#because I need to be able to look the person in the eyes and assess whether anything is ACTUALLY going to get done

[klysanderelias]

head in my fucking hands. I'm 32 and I still have no idea what I have to do in order to get people to understand the words I say. This applies to a lot of things but today in specific I stopped by the vet office and I was like. my cat turns into a ball of hate every time I come in. I would like to bring him in and have the tech or vet come in for like 5 minutes so that he can get a little more used to the experience, but not have anyone mess with him. He hates the vet and part of that is because he gets held down and stuck with needles. Can we please do a little exposure therapy where he gets told he's a lovely young man and gets some wet food.

And when they called me back they were like 'have you considered trying to get him more adjusted to the carrier? we can give him more meds. there's a virtual pet behavior service you could try.'

It's like the IT problem where yeah, probably 90% of the calls you get CAN be solved by turning it off and on again. You can probably just mindlessly run down the script and get a reasonable solution for the average caller. But for the remaining 10%, you do actually have to use your brain. You do actually need to process the things you're being told.

it's just so disheartening to literally be standing there watching my words fly over someone's head in real time. I can't count the number of times I've seen someone's body language clearly indicate to me that they've stopped caring and they're just waiting for me to stop talking so that they can walk away.

I'm about to hit the point of like, making people repeat the gist of the conversation back to me at the end of it.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[seireiteihellbutterfly]

If You'll Have Me

A/N: Finally, this is here. Got this request back in March I think so anon, here ya go, sorry it took so long. Pairing: Megumi x Fem! Reader *(Both are 21 here) Warnings: Angst, breakup, pregnancy

It rained the day Megumi broke up with you. He sat there on your sofa, looking detached and apologetic, and you felt like your heart might choke you to death, the way it pounded frantically in your chest.

“I gave you everything!” You whispered furiously. “I supported you! Waited long hours for you to get home, without knowing what may have happened to you! I looked after Tsumiki when she became bedridden!”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Megumi’s eyes are like dark tunnels, with not a trace of warmth or emotion in them. “With everything that’s happened…I don’t feel like I’m worthy of you.”

“Oh, how noble of you!” You spat, feeling utterly humiliated. “I suppose you’ll say it’s not me, it's you?” 

“It is me. I see the fear in your eyes whenever I leave you for a mission. I hear the pain in your voice when I tell you I’m coming home late. I hate being the person that makes you feel that way. You’re such a good person. That’s why I think you’d be better off without me.”

“Get out.” You managed to squeeze the words past your tightening throat, your eyes stinging painfully, tears spilling from them. Wordlessly, Megumi gets up and walks towards the door.

Perhaps you’d been daring him to go because your heart stopped for a second as he got to the door. Part of you wished he’d stop, look at you, and gather you close, saying he couldn’t live without you. You’re begging him with your being to not throw this away. 

He’s supposed to stop, isn’t he? He’s supposed to realize he’s being irrational, that there’s no one better than him for you? You were a pair, meant to be. His look haunts you as he turns the doorknob.

“I’m sorry,” he says brokenly, before disappearing into the rain. 

You stood there, watching the downpour, feeling your heart crack and splinter, like a delicate teacup that had fallen from a shelf, no safe hands ready to catch it and prevent it from falling to its doom. 

.・。.・゜✭・.

A month later, you feel exhausted, more than usual. Getting out of bed feels like a chore. Your back and feet hurt, and nothing stays in your stomach. You try everything. Soup, saltine crackers, toast, applesauce. Whatever you ate made you nauseated and dizzy. 

You started worrying you had caught a really persistent form of the flu, but when your period didn’t start, you felt a wave of dread. 

Now, as you stared at the positive pregnancy test in your hands, you felt like someone had torn your body open, invisible wounds reopening and stinging afresh, chaotically spilling your feelings everywhere. 

“You need to tell him.” Gojo leans back in his chair, assessing you critically. You look at him coldly, cursing his six-eyes technique.

“I do not. And it’s none of your fucking business.”

“It is. Believe me when I say Megumi will not shirk his duties as a father. It would devastate him if he ever gets to know he has a child and that he was absent from its life.”

“How can you possibly assume that?” You cross your arms over your still flat belly and glare at him. Like it wasn’t bad enough that you were Megumi’s ex, now you were knocked up with his baby. “He wanted nothing to do with me. That man was barely able to keep promises to me as his girlfriend. What makes you think he’s going to step up and be a father to a child he probably doesn't want?”

“Because he knows what it’s like to be that child,” Gojo says the words quietly but with a firm edge that had you staring at him in disbelief.

“What?”

“Has Megumi ever told you about his dad?” Your silence says it all and Gojo narrows his eyes. “He’ll probably want my head if he ever finds out I told you this but I think it’s necessary.” Gojo sighs deeply and continues.

“Megumi’s dad loved him. But he simply wasn’t fit to be a parent. He abandoned Megumi and Tsumiki. Megumi was 7 years old at the time.”

You blink back tears as Gojo continues. “Megumi grew up as my ward. I don’t pretend to be his dad, but I can’t just let this slide. I understand you probably harbor resentment towards him, but cutting him out of this decision isn’t the right way to go about it.”

“I don’t want him to feel like he has any obligations towards me because of the baby. That’s the only reason he’d try to get in touch with me now, right?” You can’t forgive him for deciding to walk out of your life just yet, no matter what his childhood was like. 

“How long do you think you can keep this a secret? Megumi might not be around that much anymore, but you’ll start to show soon enough. If not me, someone else will tell him.”

Your expression hardens and you stand up with steely resolution coursing in your veins. “Thank you for your opinion. But the last I checked, though it takes two to make a baby, it only takes one to raise it.”

You pack your belongings and urgently move out of Tokyo by the end of the week.

.・。.・゜✭・.

Surprisingly, no one comes to bother you. You start over and manage to find work at a small accounting firm as a secretary. Your boss is sympathetic to your situation and doesn’t give you a hard time about needing maternity leave. Everything is going well despite the constant worry about running into someone from the jujutsu world but so far, nothing has happened. Your tummy swells and grows, the baby healthy and full of life. It brings you joy, knowing you carry this little being inside you.

One night, you wake up with a strange feeling inside your abdomen. Worried that the stress was getting to you as you entered your eighth month of pregnancy, you restlessly forced yourself out of bed and tried walking around the small apartment to ease your nerves.

It was a curious sensation, like something unseen was flowing through your veins, not sinister but a little unsettling. You place a hand on your swollen middle in hopes of soothing the baby then freeze when you feel the flow of cursed energy in your womb. 

You’d heard it wasn’t uncommon for sorcerer babies to begin regulating and channeling their cursed energy in utero, but it filled you with awe at how familiar the energy signature was to Megumi’s, vitality coursing under your fingertips as you felt it kick and turn. 

A soft rustling has you turning in panic, a gasp escaping your lips as you see 2 dog-like figures padding over to you from nowhere, their eyes glowing in the dark. Up close, you recognize them as Megumi’s divine dogs, their tails wagging as they approach you.

Motherly instinct has you clutching your stomach and angling away from them. Had Megumi finally figured out the truth? But the dogs’ demeanor didn’t seem to match that scenario. If anything, they looked curious and friendly. One of them finally gets close enough to nose your belly with its snout, before nuzzling the bump affectionately, which the other one mirrors. You watch in silent fascination, then feel a surge of energy from your womb. 

The baby was responding to the dogs. 

They recognized it as their owner. The dogs weren’t here because of Megumi. The baby had subconsciously summoned them. With a shaky hand, you pet both of them, seeing their eyes close happily. They bring back memories of Megumi and your eyes fill with tears.

“Does he want to be a father?” You ask them. They look at you with intense yellow eyes and before you can say anything else, vanish in a blink. 

.・。.・゜✭・.

The day the baby arrives is one of the happiest and emotionally draining days of your life. You lay on the labor bed, gripping the sheets as the contractions relentlessly come and go, each more painful than the last. 

You almost scream, not from the pain but in shock, as something noses your hand. Turning, you see the divine dogs at the side of the bed, unseen to the normal humans. You could’ve wept with relief, knowing you weren’t quite alone. You pet them and grip their fur as you finally deliver your baby boy into the world. 

The small pink bundle was a miniature of Megumi, the beautiful black hair plastered to its little head, screaming with the rage of life. With shaky hands you accept him, your heart so full of love you feel like it could burst. You’re so occupied that you don’t notice the divine dogs quietly padding outside, tails wagging, as someone lingers near the door.

Megumi has tears in his eyes as he hides just outside the room. He sees his child, and you, the person he loves and cherishes. You’re cooing at the baby, getting him settled down to suckle, his little hand wrapped around your finger so tightly.

Megumi balls his hands into fists feeling his fingernails dig into his palm, emotions raging through him. He’s so glad the two of you are healthy, and there’s regret for his mistakes of the past. He understands why you left Tokyo. You were a proud woman, independent, determined to not need him after he’d broken up with you. It wasn’t like you to grovel or beg. He was sure if the baby hadn’t summoned the divine dogs by accident, he would’ve never found you. 

Yet he felt like an intruder, an outsider, unworthy of entering the room. He understands what he broke the day he left and it eats away at his soul knowing that he was the reason you didn’t come to him after finding out you were pregnant. It had taken so long for you to let your walls down, to learn to depend on him finally, and in an instant, he had taken that away from you, the one thing you had avoided for so long; the need to rely on others.

It was that which drove you, the shattered dependability, and he remembered how long it had taken to reassure you to be less guarded on that front. He was awful, no better than his own father. But he had to try. He knocks on the door.

You turn, breath catching when you see him in the doorway.

“Hi.” He tries to not let his tears show, but when your eyes fill, he can’t contain himself. He closes the gap and embraces both of you as you sob uncontrollably into his shoulder.  

.・。.・゜✭・.

Megumi sleeps on the sofa, taking care of his child with such tenderness and love. He relearns everything about you, appreciating all that you are. It takes time but the relationship rebuilds steadily.

“How did Gojo not rat me out?” you ask one evening as Megumi cooks dinner while you cuddle the baby on the sofa. 

Megumi pauses, and looks over uncertainly. “He did.”

“He did?” 

“Yeah.” Megumi’s voice is low. “He told me and said I’d regret it if I didn’t try to find you. I was a coward.” He turns the stove burner off and faces you. “I never stopped thinking about you. You were the best thing to ever happen to me. I still believe I’m not your equal, and I never will be. You were my home base. The single person holding my life together. How much more could I ask you to do?”

He joins you on the sofa, taking his son into his arms, rocking him softly as he starts to doze off. “I was so scared to ask you to forgive me. I felt like a hypocrite, reassuring you all these years that it’s ok to depend on me, and then taking that security away from you. I was the worst kind of asshole. But I knew I couldn’t be a deadbeat father. I looked for you. But you did such a good job covering up your tracks. Honestly, if the baby hadn’t summoned the divine dogs, I probably would have never caught on.”

The baby yawns and drifts off to sleep in his arms. Megumi stares at the little face, unable to forgive himself for what he almost missed out on.

“I want us to be all right. I want us to be a family. Can we?” He looks at you with doubt, knowing if you said no, it was well within your right.

You take the baby from his arms, carefully settling him down in the portable bassinet next to the sofa, and take Megumi’s face in between your hands.

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice choking up. 

Megumi pulls you against him tightly. “I love you so much. I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure to live up to being your equal.”

You nod, letting your tears flow freely.

“I love you too.”

all dividers and banners by @/ cafekitsune

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[mapis-putellas]

𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕

Pairing: Alexia x you

Words: 1203

Warnings: none I don’t think

Summary: When alexia tears her Acl, your once perfect relationship falls apart.

The moment Alexia went down on the field, clutching her knee, you felt a hollow dread settle in your chest. Her face twisted in pain, teammates rushed to her side, and you could barely breathe as medics swarmed around her, trying to assess the damage. As Alexia was helped off the field, her face pale and tight with pain, you knew, deep down, that this was bad. The way she winced, the way her hand hovered over her knee protectively—it all pointed to the injury you both dreaded: an ACL tear.

The days that followed were a whirlwind. An MRI confirmed what everyone feared—she’d torn her ACL, and recovery would be long, arduous, and mentally draining. Alexia had always been fiercely independent, and the idea of months without being able to play, to train, or even walk without crutches seemed like a punishment. You’d heard stories of ACL recoveries; you knew they could change a person, but you never imagined it would impact Alexia so profoundly.

At first, she tried to hide her pain, and you were patient, doing everything you could to support her. You stayed by her side through every doctor’s appointment, every painful physio session, and every frustratingly slow step forward. But soon, her frustration started spilling over, and it seeped into your relationship.

It started with small things—she’d pull her hand away when you tried to help her, or she’d give curt, dismissive responses when you asked how she was feeling. You thought maybe she needed time to process, so you backed off, giving her space and trying to be as gentle as possible. But over the next few weeks, she withdrew further, snapping at you for the smallest things, her patience evaporating whenever you tried to help.

The Alexia you knew—the Alexia who was soft and affectionate, who’d tease you with a playful glint in her eye and make you feel like the most important person in the world—was nowhere in sight. Instead, she was like a stranger, her walls up and her anger simmering just below the surface.

One evening, you gently suggested she try the exercises the physio had given her. “I know it’s hard, but you’re making progress, Alexia. You’re doing so well.”

She rolled her eyes, letting out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, well, I don’t feel like I’m doing well, so maybe just��� stop, okay?” Her tone was sharp, each word tinged with an anger she couldn’t seem to control.

You tried to stay calm. “I’m only trying to help. You don’t have to do this alone.”

“Maybe I want to do it alone,” she snapped, her eyes flashing. “I don’t need you constantly hovering over me. I’m not some child.”

Her words stung, but you held back, not wanting to escalate things. “I’m not trying to hover. I just love you, and I want to support you. This isn’t easy for either of us, but we can get through it together.”

But she looked away, clenching her jaw. “Maybe I didn’t ask for your help, did I?”

That night, she barely acknowledged you, her gaze fixed somewhere distant, her face set in a hard expression that you barely recognized. It was as though she’d built a wall around herself, one you couldn’t penetrate no matter how hard you tried.

The breaking point came a few nights later, during what started as a simple conversation. You were trying to coax her into doing her knee exercises, knowing how crucial they were to her recovery, but she dismissed you, saying she’d do them later. You gently reminded her that she’d been saying the same thing all week, and that was when the argument erupted.

“Why are you always on my back about this?” she snapped, her voice rising with frustration. “It’s my leg, my life. Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

You clenched your fists, hurt bubbling up inside you. “Because I care about you, Alexia! You’re pushing everyone away, and you don’t see what it’s doing to us.”

“Oh, so now I’m a burden?” she shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying—”

“Then what, Y/N?” she interrupted, her tone harsh. “Go on, say it. Say you don’t love me.”

You froze, her words cutting through you like a knife. Your heart pounded, anger and frustration mixing with the hurt that had been building up for weeks. “I don’t even recognize you anymore,” you said quietly, each word laced with pain. “You’re not the person I fell in love with.”

For a moment, there was a flicker of something in her eyes—regret, maybe? But it disappeared as quickly as it came, and she rolled her eyes, dismissing you with a scoff.

The casualness of it shattered you, and you felt tears welling up. You’d fought so hard to keep things together, but it was clear she didn’t want your help or your love right now. Without another word, you grabbed your things, the weight of her indifference pressing down on you as you left.

You didn’t know where else to go, so you went to Mapi and Ingrid’s place, tears streaming down your face as you tried to explain everything through sobs. Mapi’s face hardened, anger flashing in her eyes as she listened, while Ingrid wrapped you in a comforting hug, murmuring reassurances.

“Alexia’s hurting,” Ingrid said gently, rubbing your back as she held you. “This isn’t you she’s mad at—it’s the injury, the loss of control.”

Mapi nodded, though her jaw was clenched. “But that doesn’t mean she gets to treat you like this. You don’t deserve any of it, Y/N.”

They stayed with you through the night, Ingrid sitting beside you, holding your hand as you cried, and Mapi pacing the room, her frustration clear. Eventually, Mapi decided to go talk to Alexia herself, determined to set things straight.

Back at Alexia’s apartment, Mapi found her curled up on the couch, her face blotchy from crying. It was clear that Alexia hadn’t expected anyone to come by; she looked up, startled, as Mapi sat down across from her.

“Mapi…” Alexia started, her voice wavering.

But Mapi held up a hand, silencing her. “Do you realize what you’re doing, Alexia? Do you even realize what you said to Y/N?”

Alexia’s gaze dropped, guilt and shame flooding her expression. “I… I was just angry, Mapi. I didn’t mean any of it.”

Mapi’s voice softened, but her words were still firm. “I know it’s hard, Ale. I know better than anyone how an ACL injury can feel like the end of everything. But you don’t get to hurt the people who love you because of it.”

Alexia’s shoulders shook as she let out a shuddering breath. “I don’t know how to do this, Mapi,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I don’t know how to be… me anymore. It’s like this injury took everything.”

Mapi reached over, resting a hand on her shoulder. “You’re still you, Ale. You’re still loved. But you’re pushing away the one person who wants to help you through this. You need to apologize and make things right with her before it’s too late.”

Alexia nodded, tears streaming down her face as she realized the weight of her actions. She didn’t want to lose you, not over this, and yet, she’d been pushing you away.

Later that evening, Ingrid brought you back to Alexia’s apartment. As you stepped through the door, your heart felt heavy, unsure of what to expect. You could see Alexia waiting for you, her eyes red and swollen from crying, her expression one of remorse and vulnerability.

She took a shaky step toward you. “Y/N… I’m so, so sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness after everything I said, but I need you to know that I never meant it. I was just… I was so angry. At myself, at this injury… at everything.”

Your heart softened as you looked at her, seeing the regret in her eyes. “Alexia, I understand that you’re hurt and frustrated, but you didn’t have to push me away. I’m here to help you, to be with you, not to be shut out.”

She nodded, her gaze fixed on the floor. “I know. I know, and I’m so sorry. I was so wrapped up in my own pain that I didn’t see what I was doing to you… to us.”

Stepping forward, you wrapped your arms around her, pulling her into a tight hug. She melted against you, her shoulders shaking as she clung to you, whispering apology after apology, her voice filled with guilt and desperation.

“I’m going to be better,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “I promise I’ll communicate, I’ll let you in. Please… just don’t give up on me.”

You ran a hand through her hair, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “I’m not giving up on you, Ale. I never would. But we have to do this together, okay? No more shutting me out.”

She nodded, sniffling as she pulled back to look at you, her hands still clutching your arms as if you might disappear. “I swear,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I’m going to be better. For us.”

You gave her a small smile, wiping away her tears as you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “I love you, Alexia. We’ll get through this, together.”

Relief flooded her expression, and she pulled you close, her arms wrapped tightly around you as she pressed gentle kisses to your cheeks, your forehead, anywhere she could reach. “Thank you, mi amor,” she whispered, her voice filled with gratitude. “I love you, more than anything.”

In that moment, as she held you close, you felt the warmth of the Alexia you’d fallen in love with, the one who was still there, despite the pain and anger. And together, you knew you’d find your way through, one step at a time.

**

Tags:

@goldenempyrean @marysfics @codiemarin @girlgenius1111 @ceesimz @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan

[elsecrytt]

Professional (Kento Nanami)

A gift for @eevwrites <3

Summary: Kento Nanami is your OBGYN. The father... isn't present for this journey, but that's okay. Nanami always takes care of his patients.

Warnings: Themes of pregnancy, parenthood discussion of abortion, childbirth (semi-graphic), paternal abandonment, toxic relationships, yandere.

Reader is pregnant and WANTS the baby. Nanami is 1000% feminist, he just also happens to be a yandere sdfhslghg

Nanami Kento considers himself an excellent physician, even if some would call his bedside manner 'gruff'.

Obstetrics and gynecology is a sensitive subject for many and he stives, every day, to maintain the height of professional decorum.

As a professional and as a physician, he would never admit to having a favorite patient.

As a man, something soars inside his chest whenever you walk into his clinic.

You're so young to be a mother - that was his first assessment, though of course he'd never say as much out loud.

As your doctor, he asks questions purely on the basis of being able to provide the best care possible. The more he knows about your circumstances, the more assistance he can offer.

That was the first time he'd felt that warmth in his chest - the look of utter relief and gratitude in your eyes, nearly tearing up.

Nanami watches you try to compose yourself, discreetly slides the tissues closer to you as you tell him a much-shortened version of your story.

The father isn't present because he doesn't want anything to do with this child.

It's a disheartening tale, made no less so by the fact that he himself had always dreamed of being a father.

At a young age, he'd discovered that he was completely sterile. So becoming a doctor and delivering them had felt like the closes he could get.

But there's this glow in your face. A sheepish sort of smile accompanied by a little tear and a "I know it's stupid, but I've just always wanted to be a mom, and have a family, and - well. Anyways, I want this baby."

And he could be excused if his heart is moved a little. It's not professional, but is it professional when he holds the hand of a woman whose husband was too nervous to come into the room with her?

It it professional when he gives a woman one of his rarest smiles, tells her she's doing great, she'll see her baby soon?

It it professional how his heart leaps as the infant starts crowning, how it races in his chest as he helps to deliver this new life into the world?

It is professional when he assures worried mothers that they're still beautiful, that their bodies are perfectly natural and healthy even if they never appear identical to how they were before?

Professional is not always what's best for his patients. And being a good doctor means being what his patients need, not the model of a distant physician.

So Nanami doesn't think about being professional when he reaches out to hold your hand, telling you with a smile that he'll help you get through with this.

He provides resources, walks you through getting aid from different programs, helps you in any way he can. Above and beyond.

So what if he's blurring lines? You're his patient. You're all alone in this journey. He's the only one here to help you through this. Of course he'll go the extra mile to help.

Nanami is only human. He could be excused for having a favorite patient.

He watches you grow more and more anxious as your body changes. He prescribes you sleep aids, nausea medication, prenatal vitamins.

When you get the ultrasound, he's the first person you show it to. You tell him with a laugh that he's the only one so far, and he can't help but embrace you, boundaries be damned.

It's beautiful. You're having a girl, a beautiful baby girl, and he's sure she'll look just like you. He asks you what names you're thinking of and you're bursting with ideas to tell him.

It occurs to him, heartbreakingly, that you're the only person he has to share this with.

So animated, so creative and full of life. How could anyone abandon a wonderful young woman like you? Who wouldn't want you in their life?

Security lets him know that there's a man who's been waiting outside the clinic. They've seen you arguing with him - gone out to break things up, too.

Your conversations with him grow more hesitant. You're nervous, and he's perhaps a little pushy in asking why, reminding you that stress isn't good for the baby.

You laugh sheepishly (why? why are you always so demure? you act like you're just waiting to be struck down. it terrifies him.), telling him that 'the father' has recently come back into your life, and you're not sure.

There's a little sigh you make that tells him he's in, you're about to spill. And he doesn't like what he hears.

Your boyfriend - ex-boyfriend - didn't want the baby at all at first. He blew up at you, telling you to get an abortion, or get dumped.

Obviously, you kept the child, and he'd summarily left. You stumble on your words and Nanami wonders just how amicable that parting was.

Apparently, he's outside the clinic now to "reconcile". His parents, traditional and wealthy folk, have threatened to cut him off. He's talking about getting married now, you mention with a bitter laugh.

It doesn't pass his notice, the contemplative nature of your tone, how you pause and look away before you rub your neck and mention something about how you shouldn't be so harsh, he's trying and it was selfish of you to want to keep the baby when you knew he didn't want it.

Something dark and terrible boils up inside him at the thought. He has never, ever tried to sway a woman for or against terminating a pregnancy, only informed them.

And he comes across them every day. Men like this, who thought women and their pregnancies were props, mere fixtures in their lives to be taken down or put up whenever they wanted.

What he wouldn't give to have a child of his own. To deliver a baby and just... keep it in his arms, knowing he would take that fragile, teary creature home. Knowing he would watch it grow up alongside the woman it came from.

You laugh it off, haltingly. Ask Nanami, with your head hung low, if he knows any programs you can sign up for, or places that sell prenatal vitamins at a discount.

Nanami tries very hard to ignore the thought that springs up in the back of his mind.

I could take care of you. I would take care of you.

He ignores the thoughts, dismisses them, and then the daydreams start.

It's not like he doesn't have money. He's a doctor. There's money in the bank, but what does he have? Working long hours every day only to come back to an empty home, empty bed.

Empty life. No friends, no family, just work, work, work.

And it's for a reason. He loves his job, he loves helping you - women like you. He spends his days caring for women and their pregnancies, only to deliver and hand off the child to another man.

But these men wouldn't take better care of these children than him. Who could take better care of your aches and pains and struggles than him? Who could understand you, empathize with you, support you like he could?

It's not the man that lurks outside the clinic with an angry look on his face. The man who discarded you like trash, and now wants to pick you back up like a misplaced toy.

So Nanami makes a choice. You're his favorite patient, after all.

He doesn't want to do this. He's a doctor, he's sworn to do no harm. But some things are simply inexcusable.

Nanami's done a lot of favors for a lot of people. One Fushiguro Toji, whose wife he saved on the operating table, one well-connected former classmate Gojo Satoru, and the man disappears.

You come to him the next day, crying. Tears in your eyes. Your former boyfriend - the one who said he would reconcile, the one who wanted to see your daughter - he didn't show up.

He takes one of your hands in his, nodding and humming at all the right parts. Sympathy pouring out through his eyes.

It's terrible to see you like this. It really is. You never deserved this, none of it. You're an angel, really, heaven-sent, and you'll be such a wonderful mother, once the baby arrives.

But since he's dead, it's not as if his name needs to be on the birth certificate. You could put any name you wanted on there. That's for later, though.

Right now you need comfort and reassurance. You need someone to take charge, to help you through this, and he's been the one doing that this whole time.

You've been on your own, trying so hard, waiting for a man who didn't deserve you to come back and treat you with basic human dignity. And Nanami had spared you that fate.

One day, you'll be grateful things turned out like this. For now, he just holds you, strokes your back while you cry, shushes you.

Nanami smiles to himself. It isn't professional.

It isn't professional, but being professional comes second to being a good doctor. To being the person you needed in your life.

Based on your delivery date... he's quite sure he could make it a June wedding.

[heartseungs-archive]

dance to this | l.hc

word count: 3.8k | genre: dancer! haechan x dancer! reader, university au, slight enemies to lovers | warnings: none

Donghyuck is an ace. He knows this from the way Taeyong chooses him to be the centre of too many of their performances, and the way too many of his clips have gone viral online.

Donghyuck is annoying. He knows this from the way Doyoung groans in exasperation at every one of his stupid pranks, or when Mark finally loses his patience and shouts across the room at the top of his voice.

But above all of that, Donghyuck is very, very competitive. He doesn’t make it obvious, but the need to win is always simmering beneath the surface, especially for the things that matter. He knows this because you are always there, in his peripheral vision, reminding Donghyuck that he needs to be better than you.

You’re an ace too, even if Donghyuck doesn’t want to admit it. The entirety of the Yonsei male student population is likely in love with you and has posters hung up in their room. You’re also annoying, or at least Donghyuck thinks so. He’s sure the rest of the team would disagree, but you’ve got them wrapped around your finger.

“I’m not partnering with someone who can’t even moonwalk properly,” he bites, and you glare back at him.

“Says the one who tore his jeans at rehearsal last year trying to do a split.”

“That was just because the jeans were too tight. I assure you I am fully capable of doing a split.”

“Oh yeah? Let’s see it then. See, you’re hesitating-”

“Guys! For the love of God, can the two of you cut it out? It’s like I’m dealing with two toddlers.” Taeyong stands in front of you and Donghyuck, looking frazzled as always. Next to him is Karina, who simply rolls her eyes. Taeyong is no stranger to you and Donghyuck bickering at all hours of the day, but he’s especially tired with the upcoming recital. For that sole reason, the both of you fall silent like sullen children, looking at him.

“Sorry,” you mutter, and Taeyong smiles gently at you.

“It’s fine. We just really need this performance to go well, okay? And the both of you doing a duet will garner the most attention.”

Donghyuck sends a pointed look to Karina, who nods in assent. He sighs dramatically, enough for you to cast a sharp glance over. The dance studio is empty save for the four of them, everyone else not yet here. “Okay.”

“Me too. I’m in if Donghyuck cooperates,” you reply, and Taeyong breaks out in the most brilliant smile you’ve ever seen, lighting up his entire face.

“What do you mean if I cooperate? You’re literally the most argumentative person I’ve ever met-”

Taeyong's smile quickly disappears.

However, Karina puts a hand on the small of his back, guiding him out of the room, and the door slamming shut cuts Donghyuck’s spiel short. Just before you can send another jab Donghyuck’s way, however, Mark and Jaehyun come in, while Ningning and Giselle follow quickly after.

It’s time for practice, and you suppose there’s another thing Donghyuck can add to the list. That the both of you are professional enough to keep the childish comments outside of your actual work, and you suppose it’s the only reason Karina hasn’t bought duct tape to forcibly mute the both of you yet.

You’re sitting on the floor, out of breath and with a light sheen of sweat on your face when Donghyuck’s performance starts. Well, it’s a team performance, really, but your eyes are always on him. Compared to the majority of his audience, though, your gaze is always assessing, not admiring. His dynamics, control, sharpness, everything. You sear his image into your brain, just to compare it to your own movements in the mirror later.

Still, there’s a fluidity to Donghyuck that you’ve never been able to replicate perfectly, as much as you try. It’s something so distinct to him, the way he moves across the floor like he’s walking on water. It takes your breath away, but you’ll never tell him that. Just like how he’ll never admit that you’re much better than him at capturing details in dances, and the way you do it makes standing out effortless.

The way your sharp eyes follow Donghyuck as he moves seamlessly across the room makes him weirdly determined to make this the best performance yet. Your presence is a source of pressure, but Donghyuck performs well under pressure anyways.

The sky is quickly turning a midnight blue when Taeyong calls an end to the practice, and everyone’s made a temporary home on the wooden floor of the dance studio. It’s a familiar and comforting sight, seeing some of them on their phones, others lying on the couch, or going through their routines in the corner.

This is what makes up Donghyuck’s world. The four walls of the dance studio. Of course, he supposes his degree in Business is one integral part of his life, but it’s so much less exciting for him. Donghyuck derives an enormous amount of exhilaration from every minute, every second that he’s on the stage, spotlight shining.

He’s one of the last to leave, waving to Taeyong and Karina who give him a cursory greeting in return. They work so much harder than the rest of the team to perfect the formations, and Donghyuck’s sure that they’re both bound to get together at some point. He’s never seen two people more similar.

Other than you and him, maybe.

That’s the exact thought running through his head as he strolls past the exit of the building and turns a corner to the familiar alleyway. You’re leaning under a streetlight, phone in hand and earbuds plugged in. Your features are delicate, and the blue glare of the phone reflects off your face.

Besides being annoyingly talented and competitive, Donghyuck is also in love with you.

There was a time when he genuinely disliked you. Three years ago, when he couldn’t understand why someone new was being accepted into the dance team and was sharing the position of centre with him. If he looked back now, the Donghyuck back then would seem so very immature, nothing more than a boy afraid of being replaced.

It took him a while to realise that he didn’t mind. Enjoyed it, actually. The fact that someone else understood the burden of being under the spotlight, the responsibility of heightening the team’s energy and bringing out the very soul of the performance. You were also immensely capable and pushed Donghyuck to do better. Be better.

Somewhere along the line, dislike changed into grudging admiration, to a tentative friendship, and then into butterflies that fluttered wildly in Donghyuck’s stomach every time you looked at him.

And then one night, all it took was a few too many bottles of soju and the empty dance studio for him to take that very final leap. The both of you had stumbled out of the arts faculty building afterwards, tipsy and giggling. It’s still one of Donghyuck’s favourite memories that he has of you, clinging onto him and refusing to go into your dorm building.

There are very few feelings that surpass the pride that Donghyuck feels when he finishes a routine perfectly. However, one of them is the feeling of your lips on his. The other is the way you look when you wake in the morning, eyes half-lidded and hair messy.

And of course, like some cliche trope, the both of you had not yet told the rest of the team of these… not-so-recent developments. And the longer you went, the easier it was to just pretend there was no real need to tell them. After all, it’s not like you and Donghyuck didn’t argue anymore, if not made obvious by the events of the afternoon.  It was just that the bickering was now purely for entertainment, and the both of you acted much sappier to make up for it when no one was watching.

There was a fear that the knowledge would just bewilder most of them, considering the fact that they thought the both of you disliked each other vehemently. Karina also did mention that workplace relationships were strictly not allowed, even though she technically had no right if 1. none of you were on her payroll and 2. she had the biggest crush on Taeyong.

“Hey there,” Donghyuck says, smiling, as he grabs an earbud and places it in his other ear so that he can still hear anything you say clearly.

“Hello. Tired?” You ask as you interlace your fingers with his, but not before casting a quick glance around your surroundings. He shakes his head, and the both of you remain in a comfortable silence until you’re seated comfortably in his car with the heater on at full blast. It’s the middle of winter, and as much as you enjoy the snow, the chill also gets bone-deep. You grab the blanket from its familiar spot in the back of the car, tugging it over your legs.

Donghyuck’s apartment is far enough from campus to not be crowded, but it’s not so isolated that it’s inconvenient. You find yourself spending a lot more time at his apartment these days, so much that you almost have an entire shelf in the closet that stores your clothes.

“You should move in,” he had said one day, after the both of you finished a movie. You definitely wouldn’t mind. After all, living with Donghyuck would be comfortable. He did have a tendency to scatter his clothes all over the room, but he was mostly tidy. He also didn’t mind doing the dishes, and the only real problem you would have would be him singing at the top of his voice at all hours of the day. Even that was more enjoyable than annoying.

“How can I move in if you have the guys over almost every week to game? We’d get found out in no time,” you replied from where you were standing at the fridge, and Donghyuck muttered something like we can just tell them, then, but you were unsure if you had heard him right.

“Did you say something?” You asked, looking at him expectantly. However, Donghyuck didn’t say anything, instead smiling at you, and you tried to hide the disappointment that welled up in you.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Donghyuck’s question jolts you out of your recollections, and you shake your head. His hand is interlocked with yours and rests gently on your lap, even though you’ve told him before that he should try to keep both hands on the wheel. However, the roads are deserted this time of night, so you suppose you’ll let him have his way.

The moment you enter his house, you’re quick to collapse on his couch and close your eyes, but you’re immediately dragged off. “Ouch,” you mutter when you land unceremoniously on the carpet, but Donghyuck just grins. “You need to shower, and so do I. Unless you want to sleep on the couch tonight.”

“The both of us know you would be the one sleeping on the couch anyways,” you retort, and Donghyuck just rolls his eyes before he passes you a towel and extra clothes. His sweatpants, and a band tee that's a little too small on him.

You have five sets of your own clothing folded neatly on the second shelf of his closet on the right. Even then, you take his.

An hour later, you’re scrolling on your phone when Donghyuck comes out of the bathroom, towel round his neck. He’s quick to make his way over to the couch, and you move your phone out of the way before he can accidentally knock it over.

“You big baby,” you scold half-heartedly as he sprawls over you, legs tangled with yours. He hums contentedly from where his face is nestled into your shoulder, and you try not to smile.

“Donghyuck.”

“Hm?” He places a soft kiss on your neck, and your fingers fiddle with his hair. It’s getting longer, you realise, since the last time you cut it for him. It had taken a few too many video tutorials, but you were getting better at it. Not that a bad haircut would ruin Donghyuck’s looks anyways. However, when your first attempt had not been so ideal, he had taken it upon himself to be your personal make-up artist. Your relationship with Donghyuck has always been like that. Push-for-pull. Neither of you is the kind of person to back down, but you suppose that’s what makes being with him so exciting.

“Can you make me ramen?” You can feel it when Donghyuck huffs, and he raises his head to look at you. “Is that all I’m good for? I feel like I’m a personal chef instead of your boyfriend.”

You nod, making your expression as serious and earnest as possible. Still, he gives in and gets up, making his way over to the kitchen. You’re quick to follow him, however, grabbing everything he needs. It’s a routine at this point. You’re in charge of ingredients, Donghyuck overseeing cooking.

You grab a vinyl from the tall shelf next to the television, placing it gently into the gramophone. This is one of Donghyuck’s favourite records, and you find yourself humming to it as well as the music filters gently out. You remember his expression of awe when he had opened your present on his birthday.

“Y/N, you didn’t.”

“I did. You can’t possibly have that many records and no gramophone to play them.”

“But this is so expensive.”

“It was just a bunch of extra shifts at the cafe,” had been your nonchalant reply, and Donghyuck’s eyes were soft when he looked up at you, almost glistening. The both of you were seated on the floor, the cake half-eaten on Donghyuck's table that both functioned as a study area and a place to eat.

“Thank you, Y/N. But,” Donghyuck leans over, until he’s barely centimetres from you. His lips are next to your ear, and you can hear your breath hitch.

“I’ll get you an even better present next year. You know me. I can’t lose.” His grin is full of mirth now, and you scoff.

“Even for this?”

“Even for this.”

“It’s still in such good condition,” you mumble to yourself as your fingers brush over the lacquered wood.

“Of course it is. You gave it to me.” You didn’t realize Donghyuck had heard you, but his comment causes your heartbeat to speed up just slightly. The pot is simmering gently on the stove, and Donghyuck turns to look at you. Here, away from the glaring fluorescent lights of the studio, is your favourite version of Donghyuck. Not the dance team’s ace, the mini campus celebrity, but your Donghyuck.

Of course, you love the other versions of him too. But this, the Donghyuck standing under his kitchen lights with grey sweatpants and messy hair, is a sight that belongs to you and you only. And god forbid that he's not the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen in your life.

You make your way over to him, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. Donghyuck isn’t that much taller than you, but in close proximity, he still cranes his neck down to meet your gaze directly. His arms wrap around your waist instinctively, and you can feel the warmth that radiates from his palms through the thin shirt you’re wearing.

“What’s with the sudden affection?” He asks, and you lean into his chest, eyes closed. “Nothing. I just like you. A lot.” The way his chest rumbles slightly tells you that he’s trying to hide a chuckle, but you know Donghyuck enjoys the sweet words, even if he teases you about it.

“Dance with me.” It’s an odd request, considering the both of you are tired out from practice, but you nod, and Donghyuck smiles.

“Wait, but the music. Shouldn’t we change it?”

“No, it’s fine. We can just dance to this.”

Donghyuck pulls you away from the stove and nearer to the couch, where there’s open space. It’s less dancing, and more of a poorly-imitated ballroom waltz. The both of you had only taken one waltz lesson during the team's annual retreat, when Taeyong had thought it a good idea to ‘diversify genres’. However, after Jaehyun had narrowly avoided crashing into a glass display and Chenle caused the team to receive a noise complaint, you suppose Taeyong had scrapped any further ideas of forcing everyone to take mandatory lessons.

It was memorable to you for an entirely different reason, however. It was the first time you began to see Donghyuck in a different light, being forced to partner with him for all three days. The both of you had quickly resolved to outdo everyone else, kickstarting a temporary truce which spiralled to well…this.

Donghyuck’s arms gently circle around your waist as the both of you take light footsteps from one end of the living room to the other. You’ve always found it easy to sync with him, and you’re guessing it just boils down to natural chemistry. That, and the fact that you’re so familiar with the way Donghyuck moves from watching him dance day in and day out.

There was a fascination with university that everyone else had, that you often failed to grasp. It had just seemed like a natural progression, rather than a hard-earned escape to a utopian place where you were an adult free to do what you wanted. The past three years had been some of the best in your life, mainly owing to the fact that you had a major you enjoyed and a dance team that simultaneously functioned as your closest group of friends.

You realise that Donghyuck has been present for its entirety. He had been there when you were accepted to the dance team, and then made centre alongside him a year later. He had been there when you did your first showcase and solo act, running down from the stage breathless afterwards. When you got your first injury, he was the one who told Taeyong for you, and convinced him that you could still fill the role with enough rest. Donghyuck was the one who found you crying in the studio when you got a failing grade on one of your exams, and who sat with you silently until your eyes were no longer red.

There’s only one year until you graduate, but Donghyuck’s presence in your life is as constant as the air you need to breathe.

It was easy to say farewell to your friends from high school, with an easy promise to maintain contact. But it’s so very different with Donghyuck, who fills up every crevice of your life effortlessly with his little habits.

You had wondered if you had fallen too fast for Donghyuck. After all, the change from rivals to friends to romantic feelings had been alarming, because you could rarely think straight when it came to him. Yet, looking at him now, you’re convinced that you want to spend as much time with Donghyuck as possible, before the worries of adulthood start creeping in.

Call it young ambition, but something about Donghyuck just makes you want to take chances. To let loose and live a little easier. Maybe it’s because he’s able to make you happy with the simplest things, and he’s so easy to love. Which is why you suppose you can finally make a decision, even though your heart has probably been silently waiting to say yes.

“If I move in, I want counter space. And also half of the closet space. And you have to promise to not scatter your clothes around our room,” you say, so abruptly that Donghyuck stops moving entirely, and you have to pause to prevent yourself from tripping over his feet. He bends down, until he’s eye level with you. His eyes are hopeful, questioning, as if he’s not entirely believing of what you’re implying.

“You’re not kidding, right?” It’s so easy for a smile to make its way onto your face, as you shake your head and Donghyuck’s grip on your waist gets a little bit tighter.

“You’ll get all the counter space you want. I’ll even let you bring your stupid potted plants.” Your nose scrunches at his remark, and Donghyuck has to stop himself from cooing at your expression.

“For the record, I think my potted plants are adorable. And once I bring them here, they’ll be yours too. So don’t speak of our potted plants that way.”

Ours. Donghyuck thinks he likes the sound of that.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

A week later, you’re standing outside the dance studio with Donghyuck, when you grab his hand. He looks down sharply at you, mouthing a ‘what?’, and then angling his chin urgently back in the direction of the studio. However, you just flash a grin at him. “Open the door, Donghyuck. We’re already late.” He narrows his eyes, but the playful grin tugging on his mouth shows that he already understands what you’re aiming at.

When the both of you walk in, there’s a mixed range of reactions. There’s Jisung and Shotaro, whose mouths are wide open. Doyoung and Mark’s eyebrows are raised, but they don’t show any other expression. Ningning, Renjun and Chenle are in a corner, knowing smiles on their faces. Taeyong and Karina just look like they’ve always known, and are honestly more miffed at the lack of punctuality from the both of you.

“I think Karina’s going to kill us for breaking her no relationships rule,” Donghyuck mutters worriedly in your ear.

“If you forget, I’m her favourite child. I think she’s more likely to murder you for getting with me,” you respond sweetly, and Donghyuck simply stares, speechless, as you let go and walk over to where Giselle and Winter are warming up. He scoffs, shaking his head, and walks over to Jaemin and Jeno, who are already ready to tease him for being a lovesick fool.

The four walls of the dance studio make up so much of Donghyuck’s life, but so do you.

[solbaby7]

Nothing Even Matters

pairing: cassian x reader

warnings: swearing, probably typos, some angst, mentions of trauma, some fluff

summary: When the only thing you want during your recovery is the very person who put you there in the first place.

[ part one ]

—

“How’s it feel?”

“Fuck you,” You seethe through your teeth, words slurred from the wires holding your jaw shut—only for a few days, they said with remorse but all you could feel was such all-consuming rage. Such intense anger because you couldn’t move your body how you wanted; your arm was stiff in the tight bandaging holding it to your body while the dislocation and fractures healed.

Azriel glanced over at Rhysand who was offering Madja a sheepish smile, hands tucked in his pockets as he stood beside you. “Believe it or not, that was a lot nicer than some of the other words she’s been stringing together.”

“She shouldn’t be talking at all. Healing from a broken jaw is no easy feat—talking before the bone properly sets can lead to us needing to rebreak it all over again.” The heated glare you send her way could’ve killed if they were sharpened swords and Azriel has to step in front of you to ease the stormcloud you were casting above the room. Madja doesn’t seem to mind, urging the spymaster to step aside while she began her assessment. “Follow my finger,” Your eyes narrow with hate but you comply after a beat of time. “Good, no noticeable neurological deficits,” She scribbles something in a notepad, noting down the amount of pain meds you’d been receiving and an update of your vitals. “Your swelling seems to have gone down significantly—does it still hurt when I touch here?”

The High Lord cringes at the stream of profanities that slam at the edge of his mind; an act you’d been subconsciously doing since the moment the tonics for the pain had worn off the first time three days ago. You’d shoved your anguish out as far as it would go, so hard Rhysand had choked on a breath, hands clenching at his sides as he put forth more effort than normal to keep his mental shields up. “She says yes.”

Your hand taps once at Azriel’s arm and when he looks at you, you give him a jerky nod of your head. “She wants to know when she can go home?”

Madja lowers the notebook, voice annoyingly calm and full of understanding; not deterred by your attitude in the slightest. In fact, she seems to expect it, smiling softly before speaking, “Have you been eating?”

Your hand slams down twice on the table before you.

It’s jarring; aggression was never something you’d displayed often, if ever, but Azriel only takes a step closer, nearly sitting on the edge of your cot with an arm wrapped around the back of your pillow.

“I’ll assume that’s a yes.” Madja continues writing, bullet pointing your behavior and way you reel in your snark for the shadowsinger beside you. “Have you been able to get to the bathroom on your own?”

Two more slams against the table but these are much harsher than the first, a cup full of water splashing at the sides and Azriel lets out a sigh. “Not on her own but she’s really close. The dizziness just gets to her when she’s standing for too long.”

Rhysand spares a glance at the towering frame standing in the corner behind them absorbing every word like a child experiencing the world for the first time. Cassian had been unbearably quiet, avoiding Azriel at all costs but he was the first who’d noticed you beginning to stir awake. He’d barely left, always getting caught with a rag and warm water, dragging at your skin gentler than fingertips on flower petals. Rhys had to knock Cass out himself when the med staff came to take you away, advising that the wiring was imperative but the General couldn’t stop screaming about how you’d already been through enough; about how you deserved a full day of peace before putting you through even more pain.

“Any other symptoms besides the dizziness?”

You hesitate, heated gaze faltering for a beat of time before you’re slamming your hand down once and Cassian waits a full thirty seconds; golden eyes boring into Azriel’s back, urging him to mention the nausea, the splitting headaches that had you gripping at the first hand you came in contact with for any sort of comfort.

But, Azriel doesn’t say a thing.

“That’s good, what about—“

“Headaches,” Cassian’s voice is raspy with such little use and he’s more than grateful for the brace preventing you from moving around too much because he’s certain one of those sickeningly sharp glares were being specially crafted with his name on it. “She gets headaches and throws up sometimes because of one of the tonics—it’s orange.”

Madja, ever the professional hums in acknowledgment, scribbling down more notes and a furrow grows at her brow. “Could be an allergy or maybe the mixture is too much on your stomach without solid foods yet,” She not even talking to you, just muttering her thoughts aloud while the others tense; awaiting your reaction. They wait for the ball to drop; wait for the throwing of the first item in sight. It wouldn’t have been the first time and Az’s shadows had gotten surprisingly good at predicting it, darkness darting before the window before you could smash it to pieces since Madja insisted she’d dock any damages from your pay. “Thank you, General, that was quite helpful.”

A full minute passes and still, there’s no yelling; no frustrated grunts or shouting in your mind—just utter silence and you’re too busy settling further into your pillow to notice Rhys’ curious stare.

“If you can manage no talking for seventy-two hours then I will clear you to finish your recovery from home,” You’re nodding before she can finish, Azriel gently pushing you back when you try to sit up in your excitement. “I mean it—I’ll know if you aren’t taking the physical therapy seriously. At least an hour of walking a day ; slowly so you don’t aggravate your ribs and I’ll take off the shoulder wrap if you swear not to do any heavy lifting of any kind.” You throw her a pointed look, a hand waving around to motion at the three men that had been permanently stationed around you.

“We’ll take good care of her.”

Madja exhales a steady breath, hands resting at her sides and way she regards you is nearly motherly; relief settling into her features when she can confidently say you’ll make it. “Then, I suppose you’re free to go.”

—

“Come on she said at least an hour.”

Azriel is a sturdy pillar before you, arms crossed and shadows incessantly tug at the thick duvet you’d been grasping at like your life depended on it since he barged in ten minutes ago. You grunt in disapproval, settling deeper into the mattress and you shield your eyes from the bright light steadily pouring through—even though you remembered closing the curtains last night.

“You’ve already skipped breakfast and lunch; it’s nearly three in the afternoon. Get up.”

Your inability to speak seems to work in your favor because all you offer Az in return is a hand peeking from the covers to flip him off.

A pause and one eye pries open when you hear footsteps retreating. Five minutes pass, then five more before you relax back into the fluffy pillows, dragging the covers up to your chin and a content smile curves at the corner of your mouth for a fraction of a second before your entire body is drenched in freezing cold water.

You lurch from the bed like a creature rising from the dead, feet bare and legs on full display when you slowly stare up at the pleased shadowsinger, eyes wide and arms frozen in surprise as you dripped all over the floor like a wet dog. “Good. Since you’re up and showered, let’s go downstairs and get you something to eat.” Azriel’s looping an arm in your own and leading you out before you even have time to change, sloshing footsteps left in your wake and when you enter the sitting room Mor has to slap a hand over her mouth to hide the laughter.

“Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

It’s harmless teasing; friendly laughs and eyes lined with water when they mention the rats nest atop your head but Cassian’s boisterous laugh doesn’t join in on the fun. He takes one look at you and quietly leaves the room; he'd been doing that a lot since the accident—ever so present when you weren't consious and practically non-existent when you were.

You catch Feyre staring at the bruises on your neck, the thick bandage stuck in place on your temple, how stiff your posture was from the tight wrappings securing your ribs in place and she flushes when you offer her a tight-lipped smile, trying to appear more sturdy than you looked. "Sit, I'll get your food."

Eyes roll at Az's choice of words, easing over to the couch with a low grunt. Food was a sorry excuse for whatever the fuck you'd been sentenced to consume until the wires were removed. A thick porridge like substance with a distinct grit that lingered on your tongue no matter how much water you chased it with.

It was nice to be home though, to sleep in your own bed and being able to ease the tension with a hot bath and a stealthily stolen glass of wine—even if it was impossible to wash your hair or to change your clothes without assistance. Fresh air breezes through the windows, ruffling the curtains and the High Lord is quick to dry your clothes with a wave of his hand. With nothing more than a quick touch to his shoulder in thanks, the others watch you brace your weight against things to get to the hallway, turning left in the same direction Cass had gone earlier.

It’s not hard to find him, cooped up in his room with a glass of amber liquid in hand; eyes trained on the crackling fire. “What are you doing in here?” He’s up in a flash, wings pulled tight behind him and a broad shoulder urges your good arm around his neck, warm hands are careful when lifting you off your feet and carrying you over to the neatly made bed against the wall. Pillows are stacked behind your back to prop you up in a way that didn’t agitate your ribs and you give a sad smile when Cassian’s eyes linger on the bruises that were steadily healing up the length of your legs and he’s carefully covering them in blankets with a shaky breath.

Usually, he’d have sat next to you but now you’re unbearably aware of the distance he puts between you; hands clutched at his sides like he was physically restraining himself from reaching out to touch. “You eat yet?” A slow shake of your head and Cass lets out a little chuckle in understanding. “Not surprised, that shit’s gross. Az never was that good in the kitchen.”

Everything smells like him; male and musk, cedarwood and bourbon. It’s overwhelming in the best way and years of memories begin to flood your senses; countless late nights spent in here drinking and laughing about nothing. Lazy mornings with breakfast in bed and amused snorts over buttered toast and tea when the Illyrian boasted about his latest conquest or earned accomplishments but then would go sheepish when you’d genuinely told him you were proud of him—happy that he seemed happy.

Cassian shifts his weight from foot to foot, unable to meet your eye because you were gazing at him so lovingly; not an ounce of hate in sight and guilt bubbles in his belly like curdled milk. “Don’t go anywhere, I’ll make you something.”

A few minutes pass of you examining the room before you notice there’s a bottle of whiskey on the bedside table and your brows furrow in worry. You’re grabbing it without second thought, shoving the bottle under the bed frame and out of sight before you hear the thudding footsteps coming down the hall and through the doorway. A goblet of a glass is clutched in one hand with a metal straw hanging over the rim; he rambles off some of the fruits he used while he walks over, gently settling it in your hands. Fingers graze and in the blink of an eye he’s already taken three steps worth of space between you but the berry smoothie is a significant upgrade from Azriel’s porridge mixture—little wins. This was sweet but not too sweet, thick enough to quell the rumbling in your stomach and thin enough to push through the gaps in the wires with ease. It’s half gone quicker than you care to admit but Cass seems pleased, yet the small smile he wears is quickly wiped off when you motion for him to sit next to you.

“I can’t.”

Brows scrunch together in silent question, head tilting to the side.

His face crumples, features lined with stress and it’s then you notice just how broken he appears—sure, maybe he didn’t have the bandages and wrappings but the damage was still there. “Look at you, peach,” Tears well at the pet name, your head lowering as if it could possibly hide the ugly bruising on your neck; it was the only spot that seemed to be taking forever to get better, a kaleidoscope of purples and deep blues. “Look what I’ve done to you,” Breath catches and you ache to comfort him when he doesn’t even bother to hold his wings off the ground. “I’m so sorry.”

Cassian only moves closer when you set the cup down and make way to stand; it’s then he sits near you, urging you back down and you see the way his throat bobs with the thick swallow when your hand gently rests over his own. Words aren’t needed to express how much you didn’t blame him; not anymore—not after the nights he’d spent hunched over your bedside spewing out confessions of his feelings. The unconditional love that never stopping pouring over when it came to you and the shameful jealousy that had followed. Secrets he’d kept in fear that you didn’t return the same affections; terrified to ruin the carefully crafted friendship that took centuries to perfect. To become an extension of the other and adding his feelings seemed messy—too complicated and then all of this. You and the sounds of your cries for help permanently branded at the forefront of his mind for all eternity. Waiting in anticipation for Madja’s updates on your health, how you were fairing and if there was any lasting brain damage; a burden he was fully prepared to bare for you. Willing to sit by your side with his fingers kneeding through your hair to soothe away the headache he knew was coming in from the scrunch of your nose even after being pumped full of pain relievers.

It seems fitting that you can’t voice what you know; the pieces that you’d held onto while stuck in your mind. Body too numb to even pry your eyes open but the hope of hearing it while conscious was a strong enough anchor to have you clawing to the surface—back to Cass and those lazy mornings and tea with entirely too much honey.

He’s a mess when you pull him in closer, brushing your fingers through his hair the same way he’d done for you. You can feel the feather light kisses he presses to the exposed injuries, silent tears dripping on your skin, hushed whispers of his apologies, all the ways he’d planned to do in order make it up to you. All the things he should’ve and would’ve and could’ve done and you have to pry his face from the crease of your neck to make him look you in the eye.

There are no words but the intensity of your stare says plenty and he’s right back where he started; wanting things he shouldn’t and falling back into selfish habits. Leaning into the warmth of your mouth slotting over his own and every bruise and broken bone doesn’t even matter when he’s finally kissing you—soft and tender but all too quick and he’s pulling away before you can memorize the feel of him. “You’re perfect,” Cassian whispers, forehead pressed against your own, hands keeping you close. “I don’t deserve you for a second.”

But you only kiss him again because in that moment nothing else mattered.

[bwabys-scenarios]

Imagine being the sweetheart of the Phantom Troupe. They all just ADORE you!!

You were recruited by Chrollo to be a physician after he sees you caring for the meteor city kids out of the kindness of your heart.

Most of your earnings go towards housing and clothing meteor kids. When you’re not on a mission you’re rolling up your sleeves and doing the work to better the community. Chrollo LOVES that.

You have such a caring heart. Feitan is your target for affection 9/10 because he’s such a grumpy puss.

First time you pat his head the others think you’re gonna die 😭🙏 Phinks is literally like “and there goes another cute girl”

but no he just pushes your hand away and runs off!!

the look of shock on everyone’s faces 😭😭🙏

For the first few months Feitan is absolutely SPRINTING away when he sees you. Makes you a lil sad, so he gets scolded by shalnarks and Phinks a lot :(

One day Phinks sits next to him after a job, watching you doctor up Uvogin with your cute Sanrio themed bandaids.

“Why the hell do you keep running away from her, she’s the only person that has even tried being nice to you, outside of the troupe.”

Feitan starts to run again but Phinks stops him.

“That’s problem. Too nice. Don’t understand.”

Feitan can be seen staring at you from behind corners and in shadows, and more often than not if you’re on a mission he’s close behind.

“Feitan, you don’t have to hide, come here so I can fix you up.”

He just stares at you from the doorway, suspicious but also hesitant, not because he’s scared of you but because… he hurt his chest and he KNOWS how your nen works.

Eventually he decides to enter, sitting in front of you as you check him over. Once you’ve assessed him, you pull up his shirt.

“Okay, this is gonna need a level two. Close your eyes if you need to!”

You lean forward and place a kiss on the gash, and it immediately starts to heal. You pull away and for the first time you’re able to really see his face, and he is BLUSHING!!

When he noticed you saw he is fucking GONE!!

Shalnark is your most frequent patient, always having injuries in… suspicious places. One day he walks in with a pretty bad cut on his lips.

“(Name)~ I need a kiss~”

You roll your eyes and place a finger to his lips, the cut slowly mending itself. “You’ll have to try harder than that, sweetheart. But…”

You place the finger that touched his lips on yours. “Good try.”

He swoons!!!

[tarot-by-e11e]

PAC: "What do you need to let go of?" (call-out from your guides)

"Once we rid ourselves of the shackles of our own self-imposed limitations, we will be able to soar higher and further than the birds in the sky." - said by me

(reminder: this is for entertainment purposes only. Only take what resonates) Choose with mic will lovingly call you out~

Pile 1:

Pile 1: 8 of Coins, Judgement, 7 of Cups, 3 of Cups

Right off the bat, the first phrase I heard was, “unrealistic high standards”. Oomph. *nervously looking away*

Pile 1, by any chance, are you known as the “resident heartbreaker” in your community because of the trail of broken hearts you leave behind? It’s great to have standards but you need also to remember that nobody’s perfect, not even you dear pile 1.  There’s this journal prompt(?) I’ve encountered before about listing down all the characteristics you want in your ideal partner, then sitting down and reflecting if your ideal would wish to have a partner like you. It’s such a humbling yet eye-opening journal prompt TBH. Don’t expect the best if you won’t show up as the best version of yourself. Like… if you want the best, you have to be the best version of yourself as well.

What you also need to let go of Pile 1 is your hyper-self-awareness. Granted that it’s great knowing what your strengths and weaknesses are but there is such a thing as too much. I heard, “A healthy balance is key” in your case. Sorry for the call out Pile 1 but from the second card as well, your perfectionistic tendencies are slowly making themselves known. You might have these “all-or-nothing” tendencies, like a “black-or-white” mindset sometimes. It seems you have high standards for others and yourself, so you tend to intellectualize your feelings instead of feeling them. Again, apologies for the call-out Pile 1.

The last card feels like a desperation for external validation. Like, you feel you always need someone to impress or win over to feel like you’re good enough. There’s this unworthiness wound that needs to be addressed. Also, chronic people-pleasing tendencies to the point of immediate self-sacrificial tendencies. Pile 1, you need to learn to let go of this unhealthy thirst for external validation. Because the moment you lose your “audience”, you feel lost and listless. You need to remember that you are worthy of love, happiness, and success in life because you exist.

Pile 2:

Pile 2: 2 of Cups, Tower, 10 of Swords, Strength

I’m saying sorry in advance Pile 2 but the first thing I heard was, “You need to learn to be happy alone.” Pile 2 either is the type that can’t stand being single or is a hopeless romantic that has more fictional crushes than actual human relationships. (Apologies to all the romance genre bookworms all over the world). This pile falls under those two categories~

So for the serial daters, it seems that you need to take a bit of a break/pause and assess what do you want in a partner, your non-negotiables and negotiables. You are asked to don’t say to every person that asks you out. Also heard that, don’t date just because you’re bored, lonely, or have a lot of time to spare. Basically, you are called to only get into a relationship for the right reasons.

Now for the hopeless romantic who prefers fictional men to real men, I understand that you might have heard stories or had experiences that made you always choose the bear every single time. Those horror stories are an unfortunate reality for people into men. But I can’t, in my good conscience as having nephews, say that all men are despicable human beings. Granted, not all men but still they’re men. So… what I’m saying here is, that your fictional boyfriends would want you to actually experience happiness through real human interactions too. So yup, keep your guard up to those who wear their red flags with pride, but do try to give a chance to good men out there.

What you also need to let go of Pile 2 is your destructive coping mechanisms whenever you feel triggered by your traumas. Yes, I’m sorry to have it break it to you. You kinda felt this would eventually be mentioned, right? You are aware of your own destructive tendencies when triggered. You are aware that you unintentionally hurt your loved ones whenever they trigger you. And you also know you want to stop hurting people in the process. If therapy is expensive, try searching for somatic exercises and eft tapping. You don’t always have to swallow a pill to get better at managing your anger issues and self-sabotaging tendencies. You just have to give yourself a safe space to be able to honor and validate your feelings/pain/trauma. Treat yourself as gentle and compassionate as possible, like you would a child who’s just learning how to walk and talk.

Lastly, you are called to let go of your arrogance. I’m really sorry for the call-out Pile 2 but the cards have spoken. It’s great to know within yourself that you can walk your talk but you might have the tendency to bulldoze anyone that crosses your path. This might even cause an issue with authority figures. There’s a fine line between arrogance and confidence that you need to learn to master. It’ll help with the harmonious dynamics between you and your coworkers.

Pile 3:

Pile 3: 10 of Wands, 6 of Coins, Queen of Coins, Wheel of Fortune

Pile 3 feels like my burnt-out workaholic pile from the get-go. Being burdened by too much on your plate. Pile 3 might actually tend to take on other people’s problems. I understand you want to help out but you need to understand that you have limits too. You are asked to let go of the burdens that aren’t actually yours to begin with. You’re also asked to reprioritize your needs and responsibilities first before even considering helping someone else with their problems. I kept hearing, “You can’t pour out of an empty cup.”

Why does it feel like Pile 3 is my overly giving and generous pile? Sweetheart, please… I get how you want to help others out and give whenever you can. Just don’t forget to keep some for yourself, okay? I’m not asking you to stop being generous. I’m asking you to discern who genuinely needs your generosity and who is abusing your kind and loving heart. Unfortunately, not everyone deserves you and your generous heart.

Pile 3, your pile really has me crying and whimpering, “Please stop letting people walk all over you.” No wonder y’all are burnt out, you are the most loving, generous, and nurturing souls in the world to the point of being easy prey for abusive, manipulative narcissists. I’m begging you Pile 3, discernment and boundaries. You’re so nurturing and caring to the point of ignoring someone’s red flags. So… you have to actually learn how to have healthy boundaries and practice discernment. Don’t entertain the idea/potential of a person and see them for who they really are.

The last card feels like you need to let go of being too much of a “going with the flow” to the point of not taking charge of your own life, Pile 3. I understand you’re adaptable and know how to roll with the punches, but it also feels like a drifter with no roots. Always letting yourself be carried wherever the wind blows, can be interpreted as letting people dictate how you should live your life. It seems that pile 3 tends to take a passive approach to living your life. I understand that people who are of authority claim they want what’s best for you, but that’s what’s best based on THEIR values and preferences, not YOURS. So… please Pile 3, take the time to figure out what do you actually want to do with your life, in your own way. You are not just someone’s child, not just someone’s sibling/parent, not just someone’s friend/classmate/coworker. You are your own person, with a heart that feels and a mind that can think for themselves.

Pile 4:

Pile 4: 2 of Coins, 6 of Swords, Knight of Swords, Chariot

The first card of Pile 4 feels like you need to let go of only prioritizing your needs while disregarding your desires. It’s great to know how to be practical and resourceful, but you tend to only focus on nurturing the physical and basic needs, you tend to forget your emotional needs too. You tend to forget that you can let yourself enjoy your life while you work hard to provide for yourself and your family. I’m hearing, “self-care” is something you need to prioritize. Don’t just say, “Oh, I can just enjoy the fruits of my labor later” then realize your knees can’t even be stable enough to carry your body to your bathroom. The last I heard from the first card was “Go on a vacation and treat yourself while your body is still able to live and move with ease.”

The next thing you need to let go of is your cut-off game, specifically your tendency to ghost people. It seems that Pile 4 is quite quick to cut people out of your lives without notice. It seems that pile 4 also tends to cut someone out of their life on impulse. Like, no explanation, no notice, no last goodbye. This is giving “ghosting” vibes. It’s like, the person you cut off didn’t even do anything wrong, yet pile 4 while just going ghost without a valid reason. Like, pile 4 may go ghost whenever someone is getting a bit too close to your heart and you tend to run before they even get a chance to offer any friendship/commitment. Pile 4, are you a commitment phobe?

Pile 4, what you need to let go of is your impatience. Not just towards others, but also towards yourself. The littlest inconveniences make you lose your cool quicker than a mic drop. Not everyone is capable of keeping up with your demands and requests, not even you. So please, learn to be more understanding and patient with yourself and other people. I understand that you want to just go-go-go, but you need to know that you shouldn’t bulldoze your way through life. Learn to pace yourself by taking the time to smell the roses. There’s nothing wrong about going after what you want to get done, but you just need to remember that you don’t always do everything perfectly in the first try. You too make mistakes. You too need time to learn from your mistakes and become a better version of yourself. So please, show yourself and others the same compassion and patience you wished someone would give you.

Finally, the last thing pile 4 needs to let go of is “being controlling”. I’m really sorry for this call-out Pile 4 but you must have heard this from someone else before. Just because you know what’s best and know how to do it best, it doesn’t mean you should always take the reins and just control everything and everyone to bend into your will. Your way isn’t the only way to do things. You might be surprised that there are other ways to go about a task with minimal damage and effort. So please, let go of the concept that you have to always take charge and always be the leader.

Thank you for trying out my PAC reading. Feel free to give me a feedback on how your pile resonates with you.

[alchemistc]

(dys)functional | bucktommy 1/1

an: the hockey au keeps growing, have some tommy whump in the meantime

read on ao3

"Hey," Tommy says, rolling the word over his tongue, letting the door close behind him and leaning his head back against it as it goes. Evan glances up, and immediately sets the knife in his hands down, expression going concerned the moment he sees the look on Tommy's face.

"Uh wha - what's wrong?"

The concern in his voice is ratcheted up in a way Tommy doesn't quite understand - he knows the look on his face is a little resigned but Evan looks stressed. "I'm gonna have to reschedule our weekend," he tells him, already shifting away from the door, moving in, chasing after the distressed little tilt of Evan's head, completely incapable of not trying to fix it even though his mind is going in about fifty different directions, right now.

Around the corner of the island, into Evan's space, and Evan melts just enough for Tommy to get his hands around Evan's hips. "Is everything okay?"

Tommy grimaces. "Not - not really, no. I've got to catch a flight in about six hours."

Evan goes stiff under his hands. "O-okay."

There's an art to fully grasping his tone, in these moments. He's - not an easy read, exactly, because his default seems to always be doing a terrible job of hiding whatever it is he's feeling, but that doesn't actually mean he's not masking the actual issue. It's confusion, mostly, maybe a little bit of hurt, a quiet sense of foreboding in his expression as he leans back to get a good look at Tommy's face, like he's searching for an answer for a question he doesn't know if he's allowed to ask.

Evan shifts impatiently, stormy expression clearing up. "Can - do you need to -" He makes a face Tommy knows is aimed at himself, a little recrimination for not being able to gather up the proper words in the proper order. He pulls in a deep breath. "Okay, so this is maybe too much to throw at you right now but those are kinda famous last words for me and I'm - will you tell me why so I'm not thinking up worst case scenarios here?"

Tommy slides in, fingers curling into the hem of Evan's shirt, gripping, tugging just enough that they both drift into one another. "It's my father." Brow furrowed, Evan nods, and waits, still rigid in the circle of Tommy's arms. And Tommy really does have to leave, soon, pack an overnight bag and try to get a couple hours of sleep before the slog to John Wayne, but he's a little concerned that leaving right now is going to send Evan into a tailspin. Thank God he'd decided to drive over first, tell him in person - he's missing a heap of context here but clearly a phone call would have been the wrong move. "He's - I have to..."

Evan knows the basics, bare minimum shit because Tommy hates acknowledging how much his father had fucked him up, how many years of therapy have been required to untangle the dad shaped knots in his brain.

"I don't really have all the details, yet, but my uncle called and I - I'm needed, apparently. I don't." Tommy has felt wrong-footed since the moment the name flashed across his phone screen, he doesn't talk to them, to any of them, and now his uncle has given him a vague 'Tom you need to come home, it's your pop' and his sister isn't answering her messages. Tommy takes a breath, realizes his hands have tightened into fists in the seams of Evan's shirt. "What do you mean famous last words?"

Evan is studying him carefully, elbows bowed behind him because he's got his palms curled around Tommy's fists, eyes shifting over Tommy's face, and Tommy knows he's seeing the shit Tommy likes to keep under lock and key. "It - it can wait. Tommy, do you need me to come with you?" Head tilted, gaze assessing, fingers shifting, soothing over the stretched tight skin of Tommy's knuckles.

It's too soon for that. He doesn't want Evan to see that part of him, the piece of the puzzle that Tommy has had to chip at, and shave and sand down to make fit, that ugly little part of his life he'd shed the day he'd set his house key on the dining room table and left for boot camp.

It's not too soon - he doesn't want Evan to ever see that.

He's also suddenly incredibly aware of how nice it would be to finally, finally have someone he knows is in his corner for whatever bullshit he's ten hours away from walking into. His grip loosens and Evan seizes the opportunity, awkwardly lacing his fingers through Tommy's. It's a weird angle, uncomfortable with the current positioning of their arms, but it feels a bit like a lifeline. "I can't ask you to do that."

"You're not. I'm offering."

There's a stubborn part of him that doesn't want to accept. He's kept his life out here so separate; even Sal, who'd kept all his other secrets for going on a decade, barely knows shit about his family. He has a good life, rich and fulfilling. Out here. He's got Evan, who'd do practically anything for his friends, his family. Tommy can't justify subjecting him to whatever garbage the Kinard's have going on three thousand miles across the country.

Evan tugs at his hands, shifting his weight enough to send Tommy stumbling half a step into him. Toe to toe, gazes catching again, because Evan is seeking him out, Tommy feels some of the weight lift off his shoulders.

"Okay."

It gives him the excuse of leaving as soon as possible, once he gets there, at the very least.

Evan nods. Whatever weird tension he'd been carrying ebbs from his shoulders and Tommy puts a pin in that - he's spiraling and upset but for a second Evan had been, too, and he needs to circle back to that when he can think straight.

He's got his phone out, free hand digging into Tommy's front pocket, and Tommy blinks, tries to think of something clever to say, something flirty and wry. They were supposed to go out tonight: dinner, maybe dancing, after, if Tommy could convince him. Then a three day stretch of matching days off - a drive up the coast, a little rental within walking distance of a beach, a seafood place that made a lobster roll almost as good as the ones up in Maine. He'd been contemplating whether or not it was too early to bring up Evan's lease.

Evan fishes Tommy's phone out and presses in his passcode without a second thought, and something eases in Tommy's chest. He trusts Evan. Has trusted him, consistently, unquestioningly - he'd given him his passcode on a whim when the screen went dark on it halfway through Evan adding his food to whatever they'd been in the middle of ordering in before Evan got derailed by a story about the anatomy of seahorses.

"Did you already book a flight?"

Tommy nods. Points out the Southwest icon he'd moved to his home screen for easy access.

He doesn't argue when Evan guides him around the island to one of the stools, there, fight and flight both losing out to freeze as Evan takes charge.

It's not their usual dynamic. Evan has been happy to set the pace, but once he takes his cues from him, Tommy's typically the one taking point. But Tommy feels unmoored, and it's nice, actually, to have Evan press a kiss to his temple, to pull up his flight information, to squeeze Tommy's shoulder as he books a second ticket on the credit card Tommy's really only let him use once or twice, happy to be seeing someone who will actually let him pay more than his fair share, who seems flattered that Tommy's always got his wallet out before Evan even thinks to reach for his.

Everything's a bit jumbled. He's halfway to Jersey already, maybe, pulled into the riptide and dashed against the rocks of Richard Kinard's bullshit, he doesn't even know why he's going, just that his uncle had told him he needed to come. He comes up for air feeling battered and bruised when Evan rubs a hand down his shoulder, over his arm, up again with harder pressure as his palm shifts down and over his spine.

Evan's face hovers close to his. "I'm just gonna call Bobby, and then we can pick up something to eat on the way over to your place." The upside to having something already planned is that Evan's already got a bag packed with everything he'll need to travel.

It sounds so simple, so effortless, and Tommy's throat feels tight when he swallows. He gets two fingers into Evan's belt loop before he can pull away, and Evan comes easily, stepping into the spread of Tommy's legs, forehead coming down the few inches to meet Tommy's. "You - thank you."

"Of course," Evan says, a little wry, an echo of Tommy's own favorite phrase whenever Evan gets a little caught up in the way Tommy keeps showing up for him. He gets it, now. It's been instinct, really, to be there when Evan asked, to try his damnedest to make it to the things he's promised to be there for - nothing particularly remarkable about it, in Tommy's mind, but Tommy's starting to see the larger picture. It's grounding, it's comforting, it is actually a little remarkable to be on the receiving end of it. It feels like devotion.

Tommy rolls his forehead, curls a hand up over Evan's shoulder, his neck, fingers catching in his hair, along the curl of his ear. When he blinks and meets Evan's gaze, there's something in his eyes that Tommy isn't sure either one of them is actually ready for, but then, they haven't really stumbled on their way through those things up to this point anyway. Blazed past them, maybe, but always with an understanding of what they mean while they waved at the mile marker blurring past them.

Evan squeezes at Tommy's knee. "I'm not going anywhere," he assures, and Tommy snorts.

"You're literally going to Jersey in, like, five and a half hours."

Evan huffs. "With you. I'm - you're ruining my moment, Tommy," he pouts, and if the both of them dissolve into a fit of giggles, no one has to know but them.

-----

Tommy hasn't been back here in eight years. It's been longer since he's talked to his family - he'd shown up fifteen minutes into his grandmother's funeral, slipped in to a pew at the back during mass and and skipped the wake before he found a bar and made a few bad decisions with a man who'd sat next to him four drinks in and smiled at him like the sun peeking through a billowing stormcap.

Evan presses a tentative hand to the small of Tommy's back and Tommy melts into it, pleased when the hand shifts to curl around his waist. He's apparently already rented a car, and Tommy can't quite hide the heavy sigh of gratitude at the admission - the getaway will be a lot smoother if they don't have to stand outside waiting for a ride.

He's seen Clipboard Buck in action before. The last time, he'd barely managed to get them somewhere private before he was on his knees to express his appreciation of Clipboard Buck. This is - not better, but different in a good way. It makes him feel tethered, reminds him that as crazy as it had been to accept an invitation to a wedding after a spectacular explosion of a first date, he'd been right to follow that spark he'd first felt on the tarmac while Evan Buckley shook his hand for about thirty seconds too long.

"I can help whoever's next," says a voice as Evan shuffles him along the rental line, and Tommy's gaze darts up, his posture sharpening.

Evelyn.

Christ, it's a day for reunions, Tommy guesses. They're next, actually, and Evan tilts his chin with narrowed eyes when Tommy sighs and moves to the counter.

For a second, Tommy's convinced she doesn't recognize him. She pops the gum in her mouth, bored gaze bouncing between them as Evan scrolls through his email for the confirmation number on his booking, and then her eyes go wide.

"Tom? Tom Kinard?"

Evan's eyes shift up. It's a lot more subtle than Tommy'd expected. So is the hand that squeezes at Tommy's hip in question.

Tommy curls his fingers around the hand, squeezes back. He's spent too many years on the other side of the closet door to go crawling back into the dark now.

"Hi Evie."

Tommy hasn't told this story, but he doubts Evan will be particularly surprised by it. He's heard about plenty of Tommy's other beards.

Her gaze shifts. From her spot behind the counter he doubts she's seeing much, but the anchor of Evan's arm around his waist has them sharing space, Tommy's shoulder pressed to Evan's chest, the two of them breathing the same air. Her brow ticks up behind her glasses. She's got a streak of grey along her temple, and the start of crows feet around her eyes.

Evelyn snaps her gum. "You missed the reunion," she notes, and then smiles. "Although I can't blame you if this is what you've got back at home. A large improvement on Jason Ledecky." She leans in. "He's got five kids and a truly tragic bald spot."

Evan's eyes gleam. Tommy realizes he's actually looking forward to telling this story, in the sanctuary of a rented car on the way to his uncles. Evelyn Carinni had been a godsend for a Tommy who'd shot up four inches and slimmed down over the summer after junior year -- she'd scooped him right up that first day of school when it became clear that a suddenly sharp jawline was all it took to garner the attention of the female population of Cliffside Park High, and the first time she'd whipped out her tits and seen the disinterested look on his face she'd made it her mission to make sure he made it through senior year undetected.

"You here about the will?"

Tommy pauses. "What will?"

Her eyeroll is exactly as disparaging as he remembers. "Christ, your family is a piece of work. According to Tina, who heard it from Daryl, Old Man Gio apparently had an updated will your dad tried to hide. There's been a whole lawsuit about getting it recognized."

"What the hell does that have to do with me?"

"Well, I imagine dear old granddad had a nice little end-of-life realization that the only descendant he had who didn't want any of his money was you, so as a last fuck you to all his ungrateful kids he left it all to you."

"There's no way any of that money hasn't been spent already." Not to mention he has no interest in some long drawn out court case where all his extended family has to admit they have no way to pay it back.

Evelyn hums. "A lot of it's been tied up for years. Plus there's the royalties his estate is still getting."

Tommy sighs. "My uncle made it seem like it was more serious than that."

"Is there anything more serious to them than who gets the lions share of daddy's money?" At Tommy's raised brow, she shakes her head. "Anyway, your pop might be looking at jail time, so there's always a possibility they're looking for preemptive bail money."

If he lets them, he'll tie up Evelyn for hours, standing here gossiping like teenagers. "We should have a reservation," Tommy tells her, before things get really off the rails, and they go through the motions of pulling up Evan's information. Evelyn pops her gum again.

"What a shame," she says, brow raised and eyes focused on Evan. "We promised you we had plenty of inventory in basic economy but it looks like those are all off the lot." Tommy watches Evan frown, eyes darting to the prices detailed behind her. Neither one of them is overly concerned about their savings account, at the moment, but Evan isn't fond of surprise price increases. He'd complained for a week the last time avocados had gone up thirty cents. "Looks like I'll just have to upgrade you free of charge, Mr. Buckley."

The clerk to her left shoots her an exasperated look and leaves it at that, but something happens in Evan's expression, the realization rolling over him that he's been included in some subterfuge. "Oh, well, if you have to," he says, but he's leaning his free arm against the counter now, posture open, happy to be included in this little bubble with someone who has loved and cared for Tommy. He knows the feeling -- knows how he'd had to take a deep breath at Chimney's bachelor party, when Eddie had glanced between them and implied that Evan inviting him to the karaoke bar was a date, remembers the way he'd had to dig his fingers into his thigh in the pocket of his pants to keep from being weird about how nice it was to laugh with Maddie Buckley-Han.

Evelyn chuckles, and smacks her gum, and the keys under her fingers clack away for a moment before she spins in her chair and marches off to grab something from the printer, and Evan hip checks Tommy with just enough force that Tommy sways, maybe a little overcome in the same way Tommy always is when Evan's friends, his family make it clear they like having Tommy around. He grins, and Tommy returns it, the edges of his smile bleeding into his cheeks.

Evelyn returns with contract for a sports car. "I waived the deposit fee," she intones. "For the inconvenience, sir."

Evan looks delighted as he signs off and Evelyn splits their copies. The sticky note affixed to Evan's copy has a phone number with a Jersey area code written on it, and she taps it.

"When you find out you're insanely rich and finally cut off the rest of your family completely, you two should take me out for coffee."

Evan isn't so caught up that he doesn't check in with Tommy first. It's not entirely necessary --he likes Evelyn, and Evan can clearly tell that -- but it's nice, all the same.

"How about a steak dinner," Tommy negotiates, and Evelyn's grin goes wide.

-----

As it turns out, Grandpa Gio was a petty little bastard with a penchant for dramatics, and according to a court of law his aunts and uncles (and father) owe him close to two million dollars, between them.

"I don't want it," Tommy confesses, laid out on the hotel bed that night, still too loose-limbed to move as Evan putters around in the bathroom, wetting a washcloth and brushing his teeth.

Evan looms over him a moment later, warm towel running over the ridges of Tommy's stomach, the rise of his pectorals. Christ, he'd shot off like a goddamn missile. Evan bites his lip to hide a grin when the towel catches on the underside of Tommy's chin.

"I'm assuming you're talking about the money," Evan says, folding the towel over itself to give him one last rubdown. "It seemed like you liked the sex."

Tommy shifts, tugging at Evan's wrist until he settles in beside Tommy. With the remains of his energy, he slings a leg over Evan's and rolls himself into the cradle of Evan's embrace. "That was never a question."

Evan maintains the silence for a grand total of thirty-seven seconds. It's longer than Tommy had expected. "So your family." Tommy hums, already tracing the edges of the tattoo on Evan's forearm. "Kind of dicks."

The snort of laughter settles into Evan's still-sweaty temples, and Tommy shifts to press his nose into the damp curls there. He'd been so hesitant to share this part of himself with Evan, but as always, Evan had forged on ahead like there was nothing in the world he'd rather do than provide the landing spot for Tommy to settle down his gear once the storm passed.

"Took me twenty years and a boatload of therapy to train that out of me. I'm still --." Tommy pauses, the usual self-deprecating comment stuck on the tip of his tongue, because for once, it doesn't feel like an effort to be nothing like them. He'd spent so long hiding in the shadow of the asshole his family had taught him how to be, and dragging himself out into the sunlight always felt like a struggle.

But it hadn't felt like an effort, really -- to hold Evan's hand under the judgemental gaze of ten cousins and four aunts and uncles, to stand tall and stick to the barest edges of polite while the room erupted into chaos the moment his father opened his mouth to defend himself, to excuse himself and tuck his arm over Evan's shoulder on the way out the door.

He can still remember the dazed way Evan had responded to that first kiss, while Tommy busied himself tugging the hem of his shirt back down, too nervous to look at him while he asked him out. The way he'd looked, when Tommy'd been brave enough to glance up, eyes a little glazed, mouth still open, and told him he was free.

At the time, Tommy'd been furiously convincing himself not to lean in for another kiss, fully aware he'd make himself late to work if he allowed himself another taste, but the memory had lingered the rest of the shift. In the days after, once he'd had a clearer picture of exactly how wide he'd just blown open Evan's world, he'd thought of it often.

I am free.

Tommy turns his face to meet Evan's gaze, nose dragging across his cheek, lips aching to find a home against Evan's again, but he catches his eyes first, slides a hand up over Evan's arm, shoulder, neck, until he can curl his fingers over his jaw, thumb tucking in to the little dimple as Evan grins at him. "Thank you for coming."

Evan sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, tongue darting out to wet the top one, a mischievous gleam in his eye, but he lets the dumb joke go, gaze shifting into something more serious as he drums his fingers along Tommy's bare hip. "Thanks for letting me," Evan murmurs back, and Tommy knows they need to talk about that sentiment in more detail, but for now he'd rather roll Evan on top of him and slide his tongue past the seam of Evan's lips.

Evan doesn't seem to have any complaints.

[confessioncassette]

Hello again, anon that complimented you before, maybe ill just refer to myself as Doe anon hahah- ANYWAYS LISTEN PEE KINK IS 👀?? Im starting to think our interests are more aligned than i thought PFFTTTTT

HELLO.

my sweet little doe nonie, we might just be the same person… you gave me the green light for this. Ily for this. so thank you.

𝐏𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤 - 𝐀𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝟏𝟖+. 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐀𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫. ��𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐦.

𝐭𝐰 : 𝐩𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐝𝐮𝐛𝐜𝐨𝐧, 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫, 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞?

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 : 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐈 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐑𝐀𝐖 𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐃. 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝. —— 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐈 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭/𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐈 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞. 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭.

"You look a mess, my dear."

You watch the radio demon carefully as he softly closes the door with a click. Glowing red eyes meet yours through the dusk of the evening.

Standing tall with a too-wide smile, he watches you squirm.

"It's not funny, Alastor, please," you beg. Your eyes dart from the demon before you, to the windows overlooking Pride. Your bladder aches, threatening to release itself- it's so full.

Alastor had a new game for you today. It started with a cup of coffee with breakfast, then insisting that you hydrate with a cup of water afterwards. Then it was him pestering you about staying hydrated after the group exercise today.

"You need to keep drinking, my dear," he'd coo, conjuring your soul bound chain around your neck. He had pulled you close to him by your leash and forced your mouth open to gulp down another glass of water at lunch. "Good girl!"

The worst part of it all - all the bathrooms today after lunch were either locked or being cleaned by Nifty.

And currently, you're knocked knee and as fragile as glass while Alastor stares down at you. One off movement and you’ll- you can’t.

And he's amused.

That familiar confident smile paints his face, eyebrows raised as his ears alert and honed straight on you.

"Do you need to use the facilities, sweetheart? You look...uncomfortable." His head cocks to the side with that last word.

"I haven't been able to go all afternoon." Your voice is soft, embarrassed that you're even in this situation. It's been a pain in the ass to even get to the toilet with all of them being locked all day, and it's starting to cause... discomfort to say the least.

And Alastor knows this. He sees this. He wants to make you crumble. The fear in your eyes of accidentally wetting yourself is a glorious sight.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine! I needed your help with something if you didn’t mind.”

You do mind. And the last thing on your mind right now is succumbing to Alastor’s busy work. Just because he owns your soul doesn’t mean you have to-

“Ah-“ a panicked whimper leaves your lips as you make a run for the door. One hand hovering over your blade as the other desperately reaches the doorknob- and it doesn’t budge the slightest.

“No, no, please, Alastor, I really gotta go-“

The demon sits calmly in his chair with a relaxed smile. He watches you in delight as your face drains of color and a hand rushes to cup yourself.

“Like I said, my dear, I need help with something.”

He rolls his eyes, “Once you’re done you can relieve yourself.”

Fighting back the urge, you slowly walk over to him. Alastor assesses you like prey and taps his thigh as an invitation. You stop once your legs bump into the side of his- he’s still tall sitting down as he is standing.

You hesitate.

“Sit.” Alastor commands, gripping your waist and pulling you down in an instant. You straddle over his leg and the sudden feeling of his thigh makes you gasp.

“No-“ you whine and attempt to pull yourself up and away from him but his grip is strong, claws dig into the flesh of your hips.

“Ah, ah, no need to be scared. This will feel good.” Your leash manifests before your eyes and he pulls you in roughly by the collar around your neck, “Don’t you want to feel good, little one?”

Tears welt in your eyes. You can’t, you can’t hold it but you can’t-

“Like this?” Alastor presses his thigh up and into you as he grinds your hips down onto him. Your legs wrap around his and brace your stomach.

“Don’t you need to relieve yourself? Wouldn’t it feel sooo good to… let go? Piss all over me?” He grinds you down into him while his other hand jerks your neck forward to meet his face.

The snarl on his face shows his gums as he talks, “Come on, sweetheart, you know you want to…” a beat, “I want you to.”

The pressure is too much, the movement makes you see stars. You shake uncontrollably, trying to keep what’s left of you together. Forcing every muscle in your body to lock up and not betray you…

The hand over your waist slides down, under your dress and finds your clothed clit- and he presses roughly.

You cry out, and as you do, the hand on your leash is on your neck in an instant.

“Let me see that beautiful face. I want to see you come undone for me. I want to see the mortification in your eyes as you piss all over me.”

Your face contorts, but you lock eyes with him regardless. Alastor mocks you, his eyebrows raised as he coos in your face.

“Wouldn’t it feel so good to let go? You’d be my good girl if you did~”

His smile is sinister as his finger press rough circles over your clit, your body jolting with every movement. Tears blur your vision as you shake.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I want you to! I know you can’t hold it.” He hushes you, but the grip on your neck tightens. He knows you’re about to-

“Oh the look on that face!” His eyes light up.

You whimper, shuddering over his body. Warm liquid seep through your panties and spread across his pants. Trickles of your piss litter the floor beneath you both and you feel absolute bliss. You see white. Your body relaxes in his hold, and Alastors grip on your neck becomes softer, allowing you to lean into him in pure bliss.

“That’s my girl, good girl. You’re a dirty fucking bitch.” His eyes never leave yours and his ministrations over your clit never falter. His hand coats in your liquid.

“Look at this, you’re a filthy fucking mess. Pissing all over me, what a shame. I just had this suit cleaned..” he talks you through it, all the way until youre empty.

You relax into him and he doesn’t move. He lets you sink into him as you regain control over yourself.

And that’s when shame and embarrassment flush your neck. Your face is hot with mortification as you realize what you just did. Your heart drops and you attempt to push away but he doesn’t allow you.

“We’re not done, my dear.”

[woso-fan13]

Whumptober 2023: 5 (Barca)

No. 5: “You better pray I don't get up this time around.”

Debris | Pinned Down | “It's broken.”

For whatever reason, Madrid really had it out for you. Usually, they were a little rough with everyone, but today it seemed like you had a target on your back. Multiple players had gotten yellow cards because of what they did to you- illegal tackles, hair pulling, the works. It was an attestment to how well you were playing, but it still hurt. 

Your teammates had refrained from getting revenge, not that they didn’t want to. But you popped up from the ground every time, giving a thumbs up to them. Were you really okay? No, but you needed your teammates to not start attacking the opponents so you smiled through the pain. 

The final whistle had just blown, but before you could stop you felt a Madrid player tackling you. Your head crashed into the pitch, bouncing from the impact. Your legs were slit open from her cleats, blood dripping. It was bad. 

You can faintly hear shouting- you would later learn it was your teammates yelling at your attacker. You squint your eyes open, not remembering shutting them. The sun was hurting your eyes, but, as you went to close them again, a gentle hand rested on your cheek. 

“Cálmate pequeña, estás bien.”

You know that voice, but you can’t remember who it is. You can, however, remember that the person who hurt you spoke Spanish. Whining, you try to move away from the voice, afraid that whoever it was would hurt you again. 

Alexia frowns at your reaction, again trying to soothe you. But, when you hear the Spanish, you try to move away. This time, though, she could hear you mumbling- pleading to her not to hurt you. Her heart broke. 

She stands from where she had crouched next to you, quickly shifting to kneel by your head. Grabbing your shoulders, she pins you down. You cry out, helpless. Alexia wants nothing more than to scoop you into her arms and hold you. She wants to reassure you, but she can’t. All she can do is keep you still so you don’t injure yourself even more. 

“It’s okay,” she says quietly, “we’re going to help you.”

“Lucy, Kiera,” she shouts, “I need help.”

Upon hearing their names, the two girls race towards you. They knew it must be bad, if Alexia couldn’t calm you down they didn’t know how they would be able to. Dropping to their knees on either side of you, they look to Alexia as to how they can help. 

“You need to take her,” Alexia says, emotion evident in her voice, “please. She’s afraid of me, I think she might react better to you.”

With a confused look, Lucy and Kiera nod. Lucy moves to take Alexia’s spot, pinning you down to the pitch. Kiera cups a hand to your cheek, leaning down and speaking quietly to you. 

The medics arrive soon after, trying to shoo the women away. Neither are deterred, staying where they are and only shifting to allow the medics room to assess you. They quickly begin to assess you, clearing your spine and allowing Lucy to release her grip. It’s clear that you have a concussion and your legs will need to be taken care of, but for now they wrap the cuts up in gauze. Once you're calmed, it would be easier to treat you. 

“You’re alright, little bit,” Lucy says, pushing the baby hairs off of your face. 

You whine again, but your eyes flutter open and the women watch as you look around dazedly.

“I- I wan-” you can’t seem to find the words, but the others know what, or who, you’re looking for. 

“She’s right here, she’s coming” Kiera assures you, gesturing Alexia back over. 

She crouches by your side. Once she’s in your line of sight, you pitifully reach your arms out to her. Combined with the pout on your face, it’s hard to resist. 

“Lexi, please,” you beg. 

Alexia can no longer contain herself, moving to sit fully on the ground. She reaches down, hands under your shoulder blades to pull your torso up. Once you’re close enough, you flop into her body.

“Shh, mija, I’m right here.”

Your hands are tangled in the back of her jersey, ensuring she won’t pull away. Not that she ever would, she’s not leaving your side. Awake and oriented, you snuggle into Alexia as she holds you close. 

[xiaosonlybeloved]

Our Love is Six Feet Under- Nakahara Chuuya

featuring: Nakahara Chuuya (bsd), gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned) warnings:- angst throughout, major character death, major light novel (stormbringer) spoilers!! a/n:- my, my, this idea has actually been rotting in my brain for over a month and its my longest fic till date. i loved writing it i hope u guys like it too <33 heavily inspired by 'six feet under' by billie eilish

wc: 3k || masterlists

You feel like you’ve been through worse than hell and back when you drag your eyes open. It doesn’t take you long to assess your situation and remember what had happened to you in the first place to get you attached to a hospital bed with various machines around you.

You promptly wish you’d rather have died instead, or never woken up. Not having had to deal with the pain that stabbed your heart like a thousand serrated, unforgiving knives would be a million times better than being alive. It would have been so much better than being the only survivor. 

Technically, you should feel no personal guilt over the Flags’ deaths. Its not like you had been hired to protect them, and what you had been paid to specifically do is the only thing that matters when you’re an assassin. Especially when the Port Mafia is the one who outsourced you. The blame of their deaths could, in no way, be pinned upon you.

Having feelings is what gets someone killed in the world you live in, a dark world in the deepest shadows of the city. Having an ability is no reason to be confident of yourself, not when the country is littered with ability users everywhere. And yet having an ability as unique as yours is how you managed to save yourself from the certain death brought upon you all by the King of Assassins.

It was supposed to be another normal day, right? You were off-duty, so you were hanging out with the Flags at the usual place, who you had become ‘acquainted’ with over the past few months of working together, Mori’s orders. If you could dare to curse yourself and them by calling you guys friends, you would. One of them, possibly the one you were closest with, had left for some mission with a foreign investigator, long story. So you were chilling out with the others, playing billiards and all that stuff. 

If someone had told you that would be your last memory together, you would have atleast clicked a picture for keepsakes. Or you’d have cherished the moment more, rather than treating it so casually. After all, you never know the value of what you’ve lost until you’ve lost it. 

In the present, you shut out your emotions- they’re too much of a storm for you to be able to deal with. The grief at their deaths, the horror at the memory of the sight, the overwhelming grief- you needed a break. You slipped back into unconsciousness, a weight lying heavy on your chest that would surely never leave you until you die.

********

The funeral seems much too loud and way too quiet at the same time, or perhaps thats just your thoughts. You’re silent in the shadows, yet again, watching the processions and the choir wordlessly. You don’t speak anything. You don’t think you have the right to. 

You haven’t dared to talk to Chuuya, or even approach him. He was the only member of the Flags who was not present when Verlaine struck, and thus the only one alive. He was incredibly close to them, you know, because you yourself were close to them, to him. Barely anyone had spoken a word to him, not even the boss. His aura was such that if you even dared to approach him, you’d probably either have your lungs squashed by gravity, or his own carefully crafted facade would break down. 

If, as someone who wasn’t even part of the Port Mafia or the Flags, you had been affected so badly, how was Chuuya coping? Was he? Yet, out of habit, you can’t help but keep an eye out for him. Silently, selfishly even, perhaps you’re hoping he can find it in himself to forgive you.

The foreign investigator has shown up again, looking much too cheerful for someone entering a funeral, and goes straight to Chuuya. You can feel that he’s pissed off, but a few words from Mori, and Chuuya stands up in a forced manner, going to leave with the detective. 

You manage to meet his gaze finally, but you don’t think you’d ever be prepared for it. His eyes bored straight into yours, eyes that had once looked at you with mirth and laughter, and dare you say it, love, eyes that were always an open gateway to his emotions. They held nothing but silent accusations, hidden anger, all pointing their sharp ends towards you. Not a single friendly feeling. 

Not a word is exchanged as he walks right past you, but there’s no need to. You’ve gotten the silent message he’s sending you crystal clear- he will never forgive you for this.

You think you deserve it fully, you understand. Even now. How twisted, really, but you got it. When he lost the Flags, he lost a part of himself too, but he still remembered you. And remembering you was a constant reminder of them, of your failure to save them, of the pain that came with. 

Though it hurt you, you knew that distancing yourself from him was the best thing to do. If you pursued him again, there was no telling what he might end up doing, but it certainly wouldn’t end well. Chuuya likely knew this too, and he clearly didn’t want you to come back. So you wouldn’t. This funeral would be the last time you associated with the Port Mafia, and thus Chuuya, even if it hurt you to do so. But again, considering feelings is what gets you killed in this world, and you’d rather not die so soon, although you actually don’t mind. 

And well, what did it matter if somewhere, sometime, Chuuya secretly wished you’d ask him to return?

********

Visiting their graves has become a monthly thing to you, due to your inability to let the past stay in the past. Perhaps its your own, guilty way of attempting to make amends, perhaps its your way of keeping their memory engraved in your mind, perhaps its to ensure that they aren’t forgotten, even if you know well they will never be. Deep inside, its a way for you to mourn the dead, as well as the loss of the living. 

You bring flowers every time, stay a while, occasionally leave something for them. Sometimes, you talk to them, sometimes you apologise over and over again, sometimes you stay silent, letting your thoughts still for a while. If nothing else, you just stared at the small rose plants that were growing there, one behind each of the five graves. It always amazed you, that such a delicate flower could grow in such a barren place. It sure seemed like they’d be blooming soon, and whenever you visited, you always made sure to check on them.

Time passes, but the wounds do not heal from inside, they just scab over, concealing the pain at first glance. You’ve gotten better at hiding it, yes, but that does not make it any better. You’ve become stronger, risen in rank as an assassin, honed your skills further. You’ve become reputed for carrying out your tasks in a swiftly lethal, unclouded way that left no traces. Almost a year has already gone by since the incident, and you still havent forgiven yourself. Nor has Chuuya.

That’s why, on their death anniversary, when you feel his cold gaze on you for the first time in a whole year when you were at their graves, you don’t hesitate to get up and start to leave. It’s best for him to not see you again. You’ve cut off all contact with the Port Mafia, except for when you occasionally got hired by them, and even then you finished it quickly, wasting no time. Interacting with no one. 

So that’s why it surprises you, when he holds up a hand, walking past you to lay the flowers on their graves. “You can stay.” He speaks emotionlessly, not looking at you. He sounds older, more mature, which was to be expected, you supposed. You remain standing where you are for a few moments, not facing him as he walks over and sits behind one of the graves. “As long as you aren’t doing anything wrong, of course.” He adds. At that, you sit in front of the grave he’s leaning against, replying quietly with a “No, I was merely paying my respects.”

It was anyways evening when you came, soon, the moon starts its ascent through the sky, as silence settles between the two of you. Not a word is exchanged between the two of you as you sit on opposite sides of the same grave, in each other’s company. The only people who could truly understand each other’s pain and suffering.

You settle for silently staring at the roses. Small buds have formed, but they don’t look well- its as if the whole plant is starting to wilt, little by little. They haven’t flowered even once yet,and you wondered if those roses would bloom before the plant died. Could they? After all, the weather was changing- it was raining more often these days. Maybe they couldn’t take it. Even now, a light drizzle had started as you sat, but it took you some time to realise, because you didn’t feel the rain at all, only noticing the faint red hue around. You didn’t mention it, nor did Chuuya.

Perhaps, whatever once could have been between you and the guy opposite you was symbolised by those roses- it could have bloomed, if given the chance, but life abandoned it,  left it to wilt in the aftermath of the storm. Any possible chances for you two were like the beloved ones who had left you now- six feet under the ground, dead, marked by a grave. This was merely the hand that fate dealt you, you had no choice but to accept it

********

“I can’t see the moon tonight.”. You murmur, almost to yourself, as you remain seated against the graves. It had been years, and even till now, neither of you had stopped coming to the grave to pay your respects, you arriving first every time and waiting for him. Your own visits weren’t monthly anymore due to life, more sporadic, but you still did visit from time to time, and you know Chuuya did too. And every year, on the fateful day that the incident happened, both of you never failed to show up, at the same time. Sometimes you exchanged a few words of greeting, a line or two about life. Other times you sat in silence till the moon’s glow started to dim, leaving as noiselessly as you came. Over time, this became your and Chuuya’s last remaining shared tradition out of all those that used to exist, your last link to each other. Seems like none of you was truly able to stay away from the other after all, huh?

“Say, Chuuya, next year, can you check for me whether the moon is visible or not? I feel like there really is something different about it on this day.” You ask him. He curtly replies, “Yeah no, you can do it yourself when you come back here. There’s no big deal about it anyways.” There’s no real bite in his words though, but it still saddens you. You wave it aside though, as you stare at the rose plants, like you always do. 

Over the years, those roses have wilted, died, and new plants have grown in their place. Not a single one of them ever bloomed though. You want to ask Chuuya to check on those plants next year too, but you don’t.

Tired from your day at work- it was more hectic and dangerous than usual- you lean against Chuuya’s shoulder. He remains motionless- he doesn’t push you away, but he certainly doesn’t pull you closer either. This is another thing you developed over the years- if either of you felt like you needed a shoulder on that day, the other would offer it. And you wanted to do it one last time.

Eventually, you two get up and brush yourselves off, preparing to part ways. You can’t help but let your gaze linger on Chuuya’s for a second more than usual as you open up your umbrella- it always does rain on this day, but today it seemed a bit gentler yet stronger- as if the skies were quietly lamenting over what was to come. 

Right before he left, he quietly spoke, the whisper floating between you. “Don’t think everything’s alright between us, because it isn’t.” He always does say something like this before he leaves every time, and again, there’s no real bite or meaning behind those words, just a formality he wishes to continue. 

You let a sad smile rest on your face as you gazed at him, before responding, “Don’t worry, I know.”

“Take care, Chuuya.”

As you started walking off alone, feeling Chuuya’s eyes still on you, ensuring your safety like the gentleman he was, you wondered if you had truly tied all the remaining loose ends of your thread of life, or did you still have regrets? It was very likely- no one could say they died without any regrets at all. And besides, no one’s end was written in stone, unless they carved it themselves. Sometimes, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was ever all too much for you.

The next morning, you call your boss to let him know that you’re ready to take on the mission. It was an important one, involving both a long period of infiltration for gathering valuable intel, and then the assassination of the target at the end. It was a high-risk mission too, but you were used to those, weren’t you?

Why would this mission be any different?

*********

Another year rolled past. This year, Chuuya hadn’t been able to visit the graves at all after the first two-three months because he had been sent overseas for a long-term mission. During the months he’d been in Yokohama, he hadn’t caught a glimpse of you- of course he hadn’t, he made sure to avoid the days you came, preferring to merely see the traces of yourself you left and leaving his own. After that he only got the chance to return there on their next death anniversary, and even for that he had to fight tooth and nail. He was a man of actions, and he would never be the one to break the tradition.

But he’d never imagined that you would break it either. You too were a person who valued actions, or had you changed over the years? 

His sharp eyes scanned the graves cautiously, but there was not a single trace of you. The only life around were the rose plants, not a soul in sight.

Rage, resentment and hints of sorrow bubbled up in him, taking him by storm as he strode over and angrily sat down by one of the graves. He was silent the entire night, letting his rush of emotions subside, staring at the gates as if he was expecting you to suddenly pop out. He stared at the moon, and at the roses. Did you not notice that they were about to bloom when you last visited? Because they were in full bloom that night, for the first time in years, delicate, fragrant petals shining in the moonlight. The moon, too, looked beautiful that night, a full moon surrounded by clouds. It was raining, heavier than usual, but the moon was never hidden. A memory entered his mind- last year, you had asked him to check whether the moon was visible this year.

“Well, it’s visible, and it sure is beautiful, but you didn’t even show up. Why?” He bitterly spoke out loud.

In the soft blowing wind that accompanied the rain, a stray lone rose petal lying on the ground gently floated in air, appearing as ethereal as smoke. He rose up to leave- you clearly weren’t showing up- eyes following the petal as it blew about, landing on a grave not of the Flags, but right beside, almost as if the deceased had specifically asked it to be there. It seemed relatively new too, for he hadn’t seen it the last time he’d been here. He walked over to it, to read what was written on the gravestone.

A moment passed, then another. And another. And Chuuya doesn’t know how long he spent there, kneeling in front of it. He was slowly getting drenched, because his ability had deactivated itself at some point of the night, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was the neatly written words staring back at him, taunting him.

At some point, he understood why he was alone that night. Why you weren’t there to give him company, solace that night. It was because you couldn’t, and so you’d left whatever remained of yourself there, beside him, beside them, eternally. He just hadn’t known.

He could barely breathe, he wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to, because his chest felt so heavy then. Eventually, he noticed where the petal had landed- it was a small letter, slightly wet and yellowed, kept in such a way that the rain wouldn’t destroy it. Someone must have kept it there on your request, and so he took it  out, eyes taking in the faintly smudged but still intelligible words.

‘I’m sorry, Chuuya, for everything. I hope you can forgive me someday, even if I myself never could. Thank you for staying with me, for existing.

-Love, [Y/N]’

A silent tear slipped out of his eye, then another. “Idiot.” he whispered, voice cracking. “You’ve always been too hard on yourself. I think I forgave you a long time ago, I guess I just never wanted to acknowledge it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being too late.”

“And don’t worry, the moon looks beautiful tonight, and so do the roses. They’ve finally bloomed. I think you would have loved to see them, wouldn’t you?”

this took me ages to write, but i hope u like it hehehe anyways votes, reblogs and comments are really very much appreciated <333

[wandixx]

Ghost of fries and Hero of cookies part 4

All work words count: 14 643

Words in this part: 2999

Summary of whole work: Duke wasn't expecting to wake up from his quick rooftop nap to some meta kid with fries. He also wasn't expecting kid to stay

Or

Danny asked Dani to stay safe while she was in Gotham. Where would she be safer than under the wing of local hero? And he looked like he needed bad day combo anyway

This part summary: Dani haven't considered how hard it can be to save people from house fire

Beta read by @audhumla-sailor though English is second language for both of us, so proceed with this in mind. I also know all of the charaters through fics alone, so probably ooc. Stay catious if it's something you don't like

First part, Previous part

Trigger warnings: house fire, panic attacks, temporary character death (am I over dramatic to say this if background child character's heart stops for a long moment and Dani hears it?) slight dissociation (tell me if I missed something, I'll fix it)

Dani proved to be useful addition to Duke’s patrol routine even though she couldn’t always join him, had very little actual training and was a certified mess most of the time. It was nice to banter with her in the free time, she did help when needed and her enhanced hearing was great in finding trouble he would otherwise overlook. She also often brought snacks (he did too, because girl had no idea what was healthy and in the love of god, if he didn’t try to get her in better habits). 

“Fire on seven. Some people are stuck inside,” Dani blurted out and flew faster than baseline person should be able to withstand. Duke run and grappled after orange blur she became. It was less than perfect that she couldn’t tell more specifically where things were going down, but it wasn’t anything she couldn’t train. 

They rarely intervened with fires, unlike Gotham’s police and CPS, firefighters here worked pretty great. Dani knew this, so her going there in the first place meant something was up.

On a fly he grabbed his gas mask. It was made to withstand Scarecrow and Joker when they released their toxins and not smoke so it should do its job. He hoped that Dani would stop before entering so he could give her spare mask and well, coordinate. But she didn’t, of course. What did he expect from kid who body tackled Joker’s goon without second thought about idk, four other goons with guns being in the same room! He only saw end of her cape in between flames when he swung to the right street. Duke made sure his mask was secure when he stopped on a nearest save rooftop to assess the situation. Fire was too big to be put out with personal means like fire extinguishers so all they could do was to evacuate. 

“Hoopoe, you reckless idiot, don’t die in here,” he muttered, sure she would hear him before grappling inside too.

***

About five seconds after entering building, Dani decided that she didn’t like fires. It probably came from her time in Amity but she was far more comfortable when she could beat the root of the problem into submission. Also, it was surprisingly loud, like need-to-cover-her-ears-for-a-hot-moment type of loud. Not louder than a rogue attack, it would be really hard to beat that level of noise but fire was worse in some way. It was somewhat similar to nails on a blackboard. Not in a sound per se but in a vibe she got from it. How she couldn’t tune it out like she usually did.

She straightened herself and dove ahead to the nearest person she heard. Smoke rendered her eyes nearly absolutely useless. Though she saw, heard and felt enough to find safe routes. Of course she could go intangible and in theory wouldn’t be affected by anything from physical realm but even when intangible fire kept burning for some reason and she would prefer to stay raw to being crispy. Rescued people should stay unfried too.

She didn’t quite remember first few rescues, just that it went smoothly, she took a leaf from Danny’s book, throwing some puns and references she didn’t quite knew but from context thought they would fit. Then once outside, she kept telling them to wait for paramedics and went back inside. She was more and more on edge for some reason.

She was really glad she didn’t need to breathe as much.

Middle-aged man grabbed her arm and shook her violently, asking to save his children.

“Fourth floor, fifth window to the left. Please save them!” man cried. Dani felt kinda like snapping but took deep breath to stop herself from it. Signal would be disappointed if she yelled at panicking civilian. She could kinda relate to the man anyway. She was probably also panicking.

“I’ll save them, I promise,” she said instead, phasing out of his grip.

She heard them, little boy weakly whispering to his sister that everything would be alright as soon as the heroes would get to them. His voice was hoarse, choked, interrupted by shallow breaths while the girl sobbed. Dani darted their way. Fire unit and medics were finally getting closer.

Girl yelled when caped hero appeared in room full of smoke. They both were sitting, older boy slightly swaying.

“It’s okay, I’m here to get you out to your dad,” she soothed, grabbing them both into a hug like carry. She barely jumped away from under the crushed lamp that fell where they were half a second before. Girl yelped.

“It’s okay, I got you, it’s okay,” she muttered, hoisting kids into more comfortable position. She flew nearest way out of the rom, looking for a clear spot on an outer wall. Her stomach dropped and core spasmed when she realized that boy stopped breathing, going limp in her arms. She was panicking throughout whole of this fire rescuing mess but only then she became frantic.

Maybe it was because of the smoke that kept cluging in her throat. She didn’t need to breathe as often but now she felt like she was suffocating and was suddenly all too aware of each bit of air she managed to swallow in her lungs.

She almost dropped when they finally got out. It took less than a second for her to fly to the kids’ father. She put girl down a little to hastily before gently laying boy n the pavement. Adult was beginning to hyperventilate and honestly Dani wasn’t too far behind him. She wished Signal was there. He would know what to do. Dani only had been on one first-aid course and she spent the better part of it on reviewing memes.

She had to remember something!

Breaths! She had to make absolutely sure if he was breathing!

She remembered practicing this one, so she did as instructed, counting to fifteen instedad of ten for a good measure. Then to twenty just to be safe. She knew she was counting too fast anyway.

Boy wasn’t breathing.

He wasn’t breathing!

She wished her ears were deceiving her but there was no heartbeat too!

What was she supposed to do now?!

Oh, right, she remembered chest compression thing from movies. She could do it.

Someone yanked her back, so hard she almost hit her head.

“You’re doing it wrong. I’m nurse, I’ll do it,” young woman declared, already kneeling were Dani was mere seconds ago, unzipped boy’s hoodie and got to work. Only then halfa realized that they got circled by small crowd of people rescued from building. Two of them were calming boy’s family down. She would use some comforting too.

She scrambled to her feet, racing out the crowd. Nobody even glanced her way.

She turned around and flew back inside the burning building.

Why did it feel like running away?

*

First ambulance arrived three rescues after the boy. Dani was so relieved she had to stop for a moment because her knees buckled and flight betrayed her for a hot second. She heard only four other people inside and Signal. They would finish soon enough.

Good.

Her head was spinning slightly.

“Congratulations, you are being rescued, please do not resist” she announced with forced confidence, appearing next to the man who probably was in a gang. Thankfully he didn’t fight her. When she was back in Central City one of the Flashes told her to make sure that people know she was trying to help them especially if they seemed like the type to choose fight over other crisis responses. This man certainly did. He almost punched her anyway.

Next was boy who was far too little to be left alone. She gave him her cape. She assumed he could use the comfort it gave her. There was a reason she choose comfiest blanket to this role.

She heard Signal making his way to the last victim but for some reason it was slow going. She flew up there after the last reassuring words to the boy.

She learned why Signal got stuck about three seconds after appearing on the right floor. It was a literal epicenter or whatever it was called. The root of the problem. The literal Hell on earth. Dani stopped for a moment, downed by the coughing fit and tears making her sight absolutely useless.

Signal was talking to someone. Asking them to calm down. She wasn’t sure. Dani forced herself to stand up and go see what was happening. She was probably swaying a little.

There was young woman in the middle of the fire. There was no scent of burning skin or hair so Dani assumed there were some powers involved. Thankfully most likely she wasn't a ghost. Dani wasn’t in the right headspace to fight a ghost and as cool and competent as Signal was, he couldn’t fight ghosts either.

Woman was visibly terrified. She kept screaming, begging Signal to go away because she was too dangerous to be so close. Hero tried to talk her down. She yelled that it was all her fault and she shouldn’t be saved.

Oh.

Woman had to just learn about her ability and lost control over it. Go big or go home, right? She didn’t exactly have home anymore so…

Dani barely kept herself from hysterical laughter.

Ghost fights were so, so much easier, she just had to beat the cause of the problem into submission and trap it in the thermos. No persuade it into stopping.

It was all too hot, too loud, too suffocating.

Dani could barely think.

Creaking of the ceiling boomed through her brain, somehow getting over the overwhelming cackle of fire that made her just want to hide in the corner and cry, even ignoring absolute onslaught to her other senses.

Ceiling was going to fall down and crush all of them.

Dani could barely think, so she didn’t.

She forgot to turn intangible when she crushed through window, meta woman held tightly in her arms. Thank Ancients she was durable enough to not break her head for that. Signal could handle himself. Hopefully.

Dani gasped on fresh air. She felt lightheaded, barely cognizant from instinctual relief to be out. She was free falling, her body limp, eyes half-closed, wind rushing in her ears and on her face. It was paralyzing but not in a bad way.

It felt good.

It felt like freedom.

It felt like something she could do for the rest of eternity.

It felt-

“HOOPOE!” panicked yell cut through her haze.

Right.

She was plummeting to the ground. She held someone. They would die when they crushed.

She should stop falling.

Could she do it? 

She had to.

She dropped off the blue haired woman with the nearest medic squad and ran. Or flew. She wasn’t quite sure. Her brain still didn’t feel right. But she knew she had to leave.

Next thing she knew was the pain from practically collapsing on a wall and dumpster she hid behind. From what, she had no idea. She had no idea about anything.

So she did only thing she still could.

Dani cried.

***

Duke was getting frantic in his search for Dani after that room collapsed. He knew she made it out, he saw her falling head first to the ground. He was trying to catch her but he knew he couldn’t do it on time. And then she caught herself, left Abigail with medics and flew away in a blur. And Duke couldn’t go right after her because some cop had questions. Duke did his best to wrap it up quickly but still by the time he could look Hoopoe was nowhere to be seen. He was straining his eyes trying to see any sign of her but other than the boy with her cape as a blanket there was nothing. He was tempted to ask Babs for help.

Scratch that, he didn’t have time to do this on his own. Pride and this stupid bet be damned. He turned on his comm, not bothering to go off the main channel.

“Oracle, I need you to search for white-haired preteen girl dressed in white and black. Somewhere near Rossaire street. Probably there will be no clear footage”

“Need help in search?” Steph chimed in gently “Spoiler can be there five minutes flat”

Duke considered it for a moment. Steph knew how Dani looked (as much as anyone who saw her only in photos could know how she looked) and wanted to meet girl anyway. She could be useful help. On the other hand, she mentioned before she had some important stuff. And he wasn’t sure how Dani would react to someone unknown finding her in this state. Last thing he wanted was scaring girl even more. He searched road for Dani’s past light, again.

“No, don’t worry. She just got a little overwhelmed”

“Alright, good luck with finding your kid then”

“She is not my kid!”

“Signal who-” Bruce grunted but got interrupted by Babs.

“Turn right, she entered blind zone but I can lead you there”

“Thanks O”

“No invisibility?” Steph mused.

“Thank God for that,” Duke answered, while grappling to the left. He shoot forward as fast as he could ”Or maybe not. She has to be quite out of it”

“Left again”

“Signal, who are you looking for?” Bruce asked again.

“Next alley to the right. It’s the last place I can see her”

“Thanks O.”

“Signal-”

“Later B.”

Duke landed in the alley, turning his comm off. He knew that sooner rather than later he would have to explain himself and would probably get endless teasing but it wasn’t important at the time. He searched again for past light. He run after glimpses. He stopped when he heard sniffle from behind a dumpster. He slowed down, approaching loudly. It wouldn’t do any good to scare her.

“Hoopoe?”

Her breath hitched. Duke sat down next to her far enough to not invide her personal space but close enough to make her feel not alone.

Her face was black from ashes and smoke other than where her mask was and cleaner tracks her tears were making.

Her mask was laying on a ground (clearly forcefully thorn off which ouch), cape obviously nowhere in sight. When she calmed down, he would ask what happened with it. It would probably be a good distraction. But not now.

“Hey kid. Can you try breathing a little slower for me?”

She mumbled something, inaudible between loud wheezing.

“I know it’s hard but I’m sure you can do it. Who if not you?”

Girl visibly tried, shifting around as if she tried to find some much needed comfort. Clearly, the lack of pressure her cape was giving her wasn’t helping.

“How about you try putting hand on my chest and matching my breathing? It often helps”

She moved her hand and he led it to his chest. Dani shuddered.

Slowly, telegraphing his movements Duke extended his arm and put it across Dani’s shoulders. Girl leaned into it with choked sobs.

“I know it was scary,” he muttered as she shook silently “You did so well, Dani”

Girl let out quiet, high-pitched whine that didn’t sound quite human, trapping him in the hug much stronger than child her age should manage. He rubbed her back gently.

They sat in silence, as girl relaxed a bit.

“I officially despise fires. Just not my vibes, y'know,” was the first thing she managed to say. Duke smiled, still trying to comfort her. He knew far too well what she was trying to do. He let her. Every hero needed to retreat to humor every once in a while. Majority of his family and associated vigilantes did it constantly.

“Right here with you”

She looked at him, searching for something on what little she could see on his face.

“You see more, don’t you?” she asked but didn’t wait for an answer “It was too much even with normal eyes. How can you be so calm?”

“I have normal ears and after fifth or tenth time it loses its charm”

“Yeah, okay,” she wheezed out “I didn’t expect the fire to be so loud. And smoke was a bit much in terms of texture and smell and everything”

“I would give you a mask if you waited, you know?”

He felt more than saw how she shrugged. It seemed like she wasn’t exactly listening to him anymore.

“But since you didn’t, we should get you looked up by some professional. You breathed in some nasty stuff”

Dani didn’t respond. Then she sprung up with gasp, a little out of his grasp, not standing but sitting straighter. She grinned, wide, eased thing gracing her lips as fresh tears began to create new paths on her dirty cheeks. She let out a choked laugh, more sign of relief or release of tension than actual happiness. It sounded rougher than usual, probably because of smoke and ashes aggravating her throat.

He wanted to ask what was up but it felt like the wrong time for it.

“He is breathing again” Dani cheered gently, as if unsure before repeating loudly, letting herself believe “THE BOY IS BREATHING AGAIN!”

Girl was shaking again, no bothering with drying tears this time.

Duke could guess what happened. He didn’t want to think about it too hard.

“It’s great to hear”

“Yup!” she grinned between fat tears.

They sat in silence as Dani gradually calmed down again. He knew she didn’t feel all that well yet, she couldn’t but she was probably calm enough to not break down in the middle of the BatBurger.

“I think this day counts as quite bad one,” girl said, wheezing a bit. Duke smiled, knowing where this was going. He ruffled her hair.

“Yeah, I think so too”

None of them said anything for a long moment.

“You’re up for a ‘bad day combo’ Gotham style, Hoopoe?”

“Yup” she smiled.

********

Apartment building: *is on fire*

Dani: It can't be that bad

Narrator voice: It was in fact, much worse

Kid, whose heart stopped thankfully didn't have too many issues tied to it and nothing life treatening long term. Every person who was in the building during fire left relatively unscathed. This fic is supposed to be mostly fluff I'm not killing anyone

Kid who got Dani's cape-blanket refused to phisically let go of it for solid two weeks. Later it still had to be in his sight. Understandable since his life went of the rails and did it hard. Kids ripe age of seven shouldn't be home alone. Especially not for whole day...

Dani: *still clearly shaken* Does your bad day combo include fries?

Duke, on his way to The "I had mental breakdown and need calories" Waffle Foodtrack: No, but we can change it!

Underpayed BatBurger employee: ...

Duke&Dani looking like they've just returned from war:...

Underpayed BatBurger employee: ...

Duke&Dani:...

Underpayed BatBurger employee: *deciding they don't have enough mental energy to care* Welcome to the BatBurger, can I take your bat-order?

Duke: One kids meal, please

Employee at The "I just had mental breakdown and need calories" Waffle Foodtrack, used to seeing Bats crying: *sees Hoopoe munching on her fries but in a sad way* Ah, babiest one got christened by fire already?

Employee: *takes out notebook to note down crazy combo this kid will come up with**they have every Gotham vigilante in here*

Dani: I haven't had a waffle ever before so maybe nuttella and whipped cream? I don't know, sweet?

Employee, offended: Let me surprise you.

It was great waffle, sweet enough to give sugar rush quite big group of preschoolers. It had marshmallows, sprinkles, whipped cream, jellybeans, whatever else this person on the mission found and could mix. Dani absolutely loved and devoured it.

I finally didn't forget to add read more!!!

I really want to draw Dani and Duke togheter but I can't find any pose references that satisfied me. Do you have any good ones? Can be chibi though preferably not

Next part

[tlouadditc]

Hiii, first of all I love all your content. Could you pls make a one shot or a story about y/n as a cheerleader or something else and ellie as a football player in college? <3

touchdown.

college football!ellie x cheerleader!reader.

a/n: tysm for this req!! i had fun writing this even though i have no idea what goes on in sports (oops). keep that in mind so if i got something wrong, forgive me!! also ellie has the farm!ellie haircut because thats my fav ellie. anyway, enjoy <33

warnings: smut with plot, 18+ (MDNI), lowercase intended, a lil bit of fluff at the beginning [if u squint!], dirty talk (a lot of it.), daddy kink [oops!!], mean ellie, teasing, short nipple play [literally one line], ruined orgasm, no aftercare [eek.] NOT PROOFREAD LOL.

it's late august, the mild heat hitting your back as you walk to your dorms. the season officially starts in a couple of days- meaning the first football game is also gonna happen in a couple days- and you're the most worked up you've ever been. the break was nice; being able to see your family consistently for a couple months was much needed. but as you opened the door to your dorm, you realized you can't reminisce about the break. get ready for the next week.

as you begin to unpack your bags, you hear the door slightly open behind you. you smile, knowing who's there already. a familiar pair of arms wrap around your waist, pulling your hips back slightly. "she's baaaaack," ellie says quietly, kissing your neck gently as she rocks your hips side to side. you chuckle slightly, turning to look at your girlfriend. "missed you, babe," you say, fully embracing her in your arms. you feel her smile into your neck. pulling back, you give her a small peck on the cheek and admire her.

"new hair?" you question, noticing a small change; the length. she steps back, nodding. "you like it?" she says, still smiling. her auburn hair was cut right to her chin with a side part plastered into it. "i love it, actually," you declare, tucking some stray hairs back behind her pierced ears. "suits you."

she grins before sitting on your bed. "enough about my changes," she begins, "how was your break? you ready for another season of being my personal cheerleader?" you laugh, "babe, i have to cheer for everyone. but my break was good, i guess. was thinking of you the entire time."

"whaaaatever," she teases, rolling her eyes playfully. "i missed you more. almost went crazy without you." ellie was always super dramatic when it came to you; the entire break, she complained about how she was gonna die if she didn't see you in the next couple of hours. it's something you loved about her.

"oh, that reminds me," you suddenly utter, rushing to your closet to grab something. "we got new outfits!"

"oh, yeah?" ellie sat up on your bed, fully attentive to the outfit in question. "let me see it." you excitedly hold it up; a black mini pleated skirt with red glittery trim on the bottom. a matching cropped tank top came with it. it had your college's mascot plastered on the front with your last name on the back.

"wow," she clears her throat, eyes blown wide while eyeing it up and down. "i think you should t-try it on." you giggle and turn to go change.

after a couple minutes, you get it on. before you leave, you assess how it fits on you; your boobs are perfectly sitting inside the tank top, making your figure look sleek and classy. the skirt, however.. bend over and your ass is completely out. you stare at yourself, taking in everything. you snap out of your daze when you hear ellie knock on the door. "babe? you good in there?" she asks, a slight tone of concern being heard. without answering, you open the door to reveal yourself.

for a few seconds, she stands there, mouth open. no words. just admiring every part of you. she moves her hands to your sides, mouthing wow as her eyes travel up and down your body. "you like?" you ask, slightly smirking as you look into her eyes.

"god, i love it," she breathes, her eyes moving from your body up to your eyes. a hand goes to your skirt, lifting it up. "but this lil' skirt's gonna distract everyone, y'know that?"

before you can respond, someone bangs at the front door, causing you both to jump. "y/n!" they yelled, "practice is starting! hurry up!"

goddamnit, you think. you look at ellie with apologetic eyes, grabbing your stuff. almost as if she can read your mind, she goes to the door and yells, "i'll see you down there, babe. tell em' i'll be late!"

practice was boring. a lot of forced small-talk with your teammates about their break, the drills were actually ass, it was a bad start to the season. ellie, who was on the other side of the field you were practicing on, was eyeing you the entire time. the way your skirt went up and revealed your ass took away every ounce of attention that was meant for her sport.

you knew what you were doing. you felt her eyes on you the entire time. anytime you had a chance to tease her when nobody was looking, you'd flip your skirt up and play it off as you fixing your outfit.

after practice, you go back to your dorm and take a quick shower. as soon as you grab your towel, your phone vibrates.

ellie: open the door

you look at the text, confused. nonetheless, you walk to the door in your towel and look through the peephole. ellie's there, waiting impatiently. you unlock the door and twist the knob to open it.

as soon as you open it, ellie forces her way in. she pushes you onto your bed, turning back to close and lock the door. when she turns back to you, you see her dark expression. she's definitely frustrated, pissed even. before you can ask any questions, she simply states:

"you think you can tease me all day and get away with it?"

you're still confused, forgetting completely about practice. when it hits you, she has a slight smirk on her face. "yeah, you remember."

she gets on top of you, planting small, but passionate kisses from your cheeks down to your collarbone. "flipping up that small fucking skirt, thinking i wouldn't do anything to you," she mumbles, pulling down the top of your towel, exposing your breasts. she cups one in each hand, running her thumb over your nipple. "these pretty fuckin' tits," she continues, "bouncing every time you jump.. fuckin' driving me crazy, y'know?"

you whimper, getting wetter by the second. "oh, you want me to fuck you, huh?" she coos, moving down to your ear. "want me to fuck you dumb? make you cum all night?" all you can do is mumble small yes's, feeding into your submission. "oh, i know, baby."

she pulls the towel off of you, fully exposing your damp body. her hands roam from your sides down to your sopping wet cunt, earning a small gasp from you. "what? you want me to touch you here, doll?" she asks, slightly in a mocking tone. you nod feverishly, opening your legs a bit. the wetness coats your inner thighs, glistening in the light above you two.

"god, so wet just for me?" she asks, looking you in the eyes. her middle finger traces along your slit, collecting your slick on her finger. you whine, opening your legs wider so she can slip a finger in you.

"what do you want? hm?" she moves right in front of your face, keeping her middle finger at your entrance. "use your words, baby."

"p-please fuck me, ellie."

"that's not the name you use. you know that."

"fuck- please, i n-need it."

"what's my name?"

you hesitate before answering quietly, "daddy."

"that's right. good girl."

she slips her middle finger into you, earning a gasp from you as you clench around her finger. she moves it in and out as you try to gain any friction from her palm. you look so needly, so helpless in this state; it turns ellie on so much. she's just looking down at you, watching you get off like a fucking dog.

"fuck, you look so good like this baby," she whispers, teasing another finger at your entrance. you pathetically whimper and hold her arm with both hands. "you want another?"

the way she asks you is in a mocking way, making you feel dumb under her touch. but it feels to good to stop now. you nod, almost crying, chasing your orgasm.

"do you deserve it, baby?" she speaks, looking you directly in your eyes. "do you really? answer me."

she's slowing down. you beg and plead for her to keep going; all you can hear are your babbles, "pleasepleaseplease daddy, i need it, i'll be good i promise, im sorry"

"you should've thought about that before you teased me, slut."

she completely removes her fingers, making you whine in frustration. you're mad, but to be fair.. you brought it on yourself.

a/n: this took so long omg writers block is an ass. anyway. might make another part, i just need more ideas if i make another.

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Dark!Bruce Wayne

Pairing: Dark Bruce Wayne x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

WARNING: Toxic/Abusive Relationship; Manipulation.

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback.

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Bruce loves to throw lavish parties dedicated to you - his beloved girlfriend. He literally takes any occasion to celebrate and always loves to put you at the center of attention. You deserve everyone to know how amazing and gorgeous you are. 

Trust me when I say that you’ll never stay more than a month in Gotham as Bruce loves taking you (and his private plane) to all the properties and mansions he owns all over the world. Traveling will never be an issue for him, constantly exploring the world and staying at the most luxurious hotels and resorts with you by his side. 

Shopping sprees are frequent. Bruce loves to spoil you with the best that money can buy so you don’t have to worry about it. If you look twice at something, Bruce won’t hesitate in swiping his credit card for you. 

There are times when he can get a bit extravagant like the time where you wanted to visit this clothing boutique near its closing time so Bruce, like any diligent boyfriend would do, bought the entire store for you. Now there’s no curfew for you to leave the store, right? 

And because he (or Alfred) can’t always drive you everywhere, he gifted you a brand new BMW - with a professional driver included- so this way, you’ll be able to go wherever you want (we’ll talk about this later).

Bruce is so in love with you that, although he keeps with his party boy lifestyle, he’ll want you by his side at every opportunity. On every social event, you’re dressed with the most expensive dresses, the finest jewelry, the most flawless make-up. 

But as much as Bruce loves to flash his money around, he doesn’t want you to love him only for it. You need to love him for his personality.

So, please, make sure you’re with him for the right reasons otherwise you’ll be stuck with a very obsessive man and his money won’t make it better. 

 Now, talking about the real content here: 

Bruce views you like a fragile baby. You need a strong man like him to protect you, to take the decisions for you. All you need to do is stay home (or at his mansion, to be more accurate) and be a good girl for him. He’ll take care of all the rest, don't worry your delicate head with working or trying to find a job cause you won’t need that. 

As much as he takes you to parties, it’s always non-alcoholic drinks for you. You’re not allowed to drink booze at parties and that’s final. If you’re alone with him, that’s fine.

But in a public place where anyone could try to take advantage of your drunk self, not a chance. Bruce won’t allow it. 

Dressing up to go out is also when Bruce’s possessive side awakens so don’t bother picking the short dresses and tops with cleavages cause that’s not gonna roll with Bruce.

There’s no way in hell you’ll ever be leaving the mansion without Bruce assessing your chosen outfit and you gotta make sure that you’re dressed up quite modestly. Your body and its secrets are reserved for Bruce and that’s the way he wants to keep it. 

If you thought that being with Bruce would be a full and wild party life, then you’re wrong. Partying alone with your friends, only at his club (the one he bought in Gotham S4) and even like that, his security guards will be keeping a tight eye on you - the boss’s girlfriend.

Not to mention that Bruce will be checking in with you every fifteen minutes (much to your friend’s consternation) and you better answer his calls back, otherwise Bruce will show up at the club to make sure you’re safe and sound. 

Speaking of going out, you have a curfew. Gotham at night is dangerous and Bruce can get quite protective, so it’s not long after you start dating him that he implements a curfew - for your own safety, of course.

And also, you have to ask for his permission to hang out with your friends and answer a million questions about who they are, their full names, what they do in life, their addresses and phone numbers, all of that. Something he’s so relentless in that you just give up on trying. 

Going out means keeping a special tracking app in your phone. One that Bruce had especially custom-made for you and it doesn’t allow you to remove or fake your location. No tricks will work on fooling that specific app. Bruce really doesn’t take any chances with you, does he?

To make it worse, leaving the mansion is something you can only do with him or Alfred. He only trusts Alfred to take you outside, knowing he’s more than capable of protecting. And if Alfred is not available, then he’ll reluctantly allow some intensely trained bodyguards to accompany you. 

So basically, you’ll get to be treated like a princess, but at the same time you’ll be just a prisoner of Bruce’s love. 

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