivid red a stark contrast against the dim, oppressive atmosphere of Hell. It was one of the many gifts Alastor had given you over time, though you never felt deserving of them.  

He had always showered you with such extravagance, his gestures grand and unapologetically bold, as though he were trying to fill the empty spaces inside you that the pain had carved out.  

 You were just a mere assistant to Alastor, though his enemies would disagree and call you his pet. Perhaps, in a way, they were right. You were always there, just a step behind him, tending to his whims, assisting with his daily tasks, ensuring you were never far from his side. You didn’t care what you were in Alastor’s or anyone’s eyes. It was the happiest you had ever been – in life and death.  

Chronic pain had been your constant companion, dragging you into a void of loneliness so deep it became an invisible wound, festering beneath the surface until it felt like it would swallow you whole. No one had ever seen it, no one had ever cared to notice the quiet suffering that gnawed at your very being.  

Until Alastor.  

He was Hell’s most feared Overlord, his power, and reputation, enough to make even demons tremble. But to you, he was something else entirely – something inexplicably special. He was the only one who had ever been able to stop that wound from consuming you completely, as though his very presence cauterized the edges of your loneliness and dulled the pain that tormented your body, keeping them from spreading further.  

“Can you believe it?” Alastor’s voice broke through your thoughts, his tone dripping with exaggerated disdain as he fiddled with his bow tie for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. “I swear, who would've guessed being an Overlord is nothing more than babysitting fools!” He sniffed, his ears twitching flat before springing upright again in irritation.  

You managed a soft laugh, though it felt weaker than usual. The first wave of pain hit, sharp and persistent, but you didn’t let it show. You couldn’t. If you continued to burden him too much, if you became too much of a hassle, he might leave you – just like everyone else had. That thought terrified you more than the pain itself.  

Your steps were uneven as you moved to pick up Alastor’s pinstriped coat, every motion sending a fresh jolt of agony through your body. But you swallowed it down, took a deep breath, and forced yourself to smile. You had learned how to reign in the pain, to push it down until you were alone, where it couldn’t burden anyone but yourself. If you could just keep it together until he left, then you could handle it on your own.  

You always did.  

“Here you go, Alastor,” you said, your voice gentle as you held up his coat with a bright, cheerful smile that felt more like a mask. “Maybe today won’t be so bad.” You beamed, pushing the brightness of your smile to its limit. “Oh! I could also stop by your favourite butcher shop while you’re out, pick up some of your favourite cuts for you!” 

Alastor sighed, a wistful sound, as if indulging in a well-worn ritual. He raised his arms, allowing you to slip the coat over his shoulders, your movements slow and careful despite the pain gnawing at your every joint. “You truly are, my sweet darling,” he murmured, his voice soft as he straightened the coat, then brushed back his bangs and adjusted his monocle with that same practised grace.  

You giggled, the sound light and teasing as you watched him preen, admiring his own reflection. “Alastor, you look perfect,” you said, your tone warm, the smile on your face genuine for a fleeting moment as you saw his tail twitch beneath the back of his coat. He’d always told you it was an involuntary ailment of some sort, something you shouldn’t worry about, but you found it endearing all the same.  

But even as you laughed and shared in that small moment, the pain remained – a shadow lurking beneath your skin, waiting for the moment you could finally let it show. You were determined, though.  

You would never let it burden him.  

Not Alastor.  

He was too important, too precious to risk losing.  

Sweat clung to your skin, rolling down your temples as the pain intensified, pressing on your chest like a crushing weight. Each breath you took felt like dragging air through shattered lungs, but you forced yourself to smile, as you always did, your hands clasped together in a mockery of prayer.  

But this prayer wasn’t to God. No, you prayed to Satan, to Hell itself – please, just let you hold out until Alastor left. The physical agony was nothing compared to the thought of being abandoned again, swallowed by the suffocating emptiness of your own solitude.  

Alastor’s sigh, deep and exasperated, cut through the haze of your pain. He turned toward you sharply, his eyes narrowing, and your entire body tensed in response. You straightened up, biting back the tremors that threatened to ripple through you, squeezing your hands together so hard your knuckles turned white.  

He cocked his head, studying you, his sharp eyes seeming to pierce right through the mask you wore.  

“Are you in pain, darling?” 

The question sent a chill down your spine. Your heart lurched, and for a moment, it felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. Fear gripped you, cold and relentless.  

For you knew, no one wanted to deal with someone else’s burden. You had learned that the hard way, over and over again. Every time someone asked you that question, you saw it – their faces, vivid in your mind’s eye.  

Faces twisted in frustration, exasperation, and annoyance.  

Faces that silently screamed, why won’t you just get better? Why won’t you go away?

Faces that turned cold and indifferent, backs turned as they walked away, leaving you behind, hoping you would simply disappear – too much trouble, too much of a drain on their time, energy, resources.  

It had always been the same.  

Always.  

But with Alastor, it was different. For the first time, you felt needed.  

You felt wanted.  

When the pain became too much, he would hold you, comfort you. But how many times? How many times could he bear your weakness before he decided you weren’t worth the effort? Alastor loathed babysitting fools, and you feared becoming just that – a burden he’d eventually grow tired of carrying.  

Desperation clawed at your throat as you forced out a laugh, the sound far too bright, too strained. “I-I’m not in pain, Alastor,” you stammered, but even as your words left your lips, your voice betrayed you, trembling and unsteady.  

You tried to shake your head, but the movement threw your balance, and you stumbled, nearly collapsing under the weight of your own failing body. Shame burned deep inside you. Oh, how you despised this weakness, this cursed body that refused to let you be anything other than fragile and broken. You would give anything – anything – to be strong, to be whole... 

To not be a burden.  

“A-aren’t you going to be late?” you pushed, your voice a little too eager, too desperate to change the subject. “The other Overlords, they always kick up a fuss when you miss their meetings...” 

But Alastor wasn’t fooled. His eyes narrowed further, dark and calculating, and he bent low until his gaze was level with yours. His red, clawed hands reached out, and you flinched despite yourself.  

He gripped your cheeks, squeezing just enough that your lips puckered together like a fish, his eyes scanning your face as if searching for some hidden truth. He turned your head from side to side, examining you as though you were a fragile specimen he didn’t quite understand.  

“Darling,” he sighed, letting go of your face at last, though the weight of his scrutiny lingered. He began to shrug off his jacket, the smooth fabric whispering against his skin as it slid to the floor. “I’ve told you many times before,” his voice softened, but there was a warning there, sharp as the claws he extended, “if you’re in pain, you are to let me know immediately.” 

His words were firm, but they stirred a new kind of fear inside you. The fear of how far you could push him before he finally grew tired of you. Before he saw you for what you truly were – an unbearable, broken thing.  

Guilt, thick and suffocating, clung to you like a weight you continued to bear. The apology burned on your tongue, heavy with the knowledge that there was nothing Alastor could do to fix your pain. “It’s not bad, really,” you murmured, but the words fell flat between you. It was too late. Alastor’s fingers wrapped firmly around your hand, pulling you deeper into his room, into the place he had made for you.  

He had brought a bed into his room, just for you – a place to rest, though he himself barely needed sleep, if at all. The gesture alone was enough to send a pang of guilt straight through your heart, sharper than the pain that gripped your body.  

Gently, he guided you to sit, and then, with an almost reverent care, he pushed at your shoulder, coaxing you to lay down. You obeyed, but the guilt gnawed at you like a beast with insatiable hunger, tearing at the edges of your mind.  

When Alastor finally laid beside you, he opened his arms wide, a signal that had become a private ritual between the two of you – an unspoken invitation for comfort when the pain became too much.  

Hesitantly, shyly, you inched toward him, slowly closing the distance until your face pressed against his chest, the warmth of his body enveloping you as his arms wrapped around you with a tenderness you didn’t deserve.  

It felt...safe. Too safe.

Too good to be true.  

His arms wrapped around you, holding you as if he would never let go. And yet, as comforting as it was, every ounce of gratitude you felt began to sour, twisting into a cold knot of fear deep inside.  

Until when? 

How long could this last? 

How many times would he hold you, rearrange his life around your fragility, before the day came when it was all too much? 

Tears burned in your eyes, but you fought them back. You refused to cry. Not again. Not when this ritual – this twisted dance of comfort and guilt – only deepened your fears, choking the breath from you in ways the pain never could.  

Each time he held you, each time you ruined his plans, each time you dared to hope that maybe this could last forever, it only hurt more. The guilt, the fear, the shame – it stole the air from your lungs, hollowed you out from the inside.  

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice trembling as your body began to shiver uncontrollably. “I’m so sorry,” you whimpered again, squeezing your eyes shot, biting your lips until you tasted the faint tang of blood.  

You wouldn’t cry. You couldn’t. It was your fault his day was ruined once more, your fault you couldn’t be stronger... 

... your fault that you couldn’t...just get better.  

“Come now, darling,” Alastor’s voice cut through the suffocating silence, still bright, still full of that eerie, unsettling joy. “If anything, I should be the one apologizing! How unfortunate for you to have to endure such a pesky illness. But fear not!” His cheek pressed against the top of your head, nuzzling you with a comforting affection. “I’m sure we’ll find a cure soon!” 

A cure. You’d given up on that a long time ago. The hope of it had dried up, shrivelled into dust. But you couldn’t bear to let him see that.  

So, you did what you always did – you played along, forcing yourself to believe in his boundless confidence.  

“Really?” your voice trembled, the unshed tears making it sound fragile, like it could break at any moment. “If you say so...it must be true.” 

Alastor hummed in response, pleased, his grip tightening around you as if he could squeeze away the pain with sheer will. The silence that followed was thick but not oppressive, filled only by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear, his breathing slow and calm – a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. For a moment, the world seemed to quiet, and the storm inside you stilled, if only just.  

Your fingers absentmindedly played with the fabric of his shirt, tracing the smooth lines, grounding yourself in his presence. You breathed in deeply, the scent of him, a heady mix of something rich and dark – filling your lungs. The warmth of his body seeped into you, thawing the ice that had long encased your lonely heart.  

And yet, even in the safety of his arms, that question remained.  

Until when? 

“Alastor...if you ever get tired of me,” your voice wavered, barely more than a whisper as you clung to him, “y-you’d tell me, right?” 

He sighed, not in frustration, but in that tired, familiar way, his fingers tangling themselves in your hair as he pulled you tighter against his chest. “Darling, this again?” his tone was weary, but there was no malice in it, only the weight of a conversation you’d had too many times before.  

This was your ritual – one that had repeated itself so many times it was etched into both of you. When the pain came, he held you like this, his arms wrapped around you as if to shield you from the world. He’d talk of a future free from agony, and you’d ask him – beg him – to promise, to swear, that he’d tell you if he ever grew tired of you.  

You needed him to know he wasn’t trapped, that you weren’t a cage, a burden he had to carry. He was free – free to walk away whenever he wished because as much as the thought of being left alone terrified you, the idea of being a source of misery for him was worse than any pain you could endure.  

“You would, right?” The words came out a little firmer this time, a desperate need to hear the reassurance in his voice, to quiet the gnawing fear in your chest. You closed your eyes, trying to capture this moment in your mind – his warmth, his touch – before it could slip away like a fading dream.  

“I’m quite fond of our little routine, you know,” Alastor replied, his voice light, teasing, but not without affection. His arms held you firmly, one hand wrapped around your waist while the other played with your hair, his fingers moving from your scalp down to the nape of your neck.  

Slowly, gently, they traced the curve of your spine, dragging downwards in a soft soothing stroke. Each caress felt like a whispered promise, his touch tender, calming. 

You let out a shaky breath, shivering slightly as you pressed yourself closer to him, craving the comfort his touch brought. There was something hypnotic about the way his fingers glided down your back, a rhythmic motion that grounded you, as if he were coaxing the pain out of you with each gentle stroke.  

“Who would brew the perfect cup of coffee for me every morning?” Alastor mused, his lips brushing against the top of your head as he inhaled deeply, savouring the moment. His fingers continued their steady, soothing dance along your back. “Who would accompany me on strolls through town, eagerly listening to me about all the latest gossip with such captivating eyes?” He chuckled, his chest vibrating pleasantly beneath your ear, a sound that brought warmth to your aching soul. “And who else would help me decorate my office every Tuesday?” His tone was light, almost playful.  

The last comment pulled a soft laugh from you, a small, involuntary snort escaping your lips. The sound was weak, but genuine, and your arms, trembling from pain, from insecurity, finally wrapped around his waist.  

You hugged him back, a little tighter this time, allowing yourself to melt into the comfort of his embrace. The pain, which had been a constant storm raging through your body, faded into a distant rumble, no longer the monster it once was.  

“Decorating, huh?” you murmured, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “You mean moving everything just slightly to the left, or right?” 

“Decorating,” he confirmed with absolute certainty, his voice dripping with confidence, as though no one in Hell could convince him otherwise. 

You let out another quiet laugh, burying your face into his chest, letting the warmth of him wash over you. His fingers continued their steady path up and down your spine, each touch as soft and delicate as a kiss.  

It was moments like this that made the pain bearable, moments when it was just the two of you – safe, together, and for just a little while, the world outside couldn’t touch you, pain couldn't touch you.  

A soft trembling laugh escaped your lips, and in that instant, Alastor’s breath hitched, his arms finally pulling you closer with a firm unyielding embrace. It was as if he were afraid you might slip away, and you could feel the tension, the raw emotion behind his usual calm demeanour.  

His grip was not just protective – it was possessive, as though the very thought of you leaving was intolerable.  

“I don’t very much like change, darling,” Alastor murmured, his voice low, soothing, but laced with an intensity that made your heart clench. His touch, strong yet gentle, was a reassurance, his fingers tracing patterns along your back, grounding you at the moment. “And you,” he continued, with absolute certainty, “are very much a permanent fixture in my life.” 

You opened your mouth, starting to protest, to voice your ever-lingering doubts. “Alas-” 

But he interrupted, his hand coming up to cup your chin, tilting your face upward so you could meet his gaze. His crimson eyes, sharp and burning with an almost predatory focus, locked onto yours, filling your vision entirely.  

“If you ever wanted to leave me, darling, you should’ve ran away the moment you had crossed my path,” he said softly, his voice a whisper of velvet that held a darker undertone. The hand on your chin was tender, but his grip on you was firm, keeping you close, tethering you to him.  

His forehead rested gently against yours, his breath mingling with your own, and his eyes – oh, his eyes – burned into yours, leaving no room to escape. “You should’ve left before you decided to invade my routine, my space...” His words trailed off, quieter now, as if they held secrets meant only for you. “My mind,” he finished, his grin curling at the edges, tightening with unspoken emotions that he rarely revealed.  

There was a deeper meaning hidden in his words, one you didn’t need him to spell out. You could hear it, feel it, as clearly as if he had shouted it. You were his, entwined into the very fabric of his existence, and he had no intention of letting you go.  

A single tear slipped down your cheek, a reflection of the overwhelming emotions bubbling within you. Despite the heaviness of it all, you smiled – a bright, genuine smile. “I want to stay with you,” your voice trembled, your desire so familiar, so fragile, as if revealing the very truth that hid in your heart would somehow shatter the delicate balance between you two. “Even if I don’t get better, is it alright,” another tear rolled down your cheek as if expelling the painful memories of your past, “to still stay with you?” 

And as always, as you’d heard countless times before, the answer you longed for came, steady and unwavering, grounding you in its certainty.  

“Always.” The word slipped from his lips, firm yet soft, sinking into the depths of your heart and settling there like a balm to every wound you carried. He closed his eyes, his head dipping to rest in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “Always, darling,” he whispered again, his arms wrapping even tighter around you, as though he feared you’d disappear if he ever let go.  

And at that moment, as you lay in his arms, the doubt that had haunted you for so long finally quieted. Because for as long as he whispered those words, for as long as his grip remained steady, you knew this – this bond – would never fade.  

Follow #vexitober 2024 to read my questionable kink/fluff stories!

[python333]

your writing is literally the best in the cod fandom. we need more injured reader angst. it's too good

don't breathe — python333

— — — —

synopsis [reader] gets buried alive after refusing to give intel to enemy soldiers and *slips up and writes reader almost dying again* oops how did that happen haha

relationships platonic!price & gn!reader.

characters cap. john price.

word count 2.7k

warnings suffocation [reader], just generally really depressing thoughts, near death??, 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note aww tysm :(( dont say its the best im gonna get a complex LMAO but i appreciate it!! and yes i agree injured reader angst ftw :3 i present to you: reader gets very injured and theres a lot of angst and its basically just you suffering for a good 3/4 of the fic while the last quarter has the actual comfort!

“Hello?” You try again, your voice cracking and your tone as desperate as it can get, “Please, God, say someone can hear me.” 

You’ve been trapped in a casket for about five minutes now—at least, you woke up five minutes ago. God knows how long you’ve been stuck in the stupid thing, but realistically, it’s probably been much longer than five minutes.

The last thing you remember from before you were buried is being in the interrogation room of some small terrorist group’s facility, one you and the others were led to believe was abandoned weeks ago. 

Unfortunately, whoever gave you the information must’ve either had incredibly outdated information or was setting you all up for failure, because the facility was very much not abandoned and was instead full of enemy soldiers.

You all had already gotten into the building before you knew that, because of course you all had to be in the same spot at the same time—practically sitting ducks for the enemy—and of course you all had to be clueless about the possibly hundreds of people in the facility until it was too late. 

As far as you know, everyone managed to escape. Everyone but you. They didn’t mean to leave you behind, of course they didn’t, they were more focused on just booking it out of the facility. However, because of that, you were now stuck—you assume—several feet underground in a casket that has a limited amount of oxygen that drops every time you take a breath. 

You let out the breath you’re currently holding and suck in another deep breath, holding it as you think. Your strategy of holding your breath until you no longer could mostly worked, but it wouldn’t for long, you knew that soon you’d suffocate in all of the carbon dioxide gathering in the enclosed casket.

You don’t know how long you’d been unconscious in the casket, breathing in oxygen carelessly in your slumber, which made the whole situation worse. You didn’t even know how much time you had left. 

You hate to waste your breath checking your comms, but the enemy soldiers had accidentally left your earpiece in your ear—the small device apparently going undetected under their radar—and you wanted to make the most of it. You move your arm from your side and press onto the PTT button on your earpiece, wincing a little at how cramped the casket was.

“Does anybody copy?” You ask again, staring up at the almost pitch black space above you, “I repeat, does anybody copy?” 

It’s a vain attempt at contacting your team, really. You don’t know if they’re thinking about you, if the signal is going through, if they even have their earpieces on—you know nothing, and that terrifies you because you really don’t want to die right now but there’s literally nothing else you can do besides helplessly talk into your earpiece, not knowing if anyone’s listening. 

Your lungs start to burn and you let out the breath you were holding, taking another deep breath and beginning to hold that one. The air feels… thick. It’s starting to get harder to breathe, and you know you shouldn’t panic but you can’t help the few worried thoughts that come to the forefront of your mind. 

What am I going to do when I run out of oxygen and the only thing left for me to breathe in are my own discarded breaths? What will I do when all there is to do is suffocate? Am I going to try, in one last desperate attempt, to break out of the casket, or am I going to just lay here and die? Will my team try to find me, or will they forget about me? Have they already forgotten about me? 

Before you can listen to any more of those depressing thoughts, a voice comes from your earpiece. 

“H—lo? [c/n]?” It’s hard to tell with the static and the cuts in between the words, but you think it’s Price talking. 

“Price?” You ask immediately, all thoughts of preserving your breath forgotten. “Holy shit, you can hear me?” 

“Je—s— whe—e—” He cuts out for a moment and your stomach drops when all you can hear is static for a moment. 

“You’re— You’re cutting out, Captain, what did you say?” 

“Wher— —re you?” It takes you a moment to realize what he’s saying, your mind working much slower than it usually does, but once you do you shake your head negatively despite him not being there to see you. 

“I don’t— I don’t know,” You respond, taking a deep breath before adding on, “I think I’m underground, I just know I’m in a casket and it’s getting harder to breathe and—” 

“Okay, o—y,” You hear Price’s voice crackle, his voice becoming more distant and sounding almost muffled to you, “Sa— —ur bre—th, I’ll try to g—t some—e to track your— —tion.” 

With the constant cutting out of his words and the distortion of his tone, you can barely register or process what he’s saying, and that only panics you more but you refuse to let your emotions get the better of you even in the state of disorientation you’re in, so you keep holding your breath. 

A minute later, Price’s voice crackles through your earpiece again. 

“Okay, we’ve got your loc—tion,” Price’s voice sounds… oddly far away, “We can—” 

His voice slowly becomes muffled, and you release the breath you were holding without realizing it, slowly blinking up at the ceiling of the casket. A sort of haze falls over your mind and you can barely even hear Price anymore before you suddenly snap back to reality and hear his now much clearer voice loud in your ear. 

“[c/n]? [c/n], are you still there?” You recognize his tone now, and you’re just a little shocked at the sheer amount of worry in it. 

“Haven’t moved an inch,” You breathe out, before lying, “You cut out for a second for me, sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry, it’s okay,” Price reassures you, “I said we got your loc—tion and we’re hea—g out th— —w. It’s not t— far away from where —e alre—dy are, we’re ba—ely three clicks away.” 

“… Clicks?” You ask, your eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

“Yes, clicks,” Price replies, sounding concerned, before hesitantly asking, “… You know what those are, right?” 

“I don’t—” You struggle to find words for a moment before you speak again, your own voice starting to sound distant, “I don’t think so?”

“What do y—u mean you don’t thi— —o?” Price asks, his voice sounding freakishly close, “Are you okay?” 

“No, yeah, I’m fine,” You lie through your teeth, not wanting to worry Price further, “I just… how far away are you?” 

“Just ab—t two cli—ks now,” Price says, before pausing and clarifying, “Two kilometers.” 

Two kilometers… how far is that? “And that’s… is that far, or?” 

“No, it’s not too far. It’s just a mi—te away, we didn’t ge— —o far before Laswell got your loc—tion,” Price tells you, “We’ll be there soon, ok—y? We’ll get y— —ut of there.” 

“A minute—” You cough and feel tears pricking at your eyes from how hard it is to take another breath, “A minute?” 

“Yes, a minute— [c/n], are you okay?” Price asks again, before laughing nervously, “You know what a minute is, do— —ou?” 

“...” You struggle to answer the question, thinking long and hard for a few seconds before hesitantly answering, “… Yeah, I do, sorry. It’s sixty seconds.” 

“Why’d it take you so long to answer?” 

“I don’t know, I’m sorry, I—” You take a few shallow breaths, and feel a headache start to build up, “How far away are you guys?” 

“We’re alm—t there,” Price promises you, “The heli’s ab—t to l—nd, and we’ll dig you up, and—” 

Why is it so cold? Price’s voice cuts off and when he stops talking you realize that you’re shivering. You ball your fists up and can’t even feel your nails digging into your palms, your hands having gone numb from the cold, and realizing that makes you discover that your lips feel numb too. 

Your ears start to ring and you feel that uncomfortable pins and needles feeling in your hands, the sensation slowly traveling up your arms, making you both wanting to peel off your own skin and also grateful that you can at least feel something besides the cold.

In the midst of your thinking, you hear muffled thumping coming from above you—whoever buried you couldn’t have buried you anything below six feet. 

“—llo? [c/n]? Are you still there?” 

You bring your hand up, the movement slow and sluggish, and you try to search around the side of your face for your earpiece. You eventually find it and when you do you press against it until you feel the PTT button being pushed. 

“Still here,” You confirm breathlessly, coughing again as you take a few more shallow breaths, “I think I’m running out of— of… what’s the fuckin’ air that you can breath in, it starts with an o…” 

“… Oxygen?”

“Oxygen, yeah,” You slowly blink up at the ceiling of the casket, “There’s— I think— I don’t… I think… I think I’m gonna pass out, Captain.” 

“[c/n], don’t you fucking dare,” Price growls, “You stay awake, I swear to fucking god.” 

“I can’t—” You take a few more shallow breaths, before coughing, the tears escaping your eyes reaching the corners of your mouth. 

You can hear Price briefly talk with someone else, his voice the most serious you’ve ever heard it, before he talks directly to you again, “How much longer do you think you have before you run out of oxygen?” 

It takes you a moment to register the question, but when you do, you answer, “Uh… I don’t— I think… maybe a few more minutes? I can’t tell, it’s just hard to breathe, I can’t…” 

“Okay, okay,” Price softly says, gusts of wind blowing into his mic as he talks, “Give me a second, okay? We’re almost there, kid, we’ll— we’ll be there in just a minute, we just passed over you, I just need you to stay awake.” 

“In a minute,” You repeat to yourself, before taking a deep breath, hoping that you have enough oxygen to make it out of this casket because you really don’t want to die here, not when there’s help just a minute away. 

After what you assume is a minute or two, instead of thumping, you hear something cut into the dirt above you. The sound, however, is heavily muffled, so muffled to the point where you don’t know if you’re hallucinating or not.

Is that a symptom of CO2 poisoning? Hallucinations? You lay still in the casket and can’t help but release the breath you’d only just taken, the ringing in your ears starting up again and growing louder faster than they had before. 

Your entire body is numb, your chest is heavy, and you can feel a sort of fog fall over your mind. You can distantly hear Price yelling through your earpiece, but you can’t find it in yourself to respond, instead simply laying there, your blinking starting to slow down before it eventually stops, leaving your eyes closed. 

— 

For a moment, you think you died and went to heaven, which would be weird, considering all the things you’ve done in your life. Not saying you’d go to hell, just saying God would probably hesitate for a second before letting you in through the pearly gates. 

You blink awake, slowly but surely, and the first thing you realize is that you can feel things again. You tilt your head down to the bump under the white bed sheets laid on top of you, and squeeze your hand into a ball, watching the bump move and feeling your fingers dig into your oddly sore palms.

You let out a sigh of relief and pull your hand out from the sheets, bringing it up to your face and feeling the oxygen mask that’s been placed over your mouth and nose.

“Don’t mess with that,” You hear a voice say to your right. You turn your head and see a very tired Captain Price, dark eyebags hanging under his eyes and arms crossed, his hands having a white knuckle grip on either one of his elbows. 

“…” You don’t say anything, instead you simply stare at him until he sighs and gets up from his seat. You watch silently as he leans over your bed and bends down, before pausing, and then quickly snaking his hands under your back to pull you up just enough for him to properly hug you. 

You reach up with shaky hands and tentatively hug him back, not nearly as tightly—not that you don’t want to, but you physically can’t with how weak your arms are right now—but with just as much sincere affection. You can feel Price’s beard rubbing against your neck and hear his small sniffles as he embraces you tightly. 

Maybe it’s his sniffling, or the way you can finally feel warmth for the first time in what feels like forever, or maybe it’s just the fact that he’s holding you with so much care and affection that it almost makes you burst at the seams, whatever it is, it causes you to tear up as well. 

Those tears quickly become sobs that bubble up in your throat and crawl their way out of it, forcing you to tuck your head into the crook of Price’s neck and muffle your sobs in it, muttering a small ‘sorry’ after each one. 

After each ‘sorry’, Price responds with, “It’s okay, let it out, sweetheart, you’re okay,” and those reassuring words only make you cry more because God, you didn’t even think he’d find you, yet here he is, letting you cry into his neck and is reassuring you after every apology that it’s okay. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” You mumble a litany of apologies into Price’s neck, your breath stuttering and hitching as you try to hold back your sobs. Price only shushes you and rubs his hand up and down your back in a comforting gesture, bringing his head up to kiss the top of your head. 

He tucks your head under his chin, “Don’t apologize, it’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

And fuck, you know it’s just words, but it only makes you cry more. 

Your sobs eventually stop, leaving you hiccuping against Price’s neck, silently crying as he continues to rub your back. 

“I thought you died,” He whispers, his hand stuttering on your back, “I thought you died and I was going to dig up your dead body, when you didn’t answer me.”

You stay silent, letting him continue, “I thought you were dead when we dug you up and needed to feel your heartbeat for myself to confirm that you were still alive.” 

He pauses for a moment before continuing, “I’ve been here ever since they put you in here. I haven’t slept, I’ve just stayed here, waiting for you to wake up so I could tell you that I—”

He chokes up for a moment before taking a deep breath and continuing, “I’m sorry for not even thinking to drag you out of the facility with me when we all ran out. You were— you were right there, and I couldn’t just grab your arm and take you with me, I just had to leave you behind and I—” 

“You watched me while I was asleep?” You ask quietly, your eyebrows drawing together. 

Price pauses and pulls his chin off of your head, and pulls you away from his neck so he can properly give you the most incredulous look he can pull, before saying, “I’m pouring my heart out to you and apologizing for practically leaving you for dead, and that’s what you’re worried about?” 

“Well, I’m not worried, I’m just—” You shrug, not knowing how to explain it. Price sighs and chuckles quietly before tucking your head back under his chin. 

“You’re insufferable,” He mumbles, sniffling a bit. 

“… I forgive you, by the way,” You say after a moment of silence, “I didn’t really blame you in the first place.” 

“You had the right to.” 

“Sure I did.” 

“But you didn’t blame me.”

“Right.” “…” Price stays silent for a moment before pressing another soft kiss to the top of your head and saying quietly, “You should blame me.” 

“Maybe,” You mumble back, “But I won’t.” 

Later, maybe an hour later, if the others see you asleep in Price’s arms while he keeps your head tucked under his chin and rubs your back affectionately—no they don’t.

[normansnt]

Knight in shining armor

(Hazbin Adam x singer!male reader)

(Not my art, idk whose sorry I got it from pinterest but credits to the artist cuz he would SO wear that I cant😭)

Warnings: fist fight

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

"FUCK YEAAHHHHHH THATS MY BOYFRIEND MF" yelled Adam to a random person at your concert.

He always did that. Whenever he went to one of your concerts (always, I am not kidding the man has not missed a single one) he yelled to every one of your songs because he knew them inside out and after each song he yelled to someone that you're his boyfriend.

It was sweet in your eyes he was truly your number one fan. However on more than one occasion this has gotten out of hand. Like right now.

Sometimes people get annoyed at his yelling even though it is a rock concert he is still the loudest one. But this time it was different. This time something happened that actually bothered him.

He was yelling about how much he loves you and how you are his boyfriend again when he overheard something that he didn't like.

"For real? That gorgeous singer is dating that flop no fucking way."

"I know right? I gotta say I wouldn't mind hearing the singers voice moaning my-" Adam didn't wait longer to hear the end of the sentence he straight on punched that guy.

"I fucking DARE you to finish that sentence." Adam literally growled. Even though this was heaven, assholes were present here too.

The fight got so big that you had to stop your performance and stop it.

"Adam- Adam stop" you tried to get your boyfriend off of the two guys who he was now fighting.

"Let me go babe, I'm gonna fucking murder those two mother fuckers-"

"Adam, they already had enough you won." You tried arguing with him while you dragged him to your dressing room. The two guys laying on the floor beaten to pulp.

Once you closed the door, the ruckus outside got just a bit quieter and you could finally take a deep breath.

"What happened this time?" You asked your boyfriend while getting the first aid kit and patching him up. He was much better of than the other guys thats true. But he still had some scratches and a black eye.

Adam told you the whole story of what happened and you listened intently while gently putting some alcohol at a deep cut on his nose.

"And then I was like- aww fuck babe warn me next time" he started whining because of the alcohol.

You sighed.

"Listen Adam, I appreciate what you did, those pigs said some disgusting shit and you were a great knight in shining armor but I worked really hard to get this gig and you know that" you said trying to be as gentle as possible.

"Babe, your boyfriend is the fucking Adam, tell me where you want to preform and you'll get in within seconds I can take care of that."

"I know Adam but I really wanna accomplish some things on my own." You sighed again.

Adam knew he fucked up, he sees first hand how much work you put into your music. But he just couldn't help it this is the kind of thing that pisses him off to no end. His first two wives left him for someone else and even though he might act confident he was terrified that you would leave him, too. He didn't want to loose someone he loved so much.

You put your hand on his cheek and made him look at you.

"Hey, its ok I understand." Thats all you needed to say. You knew about Lilith and Eve leaving him. And you knew how insecure he actually felt. You have been dating for almost 6 years now you knew him way too well.

You kissed him to let him know that you weren't mad. He kissed back with enthusiasm, he loved kissing you. It might be true that he has kissed a lot of people before you came along but he always said that you were his favorite kisser of all time. He just loved the feeling of your lips against his.

"(Y/N)...I- listen I mean what I said really, wherever you wanna play I can hook you up."

You chuckled lightly. You knew this was the closest thing you are gonna get out of him as an apology, the man was not good at apologizing. But you already knew that, and loved him nonetheless.

"I know honey I know." You put your forehead on his.

The wholesome moment was interrupted when you both started hearing chanting from outside.

"Is that-?"

"THEY ARE CHANTING YOUR NAME BABY COME ON GET YOUR BRETTY ASS OUT THERE"

And there he was again, your stupid boyfriend.

You laughed an snatched up your guitar.

"All right baby you wanna watch from back stage?" You asked back as you held out your hand to him.

"FUCK YEAAHH"

And with that you two walked out of your dressing room laughing.

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

HE IS JUST A STUPID LITTLE MEN HELP I LOVE HIM SM IDK WHY😭😭

Hope you guys enjoyed😘~

[brucewaynehater101]

Ok so ive had this idea stuck in my head for WEEKS at this point and i need to tell someone about it so im invading your asks

(ages for this au, id imagine Damians around like- 12 or 13 and Tim/JJ's like- 17)

What if a version of Damian (like from ine of the good happy batfam universes) was sent to to a universe with Joker Junior where the rest of the bats were killed by the Joker and JJ was never reacued and brought back to being Tim?

And Damian is like- terrified because he doesnt know where he is or how to get back home and then hes found by JJ.

And like- at first JJ would probably try to leave Damian but once he gets a good look at this kid baby brother, thats his baby brother- he would realize that he recognizes this kid. So he keeps him!

The only problem with that is the Joker. Now the bats are all dead (or theres circumstances preventing them from doing anything) in this universe so theres nobody around to stop the Jokers shit. And we all know that the Joker isnt above murdering or tourturing kids. (Id imagine the JJ of this universe has done stuff like that once or twice, but he doesnt like to. He's a smaller equally manical yet WAY less bloodthirsty version of the joker)

So JJ keeps Damian hidden from his "Papa" until the bats of Damians universe are able to find a way to bring him back home. In the meantime tho, Damians under JJ's care, and its terrifying, but at least he tries!

Now in my mind Joker Jr. is kinda like Jinx from Arcane with mood swings, visual and audio halucinations, so so smart but so so crazy and confused and SCARED and oh so close to finally snapping until he actually does.

And this boy that he kiddnaped rescued confuses the fuck out of him. Because Junior recognizes him from somewhere and he doesnt know why.

(I hope this all makes sense its kinda just like a word vomit lmao my lizard brain just want crazy older brother Joker Jr. [Also there isnt enough JJ content out there and that is a crime])

(Older brother JJ content??? Fuck yeah)

TW: JJ, torture, child abuse

JJ... Recognizes those glaring emerald eyes and scowling face. He doesn't know why, but it causes reality around him to pulse with uncertainty as it teters between JJ's world and someone else's. Someone Papa doesn't like.

JJ won't talk to them. He knows he's not supposed to. Papa will become angry. So Junior tears his eyes from the bird kid baby bat and turns to leave. A tsk stops him.

Another wave of familiarity crashes over JJ, but he doesn't know that child. He doesn't. He really really doesn't know him.

So, Junior should move. Papa won't he happy if JJ can't move.

Well, unless Papa is teaching JJ a lesson.

His nerves light up at the memory of cold metal tables, electric probes, and buzzing.

JJ needs to go, but that kid. He can't leave him. He also can't take him with either. He knows what happens to the kids Joker meets.

Junior would never disobey his papa, but the ever-present buzzing noise isn't a deterrent for bad behavior. With how often he's punished, it hardly matters whether JJ is being a good child or not. He's always in trouble. Instead, that buzz is a reminder that he can't be caught.

JJ is smart. He's clever and sneaky. He's also great at lying, even to bats. While he may not know why lying to the nocturnal creatures is important, he knows it's an accomplishment he's proud of.

He can hide the child from Papa! It'll be a fun game! Junior's little surprise.

Junior isn't sure what he's winning, but he knows what will happen when he loses.

Death to the bird and punishment to JJ! A great joke!

Though Junior doesn't know why the kid is a bird.

Oh well! JJ will take great care of the little bird. All he has to do is feed him and keep him hidden! It will be like all the other things JJ hides from Papa. He'll never admit it, but Junior thinks Papa is a little dumb. As long as JJ plays pretend with the older man, he'll remain unsupervised.

Anyways, JJ has more of a demented, childish voice while Tim is more analytical and serious.

Damian, to start with, doesn't recognize Tim. JJ has green hair, bleached skin, cut cheeks, and way less muscle mass. The behavior is drastically different as well (also, we're not gonna speculate any specific mental disorders for these AUs. JJ and Tim are considered different due to their characterizstions, but I don't want to put harmful connotations out there [especially since I don't have any relevant conditions to insert accurate and mindful interpretations]).

In this AU, the Bats are all dead. JJ did kill some of them, which drastically reduced his ability to recover and remember that he's Tim.

He didn't kill Damian, though. Tim also feels extremely protective of his younger siblings (Duke included). Unfortunately, they're dead in this AU :/

JJ oscillates between being terrified, peppy, silent, crying, and content at rapid rates. It takes several days for Damian to feel out some of the triggers.

The Bats from Damian's universe are trying their damned best to get there as soon as possible. Sadly, Joker finds out about Damian before then.

JJ, by this point, has bonded with the kid. That kid is HIS. He may have some slightly fucked up notions on how to show care, but he will not let anyone harm the bird (not even Papa).

So, JJ does his best joke yet. He kills Joker.

Only after killing the Joker do the other Bats show up. They offer to take JJ with them (particularly because that's Tim!!!), but he refuses. He doesn't want to go with his family. He doesn't remember them and he killed some of them.

He can't stay with them.

[ghcstao3]

siren ghost and sailor soap?

sort of inspired by the pirates of the caribbean sirens scene because it’s one of my favourite things of that series. also i got a little carried away

-

Over the many, many years of traversing the Seven Seas for his life’s work, Soap has become intimately familiar with the abundant myths and legends about the ocean and what lies beneath.

Of course, most of these hold no truth. Most of these are only mere stories to quell the anxieties of sailors, or to provide reasoning to strange occurrences seemingly otherwise unexplainable.

Sirens are, unfortunately, the exception.

Ruthless, ravenous creatures—they’re the worst fear of any sailor who knows the worth of his own life, and like most things that make mortal men afraid, they’ve been transformed into weapons.

Soap only knows that sirens are real because of what happens to many prisoners at sea—from the brig they’re moved to rowboats without paddles, abandoned and forced to sing until the sirens appear to lure them into the water, where flesh would be torn from bone with razor sharp teeth.

It’s a terrifying sight. The creatures are like sharks called to blood with the way they appear, like piranhas with the way they feast.

It’s horrifying. Fascinating. And Soap has vowed to never let himself end up on one of those boats.

But alas. Fate has other plans for him.

Soap had been reluctant to join the crew of Captain Philip Graves when presented with the opportunity, but the pay promised had been good, the work simple, and the destination somewhere he’s never been.

But what Soap hadn’t realized is that Graves likes to take prisoners. He likes to engage in unfair combat with other ships, and operates almost like a pirate, though not explicitly enough to be considered one himself.

Soap realizes his mistake far too late when he wanders down to the brig one night, otherwise unable to sleep. They’re two weeks into their voyage by now, and Soap knows there’s people in the jail—but he hadn’t known the state of them.

Most already without a secure amount of food outside their makeshift cell, they’re emaciated, wasting away in the hull of the vessel. They’re barely responsive when Soap knocks on the bars of the hold and pokes someone’s damp shoulder. Someone weakly latches onto Soap’s sleeve and begs for nothing in particular, and he feels awful for not having known about this sooner.

So he begins sneaking them food, brings them drink. Squirrels away what extra he can without anyone noticing he’s stopped finishing his meals.

Except someone must notice. Because, nearing the end of their journey, Graves is waking him in the dead of night and pulling him into the Captain’s quarters.

Soap swallows the pounding heartbeat in his throat as Graves slowly crosses the room to take a seat at his desk. He’s never liked the man, not one bit—but this just feels unnecessary. Taunting.

“A little bird tells me you’ve been keeping our prisoners fed,” Graves drawls. “Even though, from what I recall, prisoners are the enemy. I don’t suppose you really have been helping them out, have you, MacTavish?”

It’s a trap, Soap knows. Only a fool wouldn’t be able to tell Graves’s question isn’t really a question at all. Graves has his answer, and waits on Soap’s response if only to entertain him with the idea of escape.

Soap knows just as well that there’s hardly a point in trying to lie.

He lifts his chin as he looks straight into Graves’s eyes to tell him, “I have been. They’re still people.”

Graves chuckles lowly, rising from his seat. He rounds the desk, sitting back on its edge with his arms folded across his chest.

It might be intimidating, if Soap were anyone else. If he were a lesser man.

“Well, then—since you like ‘em so much,” Graves says, “surely you won’t mind joining them.”

Soap supplies Graves with no visible reaction. He doesn’t fight as Graves calls for his men to throw Soap in the brig, doesn’t put up any fuss as they try to cajole him.

If Soap has to be imprisoned for doing what’s right, then he at least won’t let Graves have the satisfaction of knowing Soap’s internal panic.

Because Soap knows what Graves plans to do with his prisoners. He’s known all along.

He predicts they’re maybe a day from port when they’re shoved off the ship and ordered into the decaying rowboat, left to drift away—not too far, however, as they’re still tethered to the ship. Because once all prisoners have been drowned, the boat will be reeled back and used again the next time Graves and his crew venture out to terrorize the waters.

No one has the energy to sing, to lure their cruel punishment to them. Soap’s half-convinced some of the others might just jump into the water on their own.

But they have to sing. Especially when a bullet ricochets off the boat and splinters the wood as encouragement.

Despite his time spent out at sea, Soap isn’t overly familiar with many shanties. He just follows along with whatever is mumbled in a weak tune, dreading as the volume builds with a second bullet, and the water below begins to churn. Glancing over the edge, Soap swears he sees the flash of a tail.

The first one appears shortly, singing along to the song like she’s entirely familiar with the melody. Soap feels the pull, though perhaps not as strongly as he imagined he would, if ever he ended up in these circumstances.

He wonders, briefly and distantly, if it has to do with the fact that he’s not really all that into women.

Soap snorts. Wouldn’t that be something.

But as more sirens appear, the pull grows stronger. Soap begins to feel swayed by the song, gone from muttered and off-kilter to something beautiful, hypnotic. The boat bobs with the weight of their new company and the prisoners that rush to the sides to get a better look at the sirens as if they aren’t the dangerous creatures they’re known to be.

Still, though, Soap isn’t completely compelled to join them in the water. He stays put in the centre and grounds his teeth—though he does gasp and reach out when the first prisoner is pulled under, and red soon blossoms across the surface of the water.

Then he appears.

The whole world seems to disappear for just a moment, when Soap looks into big, brown eyes.

The siren’s voice is deeper than the rest, soothing, and though Soap’s hindbrain screams at him that hidden behind the enchanting exterior, the porcelain skin and the straw-blond hair, there lives evil—he can’t help but lean in.

As Soap gets closer, the boat continuing to rock as more prisoners fall victim, the siren’s singing pauses just long enough for him to offer Soap a smile, saccharine, close-lipped. He reaches out an arm to Soap, calloused fingers caressing Soap’s cheek, cupping his jaw.

Soap can’t help but melt into the touch, its simultaneous warmth and coolness, subconsciously chasing it as it retracts, eyes fluttering shut with a short, pleased sigh.

But with the singing fading from the others, Soap’s eyes suddenly snap open. The siren still holds him, still leads Soap with that gentle touch and deceptively kind gaze, but Soap resists. He doesn’t know when he’d gotten to leaning halfway over the edge of the boat, but he scrambles backward to the opposite side, as far as he can get from this siren.

Soap comes to the startling realization that he’s the only one left.

“Don’t get shy on me now,” the siren croons. He props himself up on the edge of the boat, arms thick with corded muscle to show the real power of this creature. He leans forward, the boat tilting with his added weight. “I don’t bite.”

Soap glances nervously about the empty rowboat, gaze accidentally straying the bloodstained waters that surround them.

“I beg to differ,” Soap says weakly.

The siren laughs softly before slowly sinking back into the water. The boat sways. Soap shakes.

Everything goes silent for a suspiciously long moment before there’s a disturbance in the water and the siren appears at the side of the boat where Soap has taken refuge. He’s singing quietly again and Soap feels that pull, so he moves away, screws his eyes shut, and jams his fingers in his ears in an attempt to block it out.

It doesn’t work, not when the singing gets louder, and Soap’s attempt is rendered useless.

“Shut up,” Soap growls. “Please just shut. Up.”

The singing does cease, though only to make way for a deep, full laughter that is somehow tugging on Soap’s conscience with more force than any melody so far.

When Soap blinks his eyes open, the siren is perched on the edge of the boat, arms splayed one on top of the other, his head resting over them. He’s smiling, even once his laughter has died down, a glint of something in his dark eyes—maybe not quite sinister, but certainly mischievous.

“They’re not letting you back on that ship, you know,” the siren says, as if it isn’t obvious. “So you can either come with me—“

“And what? Be drowned? Eaten?” Soap snaps. “Thanks, but I’d rather rot right here.”

“Suit yourself,” the siren hums.

To Soap’s surprise, he actually disappears back into the water. And despite the waves—the ocean seems to have finally calmed.

Maybe Soap did have the tiny, illogical hope that he’d be brought back to the ship. Maybe Soap did have the tiny, logical hope that this siren would just put him out of his misery.

Either way, now he just sits in silence, listening to waves lap up against the hull as the rowboat rocks lazily with the current. Though the peace surely only stretches on for a few minutes, it feels like hours.

Stupidly, Soap goes to inspect the depths. To make certain he’s really been left alone.

Because that’s when he’s pulled in.

Soap barely has time to yell out before his mouth is filled with the overwhelming, stinging taste of salt, unfamiliar arms wrapping securely around his frame so he can’t wriggle free. His shouts are muffled by the water, and he feels the cold soak into his bones as he’s dragged deeper and deeper. The light fades, or maybe it’s the lack of oxygen.

The last thing Soap sees is the siren’s grin, all fangs and malice before everything goes black.

But then, after an unknown amount of time—Soap wakes up to the slow drip, drip, drip of water on a stone floor.

He’s in a cave.

He’s in a cave, and there’s a light source somewhere, and the siren is watching him.

Soap coughs, clearing water from his lungs. He chokes out, “Why… what did you—“

The siren shrugs. “I don’t eat people I like.”

Soap frowns, still coughing. “You…”

“Call me Ghost,” the siren says, then dives into the pool he’d been wading in at the entrance of the cave, and swims away—long, elegant tail flicking behind him as he leaves.

And while many, many thought swirl around Soap’s head as he gradually gathers his bearings about the situation, the clearest of them all is also the simplest; what the hell kind of a name is Ghost?

If only he could guess.

And if only he could know what’s meant to happen to him next.

[phoenixkaptain]

A story like Thousand Autumns is very subtle in its romance.

Shen Qiao has only ever known his sect. He knows it very well, because of this fact. He knows the people, he knows the rules, he knows the daily doings and who is doing them. He knows every blade of grass and every stone. He’s like a lonely mountain flower, on the highest peak, unseen by any but a few birds and unknowing that there’s more it might never know.

When he finds himself away from his sect for the first time, he’s confused. At most, he’s gone to the base of the mountain, maybe the fields surrounding that, but no further. The flower was plucked and tossed aside.

For a man stumbling blindly in the world, literally and figuratively, there really isn’t a better guide than one that knows just about everything. And that’s, without a doubt, Yan Wushi.

Yan Wushi has lived longer than Shen Qiao, has been more places than Shen Qiao, and has fought more battles than Shen Qiao. Yan Wushi is the perfect example of something out of reach even for someone out of reach. He’s the only one who could answer any questions asked of him, but especially the questions that Shen Qiao would want to ask him.

And there’s no question in my mind that Yan Wushi doesn’t fall for Shen Qiao at first sight, but he’s certainly attracted to him. Not in an overtly sexual or emotional way, but Yan Wushi, the way his character is set up? It’s impossible for him not to be fascinated by Shen Qiao.

He knows Shen Qiao is the very picture of a peerless immortal. He’s well aware that Shen Qiao is considered untouchable by even the people closest to Shen Qiao. He’s most aware that Shen Qiao is Qi Fengge’s (coughhndisputedcough) favourite disciple, and honestly that’s enough for him to overwhemingly want to mess with Shen Qiao.

There are a lot of reasons for Yan Wushi to fall for Shen Qiao. Most of the people in the novel fall for Shen Qiao, after all, there is a precedent.

But the one I’ve seen questioned is Shen Qiao’s affection for Yan Wushi. Where does it come from? When did it start? Does Shen Qiao even fucking like that asshole?

The easy answer is: yes, he does. The novel tells us that. Shen Qiao, despite everything, does fall for Yan Wushi’s, um, “charms” in the end. This is made clear.

But why? A thousand voices cry out. Why the fuck would any reasonable person like Yan goddamn Wushi in any capacity?

Well, there’s your first mistake. Shen Qiao is not a reasonable person.

Shen Qiao as a character is absolutely terrifying. He could absolutely destroy the world given half the inclination, but he just doesn’t want to. He’s already considered unmatched before he’s pushed unceremoniously off of a mountain, and his journey only increases his strength. He isn’t quite equal to Yan Wushi, but he’s the only person Yan Wushi ever sees as equal to himself.

Shen Qiao’s best and worst trait is his patience. He’s unwavering. He really just embodies taoism, especially as it’s presented in the novels. He is the picture of a river that doesn’t stray from its path.

Which is why it’s hard for him to reconcile his own attraction to Yan Wushi, but let’s all be clear here. Yan Wushi absolutely starts seducing Shen Qiao on day fucking one. If he could’ve (if Qi Fengge hadn’t been there) he would’ve tried to eat that cabbage when it was just a little sprout. Shen Qiao is unpracticed in most social interactions, to be frank, but he’s especially unused to romance and Yan Wushi really is his first introduction to being hit on.

Yan Wushi is far from good, at really any point, to anybody but especially to Shen Qiao. But that doesn’t particularly matter because Shen Qiao chooses to forgive him, again and again. And I really think, after giving Shen Qiao to a confirmed terrible, awful person who has already promised to do terrible thing to Shen Qiao, that Shen Qiao himself wouldn’t forgive literally anyone else for doing that. And he shouldn’t, because it was really fucked up, but that still doesn’t matter because Shen Qiao ultimately DOES forgive Yan Wushi.

What am I saying? I’m saying that Shen Qiao fell for Yan Wushi first. It is the only way the story makes any sense. Shen Qiao is annoyed at him, he’s furious at him, he’s so fucking pissed he could kill that man, but he likes him. He likes Yan Wushi’s company. He likes that Yan Wushi gives him a challenge. He’s exasperated, but he likes it.

Shen Qiao forgives Yan Wushi SO MANY TIMES. Yan Wushi humiliates him and mocks him and is the absolute worst, but Shen Qiao forgives him and more than that, Shen Qiao always is waiting for Yan Wushi to come back to bother him more.

Is there more to Shen Qiao’s attraction? Probably. Is it a daddy kink? It could be. But I honestly can’t help but read it as Shen Qiao falling for the absolute pits of a man that is Yan Wushi. Shen Qiao likes that old bastard and decides to spend the rest of his life with the fucker and he is just too much of a block of ice to show it.

[lavenderstobins]

Hopper’s talking to her, telling her to breathe, but all Nancy can focus on is Robin, dead, in front of her.

She barely registers when Steve stumbles in. Hopper’s moving before she processes it, trying to gently escort him out.

Steve’s a mess. Wild-eyed, his face streaked with tears, hair unkept.

“I need to say goodbye,” Steve begs, fighting against Hopper’s steady arms. “I need—I need to tell her I love her and that I’m sorry and—and I need to find the fuckers that did this—”

Steve knows about her ‘gift’. He looks directly at her, a plea on his face.

Nancy thinks of Barb, still and silent in her arms.

“Let him stay,” she croaks.

“Wheeler—” Hopper starts. She shakes her head.

“Let him stay.”

Hopper relents. Steve scrambles over, faltering when he sees Robin.

Nancy understands. It’s not a pretty sight.

At open-casket funerals, the deceased undergoes hours of careful preparation to make them look presentable. To make sure they look as close to how they did in life as possible.

That is not the case here. Robin’s skin is a sickly white, freckles stark in contrast. Ugly purple marks cover her throat and neck. Strangulation, from the looks of it. Nancy doesn’t want to imagine it.

Steve strokes Robin’s hair, the gentlest Nancy has ever seen him. Fresh tears have started running down his cheeks.

“Steve,” she starts, equally gentle, because how can she tell him this? How can she describe the sensation of having your whole world stopped, started, and stopped again?

“I know,” he says, not taking his eyes off Robin. “I’m ready.”

She wants to say, You can never be ready.

Instead, she nods, and taps one finger to Robin’s cheek.

The effect is instant. Robin gasps, eyes flying open, one hand automatically going to her throat.

Steve lets out a sob, pressing his forehead to hers. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I should’ve been there, I’m sorry—”

“Dingus,” Robin rasps, and she’s crying too. Nancy averts her eyes, a pang in her chest.

Hopper must decide to let them have their moment because nearly five minutes pass before he comes over. He asks Robin questions, the standard procedure, and Robin answers shakily, her hand held in Steve’s.

Robin didn’t fully see her attacker. It was a man, that much she knows. She’d managed to flee the initial attack but he’d caught up to her when she tried to lose him in the woods. She thinks he was less prepared because of it, but things are hazy. She remembers being pinned down, hands around her throat, and these cold, terrifying eyes. His face had been covered with only his eyes visible.

Hopper takes notes, frowning. Finally, the questioning comes to an end, Robin out of answers. His head slowly swivels to Nancy.

Steve’s still clutching Robin. They both look at her with a sad understanding on their faces.

“I’ll find him,” Steve says quietly, resting his forehead against the top of Robin’s head. “I’ll find whoever did this and I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him.”

Robin just smiles sadly. She murmurs something too quiet for Nancy to hear, but she doesn’t miss the devastation that flits across Steve’s face.

They look at her expectantly, both clearly trying hard not to cry. They’re still holding hands.

Nancy can’t do it.

“Wheeler,” Hopper says, low, a warning.

“I can’t,” Nancy whispers. She knows what will happen if she lets Robin live. The same thing that happened when she couldn’t let Will die again, when she couldn’t let Eddie die again.

The universe rights its wrongs in its own way. If it can’t have its death, it will take another. When she’d brought Will back and kept him alive, a well-loved local, Benny Hammond, had died. When she’d let Eddie live, Jonathan and Will’s stepfather Bob had a heart attack out of nowhere. There’d been seemingly nothing to cause either death.

If she lets Robin live, someone else will die in her place.

The worst part is that Nancy finds she doesn’t care.

She can’t let Steve lose his best friend the way she lost hers. She can’t let this be the end of Robin’s life.

Kind, funny Robin, who has always been so full of life, so loved by everyone around her. Nancy’s never gotten the chance to really get to know her, but she’s always wished she had.

“I can’t,” she repeats, her voice steadier now. “I won’t. It’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair.” Hopper’s voice is kind. She doesn’t deserve it.

“I won’t do it. Steve—”

Steve looks stunned, a hopeful expression dawning on his face. Hopper looks at him and sighs.

“I can’t force you. But… well, on your own head be it.” He shakes his head. “I’m going back to the station. You’re causing me a lot of paperwork.”

As he leaves, Steve turns to her. “Thank you. Thank you, thank you—”

“As far as you’re concerned, Robin survived the attack.” Nancy keeps her voice steady, avoiding eye contact with both of them. “Robin…”

Robin’s eyes are on her. Curious, focused, like they’re studying her. Nancy swallows hard.

“Robin, you should avoid going anywhere alone for a while. If your attacker thinks you could identify him he’ll try and finish the job. I won’t be able to do this twice.”

Robin gives a short nod. “I’ll lay low for a while.”

Her voice is soft, raspy. Steve, maybe afraid Nancy might suddenly change her mind, thanks her one last time before helping Robin up and ushering her out.

Nancy watches their retreating backs, a heavy weight in her chest.

In the nicest way possible, she hopes she never sees Robin again.