#and they certainly weren't made to hold the weight of the world

[teknikolor-walters]

You WILL look at these messages parker sent me NOW!!! he's so true and correct always #1 cicada knower

[yuvany]

"MS.UGLY DUCKLING" ft SIM JAKE

SYNOPSIS : growing up "ugly" was not for the weak. Being absolutely ignored both in and outside of school was not for the weak. No one is ever ugly forever though. Changing schools and meeting new people, but most importantly meeting him might have been the best choice you've ever made in a very, very long time.

CONTENT WARNINGS : angst (with a happy ending) + bullying + insecurities + strangers to friends + friends to lovers + written in second perspective + self deprication + fluff + long + little rushed + partially proofread

ACTORS : ENHYPEN JAKE x FEMALE READER

WORD COUNT : ~ 4k

CHECK BOX !!

i. "WHY WON'T THEY EVER PLAY WITH ME," you asked your mother after returning home from a long and harsh first day of school. Your hair looked a mess, and dirt was scattered across your clothes, yet your voice sounded like childish innocence and pure wonder. Maybe it was too much for such a young child to realise that her newly made friends maybe weren't actually her friends?

(Read more under the cut)

"I'm sure they didn't mean to?" She replied, her voice sounding soft and vulnurable, feeling like she was responsible for the sorrows and grief that her child had been put through, since she was the one who had bought you into this world. Instead of confronting the problem, she told her child that the world wasn't as evil as it seemed, that thinking on the bright side, or the possibilities, were the correct way to live life.

Eight-year-old girl walked up the stairs with heavy weights glued beneath her feet after dinner was finished. You threw yourself onto your bed that was neatly made in the morning before you went to school happily, just to come home opposite of the way you left. The softness of the pillow and blanket laying on your bed was enough to comfort you as you buried your face deep into it and wrapping the blanket around you tightly. You wished for friends, and you wished to be happy, but most of all, you wanted to be like everybody else.

ii. ONE MORE DAY at school, the daily mistreatment never seeming to come to a halt. You walked through the corridors anxiously holding onto the straps of your backback tightly with your pair of eyes wandering all over the place in case of danger. This was certainly not nessecary for a child your age, but when nobody chooses to help, you've got to start taking care of yourself.

Maybe it was your nerves that made it feel as if everyone's eyes were on you, but their mouths would open to release a fit of laughter that they had held in until specifically you walked past them. You crossed your arms, feeling extra aware of yourself now, guessing that they were laughing and giggling at you, which you didn't appreciate, but you were also too insecure and scared to speak up against them.

You reached your locker, looking forward to being able to collect your throught, away from everyone else, the locker shielding you away from their piercing gazes and judgemental stares and whispers. As you look up from your shoes, you see piles of gum stuck onto your locker, the gum being pressed onto the metal aggressively by the people you wished you didn't see. It was them; the popular girls of the school, and few of many people who seemed to despise you. They saw you standing there, shooting you an all too familiar look before walking away with their hips swaying from side to side dramatically.

You approched your locker to finally see what they were doing up close, "UGLY!" it read. You felt embarrased imagining all the people who passed by and saw this. Did they laugh? Did they feel bad for you? What did they think? You wanted to run away and hide in a deep hole you'd dig up with all the stored up shame inside of you.

iii. "MOM, DO YOU THINK I'M PRETTY?" You asked your mother once more, years after the first, but soon to the recent encounter. "I think you're very pretty." She says, but your gut tells you another story. "Really?" You ask, awaiting her response that takes a long while before she hums lowly. That just confirms it, she wasn't being honest. "Thanks," you say, with no emotion in your tone. She looks away and eats her dinner quietly.

You quickly finish yours, and wash it in the faucet, the soap bubbling up and covering your fingers as you scrub and rub the plate, utensils and glass that you used. After finishing that up, you return to your room, locking it behind you. You hid under the covers for a while until it got too suffocating and warm, leaving you itchy and irriatted before sliding out and standing in front of the mirror. You inspected every inch and detail of your face, feeling not so content with some parts. You sighed at your reflection that looked back at you with tired, red eyes. At just fourteen years old, you began caring about how you looked, and how others precieved you, so you took matters into your own hands. That night, you stayed up all night searching for 'how to be prettier' and scrolled endlessly through social media.

The next day, you had decided to get a new hair cut to maybe fix the way you looked, you knew excatly what you wanted, and how to cut it. Before anyone else woke up, even before the first birds chirped their morning tune, you made your way to the bathroom and grabbed a pair of scissors in your grasp. You carefully cut strand for strand, the same way you remebered how the video showed. "It doesn't look too bad." You think to yourself, and then you hear footsteps outside the door. Your eyes quickly scanned the hair that layed on the tiled floor and faucet, wondering what to do with it.

Too late. The door slowly swung open and in came your mom. She was silent upon seeing the scene, the horror only showing in her eyes. "What happened here?" She asked like a sharp whisper. "I just cut my hair..." You reply equally quiet. You see her shake her head in disappointment, so you turn your head down, looking at all the hair that had been flying everywhere while you had fun cutting your hair, and suddenly you weren't as proud of your hair cut like you were before. "Go get the broom, y/n." You obeyed your mother's order and hurried out of the bathroom feeling tears of embarrassment reaching your eyes.

iv. YOU STARTED WEARING MAKE UP to cover up, but to everyone else, you told them that you wore make up becase you thought it looked pretty. Still, they'd give weird glances toward each others, which you knew was their way of judging you.

Each morning, you woke up early to sit in front of your mirror examining your appearance like you always did. Hoping and praying to somehow change over night, you hated how your features looked together. You opened the drawer of your vanity and picked up sponges and brushes, leaving them aside for later use while you chose the different essintials. You had prepared the whole summer break to look pretty. Every day, you followed a new tutorial, improving as you continued. You did all this to look presentable at school.

You thinly spread the foundation across your face, dabbing the liquid evenly all over as you moved onto the next step. You sat there for a long time, perfecting each detail and mole, brushing your brows and coating your eyelashes with mascara, and lastly smacking your lips together after applying lipstick.

You stood in front of your larger mirror that you had ignored and hidden away since you never wanted to see yourself ever, but now you felt prepared. In your eyes you looked prettier. You wore your hair differently, you had earrings and necklaces, the school uniform from last year looking a lot better than you remembered. The confidence boost put a smile on your face as you made your way downstairs and made yourself breakfast.

In the kitchen, your mum was sipping her coffee calmly, but as she saw you walk in, her eyes widened in shock, but she didn't say anything. "Good morning!" You greeted happily, and she waved her hand slowly, still trying to process what was happening. "You look different." She comments, and you are content with that reply, and answer, "Thank you, mum!" You proceed to eat your breakfast and then made your way to school.

At shcool, you felt everyone's eyes hooked on your face. The corridors got quiet when you walked by, and you heard murmurs and whispers about you, "Is that really y/n?" "No way..." "What happened." You didn't know what context to put it in and just walked with hurry in your steps, wanting to get to your class and focus on your studies.

Lunch also happened to be no different compared to before your make over, the group of three girls made their way to your table, cackling amongst themselves, planning what to do today. You, who already finshed your lunch stood up to walk away, not wanting to have an encounter with them, until one of them, the blonde barbie, knocked into you with her lunch tray, spilling her food and drink all over you. "oops!" he chuckled cheerily, enjoying the laughs and fingers pointed at you from around her in the cafeteria. You angrily stood up and rushed over to the bathroom, feeling embarrassed once again.

v. "I WANT TO CHANGE SCHOOLS." You say to your mother after a long while of thinking, fearing that you might make the wrong decision, but what could possibly go worse than how it already is? Your mother is sneering at you from the side as she puts down the bags of groceries by the sink. She hums, and you wait for her reply, feeling your heart beat through your ribs, beating so hard that you start belive it'd jump out of your body any second. To be fair, you'd rather for that to happen than to be rejected of this preposition. "Are you sure?" She asks with uncertainty in her voice after silence, and you nod your head, "Of course." "Think about it for a little more, and then we can ask your father when he returns home." She says and walks away. How much longer could you ponder it when you're already certain.

You help her organise the groceries, washing them in the sink to sterilise it of bacteria before placing it in either the fridge or freezer and taking your sweet time, not knowing what else to do other than lay in your bed or be on your phone scrolling through social media.

So, that's exactly what you did for the past hour or so after your chores.

Of course it was boring, but you had nothing else to do. Homework was done, your room was clean and you could only wait for dinner with your father. You heard the sound of the stove from your room, and rushed down to help prepare with your mother. You plated the dinner table, helped your mum with the dishes and washed them afterwards, now you waited in your seat for your father to arrive home from work.

You hear the door slide open, the sound of keys jiggling from the entrance. You sit straight in your seat, resembling a meerkat on its legs as you inspect the person who enters the kitchen. Your father walks in with his coat still slung over his shoulders, his briefcase slamming onto the kitchen counter while he sighs. "Hello, dad!" You greet him cheerfully, and he simply nods his head in your direction. Your mum rose from her seat to help him with his jacket and hat, but he just shrugs her off, and you notice both of their irritated moods.

Dinner was quiet - the sound of utenstils hitting each other and then being left on the plates filled the house. "y/n wanted to ask something." Your mum blurts out, wanting something to happen, being too awkward in this stale atmosphere. You see him look at you from the corner of your eye and he clears his thoat. "Really? What is it?" He asks, and you manage to utter the same statement from before. It takes a moment before you get a reply again, but he says, "I'll think about it." You pleaded with both your parents to let you change schools until they finally caved in with an extended sigh.

vi. YOU WALKED INTO THE FULL CLASSROOM feeling everyone's eyes glued on you, the feeling being vagualy familiar yet different. Some leaned over to their friend, whispering something, but as you saw them and they made eye contact with you, you wanted to shove yourself inside a locker. "Everyone, this new student ..." You zoned out her speaking until she placed her palm on your shoulder and asked you to intruduse yourself to everyone. "Hello, I am y/n l/n, and I really hope we can all be friendly," You said, and then walked over to the empty seat that the teacher pointed at.

As you take a seat, you take extra notice of your bench mate. Oh, how beautiful she was, her hair looked neat, her skin looked perfect and her eyes... You finally took a seat and did what everyone else did - copying what the teacher wrote. After class, you observed your schedule, confused by where to go. This school was big, and you were a new student who just joined, there was no way you could ask anyone else for help except the teachers, but the one in you room had already left. The girl from beside you tapped you on the shoulder and you turned your head curiously.

"Do you need any help?" She asked, and you nodded. "Help would be appreciated, thanks."

You spent the day with her, laughing and talking like never before. It was comforting to have someone like her beside you. At the end of school, she walked you outside of school and there you saw a group of other people gathered, and they waved in your direction. You turned to see your newly made friend, Yoona, waving back. Her pace quickened as she rushed over to the group, pulling you along by the sleeve of your uniform when she noticed you standing still.

It was a fairly small gang, but they still stared at you as you arrived. They all greeted each other, hugging and chatting till Yoona introduced you to the rest. Her voice sounding so smooth.

As she spoke, you noticed this guy. His hair was long and swept in waves, his eyes soft and brown filled with warmth and kidness. You learnt that his name was Jake from your friend's introduction. "Y/n, wanna come to karaoke with us?" She asked, and you shook your head. "Sorry Yoona, but I gotta head home now" you say, not wanting to interrupt the harmony established amongst the people. She nodded understandingly and let you go, waving her farewell.

On your way home you realised you had made a new friend. A real one at that, but thoughts of insecurities snaked its way into your mind. What if she was just being kind? To say that this could possibly be one of many occurrence was high, and the possibility that you'd fit in was low.

vii. YOU FOUND YOURSELF IN THE PARK with them. You've come to the realisation that a new start was exactly what you needed. Your feet swung you back and forth on the swing, hearing the laughter of everyone around you and feeling the warmth in your heart expand. You had gotten close to everyone, but Jake seemed to have a special place in your heart for some reason.

"Anyone wanna go to the arcade?" Someone called out, and everyone said yes, including you who never went along with them. On the way there, you walked along side Jake, chatting with him and joking. "So what made you change schools so suddenly." He questioned, and you shook your head with an awkward chuckle, "Nothing, I just wanted to." Jake had this friendly smirk on his face as he nudged his shoulder against yours, "you can't be serious. You probably had a lot of friends there." You had your eyes focused on the road as you tried to comply a decent reply. "I mean-" as you were about to answer, everyone had already arrived at the arcade. You found this to be the perfect escape.

Everyone rushed inside, being bombarded with games and bright lights. Almost immediately, you spotted the claw machines. You eyed it like it was candy. There were many plushies, but you really really wanted the bunny one. Jake who was close by saw the way your eyes lit up and approached you with his hands in his pocket. "If you beat me in any game, I'll get you that plushie." He says, and you turn to look up at, his lips being extremely close to your face. "Are you sure you wanna bet?" You asked and he nodded his head, "Go ahead, choose a game." You pointed at an air hockey board and Jake ushered you over there with his palm resting on your shoulder.

You played a couple of games, and you were determined to win. Jake, not so much. His eyes roamed everywhere except for the hockey puck, his eyes landed on your concentrated face a handful of times, observing your reaction to each goal. You easily won and rushed over to his side, cheering. Your smiles were contagious, and Jake laughed, exposing his pearly teeth. "You wanted that white bunny, right?" He asked, and you nodded. "You could get whichever one, really." He made his way to the machine, you standing beside him. Jake kissed his coin before inerting it into the machine. It took him many tries before he sighed and collected his calm once more. "You don't really need to continue, Jake." You tell him, but she shakes his head and stretches his arms and back. "I'll get it this time. I might need more luck though." You see him point at his cheek with a smug smile. "That's silly." You reply sarcastically and he pleads with you giving you the puppy eyes before caving in. You stand on your toes and quickly peck him on the cheek shyly. Your heart was pounding and you could feel your cheeks turn rosy at the act.

He winks at you once before turning to the machine with one last try. His focus is evident in his fierceful gaze and you also hope for him to win this time, mostly becuase you start to feel bad for all the coins he's lost.

While being consumed by your own thoughts, Jake celebrated his win. He turned around to hand you the bunny, but saw you spacing out. He snapped his fingers in you face and you shook you back into reality. You finally processed the fact that he had won after staring at the plush in his arms. Jake gently hands it to you and you take it with a smile. "Woah! Thank you so much!" You thank him over all the other people's conversations around you two.

The rest of the evening was spent with silent glances that held adoration between the two of you. and eventually, it was time to go home. You all gathered outside the arcade to wave each other off before going their separate ways.

You notice that Jake was taking the same way as you and you stopped in your tracks to let him catch up to you. "Do you also take this way?" You asked him. "Kind of, I actually wanted to walk you home." He rubbed the back of his neck before you two began walking again. "You could've told me before, you almost looked like a creep." Jake chuckled at your remark and said, "I would've, but I guess I got shy." with his thick accent seeping through.

The sound of crickets and owls hooting filled in the silence during the short walk to your front door step. "Thanks for walking me home, Jake." You say as you search for your keys in your purse. He was silent for a while as you unlocked your door. "Y/n, I have something to ask you." You turned to him curiously and arched an eyebrow. He was obviously nervous as you saw him fidgeting with his own fingers and clearing his throat over and over again to muster up the courage to ask,

viii. "WILL YOU GO TO PROM WITH ME, Y/N?" It had totally slipped your mind that prom was soon. You stood there wide eyed at the question. "You're not joking with me right." You wonder if he's pranking you, but he shakes his head. "Why would I joke with a pretty girl like you." His tone sounds genuine, but you still can't shake this feeling of uncertainty. "There's many other people you could've asked, but instead you chose me." The identical feeling of hopelessness returned after finally being chased away. "Becuase I only want you. Y/n, please." It takes a while for you to open your mouth an reply, but you feel the cold sweat coat your hairline and seeing Jake's soft expression was not helping you to calm down.

"I need to think about it, sorry."

You take notice of how Jake's expression turns dark when you shut the door and lock it behind you. You rush up the stairs and sprint into your room, ignoring your mother's calls. The plushy you had gotten from Jake was thrown onto your bed as you hurry to look out the window, observing him walk away from you. To your surprise, you see him look back at your house. Hurriedly, you pull out a diary that you had hidden under your mattress and write about everything, it isn't until after you're done taking notes that you feel bad for Jake. How must he feel?

You take a look at the plush he gifted you, and groan at the dilemma.

ix. THE NEXT DAY at school you searched for Jake everywhere, but you never saw him. Your mood visibly worsened as the day had come to an end without seeing him once. Yoona took notice of this and decided to question you. "Is everything okay?" She asked you and you nodded your head with a hum. "Yoona, have you seen Jake today?" She shakes her head and pulls out her phone. "He sent me a text this morning that he wouldn't come today since he felt under the weather. Why?" "Nothing, just wondering." You quickly blubber, grabbing your stuff quickly. "Hey, what's the rush? Wait for me alright." You hear Yoona chuckle as she packs her stuff. You apologise and wait for her.

You two part ways at the split road with a hug, and you gradually start to jog your way to his place. You stand there on his door step, bag slung over your shoulder with your fingers twisting the hem of your skirt. "Is it too late to turn around?", you think you to yourself. You shake away these thoughts, and raise your curled up fist to knock, but to your surprise, Jake opened the door, his eyes looked equally as shocked as yours. "Uhm, so I wanted to talk to you." You utter, and see Jake sigh. "Sure, I'm going on a walk if you wanna follow along." You nod and walk behind him.

"So, I've been thinking." His interest perks, and he glances your way. "I'll go to prom with you, but I don't understand why me? I'm not pretty. I'm not that ....good." You voice comes out weak, and Jake stops walking. "Don't say that. Not only are you incredibly beautiful, but you're also so, so kind and caring." He approaches you, his hand gliding up your cheek. "Are you not angry at me?" You ask, trying to avoid his eyes. "Angry? At you? That's ridiculous." He scoffs playfully, and you finally get the courage to look him in the eyes. "I might've been slightly upset since I thought you rejected me, but i guess I have a date for prom!" He smiles brightly and you look at him awestruck. "Of course," you reply and kiss him on the cheek once again with your arms swung around his neck, and his arms instinctively wrap around your waist. "You make me so happy." He is smiling widely as he pecks your face with butterfly kisses.

TAGLIST :: @swaivy

[girlgenius1111]

You Can Let It Go

not really sure what this is yet, apart from angsty reader and platonic barca femeni :)

warnings: anxiety, panic attack, reader punching wall [in a depressed way, not a straight male way]. general angst + fluff. more comfort probably in the next part

Your alarm rang throughout your dim bedroom, waking you from a deep slumber. With a groan, you rolled over, turning it off. You were exhausted, only having fallen asleep a few hours ago. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you forced yourself up out of bed, getting dressed for training. You ate a quick breakfast, which was 75% coffee and 25% food, before heading to your car. You hadn't snoozed your alarm today, so you were on time, thankfully. You didn't need another reason for your teammates to keep a close eye on you

The last month or so had been... challenging to say the least. You had had an incredible world cup, and were having an incredible start to the season; and as a result the pressure on you had mounted significantly. If anyone had asked, and they had, you would tell them that you were handling it fine, just a little stressed. Nothing you couldn't deal with. In reality, you felt like you were buckling under the weight of other people's expectations. No matter how well you played, it seemed like people always had something to say, making you feel like you couldn't ever perform well enough.

You knew if you could just get yourself out of your own head, you would be fine. The noise would fade away, until it was just you a football again, the way it had always been. You were an anxious person, and you'd dealt with bad months like this before. It had just never been quite this bad. Anxiety and stress swirled within you constantly, and it was a continuous battle to not let it affect how you were playing. You were hoping that even though this time it seemed worse, it would pass like it had before. Preferably before your teammates grew anymore concerned with you.

You didn't think there was a single person on the team who wasn't worried, but there were certainly some that seemed to take their job as older players very seriously, and you'd felt them watching you constantly in recent weeks. You were a younger player, only 20, and everyone was very protective of you. None more so than Alexia and Mapi. Alexia, you assumed, cared because she was the captain and it was her job. Mapi made a little less sense to you, but she had very much taken you under her wing when you'd arrived at Barcelona at only 17.

You could barely breath recently without one of them hovering behind you, worry creasing their eyebrows. You were determined, though, to handle this yourself. No one else was suffering the way you were, so you decided that the problem was you, not the pressure you felt. So, while they couldn't get you to tell them what was going on, they noticed a change in you, definitely. You weren't sure if it was because you were quieter when you were anxious, the bags under your eyes, or the increased intensity with which you'd been practicing. Either way, they'd been bugging you for a while to talk to them, and you resisted.

You pulled into the parking lot, another day of ignoring the older girls' searching looks ahead of you. You tried to muster up some more energy before walking in. It must not have worked very well, because the minute you walked into the noisy locker room, you felt several pairs of eyes on you. Looking up, you made eye contact with Alexia, sending her a half smile. Next to her sat Mapi, Ingrid, and Patri. It seemed that they'd recruited some new people to the "worry about y/n" club, holding their very first meeting right across from you.

You felt them study you as you pulled your training kit on, and wished you'd tried a little harder to hide the bags under your eyes. You talked easily with Claudia and Ona, their lockers on either side of you, about the upcoming game. You were set to play Eintracht Frankfurt the next day in a champions league group stage match. You began to walk with your friends toward the door of the locker room, realizing it was time to head to the pitch. You were interrupted, though, by a hand on your shoulder, and the soft call of your name. Turning, you came face to face with Alexia. Sighing you relented, and remained with her in the locker room as everyone else filtered out. Once the room was empty, Alexia spoke.

"How are you today, pequeña?" She asked, words less firm than her voice was. She'd clearly lost patience over the weeks with your resistance, and had completely abandoned her soft approach.

"I'm good." You replied, forcing yourself to meet her eyes. She raised an eyebrow at you, before tilting your chin up with a hand.

"Really? Because your face is telling me that you barely slept again last night."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I slept fine. Like always." You said, somewhat defiantly, shrugging her hand off of you.

"Watch your tone," Alexia warned, and you withered slightly. "I assume you still won't tell me whats going on with you?"

"There's nothing to tell, Alexia."

She let out a heavy sigh, dragging a hand over her face. "Other people are starting to notice, pequeña, the coaches and physios especially. You can't keep this up forever." You didn't respond, opting instead to stare behind her at the wall. She gave up. "Alright, go to practice, but if Jona asks me what's going on, I'm not covering for you and telling him you're fine to play. You'll have to do that yourself." She said sternly, and you rolled your eyes, darting out of the room before she could reprimand you for that too.

Your talk with Alexia had put you in a bad mood, and it only continued for the rest of practice. You were always irritable when you were anxious, even more so when you weren't sleeping. The other girls had gotten used to your extremely random moods, and knew to leave you be after a talk with Alexia. This time, however, your exhaustion seemed to take all the fight out of you, until you were practicing, no emotion at all expressed on your face.

You didn't protest when Mapi wrapped an arm around your shoulders after a drill, leaning imperceptibly into her. You didn't even really realize what you were doing, until you caught Alexia staring at you. You pulled away quickly, and kept your distance for the rest of practice. You made it through, thankfully without Jona calling you aside. In some miracle, he seemed to not be noticing your exhausted state, or was pretending not to, leaving you to pull yourself together. You smiled when you saw your name on the starting line up, vowing to get some sleep tonight, whatever it took.

-----

You thought you were going to have a good day when you woke up the next morning having slept completely through the night. You were anxious, as you had been on game days recently, but able to function.

You stood in the tunnel, ready to make your way out onto the field. You stood right behind Mapi, and she turned to look at you right before you had to go out. She was always the softer, more lenient one of her and Alexia, so the grin she sent you didn't surprise you.

"You look better today, pequeña. Still, if you need to come out, please tell someone," she instructed. You nodded, with no intention to do that.

It was a tough game, much tougher than the team had been expecting. You were tied 1-1 going into the 25th minute. You'd scored, and you felt like you actually may have been having a pretty good game. Until one of their defenders took our your legs, studs up, leaving a gash on your leg that had to be wrapped up. You were frustrated, even more so when no card was given. It was a completely late tackle, and the ref had seemed to be working against you guys the whole game.

You returned to the field, thigh taped heavily, giving your teammates a quick thumbs up. The ball had gone out for a corner, and Mapi stepped up to take it. You were in the box, prepared to jump for the header, knowing you were the target when Mapi made eye contact with you. Surrounded by teammates and opponents, you jumped, straight into another player. She was bigger than you, and she completely knocked you to the ground, falling on top of you. She crushed all the air from your lungs, and you were furious. There was no whistle, and this girl had just body checked you.

It should have been a penalty, which you were shouting at the ref, as you shoved the offending player off of you. She rolled off dramatically, and you rolled your eyes, accepting Patri's hand helping you up.

"Estas bien chica?" She asked, brushing grass off your legs.

"Si," You replied, eyes on the ref, who was walking towards you. She was reaching for her pocket, and for a moment, you thought she was going to card the other girl. Instead, she pulled out a red, holding it up above you.

"What??" You shouted, your protests echoed by your teammates. You were stunned. A straight red... for what should have been a yellow for your opponent. You were fuming, absolutely fuming. Alexia and Irene argued with the ref as you stood in complete disbelief. The ref was unrelenting, though, and she motioned once again for you to exit the field.

Mapi placed a hand on your back, walking you to the sidelines. "That's a bullshit call, it's not your fault. Keep your head up." She told you, the words not really processing in your head. Numbly, you walked off the field, through the tunnel and slammed the door to the locker room open. You felt staff members patting you on the back, but you ignored them and their words, nothing really processing in your brain.

You'd just gotten a red. Leaving your team with 10 players for the rest of the match, and it was barely even a quarter of a way through the game. And they were tied. And it was a champions league game. They were going to have to play even harder, and someone could get hurt, or we could lose, or both.

You're heartbeat was speeding up, and the world was going hazy around you as you paced around the empty locker room. You were losing control, quickly. In a fit of anger, and a need to regain control, you threw a punch at the cement wall.

"FUCK," You yelled, hearing a crunch. It hurt like a bitch, but it had succeeded in momentarily bringing you back into the present. You cradled your hand to your chest, throwing yourself down in your cubby, now fighting tears for multiple reasons. You sat motionless, staring at the ground in front of you, panic quickly returning. You jumped as the door opened, even though it opened rather softly.

"Hey, someone heard you yell. Y/n, what happened was not your fault, that was an insane call, you have to know that." Came the gentle voice of Ingrid. She was on the bench tonight, resting from a muscle injury, and had clearly been elected to come check on you. You nodded mechanically in response, because you DID know that, you just couldn't accept it. "Y/n... what happened to your hand?" She questioned, moving to crouch in front of you.

You looked down, taking in the sight of the already swelling, and slightly bleeding, limb. Ingrid's touch was feather light when she moved your hand, yet you still winced.

"I got angry. Kinda freaked out and hit the wall." Your words were kind of choked up, as you were still having a hard time breathing. You met her eyes, taking in the concerned look on her face. She didn't seem to know what to say, running a hand back through her ponytail, thinking hard. She focused back on your face, and moved to stand. You assumed she was going to go get someone else; a physio or maybe one of the other captains. You and Ingrid were friendly, she was Mapi's girlfriend so you spent a lot of time together, but you didn't expect her to stick around and help bring you out of your head.

Instead, she took a seat on the bench next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you to lean against her. Your head was pressed right over her heart, and you could hear it rhythmically beating. Unconsciously, you began to try to match your stuttered breaths with hers.

"You're alright. I'm here with you, and you're fine. You can breath, just follow my breaths." Her voice was soothing, and you unconsciously obeyed, slowly calming down. You hadn't realized how bad it had gotten until you had come back to yourself, wiping frantically at the tear tracks on your cheeks with your good hand, horrified that Ingrid had seen you like this. You tried to move out of her grasp, but she didn't let you, keeping you pressed against her.

"Let's just wait another minute, alright? Drink some water and we'll go get your hand looked at." She told you, and again, you found yourself following her instructions without a second thought. You took the bottle of water she offered you, gulping it down, trying to avoid eye contact. Ingrid pulled her phone out of her pocket, looking at it for a second before standing up.

"It's almost half. Let's go to the physios. If Mapi and Alexia see you like this, they'll freak out. Is that okay, or do you need one of them?" She asked. You scoffed at the notion, trying very hard to put back up the barriers that had fallen against your will. Still, Ingrid waited for an answer, undeterred.

"No, I'm fine," You said, "I can go by myself." Ingrid gave you a weird look, helping you up.

"I'm coming with you." She told you, as if were obvious. Her tone left no room for argument, which frankly you were too exhausted for anyway. She led you out of the locker room and towards one of the medical rooms, as you desperately hoped there was nothing seriously wrong with your hand. Having to explain what happened to it seemed like it might contradict your efforts to convince everyone you were fine.

Once again, it seemed as though luck wasn't on your side. The physios took an xray, confirming a few breaks in your knuckles. They put you in a brace, telling you that if you didn't wear it all the time, they'd know and put a cast on you. Ingrid stayed with you the whole time, silently standing next to you. The only time she spoke was to update you on the score, which was steadily growing in your favor. Thank god. You felt weirdly protected by her presence, not that you'd ever admit it. You were released, and Ingrid walked with you back to the locker room.

"Why don't you shower and then sit somewhere thats not the locker room to wait? You should have enough time before everyone gets off, and that way I can tell Alexia and Mapi what happened, and you won't have to see everyone all at once." Ingrid suggested, hand resting on your back as you walked.

You wanted to tell her that was unnecessary, you really did. It was exactly what you needed though, and while you weren't exactly sure how Ingrid knew how to help you, she clearly did.

"Okay. Thanks, Ingrid. I really appreciate your help." You mumbled the last part, talking mostly to the ground.

"We're all here for you, y/n. Whatever you need." She said, and you nodded. She was slightly surprised; as far as she could tell, it was the first time you responded to an offer of help with anything but direct refusal that something was wrong. You headed into the locker room to shower, and she headed back out to the tunnel to watch the end of the match.

-----

Alexia and Mapi made their way off the pitch directly after the game. Your absence in the locker room during the break did not go unnoticed by them, nor did Ingrid's from the bench for the entire second half. While the rest of the team loitered outside, greeting fans, the two players walked inside, finding Ingrid waiting for them.

"What happened?" Alexia asked immediately, sure beyond a doubt that something had. Ingrid recognized Alexia's captain voice, and got right to explaining. She told them what happened, as fast as she could without sparing any details.

"She's just finished showering, she's in on of the media rooms though, she didn't want to see everyone all at once and answer a million questions." Ingrid finished.

"So she broke her hand, hitting the wall. Was she trying to hurt herself?" Mapi asked, not sure at all where your head was at. Ingrid felt her heart melt a little at the way Mapi's eyebrows creased in concern. One of the Norwegian's favorite things about her girlfriend was how much she cared.

"I'm not really sure. I think she was more angry, but she was fully panicking by the time I got in there, so I'm I don't know." Ingrid said thoughtfully.

Alexia sighed, for what felt like the 15th time that day. "Alright, lets get ready fast and we can go talk to her before anyone else gets in. Ingrid, tell Jona what happened?" She asked. Ingrid nodded, and they went about their tasks.

-----

You were glad this was a home game, at Johan. You knew the building well, and you went to one of the lounges, knowing it would be empty. You curled up on one of the little couches, watching out the window at the parking lot as everyone streamed by.

You felt so incredibly stupid. First the red card, then breaking your hand, then having a panic attack in middle of the locker room. You didn't know what was wrong with you, you just had no grasp on your emotions. Angry tears fell down your face, and you didn't bother to wipe them off. You wondered how Alexia and Mapi would know where to find you, seeing as though you hadn't told Ingrid where you were going.

You underestimated them, though, and how well they knew you. This became evident when the door to the room creaked open, and a soft light spilled in from the hall. Alexia slipped in, followed closely by Mapi. Both of their hair was wet, and they, like you, were in the cozy Barca sweats.

No sooner had you turned slightly in their direction, than Alexia was almost tackling you in a hug, still minding your hand. You let out a huff of air, but relaxed into the contact. Alexia held you close to her as Mapi took a seat on your other side, pulling your injured hand into her grasp, inspecting it carefully.

"Did you tuck your thumb in?" She asked critically, and you snorted.

"Maria!" Alexia scolded, but you were laughing, so she really didn't care that much.

"No, I left it out. Untucked thumb still isn't a match for a cement wall though," You said, trying to joke. It fell flat, and Alexia tugged you closer, resting her chin on your head.

"Pequeña..." She began, but you cut her off.

"I know, I messed up," Alexia shook her head at your words, as that was not what she was going to say, but you continued. "I was just mad and I didn't handle it well. I just need to sleep, and I'll be back to normal." You tried to sound convincing. Both girls saw right through you. Surprisingly though, it was Mapi who spoke first, voice uncharacteristically firm.

"No. You aren't getting away with some flimsy excuse this time. Either you talk, now, or you go home with Alexia, and she doesn't let you out of her sight." You looked horrified at that prospect, and Mapi kept going. "Until we know whats going on inside your head, you've proven that you can't be alone. That's the deal. You get to pick."

Your anger was quickly returning. "I'm not a child. You can't make me go home with you," you argued, ironically sounding a lot like a child arguing with their parents.

Alexia responded this time, her voice firm, "You pick one of those options, or you're benched until further notice." You shifted away from her, looking at her with your jaw dropped.

"You wouldn't do that," you said, trying to call her bluff. A mistake, Alexia never bluffed.

"Try me." She told you, face stony, words unyielding. Suddenly, and most embarrassingly, you felt tears prick your eyes. Hastily, you covered your face with your hand, trying to pull it together. You hated that they felt like the had to watch you like this. You hated both options, but talking truly didn't feel possible right now. You felt both girls lean forward in concern, and you opened your mouth before they could ask.

"I don't want to be a bother," you said, voice incredibly small.

"You won't be. If you aren't ready to talk, that's fine. Neither of us are mad, and we aren't trying to rush you. We just want you to be safe and healthy, whatever it takes." Mapi's voice was comforting, and you nodded shakily. Still, you couldn't help but apologize.

"I'm really sorry." You said, and you weren't sure which thing you were apologizing for, maybe everything.

"You have nothing to be sorry about. Nothing," Alexia said, staring fiercely into your eyes. "Are you ready to go? I brought your bag." Alexia told you, leaving no room for argument.

Your stomach twisted uncomfortably, wanting to do anything else, but you wouldn't risk being benched. You nodded, moving to get up. The minute you stood, though, Mapi was taking her turn and pulling you into a tight hug. You let yourself hug her back, just a little, before the feeling of being about to cry came back, and you hastily pulled back. Both girls were looking at you with faces full of concern, and you couldn't take it.

Turning to leave the room, you wondered how you were possibly supposed to hide how poorly you were coping, let alone avoid Alexia's promised conversation, whilst staying at her apartment with her. You weren't really sure you would be able to. And maybe a part of you was so exhausted, so anxious, so absolutely done with everything, that you weren't sure it was even worth hiding anymore.

-----

let me know if you want a part 2 / what you want to see in it!

[itsa-me-lily]

Okay, it's here, holy shit I did it. Here is the Simon x Thimble Christmas Fic that I dragged out kicking and screaming.

Here is the MPS AU master playlist

Here is Simon & Thimble playlist

Content warnings;

Not really any I can think of? I make a joke involving ham. If anyone finds an issue let me know.

Christmas, a time of year where everything sparkled a little brighter, the world a little kinder, and the perfect way to show someone you cared was with a gift. At least that's what all the commercials said. You could admit it was little pessimistic to view the holiday but well, capitalism did that to a person.

As a kid it was certainly a more magical time, though your mom had more to do with it than anything else. You could appreciate the amount of effort she put into making sure you started the day excited for the possibilities and ended it content with the spoils of a year of good behavior.

Even as adults your mom tried to make sure that the day was good. What was probably the best part was that you could make sure the day was just as good for her as it was for you. Plus there was an extra adult to rope into being your helpful elf. Well there was supposed to be.

You knew Simon didn't have a choice for when he was sent out on missions, but he did seem to draw the universal short straw for being sent out a week before Christmas with no return date in sight. Not that he had been complaining at the time. You were almost convinced he was happy to go given the conversation you had had days prior to him leaving.

"So what do you do for Christmas?"

You'd of thought that you'd asked the man this in a dead language the way he had stared at you as he held greens for the boys to nibble and pull at during floor time. It was a reasonable question and you knew it.

"Don't look at me like that. My mom wants to know if we're going over to hers for Christmas or Christmas Eve. We want to make sure that we're not stepping on toes."

The look on his face either meant he was confused or constipated, and the weekly meals you brought to base was suppose to be helping with the second thing.

When it was clear that you weren't going to retract your question, Simon huffed, looking down at Baker who had gladly made himself comfortable in Simon's lap, and was trying to wriggle into his sweatshirt.

"I don't."

"You don't..."

"Do Christmas."

There were many times where your statements had left your husband to blink at you in response, this was one that had the tables turned.

"You don't do Christmas?"

"Yup."

"Any particular reason as to why?"

It really wasn't an issue if Simon did or didn't celebrate Christmas, you just didn't want to do something that'd insult his family heritage or something.

"Just don't."

Well that answered so much.

"So you've never celebrated Christmas?"

Simon Riley could be Jewish for all you knew, though that would make the times you a gave him a ham sandwich awkward.

Simon was silent for a few minutes, as if he was weighing his words as he idly scratching under Baker's chin.

"It's been a long time since I've celebrated it."

You had wanted to ask what he had meant by that, had wanted to ask so badly, but something had stopped you. He hadn't sounded sad exactly when he had said it, but more like he was remembering something sad.

You restacked the boys cups in silence, letting Jiji and Tombo go to town on them as they searched for the treats you hid in random levels. You didn't want to push too hard but you also didn't just want to leave the guy alone when you went to your mothers.

"So...would you be willing to go to my mom's with me? For Christmas."

The moment seemed to only have room for the sound of tossed plastic cups and weighted silence. You hadn't realized you were holding your breath until Simon had spoken, almost hesitantly.

"Your mum do a good roast?"

"Only the best."

"...Guess I'd be willing to go for that."

You couldn't help but grin then, the breath you were holding coming out in a rush of blooming contentment. Little steps.

Yet here you were, Christmas Eve, standing outside your mother's house as you dialed your husband's cell phone number, knowing he probably wouldn't pick up. You were right, he didn't.

You couldn't help but chuckle at hearing the voicemail set up he had, something that said to state what you wanted and hang up. It was short, curt, and completely him.

"Simon Riley you're missing all the fun. We got a turkey with all the sides and fixings that'll feed us for weeks. Plus there's matching sweaters-"

Beep

Wow this man really did expect people to keep it short. With a sigh you redialed his number, leaning against the side of the house even as a chill seeped into your sweater.

"Simon. Leave your message and hang up."

"Like I was saying, there's matching sweaters. Had to search a little for one in your size but don't worry we weren't going to have you miss out it. Even got-"

Beep

"Even got you a stocking. It's a paper one for now, but I decorated it myself. Put Si-si up on top in sparkly black glitter glue. Figured you'd appreciate the-"

Beep

"The color choice."

You thought about what you wanted to say next, long enough that the voice mail timer ended, hanging up the call. With a deep sigh you looked up at the sky, admiring the few stars you could see as you hit the redial button.

"Simon. Leave your message and hang up."

"Would have been nice to have you here. But maybe next year...Merry Christmas Simon."

You let the call end for the final time, just as snow was starting to fall. You admired it in the glow of your mother's door light, wondering when Simon would be back to get your series of messages.

January. Simon wasn't back until the tail end of January and he didn't know how he felt about it. Sure Price had apologized for pulling them all so close to the holidays, but honestly, at the time Simon hadn't minded.

No you hadn't forced him to agree to go to your mums, but he could still tell that you hadn't wanted to just leave him behind during Christmas. Not that he would have minded.

For years Christmas had been this black hole of things he didn't think about. Didn't think about the few decent ones from his childhood. Didn't think about the first Christmas that Tommy had been clean and sober for. Especially didn't think about the last Christmas with any of them, or the present for Joseph he had held onto for years after being unable to give it to him.

So no, he hadn't been disappointed when the call came in for deployment. But listening to your voicemails now...he could say that it probably wouldn't have been awful to go. He was going to burn the supposed Si-Si stocking, and there was no way in hell he'd ever wear a Christmas sweater.

What he was now though, was worried. The team had managed to come in early enough that he had been ready to get home for a late morning nap. Or would have been. If you hadn't had objected otherwise.

Simon: Back. ETA Soon. Thimble: Don't come home yet.

Simon: Why?

Thimble: Because.

Simon: Because why?

Thimble: Because I said so.

Simon: What did you do?

Thimble: What's with all the questions? Just fucking wait till I tell you to come back.

Simon was half convinced that you had murdered a man and was trying to get rid of the body. Given his occupation he would have assumed that you'd be eager for his assistance. He had history of getting bloodstains out.

Still what was the saying? Happy wife happy life? If you wanted Simon to stay away until you called him back he could do that. The breakroom couch wasn't as comfortable as the one you had picked out for the house, but Simon was used to sleeping anywhere. After managing to get a few fitful hours of sleep and several productive hours of paperwork he finally got his text to come home. Time to see what it was you had been up to.

Simon...hadn't been prepared for it to be this. He had been expecting a range from you having bought out an entire craft store, to having suddenly adopted fifteen more pigs, to straight up illegal activity. But there was no sudden influx of crafts, pigs, or bloodstains. Instead when he walked into your home it was...Christmas. Or as close to Christmas as one could get four weeks after the fact.

There was a tiny plastic tree standing proudly on the coffee table, and five stockings hanging up under the TV. He half expected to see the infamous paper stocking, a sore thumb in the crowd. But instead there were five identical ones, save for the names embroidered onto each one. Yours, Jiji, Tombo, Baker, and his.

A kitchen timer was the only thing that drew his gaze away from the family of stockings. He turned his head in time to see you pull a turkey from the oven, the heat making your face flush. The kitchen told quite the story. The sink was full of dishes, even with the dishwasher chugging away, but the counter space was full of dishes.

Besides the turkey Simon could see stuffing and roasted potatoes, Yorkshire puddings and brussels sprouts. Hell it looked like you even made a little dish of mushy peas, even though he knew you didn't like them. At least Simon waited for you to set the turkey on the stove top before questioning everything.

"What's all this about?

You shrugged, stuffing your hands into the back pocket of your jeans.

"Dinner?"

"It's Christmas dinner."

"I know."

"Why?"

Simon hadn't meant to put you on the spot but he was just so confused as to why you'd go through the effort of cooking a Christmas dinner now.

"You missed the one at my mom's."

"So this is for me?"

"Yeah, it is."

That...threw Simon for a loop. It hadn't been that big of a deal to him. It wasn't the first Christmas dinner he'd miss. He didn't doubt that it wouldn't be the last. But you still went through the effort to give him something. He wanted to question further but the words wouldn't come to him. Instead he just stood there in a vortex of feelings that were caught in his chest at realizing you went through all the effort to give Simon a Christmas that he missed.

While Simon was caught in his inner turmoil, you bustled around, setting a plate in his hands and telling him to have as much as he wanted, that you had even made the peas for him incase he didn't like the other veg. He could only follow the orders given to him, taking his time to look at every dish. It wasn't all pretty. He was pretty sure you fucked up the Yorkshires, and some brussels seemed crispier than the others, but sitting down and tasting it all? It was good. Better than he deserved. But he didn't argue, he sat and ate his fill, ate more than that actually, while you told him about everything he had missed.

He insisted on cleaning up afterwards, saying that if you made everything he could at least put away the left overs. He should have been suspicious at how willing you were to let him because by the time he was done you were standing there wearing the tackiest red and white Christmas sweater that could have ever been made. And you were holding an identical one in what appeared to be his size.

"No."

"Come on."

"No."

"But it's Christmas."

"Actually it's January."

"We gotta match for the Christmas photo!"

"We are not having a Christmas photo."

"But I found little sweaters for the kids! We were all going to match!"

Simon looked past you to the couch and could indeed see your three boys on the couch in what looked like little red and white Christmas shrugs. You were completely serious about this. There was no way he was going to wear an ugly Christmas sweater for some ridiculous Christmas photo. Damnit, Simon had his pride and his dignity!

And yet pride and dignity stood no chance to your pleading face because Simon found himself sitting on the couch, wearing the tacky ugly Christmas sweater, and trying to wrangle two furry potatoes who had realized that they did in fact have sentience. At least Tombo was being a good boy. Couldn't say the same for Jiji and Baker. The first was trying to jump to freedom to continue to presumably sample the coffee table, while the later was trying to burrow under the hem of his sweater to presumably get into it. And you? You were giggling as you were setting up the tripod and your phone to get the damn photo.

After the third time of turning Baker around while keeping Jiji contained, it seemed you finally got it right because you were rushing from the coffee table to the couch as the timer counted down.

You hadn't selected the right timer because honestly the photo was a mess. You had your head thrown back in a laugh, leaning into Simon from the force of you jumping onto the couch. Simon wasn't looking at the camera, but instead was focused solely on you. Jiji was a blur that was landing in your lap. Baker was showing his whole ass because he apparently was determined to get into the damn sweater. Tombo was the only one who seemed to actually be looking at the camera like a good boy.

It had to be one of the most chaotic Christmas photos Simon had ever seen.

He chose a simple black frame for the copy of it that sat on his desk.

Edit;

IT'S DONE! Felt like it took every ounce of try and two days to get this decent. Everyone say thank you to @nightunite because talking about this with her gave birth to the Christmas photo. If you have any ideas or asks feel free to let me know!

I hope everyone has a safe and good holiday season regardless of what you celebrate or don't.

Also this is the boy's sweaters

[moeitsu]

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Summary: A well deserved hunt with Charles, met with an unexpected surprise back at camp...

Ao3  Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8 Ch.9 Ch.10

Tags: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character, Widowed, Original Character, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Friends to Lovers, Child Loss, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Chubby Arthur Morgan, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Ch 5 - My Heart Beats On As Warmly Now

“What began as a journey had become a retreat into the unknown. We were backing into the abyss; so worried our sins would follow us we didn’t bother watching where we walked. And behind us was a cliff.” ~ Elsa Dutton 1883

Arthur’s anger dissolved with the storm, replaced by a heavy sense of regret as he trudged back to camp that evening. All he wanted was to drown his shame in a few bottles of liquor, away from prying eyes, away from the disappointment he felt in himself. He hadn’t intended for Kate to see that side of him, not yet at least. And certainly not against a sickly innocent man. He let his anger and frustrations get the better of him. Like he switched on auto-pilot and let the outlaw in him take control. He worried now that Kate might actually leave, and he blamed himself for that.

Swiftly, he made his way to the crate of beer bottles behind the chuck wagon, grabbing a few before retreating to his tent. He craved solitude, a respite from the demands of camp life, from the weight of his own mistakes.

Seated on his cot, a beer wedged between his legs, Arthur opened his journal, the one constant in his life since Dutch and Hosea taught him to read and write. It was his confidant, his sanctuary in a world of chaos. John always gave him shit for it growing up, calling him a pansy and constantly trying to snoop in his personal entries. 

Despite being in a gang for most of his life, he still felt incredibly lonely. There weren't many people he would truly open up to. So his journal became that person. It was the one thing that did not judge him, ever. But even as he poured his thoughts onto the page, he longed for a human connection, someone to truly understand him.  

Hosea and Dutch had been like parents to him, raising him from a young age in the ways of the outlaw. They had their flaws, but they had also shown him kindness and guidance when he needed it most. He always saw Hosea as his father, he would consider Dutch his father too, although he was more like an older brother at times. Hosea was probably the only person who truly knew Arthur, and saw the things he wished not to speak about. Neither parent was perfect by any means, and Arthur could recognize that. But even as an adult, there is still a child inside that longs for the comfort of a father. 

It was that fatherly instinct that drove Hosea to Arthurs tent that night.

“Evening Arthur,” he greeted, holding open the tent flap, “may I come in?” 

He put down his journal and nodded. Gesturing for Hosea to join him on his cot. 

“I noticed Kate didn’t ride back with you, is she okay out in this storm?” He inquired.

Arthur smiled with a slight shake of his head, that's Hosea for you. Always worried about others, here he was checking on his son but was more concerned about the lady he left behind. 

“I’m sure she’s fine, saw her heading into Valentine,” he answered, taking a sip of his beer. He handed one of the full bottles to Hosea as the older gentleman sat down.

“I take it things didn't go well then,” he said with a hint of sympathy.

Arthur sighed, “when do they ever.” 

As they sat together in the dim light, the rain drumming softly on the canvas roof, Arthur felt a sense of comfort in Hosea’s presence. He didn’t need to explain himself, didn’t need to justify his actions. Hosea simply listened, offering silent support.

“I don’t know why I do it,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “The man was sick and weak, I should've just given him a warning.” Arthur concluded with a shake of his head. 

Hosea sighed knowingly. “I think you can blame your fathers for that son,” taking a sip to clear his throat, “Dutch and I did what we thought was best at the time and well, you were quite impressionable when you were young. We used that to our advantage to turn you into a grade A outlaw.” He said gently with honesty. 

Arthur chuckled at the memories of his youth, before John came along he was the golden child. He used to love it when Dutch would teach him how to pick locks, or when Hosea taught him a whole book of curse words. Had he not been the son of outlaws, his life would’ve looked very differently. 

“We’ll always be thieves,” he mused with a hint of nostalgia, “only difference now is that the world don't want us no more.” 

Hosea nodded, silently agreeing, “We're doomed just like every other creature on this rock Arthur,” he remarked with a wry smile. “I just wish I had acquired that wisdom at less of a price.” 

After a moment of contemplative silence, Arthur spoke, his voice heavy with regret. "I just wish I’d done things differently," he admitted, his gaze fixed on the floor. His remorse mixed with his actions at the Downes ranch, and for every mistake he’s made in the past that led him here. 

Hosea laid a comforting hand on Arthur's shoulder, a silent gesture of understanding. "We can't change the past, son," he said gently. "All we can do is learn from it and strive to do better in the future."

Arthur nodded, the weight of Hosea's words settling over him like a blanket of reassurance. "I don't want to be the kind of man who hurts others for no good reason," he confessed, his voice tinged with vulnerability. "I want to be better, for Kate, for everyone."

Hosea squeezed Arthur's shoulder affectionately before rising to his feet. “She’ll come around, son.” He offered a parting reminder, “underneath it all, you have a good heart.”

Before he disappeared into the night, Hosea turned back with a final piece of news. “By the way, your brother wants to speak with you about using that oil cart you found to rob the train tomorrow night.”

Arthur scoffed, shaking his head. “He ain’t my brother,” he muttered disdainfully.

Hosea chuckled. “Well, you two sure argue like brothers. G’night, Arthur.”

He tipped his head to the old man as he left, “night Pa.” 

Arthur laid back on his cot, tucking his journal into his satchel when something small and round fell out and made a soft pitter on the ground. When he looked down he saw the peach pit, the one Kate gave him on her first night. He reached to pick up the small seed. His thumb ran over its hard wrinkles. 

He held it tight to his chest, and silently promised he would make things right with Kate. If he ever saw her again. 

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate took in a deep breath of the crisp morning air, reveling in the freshness that lingered after the storm had passed in the night. The scent of newly sprouted grass and moist earth filled her senses, while dew-kissed leaves sparkled under the gentle caress of the rising sun. A light breeze danced around her, carrying the promise of spring on its wings. It felt like the start of something new as if the world itself was awakening alongside her. It was the perfect day for a ride.

She met Charles in the early morning, exactly where he said he’d be. Waiting for her to begin their journey into the wild lands in hopes of finding a fresh hunt. They were a few hours into their journey now, heading north into Ambarino to hunt cow elk. Just one 200 pound elk is enough to feed the entire camp for a month. Maybe more. It was a day's ride there and back, short enough to keep the meat fresh in time. 

With a satisfied sigh, Kate exhaled the tension from her shoulders, “this is exactly what I needed Charles, thank you.”

Charles smiled warmly, guiding his horse closer to hers. "Thanks for joining me, Kate," he replied, his own gratitude evident in his tone.

With her face tilted to the sun, she savored the moment. Allowing Lorena to guide her. A silent trust shared between them, that her mare will take her where she needs to go. “You know, I always thought you preferred hunting alone. I never see anyone go with you.” Kate remarked, eyes still closed in bliss. 

Charles nodded thoughtfully. "Arthur and I have gone together a few times, but other than that, I don't seek much company from the others," he admitted, his words tinged with honesty. It was clear that while he valued his fellow gang members, solitude was his preferred companion in the wild.

“That why you’re always so quiet?” She inquired, innocently. 

Charles chuckled softly. "If the choice is folks thinking I'm dumb but not knowing for sure, and folks knowing I'm dumb because I sound like them, I think I'd rather keep them wondering," he explained with a grin. The confidence in his voice a testament to his strength. 

Kate chuckled, her eyes reflecting understanding. "I get that. Sometimes it's better to keep people guessing," she replied. Under her breath she added, “I know some of those men can be pretty dumb,” loud enough for Charles to hear.

Charles exclaimed in frustration, “tell me about it! All this death and for what? Just so we can have enough money to be able to run from what we've done?” 

Kate pondered for a moment, she still didn't know what happened all those weeks ago that drove the gang of outlaws here. It was the one piece of information they didn’t talk about around her. Perhaps Charles would share the missing pieces. “What happened to everyone to cause you to run?” Her tone colored with genuine curiosity. 

As Charles recounted the events of that fateful day, Kate couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness for what they must have been through. The gang did not like to talk about Blackwater, and the consequences must have been devastating.

"It was a fucking execution," he began, his voice tinged with regret. "We thought it would a simple job robbing a ferry, carrying payroll. But there were civilians too." Kate could already imagine where this led. $5000 for his head alone, the words echoed in her mind. 

“We raised a lot of hell that day, and things got out of control. Next thing we know, the Pinkertons are on us along with the law. And everyone just starts shooting. I don't know which one of us shot first but that's all it took. There were passengers caught in the crossfire.” He shook his head with disappointment. She couldn't imagine the terror those innocent people must have felt as they found themselves caught in the chaos. 

“Dutch he,” Charles hesitated, “he killed a young girl. Just to get the law off him. And no one batted an eye.” His voice heavy with emotion. Her stomach churned at the thought of such senseless violence. “We lost three good people, and John barely made it out alive.”

He turned, facing her, "I don't kill for fun Kate; I kill when I need to," he urged, his tone pleading. It was clear that he was grappling with the moral implications of their actions, and Kate couldn't help but admire his integrity in the face of such darkness. One so hauntingly familiar. 

“Arthur came out different after Blackwater,” he added with a sigh. 

“Being an outlaw can’t be easy,” Kate added, trying to lighten the mood. She understood the hardships and turmoil that came with senseless violence. 

Charles huffed and shook his head at the memory, “easy certainly wasn't in the job description.” 

As they rode on, the weight of their conversation hung heavy between them. She couldn't shake the feeling that they were all running from something far greater than the law. A feeling she was not immune to. 

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Their hunt had been successful, tracking and swiftly killing a massive elk. They settled in for a fire and camped near a lake for the night. Enjoying fresh fish for dinner. In the morning they tied their game to the back of Taima, and began their journey back to camp. Kate’s spirit felt lightened in a way, the two of them spent most of the night sharing stories. And she realized she and Charles had a lot in common. A gentle reminder that she is not entirely alone in her struggles. 

The ride home went by quickly, and with the sun tickling the horizon, they arrived at the great plains of New Hanover, and eventually, the familiar overlook. 

As they rode into camp, the air was thick with urgency, Miss Grimshaw's voice cutting through the chaos. "Alright girls, everything into the wagons, now!" she barked, her tone sharp. 

Charles swiftly brought their kill to the chuck wagon, while Kate hurriedly dismounted and rushed to join the flurry of activity. The girls worked frantically, packing crates with blankets and clothing, fear etched on their faces.

"What's happening?" Kate asked, her voice tinged with concern.

Mary-Beth paused in her task, her expression grim. "Arthur and John got into trouble with the law in Valentine," she explained, her hands moving quickly. "Dutch says we need to leave, fast."

A surge of panic swept over Kate at the thought of Arthur and John in danger. "Did they get caught?" she asked, her heart pounding.

Mary-Beth shook her head. "I don't know," she admitted, sympathy in her eyes. "But we have to go."

As Kate’s mind began to spiral with the worst outcomes imaginable, a voice rose above the commotion. Speaking of the man himself. 

Dutch's voice cut through the chaos. "Charles!" he called out, his tone urgent. "Find Arthur at Dewberry Creek, we need a new hideout." Charles turned on his heel with a nod, mounting Taima and taking off back down the trail they came in on only a moment ago. 

With his words she felt a sudden sense of relief, Arthur is okay. Their last conversation weighed heavy on her heart. And she would be damned if that was the last time they spoke. 

Dutch's voice commanded attention once more. "When they give us the all clear, we move out! Let's get to work, people!" he shouted.

Mary-Beth and Tilly went back to their work and left Kate alone with her thoughts. She returned to her belongings, packing quickly. But her moment of respite was short-lived as a sickeningly familiar voice cut through the air like a bullet.

“Well hello Kate,” Micah said with disdain and arrogance. 

“I don’t have time for your bullshit Micah,” Kate retorted, her patience wearing thin. 

Micah advanced, his eyes blazing with hostility. "Funny how you show up right when trouble finds us," he taunted.

Kate scoffed, the idea completely absurd, “you idiots robbed a fucking train, did you seriously expect a welcome home party?” She shot back, her voice filled with sarcasm.

Micah's gaze narrowed. "We were set up in Valentine, someone ratted us out," he growled, his words dripping with bitterness. 

“I was just hunting with Charles,” she explained, not bothering to hide the bite in her voice, she refused to play his game. 

Micah approached with malice, his fist twitched at his side, ready to pull his pistol any moment. "Well Charles ain't here now,” he gestured around the camp, “and we think it was you," he hissed, the accusation cutting through the chaos.

Realization dawned on her that he was setting her up, but the reason why was still unclear. “And when Charles comes back he can testify to that,” she spat, turning to continue her packing. 

He closed the distance between them with predatory grace. In one swift motion, he raised his pistol. Before Kate could react, the butt of the gun connected with her temple, sending a searing pain shooting through her skull. Stars exploded behind her eyelids as she stumbled backward, the world spinning dizzily around her. Darkness threatened to engulf her. 

As she struggled to regain her bearings, Micah loomed over her, a twisted smirk playing across his lips, “we’ll be long gone by the time they come back princess.” 

With a sickening thud, Kate's head hit the ground, the impact reverberating through her skull. As the world faded into blackness, she felt herself being pulled into an abyss of darkness. The last sound echoing in her ears was the distant whinny of Lorena, a mournful cry that seemed to fade into the void. 

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

The commotion of the camp kept her drifting in and out of consciousness for the next hour. She heard Abigail's voice call out to Kate in concern, and Micah snapped back warning her to keep her distance. She also realized her wrists had been bound along with her ankles, with Micah standing guard over her like a dog. Like she could run away in this state anyways. 

The darkness began to creep in again, and in a moment she awoke and Micah was gone. It was almost dark and she was in a different spot now, away from the center of camp and behind the tree line. That fucking bastard tried to leave me here. She thought with bitterness. 

In the midst of the chaos, a familiar voice pierced through the camp, but Kate's mind was still swimming in a fog of confusion. Wagons rattled as they hurriedly departed the overlook, leaving Kate struggling to make sense of the commotion. Summoning all her strength, she pushed herself up onto her knees, squinting through the haze.

Then, like a beacon in the night, Arthur's horse appeared, Belle’s white coat gleaming amidst the darkness. With a surge of relief, Kate locked eyes with Arthur, who rushed over to her side, his expression etched with concern.

Her consciousness flickered like a dim candle in the wind as she slowly regained awareness. The throbbing pain in her head was a harsh reminder of what had just transpired. Blinking away the haze, her vision blurry.

"Kate? Are you alright?" Arthur's voice cut through the fog, filled with concern as he took in the sight of her bound wrists and ankles. Swiftly dismounting Belle and pulling a knife from his belt to cut her free. 

Her head throbbed as she recounted what happened and she felt sick in the stomach. She couldn’t stay with them anymore, not after this. Micah was a real problem, and if what Charles told her about Blackwater is true, then Dutch is likely the same. 

“I’m okay,” she answered wearily, “Micah set me up,” a hint of fear mixed with rage creeped into her voice. Arthur helped her rise to her feet, just as the last wagons were leaving the overlook. Without missing a beat she turned to find her horse. 

Arthur was slightly taken aback, unsure if she was still upset with him from the nights before, all while trying to make sense as to why Micah had set her up. 

“I-I’m sorry Kate,” he pleaded, “I shoulda been here,” his voice was laced with remorse. His strides quickened as he closed the distance between them. Kate's heart clenched at the sincerity in his voice, but she knew she couldn't stay.

“It’s not your fault,” she reassured, “but I have to leave.” She decided in the moment, ripping the bandaid clean off. She longed to stay with Arthur and the gang, but she no longer wanted part in this trouble. “Goodbye Arthur,” she bid him a solemn farewell.

“Kate,” he called out, desperation filling the air. He wanted to stop her, to grab her and beg her to explain what happened with Micah. But the look in her eyes told him everything he needed to know, she had made up her mind. So all he could do was stand and watch as she rode off. 

She clutched at Lorena’s reins, taking off in the same direction as the wagons, intending to ride past them and make her way to Rhodes, hopefully putting enough distance between them so she could get her bearings and be on the move again. Her heart raced with adrenaline and disappointment. Things could not have taken a turn for the worst. 

She used the darkness to her advantage, slipping away from the wagons as they took a path down following the railroad tracks, while Kate veered off towards the twin stacks. As she climbed altitude she watched the wagons below, specifically watching Arthur take off behind them, his mare flying through the train of carts and horses like a butterfly dancing between flowers. 

She paused for a moment, letting herself consider that perhaps she wasn't just running away out of fear, but something else as well. She thought about the girls, and Charles, who had just become a dear friend after their hunting trip. She thought about Abigail, who must be clutching little Jack close to her heart at this moment, praying John will see his family out of this alive. Her last conversation with Arthur still ate at her heart, so many words went unspoken that she wished she had said that night. 

Memories of her past came back in waves along with the painful throb of where she had been hit with Micah’s gun. Her fear, mixed with her disappointment and anger. A reminder of her own weakness. 

Yet, she decided long ago that she would never live in that kind of world again, where the weak would rather guilt the strong than become strong themselves. This world doesn’t care what the weak want. This world eats the weak. Therefore, she became strong. 

The sudden sound of gun fire dragged her from her thoughts, she rode farther up the slope looking for the source of the noise. She saw in the distance the tiny images of wagons and horses, and a group of raiders descending to their location.. 

Gripping the reins with such ferocity, Lorena reared on her hind legs as Kate spun her around and took off back down the slope. She would not let death sink its venomous teeth into the belly of another. 

[satureja13]

And while the others headed over to Porto Azzurro, Vlad and Ji Ho went to the ocean, because Ji Ho is the happiest there. They left their Little Goats at the beach to keep watch. (TMI: I also took a similar pic of Francine and her boyfriend, Jules, here where they look at each other the same way <3 )

Both of them were worrying how to deal with each other now, after all the madness that had happened between them. The spell that made Vlad fall in love with Ji Ho even though he still mourned the death of his first love, Wesley, the curse that kept them from being together, Vlad dying (and going to hell and back) because he wanted to claim Ji Ho back from Genji, who bit Ji Ho and became his first bonded, all the 'Bond Magic' they had to 'do' to 'safe the world' and defeat the Council, Vlad trying to spare Ji Ho from this and his attempts to 'kill' their bond and to bond with Morgan instead, and the Bond punishing Vlad, blinding him and almost made him attack his friends...

Yeah, that was when the Bond had enough. It won't allow any further delay and it certainly won't allow anything that keeps them away from each other. The Bond showed them how strong their love still is. And that neither Vlad nor Ji Ho holds any grudge against the other. Because they know, all they did was for a good cause. For each other, for their friends and for their community. They finally overcame all their hardships and now it's time to harvest the sweet fruits of their love.

Eventually, they relaxed and Ji Ho playfully swam around Vlad. And poor Vlad was stunned. Never before had he seen anything as beautiful and wonderous as Ji Ho in this very moment.

Of course Ji Ho sensed through the Bond how Vlad felt. But he wanted this moment far from any awkwardness and so he decided to splash Vlad out of his stupor 🌊 What they need right now is to get comfortable around each other, and not to become even more awkward and cautious, the rest will follow.

And finally Vlad laughed. A liberating, gleeful laughter. All the weight, he'd carried around for years, fell off him. He'd never been so carefree before, and never so happy. And he's glad he is allowed to share this moment with Ji Ho. This was the moment he realized that he wouldn't have to worry about them anymore.

They are finally at a point from where they could start their relationship without being afraid or dreading what their future might bring for them. And Ji Ho felt it too.

The Bond decided it's time for a kiss to seal their love and to start this new chapter in their life together. Never before a kiss felt so good and so intense for Ji Ho. For the first time he was truely grateful to have his feelings back so he could experience the full magnitude of this kiss. For the first time his new found feelings weren't frightening and oppressive. It felt as they became one when their lips touched, their hungry mouths melted and Vlad's tongue gingerly asked for admission. And time bended to eternity.

And even though Ji Ho is a mermaid, he felt like drowning. But Vlad held him tight. Little Goat: 'What a kiss!' Little Goat: 'I'll go and fetch the others!'

And when the sun set, just a little while later, Jeb and Sai also watched them. Sai sighed contendedly and forgot his worries for a while. If Vlad and Ji Ho can make it, Jeb and him will also succeed. And Sai decided to put more effort in their relationship. He's always letting himself getting dragged in too deep in his leader obligations and, just like Kiyoshi neglected Jack over his duties, he neglected Jeb. He will learn to delegate, just as Jeb (and the others) suggested. And accept help from his friends. Let them carry the burden with him. He's determined to work really hard to stop their on/off relationship and turn it into something steady and fulfilling. He's going to get real close to Jeb and eventually he'll finally lose his virginity! They had their first date (and their first kiss) almost exactly two years ago and they've spend more time apart than together as a couple... And when Jeb asked him, reluctantly, if he could kiss him, he couldn't be happier! Sai wasn't even disappointed that Jeb only kissed his cheek... It's just the beginning.

Maybe he all but missunderstood all that 'we can't woohoo because Jeb can't hurt Sai' nonsense? After all it had been Jack who first brought that up -.-

'I don't want another heartbreak I don't need another turn to cry, no I don't want to learn the hard way Baby, hello, oh, no, goodbye But you got me like a rocket Shooting straight across the sky

It's the way you love me It's a feeling like this It's centrifugal motion It's perpetual bliss It's that pivotal moment It's, ah, impossible This kiss, this kiss (unstoppable) This kiss, this kiss

Cinderella said to Snow White How does love get so off course, oh All I wanted was a white knight With a good heart, soft touch, fast horse Ride me off into the sunset Baby, I'm forever yours'

This Kiss - Faith Hill

From the Beginning 🔱 Underwater Love 🔱 Latest

Current Chapter: 'Here comes the Sun' from the beginning ▶️ here Last Chapter: 'Who killed Jack?' from the beginning ▶️ here

📚 Previous Chapters: Chapters: 1-6 ~ 7-12 ~ 13-16 ~ 23-28

[mercysought]

APPROVAL: Shianni looking at the darkspawn horde coming for Denerim a second time and the fires on the horizon and everything looking like it will end and joking not joking maybe now is the time to get married, Maxima

approval + (prompt) // not accepting // @skyheld

   "You would want that?"

The thought stuns Maxima into silence; a feat in itself. Memorable, even, if perhaps the times they were living in weren't perhaps the most interesting that had happened since she had discovered that ancient elves both existed and some of them were really angry. Some of them even more specifically at her or people like her. Looking at Shianni, though Maxima would not admit it, it did bring some level of relief that the Elvhen Gods of Old seemed just as angry at her and those like her.

It was a terribly selfish thought, but truthful nonetheless.

The thought of marriage had always been one she had sworn off, though perhaps not for the same reasons as Shianni might think, not he same ones that a marriage to her would be a problem. To be a Magister was to make sure that one wielded her power and position; one of House Aurum also meant that any alliance she were to make would mean that their influence would grow tenfold. Maxima, however, had not refused to do so out of some petty reason to hold onto all influence she had amassed (though it certainly was part of it); but it had to do with expectations.

The expectation that she would marry a man, and that she would have children so that whatever magical aspects would be passed to the next generation, strengthening those bonds. The thought made her sick.

That she would bring children to this world when she knew what it did to folks that were born like her; to marry someone under the assumption that she was fully human, for there was no real alternative. To tell the truth was to sign her death. That any children would have to bear the same shame and fear that she had her whole life - that they should, rightfully, blame her.

It was not a punishment she would wish on anyone.

Looking at Shianni, she takes in the nervous smile, the half joking tone and the underlying hope that she would be taken seriously. This would not be an issue, not with her. Just a few moments before she had been feeling overwhelmed at the force of darkspawn just beyond and now she stood overwhelmed before one single woman.

Shianni would hate Tevinter. She would hate the politics. She would hate the people Maxima surrounded herself around with, whoever was left after this was all over - if any of them survived it. Maxima feels a chill in her body. She could not marry a woman under Tevinter law, not as it stood. She could certainly not marry an elven woman. But they were not in Tevinter - moreover, Maxima wondered more and more - despite how terribly fatalistic it sounded that she might not survive it. And now, looking at the darkspawn, the fear that Shianni might not either makes her heart tremble.

The thought that Shianni would still want to marry her, despite knowing all of her flaws. The cracked edges under the fantasy - and that she would leave Ferelden despite loving it or, at least, accept being so far from it far more frequently (for she knew that Maxima would not leave Minrathous or Tevinter) - it was more than anyone had ever given her. More than anyone had ever offered. A love truer than she really deserved, but a love that she was selfish enough to accept.

And, if they did survive it, Maxima would likely be amongst the few that could make that a reality. If there was even any Tevinter to speak of, by the end of this.

Sniffling, Maxima turns back to the darkspawn but not really seeing them, pushing her hair over her shoulder, her hands move into her pockets as she shifts the weight on her feet.

   "I do not want to get married in the middle of a battlefield." she says flatly, she sees Shianni's head snap to her and her brows arch. Grabbing a cigarette from her pocket, she lights it with a flicker of a wrist, pointing at the sky and then at the horde just beyond "In the rain?! In the cold?! With Darkspawn for guests?! In these robes?!"

Shaking her head, she waves her hand in a mirroring motion. If that were to be the case, then perhaps indeed it would be better to be dead. "I need to plan it, have a dress that will literally be impressed into legend by how amazing it is. And flowers."

A sea of flowers from ceiling to floor.

It would be an event for the ages, for the history books because they would have no other choice but to take it and write for what it was. The thought gave her pause, it made her feel fear like she had never done before. Not for her; her own shame and her own flesh and blood need not be in those history books but to expose so much of what could make her bleed frightened her more than she was willing to admit.

   "We will discuss it, once this is over." the smoke fills the air around her head and she pushes past it to approach Shianni. One hand holding hers. Her hand, filled with golden rings, lifts to rest against her cheek. Every fiber of her being told her this was a terrible idea, that this would literally spell out the end for her, for her family in Tevinter.

Taking a deep breath, Maxima leans down, taking her lips, hands holding her waist closer to her. The world was ending and they could be dead tomorrow at their enemies' hands. Her head spins and while she does not know if this is the right thing to do, it feels... it feels like they deserve this softness.

Maxima leans back, enough to break the kiss but not enough to fully separate them. Her forehead against Shianni's, she holds her at the centre of her back "This is not the end."

maxima aurum approves

[bettathanyou]

Cedric x Reader Having A Nightmare

Sponsored by me, who woke up to a nightmare and couldn't go back to sleep so I wrote this lmao. Trigger warning for reference of childhood trauma and abuse

Hopefully y'all can get some better sleep than I could

"(y/n)...! You need to wake up!"

Cedric's voice called out to you from the inky blackness, the in-between place that lies within dreams and the waking world.

Your eyelids snapped opened as the remnants of your dream faded to the back of your subconscious. Your face was buried deeply in your pillow, and immediately you could feel the wetness of tears staining the pillowcase. You take in a sharp breath, exhaling shakily as you feel the weight of your nightmare clinging to your mind.

"...(y/n)?" Cedric calls your name again, more hesitant and lighter this time. You feel his hand curled around your arm, squeezing lightly.

You drag your cheek across the pillow, angling your face towards Cedric. His lean frame was propped up on his elbow, with his torso leaning towards you. Weak moonlight streamed from the balcony of Cedric's workshop, not enough for you to see past a few feet- but it was certainly enough to betray the look of heavy concern Cedric wore as he gazes down at you.

"..Are you alright?" He asks somberly, his voice having a lingering roughness from sleep.

You stare up at him in silence, trying in vain to find an answer that satisfies you. As you do so, you noticed Cedric's silver and ebony locks sticking out in all directions, with a stray lock of his white bangs falling into his eye.

It looks like he had just woken up himself.

"Did I wake you up?" You deflected his question with your own, your voice hoarse.

Cedric nodded, but before he could speak again an apology already left your lips.

"I'm sorry, love..." you trailed off, breaking eye contact for a moment in shame. You knew your nightmares could get bad, and for a while it was the reason you were afraid to fall asleep with the sorcerer. Even though you both have talked about this before, the instinctual need to apologize for the space you occupy always lashes out before any reasonable reaction.

Cedric shakes his head in response to your apology, brows furrowed in disapproval.

His hand leaves your arm, and instantly your heart aches from the withdrawal. Before you could mourn his touch further, however, his hand finds you again as he cups your face to meet his eyes once more.

"Don't apologize; it's okay."

Cedric's voice now sounded clearer, more awake now. His expression that previously held concern had since softened, and his honey eyes were devoid of any judgement or annoyance.

You weren't sure how to respond, except for a small nod of acknowledgement.

Even so, Cedric continues to hold you with his unwavering gaze, and with your cheek being captured in his palm, there was nowhere left for you to hide.

You felt scared for a moment- not of Cedric, but of the vulnerability it takes to look at him whenever old ghosts would haunt you like this. Some days it felt like if he looked close enough- or long enough, Cedric would find out how ugly and rotten those old wounds from your past really are, and how much they can fester. All the way down to your marrow.

Needing a way to channel your anxious energy, your hand automatically lands in Cedric's hair. Wordlessly, you begin to smooth down the rebellious strands of hair on Cedric's scalp. Your fingers tenderly untangle the silky strands, silently admiring the contrasting hues of white and black that slipped through your hand. Even though you've touched Cedric's hair a thousand times, and have looked at it double that amount, it never ceases to fill your heart with happiness.

Cedric knew quite well how you reach for anything in close proximity to fidget with when your nervous- his hair being a popular choice among them. While the idea of you being nervous made him nervous, he chose to close his eyes and let you work through his untamed bed head, giving a low hum of contentment at your touch.

If it helped you calm down, he certainly wouldn't complain.

After you are satisfied with your handiwork, you let your hand slide through his hair once more before splaying your hand across Cedric's cheek. His eyes flicked to yours briefly, their familiar warmth and love for you seeping through his eyelashes.

Immediately he turns his face to lean more into your hand, his nose practically buried in your palm. You break into a smile at the gesture, watching as Cedric covers your hand with his own. You caress his cheek with your thumb softly, and he returns your affection with his lips gently meeting against the soft skin of your wrist in a few soft kisses.

After a moment, Cedric breaks the silence between you.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He mumbles gently into your skin, shooting you a hesitant glance.

"I..." you drift off, momentarily blanking on the question. Cedric waits patiently for you to collect your thoughts, and you continue.

"I don't remember much, really- nightmares always fade fast, for me." You spoke quietly, glancing over at Cedric to gauge his reaction.

"What do you remember, if anything?" He asks, his face neutral.

You give a half hearted shrug, not really wanting to try and actively recall your dream.

"Just the end, I guess. All I remember is feeling like I had to- to get away; before I got hurt." You feel your pulse quicken as you hear yourself speak, your stomach twisting at the implications of your words.

"I see..." Cedric murmurs, nodding his head as your confession sinked in. You see the turmoil behind his carefully masked neutrality, and it eats a hole in your heart. You sigh deeply, trying to alleviate the weight that was settling in your chest.

"I've had plenty worse nightmares though- this one isn't too bad. I'll be alright." You offered, a weak attempt at consoling your partner.

Cedric only gives you an incredulous look in response, and you don't like the way his eyes cut through your bluff.

"You're safe here, (y/n). You know that, right?" Cedric asks, almost as if he was pleading.

"...I know." You pushed the words out slowly, almost grimacing from the effort it took to speak. You know objectively what Cedric says is true, but even still your body refuses to fully believe it.

Cedric noticed your discomfort immediately, and shifted his body closer to yours. His arm gently snakes around your waist, then nudges at your back; his soft brown eyes asking for silent permission to hold you close.

You respond by dipping your face into the crook of Cedric's neck, your arms swiftly embracing him and holding his torso in a tight squeeze. In turn, Cedric pulls you tightly against his chest, lithe arms cradling you like a precious jewel. Your heart feels comforted in Cedric's arms, and the warmth of his body helps your muscles relax into his form.

Taking in a deep breath, you inhale his scent deeply- the smell of petrichor, dried herbs and the sweet musk of old books making you believe, for a moment, in his words that promised you safety.

Cedric mirrors you, and you feel his chest rise as his takes in a deep breath. His breath is warm against you as he exhales in a long sigh, helping you feel grounded.

You both lay in a comforting silence, listening to each other breath. After a while, you almost don't notice how each of your breathing has finally fallen into sync.

"Cedric?" You speak his name hesitantly, cringing at your voice cutting through the silence.

"Hm?" The sorcerer responds, feeling his voice vibrate through you.

"Thank you, for waking me up," you start, your fingers fidgeting with the fabric of his night shirt.

"Of course, darling." Cedric rubs your back for a second as he responds, and suddenly you remember the pleading look as he told you that you were safe.

"And- I know that I'm safe, I promise. It's just... hard getting used to it." You admitted with a heavy sigh.

Cedric stays silent for a moment, and each second you grow worried that you somehow upset him. As you start to move your head to look up at him, Cedric speaks, stopping you in your tracks.

"I know it's hard- trust me, I do." Cedric enunciates, and your mind wanders to the things he had to go through to empathize with your statement. You squeeze his body in comfort, signalling that you understood what he meant.

"One day though, you're going to wake up and realize you can't remember the last time you had a nightmare." Cedric says with conviction, and you almost want to believe it. You scoff into his chest, amused but not convinced.

"I know, it's hard to believe. It'll be so subtle, you'd almost miss it." Cedric lets out a dry chuckle, gazing down at you with a complicated look.

"Just... give it time, love." Cedric finished, kissing your head affectionately.

"That's about all I can do." You said with a sigh, nuzzling him; but you had a smile on your lips regardless.

With your conversation now at a close, you both eventually drifted off to an undisturbed sleep; devoid of nightmares, but full of love and care for one another.

[robsterskellington]

Sorry this took so long! We struggled to remember what we had originally written, then I caught the flu on top of it. Anyway!

Context: as stated, Chuuya is accused of a crime. Vanitas still doesn't have his memories at this point in time, but he's managed to cure the Port Mafia of Vampirism since Bram was unable to. Bit of a soukoku snippet again, so enjoy!

Days turned to weeks, then soon, Vanitas had been in Yokohama, with the Agency, for just over three months. He still had no memories, only feelings and images, and he had his grimoire that he could use with his Ability. He felt at home, despite everything- Yosano insisted on giving him regular checkups and verified the following: he had started gaining a healthy weight ever since he found out he *loved* Japanese food, his sleep pattern was normal thanks to Kunikida helping him fall into a routine, and his mind was staying active with the amount of paperwork and the drawing he did with Kyouka.

He still felt useless. Sure, he'd joined the Agency, but no Entrance Exam had been arranged for him yet, and he was still under observation. He had managed to settle certain things by curing the Vampires in Yokohama, it was just taking a while for the rest of the world's militaries to gather the remaining Vampires, and it would take a lot out of him to reverse the affects of Bram's Ability.

Thoughts faded once Kunikida started the meeting; Fukuzawa had called everyone, and for once, everyone was able to be in attendance, though Dazai had his feet on the table, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. Kunikida dimmed the lights and began a slideshow presentation.

Photos of corpses on the ground, looking like their bones had been crushed in their bodies, buildings with chunks taken out of them, and a blurry image of a man in a hat, glowing red, jumping across buildings. The corpses belonged to a group that were causing the Port Mafia a lot of issues, stealing money, weaponry and even killing some of their thugs. So naturally, they needed to be taught a lesson, which meant having them slaughtered.

Usually, the person responsible for revenge killings was Akutagawa, however he was very true to his promises, and so he was still holding back on killing people. Kouyou was a Higher Executive, so she wouldn't filthy her own hands unless it was absolutely necessary, and the same logic went for Mori, as he was the Boss. Hirotsu was skilled, and could certainly cause this kind of damage, however his parkor skills weren't *that* good, and his Ability was a purple colour. Tachihara wouldn't make this much of a mess, neither would Gin.

Just looking at the photos, it was fairly obvious that the culprit was Nakahara Chuuya. The culprit could walk on air, had a red aura, and though the hat obscured the face, the style of hat he wore was the same as Chuuya's.

The problem with that was, not everyone in the Agency believed what their eyes were showing- Chuuya wouldn't leave evidence of his crimes, if he committed this. He'd never allow himself to be seen on camera, he was always oddly discreet for someone with that amount of chaotic energy. As for the buildings, since civilians may have been inside, he definitely wouldn't have used them. Even during the Dead Apple Incident, he used empty buildings and skyscrapers against Shibuzawa's Dragon, though whether that was because the Fog made people vanish or not was a factor to consider.

Dazai gave a half hearted shrug and looked up at his work partner, "You believe that slug would do all this? Please."

"I know you want to defend him, you have a history, but this can't just be ignored." Kunikida crossed his arms, "This is obvious to anyone that Nakahara Chuuya did this, so-"

"*Wrong.*" Everyone looked at Dazai, who sat up properly and glared at Kunikida, "Even under Mori's orders, Chuuya wouldn't slaughter this many people, regardless of what they've done to the Mafia. At most, he would capture them and have them sent to the torture experts. If you think this is Chuuya's doing, you need new glasses."

Fukuzawa cleared his throat and they both quietened, then Ranpo yawned loudly, "It shouldn't be any surprise that Dazai's right. Mr. Fancy Hat, while capable, didn't do this. Though something tells me that even with *my* deductions, not all of you seem to believe me. So, raise your hands: who believes Chuuya is innocent?"

Dazai's hand was the first to shoot up- usually he'd hide his feelings behind that mask of his, but since joining what was essentially the *good side*, Dazai had learned so much, and knew that things were always more complicated than they seemed. He trusted Chuuya, nothing would change that. Obviously he'd still keep their relationship a secret, but even if they weren't in love... Dazai wouldn't accuse Chuuya of this without seeing physical evidence, not photographs that could easily be forged.

Ranpo's hand rose as well, then Vanitas', Atsushi's and Kyouka's. After thinking about it, Kenji also raised his hand. Fukuzawa trusted Ranpo, and he also had the benefit of knowing Mori almost as well as Dazai, so his hand went up as well.

Kunikida crossed his arms, he still believed that Chuuya was likely an off the rails killer, and Dazai was likely covering for him. Plus, he wouldn't admit it, but after seeing Mushitaro's Ability, and how easily both Dazai and Fyodor could trick even a skilled person such as Ranpo, but he'd lost a lot of faith in his *Ultra Deduction*. Yosano's hand also remained on the table, since she'd seen first hand how arrogant and ready to kill Chuuya had been when they faced each other during the Three Way War.

The Tanizaki's also stayed out of the vote- Naomi did think that this was all incredibly suspicious, but there was no evidence pointing to someone other than Chuuya. She thought that maybe it would be better to investigate the matter first. The only reason she didn't raise her hand was because she simply didn't trust anyone in the Mafia, for the same reason as Yosano: Chuuya had been the one to help use Naomi and Haruno as bait for Steinbeck and Lovecraft. As for Jun'ichiro, he acknowledged that Chuuya had saved him against the Hunting Dogs, but also knew that he only did so on Mori's orders, not because he was a good person.

Even though the majority vote was that Chuuya was innocent, those thinking he was guilty were unwilling to change their stance and Kunikida nodded, "I'll notify Special Operations, see if they can have some sway over the Mafia."

"You can't do that." Dazai stood up and faced Kunikida, staring into his azure eyes, "Chuuya-"

"Whatever your history with him, forget it." He snapped, "Honestly, how do we know you aren't working with him as well? It's not like you're trustworthy, Mr. Port Mafia Executive." That stung. Yeah, Dazai hid his past, but Ranpo and Fukuzawa did the same thing. He saw red when Kunikida spoke, "He's a mindless killer for the Mafia, able to decimate his rivals. He's no better than the Former Port Mafia Boss. Even when you both worked together, he was the one who destroyed, you simply became his *off switch*, but you were the strategist."

"Kunikida." Ranpo spoke with a warning tone, but was ignored.

"How am I supposed to trust you when you never trusted us?!" He was shaking now, staring daggers at Dazai who had zero expression on his face, "Port Mafia Executive, kill count exceeding 800," that part made Kyouka flinch, "and how many of those were innocent?! Would you kill *us* if it suited your goals?!"

*No*, Dazai wanted to answer. He cared about the Agency, it wasn't even just about his promise to Odasaku anymore. Joining the Agency was the best choice he'd ever made, but perhaps his past could never escape him. He was always going to be just a former enemy, wasn't he? So, he decided to ask: "What exactly do you think of me?"

"After seeing everything you're capable of, I'm convinced that you pretend to have emotions. You're manipulative, cruel, and-" Everyone glared at him, trying to get him to stop, but before Ranpo could interject again, Kunikida blurted: "You're *less than human*, for God's sake!"

Dazai didn't respond to that, at least, not verbally. He just stood up and walked away, grabbing his coat and being silent the entire time.

Kunikida seemed to realise exactly what he just said, and before he could take a step forward, he got knocked to the ground, his vision going white as his cheek burned with pain. Vanitas panted slightly, his fist shaking as he glared at Kunikida, "What the actual *fuck* is wrong with you, Doppo Kunikida?!"

"I-..."

But when he looked up, he couldn't talk. Vanitas looked down, ashamed that he didn't speak up sooner, then took a breath, "Chuuya's innocent. I have proof. The only reason I didn't speak up was out of respect for Dazai." That was when he explained:

****

"Aaaand done." Vanitas looked up at the ceiling of his apartment, having hung up the final paper crane. When Jouno gave him the task of folding one thousand origami cranes, he wasn't exactly sure he could do it, but here he was, proving himself wrong. A thousand paper cranes hung from his ceiling, showing his progress, from when he first arrived here. After getting down from his chair, he caught something out of the corner of his eye- since he was on the top floor, he could see the streets below him from his window, and noticed Dazai, a hand in his pocket and the other on his phone.

Vanitas was naturally a little nosey, and hanging around the Agency only made that worse, so he couldn't help but open his window and leap onto the roof, deciding to follow. Dazai obviously had his own life and business, but something told Vanitas to look into this. Like an instinct that made no sense. He walked along the rooftops, thankful that the clouds in the sky made it impossible for Dazai to see his shadow- then again, he wouldn't be surprised if Dazai already knew he was following.

Dazai waited in an alley, leaning against the wall before grinning, "You came."

"...you called." Vanitas saw that the one responding to Dazai was none other than Chuuya, who wasn't wearing his signature hat... actually, he looked exhausted. His suit was a little crumpled, his hair was limp, and his eyes had dark bags underneath, "So you heard about those attacks?"

"Judging by your appearance, you're not the one responsible. No surprises there." Dazai stood up properly and looked at his partner, "What happened?"

Vanitas listened in as Chuuya explained that someone had been murdering enemies of the Port Mafia, and causing general chaos while disguised as Chuuya, which meant the real Chuuya had to work overtime to stop this asshole. Unfortunately, Chuuya was always a little too late, and ended up having to sort out paperwork, run around to examine clues, all mess that an Executive *shouldn't* be doing. He was burnt out and exhausted, he just wanted to sleep.

Knowing that, Dazai took the proper initiative; he scooped Chuuya up in his arms and ran like Hell. Vanitas followed after hearing the situation, knowing that if Chuuya was going to be accused, he might as well make sure Chuuya had an alibi. He watched as Dazai took him for ramen, then a walk on the beach, then grocery shopping. If Chuuya was under suspicion, it was best to lay low for a while, so after a quick drink at Bar Lupin, they went back to Chuuya's apartment for the night.

Vanitas took photos and even filmed some of their interactions, silently vowing to apologise to Chuuya and Dazai later, feeling gross for stalking them. Before they went into the apartment, Vanitas recorded one last thing that Chuuya said: "If the Agency do think I'm the asshole killing those guys, I don't mind turning myself in. I already know you'll fight to prove my innocence."

"That's not necessary, slug. But thanks for the offer. I'll stay with you for a few days, see if my presence alone is enough of an alibi." He tilted his head when Chuuya started shaking, "...what's funny?"

"Oh, please! You'd ever have the balls to tell the Agency we're together!" He laughed hard and grinned at him, "Even if you did, I doubt they'd believe you're in a committed relationship with a Port Mafia Executive."

"Maybe they won't, but we could get them to listen. The Agency aren't foolish. Sure, they've been tricked before, but so have the Port Mafia, the Guild, even the Decay of Angels." He kissed Chuuya's forehead and spoke softly, "I can at least try, okay?"

They both went inside and Vanitas stopped his recording, smiling to himself. He'd heard that they were a team in the Mafia, and if their love had bloomed from that, then no wonder they were so good together.

****

Once Vanitas had presented his evidence, Kunikida looked away, feeling like a moron. He'd been out of sorts for a while now, Jouno's words from before the attack at the airport still had him shaken to his core. The world wasn't black and white, and of course they wouldn't have believed Dazai if he'd come out as being in a relationship with a man, never mind an Executive of the Port Mafia!

They watched the videos and saw the photos, Ranpo looking at one in particular- it was the pair of them walking out of the grocery store. The time stamp on a photo of "Chuuya" leaping across the roof of a building matched. Dazai was his alibi and Vanitas had provided the proof. Ranpo simply nodded, "I'll talk to Poe and Fitzgerald, see if Eyes of God can help us determine who this Gifted is and why he's purposely pissing off the Mafia. In the meantime, nobody contacts Dazai or Chuuya, got it?"

Of course they all agreed, and those who voted on Chuuya being the culprit all left without a word, leaving the others to discuss how to help. Though Kyouka seemed curious: "Atsushi, Kenji... how come you both believed in his innocence?"

"Chuuya's really nice!" Kenji said with a grin, "He actually buys his veggies from my stall in town whenever he gets the chance, and sometimes we hang out over beef bowls. He respects strength of all kind, especially strength of heart."

"Yeah, I only ever ran into him outside of work once, when we went to go see the same movie. But I saw how he protected the people of Yokohama when the Guild initially attacked; he was the reason I wanted the Agency and the Port Mafia to work together." It was actually hard *not* to like Chuuya once you got to know him. Plus, Atsushi's senses were higher than most, so he could see a lot of the real Chuuya- he cared for his friends and family, had a lot of love for Yokohama and its people. He was terrified of losing himself and losing others, so he fought like Hell to protect what he could.

Chuuya was easier to read than Dazai, but that was okay. Dazai knew Chuuya better than anyone, and Atsushi trusted Dazai- even if Ranpo hadn't confirmed his innocence and Vanitas hadn't proved it, Atsushi absolutely would have believed in him anyway. Kenji obviously felt the same way. Kyouka smiled and glanced at Vanitas, who just shrugged, "I hang out with people outside of the Agency, and I could see more of Chuuya than most ever will when I cured his Vampirism. He'd never do anything blatantly stupid, even if he was pissed off. He'll be fine with Dazai."

Yeah, that was right. Dazai would have gone straight back to Chuuya. *Right?*

******

It was cold, and dusty. There hadn't been a need to come back here, not after Oda's death, not after he left the Mafia and got his own place. Even when he hid underground, it wasn't as miserable as this place. Verlaine had joked that Dazai was saving a lot of money by living in a sparsely furnished shipping container, but the fact of the matter was that it was barely suitable for the purpose Dazai originally got it for.

It was meant to be his own safe space, away from the Mafia, where nobody would find him. And if he got carried away on a ship by accident, then all the better, he could leave everything behind. But that never happened, clearly. He had this container bought since before he met Chuuya, and it was still cold, empty and depressing. But Dazai didn't know where to go with his mind and emotions fragmented. His hands curled in his hair, anger bubbling inside his chest, the pain *burned*- it itched and clawed at his sanity.

"...I always get pushed down, don't I, Odasaku?" He muttered to himself, trying to ignore the ringing in his head, "I don't want to get back up anymore."

He did end up on his knees, trying to breathe. It wasn't a cold day, but the container may as well have been below freezing, the icy temperature bleeding into his chest and making it so damn hard to inhale and exhale. His brain was slow to react, he didn't expect it, but Mori crouched down beside him, wrapping his arms around Dazai.

*When the fuck did he get here?!* He wanted to scream, he wanted to pull away, he wanted to yell for his to get off, to not touch him! But all he said was: "*How?*"

"I have eyes everywhere, Dazai. You should know that better than anyone..." cooed Mori, a smirk forming in the darkness, sending shivers down Dazai's spine. He hated it, he absolutely fucking hated it. "I know everything. About you, and your relationship with Chuuya." He continued, tilting Dazai's face and running his thumb across Dazai's lips.

That made his breath hitch, a lot. He began to panic, how could he not? He felt like a child again in the Mafia's infirmary, feeling like Mori had just told him that he knows he took a drug he shouldn't have.

*Oh, no. Nononononono!!*

"Living in such a disgusting and shameful way..." whispered Mori, as he cupped both of Dazai's cheeks, "You do know that you're a selfish psychopath, causing such issues for the pair of you, and the Agency who claim to care for you?"

Dazai shook his head, which was a mistake considering how much it was already spinning, caught up in the middle of a thought. He can't respond, the heaviness in his chest restricting everything he had. He wasn't sure if anyone ever cared or loved him, or if it was all out of fear, knowing what Dazai was capable of. "Don't touch me..."

If only he kept his mouth shut. But he's scared, he's still broken, fighting back the only way he knows how to. He felt Mori shift and wrap his scarf around him instead, and listened as Mori spoke quietly, "Remember when you were young? What did I teach you?" Dazai found himself slowing his breathing, then covering up his now closed right eye with his hand, like a terrible instinct, "That's right. Calm yourself. Then fight, if that's what you want, *Little Demon*."

Mori, despite his fears, had a soft spot for Dazai. His cold apartment was like this shipping container, which stored nothing but a few belongings, nothing more than a roof and a place to sleep. No matter how much Dazai hated Mori, he leaned into him, his muscles begging to relax, and he wasn't actively crying anymore. But that still didn't stop the tears.

"I want to know who the person behind this is," there was no hesitation in his next words, "and I want them *dead*."

"I can help with that. I'm already having my men looking into it." His manipulative grin couldn't help but make an appearance, "If you agree to do something for the Mafia at a time that I choose, then I'm sure I can keep the bastard alive until you get there. Then, he's all yours."

"Yeah. *He's all mine*." It was a foolish choice, but Dazai was angry. He couldn't help it, especially when as twisted as he was, Mori always kept his word. So, he agreed.

Mori nodded his approval before helping Dazai to stand up, "Even if you don't want to come back, you're certainly not staying *here*." He sneered, even he would never allow Dazai to suffer, regardless of what he personally wanted, "...I'll take you *home*."

Dazai knew what that meant from Mori's voice- he was going to take him to Chuuya's place. For a split second, Dazai actually looked alarmed when Mori caught his arm, then tugged him a bit to let him know that if he chose to pull away, Mori would understand, that it's *his choice*. "No. We shouldn't be spotted together. If... if the Agency found out..." he trailed off, unable to finish his train of thought.

Mori chuckled, "You *can* tell me that you hate me and don't want to be caught dead with me, you know." He tilted his head, "My offer stands if you ever want to rejoin, but it will be your own choice. In the meantime, all I ask is that you do your best to be safe."

"Yeah... you, too." Dazai had thought about it many times, however... he loves the Agency. He loves solving mysteries with Ranpo, drinking tea and playing sudoku with Fukuzawa, but he knew that he never truly fit in, and Kunikida was a decent partner, but he wasn't close to Chuuya's level. That was when his eyes darkened, deadening, to the point of no return all of a sudden. He'd never asked for much or anything, especially from Mori, but: "Don't push him so hard. Stop putting so much pressure on him. *Please* keep him safe."

Mori looked away, "You know I can't promise that, and you know why. However, I give you my word that I'll try to. And if I fail, well." He looked back at him, "Then everything in the past no longer matters. You can kill me." Mori simply left after that.

Dazai laughed a harsh, hollow and bitter sort of laugh. He didn't expect a response, let alone something that sincere, as he watched as Mori left. He felt mortified, to actually find comfort in that. To *lean* into it. It made him feel nauseous, he lost count of how many breaths he'd been taking. The room around him was an utterly mess, and for an ugly moment, Dazai had forgotten why he was mad at Mori to begin with. He jerked backwards, breaking away, out of his poisonous thoughts.

Unfortunately, the stress made Dazai lose the contents of his stomach. It was horrible, Mori was the true monster in this world- manipulating, calculating and simply fucked in the head. And yet... there was a dark part of Dazai's past that had looked up to Mori, as a sort of parental figure. Even now, he technically gave Dazai good advice: he needed somewhere to rest that wasn't this shithole. No wonder he'd desperately sought out comfort in whoever was closest to him, basically. It was disgusting.

"...I hate that man, and how *right* he is." He needed Chuuya, even if it was just being at his apartment until he got home. *Chuuya would be happy to see him. He's right, he's always fucking right.*

He stood and looked at the reflection of himself in the mirror he had over his makeshift sink, hating his jittery appearance, especially with Mori's red scarf still wrapped around his neck. He'd never heard the whispering in his mind that bad before- but what do people expect from someone so inhuman? A little frantically, he ripped off the scarf and threw it to the floor, before punching the mirror, shattering it completely- obliterating it.

*shutupshutupshutupshutupshutup*

He didn't feel better for it, he actually felt far worse. He could have thrown up again when he fell to his knees and gripped that stupid scarf for comfort. He wanted to slit his wrists, or hang from the ceiling for even thinking of being grateful to *Mori*. If he ever went back, then what was the point of leaving in the first place? What was the point of Oda's last wish? Why did he leave Chuuya?

Enough was enough. He ran, he sprinted far away from the container and the memories it stored there. His legs knew where he was going before his brain did, as he headed across town, to Chuuya's apartment. After picking the lock, he entered, then shut the door behind him and fell back against it, letting his head tap the back of it with a slight thump. He dropped down without thinking, catching his breath. It was starting to get a little dark inside, due to the sunset outside the window, but there were no stars out just yet. Dazai was aware that he'd lost the concept of time a while ago, but he didn't care, at least it wasn't so bright he needed to cover his eyes.

He swallowed, looking at the clock to attempt to get his bearings, and noted that Chuuya wouldn't be home for another few hours. He couldn't help but whisper to himself, "I hope your day was better than mine, Chibi."

In case it wasn't, Dazai decided that he'd make sure that Chuuya could relax immediately upon coming home. It'll take his mind off things, but he won't do anything extravagant, he couldn't take it if he fucked anything up. It *was* actually pretty cold this evening, so Dazai would make Chuuya something to eat that would be warm and comforting. He silently thanked Vanitas for teaching him how to cook a decent meal, since nobody else had the patience to teach him.

As he prepared everything, he put little sticky notes around the apartment, with stupid words of affirmation, though after how tense he'd been earlier in the day, his movements were less fluid and so he had to be extra cautious of not screwing anything up. He'd settled on making a nice warm taro soup, toran-guk, as he knew he could make it without it going gross, and the hearty broth and vegetables would do Chuuya the world of good. The vegetables were likely from the stall in town that Kenji set up to sell his crops from his farm, which explained their excellent quality. He placed it on the kitchen table, covering it with a plate to keep it warm.

Once the food was done, and he'd cleaned up after himself in the kitchen, he decided to run Chuuya a bath. He only used hot water so it would stay warmer for longer, giving Chuuya more time to come home and get it while it was fresh, before throwing in some strawberry scented bubbles. He debated pouring Chuuya a glass of wine, but thought it best to leave that for Chuuya, since sometimes after work he was too stressed to *drink*, because that's a thing apparently!

Once that was done, Dazai began to stumble, feeling his body sway as he finally made it to Chuuya's bed, having to lean against the wall for support. His vision started pulsating, his head thumping. He'd already taken off his shoes and coat at the front door, so Dazai just slipped into the bed and curled up, falling asleep immediately.

It had been a shock to Chuuya to come home and see everything that happened! He had a warm bowl of soup that helped him feel better about life, then saw a bath had been run for him! Dazai used to slip into his place and do things like that to cheer him up when things were rough in the Mafia, and Chuuya suspected he continued to do so on occasion after he'd left, but once they reunited, Dazai stopped being discreet again.

Good food, a hot bubble bath and some heartfelt complimentary notes later, and Chuuya headed into his bedroom wearing surprisingly sloppy pyjamas. Everyone assumed that he'd wear silk pyjamas or maybe ones from an expensive brand, but Chuuya just liked wearing short pyjama shorts and an overly baggy t-shirt for pyjamas, because that was simply what made him comfortable.

Chuuya gasped softly when he saw Dazai asleep in his bed. He looked... rough. He'd cried himself to sleep from the looks of it, and had clearly been running on empty. Sighing, Chuuya slipped in beside him, pulling Dazai so his head rested over Chuuya's heart; because of the height difference, Chuuya never got to be the big spoon, so he took advantage whenever he could. He ran his fingers through Dazai's hair and kissed his forehead, smiling softly, "G'night, 'samu. I hope you're still here when I wake up."

Dazai shifted a bit in his sleep. He'd always been a light sleeper, even in the Mafia. For him to not wake up to the door opening or closing... Dazai murmured Chuuya's name in his sleep, and he noticed that he didn't even take his bandages off this time, seemingly too exhausted. Chuuya just continued to stroke his hair before dropping off into sleep as well.

Dazai didn't sleep the full night, the uncomfortable sensation in his body woke him up, his hand and arms were aching with a dull, cold tingling feeling. He shifted a bit, relaxing when he felt Chuuya's breath rise and fall- Chuuya wasn't snoring this time, and his arms were wrapped around Dazai loosely. He had a smile on his face, looking relaxed, and Dazai could tell that Chuuya took advantage of everything Dazai had done for him: he smelt nice from having a bath, and his stomach was quiet.

Dazai curled into himself a bit, as if to appear smaller. He did something right, just one thing. He closed his eyes again, still feeling heavy and exhausted, but he felt warm and safe, listening to Chuuya's breath and his rhythmic heartbeat.

****

"Ah, Snow White finally awakens." Dazai woke up, feeling Chuuya kissing his forehead and smiling, looking like he was in a great mood. Dazai hummed then leaned up to join their lips together properly, and Chuuya smiled against Dazai's lips before stroking his face with a sad look, "Your eyes sore?"

They *were*. Dazai had almost forgotten how much crying could hurt- though, he did also feel less stressed. He nodded to answer Chuuya, his eyes had burned from the scalding tears, but it felt irrelevant when he was here. It was strange, how time seemed to move a little slower when he was with Chuuya. Not in a bad way, either.

Chuuya nuzzled Dazai and sighed, "I'm guessing your colleagues still think I did it, then?" Chuuya wasn't one for subtlety, but knew when it was necessary- instead of calling them his friends or simply the Agency, he called them Dazai's colleagues; stating that at this moment, it's just business. Again, Dazai nodded, briefly explaining just how rocky things had gotten, but he kept Kunikida’s comments to himself. Chuuya just stroked his hair again, "They must've really pissed you off, huh? Well then, you're staying with me until you feel better, then. Boyfriend's orders."

Dazai felt a small smile tug at his lips, as he studied Chuuya's face. He liked Chuuya's warm hands against his own face, even if they stung his sore cheeks slightly, its still pleasant, "Ordering me around, huh?" He whispered lightly, though it was obvious that he didn't mind. While Kunikida’s comments weren't going to be repeated, he still felt hurt- no matter who he was partnered with, they always had a habit of insulting each other, but they never joke about each other's humanity. The question of whether he was human or not burned Dazai's skull, and he asked weakly, "Does Chuuya think I'm... just a monster? Less than human?"

Ah, that was something that used to come up in the past, though never asked so sincerely. Chuuya knew that even though he hated Dazai being upset, he couldn't lie. So he didn’t:

"You can be monstrous, but then again, who isn't capable of that? Listen to me, Osamu Dazai. You're a strong, and good man. And I love you. Even though you're a jackass for insulting my exquisite taste in closed and blowing up my car," He laughed, "...but you never abandoned me, even when you left. You're nothing less than a good man with a kind heart. A true human."

Dazai knew that Chuuya was being honest, he was always honest with his feelings and thoughts. But Dazai couldn't deny feeling like some sort of beast, eager to kill and lose himself, then wanting to die afterwards. He sacrificed so much, for his promises, for the love he felt towards those around him, but he'd always revert to his old ways if it had to be done. "I just... I don't know anymore..."

He always feels guilty. If he can't convince himself or the Agency that he's human, how can they ever trust him? How is Chuuya supposed to feel safe around him?

Chuuya thought about everything for a moment then took a breath, "Y'know, I think that while this is all happening, Yokohama isn't good for you right now. So, let's bail." Dazai looked at Chuuya in shock! He'd never suggested *running away* before, but... maybe a vacation wouldn't be such a bad idea? And that would certainly give Chuuya an alibi if any more attacks happened before Mori or Fukuzawa caught the prick. "How about somewhere like England? I didn't take you to London last time I went. Ooh, or maybe Paris? Somewhere we won't be bothered for a while."

"Paris?" Dazai echoed, smiling softly, "The City of Love. It's an appropriate choice, for such a hopeless romantic such as yourself." His words were teasing, but his heart was racing at the prospect.

"Paris it is, then." Chuuya cupped Dazai's face, and they shared a quick kiss before making some quick arrangements and doing some packing.

They really needed to get out of Yokohama for a while, they were exhausted and needed each other. Thankfully the Port Mafia always had some private jets that could be borrowed.

[anastasiareadsnwrites]

you already know why I’m here 😅 At Last pt. 5!! 🫶🏼

At Last Part V (Portia Featherington x Fem! Reader)

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V

Author's note: I definitely do but don't fret. I LOVE full filing out your requests. But I do certainly hope this reached your expectations.

Summary: You and Portia navigate your growing romantic relationship. After a night of special activities it's time to head back Featherington House. Penelope teases her mother about such an evening and soon reveals that she and Colin are leaving to an event.

Warning(s): NSFW, 18+, reader! Receiving, playful banter, mild teasing, emotional vulnerability...more to be added.

The MAIN Masterlist

The Bridgerton Masterlist

As the firelight flickered gently across the room, Portia settled into your embrace, her breathing slowly returning to normal as she rested her head against your chest. The warmth of your bodies mingled with the cozy glow of the hearth, casting soft shadows on the walls. You could still feel the thrum of intimacy in the air, the quiet aftermath of shared passion, but there was something more—a deep, unspoken bond that stretched beyond mere desire.

You gently traced your fingers along Portia's back, feeling the delicate rise and fall of her breath. She seemed so content, so at peace in this moment, as though the world outside had vanished, leaving only the two of you in this quiet cocoon of warmth and affection. It was moments like these, the quiet after the storm, that filled your heart with the deepest kind of love.

Portia shifted slightly, her eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, there was a vulnerability in her gaze that you hadn’t seen before. It was as if she was silently asking you to stay—to be the anchor she had longed for. You smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair away from her flushed face.

"You’re beautiful," you whispered, the words flowing naturally, effortlessly. They weren't just about her appearance, though she was stunning. It was about the way she made you feel—about how, in her presence, everything else seemed to fade away.

Portia’s lips curved into a small, shy smile, her cheeks tinged pink, though not from embarrassment this time. “I don’t think anyone’s ever looked at me the way you do,” she admitted softly, her voice barely audible as she leaned in closer.

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “And how do I look at you?”

Her eyes flickered with a mixture of amusement and sincerity. “Like I’m the only thing that matters.”

Your heart swelled at her words, and you pulled her even closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Because you are, Portia. You’re everything to me."

For a moment, she simply stared at you, her eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and affection. It was as if she wasn’t used to hearing such raw, honest emotion. But slowly, she smiled, a genuine, radiant smile that lit up her entire face.

"I love you," she whispered, her voice soft but filled with conviction. "So much."

You kissed her gently, your lips lingering against hers as the weight of her words sank in. You had never been more sure of anything in your life. This was love—true, undeniable love—and you would spend every day proving it to her.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, your heart swelling with the sheer enormity of it all.

Portia sighed contentedly, her body relaxing completely against yours as she nestled back into your arms. For a long while, neither of you spoke, content to simply be in each other’s presence, to let the warmth of the moment carry you both into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

And as you lay there, holding her close, you knew that no matter what the future held, you and Portia would face it together.

As you held Portia close, the quiet sounds of the night filled the room, the gentle crackle of the fireplace, the soft rustle of the sheets, and the steady rhythm of her breath against your chest. You felt a deep sense of peace settle over you, as if the world outside had ceased to exist for just a little while. It was just the two of you, wrapped up in each other, sharing a moment that felt timeless.

Portia’s fingers absentmindedly traced patterns across your skin, and you could sense that she was lost in thought. There was a stillness to her, a quiet that felt almost pensive. After a few moments, she tilted her head up to look at you, her eyes reflecting the soft glow of the firelight.

"Do you ever wonder what’s next for us?" she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper, as if she were afraid to break the delicate intimacy of the moment.

You smiled softly, brushing your fingers through her hair, enjoying the silky feel of it. "I think about it all the time," you admitted. "But I’m not worried. Whatever comes next, we’ll face it together."

Portia’s gaze softened, and she let out a quiet sigh, her head resting against your chest once more. "I’ve never felt this way before," she murmured. "It’s... different. Good. But sometimes, I don’t know if I’m ready for all of it."

You could hear the vulnerability in her voice, the uncertainty that lingered beneath her words. It wasn’t that she doubted the love between you—it was more that she was unsure of how to handle the enormity of it, the way it seemed to envelop everything else in her life.

"That’s okay," you said gently, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. "We don’t have to rush anything. We’ll take it one step at a time. As long as we’re together, nothing else matters."

Portia’s arms tightened around you, and she smiled against your skin. "You always know exactly what to say," she murmured, her voice filled with affection.

You chuckled softly. "I try."

The room fell into a comfortable silence again, the warmth of the fire casting a golden glow around you. You couldn’t help but feel grateful for this moment—for Portia, for the love you shared, for the quiet peace that wrapped around the both of you like a protective cocoon.

After a while, Portia shifted slightly, propping herself up on one elbow as she looked down at you, her expression serious but tender. "I want you to know something," she said softly, her voice steady. "I’ve been thinking about this a lot, and... I don’t want to keep holding back. Not with you."

You raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?"

Portia bit her lip, her eyes flickering with a mixture of determination and nervousness. "I’ve always been so careful," she admitted. "Always trying to control everything, to keep myself from getting hurt. But with you... I don’t want to be afraid anymore. I want to let you in—all the way."

Her words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning. You could see the vulnerability in her eyes, the way she was opening herself up to you in a way she hadn’t before. It was a risk for her, a step into the unknown, and it made your heart swell with affection and admiration.

"Portia," you said softly, reaching up to cup her cheek. "I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to be afraid. I’m here, and I’ll always be here. For you. For us."

Her eyes shone with emotion, and for a moment, she simply gazed at you, her expression filled with something deeper than words could express. Then, without warning, she leaned down and kissed you—slowly, tenderly, with a depth of feeling that took your breath away.

The kiss was different from before. It wasn’t driven by passion or urgency. It was softer, more intimate, as if she were pouring every unspoken emotion into that single moment. You responded in kind, your hands gently cradling her face as you kissed her back, matching her softness with your own.

When she finally pulled back, her eyes were filled with love and trust, the kind that only came from knowing someone was truly there for you.

"I love you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I’m not afraid anymore."

You smiled, brushing your thumb across her cheek as you looked into her eyes. "I love you too," you whispered back. "More than you’ll ever know."

And in that moment, you both knew that whatever the future held, you would face it together—fearlessly, with all the love and trust you had built between you.

As the warmth of Portia’s confession lingered between you, you both settled into a peaceful silence, her head resting against your chest once more. The firelight continued its soft dance across the room, but now it felt different—like a quiet witness to the unspoken promises you had just exchanged. The bond between you felt even stronger, solidified by her vulnerability and your shared understanding of the love that had blossomed between you.

Portia shifted slightly, her fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin as if grounding herself in the reality of this moment. There was a tenderness in the air, one that neither of you were in any rush to disturb. It was in these quiet moments that love truly revealed itself—not through grand gestures, but in the way you both simply existed together.

“I’ve spent so much of my life trying to be perfect,” Portia said softly, her voice carrying a weight of reflection. “To maintain the image, to uphold what’s expected of me. It’s exhausting.”

You glanced down at her, gently brushing your fingers through her hair. “You don’t have to be perfect with me,” you whispered. “You never did.”

Portia smiled faintly, though her eyes still held a certain sadness. “I know that now. But it’s hard to let go of the habits I’ve built over the years. The idea that if I’m not perfect, everything will fall apart.”

You squeezed her hand gently, intertwining your fingers with hers. “You’re allowed to be human, Portia. You don’t have to carry everything alone. I’m here with you, for all of it.”

Her eyes softened at your words, and she turned her face up toward yours, a mixture of gratitude and longing written across her features. “I’ve never really had that before,” she admitted. “Someone who sees me, who wants me without expecting perfection in return.”

You smiled, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I want you, all of you—the good, the messy, the vulnerable, the strong. I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”

A soft sigh escaped her lips as she nestled closer to you, as though she were finally allowing herself to let go of the weight she had carried for so long. For a moment, she was quiet again, and you simply held her, content to let her feel safe in your arms.

But then, Portia pulled back slightly, her eyes meeting yours with a glimmer of mischief that you recognized all too well. “You’re far too good to me, you know,” she teased, though there was a genuine affection in her tone. “Always saying exactly the right thing.”

You smirked, brushing your fingers along her jawline. “I just know you that well.”

Her smile grew, and she leaned in to kiss you softly, her lips lingering against yours. When she pulled back, there was a playfulness in her gaze that made your heart skip a beat.

“You know,” she said, her voice lower now, almost seductive, “I think I still owe you for earlier.”

You raised an eyebrow, your heart quickening at the shift in her tone. “Owe me?”

Portia’s eyes darkened slightly, and she ran her fingers down your arm, sending a shiver through you. “For teasing me earlier. For making me so flustered and... distracted.”

You couldn’t help but grin, thoroughly enjoying this side of her. “Oh? And how do you plan to repay me?”

Her smile turned sly as she shifted to straddle you, her legs on either side of your hips as she leaned down, her lips brushing against your ear. “I think I have a few ideas,” she whispered, her breath hot against your skin.

Before you could respond, her lips were on yours again, but this time there was nothing soft or tender about the kiss. It was heated, passionate, filled with the desire that had simmered between you all evening. You could feel the intensity of her need, and it sent a spark of electricity through your entire body.

Portia’s hands roamed over your body with purpose, her fingers slipping under the edge of your nightshirt, her touch igniting every nerve in your skin. You let out a soft moan, arching your back slightly as she deepened the kiss, her tongue teasing yours in a rhythm that made your heart race.

“You’re insufferable,” she murmured between kisses, her tone filled with playful frustration. “Making me feel like that... making me want you so badly.”

You chuckled softly, pulling her closer so that her body was flush against yours. “I think you enjoy it.”

Her lips curved into a smirk against yours. “Maybe,” she admitted, her voice a low purr. “But now it’s my turn.”

Without another word, Portia’s hands slid lower, her touch sending waves of pleasure through you as she teased and explored your body. Your breaths grew shallow, your heart pounding in your chest as the heat between you intensified, and soon you were lost in her, in the way her hands moved with expert precision, in the way her lips left a trail of fire along your skin.

It was overwhelming in the best way possible—her touch, her lips, the way she knew exactly how to drive you wild. You gasped as she pressed against you, your body trembling under her ministrations, and soon you were completely at her mercy, just as she had been earlier.

“Portia...” you breathed, your voice thick with desire. “Please...”

She grinned wickedly, clearly enjoying the way you had become the one begging now. “Oh, I will,” she whispered, her voice dripping with promise.

And as she continued her slow, deliberate teasing, the world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you tangled together in a perfect storm of love and desire.

In this moment, there was no fear, no doubt—only the pure, unfiltered connection between you. And as the night stretched on, you both knew that whatever came next, whatever challenges or uncertainties the future might hold, you would face them together.

The intensity of Portia’s gaze as she hovered above you sent a thrill through your body, and you could feel your heart racing in anticipation of her next move. Her fingers, delicate yet firm, traced slow, deliberate patterns across your skin, teasing you with their feather-light touch. Each movement heightened the tension between you, and you could sense that she was savoring every second, relishing the control she now held over you.

“You’ve always been so composed,” she murmured, her voice low and sultry as she leaned in, her lips brushing your ear. “But now, you’re the one unraveling beneath me.”

A soft, breathless moan escaped your lips as her words sent a wave of heat coursing through you. She was right—you could feel yourself giving in to her completely, your usual poise slipping away with every touch, every kiss. There was something liberating about it, about surrendering to her like this, and it only made your desire for her burn even brighter.

Portia’s fingers slid down your sides, teasing the hem of your shirt before pulling it up, her nails lightly grazing your skin as she undressed you. The cool air of the room hit your exposed skin, but it was quickly replaced by the warmth of her body as she pressed herself against you, her lips finding yours in a heated kiss.

You reached for her, your hands tangling in her hair as you deepened the kiss, your need for her growing with every passing second. But Portia pulled back just slightly, her lips curling into a mischievous smile.

“Not so fast,” she whispered, her breath warm against your cheek. “I’m in charge tonight, remember?”

You groaned softly, both frustrated and thrilled by her teasing, but you nodded, letting her take the lead. She grinned at your compliance, clearly enjoying the power she had over you, and she moved slowly, deliberately, her hands exploring every inch of your body with a tantalizing precision that left you trembling.

Her lips found the sensitive skin of your neck, and you couldn’t suppress the moan that escaped as she kissed and nipped at you, her tongue flicking against your pulse in a way that made your breath hitch. You could feel the heat building between you, your body responding to every touch, every kiss, and it was almost too much to bear.

“Portia, please,” you gasped, your voice shaky as your hands gripped the sheets beneath you.

She smiled against your skin, her voice a low purr as she whispered, “I love hearing you like this.”

Before you could respond, she shifted slightly, her hand slipping between your thighs, her touch light but deliberate. Your body arched into her hand, your breath catching in your throat as she teased you, drawing out your pleasure with a slow, methodical rhythm that left you breathless.

Your fingers tightened in the sheets, your body trembling as the sensations built, the pressure growing with every movement of her hand. You were completely at her mercy, and she knew it—relishing in the way you responded to her touch, the way your body gave in to the pleasure she was so expertly giving you.

“Do you want more?” she whispered, her lips brushing your ear as she continued to tease you, her fingers moving with agonizing slowness.

“Yes,” you gasped, barely able to form the words as your body trembled beneath her. “Please, Portia...”

Her smile deepened, and she pressed a soft kiss to your lips before quickening the pace of her hand, her touch sending waves of pleasure crashing over you. Your body responded instantly, your hips moving in time with her rhythm as you let yourself go, lost in the sensation, in the way she made you feel.

The pressure built rapidly, the pleasure intensifying with every second, and soon you were on the edge, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as you clung to her, your body trembling with anticipation.

“I can feel how close you are,” she whispered, her voice thick with desire. “Don’t hold back. Let go for me.”

With her words, you couldn’t hold on any longer. A cry escaped your lips as your body arched beneath her, the pleasure crashing over you in waves, leaving you breathless and trembling as you reached your climax. Portia held you close, her hand still working against you, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you were completely spent.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You lay there, panting softly, your body still trembling from the intensity of your release. Portia kissed your forehead, her touch gentle as she shifted to lie beside you, her arms wrapping around you as she held you close.

“Was that good?” she whispered, her voice soft, almost vulnerable now.

You turned to face her, your breath still coming in short, shallow bursts, and smiled. “More than good,” you murmured, your voice filled with affection. “That was incredible.”

Portia’s eyes softened at your words, and she leaned in to kiss you gently, her lips lingering against yours in a tender, loving gesture. “I’m glad,” she whispered, her fingers brushing through your hair. “Because I want to make you feel like that every time.”

You sighed contentedly, your heart swelling with love as you cuddled closer to her, the warmth of her body a perfect contrast to the cool night air. “You already do,” you whispered, your voice filled with sincerity. “You make me feel like the luckiest person in the world.”

Portia smiled, her eyes glistening with emotion as she held you tighter. “You make me feel the same way,” she whispered, her voice thick with affection.

The two of you lay there in each other’s arms, the quiet of the night settling around you like a comforting blanket. There was no need for words now—only the quiet assurance of your love, the deep connection that had grown between you, and the knowledge that no matter what came next, you would always have each other.

As you both drifted into a peaceful sleep, the flickering fire casting soft shadows across the room, you knew that this—what you had with Portia—was something rare and precious. A love that would last, one that would carry you through whatever life threw your way.

And with her by your side, you were ready for it all.

The soft glow of the morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm light across the room. You stirred first, gently waking to the sight of Portia still curled up beside you, her head resting on your chest, her breathing slow and even. The serenity of the moment filled you with a deep sense of contentment, and for a while, you simply watched her sleep, basking in the quiet intimacy of the early morning.

Eventually, Portia shifted, her eyes fluttering open as she blinked in the soft light. She smiled sleepily when she saw you watching her, her fingers gently brushing against your skin. “Good morning,” she whispered, her voice still thick with sleep.

“Good morning,” you replied, your voice soft as you leaned down to press a tender kiss to her forehead. “Did you sleep well?”

Portia sighed contentedly, snuggling closer to you. “I did. Better than I have in a long time.”

You smiled, stroking her hair as you both lay there for a few more minutes, savoring the peaceful quiet of the morning. But soon enough, reality began to creep back in, and Portia shifted again, her expression changing as she remembered the day ahead.

“I suppose we should head back to the Featherington house before Penelope starts wondering where I’ve been,” she said with a playful smile, though there was a hint of reluctance in her voice.

You chuckled, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “I’m sure she’ll have plenty to say.”

Portia laughed softly, though there was a fondness in her tone. “She always does.”

With that, the two of you reluctantly pulled yourselves out of bed, getting dressed and preparing to face the day. The quiet intimacy of the night before lingered between you as you both moved around the room, sharing soft smiles and gentle touches as you readied yourselves to return to the world outside.

Once you were both dressed and ready, you made your way back to the Featherington estate. The walk was peaceful, the streets still quiet in the early morning hours, and by the time you reached the grand entrance of the house, the warmth of the sun had fully settled over the city.

As you stepped inside, you were greeted by the familiar sound of Penelope’s voice drifting through the hallways. It didn’t take long to find her, sitting at the dining table with Colin, who was flipping through a stack of papers and books. Penelope looked up as you and Portia entered the room, a mischievous smile immediately spreading across her face.

“Well, well, look who’s back,” she teased, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she glanced between you and her mother. “I was beginning to wonder if I’d have to send out a search party.”

Portia rolled her eyes, though you could see the faint blush that colored her cheeks. “I don’t think that will be necessary, Penelope.”

Penelope chuckled, clearly enjoying herself. “I’m just saying, Mother, it’s not like you to disappear for an entire night without a word.”

Colin, who had been quietly scanning his papers, looked up with a grin, clearly amused by his wife’s teasing. “Leave your mother alone, Pen,” he said with a chuckle, though there was no mistaking the playful glint in his eye. “I’m sure she had a lovely evening.”

You exchanged a glance with Portia, who raised an eyebrow at her daughter’s teasing, but there was no real irritation in her expression. If anything, she seemed amused by the entire situation, though she was trying to keep her usual composure.

“Honestly, Penelope,” Portia sighed, though there was a faint smile on her lips. “You’ve been married for how long, and you still insist on teasing me like this?”

Penelope’s smile widened as she shrugged innocently. “It’s my duty as your daughter to make sure you’re properly entertained, Mother. Besides, it’s not often I get to see you so flustered.”

Portia shook her head, clearly trying to maintain her dignity, but there was no hiding the affection in her eyes as she glanced at her daughter. “You’re impossible.”

Penelope simply laughed, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she leaned back in her chair. “I do try.”

Colin, who had been listening to the entire exchange with a quiet grin, set down the papers he had been reviewing and looked up at you and Portia. “Well, it seems we’re all up and about this morning,” he said, his tone light. “Penelope and I were just going over a few last-minute details for our upcoming travels.”

You glanced at the stack of papers on the table, noting the various maps and travel itineraries scattered across the surface. “Off on another adventure?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Colin nodded, his expression brightening. “Yes, we’re heading to Italy next. There’s a small village we’ve been meaning to visit—apparently, there’s a festival that only happens once every decade, and Penelope has been dying to see it.”

Penelope smiled fondly at her husband, leaning over to glance at one of the maps he had been studying. “It’s a literary festival, actually. Authors from all over the world gather to read their works, and I’ve always wanted to go.”

Portia smiled at her daughter’s excitement, her earlier flustered state forgotten as she focused on Penelope. “That sounds lovely. You and Colin will have a wonderful time.”

Penelope nodded enthusiastically. “I’m sure we will. And don’t worry, Mother—we’ll be back before you know it.”

Portia’s smile softened as she looked at her daughter, her eyes filled with a quiet affection. “I know you will, darling.”

As the conversation continued, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of warmth settle over the room. It was moments like these—filled with teasing, laughter, and quiet affection—that made everything feel right. You exchanged a glance with Portia, and she smiled softly at you, her eyes reflecting the same contentment you felt.

Whatever challenges or adventures lay ahead, you knew you’d face them together, surrounded by the people you cared about most. And that, more than anything, was what made every day with Portia and her family so special.

[abbeykitchenmouse]

Both Paws

   The mouse buck laid out his plain sword and pike, though the blade gleamed with a pacifist's soul and the pike was more of a spear in regards to any larger beast. He knelt before figurines of his ancestors and the idols of his gods, lighting incense with a wood scrap spill as he tried to clear his mind. His oldest daughter sat beside him and mimicked his motions, though she certainly seemed to have her mind elsewhere. Of course he wasn't her age so long ago that he'd forgotten what that was like.

   He took another breath, deeper and steadier than before as the world faded out and he found his center. He was with the gods now. The first of them was the Spouse of Many, depicted amongst the others as a full figured ungulate of rather indeterminate species and dimorphism. Typically carved from dark wood, most chose to see a deer with impossible antlers, whereupon rested countless little gods who were often unseen. They supposedly perched and hung there, nesting and supping on the many fruits of the Spouse's crown. 

   And holding the Spouse's hoof was the wolf, the First Wife and the Eternal Chase. It was she, always in pursuit of her first love, that turned the world and moved the skies. Shaped from clay, she held the necessary dichotomy that allowed the seeding of life like she held the Spouse's pelt betwixt her jaws and bone carved teeth. Depending on who you asked she could be a fox or a coyote. It wasn't uncommon for her to be depicted as a cat if it suited their purposes. The mouse had even seen her as a weasel once, just to muddy up the waters of interpretation.

   Finally the mouse's gaze settled upon the third major idol upon his den's altar, this one placed apart from the Spouse of Many and The First Wife. This one was made of unflinching stone, cracked and worn in the way only purposeful violence could manage. The god of mice and small folk whose pitted surface and winding cracks marked the never ending struggle of all beasts. Was he a rat? A mouse? A vole or a mole? Maybe a shrew? His tail was broken off at its base and the shaping was intentionally deceptive so it was difficult to tell in any case. 

   This was the mouse's own god and the god of many mice; the Gouged Consort. 

   The idol was always to be positioned such that it eschewed the protective brambles and boughs of The Spouse's winding, sprawling antler crown. He wore a look that invited both challenge and cruelty, but derided the pity of others. He held his sword aloft with both paws that all beasts, prey especially, might follow. He resisted, nay thrived despite wounds and indignities innumerable. It was he that gave his flesh to the other gods so that they might see the spring and in doing so permanently diminished himself. His pointed glare matched that of the Wife's, never to break away.

   They were three lovers in concert. The birth of all things, the inevitable end of all things, and the small things often unseen in the center.

   And yet, despite the prayers of the mouse buck at their feet, the gods and his ancestors did not speak to him. He knew they weren't omnipresent or omniscient, but looking upon them he couldn't help but feel left behind. Lost like a babe that had scurried away from their family at the market. Of course that was the lesson he always came back to; the only beast that could wield his sword and don his armor for him was himself.

   The weight of that reality was enough to make the pint sized warrior's ears droop and drive his whiskers to agitated twitching. He frowned at all the gods, seen and unseen, features creased in worry as he sheathed his blade once more and stood with the help of his trusty pike.

   A mouse had to hold their sword with both paws after all. The only way forward was to be as relentless as the world that arrayed itself against them.

I try to write rodents with more martial cultures that are often based on resistance, endurance and communal strength. They're not always soldiers or actual physical fighters, but they're very often warriors who scoff at being considered soft or cute. The smallest folk of the world have a deep generational trauma and a bloody history that propels them.

[alphareleasemedia]

Daily Drabbles for 12/6/24 - 12/10/24

12/6/24 Brenda really didn't see the point in decorating for Christmas. Putting it all up just to take it all down again a month later. It hardly seemed worth the effort. It would be one thing if there were little kids living in the house, but there weren't any children at all. It was just Brenda and Dave and the dog Mildred. And Mildred certainly didn't care one way or another about Christmas decorations. But Dave sure did. Every year he dutifully dragged their bins of Christmas memorabilia out of storage and turned their home into something like a Christmas card.

12/7/24 Nubby smacked the ball of dough against the counter and worked it with the heel of her hand. She'd been at it for nearly ten minutes and her arms were starting to get tired. She leaned over the counter to put her full weight into the kneading. She wasn't used to making bread and hadn't built up the muscles for it like her mother had. Across the counter from her, Nubby's mother was cheerfully and vigorously kneading her own lump of bread dough. It looked a lot better than Nubby's. Hers was still far too sticky. She needed more flour.

12/8/24 Thick, fluffy flakes wafted down from the bright white sky onto a bright white world. But the snow was hiding a dangerous secret. Underneath the thin layer of soft powder was a hard shell of slick ice. Trish had to step very carefully as she made her way down the driveway. The fresh snow provided some traction, but she was one misstep away from falling flat on her back. It took far longer than it usually did, but at last Trish reached the end of the perilous drive and was able to drop off her Christmas cards in the mailbox.

12/9/24 Corky held his ham sandwich in one hand while he watched Susan and the boys pelt each other with snowballs in the front yard. They had been at it for several minutes and showed no signs of slowing down anytime soon. Corky took a bite from his sandwich and slowly chewed it while Susan hit Tommy square in the face with a snowball and ducked behind a tree to avoid getting hit by Ned's own snowball. So far Susan had had the upper hand over the younger boys, but they had banded together and were starting to drive her back.

12/10/24 Jericho nearly burned his hands as he pulled the hot dinner plates out of the dishwasher. The dry cycle had only just finished and a cloud of steam was wafting up from the freshly cleaned dishes. Jericho quickly shoved the plates in the cupboard with the rest of the dinner plates and turned back to the dishwasher. Luckily, the plastic bowls were much easier to handle. He stacked them up inside each other and stuck them on the shelf in their appropriate cupboard. By the time Jericho got to the silverware it had fortunately cooled down enough to hold comfortably.

[regulus-regent]

Torno was observed closely, picking up on every shift in his gaze, every nuance in his tone. The larger saiyan's uncertainty and hesitancy weren't lost on him, though Torno's restraint and respect didn't go unappreciated. His approach was oddly refreshing, he bore neither the naïve admiration of those who didn't know Vegeta's history, nor the empty respect that was often forced or fabricated. This was a warrior who understood the weight of consequence who perhaps had his own regrets tucked away. There was a sincerity in the larger royal's words that Vegeta found rare and despite himself, welcoming.

Crossing his arms tighter over his chest, Vegeta glanced off to the side, gathering his thoughts before speaking. "Hmph. So you sought me out simply for...knowledge?" Vegeta let out a light scoff the notion of such a request catching him off guard. Many had seeked him out to fight, this was certainly a first for the prince. "And what exactly is it you expect to learn from a prince who has outlived his people? You'd do better seeking answers in the stars themselves than here."

His brows drew together as Torno's words settled, eyes narrowing as he considered the implications of stepping into a realm where saiyan pride and tradition might still hold their place. His gaze flickered with a mix of skepticism and intrigue, he understood the offer was made with no expectation of acceptance, yet something about it stirred a forgotten ache in Vegeta, a pang of what could have been. It wasn't weakness, he told himself. No, it was simply the pull of curiosity, of nostalgia.

And that curiosity tugged heavily on his soul, drawing him toward a past he thought he'd long since buried. He wouldn't indulge in fantasies, but there was a part of him that missed the pride of his people, the rituals and rites that he had once heard of. The chance to bare witness to another universe of saiyans, untouched by the harsh realities that his own universe had succumbed to was something he couldn't easily dismiss. "You make an interesting offer, while your invitation is unexpected I won't dismiss it outright. My ties to my heritage may be fractured and buried but they're not entirely gone."

He was fully aware that his lack of royal formalities might make him come across as crude and disrespectful, to those in Torno's world. There was no elegance left in his interactions, no sign of the formal polished throne.

"But" he continued a hint of caution in his tone. "don't mistake my acceptance as an open door to some lost brotherhood. I'll humor this curiosity only to see whether your universe saiyans hold up to my expectations."

Even as he felt Vegeta scrutinizing him, Torno kept his own thoughts relentlessly focused on remaining cordial with the other royal Saiyan, and choosing his words carefully, and yet... Not so carefully that he couldn't comfortably conduct himself, and dilute his behaviors from what they would've been, otherwise. A sharpened gaze from the smaller male was perceived as nothing more than a hardened warrior's careful observation by the one on the receiving end, and how could anyone blame Vegeta for it?

The fate of Universe Seven's Saiyans, and the fate and condition of Torno's universe's own... They were night and day; a fact that the larger warrior wouldn't quickly divulge to Vegeta just yet, but a notion that Torno, himself, would keep under consideration when it came to his company's cadence towards him.

When Vegeta spoke, however, a subtle, albeit noticeable hitch in Torno's breath and a slight aversion in his gaze, even if just for a split second, would convey a sort of understanding for the Prince's viewpoints of his life; the larger Saiyan, perhaps, feeling the same about his own deeds and the path he walked. Should he empathize with Vegeta, and share his own understanding of such a view of his life, or allow Vegeta to share, and not be burdened with the Mighty Saiyan's own existence. It was Torno who sought Vegeta out, and the former surmised that sharing anything about himself was best saved for if or when the other royal wanted him to do so, not whenever Torno felt like it.

"I suppose I don't have a clear answer on that, myself." Torno would begin, almost allowing a smile to creep onto his face, as he almost always had certainty in his actions, and clear reasoning behind the things he did, presently. "As it stand, right now, I suppose this encounter, itself, is what I've sought, and the knowledge that may come from it. Ever since I first learned about the Saiyans of this universe, and that their prince still lived, I've had this itch to seek him out."

Stoic as ever, however, the larger royal seemed to pick at his own words, and huff at how he couldn't immediately answer Vegeta's question. "Your honesty, meanwhile, has me considering the idea of offering an invitation to visit my home, and perhaps be a guest among our kind. Though, turning such an invitation down wouldn't be seen as offensive." It was then, that Torno found himself crossing his own arms, and involuntarily mirroring Vegeta's stance.

"The only thing I can tell you, with the utmost certainty, is that I haven't come here to entertain the idea of coming to blows with you." Would his answer to Vegeta's inquiry suffice, given that the Mighty Warrior found himself uncharacteristically unable to truly answer the question? He wouldn't show it, but a sliver of unease nestled its way into his psyche, after he came to understand that he wasn't entirely sure of what he wanted out of this encounter with Universe Seven's Saiyan Prince.

[anonymityisfunwriter]

The Twin Flame - Chapter 20: Would've, Could've, Should've

"God rest my soul, I miss who I used to be. The tomb won't close, stained glass windows in my mind. I regret you all the time..."

You shakily exhale when you hear the door slam followed by complete and utter silence.

Gut-wrenching, deafening silence.

All alone once again.

At this point, it seemed like you were destined for a life alone. It was better that way, you'd told yourself so many times. 

Your mind races. All your thoughts flood your psyche all at once. You can't stop thinking. It bombards you.

You're barely treading the choppy waters as it is, but you're floundering now.

You're drowning, you know you are.

You can't scream. Each inhale fills your lungs with those heavy feelings that threaten to drag you to a place where you'll never see the sun again. Each exhale leaves you sputtering until you're on the floor helpless. 

And you just can't breathe. 

Your leadened feet guide you to the center of the room where you sink to your knees, crumpled by the waves of heart-stopping hurt, begging for solace, begging for atonement, begging for it all to finally stop, for your tired heart to finally know peace.

You lean forward, your head hung so low it almost rests upon the floor. Your hands cup your face. You feel each silent tear slip between your fingers.

Your breath comes faster. You're not sure what you're doing anymore. Praying to some higher being that's never granted you mercy. Rocking yourself like the child you never got to be. Trying to compose yourself to be the soldier everyone expected you to be. 

A pained gasp gets stuck in your throat.

You remember the guided meditations Bruce once made you do with him all that time ago.

You figure it's your best shot. Your foot slips beneath you. You force yourself to sit upright against all the weight pulling you down. You rest your hands in your lap. Your hands interlock of their own accord, your fingers grip each other so tightly it hurts. 

The pain doesn't bother you as much as it probably should. Pain was simple. Pain was familiar. Even your bloodied, injured arm, that was easy to ignore.

It wasn't easy to keep pushing down the emotions raging against you, fighting your so hard they threatened to break out of your ribcage and tear right through your skin.

You squeeze your eyes shut, forcing yourself to focus on the memory of Bruce's words echoing through your head. 

Breathe in.

Breathe through.

Breathe deep.

Breathe out.

You try them over and over again, trying to bring yourself back to a person you remember. You were sitting here all alone because of an ugly mess of pride, miscommunication, grief, and hurt. So, so much hurt.

And you didn't know how to fix it anymore.

Part of you wanted to scream that you couldn't even look at them anymore, that there was nothing that they could say to make any of this right again, that you didn't need them.

But you did need them.

You do need them. 

It's clear to everyone that you do.

 It's clear that you're not able to let any of it go: not the pain, not the hurt, not the thrill of it all, not the rush that came with it, and most certainly not them. It was selfish. You were selfish, but you weren't strong enough to let them go, and you most certainly weren't strong enough to hold onto them.

And you remain on the other side of the door because you're scared, scared that you can't even control yourself anymore. Few could sympathize, even fewer could empathize, but sometimes you needed the world to be small again. You needed the world to exist within the confines of four walls. You needed it to make sense again. 

Sometimes you wished the world was still small. Sometimes you wished you didn't know freedom felt like. Sometimes you wanted nothing more for your tired, aching soul to rest. 

And what was really terrifying, what was truly sick, was that you didn't regret it at all. You're glad you breathed that first gasp of fresh, freeing air. Through all the fighting, tragedy, and loss, you can't bring yourself to regret any of it. 

And it scared you how selfish that was, how selfish you could be. 

You miss the person that you used to be. The person who would never dream of being this selfish, who knew right from wrong, who could trust themselves, their own intuition and moral compass. A person who could control themselves. That person deserved happiness, deserved peace. And that's certainly not you anymore. 

It was a complete and total crisis of your faith.

So you do more breathing. Legs crossed, eyes shut, in and out, over and over again. 

Every time you found stability, it was ripped away before you could hold onto it. 

Every thing you touched became sick with sadness.

Every thing you set your sights on rotted from the inside out.

And lately, you'd only found one common denominator. Shutting yourself away was the only way to protect those around you. You'd proved that time and time again. In some strange sense, you were a catalyst to chaos.

How could you blame Steve when it was clear that you were the real problem? 

You were the sickness.

You figure that maybe Steve was onto something with the Sunshine nickname. When you really thought about it, it made perfect sense. From a distance, you were bright, cheery, and warm. But every time people got close, they got burned. Nothing good came from being close to you, even keeping a steady gaze on you was a hazard. That's who you were. A living, breathing cautionary tale. It now made sense why everyone fought so hard to keep you under lock and key. 

When all the cards were down, when you were being honest, brutally honest, with yourself, you found that your only real regret was you.

The pain you inflicted on others with your proximity.

You're a wound that would never close.

You regretted not knowing any better. For being so foolish. For being so trusting, so naive. You regretted not seeing it.

After all, a gold cage is still a cage.

You should've known from the moment you were freed. You weren't meant for a happy, peaceful life. Maybe if you hadn't been so caught up in the beauty of the world, in the feeling of being important and cared for, maybe you would have noticed it. Noticed what was happening around you. To you. 

You would have seen the walls closing in. You would've felt the noose slip around your neck, slowly tightening with each painful tick of time. 

Maybe you would have tasted the poison and spit it out.

A gold cage is still a cage. Right?

At least, that's what the dramatic, self-loathing, philosophical side of you thought. That was the side of you that ruminated endlessly, that kept you up pacing like a ghost in the night. The more grounded side of you knew that you were a person that was equal parts grief, trauma, and anger most days.

You had yet to take a single moment to breathe, let alone focus on what you'd lost. Your focus had always been moving forward, keeping yourself from burdening others with your own emotional baggage.

Most days you forgot that you didn't know a life without a fight constantly looming on the horizon.

You'd only lived with Sam for a year before being thrown headfirst into all things SHIELD. And even that didn't last, 6 months into your role as SHIELD's most valuable asset, Nick Fury died and Steve Rogers burst into your life. 2 years on the run soon after that. And before you knew it, you were dusted. 5 years gone in the blink of an eye.

There was never time to show yourself some grace, to process the whirlwind you found yourself caught in. 

You were tired. Mentally, emotionally, physically drained. Given everything you had to the fight and then some.

For a while, you convinced yourself that everything was good. You were on the outside, no longer held captive, that was as good as you would ever get. You told yourself, if you could just smile through it all, laugh when people wanted you to, you'd be happy.

But loss after loss, tragedy after tragedy, you weren't sure how much more you could take.

How many times could you be pulled apart and still come back together? How many times could you be torn to shred and left to glue yourself back together? How many times could a heart break and still keep beating?

It almost wasn’t fair. That your heart still beat. Torn apart limb from limb just to come back together with a smile on your face. Surely, someone should've known that the cracks would start showing. That eventually, you wouldn't be able to pull yourself back together anymore. 

Heartbreak after heartbreak.

It often occurs to you that you have no idea what peace feels like, let alone how to accept it. 

And on your worst days, you regret the day that Nick Fury freed you. 

So you keep breathing.

Breathe in.

Breathe through.

Breathe deep.

Breathe out.

Even as you hear Bucky, Sam, and Zemo return, their voices carrying through the walls, you just keep breathing.

Legs crossed, hands resting in your lap, eyes shut as you will your world to shrink, for yourself to shrink into a person that fit within the confines of those four walls. 

"Well, we got nothing," Bucky sighs, pulling off his jacket and chucking it on the couch. He looks for any sign of you, any indication that you've left the room. He finds nothing, not a single trace, not a single sound. It all seems a little darker without your presence. "No one's talking about Donya."

"Yeah, because Karli's the only one fighting for them," Sam vaguely defends as Bucky frustratedly groans. Sam watches Bucky for a moment as Bucky settles himself on the couch. Sam hesitantly adds, "And she's not wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"For five years, people have been welcomed into countries that have kept them out using barbed wire. There were houses and jobs. Folks were happy to have people around to help them rebuild. It wasn't just one community coming together, it was the entire world coming together. And then boom, just like that it goes right back to the way it used to be. To them, at least Karli's doing something."

"You really think her ends justify her means? Then she's no different than Zemo or anybody else we've fought," Bucky quietly argues, shutting his eyes as he rubs his temples with one hand. 

"She is different," Sam objects. "She's not motivated by the same things."

After silently padding away to the kitchen, Zemo returns, shuffling back into the living room with a tea tray in hand.

"That little girl? What did she tell you?" Sam prompts, watching as Zemo sets the tray down on the coffee table.

"The funeral is tomorrow afternoon," Zemo casually informs, not offering any more information. 

"You know the Dora's coming for you. In fact, they're probably lurking outside right now. I'd keep talking," Bucky sharply warns. 

"Hmm..." Zemo's lips purse, his head tilting to the side as he theatrically mulls over Bucky's words. After a second, Zemo shakes his head. "Leaving you to turn on me once we get to Karli. I prefer to keep my leverage."

Those words feel like Bucky's last straw.

He angrily stands out of his seat, taking one large step in front of Zemo. Bucky takes the glass from Zemo's hand, throwing it against the wall. The glass shattering loudly echoes through the room, shards of glass skidding across the floor. "You want to see what someone can do with leverage?"

"Hey, just take it easy," Sam interrupts, stepping in front of a seething Bucky. "Don't engage him. He's just going to extort you and do that stupid head tilt thing."

At Sam's observation, Zemo straightens the insinuating tilt of his head, still wearing his head held high under Bucky's scrutinizing glare. Sam pats Bucky on the shoulder once. "Just let me make a call."

Bucky remains silent, still glaring at Zemo as Sam leaves the room to make a call. 

"Would you like some cherry blossom tea?" Zemo offers, seemingly unaffected by Bucky's hostility. 

"No," Bucky snarkily declines. "You go ahead."

Sam steps down the hall, stopping just short of the room you were currently taking refuge in. He takes a deep breath, rolling his neck before pulling his phone out of his pocket. He dials the number of someone he only hopes could help them.

"Hey, we found the camp," Sam mutters into the phone, still watching your room's door. "No one here is telling us shit. Zemo found out the funeral is tomorrow, but he's holding us hostage with the information."

"And that surprises you?" Sharon guffaws. "But you don't want to go in blind."

"Sharon, listen, I know I owe you already, but we could use a trustworthy set of eyes on the camp. You got anymore tricks in your bag?"

"I may or may not have access to a satellite or two," Sharon tells him. "Let me see what I can do."

Sam sighs in relief. "Thank you."

"Listen, Sam you gotta play this out until the very end. If Karli disappears, we're not gonna find that serum until it's too late."

"I know."

"The Power Broker went apeshit when he heard about Nagel. He wants that serum back. You killed his Golden Goose. It's only a matter of time before he tries to find the real Golden Goose, and when he does, Madripoor's gonna get real nasty." 

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. Just find Karli," Sharon vaguely orders. 

"Will do."

"And Sam?" Sharon adds. 

"Yeah?"

"If I were you, I'd be really careful with her. Power Broker's got connections everywhere, so - just keep her safe, keep her with you, okay?"

"I will," he promises, hanging up the phone.

He shoves his phone back in his pocket, still watching your door.

He honestly doesn't know if you're just so angry with him that you don't want to be anywhere near him, if you're in there beating yourself up, if you're doing those weird breathing meditations that Bruce taught you. He figures it's probably some combination of all three. 

He knows you're probably in there beating yourself up for what happened earlier. It always scared you when you slipped up like that, especially so violently. It didn't matter that you'd never hurt a single person, even the slightest inclination that you were about to freaked you out. 

He spends a good portion of that evening meandering in that hallway, waiting and hoping that you'll come out, even if it is just to yell at him again. With each passing minute, the chances of you making an appearance get more slim.

As the sun begins to set, he knows it's highly unlikely. With the ticking of time starting to drive Sam crazy and Bucky keeping watch of Zemo, Sam decides there's very little he's going to accomplish by loitering in the hallway in front of your door. He tugs his jacket back on and briskly walks out the front door, mumbling a quick explanation to Bucky of going to pick up something for the four of you to eat.

Because the cool air and night time scene offers no reprieve to Sam, he returns with two bags of food in his hand. He holds an ounce of hope that you might make an appearance, but it's quickly dashed when he walks into the house to find Zemo blithely sipping his tea and Bucky intently staring at your door. 

Sam hands Bucky one of the bags. Bucky shakes his head, barely looking away from the door to accept the food in Sam's hand, "Nothing. Not a sound."

"Kinda figured," Sam slowly exhales. He makes his way down the hall to your room with the other paper bag in his hand. He lightly knocks on the door, making no attempt to forcefully enter. His forehead rests against the door as he speak through the door, "I know you can hear me. And I know you're pissed, but you can be pissed and eat."

No response. 

"And I want you to remember that it was an accident, okay? No one got hurt. No one's upset. You're a person, just like the rest of us. Accidents happen." His words hang in the air as he waits with bated breath for any sign that you're even listening to him. And when there's none, his shoulders slump in defeat, his eyes closing with the weight of your strained friendship. He gently places the food at the door. "Okay... Well, tomorrow's a new day, okay? It's a fresh start... Good night."

A tear slips down your cheek, and it takes everything in you to not open the door. And though you know he can't hear you from the other side of the door, you brokenly whisper, "'Night."

The Twin Flame Chapter List AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

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[lfc21]

The storm in paradise

Relationships where hard. They where exciting, perfect and thrilling for the first few months but then you hit a steady pase, a steady pase in which holds no excitement, no perfection and nothing that is remotely thrilling its all just normal. Everyone calls it the honeymoon stage, but most Relationships don't make it to the wedding so how can it be a honeymoon stage? It's more like the calm before the storm stage where one day it's paradise but the next your trying to shelter yourself from what could harm you. You never found Relationships this negative and mundane, you used to fall head over heels for any boy in which showed you the nearest amount of romance and that wasn't your fault you just seemed to like the attention. It was when you met him, the one person in which you would of held the world for, the one person that made paradise into a storm so quickly.

It had been a few months since the storm passed and you decided to move your separate ways. You tried to convince yourself that you where protecting the both of you from the storms mishaps but you weren't infact you where just scared, scared of what the storm may worsten for the pair of you. As days came into weeks and weeks rolled into months you started to notice a weight fall from your shoulders, you met a boy named Harry well you thought it was Harry but you didn't really take much interest to him but more of the fact he promised a 5 star meal in a gorgeous restaurant which you couldn't pass on. It was low, very low but you couldn't help but want the meal and want the treatment of a princess even if you didn't find the man remotely interesting, maybe you would! Maybe he was your paradise! A paradise that was ment to last forever.

You sat across from the man with your eyes locked on his as he told you about his job for the tenth time. You weren't completely rude to him, you were polite, happy, respectful and all kinds of irresistible to him but now an hour in you where starting to loose interest. Harry was a small man, a small man with little personality and you where sure he was just placed in this world to ramble on about his father's million pound business which he was handed to on a plate after school. He wasn't your type and he didn't seem to be someone to grow on you.

"So anyway enough about me, what do you do?" He abruptly asked snapping you out of your thoughts. Your mind fell as ease as he took you away from the idea of kicking him off his chair in your brain. In all honesty you where shocked, shocked as you didn't think he actually remembered you where there. Infront of him.

"Oh well I have my own business aswell actually, nothing to fancy just a wedding dress shop a few minutes away from here" you said with a smile as the idea of you actually speaking about your job did infact keep your mind as peace. His face was blank, like stone, he wasn't interested in a word you said and you where sure of that as after a few more minutes of your voice being used in his surroundings you where sure he would be ready to scream.

"Oh right how long have you been doing that?" He bluntly asked with no emotion to his words. You where quite surprised as to how rude he was prepared to be right infront of your face. His palm was pressed against the side of his cheek pushing in all the anger he had started to collect. Charming. He certainly didn't seem to be your paradise, more like hell.

"About 2 years" you replied back in the same mannerism as his. You were bored, far more than you had ever been in your life. He was far to posh for you, everything he had in life was handed down to him with money and gold, that wasn't the life for you, you wanted someone determined and prepared to put hard work in but that wasn't him, he was the opposite.

"Oh right"he mumbled into the palm of his hand only letting you catch a few letters from his blunt and disinterested words. You where slowly loosing every ounce of patience with this man. What where you supposed to do? Climb out the window like on the films? Or tell him there's a family emergency? Actually that would be useless he would probably turn it into a 40 page script on how his family are so amazing. You take a long sip of your white wine as you look up from under your lashes. Your eyes meet a small petite girl with a huge smile and perfectly curled hair you where sure she was made from barbie. Your eyes where becoming more nosey than your brain, you where invested in who she was and who she was with maybe because it was the only interesting thing being performed infront of you. You take a long deep breathe until taking it to a sudden holt. You take a closer look not wanting your eyes to defeat you. Oh. My. God. It was Trent. The storm that broke your paradise was sat at the table infront of you styling nothing but a cheeky grin and a cocky smirk, his eyes where locked on yours almost as if he knew that you where here. Your eyes shut with a rush until opening them again trying to get rid of the painful sight infront of you.

"I-im just going to go to the bathroom. Do excuse me" you politely announced to the silent man as you pushed off your chair and made a beeline straight to the toilet. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What where you supposed to do? He was on a date with a girl. A real girl. "Oh my god" you mumbled as you pushed open the women's bathroom with a hush, to your luck there was no one in there just you and your thoughts. Why her? Why did he move on so quick? You where jealous, deeply jealous but how could you not be when this man wrapped you in his life like you where his breath - his need to live. You placed your hands under the cold water splashing down with no control, you where calm. Your breath became even as you dried your hands on your black dress before making yourself look more presentable. Maybe you wanted to make him jealous?

"You thought you could just run away?" You heard a Scouse accent say once the door slammed shut. You jumped from your position at the mirror with a breathe caught in your mouth. Was he serious? You couldn't believe your eyes.

"T-trent" you mumble as no words where capable of making sense. "W-what are you doing here? You can't be here?" You quickly asked as you shoved your bag shut and took a long deep breathe. He was here because of you, the storm was back in town, back and ready to run the world.

"I can" he bluntly said with a small chuckle "I wanted to speak to you" he admitted as he gently turned the door knob back and opened the door back out to reality. Your eyes fell onto the table you where sat at, Harry's back visible to your naked eye, you felt guilt.

"I don't want to speak to you" you announced as you pushed passed him and under his arm which was holding the door open. You started to walk off until his large hand fell into yours. It wasn't a mistake, it wasn't an accident you could both forget about, he wanted you back physically and mentally.

"2 minutes" he begged as you looked back at his sorry looking face. You weighed up the pros and cons in your heard trying to work out if this was worth it. You weren't sure, after all who wants the storm back?

"Make it quick" you mumbled as you moved closer to him around the tight bend away from Harry. You looked up at him, he still held that perfect angelic face. His eyes where still as glosy as ever, his lips still wet, his face still so soft, nothing had changed. But what did change was her, did he look at her with that same angelic look? Did he kiss her lips the same way he kissed you? Did she notice how soft and perfect his face was? You couldn't do it. She wasn't you.

"Y/n I'm here for you. I've come on a date with a girl I hardly know, a girl I know nothing about. This was all for you. Oh my god! I can't get you out of my head. Please try it again. Please let me make it up to you, I love you and miss you and I want you back" he admitted until biting his lip to stop the words from dripping from his mouth, you looked up at him. Your eyes where magnets to those lips, those lips he was biting to hide the words he felt where necessary to keep in. You weren't sure if it was the white wine or the fact you had spent an hour with a man who had done nothing but repel you from any sexual interactions but your hand reached for the back of his neck before pulling down his head towards yours. Your lips crashed onto his, the passion from him and yourself came crashing together like fireworks in the dark. The emotions where back, the feeling of his love and comfort came crashing down onto your shoulders as if there was no stopping it.

"Trent I cant" you softly said as you carefully took your lips from his. The guilt was swallowing you whole almost as if you where just some food on a crappy old plate.

"Y/n" he pleaded as his hand fell into yours and his eyes fell soft. He needed this, he needed you. Your mouth parted to say something but no words where prepared to come out you simply took his hand further into yours and pulled him through the busy restaurant. You didn't care. How could you? You pushed through the herds of people before opening the door to what was ahead of you. Real life. As soon as Trent followed behind you there was no Harry and no random girl instead it was you and him.

"Trent" you said naturally.

"Shut up and kiss me" he urged as his hands pressed against your face with nothing but passion. The air felt fresh, fresh as a daisy on a spring day. There was no storm, it was more of a paradise, a paradise with sun, flowers, smiles and alot of kissing. Your lips crashed and danced together in a pattern that spoke all unspoken words. This was supposed to happen, maybe he wasn't so bad after all.

So! I was reading all his perfects by colleen hoover and there was part in the book in which inspired this imagine so if you can please read that book it's amazing! aswell as it ends with us!! There such good books. Anyway please give me some feedback and requests as I really appreciate it and it helps further imagines. Thank you for all the support. Have a good day 🙏🏻 @prettylittletrent @cornertakenquicklyyyy @trentsko @trentalexanderarnold @robbo38 @robbothegoat @kostasstsimikass @chelseamount @chloereddy @tsimikasfamily @avenirdelight @blueathens @jordanhendersunshine @mrs-henderson @thatonesexycancerian @hendersons1truelover @nyctophilic0vitnir @peekapeaches @tsimikxs @tsimikostas @trentalexarnofan @leddows @moneymasnn @superkittywonderland @virgilvansike @virgilvandickmedown

Masterlist

[kotokos-cafe]

Control (Yandere!FuyuPeko x Reader)

The sound of glass shattering echoed in your mind as the window fell to pieces. Glancing back behind you, there was no trace of the captors who claimed to be in love with you. Taking quick, uneasy breaths, you wedged yourself through the tiny window, the broken bars lying on the ground alongside the glass pieces.

It had taken you forever to find that hammer. You knew buttering the captors up and convincing them to leave that sledgehammer with you would be a good idea. But now you were feeling the weight of it. You were outside of where they had left you, obviously having smashed in the window. Who knew what they would do to you if you were caught? You had one chance, and probably five minutes to get out of there before they came down to check on you and discovered you were missing.

Taking a deep breath, without even a second to gather your thoughts, you bolted. You don't even know how long you ran before you were in the middle of a forest. Perfect, you figured. They'd never find you here, in the middle of a dense forest, right?

And that's when you just broke down. You cried about everything. The torture... The false love... Surely feelings that led two people to become that demented over you couldn't be love, right? It couldn't be. You cried about the pain you felt, the sheer agony of being locked away from the world. Didn't people miss you? Weren't they looking for you?

Your tears were close to stopping for the time being when you heard footsteps approaching you. Worried it could be your captors coming to retrieve you, despite knowing it was virtually impossible that they had found you already, you turned with wide eyes and a sharp gasp.

To your surprise, the two people who had traumatized you so badly were nowhere to be found. In their stead was a group of three men and two women, bruised and battered. You were instantly fearful upon seeing them. No group of people would approach a missing persons so casually, so aggressively, without bad intentions, right? Or were you just that badly brainwashed by your kidnappers that you now believed anyone who wasn't them meant you harm?

Your suspicions were confirmed when one of the women roughly grabbed your shoulders, and forced you to the ground. She wrenched you into a painful hold that made it tight and searing to struggle. These people were certainly trained to do this and knew what they were doing.

"My, my," she purred. "Isn't this the Kuzuryuu clan's little love that he's so hellbent to protect? How the tables have turned."

"What do you mean...?" you brokenly asked. You had no clue what the reason for this was. You had only just escaped, after all! How could this have been brought on? "What did I do to you...?"

"Oh, not you," one of the men responded. "But your boyfriend. We're from the Hoshikawa Clan, dumbass."

Ooh, you knew that name. A name both Fuyuhiko and Peko often spoke of with gritted teeth. With disdain. With hatred and with malice. They had some sort of vendetta against your boyfriend, and they were taking it out on you.

"Y-You've got it all wr-wrong...!" you pleaded. Your voice was weak and timid, a side effect from being punished for your resistance so many times. "I-I don't love him...! Or h-her...! They kidnapped m-me...!"

"This ain't about you, girlie," one of the other men answered. "This is about him. He loves you, even if you ain't reciprocatin'. And as for that bitch he always keeps around, she doesn't matter here. It's nothin' personal."

"N-No, please..." you begged. The other woman held up a video camera and began recording as the last man pulled out his pistol. They were going to kill you on camera and send it to their rivals? With nothing left to do, you relinquished your pride, and screamed for help. "HELP! HELP! PLEASE, SOMEBODY! HELP! HELP!"

The gun cocked and you closed your eyes in anticipation. A shot was heard, but you felt nothing. Opening your eyes, you realized you were still alive. And breathing. And standing in front of you, covered in blood and gore, were Fuyuhiko and Peko, who must have followed your trail and heard your pleas for help.

As the two remaining men and two remaining women glared at them and drew their own pistols, the camera was dropped and the six people engaged in a scuffle. You watched as Fuyuhiko mercilessly put down one of the men and one of the women, and Peko ruthlessly slaughtered the others. You shivered as you watched the bodies fall to the floor, stained in blood. They had killed for you yet again. After all was said and done, the two turned to you.

"The fuck were you thinking?!" Fuyuhiko screamed at you. With his gun still in his hand, you were worried about what he may do to you. But upon seeing your shaking but definitely submissive posture, Peko calmly placed her hands on Fuyuhiko's shoulders to make him calm down. Fuyuhiko took a deep breath and his tone became calmer. "Look, I'm sorry. I know you probably just... wanted to go on a walk or some shit."

"But it was rather unwise of you to do so without permission," Peko finished. She closed her eyes regretfully, her pain being displayed plain as day. "Because now we must punish you. And you know how much we dread the thought of having to punish you."

Your throat closed up and your stomach sank when you heard those words. Punishment? A punishment?! Again?! No, no, no, no, no, no, no! You didn't want to be punished! At this point, you would do anything to avoid a punishment!

"Peko," Fuyuhiko cooed, it being his turn to calm your girlfriend down. "Lay off 'em. They've been through a lot tonight and I get the sense they'll never pull this shit again. Ain't that right, S/O?"

You fervently nodded your head, earning a sigh from Peko. The two linked arms with you, putting their weapons back in their protective casings, and walked silent back to the captivity site. Eventually, the silence intimidated them. Were they mad at you? Sad? Disappointed? Oh, how you dreaded that word. Disappointed. You felt like such a failure being called a disappointment.

"Why did you... save me...?" you asked timidly. Fuyuhiko gave you a shocked glance whereas Peko looked at you more stoic. In his eyes, this meant you were starting to see real human, redeemable, lovable characteristics in them. "Even after I ran a-away from you both... You saved m-me... Wh-Why...?"

"Can't you see?" Peko asked monotonously. "The world is a scary and dangerous place. If you stay here, you’ll be safe in our arms. We promise you that. You'll be safe and protected from all dangers. All you need to do is swear your heart to us and us alone, and you'll be under our protective embrace for eternity."

You thought to yourself. To them, this had to be a power thing, right? This had to be! They wanted to see someone meek and timid in submission to them. But then again, what Peko promised you didn't sound so bad at all. Safe... Protected... Loved... And all of this forever? For just the small price of promising your heart, love, and devotion to them? It did honestly sound very promising, and they weren't bad lovers in the least if you behaved. Closing your eyes, you nodded and laid your head on Fuyuhiko's shoulder with a soft yawn, finally submitting to the rest of your life.

And now, they really had control.