#are the highs so high that the fighting is worth it

[cheapshrimpysheep]

Dating in a Dream - Floyd Leech

SUMMARY: What would his dream be like, exactly the same as in the original story, but with the small detail that he is dreaming that you two are dating? Or rather, dated.

CHARACTERS: Floyd Leech x Reader 🦈🦐

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; In a Relationship (kinda, actually an ex-relationship); Kiss

WARNING: Spoilers from Book 7 and Floyd’s dream (Eng Server) and a reader with attitude.

WORD COUNT: 3.150 words

COMMENTS: This was written as a companion piece to the original dream story, so the parts that are the same as the game are just summarized.

This Yuu/Reader has a strong personality because I believe is what fits and makes sense in this dream.

I hope you enjoy 🦈

Dating in a Dream: Idia / Epel / Rook / Vil / Kalim / Jamil / (Floyd) / ...

“Aether signal tracking successful.” Ortho announces. “We have arrived at the designated coordinates.”

You, Grim, Silver, Sebek, and Jamil were all holding on to Ortho, so you needed a place to land. But there was no land in sight, just a vast ocean. Jamil froze the seawater into a boat with seats for everyone and Silver formed the oars. You all get on the boat and sit down.

“The sea brings to mind a couple of people.” Jamil says. “And what they have in common is-”

Something slammed into the boat. And again. And again.

“Mraaah! The boat's rockin' and rollin'!” Grim worries. “I'm gonna fall overboard!”

“I'm getting an enormous aether signal reading from under the boat!” Ortho warns. “It's closing in again at high speed!”

“Is it trying to tip the boat over?!” Jamil realizes.

The thing keeps hitting the ice boat violently until it finally capsizes and you all fall into the water. Fortunately, Idia was prepared for that and used technomantic nanomachines to create a kind of giant bubble around each of your bodies.

“Thank goodness!” Silver says. “Now we can fight whatever attacked our boat.”

“Ah! Aether signature reading 10 meters ahead. Estimated length, four meters!” Ortho informs you. “Judging by its size, it must be the creature that knocked over our boat.”

“Four meters? That's pretty big. We'll need to take it down with magic! (Y/N), you get back.” Jamil asks you.

Everyone gets into position, ready to defend themselves from a possible next attack and to attack the creature with magic.... But...

“Nothing's comin'.” Grim says, kind of disappointedly.

“I'm still getting that reading 10 meters ahead...” Ortho reiterates. “But it's not budging at all.”

“If it won't attack, we should attack instead.” Silver says. “Let's close in carefully and...”

Silver is interrupted by an oddly long sigh.

“Boooriiiiin'...” Floyd appears, more apathetic than you've ever seen him or even thought possible. “I was hopin' for some decent excitement... But nah, it's just land peeps...” You see the dreamer's silver bird around his head.

“Floyd?!”

“Mm... You guys know me? People from land kinda blur together for me... Mm... Wait.” He looks at you, without changing his bored expression. “Koebi-chan? Were you takin’ a boat trip or somethin'? Sorry ‘bout that.”

“You recognize (Y/N).” Jamil says, although he found it strange that Floyd apologized to someone without being ironic. “Does that mean you recognize us as well?”

“Mm... Oh, yeah... but whatever. I ain't interested in school or anythin' up on land anymore.”

Silver asks Floyd where Azul and Jade are. The three of them were always together, right? Floyd tells him that the three of them are not a package deal and that the two are probably still on land since Azul's business was going so well.

Jamil asks him if he came back to the sea by himself and Floyd says he was bored as an explanation, that things go great no matter what he does.

“See, I figured there were entertaining people up on land, kinds you wouldn't find under the sea.” Floyd explains. “But they're all so weak. Just a buncha small fry not even worth botherin' with. And they all get suckered by Azul, hook, line, and sinker... He's got so many anemones at this point, he doesn't even need more. We had a second and third Mostro Lounge branch open in no time flat...” he ends with another long sigh.

Besides people getting ‘suckered by Azul’ being concerning, Sebek says that all that sounds like perfect smooth sailing, and asks what exactly is the problem.

Floyd says that all of that was just boring and he got totally checked out. So he left to take a solo trip around the world. He went to the Shaftlands, where he was found by a man who offered him a spot as a model in a fashion show which he accepted because it sounded cool. Then the man offered him an exclusive contract with their brand, which he refused because it would be boring to always wear clothes from the same brand.

After spending all his money in the Shaftlands, he went to the Sunshine Lands to find some part-time gigs. He was immediately hired by a famous restaurant. On the third day of work, he threw together something for a staff meal that the chef totally loved and asked him if they could serve that to customers. Floyd accepted and it was such a huge hit that it had people lining up out the door.

Grim wanted to try it, but Floyd had forgotten the recipe because it was something he simply made depending on what he felt like at the time.

It was turning into a hassle so he quit and went to another country, this time the Scalding Sands. Where he rode a camel through the desert and found the legendary genie's lamp. But he used all three wishes to ask for fresh drinks and food because it was hot and he was hungry.

After that he went to the Sunset Savanna, the Queendom of Roses, and Briar Valley. But once again, everyone was so weak that it was just boring. Sebek protests that it's impossible for someone from the Briar Valley royal family to be weak, but Floyd basically says that he's not stupid enough to just walk into the castle and ask to fight with the royal family.

“So yeah. I got bored of bein' up on land and came back to the sea. Not that it's any less boring here... I saw a disturbance in the water up on the surface so I came to see if somethin' interesting was finally happening... But when I flipped the boat, all I found was my ex and a buncha guys I already know.”

“Y-your EX?!” Everyone asks, including you.

“Huh?” Floyd looks directly at you. “I thought you realized I broke up with you when I dumped you at my parents' house.”

“Wait, you are talking about (Y/N)?” Jamil asks. “You're saying that you dated and then you broke up with them at your parents' house?”

“Yeah. We started datin’ on land and one day they said they would like to visit the Coral Sea and meet my parents. I gave them the potion for them to take on a mer-form and even that got borin’ after a while.”

“What do you mean?” Jamil keeps asking, after all if it were you it would be strange. “What were they like in mer-form?”

“Beautiful.” Floyd says without any emotion in his voice. “Everyone was like ‘Aww, you shrimp tail is sooo adorable!’ And they always have a buncha merfolk fallin’ for them. But Koebi-chan never even looked at them.”

“And isn't that good? For them to be faithful?”

“Well, yeah... but our relationship was so booorin'. We never argued, they were always so nice and kind to me even when I tried to mess with them. That was so annoyin'. They never got mad at me and always did whatever I asked. I realized how borin' they really were after my parents met them, so I told them to take Koebi-chan back home after I left on my solo world trip. I don't even remember why I fell in love with them. Ouch!”

Suddenly Floyd was hit in the chest by a small rock. Everyone turned to you, who was the one who threw it, and you were looking at Floyd furiously.

“You son of a... whatever the stupid fish equivalent is!” You shout at him.

“Fish equivalent?” Floyd looks at you a little surprised. “Was that supposed to be a racial insult, koebi-chan?”

“No, I was just trying to say it in a way that you would understand.” You say smugly.

“Heh? Are you sayin’ I'd be too dumb to understand if you used your own words?” Floyd gave you that mocking smile, and then he looked at you with that scary serious face. “Say what you want if you have the guts.”

“(Y/N), I know this is a complicated situation but-” Jamil tried to calm you down but was interrupted by Grim.

Grim was looking at you like a child seeing one of those rare moments where they see their mother angry and doesn't want to get involved. He convinces everyone to let you handle it.

“If I have the guts?!” You continue. “You were the one who wasn't merman enough to take me back to land and broke up with me properly!”

“Oooohh... now you’re usin’ puns?” He smiles smugly. “After all, you really are more interestin’ single. Heh heh heh!” He laughs for the first time.

“Indeed. Maybe the problem has been you all along.” You smirk.

Floyd gets that frighteningly serious look back when he looks at you.

“Yeah, you heard me.” At this point, you were either serious or you had some sort of plan, or both. “Maybe the problem is you. Maybe no one wants to entertain you. After all... who wants to be around someone so boring that they can't even entertain themselves?”

The others ask you, almost stuttering, if you are sure that irritating him is a good idea, especially seeing the way he was looking at you.

“You have a lotta nerve for such a tiny shrimp.” Floyd says menacingly. “And especially for someone who would drown if I burst their little bubble.” He smirks.

“Do it if you have the guts.” You provoke him.

The others try to warn you to stop, that you could really be in danger, but you don't cower, nor does Floyd. He attacks you, bursting your bubble and taking you away from the others.

“(Y/N)!” Everyone shouts, but none of them can reach you underwater, Floyd is too fast.

When he stops, your cheeks are puffed out to hold your breath, and he's hugging you, not squeezing you.

“What about now? Heh heh heh. You can't talk under water.” He smiles amusedly.

You blow air bubbles in his face, the equivalent of spitting out the water you would have in your mouth if you were on land.

“Aha ha ha, That tickles. You idiot, you're runnin’ out of air.”

But you don't seem worried, even with him holding you down there under the sea. But he was right, you were running out of air. He notices when your expression starts to become less intense.

“Silly little shrimpy.” He says in a surprisingly affectionate tone before swimming quickly toward the surface with you.

When you reach the surface you take a deep breath and Floyd keeps holding you. You call him stupid or idiot one last time and he starts laughing heartily.

“THAT WAS FUN!” He says with that joy that you were already missing. “I'm pretty sure this was our first argument, but for some reason... Me in mer-form facin’ you in your human form underwater is givin’ me a déjà vu.”

“Probably from that time you and Jade tried to stop me and the others from getting to the Atlantica Memorial Museum.” You say.

“Atlantica Memorial Museum? Oh, yeah. ‘Cause of that contract with Azul. You needed to get that school photo. Well, too bad you never got it.”

“Yes, we did! While Leona destroyed Azul's contracts.”

“What? You worked together with Todo-senpai (sea lion)? No way. There's no way we'd lose to a little shrimp like you... Hrgh?!” He remembers the moment in front of the museum when he and Jade had to leave because something was happening with Azul in Octavinelle.

The world begins to distort as he remembers. Because of the headaches, Floyd ends up letting go of you. The others finally catch up to you, Idia takes the opportunity to restore your bubble and you two go back underwater

They saw the world distorting and asked what happened. You tell them that Floyd began to remember when he was defeated by you and the others. They come to the conclusion that in that dream world Floyd was always living a perpetual winning streak. So maybe the formula for waking him up was reminding him of all the times he didn't win.

Silver reminds him of Orientation day, where he saw Floyd on fire flying through the air after hearing an explosion nearby. And the person who did that to him was Riddle. Jamil says that Jade was laughing so loudly it echoed through the whole Mirror Chamber, and Azul was acting like he'd never seen Floyd before in his life. Silver found out what happened from Riddle himself at the Equestrian Club. Floyd suddenly grabbed Riddle's hair and remarked, 'It's red, but it ain't hot.'.

Floyd thought this story was better than his dream and this made the world distort again. So the others continued.

Idia remembered one time Floyd got easily shut down during a joint defensive magic lesson with the juniors. More specifically by Cater, Leona and Malleus after underestimating them. Jamil says that in their practice basketball games, Floyd hardly ever break past him when Jamil is blocking him. And tells about that one time that Floyd snuck into the gym at night because he wanted to practice slam dunks and broke two hoops. The headmage punished him with a week of gym-cleaning duty.

“Dude, what the heck? I sound like an idiot in these stories!” Floyd says. “But hey... That sounds better than bein' able to breeze through anything...”

And finally, you remind him of the conversation you were having earlier and whether he remembered what had happened during midterms.

“Midterms...? Guh... Aaagh!” The world distorts again as he remembers. “Oh yeah... We screwed up big time, and Azul... I shouldn't know any of this, but I do... Where are these memories comin' from?!”

The goopy darkness begins to form around you until it transforms into two figures: Jade and Azul in their mer-forms. These figures created by darkness tried to convince Floyd not to believe you, praising him about being a strong predator and saying that the three of them could have fun together as friends. They were so out of character that they couldn't fool Floyd at all. This angered Floyd so much that he woke up and attacked the fake Jade and Azul himself.

“Floyd, how could you...?” Were the last words of fake Jade.

“I thought... we were... best friends...” Were the last words of fake Azul.

“Tch, you're STILL puttin' words in their mouths.” Floyd says, still beside himself with rage. “I'd better not see your fake faces again, you little minnows.” He started slamming his tail into the sunken ship and smashing it apart.

Someone needed to stop him so you all could talk to him. And Jamil said the best person to do it would be the person he apparently liked enough to dream about dating them. You go over and call out to him, telling him you're glad he's awake.

“Huh? Why're you guys still hoverin' around?” Floyd looks at you furiously. “I'm not in the mood, koebi-chan. I'm REALLY ticked off right now, y'know. Unless you wanna get squeezed and turn into squid ink too.”

“I'm not one of them, Floyd. I'm the real (Y/N).”

“Oh yeah? And how can you prove that?”

You need a moment to think, but then you say something like: “You are a poor unfortunate soul who doesn't even have the courage to break up with an imaginary partner properly.”

Everyone is scared for you.

“Those NPCs are supposed to praise you, and I can only imagine my NPC would say something about true love, but I just insulted you. I'm going against their nature. And if you don't realize that then you're really dumb." You smirk.

The others comment on you having some desire to be killed by Floyd, as he slowly approaches you with an extremely threatening face and posture. He covers you with his shadow and opens his mouth as if he were going to eat you.

“Heh... Heh heh... HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!” Floyd smiles and hugs you tightly. “Yay! That’s my Koebi-chan~!”

He's not hurting you, but you tell him the hug is still too strong. He loosened his hug a little and suddenly he kissed you passionately on the lips. Everyone else is startled, but you return the kiss. Jamil's reflex was to cover Grim's eyes.

It started out as just a kiss, but you returning the kiss made him get in the mood for making out. If you don't stop the kiss, it will be the group clearing their throats behind you doing it.

If you continue to the point where others are clearing their throats as a request for you to stop: You both break the kiss and Floyd looks at them with an extremely smug smile.

“What? I'm not forcin' you to watch... pervs.” Floyd mocks them.

If you are the one who breaks the kiss: Floyd won't move his face too far away from yours and will look at you with a pout.

“Own, why did you stop now?” He asks in an overly seductive, pleading voice. “Is it ‘cause you don't like audience? I can take care of them for you... Koebi-chan~”

You two may have interrupted your kiss, but Floyd didn't want to let go of you for anything. Your only two options were to stay like that, or turn around and have him hug you from behind. Floyd asks what's going on, the others explain that it was a dream and Ortho shows him the explanatory video.

When the video ended, to your surprise, Floyd let go of you. You look at him, confused, and his expression is that... neutral, but serious one.

“What's wrong?” You ask.

“We never dated, did we? When I kissed you, I thought you were the same (Y/N) from my dream.” Yes, he called you by your name. He's silent for a moment to see if you understand what he means, but it seems like he has to continue explaining. “I thought I had your prior consent as your ex, but since we never dated...”

“You are concerned about consent?” Jamil says, doubtfully. “I don't mean to insult you, but I wasn't expecting that from a guy who tries to squeeze everyone who bothers him.”

“Beatin’ up annoyin’ guys is one thing.” Floyd explains, still strangely serious. “And I always do that after a warning. This is different.” His expression becomes threatening. “And none of your business.”

You turn Floyd's attention back to you and tell him that you also like him. You understand and if that is an apology you accept it. And you even reveal how much you actually enjoyed it.

“Hm~ Really~?” Floyd looks at you with a seductive smile and gets closer to you, holding you by the waist once again. “Are you askin’ for more, koebi-chan~?”

“Oh please, not again!” Idia begs. “I can't handle such high levels of PDA!”

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

P.S.: Don't question how the air bubble bursts once but doesn't burst again when he hugs and kisses Yuu. This is a fanfic for fanservice purposes only 😝

[venusbyline]

Continuing on that competence kink I was mentioning on my blog, it's my personal headcanon that Aemond would get so hot watching his partner be physically violent. Hurting someone, or torturing someone, committing war crimes... (I mean, the way he looks at Daemon after he's murdered Vaemond- HELLO THAT MAN GETS OFF ON VIOLENCE AND BLOOD)

tbh I never knew about competence kink until that post of yours, but when I saw it... everything makes sense 🤭🤭 I wanna join him in his freakiness

btw, I wrote this two days ago but I forgot to post it 😭😭

⚠️: SMUT & DARK CONTENT. female!reader, dom!Aemond Targaryen, Targcest (twin brother/twin sister), competence kink, blood kink, blood licking, missionary position, non-graphic violence, implied Alys Rivers.

— high valyrian words used: Idaña (twin), Issa (yes).

There had always been something wrong with both of you.

Aemond noticed this when you were still children. He knew how angry you got when his bastard nephews teased him along with Aegon, he saw how you glared at Lucerys when the little boy gouged out one of your twin brother's eyes, just as he heard you mutter something about Rhaenyra deserving that scar on her arm after all that fight at Driftmark.

Your violent thoughts were just thoughts back then, but Aemond was not stupid. Despite trying to be a kind loving child, over time Aemond came to understand a little better what you felt.

He always liked your way of being, though. Sometimes he had lectured you if you expressed it around someone you should not, especially someone as prude as your mother. However, deep down Aemond liked to hear everything you had to say.

Alicent was furious when Aemond was younger and he went to talk to her about letting you start training with him and Ser Criston, after Aegon stopped being interested about swords. For the Queen, it was absurd for a girl to want to practice something like that, you were born to marry some lord and carry children, making more necessary alliances for the Greens when the right time came. After so much insistence from Aemond and even Ser Criston, who promised to your mother that no one but them would know that you were doing such a masculine activity, Alicent finally gave up on putting some sense into your mind.

Now, a few years later, you had proven a great worth to Aemond when you marched with him and Criston Cole to Harrenhal. Your dragon might be smaller than Vhagar, but you were willing to do anything he ordered during that war. After all, the two of you were twins and freak like each other.

Aemond felt horny watching you slit the throats of the men of the castle, your frustration at Simon Strong’s loyalty to the Blacks matching your twin's anger at the situation. The two of you were covered in blood as he sipped some wine with Ser Criston, because of Aemond's refusal to order the random woman with long black hair — the one whose life he spared, so he could keep as a servant — to draw you a bath yet...

Aemond wanted to see you like this for a little longer… Your silver hair was drenched in red drops, both a scarlet shade and a darker shade. You had killed so many people that the stains were a mess caused by other people's arterial and venous blood.

Ever since the entire family witnessed Daemon kill Vaemond Velaryon in front of everyone, the Prince Regent had been jerking off picturing what it would be like to see you committing all sorts of atrocities possible.

"Cole, leave me and my sister alone now." He ordered the knight, who nodded and left, taking the brunette servant with him.

"Feeling good, idaña?" Aemond teased, staring at you moaned with each deep thrust, the sounds of slapping skins echoing through the dark room.

You nodded, biting your lower lip at the feeling of your brother's cock sliding in and out of your warm cunt. He had already deflowered you many years ago, but nothing like that night. Aemond had never been so aroused and you had never been so tight before. "Mmm, issa..."

"Issa?" A low, husky chuckle rumbled from his chest, mocking your whining tone before he leaned down to nibble your neck, licking at the blood that dried there, the metallic, bitter taste making him growl and speed up the thrusts pace further. "Fuck... Your little cunt feels so fucking tight right now, sister. Such a freak thing, are not you? Just like me."

There was no need for a verbal response, though. Aemond had always known the truth. You were the only girl who matched the freak inside him.

[arrowthrewme]

Wow, people really like platonic yandere families, huh? Well, good thing I am here to deliver! P.S. I will be trying to start leaning more towards being actually masc reader (i.e., masc compliments "good boy", masc titles "son", "father", "boyfriend", and ect.) WARNING: Infantilisation (towards reader), MASC READER, yandere behaviour

Why Do You Let Me Stay Here?

Yan Family, who never thought they would adopt. They already have four wonderful kids! Yan Family, who after meeting you wandering the town's local park, forgot all about not adopting. You were just the cutest! Yan Family, who adopted you much sooner than they should have been able to. Oh well! Yan Family, who welcomed you with open arms. Taking you shopping so you could decorate your new room and fill your closet with the softest of clothing! Yan Family, who made sure you never went hungry, cold or unloved ever again. You are their little prince. Yan Family, who does everything for you. Your mama cuts up your food, Papa drives you everywhere and your sisters and brothers fight over who will get to hold your hand while walking. Yan Family, who view you as a vulnerable child in need of possessive isolation loving protection. Yan Family, who makes sure you never find out who your bio parents and family are. They are your family. Not those randos.

Wynn (Older brother) Yan Bro, who plays you his latest songs on his guitar Yan Bro, who lets you play with his hair. It doesn't matter how well you actually did; everything you do is perfect Yan Bro, who "accidentally" puts his band shirts in your clean laundry pile ("What are you talking about, little bear? I didn't do a thing!") Yan Bro, who makes sure you get front row seats during his shows Yan Bro, who begs for a hug after his shows (What do you mean he's too sweaty?? Your big brother wants a hug!) Yan Bro, who, when you first arrived, got you a winnie the pooh plush since the family calls him Winnie Yan Bro, who bawled his eyes out when he had to leave for college. Yes, he would miss his childhood home, but he won't get to see you every day! Yeah, his college is a 30 min bus ride from here, but still! Yan Bro, who cries when you interact with someone outside the family. He's your big brother! He's supposed to hang out with you...please, little brother? Yan Bro, who treats your opinion as fact. Especially when it's about someone he's dating. If you don't like them for whatever reason, he's dumping them. If his little brother doesn't like them, then they aren't worth it

Maeve (Older sister) Yan Sis, who has never really connected to her family. She was the middle child. Overshadowed by Wynn and the twins. But when she met you, it was like she was pulled out of the shadows Yan Sis, who became your shadow. Following you around, sitting next to you at dinner (when she can) and pulling you to her room Yan Sis, who scares your bullies off. She is not only a high schooler, but known for her threatening looks Yan Sis, who loves doing goth make-up on you ("Come on, firefly! Stay still! I'm trying not to poke your eye out!") Yan Sis, who likes spending time in your room not really doing anything. Just being there, surrounded by you. It's calming Yan Sis, who collects pressed flowers Yan Sis, who gifts you small plushies that she makes (She doesn't care how old you are. You are her little brother and little brothers need handmade plushies!) Yan Sis, who goes quiet and becomes withdrawn when you interact with other people. She's supposed to be the one you talk to...not that dumbass classmate. Yan Sis, who shares goth songs that remind her of you.

Ebony & Bowen (the twins) Yan Twins, who get to hang out with you the most, seeing as you go to the same school and class Yan Twins, who lean into the creepily similar trope of twins. It's so funny seeing people struggle trying to identify who's who! Yan Twins, who most times gets to sit either side of you during dinner (much to the annoyance of Maeve and Wynn) Yan Twins, who call you their third half Yan Twins, who you become Irish triplets with for a few months Yan Twins, who buy three of any item they get so you can all match Yan Twins, who get pissy when you partner up with someone else in class. ("We're your other half! Not Them!") Yan Twins, who get possessive when you sit closer to someone else that isn't them (family or not, but it's slightly less if it's family) Yan Twins, who beg their parents to move you to their room

Augustin (Father) Yan Dad, who ruffles your hair before leaving for work Yan Dad, who hugs you first when he comes back from work. If you don't, he'll at first ask where his hug is, and if you still don't hug him, he starts to sulk Yan Dad, who always makes time for your competitions/shows/after school stuff Yan Dad, who cries when you win anything. Wiping his tears like he's at a funeral and whispering to whatever poor person is sitting next to him that you're his boy Yan Dad, who makes sure that if anyone is bullying you, they won't be coming anywhere near you in the future Yan Dad, who, though, isn't the most well-versed in handiwork, makes you a sign with your name on it so you could hang it on your door! Yan Dad, who immediately fell in love with you when he first saw you in the park. You were so sweet and kind and just ahhh-! Yan Dad, who tries not to show his anger when you do something he sees as wrong. He doesn't want to yell or punish his little boy, but you can't keep doing that! Yan Dad, whose punishments are very weak and aren't followed through. Tells you to go sit in a corner for 20 minutes but ends up getting you not even 10 minutes later. Same goes for grounding. You stay up there for about 20 minutes before the family can't take it anymore and lifts the punishment.

Tammy (Mother) Yan Mum, who takes lots of pictures of you. They have so many of your siblings! She doesn't want you to feel left out. Yan Mum, who teaches you her culture's traditional foods Yan Mum, who guilttrips you when you do something that upsets her (like talking to a stranger or mentioning your bio mother). Is she not enough for you? She's doing her best... Yan Mum, who learns as much as she can about your culture (if it's not the same as hers). As much as she wants to fully make you feel like you are her child, she doesn't want you to forget something as important as your culture. Yan Mum, who gushes about you at work. Showing picture after picture. She doesn't care if her coworkers are bored! This is her favourite boy! Yan Mum, who kisses your cheek and leaves a kiss mark on it. Says it's an accident every time ("I must have forgotten that I have lipstick on! Hehe, your mama is so forgetful, aren't I, bee?") Yan Mum, who has the most backbone. She loves you to death, but if you disobey, she will make a punishment. It's not something unrealistic like your papa does. She makes you sit in a corner for 13 minutes, not the unrealistic 20. Yan Mum, who loves getting matching shirts with you. It's all cheesy lines like "Bee" for her and "Honey" for you. Yan Mum, who films your every accomplishment. She never wants to forget you. Not her little boy.

[ellswritings]

In My Corner

Part 1

Phil Brooks/CM Punk x reader

Colby Lopez/Seth Rollins x reader

TW: Angst, Shield betrayal, Dean leaving WWE, Vince being manipulative (very brief), that’s it for now :).

Tags: @reebs-luvs-rhodes-and-wrestling

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

It didn’t make sense.

It has been over a decade since Y/S/N and CM Punk have been partners. The two of them took WWE by storm. Not only as singles competitors, but as a mixed tag team as well. They fought many battles side by side and they fit quite well together despite the eight year age difference.

They had each other's backs constantly, in kayfabe and outside of it. Phil and Y/N’s characters were close and so were they. Due to the close nature of their stories, they spent thousands and thousands of hours together. They were what peanut butter is to jelly, what butter is to popcorn, they just meshed seamlessly.

Until Phil left the company.

She never blamed him for the decision. If she had the same level of courage he did at the time, she probably would’ve left too. But she had fought tooth and nail to get to the top. She had battled her way through the indies after her time in OVW and when she finally got to try out, it had finally felt like every sacrifice she made was worth it.

So when things got bad between management and Phil, she didn’t know what to do. Y/N knew Phil was right. Everyone knew. But no one was brave enough to say anything except him. She couldn’t give up everything she had built. She loved wrestling and the thought of never being able to do it again terrified her.

So despite her better judgment, she kept quiet. She remained on the main roster while Phil left the company. It broke her heart watching him walk out of the ring for the last time. Especially since he cut all contact with everyone due to legal reasons. The only issue is when he could contact everyone again, he never reached out to her.

Y/N understood why. She left him high and dry. But they were best friends. She tried to apologize multiple times but never heard back. She can’t lie, it did make her a bit bitter. But she kept her focus on her career and the new friends she had made.

The fans missed her mixed tag matches. They loved her as a singles competitor and they still do, but they missed when she had a partner to fight along with. And that’s when Vince had the bright idea to place her with the most popular faction in the company.

The Shield.

Joe, Colby, and Jonathan welcomed Y/N with open arms. She brought a certain balance to their chaotic group while simultaneously adding to it at the same time. They grew close in a very short amount of time, the three of them being there for her in the absence of Phil. She vented her frustrations to them, her anger at Phil for leaving and simply never reaching out again. Like their friendship meant nothing.

They were all angry for her. None of them could understand how Brooks could just never speak to her again. Y/N had to be one of the best if not the best person in the locker room, inside and out. It didn’t make sense how he could walk away and never try to hear her side of things.

So the three men became fiercely protective of her, and she them. They worked as a unit, cohesive in every way. In the beginning, Y/N was worried being a part of a team like this would remind her of Phil, but The Shield was vastly different. The aspect of teamwork was the same, of course, but the way they operated was different from how she and Phil did. Neither of them being worse or better than the other, just different. She never forgot how much she missed the Second City Saint, but being with her boys distracted her enough that missing him wasn’t as painful anymore.

The Shield stood on business. They were as close on screen as they were backstage. Jokes ran through the locker room and through the fans that Y/N was the unofficial “leader” of the faction despite her late entry into the group. It made them laugh because they never really thought or cared enough to determine who would be in charge. She does tend to cut more promos than they guys but that’s simply because she has the gift of gab. She could keep an audience captivated with her words for hours. Perhaps that’s where the misconception came in. But they all did their part. She just happened to talk more than them on some days.

Y/N loved standing with them at ringside during their matches and they loved standing with her. They easily became four of the most adored people in WWE. Y/N remembers a particular show where they were in Houston Texas and more than half the stadium was sporting some form of their merchandise.

They were on fire.

So it came as a surprise when the writers and Vince pitched the idea to break up the group through Colby’s character Seth Rollins. They were all rather heartbroken over the news, but the angle they were playing at was that they wanted to push all four of them more as singles competitors because of how popular they became over such a short time period. Y/N was already on track to go after the Divas championship and it wouldn’t be hard to push the guys to win their own titles too.

However, the way they went about splitting up the group had to sting worst of all. Seth had to defect from the group to join the Authority by hitting Roman in the back with a steel chair and beating Dean down as well. Y/S/N wouldn’t be out in the ring for the beginning of the segment, only running out when she sees what’s happening. Once Dean and Roman are on the floor, she would slide in the ring and shield them with herself as a lasting symbol of what The Shield stood for.

Once Seth sees her, he’s supposed to look conflicted, still having a soft spot for the woman they adopted into the group after being abandoned by her old partner. It came a lot easier for Colby than he thought. To appear distraught and at war with himself. He knew that the breaking up of this group would mean they wouldn’t get to spend as much time together, and when they did it would most likely be through feuds. He had grown attached to Y/N and the guys. It was scary thinking of going on without them, but they all agreed this would be the best for all of their careers.

Still didn’t make losing their built-in family hurt any less.

For storyline purposes, Y/S/N sided with Roman and Dean. She protected them when the Authority or Seth came after them. She was very vocal about her feelings for Seth Rollins after the betrayal which led to many verbal battles in the ring. But backstage, the four of them were all still very close. Things did take a turn for the worse though when Vince started inserting himself in the writing. Whenever Y/N and Colby would be out there, he would always put something a little extra personal in the script to make the words sting even more. Neither of them were sure how Vince even knew about some of the things he would write in, but they always performed to the best of their ability.

There was one night that hit a little harder than Y/N had expected. She didn’t know about the last minute change, the excuse being they wanted to see her “genuine reaction.” Colby had no idea she hadn’t been told, but even then he was still hesitant to say what was written, but Vince assured him Y/N was fine with it.

How stupid he was to fall for that.

The way her face fell when the words left his mouth still haunts him. He should have known better. As soon as he read it, he should have went to Y/N. He should have asked her, not just taken Vince’s word.

The arena was rumbling — the kind of vibration you felt in your chest, not just your ears. Seth Rollins was already in the ring, microphone in hand, pacing slow, that familiar smug grin pulling at his mouth as the crowd hurled boos and scattered cheers his way.

Then Y/N’s music hit.

The place exploded.

She strode out onto the stage with a smirk, rolling her shoulders loose, the heavy leather jacket slung over her frame. She walked with that same cool confidence she always carried to the ring — chin high, shoulders square, eyes locked on Seth.

In the ring, Seth watched her like a lion waiting to pounce. As soon as Y/N slid under the ropes, he gave her an exaggerated slow clap.

“Ah, there she is,” Seth drawled, leaning casually against the ropes. “The queen herself.” His eyes flicked up and down, unapologetically lingering. “Looking sharp tonight, Y/S/N. Guess you do clean up nice.”

Y/N smirked, rolling her shoulders back as she slid into the ring. “Careful, Rollins. Keep talking sweet and people are gonna think you’re soft.”

He laughed, pushing off the ropes to circle her. “Oh, trust me — no one’s ever called me soft.”

Their eyes locked, a familiar heat sparking between them — the kind that wasn’t quite hate but was too sharp to be called friendship.

“Yeah, well, most people wouldn’t call turning on your family ‘strong,’” she fires back angrily. “So you’re right, maybe soft isn’t the right word to describe someone like you.” She takes a step forward, getting in his face. “I think coward is a lot more fitting.”

Ooooh! the crowd roared.

Seth’s grin twitched wider. He turned his back to her, pacing lazily across the ring. “Funny,” he said, voice light, “you talk like you’re some loyal warhorse. But you’ve always had a bad habit of jumping ship, haven’t you?”

Her smirk tightened. Careful, she thought.

Seth turned to face her fully now, eyes glinting under the lights. “I mean, sure — you’ve got Roman, you’ve got Dean… the great Shield family reunion. But let’s not pretend you were always riding with the best.”

Y/N’s grip on the mic shifted. There was a flicker of something in her chest — a tiny warning bell.

Seth tilted his head as if gauging her reaction. “Y’know, you’ve always been good at running that mouth of yours.” He leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a near purr. “It’s almost impressive, really. But it’s nothing new, is it?”

Y/N’s brow ticked, the playful glint in her eyes flickering just slightly.

Seth’s smirk deepened. “You’ve always been good at talking big, standing tall. Just like your old pal…”

He let the name hang, savoring the moment.

“C… M… Punk.”

A ripple rolled through the arena — the crowd caught between shock and thrill. They don’t mention Punk often, or at all really. No one talked about him in the ring, and his name was only brought up backstage when they knew Vince or one of his lackeys wouldn’t hear. Y/N’s heart skipped, her smile tightening as she tried to mask the jolt running through her.

Seth circled closer, his voice sharpening, playful edge twisting into something colder. “You remember him, right? The guy who carried you through your rookie days? Who gave you a shot when no one else would?” He chuckled under his breath. “Guess some things never change — you’re still riding coattails. Only difference is, Punk knew when to bail.”

For a split second, everything inside Y/N stalled.

That wasn’t in the script.

Her heart hammered once — twice — a hard thud against her ribs.

She masked it fast, forcing a tilt of her head, a cool smile. “Careful, Seth,” she said softly, even though her fingers had gone cold around the mic.

But Seth had already stepped in. Already smelled the blood. “You remember him, don’t you?” he murmured, almost tenderly. “The man you stood beside. The one you built your name with. Until things got messy. Until walking away was easier.”

Y/N’s fingers tightened around the mic.

“And when it all fell apart — when he fell apart — you didn’t stand by him, Y/S/N. You didn’t fight for him. You watched him walk out that door, and you stayed.”

The audience noise was dipping, unsure, waiting.

Y/N’s throat worked, but she held the mic steady. Her mind raced — what the hell?

But Seth leaned in now, voice dropping, knife twisting. “He carried you on his back for years… and you repaid him by surviving without him. Guess that’s what you do best — survive anyone who outgrows you.” An evil chuckle escaped his lips, not realizing Y/N isn’t pretending. “Tell me… did it ever dawn on you that Punk never left WWE… he left you.”

Colby could tell that Y/N’s reaction wasn’t acting. He watched as tears began to border at her waterline. He had just rubbed salt in a wound that he, Joe, and Jonathan spent thousands of hours trying to help her heal. They had at least five more minutes of back and forth before she had to snap and attack him, but they never made it that far.

Y/N’s jaw ticked and suddenly the tears were replaced with anger. Instead of responding and continuing the promo, she marched out of the ring without so much as a glance back at him.

He knew at that point she had no idea that was added to the script. Joe and Jonathan had been watching backstage, attempting to catch Y/N before she stormed off to the locker room. She stormed through gorilla into the backstage area. Joe tried to grab her, “Y/N–”

“Don’t,” she pulls her body away from him and Jonathan before trudging over to the women’s locker room, slamming the door behind her.

From that moment on, everything felt a lot more personal. She had heard Colby out who apologized profusely for what had happened but it didn’t change the fact that Y/N was now aware of how deep Vince was willing to cut her to get a good pop.

Everything played out the way they wanted it to. Y/S/N won the Divas championship, Seth won the money in the bank and cashed in at Wrestlemania which cost Roman his title opportunity, Roman eventually got the title, and so did Dean. They were all pushed very hard despite being broken up as a group.

Over the years, storylines kept Joe and Y/N close with one another. She still went out of her way to be around Jonathan and Colby, but it was hard when they couldn’t interact as much. It also became much more difficult to connect with Colby on the level they used to after Vince started using his dialogue as a way to personally go after Y/N.

They both hated the circumstances but there was nothing either of them could do. So all Y/N did was grow tougher skin. It’s all part of the show. However, it did affect their relationship slightly. She still loved the man, but the newly formed tension always seemed to linger over them.

As time went on, their small group fractured even more when Jonathan decided to leave WWE. It was an absolute heartbreaking loss for Joe, Y/N, and Colby, but they understood why he needed to go. Over the past couple of years, the three of them had a lot more opportunities offered to them than Jonathan and he deserves more than what he was getting.

They stayed connected, but seeing each other became rare. Then when the writers proposed the Bloodline storyline with Roman and his family, Y/N knew how big that was going to be. She could see Joe leading a whole faction made up of just his family.

Until it wasn’t just his family.

Roman and Y/S/N had stayed close, done mixed tag matches, supported each other in the squared circle always. So it shouldn’t have surprised Y/N as much as it did when Joe came up to her and said he convinced Vince and the writers to include her in the Bloodline.

She didn’t understand why he wanted her, but the only thing he said was that he needed his best friend with him. That he didn’t want to lead a faction without her in it. That she was his family just as much as the rest of them.

So how could she say no?

For years Roman led the Bloodline as the Original Tribal Chief and Y/S/N stayed by his side. She fought her battles and their battles with all her heart and soul and the group ran the WWE roster. Some days Y/N would miss working closely with Colby, but she knew he didn’t need her. Not as much as Joe did.

She was almost the voice of reason for the Bloodline. The only one who could get Solo to grin without having to coax him to do it. The only person to keep Jey level headed, and the only one to continuously make jokes with Jimmy without getting on anyone’s nerves. And the most important feat of all is that she could get Roman to listen to her.

Paul Heyman was extremely grateful to have her fight the battles he wasn’t able to. When he couldn’t get the boys under control, Y/N could. Many have stepped up to their little family, and many have fallen. The only person who Y/S/N didn’t fight when they approached the Bloodline was Sami Zayn. He was a perfect fit. He brought a certain lightheartedness they all needed.

For years they helped Roman stay on top. Through the Covid era and multiple hard times, they stuck together. Unfortunately, as both Joe and Y/N have learned, nothing good seems to last. It wasn’t a surprise when it was suggested the Bloodline be broken up. Especially when Cody Rhodes came back into the picture. They had been together for a long time so it’s true the storyline started to get relatively stale.

One by one the members of the original Bloodline defected. Some came back for brief stents before taking off again. Every one of them betrayed Roman. It was, of course, to add drama to Kayfabe, but it still hurt to watch them all leave. The only two people who stuck by Roman’s side were Y/S/N and Paul Heyman.

Y/S/N made it clear from the beginning she never trusted Paul, but she did what Roman deemed as necessary. Joe and Y/N spent a lot of time together, their friendship becoming the strongest it’s ever been. Both of them held the WWE undisputed championships for their respective divisions, ruling the company with an iron fist even if they didn’t have a complete family to back them up.

However, when Survivor Series 2023 came around, Y/N was placed on Bianca Belair’s team, a close friend in and out of the ring, to fight against Damage CTRL. The two teams had been practicing their bumps for weeks, Joe even helping Y/N with some of her more difficult stunts that could seriously injure someone if not delivered correctly. She’s one of the few people Paul Levesque trusts to do the more risky moves because he knows how careful she is and how much time she’ll put in to making sure everything goes smoothly.

Bianca’s team ended up winning the battle, putting Damage CTRL in their place. The ladies were kind enough to allow Y/N to get the pin, winning the match. It was one of the best moments of her career. Hearing the pop from the audience as the five of them climb up the cage, celebrating at the top with wide smiles on their faces.

Running to the back, the first people to greet her in celebration were Joe and Colby. The latter of the two competed with Cody’s team a bit later, but he couldn’t resist watching his close friend opening the show.

“You killed it out there,” Joe says, squeezing her tightly. “I told you you’d land that corkscrew moonsault off the cage.”

“You sure you don’t have a background in Lucha?” Colby says with a teasing eyebrows as he hugs her.

“I feel like my face is buzzing,” Y/N replies, face buried in his chest. “I could probably lift a car right now.”

“Let’s not do that,” Joe pats her back, him and Colby laughing quietly.

The night went on without much issues. Y/N and Joe remained backstage. She was surprised he even came considering he wasn’t fighting tonight, but she wasn’t going to complain about having his support. When the main event came around, Y/N made her support of Cody and Colby’s team known. Especially since Joshua was on it. Joe made conversation with some other people backstage as the match continued.

Y/N smiles as Randy Orton makes his way to Gorilla, getting ready to make his big entrance. The two of them share a brief hug and quiet conversation before his music hit and he went out to join the rest of his team. Of course, Cody’s team beats the Judgement Day and Drew McIntyre, but in the midst of the celebration, a familiar static flooded the speakers in the arena.

Y/N’s blood ran cold. She had heard rumors he may come back, but she never thought it would actually happen. The woman turns on her heel and comes face to face with a man she hasn’t seen in over a decade. His familiar green eyes meet hers. It’s brief, but a whole parade of emotions crosses his face. Hurt, betrayal, remembrance, sadness, love. Y/N’s sure her expression mimics his. It was only a mere few seconds before he walked out to make his triumphant return, but in those few seconds it feels like Y/N’s entire world stopped.

Phil Brooks is back.

CM Punk has defied all odds. Hell froze over. He made it clear he would never come back. But here he is in the flesh, turning Y/N’s entire life upside down.

“Y/N…” Joe’s soft voice calls out, his hand grabbing her shoulder softly. He didn’t see everything that happened, only that she was frozen.

She’s torn out of her trance as she looks back up at her best friend, “He’s here,” her voice comes out in a whisper. “I didn’t– I didn’t think…”

“I know,” he says softly, pulling her into him.

“Did you know?” Y/N asks quietly, allowing him to hold her.

“I heard some rumors, but I didn’t think anything of it,” he admits. “If I’d have known, you’re the first person I would have told.”

“He looked right at me,” she says quietly, looking down at the floor. “Joe, I– I haven’t even spoken to him since he left.”

“And you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he tells her, lifting her chin up with his finger. “You don’t have to talk to him. You don’t owe him anything. You tried to reach out, remember? He ignored you. Him being back doesn’t change anything.”

“But that’s not true,” Y/N tells him, crossing her arms over her chest. That’s when the sound of everyone from the final fight comes barreling through the curtain to join everyone else backstage. Joe pulls them aside so they’re not in anyone’s way. “This changes everything. Especially if he starts bringing up the past.”

“And if he does, I’ll be right behind you,” he reassures her.

That’s when Colby comes charging towards them, an irritated look on his face. He looks like he’s about to tear into someone, but that’s when he notices the panic on Y/N’s face, and the angry rant he was about to go on disappears from his mind. A small exhale leaves his lips as he grabs Y/N’s hand. “Are you okay?”

Y/N nods, but her eyes travel over to Phil who’s standing next to Randy and Paul Levesque as everyone begins to welcome him back. “Just a bit surprised is all,” she admits.

“Surprised is one word for it…” Colby grumbles before glancing up at Joe, “Did Heyman know?” He asks, eyes still blazing with barely contained fury. “He’s got eyes and ears everywhere and I know damn well he would have told you of all people the second he found out.”

“He just told me there were talks of him wanting to come back,” Joe says, a scowl forming on his face at Colby’s tone. “There was never a confirmation. They must’ve kept it quiet.”

“How convenient,” Colby scoffs. “Guess that little rat of yours isn’t as helpful as we all thought.”

“Guys,” Y/N stops them, her eyes still flickering over to the corner where her old friend stands. “He’s here. He’s signed. Fighting over who knows what isn’t going to change it.”

“I haven’t worked my ass off for the past ten years just for him to waltz back in here and try to take all the glory,” Colby says angrily. “I looked up to that asshole once upon a time. But he’s hurt too many people I care about and shit on this company for far too long. He doesn’t get to just come back and act like he’s helped build this into what it is today.”

Y/N watched the anger rise in Colby like a tide he couldn’t hold back. His fists were clenched, jaw tight. She knew this part of him well — not the performer, but the friend who felt things too deeply and hated when people he loved got hurt.

“I know,” she said gently. “Trust me, I know. But we can’t change that he’s back. All we can control is what we do from here.”

Colby looked at her, then at Joe. He opened his mouth to say something, but the roar of the crowd from the arena still echoed faintly through the concrete halls, and it was enough to make him pause. Instead, he just nodded — not in agreement, but in understanding.

Joe took a slow breath beside them, his voice low. “What do you want to do, Y/N?”

“I want to breathe,” she whispered. “I need to clear my head before I do something stupid. Like confront him while my heart’s still racing.”

Colby moved in front of her, his hands resting on her shoulders. “Then we’ll get you out of here. He’s doing his welcome-back rounds with the suits and the veterans. He won’t notice if you slip away.”

Y/N’s head nods along with his words, her mind telling her to walk away, but she can’t seem to tear her eyes away from him. The man she once loved more than anything in the world is standing just a mere few feet away. He’s surrounded by executives and legends and people who used to mean something to them both. He looked a little older, a little worn around the edges, but those eyes — they were the same.

And then suddenly they were looking right at her.

Not for long. Just a second. Barely more than a blink.

But it was enough.

Her chest tightened as a thousand memories flooded her all at once — late nights in hotel rooms, bruised knuckles and whispered promises, the warmth of his hoodie after a long match, and the bitter sound of silence when he was gone.

“Y/N,” Colby said again, his voice lower this time, more urgent.

Joe gently touched her elbow. “Let’s go. You don’t have to do this here.”

She nodded before she even realized she had. Her body moved before her brain caught up, letting them guide her out of the hallway and down a quieter corridor. Away from the crowd. Away from him.

Behind her, she swore she could feel his gaze lingering.

As they walked, they ended up in one of the smaller lounges tucked near production. Colby paced. Joe stood with his arms folded across his chest, jaw tense.

Y/N sat on a crate, elbows on her knees, trying to regulate her breathing.

“He was going to walk over,” Joe said. “I saw it in his eyes.”

Colby let out a humorless laugh. “Not on my watch.”

“He didn’t look angry,” she murmured, eyes distant. “He just… looked. Like he wasn’t sure if I was real.”

“Yeah, well, he does have a habit of leaving people behind and forgetting they exist,” Colby snapped.

Y/N shot him a look.

He sighed. “Sorry. That was too far.”

Joe finally spoke again. “You want to talk about it?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. If I open that box, I don’t know what’ll come out.”

Colby crouched in front of her, resting his arms on his knees. “We’ve got you. No matter what happens.”

“I know,” she whispered. Her voice cracked. “I just… I really thought I was done with this part of my life.”

“You were,” Joe said gently. “Until he stepped back in.”

Y/N leaned back against the wall and stared up at the ceiling. “I don’t want him to talk to me.”

“Then he won’t,” Colby said, without hesitation. “We’ll make sure of it.”

There was a pause. Then Y/N let out a shaky breath. “But what if I do? What if… some part of me still wants to hear what he has to say?”

Colby didn’t answer right away. His throat bobbed.

“You don’t have to decide that tonight,” he finally said. “He’s here. He’s not going anywhere. And neither are we.”

Y/N looked at him — really looked at him — and for a second, she forgot about Phil.

That’s when Joe’s phone begins to buzz. Each one right after the other in rapid succession. He sighed and pulled it out of his pocket, reading the screen before glancing at the two of them. “It’s Galina ,” he muttered. “She’s got the kids tonight. I should call her back.”

Y/N gave him a soft smile. “Go. We’ll be okay.”

He hesitated for a second, looking between her and Colby — clearly reluctant to leave, but trusting them. “You sure?”

“Promise,” she said gently.

Joe nodded and stepped out of the lounge, pulling the door closed behind him.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward.

But it wasn’t comfortable either.

Y/N kept her eyes on the floor for a moment, then finally glanced up at Colby. “You don’t have to hover. I’m not going to go running down the hallway after him or anything.”

Colby’s mouth quirked at the corner, but his voice was soft. “I know. That’s not why I’m here.”

“Then why are you?”

His brow furrowed at the question, caught off guard by its sincerity. For a moment he didn’t answer — just looked at her the way he always did when he was deciding whether to lie or not.

He didn’t.

“Because when I saw your face back there… it scared the shit out of me.”

Y/N blinked.

“You looked like you saw a ghost. Or like you’d been hit by a truck and were trying to pretend you were fine. And I just—” He rubbed a hand across his jaw, suddenly restless. “I’ve seen you hurt before. In matches, on the road, after bad bookings. I’ve seen you furious. I’ve seen you drunk off your ass in the middle of nowhere crying about a botched promo. But I’ve never seen you like that.”

Y/N’s chest tightened again.

She looked down, twisting the rings on her fingers. “I didn’t know it was going to affect me like that.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Me neither.”

She glanced up again, and this time his eyes didn’t move.

They held hers.

And for a moment — just one — the weight of everything else melted away. The buzz of the arena. The ghost of a man standing fifty feet down the hallway. Even the sound of Joe’s voice echoing outside the door disappeared.

It was just them.

Y/N felt the heat first. In her cheeks, in her throat. That flicker of something she hadn’t dared name before. Not with Colby. Not after everything else.

But it was there.

Undeniable.

She broke the silence first, her voice quieter than before. “Colby…”

He didn’t move closer, but he didn’t back away either. “I’m not going to push you,” he said, as if reading her mind. “I just need you to know… I’ve got you. No matter what happens with him. No matter how complicated it gets. You’re not alone.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

She could feel herself teetering on the edge of something.

Colby’s hand drifted toward hers — not quite touching, but close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his skin.

And she wanted to reach out. Wanted to close the gap.

But not tonight.

Not with Phil still echoing in her chest like a heartbeat she thought she’d buried.

So she looked at him — really looked at him — and whispered, “Thank you.”

Colby nodded, the air thick between them.

“I meant it,” he said. “We’ve got time. I’m not going anywhere.”

And for once, she believed him.

[dallina17]

Neither like nor dislike: Attraction

A JinMao LN1 analysis

So I was supposed to write this after reading the apothecary diaries light novel 1 but life happened and I already finished the second one. Still, I wanted to write this. I have seen plenty of fight over if MaoMao likes Jinshi or not. I kinda understand where they both are coming from. Because yes, MaoMao doesn't like whenever Jinshi gets too close to her in many instances, both the light novel and the anime.

—The apothecary diaries, Season 1 Episode 1

Gaoshun politely fetched any medicines that were in drawers too high for Maomao to reach. His superior, meanwhile, did nothing. Maomao maintained a neutral expression but privately wished that if he wasn’t going to make himself useful, he would go away.

—The apothecary diaries LN 1 - Chapter 8, Love Potion.

—The apothecary diaries, Season 1 Episode 2

After Consort Lishu had withdrawn, Maomao sensed an almost viscous atmosphere behind her, and finally felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned a cold look on the hand’s owner; it would have been better had she looked at him the way she might look at an earthworm.

“I am but base, and wish you would not touch me.” In less elegant words: Screw off.

—The Apothecary diaries LN 1 - Chapter 19, After the Festivities

-The apothecary diaries, Season 1 Episode 6

That’s right... I forgot he’s one of those types. She tried giving him a crushing look, as if he were a small, brown rat, but it was having the opposite of the effect she wanted.

—The Apothecary diaries LN 1 - Chapter 27, Honey (Part Two)

—The apothecary diaries, Season 1 Episode 3

While MaoMao is an unreliable narrator (girl what do you mean you feel no love when you are one of the sweetest girls I have ever seen), here her reactions are not limited to thoughts of "I do not wish to be near him. I would rather not have any relationship with him" which could be a greater indicator of unreliable narration, instead, her thoughts are backed up with actions and, most importantly, physical reactions, which are harder to pretend, specially the later. The way she gets chills because of him touching her? Well, this can have a couple reasons worth exploring on it's own analysis but we can say she is not comfortable with him getting too close.

Yet, she is not indifferent to him. Chapter after chapter, we see Maomao describing Jinshi in an unique, beautiful way, which she only does when describing Jinshi. Neither of the characters she describes the way she does with Jinshi.

Lets see how she describes Jinshi when she meets him for the first time.

This had to be the immensely beautiful eunuch of whom she had heard so much. He had hair as fine as silk, an almost liquid presence, almond-shaped eyes, and eyebrows that evoked willow branches. A heavenly nymph on a picture scroll could not have competed with him for loveliness.

—The Apothecary diaries LN 1 - Chapter 4, The Nymph's Smile

She uses a lot of metaphors which yes, Maomao is someone that loves describing with metaphors, but she is super descriptive of Jinshi in this part. Her description vivid and ends stating that something from Heaven itself is not match for Jinshi's beauty.

Now lets see how she describes Lihaku, which is the only other man aside from Jinshi and Gaoshun she gets to know.

Maomao looked up to discover a virile-looking man giving her an ingratiating smile. He was still young, and had no beard. He looked manly enough as far as it went.

—The Apothecary diaries LN 1 - Chapter 18, The Garden Party (Part Three).

There is no metaphors, no vivid descriptions, no comparisons or saying how beautiful he is. Just plain, straight facts.

Now, we could argue that Jinshi is canonically more attractive than Lihaku and that's why Jinshi's description is more vivid, which totally, but for me there is also something deliberate in the way Maomao describes Jinshi versus when she describes Lihaku.

She goes to every part of Jinshi's face. She plays attention to his hair, his eyebrows, his eyes, his presence. Jinshi has her attention and that's why she analyzes him in this detailed way.

While Lihaku, one brief look, a few comments and she is over with the matter. Of course, he doesn't have her attention, Lihaku is just some guy more.

There is no attention. No interest.

No attraction.

I think that if for Maomao stating Jinshi's beauty was just a "matter of fact", her descriptions would be something like Lihaku's, straight facts, just like she is with everyone else. But not only the way she describes Jinshi is different from everyone else, almost everytime (if not always) she sees Jinshi, she has a unique way to describe him.

Here are some of my favs.

Smile as sweet as ambrosia (chapter 4)

His gorgeous smile suggested he wouldn’t hurt a flea (chapter 5)

Maomao met the man’s smile, lovely as a peony blossom, with studious indifference (chapter 10) (by far my favorite)

The sparkle that lit in Maomao’s eyes at that word wasn’t lost on Jinshi. A naughty bit of satisfaction entered his lovely smile (chapter 10)

His voice was as sweet as a fruit liqueur (chapter 10) (my second favorite)

What terrible news,” Consort Gyokuyou said, her face darkening. Standing before her, Jinshi’s heavenly countenance was likewise troubled (chapter 25)

The needling comment came from an all-too-familiar, heavenly voice (chapter 26)

Come evening, that loveliest of eunuchs appeared, as ever (chapter 27)

Everytime she sees Jinshi she can't help but say how gorgeous-lovely-heavenly the man is. And she works in the palace for ten months, one could expect to get used to Jinshi's beauty and stop describing him but... she doesn't, time after time, Maomao says how beautiful he is.

And other people? They don't have her interest at all. She doesn't give them a second thought. This are the inner thoughts of Maomao, hard to show in the anime, but obvious in the light novel. She doesn't like Jinshi, but there is something in him that attracts Maomao a lot, or she wouldn't describe him the way she does.

Attraction doesn't necessarily mean you like someone. For me liking means you want to try something with that person, get to know them more, see where the relationship go, there is a closer level of intimacy. And I won't debate you, at this moment Maomao absolutely doesn't like Jinshi, she is not interested in having something with him at all.

But saying she dislikes him is also not true, for there is something that catches her interest.

Attraction is that there is something about the person that you are interested in and gets your attention. Have you ever watched someone walk on the street and say "wow, they are beautiful" and then you continue walking? That is attraction, even for a brief moment. But most of the time we don't go, ask for that person's number, get to know them and try something with them, which would be liking. Attraction can lead to a dance, a kiss, a night together, with not necessarily becoming something else.

And I don't think that attraction is something "objective". For there is something so personal that there has to be something about the other that you desire. If they don't have something that is appealing to you, they simply don't have it. Doesn't ever happened to you that everyone says that some person is so beautiful and you can't see it? Because that person doesn't have the qualities that catch your interest.

But Jinshi does have Maomao's interest.

She just is not going to do that anything with it.

For now.

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Then and Now

@beef-brisket

((Tw mentions of suicidal thoughts))

Today was the day, it was the highschool reunion and Adam was feeling so fucking good. He looked amazing too, even though when he looked in the mirror sometimes he still saw who he was back then.

The fat kid that everyone picked on.

Well, not everyone. Lucifer Morningstar had been the most popular guy in school, he was well liked, happy, captain of the football team and he was also very nice.

And handsome, he had a smile so bright it put the sun to shame.

One day when Adam had been in the locker room some of the other guys in his class pulled him out of the shower and forced him to stand in front of everyone butt ass naked. Adam was so huilamted.

Everyone laughed...... But Lucifer didn't, he gave Adam his jacket long enough to cover up and run to put clothes on.

Adam shook his head, that had been so long ago. Now, he was healthy and fit with a super cool job! Fuck, he hoped Lucifer would be there ....... He'd be the only one there worth seeing.

-

Lucifer groaned as he pulled on his suit, he hadn't planned on going to the highschool reunion but he figured that he should go and see people one more time.

His life since highschool hasn't been that great. College was okay, that's where he met Lilith, who was now his ex wife and they were fighting for custody of their young daughter Charlie.

His only ray of sunshine.

But with how things were likely to go that ray of sunshine would be taken away. It was very hard to keep a mother away from her child and once Lilith had her Lucifer probably would never see her again.

He has been in a job that he hates for years to pay the bills, his dreams died years ago, Lucifer would be lying if he said the day he got married was a happy one. He only married Lilith because she got pregnant.

Charlie being born was the happiest day he ever had.

He's a prideful man, so it's hard for him to admit that he pretty much peaked in high school.

When he loses Charlie...... He'll have nothing to live for anymore. So after tonight, he's done.

Sighing, Lucifer fixed his tie and left for the school.

[orangez3st]

I Know Who I Married

Commander Wolffe × F!Reader 

✧ Summary: Wolffe, a commander of his men and your husband, finds himself trapped between two conflicts. And yet, the ending involves you being your forgiving self, followed by good news.

✧ Tags & Warnings: pregnant reader, songfic, forbidden marriage, a little angsty, domestic fluff, words of affirmation, one (1) mention of sex, maybe inaccurate pregnancy things, oops look at that word count my hand slipped, PLO'BUIR, Wolffe needs a hug

✧ Word Count: 6.8k

✧ A/N: Please accept this angsty-wholesome (and finally non-Delta!) fic bcs it'd be the last one for now! Delta Squad Week is drawing closer and I wanna focus on that, and then I'll get through the piling fic requests. Enjoy this one! (Also did I accidentally lorebuild the 104th and make a new clone OC out of this? Yes.)

Masterlist | Read on AO3

𝑳𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒍𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝒘𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒏𝒐𝒘

— That Would Be Enough - Philippa Soo, Lin-Manuel Miranda [X]

Wolffe swallows heavily as his footsteps, heavy, carry him to the war room. The grey of the venator’s hallways are neverending and ever gloomy as the distance between him and his destination draws closer. The overbearing burden as a leader has never felt so great after the recent campaign. He's lost so many men over false intel that neither he or his captains bothered to reassess.

His fault. He called the shots, even reassured his general that the campaign would run smoothly as planned. As usual. Then he became reckless. He wants to scream until his throat is scratchy and punch the wall until he crushes his knuckles. The warmth of the blood and the pain that'd occur and scratch along his skin would be worth it. Or maybe not even close—to the lives lost.

So many of his men. Wolffe is still able to recall their screams and desperate call for help over the comms as they were ambushed from all sides—and every time, he blinked and breathed through it as he covered the others in his radius to retreat. To fight for another day.

Until then, he must face whatever awaits him, his boots steadily and almost rhythmically resound across durasteel flooring of the ship, as if nothing's different. As if it's just the usual. Oh how he wishes it's the usual.

Two of his men adorned in 104th grey who guard the entrance to the war room spares him a glance, and a nod of respect about a second too late. Hesitance. Hesitance over his authority. Over his competence to lead. Fighting not to tilt his helmet away, Wolffe manages to tilt his focus away instead. He's lost so many men, but never because of his recklessness.

“Commander,” one of them greets, either with the usual respect or to defuse the disregarded tension. Wolffe bets on the latter as he strides past them, taking off his helmet in the process, and into the center of the room.

The holotable glows with field schematics of their next campaign. Wolffe has expected the Admiral, but now the man is nowhere around. Plo Koon always carries a strong presence in the room with his wisdom and perseverance, standing on one side of the table. The High Jedi General is trading a quiet discussion with someone—Wolffe notices the unmistakable ARC get-up and extra belt pouches, said attributes in 104th grey, with a marshal commander rank plaque on his left chest.

Wolffe snaps into attention, his helmet tucked under his arm. “General Plo Koon. Marshal Commander Brontes.” He's managed to quench his shock about three seconds before he spoke. What Brontes is doing here doubles and triples his anxiousness. Steeling himself still even after the Generals waves at ease, he swallows again, tipping his chin a little higher. “You summoned me, General?”

“Yes, Commander,” addresses Plo Koon, turning away from the holotable to face Wolffe. Blue light reflects on his features and his mask. “I wish not to waste your time. We'll be discussing the aftermath of our latest campaign.”

Shit. Direct reprimand. His worst nightmare. In front of Brontes, technically and structurally highest in command, only second after Plo Koon in the 14th Storm Corps? Even worse—much worse. He'd rather have a broken arm. At least he can still put up a fight equally well with the other one. But this? This is a fight he's never going to win in any time, in any scenario.

The General is waiting for him to speak.

“I…” Wolffe can't quite find his own words. Chaos that ensued in the comms a little over one rotation ago still haunts his mind, leaving it blank.

“Sir.” Brontes steps in. “Permission for a private talk with Commander Wolffe for a minute.”

Plo Koon trades a long look with the clone marshal commander that grows softer over time. Wolffe swears he can spot a slightest slump of the Kel Dor’s shoulders, and maybe a sigh that's rattling quietly out of his mask. “Granted.”

And with that, the Jedi marches away to the furthest viewport in the room, hands behind his back, watching the blur of hyperspace in uncharacteristically stiff posture that just settles more self-hatred inside Wolffe.

“Vod.” Brontes' voice next to him pulls him out of his stupor. Wolffe turns to the marshal commander with a look of dread that he doesn't realize himself wearing, until Brontes’ countenance visibly softens. “Wolffe, talk to me. As brothers. I know you're upset.”

“Seems like word travels fast, doesn't it?”

“Wolffe.” A look of warning. “Don’t deflect. You know better than that.”

“Everything that happened is purely my fault, Brontes. M’not even gonna defend myself. I'm ready to take the beating out of this.”

“Are you, really?” Brontes' scarred eyebrow lifts skeptically as he crosses his arms. “Because you look like you're about to burst off at the seams, vod.”

“Oh I didn't know that,” Wolffe grits his teeth.

Brontes sighs. “Save your shebs from blurting emotional and uncontrollable nonsense to the General by talking to me first.” He steps closer, voice lowered and mismatched brown and blue eyes sharp. “What the hell happened? You've never done reckless shit like this. You're always careful. I know you, ner vod. We ran into each other Kamino so many times that I actually lost count.”

Wolffe has come prepared for the speech. “I wasn't careful,” he relents with a sigh, “The war. It never ends. I just…”

Your luminous smile slips to the forefront of his mind. Then your sweet giggle, at something he said. An image where you are truly happy. The sun behind your head makes you glow and grants you a divine halo—an image committed to his memory while you glide through a warm and colorful meadow of beautiful Nabooian flowers. And yet, next to this graceful dance you commence for him, is your steadfast presence in his life. Your beautiful friendship with him, your kindness, and last but never the least, your loyalty.

Once upon a time it led to a secret ceremony of the bonding of two living souls. Marriage. It was done by Mandalorian customs. After uttering the riduurok and trading a kiss as husband and wife, you took him on this quirky yet meaningful idea to get inked around the base of both of your left ring fingers to mimic a wedding ring. Wolffe has your name on his, and you have his. It was perfect. A newfound bliss with a newfound meaning—this world now belongs to you both, and you will do anything to find yourself back in each other's arms despite the circumstances.

After all, you're a civilian. Wolffe is a soldier. His true duty is someplace else and anywhere else at the same time—anywhere in the galaxy where conflict breaks and harms like glass.

“...I just wish this'll be over soon,” Wolffe says somberly, longing for you terribly all of a sudden following those thoughts, that he has to keep the dam from overflowing.

But Brontes stares at him, all deadpan and unamused. “So you thought maybe you'd just chuck a live det in the dark and charge head on even though you know you're probably blasting at an absolute unit of a mutated rancor, which puts all your trigger-happy efforts as useless.”

Wolffe slowly closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath. “It was false intel.”

“That you failed to reassess!” Brontes hisses, “Our comms and intelligence are perfectly capable—they literally kill time by reassessing intel over and over again because that's what they do, but you didn't give the word! It was fatal, Wolffe!”

“We all know we shouldn't trust intel!”

“Doesn't mean to go completely ignored!” Brontes scrubs both hands down his face. “Prime help me. You sure we decanted in the same batch? And neighbors?”

“Wish we weren't, Three-Five.”

“The hell you meant by that, Three-Six?”

Wolffe looks down. “You're a lot more capable in various different fields including emotional control than I am, Marshal.”

The man snorts. “That your best attempt at I don't deserve it this week? Bantha shit. And you take that back.” Brontes points at him. Wolffe says nothing, his gaze secured on his boots still. Brontes sighs, firmly grabbing the other's shoulders. “Wolffe, vod, you're a good man. If you want this war to end as quickly as you prefer it to be, then do things the right way—the way you've always done it. Careful, methodical. Branch out your thoughts, make backups for backup, and most importantly; think about your men. They're your brothers. Cuun vode. They want this war to be over soon, like you do, too.”

He knows how to do it, goddamn it. He was only distracted by the thought of you. Actually no; the thought of sweeping the field as swiftly as possible in that fateful campaign—which was somewhat of a nuisance at the time than you are, occupying his mind—resulted in his apparent recklessness.

“And what are you doing here?” Wolffe asks.

Brontes shrugs. Wolffe quietly, defeatedly, observes the look of guilt in the other's eyes that slips through. “The General requested for me himself. So I took a fighter with me, left my battalion somewhere in Derilyn, and hit hyperspace the next hour.”

“Commander Wolffe,” Plo Koon’s voice booms in the midst of their sudden silence, “May I have a word with you, please.”

 Both clones trade a look. Wordlessly, Brontes pats Wolffe in the back, even offering a barely-there smile, before marching to the door. When Wolffe makes his way up to the platform to meet his General, Brontes is already gone, leaving his mind once again preoccupied with haunting errors, along with the cries of his men that had echoed in the comms.

Wolffe lets out a breath. “General Koon,” he begins, “I am fully aware of my tactical incompetence in our last campaign. I'll be very careful that there will be no repetition. The party to blame is no one else but me, and I’m ready to receive punishment.”

The Kel Dor turns to face him. Nearly every time, his expression is completely unreadable. Though over time since Abregado, Wolffe finds comfort in both that—helps with his brutal objectiveness—and the constant presence of his reassurance.

“I’ve been aware of the uneasiness that’s been inside you for so long, Wolffe. Even now.” The sudden sidestep off the topic baffles the commander. Not even a direct nudge about the campaign. This is personal. “You're thinking about the future. About what, or who, awaits back home—awaits you.”

Your smile flits past his mind again.

“Yes, General,” Wolffe confesses, “But my sole focus is on this war.”

Your smile again. This time it's bittersweet, a little somber, but with immeasurable patience full to the brim in your eyes, your lips uttering how much you believe in him that he'll come home. Bidding your goodbyes as early as 0200 before he left for deployment in two hours. Your husband can only imagine you solemnly trying to catch your sleep again without worrying too much about him. He's a commander after all—surely he knows how to avoid death and ensure the best strategy applied in his battles.

“I don't doubt you, son—I never do.” Plo Koon places a gentle hand on Wolffe's shoulder, the weight only reminds him of the unnecessary death of his men. “And yet you let your inner turmoil overtook your judgement, and your actions afterward.”

Following such words, a hushed whisper ghosts his ear in your voice, “And look at the cost.”

Nearly flinching, Wolffe shakes it away. “Yes, sir,” he says firmly, his eyes holding so much shame, “I won't deny it.”

The General quietly watches him. “How long has it been since you last saw your dear wife?”

“It was during our last shore leave, sir.” Wolffe steels himself, trying not to crumble in the face of reality that feels heavier than mere moments ago. “Three months.”

The other man hums. “Then three months is enough.”

Wolffe's mismatched eyes snap up. “Sir?”

“I’m certain she longs for you very much. You need to be there for your wife.” Plo Koon turns around, facing the viewport once more, as if unable to bear the weight of the incoming decision. The azure lights of hyperspace make his earthy complexion shine in contrast. “You are granted one month of shore leave and will board a shuttle back to Coruscant.”

“What?” Wolffe can feel his heart drop to his stomach. Panic. Fright. There's nothing more that scares him than being sidebenched officially under order. “One month—?!”

“Take your mind off the battlefield, son. Recuperate, and reevaluate. You will be reinstated back on duty in exactly one month.”

Wolffe lets the silence slowly kill him. When no other words come from the Jedi, he takes a deep breath and gambles his chances. “General, with all due respect, my duty as commanding officer of the 104th—”

“Will be temporarily taken over by Marshal Commander Brontes per my request. That is why he's here.”

“But sir, please, my duty—”

He closes his mouth when the General raises a hand.

“Your duty now,” Plo Koon says, with a gentleness of a parent, “is to be with your family. You have a home that's waiting for you. A wife who's waiting for you to return home. The decision is final, Commander Wolffe, and the approval is already given directly from me. I issued the order myself. As soon as we leave hyperspace, you will be boarding the shuttle.”

It feels numb afterwards.

It feels like being stripped of everything he's known. His ranks, his purpose, his life. The thought of desertion has never even once crossed his mind. Battlefield is his home.

But… you are his home, too.

“Cease fighting today. Your wife needs you alive, son. She needs your care. She needs your presence.”

Marching out of the room with a new direction that is his quarters, he refrains saying a thing to Brontes. His helmet hides his expression as he merely nods in respectful greeting, but seemingly isn't enough—Brontes gives him a look that he despises so much. Pity. He doesn't need it. He doesn't need anybody else reminding him of his faults. It's embarrassing enough.

What would he tell you?

That he'd had his own men killed? His own brothers? Because he was distracted… by you?

No. He can't say that. 

That he'd failed? Faulted, condemned, punished… blamed? His own men looked at him as if he's someone else. The respect remains—visible to the naked eye, stripped to merely ranks—and yet the reverence…

You'd see him as a failure too. The fear has a good, relentless grip on his heart. It aches. It aches to tell you. It aches to be confused. 

“I find no comfort if one day I have to be the one knocking on her door to deliver the news that her beloved husband had perished on the battlefield.”

The ride to Coruscant is as quiet as it can be, save for the hum of hyperdrive. A squad of his men escorts him. Wolffe deems the space beyond the confines of his helmet lethal, as if the recycled air of the transport shuttle would destroy his airway and leave his lungs rotten by the time they arrive planetside. His own breath is hot with shame, his fists clenched, failure failure failure repeatedly ringing in his own ears, loud.

Everything makes him feel like a prisoner. A criminal on parole. The feeling worsens when the shuttle breaches atmo.

One month away from the war. A small part of him rejoices to see your smile again, to feel the reunion that would leave his body buzzing from pure happiness to day's end.

The circumstances, however…

“It’ll destroy her,” he’d said, unable to bear the thought of you mourning him. The thought of him leaving you, all alone.

Then the cab ride is just as quiet. The droid driver doesn't bother him—good. The state of the city around him beyond the filmed glass windows is the exact opposite. It's loud. Wolffe sits back, his helmet still on, his fear and utter shame still have a hold on him that if he takes it off it would become real. Too real for him to accept.

He brings nothing with him but armor on his back. He didn't even get to change, but at least he'd spent hours himself mourning in his flagship quarters while mindlessly rubbing over the same spot on his shin plate over and over again.

Just like how they cried over and over again in the comms.

“Love is a powerful motivation to one's spirit—to move them in a certain direction. If one takes it away, that person will never be the same again.”

Before your marriage, Wolffe spares his downtime growing stress lines on his face. He knew he had to provide for you but alas; he is what he is. His weekly stipend barely covers your daily meal, and that's just the sad truth. And yet the other side of such truth is a bright world filled with hope and everlasting joy where you truly want him—to be with him.

So you put your foot down; “This is my own dwelling, I have a steady job where people are constantly dependent on my industry, I love you and I want to be with you, so let's get married.”

It wasn't impatience. It was the fruit of his labor and yours working the relationship through regardless of any differences, the big one is of him being a clone—oftentimes looked down upon, deemed as nothing but patriotic wet droids that die for the people of a republic of nations they never personally know. But not you. Never you.

“Let's get married,” you'd said again—a soft smile, almost pleading and demanding for him to say yes, on your face. “With your customs, if you don't mind. I think I'd love that.”

Wolffe was dumbstruck by your flash decisions. “Are you sure?”

Your smile brightened. “Yes I'm sure.”

Something comes over him as the door of your—and his—dwelling comes into view.

A little different from the typical housing in Coruscant topside, the apartment is tucked away behind a series of office buildings and skyscraper shopping centers. It's a suitable place—perfect, even—for a couple married in secret, and that's all Wolffe would say if someone asks him. Not that he'd rat his own marriage out.

But.

Home.

“And I'm sure you love her very much—and she, you. Dedicate your time for your family, son. Just as much as you do, for the war.”

This place is where you and him make your pleasant memories. Some of them are first-times, some involving hot screaming matches. But you and Wolffe always make it through. Your patience and his resilience. It leads you, him, to all this.

He knows the key code. But he hasn't been home for a very long time, and all your work is done from home.

And now it just strikes him how much pain you're in, living in the void around you. The other side of your bed empty, the other dining chair empty, and even the little space in the shower stall where you take morning showers—empty.

“Because you have one to go home to.”

He rings the bell.

He waits, hands behind his back in a parade rest to formally accept your lash-outs. Your piling frustrations in the form of solid angry hits to his chest, and your tears. Three months is a long time, after all.

No answer. You usually don't take a long time to answer the door. You always refuse to wear earplugs when you're working, so that's not the case. His hand instinctively flies to his pistol.

He rings again.

“One moment!” Your voice. Oh, your voice. You're safe. You're inside.

The door finally slides open.

“Hi, sorry to keep you waiting—” You look up to be met with his gaze—or at least, his visor. But he's certain you’re piercing right through, and gone are his anxieties as if someone is pulling up the blinds. You always do, even since you first met each other.

You stand there just behind the doorway. Wolffe has already expected a slap to the face or hot tears streaming down your cheeks.

But you're… you're radiant. Always are. Your lips widen and stretch into the most beautiful smile he's ever seen—one of the reasons he let himself fall in love with you, willing to sacrifice his all and split his focus on you and the war efforts. 

“Wolffe,” you breathe a laugh, stepping over the threshold to relieve him of the soldier's stance. “You’re home.”

It's when you grunt as you stretch your back before placing your hand over your belly briefly that he notices.

Your… inflated… huge belly.

Before he can get any word out, you embrace him, wrapping your arms around his neck and breathing his scent.

Your husband reeks of sweat, fuel, and exhaustion, but the smell is intoxicating and tickling some parts of your brain. It's giving happy sensations for you, but the pregnancy hormones make the sight of him finally home and in your arms irks you greatly.

“Get this blasted helmet off your head, Wolffe,” you seethe, slapping his chest in the process. The mood shifts so quickly it makes him flinch. He quickly obliges, his head nods almost frantic, his defensive walls crumble and sink to the bottom of his stomach.

And now the reality is out to get him. It's all becoming real.

His misery and grief don't even get the chance to surface again the moment you rip his bucket out of his grasp. He catches a glimpse of you biting your lip as you chuck the blasted plastoid piece somewhere behind you before suddenly a sharp, burning pain erupts on the side of his face. His cheek. You just slapped him.

“You were taking too long,” you grit out. Wolffe can feel his heart shattering even more as he listens to your broken voice lashing out at him. “Forgot you're married and have a wife at home?!”

“I'm sorry,” he immediately says, looking away in shame. The shame, the guilt, the pain—it’s all gaining on him again.

“Doesn't cut it,” you hiss, tears brimming in your eyes. “Three months. Every time I called you, you always had the perfect reason to end it early—”

“I’ve always been occupied aboard the fleet—”

“It was just a single holocall!”

“Intragalactic transmission during a period of war campaigns for private fulfillment is supposedly forbidden—”

“YOUR GENERAL ALLOWED IT!” you shout at him, letting a single sob come out but as a strong woman that you are in his eyes, you hold on, taking deep breaths and wiping your fallen tears away. “He covered for you and you know it.”

You're right. He does know.

More added to the blame, and he only gets to hang on this far. He wonders when the dam would break, but… you can't see it. You're in too much pain already because of him. In this state, with such many burdens, he'd prefer grief in quiet.

“Cyare.” He tries—he wants to try. He has to win you back, even though you're still angry at him. “I know it doesn't cut it, but I really am sorry.”

You sniffle, wiping away a stray tear again with the back of your hand before taking his hand in yours. His knees almost buckle at your soft touch, even so since he's still wearing his gloves. “Come inside. You can explain yourself then.”

The warmth of your home engulfs him like a snug blanket and makes him want to sink right there on the couch in the living area. He could ask you to join him there, or in the shower. Domesticity and love call for him as if this place, with you in it, is the only place he should've belonged, not the battlefield.

Alas.

“I… was too ambitious.” He doesn't wait until you've sat down. Wolffe ignores your invitation—a single, loud, demanding pat of the hand on the other side of the couch—and lets his fumes run dry as he desperately tries to still the anxious soldier inside him. This is worse than being confronted by his general.

“There’s always an end to a war and we’re only doing everything we can to erase the distance between us and that ending. I put my dedication and time in that war room with my superiors to ensure our future.”

“Apparently too much time.” You scoff. “Don't be a soldier, Wolffe,” you say almost boredly, glancing away from his rapid-fire reasoning. “You’re home. Be a husband.”

Wolffe shakes his head. “I stand by what I said. It's the truth. I know it's been three months and sometimes… sometimes I ignored that. I've been ignoring you.” His voice cracks. Your heart breaks a little more at that, your fists scrunching the fabric of your loose sweater. “But I'm here now, cyare,” Wolffe says again, “They sent me home because I made a fatal decision.”

You sigh shakily, pushing your forehead to the heel of your hand. “Good.”

Wolffe freezes. “Good?”

“When all means of good communication with you became outrageously impossible, I turned to your general instead,” you glower at him. Wolffe’s eyes shut, his chest heavy—blame blame blame. “I messaged him, begging him to send you home because I needed you here, Wolffe. Seems like he's found a way how to, and I'm thankful for that.”

Wolffe looks at you in disbelief, another fault added to his plate. Plo Koon might care greatly about  his commander's secret relationship, but the fact you directly contacted his general without telling him first… you've crossed a line. There's a chain of command one is supposed to go through first, and you’re in violation of that.

“You did what?!”

“I'M NOT SORRY, WOLFFE!”

He watches you, eyes widened. Your hand falls to your belly again, taking deep breaths to steady yourself. 

“I needed you, but you were so far away,” you mourn, tears brimming in your eyes again, “I needed you and you weren't responding to my needs, and so I had to do something. I'm your wife.” Wolffe flinches at the way you say the word as your voice cracks with emotion. You take a faltering breath—your gaze, sharp and deadly, and yet hopeful for him to understand under such scrutiny. “And you're a commander in the army. You're driven, you're ambitious—as you said—and that's good. Really,” you continue, cadence growing mournful and sarcastic and disappointed the longer you go. “But you'll always fight until the war is done.”

Wolffe sighs. “The war’s not done—”

“And yet, here you are,” you cut him off, swallowing your mood swing again.

He closes his eyes. His throat bobs as he swallows. “It's a punishment.”

There's silence at first before your surprised tone, almost guilty, cuts through the tension. “What?”

“Plo Koon sent me away from the war.” He doesn't want to open his eyes. It'd be real—too real for him to relive it all over again. The burden is his and his alone, no one else's and especially not yours. Even though you had been the one constantly on his mind. “I was distracted in the last campaign and it was my reckless decisions and executions that… that killed so many of my men on the field.”

“Oh, love…”

“We lost. The cost was too great, it was entirely my fault. He sent me home and my marshal commander took my place. For a month.”

He looks at you. He's not even angry anymore. Resigned. “Did you have a say in that?”

“I did,” you murmur, “But I had no idea…”

The moment your frown fades out from between your brows and your expression softens, Wolffe releases a long breath, sounding almost like relief, as he carefully approaches you and kneels by your feet. “Don’t apologize. You have the right.”

Then, he looks into your eyes. Really looks. Your swollen lids for shedding tears at his unavailability, his failure as a husband. You're in so much pain—that, he is now aware of. The sight simply despairs him, breaking him over and over again, as if taking preparations to haunt him in his sleep.

Slowly, hesitantly and almost shakily as if he doesn't deserve it, he takes your hand and lifts it to his lips. Your knuckles are smooth along his chapped lips, the sensation of finally touching you—his beloved wife—is enlightening.

“Forgive me, ner cyare riduur,” Wolffe murmurs, softly pressing his lips onto your skin in-between phrases. “I've been horrible to you these past few months. You're always on my mind. I love you—always, you must know—and I hope… I hope you can forgive me.” His warm amber brown eyes that you love are glistening with unshed tears. Remorse. “I don't know what I'd do if you can't.”

His heart flutters as he witnesses a smile slowly pulling at your lips. “We’re married, Wolffe.” You squeeze his hand. “And even if we aren't, I can't, for the life of me, not forgive you.”

He kisses your knuckles again. “There's always a line.”

“Then let's hope we won't cross it.”

It brings a soft chuckle out of him—content, confident, safe. Your husband is famously known for his ultra rare smile, and seeing them so often in every moment you spend time together feels like an absolute honor.

You touch his hair at first, longing the feel of it in the tender palm of your hand. But he doesn't want to let you steal his opportunity—because he could enjoy your soft touches further and fall asleep right there and then—so he rises to meet you, still on his knees, leaning into you and props his forearm next to your head on the back of the couch.

Wolffe breathes in the sight of you. You, smiling up at him, your eyes still shining with remaining tears—happy tears. He caresses your cheek softly with his gloved knuckles before nearing your lips, testing the waters. Your smile broadens, accepting his kiss—a long-awaited one, one that both of you deserve all after those painful months of separation.

“Missed you,” Wolffe whispers against your lips, gently taking it again between his before leaning his forehead against yours. “So, so much. I'm so sorry.”

Your eyelashes flutter against his cheek. “I'm sorry, too. For your loss. Your brothers. But you're here now, Wolffe. That's what matters right now. I’m so happy you're here, really am,” you say to him. Wolffe leans against your touch, your thumb brushing along his cheekbone. “And I'm sorry I slapped you,” you pout, “My hormones are all messed up.”

He shakes his head in dismissal. “I deserved it.”

“Want me to kiss it better, love?”

“If I ever refuse, I want you to beat me to death.”

A small giggle erupts from your lips before you pepper his cheek with apologetic kisses, leaving no inch of skin untouched with your love. It's glaring red from when you slapped him, blame the estrogen and cortisol ganging up on your sanity.

Wolffe shifts his attention from you to your pregnant belly. It's been… lovely. All the pain and illness you've gone through seem worth it knowing that it's his children you're carrying. You hadn't found out until 8 weeks. You'd wished he was there at your first ultrasound when your doctor announced you're pregnant with twins.

“Are you feeling okay?” He places his hands gently on your belly. “This looks… painful.”

You stare at him in disbelief. Does he really not know? “This looks—” you parrot him but get cut off.

“Are you, cyare?” Wolffe asks again, firmer this time, and even more serious. “In pain?”

You stifle your smile. Gods, this man.

“Not really. For now.” And thus you roll out a new impish scenario, wondering how it'd go, and how long it'd go. “Well, okay; sometimes.”

“The diagnosis?”

“It’s fine, my love. Nothing's wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong?!”

You bite the inside of your lip, preventing a laugh coming out.

He goes on, eyes sweeping over your body. Your cheeks seem fuller, you gained weight. Other than that, you're healthy. You're glowing. But he can't seem to find out why. “Did you go to your usual doctor?”

“Yes,” you nod, “And um, another kind of doctor.”

Your husband frowns, hard, at your grin. “Another�� kind?”

“Wolffe, for the love of gods.” He blinks cluelessly as you pry his gloves off him before dragging his now bare hands beneath your sweater and placing them firmly against your belly. “Here. Feel.”

He sighs at the warmth of your skin, his thumb having the mind of its own caressing them.

You scrutinize him. “Do you have any idea of what might be happening?”

“You don't look sick,” Wolffe analyzes, mismatched eyes meeting your gaze. “You look healthy, in fact.”

“Wolffe,” you giggle, clutching onto his hand, “I’m pregnant.”

In an instant, his eyes flash with clarity and total adoration. His lips part to gasp, the entire focus in his body now directed at your pregnant belly. In the joyful realization and perhaps feeling a little stupid for not clocking it earlier, Wolffe pours all his love into his touches, lifting your sweater to finally look at you. At first you hear what may be a sob, but his sniffle confirms it anyway. The joy of a father.

“So,” Wolffe sniffs again, “So this was when you complained about your late period before I got shipped off…”

“Yeah,” you chuckle, moving your hands into his hair and slowly scratching his scalp. “Y'know what, I think they might be afternoon delight kitchen counter babies. I couldn't forget that one.”

There's so much of that to digest, especially a comeback with that last one—which may be true because he couldn't either. He can't even let out a laugh, his ears already stopped listening at the plural word that you just said.

“Babies?” Wolffe marvels, “Twins?”

You smile, nodding. “Twins.”

And only then he finally laughs. It's not his usual boisterous one when you crack your lamest stupidest dad joke—it sounds wet, relieved, happy, and full of hope. You've talked about this—both of you have been wanting this for quite a long time. Wolffe’s thumb repeatedly brushes over your belly, as if caressing his babies’ heads through the flesh, and his face is leaning closer.

And now your wish is finally granted with not only one but two sweetlings. You've spent day and night thinking what traits they would take once you give birth to them, and once they grow up. Strong and resilient just like their father, you hope.

“Su'cuy, ad’ike. Ner kih’verde,” he murmurs against your skin, “I'm your buir. I’m sorry we're only meeting just now.” Wolffe presses a long kiss to your belly, and another. There are two of them, after all. You feel wetness—your husband's first tears upon knowing that he'll be a father to his own children growing in your womb.

You slip your fingers in between his face and your skin to wipe the trail of tears away from his cheek. “I think they'd understand that their father is fighting to secure their future.”

Wolffe nods weakly, contently. “That's right,” he says, resting his chin on you while meeting your gaze again, his expression curious and helpful. “So is it—are they… Boys? Girls? Both? Have you found out yet?”

You chuckle at his enthusiasm. “Maybe we can find out together this week or next, if you want?”

So you've been waiting for him. His heart aches again—imagine if he refused to come home, ever. “Of course. I'll be there with you,” Wolffe says, a breathy chuckle falling off his lips. “How far along are you?”

“16 weeks.”

“Sixteen. 4 months.”

“Mhm.”

“A month before my deployment,” he repeats, and you nod, humming your affirmation again.

A small part of him that hasn't found resolve cringes—horrified. His previous thoughts are coming back to haunt him—the what-ifs. 

“Hey,” calls your voice, cutting through the haze. Wolffe relishes the gentle smile that graces your lips, relishing how fortunate he is to have you. “I know what's going through your head right now.”

The weight in his chest has been crying out to be released. And you're his wife. His worries, his fears and anxieties, become yours, too.

“If only I threw a fit,” he slowly confesses, “I refused to come home, cyare. I would've fought the decision and convinced my general. But then, I wouldn't have known.” He could've flown too close to the sun. He could've died in future campaigns, leaving you alone with… with his babies. His children. They'd be fatherless, and you'd be exhausted to death caring for them alone without him. And they wouldn't know who their father was.

And he wouldn't know he'd be charging head on in the front lines for his children. He wouldn't know.

But then there's your presence again, so bright in his life. You lift his chin with a touch of your fingers so you can pull him out of the abyss of his past thoughts that are looming over him, and so there will only be you—his present and future—to gaze upon, to look at. Not the abyss.

“You're my husband,” you say softly, your thumb caressing his cheek again. “Val buir—their father, Wolffe. And I know that… every regulation out there isn't in our favor, especially now that we're having children—”

He looks guilty. “I’m sorry if this isn't what you imagined.”

Sighing, you pinch his cheek. “I'm not done yet, love. Stop apologizing about stuff that I already know, and I knew I'd go through this before I decided to be married to you. I love you for who you are.”

Wolffe blinks quickly—the corners of his eyes sting. You just… always know what to say. You're always confident, and he loves that.

“And that means I know who you are,” you continue, “I know where your heart and your spirit is. I'm not afraid, Wolffe.”

He sighs heavily. “I don't know—you don't know—if that's the right thing you should've said,” he says, “Don't want you to say empty promises, cyare. You know they do nothing to me.”

“These are all facts, Wolffe. They all came from here.” You grab his hand and place it over your heart. “You are a soldier, love, I can't take the battlefield away from you. But as long as you come home when I need you—for me, that would be enough.”

It's like fire. It's like love renewed, and it's burning bright, the light cleanses the dark in his heart—every strand that pulses insecurities and anxieties that shouldn't even be there.

“I promise,” your husband then vows, “I won't miss something like this ever again. You have my word.”

You grin teasingly. “Again? I haven't even given birth yet. Just how many do you want, Commander?”

Wolffe rolls his eyes. The gesture always makes you laugh, and he knows it. “Cyare, you know what I'm talking about.”

“I know,” you giggle, “Icebreaker.”

Wolffe’s smile is stretched so wide on his lips that he can feel it ache—his cheeks ache. He rarely smiles like this even in the presence of his brothers, but he doesn't hold back with you. He rises slightly to meet your lips, silently wishing to listen and relish your laugh. “I love you,” he mutters, pecking your lips in between phrases, “I love you. So much. So much, cyare, you have no idea.”

You laugh softly. “I know, my love.”

“I'll be here for you,” Wolffe says enthusiastically, and your smile grows even wider as you listen along. “Until you give birth. Maybe I can talk to my general to temporarily put Brontes on my post while I'm away—”

“Wolffe, udesii. It's okay,” you interrupt with a laugh, “I’ll need you more after I give birth. When I get into labor, too.”

He nods, your plea sounding like a superior’s command to him—heck, he almost said yes sir. “I’ll be there. No matter what. We'll do this together, I promise.”

Wolffe lets out a breath. His mind is already forming to-do lists that involve research and possible timestamps and predictions and scenarios to lie his way through military assignments just so he could be there for you, or in case anything happens to you. Maybe he could gamble his lucky attempts with his general.

He leans in to kiss your lips again. “In the meantime, you're gonna tell me everything you've been doing for the past three months?”

You smile. “The good and the bad.”

“Every bit of it?”

“Yes.”

Wolffe then kisses your knuckles, a hint of a smile gracing his lips. “Promise?”

Your giggle is a ripe melody in his ears. His source of joy. You lay your hand on top of his, still resting on your belly—both of your beloved children inside. “Yes I promise.”

Some backstory I didn't get to include: Sha Koon, Plo’s niece, regularly checks in on you so she could relay the information to her uncle because both Kel Dor care so much about your and Wolffe's wellbeing 🩷

Taglist: @yoursrosie @hellfiresky @filamentlights @heidnspeak @lucyysthings @emmaw18 @leiopython-rat

A/N: You can request for x reader in my askbox! If you're interested in my clone x reader oneshots you can sign up as well to be tagged of future works. (Link provided ⬆️)

[thefemmefatalexo]

Sukuna SMAU - A Study in Breaking

Chapter 1 - Cornered

Summary: You dated him once. Six months before it ended in a single message. Sukuna changed after that—cold turned cruel, distant turned violent. Now, three years later, you share a campus. He fights. You keep quiet. You don’t speak, but you see each other. Then his brother disappears. And everything you’ve tried to keep buried begins to shift. Because you know things. And he’s willing to tear through anyone to get them. Even you.

cw: emotional and psychological abuse, abusive family dynamics, drug-related content, violence and threats, kidnapping, stalking, depression, toxic relationships, underage drinking

an: I won’t say much. Please tell me your opinions in the comments and if you’re feeling generous reblog my work to support me! Thank you and enjoy reading this chapter! SMOOCHES 💋 💋💋

{introduction} ; {next}

taglist: @idontwannatalkrn1 @heartwoundd @linny-bloggs @tqd4455 @el-lise @loveyislost @kyo-kyo1 @wiserebelpartypie @prisvvner @love-me-satoru @food8me @j311yf1shk1tty @mxchiii @gojocumslut @maomimii @mirk0-maniac

You don’t remember when the fear started.

You just remember that by ten, you knew how to tell which version of your mother was walking through the door — by the sound her keys made against the counter.

Heavy meant tired. Light meant angry.

The crash of glass? That was for you.

She never needed a reason.

You could breathe wrong, and she’d call you disgusting.

You could speak too softly and get slapped for mumbling — speak too clearly and get told you were being a smartass.

Her love came in quick flashes, guilty hugs after bruises, hot food dropped in your lap with a bitter “there, are you happy now?”

Your father was worse in the way that made it hard to explain.

He never touched you. Never raised his voice.

But you’ve never felt smaller than when he looked at you like you weren’t worth the calories it took to keep you alive.

Like your existence was something he regretted but wouldn’t say out loud.

He never asked about the bruises.

Never stopped your mother from dragging you by the hair when she thought you were lying — about homework, about boys, about your tone.

He just watched the TV louder.

By high school, you’d mastered the art of silence.

You smiled when they needed you to. Kept your room clean. Got perfect grades.

You sat at dinner and counted how many times you could chew without being told to stop grinding your teeth.

And even then, it wasn’t enough.

Because nothing was ever enough.

Because when someone needs to feel in control, you become the easiest thing to break.

Then came Sukuna.

Not kind. Not safe.

But he never lied. Never pretended to love you one day and hate you the next.

His cruelty was clean. Predictable. Honest.

He was the first person who looked at you like you weren’t fragile — like you were already ruined, and he didn’t mind.

And for a while, that felt like freedom.

You gave him six months.

He gave you a text.

And that should’ve been the end of it.

But somehow, he still lives in the part of you that flinches — not because you miss him, but because you remember how it felt to not be invisible.

So now you run drugs.

Not because it makes you feel alive.

Not because you want to spiral.

But because it’s easy, and it pays in cash. Because it keeps your parents out of your bank account. Because no one asks questions if you don’t give answers.

You don’t care what’s in the bag.

You don’t care who you’re delivering it to.

You just care about saving enough to get out — out of the house, out of the city, out of everything that’s tried to keep you small.

You don’t tell anyone. You don’t brag. You don’t slip up.

There’s no thrill in it. No rush. Just a job.

And that’s all you need.

Because feeling something?

You gave up on that a long time ago.

You see him sometimes.

Not often enough to call it routine, but just enough to remind you he’s still here — that he didn’t disappear when he left you behind.

Campus is big, but not that big. Frat parties are even smaller, especially when Gojo throws them — which he does too often and too loud, like he thinks he’s doing the world a favor. You don’t go because you want to. You go because you need your friends to keep thinking you’re still a person.

They drink. They dance. They flirt. You stand in the corner nursing warm beer and trying not to look like you’re counting the exits.

That’s usually when you see him.

Sukuna.

He doesn’t look at you. Never does. Not really. But you know he sees you.

You feel it in the way his eyes slow when he scans the room, in the way his jaw flexes when someone leans too close to you, even though he keeps his back turned.

He makes it look effortless — the indifference, the distance.

But you know him. You knew him. Long enough to recognize when he’s pretending not to notice.

And maybe it’s pathetic, the way your stomach tightens anyway.

The way some part of you still waits for him to look at you and say something — anything.

But he never does.

He just leans into some new girl’s neck, hands on her waist, grin like a weapon.

They always look the same. Loud laughs, short skirts, arms thrown around his shoulders like they’ve won something.

Maybe they have. Maybe you’re the idiot for ever thinking he could be anything else.

Most people either want him or stay the hell out of his way.

He’s known on campus for the fights, the reputation, the rumors no one can ever confirm.

Even his silence feels dangerous.

You don’t talk about him. Not to your friends. Not to yourself.

But when you leave those parties, you always walk home alone.

And you never look back.

Flashback — April 2021

You had noticed him earlier, but you didn’t think he’d noticed you.

That changed when Uraume leaned close and said, almost offhand:

“He’s been staring. Might as well let him talk to you.”

“Who?” you asked, already knowing.

“Sukuna. Don’t act clueless. Come on.”

They didn’t wait for your answer.

You followed them through the crowd, careful not to spill the drink in your hand, careful not to look too eager. Your heart beat a little faster, but your face stayed even. You were good at that — keeping things where no one could see them.

Sukuna was leaning against the wall at the far end of the hallway, lit only by the dim glow spilling from the kitchen. He didn’t look like he was waiting for anyone — but his eyes tracked you as you stepped closer, like he was already figuring you out.

“This is her,” Uraume said, then turned and disappeared into the party.

You looked at him, met his eyes without flinching, and gave him a simple, calm smile.

“Hi.”

He stared for a second like he was deciding whether or not to answer.

“You look different up close.”

“That’s either a compliment or an insult.”

He smirked slightly.

“Haven’t decided yet.”

You took a small sip of your drink and glanced past him, down the hallway.

“I thought you’d be louder.”

“Louder?”

“Yeah. You have a reputation. The kind of guy who starts fights, skips class, doesn’t shut up.”

“I haven’t hit anyone tonight.”

“Congratulations,” you said softly. “Growth.”

That earned a quiet laugh from him, short and real.

He looked you over again, not in a gross way, but like he was trying to figure out what exactly he was seeing. You didn’t give him much. You didn’t need to.

“You always come to parties like this?” he asked.

“Not really.”

“But here you are.”

“Uraume insisted.”

“And you listen to them?”

“They’re… interesting company.”

“So are you.”

You raised your brows just slightly.

“You don’t know me.”

“Not yet.”

There was something easy about the way he said it, even with the edge in his voice. He wasn’t pushing, just observing. And he seemed surprised you weren’t fawning over him — not trying to impress, not giving him anything but honest, even-toned conversation.

“You’re not what I expected,” he said after a moment.

“What were you expecting?”

“Someone louder. Or someone who’d already be asking for my number.”

“Not my style,” you said.

“You don’t want it?”

“Didn’t say that.”

He grinned at that — not cocky, just quietly entertained.

The silence between you settled in, not awkward, just steady. You could still hear the music from the other room, voices spilling from the kitchen, but it felt distant. He looked at you like he wanted to say something else — but didn’t.

“I should get back,” you said, tipping your head slightly toward the noise.

“To what? Standing in the corner?”

You smiled.

“Exactly.”

He didn’t ask you to stay. But as you turned, he said your name like he wanted to remember it.

You glanced back once before disappearing into the crowd. And even after the hallway faded behind you, you could still feel the weight of his stare.

The night thinned out like it always did — bodies pressed too close, drinks half-spilled on floors, basslines making people forget where they were.

You stayed. Not because you liked it, but because watching people unravel gave you something to focus on.

Everyone was either drunk, high, or both — laughing too loudly, dancing like they’d already forgotten who they came with. You recognized most of the faces, even if none of them ever really saw you.

That’s when you noticed Yuji.

You didn’t know him well — just that he was Sukuna’s younger brother. A freshman, a little loud, too nice for this kind of crowd. He trained in Taido, always smiling, the kind of person who made everyone else relax without trying.

You’d seen him floating around earlier — talking to people, trying not to look like he was keeping an eye on his brother.

But now he was headed toward the back door, walking too fast behind someone you did recognize.

A dealer. One of the ones who worked off-campus. The type that stuck around too long at parties and offered things that came in ziplocks with no label. You’d done enough runs to know the type.

Your stomach turned.

You watched Yuji follow him out into the dark. No hesitation. No one else noticed.

You looked toward Sukuna.

He was on the couch with some girl half in his lap, nursing a drink he probably didn’t even like. His head was tilted back, laughing at something Toji said — sharp, mean laughter that didn’t reach his eyes. The two of them were bickering like always, throwing insults that could’ve been jokes or threats. Hard to tell with them.

He didn’t notice Yuji was gone.

Of course he didn’t.

Your eyes lingered for a moment too long.

That’s when Uraume stepped beside him.

They didn’t say anything. Just stood close enough that it was clear — this was territory. Their gaze met yours across the room.

Blank. Cold.

You weren’t supposed to be watching.

So you set your cup down, quietly, and turned away.

You didn’t tell anyone. Not about Yuji. Not about the dealer.

It wasn’t your place.

But you left that party knowing something most people there didn’t.

Not all the damage comes from the people screaming. Some of it comes from the ones who look away.

[bookloover35]

Scars of Power- Tom Riddle x fem reader.

The damp chill of the dungeons never bothered you. To you, it felt like home—cold and unforgiving, much like the world that had tried to crush you and failed. Your scars told that story. A jagged one across your jaw from a duel that went too far. Another across your wrist from when you were reckless in Potions class. Each mark was a reminder of survival, of your refusal to break.

You stood apart from your peers, not out of some misplaced desire for isolation but because you didn't tolerate weakness, and most people didn't have the spine to handle your sharp tongue or harder demeanor. You walked through the Slytherin common room with confidence, your combat boots echoing off the stone floor. The others parted for you—not out of fear, but respect.

All except Tom Riddle.

He didn't move when you walked by. In fact, he seemed to be the only one who dared meet your gaze head-on, his dark eyes sharp and calculating, like he was trying to piece together a puzzle he'd only just discovered.

"Problem, Riddle?" you asked one day, stopping in front of him as he lounged in one of the high-backed chairs near the fireplace, a book resting lazily in his hands.

His lips quirked into a smile that was all calculation and no warmth. "None at all, Y/N. Just... curious."

You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. "About?"

"You," he said, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. He set the book aside, standing smoothly, his imposing presence making the nearby students glance nervously your way. "You're quite... different from the others."

"Is that meant to be a compliment?" you asked, tilting your head.

"An observation," he replied coolly. "You don't bend to anyone. Not the professors. Not the others. Not even me."

"That's because you don't scare me, Riddle," you said with a smirk. "You're clever, I'll give you that. But clever doesn't mean invincible."

His expression didn't shift, but you noticed the way his posture stiffened ever so slightly, like you'd hit a nerve. "You're not like the rest of them, are you?" he mused, his voice lower now, like he was speaking just for you. "Most Slytherins are cowards, hiding behind ambition and power they don't deserve. But you... you've bled for yours. Fought for it."

"And if I have?" you said, stepping closer, daring him to flinch. He didn't.

"Then I'd like to know why," he said simply.

You stared at him for a moment, studying his face. Tom Riddle wasn't just a boy—he was something far more dangerous. And yet, he was undeniably fascinating. There was a hunger in his eyes that mirrored your own.

"Some scars," you said finally, tapping the jagged mark on your jaw, "are reminders that the world isn't kind. That if you don't fight, it'll devour you whole. I don't let the world win."

His lips curved into a smile, genuine for the first time. It was small, fleeting, but there. "And I don't let people win," he said softly. "But you... I think you might be worth something more than most."

You quirked a brow. "You're a snake, Riddle. What's your game here?"

"No game," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "Not yet. But I think you and I have something in common. Strength."

For the first time, you saw something human in him. It wasn't kindness or warmth—it was something darker, something that came from knowing pain and refusing to succumb to it. You recognized it because you'd lived it too.

"Then don't waste my time," you said, stepping back. "If you want to figure me out, Riddle, you'll have to try harder than that."

He chuckled, a low, smooth sound that sent a shiver down your spine. "Oh, I intend to."

From that day on, Tom Riddle's gaze lingered on you more often than not. He watched you in classes, his sharp mind no doubt analyzing every move you made. You didn't let it bother you. If anything, you leaned into it, challenging him with a smirk or a cutting remark whenever the opportunity presented itself.

The game between you was dangerous and exhilarating. You knew what Tom was capable of—his ambition was as relentless as your own. But where others saw a boy destined for greatness, you saw someone who understood the power of scars, the value of survival.

And Tom Riddle, for all his cunning, saw something in you that no one else dared to recognize.

An equal.

[cussundria-nerd-kneal]

It's an interesting thought... but you gotta admit, the high priest of Dumat, God of Silence, is a chronic yapper is hilarious irony. XD

But, I'm with you. Cory-face wasn't all that grand or interesting. If you knew the lore behind him before his reveal, then that was doing the leg work for him. The lore surrounding him is cooler and more intriguing than he is. But if you had no idea who he was when he rolls up? Alright, 18ft crystal face, stop yappin and square up.

I've had a few ideas on how he could have impacted tge story better... but being completely silent wouldn't fix him. He also has really important revelations that only he can reveal verbaly, so it'd be more work than it'd honestly be worth to deliver said info in a way that narratively felt satisfying while keeping Corypheus silent.

One thought I had, is... what if the Blight has completely overtaken his mind, to the point the real origination of the Blight was speaking through him? So we never we fighting Corypheus... but like say, I don't mnow, maybe Elgar'nan? Trying to test out puppeting a Blighted Magister? Like I KNOW Elgar'nan wasn't the one to literally create the Blight, but he's an ancient elvan mage that we now know can casually move the fucking moon on a whim, why couldn't he have found a way to use the Blight as an extension of himself? And maybe we could have watched Corypheus literally fighting himself, against Elgar'nan(or whoever)'s control?

Idk, but regardless, Coryshit was a chump, and until Trespasser, made DAI a solid 6/10 game. Thank god for Solas, am I right?

Corypheus never worked for me as a villain, and one of the main reasons is that he talked too much. His pontificating was annoying as hell to me. So I propose: He should have been a silent antagonist. He was the high priest of Dumat, the Old God of Silence, so why does he never shut the fuck up? Shouldn't the high priests of the OLD GOD OF SILENCE like. ritually remove their own tongues or something? Take an oath of silence at the very least?

I genuinely think Corypheus would have worked better as a villain if he was just visibly monstrous, did monstrous things, and never spoke a word himself. MAYBE he could speak by possessing someone. That would have added some extra villainy.

Imagine with me. A Corypheus so utterly taken by the Blight that his face is properly melting off , his vocal cords don't work anymore, and he can't speak. He moves like a corpse and the only thing holding his body together is red lyrium. His power comes from the magic of the blight itself, which not even Grey Wardens fully understand. Corypheus should have felt like he came from Silent Hill.

Also, frankly, in terms of allegory, Corypheus is an ancient DA version of a white supremacist. An ancient immortal-ish Nazi who uses slurs for elves so old that no one else in Tevinter still uses them. It should not have been hard to make that kind of villain scary or even just villainous, but every Corypheus scene falls flat to me. When he was first introduced in DAI, my first playthrough I was like, "Wait, why is that monster from that random DA2 DLC here?" He feels like an annoyance to get past whenever I replay DAI. The big bad is the least engaging part.

But the thing is, I know they CAN write a villain like that and make it engaging because I watched Absolution! I wanted that fucker dead the whole time! Which just makes Corypheus extra disappointing to me in retrospect. He could have been a great villain. But alas,

[turtleblogatlast]

Leo being put into a situation where there is absolutely no fighting, just verbal manipulation and perception games, would be amazing to witness. We see a lot in the series how good he is at subterfuge and how he uses his perception to manipulate to great effect, so it’d be so cool to really see it put to the test even more.

Manipulation is one of the most effective tactical strategies of all time, so just imagine Leo putting this skillset of his to the full test. Imagine the boys slowly get up to busting bigger and more powerful criminals, including those with networks of crime under their belt, and a simple fight isn’t enough to take them down. For criminals like this, Leo’s skills in subterfuge would be deadly.

[justheretoposttrash]

day 8 of me ignoring how long a week is so i can keep talking about endhawks:

i find it hilarious how, once i'd put the shipping goggles on and strapped in for the ride, the endhawks rabbithole just got ever-so-gayer by increasing increments. the promotional materials, the official art--

like, sure, i know hawks facing the same way as the interns in image 1 is supposed to give "looking towards the light of the future" and that the over-the-shoulder in image 2 is supposed to give "ambiguous feelings, double-agent-ness, and being cool alongside teamwork/rebirth", but...why is it also giving wistful-soul-bond in the first and femme fatale in the second. who is responsible for this

"oh biiiig deaaaal two 2D characters exist in 2D space relative to each other congratu-fuckin-lations" and honestly,,,,, yeah!!! so true! lmao

i'm also including the image below bc i only stumbled upon it the other day and it's pretty darn cute. (this kinda makes hawks appear more essential to the interns/that particular arc than he actually is...? he and endeavor really are a set)

and these are just the tip of the iceberg--it really does just keep going. "oh they have merch? 😊 --oh there's a LOT of merch--whattaya mean there's a RING???"

also tumblr didn't let me post multiple vids yesterday and is weird about audio so here's a tacked-on spotlight of another voice acting moment i liked from the anime. i just really got a sense of the devastation hawks feels for endeavor's sake in the AFO fight:

the whole onlooker-who-cares-for-person-now-upset-over-said-person-receiving-horrible-knowledge is such a very specific trope (it's giving riza hawkeye grimacing right before roy mustang goes ballistic and roasts envy in fma) and i love it, even when it necessarily gets less time to breathe in the middle of a shonen fight.

[lala-blahblah]

I will never make this because it would be for an audience of one (me) but ever since reading "If we Were Villains" (story about serious drama kids in college who perform shakespeare and deal with a murder) I have been entertaining the thought of a crack fic crossover with High School Musical The Musical The Series where the staff decides they will no longer put on shakespeare after the tragic accident that happened at Thanksgiving, because Shakespeare plays would only increase the tension and drama. So they hire Ms. Jen who decides their spring play will actually be High School Musical (which exists in the 90s in this universe) and it ruins the vibe so much that everyone gives up on being dark and mysterious because they're universally pissed at Ms Jen for making them learn choreoraphed basketball dancing.

[helladventurers]

OK, no I'm not done with my grinding, at all lol

my current armor set is horribly under powerforming against both fatalis and alatreon, it's so terrible that some of their attacks deal 90% of my health LOL

so time to revamp this, evasion isn't nearly as tight as it was in the 3ds games (and also not a necessary considering you have infinite healimg items in this game) so time to swap my to focus to mitigation and damage

[boyfriendyke]

idk whats worse the idea that my parents genuinely dont believe that mental illness exist or the apparent reality that they Do believe in mental illness they just dont think people need accommodations or medication. is this a joke. taps on the glass let me out of my enclosure

[elvhenmage]

doing the descent and the jaws of hakkon dlc before what pride had wrought is so fun. nailah has the worst time of her life in the deep roads because being underground scares her, then she has a fascinating but heartbreaking time learning about ameridan and the history involved, then she gets to wander around the temple of mythal and be completely in her element, and THEN she gets dumped by her boyfriend after he tells her the well she drank from to be closer to her goddess was a terrible idea and that her vallaslin honoring said goddess are actually slave markings. just a real shit couple of weeks for poor nailah