#better hide away from every one and not bother them with your existence

[jules-van-hering]

just obliberated my inner critic in battle by realizing that she's just fucking scared of being excluded or abandoned if she doesn't perform effortlessly. now I just hug her and tell her I see her, that it's okay to be scared, but to please trust me and be patient. because I can do it. and making mistakes won't kill us

[yandere-romanticaa]

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🍒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜.

❝ heaven is my baby, suicide's her father, opulence is the end. ❞ - lana del rey.

various! yandere! honkai star rail men on how they claim you ~

🎀 I just wanted to make a little post which features my favorite male HSR characters lolz. Also, there's zero reason why I picked the song for the title other than the fact that it is for the ✨ aesthetic ✨!

❥ 𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍 !

What better way than to leave a mark on his beloved than by his mere presence alone? Jing Yuan is a simple man in his core, even if his tactical nature or even mischievous side can get carried away at times, The General is all too aware of his influence on the Lofu.

The sun could stop shining, the sky could fall and darkness could envelop the whole galaxy but not even that could erase the impact that Jing Yuan has left on you.

Wandering eyes follow you everywhere you go, quaint whispers have become a daily occurrence for you as the entirety of the Lofu knows who you lover is. Some praise and envy your position as The General is known to be handsome, kind and strong. They secretly spit at you and curse your very existence, nasty jealousy rotting them to their core as you march on like a solider to war, aimless and uncertain.

There is also of course the opposite end of the spectrum - adoring fans who just gush about your so called relationship with the dashing general. Hours are wasted scrolling away on your phone as you browse through the endless sea of lovey dovey articles, pictures taken you weren't even aware of that existed, and a plethora of other things you could even bother to remember.

All he needed to do was to just give you a nice golden collar to seal the deal. At least that would be the more obvious way of him trying to brand you as his own sweetheart.

He had his own little secret though. A velvet box was kept hidden away in his desk, ready to be opened on a special occasion.

Depending on how you got on with the general in the future, the little thing in the box was either going to make you the happiest person in the world or, he really would finally shackle you with gold.

❥ 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘 !

Sunday, ever the gentleman, would try to remain subtle about his feelings towards you in public. There are just some things that you do not do, nor share with the outside world.

This is a rule he always tells you to follow.

Still, all he needs to do is to speak. Honeyed words fall from his lips like candy, always so sweet, so addictive, so passionate. Even a man like Sunday, who is known for keeping his cool, cannot hide his infatuation with you. He rambles and rambles, sometimes even losing himself in his thoughts as he sings his praises for you, like the lovesick fool that he is.

Sunday likes to think that he is being cool, suave, but he is literally anything but.

Sometimes, he gets a little too carried away. Sometimes, his darker desires get the better of him, which can set you off a little. He's always so sweet and apologetic whenever he upsets you...

Please, he says through gritted teeth.

Don't mind my ramblings. They don't mean anything. Truly, they do not.

Disregard those pleas entirely as they are nothing but hollow. All one needs to do is to look into his crazed eyes, and that is where you will find out just how true everything he's saying really is.

❥ 𝐉𝐈𝐀𝐎𝐐𝐈𝐔 !

This sly fox has such a hard time keeping his hands to himself... In all honesty, can you even blame him? Whenever he sneaks up on you, Jiaoqiu cannot help but to place his hands literally anywhere on your soft body and he is not shy about showing his true feelings.

Bearing his pearly white fangs, Jiaoqiu likes to bite from time to time.

The desire to do so is further enhanced with every sweet noise you make. Now now, don't cover your mouth, be nice! Every squeal, sigh, groan, even scream are so precious to him... Don't deny him the pleasure of not being able to listen to you.

It's very cruel of you, he says with a pout.

In the cover of night, he likes to trace the markings he left on you with his tongue, maybe even adding even more marks in the process. If you bleed a little, it's all fine and dandy.

You always taste sweet to him.

And the thought of other people being able to see the red bruises which bloom into hideous purple in green bruises on your neck... My goodness, he thinks to himself.

He could just devour you whole.

[artemis32]

yandere Tim Drake i

this man has the sluttiest undercut I've ever seen - also, this is shit, but you pretend to love it, okay? Okay.

dc masterlist

Thinking about Tim Drake, who, in all his time as Red Robin, has never once caught a break.

He's always busy, always out on patrol, busting drug rings or trafficking schemes, always locked up in a dark, soulless room doing research for Bruce, always doing something.

So, one day, when he finds a small slice of heaven, a refuge from the never ending list of responsibilities he has to see to, he's sure to grab it with both hands and keep it close to his chest.

He, somewhat guiltily, doesn't tell anyone about it. It feels like something just for him - a space for him to relax, where he doesn't have to pretend he has his whole life together.

Maybe it's a dusty old library hidden between the high-rises of Gotham Central, maybe it's a dingy cybercafe he stumbled upon after a long night of patrol. Or perhaps it's not even a physical place - maybe it's an online forum or group chat of some kind.

No matter what it might've been, it had grown to be a safe haven. And it only becomes better when, one stupidly sweltering summer afternoon, you slip in.

Sweet, oblivious you.

God, he loved you. You were everything he wanted to be. Free of all worry and hardship, at least in his eyes. You were innocent and so sickly sweet. He loved everything about you. From the way your eyes sparkled when you got excited, and the animated way you spoke, using your hands to make wide, sweeping gestures, to the tired scowl that pinched your mouth and brow after a long day.

The clothes you wore, the way you smelled, the beautiful, soft glow of your skin, he loved it all.

****

He loved you.

Only, you didn't exactly know he existed. And he never actually, you know, spoke to you. But that didn't matter! No, not at all, not when he had enough love for the both of you.

He knew everything about you.

Where you lived, how old you were, your likes and dislikes, every dirty little secret you thought you could hide away, things you thought were kept concealed in the corners of your mind.

He knew, and he loved you regardless. Not in spite of them, but rather, because of them. He loved that you were so flawed, so imperfect, and yet still so innocent to your core. He felt the deep seated need to keep you that way, to maintain that innocence and shield it from the horrors of Gotham, of the world.

That was why he watched over you, every hour of every day.

Did he think it was wrong, or creepy? Yeah, a bit, but he didn't really care to change. How bad could his actions really be, if they were keeping you safe?

So what if hacking all your devices and bugging your house wasn't legal? He was a vigilante, he was just doing his job. So what if he put a tracker in every pair of shoes you owned? He just needed to keep track of your movements, make sure you weren't wandering off anywhere too dangerous.

More than a few times, he'd followed you at night, watching from above as you ambled through the streets of Gotham, completely oblivious to how vulnerable you were. Really, how did you manage to survive this long without him watching over you? Do you even know how many robberies and assaults he'd saved you from before they'd happened?

He held off on actually speaking to you, as Tim Drake or Red Robin. Maybe it was nerves, or fear, or something beyond the words he had to communicate what he felt for you. Regardless, he was content watching you from the side lines.

For now.

****

After a while of watching from a distance, he'd decided he needed a bit more than just the sight of you. That's how he ended up donning his Red Robin costume and letting himself into your apartment one night to watch over you as you slept.

It had quickly become an admittedly bad habit, one that he didn't bother trying to correct.

Watching you calmed something within him, something he hadn't even known was there. He'd started including your small apartment on his patrols, at least three times a week, and it's become the highlight of his day.

Then, one day, months after this little song and game of his started, he decided enough was enough. Why was he being so weird and pathetic about it? He was a hero. He was smart, and attractive (or at least, that's what his mother used to say), and he was rich. He was the whole package. What more could someone ask for?

So, he bit the bullet and talked to you. Or, he would have, if you'd actually, you know, shown up. But you didn't. And that was fine! Totally, 100% fine! It wasn't like he felt disappointed or angry or anything. He'd just try again another time.

Only... in the months that he'd known you, his patience had dwindled to a near trickle, and he realised he couldn't wait. And so, he made probably the dumbest, most rookie mistake of his vigilante career.

He snuck into your apartment and, naturally, as one does, revealed himself to you. In full costume, mask and all. Well, the mask had come off about ten minutes into his fanatical rant, but-

Wait, why were you looking at him like that?

No, no, don't- don't back away. Hey, why were you reaching for your phone? Who were you calling?

The police? No, no, no, no, no- This isn't how it was supposed to go, damnit!

****

Now, watching you sleep in his bed, so cosy and soft, as if you belonged there (you did belong there), he chides himself for not doing this sooner.

What was he so scared of? Sure, you'd seemed a bit overwhelmed when he'd dropped onto your balcony and stepped into your apartment, but it was probably just sheer joy that had you screaming like that.

And, well, sure, you'd rambled on about him watching you for months prior - which he had - but for you to call it 'stalking' seemed like a bit of an over exaggeration.

Despite all that, he knew - knew - that you'd be so happy when you woke up. As happy as you made him. Because despite everything going on in his life - his struggles as Robin, with Batman and Damian, with Stephanie and Connor, and leading the Young Justice team - despite all that, he had you.

And just the thought of you alone brightened his day.

Now? Having you here, with him, for the foreseeable future?

That alone made whatever anger or fear you may have towards him worth it.

And, you know, they did say love blinds people. So maybe you were right about all that (Doubtful. He was smart. He was also right about all this).

But it didn't really matter. Not now, not when you were finally his.

[zegrasdrysdale]

[ like you hate me ] e. edwards

day 7 of kinktober (hate sex w/ ethan edwards)

paring : Ethan Edwards x fem!reader

summary : she can’t stand ethan, but she knows there is tension between them that she can’t ignore anymore when they collide at a party

warning(s) : smut ! rough / hate sex, p in v, protected sex, nicknames during sex, begging, mentions of alcohol, light alcohol consumption

author’s note : i couldn’t wait to get to this one bc i had so many ideas hehe

kinktober schedule

༺──────────────༻

She shouldn't be here, but she let her friends talk her into coming to the party. Hockey parties don't usually end well for her whenever she does decide to attend them.

Especially if she runs into him.

Ethan Edwards is the bane of her existence and the biggest pain in her ass. He has the biggest ego she's ever seen on a hockey player, and he's had it for all four years that she's known him. He likes to mess with her during classes they have together and distract her from keeping her solid 3.8 GPA. He likes to mess with her in passing and make jokes every time he sees her. He even makes her job as the hockey team’s social media admin very difficult and she’s growing tired of it.

Maybe she won’t even run into him. She can avoid him in his own house. It won’t be that hard with every girl throwing herself at him and distracting him from the fact that she’s there.

The hockey house is off campus in a suburban area of Ann Arbor about 15 minutes away from main campus. It’s already crawling with partygoers when she pulls up in an Uber about an hour after the party was scheduled to start. Music blasts from every open door and window and she questions how they haven’t gotten cited yet for loud noise.

Inside is so crowded she can barely walk. She squeezes past multiple athletes from different sports in the foyer as she makes her way to the kitchen to get something to drink. If she’s going to be in the same building as Ethan then she needs to have a little alcohol in her system. God knows what’s going to happen and what words are going to be exchanged if their paths cross.

In the kitchen stands three of Ethan’s closest friends. All with an arm around some girl. Luca is the first to notice her walk into the room. He immediately smiles at the sight.

"Holy shit," he laughs. "She makes an appearance. I can't believe it. I thought you would never show your face at a hockey house party."

She shrugs while she makes herself a drink with cheap vodka and a mixer. "I was coerced into coming," she tells him. She looks up at Luca, Mark, and TJ. She sips her drink. "Where's your friend? Hiding upstairs in his room hopefully?"

Mark laughs and shakes his head. "He's around," he replies. "Last I saw him, he was out back playing cup pong with Duker, Moldy and Schiffer."

"Now I can avoid the back," she says with a smile. "Thanks."

All three of them laugh as she turns and leaves the room. She makes her way into the living room. Her friends sit on the couch so she sits on the arm of the chair next to the person she'd consider her best friend. She leans back and sips from her cup.

People come in and out of the room constantly, but she loves being able to see everyone and socialize with whoever does come into the room. She talks to people she hasn't seen or spoken to in a little bit.

She's laughing at something her friend said when she watches the one person she didn't want to see walk into the room with Luca and Mark. They better not have snitched on her to him or she will make sure they hate the Monday Question next week.

Ethan's eyes land on her and she quickly averts her eyes. She looks at her friend and pretends to be invested in the conversation so maybe Ethan won't walk over and bother her.

Except, that plan fails. Before she knows it, Ethan is standing in front of her. He has the smuggest of smirks on his face when he approaches her.

“A little birdie told me that you were trying to avoid me, princess” he tells her. “Is that true?”

She could kill Luca, Mark, and TJ for snitching on her.

“So what if I was?” she questions as she crosses her arms over her chest. “And I’ve told you to stop calling me princess.”

“You’re in my house, princess,” Ethan retorts with a grin on his face and emphasizing the word ‘princess’ just to annoy her even more. “You don’t get to ignore me in my house, and I can do whatever I want because it is my house.”

“Says who?” she asks. “I can ignore whoever I want, their house or not. You're annoying and I like your roommates better anyway."

Ethan quiets down but he doesn't take his eyes off of her. She doesn't back down either. She holds her ground because she doesn't want him to think he's won. That's the last thing that she wants so she holds eye contact with him until he speaks again. Her heart pounds in her chest as she stands her ground.

A smile breaks out on his lips and she falters for a very quick second. "I knew you had a crush on one of my roommates," Ethan says. "Which one? Luca? Mark? I hate to break it to you, but Mark has a girlfriend. So does Hughesy. Oh my God. Do you have a thing for a guy who has a girlfriend? That's a little pathetic if you ask me."

She rolls her eyes, her blood beginning to boil after his comment. "You're such an asshole, Ethan," she tells him.

She then gets up out of her seat and walks upstairs to hide in one of the bathrooms for a few minutes while she cools down.

If someone were to ask her why she was so upset, she would say that she honestly has no idea. Something about Ethan Edwards just heats her blood. He riles her up, and it could be the smallest thing that does it too.

All he did was mess with her, and she's ready to punch him in the face. She's always ready to punch him in the face though, but it's often not because she's angry at him. Sometimes it's because he's genuinely one of the most attractive people she's ever seen. Just his face alone is enough to send her into a bad mood.

If Ethan wasn’t a massive pain in her ass, she probably would’ve hooked up with him by now. Maybe it’s what she’s wanted all along and the reason why she hates him so much. He’s infuriating, but he’s hot. It’s a dangerous combination, especially for her.

She splashes water on her face to cool down and does her best to fix up the makeup that came off with the water. It’s not a lot thanks to the inventor of waterproof makeup but it still runs just a little bit.

A knock rings through the bathroom and she calls, “One second!” There’s a second knock and she groans. “Do you not know what one second mea-” She freezes when she sees Ethan on the other side of the door as soon as she swings it open. “Oh, great. Just the person I want to see. Go away, Ethan.”

“I may have crossed a line,” he says as he rubs the back of his neck.

“You just keep adding on to the list of what you think I am, don’t you?” she retorts. “Annoying, nerdy, clingy, and now I’m pathetic despite not having a thing for a single one of your roommates, especially not the ones who are in relationships. Making that comment in front of everyone was embarrassing. Even for you.”

Ethan just nods and looks at her. “I know that,” he tells her. “It wasn’t until you walked away and Luca told me that what I said was wrong that I realized that I crossed the line.”

She runs her fingers through her wavy locks and lets out a soft sigh. “This wouldn’t be an issue if I just-” She cuts herself off from what she was about to say.

There’s tension. There’s been tension. She ignores it like it’s going to go away on it’s own but the innuendos and jokes have made it thicker than it’s ever been. It’s getting harder and harder to ignore it. Maybe if she just-

“Just what?” Ethan questions. She meets his eyes and finds confusion in them.

Do it. Get it over with.

Before she can talk herself out of it, she cups his jaw and pulls him down into a bruising kiss. Ethan has to take a little step toward her due to how hard she pulls him down to her.

He immediate pulls away in surprise. She stares up at him, but she doesn’t move her hands. Her eyes flicker between his like she’s searching for rejection, but that’s the one thing she doesn’t find. She finds deliberation and confusion.

Just in case he needs a little shove, she says, “We have been doing this whole back and forth thing for nearly four years, Ethan. You have to be as tired of it as I am. I feel the tension that’s grown so I’m sure you can to. This is the one and only time I’m offering this to you so we can just fuck it out and maybe end whatever feud thing that we’ve had going on. Worst comes to worst then we have a nice hookup and we can move on with our lives. Best case scenario, we get it out of our systems and we can actually be friends because-”

“Do you ever shut the fuck up, princess?” Ethan asks to cut her off.

She isn’t able to make a comeback because Ethan’s lips are back on hers before she can respond. He’s kissing her with the same intensity that she originally kissed him with.

His hands fall to her waist and he pulls her body flush against his chest. She feels every muscle flex underneath his thin shirt as he makes little movements to adjust to her height. She’s half a head shorter than he is so he has to make some adjustments to kiss her without breaking his neck. Eventually, he gives up and leans down to lift her up. She wraps her legs around his waist and slides her fingers into his hair.

Ethan turns and walks out of the bathroom. Luckily the hallway is dark so if anyone were to see them, they would think it’s just two people making out at a party. The door is kicked shut and her back is pinned to it. A soft thud is heard when her back makes contact with the wood. She hums when her skin hits the cool surface.

She kicks off her heels and they land on the carpeted floor with soft thuds. Ethan stands holding her back against the door for a second before he turns and walks toward his bed.

In the handful of times she’s had to come into this room, it’s been organized and in order. She gets a glance when the kiss breaks after he drops her on the mattress and finds it’s still very organized and in order. She would’ve never guessed that Ethan is one to keep things clean in his room.

Ethan kicks off his shoes before he climbs over her and hovers above her body. She immediately pulls him back into a hot kiss. He hums and a hand lands on her thigh. The already short black dress rides up her thigh until it rests right under her ass. His fingers follow the fabric up her leg. He grips her thigh and she gasps.

Her fingers slide down his back until they reach the hem of his Michigan hockey t-shirt. She tugs at it to hint that she wants him to take it off. Ethan listens to her signal and sits back on his knees, breaking the kiss. She watches as he pulls the fabric over his head.

Now, she’s seen him shirtless on numerous occasions. There have been times where she’s seen him in nothing but his boxers, but she’s always looked away. Right now, she gets to look. She takes full advantage of the moment and studies every part of his torso and chest. Ethan’s never been the biggest guy in the room, but his body is so toned. She could combust just from the view she has right now.

She gets her hands on him as fast as she can. Her hands start on his torso, tracing his abs before they trail up and over his chest. Ethan’s hands rest on hers when they reach his shoulders. He pulls her up so she’s sitting up with him between her knees. Their chests are flush against each other and she’s looking up at him.

Ethan hooks his fingers under the thin straps of the little black dress. He tugs them off her shoulders and she pulls her arms out of the straps. She keeps her eyes on Ethan as he pulls the top of her dress over her boobs. He gnaws on his bottom lips when he sees her tits.

“Fuck, princess,” he groans. “You hid these from me this entire time?”

“You never asked to see them,” she tells him. Ethan moves his hands to cup her bare tits. “Probably would’ve showed you if you asked, E.”

He grins and pushes her until she’s lying on her back. He leans down and wraps his lips around one of her nipples. She hums at the feeling. Ethan’s other hand gropes her other boob. He bites down on her bottom lip. She runs her fingers through his hair.

After what feels like seconds later, Ethan begins to kiss down her chest and stomach. He pulls the dress down as he lowers himself down her body. She lifts her butt up so he can get the dress off. It hits the floor and she presses her lips into a line as Ethan drinks her in.

Her hands slide between them and she works on getting Ethan’s pants off. She pushes his pants off his body and he kicks them to the floor. She gets a hand on the bulge in his boxers, palming him over the thin fabric. He snakes a hand into her lace panties. She hums at the feeling of his fingers cupping her sex.

She grinds her core against his fingers trying to get some pressure. She presses her lips into a line as she pleasures herself on his hand. Ethan slips a finger into her and she gasps at the new feeling. "Oh my God," she breathes out. "Warn a girl next time."

Ethan smiles and attaches his lips to her jaw. "We'll see," he mumbles against her skin.

Slowly, he works her toward an orgasm. A knot forms in the pit of her stomach like it always does when she's close to an orgasm. Soft groans pass her lips when Ethan adds a second finger. "I- fuck," she pants. "Ethan, Eddy. Please."

"Please what, princess?" Ethan asks.

"Fuck me like you hate me," she tells him. "Please. Please fuck me, E."

He pulls back and looks at her. His fingers stop moving in and out of her. A grin forms on his swollen lips. "Are you begging me to fuck you?" he questions. "I never thought I'd see the day when you would beg me for something."

"Ethan Edwards, I'm about to get up and go get Luca-"

"Oh I don't think so," Ethan interrupts as he goes into his bedside table to get something. He pulls out a little foil package and comes back over to hover over her. "You're going to take off the rest of your clothes and I will give you the best dick you've ever had in that pretty little pussy."

His words go straight to her core and she listens to him almost as soon as he's done talking. She slides off her ruined panties and Ethan takes off his boxers to slide on the condom that he pulled out of the drawer.

She lies down on her back and lets Ethan settle above her. He lines up at her entrance and she stares up at him. Ethan meets her eyes before he pushes into her. She gasps from the stretch and grabs his triceps. It's painful at first but quickly turns into pleasure the longer he's inside her. He slowly pushes into her until he's completely buried inside her.

Once the pain completely fades, she nods at him. "Go," she tells him.

As soon as he has her permission, Ethan rolls his hips. Her jaw drops as he slowly picks up speed. The pleasure is so much that she nearly blacks out. Her nails dig into his triceps so hard that she's pretty sure he's going to end up with marks on his arms.

This is the last thing that she ever expected to happen. She never thought she would be underneath Ethan and getting fucked by him. She doesn't know if she'll ever tell him this because his ego will grow bigger than it already is, but it might be the best sex she's ever had. It's a quick hookup but it's already better than the rest of the hookups she's ever had, not that there are that many to compare it to.

She wouldn't be against it if this were to ever happen again.

Ethan continues to move deeply into her, but his movements pick up speed. The bed creaks and the room his filled with the soft moans that pass her lips. Ethan pants as he continues to move.

She starts to move her hips to match his pace. "Holy shit," she cries out when the tip of his dick hits her favorite spot. "Ethan."

"Like that, baby?" Ethan pants. "Like feeling my dick inside you? Making you feel good?"

He slams into her once and she arches her back off the bed. "Yes!" she gasps. "Yes, Ethan. God. Fuck."

With her response, Ethan slows down but hits her spot over and over again. Her legs begin to shake as she reaches the edge. The knot in her stomach threatens to come undone.

Ethan leans down and crashes their lips together in a bruising kiss. She groans as she feels her entire body clench. She squeezes around his dick as she comes and cries out against his lips. Her hands find his hair and she grasps, needing something to hold onto.

She feels like she's on cloud nine as Ethan fucks her through both of their orgasms. Her body goes limp under his when he pulls out to dispose of the used orgasm.

He cleans both of them up with his shirt before he collapses on the bed next to her. Her breathing is labored but is slowly returning to normal.

When she finds the strength to move, she turns her head to look at him. Ethan's already looking at her when she looks at him.

"I never hated you," Ethan admits to her. She raises her eyebrows at him. "I mean it. I never hated you. I thought it was cute how flustered you got every time I messed with you so I kept doing it not knowing that it meant that you didn't like me. That was me trying to express my feelings but it was definitely the wrong way to do that."

She blinks at him. "You've said some hurtful thing to me, Ethan," she tells him. "I'm going to need some time to get over that but ... I think I'd be okay if we tried to be friends. I wouldn't be opposed to this either."

"I knew you always wanted me," he teases.

"Shut up," she replies as she leans in to kiss him.

༺──────────────༻

MAIN HOCKEY

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[darkromanceenthusiast]

Hi, small request since I saw you have them open still-

I just had an idea of werewolf boyfriend with a girlfriend, who is insecure about how her vagina looks like like for example she has asymetrical labia lips and one sticks out slightly, so she doesn't let him eat her out, but of course he doesn't care and doesn't see anything wrong with it, he just wants to fuck his mate

I just thought of it because actually more and more women are sadly insecure or even seek surgeries, when they look perfectly normal it's just that in porn usually you have this perfect type with small outer lips that nothing sticks out, which obviously exist but apparently is the least common type, sorry for the long ask ;-;

M!Werewolf x F!reader

Contains: talk of insecurity, body worship, oral (f receiving), fluff, pretty short

“Why not?” He asked, you tensed at the question. You knew that he would ask eventually, after you turned him down so many times, you sighed,

“I..I just…” the words when dry in your throat. A heavy feeling in your stomach, you thought he’d think it was stupid,

“You just what, love?” He asked, his eyes finding yours almost as fast as his calloused hand took yours, you studied his handsome face, admiring his blown out green eyes against his sun kissed skin, dark hair framing it perfectly. You gave a shrug, the words and reasons dying in your throat. You’re pulled from these thoughts when he crouches down infront of you, heart rate increasing as his large hands come to rest on your knees, his thumb caressing the inside of one.

“You’re nervous, doll.” His voice comes out husky and you feel yourself nodding, you know there’s no sense in lying to his sensitive senses so you don’t bother.

“Tell me.” He repeats, tone firm and your face flushes you can feel the insecurity and embarrassment bubbling just under the surface.

“I-I just… well… I don’t like.. how I look”- “Well, I do. Let me eat you out.” You started but he cut you off, he adjusted his grip, tugging you down so your hips were better in line with his face as he pushed your legs to your chest.

“You can’t tell me you dont want this when I can smell how much you do.” *he practically growls as he pulls your pants and panties off, you tried in vain to cover youself as he sank between your legs, pushing your hand away as he wasted no time licking his long, rough tongue through your sensitive folds, earning him a small gasp. He worked on your clit for a while sucking and nibbling and licking the small nub until you were dripping into his hands.

Once he felt you were wet enough he carefully pushed one of his large fingers into you, pumping in and out gently as he licked your clit.

“Can’t believe you were gonna hide this because you were worried about not having some pornstar pussy..” he grumbles, tongue swiping through your folds again to gather your arousal to taste.

“But this..” he gives a gentle but firm slap just over your clit. “is so much fuckin’ better.” He groans, burying hims head back in between your legs, adding another finger in the process.

“I’m gonna eat you out every night until you think you have the most beautiful pussy in the world.” he mumbles against your folds, his tongue teasing your entrance. You knew this was only the start and judging by how he was content currently to just taste you and grind against the couch meant it could be hours before you're released from this.

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

Emily x Reader after Reader has a sh relapse, Emily patches and her up and assures her she's still beautiful by slow, gentle, loving sex and lots of cuddling please?

You got it, anon! Thanks for the request! :) Hope you like it!

Burning

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, NSFW, self-harm, depression, mental illness, sex, fingering, etc., injuries due to self-harm, brief mentions of an eating disorder, some explicit language (please let me know if I've missed anything!) Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: With Emily away on a case and a depressive episode hitting you hard, you fall back into a pattern you thought you'd kicked a long time ago. When she comes home and discovers what you've done, you're afraid it'll be too much for her. Emily does her best to show you that it's not.

You’d been standing in front of the bathroom mirror for what felt like hours, but was probably mere minutes. Time warped itself when the urges took hold, every second a lifetime of effort, until it became all the potential lives you might live stacked one on top of the other, and they were too heavy for you to carry.

The hand that held the unlit match was shaking, and you seesawed between the unbearable desire to scratch a painful itch and the knowledge that self-hatred that would flood you afterward. But at least the self-hatred and the pain would be something to feel, other than the abject hopelessness that had seemed to swallow you up over the last week.

You’d known a depressive episode was coming before Emily left. You could always feel them coming. But what were you supposed to say? Don’t go save people from a terrorist cell? Stay here with me because I’m scared I’m getting depressed and I need you? It’d be pathetic. You were pathetic. And it wasn’t Emily’s job to keep your mental illness at bay.

But she’d been gone longer than you expected–over a week now. And your depressive episode had hit you harder than you thought it would. You’d called out of work, you’d binged on food delivery, then hated yourself afterward, staring into the mirror feeling lower and lower and lower. Until the only way you could think to stop sinking was to shock yourself out of it.

You knew it wasn’t wise or healthy. You knew you’d feel even worse once the pain subsided. You knew that a relapse would make it that much harder to stop next time. You knew that if Emily was here, she would stop you, she would hide the matches and the lighters, she would be so, so sad that you’d even thought about hurting yourself.

But despite knowing all these things, the hunger for fire, for pain, was too much to resist. You scratched the head of the match against the matchbox and the flame leapt into existence. Your go-to spot in young adulthood had been your arms, but the burns wouldn't fade before Emily got back, and she’d notice them on your arms. This time, you held the match to the upper side of your abdomen, where your arms would hopefully hide the marks.

You scrunched your eyebrows and winced as the flame licked at your skin, the pain white and bright and hot. You wished you could explain to people that odd, addictive mixture of self-loathing and dopamine that hit you and made you feel simultaneously worse and better. You wished people understood the desire for it, that sometimes you wanted to feel worse because feeling worse made you feel better. But it was hard to explain. Even harder to understand. So you didn’t bother most of the time. You lit match after match until the box was empty, until your side was scattered with raised, red-white blotches, like a constellation of all the shitty things you’d ever been through or felt.

You looked at yourself in the mirror and hated what you saw. And it felt good to hate yourself, like a guilty pleasure.

You jumped at the sound of the apartment door opening and closing, and cold panic flooded your system.

“Hey, baby, I’m home!” Emily called from the entryway.

You quickly pulled a loose t-shirt over your head, wincing as the fabric brushed over the burns. She wasn’t supposed to be home yet. She hadn’t texted or called. She’ll hate me, you thought. She’ll hate me if she finds out.

Of course, Emily knew you struggled with self-harm. But you’d been in a really good spot when you’d started dating and had, for the most part, stayed in that really good spot for your entire relationship. You were in therapy. You had healthy coping mechanisms. You hadn’t relapsed in years. You didn’t know what had made today different from every other bad day in the last few years, but you knew you didn’t want Emily to know.

You silently cursed yourself for using all the matches; there were none left to light a candle in the bathroom to mask the scent of burning. You ran to meet her in the living room, hoping that by heading her off, the smell would have time to dissipate.

“Hi, honey,” you greeted her, forcing a smile. You took both her hands in yours to try and prevent her touching your side, which still felt as if it was on fire. You stood on tiptoes to kiss her, and she smiled, leaning in.

“I missed you,” she breathed, wrapping her arms around you. You flinched and inhaled sharply as her fingers grazed the burns.

She furrowed her eyebrows. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, avoiding her eyes. “I just, um… fell earlier.”

Her hands fluttered over you, a worried expression on her face. “You fell!? Where!? Like, how hard?”

“Not that hard,” you said, trying to squirm away. “It doesn’t hurt too bad. Ow!” Emily had placed a gentle hand at your side and you couldn’t help your outburst.

“Well, honey, if it hurts that bad, you need to let me see it. We might need to go to the ER or something.”

You knew you were done for when she grabbed your wrist, hard. Emily was much stronger than you, so instead of fighting, you went numb.

You felt your whole world stop as she lifted up your shirt to see the scattered burns. You felt tears prick at your eyes. There were too many marks, and they were too symmetrical to have been an accident. You knew it, and Emily knew it, too.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at her, but if you did, you would have seen that her eyes were wet with tears she wasn’t going to let herself cry because you needed someone strong right now. If you’d looked at her, you would have seen a mixture of sadness and pity and heartbreak and undying love. You’d have seen the face of someone who wanted nothing more than for you to be okay.

“Y/N,” Emily managed after a moment. “Did you do this to yourself?”

You nodded, a tear rolling down your cheek.

“Today?”

You nodded again.

“How long ago?”

You looked at the ceiling, willing yourself not to cry. “Right before you walked in.”

You hated yourself. You hated yourself even more because you knew that Emily would feel awful. She’d think that if she’d just been a few minutes earlier, she could have prevented this. And you never wanted Emily to feel like your mental illness was her fault or her responsibility.

“Come here,” she said, gently taking your hand and guiding you to the bathroom. She turned on the shower, making sure the water was cool but not cold, then slowly pulled your clothes off. She nodded toward the shower and you got in, shivering under the chilly stream.

Emily sighed and sat down on the toilet lid, watching you. She looked tired, so tired. You hated to be another thing that exhausted her, another thing she had to take care of and fix.

“You should sit down,” she added quietly. “You’re gonna have to be in there for a while. Until they stop burning.”

You sat on the tiled floor, the water leaching the pain away from the burn marks, leaving only disgust and self-loathing in their place. You pulled your knees up to your chest and buried your face, trying and failing not to cry.

Your shoulders shook with the force of your sobs. You heard Emily stand and were sure she was going to leave. Why wouldn’t she? She deserved to. She deserved not to have to deal with you.

You jumped a little as Emily lowered herself into the shower next to you, clothes abandoned on the bathroom floor, and wrapped her arm around your shoulder. She pressed her face into yours as the shower drenched you both.

“Shh,” she soothed, careful to avoid your burns. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

“I’m sorry, Em,” you wept, rocking. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she repeated. “You don’t need to be sorry. I love you. You’re gonna be okay.”

“I hate myself,” you whispered.

Emily gently grabbed your face and tilted it toward her. There were tears in her eyes, too. “Baby, please don’t say that.”

“I can’t help it.” Your voice was so quiet, so small, the sound of the shower almost drowned it out.

“That’s okay,” Emily said, brushing strands of wet hair out of your face. “We’re gonna get you some help, okay?”

You looked in her eyes then for the first time since she’d discovered the burn marks. You didn’t know what you’d expected to see: annoyance, disgust, hatred, or worst of all, ambivalence. But there was none of that in Emily’s eyes. Only love and concern.

Even so, you were scared to ask what you needed to ask. “Do you still love me?”

“Oh, honey, of course I do. I could never stop loving you.”

And then you kissed her. You kissed her with the cool water pouring down around your bodies. With your skin hot from the burns and from your aching love for Emily. You kissed her desperately, hungrily, like someone clinging to a lifeboat, and Emily was. She was your lifeboat. And for Emily’s part, she was gentle, almost too gentle, as if you might break at any moment.

You wrapped your legs and arms around her and she held you so carefully, so mindful of your burns. You shuddered in the cool water as your hips pushed against her.

Emily moaned into your mouth, her hands faltering for a moment.

“Y/N,” she said breathlessly, pulling away to hold your face in her hands. “We don’t have to do this." She looked at you a moment longer, then added, "I love you.”

You kissed her again. Her mouth. Her forehead. Her collarbone. Emily’s chest heaved into you and your heart beat rapidly.

“Please,” you begged. “Show me.”

Emily pulled you into her, letting her tongue and her lips roam over your neck, letting her hips meet yours as the water surrounded you, soothing your burns the way Emily soothed the roiling, burning despair inside of you.

“I love you,” she whispered as she kissed your eyelids. “I love you,” she whispered as she pressed her hands into the soft flesh of your ass. “I love you,” she whispered as she slipped her fingers inside of you. You bit back a moan and trembled against her, your body pulsing around her.

She fucked you slowly, tenderly, as if it was both your first time and your last, though this was neither. And she kept saying it–“I love you”–again and again, never stopping, so that all the darkness in your mind, all the self-doubt, didn’t have any room to make itself heard.

You let out a strangled groan as your body tensed around her, and when your pleasure flooded you, it was like you were on fire. And this fire was so much better, louder, brighter, than any flame you’d ever held to your body. It was a burning that consumed you, one that would leave you new and glistening afterward instead of scarred and in ashes.

You fell limp against her as she removed her fingers, kissing your forehead, your collarbone, your mouth, swirling her tongue with yours until you felt drunk on her. “I love you,” she said, and you didn’t think you’d ever get tired of hearing it. “I love you.”

You were quiet as she turned off the shower head. Quiet as you both dried off, as Emily gently pressed a towel to your side, making sure your burns were clean and dry. She sat you on the toilet lid as she pulled gauze squares and antibacterial ointment out of the bathroom cabinet, spreading the ointment on the gauze, then pressing it gently to your skin.

“Lift your arms up,” she said quietly, as she circled your body with bandages, wrapping it just tight enough that it wouldn’t shift in the night.

She knelt down in front of you and caressed your face. “Bed?” she asked. You nodded.

“You go ahead,” she said, patting your leg. “I’ll be right there.”

You felt self-doubt start creeping back in as you laid in bed on top of the covers, your burns still too hot to sleep underneath. When Emily came into the room, she carried a glass of water and a bottle of pills.

“Take these,” she told you, handing you a few. You drank and swallowed obediently.

She lay down in the bed and motioned you over. “Come here and let me hold you.”

You rested your face in the crook of her neck, and she played with your hair, careful to avoid your burns.

“I love you,” she whispered after a few minutes, kissing the top of your head.

“You said.” You meant it to be funny, but your heart wasn’t in it. Not yet.

“And I’ll keep saying it until you believe it.”

You were quiet for a minute, then spoke. “I love you, too, Em.” You nuzzled your way closer to her, hoping against hope that her arms around you were enough to keep the darkness and the numbness away for the night.,

And as you drifted off, she kept saying it–“I love you.” And then a kiss on your head.

As your eyelids fluttered closed–“I love you.” And she pressed her face to your forehead.

As your breath slowed and evened, and your body went limp–“I love you. I love you. I love you.”

[11rosebunny]

Bofurin x shishitoren guys with a forward reader? Like, a girl that makes the first move and stuff, likes to gift them with food and bouquets (men deserve flowers too!!!!), loves spoiling them… the works!

Character with a direct!reader (BOFURIN + SHISHITOREN)

Haruka Sakura

He really wants to beat the shit out of you. Normally speaking, you two are still generally friends that get along very nicely with each other and when you two decided to make it official, sometimes he regrets dating his best friend.

The overdoing of flowers, new white shirts (even though he has 5 of the same pair), hair products, anything like that, it makes him forget how much of a sweetheart he knew you as when he first started talking to you. He's not saying he's forgotten about your bubbly personality, but when you greeted him out in public with a loving kiss on his cheek, he stared back at his friends as if they just shot him.

Nirei and Tsugeura were the first ones to break the silence and yell out loud in utter shock when they saw Sakura's girlfriend for the first time. The white and black-haired boy didn't bother to tell anyone about your existence—let alone his love life. What made is worse was that many assumed he's never experienced any love due to how anxious and shy he gets whenever romance is brought up. All of their assumptions immediately disappeared when they watched you start talking to Sakura and asking if he ate.

"Maybe she's the reason why he's so shy?" Suo blinked at you from afar when Sakura had dragged you away and began to yell at you to not do that again.

"Y-you think?" Nirei watched you reply back in a lucky-go manner not understanding what you did wrong. All you did was greet your boyfriend.

Hajime Umemiya

Meeting you years ago and making it official, he didn't expect any less from you.

He's grown accustomed to they way your personality is like. The first time he met you, he was shocked to see a girl come around him at an easygoing pace and soon learned about the different qualities of your person.

Bubbly, buoyant, lively, and cheeky. It wasn't until you two started dating, then he noticed how much farther your personality runs. Toma has witnessed it all, you've come to school with gardening seeds for him, bought random t-shirts with idiotic designs which he happily took, wanting to hold hands all the time even in public, and even trying to pay for your own meal while being on a date with him. He was surprised you were still able to keep up your animated behaviour and it may have even worsened when you became his girlfriend.

It's now a running competition to him. When he realized you were the first one to make a move and nearly one upped him on every single gift he's ever given you, he's not going to lie—he started to get annoyed. So in return, he now sees it at how much better you can treat one another.

Toma Hiragi

It's like having another Umemiya to look after but instead it's a girl that's not afraid to show affection and that likes him.

Some have a hard time trying to process how you even managed to get ahold of the scary guard dog looking boy on a leash. Based on how all over the place you are, forward with compliments and romance, some wonder how he's still alive.

At first, you were just another person he treasured right next to his guy best friend. He's known you since middle school and you two ended up growing beside each other. But during in his High school era, that's when he grew feelings for you and is also when he thought it was the biggest mistake in his life to fall for someone like you.

Right off the bat, the way you'd wrap your arms around him, hold him close, and steal his very first kiss, he wants to shrink you into a ball of cheese and squeeze you to death. Luckily, he's very good at hiding his shyness whenever you make him blush. It's even worse if you kiss him out in public otherwise he might grab your head and shove you into the closest tree.

As much as it may seem like he despises you and acts like he doesn't like it, there would be nothing in this world he'd replace you with.

Taiga Tsugeura

It's really not bad. He doesn't get as shy or nervous, instead he actually much enjoys it because of how you're able to match himself.

He didn't think he was able to find someone that is equally as chaotic as him. He ended up confessing first by saying how much he loved the way you were disarranged (you don't know if that was a compliment or not?) and the way you made him feel. Doing so, the two of decided to date.

He wasn't even concerned with the way you kept showering him with affection, kisses, gifts like protein powder, new elastic headbands, and sandals until Kiryu had pointed it out how it seems like he's the girl in the relationship (he was joking).

He questioned what he meant and the boy explained that normally it's supposed to be the guy doing that. He blinked and thought about it for a few hours. Eventually, the next day he showed up to your house with a basket full of your favourite snacks, figurines, plushies, and gift cards.

You gave him his first kiss that day.

Mitsuki Kiryu

Weirdly, he doesn't really like those eccentric girls.

The way you two met was an accident. At first he found you very annoying but he never had the heart to tell you that, so instead he just lets you swarm around him hoping you'd go away one day.

Turns out you didn't and now he found himself dating the girl he didn't even want to like in the first place.

He's okay with you now, instead of getting annoyed he finds it funny with the way you conjure up gifts right out of you ass in the middle of no where. You two could be out walking in public and you could somehow pull out a keychain from one of his favourite mobile games and he's wondering what else can fit in that tiny pocket of yours.

He really enjoys it when you hold his hand in public, kiss him even, and shower him with love. It's very rare he gets shy and so normally, it looks like he appreciates it with the way you act.

Hayato Suo

He's the type of person to love these types of girls.

He really finds the way how kind you are and buoyant to be extremely adorable. He has a soft spot for things he finds cute, (he even said he finds it cute when children throw tantrums!) so it wasn't a surprise that he's thought about dating you more than once.

Eventually, he does.

He underestimated you a bit too much when he started to take note of how often you weren't afraid to show affection.

The scale: way too many times than he can count.

He loves to see how you will pull up your next move on him either it being compliments, gifts, or acts of service. He calculates this habit of yours purely because he wants to give back the same amount of affection at the same time.

It always freaks you out whenever you thought you did him better only for him to pull out something similar like already pre-paying for your lunch together.

Jo Togame

He finds it funny. Upon meeting each other for the first time, he genuinely thought you were stupid for trying to help a person like him. That was until he realized you weren't joking and you weren't afraid of his persona.

It made him eat his words and never wants to think that lowly of you again. But, he never tells you that.

He kept you around purely for his entertainment, until he accidentally found himself growing feelings that were a little too real. Even when you two got together for the first time, it sounded like you didn't have a choice to begin with regardless.

"Who said you could hangout with them?"

"What is this? Are we in a relationship now?"

"Yes. Now answer my question woman."

That was the first time he took you aback and the first time he's ever seen you act differently from your usual personality. Afterwards, you two continued like how you usually were plus more intimate activities.

It took him by surprise in a way that he's shocked that you're not shy around him. He digs the way you hold his hand, give him massages, play with his hair, and kiss him on his cheeks on a daily basis. He finds it cute with the way you're not afraid to do those things with him, even makes him feel more manlier.

Tomiyama Choji

He was surprised when he first came to acknowledge your weird behaviour. Normally speaking, he's the most eccentric person anyone has ever met. So when he finds someone that one ups him in those aspects, he's confused.

At first, he's almost a whole different person when he hangs out with you for the first few days. He's trying to understand how you can be so care free while remaining happy even when you have everything you need.

He thinks he hates you for the first few days till he starts to warm up around you.

Once you started dating, even with your loudness, you still managed to stop him from possibly burning down a car.

He knew that you were bubbly and cheeky as soon as he met you, so the kisses and constant hugs didn't really catch him off guard. However, when he realized it was becoming a daily thing, a tiny part of him began to panic because now you made it seem like he wasn't putting in any effort.

In return, he'll show you as much physical contact as he can.

[ponderingmoonlight]

Heyyy! I wanted to say i rlly luv your fanfic and it would be great if you wrote a nanami kento one with prompt 6 🩵✨

There you go! Sorry this took me quite some, guess I'm too much of a hurt writer. But since 3 people requested prompt 6 with Nanami, I just couldn't let this one slide. Hope you like it though <3 I also added Promp 64 to this! 6. "I'm not crying. It's not worth crying." 64. "Don't be stupid, I'm not leaving you."

Beautiful mistake

Pairing: Nanami Kento x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,8k

Synopsis: You are in a secret but healthy relationship with none other than Nanami Kento despite being the sunshine to his rain. Until one day, you accidentaly spoil your secret to Gojo Satoru.

Warning: None, slight language like always

Your heart is pounding against your ribcage. The sun has just set, which means he’ll be here any second. You nervously fumble on the hem of your sundress. Do you look good? Hopefully he likes your new dress.

It’s always weird to meet outside of Jujutsu High in everyday clothes. Of course you should be used to it by now, considering that it’s been like this for two years now. Nanami and you decided it is best to keep your relationship private, far away from work. Therefore no one knows about your meetings late at night or the fact that you basically live at Nanami’s place. And this is just fine, perfect the way it is.

“There you are, sweetheart. Is this dress new? It suits you very well.”

The sound of his voice alone sends shivers down your spine, you greet your boyfriend with a wide grin and a tight hug. As usual, he smells absolutely breathtaking good. You need to finally ask him about his perfume.

“Glad you came”, you reply, face buried in his suit.

You love the fact that he’s always wearing suits, it definitely does something to you.

“You know I would never miss spending an evening with you. Here, I just couldn’t show up empty-handed.”

He hands you a gorgeous bouquet of purple, white and rose flowers, perfectly arranged and coordinated. You smile to yourself, taking in the delicious scent of lavender that now hangs in the air. Words can’t express how much you love the man standing in front of you. Even if he acts aloof and uninterested, he has a heart of gold. Suddenly you feel overwhelmed by your feelings, tears water your eyes. Unlike Nanami, you are terrible at hiding your feelings.

“I’m not going to cry”, you whisper to yourself, fanning air into your face to stop the tears from running.

“It’s not worth crying, I bring you flowers almost every time. But I’m glad you like them.”

Strange how your frequent bursts of emotion don’t bother him at all while everyone else is getting on is nerves. You truly are something special for him, the sunshine that scared away his rain, the joy that helps him to overcome his numbness. You are a gift, a true sweetheart, loved by everyone who knows you. Maybe this is the reasons why no one seems to even notice the chemistry between you two when working together as jujutsu-sorcerers. You are an absolutely poor liar, bad at hiding your feelings and the blush that creeps up your cheeks whenever you look at him. Even an untrained eye would be able to see your affection towards him – everyone expect members of Jujutsu High, as it seems.

“How was your day? Did your mission go well?”

“Oh, not at all. I’m glad you weren’t assigned to accompany me”, he signs and takes off his glasses.

Your hand gently brushes through his thick blonde hair. You can tell by one look at his tired gaze that this day was rough.

“Maybe I would have been able to help you.”

He gifts you a small but gentle smile, hands wrapped around your waist.

“Sure, but I just can’t risk you getting hurt because of helping me.”

“You know that’s also my job, right?”, you tease him.

“And you know that your job sucks, right?”

You can’t help but giggle at his response, the warm feeling in your chest keeps growing and growing. How is it that one man can make your life feel so much better just by his sheer existence? You simply cannot imagine carrying on without Nanami anymore.

“And you know that I love you, right?”

Your hands gently cup his face while your body aches to close the minimal distance between your bodies. Oh, how much you’d love to stay in this position forever, for the sun to never go down this evening. But you know all too well that tomorrow will be an exhausting day with a meeting of all higher up jujutsu-sorcerers that you and Nanami have to attend. It would be foolish to stay here any longer. But still you want to let these delicious seconds of togetherness melt on your tongue.

“Well, considering you already told me 13 times today alone, I sure hope so”, he replies before pressing his soft lips against yours.

You simply can’t believe it. The man that is holding you is the love of your life, the one you want to marry someday, the only one who has the key to your heart. Even though you are the complete opposite of him, even though no one seems to even be aware of the fact that you are in a relationship, you are absolutely mesmerized and obsessed with him.

“I hate to say it, but I think it’s better to get home. After all, we have to be up early in the morning for that stupid meeting”, he growls against your lips, face twisted in annoyance.

“How much I hate it when you’re right”, you sign while taking in his delicious scent.

“But that happens quite often. Come on, I’ll cook us dinner tonight.”

-Next day-

“There you are, golden girl!”, Gojo cries out in excitement as soon as you enter the room.

You gift him a breathtaking smile. In some way, you and Satoru are pretty similar to each other. Almost always in a good mood while wearing a bright smile on your faces along with loving a good joke and the company of other people. But unlike him, you tend to be quiet in your own way, only opening up around people you know and love.

“Nice to see you again. How have you been Gojo?”

The sincerity that glitters in your striking eyes is always a blessing for everyone around. You are so real, tender and kind in this cruel world that it’s sometimes hard to believe that you are able to survive in it.

“I’m doing better since you came here, (y/n).”

You giggle at his light-hearted comment, very aware of the fact that he’s just trying to tease you. Although you know that Gojo is very easy on women, you never felt more than sympathy for him. After all, you laid your eyes on someone else this whole time…

Oh, where’s Kento?

He told you this morning that there’s something he has to take care of, but it’s very untypically for him to show up late. Worry lines appear on your effortless features. Did you miss something? Did he maybe tell you about a meeting?

“Why do you look so worried, (y/n)?”, Gojo questions.

“I’m just wondering about Nanami-san…Normally, he’s never late”, you mumble while racking your brain.

To be honest, you’re pretty forgetful, without your boyfriend you wouldn’t even be here right now. But something important like a reason for being late wouldn’t escape you, right?

“Who knows? He never tells anyone about his private life anyway.”

Lost in thoughts, you slowly but surely fall into panic mode. Something has to be wrong. This behavior doesn’t suit him at all.

“Hey, I’m sure he’s fine, (y/n). Nanami is a tough guy”, Gojo tries to calm your tingling nerves down.

But it doesn’t work. Frantically, you swipe over your phone, desperately trying to find an excuse in one of his text messages – nothing. You try to call him multiple times only to be greeted by his mailbox.

Oh no, this is bad. This is very very bad. Something must have happened, you just know it.

“I should now if he has something to do, I mean, I’m his girlfriend after all. It’s kinda my job to know these things-“

Gojo stares at you wide eyed, mind trying to process the information that just came out of your mouth. Did you really just call Nanami your boyfriend? This can’t be true…right?

“(y/n)”, he interrupts your babbling, your innocent eyes darting at him immediately.

“Did you just call Nanami your boyfriend?”

Your heart sinks to the floor, mind going completely blank. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You were so lost in thoughts that you accidentally spoiled your secret relationship of two years to none other than Gojo Satoru.

“Gojo, please don’t freak out”, you beg.

“So it’s true? Oh god, I can’t believe it. That are some pretty fucked up new. How long?”

“How long what?”

Kento is going to hate you for this. From all the people you could have told about your secret, why on earth did it have to be Gojo Satoru? Your face goes pale just thinking about your boyfriend’s reaction.

What if…What if he doesn’t want to be with you anymore? Your thoughts are raising, eyes getting wetter and wetter the more you think about what you just did. This was your little secret, the only thing you had to do was keeping it to yourself. And you? You ruined everything by mindlessly telling Gojo about it.

“Sorry I’m late, the traffic-“

“Nanami, when did you plan on telling me about your relationship with (y/n)? You have to be kidding, right? How the hell did you pull her?”, Gojo blurts out immediately.

You are on the brink of tears, Kento's eyes darting towards you without emotion.

“None of this is of your business. Let me talk to (y/n) alone for a second, we’ll be with you soon”, he instructs the white-haired man with firm voice.

“Only if you promise that you’ll tell me every little dirty detail about this.”

“Leave. Now.”

“Urgh, what a bummer…”

You swallow hardly, your gaze glued to the floor while you try to blink away your hot tears.

“How did this happen?”, he questions, his well-polished shoes standing right in front of you.

“I-I…I was so w-worried about y-you that I panicked and…and then it j-just slipped out…”, you stutter.

“Huh, I understand.”

Your eyes dart up at him.

“Are you going to leave me now?”, you cry out, tears now running down your cheeks uncontrollably.

Kento tilts his head and steps forward, hand gently cupping your face.

“Don’t be stupid, I’m not leaving you. Sooner or later, he would have found out anyway”, he responses.

You wrap your still trembling arms around him tightly, tears soaking into his fine suit.

“I’m really sorry”, you mutter into his chest.

It’s like a massive weight falls from your heart. For the split of a second, you really thought he’ll end things with you right here and now. You simply can’t afford to lose him, Kento is your ray of sunshine on rainy days, you love him with all of your heart and more.

“Please, don’t be. I should be sorry for you worrying about me. Be prepared for Gojo’s constant teasing though. These will be hard times.”

He brushes a soft kiss against your lips, a tender smile on his face. God, how much you feel for this man. More than any words could ever express.

“We’ll get through this together”, you reply.

“Yes. Like always.”

[myhyperfixatedmess]

Intrusion.

Tom Riddle × Fem!Reader

You always had a hard time understanding why Tom kept you so hidden away. One night something happens that makes you realize why.

Word count: 1.7k

Content warning: Hints of a panic attack, violence, depictions of torture.

Soft!Tom makes an appearance!

You were very aware that Tom kept you at a distance from his...business.

Even during your time at school, he only allowed you to attend the Room of Requirement meetings a couple of times after much pleading. Graduating didn't change the situation much, despite your marriage; you didn't mind not knowing every detail of his plans, but the extent of your seclusion felt odd. You just wanted to understand why he kept you hidden away so intensely.

Most days, you tried to convince yourself that being the wife of the Dark Lord was enough, even if you had no say in his world-altering decisions. It was hard to ignore that some of his followers were unaware of your existence, while others knew you only as "The Dark Lord's mistress," a term you doubted Tom was aware of or would tolerate.

Though a few Death Eaters knew you from your Hogwarts days, most remained tight-lipped around you, offering mere nods or quiet acknowledgments. It was clear they feared Tom greatly; making eye contact with you seemed like a perilous act. You weren't sure if it was due to his direct orders or their assumptions about his expectations. Either way, though you couldn't really fault them for hiding from you. While you weren't scared of Tom, you could understand why others would be. 

Quiet apprehension gnawed at you as you contemplated discussing your concerns with Tom. But you reasoned that avoiding potential arguments and trusting him were better choices. After all, you were an adult now, not a teenage worrier. You had married him despite his questionable morals, so who were you to judge?

The muffled conversations behind closed doors and fleeting glimpses of secretive meetings became your new norm. Sometimes you managed to catch glimpses through cracks, only to have the door swiftly shut when you were noticed. While you occasionally wondered about his trust in you, you pushed those doubts away to avoid unnecessary distress. You remained silent, occupying yourself with your own pursuits, whether it was reading, writing, or wandering the halls of the inherited family estate.

On this particular evening, you found yourself in the library, Tom being out for the night, which didn't bother you. As you perused the shelves, a loud bang from downstairs jolted you. Frozen in place, you strained to listen for more sounds, until harsh, unfamiliar voices reached your ears. Loud and aggressive, they echoed from the ground floor.

Panic surged as you realized you were in danger. These voices weren't part of Tom's inner circle, and you backed away from the library door, realizing that someone had broken into your home. The thought of a robbery crossed your mind, but then a chilling realization struck—you hadn't considered the possibility that Tom's ambitious plans might have made enemies.

Your initial instinct was to leave the house, apparate, and contact Tom for help. But as your hand reached for your wand, you remembered it was in your room. Unlike Tom, you couldn't perform wandless magic. Trapped and helpless, the sound of angry shouting grew louder, approaching from downstairs.

With each thud of footsteps ascending the stairs, you strained to catch their words. The first voice, a man's, sent a shiver down your spine as he called out, "Where is that bitch?" It was clear they were after you, and this wasn't just a random intrusion; they intended to harm you.

Anxiety clenched at your heart. You had never felt targeted before, never imagined this vulnerability. You cursed yourself for not being better prepared, for letting yourself be defenseless and alone. As their voices drew nearer, panic coursed through you; you were trapped, with no means of escape. 

With painstaking effort, you inched backward against the library wall, the cold surface offering a stark contrast to your racing heart. The air felt thin and suffocating, your breaths shallow and uneven, while beads of sweat dotted your forehead.

They were right outside the door now.

You pressed your hands against the wall, your pulse pounding in your ears, as you prayed for them not to notice you. They pounded on the door, and you clamped your eyes shut, fear tightening its grip on you with each thud.

A shiver of dread ran down your spine as the door gave way, crashing open under their assault. Two men stormed in, wands at the ready. Your body locked up, terror stifling your voice, and you blinked back tears that threatened to betray your composure. This couldn't be real, it couldn't be happening.

The realization hit that running was futile—your exit was blocked. Your heart raced as their eyes settled on you, and you weighed your chances against them without a wand. Your legs trembled as the fear that gripped you teetered on the edge of overwhelming.

"There she is," one of the men sneered, his gaze locking onto you. Panic gripped you tighter, the world narrowing down to their menacing forms.

"We've been looking for you. I'll take her. Come along." His companion's nod was a chilling confirmation, and your pulse quickened as he aimed his wand at you. Their grip tightened, hauling you forward, and you struggled against their grasp. Your voice wavered as you spoke, desperation evident, "Don't do anything foolish. Let me go!"

Their faces twisted with anger at your words, their cruelty evident.

"Voldemort's whore has a temper," the other man taunted, the use of Voldemort's name sending a shock through you. These were Tom's followers, but why target you? They had to know the repercussions of angering him.

"What do you want with me? What are you doing?" you pleaded, flinching when the grip on your arm intensified.

"Enough talking," he snapped, his wand slicing through the air to silence you. Before you could react, the curse fell from his lips.

"Crucio."

Agony erupted, a scream tearing from your throat. Pain seared across your skin, your body convulsing as the torture curse wracked you. Darkness encroached on your vision, and you were thrown backward, a collision with a bookshelf shattering your senses.

As your awareness wavered, a silver dagger gleamed in one captor's hand, your body too weak to move. The other man grabbed your hair, his wand trained on you, while the dagger-wielding one advanced with malicious intent.

"Please, no! Tom will b—"

"Shut it!" the man spat, the blade plunging into your leg. Agony shot through you, your body wracked with pain as your screams filled the room.

"That bastard doesn't even know we're here, but he's gonna regret making a fool out of us," the man hissed, drawing closer. Nausea swelled within you, tears clouding your vision.

"Unhand her." The voice cut through the chaos, familiar and commanding.

"Tom…" you croaked weakly, blinking teary eyes to see him standing behind your assailants. His eyes blazed with fury, and you clung to his presence, your savior in this nightmare.

The attackers froze, their surprise palpable.

"M- My lord," one stammered, and Tom's lip curled with disdain.

"Ah, so it is 'my lord' now?" he seethed, closing in. The men scrambled, leaving you slumped against the bookshelf.

"We meant no disrespect, sir," one attempted, while the other looked on anxiously. "We simply were…"

"Were what?" Tom's anger laced his voice. "Please do explain your assault on my wife."

"My lord," the shorter man bowed, "We didn't know—We just thought she was some intruder!"

The taller man nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, we came for you and saw her! We thought she was breaking in, my lord, I swear!"

The lies were transparent.

"Not only did you invade my home and attack my wife, but you dare lie about it," Tom growled, his gaze steely.

"No, we're—"

"Silence!" Tom's command silenced them both.

"Both of you will go downstairs; I will address this later." The men hurried away, assuming they were off the hook. Tom turned to you, worry etched his features as he reached for your trembling hands.

"My love, can you hear me?" he murmured, his voice a soothing balm. His arms enfolded you, lifting you gently. Pain rippled through you, your vision swimming.

"Everything will be all right now, I am here," he assured softly, but your pain remained relentless. Tom's gaze shifted to your bleeding leg, his brows furrowing in concern.

"You will be fine," he said gently as he cradled you. The pain was overpowering, your vision blurring as you teetered on the brink of unconsciousness.

His voice reached you, your consciousness slipping away, but you knew he was there.

And then the darkness enveloped you.

-

When consciousness returned, you found yourself in your bed, the dull ache in your head the only lingering reminder of the ordeal. Your gaze shifted to your bandaged leg, confirming that the events weren't some nightmarish illusion. Sighing, you realized it had all been real.

You pushed yourself up, cautiously testing your body's limits. Muscles protested the movement, and a groan escaped your lips as pain surged through you. Memories of the harrowing experience played on a loop in your mind, each scene etched with vivid intensity.

Tom's voice interrupted your thoughts. "You need to rest." His presence filled the room, and you met his gaze as he spoke.

"How long was I asleep?" you questioned, trying to make sense of the passage of time.

"13 hours," he replied calmly, offering you a glass of water. He settled beside you on the bed.

"Thirteen hours!?" Shock colored your voice as you nearly dropped the glass. "I was unconscious for thirteen hours?"

Tom's reassurance came with a touch. "It is okay, you're safe now," he said, his arms encircling you. The glass of water quickly emptied as you downed it, your body yearning for hydration after the ordeal.

"So, what happened to the intruders?" you ventured, your apprehension clear in your voice.

"They have been dealt with," Tom's response was clipped, his demeanor stern. You understood the implication behind his words and chose not to press further.

"I'm sorry, Tom," you murmured, resting your head against his chest. Fatigue washed over you, threatening to pull you back into sleep.

"For what?" he inquired gently.

"Being reckless," you admitted, your eyelids growing heavy.

"I was careless too," he confessed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "They are gone now. I will never let any harm come to you again."

"Promise?" you whispered, your eyes fluttering closed.

"I promise," his reply was tender, and with a content smile, you surrendered to sleep once more.

[fluffy-dixon]

Heyyy! So that's my first time writing a request so it's going to be bad. Anyway. I was thinking after an one shot or a drable,whichever one you prefer,of Daryl being realy insecure about his body and standing in front of a mirror and just judging himself(like every part of him,how he is worn down and reader needs someone better than him). And reader is 10 years younger than him so he thinks she is going to dump him for a younger guy. And at some point reader comes behind him and asks what's wrong and when she finds out she starts to reassure him he is so handsome and amazing and how she doesn't want another guy.(thats up to you but if he says something about the scars she kisses them...al of them ) so that's it. I hope you like this kind of thing❤️❤️

The Seasoned Archer

for @kkarina1311 - slight nsfw if you squint but mostly fluff

The soft glow of the bathroom light spilled out into the hallway, casting a warm rectangle on the wooden floor. Your hand hesitated on the doorknob, the faint sound of water running and Daryl’s mumbled words reaching your ears. The past few days had kept you apart—Daryl out hunting for the group, you helping with the recovery efforts in Alexandria after the whisperers’ last but final attack.

Last night, you noticed his distance, a quiet reserve that didn’t match the hours of conversation you shared when it was just the two of you. But you brushed it off; after all, you knew each other better than anyone else. Five years of trust had blossomed into something more—a love that made every moment together precious.

Now, officially together for a year, you couldn’t imagine a world without him.

Peaking around the door Daryl was in there, about to step into the shower, and something in his demeanour caught your attention. He was fully naked, his back to me, staring at his own reflection in the foggy mirror. His brow was furrowed, a solemn look fell across his face as he looked at his appearance closer, he rubbed his stubbly grey beard, shortly followed by ruffling his hands through his hair observing the now silver delicate hairs popping out between his chocolate brown existing ones. He let out a sigh rubbing the tired bags underneath his eyes. You could see the anxiety and worry that riddled through him.

Pushing the door open, you stepped inside. The steam from the shower enveloped you.

“Daryl,” you said softly, you voice barely audible over the water. He jumped, spinning around to you and you saw the surprise in his eyes. Surprise, and maybe a hint of embarrassment.

“Didn’t hear ya come in,” he mumbled, reaching for a towel to cover himself. But you stepped closer, stopping him.

“Don’t,” you said, your gaze steady. “Don’t hide.”

He looked away, his jaw clenched. “I ain’t nothin’ special,” he muttered. “Just an old redneck with too many scars.”

“What’s brought this on?”

You moved closer, fingers brushing against his warm skin.

“Daryl, look at me.”

Reluctantly, he met your eyes. There was pain there, a raw vulnerability that tore at your heart. “I’m too old for ya,” he whispered. “You deserve better.”

Daryl’s fingers trembled, brushing against the mirror’s foggy surface. His reflection wavered, a mosaic of memories and regrets.

“You’re not just an old redneck,” you insisted, stepping closer. “You’re a survivor, a protector, and damn it, you’re my heart.”

His gaze flickered, torn between disbelief and longing. “I ain’t good enough,” he rasped. “Too many demons.”

“Demons?” You traced the lines on his chest, each scar a testament to battles fought. “These scars? They’re proof of your strength, your resilience. And your heart? It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever known.”

Daryl’s breath hitched. “I ain’t young anymore, “I saw you with the others, they’re all more your age”

Your heart sank.

“I’m just trying to help darling. Yes, you may be 10 years older than me but what does it even matter in this world?! It literally doesn’t bother me, plus older mature whisky is much better” you winked.

He sighed.

“Daryl, listen to me.” Your voice firm, unwavering.

“I love every damn thing about you Dixon, there is no man on earth that could match what you do for me, I would be completely lost without you. My heart will FOREVER be yours. Always. I’m not going anywhere, not without you anyway”

His gaze softened, and you saw a flicker of hope.

“But—”

“No buts,” you interrupted. “I love you. Grey hairs, demons, scars, and all. I’m not going anywhere.

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I ain’t good at this, Words and shit” he admitted.

You smiled, leaning in to kiss him. “There’s no need for fancy words,” you said.

“Oh and…” you moved your head whispering into his ear, all sultry.

“…It requires a seasoned man to perform the actions to make me scream like that” you whispered, your teeth grazing your lower lip.

That was enough to tip him over the edge, Daryl encircled you, pulling you even closer, his lips found yours it was hungry and needy. Deepening the kiss his hands roamed all over your body, but you interrupted him, pulling back, arms still wrapped around his neck loosely, you spoke again,

“Daryl, you’re stuck with me” you whispered against his mouth, foreheads resting together as he panted against you.

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that echoed through the bathroom. Tears flowing down freely down his cheeks in happiness.

“I love you so much Y/N, you have no idea just how much you mean to me” his voice cracked.

“I’m eternally yours, Daryl Dixon”

[paimonial-rage]

returning home - freminet

ship: freminet x reader

synopsis: selkies are creatures of the sea. the world of land can never be their home

notes: 11.2k words, au where the twins don’t exist and arlecchino hasn’t taken over the house of the hearth yet

It took you a few moments to realize what they were speaking of when you heard it. A selkie. You heard that word before, long before your father sold you to the orphanage. Your mother told you the stories as a child cuddled up to her side on those cold nights. With a smile, she would weave tales of the marvelous creatures hidden within the boundaries of Fontaine as her lovely voice would lull you to sleep.

Though human in appearance, selkies were creatures of the sea. It was said that on some nights when one was really lucky, one would be able to see a seal shed its coat on the shore. And from it, a beautiful human would emerge. If you wanted to bind them to land, it would require stealing and hiding their seal skin. But you had to make sure they never found it, for if they did, the sea would inevitably call for their return. They cannot ignore that which flows through their veins.

You were not surprised to hear that word again, nor that they existed. There were many strange and mystical creatures throughout the whole of Teyvat. What you found the most surprising was your lack of it upon hearing that Freminet was one.

A selkie.

He didn’t tell you. You happened upon it a few months after entering the House while eavesdropping on a conversation between two of your “instructors.” They said that the Director took his seal skin from him when Freminet’s mother first gave him to the House. She hid it away deep within her quarters in a chest by her bed. Though curiosity burned within them, the instructors did not dare ask to see it. The Director’s responses were never kind.

Still, the thought didn’t really bother you at first, nor did it spur you to action. Though you knew Freminet (you knew all the kids of the Hearth), it couldn’t be said that you truly “knew” him. You preferred to keep your distance, after all. The less you cared about your siblings, the better. Still, you knew enough of Freminet to know what he was like.

He was a gloomy kid, quiet and polite. When he wasn’t on missions, one could often find him in the Hearth’s bookroom reading stories or in the basement tinkering on different clockwork machines. You could tell from the moment you first saw him that he was the sensitive sort, the type that was often overwhelmed by his emotions. It would explain why the Director picked on him so much.

But more than that, you could always tell that he didn’t exactly belong. Granted, barely any of the children of the House belonged. Majority were weak and pathetic, the kind that cried themselves to sleep every night. But Freminet was different. Perhaps it was how he’d speak softly to his clockwork creations or the way you’d often find him lingering under the surface of the sea for hours. It was as if he didn’t belong to the world in which you lived.

Still, you didn’t bother to put more thought into him than that. Children entered and exited the House like a revolving door. Though you started after him, you doubted he would be along for much longer. Such was the fate of the weak and pitiful. And Freminet was the poster child of such. It didn’t matter that he had a reason for being that way. You simply wanted nothing to do with him.

Unfortunately, life always found it hilarious to act in opposition to whatever you wished for.

It was a normal day just like any other around a year after you became a part of the House. You were put in command of a squad of your siblings, Freminet being one of them. You were to infiltrate the Fortress of Meropide through an underwater passageway to obtain intelligence gathered by one of the Hearth’s operatives. Under the guise of nightfall, you all dove into the depths of the sea to head to the rendezvous point. You doubted it would be too difficult to make it past the perimeter lighting, so you didn’t give anything much thought as you swam ahead of the group.

Then it happened. All of a sudden, a hand yanked your arm back and began pulling you back to the surface. It was Freminet. And though you could not see his expression through the diving helmet, there was nothing that could describe his actions better than “panicked.” It irritated you at first, prompting you to fight back. In an odd bout of confidence, you didn’t see anything worth retreating over. But when he finally turned and pointed at your siblings floating lifelessly at your sides, you finally realized the urgency.

It was only when you both grabbed everyone and regrouped at the surface that you realized what occurred. There was a malfunction in the oxygen tubes causing an uneven distribution of gasses in the suits. If he didn’t warn you right then and there, you would have lost consciousness and died in the water with the rest.

When you all returned before the Director that evening, you spoke up before the rest could. You told her that the mission was terminated early due to an oversight on your part. Before your siblings could disagree, you sent them back to the orphanage, away from the Director. You didn’t think much of it. This wouldn’t have happened had you double checked the suits beforehand, so you didn’t mind taking the blame. Besides, you highly doubted the rest would care. No doubt they were relieved they would not have to be punished.

So imagine your surprise when you stumbled back to your bed hours later, bloodied and bruised, to find Freminet there with a first-aid kit in hand. The way guilt filled his eyes made you want to sneer. Such weakness would do him no favors as a child of the House. Not wanting his pity, you told him to leave. But instead, with gritted teeth, he refused. He wished to dress your wounds. And though you tried to explain to him that such niceties would earn him nothing, he still made no move to leave. However, exhausted and not willing to invest any more energy into him, you finally decided to let him be.

It was the first time your wounds ever healed so quickly.

You thought at first that would be the last of it, but every time failed missions left the back of your legs torn to ribbons, there he would be to wrap you up again. It reached a point you didn’t even argue with him anymore. You simply watched. When you finally asked why he chose to help you all the time, he answered back with something you didn’t expect.

“You sacrifice yourself for the other children of the House all the time. I’m… really thankful for that.”

You almost wanted to laugh.

“Sacrifice?” You echoed with a scoff. “I have no recollection of ever doing that.”

“Whenever a mission fails, you always take the fall for the team. You distract our instructors when they’re punishing others. You protect the younger ones when we’re in battle. If… that isn’t sacrifice, what is?”

You didn’t know how to reply to that. While he wasn’t exactly wrong that you did those things, it wasn’t for the reasons he purported. As the leader of missions, it was your responsibility for things to proceed as planned. Beating the children meant more failed missions. And the more people that got hurt on missions, the more work you’d have to do. But you knew there was no point in saying such things. You highly doubted he would believe you.

“Still. Taking care of me isn’t going to change anything. Being kind won’t change things for the better,” you finally responded, doing your best not to wince once he applied the antiseptic.

“I don’t know. Maybe things will.”

You didn’t respond after that. If there was one thing you did not do, it was associate yourself with people in denial. If being kind is what caused change, the House would’ve been a very different place ages ago. As it was now, the only way to survive was to put oneself first no matter what. Kind acts only got one hurt in the end.

And yet, on days you had nothing to do, you found yourself frequenting his company. It certainly wasn’t because you liked him. Perhaps you were curious or maybe you simply just wished to pass the time. If he wasn’t going to leave you alone whenever you were injured, you felt it would only be right to bother him during the moments he may have wanted his solitude.

“You don’t think they’re real, do you? Those fairytales,” you asked one day, peering over his shoulder to the book he held.

It wasn’t a question you’d ask just anyone. Even children had the ability to differentiate between fantasy and reality. Freminet, though, you weren’t too sure. You saw the way he’d speak to his clockwork creations. You noticed how he’d spend his spare change on new picture books. You knew he preferred to live in his mind, but you never knew the extent to which he did. As if reading your mind, he shrunk under your gaze.

“No, even I know the difference between fantasy and reality. I… I know some look down on them, but I find strength through stories like these.”

“Why?” You asked, unable to keep your mouth shut. “Aren’t you just using them to run away?”

He bit his lip.

“I… I don’t mean to…” He mumbled, shrinking even further.

You grimaced, doing your best to ignore the way guilt rose in your throat.

“No, I’m not… I’m not attacking you. I’m just trying to understand. If you think I’m wrong, just say so. I’m not going to get mad.”

Biting his lip, he glanced back down at his storybook. Then after gathering his thoughts, he turned his gaze to you once more.

“I… I think instead of running away, the worlds I read in fairytales help me to stay. They’re so different, but I feel connected to them, like they’re supporting me. And while I know they don’t exist here, I can’t help but feel they do somewhere out there. Knowing that helps me to try to live up to what they see in me by facing the world I live in.”

When you didn’t respond, though, his gaze turned to the floor once more.

“S-Sorry, I know it’s dumb–”

“I still don’t really get it, but…” You then turned to him. “If you’re saying they’re helping you to be stronger, I’ll believe you.”

If you had to be honest, you weren’t taking his words as easily as you seemed. Though you did have to admit that he was getting more forward over time, you couldn’t quite believe him fully as of yet. Using such fragile means as a crutch was still a form of running away, right? That was not even mentioning how he viewed the fairytale worlds as “real” in some way. Was this due to him not quite being part of the human world in the first place?

The more time you spent with him, the more you started to feel that perhaps he was not the person you initially believed him to be. Though still quiet and apologetic, you soon found out he didn’t exactly let you push him around. During moments you disagreed, you’d sometimes find his voice raising ever so slightly so as to insist his point be heard. Never would you have thought he had a stubborn streak to him, nor how much it would have bothered you.

“I knew what I was doing,” he told you one day as he laid in his bed.

Your hands shook in anger as they used gauze after gauze to clean the backs of his legs. Some lash marks cut deep enough that only stitches would keep them closed. Could you steady your fingers long enough to complete that? You didn’t know. You couldn’t think straight. You were itching to do anything but this. You wanted to punch something. Stab something. You knew who you wanted to bleed. But that’s not what was needed for you at the moment.

“If you knew what you were doing, you never would have ended up in this state. What were you thinking!?” You hissed.

“If I didn’t,” he began, “everyone else would have been punished too. Besides, don’t you do the same?”

You gritted your teeth, unable to stifle the growl that rose in your throat.

“That’s not the same thing,” you spat out. “We’re not the same, Freminet. You’re not like me. You’re not strong. Mother already has something out for you and now you do this!? Are you an idiot? You need to stop pretending like you’re something more. You are weak, just like the rest, so just stay in the basement hiding away with your fairytale friends and clockwork penguins and stop–” You caught yourself a moment too late. “Wait no, I didn’t mean it like that. I–”

Your wide eyes met his, both of you clearly not expecting the outburst. Yet when concern took over his expression and not anger, you found yourself confused. You couldn’t even move when he reached out his hand to brush something from your cheek.

“I’m sorry, First. Don’t cry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Before you had the chance to snap back, you finally felt it, the stray tear that was trailing down the left side of your face. You pulled back. You weren’t actually– But when another tear began to fall, this time on the right, you hastily wiped it and the rest that were starting to fall away.

“If you’re sorry, don’t do it again,” you finally mumbled.

But he shook his head.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

No matter how much you argued with him that evening, he refused to let it go. He didn’t care if it meant gaining Crucabena’s attention. He didn’t mind that it resulted in him getting hurt. It made you wonder if perhaps you were at fault. If you didn’t keep seeking out his company, would he have ever conjured up such terrible ideas? How could he not see where you were coming from?

So upset you were with him that when he invited you out the next day, you said yes only for the chance it gave to yell at him away from the House’s walls and ears. Ever busy mentally preparing the lecture for him, you didn’t even notice when you found yourself at the docks with a diving suit in hand. Seeing the question in your eyes, he hesitated.

“I want to show you something. Just trust me.”

So steeling your gaze, you nodded and slipped on the diving helmet. After jumping into the water, he led you by hand down into the depths. Though you never noticed it before, it was interesting to see how seamlessly he glided through the water. Though there were many places in the deep that the currents tossed one this way and that, he navigated each stream with ease as if he instinctively knew which ones to take to get to his goal.

Eventually you finally reached a parting between the corals and seaweed where the light shined through. There the Romaritime flowers were in full bloom as blue and purple Tidalga danced along to the sides. Large pink clam shells could be seen in the distance with Lumitoile dotting the rocks. Instinctively you knew this was the place he’d come to hide during those times he was away from the House.

Pulling you to the middle of the clearing, he then let himself lay back upon the sand and looked up at the sky. In confusion, you followed suit and turned your gaze skyward. The sight was breathtaking. The clouds swayed with the movement of the waves as the sun’s harsh gaze softened within the waters. Colorful fish entered and exited your vision as if they didn’t notice your presence. Despite the symphony of sight dancing before your eyes, it was silent. Peaceful.

It was only when the sky began turning a warm reddish hue that you finally realized the time. It certainly wouldn’t do you both well to get back so late. But when you turned to your companion, his eyes were still on the sky as if transfixed. And when you nudged him to catch his attention, it took a few moments for him to come back to himself, as if finding ground within his body once more. And by the way he looked back longingly at the clearing as you swam away, it was clear he did not wish to leave.

When you both broke the surface and began to remove your diving suits, you couldn’t tear your gaze away from him. Did he know, you wondered, that this was where he belonged? That this was his real home?

“Is this where you go when you’re not on missions?” You asked, already knowing the answer.

He nodded.

“The underwater world is much simpler than the world of dry land. When I’m there, there’s no sound and everything is peaceful. I feel I can be myself.” He bit his lip before continuing. “I know you’re worried about me, but I’ll be okay. I… I may not be as strong as you, but from you, Pers, being able to come here… I’m able to draw strength to protect the people and things I care about.”

You didn’t understand. How could you? How was he able to draw strength from a place he could barely bring himself to leave? He instinctively knew that it was there that he belonged. Still… as much as confusion filled your mind, you couldn’t deny that resolute look in his eyes. As much as you hated it, he wasn’t going to listen to you. He was going to protect the things he cared about in any way that he could.

That being said, never did you imagine you would be one of those things.

It was after a mission one thunderous evening. There you stood before Mother reporting of your success as your siblings, your teammates, did their best to stifle sniffles and sobs beside you. It didn’t take Mother long to guess why. You were a team of five, after all. So whatever could have happened that you came back with only three in tow? The way Mother smiled so kindly sent chills down your spine.

“My children,” she began, her voice soothing like sandpaper, “Don’t be sad. Death is a fact of life. As it was, your sister simply was not strong enough to survive. There is no need to mourn the weak. The only pride to be found is in being strong. You must keep up with your training so you won’t end up like her, hm?”

You left the debriefing with the taste of ash in your mouth. You didn’t follow your siblings to the dining room after, nor to the living room. Instead, you went straight to your bedroom and sat upon the floor at the foot of your bed. In every way, the Director was correct. The only way to survive the House was by being strong. It gave no favors to the weak. And yet…

And yet…

“First?” A voice called out as a knock came at your door. Though you didn’t answer, the door slowly creaked open as a face peeked inside. Your eyes did not meet his, but he stepped inside anyway and closed the door behind him before taking a seat next to you, invading your privacy as he usually did.

“I brought you something to eat. You… must be hungry after your mission,” he stated as he placed a tray of bread and soup before you. But once again, you did not reply.

“Are… you okay? Do you… want to talk about it?” He asked.

You gritted your teeth.

“What is there to talk about? Another child falls prey to the House. Isn’t that just another Tuesday for us?” You asked, throwing your arms before you in irritation. “I told her to be careful. I told her to run at the first hint of trouble. But what did she do? When push came to shove, she came back. After I told her to run! And now look where that got her. Can’t even live to tell the tale.

“Why didn’t she listen to me!?” You asked as you ran a hand through your hair. “If she just stayed hidden like I told her to, she would have survived. I was handling the situation just fine. I didn’t need her. Why do weak people like her do that!? Try to act like they can do things? She should have just kept her head low and protected herself and– And–”

Your head dropped as your voice finally broke.

“She was only nine, Freminet.”

Wrapping your arms around yourself, your shoulders shook as sobs began to wrack your form. You hated this. You hated this so much. You hated your siblings. You hated the House. But most of all, you hated yourself.

As he pulled you into his arms, you could only lean against him as you sobbed. “I couldn’t even stay there as she died. There were other people coming, so I… I left her there all alone. She had to die with nobody by her side. I couldn’t do a thing.”

That evening, he had no words to give that would console you. Instead, he simply held you, choosing to cry with you instead. After all, what else could you have done? What else was there left to say? Even though in the back of your mind, you knew you should have felt embarrassment and shame for being weak and crying before him so openly, you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. All you wanted was to be held.

From that day forward, the human warmth he gave so freely changed something within you. Often you would find yourself sitting next to him shoulder to shoulder. It wasn’t rare for you to find your way to his bed those evenings another orphan didn’t make their way home. It made you weak in a way you couldn’t bring yourself to mind. And neither did he.

He began to invite you to more things—reading together, tinkering with his clockwork creations, journeys into the sea. He began breaking the rules for you even more—sneaking you food when you were sent to your room without, distracting the instructors when you were to be beaten. You scolded him every time, and though he’d stand there and take it, never did he listen to you.

You became used to it, having him around. For the first time in years, you wanted to be with someone. It almost made it too easy to forget that he wasn’t like you. But you couldn’t. You wanted to ignore it, that he wasn’t strong. That he wasn’t built to survive. That the House wasn’t a place he belonged. You were always reminded of it whenever he brought you to the ocean. You saw it every time, after all, how he didn’t want to leave.

It made you curious in the kind of way that made your chest grow tight and your heart beat. When did you start feeling that Freminet was safe? That there was no need to put up any walls between you? That his presence calmed you in ways no one else could? You didn’t know when he started to have that effect on you, but it definitely happened longer ago than you would have liked.

But to ask him about the question that had been rolling in your mind for so long? Truthfully, though only he could ease your disquieting emotions, you weren’t sure if you wanted to know. You knew what the truth would mean for you and what it would entail. You didn’t know if you were ready for it.

It was only after many visits to the sea that your curiosity finally won out.

“Freminet, you always go back to the sea whenever you have the time. So… if you had the chance, would you stay there forever if you could…?”

As if your question caught him off guard, his eyes widened at the thought. Then, he glanced away so as to ponder your words. Ever so slowly, his eyes were drawn towards the sea. You wondered what it was like. He could not ignore its call even if he tried. But as if he suddenly remembered where he was, he blinked once, then twice. Then he brought his attention back to you once more.

“N-No. I’d leave you behind.”

You couldn’t ignore the way your heart warmed at his response. It was as much of a lie as you knew it to be, but still. If he hesitated for you, even just for a moment, you supposed you could be satisfied with that. At least you knew you had a place within his heart. But it planted a seed, didn’t it?

So you began to play with thoughts, treasonous thoughts, during your spare moments of peace. You knew it. Your siblings knew it. There was no future within the House. If death didn’t come already, it would eventually. You’d seen it many times, after all. The House’s hunger was not partial. It did not discriminate. It welcomed any orphan unlucky enough to cross its path and devoured them whole.

No matter what you did, no matter how much you tried to ignore it, you lost track of the amount of siblings you saw come and go. They simply were not fit for it, not strong enough to survive. In the depths of your heart, you truly wanted to save them, but how could you? There were no lands the Fatui did not touch. There was no place they couldn’t go. What was the point in running away if it was inevitable to be found?

But Freminet was different. You didn’t know much, but if there was anything you knew for sure, it was that Freminet did not belong in the House. Sure, none of your siblings belonged, but Freminet truly was different. He wasn’t a creature of the land. He belonged to the sea. As much as you tried to protect him, he deserved so much more than you could ever offer.

If he had his seal skin, you thought, he could leave. He could live at the bottom of the ocean and never return. He could swim away, far away from Fontaine, and never look back. And why would he? Even now the sea sang for him. It longed to be reunited. What child could resist that? Who would give up the chance of returning home?

It was around the same time you began to hear rumors of one of your sisters, the Director’s favorite. If you heard it correctly, it seemed she had her eyes set on revenge against the House. Though you didn’t know her personally, you heard she was the sole survivor of the “competition” the Director set with another orphanage to become King of the House. She was strong, much stronger than the rest of you.

But as much as you wished to hope, you knew the truth. The Director was a woman to be feared. Revolts had occurred enough times for you to know the chances of success were low. And the punishment? If only it was death. With the regular kids in the House, they were beaten until the moment before they lost the light in their eyes. Then they were wrapped up and thrown back into servitude the day after. The Director wanted the orphans to long one day for freedom. It only made beating them into submission more sweet.

But what of the child that she raised into a King? No doubt she was strong. It would be no less than a fight to the death. If the Director had to kill the king she raised so dearly, what would that mean for the rest of you? Would she embroil the current House into a competition for a new king? And if that were to come to be, what would happen to Freminet? There was no way he’d survive.

So what if you snuck into the Director’s room, you wondered. What if you reached into the trunk she kept at the base of her bed and stole Freminet’s seal skin away? She wouldn’t notice, right? Surely you would have enough time to give it back to Freminet. And if the Director did return from the duel to the death with your sister, by then it would be too late, wouldn't it? Freminet would be long gone, back to the ocean where he belonged.

As the days passed, you found yourself listening more and more to the whispers shared between the bloodied walls. You discovered more about your sister, how she was training flames of her will. How powerful she was becoming. You heard how the Director was soon planning to take a trip to Mont Esus East, a place she often visited when she was free. It wouldn’t be long now. The thought sent shivers down your spine. But unfortunately, you weren’t the only one on edge.

“First?” Freminet asked one of those days, shaking you from your thoughts. “Did I… do something wrong?”

The way worry reflected so clearly within those gray-blue eyes of his drew up guilt within your gut before confusion could settle in.

“N-No?” You blurted out. “Did I do anything to make you feel that way?”

He then bit his lip and glanced away. And if you didn’t feel guilty before, you certainly did then. He always was the sensitive sort. You didn’t know how much bugging it took on your part to finally get him to open up.

“It’s just… you’ve been distant,” he finally let out. “If I did anything wrong, you’d tell me, right?”

As he asked, his eyes met yours as if searching for something, but what, you didn’t know.

“Of course I would,” you replied softly. “I’ve just been… distracted.”

And at the very least, it wasn’t a lie. He truly did not do anything wrong. And you had been distracted. You had many plans you needed to set perfectly into play, after all. But never did you think he’d catch wind that something was off about you. You thought you were acting as you always had.

But whatever it was he was searching for within your eyes, he did not find. Pressing his lips together, his hands balled into fists as he looked away in frustration. Whatever answer you were supposed to give, it certainly was not the one he wanted. But ever the gentle person he was, he didn’t use his growing irritation to lambast you.

“But… is that all it is…? During your free time, you don’t spend as much time at the House anymore. There were times I’ve seen you trailing the instructors when they go out. You’ve even been eavesdropping on our siblings when they’re not watching. I just… Is there something going on that you can’t tell me? Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?”

Your jaw dropped in shock. Were you that obvious? Never did you think you were that bad at intelligence gathering. When did he notice all of that? And how in the world did he trace the cause to himself? But you couldn’t tell him the truth. If he found out what you were planning, he’d never let you go through with it. You knew that he would never let you take on something so dangerous just for his sake.

He then took your hands, avoiding your gaze.

“Am I that unreliable to you that you can’t trust me?” His voice cracked. “Is that why you won’t let me help you?”

Your mouth gaped as you tried to find something, anything to say. But what could you? There was no way he’d understand your motives. But the more you hesitated, the more hurt his expression became. When it became clear that you were not going to break, he dropped your hands and took a step back. The way his shoulders drew themselves in constricted your chest. And when a tear finally slipped from his eye, your breath froze in your throat.

“I-I see. I… I’m sorry for bothering you.”

As much as you wished to forget, sleep avoided your grasp that evening. An uncomfortable ache settled in your chest. No matter how much you tried, you could not forget the way his voice wavered as he bid you goodbye. He left the House soon after your disagreement, no doubt bound for the sea. Did he realize that it was approaching curfew? He certainly would be punished by the Director if he came back a second too late. Should you go out for him? Should you apologize and tell him the truth?

Even when he returned, your thoughts were on him. You couldn’t stop. He didn’t return to you the next day or the following, after all. As each day passed, you found yourself gazing ever more to your bedroom door waiting for him to enter. What was he doing? Was he spending his time in the ocean or amongst the fairy tale books in the library? Was he thinking of you? You knew this would all be fixed if you just apologized, but as much as you wanted to, you knew doing so required telling him the truth, and you couldn’t do that.

So as each day you clung to your pride and fear passed, an unsettling truth finally began settling in. When you give him his seal coat, he would leave for good, won’t he? He would never return. And then what would you do then? Here you couldn’t last even a few days without his company. But when he finally left, would you be able to go back to being alone? When was it that he began to matter so much to you?

And then that final thought sunk in. What if… What if you didn’t give him his skin? It wasn’t like he ever found out you were planning on retrieving it. He couldn’t be hurt by something he didn’t know. If you just protected him, he could be with you. He wouldn’t have to leave. You could do that, right? Protect him from the Director and the instructors. Couldn’t you make him happy? You could walk up to him and apologize and everything would go back to the way they used to be.

And for that matter, who’s to say that he even was a selkie. Here you were operating all this off of a private discussion you heard years ago. Even if instinct screamed against it, there was still a chance he was human like you. And if he was, then he would have no choice but to stay. With you. Forever.

But… that wasn’t the truth, was it? You couldn’t ignore it even if you tried. All the signs of his lineage were there from the very beginning. And regardless of what happened between the Director and your sister, things would change and you had no power over that. As it was, the sooner Freminet left, the better. Even if it meant being alone, even if it meant your death, at least he could go home.

As distracted as you were with your thoughts, though, the House certainly was not. They heard the stories of your sister and the revenge she sought. They saw the excitement slowly grow within the Director’s eyes. What was going to happen next? Who was going to win? The air in the House was thick with tension. Where the younger ones shivered in fear, the older ones shook with maddened anticipation. Greed could be seen seeping into the eyes of the many instructors.

When that fateful day came, war was going to strike. The ever mounting sins of the House and its descendants would suddenly topple forth burying alive those not strong enough to survive. Would the children of the House break free of their oppressor? Would another cruel leader take the Director’s place? Or would this be all for naught? It was hard to say.

But the moment the Director left for Mont Esus East, you knew you couldn’t dwell in your sorrows and second thoughts any longer. Gone was your chance of reconciliation. It was now the time to act.

So when the early hours of the morning came, you slipped from your bunk and quietly stalked through the orphanage. Though there were instructors meant to patrol, the silence of the night lulled their senses dull, letting you sneak into the Director’s room unhindered. It was simple, too simple, but you didn’t allow yourself to question it. And just as the instructors said, there was the chest sitting at the foot of the Director’s bed.

When you went to open it, you couldn’t help but swallow nervously upon peering inside. The chest was filled with an assortment of knickknacks the Director no doubt stole from the other orphans, but there in the corner was what you had been dreading to find, the seal skin. Reaching for it, you couldn’t help but gasp as your fingers brushed against it. It was soft, like thick velvet. And when you pulled it out, a small clockwork pendant fell from its folds.

You couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself softly when you picked it up. You knew Freminet was very young when he was brought to the House, but it seemed even before then he was interested in clockwork creations. How very much like him. It made you so… You wiped away your tears. The pendant in question seemed to be a music box of sorts. But not wanting to accidently awaken anyone, you instead placed it into your pocket.

With the most difficult part of your plan accomplished, you then made your way to Freminet’s room. After silently sneaking your way in, you gently shook him awake. While it took a few moments for him to gather his bearings, he froze when his vision finally cleared to see you. But before he could speak, you pressed your finger against your lips to quiet him. Then, after standing, you held your hand out for him to take.

The sun was barely beginning to peak over the horizon when you finally made your way to the sea. Though you could feel his confusion as you dragged him along, you kept quiet. It was only when you reached the docks that you finally allowed yourself to turn your gaze to him in full, ready to put an end to this. But when you saw him looking at you with those beautiful eyes of his, you found yourself unable to speak. After all, what was there to say?

“I… here.” You finally got out as you pushed the bundle in your arms to his chest. “I’m sorry for avoiding you. I’m sorry for keeping quiet. And… I’m sorry this took so long. It’s your seal skin. I heard the Director took it from you when you first entered the House, so I stole it back. You’re a selkie, right? With it, you can… you can go home.”

Suddenly remembered the pendant, you reached into your pocket and placed it into his hand. “I forgot. I found this too. It’s yours, right?”

You avoided his gaze as you spoke, subconsciously wrapping your arms around yourself at the end. Your fingers dug into your skin as anticipation slithered up your veins. Up until this point, nothing exactly felt real. Now that it was here, there was something you needed to do, something you needed to say, but no matter how much you tried to bid the words to your lips, only silence came out. Was it fear that you were feeling? Or was it regret? What could you say to make him–

“Freminet, I–”

But when your eyes finally shot out to him, mouth open to speak, you were immediately rendered silent by the look upon his face. With widened eyes, his mouth hung open as stared at the pendant. Ever so gently, his fingers brushed against the cogs and gears as his breath was caught in his chest. Words could not describe the myriad of emotions that passed through his expression—nostalgia, love, longing, pain, regret. And when his eyes fell upon his seal coat, his shoulders shook as he pulled the bundle close to his chest, tears overflowing. With that, you immediately knew you lost your chance.

Reaching out to him, you put your hand gently on his shoulder and forced yourself to say the words he needed to hear, “Freminet, I’ve said this before, but you don’t belong here. You never did. You belong out there in the ocean. That’s where your home is. Go away from here. Get as far away as you can. If you want to do anything for me, you’ll leave and never turn back. Never return. I want you to be happy for me, okay?”

When his shoulders began to shake, you felt your eyes fill with tears. Unable to bear it any longer, you turned away. But after taking a few steps forward, you paused.

“Goodbye, Freminet.”

With that, you walked away. As you strolled back to the House, though your chest ached even more, a small smile came to your lips. After all, you did a good job, didn’t you? You properly gave him his seal skin and encouraged him to return home. You didn’t beg him to stay. Sure, you didn’t see him off, but still, you did everything else properly. Now he was free to live life as he wanted. He would not be tied to the House anymore.

You had nothing to say as you entered the House and saw some of your siblings eating at the table. Nor did you react when a few instructors walked past you on your way to your room. And when you opened the door to your room, you ignored the random tools upon the floor and first aid kit sitting upon your desk. You didn’t bother with the abandoned clockwork penguin to the side. You simply crawled into your bed and tightly wrapped yourself in a blanket.

Was this what it felt like to be alone?

—

You awoke to the sound of a loud bang against your door. Jumping out of bed, you materialized your spear as you wiped aggressively at your swollen eyes and tear-stained cheeks. The light of the setting sun peacefully streaming in from the window betrayed the ruckus coming from the House. Yelling and crashing could be heard down below, as well as cries from the younger ones.

Turning the knob of your bedroom door, you gasped as it swung open with the weight of someone leaning against it. Inwards one of your siblings fell as he clutched a bleeding wound at his abdomen. Gasping, you pulled him inside. He, however, did not seem to be concerned with his physical state. Instead, a wild grin was upon his lips. Grasping the lapels of your coat, he pulled you close.

“First, Mother is dead.” He laughed, coughing up blood. “That bitch is finally dead. Once we kill the other bastards, we’ll finally be–” He coughed again, this time with more blood from before prompting you to shush him.

After scrambling for the first aid kit, you lifted his shirt and examined the wound. He was stabbed by a sword. But before you could render first aid, another one of your siblings rushed in and closed the door behind her. Waving her over, you placed the first aid kit into her hands.

“Heloir, stay here and take care of Chapleau. Lock the door behind me when I leave. I’ll go check on everyone else. Stay safe, okay?”

After patting her head, you stood and exited your room. In comparison to the noise when you were awakened just minutes before, the House was eerily silent if not for the sound of whimpers and sobs down below. Making your way down the steps with your spear held out, the sight before at the bottom you told the answer why.

Bodies littered the ground of both orphan and instructor alike. Some of the younger ones could be seen crying as they did their best to render first aid to the group of older ones that were still alive. You swallowed as you took a step into the common room. Before, “Mother” forbade the killing of the orphans by the instructors. Had that all changed now that she was gone?

“So there’s one left,” came a snort behind you. Spinning around, you brandished your spear against the two instructors that walked out into the open. Though their clothes were torn in a few places, they were shockingly unscathed compared to the rest. The blood that was dripping from their swords implied what took place moments before. It seemed they couldn’t be in higher spirits. You gritted your teeth.

“Indeed. And there’s two left of you. You know, hiding to take over at the very end is a coward’s move,” you taunted with a grin.

They laughed brazenly.

“And what of you? You’re no different than us. All of you only want what Crucabena left behind.” The first one sneered.

Disgust filled your stomach. How repulsive. Was that all the orphans were to them? Someone to lord their rule over?

“Are you kidding me?” You asked in disbelief. “The only thing… The only thing we ever wanted was to be free!”

With that, you charged the instructors. Aiming towards the one closest to you, you swung your spear forward to which he deflected with a grin. Not letting that stop you, you charged forward and struck again and again, aiming to push him back. Not forgetting about his companion, however, you made sure to spin out of the way when she attacked from behind. Using your spear as leverage, you kicked her in the stomach, sending her careening back into a chair. However distracted for just that moment, the man nearly stabbed you in the gut, slicing through your coat instead.

It was a losing battle, you knew it well. Though the woman was slowly catching her breath, it wouldn’t be long before she made it back to her feet. Though you could fight, it definitely could not be said that you were the strongest child of the House. It wouldn’t be long before they overpowered you. The instructors were once orphans too, after all, trained under the watchful eye of “Mother” herself.

As you swung your spear forward to the one still on his feet, you couldn’t help but feel if not a bit of relief. You knew you would be facing death either way. Had Crucabena won, she would have killed you once she found Freminet gone. And had she lost, you certainly wouldn’t be able to hold your own against the instructors. But regardless, you still won. Though the House would deem you one of its victims, at least you saved the person that mattered the most. You could live with that.

So when you stabbed the man in the chest after he fell over the body of one of his comrades, you didn’t mind as you felt the sword from the woman slice you through from the side. Collapsing to your knees, your spear clattered to the floor as you clasped your hand over the wound. There was a wild look in the woman’s eyes as she yelled at you, but you couldn’t quite catch what she was saying. Was the man someone that mattered to her? You couldn’t help but laugh. After all they did to the children, what gave them the right to be so upset? And even more, what could she do to you?

But as she lifted her sword to inflict her final blow, she suddenly collapsed, falling to the ground before you in a crumpled heap. And when you looked up to see the culprit, it was the very person you expected last.

“Freminet…?”

His claymore dropped to the ground as he fell to his knees before you. Upon his face was an uncharacteristically furious expression as he used a knife to cut away pieces of your coat and shirt.

“Freminet, what are you–”

“First, please stop speaking.” His voice cracked as he spoke, and before long, tears began falling down his cheeks. But why was he crying? Did you cause that? And for that matter, why was he back? But as much as confusion bubbled within you, you obeyed his command and remained quiet. After patching you up with the first aid kit he ran to get from your room, he then helped you walk up the stairs and laid you in his bed.

“Stay here. I need to help everyone else.”

With that, he left you alone. As the sound of footsteps and talking began to travel from below, there you laid staring at the ceiling if not a bit confused. In the back of your mind, you were curious if this was all a dream. Why else would Freminet be back? He left, didn’t he? But if that was the case, how in the world were you lying in his room patched up? Unless the Hydro Archon wished you to die in peace, so she sent a happy memory before your last moments were up and now you were in purgatory.

And so your thoughts went as twilight began to progress into night. Even when a Fatui doctor came in and administered first aid, injecting you with a drug that made your eyes slide shut, you still didn’t quite believe it. And as your consciousness faded, you couldn’t help but be satisfied with this last dream given to you.

At least that’s what you thought until a throbbing sensation in your abdomen cut through the silence. It was not a sensation foreign to you. You were injured many times in the past during various missions. You knew the feeling that came about when the anesthetics were beginning to wear off. But… pain didn’t exist in dreams, right? So as you took a few moments to remember how you managed to get here in the first place—the revolt at the House, the face off with the instructors, then–

You immediately shot up into a seated position. Though the stitches upon your side nearly tore at the sudden movement, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You were currently back in your room at the House, but the light of the morning sun was streaming through your window. How much time had passed since you fell asleep? Was it all over? And Freminet? Why did he come back? Was he alright? Was he–

Suddenly the door opened, causing you to jump. Rushing to your bedside was Helnoir, eyes wide in alarm.

“First, the doctors said you shouldn’t be sitting up this early! You should be resting!” She exclaimed as she pushed you back. Though your strength was meager, you did your best to resist.

“Now’s not the time for that!” You demanded. “What happened? What’s going on?”

With a grim face, she recounted all that happened the past day and a half. After it was announced that Crucabena was taken out, a revolt took place within the House between the older orphans and the instructors. Once the revolt came to an end, all eight instructors and four orphans were killed, while 14 orphans remained injured. The Fatui arrived a few hours later not expecting a bloodbath to have occurred, but quickly took charge. Apparently they were called to secure the House until another director was put in place, but arrived too late. But that wasn’t all you needed to know.

“And Freminet?” You asked hesitantly. “Is he… Is he really…?”

Helnoir paused in thought. “He’s helping out with the other kids right now. Do you want to talk to him? I can grab him if he’s free.”

Though your chest tightened at the thought of seeing him, you nodded. If you had to be honest, you didn’t know how you felt about all of this. After all you did, after all you went through, he came back. You couldn’t wrap your mind around it. He had everything. He had the whole world before him, so why did he willingly walk back into hell? Were you furious? Panicked? Despaired? You couldn’t tell. Only seeing him would make sense of the storm going through your head.

But even after Helnoir left, Freminet didn’t come. Nor did he come the following days after. Then it occurred to you. When Freminet saved you from the instructor, he looked upset as he patched you up. He didn’t even want you to speak to him. But shouldn’t you be the one that was angry? What did you do that made him so upset? But if he was still upset, was that the reason why he wasn’t coming to see you?

So as you spent your days laying in bed recuperating, an uncomfortable sensation settled in your gut, the same one that came when you first refused to tell him your plans. It swished this way and that and only grew worse the more days that passed. That with the ache ever so present in your chest made you unable to eat much and you weren’t really sure you wanted to see him anymore. As upset as you were with him, what was the point in how you felt if you couldn’t receive his forgiveness?

So when you were finally cleared to leave your bed, it wasn’t to Freminet’s side that you went. Instead, far from it. Deep you delved into assisting the Fatui with various tasks like paperwork, missions, and the like. There was a lot to be done now that Crucabena and the instructors were gone, and you liked it like that. It kept your mind off of thinking and worrying. Even when some of the orphans would mention to you that Freminet wished to meet with you, you refused every time. It seemed that he was finally ready to see you, but you were not.

In the back of your mind, you knew how pathetic you were being. Never were you the type to give into fear, but the thought of speaking to him… It threw your stomach into knots. Not only did you make him sad and upset, but you also had no clue why he decided to return… or if he planned to stay. And that was the real crux of the issue, wasn’t it? He may have returned for a bit, perhaps due to some loose threads, but he had so much more for him waiting out there, more than what was here.

But wasn’t that a good thing? Wasn’t that what you wanted? For him to leave? Sure, the issues with the House may have been settled with the arrival of the higher ups in the Fatui, but that still didn’t mean all of its problems were solved. They were still waiting to see who would be appointed to take Crucabena’s place and if that person would be worse than her. No matter how much you thought about it, you couldn’t think up a single reason why he would stay.

As you sat at the foot of your bed in thought, you sighed. Flopping back, upon your bed, you rested an arm over your eyes. What a pain in the butt you were being. Absolutely pathetic. Since when were you ever such a sniveling coward, afraid of Freminet of all people? Whatever worries or fears you had, it wasn’t doing you any good avoiding them. So that meant you had to face them. Yes, you would have to speak to Freminet.

Standing up, you made your way out your room and down the steps. Not catching the familiar ashy blonde in sight, you waved down the nearest orphan.

“Foltz, do you know where Freminet is?”

He hummed in thought.

“I heard him saying he had to go somewhere. He had something in his hands too, but I didn’t catch what it was. Some kind of carpet, I think?”

His last words froze you still.

“A-A…” Your breath became short. Taking his shoulders, you looked deep into his eyes. “When did you see him leave? Be as specific as you can. Please, I need to know.”

Foltz, now a bit worried by your demeanor, squirmed as he hurried through his memories.

“Um, I don’t know. Maybe a few hours ago…?”

You were out of the door by the moment the last word left his lips. As you dashed to the beach, your heart thudded in your chest. If only you didn’t avoid him. If only you agreed to see him when he asked for you, then you would have… you… You soon came to a stop.

This… This was a good thing. It was a good thing that he took his seal skin with him. This was what you wanted. This was what you’d been planning for. You wanted to laugh. Why did you have to keep telling yourself that? What made you keep forgetting your goals so easily? Besides, no doubt Freminet fulfilled all his remaining wishes. He had no reason to stay any longer. The world was his oyster and it was about time he took it.

Yes, this was… Your hands balled into fists as the ache in your chest became even more pronounced. Him leaving was a good thing. He had no reason to stay, least of all for… for you. Even if you asked, he certainly wouldn’t…

You sighed.

Still, you supposed it wouldn’t hurt going to the beach just one more time. It had been a while since you went and you were missing the scent of the salt air. Besides, you were already over halfway there as well. It wouldn’t make any sense going back. And with the sun just starting its descent, the sight would no doubt be a welcome one after such a stressful past few weeks.

So when you finally made it to the beach, you definitely did not look around for an ashy blonde mop of hair. And when you walked upon the sand, you did not gaze at the horizon for five minutes, ten minutes, even longer waiting. But when you finally made your way to the shoreline and felt the gentle waves lap against your feet, you finally had to admit it. You bit your lip as your eyes fluttered shut.

He was gone–

“First?”

The sound of that familiar voice dried up any tears as you looked up in shock. There, waist deep in the water, was Freminet. His eyes were wide as he looked upon you, no doubt just as surprised as you were. And in his hands was not what you expected to see, but a diving helmet. Was he simply swimming for the past few hours? And if so, why not with his seal skin? But more importantly…

“Why… are you still here?”

The words came unbidden from your lips before you could stop them. But still, you couldn’t stop the confusion from welling up within you.

“I… I gave you everything you needed,” you began with a disbelieving laugh. “I set everything up perfectly. You had no reason to stay. There’s nothing left for you here. So why–”

“Why… do you keep treating me like that?”

His words brought you to a pause.

“What do you mean?”

Though he was looking away, upon his face was the same furious expression he showed you when he found you on your knees bleeding out from your side.

“Why do you treat me as if I don’t know any better? Like I can’t decide things for myself?” Tears began to drip down his cheeks. “You… always decide things for me without ever listening to what I have to say. I just… How could you ask me that? Why I’m still here?” After a moment of gathering his composure, he then finally looked at you, hurt and anger clear in his expression.

“Did you think I wouldn’t know, First? That Mother would have had you killed had she found out what you did? Didn’t you think about how I would have felt if that happened? If I didn’t come when I did, you… you would have…”

He had to pause as a sob ripped through his throat.

“I’m not a child, First. I knew everything that was going on. I knew about the planned revolt. Didn’t… Didn’t you think we could have worked out something together? That we couldn’t have protected each other? Is that how unreliable I am to you?” His head then dropped as his voice cracked. “Is that why you keep trying to get rid of me?”

Panic jolted through your system as you reached out to him hesitantly. You did this. You made him upset with you. You caused him to cry. You had to fix it.

“N-No, I… I was just…”

But he didn’t want to hear it.

“You told me to go home, but where is my home if not with you?”

You squirmed as your breath grew short.

“B-But–”

He then looked into your eyes, pain evident between the falling tears.

“Don’t you want me?”

That did it. Before you knew it, hot tears began to roll down your cheeks. And when you parted your lips, a pathetic hiccup erupted. Your chest heaved with every short breath you took. Why didn’t he get it? Wasn’t it obvious? Everything you were doing you did for him. Why did he have to put you on the spot like that? Didn’t he realize it was already difficult enough letting him go?

“I… I was just trying to do the right thing,” you finally got out between sniffles and sobs.

And that’s what it boiled down to, didn’t it? That was the truth. Regardless of how you felt, regardless of any damage to you, all you wanted was to keep him safe. To give him a way home. Wasn’t that all that mattered?

As you scrambled wildly to defend yourself, excuses continued to pour from your lips. “My mother always told me that selkies were creatures of the sea. They don’t belong on land. And with everything that was going to happen in the House, I just… I wanted you to be happy.”

Your head dropped as you wiped furiously at your tears. Guilt clawed its way up your chest, aiming to pull you into the depths. You always thought you were doing the right thing, but was this how you were making him feel instead? Though a part of you still argued that he simply did not know what was best for him, you could no longer deny the truth. That was not your decision to make. It never was yours to make.

As you felt yourself collapse into yourself, cold hands soon pulled away your hands hiding your face prompting you to look up. Though tears still fell from his cheeks, he was not furious anymore. Instead, upon his lips an exasperated smile as he let out a watery laugh. He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours.

“But I’m happiest with you.”

It was such a simple thing to say, but the way those words cradled you in warmth broke something within you. Suddenly that tension and ache you felt in your chest released at that very moment as a new wave of tears flooded your eyes. You knew he really shouldn’t feel that way, that there was nothing to gain from staying by your side. For his sake, you didn’t want him to stay. And yet, deep down, he said the very words you had longed to tell him for such a long time.

“I… I didn’t want you to leave,” you finally got out. You could no longer stop the words of truth pouring from your lips. “Those days away from you were so lonely. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I-I just wanted…”

He then pulled you to his chest and wrapped his arms around you.

“It’s okay, First. I know. It’s okay.”

It took a while for the both of your sniffles and sobs to simmer down. By the end of it, the front of your clothes were soaked from hugging him so tightly within the water. And now as you sat gazing at the sunset, eyes swollen and holding his hand upon the sand, there was a certain lightness in your chest that you hadn’t felt for a long time.

“Foltz said you took your seal skin with you when you came here, but where is it?” You asked, awkwardly doing your best to make conversation after crying before him so openly.

“O-Oh, that? I brought it and stored it in a chest at our place in the ocean. I… thought it would be the safest there.”

The way he said it so simply jolted you back slightly in surprise.

“You’re storing it? Have you not used it once since I gave it to you?”

He shook his head with a hesitant smile.

“When you gave it to me, it was the first time I heard the sea calling out to me so loudly. I… I wanted to go so badly. It was like every part of me was being pulled to the sea. If I didn’t think of you, I probably would have left,” he admitted hesitantly. “Whenever I’m near it, the desire grows stronger.”

You frowned upon hearing that.

“You don’t need to stay for me. If you left, I… I would miss you, but I wouldn’t blame you for it. Selkies are creatures of the sea, after all.”

He looked down upon the sand as he bit his lip trying to find the words to respond.

“I… don’t doubt that I would be happy there for a time. I always feel most at home in the water. But…” He then looked up at you. “That’s only when you’re by my side. If going to the ocean means giving up you, it’s not worth it. The place I belong is with you.”

Feeling a new wave of tears come on, you glanced away.

“Stop it! You already made me cry enough today. You’re beginning to make me think I’m just as much of a crybaby as you are,” you grumbled before standing. “Everyone at the House is probably wondering where we are. Let’s go before they come looking.”

Laughing softly to himself, Freminet stood and began to follow you. But before he got far, a soundless voice called out to him. Turning behind, there was the sea with its gentle crashing waves lit up with the wondrous red and yellow hues of the sunset. As always, there it beckoned him—sweetly, lovingly, achingly. How it longed to be reunited. But in return, he gave it a simple and kind smile. That’s all he would give. Then he turned away from the ocean, away from its gentle call, and made his way back to you.

[osunari]

⚠︎ s i l e n t t e m p t a t i o n s ( 18+ )

—ch.5

➤ s t a r t

Mr. crawling x MC

— h o m i c i p h e r 𒌧

"Human Emotions”

The previous mishaps marked a turning point in your journey, revealing the horrifying consequences of the curse and the bloodthirsty state it provokes.

Remembering the time you lost control and succumbed to the primal urge to kill, mr. machete was forced to draw his blade. Though his decision seemed cold, it was the only way to stop you from unleashing destruction—not just on him but on everything around. His actions, however brutal, carried an undercurrent of conflict.

Killing you wasn't anything about hatred or punishment but about halting the spread of the darkness consuming you. In a place like this, survival never bothered to leave room for sentimentality.

What had made this revelation even more chilling is the cycle it implies. As your memories fade like old scars, the curse doesn't just hollow you out—it strips away every trace of humanity, leaving behind the raw instincts of the killer you once were. Never not a simple transformation, but a distortion of identity. The urge to kill is all that remained, as if the curse thrives on feeding the worst parts of you. The truth finally exposed; every time the bloodlust takes over, someone must intervene to "reset" you through none other but death. The dark process becoming a twisted means of survival, forcing those around you to make impossible choices.

For mr. machete, this act of "mercy" carried its own weight. Despite his stoic demeanor, the act of killing you hinted at an internal struggle—one he hides beneath his scarred and bandaged exterior, masking any emotion that he failed to suppress. Through deep analysis, you began to realize that his past actions, even his first violent encounter with you, were not random acts of aggression but calculated measures to protect you from something far worse; yourself. His quiet resilience in the face of such moral ambiguity revealed that he may not just be a companion in this cursed world but someone who understands its horrors better than a few at least.

The world felt brand new, free of the gnawing dread that had once consumed you. Your skin glowed with a warmth you hadn’t felt in what seemed like eons, your reflection no longer a haunting specter of decay but a vision of vitality. Your hair was sleek, strands flowing with a softness that caught the faint glimmer of the ghostly light around you. It was as if someone had pressed a reset button on your very existence, erasing the physical signs of corruption that had once taken over. You moved cautiously, your hands trembling slightly, not from weakness, but from the sheer disbelief of feeling whole again. For the first time in a while, the weight of despair didn’t feel like it was crushing your chest.

But despite the warmth of your newfound state, memories from before lingered on the edge of your mind. You couldn’t erase them—the bloodthirsty haze, the loss of control, and the moment mr. machete had been forced to strike you down. The image of his weapon glinting in the faint light before it pierced through you replayed in your head, and you shuddered. I really did die, you thought. And yet, here I am, alive… better… human again. But at what cost? The curse had reset you, as if wiping a slate clean, but it didn’t erase the growing fear that this new clarity wouldn’t last.

. . .

The creak of a door broke through mr. silvair’s territory. You looked up, and there stood mr. silvair, his calm demeanor faltering ever so slightly as his gaze swept over you. His usual confidence gave way to a flicker of astonishment, a brief widening of his sharp covered eyes before he spoke. “几ㄩ(you) . . . 几ㄩ(you) 乃乂几ㄚ千(healthy) !” he murmured, stepping closer, his crimson-tipped syringe forgotten in his hand. He hesitated as if unsure whether to come closer, his gaze shifting between awe and curiosity.

You opened your mouth to respond but stopped as you noticed a familiar severed head perched on a nearby counter. Mr. chopped’s expressive eyes lit up, his voice cutting through the tension with playful disbelief. “几ㄚ(my) ㄚ乃ㄩ乇(woman) ! ! 几乇(me) ㄚ几乃(miss) 几ㄩ(you) !” he exclaimed. “几ㄩ(you) 丂匚ㄚ乙(beautiful) , 几ㄚ(me) 卩ㄥ几(like) !”

The sight of him ignited something within you—a surge of joy and relief that propelled you forward without thought. “Chopped!” you cried, rushing past mr. silvair. The sound of your feet on the floor filled the room as you scooped the severed head into your arms, holding him close. “Me miss you! Me like you too!” Your voice cracked slightly, the emotion catching you off guard. It had been far too long since you’d felt anything this pure, this simple.

Mr. chopped chuckled, his tone teasing but warm. “几ㄩ(you) 乃乙ㄩ(touch) 乇乂(me) ! ! 几乙(maybe) 几ㄩ(you) 乃匚ㄩ(want) 乃尺几ㄩ丂几(marry) 乇乂(me) ?” You laughed, the sound so unfamiliar that it startled even you. “You cute, so cute!” you said while pinching his puffed cheeks, dodging his question. “几ㄚ(me) 几乃尺(want) 尺几(be) 乙ㄩ(with) 几ㄩ(you) ! 乇乂(me) ㄩ丂几(wait) !” For now, you just wanted to revel in the reunion, to push aside the lingering questions and simply exist in this moment.

From behind, mr. silvair approached with quiet fascination. He watched your interaction with mr. chopped, his usually cold gaze softening as he observed the genuine happiness on your face. Gently, he reached out and twirled a lock of your hair between his gloved fingers. “ㄚㄩ爪乇(soft) .” he muttered, almost to himself, before letting the strand fall back. “几ㄩ卄(i see) 几ㄩ(you) ㄚ乃ㄩㄚ(found) 丂几卂ㄩ(answers) .” he said, his tone warmer than you were used to. His smile, though faint, was genuine.

You nodded, offering a small smile in return. “Indeed.” you said softly.

“乃ㄚ尺(good) . 几ㄚ(me) ㄚ乃几ㄩ尺 (happy) .” he murmured, reaching out to ruffle your hair in a gesture that was surprisingly comforting. “几ㄩ(you) 乃乂几ㄚ千(healthy)  .” Mr. silvair had been hovering for a while, watching the two of you with a knowing, but unreadable expression. He adjusted his glasses, cleared his throat, and smiled, though there was a hint of concern in his eyes. “几ㄚ(me) 丨ㄒ(in) 乃千(the) 山ㄚ卂(way) . . ?” he remarked in a tease, his gaze flicking between you and the severed head in your arms. “几ㄚ(me) 卩山几乂(leave) 几ㄩ(you) 丂乙ㄚ乂(both) 几乂丂乙(alone) .”

Before you could respond, he stepped toward the door, pausing for a moment. “ㄚ乃(no) ㄩㄖ卩爪ㄒ(pressure) .” he said, offering a faint smile as he opened the door. “几卩ㄥㄒ(take) ㄩ几(your) 尺卂ㄚ乃(time) .” With that, mr. silvair left, closing the door behind him. The room suddenly felt quieter, the tension that had been lingering between you and mr. chopped now almost palpable.

The two of you sat in the soft silence for a moment. The absence of his male companion instantly turned him into a huge orange ball of shyness, unable to show the same excitement as he did earlier now that his vulnerable side was exposed to your dominant ones. You noticed his cute flushed state as he laid peacefully against your soft lap—eventually deciding to ruin it by picking him up and cradling him close to your chest, closer to your beating heart. Despite the occasional flicker of uncertainty in the air, it was oddly comforting as you started to notice his shyness slowly melt away.

“几ㄚ(me) ㄚ山爪乃(like) . 几ㄚ(me) ㄚ山爪乃(like) 卂ㄒ乃ㄚ(a lot) !” he said, his voice breaking the elongated silence. “几ㄚ(me) 乃ㄚ乙(need) 几ㄩㄚ(more) 卂山ㄚㄒ(touch) , 几ㄚ(me) ㄚ山爪乃(like) 几ㄩ(your) 卂山ㄚㄒ(touch) ! . .”

Mr. chopped turned his head toward you, his orange braid swaying slightly as he did. He gave you a soft look, his eyes unreadable but softening as he did. “乃ㄚㄩ(with) 几ㄩ(you) , 几ㄚ(me) ㄚ乃卩ㄖ几(happy) !” His usual sharp, straightforward demeanor seemed to soften in the quiet of the room, almost like he was allowing himself a moment of peace—away from all the other lurkers which he hid a side of him from.

. . .

In the dim corridors of the ghostly apartment, a faint sound of weeping echoed. Its high-pitch would lead anyone to think it could belong to that of a small weeping child—but in reality, it was someone far from small. It led to an empty cabinet tucked away in a forgotten corner of the building, its doors rattling slightly with each shuddering sob. Inside, twisted and contorted in ways that defied logic, was none other but your hurt loyal companion. His lanky frame folded over itself as he wept uncontrollably, his jagged teeth clenched together in anguish.

He clutched his head with his elongated fingers, shaking it back and forth as though trying to dispel the dark thoughts clouding his mind. “几ㄚ(me) 乃乙ㄩ(slow) , 几ㄚ(me) 乃乙ㄩ(slow) . ! 几ㄚ(me) 山丂乙几爪(useless) . .” he muttered to himself, his voice cracking. “几ㄚ(me) ㄚ乙ㄩ(fail) 乇尺千ㄚ(protect) .” The thought of you out there; hurt, lost, or worse—gnawed at him relentlessly. It had been two days since he’d last seen you, every second feelinh like a dagger to his heart.

Images of you flashed through his mind—the way your genuine smile would comfort him in any given situation, the way you mimicked their language in the most broken way possible, and the memorable moments you two had shared together. Just as a smile could creep up to his face, darker memories crept in; the way you had looked at him during your last encounter, the anger in your voice, the distance between you. “ㄚ乃(she) 卩几爪ㄩ(hate) 几ㄚ(me) . .” he whispered in a cry. “ㄚ乃(she) 乃几(no) 乃乙ㄚ丂(accept) 几ㄚ(me) 山尺千ㄩ(apology) . .”

The thought of you hating him was unbearable. But worse was the fear that you might be gone. What if mr. hugeface had taken you? What if mr. scarletella’s selfish tendencies had claimed you as his own? The possibilities clawed at him, his overthinking spiraling into a pit of despair. He curled tighter into himself, his lanky frame trembling as the cabinet creaked under the strain.

“几乇(me) 丂ㄚㄒ卩(sorry) . 几乇(me) 丂ㄚㄒ卩(sorry) .” he whispered to the empty air. “几乇(me) 几ㄩ卩(want) 几ㄩ(you) 乃ﾌㄖ(back) . .”

. . .

The halls of the ghost hotel stretched endlessly before you, dimly lit by faint, flickering lights that lined the walls. It wasn’t a place you’d expect to find solace, but somehow, you felt a lightness in your step today. The goodbyes with mr. chopped had been heartfelt, though tinged with sadness, you left mr. silvair’s territory with an odd sense of closure. The past days had been a storm, an endless cascade of misfortunes, yet here you were, walking with a renewed sense of purpose.

I’m going to leave this place for real now.

A soft smile played on your lips. It was true what they said—there was always a rainbow after the storm. You glanced down at your new outfit, the one mr. silvair had offered after coming back from leaving you and mr. chopped alone. It was a gift, he’d said, found among the otherworldly remnants scattered across the strange plane. Somehow, he knew it would suit you.

The skirt hugged your thighs snugly, its fabric moving effortlessly with your stride. The white tank top, adorned with a small strawberry design at its center, felt oddly fresh against your skin. Minimal yet stylish, it was a far cry from the oversized raincoats and makeshift dresses you’d worn before.

As you walked, you adjusted the hem of the skirt, feeling it rise slightly higher than you were used to. A small, almost mischievous chuckle escaped your lips. It wasn’t something you’d normally wear, but today… today, you didn’t mind. Tucked in your hair was the pink hairclip mr. chopped had given you. It was whimsical and a bit childish, yet it added an unexpected charm to your appearance. Did he and mr. silvair plan this? It got me thinking…

You ran a hand through your now well-groomed hair, the clip holding back your bangs from falling into your face. Everything felt so… new. The world around you still loomed with shadows, but for once, they didn’t feel as heavy.

But as your thoughts wandered, a prickling sensation began to creep up your spine.

Someone’s there.

Your steps slowed, the faint echoes of your shoes against the tiled floor now joined by something faint, something subtle. The softest rustle, a shift of air. You didn’t need to look back to know who it was. You’d felt this presence before—silent, watching, waiting.

"Mr. scarletella," you called out, your voice steady despite the small tremor in your chest. "I know you in there."

Silence.

You sighed, turning to face the direction of the presence. There he was.

He stood just a few feet away, his tall frame casting an imposing shadow on the wall. His red hair, straight and slightly disheveled, fell across his face in a way that framed his sharp features. Those round black eyes; half-lidded, piercing, and unyielding—locked onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. The light in his gaze was unsettling, but there was something else beneath it—a flicker of curiosity, admiration even. His eyes roamed over your figure, lingering on the subtle curves the outfit revealed.

He was definitely sure about one thing—you knew about the curse, and how to combat it. But from whom you’d learn it from, he hadn’t a clue—he didn’t care anymore. He wanted you and that’s all he knew, all he needed to fight for.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched thin, the air between you thick with unspoken tension.

You shifted uncomfortably, adjusting the hem of your skirt once again, feeling his gaze like a physical weight on your skin. “This one hell of a weirdo…” you muttered under your breath, your native tongue soft but biting.

His grin widened ever so slightly, unbothered by your insult which he understood with your behavior alone. If anything, he seemed amused.

“What you wan—” you began, but your words faltered as he took a step forward.

There was a fluidity to his movements now, no longer the eerie teleport—glitches you were accustomed to. He moved like liquid, smooth and deliberate, crouching lowly to bring his face closer to yours.

You froze.

His umbrella clattered to the ground, abandoned, his fingers reaching up—tentatively and curiously. The glint in his eyes remained, but his touch… his touch was soft. He gently brushes his fingers against the pink hairclip, his thumb tracing the small shape with unexpected care.

“ㄚ卩几丂(cute) .” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. Your breath caught in your throat as his fingers moved from the clip to your hair, running through its silky strands. He seemed fascinated, almost in awe, as if seeing you like this was something entirely new to him. “几ㄩ(you) ㄚ乃(not) 尺ㄒ几(run) 乃ㄚ卂山(away) ?” he finally asked, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

You shook your head, the motion slight but enough to convey your answer. Despite the unease his presence usually brought, there was something different about him now. He wasn’t the predator lurking in the shadows. He was… something else. You were used to stereotyping him into a psychotic weird maniac that followed your steps like a dog, but seeing him be the opposite of that—it made you less uncomfortable around his presence.

You discreetly leaned into his touch— just slightly, almost imperceptibly, but he noticed. His eyes widening briefly, as if caught off guard by your unspoken permission. For a moment, he looked as though he didn't know what to do with the gesture, his usually composed demeanor faltering ever so slightly. Yet, his fingers remained in your hair, brushing gently against the strands as if testing the boundaries of this newfound intimacy.

Then, his hand moved lower, slow and deliberate, his fingers grazing your shoulder before stopping at the embroidered strawberry on your shirt.

He tilted his head, the faint light glinting off his curious eyes as he traced the delicate stitching. His touch was light, almost reverent, as though the small detail fascinated him in a way you couldn't understand.

“Strawberry… you like?” you questioned, pointing at the imagery embroided in your shirt—to which he nodded.

His fingertips glided over the textured design, the soft friction of fabric against your skin sending a faint shiver through you. It was so subtle, so precise, that it left a lingering warmth in its wake. The way he handled even the smallest details—like the weave of the thread or the curve of the strawberry-felt oddly intimate, as though he were exploring a part of you that was uniquely yours.

“Strawberry.” He muttered, copying the way you had said it in your own language—uncontrollably leaving you smiling.

Your breath hitched slightly when his thumb brushed over the fabric just below the design, his movements unhurried yet deliberate. He was savoring every moment, every inch of this small, simple contact. His eyes flicked back to yours, catching the faint tremor in your chest, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he’d noticed how deeply he affected you.

“几卂山乃(nice) .” he said, his grin softening into something more genuine, though his gaze remained fixated on you.

You couldn’t help but notice how intently he admired just about everything about you, his fingers carefully exploring every detail about you as though it were some rare, precious artifact. There was something oddly endearing about it, the way he cherished even the smallest details with such genuine fascination. For a brief moment, you found yourself smiling softly, realizing just how fitting it was—if he were to turn into any fruit, he’d undoubtedly be a strawberry. With his striking red hair and that subtle sweetness hidden beneath his mischievous exterior, it just made sense. The thought lingered for a moment, and then it hit you—he was actually… cute. You blinked, startled by the realization, and quickly looked away, heat rushing to your cheeks. It wasn’t just the strawberry comparison or his red hair; it was the way he paid attention to the little things, the way he seemed so childlike in his wonder despite everything else about him being so overwhelming. The thought made your chest flutter in a way that was both embarrassing and oddly comforting, you silently hoped he hadn’t noticed the shift in your expression.

But he didn't stop there. His hand wandered down, his fingers brushing the hem of your skirt with a featherlight touch that sent a shiver through your body. He paused, his gaze snapping up to meet yours, as if asking for permission, his dark eyes now soft yet piercing, searching for any hint of resistance. You didn't say a word, but the way you stood still, your breath hitching ever so slightly, told him everything he needed to know. You weren't stopping him—you weren't pulling away.

That small, unspoken signal was all the encouragement he needed. Slowly, his fingers began to explore further, grazing the delicate fabric with deliberate care. The warmth of his touch seeped through the material, his movements slow and purposeful as if savoring every moment. You felt your heart race, a flush creeping up your neck as he drew closer to the sensitive skin just above your thighs. His actions weren't rushed or greedy; they were curious, almost respectful, as though he was discovering something he wanted to remember forever.

He glanced up again, his expression unreadable but intense, his lips parting slightly as though he was going to speak—but hesitated. Instead, he let his hand linger just at the edge of what was decent, his fingers brushing the barest hint of skin beneath the hem. The intimacy of the moment was almost unbearable, your breath quickening as his touch sent small jolts of electricity coursing through you. His gaze never left yours, and in that quiet exchange, the air between you felt heavy, charged with something you weren't sure either of you fully understood yet.

His touch grew bolder, his fingers skimming the bare skin of your thighs. Your breathing quickened, the warmth of his hand leaving a trail of heat wherever it went. His agape mouth faltered slightly, replaced by a more focused, almost reverent expression as he watched your reactions.

You tried to keep your composure, but the blush creeping up your neck betrayed you. His fingers pressed against the fabric of your skirt, tugging it gently upward, exposing more of your skin with each passing second.

“Scarlet…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He instantly paused, his gaze snapping back to yours, dark and searching, as though gauging your every reaction. For a fleeting moment, you thought he might put an end to his sensual actions, but instead, his hand shifted, moving with deliberate intent after confirming your allowing expression.

As if he could sense the unspoken tension between you—he leans one hand to the wall behind you for support, his other hand slid to your waist, settling there with a possessive ease. His thumb brushed the bare skin just above your skirt slowly, deliberately, sending a jolt through you that felt almost electric. The pad of his thumb traced small, languid circles on the exposed skin, his touch both tender and teasing. The contact was light, yet it felt heavy, leaving a trail of heat in its wake that had your mind racing. He leaned in ever so slightly, close enough for you to feel the faint warmth radiating from him, his movements unhurried, as if savoring every second of the moment he held you.

His eyes locked with yours, and for a moment, everything else seemed to blur. His touch, his gaze, the proximity—it all became too much, too intimate, yet you found yourself rooted in place, unable and unwilling to pull away.

The heat between you was noticeable now, unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. His fingers toying with the hem of your skirt, lifting it slightly to reveal the smooth skin of your upper thigh. His touch was deliberate, savoring every inch of you as if committing it to memory.

Your heart raced, the flush on your cheeks deepening as you let him explore. You weren’t sure what this was—curiosity, lust, something more? But you couldn’t bring yourself to stop him.

His thumb ventured higher, the path it traced growing bolder with each second, leaving a blazing warmth in its wake. Every inch he ascended felt like uncharted territory, your breath catching as his touch teased the edge of your self-control. You could feel your heart pounding, a rhythm that matched the deliberate, calculated movements of his hand. His thumb hovered dangerously close to your most sensitive place, the anticipation thick enough to drown in.

But then, he stopped—his entire body tensing, his hand frozen in place. The moment hung in the air, thick with tension, as if time itself had paused. His fingers hovered at the edge of something forbidden, the barest touch brushing against a boundary he hadn’t meant to cross. The shock hit him in a flash, his thumb barely grazing that intimate threshold, a realization dawning on him that what he’d just touched was beyond anything he had expected. His breath caught, and for a split second, he seemed unsure whether to pull away or give in to the unexpected temptation. His gaze snapped up to yours, searching for any hint of permission, his mind scrambling to make sense of the electrifying moment he’d just created.

Mr. silvair’s gift did not come with panties.

.

.

.

[ Route 1 : SFW (Shows a route wherein NSFW content are replaced by SFW scenes.) Skip to the next chapter for NSFW(18+) version. ]

He didn't pull away immediately, as if caught in the struggle between instinct and restraint. The intensity in his gaze softened, the heat of desire tempered by a fragile sense of guilt. You didn't know whether to feel relieved or disappointed at his hesitation, but one thing was certain—this moment had shifted something irreversibly between the two of you.

He stepped back, letting your skirt fall back into place. His grin returned, though it was softer now, more restrained. He fixed your clothes with surprising care, his hands lingering briefly before pulling away.

The silence that followed was deafening, your breaths the only sound in the still hallway.

Scarletella’s sharp gaze lingered on you, his expression unreadable, as though he was piecing together a puzzle only he could see. His lips parted, the strange, melodic cadence of his voice breaking the silence. “几ㄩ(you) . . . 乂几卩ㄚ(feel) 几爪尺ㄚ(things) .” he murmured, the words rolling off his tongue like a revelation, yet spoken almost to himself.

It was as though he wasn’t just stating it—he was savoring the realization, testing the weight of the truth in the air between you. His tone carried a curious mix of intrigue and satisfaction, as if your human emotions were a puzzle he’d just begun to understand. It sent a shiver through you, his words more intimate than they had any right to be.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t.

But deep down, you knew he was right.

—ch.5

➤ e n d

"Human Emotions”

[darkchocoboo]

Car | Javier Peña

part 1

pairing: Javier Peña x F! reader.

summary: Javier is mad about you leaving his house. 

cw: EXPLICIT CONTENT MINOR DNI!  p in v sex, thigh riding, public sex, car sex, uprotected sex, angst to fluff, Javi is kind of a dick, he takes you to the woods to talk, no Y/N

“What the hell agent? Are there anything else that you hide from me?” You jumped in scare as your office’s room slammed open.

“What? What’re you talking about Peña?”  He closed the door behind him, leaving towards your desk.

“That you’re the daughter of the ambassador? How long you’re gonna hide that?” You were genuinely confused about why he was so angry.  You tried to keep it cool as he hovered over you, face inches away from you. 

“Was it related in any kind, boss? Why are you so angry about it?” He was shocked about how calm you were against his anger. 

“Why does it bother you, Peña? Do you think that I’m here because of him. Do you think that he ordered them to send me down here?” Now it was you who was angry. You got up on your feet, slamming your hands on table. 

“Do you really think I’m standing where I am because my old man is the fucking ambassador? No, Peña. I’m here because I worked my ass of to be here.  I. WORKED. MY. ASS. OFF.  Did you know he’s trying to send me back to US? In every chance he gets. With every power he puts his hands on, he’s trying to send me back! But no, I’m not gonna let him. I’m not gonna let his power wash over what I did to become who I am today. And no I’m not gonna take your shit. If you have anything real to be angry about, about our jobs in DEA, you can yell as long as you want. But I’m not gonna listen your bullshit. Now, if you let me I have things to do.” You fell on your chair, knees shaking from anger. He turned his back to you, lit a cigarette. Took two steps to the door. He couldn’t take another. 

“Why did you left, without saying a word?” So that was the real reason.

“I found a place. I don’t have any reason to crush at your place anymore.” 

“Where is it?” 

“Where is what? Oh, across the street from yours.” 

Look at that little coincidence, Javi thought to himself. And left the room without saying another word.

**

Javi pushed the drapes to side for a better view. Watching you dancing around on your balcony with a bottle in your hand. Laughing to someone he doesn't know. Saying things that he can't hear with a smile on your face. He was jealous. Blood boiling in his veins in anger. He wanted to punch that guy on his fucking face. He squeezed the glass in his right hand. Sending the amber colored drink down his throat.

It was already midnight, street lights luminating the street.  That guy was still in your home, who know what he was doing to you. Did he made you feel as good as Javi did? Did he made you moan as loud?

Javi didn't sleep that night. Drowning himself on whiskey, lighting a cigarette right after another.  He was confused why he felt that way. He was confused about the feeling that burned him from inside. It was just one week, for one week you lived with him. Every morning he woke up from his sleep he saw you, sleeping on his couch. So peaceful almost looking like an angel. Your mouth slightly open, locks of hair stuck on your face and neck.  Your eyes twitching from the dream you're having. The way your eyelashes bat around your eyes as you wake up, little yawn you let out. Streching your body as you sit on the same couch, the pillow mark on your face. The way you blush when you realize his eyes all over you. Your fake-angry grunts.  He was just getting used to it. You being around him. When this was his morning routine, he almost felt happy for the first time in years. But it was all  gone one morning. He woke up a little late, walked into the living room expecting to see you, but everything was gone. Every little thing to prove your existance was gone. Like you were never there.  It was dissapointment, what he felt at that moment.  He forced himself to go to work. When he got there, he overheard other agents talking about you, being the only daughter of the ambassador. He wasn't angry about that. He was angry about you leaving without saying a word. But it was a good reason to yell at you.

 He got up, took a quick shower, got dressed. Walked out of the building and started to wait for you as he lit another cigarette. The man from your balcony appeared on the door first, then you walking behind him. You smiled at his ugly face, hugged him your goodbye and took steps to your SUV. Javier stopped you from opening the door.

"Who was he?" 

"Good morning to you too, Boss." You took his cigarette that was hanging from his beautiful lips to put between yours. You took a deep breath, exhaling the smoke to his face.

"Who was he?" His fingers digging into your wrist.

"A friend. If it's any of your business."

"A friend,huh. A friend who stays over night." You let out a sigh. Throw the cigarette bud off to the street.  

"Can I go now? My boss is gonna be angry."

" Your boss needs you somewhere else. Get in."  You drove as he gave directions. The air was tense, there was no small talk nor little sarcasms like he always does.  It was a small hill with no trees, in middle of nowhere.

"What are we doing here, Boss?"

"Why did you left without saying a word?"

"Thank you for the couch, Javi. But I really have no idea why you acting like this. I know it was mean of me to leave like that but,"

"Why did you left like that?"

"Like what Javi, like what?" Now you were yelling.

"Like nothing happened."

"I thought it was one time thing and didn't mean anything. As you always do. What did you expected?" You turned your face to him.  He stuttered under his breath you couldn't catch on. His hands find your face. His thumb caressing your face. Sweeping your locks from your face. His face getting closer to yours as he kept looking directly in your eyes. His soft lips find yours quickly. His hand lowered to your throat giving a light squeeze to make you open your mouth. His tongue searching for an opening on your lips. You let him into your mouth as your tongues meet in hunger. Tongues clashing like the feelings inside you. You didn't mind any of that. Just wanting to taste him. His touch on your bare skin. His arms covering you as he gave you a taste of heaven. Moans he gave you on that very night. You would give your life to hear those again.  He breaks the kiss suddenly.

"It meant something. I waited for that night for a long time. It fucking meant something."

"Is that so, Javi? Then  why did you act like I was some prostitute? You didn't even say good morning. You just left me in your bed with taxi money on bedside table. Was that what it meant to you?"

"I-" You raised your hand in dissapointment.

"Shut up, it's my turn. You came into my office rampaging about unrelated things. Acting like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Those were the first things that you said to me that week. Now you come to me asking about who was in my house and why I act like this. Without thinking how you acted first. Who are you to question me Javier Peña?"

Tear were running down your face as you slammed your forehead on the stirring wheel. Your body burning up with anger.

"You don't know shit Peña. A shit. You're so used to being every women's favorite that you forgot how to act normal. You don't even know how to talk to a woman without seducing them. You catched me in a vulnerable time and used it. That's what happened. And me, being the stupid bitch I am, let you do that."

Now you were calm, crying on the wheel, sobbing as your chest moves up and down slowly.

"I haven't felt that way in years. It was my happiest week." He confessed in a slow tone.

"I was scared that I would ruin it with my words. Now I see I ruined it by not saying anything. I don't know how to be happy, Agent. I was never happy. Before you. I acted like a jerk, I know. And I'm gonna make it up for it. I didn't do any of that to make you feel bad." 

"You're old. But you know nothing." His hand find your shoulder pulling you to his chest.

"Then teach this old man." He kissed your hair, he kissed your forehead that was on his chest, he kissed your nose, he kissed your wet eyes. He kissed your lips last. In a way he never kissed anyone before. With love, with fondness. You could taste your salty tears on his lips.

You climbed on him on passenger seat. Your denim tight around your thighs. Kiss turned into a more passionate one. His hands trailing your curves like wants to memorize everything. Running his hands under your band tee to find you without a bra.

"Nasty. This is how you come to work, baby?"

"Nah, only on Wednesdays."  You mocked him, lips brushing against his.  You grind against him under your jeans. He raised his hips in need on your touch.

“Oh, baby.” Lips found your neck, leaving sloppy kisses on your sensitive skin. Your hands walked down on his mustard colored button-ups. Feeling his muscles tensing under your touch. His metal buckle belt hit your fingers. You started undoing his buttons. Slowly, you took your time, you made him whimper with your slow movements.

His patience was running out, you wanted to take your time, torturing him made you more wet between your legs. Hands left your back for a moment. He ripped his shirt, buttons spreading all over your car.

“You can’t wait to have me, can you?”

“I’m gonna make you mine, bonita. When you walk into the office everybody is gonna know that I fucked you minutes ago. Everybody is gonna know that you’re my girl and my girl only.” You licked your lips with his words. Giving him the doe-eyes. You know that works on everybody. He took of your band tee in one slick motion, lips found one of your nipples. Teeth on your sensitive bud make you moan.

“Oh, you like that, huh?” His cold fingers started toying your other one. You undid his belt buckle fastly. You needed to feel him, feel that burning sensation deep inside your pussy. Grinding him harder know.  You fished his already wet thick cock out of his boxers. Squeezing him a little. Your hand moving up and down on his lenght, feeling every vein on it.

“Not yet.” He stopped ypu by wrapping his long fingers to your wrist. He unbuttoned your jeans, signaling you to take them off. Taking off your jeans was a pain in the ass, considering your position. But you made it work, leaving yourself with only your lace panties.

“Ride me, my thigh. Ride my thigh.”  You started riding his jeans eyes closed, mouth half open. Your lace panties and his denim fabric making your clit ache with friction.

“Javi-“  Your juices left wet marks on his blue denim. He grabbed your waist and pressed you more to his leg. Nails digging to your skin.  He squeezed one of your boobs with hand making you want him more.

“Javi, please.”

“You can’t wait to have me, can you babygirl?”

“No please.” He kept grinding you to his jeans as he slowly moved his leg up and down, jumping you with him.

“You gonna cum on my leg, then I will think about fucking you.” His hard cock was resting on his lower belly, leaving pre-cum stains on his open button-ups.

“Yeah, baby. Just like that. Ride me, make yourself cum. So good Agent. You look beautiful when you’re horny.” You were at the edge of a cliff and his praising wasn’t helping about maintaining your sanity.

“Javier, I can’t, please.” He chuckled with your words.

“You can, baby. Cum on my thigh. I know you can give it to me.” Your legs started shaking with his, mind got all blurry when your juices started to wet his jean.

“Just like that. I knew you could do it.” Your head fell on his shoulder as you felt the warmth spreading all over your body. His hand caressing your back as you rest on his shoulder.

He opened the door, grabbed your ass as he stepped out of the car.

“Javi, someone can see.”

“That’s the point, cariño. Let’em see.” He dropped you on the ground. Lowered his jeans to his ankles. He bent you over your car, peppering your back with small kisses. So light you couldn’t even felt his lips on your back. He stroked him self a little to spread his pre-cum. His red throbbing tip found your hole.

“Do it, please. I need you Javier.” He slammed his hips to you. A gasp escaped your mouth. Air inside your lungs was all göne with his harsh movement. You lost control of your own body. Your knees started shaking as your hand found his ass to press him to your core deeper.

“So, you like it rough, right Agent?” You couldn’t find your words as he kept pushing himself deeper to your core. He left you speechless.

“You’re taking me so well, babygirl. Like you’re made for me. Never saw anyone take it s’good.”

You’re mouth watered as his long fingers grabbed you by hair. Moans scratching  your throat, leaving you breathless. Your high was coming to get you any second. He never slowed down, never changed his pace. He just kept hammering you to your car.

“Javi, I’m”

“Me too baby.” He pulled you to his chest by your hair. Hugging you with one arms other find your clit. Rubbing it with his thumb. This was way too much. You could lose your mind over his actions. Your walls started clenching around him, your orgasm hit you hard as he pulled out. Your knees wasn’t keeping you standing at that moment. You hold on to your car. Your juice streaming between your legs as he jerked himself between your thighs. His thick ropes painting inside your legs, dripping down to your knees and the grass under you.

“You never not surprise me, bonita. I love that about you.” He kissed you slowly. Your breaths slowed down as he kept you in his arms. His head resting on the crook of your neck. Hot breath hitting your skin, giving you goosebumps.

“I’m never gonna let anyone upset you. Not anymore. You understand? Not me, not your father. No one ever gonna upset you.” He kissed you again, with love.

[fict1onallyobsessed]

I have a request; Reader and her family isn’t on best terms, so when they come to her show and try and act supportive seeing how popular she is, reader acts out knowing they abused her for years saying she would be nothing.

Rhea basically comforting reader please? I’m so deprived of the lack of content recently in the Rhea tags…you’re a amazing writer and I miss your work for her :(

No pressure though, have a good day :)

The World Outside

Rhea Ripley x Fem!Reader

It hurt to see them smile behind the barrier as if nothing happened. It didn't make you feel better. It didn't just make those years of degrading go away. Most importantly, it didn't make you any better of a wrestler when they were watching.

Rhea could almost smell the dread dripping off your body when you looked around from the corner of the ring, eyes plastered and stuck onto one place like your body suddenly decided that neither flight or fight was an option. It felt debilitating, your brain refusing to acknowledge anything other than them.

Rhea grabbed your waist and picked you up from the ropes, cheering in victory with the crowd at the win you just earned yourself. Momentarily, everything was okay. Time stopped when you looked into Rhea eyes, her smile almost reaching her eyes. For a moment, you forgot they existed. You were so focused on Rhea that you didn't notice her own attempt at distracting you from whatever made you freeze up.

You smiled and cheered with your group, looking into the opposite side of the crowd and cheering again. Thankfully it was the end of the match, and you all made your way down the walkway. You stayed close to your girlfriend, fighting back tears as you pretended your parents weren't sat 5 meters away from you.

"Hey, what's up?" She asked the second you were out of camera's view. Her gentle touch on your shoulders just made you want to sob more, the want to leave was stronger than ever. You shook your head silently, looking down as you rubbed your face with your hands.

"Can we just go back to the hotel? Please?"

Her eyebrows furrowed but she nodded, leading you to the locker room. She placed her coat on herself and didn't even bother changing, reaching into her pocket for her car keys to give them to you.

"Go to the car, okay? I'll get the rest of your stuff."

You nodded and offered her a small smile, grateful she wasn't one to push for answers. You grabbed your coat, let the key drop into your hands and you left the building, heading for the car park as quickly as you could. Nobody backstage bothered you, thankfully, the match only being a small one that you didn't have press conferences for.

Your feet dragged as you felt the cold air of the car park hit you, all the colour on your face dissolving when you saw who was standing next to Rhea's car. There was a moment where you just wanted to turn back, but why should you?

This was your environment, they had no right to invade, especially after they basically told you that you were going to be nothing. You didn't have to feel scared of them anymore, didn't have to hide you passion anymore. Because those cheers you hear and the bell that rings every time you win makes up for the childhood you spelt with them.

"We went backstage but the crew told us you were gone!" Your mum laughed, walking towards you as you blankly stared at them, opening the car door to push your coat into the back seat. "How have you been!"

You scoffed at her act of innocence. Act as if she didn't end up locking you in your house just to stop you from going to wrestling practise. It hurt, her sudden change in demeanour. You rolled your eye and went to open the passenger door, thinking of how you'd explain this to Rhea. You were planning on completely ignoring them until rhea got here, but it wasn't until your mum tried to hug you that you snapped.

"Get off me!" You pushed her off. "You have some fucking nerve showing up here."

She seemed stunned, taking a step back and watching you slam the car door roughly before she spoke up again.

"Wasn't my support the only thing you begged me for when you were a ki-"

"Yes! When I was a child! You know, when a kid needs their parents support the most? Yeah, then. Now you can shove your support where the sun doesn't shine because guess what; I don't fucking need you anymore." You sniffled, unaware of the fact you even started crying. "I don't need you, or dad, or the thing you so call support. You're only here because you saw I've finally made it! Something you told me I will never do when I was little. You have no right showing up here. Go back home, wherever you are now, I don't care. I don't need your pity, and I certainly won't give you any."

"Well, we're here now, aren't we?" Your father stepped up from behind your mother and gave you a sympathetic smile as he held onto your mums shoulders reassuringly. He was the exact same as you mother, a fucking hypocrite. "We want to say-"

"Sorry?" You scoffed through your tears. "Say that to the 15 year old you used to lock away and deprive of social interaction for months because she was going to training. Honestly, fuck you both and leave me alone."

"But-"

"You heard her." Rhea's voice sounded from behind you, opening the back of the car to place your stuff in before walking towards you and your parents. Her hand ended up on the small of your back as she led you away and closer to her passenger door. She ended up closing your door before turning towards them, limiting what you could hear before she started to speak again.

"Who are-"

"She's right, you have no business here. She asked you to leave her be so fuck off." She talked as she walked to her side of the car, opening the door cutting your mum off.

"Excuse me, that's my daught-"

You handed her the keys and she turned the car on, immediately starting to drive away from your now screaming mother. You were still sat sniffling as Rhea pulled into the hotel parking, her hand drawing circles into the inside of your thigh as she put the car into a stop.

"You okay?" She whispered, looking at you from the side. You gave her a weak smile and nodded, getting out the car with her and picked up your stuff before heading towards your hotel room. You didn't even manage to put all of your stuff down before she came up to you and wrapped her arms around your waist, picking you up into her embrace.

You hugged her shoulders and let your legs wrap around her waist, a sign leaving your lips as she carried you towards your shared bed. You let out a laugh when she fell onto the bed with you still attached to her, both of you bouncing as the beds mattress caught your bodies. Her smile when you laughed instantly made you feel better, a small giggle leaving your lips.

You loved her, especially her ability to make the world outside go away.

THE END

[freeuselandonorris]

this has been sitting in my drafts for a day or so and an ask game is the perfect excuse to send it in

☉ SHARK TANK

I've been thinking many thoughts about Oscar and his usually quite well hidden exhibitionism. like he's not as much of an attention whore as Lando is (or at least not nearly as obnoxiously) but he still definitely IS. my source? old prema videos: him on a cliff in monaco talking about the view and then pointing at himself and saying "nice view". talking about how he's fine "becoming a meme on twitter" as long as it gets him attention. being well aware that there's a camera on him while he's getting undressed (the one singular clip that exists of him with his shirt off that is in like every edit ever made) but not making any effort to get said camera turned off or just turning away from it, not even bothering to look at least a little bashful after. like you ain't slick bitch I see you. I've not really seen that characterisation of him in fics but I'd be curious to hear your thoughts on the matter

YEAAAH love this!! i think you're so right actually - i think a lot of this is that athletes are just very comfortable with their bodies in the sense that they're used to seeing them as a tool and a thing to be honed and manipulated, so they're constantly being touched, adjusted, assessed (i also have a theory that this is why they're all so grabby with each other) and they're also used to just being on display. but ALSO this is about oscar's quiet confidence - like, lando's an exhibitionist in the sense that he's constantly putting himself on display for approval and because he wants the validation, whereas oscar's just like. yep. here i am. i know i'm worth it.

lil snippet because i love this idea!

The wild thing is, Oscar’s not even bothering to hide it. He’s standing as cool as anything in front of the mirror in his hotel room, dressed in only his boxer shorts, flexing. As if Lando’s not there.

“Damn,” Lando says from his vantage point on the bed, feeling hot and strange. He’d barged into Oscar’s room to get ready for the stupid sponsor event, needs the company to stop him getting all up in his head about it. “Really feeling yourself there, bro.”

He lets his voice tilt a bit scathing as he says it. Not like Oscar’s got nothing to be proud of – his upper body strength’s better than Lando’s now, the last bits of teenage softness melting away into solid muscle as the season’s progressed. But still. Man needs some modesty.

Anyway, he needn’t have bothered, because Oscar just blinks back at him in the mirror, face unreadable. 

“Yeah,” he says simply, and presses a hand to his sternum, twisting to flare his lats. Lando, for some stupid reason, feels his face going pink. “Pretty stoked with my progress recently.”

He doesn’t make an inappropriate joke of it like Lando would, or blush and get awkward. Just turns, angling himself subtly towards Lando instead of the mirror. Slim fingers resting in the channel between his abs, pinkie finger just dipping into his navel. 

Lando swallows. There’s something about the way Oscar’s acting, like it’s perfectly normal for him to be displaying himself like this, that makes Lando want to look. Like, really look. It must be okay, if Oscar's letting him do it. Encouraging him to do it.

He’s kinda flushed, colour high up on his cheeks and across the pale skin of his neck, but it’s not like he’s embarrassed. It’s like he’s excited. Like his heart’s hammering in his chest, sending all the blood rocketing around his body.

“Yeah. You’re looking good, Osc,” Lando says, dry-mouthed, and settles back into the pillows as Oscar’s hand creeps down, down. “Why don’t you show me the rest?”

[couldsewyouastitchandsavenine]

Dancing In The Dark [Javi Peña] 02

summary: Javier Peña knows all the answers to all questions but one... what if? pairing: javier peña x fem!reader  word count: way too many... 8K, I'd say.

warnings: language

Part 01 Part 02 Part 03

For Javier Peña, keeping others at an arm’s length wasn’t anything more than a personal, deliberate choice.

A tactic of self-preservation, if you will; the kind of thing that made him seem unapproachable, perhaps even intolerable, in the eyes of those around him. 

Not that Javier cared about any of that. 

Still, from time to time, Javier would catch himself staring blankly at the bottom of his glass, trying to convince himself that it was the bleak and unpredictable nature of his profession that had somehow dulled his senses to emotions and feelings, leaving him in a perpetual state of detachment. 

Even though, deep down he knew better.

He knew that was just a convenient lie—a perfectly fine excuse he clung to, rather than facing the harsher truth he’d rather not acknowledge: Javier Peña had lost the ability to connect with other human beings. 

Or perhaps, he never really had it.

In his humble opinion, making sense of it all was akin to attempting to piece together a puzzle in pitch darkness: a task both frustrating and inherently messy, and frankly, one he had little interest in tackling.

Thus, he let it be. Let those pieces sit there, untouched and unbothered, like old relics in some museum he had no intention of visiting, existing somewhere in the back of his mind.

Acknowledged, yes, but never fully explored.

Life, of course, hadn’t been stingy with opportunities for Javier to change; chances were there, plenty and ripe for taking. Yet, the mere thought of peeling back layers of himself, or revealing more than what was on the surface, was as daunting and alien to him as the concept of surrendering to sleep at night. So, Javier chose the path of least resistance, choosing to witness it all from a safe distance, hiding behind the emotional barricades he had constructed around himself. 

And he was okay with that—or so he told himself. 

Erecting these barriers was much simpler and less daunting than the Herculean effort it would take to tear them down. 

And perhaps that was precisely the reason why he approached interactions with others much like he approached his profession: detached and with calculated precision. Javier knew it was overkill, this meticulous weighing of every word and every gesture, yet he couldn’t seem to shake it off as he navigated through life as if it was a minefield of syllables; a chess game where he was forced to always think several steps ahead if he wanted to keep the upper hand. 

Even at his apartment, with his badge and holster cast aside on the scratched kitchen counter, his detachment lingered. Javier saw relationships of any kind as scars, much like those covering the counter’s surface—better left alone and not bothered with. They were just reminders of the chaos he preferred to avoid and silent echoes of past mistakes he’d rather not repeat.

And then you came along.

Just when Javier had seemingly turned solitude into an art form, you had breezed into his life as if it were an open book—one he didn’t even realize he’d left on the table, pages spread wide for anyone curious enough to peek. And you were so quick and swift, and so reckless in your determination to weave yourself through his barriers that he didn’t even have the opportunity nor time to fortify them or add another lock to the myriad of others already in place.

He still gave his best efforts to evade you, push you away. Tried to employ every tactic at his disposal in the hope that you would tire out and retreat like all those who had come before you, seeking—but never finding—that part of him they thought could be fixed or understood. He hoped, vainly, that with careful planning, he could keep you at arm's length. Keep the unsettling precision with which you saw through him just far enough away that he could still catch his breath.

But you had remained, armed with a patience and an understanding so deep it bordered on the absurd, quietly waiting for him to give in.

And give in he did, laying all his arms down with a quiet acceptance, watching with a mix of awe and disbelief as you settled in his life—something so out of character that not only bewildered him, but also those watching from the sidelines of Javier’s pathetic excuse for life.

Steve Murphy, in particular.

And that confusion only grew as Javier made his way inside their shared office with a sort of silent stoicism that adorned his expression like a second skin — plastic container clutched in his unyielding grip. Without any grand gesture, and ignoring Steve's puzzled expression, he then set the lunchbox on the desk before taking a seat and drawing out his Marlboros from the pocket of his shirt. 

Lighting up a cigarette — the flame from the match he withdrew from the box, briefly illuminating his face, Javier simply gave Steve a go-ahead nod.

Without hesitation, Steve did as told, a silent muttered profanity leaving his mouth—more out of awe than any contempt, eyeing the line of empanadas laid out before him.

“These look fresh.” he commented, briefly lifting his gaze to look at Javier.

Javier, a thin stream of smoke trailing from his mouth, hesitated for a beat before replying, "Yeah, she stopped by... late last night—or this morning—depending on how you look at it."

A shadow of concern flitted across his face, swiftly concealed by a veil of smoke and apparent disinterest as he squeezed his left shoulder trying to ease a phantom pain that had been clutching him since this morning. 

“Oh, you guys into late-night meetings now?” Steve teased, arching his eyebrow — mustache quivering slightly with a suppressed chuckle as he proceeded to take a hearty bite of the pastry, exaggerating his enjoyment with a loud moan of approval. The sound was so fake and obscene that made some of the heads, mingling outside their office, turn in their direction.  

Javier’s response was as nonchalant as it was customary: a lazy flick of his middle finger towards his partner, accompanied by a brief, sarcastic smirk. Placing his cigarette in an ashtray, he then turned his attention to the overwhelming sprawl of bureaucracy shit across their desk, daunted by the task of where to start. Papers, photographs, tapes he yet had to listen to, manilla folders, and everything in between.

“It’s all on you, you know?” Javier started, still grimacing at the mess in front of him, “making her think that biking everywhere is a good idea.”

“So, you’re not even going to try and deny it? I’ll take that as a good sign,” Steve countered, ignoring Javier — his tone light, teasing, “was about time.”

“Did you not catch a word I just said?” Javier grumbled, snagging a folder from the heap and snapping it open with a flick of his finger, only half inclined to actually sift through it. “Giving her that bike was as dumb as her agreeing to take it.”

“Ease up, Peña,” Steve responded, his voice slightly muffled by another bite of empanada. “She needed a way to get around. It’s not like I handed her a grenade launcher.”

“Might as well have,” Javier muttered, barely concealing his irritation as he tossed the folder back onto the heap, unbothered. “Three in the morning, Steve,” he reiterated, pinching the bridge of his nose in a mix of frustration and fatigue. “She’s got a wild streak, and you're well aware of that. It’s downright reckless the way she doesn’t take things seriously.”

“Are you now angry with me or with her?” Steve chuckled, and when Javier responded with silence, he continued, “—gotta have a bit of faith in her, y'know? She’s clearly got guts. Cares about you, too.”

“Having guts in this city can get you a bullet, Murphy,” Javier muttered as he straightened up in his seat, cracking his fingers and squaring off with the typewriter as though preparing for a marathon session with all the reports he had been ignoring for way too long. 

“Oh come on, Javi, it’s just a bike. She’ll be fine,” Steve remarked with a casual shrug, licking the grease from his fingers with a smirk on his face. “I do wonder, though, she knows you don’t eat these? Not that I'm complaining.”

Javier's motions stalled for a heartbeat, the mention of your futile attempts to make him eat, drawing his attention away from the paperwork battle.

Looking up, a ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "She’s starting to, I reckon," he replied with a hint of resignation in his voice before turning his attention back to the typewriter.

Steve’s nod was noncommittal, but Javier didn’t need his DEA training to be able to tell that his partner was only gearing up for another jab in his direction — the words almost spilling out of blond’s mouth, only if it weren’t for the shrill of the phone on their desk.

The sound was sharp, urgent, and impossible to ignore. And yet, Javier gave it nothing more than a fleeting glance, silently declaring that the incoming call was Steve’s problem, not his. However, when Steve made no effort to answer it either, Javier looked up and tilted his head — mustache twitching ever so slightly in a silent dare. 

Seconds later, Steve sighed a breath of resigned acceptance as he reached out, flipping Javier off casually with his other hand.

"Better be worth our time," Steve grumbled, more to the void than expecting an honest answer.

Javier, unfazed, lazily picked up his cigarette from the ashtray, taking a slow, deliberate drag. "Is it ever?" His voice was cool, detached, as he returned his attention to the rebellious typewriter before him, battling with the paper jammed within.

Like a bad habit, Murphy’s voice dropped its usual tone as he switched to the one Connie mockingly dubbed his 'agent mode' — each word laced with a sarcasm so thick, Javier half-expected it to physically spill out onto the floor. 

Curious at what made his partner sound as if he was seconds away from jumping off the first bridge, Javier paused his struggle with the stubborn paper and looked up just as Steve slammed the receiver back in its cradle.

“And?”

Murphy only let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head with a mix of weariness and disdain. “Bullshit,” he spat out. “Another merry-go-round, courtesy of the clowns upstairs.”

With a shrug, Javier’s focus shifted back to the obstinate typewriter in front of him, his determination to win the war against the machine evident in the set of his jaw. Finally, with a triumphant click, the stubborn and now, somewhat wrinkled, sheet of paper clicked into place. 

“Might be time to hire a secretary,” he muttered, the suggestion casual but his attention still partially on the keys before him, fingers nimbly correcting the machine's alignment without looking up.

“And give you another skirt to chase?” Steve shot back, the corner of his mouth lifting in amusement as he leaned against the desk.

Javier couldn’t help but raise his head at that, meeting Steve’s gaze with a smirk that was both a forfeit and a challenge.

“If the skirt fits…” he trailed off to which Steve chuckled. After a second of silent contemplation, Javier sighed, dismissively waving his hand towards the chaotic spread of documents in front of them. "At this rate, we'll be buried under this bureaucratic bullshit before we even sniff out another rat in this city.”

Steve however, didn’t comment — giving Javier a wide smirk as he kicked back, propping his boots on the desk and clasping his hands behind his head as if settling in for a prime-time show.

"Really, Peña? Hiding from the heat behind a stack of reports?" he teased. "Spill it, amigo. She's out there, braving the night to drop off empanadas you pretend to eat? There's gotta be more. Give me something to work with here."

Caught off guard by Steve’s sudden comment, Javier felt a spark of irritation ignite inside of him, and just for a split of a second, he toyed with the idea of revealing the real reason behind your visit, but quickly shelved it as not relevant. 

“You’re making a mountain out of a molehill,” was Javier’s answer — the tone of his voice edged with dismissal. Something that Steve noticed straight away. “It's really not the way you're making it sound.”

“Oh, it sounds exactly like it to me,” Steve pushed back, his tone laced with a mix of skepticism and curiosity.  “So, what’s really going on, Peña?” he paused for a dramatic effect before continuing, “this… friendship of yours is slowly turning into one of Connie’s telenovelas.  Except, y’know, with less kissing and more guns, I suppose.”

Rolling his eyes, Javier shuffled papers laid out in front of him.

Unnecessarily.

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” he insisted, voice laden with frustration as he looked for an escape in the clutter of their desk. 

But, if anything, Steve was as relentless and stubborn as Javier, and when he leaned forward, Javier knew that the subject was far from over. “Come on, you’re telling me nothing’s going on. Not even a little fooling around?”

Javier’s expression was hard and he felt his patience wearing thin. “Believe it or not, some things are just as they seem. No, nothing’s gone down,” he responded with a  mix of finality and a hint of warning. 

Despite Javier’s tone and obvious irritation, Steve’s grin widened. “But, you wouldn’t say no if she offered, though, huh?”

At his words, Javier stopped his half-assed attempt at typing, straightening up to squarely face his partner. “We’re really doing this, Murphy? Keep at it, and I might just ram that damn lunchbox down your throat.”

Steve’s hands went up in a mock surrender, his attempts to stifle a laugh cut short by a familiar figure that passed by their office, followed by the unmistakable bark of Carillo’s voice, demanding his presence. 

With a fluid motion, Steve’s boots hit the floor as he rose, slipping into his jacket, and then, with a contemplative nod, he reached for another empanada from the lunchbox while simultaneously gathering his cigarettes and securing his firearm within its holster.

Making his way out, Steve paused and then, turning back to Javier, he flashed him a self-satisfied grin.

“You know, for what it's worth, I think she's doing you some good. Might even smooth out some of those rough edges—Lord knows you've got plenty of 'em."

Resisting the urge to throw something at Steve, Javier twisted in his seat to give his partner a death stare. “Want me to shove that empanada up your ass, gringo? How about the goddamn lunchbox, too?” he warned, but Steve simply laughed with a shake of his head before swinging the doors shut behind himself — a single word leaving Javier’s mouth as the blinds clattered against the window pane in the empty silence. “¡Pendejo!” 

Left alone, Javier expelled a weary breath, his gaze shifting back to the typewriter and the mountain of paperwork that, no matter how much he chipped away at it, seemed to only grow taller. And while writing reports was simply a chore, a necessary evil, it was one of the few things that could put his focus in place and stop his thoughts from wandering where he didn’t want them to. 

But wander, however, they did. 

With a blend of surrender and irritation, Javier abandoned his feigned attempt at the started report and leaned back, the chair emitting a crack of protest under his weight. He lit another cigarette, the matchstick's flame dying with a swift motion as he casually crossed his leg over. 

The fucking gringo had somehow hit the nail on the head.

Navigating friendships, particularly those with women, was a terrain Javier Peña approached with extreme caution, if he bothered to tread it at all, and usually only if there was something in it for him.

This wasn't to say he had never tried, though. He did, but whenever he allowed himself to dive deeper, the situation ended up being more trouble than it was worth, outweighing any of the benefits. A stark reminder of why he had erected emotional walls around himself in the first place.

Thus, he´d resolved to simply stick to encounters that would set his heart racing without demanding a piece of his soul; escapades that were like stars, streaking across his sky—each one bright, breathtaking, and inevitably, just passing through.

But you—you were a different story altogether. 

You were unlike anyone he’d met before, and the more he thought about it, the clearer it became that you weren’t after his protection or dying for his approval; you simply existed, side by side with him, in a way that allowed him to drop the act he fought hard to keep running.

You didn’t flinch at his emotional scars, nor did you throw a pity party for them. Instead, you simply accepted them as a part of him without questions asked, not more or less significant than the rest of him.

On one occasion, you had told him that he reminded you of an old bench in an abandoned park, weathered down by countless storms—a comparison that had left him unsure whether to thank you or take offense.

But then, you had met his confused expression with a grin and a slightly raised eyebrow as you wiped the counter with your torn rag in front of him.

“But there is something about finding those benches when you grow tired from walking, and sitting on them. The way the wood has been smoothed down by time and countless stories,” you’d said, going once again all philosophical on him as he instinctively lifted the ashtray so you could wipe the spot underneath. “They ain't the comfiest, but they feel… right. Like they’re molded to fit all the curves and edges of life itself. Do you get it?”

He had only stared at you for a heartbeat or two before leaning forward, resting his elbows on the bar, not allowing you to see that you, yet again, had hit the spot inside of him that he wasn’t sure was still functioning.

“What, is this  your way of coming onto me? If you want to sit on me, all you have to do is ask, nena.”

You had laughed then, a sound so honest and unguarded that made Javier respond with a grin of his own—his right dimple making a rare appearance. 

In the beginning, the way of dealing, or rather not dealing with his usual ways caught him off guard, leaving him puzzled rather than intrigued. You made him miss the thrill of the chase, the game of words and looks that usually served him well with women. Yet, in your presence, he found himself at a loss, realizing that beyond the flirtation, he hardly knew how to communicate with women at all. 

You weren’t there to play his games or to be yet another stripe to his sleeve. You were there as you were, and in doing so, you invited him to be just as he was, perhaps for the first time.

But Javier Peña would be damned if he said that the notion of making you just another notch on his worn-out belt hadn’t ever crossed his mind; that he had never toyed with the thought about making just just another nameless face in the long line of quick forgets. 

It was far from his proudest moments, not by a long shot, but he couldn’t turn back time, now could he?

So, he stuck to the small comfort of the fact that back then, whatever twisted bond you had now, hadn’t even begun to form. You were just someone in the crowd; a face he’d nod at on his way in, remembered only because he was bothered enough to leave a tip. And while you had occasionally sent a drink his way, particularly when he found himself drowning in his solitude at the bar, he had never seen you as more than just a pawn on the vast chessboard of his mind.

Insignificant and easily overlooked.

The latter, having nothing to do with how tall you were, but everything to do with how blind he had been to the depth and potential of the people around him.

Dragging his hand down his face in exhaustion, Javier tried to scrub away the memory of that night as though it were just grime, hoping to avoid going places where he definitely didn’t want to go. But it was in vain as memories, especially the ones he wished most to forget, somehow always made a way to cling with ruthless determination. 

Put a gun to his head, and Javier wouldn’t be able to tell what had driven his madness that particular night. 

Granted, it could have been the crushing guilt and sheer exhaustion from the botched operation—the haunting image of Helena, lifeless and shattered on the cold, unforgiving ground, clinging to his brain like a stubborn stain; a macabre film for which he held a front-row ticket.

Or perhaps, it had been the aftermath of whatever Steve had thrust into his hands back at the offices, swearing it would help settle his mind after the chaos had subsided. A dubious solution, yes, but in his desperation, Javier had grasped at it like a drowning man would a lifeline, hoping it would somehow fix it all. 

Javier couldn’t tell, and in the grand scheme of things, it didn’t really matter, anyway. 

What mattered was what had followed after he’d stumbled out of the DEA building long after everyone else had left, contemplating his next move. Sure, going home, had seemed like the logical thing to do, but the city that sprawled out before him was offering a million ways to disappear if only for a moment. 

And he had been more than ready to fork over double, triple if necessary, for a few hours of numb escape.

Desperation had clawed at him; the need for something—or rather someone—who could stitch him back together and keep his conscience from bleeding out all over the place. If only for a while, he had wanted to escape with someone who didn’t know or care a damn thing about what his badge meant, or the heavy crap that it dragged along.

Javier had craved a distraction, potent enough to silence the loop of his thoughts until it was time for yet another handful of hours where he’d stay awake in his bed, hoping that maybe this time, the morning would somehow scrub his soul clean. 

It was a shot in the dark, but damn, it was the only shot he had.

But as he had stood in front of his vehicle, embraced by the humid air, Javier had hesitated in his intent. Had figured out that he wanted one more drink. Merely a detour, he had rationalized; a moment to gather himself before he ventured out into the night, seeking what he laughably considered some form of comfort. 

—

One step inside the bar and Javier was struck by its unusual silence. No chatter. No clinking of glasses. Just an unexpected emptiness that seemed to grow with the slight chime of the dreamcatcher hanging above the doors. 

Chema, the owner and the man with sweaty shirts clinging to his back, paused in his battle with a jacket clearly not meant for him—his eyes briefly flaring with the surprise of seeing Javier framed in the doorway.

"We're closing," he announced, his voice carrying the weight of countless nights like this one. 

Javier nodded deftly, feeling his fingers twitch by his side and was about to turn around and leave, but then he saw you behind the bar — your hand poised mid-polishing the glass you were holding, watching him.

Pausing mid-step, Javier spared you a second, waiting for you to echo Chema’s words, to send him to hell, destination he was convinced was his eventual due, considering the sins that clung to his soul. But with a small smile, and a grace that defied the grimy and quiet atmosphere of the bar, you placed the glass down and slung the cleaning towel over your shoulder and gave him a nod.

It was a gesture so faint and so subtle, that if Jaiver hadn’t been a trained DEA agent, he might have missed it. 

“Está bien, Chema. I’ve got this one,” you addressed Chema, and Javier was surprised by the authority in your voice. “Go on home, I’ll finish locking up.” 

Chema, for a moment, looked torn—his weary eyes darting between you and Javier, assessing. Then, with a heavy sigh that seemed to carry the day's burdens, he conceded, "Nos vemos mañana, sol," before retreating through the back, leaving behind the silence that had momentarily filled the space.

Now, with the room emptied to just the two of you, you looked away from where Chema stood only moments ago before nodding towards the entrance — the words trailing off before they fully formed.

“Would you do the honors…”

The sentence hung in the air, unfinished but understood — Javier´s movements almost reflexive as he turned around, flipping the sign on the door to ‘closed‘ before sauntering towards the bar.

Easing himself up on the stool across from you, the leather beneath him creaked, echoing the weight that sat on his shoulders. “Gracias,” he breathed out. “Hope it’s no trouble for you.”

You dismissed the concern with a casual flick of your wrist. “Chema’s got bigger fish to fry than me serving a guy with a gun and a badge after hours.” With an ease, you retrieved a tumbler and the bottle of his favorite, quickly filling the silence with the sound of whiskey sliding inside a glass. “Rough day? Seen you guys running around the entire day?”

Your question, seemingly casual, carried a weight of genuine interest as your eyes lingered on him. Yet, Javier only exhaled a deep, weary sigh as he fumbled with his cigarettes before slotting one between his lips. “Believe me,” he started — words laced in the wisps of smoke, “you don't want to dive into that rabbit hole tonight.”

You offered no reply, just a fleeting shadow of a smile as you pushed an ashtray towards him, then turned back to your previous task, humming a tune under your breath. It was a melody that tugged at the edges of Javier's memory, familiar yet distant, a stark contrast to the wiretapped conversations that had filled his recent days.

Looking away from you, Javier took a deliberate sip of his drink—its warmth tracing a path down his throat, a stark contrast to the chill that settled in his stomach with every covert glance you dared in his direction, each one a silent plea to fill the space between you with more than just silence.

But Javier had long forsaken the art of small talk, finding little value in the exchange of pleasantries that often amounted to nothing more than noise. Besides, he reasoned, any breath wasted on forced pleasantries tonight would be better saved for when his fingers—and his dick, most importantly—were inside someone. 

But then again, the fact that you probably were lingering behind your usual closing time in order to serve him one last drink, made him pause. 

Perhaps, you did deserve a sliver of decency from a man who had none.

Javier grimaced. Looked down at his cigarette as he rolled it around the ashtray, as if by focusing on it hard enough, he could fish out the right words from the depths of his mind. It was only then that he had noticed the faint traces of dried blood in the splintered skin of his cuticles, and he flinched, the day's images flashing vividly before him.

“You’re itching to say something, aren’t you?” 

Your voice wasn’t sharp, and yet it sliced through the silence, jolting him from his brooding reverie. Lifting his gaze, Javier found you there, a silhouette framed by the dim light, head slightly tilted as if you were trying to read his thoughts.

Yet, Javier was not one to yield the upper hand so easily, especially not under the weight of your openly worn curiosity. "There's no itch, as you so eloquently put it," he retorted, the words edged with an unintended sharpness. "I'm here for a drink, not to bare my soul."

"But the wheels are turning, aren't they?" you countered, your lips curving into a smile as you whirled your fingers, emphasizing your point. It was a provocation wrapped in the guise of innocence.

Javier couldn't help the reluctant smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth, amused despite the situation. “Is it a habit, being this noisy?” he asked, taking another sip of his whiskey and chasing it with a long drag of his cigarette.

Your smile widened, unfazed by his barb. “Yes.”

"Figures," he muttered, almost inaudibly, his confession seemingly meant for the cracked pavement under his feet rather than for you. As he did so, his fingers instinctively curled into a fist, as if to shield the tales of his skin—those visible marks of his profession and the truths he wasn't prepared to lay bare, not to you, and perhaps not even to himself.

And for a moment, it felt as if you might leave the conversation attempts as you  turned your attention to the bottles on the shelf behind you. 

But, alas, the quiet didn’t last. 

“Look, if you want to unburden…,” you started, momentarily abandoning your meticulous alignment of a gin bottle on the shelf. Your voice carried a sincerity that seemed to fill the spaces between the words. “Consider me a willing ear. Rabbit holes are sort of my specialty.”

He responded with more silence, focusing on extinguishing his cigarette, watching the ember fade into ash. And then, almost in spite of himself, he answered, "I don’t think you could handle the kind of stories I’ve got.”

“Try me,” you countered, glancing over your shoulder with a grin that seemed to challenge him. "I might look a bit naive to you, but I'd been crossing through Colombia for years before I ended up here. I might understand more than you think."

Caught off guard while reaching for another cigarette, Javier’s eyes found yours with an intensity sharpened by years of reading people for a living. "Years, huh? That's quite the narrative for someone who seems, what, barely twenty-five?"

Your laughter, light and unburdened, sliced through the dense silence, an unexpected melody that seemed out of place against the backdrop of the room's stagnant air and the soft buzz of the cooler. "I gladly accept that as a compliment, agente."

"It's Javier," he interjected, the words slipping out more as a plea than a correction. It wasn't about setting the record straight; it was about shedding a layer of identity that had become a burden rather than a badge of honor.

"Well, Javier," you retorted, your words tinged with a playful undertone, effortlessly weaving through the newfound gap in his armor. "It seems my height is more deceiving than I thought,” you spoke, bending easily to lift a crate with dusty beer bottles. “But in case you’re wondering, my back has already started to ache for no reason and the left knee works up every time it’s going to storm,” you then added, giving him a wink over your shoulder. 

Smirking, Javier took a slow drag from his cigarette, allowing the smoke to fill his lungs before releasing it in a steady stream through his nostrils, his gaze lingering on you longer than he’d intended. And strangely enough, his fingers twitched around the tumbler he was cradling whenever you’d push yourself on your tiptoes, filling up the higher shelf of the cooler — the oversized shirt you wore, an eyesore by any fashion standard, lifting slightly, offering him a glimpse of everything he'd somehow missed until now.

You weren’t his usual type; that much was clear. Yet, he wondered how it would feel to lose himself in you, to dip his toes—and his dick, most importantly—in the waters he hadn’t even acknowledged that he was thirsting to dive into until now. 

Like scenes of a film he hadn’t realized he’d been collecting, Javier’s thoughts unspooled.

The effortless way you'd send a drink his way, the doe-eyed looks you offered as you navigated the space around his table, to clear away the remnants of his solitude. Your smile, subtle yet unmistakable, as you wove yourself into his exchanges with Steve, carried a blend of reserve and innocence—a paradox that both intrigued and unsettled him.

He wondered what traces of that would linger if he had you to himself. Would you still look at him with those doe eyes, or would the night reveal a different side of you—one that knew how to say his name in a whisper or a scream, far removed from the innocence you displayed in the light of day? Would you take God’s name in vain when he’d lower himself into you? Would you surrender to control, allow him to explore the uncharted territories of your consent and curiosity?

"Playing it close to the chest, huh?" you threw out suddenly, snapping Javier back from his not-so-innocent reverie of you beneath him, your voice laced with desire, calling his name, pleading for more. The thought was so intense, he shifted uncomfortably, trying to alleviate the unexpected tightness of his denim.

“Can’t be too careful,” he answered, leaning slightly forward and giving you a smile that he hoped would do the work for him, as it had many times before with others. And the way you mirrored his posture, elbows resting on the counter, sparked a flicker of anticipation in him. 

Javier was a man led by gut feelings, his life a series of snap decisions, for better or worse. And right now, every instinct was screaming at him that perhaps he was closer to taking you home than he'd thought.

"Hate to break it to you, but you're not exactly a closed book as you think you are, Javier," you noted, and fuck, the way his name rolled off of your lips...  

"Really now?" 

Instead of an immediate reply, you slowly straightened, smoothing down your shirt in a gesture that hinted at a way of trying to find composure before reaching for his now-empty glass in front of him.

And suddenly, Javier couldn't help but feel like he was being thrown for a loop with you. Your behavior was both frustrating and alluring; a dance he wasn’t accustomed to, but the fog of desire clouding his judgment made him more than willing to learn the steps. 

"You pick up a few things working a place like this," you finally answered, washing the glass with a practiced ease. "Faces, stories, the things people try to hide—it all comes out eventually."

Javier couldn't help but let a genuine smile break through. "Thought I was better than that."

"Maybe to those not paying attention.”

"Have you been watching me?" he teased lightly, yet with a hint of genuine curiosity.

You shot him a look that could only be described as a mix of exasperation and amusement, murmuring something under your breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse. 

A breath of a pause hung in the air, thick with anticipation, and for a moment Javier was almost convinced that he had you.

But then he saw it—the furrow between your brows, the nervous bite of your lips, as if you were trying hard to remind yourself of something. With a finality, you then snapped the cash-register shut, your gaze lifting to meet his for a second before you reached for the keys tucked away beneath the bar.

Reluctantly accepting the night's end but still hoping for the beginning of something new, Javier stood up too, smoothly sliding his wallet from his pocket, but you interrupted him before he could snap it open.

"—Oh, that one’s on the house!" you declared, the dim lights of the bar flicking off one by one in the background.

“Come on, you have to let me settle the bill?” 

“You’ve seen me close the cash register, no?” you threw back before grabbing your belongings from the hook near the backdoor, slipping into a jacket that looked several sizes bigger. Come to think of it, you always dressed as if you had raided Chucho's wardrobe on your way out rather than dressing your own size.

“And what’s in it for you?” Javier found himself asking, echoing the very same questions he had for you when you first waived his bill, now, a long time ago.

You stopped at his question, taking deliberate pause in your step as you moved to turn off the last remaining light near the entrance, casting the two of you in the soft glow from the street outside.

"Do you always assume people want something in return?" you questioned, holding the door open for him, urging him to move past you and into the warm embrace of the night air, yet the conversation was far from over. "Or, is it just that you're so used to transactions that the idea of simple kindness feels foreign?"

"Kindness?" he repeated, skepticism coloring his tone.

"Yes," you affirmed, turning to face him directly, your stance resolute as if preparing to defend the concept. "Some people do kind things just because they can. No expectations, no strings attached."

Javier halted, his gaze fixed on you as you secured the door, the sound of the locks clicking into place echoing in the quiet street.

"You're kidding, right? Seriously, what’s your deal?”

"I don't have one," you replied with a casual shrug. "Sometimes, what you see is what you get."

He let out a low chuckle. "And if I wanted to repay the favor?" he asked, the suggestion catching itself in the air.

You hesitated for a moment, twisting the strap of your backpack as you looked up at him — your eyes honest.

"Y'know Javier," you began, your voice a mix of firmness and gentleness, "when I tried to talk to you, I wasn't trying to—I just…" You hesitated, searching for the right words. "Look, I might be completely wrong here, feel like you always try to pretend not to know who you are when you’re not playing the role of a hero. And being hero comes hand when you want something or someone who won't ask too many questions when the weight of the badge gets too heavy?"

"Fantastic," Javier muttered—his jaw tensing as he rested his hands on his hips looking at you, “You’re what? A bartender, a shrink, and a philosopher all rolled into one?"

"No, Javier," you corrected, slinging your backpack over your shoulder higher. "I'm the kind of person who does and would ask questions."

He tried to speak, but your intense gaze made it damn near impossible to hold eye contact. Your words, although not direct but honest, hit him hard, like a punch to the gut, anchoring him to the spot, and he suddenly felt like he had been chased into a corner.

There was no point in denying. Javier still wanted to take you home, that was clear. Wanted to show you exactly what kind of hero he could be while building you up and tearing you apart with everything he had, until you begged him to stop.

Yet, the words that would convey such desires simply wouldn’t come. They sat there, lingering on his tongue, suddenly feeling out of line. Inappropriate.

So, he ditched the complex thoughts for something straightforward. "Didn't peg you for this. You’re not what I expected." 

You paused, a silence stretching between you as your eyes held his—searching, weighing. Then, as if his honesty had bridged a gap, your lips curved into a smile, warm and sincere, lighting up your features in a way that caught him off guard.

“People rarely are,” you responded. “And you know, despite your beliefs, you’re a good man, Javier.”

“You don't know me," he retorted with a scoff, half-defensive, half-defeated. It was a shield, that much was true—a way to keep the world at arm's length, and now, it seemed, to keep you there too.

"And you forgot that I've got a pretty good view from behind the bar. Don't need a step stool to see what's going on," you said, your voice cutting through the tension with a hint of lightness. "But, i think I should really head home now.”

Javier's response was a noncommittal grunt, his eyes drifting towards where his truck sat on the other side of the forgotten and empty road. 

"Let me at least drive you home?" The offer tumbled out before he could weigh it, surprising both him and, by the looks of it, you as well. You halted mid-step, looking up to face him with a mix of surprise and contemplation in your eyes.

"Appreciate it, but I think you had other plans for the night," you responded after a brief pause, your voice soft yet firm. "And I don't want to get in the way of those."

"Are you sure?" 

"Yes," you affirmed, your decision clear, though your voice carried a softness that Javier knew he didn't deserve. "Goodnight, Javier," you then called over your shoulder, stepping into the balmy embrace of the night.

Javier stood there for a moment, a mix of emotions churning within as you moved further away, your figure gradually swallowed by the darkness. And then, with a weave of his fingers through his hair, he uttered the words that felt both right and wrong at the same time. Words which, in his darkness, danced the right moves:

“Goodnight, nena.”