#fortunately the worst should be behind her?

[pricegouge]

I saw you were asking for horror prompts 😈 so here’s my scary perverted one:

Vampire!Nik who’s turned when his milaya is still a baby. Comes back 20+ years later to haunt and turn her so they can spend eternity together despite the fact that she doesn’t even remember him❤️🥀

-🗡️

okay, yeah. i had fun with this one, thank you!

cw: incest. age gap, but only kinda cause vampires. horror elements. vague vampire lore, including thralls. dubcon kissing/heavy petting. blood. unedited as usual, sorry. abrupt ending cause i ran out of steam. ~5k

he can't be bothered to watch over you for many years. life (death, rather) is just all so very exciting. he spread his wings. proverbial, maybe, though he's heard tell of something more ancient. more literal.

he doesn't forget you. how could he? you haunt his waking hours for what seems an eon, days and nights blurring until he has to rest for long years, wakes to a different time entirely and worries about how much he's missed.

much, as it turns out.

you're a proper woman when next he sees you, headstrong and borderline unrecognizable. he follows you for days, weeks. learns all your patterns, the quiet parts of yourself you seem to keep hidden behind locked doors he can only pass because he installed them, the bones of the house shaped by his own hands - an estate that's fallen to ruin, once-lavish halls picked apart by collectors, barren and drab with the dwindled staff. he tells himself it's a morbid type of curiosity but he knows better the second he lingers too long, sees you for the woman you've become when you undress before him, gazing upon yourself in a mirror that won't betray his presence, even if he wants it to. wants to see confusion cloud your face as recognition wars with your fear. you must have seen photos of him, your governess keeping you educated on the man who'd given you a name and a fortune and left in the night. he doesn't look quite look like himself anymore, but he more closely resembles you than he does his re-creator. and surely that in itself should sway you?

for you must be as lonely as him.

night fall is the worst for you, those lingering hours after the staff have retired where sleep eludes you, entices you to pick up hobbies which have not given you joy for many years. you'd been moved to the master suite some time back, the overlarge bed as tempting as a siren. you'd grown slovenly, your governess always said so. lax in your studies and far too melancholy to find a suitor.

but what could it matter, really? the estate had been searching tirelessly for a match since your first season, the only bachelors who'd made offers old and penniless. you still had a pretty enough dowry, but no one wanted to be saddled with the get of some wayward lord. not when there'd been no proper abdication. not when the specter of your father loomed over every inch of the estate, his fist still clutching at every gem. sometimes you imagined the sheets even still smelled like him, a faint trace that would linger some mornings and burn up with the sun when you finally let the maid in to draw the curtains.

but it was just a silly fantasy, some trace of comfort born from loneliness. in truth, the only possible clue you could have of your father's scent rests in the humidor tucked in the corner by the secretary - fine cigars turned stale, full-bodied notes now arid. hollow as the house itself.

you're sat with one, dry, peeling paper tickling your philtrum as you try to discern what flavors still linger. licorice, certainly; heavy and cloying. something earthier under it, a fine balance. leather, maybe. it's a distraction, a mindless way to pass the hours before you could feasibly fall into bed without your prying governess saying anything, shut your thoughts off for a time. you'd already written in your diary, another dull entry. brief with the monotony of your life. honestly, cataloging the notes you can pick out of these ancient, abandoned cigars would make for a more interesting read. this one still smells the strongest, though the paper has turned brittle with handling. sometimes you watch the gentlemen of the ton, carefully memorizing the precise way they snip the ends off, roll the cigar over the open flame of their lighters. you often imagine doing the same, like to picture yourself smoking the aged rolls expertly.

really, you know you'll end up in a coughing spell loud enough to wake the whole house, but the truth is you've never tried. it's a curiosity that's grown on you, the slow creep of moss over rotting trunks. you swap the cigar for something less flavorful, something that won't be missed, and rifle through the secretary until you find the little cigar kit you'd kept safely tucked away. maybe, like the rest of society, part of you expects it's owner to return someday, reclaim what's his.

the cigar falls apart a little, once clipped. flaky shreds of tobacco and other strong herb shake out at first, but you moisten the edges of it delicately, lick your fingers as daintily as possible and fuss about the paper until becomes slightly more malleable. lighting it is less of a chore than expected, the oils long dried. shake catching like tinder. you yelp and wave it out, stamp the little ashes that rain onto the carpet with a slippered toe. feel silly after. sillier still when you take your first drag and think for a moment you've managed to imbalance all your humors - immediate expectorant clogging your nose, inflaming the column of your neck. rough wool, still matted and nettled from the field fills your lungs and you cough, ragged and silent.

small blessing, no prying governess to heed your call.

light-headed, you wobble to the window, breathe deep of the frigid breeze you let in. winter steals in around you, rattles the pane on it's way past and sends the curtains fluttering. it makes your chest ache in a new way, but is a balm to your overheated skin, soothes your throat as you gasp for each breath. clutched in your fingers, the cigar glows brightly in the strong wind, crackling away happily. as your sinuses clear, you note the lingering heaviness of licorice, a black tar that seems to seep down your throat, gags you. you give it up for a bad job and smother it on the pane before tossing it onto the roof below. with any luck, a curious crow will snatch it away before spring melt off can dump it into the pasture, catch the attention of the gardeners. you've no clue how well-acquainted your governess is with the brands your father used to smoke and you've no plan to find out, resolving to leave the window open all night if you have to in order to clear the stench of your foolish endeavor.

the candles have guttered but it's no matter, the moon bright enough that you can disrobe and navigate to bed even without them. it's not a difficult endeavor anyway, the bed such a ridiculously oversized piece it dominated most of the room and called into question the size of the man who'd commissioned it. you drown in it most nights, restless, twisting yourself up in sheets that stretched on forever, wound around you until you'd wake gasping, clawing at your own belly as if to loosen the stays of a corset that wasn't there. the physician who'd come to see to you was unsympathetic to your claims that the bed was simply too large - had suggested sleeping in your corset instead, claiming it would soothe your nerves and prevent you trying to bind yourself in your sleep.

it did not work, but your maid, alice, was loyal to the governess. tied your stays in the back, much too tight for you to undo once she'd left you alone. even now the boning digs at you, chest still heaving from your foolish endeavor. you settle on your back, try to keep your shoulders set back to encourage deep breathing and watch the shadows play about the room, curtains billowing with each icy gust. there's still too much smoke in the room, lingering up near your ceiling where it swirls about, never quite low enough to escape when the curtains ebb in a back draft. you hope you won't be stuck with the window open all night. already, fine dustings of snow slip past, tip toe up your bed to catch your covers and set your legs shivering.

the blankets twist about you again when you turn to your side, but for once you don't mind, your own body weight keeping them tucked firmly in place so the wind can't steal your heat away again. your breath evens as you finally begin to relax, body forming to the mattress just as much as it forms to you. sleep finds you slowly, lulls you into it with deep sighs, your breath matching that of the house itself. you time idly, watching the curtains in the cloudy mirror of your vanity - the only concession to your residence in the whole room. a gift from some minor lady who'd once hoped to sway your favor toward her son - only to have him elope a month later with a merchant's daughter -, the piece stands out singularly in the dark, masculine room. gilded framework and ivory inlay, it catches the moonlight beautifully, pearlescent in the chill. you let yourself be entranced by the vision it makes, orpheus overtaking you, settling over you like a calming, physical weight which shifts, presses a knee between your own -

it feels like the chill has taken your blood when your eyes tear open, body frozen in place as you watch your reflection stir, pushed slightly further onto your belly while the blankets move seemingly of their own accord. you tell yourself it's the wind tugging at them again, but the way the flatten against the mattress makes no sense - and it's the not the wind that whispers your name in your ear.

still trapped in the bedding, you thrash uselessly before you're able to escape its clutches, only realizing you're screaming when the breath is knocked out of you as you thud to the floor. help comes to lift you to your feet before you are able to do it yourself, alice's hands surprisingly firm when they dig under your arms and lift. you can't even manage to thank her, breaths stuttering out high and thin as you stare at your bed in wide-eyed shock: two distinct impressions of bodies, one curled around the other, yet completely empty. smoke curls above it, oddly thinner than that what still lingers around your ceiling. it breaks up on the next gust of wind, shatters around you with a cloyingly sweet scent.

---

your governess is cross to say the least.

the next day is spent in the kitchens, working away your transgressions into a particularly hard dough batch. she is unsympathetic to the terror that had overtaken you just before they'd rushed in to help. says she's certain they'd only heard your fresh coughing, although you try to point out that the cigar was already gone by then.

"don't be clever," she warns, an adage you've heard many times over the years. What man wants a clever wife?

she has the humidor emptied, says it should have been done long ago. you say nothing because probably, she's right.

alice isn't your friend, but sometimes she can be friendly. unlike your governess, she at least seems to have noticed your distress from the night before, simply nods in agreement when you ask her to warm your bed after she's done helping you dress that evening. perhaps she still sees it, the fear. she hums at you like she thinks you need at, at least, and maybe you do because it works quickly, your body exhausted after so much hard work and such little sleep.

---

despite your exhaustion, you do not sleep soundly. the midnight hour finds you fretful, though you're careful to remain still so as not to wake alice. you breathe in sync with her in an attempt to soothe yourself until you realize it's not her that moves but the house itself, curtains billowing in a breeze that shouldn't exist, windows locked tight for the night. strangely, the realization does not frighten you - not even when you turn to find alice staring blankly at the ceiling, eyes glossed over and vacant. skin leeched pale in the moonlight. you roll over to her, curious, and her eyes track over you uncomprehendingly, focus on a point at the far side of the room.

there's no decision to sit up, you simply do - chest rising first as if an anchor knot is rooted in your sternum, woven between the hollows of your ribs. the world tilts for a moment, and then rights itself, as if alighting with you on this new level. you observe the room much as it had been the night before, cold light filtering through whorls of smoke, though there's more of it now - thin trails of oily residue curling all around the room. it seems to ebb about the edges. even with the window locked tight, the room still seems to contract and compress, pressure increasing rhythmically before expanding again, fresh smoke rushing to fill it. you track the trail back to its source, a pin point ember which builds and gutters with swell, bobbing along on a tide. it takes a minute for your eyes to adjust but you make out the hand that holds it first, long fingers painted warm in the low light. it's the only bit of skin you can make out, the body attached to it settled so far back into the shadow it appears only as one itself - darker, deeper. barely distinguishable.

by its immense stature, you reason it is a man sat at your secretary. like alice's composure, there is a part of you that knows this realization should frighten you, but you're much too tired and curious to care, crawling to the foot of the bed so you can get a better look, continuing on over the edge and onto the floor when you still can't make out his features. your palms scratch against the worn wood, bearing too much weight in your awkward crawl, and room stills when you feel blood on the heel of your hand, the heat of it almost shocking in the cold air.

you only make it another stretch closer before the man recovers, the ember of his cigar flaring and popping as he takes a long drag, leans forward in his seat until you can make out a broad, stubbled jaw, two perfect white streaks glowing in the moonlight revealed when he finally drops his hand. his lips are wine-dark when they part, reveal a neat row of pearly teeth. he's impolite, blows his smoke directly at you. cloyingly sweet licorice and heady tobacco. you do not cough this time, though it's a near-miss. it seems to please him, lips tugging into a cruel smile as the smoke grows denser, begins to pour from his mouth in a thick, black cloud. it stains his chin, his teeth a black tar-like oil that smells too pungent. rotted.

you startle when alice screams, overcorrecting when you turn to her because she's there beside you, not behind, both of you still lying in bed.

"alice?" you start, trying to wake her, but your hand slips across her chest, slick with something dark and hot, and you freeze, unable to do anything as she continues to sieze and shriek beside you.

the governess comes, and then a doctor. in the confusion, you're shuttled off to the chair across the room. you're already settled into it by the time you realize it's where the man had sat, and you briefly take inventory of it, as if perhaps you could feel the traces of his body heat lingering. but the only thing of note is the trace whisps of dark sweets, easily explained away by your own mishap the night before.

they clean alice's wound and find a neat ring of teeth marks, your own good name saved by virtue of the doctor recognizing that they'd had time to heal - must have happened some other night, that alice must have been picking at them in her sleep. your governess's obvious distaste stills your tongue, unwilling to face her wrath if she believes you sympathetic to some street hussy. so you say nothing, even as alice shrieks about a man, about being accosted. even as they call her hysteric and pack her off. instead you sit silently, picking off the blood the that had dried to your hand when you'd gone to wake her. never mentioning the scrape you find beneath it and the congealed line of your own blood; the cut from when you'd flopped out of bed to crawl to his feet. because you can still smell it, the stomach-turning sweetness, and the heavy scent it had given way to, and you know what it was now, staining his handsome chin just as much as alice's breast.

and it's not fear, or even pity that settles low in your belly, simmers hotter than that ember which had sparked to life, woken you to his call.

you follow them when they walk her out, a small team of men needed to keep her restrained. she fights to be heard, but a part of you worries she fights to stay as well, the claws she sinks into the door frame intended to keep herself put for him. you feel ugly and selfish when you traipse back to your room, but you do anyway, stopping only long enough to smell the beautiful bouquet of dark winter roses you pass on the sideboard. they're lovely and sweet, though you can't help noticing no one has bothered to cut the thorns off. careless. you wonder who got them.

---

it's not the only life taking root in the house.

despite the grueling winter, you notice sunshine in the halls, dust motes dancing in the pale light. sconces you've not seen lit in years keep the shadows of night at bay. spices find their way into your meals, a small luxury you've been missing greatly. you can see your governess watching the staff suspiciously, but don't dare ask if she has her theories.

---

there are cigars in the humidor. or maybe they aren't cigars, much thinner than the ones you're used to seeing. you've no idea how they got there, but neither do you know who to ask. who you can trust to believe you, even just long enough to look, see the proof for themselves.

but then, you're not sure you want anyone else to know.

they smell like his. dark and heavy, sickeningly sweet. it makes your stomach turn but you fish out the lighter anyway, throwing the windows open decisively. fresh air pours in around you, chases cobwebs from the corners. the sconses gutter before flaring back to life, leaving the room brighter than it's been in months, cleaner than it' felt in ages.

you hardly notice, too busy fighting the cough that builds in your throat as you take your first drag. you don't manage it, smoke sputtering sputtering from your mouth in fits and starts as you heave your way through a coughing fit, stomach turning with an unexpected wave of nausea. face turned to the cool relief of the window, you've got your cheek leaned up against the side of the pane when the smoke begins to waft away. it takes you a moment to make sense of the image revealed, inverted and near as it is. fear grips you before you even manage it, some fine-tuned instinct recognizing the viper at your feet and turning to run before you're even sure what you've seen.

but this is no viper, and the reaction warranted when faced with the immense silhouette of a man hanging inverted in your window, mere inches from your face, is to go still as a deer in the hunters' sights, evidently, and play the docile little pray.

he turns properly toward you, the shaggy hair dangling around his face catching in the wind. your cigar flares with it, wan light revealing pale skin and dark eyes which seem to glint in amusement when you stumble away, the whole of the picture revealed to you just as long fingers wrap over the top of the casement and pry it open, hinges groaning as they overextend to let his broad shoulders pass. he pours through the sill like butter from the pan, pools on your ceiling with a strong grip on your curtain rod. except, when he drops from it, he sinks from the rafters like a feather, none of the might his huge frame suggested anywhere to be found.

still reeling, your hip catches the edge of your wardrobe and you slip past it, put your back to the wall as quiet cries spill from your lips, pleas incomprehensible.

he greets you by name in a thick russian accent, and somehow, impossibly, you know, but you ask anyway, voice trembling. "who are you?"

a step closer, movements so fluid you can barely discern them. when did the candles go out? "your cleverer than that."

strange compulsion, you can't stop yourself before reciting, "men don't want clever wives."

"is that what you think i want? a wife?" amusement curls around the words, turns his accent lilting.

"i don't know what you want," you whisper, and he grunts - edging closer to irritation.

"and is that what you think i am, then? a man?"

"no…" the truth shocks you, has you casting about for an anchor. you only find confirmation when you catch sight of your vanity, the man in your room leaving no reflection. your cleverer than that. "you were here that night, weren't you? on the bed with me?"

"well, what's a man to do when he returns home to find a pretty young lady in his bed?"

"you're my father." it's not a question. you're not even certain you mean it as a chastisement. it is simple fact, roiling in your stomach like the nausea that lingers.

a fact he ignores, slipping closer and trailing cold digits over the inside of your wrist before taking the slim cigar from between your fingers. you weren't even aware you'd still had it. it glows back to life when he takes a deep drag, smoke spilling from his mouth when he speaks again, "do you like this one better than that other? they're very popular in paris."

you latch onto the wrong part of the question. "is that where you've been?"

"there," he shrugs. "everywhere."

more nausea, sinuses prickling with the added smoke. "anywhere but here?"

he doesn't seem to like this question, either, a stillness overtaking him. "i was… called away."

but if he can be angry, so can you. "for twenty four years?" you snap, voice ragged and sharp as it had been after your first inhale.

his stillness snaps, exasperation turning him away from you. he paces to the window and finally you can see more of his features - the high peaks of his hairline, the heavy brow and the broad nose. he's an older man, you know, and yet - he doesn't really look it, fine lines of his forehead no worse than a man ten, twenty years his younger. his voice is gruff when he speaks again. quiet. "a man can't help being needed -."

"you were needed hear!" you shriek, a reservoir of emotion you didn't know you'd kept dammed breaking free.

when he turns on his heel the candles flare again, and you gasp, shocked to find him suddenly before you, the wool of his overcoat scratchy even through your shift. he waits for you to settle, for your chest to stop heaving against his and your pulse to stop hammering so loud in your ears that you can't hear what he says when his lips move, tongue darting out to wet them. "am i no longer needed, then?" he finally asks, and you wilt against him.

"of course you are," you sob, trying not to notice his own breaths never come.

---

there's no precedent telling you what to call him. his name is improper, but 'father' leaves a bitter taste on your tongue. you plead of him 'my lord!' when his kisses linger too long and he groans, pleased.

you're not sure if you like him when he's pleased.

he frightens you, takes too much. he's a man of appetite as you should have known by the marks he'd left on alice, but you'd foolishly thought yourself untouchable, too gently borne to suffer such indignities. of course, the station of your birth matters little to your own father - if it indeed ever would have mattered to anyone at all.

but it's hard to refuse him when he's your father, and so huge, besides. his broad frame corrals you easily back toward the bed. he doesn't let you sink onto it until his kisses have trailed to the hinge of your jaw, cold nose nuzzling behind your ear. when he does breathe, his chest eclipses your own, tries to turn you concave, carve a space within you. his exhale stinks like his cigar, pressed into the corner of your lip.

it's improper. leaves you teetering between disgust and a guilty sort of pleasure, which only serves to repulse you further. your stomach turns, guilt eating its way up your throat. acrid with smoke.

the hand splayed over the column of your throat tightens minutely, long fingers threatening to pluck the tendons which flex when you gag. he misunderstands. "not supposed to inhale, you know?"

your head spins, the only relief from your mounting sickness found in the the cold relief of his hands against your cheek. "i didn't… i don't..?"

"shh. that's alright. papa will teach you. take this, it will help you feel better."

and your mouth when he does. wide, mimicking. eager for some tincture to help soothe your nerves. a strong dose to put you under, perhaps. he grins when you show him your teeth and a finger finds his own, long claw catching minutely on his lip when he drags the pad of his first two fingers over his canine. you're shocked when it comes away bloody - more so when he coos, eases them into your own mouth to stroke against your tongue. for a moment you're too shocked to respond, but then the heavy taste of blood coats your mouth and you thrash about under him, swatting and biting.

it only seems to encourage him, voice too thick with hunger and approval to be as soothing as he intends it when he tries to gentle you beneath him.

he gives up trying when his blood overflows your mouth, spilling over your cheeks as you continue trying to shake him off. he mutters something about a waste and then his other hand is pinching your nose, cutting off your air supply fully. you gurgle, trying to clear your mouth and he snarls, shoves his fingers deeper.

you're forced to swallow your mouthful when your vision begins to tunnel. he sighs in relief when you do, breath nearly as heavy as yours when you gasp and wheeze. he has the decency to drag his fingers down your chin as you struggle, staining all down your throat as he traces the path of the load you've swallowed.

"not so hard, was it?" he mutters, still painting your skin. you glare at him when you can finally manage it and he just chuckles, forces his fingers behind your bottom teeth again. even still the taste revolts you, tongue crowding to the back of you mouth to try and escape the cold copper, the thick licorice. if he notices, he is undeterred. makes you take even more when he pries your jaw open and spits in your mouth.

the vulgarity makes you heave, but his weight fights even that. keeps you in place when he shoves his fingers back until the webbing nestles against the corner of your mouth and his fingernails scrape against your throat. he feels when it constricts around him reflexively and his free hand smooths the hair back from your sweaty forehead, cold breath against your temple as he tells you to relax, voice fragmenting - somehow both soft, ethereal, and a very real rumble in your ear.

it's that quiet one that gets you, webs its way through your nerves until you're limp with it, energy sapped along with your will to disobey. his fingers pull back minutely, give you enough space to swallow the blood that's gathered at the back of your throat. when they push back in, he bids you suckle them in that same distorted voice and you do. easily, gratefully, and this time, the blood pools in your belly like an antidote. it soothes your nausea, leaves you hungry for more. he doesn't hesitate to provide it, fingers pumping in and out of your mouth as you begin to suckle at them, entreating him to stay nestled in the heat of your mouth each time he starts to pull away.

you're unsure how long he feeds you. long enough you that you feel sated and sleepy when he withdraws entirely. a strand of saliva follows him, snaps back to fall down your chest when he licks his own fingers after, thick tongue wiping clean what mess remains. his skin comes back whole and healed, a prospect that should surely frighten you, but there is no fear when you grow bold, pull him closer by a strong grip on the long strands of hair at his nape. his tongue is slick when it slides against yours, chasing the taste of himself. he follows it down your chin, panting against the column of your neck as his hands work up your chest, the pressure of them on your waist having been having gone unnoticed through your corset. his nails scrape your skin when he catches the hem of your dressing gown and finally, some base instinct flares back to life, tries to stay his hands with your own, fingers scrabbling against his. he just hushes you again, voice echoing softly between your ears. this time, when your fingers wrap around his wrists, it is simply an anchor for you, body feeling as though you may simply drift away under his care.

when his mouth finds your breast, you arch into him, bucking hard enough that he groans, lays his body flat over you to keep you in place as he feasts. even his weight is decadent, a relief from the way you feel untethered. he pinches your nipple between too-sharp teeth, soaks the fabric of your shift in saliva just to soothe you after. his mouth offers no heat, no balm for the frigid breaths he ghosts over the wet material. you beg for it anyway, fingers threading through his hair to keep him close. an instinct that will do you no good here, the man at your breast inhuman and cold.

it's a fact you can't escape from, not with his cold blood in your belly and his will in your head. not with his lupine teeth spreading wide over your heart, or the ecstatic relief when he finally bites down. your breath steams in the air as you pant beneath him, chest heaving into his mouth even as you try pulling him impossibly closer, and here, finally, is the heat - the bloom of blood that soaks your shift and warms your skin, even as you grow colder with the loss of it. he's insatiable, a man of appetite as you knew, and yet you give yourself freely, even as your breath grows stilted and shallow and your fingers twitch in his hair. he only surfaces when your vision grows cloudy, looms above you in a grisly mask of death turned two-tone with the moonlight and your fading vision. jaw stained dark, it appears an endless maw from which he speaks, demands to know if you'll join him in eternity.

and what girl could ever live without her papa?

dividers by @/cafekitsune and @/adornedwithlight

[queen-scribbles]

🙃🙃🙃Odessa 'So Very Done With This Shit' Isric 🙃🙃🙃 ---

@commander-sarahs-art hit it out of the park again with my baby girl Ody, who has been through the wringer enough times she should qualify for a discount. Or just less trauma. Fingers crossed, babe.

[johnbleepingzoidberg]

work stress makin me feel like im about to implode

[aajjks]

The conqueror (XXIII.)

Synopsis: He had conquered everything, anything but your heart.

Pairings: Yandere!King Jungkook x Commoner!servant Reader

warnings: yándèrè, DÁRK TRÍGGÈRÍNG THÈMÈS, dárk óbsèssíòn, cràzy júngkòòk, dèprèssíón, 18+ thèmès, íntènsè thèmès, kórèàn tràdítíòns, àttèmpt át súícídè, NÓNCÔN KÍSSÍNG, TÓUCHÏNG, lüst, sèxúàl thèmès,

note. YALLLL This chapter is my best one yet I am so proud. Also, just a warning I have copy pasted some of the Korean traditional stuff from Google so I’m just telling you guys in advance and if you have any questions ask or anything to tell me just come into my inbox because this chapter is a terrifying. And sooooo sexy 🥵🥵🥵 undeniably, sexy… I have no words, but please please please share your feedback. OK I love you guys. Enjoy.

series masterlist

taglist: @mageprincess7 @starsggukk @sprinkleoftee @koremis @minshookie29 @sana-b @bangtannoonalvg @oonaaurora @jeonsweetpea @sugaslittlekookies @outro-kook @kthyg @lunaashes @debicaptain-saturn @laurynne5 @captainsjoongs @myblackconfessions @lanalanexpjm @namjooncrabs @shadowmoon21 @kookunot @natalie-rdr @angelicasdre @iwasfuckinginnocentonce @mermaidtea @foulnightharmony @ungodlyjoon @quechulitaaa @telepathytae @silversparkles11 @j3alous-ang3l @bunzom @1-in-abillion @breadgeniedope @jiminie-08 @artgukk @lovesthetword @bunijmin @pinkcherrybombs @afangirllikeme-blog @twilight-love-nochu-main @wedarkacademia @hollxe1 @bighitfics @darkuni63 @golden-thv @investedreader @sweetempathprunetree @koocreampie (I can’t tag anymore people, it’s full 😭😭)

The air feels heavy, oppressive, as if the entire palace is holding its breath in anticipation of this day. Your wedding day. The day your life is to be bound forever to the man you hate most in this world. You sit in your chambers, unable to bring yourself to look in the mirror. The room is alive with movement, court ladies bustling around you, adjusting every detail of your appearance as though they’re preparing a lamb for slaughter.

The silk of your hanbok feels suffocating, its intricate embroidery weighing you down. The deep crimson and golden hues, symbols of purity and virtue, mock you with every thread. This is not a union of love. This is a chain, cold and unyielding, tying you to a man who thrives on blood and power.

“Perfect, my lady,” the seamstress finally declares, stepping back to admire her work. Her smile is full of pride, but it feels hollow.

Nothing about today is perfect.

“How fortunate you are to marry the king,” Na-yeon whispers close to your ear, her tone laced with a smugness that makes your stomach turn. “Most women would kill to be in your place.”

You don’t respond. Your throat feels tight, your heart heavy. Most women don’t know the truth about him. Most women haven’t seen the darkness that festers behind his piercing gaze. If they did, they’d run far, far away.

“Leave me alone,” you whisper weakly, your voice cracking. The court ladies exchange glances but obey, bowing before quietly filing out of the room. All except Na-yeon. She lingers, always watching, always ready to report back to him.

“You should feel honored,” she says, her voice soft but sharp, like the blade of a knife. “This is the greatest moment of your life.”

You swallow hard, fists clenched in your lap. “The greatest moment of my life?” you repeat bitterly. “This is the worst moment of my life. I’d rather die.”

For a fleeting second, her expression falters, but it’s gone just as quickly. She straightens, smoothing the front of her hanbok. “You mustn’t say such things, my lady. The king wouldn’t like to hear that.”

You glare at her. “Let him hear it. I don’t care anymore.”

But even as the words leave your mouth, you feel the weight of them settle in your chest. You’ve felt the consequences of his anger before. You know better than to provoke him. And yet, part of you doesn’t care.

You’re desperate, grasping at any semblance of control, even if it means testing his patience. You wish that you had died last night when he had attempted to take your own life, but then….

Na-Yeon had caught you. She has been like a shadow and now you’re here.

The palace courtyard is alive with activity, the sound of drums echoing through the cold morning air. The ceremonial guards stand in perfect formation, their armor gleaming under the pale sunlight.

Nobles and officials gather in clusters, their voices hushed as they exchange whispers about the grand occasion.

You’re led through the courtyard by a procession of attendants, their hands firm on your arms as they guide you toward the altar. You want to run, to scream, but your body betrays you. Your legs move mechanically, your feet dragging across the stone path as though weighed down by chains.

The altar looms ahead, a grand structure draped in silk banners and adorned with offerings of fruit, rice, and incense. At its center stands Jungkook, his figure imposing, cloaked in the rich robes of a king. His dark eyes find yours immediately, piercing through the crowd, and your breath catches.

There’s something about the way he looks at you—intense, unyielding, predatory. It sends a shiver down your spine. He’s been waiting for this moment, and the satisfaction in his expression is unmistakable.

As you approach, the murmurs of the crowd fall silent. All eyes are on you now.

“Bow,” one of the court ladies hisses under her breath.

You hesitate for only a moment before lowering yourself to the ground, your knees pressing against the cold stone. Your head dips forward in a deep bow, a gesture of submission that makes your stomach churn.

Jungkook steps forward, his movements slow, deliberate. You feel his presence before you see him, the weight of it suffocating.

“Rise,” he commands, his voice deep and resonant.

“AND… you, the court lady… never ever talk to my wife like that, or I will have your tongue for breakfast.” Jungkook growls and the lady immediately cowers in fear, he glares daggers into her head.

You watch and you hear everything.

He’s so scary.

You obey, standing on shaky legs as he towers over you. He doesn’t speak, but his eyes tell you everything. You belong to him now.

The ceremony begins with the gabae, the presentation of gifts. Silk, gold, jewels—each item is placed before you with great ceremony, a display of wealth and power that feels more like a taunt than a gesture of goodwill.

Jungkook watches you intently, his gaze never wavering. You can feel the heat of it, burning into your skin, as though he’s daring you to object. But you don’t. You can’t.

Next comes the pyebaek, the bowing ritual. You kneel once again, this time before Jungkook and the royal elders. Your movements are stiff, your body trembling with each bow. The elders nod in approval, their expressions impassive, while Jungkook watches with a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs under his breath, so low only you can hear. The word feels like a brand, searing into your skin.

The final ritual is the joongin, the sharing of food. A tray of offerings is placed before you—steamed rice, dried fish, and fruits carefully arranged in intricate patterns. Jungkook picks up a piece of fruit, holding it out to you.

“Eat,” he commands.

You hesitate, your eyes darting to the food. Your hands tremble as you take the fruit from him, the act feeling more symbolic than it should. As you take a bite, the crowd erupts into applause, their cheers echoing across the courtyard.

It’s done. You are now his queen.

The celebrations continue long into the evening, but you barely notice. Your mind is numb, your body moving on autopilot as you’re led through the motions of the day. Smiling when prompted, nodding when addressed—it’s all a blur.

As the sun sets, the palace is bathed in the warm glow of lanterns. The air is thick with the scent of incense and wine, the sounds of laughter and music filling the halls. But you don’t feel joy. You feel hollow.

Later that night, Jungkook finds you in your chambers. He’s shed his ceremonial robes for a simpler, darker outfit, but his presence is just as commanding.

“Come,” he says, extending a hand toward you.

You don’t move. Your feet feel rooted to the ground, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Don’t make me ask again,” he warns, his voice low, dangerous.

Reluctantly, you take his hand. His grip is firm, almost possessive, as he leads you toward the royal chambers.

The night stretches ahead of you, long and uncertain. You don’t know what awaits you behind those doors, but one thing is certain: your life, as you knew it, is over.

•••

Hours later… you are even more terrified.

The air in the bridal chamber is thick with tension. The flickering candlelight casts long, trembling shadows across the walls, the golden dragons embroidered on the silk bedding almost seeming to writhe. You stand frozen in the center of the room, your hands fidgeting with the delicate fabric of your wedding hanbok. Your heart pounds in your chest like a caged animal, the cold sweat on your back soaking through the layers of expensive silk.

The heavy door creaks open behind you, and you flinch. His footsteps are slow, deliberate, each one a deliberate announcement of his presence. King Jungkook—no, your husband now—steps into the room, his dark robes flowing behind him, the faint scent of musk and sandalwood following him.

He stands tall, broad shoulders and a powerful frame outlined by the flickering light. His strong jaw clenches slightly, and his dark, piercing eyes drink you in. His presence is suffocating, his physique commanding. The ceremonial attire does little to hide the strength beneath the fine fabric, his toned chest visible through the parting of his robe. His raven-black hair falls slightly into his eyes, framing his perfect like features. He is devastatingly beautiful, and that terrifies you.

“You look breathtaking,” he says, his voice low and husky, carrying an edge that sends a shiver down your spine.

You take a small step back, the edge of the bed pressing against the back of your legs.

His eyes narrow at the movement, but he doesn’t comment. He shuts the door behind him with a soft click, the sound filling the silence like a judge sealing your fate.

Jungkook moves toward you slowly, his gaze fixed on you like a predator stalking its prey. Your mouth feels dry, your throat tight as you take another step back, only to have your knees buckle slightly when you bump into the bed.

“There’s no need to be afraid, my queen,” he murmurs, his voice deceptively soft. “Tonight is ours. No one will disturb us.”

You open your mouth to respond, to beg or plead, but the words die on your lips when he reaches out. His hand is warm as it brushes against your cheek, his thumb tracing your trembling lower lip. The touch is almost tender, but the hunger in his eyes betrays him.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this moment?” he whispers, his tone dark with an undercurrent of desperation. His thumb presses slightly against your lip, as if testing your resolve. “How many nights I’ve dreamed of you, Y/N?”

“Y-Your Majesty—”

“Jungkook,” he interrupts, his tone firm, almost commanding. “You are mine now, my queen. No more formalities.”

Your breath catches in your throat as he leans closer, his face mere inches from yours. The warmth of his body radiates against your trembling form, his scent intoxicatingly rich and masculine. You can feel the raw strength in his presence, the way his chest rises and falls, the way his arms flex as he reaches for you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes, his lips hovering just above yours. “Do you know what it does to me? Seeing you like this? Knowing you’re finally mine?”

Before you can respond, his lips capture yours in a kiss that steals the air from your lungs. It is not gentle. It’s forceful, claiming, a declaration of his dominance. His hand moves to the back of your neck, holding you in place as he deepens the kiss, his other hand gripping your waist and pulling you against his chest.

Your hands press against his chest in an attempt to push him away, but it’s futile. His chest is solid, the muscles beneath the silk unyielding. You feel the raw power in his body, a strength that both intimidates and overwhelms you.

“Stop,” you whisper against his lips, your voice trembling, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, your resistance only seems to fuel his desire.

“Stop?” he repeats, his voice low and laced with frustration as he finally pulls back. His dark eyes bore into yours, the hunger in them burning brighter than ever. “Why do you keep running from me, Y/N? I am your husband now. Your king. You belong to me.”

Tears well in your eyes, but you force them back, refusing to let him see you cry. “Please,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “I—I can’t—”

“FUCK, YN.”

He screams and you flinch, for a moment as he hears his voice through the walls of this chamber, he almost feels bad as he stares at you

You’re so terrified, a crying mess, but God knows, it’s only turning him on more.

Why are you so fucking frustrating?

His jaw clenches, the muscles in his neck tightening as he stares down at you. His gaze flickers to your trembling hands, your heaving chest, and then back to your tear-filled eyes. For a moment, something unreadable flashes across his face—hurt, perhaps, or maybe just irritation.

“I’ve given you everything,” he says, his voice cold now, but still laced with that obsessive edge. “I’ve built a kingdom for you. Killed for you. And yet you still flinch when I touch you.”

You don’t respond, unable to find the words.

His hand moves to your waist again, sliding around to the small of your back as he pulls you against him. His other hand trails up your arm, his touch light but possessive. The contrast between his strength and his touch sends a chill down your spine.

“You’re so delicate,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “So fragile. But you’re mine. Do you understand that, Y/N?”

You shake your head slightly, tears spilling down your cheeks. “No,” you whisper. “I don’t want this. I never wanted this.”

His grip tightens for a moment, his jaw clenching as he exhales sharply. The air between you grows colder, the tension suffocating.

“You’ll learn,” he says finally, his voice low and dangerous. “You’ll learn to love me. To need me. Because no one else will ever have you.”

He leans in again, his lips brushing against your neck this time. You feel the heat of his breath, the light scrape of his teeth against your skin, and you shudder.

But then, he stops.

For a long moment, the room is silent except for the sound of your uneven breathing. He pulls back, his eyes scanning your tear-streaked face. His expression hardens, and he lets out a low growl of frustration.

“You’re not ready,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “Not yet.”

His hands fall away from you, and he steps back, his jaw tight and his eyes dark with barely-contained frustration. “I could take you right now,” he says, his voice cold. “But that wouldn’t satisfy me. Not like this.”

You stare at him, unsure whether to feel relief or dread.

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his disheveled hair as he glares at you. “You insult me with your fear, Y/N,” he says, his voice low and venomous. “But you’ll come to me willingly one day. You’ll beg for my touch.”

He turns abruptly, his dark robes swirling around him as he moves toward the door. Before leaving, he pauses, his hand on the handle.

“Remember this, Y/N,” he says without looking back. “You’re mine. In this life and the next.”

The door shuts behind him with a finality that makes your knees buckle. You collapse onto the bed, trembling, your mind spinning with fear and confusion.

The silence of the room is deafening, but it doesn’t give you no comfort. You know this isn’t the end—merely the beginning of a life trapped in the clutches of a man whose obsession burns hotter than any love ever could.

[cultven]

Butch Wolverine Headcannons

(General Headcannons and X Female! Reader)

This is sooooo indulgent, my mind is just taken over by her… Here are some head cannons I daydreamed up with my pussy 

Warnings: Some very very mild sexual implications

Female! Logan doesn’t shave. Like ever. Due to her animalistic properties, the hair just grows back in a matter of hours, so it’s not worth the upkeep. She occasionally tries her best for special events, but it’s always rendered useless. Plus, she knows you don’t mind anyway, it’s just so much work. 

Bras are her worst enemy. Occasionally she’ll fight in a sports bra, but you will never catch her in one of those frilly Victoria's Secret bras. Unless you ask, of course. Then she’ll gladly drop a small fortune on a cute little bra and underwear set just for you. 

Every month the day before her period her cramps hit her like a truck. Despite her advanced regenerative properties, her uterus seems to be the exception. Seeing her outside her room during this time is an accomplishment as she is practically bedridden. The only way she truly survives these times is due to your care and support. You provide all her favorite foods and offer her numerous heating pads and other soothing ointments. Female! Logan will never admit it, but she absolutely adores being babied by you. 

She is usually the big spoon, scooping you up in her muscular arms. She presses you firmly to her chest and sometimes, if you're lucky, lets you turn around and practically smother yourself in her tits while cuddling. It’s like a small dosage of heaven. Wolverine would pepper small kisses in your hair, smelling your sweet shampoo. 

Other times when she’s feeling particularly soft, she’ll allow you to embrace her from behind, acting as the big spoon. 

Her arm is always around you, no question whatsoever. She’s far from insecure in your relationship, knowing how loyal you are to each other, but she just loves flaunting you to others. This pretty little thing on her hip? Yeah, that’s her girlfriend. Jealous? You should be. At least that’s Female! Logan’s mentality. 

When it’s your turn to cling onto Female! Logan, it’s always onto her arms. You love feeling the hard and soft muscles flex under your fingertips. It always gets you going.

Female! Logan is not a fan of Scott Summers. Not in the slightest. The first time you came around Xavier’s to meet the other mutants he was instantly intrigued by you. Some light conversation led to flirting on his part. Usually, he’s smart enough not to mess with Female! Logan, but he hadn’t assumed the two of you were dating until he got a swift punch right along his jawline. From then on Female! Logan has assured you were never left alone in a room with Summers for longer than thirty seconds. 

Instead of adopting regular Logan’s alcoholism, Female! Logan tends to stay more on the side of smoking. Hand her a fresh pack of Marlboro Reds and she’ll reward you that night. ;)

Admittedly, she doesn’t smell great. It could be worse, but hygiene is not one of her top concerns. Every year as one of the smaller gifts you give her is a bottle of Bath & Body Works body washes, and every year you end up just using it yourself. She believes taking brisk showers is most effective, she doesn’t have time to slather herself in expensive products. You always wonder how her hair stays so fluffy. You suppose it’s just natural.

Speaking of her hair, you are OBSESSED. She has a short layered wolf cut with the classic ear tufts, which you’re pretty sure are natural since you never see her style them. If you’re ever having a rough night just pet and play with your girlfriend’s hair for a few minutes and you’re out like a baby. Sometimes you think she has you under a magical spell. 

Backtracking to showering, you end up showering together a lot. Female! Logan always happens to need to shower at the same time you do, but you know it’s her way of asking if she could join. Of course, the answer is always yes. Her mentality of quick showers immediately goes out the window when she watches you strip down and stand under the running water. The shower wasn’t the only thing wet at that moment.

After your extracurricular activities in the shower, the aftercare is always sweet and loving. Hot water falls over both your bodies as you rub each other's skin with soap lovingly. You scrub the shampoo into her scalp, she exfoliates your legs. Once you’re both done you immediately get into your pajamas and cuddle under a nice blanket, watching something until you’re both soundly asleep. 

Everyone at the mansion thinks you guys are so cute. They constantly tease Female! Logan for being able to snag such a positive, sunshiny girlfriend. She typically shrugs them off with a mean glare and a snarky comment back, but deep down she knows she’s truly lucky to have found someone as accepting and loving as you. Sometimes she doesn’t feel she’s worth the hassle, but you always find a way to reassure her. 

It takes a few years for Female! Logan to propose, mostly because of her insecurities as a mutant, but when she does you are instantly in shambles, bawling out your acceptance. 

Female! Logan never thought she would get married, especially not to a regular human. She never thought humans could ever fully understand and accept a mutant the way that you do. Additionally, she fears her lifestyle will get you hurt, something that haunts her nightmares. But after seeing your beautiful bright smile after she popped the question there was no doubt in her mind she needed you as her wife. 

A big wedding was never what either of you wanted. If she was being honest, Female! Logan would have been happy with just eloping, but you wanted to do something small and she could never say no to you. 

On a warm day in spring, the two of you finally wed, the other residents of the mansion applauding the two of you. It was a small crowd, only a few select friends, but it couldn’t have felt more perfect for the two of you. 

a/n: I could easily write more. Someone please request a oneshot with her (and also name ideas, I don’t want to keep referring to her as Female! Logan. I’m not sure if there is already an agreed-upon name for her.)

[puffcap-factory]

Shared Dreams, Blossoming Hearts (Wriothesley x reader)

Wriothesley x fem!reader; fluff, pure fluff, heartwarming.

You were not satisfied with the results of the recent case you had been investigating, but Wriothesley seemed to have his own way to cheer you up. (Basically, it was how the two fall for each other)

Words: 3.3k

Notes:

Another Wriothesley fic because he hot >:-)

Okay, I did say I plan for a series but I don’t think I have the patience… Anyways, you can assume that this is the prequel to the other fic I made (the spicy one here) since I used the same setting for the reader. As always, enjoy!

((Update: a sequel of the story here))

•~•~•~•

You crouched, cradling one of the injured children in your arms, his small form trembling against you. 

How old was he? Five? Seven?

You couldn’t fathom how someone could use these innocent children as unknowing pawns in a smuggling ring for the geode, the case you had been investigating on these past few days.

Before you lay four treasure hoarders, all unconscious, subdued by the elemental power you channeled through your vision. A recon log mek was completely broken, no longer a threat.

Though you could intercept the last escaping group, a sense of incompetence washed over you as you realized you couldn't save the children unscathed. You had feared the worst.

"Y/n!" Wriothesley called out as he dashed towards you, Clorinde and her subordinates following closely behind.

He took a moment to glance at the unconscious bodies of the hoarders, understanding the fact that you had been the one defeating them. However, his attention quickly shifted back to you, observing for any injuries.

"Don't worry," he said in a low, soothing voice, his gaze filled with reassurance. "The healers are ready. You should head back first."

You let a moment sink in as you gently petted the boy's head, a soft, reassuring smile on your face. "Don't worry, these people will take care of you," you said soothingly, trying to comfort the hurting child.

Wriothesley watched you closely, a flicker of warmth crossing his features as he observed this caring side of you. It was a moment that revealed another layer of your character, one that he hadn't seen before.

You let the children got lifted by the healers as you stood up, ready to go back to the fortress. Wriothesley talked to Clorinde in the background before escorting you back.

•~•~•~•

As the direct delegate representing the Palais of Mermoria, you were tasked with reporting directly to Neuvillette for cases concerning the fortress. Over the past few months, you had worked closely with the Duke, primarily focusing on investigations related to the Fortress of Meropide.

Your professional relationship with him was marked by your efficiency, something that Wriothesley greatly appreciated. Calm and composed - as others in the fortress described.

However, the recent particular case you had been working on had proven to be quite tricky. It had been unfolding for several days, involving a group of smugglers with ties to the prison. Your investigation had led you going back and forth between the prison and the upper grounds, tirelessly pursuing leads. 

Sadly, your suspicions about the use of children as decoys had been true all along, adding a disturbing layer to the case. Upon learning that the other party had Wriothesley occupied, you rushed to the site. Time was ticking away as they planned to destroy the evidence for escape, which meant endangering the lives of the children involved.

Fortunately, the children were safe now, but the weight of the case bore heavily on your shoulders. One misstep and everything would have ended much, much worse… Anger and frustration simmered within you, directed towards the people responsible, the unfolding situation, and yourself, for not realizing the danger sooner or saving the children unscathed.

Children— they were innocent childrens. Why...

With a burst of elemental energy, you unleashed your vision against the dummy in the Pankration Ring. The crackling power of your magic lashed out, a physical manifestation of your frustration.

“Wow, that dummy won’t last long if you keep doing it like that.”

Turning your head, you saw Wriothesley casually walking towards you. You fell silent, observing him as he approached, his gaze softening as he scanned your features.

"Don't beat yourself up too much about it," he sighed, sensing your state of emotions. "In fact, I should be the one thanking you. If it weren't for you rescuing the children..." his voice trailed off, the unspoken gratitude hanging in the air.

You looked up at him, changing the topic as you did not want to imagine the worst. "How are the children doing?"

"They're doing well, thanks to Sigewinne's trustworthy potions," he chuckled, attempting to lighten the mood. "We can check on them later."

A smile tugged at your lips. "Good… that's great. I would love to."

Wriothesley's gaze softened further, a silent acknowledgment of your care for the children.

"…Hey, if there's someone to blame, it would be me. If I wasn't involved in the other group, this may not have happened, true?" he asked flatly.

You paused, considering his words. He had a point, but you never held him responsible.

"Huh, but..." you started, but Wriothesley continued. 

"C'mon, if you want to release some stress, spar with me instead," he said, his lips tugging into a playful smile.

"A spar with the Duke himself? That's... quite the challenge," you chuckled, reluctance in your voice.

You were keenly aware of Wriothesley's physical prowess, not to mention his mastery over his vision. You would never match him in a fight.

"Nonsense," Wriothesley replied with a wave of his hand. "I saw what you did to those treasure hoarders. Use your vision, it's alright. As the ring's rules say, anything goes."

He smiled at you, a hint of challenge in his expression. The prospect of sparring against the Duke of Meropide himself, the champion of the ring, was both daunting and intriguing.

After a moment of consideration, you decided it was indeed a chance to both cool down your mood and train yourself. "Alright, let's do it," you said with a determined nod.

"That's the spirit," Wriothesley's smile grew wider as he made his way to the ring, and you followed him from behind.

Wriothesley tossed his jacket to the side, revealing the well-toned muscles beneath his shirt. The sight of his physique was impressive, a testament to his strength and skill. Even without gauntlets, the icy aura of his vision emanated from him, a reminder of his formidable power.

"No need to hold yourself back, give it your all," he added, his voice firm but encouraging.

With a nod, you mentally prepared yourself for the spar. Without your preferred weapon, you knew controlling your vision fully would be challenging. It felt harder to control without channeling it into a medium—a skill some could master, but it required extensive practice. From what you could tell, Wriothesley was adept at it.

Despite this, you refused to back down. A silent determination fueled your resolve as you admitted to yourself that you did actually want to see Wriothesley in combat—though not necessarily directly against you.

You focused on conjuring your vision into an energy ball, hurling it towards Wriothesley. With a swift sidestep, he dodged the attack and closed the distance between you. Knowing physical combat wasn't your forte, you attempted to keep your attacks ranged.

A slight smirk crossed Wriothesley's face as he started charging at you, clearly understanding your fighting style by now. Despite the challenges of channeling your vision power without a medium, you managed to throw some decent attacks, although most were either dodged or shielded by him.

Your thoughts on strategy were abruptly interrupted as Wriothesley closed the gap, launching into a series of quick and seasoned strikes. Blocking and parrying his blows as best you could, you could feel the icy blasts accompanying his movements. It was clear he wasn't showing his full skill, but even so, his speed and precision were impressive.

Realizing that solely shielding his attacks wouldn't take you anywhere, you focused your vision on creating a small dagger made from your vision elemental energy. With this newfound weapon, you lunged towards him, catching him off guard. Wriothesley dodged backwards, a bit taken aback by your sudden change in tactics.

"Smart move, as expected from you," he complimented. You remained focused and determined, taking measured breaths as the spar continued.

The exchange went rather fiercely, each of you landing blows and dodging strikes in a display of skill and determination. Despite the odds, you managed to hold your ground.

The spar reached its end when the small blade of elemental energy was poised against Wriothesley's neck. He froze, a small smile playing on his lips, admitting defeat in the face of your skill and determination.

"Alright, alright," he conceded, raising his hands in surrender. "You win this one."

You were clearly on edge, your breathing rough and labored in contrast to Wriothesley, who seemed rather unfazed by the recent spar. "You were clearly holding back against me, I can see that," you remarked, a playful glint in your eyes as you breathed in. Despite the intensity of the match and the fact that he was not giving his all, you still felt a sense of confidence building within you.

Wriothesley sighed defeatedly, acknowledging your observation. "C'mon, you think I could bring myself to beat a pretty lady like yourself?" he responded casually, a playful smile on his face. "Unless you really, really, reallywant me to," he added with a chuckle. 

His sweet talk caught you off guard for a moment, but you couldn't help but laugh at his offer. "No thanks," you replied playfully, shaking your head, knowing that you might end up weeks in recovery if he actually did.

Wriothesley grinned at your response. “But, seriously, you’re strong. And clever. With some training I bet you would match the strongest fighter in Fontaine.”

You honestly felt a bit flattered by his words, knowing he was regarding you too highly, but a small mischievous smile appeared on your lips.

"You... or Clorinde?" you teasingly asked him, knowing full well the rivalry between the Duke and the Captain of the Guard. 

Wriothesley chuckled, a hint of mock offense in his tone. "Hey now, I'd like to think I could give Clorinde a run for her money," he replied with a smirk. "But who knows? Maybe we'll have to settle this in a friendly match someday."

You laughed at the idea, genuinely intrigued with the prospect.

Wriothesley smiled contently at your laughter, his eyes warm as he asked after a while, "Feeling better?"

For a second, you forgot that you were here to take out your anger as he asked that. The spar had indeed shifted your mind and mood away from your thoughts. It was a fun experience indeed.

"Yeah, surprisingly, I am," you admitted with a smile, feeling a sense of lightness after the intense spar. "Thanks for the spar, Wriothesley. It was unexpected, but I needed that."

"Of course, anytime," Wriothesley replied, his tone light. "Let's go to the infirmary for a second to make sure everything's good, okay?"

You nodded in agreement as you followed by his side to head to the infirmary, reflecting on his actions towards you. After a moment of silence, you felt compelled to speak up.

"You're a great leader, Wriothesley, no wonder people chose you," you complimented him sincerely. How he had somehow sensed your troubles, and tended to it.

He looked at you for a moment, a bit caught off guard at the sudden serious comment. He thought for a second, before he said with a low tone, “…A lot of people had supported me along the way, I wouldn’t be at this place if not for them.”

You smiled at him, knowing full well that he was trying to be humble. It was true that he had the support of others to become the Duke of Meropide, but it was also true that his own actions had brought him to this position. His proactivity to help others, his ability to gather trust, and his innate instinct to protect those in need were all qualities that made him the natural and respected leader he was today. 

“To be honest, I did feel some disappointment towards myself… But luckily, I got you on my back.” he added, as he managed a smile at you. 

Right. The disappointment did not wear him down. Instead, Wriothesley maintained himself to be the pillar of strength, like any leader would. You truly admired him for this. And how he had tended to you, setting aside his own thoughts… you felt like you were drawn to him. Wanting to support him fully. 

You were about to respond to Wriothesley when you two arrived at the infirmary, greeted by Sigewinne. She seemed to know what you two had been up to, and proceeded to check on you first, then Wriothesley.

"You're all fine! But you might experience some soreness tomorrow, y/n," Sigewinne exclaimed cheerfully.

"That's... for tomorrow's problem," you replied with a sheepish smile. "By the way, when are we going to visit the children?" you turned your head towards Wriothesley, who was casually leaning back against the metal wall.

"Anytime. Now, tomorrow…. There's no urgent task for today, so, I can accompany you if you want to go after this," Wriothesley said, his tone warm and reassuring.

"Oh, the children! They would love a visit from you, y/n. They have been asking a lot about that yesterday," Sigewinne added, giggling softly.

You smiled warmly at the thought of visiting the children. Despite what had happened two days prior, knowing that they were safe and on the path to recovery now brought a sense of relief to your heart. “Then… can we go now?” you said, turning your head towards Wriothesley as you felt a renewed sense of energy filling in. Wriothesley couldn’t help but smile fondly at you. 

•~•~•~•

Wriothesley and you arrived at a place near the Quarter Lyonnais, where the children had been attended to. He observed you closely, walking a bit behind since he knew he wouldn't be recognized by the children, and he knew his appearance could be rather… intimidating. A gentle smile played on his lips as some of the children caught sight of you and ran over, their faces lighting up with joy.

You knelt down to their level, your heart swelling with warmth as you greeted each child with a smile and a gentle pat on the head. One of the older kids, a shy girl, timidly approached and handed you a piece of paper. "Um... this is for you, lady. Thank you… for saving us," her words stumbled as she offered you a drawing. You thanked her warmly, receiving the unexpected present when another boy, whom you had cradled in your arms during the rescue, approached you from the side. He stared at you innocently with his big eyes and asked, his voice soft, "Lady, who is that scary-looking man over there?"

You followed the boy's gaze and looked up to where Wriothesley stood, his imposing figure softened by the warm smile on his face as he noticed your gaze. You couldn't help but chuckle at the boy's innocent question.

“Oh, this man… despite his looks,” you smiled at the boy as you held him gently, pausing for a second, “is one of the kindest and most admirable people I’ve ever met.” You explained as you turned to face Wriothesley, a tender smile on your lips. “Try talking to him, and you’ll see what I mean.”

Wriothesley felt a flutter in his chest as you referred to him, witnessing your interactions with the children. It was as if a delicate bud within him had suddenly bloomed into a flower, its petals unfurling to reveal feelings he had kept carefully tucked away. How long had he been keeping these sentiments? He didn’t know. But in that moment, none of it mattered to him anymore.

As warmth spread through him, he quickly composed himself, maintaining his cool exterior, and hiding any signs of his sudden flush as the boy approached him cautiously. Kneeling down to the boy’s level, Wriothesley smiled warmly.

“Hello there,” he greeted the boy with genuine kindness in his voice. “I’m Wriothesley. I’m glad to see you and your friends are doing well.”

“Mister… Rye-uhh…sslee…?” the boy tried to repeat his name. 

Wriothesley chuckled at the boy's attempt to pronounce his name correctly, patting his head gently. "That's right, you got it!" 

As Wriothesley engaged with the first child, another female child who had been nearby suddenly ran up to him, asking rather loudly, "Mister, is this lady your girlfriend?"

Wriothesley's eyes widened slightly in surprise at the unexpected question, and he glanced over at you with a faint blush coloring his cheeks, though he didn’t shy away from your gaze. You couldn't help but laugh at the innocence of the child's question, but you also found yourself curious about Wriothesley's reaction.

“Hmm, good question. Do you think I make a good couple with her?” Wriothesley asked playfully, turning the question back to the curious young girl.

“Umm, I don’t know! But she is very nice! And pretty!” the girl answered honestly and innocently, just like any children would. 

“Mhm, indeed. She is lovely, I’d rather say,” Wriothesley replied, still facing the girl, his voice low and tender. The young girl giggled in response and ran off to join the other children, just like that. He let a small laugh at the girl’s reaction before turning his head back to face you, smiling.

The unexpected compliment – and his sheer confidence – sent a blush creeping up your cheeks, catching you off guard. Around you, the children giggled and continued playing, unaware of the subtle shift in the air between you and Wriothesley. You managed to give Wriothesley a warm smile in reply, attempting to mask your own shyness. 

You finally spent the evening together with the children playing, also with Wriothesley, who they had instantly warmed up to. As you made your way to the aquabus station to head back with Wriothesley by your side, the atmosphere was filled with a comfortable silence, the echoes of children's laughter still lingering in your ears.

You both traveled casually, the gentle hum of the aquabus filling the air as it glided through the water. The evening sun cast a warm glow over the scenery passing by, creating a serene atmosphere around you.

“I haven’t had the chance to see this side of you until recently,” Wriothesley spoke softly, his gaze warm as he looked at you. “You truly have a way with the children, and it's really heartwarming to see how fond they are of you.”

A soft blush tinted your cheeks at his words, and you met his gaze with a shy smile. “Well,” you replied, “I suppose our duties have kept us occupied, so it's understandable if you hadn’t noticed this side of me before.”

Wriothesley nodded, a gentle smile playing on his lips. “True,” he agreed, “but it’s a pleasant surprise. It's clear that you genuinely care for their well-being, and it's truly admirable.”

“I guess – that makes the two of us,” you replied with a warm smile, feeling a flutter in your chest at his sincerity. You had also witnessed Wriothesley interacting with the children, and it was evident that he was a complete natural, despite his intimidating appearance at first look.

Wriothesley pondered for a moment, his expression thoughtful. Finally, after a moment, he asked you, his body a bit tense, “Say, are you interested in working a bit longer at the fortress?”

You paused, considering the offer. You knew your position at handling the cases in Fortress of Meropide was not going to last forever. But, your time at the Fortress of Meropide had been rewarding, and the thought of working alongside Wriothesley a bit longer was rather appealing. Perhaps… something was also blossoming within your heart.

 “Hmm... I can't see why not,” you replied with a warm smile.

A sense of relief washed over Wriothesley's features at your answer. He let out a sigh as he stretched his back. “Great. Then please remind me to send the letter of request to Neuvillette,” he said, grinning as his voice tinged with anticipation.

Curious, you asked, “And why would you go that far?”

“Because,” he began, his voice low but sure, “I would like to spend more time with you.”

[yoursweetwife]

hmmm what about how ratio and ruan mei would act if they were jealous? a bit of a cliche, ratio being him he would probs shout algebraic equations at the guy making a move, but for ruan mei im not sure..

I have a couple of thoughts about these two.

Veritas Ratio considers jealousy to be something unimaginable and primitive, because intelligent and erudite people should not succumb to such base emotions, besides, he is aware of his attractiveness, you need to be a real fool to leave him (he began to change his mind when he fell in love and entered into a REAL relationship) Ratio will immediately understand that he is jealous, but he will stubbornly deny it, saying to himself something like "jealousy is the lot of fools," but he will still continue to look contemptuously at the cause of his indignation.

However, the Veritas is a double-edged sword, everything can end either well or badly (mainly for the one who is bothering you). At best, everything will be limited to just glances that will be hidden behind a plaster head, and rare remarks in the direction of the "opponent". Fortunately, as soon as you start scolding him, he immediately shuts up.

And in the worst case, if a person does not follow words and actions at all, openly showing interest in you, then even the eons themselves will not.

Ratio will lower the interlocutor's self-esteem below zero, regardless of whether there are other people nearby. Because how dare that idiot touch you! And you act like you don't care, even though he sees your annoyance. Once Veritas almost hit someone with a book out of jealousy, he just wasn't used to such feelings.

After that, he can't get rid of the feeling that he became part of this bunch of idiots, fortunately, you were there to calm him down and show him that it's okay to feel like that.

!In no case do not intentionally try to make him jealous, he will definitely not forgive this!

Ruan Mei gives the impression of a person who has only one partner for life, that is, if she falls in love, then she will never look at another, so you will never have a reason to be jealous of her. However, the hermit lifestyle led to Ruan Mei never feeling jealous.

Despite her detachment from people, she can see when people are flirting with you and when they're just being nice. If she doesn't worry about the second, then the first sometimes makes her feel awkward and angry, especially if it happens when you spend time together (few people know that you are dating, because May values privacy).

Her reaction most of the time will be silence, waiting for the conversation with the uninvited guest to end, or if she sees that you are uncomfortable, Ruan Mei will bluntly say that you are not interested and take you away.

If a very persistent fan comes across, then there is no doubt that Ruan Mei will not stand on ceremony and put the person in his place. Few people will want to deal with a famous scientist.

In any case, you will never understand that Ruan Mei is jealous. For her, jealousy will become a kind of object of study, perhaps she will specifically ask you to flirt with other people to see how far things will go.

[lewkwoodnco]

You look like shit - Lockwood x Reader

One time you told lockwood he looked like shit and four times he told you you looked like shit

“You look like shit.”

“Oh, I see how it is. You’re in a hospital bed but I’m the one who looks like shit.”

“Exactly, you look spectacularly terrible. Did you sleep at all last night?”

“I tried, but my sorry excuse of a boss got his ass kicked by some Type Two, so here I am.”

“Doesn’t your sorry excuse of a boss write your cheques?”

“Have I mentioned how fond I am of my sorry excuse of a boss?”

a/n: just a little drabble i typed up having been inspired by this post :)

tropes/warnings: mostly fluffy, some mentions of grief, slight description of injury, smidge of flirty-ish banter 🙈🙈

wc: 1.5k!

MASTERLIST | TAGLIST

“You look like shit.”

Lockwood froze with his mug halfway to his mouth. He gaped at her briefly before setting the mug down once the shock passed. She was Lockwood & Co.'s newest employee and it was only recently that the ice had been sufficiently broken for their interactions to evolve into something more than a passing smile or greeting. This, however, was more than he had expected. He was possessed by a sudden overwhelming urge to laugh.

"It's like, 10 in the morning, and you already look exhausted. Do you ever sleep?"

He struggled with his words for a moment. "...yes. Sometimes."

"Not enough, clearly."

He did look especially worse for wear that morning. Only just recovering from a mild flu, his insomnia was at an all-time high and the lack of sun over the past week had his skin looking nearly transparent. He was a frail, washed-out thing flitting restlessly between rooms, bemoaning all the cases he was missing out on while cooped up here.

He smiled for what felt like the first time in days. She coughed, embarrassed, feeling like she had grossly overstepped.

"I mean...you don't look that horrible."

Fortunately, Lucy chose that exact moment to walk in and sufficiently distract Lockwood with the details of their newest case and she took the opportunity to duck out of the room. What the hell had she been thinking?

"H- oh, you look like shit."

She emerged from behind the counter through a cloud of steam, her hair resting on her shoulders like a large, frizzy, brittle rat. While he and George had spent the morning at the Archives, she had spent it at Portland Row preparing Fesenjān for their lunch as part of some stupid bet she had made with George.

"Oh, good, you're back. You took your time."

"George is still there so Lucy's going in to hel-"

She cut him off by shoving a spoon of hot stew into his mouth.

"Taste."

Lockwood spluttered around the spoon, mouth working furiously to cool the scalding food while she watched him intently.

"Well?"

"It's...it's good."

"As good as George's?"

He grimaced. "I don't think I should be taking sides in this." He didn't even want to think about George finding out.

"This isn't taking sides. But also, if anyone asks, you weren't here. So...?" She fixed a desperate look on him. Lockwood sighed.

"It could use a little more salt."

"Angel." She turned around, pulling out the salt while he watched her with a flicker of amusement in his eyes. The crazy hair suited her in some odd way.

“You look like shit.”

He had meant for it to come out as teasing but at the sight of her tearstained face, it sounded terribly mean. He had found her sitting on the front steps late one evening when he was about to turn in, only a thin hoodie insulating her from the harsh cold. Her head whipped around at the sound of his voice, a hand carelessly dragged across her face. He took a seat next to her, dropping his voice.

"Everything alright?"

She swallowed, eyes trained on their shoes. Her voice was hoarse with disuse.

"One of my friends moved away a couple of years back. She's been in an accident."

"How bad of an accident?"

There was a tightness in her chest that made it difficult to go on. "The worst."

In a rare moment of weakness, she crumbled, sagging against Lockwood like she had no spine left to hold herself upright. He wrapped a warm, comforting arm around her, and the simple gesture was enough to break her down. She cried into his shirt, cried for the friend she would never see again, cried for the part of her childhood that had chipped off and floated away into some abyss. Cried while he held her.

"I can't -" she hiccuped, unable to hold back a poorly concealed sob. "I can't even remember the last thing I said to her." It felt like an awful thing to admit, something sinful and evil, something that made it impossible for her to shake the tremble from her hands. His hold on her tightened a fraction, like he was holding her shattered pieces together, and she clung to his shirt with all the despair of a shipwrecked passenger.

Maybe it was selfish, but she didn't want him to leave. And so he stayed.

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

They had just returned from a job at some old, abandoned building set to be torn down in a few months. George and Lucy were handling some other case at the other end of the city, so the sounds of them shucking off their coats and gear echoed through the empty house. Between the two of them, she was always more prone to going ham on their cases. Today, it was in the form of her barrelling full tilt through a series of cobwebs to serve as a distraction. The case had ended with Lockwood hurriedly bagging the Source and her pink-faced and speckled with the grey strings.

Back at Portland Row's kitchen, there was still a lingering tinge of warmth to her cheeks. Lockwood paused by the cupboard where she was pulling out some mugs and plates, idly picking off the remaining strands still loosely clinging to her hair and shoulders. As his movements slowed, fading into something more gentle and meticulous, she glanced at him. He looked back. The cobwebs now littered the little space between them, but still he did not move away. The back of her neck prickled under his wretchedly attentive gaze. She did not know how to look away.

"Tea?" she croaked out, throat embarrassingly taut with choked-back emotion.

Whatever spell that had settled over them broke. Lockwood reeled back, almost noisily busying himself with fishing out the biscuit tin, forcing something nonchalant into his voice.

"Sure."

They spent the rest of their night operating with an invisible bubble between them, neither of them daring to get too close to the other lest a brush of the hand shattered the pallid illusion they were play-acting in. The house was far too quiet that night, filled with the unbearably soothing sounds of their cutlery, the rain and their breathing. Lockwood fiddled with his mug. She scratched at a particularly obscene message etched into the thinking cloth. He dragged a shoe along the scuffed kitchen floors. She drummed her fingers restlessly, watching the seconds tick by excruciatingly slow on the clock.

Where the hell were George and Lucy?

“You look like shit.”

“Oh, I see how it is. You’re in a hospital bed but I’m the one who looks like shit.”

She was in a gleaming, sterile hospital room, painfully twisted into some uncomfortable plastic chair after a night of fitful sleep and checking to make sure Lockwood was still alive. Lockwood had gone out for a solo case and she had been waiting up, expecting him to return any minute when the hospital called. Luckily, it was nothing fatal, but enough to keep him out of commission for a while. Enough to make her worry.

“Exactly, you look spectacularly terrible. Did you sleep at all last night?”

“I tried, but my sorry excuse of a boss got his ass kicked by some Type Two, so here I am.”

“Doesn’t your sorry excuse of a boss write your cheques?”

“Have I mentioned how fond I am of my sorry excuse of a boss?”

He quirked a smile at that, then immediately winced. She lightly tilted his bruised face just as he raised a tentative hand to the stitches on his lip, their fingers brushing against each other for a fraction of a second. He looked at her questioningly, unable to see how it was healing himself, and she thought it was extremely unfair to have eyes as disarming as his. She shoved down the stab of sympathy at the unexpectedly vulnerable sight. Hospital gowns really did a number on how strong, or lack thereof, a patient seemed.

“Poor baby. Do you need someone to kiss it better?”

“You could kiss me better.”

“You…are clearly still concussed. Where on earth is your nurse?”

She stood and busied herself by sticking her head out the door and looking for his nurse, which was most definitely not an attempt to hide the flush creeping up her neck. After a few minutes of futile searching, she returned, alarmed at how wan Lockwood was starting to seem.

“I don’t remember getting a concussion,” he murmured, closing his aching eyes.

“Of course you wouldn’t. That’s how concussions work. Idiot.” She tried to keep her tone light, but he cracked an eye open as if he had heard something in her voice. He slipped her fingers through hers casually and she felt the tension in his stiff shoulders ease.

"You should sleep," she tried gently. His thumb slowly traced hers drowsily. Still, he forced his eyes open with considerable effort. Looked at her like she was all he wanted to see for the rest of his life.

"In a minute."

It was the first of the lifetime of minutes ahead of them.

TAGLIST: @ell0ra-br3kk3r @cielooci @midnight--raine @mohinithoughts @neewtmas @snoopyluver20 @ahead-fullofdreams @elenianag080 @mischivana @houseoftwistedspirits @avdiobliss @dangelnleif @mitskiswift99

[acupofinkedblood]

Katana x cultist reader [Forsaken One]

TW: Mention of blood and violence

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Katana knows that the black sheep will be regarded as a disgrace to the family. Yet, he had enough. He has seen enough of the actual secret within this pit of hell. Joining this so-called ‘family’ for salvation is the worst decision in his life, he should have known better. But now, all he wants is just to get out of here immediately. And of course, when he shows the sight of rebellion, punishment is expected

It’s raining, the lamented rain is screaming against the glass window as if it wants to tear the curtain of nightfall apart in rage. Thunder highlights the visible distress haunting Katana as blood starts to dripping down his blade

The downpour speaks up for Scythe in that very moment

“Traitor! You dare to betray your teacher and friends,” the demon hisses through her pain, “Do you really think you can just escape!? Just you wait, Katana!”

Those were what he remembered before slashing Scythe’s arm off when she tries to get in the way. He barely has the right mind once he gets out of that dungeon bellow the church , and then he has to get Scythe to stop interfering his business with force. Wounded as he is, Katana still manages to ‘repay’ Scythe for all those years of his nightmare. The adrenaline rush is still pumping in his veins, enough for him to know how messed up the situation is. That lunatic’s voice echoes throughout the wall, giving Katana this uneasy feeling of a bad omen. Yet, he keeps moving forward

It is so oddly quiet inside the church, where is everyone else? Katana shakes the thought off his mind, he should have been grateful because of how fortune seems to be smiling at his current state. Less obstacles, less troubles he will have to endure before his escape. He has to leave everything behind, there is no other choice. The corruption is eating everything alive, infecting their mind with false sense of unity like a mindless beehive. As much as he would love to watch everything crumble in satisfaction, he knows that he isn’t capable of that weighing that responsibility by himself

Katana makes it outside, faces the heavy rain against the fresh wound of his skin. Freedom is within his reach, even if he doesn’t know where to go, he still has to make it out alive. He can’t just fail himself now, enough is enough. He has failed himself too many times, Katana can’t—

“Halt”

That familiar voice is the last thing the apostate wants to hear. Without a doubt, he is greeted with a hit directly into his chest. Has he not raises the blade to block it, all the effort to runaway will be all in vain as he won’t even be alive to see the light at the end of the tunnel anymore. He knows how cold you can be. But under this circumstance, Katana just wishes he doesn’t have to see you. Not now

“I advise you to go back, a lesser punishment is considered if you atone for your sin,” you coo, “Father send me to bring you home, Katana. Let us go back home, unless you prefer to only bring your head back?”

The fact that they send you out of all people. What a cruel joke. If this is how they spit onto his face, then they have done such a great job. Just because his master isn’t present in the cult at the moment, they drag you into this mess to take care of his matter. You, his partner that share the same master as his. His master have trained you before he even stepped into the picture, that alone has explained his respect for you, both in strength and as an individual. Those time he spent with you, it brings him comfort. He misses that all-knowing smile of yours, that cold expression is just so…cruel. How unlikely is that usually, that gaze of yours will fall on anyone but him. For a moment Katana wants to beg you to not look at him like that, but he has to mentally slap himself to keep his determination

But the one thing that aches his heart is the realization of how he will have to step over his loved one’s body if he wants to survive. Not to mention when you are stronger and more experienced than him. What he has done to Scythe, that alone won’t be able to stop you. The thought of killing you makes him sick. But is there any other choice? You have become his enemy, even when he has prayed to himself that he wouldn’t have to face you specifically while he is on the run. This is the price he has to pay, it’s either you or him in this tango of tragedy

Standing in front of you like this, Katana bites his tongue as he keeps his gear up, ready to fight you if needed. That hit you charge at him still leave an impact on his body, to say it simply aches his muscles is such an understatement. Seeing that your refusal has been casted away, you don’t even spare him a moment to breathe before sighing

“I have warned you”

He knows he isn’t the match for you in a fight. The outcome is expected, yet he can’t help but to feel ridiculed at that twisted irony. It’s not like he hasn’t been beaten up by you before in training. Under other circumstances, it brings him back to the old days when you act all high and mighty subtly after winning against him, yet still insisting on helping him bandage up again. Typical you. But now?

The rain has washed the blood on Katana’s body away, falling down against the harsh sand as he has to rely on his blade to keep himself up. He barely injures you at all, as you still stand tall like a punisher in front of him. Like a butcher cornering the poor injured animal that will soon perish, so little pity is thrown at him in this very moment. Katana knows that the finally killing blow will be struck anytime soon, or maybe you want to bring him back alive. Either way, he knows that it all depends on you now. But there is one thing that he has noticed: You have been holding back, or else his is probably presented on a sliver plate already. Why is it that even you choose to defy your order? If you are following Father’s instructions, won’t you just drag him back whether he wants to or not? Maybe Katana is delusional, but he just wants to believe that you aren’t so blind like like other. After all those years together, there might be a thing that you should consider before killing him like a pest underneath your shoes, right?

“Why,” you sigh, “Why is it that you have to do this? We can just go back and start over, why are you so stubborn?”

“…I have to go”

“You wish not to tell me of your purpose? Does it worth the pain for running away, o black sheep of the family?”

Your words hurt like a sharp knife into his heart. Why does he fixated on leaving? Katana doesn’t understand himself anymore. But there is a voice inside his head that tells him to run and never look back. How can he explain it to you when he knows how preposterous it sounds like? If only he can take his own heart out and show you instead, it will be much easier than putting incoherent nonsense together into a full sentence. He looks up at you, those eyes look as if they are silently begging you to just understand him with desperation. You take a deep breath, not wanting to see that look on his face, yet you force yourself to. It pains you as much as it pains him, maybe even more than one can weigh

“The corruption is running too deep, I have to go. They aren’t what they seem, I shouldn’t have— Just listen to me,” he pleads, “Please”

Katana opens his mouth, tries to figure out what else can he use to excuse his actions with you while the downpour washes over him. Time is running out, he needs to do something about this before everything in his plan falls apart. The adrenaline is slowly fading away, leaving that exhaustion slowly taking over his body. Katana can understand how pathetic he must have looked like under your judgmental eye. His scars and bruises are scattered everywhere, even the wet blood running down his face is still warm no matter how much the rains try to erase the traces. The evidence of your violent works on his skin is as clear as day. How does it come into this? Usually you are the one that is supposed to patch his wounds up, not causing it on your own. How did you have the strength to do this to him? Even you start to question your very own sanity at this point

Why his lover has to become one of enemies? If only you are on his side instead, if only he can convince you to think again…Maybe he is doomed from the start when falling for someone in the cult, what a shame. Or he should have convinced you from the start. But Katana is scared. He doesn’t know if you will approve his point of view or will you call him an apostate like others. He fears the idea of you turn against him, but now that fear has already become the reality. If he just braces himself and tells you the truth, will it change the outcome? Different beliefs will never work out together, he bitterly reminds himself. He just wishes for a way to get you to open your eye and see the actual reality

But little does he know, you too have soon figured the actual truth of the cult yourself long ago. The only reason you decide to stay all those years is to wait for the perfect moment to handle the personal matter you have with this goddamn ‘family’. You were like him, young and foolish until your master found you. Until you saw it with your own eye, the gruesome truth lying in this hell. Misfortunes soon followed you afterwards, one after another. You soon realized what you have tied yourself into, and the horrors it brought was purely agonizing to you. You are a black sheep yourself, yet unlike Katana, you chose to hide under the cover to blend in. From the start, you have felt this burning desire to make this cult pay for everything, but you tell yourself that you have to wait for the perfect opportunity to strike your weapon as well. There is nothing that will change your goal of destruction, no matter what

But Katana is the distraction you regret. You loved him truly, something that you swore that you would never do inside the cult. Your love was delaying your own plan of vengeance, yet you couldn’t help but watched over him and enjoyed that love you deserved to feel. You have been dragged into this mess in the very beginning. Now, seeing your lover is actually an apostate makes you feel so many conflicting emotions inside your heart. You should be happy, knowing that he is on your side, though at the same time he has acted too rashly. If only you know better, you can convince him to wait with you instead of making such an unredeemable mess like this. This isn’t supposed to happen if you just figure out the unspoken hints he has kept inside his chest

The rain doesn’t help the current situation any better. The two of you look pathetically pitiful in your own ways. Katana is too tired to defy you, almost as if he has accepted you as his punishment. In his mind, at least you are the one who does this. He doesn’t want that responsibility to fall onto you, it will be so cruel of him, but it has to be you. There is no other way he will just accept it like that if it is anybody else that comes for his life. So many regrets, yet he can’t even bring himself to hate you. His love for you has blinded him from all the pain you have caused to his heart. If loving you is his demise, then he will accept your punishment with open arms

But to his surprise, you hold onto his blade instead. Before Katana can understand what are you trying to do, his eyes widens in pure shock when you force his hand to stab through your stomach. Blood spills out from your wound in front of his yes in horror. You bite back a pained noise, holding onto the blade until your hand also bleeds all over it. Katana immediately pulls his gear back, holding onto your bleeding wound as a poor attempt to get it to stopped

“What the hell? Are you crazy!?”

He hopes that he won’t have to kill you, and you just literally do the very opposite thing of what he wishes not to do. Even force him to do this to you, do you want to die for honor or what? Katana is more than just confused to the point that he has forgotten his own pain and can only feel yours instead. Anxiety overwhelms in his mind with a hint of panic, he doesn’t know what is going on anymore. Without a moment of hesitation, you pull your hand away from his and cups his face. Your blood has stains all over the face of the man you love with all your heart — and this, putting yourself in danger — this is an act of love you do for him. You make him stands up on his feet with you. That confusion is so ridiculous when appearing on his face. You know that you will miss that. Your voice is barely a whisper when you hisses out in pain

“Leave,” you look directly into his eyes, your face gives away the calculation inside your mind of when will the other make their way to aid you, “Never look back, never even consider of going back. I can distract them”

And just that, you push him away to another direction, urging him to run while holding onto your bleeding stomach as you steady your breath. That wound isn’t fatal, but it does hit quite the nerve that makes you winces in pain. It’s not like you wants to make this farewell memorable in a traumatic way, you have your own reason to do this. You have to create that wound so that when your fellow cultist comes over, they will think that you have been through a bloody fight with that apostate and lose with this wound. You have to make it look as real as possible, to deceive them and make it looks like he has won his freedom by attacking you, his beloved, all fair and square

Katana has come to understand your intentions. How foolish of you to do all of that for him, yet he knows you, so stubborn and insistent to your own way, he can somewhat understand it. It’s in your nature to do such things. It pains him to know that this might be the last time he sees you, with a wound caused by his blade that he doesn’t even want to. Katana is hesitant, not wanting to leave you alone with those monsters. Not even spending more than a second to think, he reaches out for you. The raindrop feels like bullets against his skin, yet he doesn’t care anymore. Your back is still turned against him

“Come with me,” he offers you a hand, “We can run away together”

“Leave me, o forsaken one. From this day on, you shall be stripped of your relation with your mentor, your friend, your brothers and sisters. Leave this place, apostate. We shall not welcome any black sheep back in our herd,” your breath hitches a moment as you cough aloud, “My business is yet to be finished, I can’t come with you”

“But—”

He loves you. He can’t leave you like this. All those time he felt alive around you, he can’t just give it up like it was nothing at all. In this moment, Katana just wants to grab your hand and drag you with him, to somewhere fair where they can’t find the two of you. If the price of freedom means loosing you, then what’s the point anymore? His thoughts are interrupted he can feel someone is getting closer, probably the other members of the church. Tick tock, the time is running out in the hourglass

“Katana,” your voice turns into a softer tone as you murmurs at him, unlike that cold tone of earlier. You glance back, your eyes filled with unspoken regret and sincerity. There it is, that smile that he adores so much. But why instead of that usual sense of comfort, Katana feels like his heart is sinking down to the pit of unknown?

“You promised that you will see the cherry blossom in Thieves Den. Do it for me, mesmerize the color then tell me once fate let us cross paths as normal people instead”

He remembers that time when you went drinking inside his room with him to relax, you have asked him such out of pocket question: “What is the color of Thieves Den’s cherry blossom?” At that time, Katana didn’t know either. He made a bet that it is white, while you on the other hand bet that the color would be pink. A childish argument broke out between the two of you in a playful manner, but he had promised you that if he could, he would go to Thieves Den and see the color for himself so he could see whether you would win or not. A drunken promise, so to speak. He doesn’t think you will remember it

He has made a promise with you to go to Thieves Den and see the cherry blossom, and you want it to become his next destination. Thieves Den will welcome him, you have a gut feeling about that. Although you have more to say to him in this solemn goodbye, all you want is just for him to make it out alive successfully. You can’t weigh him down

“Go”

For some unknown reasons, Katana’s body reacts to that command as he pulls his hand back and runs away to a different reaction. He keeps running for his life, not giving a damn of the cold rain slashing through his skin. To live and to survive under the oath he has made you, he can’t just accept defeat anymore. As much as he is regretting his very own decision of leaving you, he still stays focused with his track. This all happened because he isn’t strong enough to take the matter on his own. If only he is stronger, he can easily take down those crazy psychopaths within the church and brings you with him. The thought of hiding you in a safer place is almost humorous, if it isn’t so out of reach now. He has lost that privilege of protecting you, all because he isn’t strong enough. Under the rain, he vows to himself that he will come back for you, once he has the strength and courage to face the corruption directly

You keep your eyes on him for a moment before your vision starts to daze out. Too many blood losing, but it will be all worth it in the end. All you want is your lover to live, if this punny little wound is the price for that, then you have claimed such a deal, no? You will miss him, a lots. This goodbye is far from perfect, but to see him make it out alive is all you can ask for in the very moment

Love is such a puzzle, yet different person has a different way to solve it. We can’t really judge their solution of loves, the same saying goes for you as well

Ironic, isn’t it?

Soon, Thieves Den has welcomed a new neighbor. And odd one, if they may add. Katana keeps everything to himself. But there is one thing people have noticed: If you want to see the strange neighbor that just arrived, just waited until the cherry blossom season. There is no way he will miss that event ever. Even now, whenever spring comes, people often see Katana sitting in front of his yard with a set of sake served beside him as he watches the blooming cherry blossom. Sometimes they can still hear him mumbling to himself when they get close enough

“It’s pink,” Katana set his glass down, “Just like you have guessed”

If only you can see the beauty of it as well. The wind gently making its way past the tree, bringing some of the petals falling gracefully into the palm of his hand. Somehow it reminds him of you. Katana’s eyes linger on the few petals on his hand before put it in his other wine glass, one that is supposed to be yours. You will love the soft color of it, he is sure of that fact

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Note: I don’t think this is one of my best works so far囧

[waytooinvested]

Fic: Small Problem...

A silly little story inspired by this adorable art by @art-by-ilaa19

.............

There was a low, sonorous BOOM, and before she had quite caught up with the fact that anything had gone wrong, Lena found herself sailing through the air as a blast ripped through the Tower. She braced herself for a painful impact, but by incredible good fortune the force threw her directly at the couch, where she landed with a small ‘oomph’ as the wind was knocked out of her.

She lay still for a couple of seconds, struggling to draw breath into her lungs, then fought her way free of the collapsed cushions to make sure her friends were safe and take stock of the damage.

As shocking as it was to be suddenly thrown several feet, the incident actually seemed to have been pretty minor – more a pulse of energy than an actual explosion, really, though it had apparently been enough to knock everyone off their feet.

Kelly and Alex were kneeling beside the bookcase they had hit comforting a crying Esme, though thankfully the little girl seemed to be more startled than actually hurt, having been caught and buffered from the falling books by her moms.

Nia had ended up on top of Brainy on the floor, but from the way they were now staring into each other’s eyes, Lena deduced that they were no worse for wear, and glanced away quickly before she started to feel like an intruder on the moment they were so clearly having.

J’onn was bemusedly brushing soil and flower petals out of his hair after a collision with a pot plant, but the plant had decidedly come off the worst and he seemed to be more or less fine, even with the fetching addition of a Michaelmas daisy tucked rakishly behind one ear.

And Kara was-

Not there.

Given her powers the girl of steel should have been barely ruffled by a force that hadn’t even blown out the windows, and yet one minute she had been standing by the work bench, and now she was… nowhere.

‘Kara?’ Lena stood up gingerly from her place on the couch and looked around, anxiety beginning to stir in her belly.

‘Did anyone see what happened to Kara?’

Distracted from their own minor disasters, everyone turned to look at her, then to glance around the room as if Kara might be simply hiding behind something.

‘You two were cosied up together over something before the blast hit. Didn’t you see where she went?’

Alex’s question would once have made Lena’s hackles rise, but she understood now that it was concerned, not accusatory, and she just shook her head, worry sinking its claws ever deeper with every second Kara failed to reappear.

‘Uuuuh… guys? Wherever Kara is, I think she left her clothes behind’.

Nia had finally managed to disentangle herself from Brainy, and was pointing at the heap of cloth that as yet had gone unnoticed beside the workbench.

‘Oh, that can’t be good…’

Without quite knowing how she had got there, Lena found herself kneeling over the crumpled supersuit, lifting it carefully as if Kara might somehow still be hiding inside it. The fabric was warm from her skin, and Lena had to resist to urge to bury her face in it to hide her tears. It felt like they had only just got Kara back from the phantom zone, and now she was just gone again? So suddenly, and without any warning that she had even been in danger.

‘Hello? Can anyone hear me?’

Lena froze.

The voice sounded muffled and very far away, but she had heard it. She was almost certain.

‘Kara? Is that you? Where are you?’

‘Lena? Thank Rao! I’m not sure, I’m trapped somewhere. Some kind of dungeon I think? It’s small and dark, and it smells weird. Can you get me out?’

‘Kara? It’s Alex, we’re all here. We can hear you, just, but we can’t see you. We’re going to work out where you are and get you out. Do you remember how you got there?’

They all held their breath as they listened for Kara’s next message, focusing hard to pick up the distant words.

‘I was in the Tower, then there was an explosion, and I fell. There was a sort of tunnel... I’m at the bottom of it now, but the entrance sealed up behind me’.

The others glanced at each other, all trying to puzzle out what sort of portal Kara might have gone through to end up where she had described and yet still be audible from the Tower. All but Lena, who, being closest, had picked up the direction of the voice. A sneaking suspicion was growing in her mind as she honed in on it and put the pieces together with what Kara had told them.

It couldn’t be… could it?

She rummaged through the layers of discarded supersuit until she reached the knee high boots, which had folded over on themselves without the support of Kara’s legs inside to hold them up. She picked up the left one and peered inside, down the long tunnel of red leather it created.

Nothing.

Feeling a little silly now with everyone staring at her with expressions ranging from baffled to bemused, she picked up the right, and was instantly met with a tiny yell of alarm.

‘Woah! The room’s moving!’

Ah hah.

Lena laid the boot out very carefully on its side, and help the top part open.

‘Kara? Has the tunnel open up again now?’

‘Yes! How did you know that?’

‘I just- well, you’ll see in a minute. Follow the light. But uhh… try not to be too alarmed when you get out. We’re going to fix this, okay?’

They all stared as, blinking against the comparative brightness of the room, a tiny figure emerged from the boot’s opening.

Esme let out a shriek of pure joy, tears entirely forgotten, and would have thrown herself across the room to scoop up her now doll-sized aunt had Kelly not put restraining arms around her.

‘No baby, you might hurt her by mistake. Lets stay back here a minute and let Aunt Lena do it, okay? Lots of big people around her might be a bit frightening for Aunt Kara right now’.

And the sudden loud yell had indeed seemed to startle Kara, making her flinch and dive back into the mouth of the boot. Lena lay down on her side so she could see inside, head level with the cave-like opening.

‘Hey, it’s alright Kara. You’re safe. We’re still in the tower. You seem to have… shrunk, somehow, but we’re going to figure out how to fix it, okay? I promise’.

She kept her voice quiet and coaxing, trying not to frighten Kara any further even as she struggled to wrap her own mind around what had just happened.

‘I… shrank?’

‘It does look that way. You’re inside your boot right now’.

Kara stared up at Lena, then around at the shadowy recesses of her refuge, and finally down at herself. She said something too quietly to pick up, though the tone was bordering on panicky, then she called out again, clearer now that she was no longer muffled by layers of leather.

‘Um… okay. So I have total faith that you’re gonna find a way to full-size me again, but in the mean time… does anyone have anything I can wear? I am… more naked than I realised’.

In the circumstances, Lena hadn’t quite taken in that part either until it was pointed out to her, but... yep. Kara was naked. Extremely, totally, life ruiningly naked. It was something she had fantasized about too many times to count through their years of as-yet-unacknowledged physical chemistry with each other, but if she was ever going to be lucky enough to get there for real, this was not how she had imagined it would go.

Lena averted her eyes quickly, her cheeks heating inconveniently in response, despite the fact that the situation was about as far from sexy as it could get, and Kara was at this moment only around four inches high.

‘Right, of course, I’ll find you something. Stay there a minute, okay?’

Finding miniature clothes on short notice was easier said than done, and in the end they had to settle for a kleenex, which Kara wrapped around herself toga-style, and secured with a hair elastic offered up by a still-delighted Esme. It was pink and sparkly, and had a plastic glitter butterfly ornament attached to it, but it was the best they could do at short notice.

Once she was dressed and had fully emerged from the boot, Lena held out her hand and Kara climbed gingerly up into it, hanging on grimly as she was lifted from the floor.

‘Are you okay? Are you hurt?’

‘I don’t think so. I’m just… a bit overwhelmed. I don’t think I like being tiny. Also… and this seems kind of insignificant compared to what just happened, but I’m really hungry’.

She sounded totally miserable, and Lena wished she could hug her friend, but she was afraid that wrapping a hand around her would feel more like being grabbed than hugged. She settled for laying a fingertip lightly on Kara’s shoulder in a gesture that, she hoped, would feel comforting rather than alarming.

‘We’re going to figure this out. But in the meantime, hungry is something I can help with’.

Cupping Kara in her hands so she wouldn’t fall, Lena carried her over to the table where various snacks were laid out to fuel them through what they had thought would be a typical day of work. Lena skimmed the various options quickly, before settling on the remains of an order of potstickers and placing Kara down very gently amongst them.

Kara’s squeal of delight was the loudest noise Lena had heard from her since she had been miniaturised, and she couldn’t help laughing as she watched her best friend launch herself at a dumpling that was almost as big as she was.

As she turned back to the others to begin the work of figuring out how to un-shrink Supergirl, she was pretty sure she heard a tiny cry of ‘BEST DAY EVER!’ from inside the box.

It looked like Kara might just have found some upsides to being pocket sized, after all.

[obriengf]

24 Minutes || Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Summary: You find Stiles hiding away after the burial of his mother. Words: 1.6k Warnings: sadness, mentions of death, mentions of graves, mentions of loss Notes: this was sad to write! also these babies are now 9 years old, growing up fast!

part two of TWENTY FOUR - a stiles stilinski series (masterlist)

The sky was grey; a murky tone that cast a shadowy blanket over a small town, a quintessential backdrop to a ceremony that held sadness and loss. It was the depth of angst that settled within hearts, pulling and tearing until a hole was formed and left unfilled. There was one less mother, wife, daughter, friend in the world and it was felt tenfold by every single person that surrounded her wooden casket. The rain had held off but it didn't make the circumstances any more fortunate - the sombre air only further strangulating the grieving weeps of townsfolk, the thick tension gathering within Beacon Hill's cemetery with such magnetic force. Today... was an incredibly sad day. It was hard to watch as your friend stared at his dress shoes, inadvertently accepting the sombre apologies from friends and family that were projected toward him and his father. He was usually a loud kid, full of energy and excitement and mischief - never able to settle down or lose his smile. From the day you first met him, Stiles Stilinski was the epitome of sunshine, but the decline of his mother's health brought out a gloominess in him that hurt your young heart nearly as much as it did his own. His hands were tucked behind his back, but you knew he was fiddling with his fingers - a way to express the anxious energy that was constantly building within him. The past few months had been extremely tough on the young boy, but today was the worst by far, and it was written so painfully across his permanent frown and puffy red eyes. You stood to the side beside your parents as they made small talk with others from around town, their voices drowning out as you kept your focus on Stiles and the immense sympathy you were holding for him. You desired to talk to him, to comfort him, hold his hand and be a shoulder to cry on - something that children your age should never have to worry about feeling, and yet, your chest squeezed with the inclination to do just that.

The ceremony was dismal, but the melancholy somehow was much stronger as you all gathered downstairs of the Stilinski residence - bodies clad in black moving slowly, sadly, as stories were shared and memories reminisced. It didn't feel right to be in this house with the absence of smiles and laughter from the family you grew so close to; the ones who you treated like an extension of your own tree, with as much love and trust that you had for your parents.

You were standing to the side as Scott McCall nudged your shoulder, his frame just slightly taller than yours. It had only taken six months of daily measuring until he finally passed that threshold - but he wasn't gloating about it today. The boy instead offered a smile of complete sorrow, a commiserative gesture, the only thing you two could muster despite the circumstances. He was the type to comfort anyone who needed it due to testing trials of his own and the demons that he still didn't understand clearly. A story of which you weren't aware of yet.

"Has anybody seen my son?" Noah's voice croaked, the hoarseness evident from hours of grieving. The crowd in the living room declined, quickly followed by the guests filtered into the kitchen. He looked worried as sudden urgency grappled at his features, an anxious act that was mirrored so easily when it came to Stiles' turn to express such emotion. Stiles was Noah's reminder of Claudia Stilinski - a physical being with her eyes and freckled complexion - and with that loss, he turned to panic.

Your hand was gentle as it grabbed Scott's wrist, careful not to tug too hard as you ushered him to follow you across the room. Noah Stilinski was a second father to you, and you hated the idea of your family hurting. You stopped abruptly in front of him, Scott nearly bumping into your back as he gathered composure, your eyes wide as you peered up. "We can find him, Mr Stilinski."

"Please, that would... I would really appreciate it, kids." Noah's left hand settled on your shoulder, as his right sat upon Scott's. He knew that if anybody could locate his son, it would be his two best friends.

You turned to Scott, pushing back every inclination to poke fun at his missing front tooth, before you nodded your head toward him, "Okay, Scotty. Where should we start?"

Twenty minutes had already passed by the time you peered down to your watch - red and blue pictures staring back at you, a Spiderman-themed timekeeper courtesy of Stiles for your eighth birthday. Stiles was still missing and you were running out of hiding places.

You huffed, frustrated at your inability to find him, and it prompted Scott to turn around with consoling eyes, "We'll find him, Y/N. Promise." A tight-lipped smile was all you could reply with before Scott hummed, his gaze flicking around the room in thought. You could've sworn you saw a lightbulb go off as an idea struck his young mind, that gap-tooth smile making another appearance, "Okay, how about we split up? I'll go outside and you can check some more upstairs!"

It was a good plan, you thought, despite already ducking your heads into the upstairs bathroom and Stiles' bedroom without any success. You wondered if Scott was trying to distract you, to buy some time as he tried to think of something better - but you complied regardless, not wanting to give up on looking for your friend. Especially after the weighted events of today.

Your little steps made the boards creak as you ascended the staircase, any further moves stopped as you ended up standing aimlessly in the landing. Stiles wouldn't have ventured far, he wasn't that type of kid, choosing to instead make new places out of the ones he already knew - and it reminded you of all the times you couldn't find him during Hide and Seek. Your friend was as creative as he was mischievous and it made such a simple game into an absolute challenge.

It wasn't until you remembered the one place you actually found him, before any of this creativity of his fell into serious play. It was obvious the more you thought about it and suddenly, a smile tugged up between your cheeks at the possibility that you knew where Stiles would be.

The hinges of his bedroom door carried a long squeak as you gently pushed it open, the echo loud as it bounced around the room. It didn't look any different to when you and Scott were here earlier, your watch now indicating that it had been twenty-four minutes since you declared your search party mission to Noah Stilinski. It was dull at first - the sorrowful sound of a cry, a sniffle to interrupt the heartache of a young boy. You hadn't noticed it before but now you found it hard not to. You followed it slowly as if any quick movements would set him off, and it led you to where you wanted to be.

"Stiles?" Your voice was tender and quiet, an alert to let him know that you had finally found him. Your friend sniffled in reply and your smile quickly dropped to a worried frown. You stared at the closet before opening the door - light filtering inside before highlighting the cowered figure of Stiles in the corner.

His knees dragged to his chest as arms locked around them, face buried except for the big glassy brown eyes you knew too well. He was heavily distraught and your heart ached dearly for him. You cooed before walking in beside him and taking a seat, your arms brushing as a form of comfort. Legs were crossed in front of you as your hands settled in your lap, gaze now trained on the boy as he had yet to look away from you.

"We've been looking for you." You spoke, head tilting only slightly to better see his face.

Stiles took a shaky breath as arms dragged over his eyes, an attempt to wipe away the trail of tears that had been nursing him in your absence. His voice was scratchy and fractured, "There were too many people... and they kept saying sorry, a-and it was too much."

"I know." Your arm reached out for him as it sat idly on his shoulder, trying to soothe his sobs. Stiles' head leaned against it swiftly as a form of comfort. "We can stay up here a little longer if ya want?"

He sat up straight; eyes widened as honey-glazed hues stared back at you, doe-like and sparked with hope. He was glad that you didn't try to force him back downstairs. "D'ya mean it?"

"Of course." Arms were held wide toward Stiles, an offering for him to fall into them before you enclosed them tightly around his frame. The embrace was sweet, and soon regarded as necessary as Stiles began to cry into your shoulder. He was tired of it all.

His voice was muffled, but you could still make out his words as the boy pressed further into you. "She's really gone, Y/N. Mom's gone." Your hands moved in circles over his jacket as he continued to cry, something your parents would do when you were upset to make you feel better. And as you did, Stiles' hands grasped the fabric at the back of your dress and pulled you against his chest - the mere thought of letting you go scaring him into thinking he'd lose you too.

Your features were scrunched as your brows furrowed and lips downturned. If made you coo, a soft hum, shushing delicately into the young boy's ear, "She is, Stiles. But I'll help you get through it. I'll always be here for you."

"Promise?"

"Pinky promise."

[moog-rt]

GO TO HELL [ch. 3]

[Lucifer Morningstar x Fem!Reader]

Previous: Chapter Two

➨ Chapter Three

Next: Chapter Four

Premise:

You love your friends. You really do. But sometimes it needs reminding when one of them accidentally sends you to Hell.

Despite falling into the hands of Hell’s loveliest princess, finding a way back to the world of the living proves difficult as you tiptoe around its king.

Warning(s): sudden popularity, mistakes were made (by you not me <3)

If you'd prefer to read on Ao3, here is the link:

Otherwise, enjoy!

♡ ♡ ♡

CHAPTER THREE

Well.

You finally made it on TV. Fame and fortune were nearly yours for the taking. People would be lining up outside for your autograph and maybe even just the chance to catch a glimpse of you.

The ‘Human in Hell.’

That was the headline the news broadcasters decided on. It was slapped on top of a clip of you hauling ass through the rancid streets of Hell. You were clearly panic stricken and fearing for your life, but why would the announcers care about that?.

A darn shame it was being aired live across all of Hell. Your dignity was the price you would pay for fame amongst the worst people to walk the Earth.

You were curled into yourself on the couch, unable to peel your eyes away from the screen. Vaggie was pacing behind it, muttering out profanities you didn’t know existed. And Charlie? She was doing her best to calm the both of you down. Bless her heart.

The reason you had to end your little escapade to the Morningstar Manor early was because Vaggie texted saying she had bad news. You thought perhaps her recruiting backfired or there could have been a fire in the hotel that she couldn’t put out.

You did not expect to be called back because the entirety of Hell now had you on their radar. This complicated things quite a bit as one might imagine. It was much easier to hide as a human when only a handful of people knew about you. Now, everyone’s eyes were peeled in hope of finding you.

“Look, she’s all-over social media, too,” Vaggie groaned, showing her phone screen to the two of you. She began to read off some of the posts, “Vox and Katy Killjoy are promising viewers an interview with her…There’s already bidding wars for Christ’s sake!”

“Let’s not worry too much about this…As long as we make sure she’s in her disguise when we’re out, it’ll all be okay,” Charlie said.

“They caught her on video. What if they tracked her to the hotel? They could show up any second looking for her!”

It was touching she cared so much about your well-being in this situation, but the goal was to have you back home as soon as possible. Once you were out of Hell, none of this would be a problem. You doubted demons would pass into the living world just to come after you. At that point, there was an endless number of humans to choose from.

“I don’t know…They probably would have already shown up if they knew she was here,” Charlie reasoned, and Vaggie’s pacing began to slow.

“I was able to get away from all the demons that were after me by the time I found the hotel,” you added. “No one should have been around to see me come in.”

Charlie was finally able to get Vaggie to sit, and a tense silence enveloped the three of you. Charlie was rubbing Vaggie’s arms soothingly, so you took it upon yourself to turn off the tv. There was no point in listening to it anymore. All it did was stress everyone out, and there was nothing you could really do about it. Your current plan of action remained the best.

“So how was your day, Vaggie?” you asked in hopes of breaching a more positive topic.

“Oh, right! Did you find anybody who would be interested in staying with us?” Charlie chimed in with a bright grin.

The poor girl sighed in response.

“There was one person who was interested in what we’re offering,” she began, “but he seemed more enticed by free rent than redemption…”

“That’s okay. Maybe if he spends a little time with us, the idea of redemption will start to grow on him!” Charlie sounded like she was also trying to convince herself.

“I guess…” Vaggie grumbled. “He said he might drop by tomorrow or the day after to check things out. Would that work for you guys?”

“Oh, my gosh. That would be great!” Charlie squealed, jumping up from the floor. “We have to head back to my dad’s in the morning, but any time after that would be perfect.”

“No luck today?”

“Not really,” you sighed. “We were able to look around a little bit but we ended up running into her old man.”

“And he tried interrogating her,” Charlie groaned, running her hands through her hair as the memory resurfaced. “I was so worried he would suspect something, but your emergency text totally saved us.”

“Did the disguise work at least?”

That was an excellent question. While he didn’t seem to question anything about your appearance, he still seemed suspicious. It was entirely possible he could smell your fear. You’d expect no less from a demon; they probably fed off of it. Who knows…

You should be nicer. Charlie and Vaggie certainly hadn’t given you that impression. In fact, you were pretty sure you saw one of them eating toast for breakfast. They likely had perfectly normal digestive systems.

“I think so! We’re just gonna have to make a good cover story in case he finds us again.”

The three of you began to brainstorm, losing track of time as it faded into playful conversation. There was an intermission to order food since their ‘kitchen’ still wasn’t quite ready to be used to such an extent. And eventually, you parted ways to get ready for bed.

Your arms were full after they had given you a towel and a plethora of toiletries to help scrub all the paint off of your body. When you entered your room, you were also greeted by your ‘human’ clothes, clean and neatly folded on top of your bed.

And laying on top of those was your phone.

Holy shit. You had completely forgotten you had it on you before your ass was ripped through that portal. Of course, the adrenaline rush that immediately followed your arrival in Hell didn’t help. And you were so eager to get those nasty, garbage covered clothes off, you hadn’t noticed the weight in your back pocket.

You dumped all the toiletries onto your bed to grab it.

The home screen was piled with notifications ranging from worried texts to company newsletter alerts. You began thumbing in your password to rifle through it all… but then you noticed your hand.

The paint was rubbed away.

On your fingers and wrists. There were splotches where paint was gone, revealing your natural skin underneath.

When did this happen?

Your palms were almost completely barren, likely from everything you had touched throughout the day. On the back of your hands and around your wrists, there were smaller spots where your skin was peeking through.

Like fingerprints.

You felt like you were delt a sucker punch to the gut.

Maybe…Maybe it was from your own hand. You could have been rubbing at your own wrists subconsciously. With all the stress-inducing shit going down, that wouldn’t be unlikely.

But if the paint could come off so easily…

No. You had to believe it was your own doing.

Regardless, you had to find a way to prevent it from happening again.

You opted to wait until the morning to break the bad news to Charlie and Vaggie. The two had just gone off to bed, and honestly, your nerves were getting the better of you. Your stomach was twisting in on itself as your heart pounded relentlessly against your ribs.

You would tell them. You would.

Just not right now.

More than anything, you wanted that dried up paint off of you.

Tossing your phone aside and grabbing your bathing supplies, you scrambled into the bathroom to throw the shower on. The feeling of peeling those clothes off and clambering in to let the hot water rush over your sticky body was ethereal. It was so satisfying to watch the unnatural pigment run off your skin, erasing any evidence that it may have transferred onto that man’s hands.

You closed your eyes and tilted your head back, hoping it would wash away your worries, as well.

Finding the will to get out of the shower was difficult. But your body was tired, as well as your mind.

Flicking the lights off, you tumbled into bed, content with its softness in that moment as the mattress and pillows consumed you entirely. You were more than ready to knock out and forget about all that had happened over the past couple of days.

You didn’t want to think about the fact you were likely being hunted by god knows how many hell-goers. You didn’t want to think about the impact the time you spent here would leave on your life in the living world. Your job, your relationships (thankfully you didn’t have a pet). More than anything, you didn’t want to think about the possibility you may never get home at all.

With a deep sigh, you rolled onto your side and felt something hard beneath your hip. You groaned as you reached down to remove it, finding the phone that you had carelessly tossed aside. It made your heart swell.

You wanted your friends. You wanted to read their texts, new and old. Hell, you wanted to see any memes or posts they may have sent you. Any semblance of normality was all you needed right now. You would take whatever you could get.

Slowly, you reached over and grabbed it. Its brightness hadn’t yet adjusted, and you squinted as you flash banged yourself.

Opening your messages, you saw Devon at the top. They said that they hoped you could see their message, that you were somehow okay.

That depends on what you consider to be ‘okay’.

Beneath them was that boy, Jack. He sounded upset. He probably thought you were ignoring his texts out of spite. His messages were a mixture of asking what was wrong and saying you were overreacting over whatever it was he had done.

You couldn’t recall him doing anything to upset you recently, so it seemed there were things you had yet to find out about. What a pain.

Your other friends that you were supposed to spend time with today were expressing their concern for your absence.

Are you coming?

Where are you?

Is everything okay?

Please respond.

It made your heart ache. You needed to let them know you were at least alive.

As soon as you started writing a message of your own, the text began to buzz. The overhead light and lamps in your room began to strobe, and pixels of red flashed across your screen as a horrible humming emanated from the phone. It sounded as if the room was filled with a swarm of bees. It was deafening.

Then you noticed those shackles.

Those red, glowing shackles that dragged you here were flickering around your wrists once more. You sat straight up, ready for them to pull you somewhere new, but then the room went dark and the noise was gone.

You could still feel the sheets beneath your knees, and when you turned on the lamp beside your bed, the room looked untouched. At the very least, you knew you hadn’t been thrown through another portal.

There was no sign that anything had happened at all.

♡

Your phone would not turn on again after that whole…event…from the night before. At most, it would crackle at you, but the screen remained black. It was possible it just died from low battery, but you weren’t paying attention to that. You wondered what the odds were that Charlie would have a compatible charger.

You could ask her about it later.

The two of you were back on the grind to find a way to access the living world. Once again, Vaggie had to hang back. They decided it would be best for someone to make the hotel slightly more presentable in case the potential patron decided to stop by that evening. A good call, in your opinion.

Beggars can’t be choosers, but their place didn’t seem particularly livable from the outside. Hence, why you thought it would be a good spot to hunker down to begin with.

You and Charlie had slipped into her dad’s place again, this time undetected. After checking out the room of relics once more and without any interruptions, you found nothing that seemed to be of use (from what you could tell, shit was written in ancient tongue).

Your next stop was library where you decided to split up in order to cover more ground.

Now, you wandered aimlessly through the towering shelves of books, unsure of where to start. Having no clue how it was all organized, you settled on the tactic of picking out books at random and letting your luck guide you.

It wasn’t going so well.

You were able to find only one or two books pertaining to the ‘mortal’ world, but neither had anything to do with accessing it. They more so covered history of civilization and travel guides once you were there.

Pulling out another book that looked to be promising, you sighed as that, too, ended up being a dud. Half an hour had easily passed since you began your search, and you were growing despondent.

You wanted to believe that there was some way to get back. Charlie and Vaggie had said so themselves. But if Charlie’s old home was your best shot, you didn’t like your odds looking anywhere else.

No matter how much you tried to stay optimistic, you couldn’t help but dwell on the possibility of being truly stuck here. Finding a way out was starting to feel like finding a needle in a haystack, especially now that you were rummaging through a library that easily held thousands of books.

You hated the thought of not being able to see your friends again. Your family. Stuck in a world where there was a target on your back for simply existing in it.

Your energy was beginning to dwindle. You were slowing down, and your heart felt so heavy.

And you hated it.

You hated the way your vision was beginning to blur and how your sunglasses were fogging up as your face grew warmer.

Your sleeve wiped away the first tear that threatened to slip past, but you were too slow for the second. It left a wet streak down your cheek before you were able to dab it away. You wanted to be careful of your makeup.

When Charlie was getting you ready earlier, you couldn’t bring yourself to tell her about the paint missing from your hands. You wanted to, but every time you thought you found the courage to say it, your throat grew tight, choking you into silence.

The most you could do was suggest a setting spray or powder to make sure it really stayed put. You told her you were just worried about the possibility of it coming off. Even if you couldn’t pull the truth from your own mouth, you wanted to take whatever precautions you could.

Your precautions, it seemed, were still not enough as the paint transferred onto your sleeve. Leave it to tears to ruin a girl’s makeup. You need to find someplace with a reflection to see if you could cover it up somehow.

As if on cue, you heard Charlie walking into your aisle. You felt relieved as she could probably blend the new smudges you’d created before anyone could see them.

“Hey, sorry but do you think you could help me out real quick?” you ask as you turned to her with your hand covering your cheek.

You nearly jumped out of your skin as you were greeted not by the sight of your newest friend but her father instead.

His hands were propped up on his staff, and his eyebrows were raised nearly to his hairline. He had a smug smile on his face to compliment it. Like he had caught you in the act.

There was nothing suspicious about looking at books in a library, though. Was there?

Adjusting your sunglasses so they were back in place, you put on the most charming smile you could conjure.

‘Hi—Good morning, Mr. Morningstar!”

“Hello, again,” he hummed, tilting his head as he watched you. “I didn’t think I would be seeing you again so soon.”

“Right, uh…Well, we had to leave in such a hurry yesterday. Charlie wasn’t able to find what she came for, so we’re back!” You lifted your shoulders to appear more excited than you were. At least you weren’t lying.

His finger started tapping on his apple.

“It’s quite interesting she didn’t think to give me any heads up. Almost like she’s trying to hide something…” He looked down at the book you were still holding for a moment then back at you.

Your heartrate spiked.

“What is it you’re looking for exactly?” He walked up next to you and made an act of looking through some of the books on the shelves you had just gone through.

“Huh? Oh, I’m not completely sure what Charlie needs, but she said I was welcome to look around in here,” you said, holding the book closer to your chest in hopes of hiding its title. “But I understand it’s your library, so if you’d prefer I not be in here, I’ll leave.”

He paused. With a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes and pressed the apple of his staff to his lips.

“Look,” he began, turning back around to face you, “you said you were relatively new here, correct?”

You nodded, unsure of where this was going.

“I don’t know how it happened, but I can imagine the change was sudden, and it can be pretty hard to accept,” he said as he made a gesture with his hand. “I don’t blame you for seeking out ways to feel like you’re still in touch with your life before.”

You looked away, tight lipped.

It was hard, but you didn’t want to have to accept it. You weren’t dead. Not yet. Which meant returning to your life before was still an option for you.

“I’m very grateful to have met your daughter,” you said, shaking your head and looking back at him.

His eyes were trained on you, and it no longer felt as if he was trying to look through you or figure out your intentions. Rather, he was looking at you.

“It all would’ve been much worse for me if I hadn’t,” you continued. “She’s given me a safe place to stay and has been trying to help me in any way she can, and I feel very lucky for that.”

You looked back at him with a soft smile. Soft but genuine. Meeting Charlie and Vaggie was the only bout of good luck you’d had since being sent to Hell.

A smile grew on his face in return, and for once, you didn’t feel threatened by it.

“That makes me happy to hear,” he said. “She’s always been much too kind for a place like this.”

“I suppose so,” you chuckled. “I think that just means you did a pretty good job raising her.”

“Aha…I hope so…” he glanced away, sharp teeth beginning to peek through his lips. He then reached a hand out towards you. “May I see that book?”

Hesitating for a moment, you passed it to him. He read over the title before looking up at the endless shelves.

“Come with me,” he said, walking down the aisle.

You followed him in silence. As he turned the corner, you passed a large arched window that allowed red light to stream through. It illuminated the few specs of dust in the air, and when he walked through it, it turned his hair and skin a blush pink.

As you passed under the light, it felt as though all your prior nervousness washed away.

Yesterday, you wanted nothing more than to be as far from this man as possible.

Now, you felt at ease as he guided you through his labyrinth of a library.

He began pulling books from the shelves here and there, handing them off to you. When you looked them over, you realized they were all pertaining to the living world. You knew better than to hope he’d give you one that held the key to getting home…but what if?

You chatted with him a bit about Charlie and her hotel as you went on through the aisles. You were a little surprised by how much he didn’t know about her plans.

After a few minutes, your arms were filled with a stack almost up to your chin.

“That should do it!” he announced, turning to you with a wide grin as he brushed the dust from his hands. His eyes lingered on your face.

“Thank you so much! This is really kind of you,” you said politely. “I’ll be sure to give them back when I’m—uh…done with them!”

“No rush at all. I’ll be sure to stop by soon to see what all my dear daughter has been up to,” he said with a smirk.

You said your goodbyes and watched as he walked away. The smile adorning your face was subconscious, and your chest felt full and warm.

The weight of all the books was making your arms tired. You had yet to look at what he pulled out for you, but you could wait until you were back at the hotel to rifle through them. You probably wouldn’t be able to find anything better than what he had given you, so you decided to meet back up with Charlie.

She found some things that looked promising, as well. You figured she would have told you more about them if her eyes hadn’t landed on your cheek. The cheek that was out on display for the whole world to see as both your arms were full of the books her father had pulled out for you.

Next Chapter

♡ ♡ ♡

tag list: @spookysisters @for-hearthand-home @crescent-z @mixplara @juskonutoh @tinywolfiegirl @lafy-taffy @glowinthedarkbones1150

[willalove75]

could you do one where reader goes to the village alone for some reason and almost gets assaulted (r#per I guess?) but fortunately Alcina saves her just on time, and they have some kind of comfort sex🙏

Thanks so much for the request!!

I definitely have requests that are much, much older than this one but I immediately had an idea when I saw this request so we're just going with it hahah

Warnings: s/a attempt (no actual s/a or detailed description) but please be careful reading anyways💕

Tags: Angst, fluff and smut

The cool summer evening air envelopes you as you make your way down the path towards the village. You can feel the tears evaporating off of your skin as they dry on your cheeks.

You know it isn't safe to be outside of the castle when it gets dark, but the fight you and Alcina had was the worst one you've had yet. She was angry after a meeting with Mother Miranda and the other Lords and all you wanted to do was help. She was too caught up in her rage and threw insult after insult at you, not realizing how deeply her words cut into your heart. She screamed at you to get out of her sight. You threatened back, saying if she kicked you out she'd never see you again, that you deserve to be treated better than that. Her only response was her chilling chuckle and the words "go ahead, see if I care. You're nothing but a pathetic maiden to me. You think you're special, but just know I can have a new you in a second if I so wished."

That was the last straw. Desperately holding back tears you ran from her study and out the door, only stopping to grab a shawl with the Dimitrescu sigil embroidered on it from the closet before leaving the castle. It was a gift from Alcina, she said that as long as you bore her crest, you would be safe.

Hurrying down the path, the sun sank lower and lower into the sky. You knew you needed to be inside before nightfall before the lycans began to roam the village.

The village finally came into view, you were so close, until a growl rumbled from the tree line. Not wanting to wait to find out what creature made the noise, you started to sprint towards the nearest building. The snarls and growls behind you let you know whatever it was was chasing you. After a brief look over your shoulder you saw a lycan sprinting and you kicked it into a higher gear and ran faster than ever.

As the buildings came closer you saw a few men outside, you recognized the building as the back of the village tavern.

"HELP!" You screamed, waving your arms at the men. "LYCAN! HELP ME!"

The men stopped what they were doing and turned towards you as you ran faster and faster, the lycan also gaining speed. One man pulled out a shotgun when you ran past him, practically falling into one of the other mans arms after tripping on a discarded bottle. The first man fired his shotgun at the lycan and you heard a "THUD" as it dropped to the ground.

Trying to catch your breath and calm your nerves you kept repeating over and over "thank you, thank you so much."

"Now, now, what's a little maiden like you doing all alone in those woods at night?" The man you fell into asks as he holds you by your arms.

"I-I was just on my way back to the village, I didn't realize how late it was." Eyeing your surroundings you notice that it's only you and the three men outside, no one else was in sight. "But thank you so much, I owe you all a pint at least, but I really should be getting inside."

You try to pull away but the mans grip tightens.

"Well hold on now darlin', what's the rush?"

"I really shouldn't be out this late."

"Well you have us here hero's to protect you."

"I really appreciate it, but please, let me buy you all a drink."

"I think we can come up with a better form of repayment, don't you think?" He says, looking to the other two men with a sinister smile.

Just then two more men stumble out of the back of the tavern.

"What the hell was that noise?!" One of them shouts.

"We found a damsel in distress." The man holding you says. "We were just discussing a form of repayment."

All five sets of eyes settle onto you and you knew then and there that you ran away from one monster, straight into the arms of another.

Fight or flight kicked in and you tried to pull away from the man but his grip tightened. Pulling your knee up, you make contact with his crotch and the man lets out a groan before his grip loosens. The moment he falters you make a run for it, only for one of the other men to grab you by your shawl and keep you from getting away.

The men drag you to the ground, kicking and screaming, fighting with all your might to get away. One of the men notices the Dimitrescu coat of arms on your shawl and he chuckles.

"Lookie here fellas, looks like we have one of the Lady's little maidens."

The look in their eyes grows darker as they start to move in on you.

-

An hour after your argument, Alcina was finally able to calm herself down. It was then that she realized the true weight of her words and the guilt set in. How could she have been so cruel to you? You were irreplaceable to her, she hoped deep down you knew that but she needed to make things right. Standing from her desk she began to search for you in the castle.

After checking your old room, the library, the kitchen, the atelier and your favorite sitting room she began to worry.

"Daughters! Come here now!" She calls.

The three girls appear in front of their mother moments later.

"Yes mother?" Bela asks.

"Have any of you seen y/n? I cannot find her anywhere."

The three girls look at each other and back at their mother, all shaking their heads "no."

"We haven't seen her mother." Daniela says.

"Why? Is she in trouble?" Cassandra says with a wicked smile.

"No, no she is not. I said some things I never should have and now I cannot find her." Worry starts to creep into Alcina's chest when she realizes she hasn't been able to hear your heartbeat, fearing that maybe she finally drove you away for good.

"Please excuse my interruption my Lady," one of the maids says after overhearing the conversation. "but you said you are looking for y/n?"

"Yes, have you seen her?" Alcina asks, turning towards the maid.

The maid turns her gaze to the floor and begins to tremble under the stare of her mistress.

"I-I-"

"If you know something maiden, speak. Now." Lady Dimitrescu says as her patience begins to thin.

"I saw her run out of the castle just over an hour ago my Lady."

"WHAT?!"

The maid cowers and trembles more.

"She looked upset, I tried to call after her but she didn't hear me. She ran through the doors and was gone before I could catch up to her."

Alcina looks at her daughters with fear in her eyes. The sun had set not long ago, she desperately hoped you made it to the village before nightfall but you would have been cutting it close.

"Girls,"

"On it mother!" Bela says.

"We'll find her!" Daniela says.

"And we'll kill anything that tries to harm her." Cassandra adds.

"You girls search from above, I will follow the path to the village. We must go quickly."

Without addressing the maid again the four Dimitrescu women run out of the castle towards the village.

-

One man manages to pin your arms to the ground as two others try to stop your kicking legs while you thrash in their grasp. The man you kneed in the balls leans over and backhands you hard across the face, stunning you for a moment.

Tears begin to run down your temples into your hairline as you cry out for help.

The man leaning over you glares down at your trembling form.

"You're a feisty one, eh? We're gonna have so much fun breaking you."

His breath reeks of alcohol and cheap tobacco, unlike the scent of Alcina's breath that usually smells like her sweet wine and expensive cigarettes. You close your eyes and wish by some miracle she could hear you, that she would come and save you. But you knew you were grasping at hopeless straws. She wanted nothing to do with you, even if she did there's no way she would be able to hear you in distress. You felt crazy but part of you wished for her so hard you thought you were making yourself remember the scent of her perfume as if she was right here. As if you were smelling it right this moment.

The mans hands grab at you and you squeeze your eyes shut, praying that they either kill you right away or grow bored of you quickly.

The man begins to taunt you and mid-sentence you hear him cry out in pain and feel something warm splatter across your face. Your eyes snap open to see black blades sticking out through the man's chest. He gets thrown to the side and in his place you see the familiar cream dress. As your eyes move up the figure you swear you're hallucinating. It's not until you see a pair of gold eyes, glowing with murderous rage staring back at you.

"Al-Alcina-" you choke out as more tears fall. This time they're tears of relief. Behind Alcina you see the man with the shotgun aim at her back. "Alcina! Look out!" You scream.

The gun goes off and her body lurches forward for a moment before she stands up straight once more. Looking down you see blood begin to pour from the exit wound of the bullet before it slows. Alcina turns to face the man and in one swipe she slices him to ribbons as his body parts fall to the ground. You notice the shotgun wound on her back heals, leaving nothing but drying blood and a hole in her dress as the only evidence of the wound.

The man holding your hands puts you in a chokehold and brings a knife to your neck. Alcina turns to see the man and her eyes flare dangerously. A buzzing noise gets louder and louder before you hear the man behind you scream in pain. He drops the knife as his arm gets pulled away violently. Turning towards the sound, you see Cassandra with her sickle through the mans arm, dragging him away.

"Don't you DARE put your FILTY MAN HANDS ON HER!" She screams in the mans face as he trembles.

More buzzing grows louder and Daniela and Bela appear behind the last two men that were holding your legs, they had backed away but were too stunned with fear to run. The girls put their sickles to the men's throats to keep them from running.

Alcina bends down and hesitantly reaches her hand out towards you. She doesn't want to startle you any more but she's also fearful that you won't accept her help after the things she said to you.

Meeting her eyes once more you let out a sob and push yourself off of the ground and into her arms. Alcina is taken back for a second before wrapping her arms tightly around you and holding you close. Relief washes over her, she found you, and you were safe. Her grip tightens after thinking about what could have happened if she showed up even a minute later. Quickly pushing that thought out of her head, she strokes your hair and kisses your temple; whispering in your ear over and over that you're safe and that she has you, that no one can hurt you now.

"Mother." Bela says. "What would you like us to do with the man-things?"

"Oh mother can we hunt them?! Pretty please?!" Daniela asks, batting her eyelashes at her mother.

Cassandra chuckles darkly at the thought. "Yes mother, can we please? We haven't had fresh man blood in so long."

"There is one for each of us!" Daniela adds.

Looking at her daughters, the Countess smiles.

"Of course, daughters. Lead them away from the village and you may set them free to hunt. Please be safe and return to the castle when you're finished."

Exchanging excited glances, Bela and Daniela stick their sickles into the legs of the men they were holding and the three girls begin to drag them away into the forest.

Turning her attention back to you, Alcina continues to stroke your hair and comfort you as your sobs begin to soften.

"Hush draga, hush. You're safe, you're safe now my darling. Nothing is going to hurt you. I won't let anyone hurt you ever again."

"You came."

"Of course I did." She says as she stands with you cradled in her arms and begins to make her way back to the castle.

"I thought they were going to- I thought they were going to kill me. I didn't- I didn't think you were going to come." You said through tears.

"I will always come to your aid, draga mea. Always."

"But, you said-"

"Shh, let us go home, you need rest. Then we will discuss what happened, alright my love?"

Nodding into her you cling tighter to her dress and she holds you closer to her chest in response. The gentle sway of her arms, the smell of her perfume, you begin to relax in her embrace as your adrenaline ceases and exhaustion takes over, lulling you into a deep sleep.

Looking down at you in her arms, fast asleep, Alcina berates herself for ever speaking such vile words to you. Aside from her daughters, you are her whole world. She curses herself for making you believe that she ever saw you as anything less.

Finally making it back to the castle, you begin to wake up as Alcina ascends the stairs to her chambers.

"Lets run you a bath, draga mea." She says. You nod in agreement.

After turning off the taps and pouring in your favorite soaps and oils, Alcina helps you undress and sits you in the tub. As she washes you, she examines the marks the men left on your body. Luckily there were nothing but a few small cuts and light bruising, but Alcina can't help but feel like each mark on your body was her fault.

Her eyes fill up with tears as she caresses the red mark on your face where the man struck you. Meeting her gaze, you're surprised to see the unshed tears that are building.

"I am so sorry my darling." She says quietly, just above a whisper. "I never should have said those horrible things to you. I didn't mean a single word I said. You mean everything to me."

"I do?"

"Yes. I could never replace you, ever. I was angry when I said those things. I know that doesn't excuse my behavior but I never meant for you to leave, I never meant to drive you away. I never-" she pauses as a few tears roll down her cheeks. "I never meant for you to get hurt. This is all my fault. I am so, so sorry."

"You hurt me."

"I know I did, draga. I hurt you so deeply and I regret every word I said to you. I will never forgive myself for what happened tonight because all of this, this is my fault."

She wipes her tears away and continues to bathe you. The two of you fall into silence as she washes your hair and combs out the knots. After the bath Alcina wraps you in a fluffy towel and carries you into the bedroom. You pull on a nightgown and crawl into bed while Alcina goes back into the bathroom to wash off the rest of the blood she had on her. She comes back out in a nightgown and lays next to you in bed.

Alcina pulls your back tightly against her front and you feel her nuzzle into your hair before taking a deep breath in. She exhales with a hum and places light kisses to the back of your neck. Your eyes flutter closed as you relax into her touch.

"You mean everything to me." Alcina says softly between kisses. "No one can ever replace you, draga mea. Not in a thousand years."

Her breath cascading across your skin causes the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up. Alcina notices and you can feel her smirk into you. The hand she has resting against your stomach slowly moves up, coming to rest just under your breasts. The movement against your nightgown causes it to rise to the tops of your thighs.

A battle wages in your mind, part of you is still angry with her. She hurt you, so badly. The wounds of her words are still fresh. The other part of you wants her to take you. Even though you bathed, you can still feel the hands of the men on you. You want her touch to erase them from you, for her to claim you as hers once more.

Alcina picks up on the battle waging in your head. You have no idea how she always seems to know what you're thinking, but she always does.

"Do you want me to stop?" She asks with genuine concern in her soft voice. She knows you've been through a lot today and doesn't want to pressure you into doing something you don't want to.

"I - I don't know." You whisper back.

Alcina rolls you towards her, your eyes locking onto her golden ones. Her pupils are enlarged but she's holding herself back. The hand resting just under your breasts moves up to cup your face, her thumb caressing your cheek.

"I don't want to do anything that will cause you more stress, draga mea. I need you to tell me what you want."

"I don't know what I want, I just want you." You say as tears fill your eyes.

"Oh, my darling. May I kiss you?"

Nodding your head in a tearful "yes", Alcina leans over you, gently pressing her lips into yours. Her feather-light kisses practically make you melt as she peppers your lips with them. Snaking your fingers into her raven locks, you gently hold onto the back of her head, deepening the kisses.

Alcina pulls away just enough to look at you, your lips barely brushing against each others. Her sparkling golden eyes look deeply into yours and she says "I love you, draga mea. I wish I would have told you sooner, but I love you. More than I've ever loved anyone."

Your breath catches in your lungs at her confession. Never in a million years did you think she would ever love you. Words try to crawl their way out of your throat but a small whimper emerges instead. There's so much you want to say to her right now but your brain is swirling so quickly the words don't come. Instead of using your words, you do the only other thing you can think of - which is pulling her into you and kissing her with a fervor, conveying your message to her with your lips.

Matching your intensity, Alcina's lips envelop yours - although she's still hesitant to push you too far. Sensing her hesitation, you take her bottom lip between your teeth and tug at it, letting your teeth drag against it as it slips from between your lips. At first Alcina lets out a small gasp of surprise, but when she feels her lip between your teeth she lets out a low groan.

The moment her lip snaps back Alcina captures your lips with hers once more. This time with a hotter, more passionate kiss. Her tongue glides across your lips and you part them, allowing her in. Large hands trace the curves on your body, coming to rest at your hips. Alcina adjusts herself above you and you instinctively spread your legs, making room for her between them. She settles herself against you, careful not to put the full weight of her body on you. Rolling your hips into her, Alcina pulls your nightgown up to your waist and returns her hands to your hips.

"Alci, please." You pant between kisses. "I love you. I need you."

Alcina lets out a low growl in her chest and she peels your underwear down your legs before tossing them aside. Pulling her lips from yours, she inhales deeply, smelling your arousal as it greets her senses. When she looks back down into your eyes you notice only a sliver of gold remains from her blown out pupils.

Her long fingers dance up and down your legs as she plants kiss after kiss into the skin of your jaw and neck. When she drags them up the inside of your thigh she wastes no time and immediately cups your heat when she reaches the apex of your thighs. Her fingers explore every inch of you, gliding through your folds effortlessly as she coats them in your arousal before resting the tips of her fingers on your clit.

You moan into her ear as she begins to make small yet firm circles around it. A light flush begins to develop across your cheeks, slowly making it's way down your neck. Her breathing increases but she keeps her slow, relaxing pace.

Alcina's free hand cups your face as she continues to cover you with kisses. She can practically smell the scent left behind by the men, even after your shower - and all she wanted was to erase them from your body, covering them with her own. Her fingers alone begin to work you up so much you can feel an orgasm building as your flush deepens. Alcina picks up on how much your body is reacting and she slows her ministrations down further, causing you to whine.

"Don't stop, please." You whimper into her ear.

She coats her finger in your arousal once more before pulling back and looking into your eyes.

"Are you sure, my love? We don't have to-"

"Please, I need you. Take me Alcina." You say, cutting her off.

With one more passionate kiss, Alcina parts your lips and lines her finger up with your entrance before looking deep into your eyes.

"Relax my love, let me take care of you."

Before you can even respond she starts to slowly slide her finger into you with a gentleness you've rarely experienced. Knuckle by knuckle Alcina slowly fills you, pushing deeper into your heated core.

"Good girl, just like that." She says before her finger bottoms you out and you let out a moan of pure pleasure. Sliding her finger almost all the way out, she pushes back into you again a little faster, but still slow and gentle. When she reaches the spongy patch deep inside she curls her finger against it and your eyes roll into the back of your head as you let out another moan.

When you start to rock your hips to her rhythm, Alcina sets a modest pace; thrusting into you, curling her finger and pulling almost all the way out and repeating her pattern. Your orgasm begins to build and you pull her lips down to yours, capturing them in a heated kiss. As your tongues intertwine, the flush on your body reappears, deeper and hotter than before. You throw your arms around her neck and keep her close. If she wanted to, she could easily break free from your grasp but instead Alcina leans into you, allowing the closeness of your bodies to comfort her as she continues pleasuring you with her finger.

"Can you take more of me, my darling?" She whispers in your ear before nibbling on the lobe.

"Yes, please." You pant in response.

Your velvety walls stretch in a blissful way when she adds a second finger, the sensation causing you to cry out in pleasure. Alcina keeps her steady pace and brings her thumb to your clit, rubbing tight circles around it.

"Oh gods! Fuck!" You whine into the fabric of her nightgown as your orgasm builds once more.

The room falls silent, the only noises being made are of her fingers thrusting in and out of you and your muffled whines and pants as she brings you closer to your release.

Both of her fingers curling into that spot deep inside causes your back to arch off of the bed, allowing Alcina to push deeper into you. She can feel your walls tightening around her finger but she doesn't quicken her pace, she keeps it steady, hoping to build you up slowly instead of fucking you into bliss like she normally does.

Part of you was surprised she didn't start thrusting faster and harder but another part of you is enjoying the slow build of your orgasm so much you never want her to fuck you differently than this ever again.

The coil in your stomach tightens more and more as more whines and whimpers fall from your lips. Alcina kisses you passionately again and you moan into her mouth as you get closer and closer.

Alcina picks up the pace only a little as she feels your walls begin to clamp down around her, knowing you won't last much longer. She pulls her lips from your and looks deeply into your eyes.

"I love you, so much draga mea." She says as her thumb caresses your cheek.

"I - I love you Alcina. Oh fuck, I love you so much. Please, please." You whine.

She picks up her pace a little more and you struggle to hold her gaze as her now black eyes bore into yours. The coil in your stomach is so tight it's about to snap, your body feels like it's on fire and you arch into her touch more, allowing her fingers to drive deeper than before.

"Ah, fuck! Alci, I'm - I'm gonna -"

"Cum for me my darling, let go. I have you." She whispers into your ear.

A few more thrusts is all you needed to fall over the edge as you cry out. Your orgasm rips through your body and all you can do is cling to Alcina as tightly as possible as she helps you ride wave after wave of pleasure. Alcina whispers praises as she guides you through your orgasm, doing her best to prolong it as long as she possibly can in an attempt to give you as much pleasure as possible.

It's not until your back collapses down onto the mattress and your walls finally relax around her that Alcina slides her fingers from your soaked center.

You can't help but whine at the loss, causing a light chuckle from Alcina. She lifts herself off of you and pulls you into her chest as the last of your aftershocks course through you. Her cool skin helps your heated body as you relax into her arms, focusing on the light throbbing between your legs and the tempo of her breaths as her chest rises and falls against you.

Alcina runs her fingers through your hair and kisses you on the head. She holds you close, not wanting to let you go, almost as if you'll slip through her arms and disappear if she doesn't.

"I love you, Alcina." You whisper.

"I love you so much my darling girl. I promise I will never hurt you again. I will never allow anyone to ever hurt you again draga mea. I will protect you, always."

Pulling away a bit, you adjust yourself to be able to look into her golden eyes. You can see they're filled with regret, with fear that you won't ever forgive her.

"I know you will. I believe you. I trust you. I forgive you." A tear falls down her porcelain skin and you wipe it away. "I love you." You say as you pull her so her plush red lips meet yours.

"I love you too, my darling. Forever."

When your lips part, Alcina tucks you under her chin and the soothing beat of her heart lulls you into a dreamless, peaceful sleep. Alcina releases a breath she didn't know she was holding when she feels you drift off in her arms and she swears to every god that may exist that she will never allow anyone, including herself, to ever hurt you again. That she will protect you for the rest of her life. And never again will you be subjected to the pain she's caused you today.

"I promise you, my love, I will protect you. Forever. You are mine, and I will love you always."

[thoughtssvt]

shaky defenses

the small spaces between infinity pt. 2

teen dad gojo finds kid megumi sweating buckets and groaning in pain. he thinks he's dying (he's not, gojo's just too strong for his own good) warning just for misunderstandings, it's comically intense

��Megumi-chan, I know training is hard, but if you wanna skip you should at least tell me,” Satoru said with a grunt as he intruded the Fushiguro apartment. He set one foot outside the genkan before groaning, taking a step back to toe his shoes off, something Tsumiki had scolded him for in the past.

He took a peek into the living room, the air stale like no one had been in it all day. Heaving a heavy sigh he made his way to Megumi’s room.

“Megumi, you know I got you a phone for a reason, right? I promise I won’t get mad if you at least call me to tell me you don’t want to train,” he tilted his head side to side in search of empathetic words. How do you speak to a kid anyway? “Maybe you do deserve a break, you’ve been working hard–” his voice clung to the back of his throat as he swung Megumi’s bedroom door open to see him writhing on the floor, just a few feet away from his bed. His eyes were screwed shut, sweat beading down his face, groans of pain droning from his chest.

“Go…jo… hurts…”

Satoru felt his muscles tense as his pupils shook, glowing with a piercing blue as he put up infinity. There’s no way he could’ve missed any sign of danger. An intruder? A curse, a curse user? Had they left already? Was Megumi dying?

He scooped the boy into his arms, wincing at the boiling heat of his skin. At that moment he cursed himself for not figuring out teleportation sooner, debating whether it would be faster to take a cab or assume a full sprint all the way back to campus.

“You’ll…” He swallowed thickly. He’d never felt this way before. Even on the brink of death he had control of his mind, but now? He couldn’t stop his mind from telling him the worst or the way his bones rattled against his muscles. “You’ll be okay.” He whispered. “Shoko will make it go away.” That’s right. He bet his life on Shoko for years. He just had to calm down. Megumi would be okay.

He kicked down the door of Shoko’s lab covered in sweat and panting just as heavily as Megumi. “Shoko!” He stuttered, spilling the boy onto the examination table before Shoko waved him off. She needed to work and she couldn’t do that with him hovering like a mother hen.

He could’ve sworn this was all the doing of a curse with the way that time seemed irrelevant. He didn’t know how many minutes passed, but at one point he had to tell himself to stop pacing. God, what was happening to him? He hadn’t felt something this negative since–

Shoko stepped out of the room, softly shutting the door behind her. The soft taps of a cigarette box rhythmically pounding against her palm echoed down the hallway.

“So? What… what’s… will he live?”

She quirked her brow at him, pinching a fresh cigarette between her lips. She stood there looking at him like he’d grown two heads before she snickered softly. “He has a cold and a very high fever. I can’t use the reverse curse technique on this, he’s gotta let it pass on its own. I’ve got him hooked to some fluids.” She shook her head fondly, “He will live, fortunately.”

Satoru stepped into the room, his lungs burning as he held his breath. Taking a seat next to where Megumi laid he slowly let it out, examining him closely, feeling much better seeing his improved state. Megumi’s face was now relaxed, a cold patch across his forehead, skin void of any precipitation. He was just sick? Is this what sickness did to you?

He slumped in his seat, his fingers tapping just next to Megumi’s hand as he watched the saline drip slowly. He would’ve fallen asleep if the boy hadn’t bolted upright, frantically looking around to digest his surroundings.

“Gojo-san,” He rasped, voice thick with sickness, “I… training… What time is it?” It was obvious his mind was on everything besides his health.

Satoru sat up, reaching out to ruffle Megumi’s dark hair. “You’re off the hook for the rest of the week. You’ve earned it. Just focus on getting better, okay? Rest is a big part of training, too.”

That night Satoru bugged Shoko to tell him how to avoid sickness, his tongue clicking in distaste as she told him that it’s unfortunately hard for sickness to bypass children with the way they’re walking hotspots. To add to the misfortune, Gojo turned to the internet. Effectively causing him to buy a new set of winter clothes for the siblings– despite the fact that it was almost summer– and a pile of antibacterial soaps and sanitizers for them to keep in every corner of the house. He doesn’t know much outside the scope of strength, but what he does know is that he never wants to see Megumi in that state again.

A/N : ooc? Yeah sure, but i hc that Satoru has never ever been sick in his life, so he absolutely freaked out the first time he saw Megumi sick.

The Small Spaces Between Infinity masterlist

Innocence Protection Program masterlist

a papamin and kid yuuji series

Jujutsu Daycare masterlist

a series au of the jujutsu high students as daycare kids

[always-just-down-the-street]

Some Misc. Thoughts I've Had With The Misremembered Lanes AU

It's about 3AM and I wanted to just put up some more crumbs for people who like the Misremembered Lanes AU! (Yes it's an AU now, see here.) These are compiled from random Discord convos I've had on Discord and so they're gonna be a tad disconnected, BUT if you stay to the end I got another small writing for y'all! So feel free to nom on all this, do whatever. Have fun. :)

~ 0 ~

While not an intended part of the AU, an interesting analysis that ended up occurring was "What would the timeline have been like if Taco actually got to win vs. how OJ feels in this AU after winning".

For the "Taco Wins" timeline, consider that nobody was really rooting for her besides Pickle, and she wouldn't have seen everyone as genuinely coming to like her after OJ would've turned heel- a point was made that they would've sided with her because they didn't like OJ betraying Paper. Compared to OJ, who puts up a facade to keep a bunch of fake friends, Taco would've happily left them behind to have a great time with her real friend. Get away from them, get away from the show, and never worry about that treadmill.

But OJ? OJ the Winner in the canon (for this AU) timeline? He feels trapped, and the worst part is he can never figure out or articulate why. Or maybe even that the feeling is there at all, at least consciously.

That's why he has to insist upon himself, his ego, because that's deep down the only thing that's real. He fears everything could be taken away if he doesn't but he doesn't know why. He doesn't know that he is trapped in a paradise never meant for him. Took the luxuries and created his own gilded cage out of someone else's dreams and hopes.

Everything else is fake, it's just a matter of if he realizes it or not.

It's a nightmare that he never knows to wake up from, and the moment he does he wants to go to back to sleep. Because the only thing worse than making a cage for yourself without realizing is realizing you're in the cage at all. Cause once he learns the truth? He can't go back. Otherwise everything he put himself through- everything he put Taco through, if indirectly- was all for nothing.

But now he sees the world outside of the cage. Now he sees her outside of the cage, looking in. They both want what the other has, and it breaks them because they're two sides of the same coin.

They're too far in what they've become.

~ 0 ~

“Why aren’t you happy? You’re a winner, aren’t you?”

“You have everything you could have ever wanted. Friends, fortune, fame, glory. Everything you could have wanted, and you still feel empty. Everything he gave you, and you still feel empty.”

“The only empty thing in the gilded cage you filled with everything never meant for you.”

“You see her out there. You finally see how alone she looks, you recognize it like it was your own face. It should have been your face. It’s the same face.”

“You can’t face yourself in the mirror anymore. You just see her.”

“Why aren’t you happy? You’re free, aren’t you?”

“You escaped everything. The show, the contestants, your host. Your creator. He made you. He made you wrong, and now you’re left to pick up the pieces.”

“But no matter how much you try, you could never fit the pieces back into the shape they used to be.”

“You see him in there. You finally see how trapped he looks, you recognize it like it was your own face. It should have been your face. It’s the same face.”

“You can’t face your reflection anymore. You just see him.”

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

NFITH Chapter 1 - New Territory [Commander Fox x Fem!Reader]

Warnings and Information: New to Coruscant and adjusting horribly to your new job as a senator’s aide, you often find yourself lost on the best of days, and the target of her wrath on the worst of them. You could almost swear she’s setting you up to fail as your job standards become more and more impossible. Fortunately for you, you have someone in high places looking out for you before long.  Second Person POV, undescribed Fem!Reader, save for *very occasional* mentions of makeup. Establishing chapter where Reader moves to Coruscant for intentionally vague reasons. Reader does not meet Fox in this chapter. Reader has a very helpful neighbor. This series contains depictions of anxiety and panic attacks. Star Wars and real-world swearing. Narrative and stylistic use of italics. 

Word count: 2,748

New Territory

Moving to the centermost jewel of the Core Worlds for a career change was an impulsive decision spurred on by the start of the Clone Wars some time ago. Feelings of great uncertainty for your future in this developing chapter of your life became a dragging, tugging weight you could no longer ignore. What once provided anchorage to keep you stable and sure threatened to drown you in the ever-shifting tide if you did not rid yourself of these hindrances. 

Something new was waiting for you on Coruscant, the city that never sleeps. You just wouldn’t be sure until you got there.

Loved ones had rallied around you when you made preparations for the plunge, showing you support and lending a helping hand in packing most of your life away in tidy little boxes and crates. It proved easy with their help. You truly couldn’t have done it without them. Choosing cherished items to leave behind was no walk in the park, but it was easier than what would come next. 

The fretful farewells and yawning maw of a whole new galactic timezone between you and your loved ones were bitter pills to swallow. The first coils of dread pooled in your stomach upon the drop out of hyperspace, slowly gnawing away all the while as you met up with the moving company in the early afternoon.

Getting the keycards and address to your new Coruscanti apartment marked the start of an aching loneliness. 

There was no one to stand behind you in silent support when the new neighbors came sniffing around at the sight of the moving company, leaving you to greet them on your own. None of the bittersweet laughter that lovingly tucked your holoalbums in boxes accompanied you when it came time to unpack them. No one would help you decide where you should put your travel-wilted houseplants when you introduced a little greenery, something to fill up the empty space. 

(The corner would have to do for now.)

Dinner was eaten alone. 

Too travel-tired, and the whole of your body aching at the thought of a few minutes more on your feet after a busy afternoon of scattered unpacking, you purchased something from one of the many street vendors just outside the complex. 

The signage was not in Galactic Basic, but thankfully, the Dug vendor knew enough to provide “something filling” when you asked. Anything would do so long as it took the claws of the gripping hunger and filed them down. Credits changed hands for a carton of breaded nuna nuggets in a vegetable and grain blend, which was taken back upstairs and enjoyed quietly in the solitude of your kitchen for a moment, just savoring the flavor of your first meal on a new planet. 

To disrupt the unfamiliar room tone, you eventually tune in to a radio drama for the first in a long time. Something to fill up your apartment with a little more sound until you’re ready to unpack a final box or two for the night, then head to bed. The script’s corny and amateurish quality has you reconsider that idea pretty quickly. 

The longer you listen, the more it sounds like an office drama, complete with catty watercooler talk and power tripping micromanagers. 

Pass.

You turn it off and put the rest of your meal in the conservator for tomorrow.

You make just enough progress on a pair of boxes before you’re content both with the day’s progress and the prospect of finally getting some shut-eye. 

Leaving the process of wrestling your mattress in place when you’re running on fumes likely wasn’t the best idea, but it should serve its purpose for draining the remainder of whatever energy reserves you have. Once settled in the bed frame, extracting your bed linens and dressing things up is all that’s left before your nightly routine, and finally, sleep. Fixing the mattress cover and fitted sheet in place takes the most time, the rest proves a breeze. 

The new sleeping space is capped off with final addition of the comforter. A loved one packed your sleep set in the same box as the bed linens, meaning you don’t have to sleep in the day’s now-dirty clothes, or dig through any more boxes. 

It smells like home. 

And it’s the first time you sit here—truly sit here—in the newness and the unfamiliar of what you’ve gotten yourself into… and struggle not to cry. You deny the brine-water in your eyes its purpose, wiping and washing everything down the sink drain instead. The cold creepings of loneliness and regret are placated with self-soothing nonsense. 

You’re just tired. There was a lot of information to process today. Everyone feels completely overwhelmed their first day on Coruscant. 

It could easily be the first of many days… 

Finally reclining in bed, you find it hard to sleep now that there’s nothing else to occupy your mind with, taking notice how full of sound this foreign environment is. Understanding this planet is one massive, incomprehensible city, it’s easy to see why rather than the occasional, irregular sound, the noise pollution will be constant, coming from countless sources.  

The hummed harmonies of neon signs glowing in the smog. A million skylanes warbling and purring with speeder cabs in every color of the light spectrum. The steady, endless drum of foot traffic on a million and one walkways. The voices of trillions of galactic lifeforms living above and below the surface; all parading around on the planet that never sleeps. 

Sleep eludes you all night, or proves restless when you wink out of consciousness, however temporarily.

Your neighbor from down the hall is not surprised to see you propped up in the doorframe, folding over in exhaustion when you answer the door just before mid-morning. You force drooping eyelids back in place, praying this is a quick matter as you greet the elderly woman perched on your welcome mat next to a large bag. 

You were in the process of sniffing out which of the many boxes filled with kitchenware contained your caf machine so you could brew yourself a cup of much-needed energy when there was a knock at your door. 

“Can I help you…?”

She was Tholothian, judging by the scaled skullcap and tendrils that bobbled over her shoulders from the force of the gentle, bubbly laugh she breaks into in her amusement. 

“Oh no, dear; I’m here to help you. May I come in?” 

Her smile is warm, and kind; emphasized and complemented by both smile and age lines. You’re pretty sure you saw her the other day when the movers brought in the first of the boxes, but you can’t remember a name.

Figuring there’s no harm, you invite her inside, at which point she collects the sizable bag at her feet and finds a way to gracefully squeeze it past you without so much as a bumped elbow. “Do you… need any help with that?” The offer to help is made only after the moment has passed, brain sluggish and more than a little forgetful of your manners. 

Fortunately, she’s forgiving of the situation before her. “I’m plenty strong in my old age, don’t you worry! Got up nice and early this morning to get some things that’ll help you settle in. Groceries, too.” 

No longer quite sleepy, you now stand there, stunned. “You- you brought me groceries?”

With a smile, she hoists the bag a little higher than before. “I sure did. Where would you like me to put everything, dear?”

“T-the counters in the kitchen’s fine…” you stammer. 

Your neighbor brings the grocery-laden bag into the apartment’s small kitchen, and lines everything up on the countertop as you instructed. Blue milk, a loaf of polystarch, eggs, caf creamer, and generic breakfast mixes are among the lot. 

“Here you are! A few essentials to get you started.” Previously crammed in one singular bag, there are now fifty or so items to be put away. (That’s a few?)

You would be speechless if it wasn’t the polite thing to thank her. 

“I, uh… h-holy shit, thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” she replies cheerily. “Mrs. Helios is always here for her neighbors. I’m just a knock away down the hall in ol’ 4546Besh if you ever need me.”

Mrs. Helios. Tholothian. 4546Besh. 

You could remember that. (Probably.) You properly introduce yourself while the two of you begin putting away the perishables first, the conservator and cupboards looking a little less barren than before. (And she thinks you have a lovely name; says it suits you.) Keeping up the momentum, the boxes of kitchenware previously poked through for the caf-maker are tackled next, at Mrs. Helios’ offering.

“You look like you could use a hand.” she says with a knowing smile. 

“I would certainly appreciate it…” you say, not for the first time. 

Steady progress is made over the next half hour or so until the beverage machine has been located, at which point you dig only long enough to find the caf powder and a suitable mug before the Tholothian encourages you to have a rest. Mrs. Helios takes the opportunity to present you with a few more things out of her bag while you wait on your cup to brew. 

The first is a sound device, the price sticker subjected to some rather thorough redacting of monetary value. The packaging is pretty nondescript, save for a few lofty promises—over 150+ new and improved audio files!—but the machine itself has a rather nice, sleek design when you extract it from the box. Coincidentally, it happens to be in a softer shade of one of your favorite colors. 

“It may help mask some of the... less pleasant ambience you’ll find here.” 

Her reasoning sagely segues into the next item, handwritten advice on how to deal with the high amount of crime and the pickpockets that plague the planet. The stack of hair-thin acrylic sheets must be half an inch tall, and again, handwritten. Each letter is crisp, with a print-like quality to it. It must’ve taken her several hours to write this much, and so tidily.

You’re kind of at a loss for words. You’re wondering if you’ve made a terrible mistake uprooting your comfortable life to live here.

“Just how bad is the crime?”

“It’s not so bad here on the upper levels, dear. Biggest concern would be pickpockets, day to day. But the sub-levels; now those areas you’d really need to take care of yourself.” Mrs. Helios understands that's not much comfort, so the subject is changed for now while you fetch the finished cup of caf. (You set another to percolate for good measure; you’ll likely take it for yourself if Mrs. Helios declines.) “Speaking of upper levels… I also wrote down a few of the good shops not too far from here that you may find helpful as you're settling in. Nice variety, and all that.” 

You take the first of the pages and study its directions, telling you how many turns to take, nearby signage, types of shops you should be seeing along the way. She’s thought of everything. Mrs. Helios has made a point to include the name and species of the shop-owners, and the languages they speak as well.

Nursing your caf, you select a passage at random. 

Hasher (Dug) speaks Basic, but be sure to greet him in Huttese first. The word ‘Hello’ is ‘Achuta’. 

“You must be pretty familiar with these shop owners.” 

“I’ve been doing business with them for years,” Mrs. Helios confirms, head bobbing. 

Though the two of you had proper introductions little more than an hour ago (if the chronometer is to be believed), the elderly Tholothian has given you the impression she’ll answer any question with honesty. She’s given no reason for you to suspect otherwise so far, anyway. 

“Are they… friendly?”

Mrs. Helios has given you an ace up your sleeve, and she knows it. “They should be! If they aren’t, telling ‘em Mrs. Helios sent you their way ought to remind them of their manners. I won’t tolerate them being unkind to my neighbors just because I’ve known them for years.” Reaching across the small table, she takes your hand and gives your forearm a gentle but reassuring pat. “You’ll find your footing here in no time, dearie. Don’t you worry.” Her smile lines deepen, and her tone is full of confidence. 

“I hope so…” you reply, sleepy in your optimism.

Not much later, the caf-pot indicates the second cup you’ve set to brew has finished, strengthening the robust aroma wafting through your tiny apartment kitchen. Getting up, you collect the mug full of bitter brew and offer it up to your new neighbor, asking if she’d like some sugar or cream to sweeten it. You should have thought to do the same with your own, but you’d been so desperate for a stimulant after a near-sleepless night that you only waited long enough for it to cool to a more comfortable temperature, at which point it was drunk straight. 

“Oh, that’s a very kind offer, but I’m afraid caf and I don’t agree with one another. I suspect I’m mildly allergic to caffeine; always seem to break out in hives after a cup. You go ahead and have it for me, dear.” Mrs. Helios encourages you. She promises there’s no sense worrying about the possibility of a contact allergy, either. More than one broken cup of caf has been cleaned by her thin fingers throughout her lifetime without ill effect. 

That brings up many questions, she’s all too sure, but you’ll have to find your answers another time. 

“Judging from the amount of boxes, you’re planning to be here for a while. There will be plenty of time to get to know one another better.”

“I came to Coruscant for a career change.” you confess, stirring in a few spoonfuls of sugar into the second cup of caf. “So I hope that’s true.” 

The Tholothian’s expression quickly becomes one of mild interest. “Is that so? And do you have a career lined up for you already?” Interest morphs into gentle disapproval and concern when you tell her there’s no new job lined up yet. “Oh good galaxies, child. That won’t do at all… Coruscant can be such an expensive place to live. Well. In that case, I ought to give you some directions to the nearby career centers before long. You deserve a little time to settle in, first.”

First groceries, then a noise machine and a sizable stack of hand-written advice. Now Mrs. Helios is offering to help you find resources to pick up a new career. You must have accrued and cashed in some seriously good karma or something to have such a helpful neighbor just down the hall. It almost feels too good to be true. You know your family would be as relieved as you are grateful to have met someone so generous and helpful so shortly after moving to Coruscant. 

“Stars, I… I don’t know how to possibly thank you enough, Mrs. Helios...” 

Your neighbor smiles, humored, as she begins gathering her things. She’s taken enough of your time for the day; ought to be on her way and let you get back to setting your apartment in order at your leisure. Boxes that have piled up in the joint search of the caf-maker are kicked aside, helping her get to the door unencumbered. 

“Settle in first. Then you can fuss about thanking me,” the Tholothian tells you with a matronly smile and a deciding nod. “But there’s no pressure. This is new territory for you, dear. Your story is just getting started.”

That’s certainly one way to look at it. “Yeah… I guess you’re right.” you agree softly, returning her pleasant smile. Her words are simple, but so very comforting. You linger at the door, waiting until Mrs. Helios makes it down to 4546Besh before slipping back inside your own apartment with a departing wave. 

She’s absolutely right. 

The day is still young, and with the caf in your system, you should be able to make decent work on emptying these moving boxes if you work in waves. Your first night was rough, but it’s behind you now. Given an incredible leg up by your generous neighbor, tonight should be better. 

And tomorrow, you’ll start properly exploring the planet at the heart of the Galactic Republic.

Starting out this series on the small-side for chapters; be warned that future chapters will (likely) be on the longer end going forward!

Fic taglist: @dukeoftheblackstar @dystopicjumpsuit @msmeredithrose @lonely-day3636 @returnofthepineapple

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