#cure scarlet + reader

[baileypie-writes]

Ahem Since December is what I now call Towa month (because Towa is amazing and I love her), may I request a Towa x platonic reader who does their best to make Towa smile again???? (They can know about her precure identity and being the princess of the hope kingdom if you want!) Thanks for taking them time to read this!

A/N ~ Sure pookie! Sorry I couldn’t get this out during Towa month! Also, the prompt doesn’t come in until the end. I hope that’s okay. Hope you enjoy!

~Deserve to Smile~

Towa Akagi + GN!Reader

Fandom: Go! Princess Pretty Cure

Fanfic Type: Oneshot

Reader: Gender neutral

Relationship: Platonic

Genre: Hurt/comfort

Word Count: 609

Synopsis: After learning that Towa felt she didn’t deserve to smile, you decided to prove her wrong.

Warnings: Minor angst

~Masterlists~

~Go! Princess Pretty Cure Masterlist~

This oneshot takes place during and after the events of episode 23

You’ll never forget the day your friends, the Princess Pretty Cure, returned from a battle with Haruka carrying a girl on her back. It was even more surprising to find out that it was their enemy, Twilight. You would’ve never thought that her true form would be so young.

You immediately felt sympathy for her. Poor Towa had been brainwashed by someone her mind was altered to think was her mother. Not only that, but she was taken from her home kingdom, and made to believe they were ignorant scum. So it was really no shock to see Towa acting so gloomy during her first days of being reformed.

It was obvious she felt terrible for all the things she had done. Even when you and the others took her into town to have fun, she wouldn’t let herself. And that was simply because she felt she didn’t deserve to.

~~~~

“Hey, she smiled!” Haruka announced, gleefully staring at Towa’s upturned lips. “I’m so glad! I was worried you might not be enjoying yourself.”

Towa seemed surprised at herself, immediately dropping her smile.

“It’s best to smile when you’re having fun.” Minami said.

“That’s right! There’s no need to hold back.” Kirara added.

You nodded, agreeing with their words. Towa had such a nice, gentle smile too. It’d be a waste for her to not show it off. You were about to say so, but she spoke first.

“Yes, there is!”

“Towa?” Haruka questioned, taken aback by her response.

“Until I save the Hope Kingdom…” She continued. “I can’t afford to enjoy myself.”

“Towa, that’s not-��� You tried to comfort her, but she interrupted you.

“Becoming Cure Scarlet was a miracle. Heaven’s giving me a chance to atone for my sins. I’m not like the rest of you!”

“Sure you are!” Haruka tried consoling her. “We’re-“

“Just leave me alone!” Towa shouted. “If I spend any more time with you, I… “ She didn’t even finish her sentence. She just got up, and ran out of the donut shop you were in.

It was then that you fully understood how big her guilt and hatred for herself was. You wanted to help, but weren’t sure how. So you took the Pretty Cure’s battle later on as an opportunity to think.

~~~~

In the end, Towa ended up being enrolled at Noble Academy. This was great for you, because now you had more time to spend with her and to help her feel better about herself.

“Kirara?” You called out after knocking on her dorm’s door.

“Yes? You do know it’s almost curfew, you know?” She responded, cracking the door open.

“Yeah, I know. But I was hoping to talk with Towa for a bit? If you don’t mind, that is.” You asked.

Kirara sighed. “Okay. But just for a few minutes. I need to get to sleep soon. I have a busy schedule.” She stepped out of the room, letting you in.

“Thanks!” You said, before walking in.

Towa sat on her bed, brushing her long curls. Once she noticed you had walked in, she set the brush down. “Oh, hello (name).” She greeted.

“Hey. Mind if I sit here?” You asked, gesturing to the spot next to her.

“No, go ahead.” She smiled, which made you happy.

After sitting down, you patted your knees, gathering your thoughts. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Oh? What is it?” She asked.

“Earlier today, you said you ‘couldn’t afford to enjoy yourself’, and that you believe you shouldn’t smile.” You gazed down at the floor, not wanting to look at her, in case she had a sad expression from the memory.

Towa didn’t respond, though you heard her inhale quickly. You decided to just continue.

“Well, I’m here to say that’s not true.” Finally looking at her, you gave her a serious expression.

“What?” She breathed out.

“Sure, you did bad things as Twilight. But that wasn’t your fault. You weren’t yourself back then. Dyspear made you that way. So you don’t need to beat yourself up over that.” You gently placed a hand on her shoulder.

Towa’s eyes widened, clearly taken aback by your words.

“So you do deserve to smile and have fun. You don’t need to keep yourself from those things to save the Hope Kingdom. In fact, I think those things will help you do that.” You have her a determined grin. “So as your friend, I’m gonna make sure you smile as much as possible”

Towa’s eyes filled with tears. “Thank you, (name). I’ll try.” She sniffled, and her lips turned upwards.

“There you go! That’s a great start!” You swung an arm around her, giving her a side hug. She giggled through her tears.

And from there, your mission began. You kept your promise to Towa, helping her to smile and enjoy herself more often. Thanks to you, and your other friends, she’d learn not to feel guilt for feeling positive emotions. And she’d start to leave her past behind little by little.

Dividers by: @submarine-06

~~baileypie-writes

[makeyoumine69]

Being Bateman’s Soulmate | HEADCANON

Pairing: Patrick Bateman x gn!Reader; CW: Romance & Angst; Links: [MASTERLIST]; Song Rec: The Cure — Lovesong; A/N: This is dedicated to everyone who is madly in love with their fictional crush! 💗 If you find any mistakes regarding gn!reader, please let me know!

— “Soulmate? What the fuck does that word even mean?” Bateman would say the first time you mentioned it. His reaction would amuse you at first, although you knew that Patrick would understand its meaning in time, and that feeling when you could touch another person's soul as if it were material. The feeling of wanting to scream because you were so in love that you couldn't even believe it was possible to have such feelings. All of this would eventually overwhelm him, and then he'd never want it to end.

— "You think I have a soul, huh?" He would smile whenever you had sentimental conversations, and even though Bateman kept repeating that he didn't like them, you would sometimes see him sitting alone, thinking about his life before he met you. Did you make his life better? Well, was it even possible to judge such things? Since nothing in this world could be black or white, it was always gray.  But with you, his life was painted in new colors.

— “I remember you telling me that your favorite color was red.” Red like the blood that spilled on his perfect sheets whenever he treated you too rough, but you never asked him to stop. Sometimes those little scarlet spots on the white sheets could look like petals from the red roses Bateman used to give you, even though he knew how clichéd that was. "Why didn't you tell me to stop?" The man would ask, tracing his long finger over the red marks on your hip.  Sighing, you would roll onto your stomach and give him your most devoted look. "Because I like it," and that was all he needed to hear from you. "I'd tell you if I didn't." Having said that, you would sit up to find his lips and kiss him, slowly but eagerly, transmitting all the love and emotion you had for him through that kiss.

— "If you say you love me, why does it hurt so much?" He would ask you this question over and over again after he had a breakdown because he was so overwhelmed by everything you were giving him: your care, your affection, your understanding, and your support. Eventually, it all became too much for him, and when Patrick realized that he was probably in love with you, a sharp pain coursed through the very small pitch of his body like an electric impulse. He loved you so much it hurt.

— One night, you were sitting in the living room in Bateman’s slick apartment and watching some classic romantic comedy from the 1930s, the scenes from it made you think about something you never expected you would. "Patrick, have you ever thought about death?" You asked suddenly, holding his hand and noticing how tense he became. "I mean... I'm afraid of death because I don't want to be without you, if that makes any sense." At first, Patrick just laughed and gently moved closer to you, hugging your shoulders possessively. "Can you promise me that... if there is an afterlife, you will find me there?" Nearly sobbing, you looked into his dark, brown eyes, at the way his eyebrows furrowed as the man considered his answer. "And we will be together even after death?" Your voice cracked at the weight of your words, never before had you dared to speak of such things.

— The question of death, an abstract yet intimately familiar topic, drew a thoughtful arch to his brow. Death was not a stranger to him, nor was it an adversary he feared-not in the way that the average person might. "Death," Patrick began, his voice tinged with a cold amusement that belied the gravity of the subject. "It's the only certainty in life, isn't it? A final transaction, one we all must make." His arm tightened around you, a gesture that feigned warmth but held an undercurrent of something sharper. Bateman met your gaze, the hazel of his eyes unreadable yet intense, reflecting the black-and-white dance of images on the screen. "If there is an afterlife," he continued, weighing each word like a coin on a scale, "I'll find you. But let's not be so morose, darling." The man leaned in, his lips brushing your ear, his breath a whisper that carried the scent of the red wine you had shared earlier. "Life is for the living, and I intend to savor every moment I have with you. Making promises about the afterlife is... morbidly romantic, but unnecessary. I have you now, and you have me. Isn't that enough?"

— And that was even more than enough.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

[fandomnerd9602]

Related to the scarlet and black, Deadpool reader and Reed Richards sent their wives for a Mother’s Day spa bc reed found a cure for Deadpool just to look fabulous appearance and still have his powers. When the the mom duo came back, Wanda fainted of how good looking Deadpool even captain Peggy carter fainted.

Wanda walk back to her house, on the phone with Sue…

Wanda: thank you so much for the spa day Sue it was phenomenal

Wanda walks in to see a fully healed Y/N cooking supper…

She power up, eyes flaring…

Wanda: who are you and what have you done with my Pool?!

Y/N: (laughs) good one witchy-poo

Wanda: (Y/N)?! Y-You look so great! So hunky!

Y/N: and I’m still all yours, Fuller House. Reed fixed my face and body but I still have my super—

Wanda stops them with a hungry kiss…

Wanda: less talking more doing

Y/N: yes baby!

Y/N hoists her up into their arms…

[theflowerrooms]

To Request • Miguel’s Masterlist • Main Masterlist

Running Red

Miguel O’Hara x spider-person!reader (gender neutral)

Summary; Miguel was a fair leader and a fair lover, never did he blend the two titles, never had he taken his anger from work on you, until now.

wordcount: 1.8k

Warnings: angst, arguing, Miguel is a bit aggressive, insults, hurt/comfort, very slight ATSV spoilers

Miguel had three different modes. The silent, brooding kind, seemingly displeased at all moments. That was his default mode, the one most everyone saw, the one most often associated with his name. And then there was his stressed mode, where he would rant, and rant. A loud string of blurred Spanglish that was intelligible to anyone but himself as he paced back and forth anxiously. That wasn’t seen by too many, mostly yourself, Jess and sometimes Peter. Finally, there was the gentle touches that would lead to more, soft smiles and sweet words. Intimate kisses, goosebumps, and whispered ‘I love you’s’. That was reserved for you

This was new, whatever this was. Silent for a while, and then loud venting, eyes glowing scarlet, slight lisping because he was so angry he couldn’t retract his fangs. It wasn’t like you didn’t understand, he was carrying the entire world on his shoulders. But then again, that wasn’t something you could ever fully understand. You’d been by Miguel’s side for nearly all of it, but you’d never been in his place.

“Miguel, baby, please try to calm down-” “No!” He snapped loudly, cutting you off faster than you could process it. That only made it worse. Miguel was a pessimist, and you were a mediator. You’d defended Gwen- and Miles, every chance you could. You didn’t think they were entirely in the wrong.

You reached a hand out to him and he only jerked away from it, that felt like a blow to the chest. He was acting like you were against him, like you were the opposing force and you weren’t, it was stressing you out.

You sighed and chewed your lip. “None of this is Gwen’s fault, you know this.” You pulled your arms closer to body, making yourself seem smaller, but still not backing down from the conversation-turned-argument.

He dragged a palm down his face and turned slightly to look away from you. “I was an idiot. I took a chance on her. I was an idiot for taking a chance on her.” He growled, fingers twitching at his sides.

“You took a chance on all of us- You took a chance on me-” your voice shook slightly and he cut you off quickly. “I wouldn’t have if I’d known you would turn out like this, so stupid.” He spat, voice laced with venom and resentment.

Your arms dropped to your sides and your lip wobbled. You wanted to yell and fight, you wanted to be angry. But you were only sad, hurt, more insecure than you’d ever been in front of Miguel.

The features of his face, aged with stress, softened just slightly, his tense shoulders sloped as he realized what he’d said, how it affected you.

The image of your partner in front of you blurred as your eyes welled with tears. He had yet to say anything else and you weren’t going to stand there and wait, so you turned on your heel. You wouldn’t let him see you cry.

He watched you walk away and you could feel his eyes on your back. Part of you was grateful he didn’t put up a fight against you walking away but a bigger part of you wished he’d apologized immediately, or begged you to stay there with him and explain that he didn’t really think you’re stupid. He watched you walk away instead. Did he really think you were stupid?

✽-

You had no interest in staying in his universe, and your own universe wasn’t quite an option. That’s how you found yourself sitting on the floor of Mayday’s nursery in Peter’s world. She squished her little head against yours, wild hair tickling your cheeks which were soft from crying. ‘Baby-love. Cures all types of sad.’ Peter had said. You had to admit he wasn’t all that wrong.

“Do you feel like talkin’ yet? Or…” Peter offered, leaning against the doorframe with two cups of coffee in his hands.

You smiled weakly. “Thank you for letting me borrow your baby.” You squeezed Mayday in a gentle hug. He took it as permission to hand you a coffee and sit on the floor with you, which you were entirely fine with.

It was quiet for a bit. You sipped your coffee and pulled your knees to your chest as Peter’s baby clumsily made her way over to him. He stared at you, his eyes kind and inviting. “Peter we’ve known each other for a good while, worked together a ton. Have you ever thought of me as stupid?” Your voice wavered toward the end of the question.

Peter tilted his head and furrowed his eyebrows. “Of course not. Why would you even ask that? It’s been an honour to fight alongside you. You’re so intelligent, you’re a wonderful teammate and a wonderful person. You’re far from stupid. I mean- Obviously. Miguel wouldn’t give you that much responsibility if he thought you were stupid.” He laughed softly, but the mood shifted and his demanour had entirely changed. He must've sense of change in your expression when he said Miguel's name. "Did Miguel say something to make you think that? Did he call you stupid?" He looked mad, and although it rose your anxiety, you knew none of it was directed at you.

“He said he wouldn’t have taken a chance on me if he’d known I turned out this way. ‘So stupid’ he said. I’m not sure if he meant taking a chance on me was stupid or I’m stupid but-”

“Either way.” Peter cut you off, finishing your sentence. He shook his head. “He shouldn’t have said that, Miguel doesn’t think you’re stupid.” He scoffed and you only shrugged. “Don’t let what he said make you think that. He doesn’t think you’re stupid- and even if he does, you aren’t. Understand?” He rose his eyebrows and you nodded with a sympathetic smile. While you loved Peter, and valued his opinion, you weren’t worried about what he thought right now. Miguel’s words were replaying in your head.

‘I wouldn’t have if I’d known you would turn out like this, so stupid.’

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

✽-

You’d spend the night at Peter and MJ’s that night, in their world. Alone in their guest bed rather than wrapped safely in Miguel’s arms like you were used to.

You were mostly over it now, having gone over everything in your head again and again, with each word Miguel said repeating in your mind. You’d mentally given him a million excuses, just desperate to be over it so you could forgive him and then everything would be fine.

Of course you had yet to forgive him, and nothing was fine. You weren’t sure if you could sleep in a bed so cold and lonely.

“Amor?” Miguel’s voice startled you and you scrambled, sitting up in the bed. You hadn’t heard or sensed him anywhere nearby. Did Peter let him in? “Can we talk? Please?” He spoke monotone, straight faced. This was the cold, emotionless Miguel that others were used to seeing. For a moment you worried he was still angry with you, that this front was to hide emotions he was feeling because he was about to break up with you- for being so stupid. Though, would he have addressed you that way if that was the case?

You nodded and chewed your lip. “We can talk.” You wanted to return the straight, monotone voice he'd given you, but you stumbled over your words. You wondered if your eyes were still puffy from crying- and that's when you noticed his were too. He’d clearly been crying. You’d never seen Miguel cry before, you were witnessing entirely new parts of him today.

He sat on the side of the bed and rested a large palm on your shin through the blanket. “I am so- I shouldn’t have- I’m so sorry. I do not think you’re stupid.” He kept eye contact with you. It was important to him that you understood how serious this was to him. “I didn’t mean to say it like that. I’m so grateful to have you by my side- and I- you’re not stupid-”

“Miguel- I’m not mad at you, you have so much on your plate, it’s okay-”

“It is not. I should not have said that to you- I didn’t mean to say it like that. I don’t think you’re stupid, I think I have been stupid, I could have prevented all this and I didn’t.” His voice shook. He was showing you insecurity and vulnerability; two things he’d made you feel already. You appreciated what he was doing for you right now and you understood how hard it was for Miguel to give himself to you like this.

You moved to your knees and took his face in your hands, smoothing your thumb over the worry lines between his eyebrows. “It’s not your job to save the world Miguel. I think it’s incredible that you’ve made it your job, but still it doesn’t have to be. You haven’t done anything wrong, and you haven’t been stupid.” You pouted slightly and let him kiss the pout off of you. One kiss releasing all the tension and stress from you both.

You rested your forehead against his and then two of you stayed like that for a while; breathing each other in, basking in the closeness. “You really don’t think I’m stupid?” You asked, the corner of your mouth quirking up into a smirk.

“No, no, lo siento carino, lo siento- te amo, mucho mucho mucho-” He rambled in a tone similar to baby-talk, peppering kisses all over your face until you were giggling and pushing his big head away.

“Te amo! I love you too!” You laughed, leaning against him. “Don’t ever speak to me like that again.” You still had a soft smile on your face, but you were being serious and he knew.

A kiss to the top of your head “Never.” He replied. You hummed, head against his chest and palm against his lean torso.

“Good. Because if you do, I’ll turn evil and start causing problems by tearing holes in all kinds of universes. And Jess and Peter won’t help you stop me because they think I’m cooler than you.” You joked and he fake laughed.

Gently, with faux annoyance, he pushed you away from him. “Is there anything I can do now to persuade you not to do that in the future?” He inquired, leaning toward you.

“Hold me?”

You weren’t doomed to sleep in the cold, desolate bed all on your own anymore. Gifted with Miguel’s arm thrown over your body and holding you tightly, he pressed his nose lightly into your hair and his heart beating against your back. You hoped Peter wouldn’t mind Miguel having a surprise sleepover.

He didn’t mind at all.

[somuchforahobby]

Heyaa! If you're taking requests I could ask for a Stephen strange x Reader where the reader is a Scarlet Witch, and is friends with Stephen (Stephen has romantic feelings for her) and Stephen suffers from pain in his hands after an accident, and the Reader uses her magic to completely heal his hands where even the scars disappear

Hiiii, sorry this took forever but I wanted to do justice to your request. Hope you like it!

Cure your disease

Word count: 2.1 k

Warnings: none i think? But please let me know

You opened the door after the second set of knocks. Never using your powers to see through it, your eyes widened when you spotted your long time friend Stephen Strange standing on the porch.

“Stephen” you said with a surprised smile.

There was no car parked, nor anyone else out, meaning he had gotten here through a portal but still chose to knock instead of letting himself in. The thought of your friend’s awkward social cues made you bit your lip to hide the forming grin.

“Hey” he tried to smile. “Can I come in?”

You moved from the door immediately, “of course” and led him to the living room. “Would you like a drink?”

“No, it’s fine.” He sat on your couch, a look of uncertainty on his face. “Nice place”

“Thank you.” You sat in front of him, noticing the stress in the way he moved. “Although I’m all in for a social visit, I’m assuming that something is very wrong for you to come all this way” you smirked.

“I need your help” he blurted out anxiously, “I got into a fight and ever since my hands have been…”

Your eyes wandered down to find his hands trembling nonstop. Thick scars covered them, wider than the ones he had before. ”Mmmm” You kneeled on the carpet, in front of him, to inspect closer. “What happened?” You raised your eyes to his.

He looked down to you for a second before turning away, “I got into a fight”

“What kind of fight?” you pressed.

“Oh, a fist fight in happy hour, of course a magical fight.” His trademarked sarcasm and ironic tone shone for the first time in the conversation, making you smirk.

“Can I touch?” you asked from your place on the floor.

He took a deep breath before nodding yes. You took his right hand into yours, bringing it closer to your face; you looked at the scars, its color was not the usual blushed pink, but a brighter, deeper shade of red. Your brows furrowed.

“What do you want me to do?” your voice soft as you examined the damage.

His eyes closed at the warm breath on his skin, “to heal me”. A raw confession.

Softly, you blew air from your lips to his hands. You heard him wince and tried to take his hand from you, but you held it firm.

“Don’t move” you ordered before repeating the gesture, exhaling warm air to move the previous work. He wiggled again under your treatment, but you had confirmed your suspicions; another magic wielder had put an enchantment on his hands, and you knew just who, but with furrowed brows you still asked. Sitting back on your heels, you supported your elbows on his thighs. “Why didn’t you ask Wanda? She’s more powerful than me” You raised your eyes to him.

Stephen sighed, “Because I fought her”

He was looking away from you, making you wonder if he was ashamed of the confession. “Why?”

His eyes closed in annoyance, “it’s a long story”

“Well we have like three days so I’d say we have time” You stood on the spot.

“three days? Whatever for?” Stephen’s brows were furrowed, his voice firmer.

“To heal you” you crossed your arms on your chest.

His steely blue eyes finally landed on you, and there was something almost softer about them as he weighed his chances. “Alright, let’s go back to the Sanctum”

It was your turn to scoff, “I am not returning to New York even if you paid me”

“I can’t go back and forth, I am injured.” his voice dripping annoyance, “Can’t open portals left and right”

“I have a guest bedroom” you merely stated, still standing with arms crossed.

Stephen smirked, ready to plunge the dagger, then he asked, “Will your boyfriend be ok with that?”

Your eyes rolled instinctively, “I don’t have one in rotation.” you gave him a tight lipped smile.

That seemed to startle him, since the apple on his throat was going up and down, “can’t you just” he moved both hands mirroring your magic, “fix it?”

“Let’s see” you took a step closer, leaning down, “I can either, puff, make you a new set of hands which will be, let me be clear, brand new” you bent down to his sitting height, his eyes now glued to yours, “meaning, not your hands, a new set” you nodded to emphasize, “or, I can take off the magic that is tying your hands and heal them” you pointed at them with one finger. “Option A, I can do it right now and you’ll be back at the Sanctum for their lovely dinner with some random hands that do not hold the power that yours do.” you leaned in even closer; you could see the thin layer of sweat on his forehead, “Option B, You let me do my fucking thing and fix your own, literally, damned hands in whatever time it takes.”

Your brow was almost touching his and you guessed your intimidation had worked since he was squirming in his seat, looking up to you like he was seeing a ghost.

“Option B will be” he took his eyes away from you, looking down at his own hands, “Option A is dark magic, you should never do that” he whispered.

You stood straight, a dark smirk on your lips, “Strange, if you wanted faith, trust and pixie dust you shouldn’t have come to a Scarlet Witch”

——

He placed his hand in between yours, you were both sitting cross-legged on a colorful blanket you laid out in the garden. With your eyes closed, you focused on finding the root of the injury.

Your fingers applied pressure on his hands every now and then, putting all your attention in one spot, then returning to evaluating all of it.

“We have two options” you say with eyes still glued to Stephen’s hands. “I can go from the top to the bottom or backwards, of the magic I mean”

“What’s the difference?”

You raise your eyes to his bright, insecure irises staring back at you.

“If I start from the top” you blew air on his hand, red dust leaving the surface as you did, “it will be slow and probably painless, but if I start from the root” with two fingers above his palm you mimicked lifting a thread off him.

Stephen grunted in pain, tearing his hand away from yours.

“It will hurt” you finished.

He took a deep breath, then put both his hands on your lap, “just get it over with”

You took his hands in yours, but unlike the previous times, with tenderness and care. “Stephen, I don’t want to hurt you. Let me do it carefully.”

He frowned, removing his hands, “don’t talk to me like that”

You mirrored his gesture, “like what?”

“Just do what I asked! No need to get cheesy.”

His tone was harsh, mean. You stayed just looking at him uncertain if you should be offended or hurt, and out your mouth came the only words that described how you felt.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? YOU came to ME”

“For you to heal me not to treat me like a fucking child!”

You scoffed, “To care about not hurting you is not infantilizing you. But suit yourself.” Your fingers went red as you pulled the enchantment off his hands.

Stephen struggled and whined, but did not relent. His hands did not move from your lap. His eyes were glossy and mouth agape, grunting at your feet as you kept working.

After a while your head felt heavy and some liquid was running down your nose. You heard him calling your name with a hoarse voice before blacking out.

——

When your eyes opened the sky was already dark. You were lying on your bed fully clothed, and the smell of olive oil and garlic made your stomach rumble in hunger. Slowly, you made yourself walk down the stairs to find Stephen cooking, humming to himself.

“Hey, you”

He turned to you, the glint in his eyes shadowing away as he took in your state.

You had not looked in the mirror but you guessed it was bad after overpowering yourself.

“I thought you’d be hungry?” He gestured at the pan next to him, it seemed to be pasta with chicken brewing in a creamy sauce.

“And you are correct” you sat on the stool of the kitchenette bar. “There’s a rose in the fridge, would you like some?”

“Always” he muttered through a scoff, turning back to his cooking. “I’m sorry”

“What for?” You knew what for, but you wanted him to acknowledge to have been an ass.

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. And I am sorry that you overpowered yourself, blacked out and hit your head”

Your hand rose to your nape in concern but you did not find any bumps.

He peeked through the corner of his eye, “you’re fine, I checked”

“Thanks”

Turning off the stove, he turned towards you. “Listen, I’d understand if you don’t want to help me anymore” there was a pleading in his voice you knew not a lot of people got the privilege of hearing.

“Why wouldn’t I?” You shrugged, “because you were an ass? I’ve always known that” thought your words may have sound hurtful, the smirk on your lips cushioned the hit.

His lips quivered slightly upward. “Stop, you’re making me blush”

That erupted a full smile from you, standing to grab the promised bottle, Stephen took the glasses, placing them between you in the bar.

“How are your hands?” You asked as you poured the wine.

Stephen placed both hands in your eyesight. “Much better. Still trembling and scarred but I can do this” with a twist of his fingers, a little portal opened, making you smile. “You healed me completely, thank you.”

“Not completely” you grabbed both his hands, blowing warm air softly, as your own hands cradled them, forming a pink circle around.

As the air left your lips and touched his skin, the scars faded away and the trembling stopped.

You kept the circle for a few minutes, then closed your hands with his inbetween.

“Now I have healed you. And now I am starving.” Your eyes were half closed as he guided you to the table.

Dinner was delicious, though your severe state did not allow you to say much until afterwards, when you had recovered all your strength.

Supporting yourself on the bravado brought by the wine, you asked, “Why did you snap like that? Is it something I did?”

His shoulders tensed at the question, both his hands stopping its movement as he washed the dishes. “Its a—uh- rather personal thing”

“What? You hate being treated with kindness?”

His back remained to you, his movements robotic and controlled.

“By you” he muttered.

“What?”

He turned off the tap, dried his hands and returned to you. His eyes were grave and focused.

“By you.” He swallowed, “I hate being treated with kindness and love by you. I can’t stand it.”

You blinked. Once. Twice. “Why?”

“I am not” he sighed, “another one of your boy-toys”

Your eyebrows rose “I am well aware”

“Then don’t treat me like one” one of Stephen’s hands cut through the air, assuming this would be the end of it.

But your brows furrowed. “I wasn’t”

His mouth opened but you continued before he could interrupt.

“I treated you with love and kindness because you deserve it and I want to give you that”

He groaned. “Well then don’t!”

That startled you, “Why?!”

“why?” He rounded the bar, cornering you against it. His large hands on each side of your shoulders, he was looking down on you like he wanted—no, needed to shut you up. “Because you—I” slapping the counter he yelled, “I love you!”

You stood in silence, letting his words sink in.

He huffed, turning away from you.

Your hands grasped his shirt, wrinkling under your desperate fingers as you pulled him back to you, lifting yourself on your toes to crash your lips against his.

It took him a second but soon enough he was kissing you back, his hands pulling you impossibly closer until you both needed to breathe.

“What was that?” his voice was hoarse and strained.

“That was what you have missed for being an ass”

He chuckled before resuming the kiss.

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Portrait [K. B.]

Kaz Brekker x fem!reader

word count: 7.7k

masterlist

summary: «when you photograph a person in color, you photograph their clothes, when you photograph a person in black and white, you photograph their soul»

taglist: @rustyyyyspoonz @be-lla-vie @milkshake0 @ladespedidas

Anyone who knew Kaz Brekker well enough could say that he slept with one eye open, metaphorically speaking, so it was no surprise when he was able to notice the extra presence in the room even when he was supposed to have sunk into unconsciousness.

His body still hurt as a result of the altercation he had suffered with an aggressive drunk who was at the Crow Club the night before, but it didn't stop him from sitting up suddenly in search of the knife he kept in the nightstand drawer.

"Calm down," said the stranger's voice, at the same time that the light of a lamp illuminated the panorama. "It's just me."

"What are you doing here?" he was quick to say, looking at you in disbelief.

You didn't have to be in Kerch, but in Ravka, and much less did you have any reason to be in his room.

He noticed that you were wearing one of those second army keftas in scarlet, the one corresponding to your order, and you were looking at him calmly from the other side of the room.

There was a kind smile on your features as you approached him and sat next to him on the mattress, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Saints, what did you do to yourself?” one of your hands reached up to try to touch his face, where it was hurt, and he immediately moved away.

"What are you doing here?"

“Poor thing, does it hurt?” you continued, ignoring his questions.

Kaz wasn't quick enough to escape from your other hand, reaching out to grab his cheek so you could better examine the wounds he had. He felt his breath hitch in his throat as you scooted a little further in his direction, well outside the safe limits for him to be the one you were talking to.

He didn't know what scared him more, the fact that you were touching him or the fact that he didn't dislike it at all.

You said something he didn't understand and then, with your free hand, you began to clean the bruises he felt on his face. It was difficult to describe what he felt every time you used small science to fix him, but it was something similar to feeling a tingling advance through every vein under his skin.

Your movements were attentive and loving, as if you were used to doing them all the time. And you were used to it, but not to doing it with him.

"Why are you here?" he repeated, for the third time.

He could feel your breath close to his face and the hand that was on his cheek had a soft warmth. When you looked at him, he saw that your eyes reflected the dancing flame in the lamp and he asked himself why he had never paid enough attention to them, who at that moment were admiring him tenderly.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Under other circumstances Kaz had already become exasperated by your refusal to respond and would have pushed you away from him in the first place. But he seemed out of himself, as if he weren’t the one acting and much less able to carry out a coherent action.

"On the side. But it's nothing"

"Foolishness. Let me help you"

The black-haired man felt hypnotized, to the point where he didn't even resist when one of your hands slipped under his black silk shirt. He shifted slightly at the calculated movements your fingers made, feeling his skin until you found the point of attention and attended to it. Little by little he felt the burning decrease and he let himself be carried away by the pleasant chill that he experienced every time you cured one of his ailments. He closed his eyes for a moment to surrender to the sensation and suddenly that was replaced by a tide that began to suffocate him.

He was drowning again, among rotting corpses and slimy skins.

"Enough…"

“Shh…” you said at the same time, unwilling to let go and planting your palm firmly “It's okay, Kaz. Everything's fine"

"Let me go"

“No, no, darling. Everything is fine, it's me who touches you…” he could have sworn that your voice was a spell, because he felt incapable of disobeying “Just open your eyes and look at me.”

You were too close to him when he opened his eyes and sure enough, all traces of anxiety disappeared. Your hand traced the same path to the outside of his shirt and then kindly placed itself on his pajama pants. It was a gentle touch.

"What are you doing here?" he insisted. He knew he needed the answer to that question to become aware of something that everything around him was screaming at him, but he still didn't know what it was.

“I came back to take care of you, of course. And because I have missed you so much” you explained simply, using that voice that was making him dizzy.

"But you…"

“I think you should lie down now,” you interrupted him. Kaz was racking his brain for what was wrong with the situation, although he found it difficult to concentrate on anything because of your hand caressing his leg.

"Wait"

“I was wrong to sneak in here so late at night, but I needed to know you were okay,” you continued. “That drunk gave you a lot of trouble, didn't he?”

Something clicked on him. You had not been present at the time, so you couldn't know about the altercation.

“Are you real?” he finally asked.

That was the right question. He shouldn't have been wondering what you were doing like that, but rather whether you were really there.

There was no response, as had already happened, and you just smiled kindly at him.

“I'll help you; I know sometimes you can't sleep.”

Kaz was going to ask something else, but suddenly your hand was placed on his chest and he began to feel his entire body relax. His pace slowed, his eyelids began to feel heavy, and any attempt at logical thought was lost in the void. It was just you, dressed in scarlet and looking at him sweetly from your position on the bed.

“Y/N…”

"Relax, I have deprived you of enough rest" you exclaimed. He couldn't complain because you were taking care of knocking him out to the point where his body was already lying down and you were just a blur. “We'll talk tomorrow, okay?”

He was struggling to stay conscious, to try to understand why he wasn't in a crisis because of how you were touching him, and to understand how you had gotten from Ravka to this point, but your Grisha powers were getting in the way.

Just like that, he was still awake enough when you leaned closer in his direction and, against all odds, brought your face close enough to cover him with a kiss on the lips. Everything in him stirred at the tender and deep touch that you were offering him, with his body unable to resist not only your intervention but also the feeling of peace and security that was overwhelming him.

You continued kissing him for so long that he began to gasp for air and when he wanted to break away to breathe, you continued. And you continued, and continued, until the pleasant warmth that was in him turned into a bonfire that began to burn his lungs.

A bonfire, then water... water that was suddenly drowning him.

A second later Brekker stood up suddenly, again, in a cold sweat and breathing heavily. All the panic exploded at that moment and then he realized what he hadn’t been able to decipher in your presence: it had all been a dream.

He confirmed his theory by getting up from the mattress, his bad leg throbbing with pain, and looked at himself in the smudged mirror he had somewhere. His face still had the same bruises that you had apparently taken care of healing.

He looked in all directions looking for a trace of you, but found nothing. There weren’t even signs that the lamp had been lit. He had been hallucinating everything, there were no further explanations.

“Kaz?” Someone called him and the fear that it was you paralyzed him. “Boss? I'm Jesper. A shipment arrived…”

“I'll be right over,” he half shouted, his voice raspier than normal. The day had barely started and he was already in a bad mood.

Jesper didn't say anything, but the man heard his footsteps receding down the hallway and then he walked to the tub and the water with which he washed himself every day. When he had nightmares, washing his hands was useful to cleanse himself of the guilt that overwhelmed him, but now... his hands would definitely not be enough. It would have been necessary to cleanse his entire mind to the core to get rid of the images.

Why had he dreamed of you? He hadn't heard from you in months. After the group had helped destroy the shadow, King Nikolai and those close to him suggested that, if you wanted it, you would have a place in the eccentric group of Grisha who would help rebuild the second army. Kaz was present when they made you the offer and although you responded that you needed time to think about it, the expressions on your face revealed to him the position you were leaning towards.

He didn't blame you for the decision you made, but he didn't express pleasure either. He knew perfectly well your life story and how, after the death of your entire squad on a spy mission, you had ended up in Kerch. No one from Ravka bothered to look for you and you never bothered to return, since you had discovered that the person who sold the secrets of your entrustment to the Fjerdans had been one of your own Grisha companions. If you couldn't trust them, then who? Furthermore, General Kirigan had made sure to earn your contempt after the inappropriate behavior he had begun to engage in towards you. The fear that something would happen to you under his command was greater than the thought of what would happen if they accused you of being a deserter. In Ketterdam no one knew you, so you could start from scratch as someone different.

Kaz had taken you under his wing after by chance you had been in the same place as them when a fight between gangs had developed and in which Inej (a new arrival to the Dregs) had been mortally wounded; you had helped her when you saw her bleeding in an alley and both she and her two other friends were totally grateful. The rest was history.

Having dreamed of you didn’t represent a problem for him, after all it would only be his subconscious reminding him of your existence, however, what was a problem had been the development of it. Kaz was surprised to think that it had been his own mind that had caused him to construct a fantasy in which you behaved so gently and affectionately, to the point of kissing him on the lips. It hadn't been you, of course, but... him? As the boy washed his hands, seeking some comfort, he wondered if he subconsciously wanted you to do something like that. It couldn't be possible.

You had to admit that he cared about you, like the rest of your friends, although he had never thought of you in any way beyond that of a work colleague. You were a valuable member of the team, he wouldn't have to be imagining that you were sneaking in to look for him in the middle of the night to shower him with attention and kisses. It was just ridiculous.

Still somewhat confused, he tried to push all those thoughts out of his mind and then changed out of his pajamas to go to wherever the shipment that Jesper had mentioned was. He thought that the day's activities would probably help him get rid of that strange bittersweet feeling that your fictitious visit had left him.

“Hey, Kaz, have you heard from Y/N?”

The question Jesper asked while he was signing the receipt for several cases of whiskey threw him off and he swore his friend was asking just to spite him. But he couldn't know about the shameful dream, of course. Neither he nor anyone.

"Nothing. The last letter was sent a week after we returned and since then there has been nothing”

“Oh,” he sighed. He seemed almost disappointed. “What about Inej?”

“I learned that their ship was heading to the Wandering Isle and that thanks to her suggestions the crew is freeing slaves.”

“I miss both,” the boy murmured, quite thoughtful.

Kaz looked at him with that usual annoyed expression and Jesper took it as a scolding for how cheesy he was being. However, Kaz actually felt upset because his friend was reminding him that he was in the same situation.

I've missed you so much, you said in your dream. He began to reflect on whether it had been an internal desire to hear those words that reflected the fact that he was the one who missed you.

“Take those boxes inside and put them in place. If I notice that even one bottle is missing, there will be problems,” he warned him. Normally it wasn't Jesper who was in charge of those tasks, but at that moment what the boss wanted was to get rid of him and his inappropriate comments.

“Where are you going?”

“To some matters” was all the response he offered, before limping off in another direction.

It wasn't entirely true that he would be busy during the day, but he decided it would be better to get away from there to clear his thoughts. Without Inej in the city it was more difficult to obtain any secrets and now the collection of information depended on the girls who had left the menagerie to go work with him, so it didn't hurt to walk around the Barrel from time to time to see what I could find out.

The walk served to keep him busy and sufficiently distracted, at least until midday, when he returned to the Slat to eat something. There he received the news that someone was selling a property near the now renovated Crow Club and then he spent part of the afternoon analyzing how convenient it would be to acquire the property to expand his business.

Every night he liked to go to the club to check that everything was going well and solve any situation that required his attention, like the aggressive drunk had been the night before. Furthermore, he had to make sure that none of his crows got into trouble and above all that Jesper didn't lose more money than he could in gambling. Although of course, he already had Wylan to keep an eye on him.

He regularly spent the entire day in his office, working on other things, and only went out to the games area and the bar if necessary. But something that night, that strange feeling he had since he woke up, made him leave the room where he worked. He began to walk around the bar, from where he could see all the people enjoying the bets and drinks, while he looked for his friends. Normally Nina stayed at the Slat, but Jesper and Wylan manned the door or the bar. That night it was the zemeni's turn to watch and Kaz rolled his eyes when he noticed that he was talking animatedly to a girl, or who he assumed was one; Jesper's body covered the person and he could only see a piece of a scarlet dress.

“Shall I get you something, boss?” the bartender asked the black-haired man, who turned his head to deny.

When Kaz returned his face to the front he felt like he was choking on his own saliva at the pair of people walking happily in his direction.

“Kaz! Look who came to visit us!”

Jesper held your hand and was impatiently pulling you through the sea of people, wanting you to meet your friend as soon as possible. But, contrary to the happiness that could be expected with a reunion, Kaz was pale and looked completely worried.

“Y/N?” he murmured, fearing that you were once again just a figment of his imagination.

“Just this morning I was talking about how much I missed you, wasn't that right, Kaz?” laughed Jesper “And now you’re here!”

"Hello"

"What are you doing here?"

Although he tried not to sound hostile, he didn't quite succeed.

“Saints, what did you do to yourself?” you laughed, taking a moment to look at the aforementioned's wounds. Noticing the parallel with his dream, he felt dizzy and before he could get closer, he had already walked away. “Kaz?”

"It's no big deal. It was just a fight”

“I hope not with him”

“If it had been with me, his face probably wouldn't look like that and my face wouldn't look like that” Jesper pointed out and you laughed, because it was true.

“Do you want me to take care of it?” you suggested kindly. It wasn't a bother at all, nor would it be the first time.

“At another time. We don't want you to draw attention to yourself” the boy took a pointed look around the room in search of strange eyes that were peering into your conversation, but he found nothing. Everyone was minding their own business. “Enough with those clothes.”

"You don’t like?"

“It's not that I don't like it,” he clarified. “It's just that it's hard to take my eyes off you.”

Kaz didn't flirt, but if he did, that phrase would have been the closest thing to trying. He meant that wearing those clothes you looked so pretty that the idea of the men in the club seeing you made him sick, much less did he need them to know that you were a grisha because they would seek to take advantage of you. But saying it out loud would have been inappropriate, so he kept it to himself.

“It's too red, right?” you laughed, without any clue of the intention behind the phrase “A gift from Her Majesty the Queen, by the way. She put one of her tailors at my disposal.”

“Oh là là, girl. Are you sure you want to see us now that you only rub shoulders with fine people?”

“Of course I want to see you, fool. You are like family”

Brekker watched in silence as you leaned your entire body against Jesper, letting him put his arm around you to close the distance to nothing. The dress you wore had a high collar and buttons along the chest, along with sleeves three-quarters of the way up your arms. He immediately thought of the uniforms of the second army (the old ones, since Alina had eliminated the colors that divided Grisha's orders) and again he felt a tingling down his spine when he remembered his dream.

We'll talk tomorrow, okay? you had said. Was that dream a premonition? Or could it be that you had really visited him in the middle of the darkness?

"When you came?"

"Newly. I rented a carriage because Anika told me you were here, when I stopped by the Slat to leave my things.”

“Do you intend to stay?”

"A couple of days. I know I didn’t even ask if I could stay with you, but I figured… well, I can stay, right?”

“Of course you can,” the gunman interrupted, sounding excited.

Kaz continued with a serious expression.

“As long as there are rooms available,” he simply said.

There were and he knew it, so you responded, smiling widely in gratitude. Before either of them could say anything else, Jesper stepped forward:

“Let's go so you can say hello to Wylan, he's taking care of some tables over there.”

With a movement the boy took your hand and turned you towards his direction, away from the black-haired man. Despite the direction you followed with your body, your eyes searched Kaz's gaze in the hope of finding something more than what he had said verbally, although you didn't find it. Your free hand reached out to temporarily wave goodbye to the young man, to which he only responded by bowing his head slightly.

Kaz caught a glimpse of the entire exchange; Wylan threw himself into your arms as soon as he saw you and you welcomed him with joy, even planting a kiss on his cheek that made him laugh. Suddenly, as he watched, he found himself feeling jealous of his friends.

He wasn't like Jesper who could take you by the hand everywhere, nor like Wylan who seemed to love being in your arms. And he knew that Nina, as soon as she knew you were back, wouldn't hesitate to express her affection in the same way. For a second, he reflected that the touch of your skin was a longing that he kept in his heart, well hidden behind all that tide of despair and disgust at human contact.

He also wondered if he wasn't dreaming again, afraid that your return was just another twisted fantasy his mind had fabricated. But it wasn't like that, he could feel everything around him and the smells of the place invaded his nostrils; even his leg burned slightly as a permanent reminder that he was alive.

Kaz took one last glance in your direction, still hypnotized by the bloody tone on your clothes, and considered that it would be best to return to his office to continue with the pending work. A few minutes later you went back to look for him to try to drink something but, unfortunately, you realized that he was no longer there.

Thanks to Jesper and his insistence that you drink everything new in the repertoire of the renewed Crow Club, you arrived much later than expected at the Slat. The Dregs never seemed to sleep, and you knew it was probably because Kaz wanted a twenty-four-hour guard, so when you staggered in one of the new guys greeted you curtly and let you pass.

You and Anika had always gotten along well, so when you arrived hours ago she had placed you in the largest room the place had, next to where Inej had once been and down the hall from Kaz's office and bedroom.

You had to admit that your friend's reaction to your arrival had left you somewhat worried, because although it was to be expected that the black-haired man wouldn’t show great joy, you felt that something about your visit had made him uncomfortable. You had probably taken too many liberties in assuming, without consulting him, that you were still welcomed and thought you had to talk to him about it.

When you went to your room you noticed that his light was still on and since the alcohol didn't let you think too well, you convinced yourself that it would be a good idea to visit him despite the schedule. Before going to your task you made sure to search through your suitcase for a couple of things that you had brought from Ravka especially for Kaz and while you did so you tried to shake off the guilt that invaded you when you saw that almost all of your belongings were back in Ketterdam. You hoped that by talking to him he would be able to understand, otherwise you didn't know what you would do from now on.

You snuck down the hallway with bare feet and one of your hands busy, until you arrived in front of the half-open door.

"Busy?" you asked, peering around the frame as you tapped the moth-eaten wood a couple of times.

Kaz was sitting at his desk and only raised his head from the papers scattered across it because he recognized your voice as the one calling him. He seemed exhausted, as if thinking was consuming his entire life.

“A bit. Did you just arrive?”

“Yes,” you laughed, cringing with some shame. Kaz looked you up and down and noticed that your dress, previously so neat and pretty, looked slightly disheveled, although it didn't lose its beauty. Your hair was also less combed than at the beginning “Can I come in?”

The man responded by nodding his head and followed your steps in silence, until you dropped into the chair in front of his desk; he noticed that you were carrying a prominent package in your hands. Your gaze held his for a few seconds, reminding him that you were one of the few people who weren’t afraid to face his discerning eyes and he observed the shine in your orbs accompanied by your blushing cheeks, clear evidence of your drunkenness.

"What do you need?"

“I wanted to know how you are,” you murmured sincerely “In case you wanted me to help with... you know”

It was clear that you were referring to the state of his face. As a healer, part of your job was to detect people's ailments, and boy did Kaz have several. Only what was visible revealed that he had probably been unable to sleep for days, let alone eat. His mental state had never been the most appropriate, but in that space your gift, nor your help, had no place.

“You worry too much sometimes.”

"It looks bad. And it probably hurts.” You slurred a couple of words, but it was still understandable enough. “Let me help you.”

Kaz visibly tensed at your choice of words, immediately remembering the woman from his dreams who had said the same thing, and wishing he could erase those memories. He didn't even realize he hadn't responded until you caught his attention.

"Alright"

With some extra effort to not trip over your own feet, you moved to the other side of the table and squatted down from a safe distance; then, in that position and without touching him directly, you began the appropriate hand movements for healing. The fear of invasion of his personal space immediately dissipated and, just like in his dream, he felt better as he experienced that familiar tingling in his body when you tended to his wounds.

Once you finished, you remained calm for a moment and he felt nervous at the emotions that he couldn't decipher in your eyes. The intoxication visibly relaxed your features so that all the time you were smiling sweetly at him.

"Better?"

“Mhm,” he responded with a hum, fearing that if he opened his mouth his secrets would begin to spill out.

Of course he felt better, as always when you used your skills on him, not only physically but also mentally. It had been so long since he had seen you in his office that he thought he would eventually forget about the feeling, so having you back there felt strangely reassuring.

“I have something I want to show you.”

Wanting not to make your friend uncomfortable, you stood up from your seat, holding on to the desk to avoid falling, and willing to stay as long as Kaz could stand, you returned to your place in front of the desk. Once you took back the package that you had left on the chair, you began to unwrap it to take out one of the objects it contained. He carefully observed the maneuver, realizing that it was a black cardboard box with silver details and even a small bow on the edge, which you left right in front of him.

"What is this?"

"A gift. I brought it from Ravka.”

Kaz's look expressed some confusion at the unexpected gift and he took special care as he opened the box with one of his gloved hands, like someone who fears finding misfortune inside.

“Chocolates?”

“I know you like them,” you replied, shrugging your shoulders “You know, something sweet to counteract the bitterness you have in your character.”

“Looks like visiting your hometown made you funnier, huh?”

“Try one” you suggested excitedly and even though he wanted to do it, the boy didn't have the heart to refuse.

He chose a piece of dark chocolate and when he put it in his mouth, he took the time to savor the treat. Although he wasn’t nostalgic, he was overcome by the distant memory of the hot chocolate that Jordie had once bought him. He hadn't tried that flavor in a long time, and the slight expressions of satisfaction on his face revealed that you had chosen a good gift. He would make sure not to abuse it, but it would be difficult now that he had remembered the delight it represented.

"And? How does it taste?”

“Delicious” he concluded. Sounded sincere and that made you smile.

The night had already embraced Ketterdam and you could see some stars through Kaz's open window, through which a gentle wind blew through the curtains. The landscapes of Ravka had conquered you the moment you set foot there, but you had to admit that you had greatly missed the salty, dirty air of the island that welcomed you when all seemed lost. Even the Slat looked better, although that was perhaps due to the excellent income that the new and renovated Crow Club had.

But more than a physical space, the affection you felt for the place was due to the people who lived there. When you arrived, it was painful not to find comfort in the arms of your friend Inej and you wondered if any of your friends had missed your presence in that way; the effusive hugs combined with the clear joy of the group let you know that this was the case. Kaz was the only one who remained reluctant to any intense display of feelings, although not for the reasons you thought.

"What were you doing?"

“Some accounts,” he sighed bitterly. “This week wasn't the best.”

Anything related to money, for better or worse, was an easy topic of conversation for the black-haired man. He liked to talk about profits, the best bets, investments for the future, and possible traps to gain an advantage. So, knowing that it was a subject he liked, you let him talk.

Through this he gave in and became more and more talkative to answer the questions you asked him, no longer only related to the Crow club. You were able to tell him about the little palace, about the coronation that had taken place a few months ago, about your support for the reconstitution of the Grisha units and about all the policies that the king and queen consort intended to apply.

Kaz listened with surprising attention and when you least expected it, the two of you were already chatting as if the time you were apart had never existed. You liked seeing him this relaxed, it was something that often happened when you guys got together for drinks. You suspected that while you were stuffing alcohol down your throat in public, he had been doing it in private.

“And are you happy there?” he asked suddenly “In Ravka”

You weren’t expecting a question of that type and deep in the lines you wanted to think that you had heard some suspicion in his voice about the possible answer.

"I think so"

“More than here?” he insisted. It was a difficult question, so you took a moment to think about it.

“I think not happier, but… I live better. There are no robberies, no fights between gangs, I have three meals a day every day” you began, smiling slightly at him “But deep down I don't feel happier. I feel like it's all very right, very... fake might be the word? As if a mistake were fatal around so many apparently good people. And it will sound silly, but I think I miss the bad life of the Barrel a little”

“You miss the danger”

“Oh no, we have that in Ravka too. But it doesn't give me the same adrenaline. You know, running away in fear because Jesper had done something stupid, Inej bringing bad news, you resorting to plan Z after the other 25 failed… Do you think I'm crazy?”

“Not at all,” he murmured. “It makes sense that without us your life would be boring.”

A skeptical expression settled on your face.

“Did you just joke or did I hear wrong? Did my absence make you funnier?”

“I've always been funny. And it wasn't a joke, it's a fact."

And with that, your laughter appeared, because it was much easier to make people laugh when you were drunk. The sound filled Kaz's chest with a warmth worthy of shame, especially for him, and tried to ignore the rushes of his heart, hoping you would do the same. You had long ago claimed that you never listened to his heartbeat unless it was necessary, although right now he didn't know if that promise still stood.

He even feared that somehow after your visit to the palace you had obtained powers beyond his understanding and were able to read in his thoughts those dreams he had had before your arrival. The rational part of him knew it was impossible, but the mere idea embarrassed him.

"I guess you're right. “Life becomes monotonous when you no longer have the presence of your manic boss.”

Those words would have earned at least a warning punch from his new cane. But he could forgive your insolence if it meant keeping you in a good mood and, above all, keeping him company.

The movement of your body when you laughed made you aware that you still had an object resting on your legs, which had taken a backseat to the fluidity of the talk. Kaz saw your expression light up when you remembered that you had that mysterious package and then you placed it on the table, carefully unfolding the white piece of cloth that wrapped it.

"What is that?"

“The most wonderful thing you will ever see” Kaz knew about your tendency to exaggerate things, so he tried not to expect too much. “It's the prototype of some Fabrikators in the little palace, it was used on the coronation day. I took it borrowed"

“You stole it”

“I took it borrowed” you repeated seriously, although from your friend's amused face you knew that he didn't believe you “Because I wanted you to see it”

It looked like a strange device, with a lens similar to that of a telescope, but placed in the center of a rectangle and below it a long, linear opening. At the top there was some kind of button. Everything was in black and looked like nothing the boy had ever seen.

“And what is it supposed to do?” He asked, scanning it with his eyes for any clue.

“I could explain it to you, but I'm going to show you. Okay, I take this like this” you began to explain, putting the artifact between you and Kaz. The lens was pointed in his direction “And it's going to sound strange, but I need you to smile.”

“I'm not going to smile”

“It is strictly necessary! Otherwise it won't work."

You were a terrible liar, Kaz had always been aware of that, so he just watched you seriously from his chair.

“Can you at least remove that expression?” you insisted, smiling at your friend in hopes that there was some mimicry on his part. “Please?”

“If you're going to show me, just do it”

“Sweet, always so sweet” you complained out loud and resigned to the fact that that grimace was the only one he would show you, you pointed in his direction to press the button.

A flash of light coming from who knows where threw Kaz off and a few seconds later he watched half a square of paper emerge from the opening in the device. You still had an excited smile on your face as you grabbed the edge of the product with your fingertips.

The boy was too proud to admit that he was curious when you gently shook the sheet, so he just kept watching your movements from his spot for a few minutes. He wasn't prepared for you to drag the chair you were sitting in to the other side of the desk, leaving you a short distance away from him.

"Ready? Ta-dah!”

You happily extended the paper to him and saw his expression of genuine amazement when he could see himself on it. It wasn't even like a drawing, but rather an exceptionally detailed portrait in black and white. Seeing his astonishment you continued:

“Imagine how this would work if you focused it on criminal activities. Heists, if you want to spy on someone, to keep a graphic record of the people who are after your head, whatever you want!” you started, excited “Do you see how much detail it can capture in a second? It can even be used to spy from afar and once you get back here count how many people were talking, who they were, if you want proof of someone making deals…”

Your words were interrupted by an unexpected sound. You highly doubted that you had ever heard Kaz laugh, beyond those ironic sighs he was used to, which is why the laughter froze you completely. You only needed to turn to look at him to reveal your expression; a combination of amazement and fear.

“You will always be a crow, won't you?”

You, too, could detect a mix of emotions in his words, from clear amusement to pride in knowing he was right. It was a forceful declaration: that no matter how many palaces you toured, no matter how many alliances you made, no matter how patriotic those Ravkans wanted to become, you would always belong to the life of the Barrel and, therefore, to the peculiar family that lived in the Slat.

“Please never laugh in my presence again. It's the scariest thing I've ever heard in my life."

The second sigh of amusement was less enthusiastic but more enjoyable for you, even if it was a brief sound that you would try to preserve in your memories. If it wasn’t common to hear him laugh, it was much less common to be the cause of it.

“I must admit that I am quite impressed. You are right to think that it would be very useful for illicit activities.”

“Keep it”

“Didn't you say you borrowed it?”

“You know I was lying”

“And what will your Grisha friends think of this?”

“They'll manage just fine, don't worry. We will put it to better use”

With that, the two of you exchanged a small, but meaningful, knowing look. Kaz still had his portrait in his hands and you replaced it with the device, taking care not to invade too much of his personal space as you knew he hated so much.

“But I will keep this.”

"And what exactly do you want it for?"

“This way I can take you with me wherever I go” your words were sincere and behind them, a clear affection “I like it, you even look… not angry”

“The light disconcerted me”

“I still don’t understand how that works, but we can ask Jesper to fix it,” you suggested gently, trying to make him feel less embarrassed. The truth was that he looked very handsome and his eyes shone the color of the ocean. A beautiful ocean, far from Kerch “Do you want one?”

"One what?"

"A picture. One of mine, of course. That way we would be even”

“I'm not the sentimental type.”

“I know,” you sighed with resignation, “But I am. That's why I'll keep you here."

Kaz watched you put the paper in the pocket inside your coat, on the side of your heart, and he didn't think of anything prudent to respond to that. You would have heard the erratic beating of his heart if you had not been so busy with the rumble of yours.

"I…"

“Kaz also came because I want to talk about something important,” you interrupted him, because you probably wouldn’t have the courage to do it later “Can I?” you asked and he nodded.

Being so close, the smell of liquor that you emanated and that which he emanated combined slightly, during a few torturous seconds of silence. Suddenly the cheerful atmosphere had died down and although Kaz was not an impatient person, the alcohol had slightly clouded his senses.

"What is it?"

“My time here… is not intended to be just a visit”

Were you going to leave him? Was it a farewell then? Maybe that was why you had insisted on taking a portrait of him, one that you would look at from time to time and it would become a distorted blur of a distant time. A ghost.

“And what else would it be?”

There was silence for a moment.

“A permanent stay. If there is still room for me”

During the previous months he had convinced himself to accept that two of his best friends had left to pursue the idea of a better life, away from the hustle and bustle of the barrel, and to some extent he had come to digest the fact. But now the possibility of having you back with him was there and honestly, the most selfish part of him was happy that the little palace hadn't been enough for you.

“Is this a free choice or is there some particular reason that forces you to return here? It's not that it bothers me, but I just… I have to be aware to take my precautions”

“I come clean and of my own free will,” you said, raising both hands. “The King and the queen didn’t take it in the best way, but they did not refuse either.”

“And what is the reason for this sudden change of mind?”

“It wasn't sudden, months passed”

“But you were very convinced that you wanted to stay there.”

Kaz's principles and character made it impossible for him to admit that he had been hurt by your decision to remain in Ravka, but he was, and the subtle venom in the phrase made you aware of this.

“I liked the idea of becoming someone useful. All that fantasy of improving the country, a decent life for the Grisha, fulfilling a purpose, and blah, blah, blah. I think I got a little carried away by the fact that there was a living Saint in the palace and thought... that things would be different. A part of me wanted to feel that this was my place in the world because all my life I dreamed of training hard and reaching the second army, wearing those colored keftas, serving the nation” your voice became sarcastic and you put some quotes in the air “It was most disappointing to feel so out of place being there”

“And you want to go back to street fighting then?”

"Oh no. Now that you are the owner of practically half a Barrel, I highly doubt that anyone will want to mess with me. And the whiskey you serve at the club is a delight worth staying for” again you observed the closest thing to amusement in his features and that made you smile “So what do you say? Do you think the services of a healer are still useful to you?”

“As you just illustrated, fights are less common now. But I'll find something to keep you busy."

“Let's face it, I just healed you. Fights will probably be less common for me, but not for you” you laughed “And at some point you will be grateful for having me here”

Kaz would appreciate having you with him even if you were just hanging out at the Slat or the club. Your absence had only managed to show him how much he could miss you.

“I have to maintain my reputation”

“Yes, but it would be a shame if a bad blow ruined that pretty face”

The boy was aware that his face was already full of scars, spots, and wrinkles from frowning so much, that's why his expression hardened upon hearing your words. He didn't hate your compliments, but it wasn't like he believed them either.

"Go away. You're drunk and I need to work."

Despite the tone of voice, there was a certain affection hidden in those words and you decided to focus on that. You stood up to put the chair back in place and an urge to hug Kaz came over you. However, you knew you had to refrain if you didn't want to end up thrown to the other side of the room.

“Thank you for letting me stay. I'll try not to make too much of a fuss”

That was also a lie, he knew perfectly well the chaos you caused in the company of Jesper and that it would only be a matter of time before it appeared. Still, he nodded to indicate that he was giving you a vote of confidence. You headed towards the door.

“I'm glad you're back,” he said, as you were about to leave. You were afraid you were imagining it, so you turned to look at him.

Both of you wanted to say that you had missed each other, but the intention was lost in the volatility of the air around you.

“Rest, Kaz. If you need anything, look for me, okay?”

The fact that you were now in the same building, a few rooms away, provided the boy with indescribable tranquility.

And when he saw you leave he kept thinking that maybe one day, with enough effort, that strange dream he had could become a reality. For now, it only remained to say that knowing that your return home had been to stay, made his heart feel full again.

[littlepuddingsworld]

Okay, this is going to sound insane, but please hear me out.

In the 19th century, there were doctors who specialised in curing "female hysteria", which was often just misdiagnosed sexual frustration (Whenever women were too out of control for men to handle, it was diagnosed as hysteria. So it was basically anything, sexual frustration included...). The cure was fingering...yeah. It was relatively normalised to, as a doctor, finger someone's wife...quite a way to make a living. There was basically a handbook written in Latin about how you do it (oil up your hand, insert here, there will be muscle contraction, the lady in question will breathe heavily before ultimately having a hysteria paroxysm (this is a former medical term for orgasms btw)). Obviously, there were mixed opinions about giving another man's wife an orgasm, however, the Catholic doctors concluded that it cannot have been sexual, since there was no penetration. "It's our duty as doctors to cure these poor women of their hysteria, Sir 🫡"

FUN FACT: Since some doctors would experience wrist pain from the...hard manual labour, they invented a device that does it for them: The vibrator. When the vibrator was first used in pornography, the doctors said NOPE and left their profession behind. In 2011, there was a period romcom made about this called Hysteria. It's not even that bad, unironically. Oh and by the way, the name hysteria is derived from the Greek word hystera, meaning uterus, hence why only women were diagnosed with hysteria.

Anyway, getting to my point:

Imagine a yandere thinking that you're being incredibly hysterical, emotional, out of control and then proceeding to sit you down and curing you of your hysteria the old-fashioned way...

They either do it knowingly, or are just too oblivious to even realise that what they are doing is...not quite the correct solution for the problems they caused you in the first place...

Just wanted to share this with someone...take it as you will...

,,, to be honest, I knew about the hysteria, but I didn't know about the fact that a vibrator was created that way,,,, sexy big brain<3333 i love your words so much, mercury kissed you at birth,,,, very brainy, very many cerebral convolutions, I love it,,, come here to kith kith pretty pie—

𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

your husband is so sweet, so adorable — especially when he's on his knees in front of you, purring something about how he should help you, as if it's not his personal fault that you feel like this.

... ♡ unhealthy relationship, misconception of the century / time, hierarchical society, mild sexism? (more classism?), mild maledom elements, mention of religion, forced marriage implied, male pregnancy mentioned because no pregnant reader, unethical treatment methods?; doctor!noble!husband x darling!reader

dubious consent (dubcon) -> consensual sex, crying, mild sadism/masochism, mention of degradation (g.), hair pulling (g.), oral sex (r.), mild fingering (r.), praise (r.)

If THEODORE had been told that he was "mistreating his darling spouse", he would have

agreed.

It was logical: if he treated you well, then would you enter into a frenzy of emotions, scream and look as if you were about to faint before falling at a table made of pleasantly smelling wood, — Theodore knew that you love this variety; almost all tables, chairs and other wooden utensils was of this sort, — completely exhausted, unable even to drive away your narrow-minded husband, only waving a fragile palm in his direction, as if desperate, while he took your fan, straight from the hands of the best chinese craftsmen, and gently fanned you, letting you hang head? Of course not.

You, his breathtaking spouse, were so touching and gentle, full of spring charm and a few drops of exquisite, expensive coquetry, like the first flowers in spring — delicate, almost transparent, not at all like the luxury of scarlet roses that gardeners grow every season, or the exuberant scent of lilac and juniper, especially in July. Not at all. Your charm was subtle, unique, corresponding to the rumbling of the first rivers or the first drop falling from the roofs after the melting of the snow. You have never been a socialite — never; parents were rich enough to support you and your siblings, but not rich enough to live in idleness and not worry about money.

You were introduced at the first ball and attended others from time to time, but most of the time you couldn't afford to walk around with "old dresses", not wanting to be considered poor or shame family by not being able to buy new clothes. Theodore understood perfectly well — being from a not-so-rich family, somehow coping with this whole world, you simply could not afford to live bohemian, expensive and shameless out of fear that money was too little, as if you did not even think that you could just marry someone rich and sponsor with their help your family. Theodore didn't blame, having heard about you for the first time from the mouths of other dandies who follow every new "coquette fan", more than an eloquent sign of finding a partner, though; "too conscientious and didn't understand how this world works" or just a prude,

but now, he understands that you just knew your worth and waited for someone like

him.

After all, in a world where divorce can only happen after death, and infidelity is punished by an enraged spouse with a knife, how could you easily marry someone? You were so alluring, like ripe peaches filled with juice — naturally, not everyone can and should touch your delicate, perfumed hands and caress skin so soft that no overseas silk can compare.

Theodore was sure that there were words about you: "If the cost of their kiss was hell, // then I will kiss their lips, // so that in hell I can brag to the devils // that I was in heaven without even entering it." Because you were paradise, it didn't matter if you smiled, cried or screamed — or were "not a couple who deserved," but only because you could have become the monarch's spouse right away, but he found you earlier.

He had no doubt that you were special — definitely to him. Therefore, he did not think long before he came to your parents to take you to his estate, in the sweetly itchy haste of first and only love, kissing your hands and touching the slightly trembling fan with thin fingers while you looked down in frightened amazement, while your parents confusedly exchanged glances, not understanding why he came to "court you". Theodore did not ask if you had someone — after all, if you had, you would rather slit your throat than let another touch your thin fingers, because he would have done exactly the same in your place if he were still a dependent young man (now, of course, he was not — having studied at a very prestigious university, where his parents also studied, he was more than an enviable independent bachelor and knew it). And if earlier he was afraid that, what if!, was not "normal", then when saw you, he knew that he had been waiting for you all this time — and you were undoubtedly waiting for him too.

If, in order to be with you, he had to refuse the sky, the sun and the moon, he would do it without hesitation. This is love — Theodore had no doubt that you yourself understand this.

Your parents, however, soon dispelled his prejudices. You didn't just "didn't understand it" — you weren't like that, but Theodore, hesitating only for a few seconds, realized that you just weren't like everyone else. While others were blinded by love, like him, you couldn't be like that — you just didn't understand it, didn't feel like that, and your parents were only afraid that your "defect" in the marriage market would make you lonely for the rest of days.

Theodore, however, did not think so: you were the same age as him, he was childless, unmarried, rich and educated, had an estate with intelligent and trained servants, good sources of income, a lot of free time, did not have the habit of drinking a lot of alcohol or tobacco, — and the fact that you were allegedly "not sensual enough" was, of course, stupidity. He wasn't going to use the fact that you can't pick up a knife to kill an unfaithful spouse! And I wasn't going to cheat! He won't do any harm! Yes, you may be a little... very very little defective-ish, but isn't love blind? He will accept you at any cost, even with such a... 'setback'.

... Of course, it is wrong and even abnormal that you cannot kill someone who is cheating on you, and are not ready to die just to be with someone you love, and that it is wild for you to give up everything for your beloved... But Theodore understands that you are already too perfect, and it's okay to have flaws. He's not thirteen anymore.

As long as this is not passed on to children, everything will be fine, please, don't worry, ma joie, — he gently whispers to you, touching gloved fingers, stroking fingers gently, looking into your very happy face ? — I'll accept you for who you are, even with this. With everything. Because you and I, being whole by ourselves, become more than just "ourselves" together.

And it was true, don't get him wrong! His pedigree was good, he was, uh, "thoroughbred," and his family tree was beautiful, worthy of your hand. Theodore was not self-confident, but he was confident, buying everything you want, not walking through salons and entertainment houses and not being in any dubious circles, his entourage was only intelligent people who had an education and could both write and read, and not in two languages, and there was no one in his circle someone of the same gender, and he wasn't squeamish or suspicious. After all, what else can you worry about? But you were worried. Over time, it's even a little noisy.

You shouted, sometimes threw yourself, behaved strangely, as if he was not a refined learned man who was your shadow and wrote poetry to you, not forcing you to do anything even after your approved marriage, but a brute or an invader. Did he take you away without permission? Perhaps using his status in society to a little and influence your parents with children who have not yet appeared to the beau monde, and used a little influence to convince these people that he will help your siblings in the future to find a better match than they can now count on — but then why does he need it: status, influence, reputation, — if he can't even convince his love to stay with him? Otherwise, you can't blame—

... Oh wait.

You can.

Theodore realizes with annoyance, sitting hs office with a book in hands, writing notes in diary, and adjusts his glasses: he had completely forgotten — you're "not like that." You're different. Your parents told him. You understand love differently, you look at your partner differently, you cannot understand the concept of love itself... Theodore used to think that they just raised you wrong, but now he understands what they meant: that the feelings that ordinary people spend on a partner, you leave inside, letting them accumulate, and when you realize that you can no longer, you emotionally explode and behave as if something is wrong with him or you — it's obvious! You just can't do it any other way! Of course, why else would you be unhappy with your situation? After all, it's natural that your family hardly communicates with you or that you can't spend a lot of time outside the house — everyone lives like that, except the unmarried! You just don't understand it!

Because you are so emotional, so sensitive, so responsive, that, naturally, you need special care and care, and not a sidelong glance from your husband, who behaved so coldly, only supporting, but not helping you in any way! After all, he studied at the best university, was one of the best students, even had an internship and, of course, corresponded with his comrades, learning new ways to deal with diseases and disorders. After all, what kind of "good husband" is he if he can't even help his gentle, easily excitable spouse cope with their, he's not afraid of that word, illness?

You just don't understand...

“... Darling, we need to make one thing.”

You are gentle, soft, not submissive — both in clothes and under them, and although you may consider him a little pathetic when he whispers it to you, burying cold nose in your thigh like a lost dog, but after shouting and throwing things, you are no longer so full of destructive energy. Holding him tightly by the hair, you look down with pursed lips, but do not answer anything — and in expensive clothes, with jewelry, sleek and clearly not deprived of the love and affection of a bohemian husband, you look like a deity that descended from heaven.

Theodore knows that he must decontaminate for sure, but what can a spouse hide from a spouse, right? After all, you are more than a "single whole", especially when he is sitting on his lap, no problem as long as you are sitting on a chair made of your favorite wood, soft and comfortable enough, allowing him to carefully get rid of excess clothes without disgrace, looking at how thin lips touch your skin in a respectfully pious way.

Even your heavy breathing from the outburst of emotions sounds like music that should be played in the church if they want the heavenly ambassadors to descend.

Is he too "sugary"?

No, he's just a realist.

“Darling, please...”

You don't push away even when fingers gently touch your thighs like feathers, just frowning a little harder. But not by pushing it away. You are smart, you always have been, and, of course, you yourself understand that you are sick, and only he, as your husband and doctor, can help you. It's natural. Why do you need another men- or women- another doctor? How dare someone else touch you? Only you can touch him and only he can touch you. He's yours — a husband, a doctor, anyone. As soon as you become healthier, he will definitely be your lover — and maybe one day you will take a child or will he carry it. After all, how dare he sleep with you and use you, so gentle and airy, like a messenger from heaven, while you are so deeply ill, not even really knowing what love is and how to react to it?

“Darling... It's just a little help. Just say the word and we'll stop anytime. I don't want to harm my spouse, you know... Besides, you can always stop me by force.”

You yourself spread your warm, soft, almost plush thighs while he meekly looks up from the bottom, trying to unobtrusively encourage you to let him just look a little. Theodore was not an expert on issues related to sex life or the influence of genitals on human behavior, — although, undoubtedly!, it was important, but he preferred less dirty things, — but now, kneeling in front of you on a soft carpet, stroking your skin, it did not seem something vile or dirty, animal, but for some reason pleasant and... airy-natural; the very sight made him want not to wince and turn away, but not to look away, even when you pull his hair harder, frowning, clearly not too willing to continue this, but it's better than if he drags you to someone else.

You knew yourself that your husband sometimes got too involved with the human body in a not too, uh, "harmless" sense, but it was never dangerous or illegal, unless against the law of god, so you let him correspond with 'friends' and 'colleagues', studying new diseases and learning more about experience and practice. But if you knew that one day you would be the subject of research, you would definitely throw his ink and letters into the fireplace — along with other things.

“Mi único... I want to help... Do you know what hysteria is? This is when a darling behaves very much... emotionally because of the internal tension. And so we have recently come up with a... new way to deal with similar diseases. It can help our marriage... Te quaeso?”

Theodore is not an idiot; rather, he feels like a trainer or a tamer, gently pushing and touching, without making any sudden movements while you look at him, gradually relaxing the tense body, letting his fingers, slightly slippery from oil and disinfectants, touch the delicate skin of the inner thigh, massaging and stroking, not hurrying. He doesn't have much experience — practically none, you never shared a bed even after the "wedding night", — but there is enough theory and ideas how to use it, especially when thin, slightly cool fingers slowly touch the skin under stomach, stroke as lightly as possible along a sensitive line, kissing with warmed lips the skin. If he could, he'd love to just open his mouth and eat you, or at least nibble — but he's not the type who eats his darling and then walks around saddened widowers and widows without the opportunity to remarry, he's a more sophisticated type and definitely not that creepy, even if the way you are you pull his hair as fingers gently circle around, rubbing and stroking, using precum for better contact, makes his eyes water and his mouth open slightly, breathing, feeling too ambiguous even for a "husband", let alone the role of the "doctor" in which he was.

“Please... d-darling...” He chirps something slightly hoarsely, stroking, caressing, breathing every other time, as if you are holding not by the hair, but by the throat; when his fingers tremble slightly, you hiss, making him blush slightly shamefacedly, as if from your swearing, — but he tries not to break the rhythm, ignoring, as befits a refined well-mannered husband. Do well-mannered husbands use their fingers on their spouses? Theodore doesn't have that much experience to respond, especially when you flinch slightly, curling your toes, — and he wants to bite just to remove this strange shameful, almost perverted feeling of a mixture of lust and guilt inside, clearly not too approved by religion, but when you start breathing shallowly and harder, closing your eyes, Theodore moves his fingers faster, watching your face.

Is that right? You don't hold him so tightly, but don't take your hand away, and his fingers are so slippery and wet that he's almost ashamed, as if it's all his juices, and he definitely should at least look away, but this is scientific curiosity, just curiosity, even when he changes his position, sinking lower shamelessly, feeling himself for a moment, it really was some kind of fallen man from entertainment houses, with an implicit gurgling feeling in the lower abdomen, listening only to your breathing and slightly squelching sounds. Theodore hardly breathes, looking at his fingers, trying for a moment to distract himself with the fleeting thought "good that cut nails" — but when your... your bare foot touches his shoulder, it seems so perversely seeing your calves that he does not know where to look — freezing for a moment, his eyes are drawn only to you, even if it looks so... sweetly vulgar, completely wrong, — but you're already married, so it's okay even if you're not like that, right? It's okay when he sees something below your neck and bare arms, it's okay when you squeeze his hair tightly again, it's okay when he hears your hot, loud breathing, as if you're breathing directly into his red ears, although he can't even look up from the way you're holding him.

Your fingers are strong, dexterous, squeezing his strands so hard that he can't move anywhere, but for some reason he is too pleased with this than he should be, even when Theodore feels like you are pushing him even closer shamelessly, as if he is not your, actually, noble and high-minded husband, who is now plays the role of your doctor, helping you with your "hysteria", but some kind of fun boy!

Outrageous!

“D-darl-!~”

You hiss something, almost growl — and pull too hard, forcing Theodore to briefly let out a distant sigh without resistance — and obediently open his mouth, hastily removing his fingers so as not to interfere before he finds a new, more comfortable place. His eyes are slightly watering from the mild pain, but when he does not see a shadow of the old irritation or anger in your face, he obediently sticks out the tip of his red tongue, not trying to shirk his doctoral duties — or is this already a marital duty? Theodore doesn't know, he's not sure, — especially when you hold him even tighter, not listening to what he says, knowing that if he really was "against it", he would have already got out, and not looked at you like a fawn at a hunter, as if it wasn't because of him that you were here, with legs spread apart and heavy breathing from the heaviness in the lower abdomen.

Is this really what he was taught at university?

A boy for fun.

The corners of your husband's eyes turn red, but he does not try to say anything or justify himself, — why should he? — making inarticulate sounds, but only moving his head, hesitantly holding your hips as much as he could do it respectfully and unobtrusively; after all, he is a learned man, even if he was kneeling like some kind of animal or a slave.

When Theodore awkwardly, clumsily moves his tongue, trying to make sure that you feel good, for some reason the world feels much brighter and sharper, — especially when the heat gets stronger, making you tremble slightly, feeling a wide tongue and thin flexible fingers, as if they are perfect only for this, but there is less air in your lungs than you need to continue dirty deservedly whisper to him how low he has sunk, from his 'writing letters to the best doctors he studied with' to kneeling in front of his spouse.

It's not that you're going to stop him or let him change his position, of course, but just force him to continue doing what he's good for, while he's almost meowing, almost purring, not trying to pull away anymore.

... It's not that he's wrong, though.

You definitely feel better after a little therapy.

[pholla-jm]

Jealousy Fits You

IMAGINE: JEALOUSY FITS YOU ~ ZORO X READER GENRE: FLUFF (MAYBE A BIT SUGGESTIVE) WARNINGS: SLIGHT CURSING? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Zoro wasn’t really of the jealous type. He had complete trust in you. Whenever he saw a guy hitting on you, he had complete confidence that you would turn him down. And Zoro was completely right. The amount of trust that Zoro has in you is a green flag. Honestly, you kind of wished that you got some sort of reaction when someone flirted with you. Showed a little possessiveness.

So, you hatched a little plan… if the opportunity arrived. You told yourself that the next person flirted with you, you wouldn’t tell him to back off. Well, except for Sanji. You never take what he says seriously anyway.

At the moment, it was proven hard. With Zoro’s arm thrown around your shoulder as he gulped down his sake was enough to steer away any man that dared to lay their eyes on you. You were about to give up and walk around the town to hopefully cure your disappointment. Just as you were about to get up, a man was brave enough to talk to you.

“Hey there.”

Your lips upturned, excited that your plan was finally going to be put into action. “Hey.”

“I gotta say, you are the most beautiful person I have ever met.”

Upon hearing those words, Zoro’s gaze flickered to the man that was talking to you. He eyed him up and down, not really deeming him as a threat. So he went right back to drinking. Of course, this didn’t go unnoticed by you. It irked you that he had no reaction. It was a green light for you to continue.

With a bright smile on your face, you thanked him. “Thank you!”

When you responded back to the man, that’s when Zoro starts to listen. It didn’t look like it though. To any outsider, it looked like Zoro was drowning in his alcohol, completely oblivious to what was happening next to him. It was the complete opposite though. He was only taking sips of sake, eyes casted downwards as he listened to what was being said.

The two of you chatted like two long lost friends. Zoro listened to the conversation the whole time. A little aggravated with some of the things that he said. The man was quite bold to being saying some of these things to you, especially since Zoro was right there.

You were too engaged in the conversation to even feel the slight tense of Zoro’s muscles.

“So, do you have any plans tonight?”

That was the last straw for Zoro.

He slammed the bottle of Sake down, causing the table to shake a little. The both of you looked at Zoro in confusion.

The arm that was thrown around you tightened. His now free hand grabbing your waist to pull you closer. This took you by surprise. You weren’t really expecting it, but you liked this reaction. You had to hold back the smile that was about to break out.

“Dude, what’s your problem.” The guy sneered at Zoro.

This time you felt Zoro’s muscles tense. Not too hard to cause a mark, but you definitely felt it. Zoro’s face turned into a scowl. It took everything in him to not cut him down right then and there.

“You do realize that I’m (y/n)’s boyfriend, right?” “Yeah….????” The guy’s tone was unbothered, something that irked Zoro even further. Zoro stood up from the table, one of his hands going to the hilt of his swords. A scary aura rolling off of him like wave. “Then act like it.”

That’s when the guy finally got the hint. He quickly stood up, the chair making a scraping sound and quickly rushed out of the place.

Zoro then turned to you with a frown on his face, “what the hell was that for?” You gave him an innocent smile, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He squinted his eyes at you. He wasn’t intimidating to you at all. Not one bit.

“You know…” You start, “Jealousy fit you.”

That’s when it clicks in Zoro’s head. That you had planned this.

He leaned down so that his mouth was next to your ear. Your eyes widen and a scarlet blush soon covers your face at his next words. You knew that you were in for it.

“You’re gonna regret doing that.”

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Book of the Damned: Part One

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst

Summary: Charlie found the Book of the Damned which has the spell to undo the curse of the Mark. You've made yourself clear but they're not listening to you. What better way to show Dean how serious you are than to hit him where it hurts: Your kids, Sam, and Charlie.

Season Ten Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

x

You walk in from the kitchen to the library when you stop short just before you're seen. Sam and Dean are talking inside with Cas on speakerphone. Do they know you're here? Do they care? They walk on eggshells whenever you're around so it's refreshing to hear what they talk about when you're not around.

"Can I just kill him now?" Cas groans.

"You know I can hear you, right?" Metatron says from the seat next to him.

So, he's got Metatron, huh? Interesting.

"No, we need him alive for now. Look, after he gives you your Grace back, you can do whatever you want with him," Sam answers.

You'd love nothing more than to drive an angel blade through his pathetic little heart.

"He's human now. How do you kill one slowly and torturously?"

Or maybe just a regular blade will work. A human Metatron brings a smirk to your face.

"I am like two feet from you."

"Anything on the Mark of Cain?" Cas asks, ignoring his human passenger.

The smirk on your face disappears when you hear Cas' words. They're still looking for it. Dean lied to you. You have two options: One, you can go inside and confront them, causing you to either hurt them badly or kill them. Two, you can wait to see what they're up to and figure out how you can benefit from it only to kill them afterwards. You like that plan. You stay hidden and listen in on their conversation.

"No. I mean, I've been digging for something, for anything, but I don't know Cas."

"There is an answer out there. We will find a cure for Dean and Y/N."

Unlikely. Even if they do find it, you'll destroy it in front of them so that they can see all their hard work is gone only to realize you'll be stuck like this forever. Now only if you knew where your soul was, you'd destroy that, too.

"I don't know why you'd want to cure those little firecrackers now. They're finally interest--" Cas punches Metatron in the face based on the sound the human makes. "Ooh!"

"Keep digging," Cas says to the brothers.

Cas hangs up the phone and you're about to go inside when you hear them continue the conversation.

"I have been checking through everything again, double-checking, triple-checking, and--"

"The Mark is a curse," Dean cuts his brother off.

"Yeah, tell me about it," Sam scoffs.

"No, I mean it's an actual curse. Listen, I forgot to mention something about our run-in with Crowley and his mother. Rowena told Crowley that the Mark is a curse. We've dealt with curses. The cure is out there somewhere. Y/N is getting suspicious, okay? You have to work harder. I know it's not fair to ask that of you but she's close to finding out we're still looking for it."

You weren't but it's nice to know that he has that fear in him whenever you walk into a room. If they succeed and take this gift off you, you'll be left with no soul. Your body will crave the power it once had. Will you still have magic if it's removed? You don't think so. The Mark gave you magic to help feed it. Without the Mark, you won't have magic. Scarlet Witch magic is much different than Sapphire Witch magic. Both are powerful but chaos magic is so much more deadly and unpredictable. You love that. You won't part with it.

Sam's phone rings and Dean decides to answer it since Sam is still looking through books.

"Winchester Accounting. How may I help you?" His tone goes serious. "Charlie? What's going on? Where are you?"

"I'm exhausted and I'm bleeding. I'm in a phone booth. A phone booth. I didn't know these things existed outside of Bill and Ted's."

"Okay. Hey, take a deep breath, kiddo. We're both sitting here. Tell me what happened. Why are you bleeding? "

"Is Y/N around?" she pants.

"No."

Are they really that stupid that they won't check where you are? You guess they are.

"I got shot. Did you know dental floss works great on stitches? I only passed out twice, and I'm pretty sure my wound is now minty fresh."

"Charlie, you probably need to go to a hospital," Sam says.

"No, no, I'm fine. I just have to get someplace safe. These guys are still after me."

"What guys? Who?"

"Some southern fried d-bags. They've been after me since I dug up 'The Book of the Damned'."

Book of the Damned? Now this is where things get interesting. Maybe you don't kill anyone yet. Maybe you hold off until you know more about this book. Something like that must mean more power for you and the Mark.

"You found it? Where?"

"After some near misses and some broken into museums, I found historical documents that led to a monastery in Spain. It burned down years ago, left for dead, but I had this hunch about it. Turned out I was right."

"What does it say about the Mark?"

"I have no fracking idea. The language it's written in... I've never seen anything like it. I found some research notes in the monastery crypt, though, by the Friar who buried it. 'The Book of the Damned' is a spell book for creating or undoing any kind of damnation there is. If we translate this thing, I think we can get the Mark of Cain off you and Y/N, Dean."

No, they won't but it will be fun to let them think they will.

"Charlie, you're a genius," Dean smiles.

"A genius fugitive. These dudes following me are well-trained. One of them keeps talking about his family."

"Family? Did you get a name?"

"No clue. I spotted a tattoo on one of them. Might be a family crest. It seemed occultly. As soon as the book was out of the ground, they were all over me. I don't know how much more running I got left in me. They're tracking the book somehow."

"Alright, then we need to get you off the grid, Charlie. Where are you right now?" Sam asks.

"Just south of Des Moines."

"Okay, our friend Bobby, has a whole bunch of cabins scattered all around, places for hunters to crash. It's not much but there's some gear, lore books, and stuff to keep you busy til we get there."

"Okay, bring snacks and every Men of Letters decoder ring there is. This book is old and scary, and I've never seen anything like it."

Old and scary, huh? You bet you're scarier. The thought of it being so dangerous is enough to return the smirk to your face. Okay, you have to think about what you're going to do here. If you walk into the room right now and declare you're going with them, they're going to know you want the book destroyed. You have to come up with some reason they'll believe that will give you an in. Once you do that, you'll destroy the book and their hopes of ever finding a cure.

Once you do that, you're going to hunt down your children and take them away from Dean. His time has expired. It's time for you to make good on your threats.

"So, road trip?" you ask when you step foot into the library. The look on Sam and Dean's faces almost has you laughing. They look so scared. You can't wait to see their faces when they've realized they lost. "Yes, I know you found the book. If you're going to put someone on speakerphone, do it when you know I'm not around."

Dean opens his mouth but can't seem to form any words. He's so scared you're going to go after his kids now. You love having this power over them. You have to give them a reason to believe you're good now, that you want to change otherwise you won't get very far.

"Don't worry, I've done a lot of soul searching." You laugh at your joke. "Life without the Mark wouldn't be so bad."

"What?" Sam asks.

"I want my old life back."

"You do?" Dean asks when he's found his voice.

"Look, I'm tired of you two hunting me, beating me down, and all over my ass. The sooner I get the Mark off me, the sooner I can find my soul. I'll be back to normal. You know, all gushy and full of emotions." Sam and Dean look at each other but they're still not sure if it's a good idea to bring you along. "If you don't take me with you, I'll just follow you anyway."

"Fine. Get in the car."

"Gladly."

You turn and leave the library. Step one is done. Now all you have to do is play the part like a good little girl. Sam and Dean look at each other once you're gone.

"Shit, she knows we're still looking for it," Dean panics. "Is this another one of her tricks?"

"We'd be idiots if we think it's not. Look, if she's with us, she's not with your kids. We just keep her busy until we figure out what game she's playing."

"I hate this," Dean sighs.

"I know. Me too."

"Come on, Charlie needs us."

Sam and Dean pack what they need including a metal box that is lead-lined and warded. If they are going to be messing around with the Book of the Damned, they'll need something to protect it with. Plus, Sam thinks it'll be enough to get it off the radar. Once you're on the road, you're spread out in the backseat with your legs stretched over the entire bench while Sam and Dean are in the front. They're scared to talk about anything with you in the car which gives you joy.

They make it so easy.

"So, are you really on board with the cure for the Mark?" Dean asks wearily.

"What, you don't want your wife back?"

"Yeah, but--"

"Then take me to that book," you cut him off.

You put in your headphones to make it look like you're not listening to them to give them a false sense of security. Just like you suspected, they immediately start yapping when they think you can't hear them.

"How are you doing?" Sam asks.

"Actually good. You heard Charlie. We got a shot at fixing this thing. We can get Y/N back."

"Yeah, if by 'shot' you mean a spell in a book that we can't read that's currently being tracked--"

"We're due for a win, okay? Overdue. I'll tell you another thing, if this actually does work, we're gonna take some time off. "

"What, like a vacation?"

"Yeah, and I'm not talking just like a weekend in Vegas or sitting in some shit motel watching pay-per-porn. No, I'm talking about a beach. Drinking Mai Tais, going for a swim, and mingling with the local wildlife. When was the last time either one of us was on a beach?"

"Never."

"Think about the sand between our toes, Sammy. Sand between our toes."

You open your music app and play one of your songs. They have hope which is what you want them to have before you burn it up and take it away. By the time you get to Charlie, it's already the next day. She is sleeping at one of the tables. Poor thing has been up all night reading notes. You look around the place and feel the book here. It's calling out to you. It wants you to have it.

You're going to get it and then destroy it so no one can use it ever again. You know, after you learn all of its secrets.

"Charlie?" Dean asks and puts a hand on her shoulder. She gasps awake and bolts up with a sticky note on her face. "Hey, it's just us."

She barely registers that you're there. She winces when she stands up. Right. She was shot.

"Were you followed?"

"No."

"How are you feeling?"

"I may have just passed out, but better." She sees you by the door and trails off fearfully. "What is she doing here?"

Dean turns to you, ignoring Charlie.

"You're on our side? Prove it. Heal her."

In order to keep up this facade, you have to do what they say. You push off the wall and walk over to Charlie. She backs up slightly for fear of what you might to do her.

"Relax. I'm not going to hurt you. I've turned over a new leaf."

You touch her shoulder and allow your magic to sink into her skin. Seconds later, her wound is healed. She grins and moves to get feeling back into her body.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

Please, don't.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[ramspatula]

Carnations | Cole Brookstone x fem!reader

Cole Brookstone was a normal guy. Yes he may be built like an ox and almost a foot taller than me but he went to the gym a lot and bodybuilding was his hobby. And ghosts don’t exist. And I’m not crazy.

Masterlist, Next part

Carnations symbolise love, captivation and distinction. There also just flowers. Plants, sometimes weeds. A lot of women put them in their bouquets for their wedding and then have them flattened and put into a frame so they'll never die and stay forever alive and young. The carnations I'm currently staring at are pink. Like almost every other flower they also come in different colours like white, red, yellow, and scarlet. You can dye them different colours too. I only know this much about the flower because of an old customer.

I started working at the little corner shop about a year ago and every Sunday morning when I got stuck with the early shift, an elderly woman would come into the shop to pick up her newspaper. And every time she'd come in with a singular pink carnation from the florist across us. She'd always be wearing a little pastel felt hat covering her white hair. The hat always matched with whatever pastel outfit she had chosen to wear. The first time I saw her she offered me a smile and asked me:

"Do you know what flower this is, Dear?"

"No, sorry."

"It's a carnation, and it's pink. That's why I chose it."

"It's pretty."

"Indeed, flowers tend to be."

Then she'd take her newspaper and leave. I never thought of it as anything special at the time until she came back the next Sunday and again asked me:

"Do you know what flower this is, Dear?"

"Yes, it's a carnation."

"Have I told you this before?"

"Yes, last Sunday. I remember."

"It seems my old mine is slipping now. Acting it's age, I'd say!"

"I also said they're pretty."

"Well, flowers tend to be."

And again the next Sunday she'd come into the shop and again she'd ask me:

"Do you know what flower this is, Dear?"

"I believe it's a carnation."

"Yes! Well done, my Dear. My mother once dyed them for my wedding bouquet."

"That one is pink."

"Indeed but they grow in different colours such as white, red, yellow, and scarlet."

"All pretty colours."

"Flowers tend to be, my Dear."

I began looking forward to seeing her on Sundays, waiting for the faithful question.

"Do you know what flower this is, Dear?"

"A pink carnation but they also come in different colours."

"Indeed, they have a wonderful symbolism too."

"Is that so?"

"Love, captivation and distinction, my Dear."

"Pretty."

"Flowers tend to be, my dear."

Even now when it's already over, I can't help myself from waiting for her every Sunday.

"Do you know what flower these are, Dear?"

"They're pink carnations and have a wonderful symbolism."

"I bought two for some estranged reason, I am only in need of one."

"I'm sure you could house two of them."

"No, my dear. I cannot. You must take one!"

"Are you sure?"

"I insist, my dear!"

"Thank you, it's very pretty."

"Flowers tend to be, my dear and so are you."

I never saw her again after that day. I put the flower into a small glass frame and squashed it between the frames before hanging it up in my room. It felt too special to ever let go. I say I squashed it but I got my best friend 'Peach' to do it for me. I thought I'd accidentally destroy it something ridiculous. 'Peach' isn't her real name by the way but it's been years and no one else has called her anything else. I'm not sure if anyone else knows her actual name? She ended up getting together with this guy named Lloyd Garmadon. His Dad used to be an evil overlord? I don't know what that was about or how he's walking about freely now? Peach told me not to ask about it and that he had pure evil inside him that was cured by his fight with the green ninja. The ninja were a massive thing here in Ninjago city, well ninjago as a whole. They had dragons that appeared out of no where and these crazy 'powers' that basically made them super-humans. They're vigilantes technically. I once ran into a ninja, the Earth ninja.

It was a late night, I was coming home from a party where a lot of underage "activities" took place. I couldn't see straight let alone walk straight. I fell into a bush. Don't ask. I got mud all down the outfit I was wearing and I laid there, sobbing. At that moment, I felt like shit until I heard his voice.

"Miss, are you okay?"

"What, are you fucking stupid?"

"I-"

"Am I fucking okay? Be so fucking for real."

"You're drunk."

"Leave me the fuck alone."

"Listen, I'm a ninja I'll get you home."

"How do you know where I live, perv?"

"If you've been drinking then you have an ID on you."

"An ID?! I am side-eying you so hard right now."

"You can't even look straight right now."

"Yeah because I'm side-eyeing you."

"Let's take you home."

He was practically a giant. An absolute ox of a man just like my personal harassment case, Cole Brookstone. The 6'7 body builder with the outgrown black hair that he sometimes tied into a man bun. I met him over a year ago at Peach's birthday party, Lloyd had introduced us and the whole night was spent laughing together and talking shit about every one we didn't like at said party. I hadn't laughed with a guy like that before, it's fair to say he was on my mind the rest of the night and next couple weeks after that. Peach and Lloyd had been together for years and always succeeded in making me feel like absolute shit with how much they loved each other. I once climbed in bed between them. That's a long story I don't care to explain.

"You like the flowers?" Cole asked, leaning practically over the counter. His body was bent and his arms were crossed, leaning on the counter.

"Yes, I do. Thank you." I replied, giving him a little smile.

"Do you know what flower they are?" He asked and I smiled to myself.

"Yes actually, they're pink carnations." I told him and heard him chuckle.

"My Grandma always use to buy a singular carnation before she passed, she never told me why but my Dad said she'd been doing it ever since my Grandpa died."

"I remember."

"What?"

"Your Grandma always came into this shop right after to pick up her newspaper. I didn't know she passed, I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be sorry, she went peacefully. Plus it was a while ago."

"Really? She only stopped coming in about 6 months ago. I remember she always got the same newspaper! 'Ninjago Daily'. I remember because it was the only newspaper that didn't have Garmadon on the front!"

"Y/n, she's been dead 14 years now plus 'Ninjago Daily went bust about 20 years ago, before we were born."

"No, I specifically remember she got that paper and she always wore those little felt pastel hats!"

"Yeah, sounds like her but trust me she's gone and I only know the paper went bust because my Dad lost all his shares in the paper and I've been hearing about it for the past 19 years I've been alive."

"Well ghosts must exist then."

"I think you're just crazy."

"Cole."

"That's a better explanation than ghosts."

A cold shiver ran its way down my body as he left. Ghosts don't exist, right?

[baileypie-writes]

Okay here’s an idea.

Male reader is a hacker that realizes that precure MOTW have code that can be hacked so when one of the go princess precure villains makes a zetzuborg out of them, he just casually pulls out his laptop and shuts it down, at least until the precure show up to defeat it.

A/N ~ Sure! Looking back, I guess the hacking part wasn’t as “casual” as I thought haha. Sorry about that. Hope you enjoy!

~Z3tsub0rg~

Go! Princess Pretty Cure + Male!Hacker!Reader

Fandom: Go! Princess Pretty Cure

Fanfic Type: Oneshot

Reader: Male

Relationship: Platonic

Genre: Action?

Word Count: 1,220

Synopsis: While waiting for the Pretty Cure to arrive and save the day, you decided to try and use your hacking skills to take down the Zetsuborg.

Warnings: Mentions of Reader possibly dying

~Masterlists~

~Go! Princess Pretty Cure Masterlist~

“Where are they?”

You asked that question to yourself as you were huddled under a picnic table.

The giant laptop monster stomped around; the ground quaking under its feet. It pulled up whole trees, roots and all, and tossed them anywhere it saw lacked destruction. You jumped as one landed dangerously close to where you hid.

This had been going on for over twenty minutes at that point. And you grew more concerned by the second. Every time something like this had happened, it didn’t last very long.

The thing was: there were these princess-like superheroes that would sweep in, and defeat the monsters. It would usually happen rather quickly too. But there seemed to be a hold up this time. And while you didn’t know what, you just prayed to live long enough to see them save you.

The thought of using your own laptop to message someone for help crossed your mind. So you released it from around your protective arms, and opened it. But just as you were about to start typing, a different thought occurred.

Why not use your own skills to try and stop the monster?

Sure, you’re no superhero, or a magical girl in a sparkly dress. But you do know how to hack. And it just so happens that the monster had code.

While scolding yourself for not thinking of this earlier, you clicked open your secret hacking tool. After cracking your knuckles, you hovered your fingers over the keys, ready to type up a storm. But there was an issue. The target wasn’t close enough to you to get a decent connection.

Figuring you’d probably die anyway, you decided to take the risk. You shot out of your hiding spot, standing out in the open. With your laptop in one arm, you used your other to call over the creature.

“Hey!”

“Zetsuborg?” It growled out in confusion, turning to see what the source of the sound was.

A man with a top hat levitated close by. He also seemed puzzled by your actions. “What is that guy doing? Oh well. Zetsuborg, you’ll just have to get him!” He commanded.

“Zetsu!” Without hesitation, the monster began charging towards you.

Your feet stayed planted on the ground. Though you wanted badly to turn around and run, you wanted to see if your plan would turn out. So you watched and waited as the giant laptop got closer and closer.

Just a few more steps until it was close enough. Four, three, two, one… now!

With speedy fingers, you typed feverishly onto your keyboard. You were glad you’d spend so much time honing your skills, because you’d never smashed the keys so quickly in your life.

Just a few more characters away from completion… crud. You made a typo. You hit the backspace button faster than you ever had before, and wasted no time correcting your mistake. And just like that, the code was complete. With sweaty fingers, you pressed “enter”; nearly shattering the button from the sheer amount of force used.

“What is he doing?” The man questioned. You realized then that while it felt like forever in your head, it was only a few seconds in actuality. So neither him nor the monster had the time to comprehend what you had just done. Well, not until the next moment.

Just as you planned, the screen of the giant laptop flashed an array of numbers. “Z-z3tsu-b-b-b0rg!” It cried out, its voice glitchy and distorted.

“What? What’s going on?” The man began to panic. The monster then went completely frozen; the screen going dark. “What did you do?!”

You simply smirked. You would’ve loved to make a smart, quick witted response, but you weren’t given the chance to. Because just then, four girls swooped in, kicking the monster. The force slammed it shut, just like closing a normal laptop. There was no resistance from it, due to it being powered down.

“Finally.” You sighed to yourself.

~~~~

The girls defeated the monster with no issues. Their finishing move was like nothing you’ve ever seen. It was a perfect combination of graceful and cool. During the first few moments that followed, your environment faded into its original state. It was as if nothing had happened at all.

“Gah! It was going so well!” The blonde man growled angrily. He gripped the black rose he was holding tightly, the thorns most likely piercing his fingers. With a swift whip, he pointed it at you accusingly. “This is all your fault!”

The moment those words left his black colored lips, the four girls were already positioned in front of you; guarding you from any harm. While you couldn’t see, you assumed they wore threatening expressions, as the man’s stature became less confident. His limbs scrunched inwards ever so slightly, though he tried keeping a brave face.

“F-fine! I’ll just have to get you next time!” Without another word, he turned his back towards you and the group. With a snap of his fingers, he disappeared into a keyhole shaped portal.

“Are you alright?” The blonde girl inquired, turning around to face you with the rest of them.

“Yeah, I’m good.” You shrugged. Though, you were a bit shaken. But you kept it to yourself, figuring the girls had better things to worry about.

“The Zetsuborg stopping… that was you, wasn’t it?” The blue one assumed.

“Hehe, yeah. I know a lot when it comes to computers. So I know how to hack and stuff.” You raised your laptop up slightly to prove it.

“Wow, so you really froze it all on your own?” Asked the yellow one. You simply nodded.

“That was very brave of you. You have our gratitude.” The red one bowed a bit, lifting her dress in a mini curtsy. The others did the same.

“Oh, it was nothing. No need for all that.” You chuckled, embarrassed by their overly-formal gestures.

“I don’t suppose…” The pink one pulled out a laptop from under her arm; the same one she and her group had just purified. “You could trace the owner of this? I’d hate to ask any more of you, but you seem to be an expert.”

“Sure, I can do that!” After closing your own laptop, you took the other out of her gloved hands.

“Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse us…” She eyed the others, almost as if she were speaking to them telepathically.

“Good day to you!” They all said in unison, curtsying once again, before leaping high into the air.

And just like that, they were gone.

You finally let out a huge sigh of relief. Never in a million years would you have expected that to happen. Not only did you single-handedly hack into a giant laptop monster, but you actually talked to those mysterious princesses.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel at least a bit proud of yourself. It was only because you were so skilled that this was possible. Who knows what would’ve happened to you if you weren’t a nerd when it comes to hacking.

But instead of letting your mind wander to those scenarios, you focused on tracing the laptop’s owner. So you sat down at the picnic table you were previously hiding under, and went back to doing what you do best.

Dividers by @adornedwithlight

~~baileypie-writes

[hidden-snow]

𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚢

Summary // After moving far from home to join the Sully family, you develop depression. Luckily, you have Jake and Neteyam to cheer you up.

Warnings // Mentions of suicidal thoughts, SH, and depression. This fic may not be suitable for certain readers. Read at your own risk.

Word count // 1,009

Part 1 of 2 // Neteyam

(Side note from author; if you ever need an ear to listen, feel free to pm me or send an ask in anonymous <3 If you have suicidal thoughts or thoughts of harming yourself, please contact 988 or the suicide hotline in your country)

How long had you been laying around, no motivation to participate in normal day life? How long had your expression lacked the emotions you used to have? How long had you been so… numb?

It felt like you’ve been stuck in the blank, dull pit of your own depression. Your life revolved around that pit and you felt like you were trapped, unable to climb your way out. Jake and his family had been quick to notice your lack of interest in anything, had seen the way you curled up on your mat, a pale blue blanket pulled up over your head to hide away from the world and its problems.

They’d done their best to help you through this severe episode of depression, talking to you and trying to comfort you in any way they could. At times, Ronal would visit to check in on your mental health. When she did visit, she always brought a tonic to drink in an attempt to cure your mental pain.

It never worked.

You were desperate to feel anything other than empty and soulless, taking to extreme measures to find any spark of emotion deep in your aching heart.

The first time you’d slid your knife across your wrist, you’d felt a sliver of pain, the first emotion you’d felt in days. Of course, it was addicting and intoxicating, helping you to feel something other than numb. It sent a thrill through your body, adrenaline pumping hard and fast in your veins. Your hand shook as you added another cut in your skin.

You could see the blood from your self-inflicted wounds, and it only served to prove to you that you were still alive and not a walking, breathing, eating corpse. You couldn’t stop. The sharp burn of the knife against your flesh, the scarlet red that stained your skin.

The only reason you stopped was because a hand wrapped around your wrist, forcing you to drop the knife. A hand with long, slightly scarred fingers. A hand that felt warm against your cold, clammy skin.

You look up to see Neteyam looming over you, his non-existent eyebrows creased upwards in a concerned look. His lips were pursed, as if he were holding back a flood of questions and comments, and you couldn’t help but avoid his gaze. You looked everywhere but at his eyes, afraid that if you looked, you’d only see disappointment. Or worse - disgust.

He didn’t say anything, though. He just grabbed your shoulders, pulling you into a soft hug against his chest, fingers stroking through your braided locks.

You hadn’t realized how desperately you needed this until he was doing it, whispering soothing words of comfort, of promises that only he could keep.

With that simple physical contact that he was giving you, you felt your guards crumble and fall, the floodgates of your heart finally bursting open.

You sobbed softly into his shoulder, the numbness of your soul withering away as you finally began to feel the pain and anguish that you’d promised yourself that you’d never let in.

He drew back, grabbing a cloth from nearby to dab at your eyes, swiping it under your nose to wipe away the snot that had come with your ugly sobbing. Then he cupped your face gently between his hands, his thumb stroking your red cheek.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, smiling softly at you, and you faintly saw the glimmer of tears in his own eyes.

“I see you. I see your pain and your sadness. I am here. You’ll never be alone, y/n.”

You couldn’t help but smile back at him, a hesitant, weak smile that reflected the weakness you felt within.

“Now, let us tend to your wounds.”

You watched silently as he wiped the blood from your wrists, cleaning your skin with gentle care. Everything about his touch was gentle and careful, cautious as to not cause you further harm or pain. 

What did you do to deserve such gentle love and care?

“What brought this on, might I ask?”

You clear your throat, looking back up into his face, but he’s too focused on your wrists. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to confide in a friend, would it?

“I miss home,” you murmur softly and he pauses, looking back up at you in surprise. You flinch back from his expression, knowing that this could only end up in two ways; pity or anger. You didn’t want to witness either of them.

“You could always go back home?” he offered instead, returning to your wounds. You let out a sigh, so deep that it reflected the pain in your chest brought on by your sorrow and depression.

“No. You know that. Mother was very firm about what she wanted to happen. She didn’t want… she did not want me to live in the same land that my father and brother were killed in.”

He didn’t respond to that, knowing that your words rang with a truth that all of the Sullys knew. Your mother had been insistent that Jake take you with him, practically pleading that he keep you close to his side. After all, you needed a father figure to guide you as you grew. Or at least, that’s what she argued when he tried to refuse her request.

Separated from your only living relative, living in a land foreign to your soul and blood, it was hard to readjust. It was hard to grieve for your father and brother when you could not be near to sit over their graves or to lay flowers beside the tangled tree roots that grew over their bodies.

He thinned his lips for a moment, finishing the bandages on your wrists. Then he straightened, pulling you back into another warm hug, holding you close in that safe warmth that belonged to him.

“Don’t worry, y/n. We will return soon. Everything will be alright. From now on, come to me before you think of hurting yourself again, alright? I will make things better for you. I promise.”

[fandomnerd9602]

Doubts & Affirmations

Fem!Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Petra Parker couldn’t believe her luck. She was T-minus five weeks from marrying you, the son of Tony Stark. Every time she held up her wedding dress to her chest, she got giddy. She couldn’t help but smile. Here she was anticipating the date of her wedding, with high school out of the way and a home to live in while she would do college classes and afternoon patrols with you, it appeared like her life was all set before her.

And then came the knock at the apartment door. Aunt May answered it and a familiar European voice answered, “hello Mrs Parker, may I speak with Petra?”

Petra walked down the hallway and came face to face with Wanda Maximoff. "Wow the Scarlet Witch," the spider woman couldn't help but smile, "what brings you by?"

Wanda looked a little uneasy but also happy, "I wanted to congratulate you on your engagement to (Y/N)."

"Thank you"

"I promise you, you won't regret your life with Stark. (Y/N) was such a sweet boyfriend to me"

"Right" the color drained from Petra's face, "you and him were dating before we got-"

"Oh no" Wanda tried to say, "don't see in that way. I've seen the way (Y/N) looks at you and its beautiful"

"Really?" Petra's heart was aching a little despite the reassurance. Was she just some sort of rebound? Did you really love her?

"(Y/N) is undoubtedly in love with you" she smiles and leaves a small gift on the table, "I-I have to go now. But I hope to see you and (Y/N) soon."

For Petra, she couldn't shake the feeling in her heart. Was she really the one that you loved? Or did some small part of you still yearn for Wanda?

"Petra?" Aunt May asked, trying to get through to her niece. "Honey?"

"I-I need to go for a little fresh air" she quickly slipped on her costume and swung out of the window and into the open air of the city. The mask kept her eyes from getting more teary than they already were.

Petra landed on the precipice of the Empire State Building. She took to sitting down and just gazing out over the city. Her mind was racing with thoughts of anxiety and doubts over her impending nuptials to you.

The only thing to interrupt her train of thought was the sound of metal landing behind her. You stepped out of your power suit and sat down next to her.

"Petra? Baby what's wrong?" you tried to give her her space, fighting every urge to just wrap her in a hug right then and there.

"Am I a rebound?" she whispered out.

"What?"

"Do you still love her? Wanda." Petra locked eyes with you. "I-I wouldn't be angry if you still did. I mean she's great and beautiful and magical and-"

You gently took a hold of her chin, making her lock eyes with you. You just gazed into her chocolate brown eyes. In that moment, you made her feel like she was the only girl in the entire world.

"It's you I love." you whispered back, "maybe some part of me loved Wanda when she dumped me for Vision but as soon as you said yes to my accidental proposal..." you chuckled, "I knew I was 100% unabashedly, undoubtedly in love with you"

Petra began to cry. A little happy giggle escaped her lips.

"It's you, my spider monkey" you smiled, "I don't want anyone else. I just want you. You as my wife, my love, my soulmate, my everything"

"You're my everything" she whispered back. She only broke eye contact to look to your lips and then back to your eyes.

You took the hint and pulled her close, kissing her gently. Every doubt that lingered in Petra's mind was immediately wiped away. She pulled you as tight as she could, clinging to you for dear life.

You were her oxygen, her cure, her soothing balm. Sadly the need for oxygen became too great. You pulled away and leaned your forehead against hers.

"I love you" you whispered into her hairline.

"I love you" she giggled.

"The wedding date can't get here soon enough" you giggled back.

"We have all the time in the world" Petra whispered back. And in that moment, it felt like a promise. A promise to never leave one another's side, to never look at another the way you looked at each other.

It was an affirmation that this marriage was gonna be one for the history books.

Tags: @ma1egamer @jacelion @deafeningsharkslimeempath @konstantin609 @aloneodi @abimess @holiday-house-of-m @family-house-of-m @supercorpdanbeau @revanshand @russianredassassin @iamnicodemus @multi-fandom-enjoyer

[shmowder]

If you feel up to writing more yandere (or maybe just a bit too overprotective) stuff, maybe Daniil and/or Artemy finding out that someone who was shitty to the reader in the past has moved to the Town? Like a toxic ex or friend 👀

There will never ever be a time in my life where I'm not up for more yandere patho content. It's living rental free in my frontal lobe fully furnished and all.

Yandere Bachelor meeting your Toxic ex

[Softcore Yandere, Obsession, Overprotectiveness, Toxic ex]

[Danill Dankovsky x GN Reader]

-

Your behaviour was gradually becoming more erratic.

The bags forming under your eyes–lack of sleep?–The occasional glancing at every person passing you by–a hint of fear?–The short replies, the scripted politeness, the haze clouding your pupils, your mind is clearly somewhere else even as Dankovsky stood in front of you.

The audacity.

A thousand details, subtle changes in your demeanour, things no one but him would ever notice about you. All the symptoms he noted down thoroughly each night. Inked on papers and saved next to your files.

There must be a cause, a source that led to all of these unexplainable changes. All the progress he was previously making in getting closer to you was suddenly halted as you began to clam up, be more guarded, and skittish.

Not just around him, but everyone in your life. Not daring to step outside your doorway more than once a week for groceries, declining his several invitations, be it letters or in-person. You evaded meeting his questioning gaze–hugging yourself with yours arms, guilt or shame?–as you politely rejected another offer to spend time together, be it a short stroll or a sharing a bottle of red back at his place.

His pride preventing him from cornering you and asking you directly what's the meaning behind your latest behaviour, demanding the truth.

Part of him felt insulted that you wouldn't confide in him by your own free will. Who else do you have but him at your side? He's made sure to tailor himself perfectly to your tastes, to present himself as the ideal man of your dreams.

Nonetheless, mopping around won't get results. Daniil puts his figurative detective hat back on and gets to work, pulling at the thread until it unravels. Offering your friends a drink or two to get their tongues loose, cashing in a couple of favours from the Scarlet Mistress herself and an old university friend.

The current facts so far are:

1- A train arrived into town 3 weeks ago on Thursday's afternoon.

2- The earliest of your symptoms appeared on Saturday's morning, as recorded in his files.

3- A witness claimed she saw you leave the Brokenheart Pub in a hurry on Friday's night.

The rest was a cakewalk; finding out about the verbal fight you had in the backalley of the pub, vague recalls from bystanders on how the person attempted to grab you before you ran off.

The picture became more and more clear of what happened that night.

Of who you've been avoiding.

A stranger stands out in this town like a sore thumb, Daniil would know from personal experience, after all. Your ex hasn't been attempting to hide, either. If anything, they were purposely causing a scene after another in an attempt to get your attention, reel you out of hiding.

What a pathetic display.

As a doctor, as your personal care provider, it simply falls within his responsibility to get rid of any stubborn migraines attempting to weasle their way back into your life.

And with what your symptoms imply, the untold things they've put you through, clear and loud to anyone with a speck of common sense and logic...

Allowing them to walk away with their life seems too kind.

Daniil hasn't always been a fan of radical treatment, but he'll make an exception this time around. If the cure to your illness of heart is their life, then so be it. You've already given them a chance by letting them go; they're the ones who followed you here, stupidly spelling their own demise.

Gather witnesses testimonies of their past transgressions, plant some false evidence, and exaggerate the severity of their crimes.

It doesn't take much to nudge the Saburov on their trail after that.

Not that anyone would doubt the noble bachelor if he came in to report a person and demand they be thrown in prison, but Daniil had a bigger plan in mind.

He admits, the bag full of unprescriped morphine vials planted in their room was an overkill. But it just made the checkmate even more delicious, oh the look on the governor's face as this became a personal matter rather than a mere upkeeping of justice.

The trial only took a day, Daniil proudly standing next to the judge, giving his rehreased speech about how certain kinds of crimes can never be forgiven, how jail is too light of a sentence for certain scums of the earth.

Basking in the look of despair on their face

Their public execution was ordered the next day, just around the afternoon.

That gives him enough time to soak in a scented bath, putting extra effort into his appearance, making sure to grab something fresh from the bakery nearby, and finally arrive at your place.

With the sweetest most angelic smile on his face, asking if you'd please allow him this one short stroll together? Just a simple walk, for his sake. Look, he even brought you warm scones dusted with sugar. You wouldn't say no to him after all the trouble he went through, would you?

The Bachelor looked graceful as ever as he linked his arm with yours, talking about this beautiful spot in town he stumbled upon yesterday.

How he can't wait to show you the fruits of his labour.

With the afternoon sun akin to a warm blanket, you took a bite from the sweet pastry in your hand. Walking side by side in this quaint atmosphere, you tried your hardest to relax...to not think of-

There's a crowd in the distance, you wonder what could it be about.

[booksrbetterthanpeople]

Thinking back on the Scarlet Warlock/Coven Box AU, how would reverser play out and would evillustrator ever appear in the AU?

Let’s see…

Would Nath still have a crush on Marinette? Probably, but as Guardian of the Coven Box, he probably knows how to keep a secret and doesn’t go around drawing comics in his sketchbook to vent his crush

But Chloé catches him looking at Marinette with hearts in his eyes and starts spreading the rumor around that Nathaniel has a crush on Marinette and draws her in his sketchbook

Cue rumors that he’s a stalker and then the Akuma

With the Akuma strengthening his dormant warlock powers and him wearing the Bat Miraculous, his art is much more powerful. He can now edit people and edits Chloé so that she’s completely unrecognizable and hard to look at until she confesses that she started the rumor on a live stream

But to beat warlock powers, they need to fight with warlock powers… Or, witch powers… Cue Lady Nevermore! (for those who forgot, it’s Juleka)

Juleka was just walking when she came across a black jewelry box (Left by Aya who, remember, knows about the Coven Box) She meets Lokii who gives her the rundown

Using her power of Clairvoyance, she predicts Evillustrator’s moves for one of the good outcomes and defeats him

Now onto Reverser

Same events, Marc’s all nervous and Marinette does her thing, only, the Kwamis tell Nathaniel who wrote it because they’re all perceptive like that… Also, Hoppy was going through puddles again

Nathaniel’s all blushing and giggling when he realizes it’s a Scarlet Warlock x Reader story.

Nathaniel: Hehehehe, pretty boy likes me.

Screech: I’ll get the sense-talking stick

However, when Nathaniel goes to meet with Marc, some… Assholes, I guess, steal the journal and tear it up for some asshole reason, getting Marc akumatized

Nathaniel transforms into Scarlet Warlock and joins the fight with Ladybug and Chat Noir, who are at the moment, not themselves

Scarlet Warlock: Okay, I can either heighten your reflexes or increase his bravery.

Ladybug: I need to do the Miracle Cure!

Scarlet Warlock: … Isn’t that literally just tossing something and yelling ‘Miraculous Ladubug’?

In the end, Scarlet Warlock enhances his speed to dodge Reverser’s planes and slashes the glider with his scythe

He dives after Marc as he’s falling, and to his own surprise, discovers that his scythe can be ridden on like a witch’s broom

Anyway, Marc’s superhero crush has increased ten-fold

[myemuisemo]

With April showers, Letters from Watson brings us the first installment of The Sign of the Four, a prospect that makes me quake. When I was a tot of eight years, reading the library's copy of The Boy's Sherlock Holmes with a creeping sense of guilt because I was not at that time (and have not been at any time before or since) a boy, I found The Sign of the Four... long. Very long. I was obviously too young for the concepts, even though I could make sense of the words. (That sums up a lot of my reading in that era.)

I'm also reeling from last week's "The Man with the Watches," an utter tragedy of "be gay, do crime."

What's striking me this time -- what with the introduction of Holmes' cocaine use and also the watch deduction that raises a wince and a shudder from anyone who remembers that BBC Sherlock happened -- is how Watson is being positioned (and I don't mean "positioned in the path of which bullet," though apparently he got hit by more than one while in India).

Cocaine

Watson is progressive! His objections to cocaine sound so mild to us in the twenty-first century, but in 1890, scientific opinion was just barely starting to turn away from seeing cocaine as a wonder drug. It was used for local anesthesia as well as for general pep. Queen Victoria drank Vin Mariani, a wine fortified with cocaine, and so did the Pope. Coca Cola contained cocaine until 1906. Sigmund Freud was a vocal proponent of cocaine for improving mood and performance, until he botched an operation in the early 1890s while high.

A couple hair-raising reads on this topic are Cocaine: The Victorian Wonder Drug and A Cure for (Anything) that Ails You: Cocaine in Victorian Medicine.

So Holmes' original audience would have seen him as an up-to-date scientist using a socially approved means of moderating his mood. His shooting up a 7% solution of cocaine is about equivalent to a 21st century person taking nutritional supplements that are meant to boost brain power.

After all the "say no to drugs" education in the American school system, that's so hard for me to get my brain around, but there we are. Holmes is doing something no more troubling than pouring a glass of whiskey and much more scientific.

Watson, therefore, can be read either as being right at the edge of shifting scientific opinion or as being a fussbudget.

Tinge it with romanticism

I'm firmly Team Watson when Holmes starts criticizing A Study in Scarlet:

He shook his head sadly. “I glanced over it,” said he. “Honestly, I cannot congratulate you upon it. Detection is, or ought to be, an exact science, and should be treated in the same cold and unemotional manner. You have attempted to tinge it with romanticism, which produces much the same effect as if you worked a love-story or an elopement into the fifth proposition of Euclid.”

The reader is being positioned here to view with contempt the exact features of the work that we probably enjoyed. Poor Watson!

Is it possible that some reviewers commented on the melodrama of the Lucy portions? Yes, and it'd be a valid point. Nonetheless, having experienced a good many math classes, I think the fifth proposition of Euclid might be improved by a rom--

wait.

Doyle, you magnificent bastard.

Flatland: A Romance in Many Dimensions was published in 1884. It wasn't a huge success, but it seems likely Doyle could have known it, and it did, in fact, mention a love story in a discussion of angles. Back when I read it in college (because if you "liked math," someone would inevitably give you a copy of Flatland), I missed the social satire but appreciated the geometry.

Watson is canonically an effective popular writer, and I refuse to denigrate him for that.

The Watch

First, Holmes substantially invents forensic science with his monographs on tobacco and on callouses.

Then we learn that Watson is a second son, which fits with his his training for a profession and choosing the army to help make his way.

Watson was not on great terms with his brother before his brother's death. Holmes doesn't explicitly deduce this, but it's there to be deduced. Holmes knew Watson's father was long dead, which could have come up in any number of casual ways. Holmes had no idea that Watson had a brother, so Watson:

Didn't mention the brother in any context, ever.

Didn't set up any framed daguerreotypes from his childhood nor any modern photos made with the collodion process. Having a posed family photo would have been so completely normal, as would being sent new photos by family members.

Never interrupted his routine to visit his brother while living with Holmes.

Did not attend his brother's funeral (unless it took place while Holmes was away) and did not wear a black armband for mourning in Holmes' presence. Neglecting mourning for a relative would have been a sign of serious estrangement.

Holmes is possessed of some level of tact in not expanding on this topic.

Watson is also nobody's fool: he knows there are ways to fool a mark with apparently miraculous knowledge.

The question in my mind is this: did Watson deliberately distract Holmes from asking what was the subject of the telegram?