#her fears long enough she could think. and attempt to sooth herself

[halfyearsqueen]

her absolute worst pregnancy was with jace

[impish-baby]

You should totally have a yandere queen caregiver who’s is just obsessed with one of the servants!!!

by the way I love all your writing

Does the swallow dream of flying - platonic yandere queen x servant reader - 👑

(Trigger warnings: reader is hurt offscreen, queen helps them take a bath, threats/mentions of violence not towards reader)

Beatrice has struggled to bear children of her own, it is an unfortunate truth. Perhaps that's why she feels the need to be softer to the younger members of her staff, using them as surrogates for what she can not have. There is one servant in particular that always catches her eye. A bit ditzy, but that is forgivable, the effort and pride they obviously put into their work making up for it. She does not mean to coddle, but they help soothe the growing ache in her chest.

The sight of you sniffling in a pathetic heap on the floor is already enough to anger her, but the fact that you're clutching your reddened cheek only makes matters worse. Combined with the fact that your shirt is stained with hot tea, the queen would like nothing more to hang the perpetrator this instant but she has more immediate matters to tend to.

"You are aware that crying like a child won't help anything, correct?" Beatrice kneels, a firm frown on her face as she pinches your chin between her fingers, turning your head to the side. The handprint is apparent, marring the skin of your face. She'll do better than hang your aggressor, they won't have a hand to strike with at all first.

"Come," she commands, standing up to her full height after releasing you. "Let's get you cleaned up." Once you're back onto your feet, Beatrice is already leading you through the halls, your head bowed in shame. You must think you're in trouble, far from it, but she'll allow you to think so if it keeps you cooperative.

The maids know better than to speak up once they see the look on the queen's face, silently opening the door to her chambers as she marches through while you follow behind like a lost ducking. Her room is massive much larger than your measly quarters, and a stinging fear courses through you at the thought of it also being the king's room.

Beatrice pays no mind to the troubled look on your face however, ordering a maid to fetch you a change of clothes before ushering you into the bathroom. Once inside, she's already rolling up the sleeves of her dress and kneeling beside the tub, starting to run a steaming bath. Bubbles couldn't hurt either, she muses, you deserve to be pampered a little.

The sight of you awkwardly fidgeting in the corner makes her scoff, but she can not deny the fondness in her heart at the image. "Do you expect to bathe in your clothes?" That simple comment is enough to stir you into action, Beatrice having the decency to turn away as you get undressed and slip into the water. When she turns back around, she can't help but smile at the sight of you gingerly playing with the bubbles.

"We'll wash your hair first, alright?" The queen's voice is much softer than usual as she kneels down again, "Back towards me, darling." You comply easily enough, even with how tense you're sitting in the water. Poor thing, you act so much like a scared mouse afraid of a cat, if only you knew how much she adored you. Beatrice hums as she starts to shampoo your hair, scratching your scalp in an attempt for you to relax.

You didn't think her majesty could be so gentle, sure she's never been cruel to you, but that does not make her any less intimidating. She seems...perfectly relaxed at the moment. It's odd. You do not deserve such care, especially not from the queen herself, but you're not brave enough to ask for an explanation.

Your hair is soon rinsed, Beatrice placing her hand over your forehead so no soap runs into your eyes. Her gentle care, along with the warm water makes your already weary form long for rest, almost nodding off in the tub. 'How cute..' The queen coos to herself, resigning to quickly finish up the bath so you can sleep.

You're barely awake by the time she's grabbed a towel for you, clumsily stepping into it before she's wrapping the fluffy fabric around your body. She takes it upon herself to dry your hair as well, but at least let's you dress yourself, only helping button your shirt when it proves too difficult.

Her bed is softer than clouds, you're sure. It only takes seconds for you to drift off with your head in Beatrice's lap, not hearing the bedroom door creek open or the hushed conversation that follows soon after.

[elioslover]

Worst Wingman - Harry Styles x Reader.

[Premise: Harry is a shite wingman... or is he?]

Prompt Requests- send a couple numbers and a trope or dynamic! (18, 26, 31, 32, 35).

"No goodnight kiss for me? " // "Are you daring me to kiss you?"

Main Writing

Word Count: 2.3k.

🫧

Harry doesn't even have a chance to pull up the handbrake before she has the door open, clutching onto her bag and stepping out into the brisk autumn air, her shoes swiftly scraping against the concrete, hardly caring if the door shut (or if Harry was following) behind her. 

She is aggressively rummaging through a cluster of items in pursuit of house keys, huffing at the incredulity of the man she can almost guarantee is hot on her heels, ready to grovel his way back into her good books. 

By the time she comes to a stop at her door, it’s difficult to ignore the sudden invasion of Harry’s presence nearing her own. 

He keeps a small space available in favour of her comfort, but his confident energy is so palpable that she feels he might as well have his lips pressed against the crook of her neck, it felt as if his hands were already ghosting around her waist, holding her with soothing security. 

The key takes far too long jingling as she repeatedly misses the lock, her hands start to subtly shake with nervous frustration, and though Harry- already peering over her shoulder- wants to chuckle, he pretends not to notice, and that’s an easy feat when his gaze dips to observe the divets of her collarbone and shoulders- almost bare of materials- dedicating his attention to the scatter of sunspots and freckles along her skin.

On the third and final attempt, the keys twist with triumph and the front door clicks, unlocking, and instantly she turns the knob and pushes the door ajar- just enough to slide a shoe- perhaps a leg- through. 

Harry waits in anticipation as she readjusts her bag and slants the door wider, making sure not to leave any space for Harry to follow her through. 

He softly chuckles at her petulant stubbornness, staying put as she slips through the cracks and peers back at him from behind the wooden barrier with a stern frown, secretly living for the feelings of empowerment that surge up her spine. 

But, Harry is only amused, and it only increases the longer he studies the dramatism painting her wide eyes, blushed cheeks, and bushy eyebrows with adorable misplaced anger. Well, he seems to think it’s misplaced. 

She does not. She and Harry have had a simple and seamless relationship up until the past couple of months when he suddenly started acting up. 

An agreement of ‘we’re thirty, time is running out, we should be each other's wingmen’ has turned into a blurred line of kisses and touches behind closed doors, and her focus is now wavering from setting Harry up with someone else in favour of keeping him all to herself. 

The entire agreement hinges on the fact that they're both looking for different things and as far as she’s aware, Harry’s mind hasn't changed, even though they have evidently adjusted the rules- romance definitely wasn’t initially part of the deal- her fears of rejected reciprocity help refrain her from fully indulging in the fantasy of what life could look like if they just chucked the plan and chose each other. 

But Harry thinks he’s made himself quite clear- at least he thinks it’s quite obvious after the numerous times he has interrupted or completely compromised any of her recent romantic prospects. 

He couldn’t recall the exact moment or reason why, but this little ‘agreement’ between the two had rapidly turned into something more for him, and he hoped that she felt it too. 

Sometimes he’s sure she does- that she enjoys each touch and giggle with as much endearment as he does- but then moments like this have him questioning it all as she works her hardest to create distance, visibly frazzled and very disappointed. 

Harry doesn't challenge her defence, he doesn't make any attempts to step forward or push back, only leaning his shoulder comfortably against the wall, cheekily smiling in light of her next move. 

Naturally, her chest tightens at his borderline childish nonchalance, but, resisting the temptation to chide him for every single thing he does that irritates the life out of her, she takes a deep breath and puts on a sickly sweet smile,

“Thanks for the ride, Harry.”

As quick as the words leave her mouth, she uses her palm to weakly attempt to shut the door, hoping to leave Harry as confused as she currently is. 

But he’s been expecting it- actually amused that it took her this long to formally dismiss him- and as gently as he possibly can, Harry uses his own palm to stop the door from swinging shut, ensuring her grouchy face remains on full display. 

She is in no mood for games, and they both know it, but Harry cannot resist the electric currents of endearment surging through him as she scowls and scoffs with impatience, foot tapping in anticipation for his next- and sure to be audacious- action. 

His chosen tactic is to smirk lazily, leaning further- if possible- into the wall, his arm still extended, holding the door ajar, head tilting, eyes enamoured and practically pouting along with his plump lips as he ponders, 

“No goodnight kiss for me?” 

“You’re incredulous!” Her voice raises, mortified, as she makes a final attempt to shut the door. 

Without even confirming, she turns on her heels- ironically immediately starting to rid herself of this evening’s chosen stilettos- but by the sounds of it, Harry has followed after her, just barely standing in the entrance hall, his eyes like a magnet to her bent body as he mutters,  

“You like that about me.”

Levelling on the ground, she whips back around to face him, arms angrily folded across her chest, and currently she has to crane her neck to address him directly, 

“Right now, I don't like you at all.” 

“Don’t be mean.” He whines. 

“Oh, but it’s okay for you to be mean to me?” She huffs. 

Harry feels slightly stumped by that one, his arms absentmindedly straying up his chest, crossing sternly with sudden defensiveness, frowning, 

“When have I been mean to you?” 

“When you kiss me!” 

Her arms flail, brows furrowed with such frustration that Harry feels a new level of confusion, mostly focused on her plump, peachy lips as he asks,

“Are you daring me to kiss you?” 

“Are you daring me to punch you?” She threatens. 

“Ooh, kinky.” He mewls. 

“You make my blood boil!” She all but tosses flames his way, pairing her verbal threat with a hearty step forward, entering his personal space.

“You make me happy.” He takes a mirroring step, meeting her in the middle, his features slowly sinking from jovial into a clusterfuck of perplexion.

But this only seems to make things worse, she seems close to fuming and Harry swears he can see steam spewing from her ears and nostrils. 

And she only creeps nearer, one arm collapsing to her side, the other raising to press a stressed palm to her flaming forehead. 

After what feels like an eternity, she has soothed her twisted stomach and the thumping in her chest has lulled enough for her to huff with unmistakable disappointment,

“What the hell are we doing, Harry?” 

Harry’s stare swells and steals his confident security as he tries to sort through the clues she so sternly requires, 

“Well right now I’m trying-”

“Not right now. In general.” She demands. 

“What do you mean?” Harry- definitely discouraged- concedes and asks for her aid. 

It’s a sting to his heart when her face only surges with what he sees as sorrowful hatred. 

“I mean,” Her tone has lost all patience as she gestures wildly at him, “What the hell is this?” and then her body slumps sadly, “Us.” 

“I dunno. Guess I thought we were having fun.” 

Harry’s head bows, his heart has a headache, and all he really wants is to reach out and smooth out the furrow in her brows, rid her frown with reassurance.

But as soon as he attempts to get nearer, she furthers the distance,

“My wingman constantly kissing me and ruining my dates is not fun… For me, at least.” She hopes the severity of her hurt stays hidden. 

“I haven't been ruining your dates.” Harry pouts, still puzzled. 

“Oh c’mon. You know exactly what you’re doing.” Her eyes roll at his ridiculousness.  

“I don’t!” He hadn’t consciously considered it until this current crisis, and… she’s right. He’s been actively sabotaging the same opportunities he so sweetly sent her direction. He concedes, “Okay, I do, but-” 

“But?” 

“I thought you liked kissing me.” With honesty, Harry shrugs weakly. 

“I do! That’s the problem.” She can hardly stay still, dragging herself deeper into the depths of suffocating frustration. 

“Okay, now I’m really confused.” He can’t conceive of what she’s trying to communicate.  

Suddenly, she’s the one closing the gap, walking straight for him until the only thing separating their chests is an arm's length, peering up at Harry with a gaze he recognizes from brief moments in between the sheets, his head resting in her lap, and after midnight goodbye kisses.  

“I like kissing you. And I like spending time with you.” She announces with certainty, “But I don’t think you want us to be more than… whatever this is.” Her shoulders slump as she weakly gestures once more, “The least you could do is be the wingman you promised to be.” 

“Then I don’t want to be your wingman anymore.”

Harry says it with such simplicity that it seems like a total throwaway comment- like none of this meant anything more than a verbal agreement- like this whole thing was nothing to him from the very start. She feels a lot of things, but the shame of it all is sickening.

“Okay, fine! You could have just said that!” Her voice, booming- cracking on impact, “Didn’t have to pity me.” 

Teary eyes trail down to stare at her shimmering toenails, blinking at a rapid rate to avoid any falls, she hopes to the heavens above that a miraculously giant bird would just swoop down and carry Harry away from this catastrophic nightmare so she can cry in peace.

He doesn’t wish for the same- in fact, he just wishes she would look at him- he needs her gaze to reassure his entire existence, for her eyes to confirm the words slipping past her lips. 

So, with the softness of a summer breeze, Harry nears her and though she still won’t look up, he feels it okay to assert,

“I’ve never pitied you, and you know it.” He tries to sound void of accusation,  “Just wanted to help you out.” 

“Well, no need to worry, your job is done.” She spits, finally looking up. Harry almost wishes she hadn’t.

“Fine.” He scoffs.

“Fine.” She mocks.

They stay locked in a stare-off of lust and maybe love all wrapped up in a bow of a fiery gift box about to blow open and burst their bubble. 

Harry’s chest huffs and his next exhale is as childish as the last, 

“Good.”

“Great.” She grits through a sarcastic thin-lipped smile. 

Harry loves the little strands of hair that have stuck to her skin with sweaty fervour, the promising taste of her peachy plump lips, chubby flared and blotchy cheeks.

Her eyes- tinted red and swooping lashes slightly damp- are as comforting as always and they give Harry the last little push he so clearly needs,

“So, can I finally ask you on a date now?”  

“Excuse me?” She actually wants to ask, ‘What the hell is happening?’.

“I like kissing you. I like spending time with you.” His voice is as certain as his words, “I’d really like to take you out, properly, and I’d love to be yours completely.” 

Timidly, she peers up at him and after a moment of glancing his gaze to seek out any reason for Harry to be lying. But, there’s nothing more than the glimmer of adoration swirling around amorously in the forest of green. 

Then, shyly conceding with insurmountable relief, she somewhat cautiously asks, 

“... Really?” 

“More than anything.” 

“Okay…” It’s becoming impossible to hide the smile creeping at the corners of her mouth, “I’d like- love- to go on a date with you.”

Harry sighs out and releases so much untended pressure that he feels momentarily lightheaded, or it has something to do with the words- he had unknowingly deemed a necessity- coming out in a silky ribbon of a sentence, sung like a prayer from the prettiest of lips from the prettiest of people. 

He ignores how silly and giddy he must seem as he eagerly removes the remaining distance between them, shoes gently bumping against her toes. One hand makes a home on her lower back,

“How does tomorrow sound? Pick you up around 7?” 

“Sounds good…” 

“Good.” 

Harry concludes as her palms tentatively press to his torso, lashes batting lusciously as his face boldly leans closer, mouth glistening, garnering full attention as his free hand comes up to cup her jaw. 

She can feel her toes trying to leave the floor, ankles stretching to get closer, hand leaving his chest in favour of the nape of his neck, her fingers faintly brushing the base of his hair. 

Harry’s thumb slowly strokes at her cheek, then trails along her chin and lingers along the pillows of her lips, 

“Now, would it be cruel to ask for that goodnight kiss?” 

💞

[natashaslesbian]

Baby Monster | NR

Summary: you’ve always been an angry child, what happens when your mom finally hits her limit?

Request: 3 year old beats up avengers for no reason at all or you can make up a reason

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings/Content: Minor Fighting&Violence / bad mom Nat / inaccurate autism discovery

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Natasha curled in on herself as she muffled her sobs behind her fists. She could hear you screaming, hear you yelling at anyone who dared to look your way. The redhead was shaking, though she wasn’t sure if it was fear, anger or pure distress. You had always been a wild child, Natasha assumed it was because you were the daughter of an assassin. She thought it was her fault that you were complete unmanageable, she never had a mother or a role model. Natasha had no right pretending to know how to be a mom and now she was to blame for raising another mess of a human being. But Natasha knew one thing, she loved you so much.

The widow took a few moments to pull herself together and steady her breathing. She emerged from her bedroom when she heard you scream again. When your outbursts first started, Natasha would snap into action at your yelling, fearing you were in danger. Now, she dreaded having to find you when she heard your cries. “Romanoff!” Natasha heard from a distance “come get your child!” Tony yelled in frustration. The redhead rubbed at her tired eyes before heading to the common room, she was completely numb to the sight she was met with.

Tony and Clint were cowering in the corner while you flicked your legs out towards Wanda. The witch knew she had an easy answer to end this situations, but she was completely against using her magic on a 3 year old. “Y/n you need to calm down” she said as she protected herself with her arms. “No!” You screamed as you attacked her hands with your nails. “Leave me alone!” You cried as you rolled onto your stomach. Wanda took the opportunity to attempt to lift you up, but the high pitched scream you let out as soon as her hands touched you changed her mind. “Stop it now y/n!” The witch said, her voice remaining calm as always.

Natasha watched as the seen unfolded, eyes welling up with anger. You continued to kick and yell, the sound causing her ears to ring and the blood in her chest boil. This was her final straw. She couldn’t take it anymore. “ENOUGH!” The redhead suddenly screamed, silencing the room, including you. Natasha hated shouting at you, even when you were miss behaving. She didn’t want you to grow up thinking you would get screamed at for every inconvenience, but she’d held on for as long as she could. “Mommy?” You whimpered. “Be quiet y/n!” Natasha said, a stern look still on her face “I’ve had enough of this! I can’t take it anymore! I don’t know how to help you y/n” she continued, looking over at Clint “I think we have to go to plan b” she cried quietly.

The archer stepped forward cautiously “Natasha” he whispered “we said it would be a last, last resort” Clint said. “I know” Nat muttered “but that’s where we are” she said as she crossed her arms across her chest. “What’s going on?” Wanda asked. “I’ll pack her bag” Natasha said, ignoring the brunette witch. She turned on her heels and exited the room before you could blink “mommy” you whined as you watched her red hair disappear “un-uncle Clint?” You whimpered as your nerves took over. Clint gave Wanda and Tony a knowing look and the pair quickly made their way elsewhere.

“I need you to listen to me sweetheart” your uncle said as he approached you “your attitude lately has been bad, and mommy doesn’t know how to help you anymore. Neither do I. So we’re gonna take you to a doctor okay, and you might stay their for a little while” Clint said. “No” you yelled as you ran at him with your tiny fists “no y/n” Clint said as he quickly took hold of you, restraining you softly. “Listen to me sweetheart, your mommy loves you okay. This won’t be forever I promise” he attempted to soothe. You thrashed weakly in Clint’s arms. Why was Natasha sending you away? What did you do wrong?

It was two weeks since you’d been gone, since Natasha send you away. The guilt was eating away at her with every passing day. The redhead felt stiff as she made her way through the kitchen, she had finally fallen asleep on the couch after not resting for 2 days. Your mom hadn’t been outside of the tower since she sent you away, and she could barely leave her room most days. Natasha couldn’t handle the constant whispers and judgemental looks. She never wanted this to happen, but she had no choice. The widow was pulled from her thoughts when Clint spoke up from the doorway “Nat, dr Abrams is here to see you” he said stoically. “Let’s go to my office” Natasha said.

Your mom guided your doctor down to her office, hiding her trembling hands beneath her hoodie. “How are you doing Miss Romanoff?” Dr Abrams asked. Natasha nearly scoffed at his concern “how’s y/n” she said, changing the subject. “She’s doing well” the doctor said. “Have you done the assessment?” Natasha asked. She knew it would take a little while, but your mom had been going mad while you were undergoing tests. “Yes that’s why I’m here” Abrams said, Natasha let out a sigh of relief. “I’ve spoken to her psychologists and paediatricians. We’ve made a diagnosis of autism, it’s a learning disability characterised by-“ Natasha’s face dropped “I know what it is” she said.

All this time, your mom thought you were just an uncontrollable kid. She thought that she was failing as a mother, and in that moment she believed it the most. “Miss Romanoff?” Your doctor asked, breaking the silence. “When can she come home?” Your mom asked. “We’ll continue to monitor her for another week or two in order to find the best way to proceed with her treatment” Dr Abrams said. Natasha felt the guilt rise through her chest “bring her home. Today” she said. “I’m sorry it doesn’t work like that” the doctor frowned. “It wasn’t a request” Natasha said, giving her signature glare.

She doesn’t know how, but Tony had managed to convince (or bribe) your doctors to send you home. You were on the way back now, terrified that your mom was still angry with you. Natasha was waiting patiently in the common room, holding on tightly to a new stuffed bear. Your mom was desperate to come and collect you herself, but Clint convinced her to stay behind and prepare your favourite dinner. The archer opted to go and get you, he knew you would be less anxious to see him first. You had your uncle wrapped around your little finger and you knew he wouldn’t be mad at you anymore.

Natasha paced the room frantically until she finally heard Clint’s car pull up outside. She couldn’t wait to have you home again. You whined as you climbed out of the car, convincing your uncle to carry you up to the common room. “Is mommy still mad at me?” You quietly asked. You had wanted to ask the second you saw him, but your voice felt lost. Clint was careful not to answer you until you were about to walk through the door, he didn’t want to make you nervous with his response, although he knew the real answer was no. “Why don’t we go and find out” he smiled as he set you down, allowing you to take the lead into the common room.

You pushed open the door slowly and your eyes lit up when you saw the decorated room. There was a huge welcome home banner hanging from the ceiling and balloons floating freely around the room. “Hi my baby” Natasha said in her softest voice, crouching down and extending her arms. “Mama” you whimpered as you approached her. “Oh my girl I missed you so much!” Nat smiled. “You’re not mad at me anymore mama?” You quietly asked. “Oh no baby girl, no I promise! Mama was never mad at you. I’m so sorry for shouting and…and for sending you away. Mommy was wrong and I’m so sorry” Natasha said as she frowned with guilt.

“I forgive you mama!” You said as you threw yourself into your mom’s arms. “Oh my girl” Natasha cooed as she squeezed you tight “I promise to be a better mommy from now on ok, I’m gonna help you” she said. “Help me get better?” You shyly asked. Natasha’s heart ached at your words “no baby, you don’t need to get better because there’s nothing wrong with you” she emphasised as she held your little face in her soft hands. “But the doctor said I have autism, and that I need medicine” you questioned. “And that’s true baby, but it doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you. It just means that your brain works a little differently, but I promise you that is not a bad thing” your mom said.

“So I’m not bad?” You innocently asked. Natasha looked deeply into your watery eyes, she would never forgive herself for letting this happen. “No. No y/n I promise you’re not bad. You are my beautiful brave and perfect little girl” your mama smiled. “Listen to me, things might be hard for a little while, but I promise you they will be okay. We’ll be okay baby girl, because mommy has you. Mommy has you always!” Natasha exclaimed as she kissed every inch of your skin “I love you so much!” She said. “I love you too mommy!” You smiled as you threw yourself back into Natasha’s arms.

When you finally pulled back, you eyed the ball of fur sitting beside your mom. You knew instantly what it was, Natasha always got you one when she had upset you. “Can I have my bear mommy?” You asked with a cheeky grin. Your mom couldn’t help but laugh as you looked back at her with her own signature smirk. “Of course you can baby, you can have anything you want” she said as she pulled the bear from behind her back. Natasha grinned from ear to ear as she watched you meet your new friend, she was filled with joy as she saw the daughter she knew you truly were. You ran around happily showing Clint your new bear, and Natasha knew then that you were going to be alright. Everything was going to be alright.

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A/N: Please note that this story is to highlight parental figures mistaking the signs of autism. An Autistic diagnosis is never usually reached this way. This is a work of fiction written to show the ways in which females are often mistreated when showing autistic traits.

- Astara Bell

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[Taglist]

@saraaahsstuff / @dannipotatoo / @tobiaslut / @nevaeh-daughterofvalcarol / @marvelnatasha12346 / @yelenasdiary / @mousetheorist / @ashadash0904 / @strange-night-owl / @kkreader78o / @hatergirl-69 / @asv-xx

[tragedy-of-commons]

Good morning, Gwen. Avery reblogged your event and it appeared on my dashboard, so I came running.

"You're not good enough for him. Just break up with him already." + Jean + platonic

"You're not good enough for him. Just break up with him already."

Jean feels her heart plummet in the suffocating confines of her chest, your words stoking a different kind of fear. Had she overshared too much, causing you to finally snap? Are you going to stop being friends with her for good? Will you start to ignore her when she waves to you in the street? Will you tell everyone about what a sorry person she really is?

She knew she couldn't hold a genuine friendship down for long. It was only a matter of time before you became sick of her busy schedule and secretly dysfunctional livelihood--

She's sobered from her panic by the sound of your fingers snapping a scant inch from her face. "Teyvat to Jean! Hello?"

Like you always do, you're the one to ground her when things get particularly rough. Right - she needs to actually respond; being this inarticulate isn't doing her any favors.

"My apologies," Jean breathes, fidgeting with her gloves. She actually needs to be present so she can heed your counsel. "Please continue."

"Archons, I didn't mean it like that. I'm just saying that if he constantly expects you to meet impossibly high standards, you'll never be good enough for him," you jut your thumb out from your clenched fist and swipe it across the expanse of your neck. "You need to kick his ass to the curb, and you need to do it yesterday."

Your (literal) cutthroat gesture makes Jean shift in her seat. You don't mince your words at all - but that's precisely what she needs, precisely why she came to you for advice. Lisa has a terrible habit of sugarcoating things, even when she's at her most proactive... and Kaeya is, well, Kaeya.

She rises and places a hand on the backrest of her chair, rounding it so she can gaze out of the generously sized window that brings her whole office together. The view of Mond Proper, her home, never fails to calm her down.

"...I'm not even courting him, truly," Jean explains, watching the breeze ruffle a patrolling Knight's hair before being lost in the rustling leaves of trees beyond. "My obligations leave no room for that. We're keeping our relationship casual, informal."

She can almost hear the grimace in your voice. "Casual or not, him expecting you to ditch your hobbies or dress a certain way crosses the line. You know that as well as I do. If you're looking for permission or validation, I'm giving it to you right now."

Those words immediately soothe a large chunk of her anxiety. Jean's ramrod straight posture relaxes into something much more tailored for this atmosphere - sharing a cup of (now cold) tea with you, her dear friend.

"You're right," because of course you are, "but I have no idea how to end things. Etiquette classes didn't prepare me for any of this."

You snort as she turns back around to face your judgment. "To hell with etiquette. My suggestion? Kill him," you propose with the seriousness of a soldier about to go to war.

Jean's cheeks burn hotly as she flounders, attempting to deal with your type of humor in a timely fashion. You mercifully wait for her to do so, teacup and saucer perched daintily in your free hand. In all honesty, she wishes she were more like you; brave, uncaring of what others think, the main character of your own story.

She finds it in herself to chuckle. "I value diplomacy."

"Yeah, yeah," you roll your eyes good-naturedly, "but this isn't one of your romance novels, Jean, nor is it a negotiation. You deserve to be treated with respect, full stop."

She really wishes you'd stop bringing up her guilty pleasure so nonchalantly, but then she'd be deluding herself. She also wishes that she could be as confident and point-blank as you are, even if you both share the same sentiments - hers are just hidden under many layers of propriety.

"I believe you're very wise," Jean tells you sincerely. "The people of Mondstadt should elect you as their new Acting Grandmaster."

"You know, they should. I'd have that dickhead fling of yours executed immediately. Do they do that here? If not, they should look into it."

She sighs. "I take it back."

You grin, slamming your empty cup back onto her desk with a clatter. "Really? You don't want me to flay him alive? Or exile him to Dragonspine with nothing but the clothes on his back? Oh, oh, I know! What about electrocution--"

As the sun sinks down even lower in the sky, casting the Knights of Favonius Headquarters in a truly poetic glow, Jean realizes she feels much better. She'll have to get back to work soon, but for now she'll indulge you as long as she's able.

(Electrocution doesn't sound like too bad of an idea.)

🏷️: @akutasoda, @aviiarie, @lowkeyren

a/n: hi! good morning to you too & i'm glad you chose to take part! thank you for the prompt huehuehue. i decided to go in a little bit of a different direction because i just couldn't bring myself to be too mean to reader or the lovely jean... hope you don't mind!

event post here

[sequinsmile-x]

Physical Touch

He usually loved when his wife touched him, but it was slowly driving him crazy.

Part of the Love Languages series

-x-

Hi friends!

Well...I should have expected that the smut fic would win the poll by a landslide and here we are haha

I really hope you enjoy this <3 it's soft, smutty and full of Aaron just...pining for his wife. What more could you want on a Thursday evening?

Please let me know what you think <3

-x-

Words: 3k

Warnings: Smut, 18+

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

He’d known she was tactile long before they got together. 

Aaron had watched her for years, always ready to place a comforting hand on someone’s shoulder or pull them into a hug. More than once he’d found himself wishing she’d do the same for him, the embargo they’d seemingly placed on physical contact between them a two-way thing, something they both upheld, as if they knew it was a line they could not cross. 

He’d held her hand once before they became them. It was when she was in hospital, before she was stable enough to be moved to Bethesda. She’d still mostly been out of it, pain and medication rolling through her in a way he was also familiar with. He’d held her hand, squeezing it tightly as he wore the suit he’d worn to her funeral, a bitter taste on his tongue as he apologised to her. She’d told him since that she thought she’d dreamt it, that she’d pulled him out of her imagination, the warmth of his hand around hers something she’d made up in some strange attempt to self-soothe. 

He’d always known she was tactile, but being in a relationship with her was a whole other level he hadn’t been anticipating. She touched him all the time, ranging from subtle moments, like her fingers trailing over his when she passed him a coffee or a case file, or squeezing his knee under the table when they were at Dave’s for dinner, to more obvious moments. She was a snuggler, something he would never have put money on before their first date. She would wrap herself around him like a vine whenever they were alone, her arm linked through his and her head on his shoulder as they sat on the couch, or she could lay half on top of him in bed, her hand sneaking under his t-shirt as she sought his warmth from the source, falling asleep to the comfort of his heartbeat. 

He loved it. He loved that his wife expressed her love that way, that she’d push his hair out of his face as she told him he needed a haircut, that she also loved their children in the same way. It’s one of the reasons he knew Jack and Violet always sought her out for comfort, her embrace was his place of safety too, something so calming about something as simple as her cheek against his shoulder that he wondered how he'd ever lived without it. 

He usually loved it, but it was slowly driving him crazy. 

He’d dislocated his shoulder in a takedown of an unsub two months ago. The injury had torn his rotator cuff and he’d needed surgery, a simple relocation of his shoulder joint not enough. He could still remember the fear in Emily’s eyes when he’d come round from surgery, how she was barely holding herself together, her grip on his wedding ring that he’d had to take off so tight the imprint lasted for hours. His shoulder had been immobilised with strict instructions on how to make sure he healed properly, and the only time his wife ever paid attention to medical advice to the letter was when it was for him or one of the kids, which had led to one, unfortunate, side effect. 

Aaron hadn’t had sex with his wife in two months. 

He missed her. She was right by his side, but he missed her. Missed the intimacy that had always been an important part of their relationship. Every tiny thing about her was getting to him the longer they went without having sex. Her beauty was bordering on obscene, as it always had, and his breath would catch in his chest whenever he looked at her, or if she walked by and he caught a sniff of her perfume, the scent he knew was simply her always following just afterwards. Even watching her with Jack and Violet, watching how good a mother she was filled his gut with want, with the desire to have more children with her as soon as possible. 

The touching was, however, by far the worst. Every time she touched him he felt his skin fizz, sparks set off just by the feel of her skin against his, and he was close to losing his mind. 

He hears a knock on his office door and he looks up, a smile immediately breaking out across his face when he sees Emily standing in the doorway, her arms crossed as she casually leans against the door frame. 

“Hey honey,” she says, stepping into the office, “Are you ready to go? We, and by we I mean you, promised Vi we’d pick up some dessert on the way home.” 

He chuckles as he thinks about his 2, almost 3, year old daughter. She was a mini Emily through and through, right down to the big dark brown eyes he couldn’t say no to. He stands up and starts to put some paperwork in his briefcase, and he raises his eyebrow at his wife as he looks up at her. 

“You say that like you can say no to her,” he quips, stepping out from behind his desk and walking over to her, quickly stamping his lips against hers.

She hums and kisses him again, her hand hooking around the back of his head, making him shiver as she scratches lightly at his scalp, “We both know I’m the bad cop at home, baby,” she says, kissing him once more before she pulls back, “One of us has to be.” 

He laughs, the sound dying in his throat when she reaches out and places her hand on his chest, rubbing gently at the lapel on his jacket. He can feel her touch through his clothes, her skin somehow burning him through his jacket and his shirt, and he tenses before he can control it. Emily frowns at him, her eyebrows pinching together as she pulls back. 

“You had some lint on you,” she explains, pressing her lips together as she looks him up and down, her eyes slightly narrowed as she tries to figure out what's wrong, “Aaron are you okay? Is your shoulder bothering you?” 

It’s not a lie, not really, because his shoulder was sore. A now familiar ache that got worse throughout the day, radiating outwards from the new scar he bore. It was easier than explaining to her how he was feeling, less embarrassing than admitting he wanted her so much he was thinking about pushing everything off his desk right here and now. 

There were still two weeks until the doctor’s initial advice would run out, and he knew it was going to be the longest two weeks of his life. 

“Yeah,” he says, smiling softly at her, rolling his shoulder slightly, “It just aches a bit.” 

She hums and places her hand on it, her concern deepening when he tenses again, “How about when the monsters are in bed I give you a massage?” 

He falters for a moment, sure that would be his undoing, but instead, he nods and decides to deflect as he places his hand on her lower back and guides her out of his office. 

“Why do you get to call them monsters, but I don’t?” He asks, knowing exactly what her answer is going to be. 

She scoffs playfully and looks up at him, her eyes narrowed, “Because one of them came out of me.” 

___

By the time they get the kids to bed, he thinks she’s forgotten. The evening had passed them by with homework, bath time, and bedtime stories, a wonderfully normal evening they both once thought they’d never get. 

He walks into their bedroom to find her kneeling on the bed, wearing one of his t-shirts and a tiny pair of shorts sticking out from underneath, with a bottle of lotion in hand.

She smiles at him, popping open the lid on the lotion as she beckons him over, “Come on, honey,” she says, “I promised you a massage.” She sees the slight hesitation before he walks over, and she hides a smirk by clearing her throat. He sits on the edge of the bed and she rolls her eyes, placing the lotion on the bed before she runs her hands over his shoulders, her fingers meeting at his neck as she starts to undo his shirt buttons, “This works better if you don’t wear your shirt.” 

He nods and helps her get his shirt off, grateful that he’d slipped his tie off when he got home earlier, and he lets the shirt fall to the ground. She puts some of the lotion into her hands and rubs them together before she touches him, warming her palms and the lotion at the same time. 

It’s only when she starts spreading it on his skin, her touch firm but gentle as she pushes her thumbs into his bad shoulder, that he realises she’s using her lotion. One that had a slight spice to it, a scent of cinnamon that followed her everywhere that was now permeating into his skin. He groans, his teeth clenched as he breathes her in, widening his legs as his pants get tighter. 

She frowns, ready to pull away just in case she is hurting him, but then she looks over his shoulder, her lips pressed together as her cheeks flush when she sees the tenting of his pants. She makes a snap decision, wiping her palms on her shirt to get rid of the excess lotion before she climbs out from behind him. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, his eyebrow raised as she kneels on the floor in front of him, her hands already on his belt, undoing it quickly. 

“Come on, Aaron,” she says, unbuttoning his pants and moving them and his boxers just far enough to free him, “It hasn’t been that long,” she says, smiling in a way that seemed far too innocent for where her hand was, “I’ve seen how you’ve been looking at me,” she says, pumping him up and down, “Let me help.” 

He nods, not needing any convincing, and his eyes drift shut as she leans forward and takes him in her mouth. He wraps his fists around the sheets of the bed so tightly he thinks they might rip. 

“Fuck, Em. You’re so good at that,” he says, unable to stop himself from thrusting into her throat, the pressure that had been building him in for weeks threatening to blow, “So fucking good.” 

She leans forward until her nose briefly presses against his pubic bone before she pulls back, sucking in a breath before she moves in again, bobbing her head up and down, his chorus of groans her reward. She has to press her thighs together for some friction, so turned on by seeing and hearing him like this that she briefly forgets why it had been so long since they’d done this in the first place. She can feel him start to lose control, his thrusts getting messier, but he stops her, his hand on her shoulder as he encourages her backwards, a desperate look in his eyes. 

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, getting rid of the spit that had connected her lip to the tip of him and she tilts her head, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he says, pushing his hands through her hair that he’d clearly messed up, unaware that he’d even grasped it, “I just want to be with you.”

She smiles devilishly, her tongue pressed into her cheek, chasing the taste of him from it, “You are with me.” 

He rolls his eyes at her. He’d missed this too, the ease that came with being with her like this, the familiarity to it. It could be rough, passionate. Tearing each other’s clothes off. Or it could be soft. Full of love and hands pressed together as they showed each other how much they loved each other. 

“You know what I mean, sweetheart,” he says, and she smiles and nods, standing up from where she’d been kneeling. She pulls his pants off the rest of the way and then stands up, ready to straddle him, her desire making her dizzy. It’s only when she leans in to kiss him, her gaze briefly lingering on the new scar on his shoulder, and everything comes back into sharp focus.

“Wait,” she says breathlessly, pulling away from him, “We shouldn’t do this, your doctor-”

“Sweetheart,” he cuts her off, barely recognising his own voice because of how thick it is with desire, rough and gravelly as he stares at her, “You started this.” 

She scoffs, “I started this? You’re the one who got an erection when I just barely touched your shoulder.” 

In any other circumstance, he’s sure he’d laugh. It was so like her to try and start an argument in the middle of sex it made him fall in love with her even more, a feat that always seemed impossible until it happened. He pulls her closer, grateful not for the first time this evening that it wasn’t his dominant shoulder that had been injured, “Because you’re so fucking gorgeous I couldn’t take it anymore.” 

She swallows thickly and looks him up and down, desire sparking under her skin. It had been a long two months for her too, her frustration at not being able to have him so intense she’d yelled at Derek twice in the last week alone when he hadn’t deserved it. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she admits, her voice cracking slightly.  He smiles softly, the pent-up, overwhelming, need for her fading for a moment as he reaches out and cups her cheek, tucking some of her unruly hair behind her ear.

“You never could.” 

She thinks about it for a moment before she nods leaning forward to stamp her lips against his before she briefly gets off the bed, dropping her shorts to the ground, “Lean up against the headboard.” 

He does as he’s told, and she pulls a pillow from her side of the bed and slots it between his bad shoulder and the headboard, smiling softly when he stamps a grateful kiss against her lips. She sits on his lap, groaning as she notches over him, a noise he returns when he feels just how wet she is. 

“Fuck, Em,” he says, his hands on her hips as she pulls her t-shirt off, “I’ve barely even touched you.” 

“Yeah, well” she breathes out, rocking her hips over him, “You’re not the only one who’s been missing this,” she says as she wraps her hand around him to guide him into her. 

They both groan as she sinks onto him, the familiar stretch making them both breathless for a moment. 

“Oh fuck,” she says, her eyes rolling back as her head falls backwards for a moment, her hands on his thighs as she clenches around him, the breath stolen from her lungs as she adjusts to him, “God you feel so good.” 

“You do too, sweetheart,” he grunts out, encouraging her closer, tugging at her until they are chest to chest, bare skin pressed against each other as he rests his forehead against hers, “You feel so fucking good.” 

She cups his cheeks, her hands on either side of his face as she keeps her forehead against his and starts to rock her hips against his, a sound she could only call a relieved chuckle escaping her as he meets her thrust for thrust. 

They fall into a familiar rhythm, a sense of desperation woven through it, their eyes locked together as they both move, lost in the feel of each other. Eventually, he feels her hips start to stutter, and her thighs tremble around him. He reaches between them with his good hand and rubs circles on her clit, smiling as she mewls at him, the sound close to obscene as she buries her face in his neck, just about able to remember their children were sleeping down the hall.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he says, increasing the pressure on her clit, feeling his own orgasm within reach, “Come for me. Let me feel it.” 

She clenches her teeth tightly as she comes, stopping herself from screaming out as her hips buck against him. A spark goes off in her belly and spreads through her entire body, every nerve ending on fire as it washes over her as she moans his name. He isn’t far behind her, the way she clenches around him as she comes the final push he needs, and he buries his face in the top of her hair, her name lost in the dark locks stuck to her with sweat. 

They fall into silence, just the sound of their heavy breathing surrounding them. She’s the first to pull back, smiling lazily at him as she kisses him quickly before she pulls back to look at him, checking him over as if she’s looking for damage. She looks at the scar, placing her hand over it as she still tries to catch her breath, “I hope we didn’t make it worse.” 

“It’s fine, baby,” he says, kissing her temple and then her cheek, encouraging her to turn her head so he can capture her lips in a kiss, “Besides, since when were you such a stickler for doctor’s orders?” 

She playfully narrows her eyes at him but doesn’t pull back, not wanting to put any space between them yet, “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Right,” he says jokingly, stamping a kiss against her lower lip, stuck out in a pout she’d always deny, “So it wasn’t you who I caught trying to drive to the store less than two weeks after she had a c-section? My mistake.” 

She blows out a breath and shakes her head at him, her cheeks somehow flushing even though the blush from her orgasm had never gone away, “That was totally different.” 

He chuckles and kisses her, properly this time, and he smiles as he pulls back, “Sure, sweetheart. Whatever you say.” 

-x-

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[firewalkzwit]

runt // jonathan crane x reader (31)

Chapter 31

cross-posted on AO3

masterlist.

Crane's fixation to his goals held a special allure to her, she'd watch him and listen to his careful planning and fidgeting of his fingers as he paced around the cold, humid sub-surface cave where all his supplies and secrets were kept. She'd finally figured she'd occupy her mind with visiting Arkham, it'd soothe Crane's mind and keep him out of her ear for a bit at least. In her mind, she'd made up and out of her unsteady relationship more times than she could count, but she doubted that even within the complexities of Crane's mind there had been room for that many questionings of their affairs. With his unwavering tacitly accepting attitude of her erratic behaviour, she couldn't help but feel it didn't come from a place of loyalty, but rather a tired toleration of her tantrums to maintain a peaceful formality, and on the side, good casual sex. He didn't react because he didn't care, and her emotions seemed to hold no place in his worries. He seemed so passionate and invested as he spoke with Falcone's men and his arms fluttered in gestures and pointed in every direction, that she knew the place his devotion to fear occupied in his heart could never be replaced by her.

She knew she needed no such thing anyway, it was never in her plans to get tangled in an affair with who, to her, should just be a gateway to her goal. He seemed to have that clearer than her. Though even in the slight ache in her chest as the realisation struck her, she found a strange comfort in who she could see as a mentor, and a certain fondness with no sexual hunger to prowl underneath it. It was as he rushed walking to a direction that was not her's, she placed her hand on his chest to halt him almost impulsively.

"How do you do that?" Although her head was tilted and between her eyebrows was a frown that seemed to demonstrate interest, her gaze seemed to be lost in something that was hardly his own. As if it seemed like her pupils were looking at his direction but trying to glimpse something further. Puzzled, he gave her his own wry as he thought his answer through.

"Do what?"

"You're so focused..."

"Yes; I should be, all this is important."

"No I mean, aren't you scared?" By that, the beginning of a scoff initiated his hand's motion towards her to gently slide it off his chest.

"No room for that here." Of course that was the answer, it was Dr. Crane talking for him anyway. She had no qualms in admitting to herself that she was terrified, but his answer seemed more of an attempt to reassure himself than calm her own fears. He walked with such performative security she envied him enormously. It felt as if she learnt how to perform for long enough she could somewhat convince herself, as she had done in the beginning, thinking whatever she was doing at that very moment should be the pinnacle of her priorities, or when the confusion of his role in her life had led her to ever believe she could be unconditionally in love with him.

It was as she remembered the reasons for her unease that she chased after him, the staccato of her heeled shoes reverberant in the ample height of the basement. As she reached him, hesitantly her hands gripped his shoulder as if she could feel him closer that way. There was a sense of privacy in holding tight onto the body of whom one wanted to share secrecy with, even though the sound wave would travel and smear just as fast, like gunpowder, she'd still felt words were more confined as her nails grazed the cloth of his suit and her mouth approached his ear close enough to feel her hot breath bounce back against him to return to her.

"I think Bruce might be suspecting something." His attention this time was far more poured into her than the last time, in his eyes and steady expression where not a single muscle twitched, nothing moved except his relentless trembling pupils. It was not natural or uncontrolled, it more seemed as if his gaze was trying to catch a focused glimpse of any minute detail separated from one another by a distance so minuscule the movement in his eyes hardly manifested itself in his eyelids. Yet all that came out of his mouth, despite her expecting him to scold her like a child or make quiet insinuations of immense disappointment, was nothing but a mere interjection.

"Ah?"

"I don't know, he seemed a bit distressed yesterday, he hinted something about danger."

"Well it must be the instinct." His speech, not calming nor alarming, seemed like more of a mild mockery, his reasoning completely incoherent for such a careful thinker. "Don't dwell on it too much, there's no way he got access to this cellar or any information related to it." His voice didn't coincide with his uneasy expression, and she could feel his body move under her hands as he tried to keep his accelerated breathing under control. He was like a rodent, anxious and jumpy, with his twitchy eyes and skittish way of moving, which did no favours to his gaunt and almost dainty physique, undercover within the layers of clothes he strategically wore to suppress what underneath was a frail frame.

That night, Crane drove quietly as she sat beside him, hugging her purse with her knees clasped tightly. The mild sound of the music on the radio had little room to move, too short to reach with steadiness the back of the car, as small as Crane's car was. He drove a '94 hatchback that looked tightly squashed, and it was shaped like a pencil sharpener. It was great to fit in the tight gaps that Gotham had for parking spots, and relatively consumed little gas, but it felt tight to be in, and poorly maintained. The cover of the passenger seat had a little hole she liked to poke her finger into, and the cranky gearshift made an unsettling noise every time Crane would yank it to change it. Still, she'd grown familiar to the car that had been the home to her last fear of death, and the car where she'd been put through an induced psychological torture so bizarre she was now back in it, with the man who'd nearly terrified her to death.

"Would you like to stay the night?" She finally asked once they'd been parked by her building for nearly five long minutes.

"Are you asking me if I want to stay the night or do you need me to stay the night?" Y/N thought her answer through, although reluctant to feed his arrogance she still felt prompted to be truthful.

"Both."

"Then I'll stay."

She didn't know exactly what had bewitched him, but that night, Crane had treated her as tenderly as ever. She felt taken to a nuance of his personality she hadn't been let into before, though he had a knack for revealing his different facets in sporadic outbursts of childlike or akin affection. He seemed to try his best to calm her by caressing her softly enough to make her feel like his fingers were made out of silk. His hands ran through her skin and cupped her face like she was his most prized possession, the apple of his eye. It felt so honest that for as long as that lasted, she'd felt him as genuine as ever. Her lashes fluttered with every blink, and even while she closed her eyes and let herself melt in the body heat and bitter wetness of sweaty bodies, she felt as if her lashes were the wings of a butterfly, his delicate treatment of her face almost made her feel like her body had shifted into a divine deity, feeling almost worshipped.

But as fast as it came, the feeling abandoned her like a wave that crests and dissipates down back to sea level, returning to the ordinary. The problem with serotonin highs was that their similarity to drug withdrawal was so strong the depression and loneliness she felt once he let go of her made her feel like shattered porcelain.

"I hope that helped you relieve your stress, you seemed very tense today." In her eyes, he had turned into an almost robotic satisfier, returning to his cold demeanour the second he considered it'd sufficed. In a way, he had achieved his objective, for all the stress in her body had slid off like the pest it was, leaving her laid in bed like wet clay, stiff in her position but every limb and bone in her body felt completely flexible. Though he didn't abandon her, staying in the small bed together like he'd promised, Crane turned and curled up into a ball. She could feel his arched bones against her back, and although she couldn't see his arms hugging his body tightly in search of simulating an embrace, she could swear she heard him weep, and in the occasional twitching and sharp inhaling on his side of the bed, Y/N felt too scared to bring him any comfort.

[cynic-spirit]

yn gets a black eye

Y/N hadn’t meant to get involved, but when she saw the two men arguing outside the coffee shop, she couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. She had stepped in, trying to calm them down, but things had escalated faster than she anticipated. In the scuffle, one of the men had accidentally swung his arm too wide, and before she knew it, Y/N felt a sharp pain in her face.

It wasn’t until she got home that she saw the damage in the mirror—a black eye already forming, darkening her skin with shades of purple and blue. Her heart sank. She knew how Tony would react. He was fiercely protective, and the sight of her like this would undoubtedly send him into a rage.

Y/N stared at her reflection, gingerly touching the tender skin around her eye. She wasn’t afraid of Tony, but she was afraid of how upset he would be. He cared so much for her, and she hated the thought of him being hurt or worried because of something she’d done.

But there was no avoiding it. Tony would notice as soon as he saw her, and hiding it would only make things worse. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the inevitable confrontation, and made her way down to the lab where Tony was working.

As she entered the lab, Tony looked up from his work, a smile already forming on his face. "Hey, there you are! I was wondering where you—" His words caught in his throat as his eyes zeroed in on her face, specifically her eye.

Tony was on his feet in an instant, crossing the distance between them with a speed that made Y/N’s heart skip a beat. "What the hell happened?" he demanded, his voice a mix of concern and barely restrained anger as he gently cupped her face, tilting her head to get a better look.

Y/N winced slightly at the pressure, even though she knew he was trying to be careful. "Tony, I’m fine, really. It was just a stupid accident."

"An accident?!" His voice was incredulous, eyes narrowing as he scanned her face, his thumb brushing lightly over the uninjured part of her cheek. "Who did this? Tell me who did this, Y/N."

"It’s not what you think," she tried to reassure him, placing her hands over his to calm him down. "There was a fight outside the coffee shop, and I tried to break it up. One of the guys just… swung too wide, and I got caught in the middle of it."

Tony’s jaw clenched, his grip on her tightening slightly as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. "You should’ve stayed out of it, Y/N. You could’ve been seriously hurt!"

She sighed, knowing he was right but also knowing she couldn’t have just walked away. "I know, but I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. It’s just a black eye, Tony. It’ll heal."

But Tony wasn’t having any of it. His mind was already racing with a thousand different thoughts, most of them involving finding the men responsible and making them pay. The very idea that someone had hurt her, even by accident, was enough to make his blood boil.

"You should’ve called me," he said, his voice quieter now, though no less intense. "I would’ve come and handled it. I don’t want you putting yourself in danger like that, Y/N."

She could see the fear and worry in his eyes, beneath the anger, and it made her heart ache. She reached up, gently stroking his cheek in an attempt to soothe him. "I’m sorry, Tony. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just didn’t want anyone else to get hurt."

Tony let out a heavy sigh, pulling her into his arms and holding her tightly against his chest. "You’re the one I don’t want getting hurt," he murmured into her hair, his voice thick with emotion. "God, Y/N, I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you."

Y/N melted into his embrace, wrapping her arms around him. "I’m okay, Tony. I promise."

They stood like that for a long moment, the tension in Tony’s body slowly easing as he held her close. But she knew he wouldn’t let this go easily—he was already thinking about how to protect her better, how to make sure something like this never happened again.

When they finally pulled apart, Tony brushed a tender kiss to her forehead, his gaze softening as he looked at her. "You’re getting a bodyguard," he declared, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Y/N opened her mouth to protest, but the look in his eyes made her pause. He was serious, and she knew this was his way of trying to protect her. With a small sigh, she nodded. "Alright, if it makes you feel better."

"It does," he said, relief washing over his features. "And if anyone so much as looks at you wrong, you call me. I don’t care where I am or what I’m doing. You call me, understand?"

She smiled softly, reaching up to kiss him gently. "I understand, Tony."

As they settled together on the couch in the lab, Tony kept a protective arm around her, still simmering with a quiet anger that someone had dared to harm her. But underneath that, he was just grateful that she was okay, and he vowed to do everything in his power to keep her safe from now on.

[2kyo7]

𝐂𝐀𝐈𝐌; 𝟎𝟐

metkayina!reader x avatar 2

THAT NIGHT WHEN RETURNING home to your shared marui pod, it would start pouring rain, nothing you weren't accustomed to—but the weather somehow further dampening your foul mood.

The pod you lived in was a bit larger than most, with your grandmother being the clan's well respected healer, it was constantly covered in plants, mysterious liquids and various spices. She'd even taken the time to teach you a little about her work, but you couldn't be bothered to remember the information whole heartedly.

Walking on the very tips of your toes, you made it to one of the pod's many entrances without so much of a creak, pulling back the blanket of thick vegetation which served as some privacy while Tawmì worked. "Where have you been?" You were quick to turn around, braids entangling around your face in the process, all attempts of stealth now entirely meaningless.

Suddenly air caught in your throat, trying to swallow it down enough so that you could speak. "I.. I went a little past the reef with Kanaya..." you took a few careful steps towards Tawmì, still keeping a safe distance away. It was difficult to grasp an emotion, her tone neutral and calm, she sat in a corner mixing a concoction, back hunched obscuring her face.

"Hm."

Besides the sound of rain water connecting with the sea, there had grew a long silence between the two of you. Until Tawmì lifts a single finger that gestures you to kneel on the floor along side your herself, she was—like always—hard at work, grinding a stone tool against a herb which was laid out on a wooden mat.

"Help me girl, make yourself useful." Though your grandmother's words would've sounded harsh to anyone else, they were words of compassion to you, attentively following her directions, a small smile growing on your features knowing she'd no longer seemed to be angry with you.

"____, tomorrow you will teach Toruk Makto's children our way of life." It took you a moment to register her words, Toruk Makto? Those five-fingered devils? Your eyes were blown wide with hurt, "Grandmother, you of all na'vi know—"

"I will not hear any of it!" Tawmì sandwiched your lips between her fingers, cutting your rant short. "Tomorrow you shall bring them fruits and beg them for forgiveness." Once releasing you, she immediately went back to work as if she hadn't asked an impossible feat.

Rubbing the now swollen skin, you became lost in thought, feeling your lips quiver and tears build once more. What have I done to deserve such a punishment grandma? You noticed the copious amount of gathered fruit resting in a bowl near your bed, ready for delivery when you awoke in morning. "I refuse to teach those beast anything." Out of frustration, you fiddled with the pearls which occupied a braid—catching your soft bottom lip between your teeth.

"You cannot live in the past any longer, I will not allow it." Her words echoed throughout your brain, lowering yourself onto the soft fabric, completely drained of the day.

Even as a child you were extremely independent and stubborn, Tawmì remembered, lack of parental guidance only amplified this fact. You still enjoyed playing and socializing with others, no doubt, but at the end of each day she always found you in deep connection to the sea, wether you'd be longingly looking at its waves or interacting with animals.

Tawmì would say, "we are all children of eywa's ocean, but my granddaughter was born to it."

Though Tawmì understood your deep hatred of the sky people, she too feared everyday you grew more resentful—and eventually you'd do something terrible—irreversible even.

That is why she puts you through these trials, so you could see for yourself their was nothing to fear, that these were not the sky people who killed them.

She watches as you shift in your sleep, another nightmare... she thinks, placing a soothing hand atop your tense but unconscious form Tawmì begins to sing a lawr your mother sung to you as a child. Eywa hear my prayers, bring my grandchild to peace, do not curse this 'eveng for the faults of her sa'sem.

lawr - melody

'eveng - child

sa'sem - set of parents

The time was now midday, you'd spent the morning brooding around the pod until forced out by your tail, a large bowl filled to the brim with fruits resting loosely in your arms. You weren't exactly in a rush whatsoever to reach the Sully family's home, stopping along the way for multiple detours.

When you finally did arrive at your destination, about half the bowl went missing—some of the fruits you'd eaten yourself, offered to others, or fed to Ilu. It's not that much of a difference, how could they know anyhow? Before entering you noticed them all kneeled around each other in a circle, your head tilts in confusion and wonder. Flinching when Toruk Makto's eyes met yours, his family's following.

They all stood, the atmosphere suddenly becoming extremely tense due to your presence. You walked into their pod with a quick glance around, taking note of their strange forest belongings, you were met with a simple greeting from the two younger male na'vi (Neyetam and Lo'ak, were there names—grandmother had told you) an "I see you." just like yesterday. Instead of completely dejecting them you sent a small nod their way, seemingly surprising the two.

The youngest na'vi—Tuk—hid behind her mother as the other remained silent, simply observing your movements. Approaching Toruk Makto, you held up the bowl of fruit to him and his mate. "I bring fruit to Toruk Makto—and his kin," the mood lightened very moderately at your words, which contradicted your expression. Lips pressed in a thin line, almost scowl, ears twitching occasionally and eyes appearing bored.

"Thanks kid, that's very nice of you—isn't it guys?" Toruk Makto looked around, prodding his family for a response. There were small sounds of recognition, no one majorly thankful for your efforts, except the smallest na'vi who genuinely seemed grateful. "Thank you!"

"Just so you know, my kids aren't sky people." Your head tilted for the second time today, does he lie to protect them? A hmph sounded from your lips as you turned to scan over his off spring, again. The oldest and youngest were relatively normal all things considered, but the same could not be said about their siblings.

"You can hold my hand again," everyone immediately turned to stare at Lo'ak questioningly, realizing the crudeness of his statement, he was quick to correct himself—"f-for proof, of course."

Neteyam silenced his brother with a simple grasp of the shoulder, saving him from any further embarrassment.

The look you sent Toruk Makto was one of complete doubt, circling around them for a moment, their mother clearly unhappy at your staring. "I will teach Toruk Makto's children, but only if they will learn."

"Toruk Makto's children have names, y'know." Your attention was lured by the female na'vi similar in height, she stared you down in annoyance, she was the most demonic out of them, you cut your eyes away from her form, finding the comment equally bothersome. "I'm sure they do."

"We meet where the currents are lightest, can Toruk Makto's children handle that much?" Not waiting on their response, you dove into the ocean's salty waters and in almost no time at all, you were gone. "Ugh! I hate her! Dad did you see the way she was staring at us?" Kiri held herself even tighter, ears bent in anger. Neteyam and Lo'ak also felt unsettled by your comments, but clearly not as bothered as their sister, Tuk oblivious as ever.

"Come on babygirl, clearly she's got somethin' against the sky people—jus' give her some time, she'll come around." Jake's attempt did little to comfort his daughter, only irritating Kiri further, whatever the sky people had done, did little to do with them, her family was not at fault.

Jake soon sent his children away from their training, a few words of encouragement to go with them. "I'm so worried ma Jake, that girl...she holds such hate." He could only hold Neytiri against his chest to soothe her worries, "the kids are strong, have faith in them."

[annoyinglandmagazine]

@finweanladiesweek | Day 3: Galadriel and Aredhel

She had steel against her thigh now, always pressed cold to the smooth and no longer bloodstained or frostbitten skin, and concealed by the fine fabrics surrounding her. Celeborn knew of it, had felt it’s edge against his leg as she’d laid herself down beside him in the sweet smelling grass with the warm sunlight embracing them and seeming to emit from the golden hair strewn over his chest, almost enough to chase the ice from her bones but not quite, as she doubted anything ever would be. The ice was in her very self now, just as the flame always had been, and buried deep under the smooth gold sheen in a much similar manner.

They did not speak of many things, the blade was the least of it. Celeborn could understand that much, at least attempt to for her sake. After all the story of what had happened to the other princess of the Noldor was a subject only spoken of in whispers but had nonetheless carried as such shocks are prone to. Who’s part in it the Sindar saw as shocking didn’t bare thinking of. Whether it had reached the ears of Thingol himself or Melian was unknown, certainly none had broached it with them, after all Eol had been of his kin.

As she’d only dared voice to her husband for fear of how it may be received, she didn’t dismiss her cousin’s race as of little importance to this matter. She’d lived in Doriath for long years and had been permitted to do so as she was not deemed by the king to be ‘tainted’ as her Noldorin blood was so diluted with a certain squint of the eyes he could see her as one of his Sindar and pretend that the part of her that belonged to the people of one he had once loved was insignificant. Many did not provide her the same courtesy, if it could be called such.

Those who didn’t, those whose minds were decided the second they’d first heard her Quenya name, viewed her one of two ways. Either as something to be feared and loathed or something that could be corrected. Some ‘thing’ in both of those remains the crucial matter. She had no trouble imagining that one such as Eol should lust after Noldor women, not for love or admiration but because he lusted after things he would not excuse if done upon a noble Sinda, because he would see no wrongdoing on his part if he did not truly see his ‘wife’ as a person.

If he saw her as being truthfully unworthy of his generosity and himself as doing right by her with his attempts to civilise her and make her worthy. For truly was it not mercy to cure her of what corruption her kin had inflicted on her, it was not in the nature of elleth to be anything but docile and fair so surely he could make her so and did she not owe him for his efforts?

If one who went by Galadriel could see such sentiments, though never more than unvoiced sentiment, it was no stretch to imagine how easily some may justify things in relation to one such as Aredhel, who bore her blades and bow at her belt and across her back rather than concealed, who’s deep black hair was perpetually bound intricately above her head, who’s skilful hands never stilled, who’s brother had slain at Aqualonde. Perhaps it was for the best Feanor had born only sons, the fate of a daughter who had slain kin of her own volition did not bare thinking of.

Yes, there was a particular hate reserved for Noldorin women, but, as she had been told on countless occasions, she was not one. Her home had been among the kin of Olwe with the fresh scented breeze rushing through her and the exhilaration as she glided as one with the crashing waves, the sea spray plastered her golden locks to her cheeks and her fingers felt the ever present friction of ropes rushing through her fingers.

The same fingers that used the talent at managing multiple strands to sit and weave in soothing silence by Caranthir’s side, only broken by exchanging the odd note on interesting gossip or asking for the basket containing spools of thread. That her cousins, one clad in a mud splattered white tunic and the other with a star of Feanor on his neck beside the mark of Oromë, had taught to string a bow and wield a sword. She had accompanied them on occasion, shared in their banter and endeavoured to best them in speed to the draw and on the saddle. She had never found success there but the practice put her a ways ahead of her brothers, something that had been worth many hours toil in such days.

She allowed her thoughts to slip into treacherous territory, shielded from the view of even the Queen for what sort of a Noldor would she be if she permitted others to censor her convictions, of Thingol and Aqualonde, with particular regard to Nolofinwean kin. It was all very well to condemn all who participated in such an event when you have only heard tale of it and never witnessed it for yourself. It was hard even to tell what he wished them to have done, he’d only condemned the Noldor after all but she found it hard to believe he’d actually accept even his beloved Teleri with how the concept seemed to disturb his sensibilities.

Would he truly have stood to the side, counselling others to do the same, as he witnessed that sheer carnage, the blood seeping through the sand and tainting the water, the glint of swords and torches the only light in the sheer animal panic that had set them all on edge for all the leagues of that fateful journey ever since they knew for certain that their home no longer held any safety for them?

He seemed to have few issues closing his eyes and pretending not to see similar destruction outside his borders at present so perhaps he may have. She had no doubts as to what, if she had arrived but an hour sooner that day, she should have done. She would have felt guilt, of course she would have but then did her kin not also? It would have been a matter of kin over kin but she knew with little waver that she would not have stood by while the Teleri fought a losing battle, just as Fingon could not watch on as those he loved were in peril, with a deep conviction that of course they must have been acting in defence. For what might one not do for their kin?

Perhaps then, he was wrong in allowing her to reside here while others were barred. For though she was a proud sea maiden of the Teleri she was every bit the Noldo her cousins were. Her spirit burned with the same flame, the same need for more that had tormented her uncle into the path he’d taken. It threatened to consume her in bitterness at its constraint within the company of others who did not feel it also and its need to conquer over those who could.

It would not be extinguished, this need for greatness, knowledge and above all power that was in all honesty matched only by that of her most detested uncle. Instead she fed it, honed it and tempered it with arts that Feanor had known not and this satisfied her, what would be called magic running through her veins in a way unique among full Eldar. And as she became more assured of her own strength and achieved what could almost be called satisfaction in her own prowess at last she found the peace he never had.

Content finally in herself as she felt the trickling stream beneath the stones her bare feet balanced upon and the starlight reflected in the water crowded about her eagerly as her beloved gazed upon her with adoration, not for or despite her ability but for the peaceful smile breaking out upon her face as her hand stretched out to guide him. The smile that widened as he took it without hesitance and allowed the elleth he knew to be a cunning and ruthless creature well versed in witchcraft take him by the hand among the dense trees with complete trust.

The water crashed upon the rocks and splashed her bare shins but she did not flinch at the coolness as she pulled him to her and steadied him with the laughter of one who has seen as little pain as one such as Luthien dancing among the flowers while they exerted all their elven grace into not slipping off the rock as their damp lips and bodies settled into a steady and familiar rhythm. They had all the time in the world after all.

[songstresstinyteacup]

An alternative to “Is the weight of it all finally too much?”

Okay, so this deals with implied suicide attempts, and panicky Sibella. Do with that as you will!

Of all the things Sibella had expected to see when she arrived at High Hurst castle that day, Monty pulling a soaking wet and half-frozen Phoebe D’ysquith Navarro from the river beyond the gardens wasn’t one of them.

Monty passed off Phoebe to Marietta and Gorby, stalking inside and forcing Sibella to whirl around to try and keep up with him as Miss Shingle and Gorby began escorting Phoebe back inside.

Sibella hadn’t even had the time to shed her coat and gloves.

“Monty! Monty, whatever’s happened?” Sibella inquired, heels slamming into the ground as she tried to keep pace with him.

Monty turned around, and Sibella saw so many emotions in his eyes.

Anger.

Grief.

Concern.

Fear.

“Phoebe tried to end her life today, Sibella.” Monty’s voice was hoarse and thick with tears, tears Sibella could see he was desperately trying to hold back.

Sibella’s heart plummeted through the floor.

“What?” Her words were breathless.

Phoebe.

Her Phoebe.

Phoebe had tried to die.

Monty threw his arms up, sleeves soaked clear up to his elbows, running damp fingers through snow-speckled hair, frustration in every movement.

Then Monty stepped aside and motioned Sibella into the library, and when she did as bid, he shut the door.

“Wh- I don’t- Oh Monty.” Sibella felt her own tears welling up.

Monty was silent, eerily silent, and then after such a long pause he spoke.

“I think Phoebe found out. I think she knows what I did to her brother.” Monty’s voice broke as he all but collapsed at his desk in the library.

Sibella’s heart sank even further.

Sibella had suspected for quite some time that Monty’s meteoric rise from displaced heir to Earl wasn’t simply a streak of good luck, and she had thought Phoebe had suspected too.

Maybe Phoebe had suspected, but perhaps Phoebe hadn’t believed as Sibella had, and when it came to Phoebe’s grief for her brother, Sibella knew it still ran strong.

Oftentimes Sibella would look over at Phoebe in the gardens and catch her staring teary-eyed at the bee colonies she’d had moved from Salisbury to the castle, staring at them as if enough willpower would make Henry appear.

If Phoebe had learned that Henry had been killed by Monty, had no way to deny it to her own brain, Sibella knew she’d be distraught, but never dreamed that Phoebe would attempt to harm herself.

Sibella was snapped from her spiraling thoughts by the sound of Monty crying, and she moved to wrap her arms around him, bending as far as her corset would allow to try and soothe him.

“She’ll be alright, Monty. I’ll make sure of it.” Sibella kissed the top of his head and then took off from the library to their wing.

It made the most sense for Phoebe to be placed in her boudoir, close to the bath to warm her after Monty had calmed down, if she weren’t already in the bath.

So when Sibella finally reached the boudoir door she didn’t bother knocking, simply pushed in the door and closed it behind her.

The room was warm, almost stifling under Sibella’s coat and gloves, and in a chair by the fire sat Phoebe.

She was wrapped in no less than three blankets, but she trembled like a leaf in a storm anyway, and Mary was there trying to hand her a cup of tea but Phoebe just stared ahead.

Mary seemed to jump when she noticed Sibella, placing the teacup back on the saucer and bobbing a curtsy.

“Miss Hallward! I do apologize!” Mary offered a skittish smile, but it didn’t meet her eyes.

Sibella offered a genuine smile back, a small, sad one.

“Leave us, Mary.” Sibella commanded, pulling off her first glove.

Mary blanched, and looked from Phoebe back to Sibella.

“I’m sorry, Miss, but I was instructed to stay with her ladyship no matter what.” She stammered and Sibella huffed.

“I shall stay with the countess. You may go.” The blonde tried once more, but Mary didn’t budge.

“Take Miss Hallward’s coat and gloves and go to lunch, Mary. I’m alright.” Phoebe’s voice was almost foreign, so resigned and far away, but Mary obeyed.

After the door had closed, Phoebe sighed so heavily her entire frame seemed to crumble, head dipping down.

“Phoebe. What on earth possessed you to try such a thing?” Sibella walked toward the fire and picked up the cup from its saucer and held it out to Phoebe.

The smaller woman didn’t take it, shivering so violently Sibella could hear her teeth chattering, so Sibella extended it again.

“I didn’t try anything. I was trying to tell Monty that.” Phoebe grit out between shivers.

“Was the weight of it all finally too heavy? Phoebe this isn’t like you!” Sibella hissed, tipping Phoebe’s chin upwards with one finger, eyes blazing with anger.

Phoebe shot up, almost knocking her head into Sibella’s as she tried to take a step and tripped over one of the many blankets Mary had wrapped her in.

Sibella caught her immediately, helping untangle the blanket from Phoebe’s feet and looking her over.

“I swear to you, Sibella, I would never do that! Especially not now!” Phoebe was adamant, glaring at Sibella even though she still trembled with cold.

Sibella blinked.

What did Phoebe mean by “not now”?

Phoebe caught her gaze.

“I was walking by the river because it’s Henry’s birthday today. Every year the only thing my brother wanted was a walk by a river with me. I tripped and fell in. Monty only saw my back.” Phoebe’s words were quick, and for a moment Sibella panicked.

Had these statements been planned?

Had Phoebe planned in case one of them caught her?

Sibella hardened her gaze, looking at Phoebe in the way she knew made Monty squirm and hoped it would do the same to Phoebe.

It didn’t.

“Have you forgotten I’m a D’ysquith, Sibella? I’ve had years of experience in posturing.” Phoebe’s voice was like steel, and Sibella noticed for the first time that she’d stopped trembling.

Sibella softened her eyes, looking at Phoebe.

Very well, she could use tears and terror in equal measure.

“Darling, I just-“, Sibella took a deliberately unsteady breath, “I can’t lose you.”

The blonde looked down, and when she looked at Phoebe again there was a light misting of tears in her eyes.

Phoebe seemed to wilt.

Good.

“It was an accident, Sibella. That’s all.” Phoebe’s voice was softer, but still firm.

Phoebe grabbed her blankets and moved to the bed, opening them up and motioning for Sibella to join her.

Sibella did, sniffling as she moved to further illustrate her distress, and when she was pressed into Phoebe’s side, freezing water soaking into her own dress, Phoebe closed the blanket around them and lay back, taking Sibella with her.

They said nothing, Phoebe looking at Sibella, and then Phoebe’s freezing hands were in Sibella’s, guiding, and Sibella all but froze in place when Phoebe pressed Sibella’s hand to her own abdomen.

“That was what I wanted to tell Henry. Now I’m telling you. I would never hurt myself, or my child.” Phoebe’s voice was husky and low, even as tears welled up in both of their eyes.

“Oh, darling.” Sibella crashed her lips into Phoebe’s, kissing her hard.

An heir.

“Does Monty know?” Sibella inquired breathlessly as they pulled apart.

Phoebe shook her head, swallowing hard.

“I tried to tell him after he pulled me out. I didn’t even know he’d followed me out there, but he’s too frightened and angry.”

Phoebe’s shivering began anew, and Sibella rose.

“What are you-“ Phoebe began as Sibella pulled her to her feet, keeping one hand firmly on Phoebe’s waist.

“Let me draw you a bath, I won’t have you catching your death, especially not now.” Sibella breathed, and Phoebe thought for a moment, then nodded.

Sibella led Phoebe into the bathing chamber and deposited her onto the chaise with such gentleness that Phoebe began to get misty-eyed again.

They would tell Monty later.

He had to understand.

[bittersweet-n-smilin]

Loyalty • Chai x Mocha Fic • Game Chapter Write-in

Spoilers: End of Track 4 & End of Track 7

It was a whirlwind of a heartattack for Mocha, but at least it helped her finally realize where her morals and loyalty lied. Even so, she wished it hadn't come to this. One moment, Chai was on his way back to the hideout with the kidnapped head of security, and the next, they were both dragged back, unconscious after a fiery crash on the tram.

His condition wasn't as critical as the dying red-haired woman, but it still sent fear surging through her veins as she gazed upon his still form where he lay upon the sofa in the middle of the room. While the others operated to save the life of the other victim of the wreck, she took it upon herself to look after the man til he woke up, and afterwards when he inevitably realized how much pain he was in.

It was a miracle he hadn't been too terribly injured. She almost couldn't believe it. He seemed almost indestructible, truly. But how long until his luck ran out? It finally made her realize the gravity of the whole situation, and filled her with so much guilt.

So many times she was tempted to sell out these people she had come to befriend over the past day or so. And for what? To become "worth something" to some corporate assholes who evidently don't care about much at all besides their cushy little jobs? To finally "find a good place in the world", even at the cost of others? What the hell was wrong with her!? She was a fool, a damn fool. She felt so fucking guilty.

Even moreso because she's the one who sort of instigated this mess, the weight of her sin was heavy on her. She's the one who told the big bad boss of the company where the group was in R&D, forcing them to flee and kickstarting a chain of events leading to where she is now. Kneeling at the side of someone she quickly grew to care so much for, she felt guilty.

Suddenly, he began to stir and groan upon his resting place. Quietly, she shushed him and instinctively put a hand to his hair in an attempt to soothe the man.

"It's alright. You're OK now. You're back in the hideout. Everything is fine."

He blinked at her, processing what he just heard. "K-Korsi..ca?" He asked about his companion in destruction.

"She's a bit...... critical right now. The others are doing what they can."

At that, he seemed to relax. Or at least, he tried to. It's a bit hard to be at ease when your muscles are crying out in agony. Luckily she had prepared for his, helping him sit up so he could take some painkillers. Hopefully it would be enough in the long-run.

It seemed so, judging by how his jaw finally unclenched and he let out a sigh after a couple minutes. "Thanks," he said, looking up at her after he had settled down once more. "Man, what would I do without ya, huh?"

And with that, she started to cry. Because he would probably be safe without a treacherous snake such as her. The guilt overwhelmed her and tore her apart. Before she knew it, she started spilling confessions of her attempted betrayals, and the one that came to fruition.

"I'm so sorry!" was all she could sob over and over, and he took pity on her. He was shocked at her confession (even though Peppermint had sort of "called it" earlier on), but he still shushed her in an attempt to get her to calm down and listen. He didn't know if he was being stupid, but he did know she seemed genuine in her remorse. Then again, how much could you know about a girl you only met almost two days ago? He was still willing to chance it, so he spoke.

"Hey, don't cry, don't cry. It's ok. He woulda found us back there anyway, so that's not your fault entirely. And the hideout stuff? You didn't, and that's what matters, yeah? You have good in you, I can feel it... Besides, I like you too much to let you walk away."

"Yeah. Yeah, I like you guys too."

"No. I like you."

".....I think I return those feelings."

As her tears slowed and dried, they spent the next several hours in near silence. Mocha tended to Chai as new aches and cuts made themselves known, until their guest had woken up from her operation. She'd make up for her follies by helping make sure nothing like this happened to her new friends again.

....and by making sure she would become a better person for someone who somehow saw the best in her.

[lupin-bun]

Come Back to Me

William Easton/FTM OC, self ship, trauma, hurt/comfort, smut (in later chapters)

Week 1

Chapter 1 - A First Time for Everything

“You’re coming with me to a drag show tonight.”

William looked up from the file he had open on his lap as he sat on his couch, to stare in bewilderment at his sister.

“The hell’d you just say?”

“I said, you’re coming with me to a drag show tonight.” Pamela reiterated, as clearly and concisely as she could, one hand on the back of the couch, the other on her hip as she looked down at her brother.

Will snorted in disapproval and looked back down at the file.

“No way. Can you really see me at a drag show?” He turned his head long enough to raise his eyebrows at her, pointedly, before returning to the file.

“Will,” Pamela started, a warning tone to her voice, “it’s been almost a year, and all you do is work. You never go out, you never meet up with friends, I don’t think I’ve even seen you smile since then.”

Will flipped the file shut in annoyance and shot Pamela a dangerous look.

“My friends? They’re dead, Pamela. Or did you forget? Hell, you were there!”

Completely unfazed by Will’s tone, Pamela raised an eyebrow.

“That’s another thing, Will,” she began, gently, “the friends you did have in the first place worked for you. They were employees.”

“I know! Don’t you think I know that!?” Will’s tone rose as he stood up, angrily, and marched through to the kitchen, Pamela following behind him, silently. “They were both. My employees and my friends. And I…” he paused and swallowed, remembering, “I let them die.” His tone dropped, sadly. His face screwed up and he turned his back on her, busying himself with opening a cupboard to retrieve a bottle of liquor and a glass.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Pamela soothed, stepping closer, carefully. “You didn’t put them there. That psycho did. You saved as many as you could.”

Will didn’t answer. There was a clink of glass on glass as he poured a shallow amount of the alcohol into the whiskey tumbler, and threw it back in one swallow. Pouring it into the glass at all seemed mildly redundant. He put a hand on his right hip as he stood there, his back still turned, but Pamela still noticed his thumb stroking the spot where she knew a huge scar sat, under his shirt, an ugly reminder of what he’d been through.

She stepped up close behind him and lay her head on his shoulder, rubbing his arm, comfortingly.

“Come out with me tonight,” she murmured, quietly. It wasn’t a question, “please, big bro.” She added, giving his arm a squeeze. “You deserve to do something fun. Take your mind off it for once! Ok, so I know it’s more my thing than yours but, maybe?” she wheedled him, looking up at him with a hopeful smile.

Will exhaled, resigned. He side-eyed her. He never could say no to Pammy.

“Fine.” He agreed simply and Pamela smiled, pulling back from him.

Will turned to face her properly, his attempt to look stern betrayed by his eyes that held a deep, desolate sadness that had been ever present these last few months.

“Performers from England are visiting for a while, including my favourite king! He’ll be there tonight and I wanted to show you his stuff.” Pamela decided to try and get Will talking about the show to get his mind off his trauma. She had been introduced to the drag scene by a lesbian friend from the studio and become hooked. The performers were all so… elaborate. Sequins, studs, rhinestones, glitter, confetti, huge wigs, headpieces, nails, heels, it was all so artistic and joyous.

“He?” Will questioned, picking the bottle up from the counter and walking it back through to the living room. “Aren’t you supposed to call drag queens “she”?”

Pamela couldn’t help but smirk to herself. William really knew nothing about the drag world. “No, he’s a king. Not a queen.”

“What? What’s that? A woman dressed as a man?”

Pamela paused, wondering if she dared go into the details of this king she was such a fan of, for fear of just confusing him. She’d been following this king for a while and he was very open about himself and how he identified, talking about it in livestreams, regularly.

“Not exactly…” Pamela said, trailing off. “It’s hard to explain. And I really want you to meet-…”

“No.” Will cut her off, strongly. “I’ve told you before, Pamela. I’m not interested in any of your friends.” He sat back down in his chair, heavily, and picked up the file again.

Pamela nodded with an amused huff.

“Oh I know. I am very aware!” She turned to leave and get ready in the spare room she was currently occupying, “Just like you weren’t interested in Sarah, or Lucy, or Allison…”

…

Pamela walked into the dimly lit venue, excitedly, a beaming smile across her face.

Will followed behind her with decidedly less enthusiasm, his hands rammed into his pockets like a moody teen. Though he had relented to be here, he hadn’t made any kind of effort with his appearance. The suit pants were gone in favour of jeans, he was still wearing his work shirt (it was now untucked) and his tie had been banished to the bedroom floor. He hadn’t even brushed his hair. When it had been scruffed up when he removed his tie, it had stayed like that.

The venue was very small. It was really just a smallish function room above a bowling alley in the city. Glancing around, William figured it would hold around fifty people. Sixty, max. There was a small stage the opposite side of the room, with gold fringe all along the back wall that twinkled, reflecting the stage lights (and the few dim house lights that were on).

With a resigned sigh, Will went to sit on a chair at the back.

“No, Will! Let’s sit on the front row! Please!” Pamela implored him, grabbing his hand and pulling as though she’d suddenly become six years old again and was trying to get Will to join her on the swings at the park.

Will shot her a look.

“Pleeeaaase!” Pamela begged, bobbing where she stood.

“You must really like this guy, huh?” Will remarked, heaving himself up to standing again, trailing after his sister, obediently. He plopped himself down in the aisle seat at the front and pulled a patronising face at his sister, who sat next to him. “Happy?”

“Very.” Pamela responded, with a smug grin.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and everyone inbetween! Please take your seats! The show will be starting in five minutes! That’s five minutes until the start of the show!” came a distinctly male voice over the speakers.

Will rolled his eyes, tiredly, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Pamela elbowed him.

After definitely a lot longer than five minutes (and a lot closer to fifteen), the house lights went down. There were a few, scattered “Woo!”s around the room, including from Pamela. Will pulled a face at her.

She elbowed him again.

A tall drag queen in a floor length, silver, sequin dress, and sporting the biggest, brown, curly wig Will had ever seen in his life, strode, grandly onto the stage to a wave of applause from the crowd. Her dress was low cut, and it wasn’t just her wig that was brown and curly, it seemed. An impressive amount of chest hair sat, displayed proudly, above the neckline. And, when Will glanced down, the leg that poked, flirtatiously, out from a slit in the side of her dress was hairy too. But, he had to admit, the juxtaposition made her striking to behold, as she stood there, mic in hand, waiting for the cheers to die down.

“Thank you, loves. Thank you.” She began, her soft British voice amplified by the speaker that stood just feet away from where Will sat.

“Good evening!”

Another wave of applause.

“and thank you so much for having us bunch of raging queers from England in your city!”

There was a collective chuckle from the crowd.

“Honestly, getting the chance to perform in America is fucking insane when you’re from a tiny bloody city in the UK and hate RuPaul.”

Another chuckle, and a couple of raucous laughs from somewhere near the back.

“I’m Liv Presents, or Olivia Presentations if you’re nasty!” She winked, comically at the crowd, some of whom whooped or wolf whistled. “And I think I should just get the fuck on with it, don’t you!?”

A huge cheer went up.

“First on the line up tonight is a man that we had to pull out of his dumpster just to get him here-…”

“Oh my God!” Pamela whispered to Will, excitedly. “He’s on first! No way!”

“He’s a stinker, but don’t let that put you off. He’s the skunk punk of Norwich and he’s here tonight! He’s fizzy! He’s sweet! I hope you’re thirsty! It’s SODAPOP!”

Pamela flapped her hands against her knees, grinning in anticipation.

Liv Presents left the stage, and Will finally felt comfortable enough to cross his arms without judgement.

What had all that meant? “Stinker”? “Dumpster”? “Skunk”? What did all that have to do with anything?

Without warning, the start of some rock song or other started playing. Will jumped. It wasn’t the bubblegummy pop song or dramatic ballad he’d been imagining.

“You think your life is done, he took it all with him

So you drink enough to wash away the sin!

It’s such a shitty thing he did, the way he said “Goodbye”

You can take it out on me, if you like…”

The song began but no-one had reached the stage yet. William turned to ask Pamela what was going on, but noticed that she’d turned in her seat and was looking towards the back of the room.

He followed her gaze and spotted the performer, strutting up the aisle, slowly, engaging directly with audience members as he went.

The man was smallish, a couple of inches shorter than Will, but he sported a flawless, oil black mohawk with a white chunk at the front that made up for that deficit (Aaah. Now the “skunk” moniker made sense). He had a medium build with nicely toned arms and shoulders from what Will could see. He had surprisingly slim hands, with black painted nails, and he wore (not at all what he’d expected of a drag king), Black jeans, a black leather vest with copious studs and various “punky” accessories (spiked collar, fingerless leather gloves, and various piercings). An unexpected departure from the huge, over-styled outfits he’d seen a lot of queens wear. His wickedly grinning face was accentuated with strong makeup; deep contouring, dramatic eyeliner (top and bottom lids, plus wing), painted on, pointed brows, black lipstick with extended lines at the corners, pulling his smile wider than was natural. The overall effect was a small but dominant creature with a devilish streak, and a snide, sarcastic sense of humour.

“Fuck away the pain Erase him from your brain

Fake it like you love me

Come on baby, touch me!”

He carried on performing. He was not shy in the slightest! He strutted and swaggered down the aisle, getting in close within audience members’ personal space, throwing an arm over people’s shoulders, hiking a foot up on the sides of chairs and rolling his hips (or, in one instance, the front of the chair of a guy who was man-spreading up a storm. Sodapop had cupped the man’s chin and bent in dangerously close, within kissing distance, before grinning and backing away, letting the man’s face go, teasingly). Soda strutted past Will and onto the stage and, apparently, Will was staring pretty intensely, because Soda had caught his eye and, with a wicked smirk, winked at him.

Will immediately felt his face heat up.

“Show me where it hurts

This dirty little curse

Don’t have to be ashamed

If you wanna scream my name

while I fuck away the pain”

Now Soda dropped to his knees, head thrown back, as though in ecstasy, running his hands down the full length of his torso.

Will could actually feel his pulse in his cheeks.

“You hate the way he fooled around behind your back

A slave to him but now, with me, no strings attached!

But if you wanna use me up and leave me in the bed

If that’s what you need, go right ahead.”

Soda rolled his body, thrusting at the audience, head still back.

Will had chanced a glimpse and now wished he hadn’t. Soda had a noticeable bulge in his pants. Why had that caused Will to twitch? He shifted where he sat.

Stronger than a shot of whiskey or any pill you taaaaaaake…!

Liv walked back onstage, the mic in her hand replaced with a glass of (presumably) whiskey. Rather than hand it to him, she tipped it, carefully, and let a small amount pour out onto Soda’s throat. It trickled down his neck to his chest in riverlets as he brought his head back up. He locked eyes with Will again.

Will had to be blushing so hard, you could fry eggs on him! He shifted, uncomfortably, in his chair and uncrossed his arms and, trying to appear casual, pretended to rest his head on his fist (really just trying to hide his woefully red face behind it!).

“Fuck away the pain

Erase him from your brain

Fake it like you love me-…

Soda suddenly lunged at Will and crouched low, so close to him!

...Come on, baby, touch me!”

He ran his hands down the shiny black leather that covered his chest again.

With his heart pounding, squirming in his seat, head swimming and definitely not thinking straight, Will drunkenly put out a hand to place it on Soda’s chest too.

A sharp slap to the side of his leg broke Will out of his trance.

He blinked and looked, instead, at his sister who quickly shook her head, urgently.

Will swiftly returned his hand to his lap, mortified.

Soda didn’t seem to care. With a devilish smirk, he winked again, and moved on.

…

The number had ended.

The audience were going nuts, cheering, clapping and whooping as Soda gave one last little bow and jogged off down the aisle.

Liv returned to the stage.

“SODAPOP, EVERYBODY!!!” She called over the crowd, which redoubled the cheering. “How are you all feeling? Is your thirst quenched? Uuuuuuuuunnnnh!!” she moaned, comedically.

There was a roar of approval from the audience.

“Now, I’ve just got to say,” Liv started, semi-seriously, “I did actually forget to say this at the start of the show. Absolutely my fault! But you’re all going to see some very sexy people on this stage tonight,”

Another cheer.

“but please do not touch us without permission. That’s an absolute must. Please don’t molest the performers! That being said,” here, she turned and directly addressed Pamela, “if someone like Sodapop gets up in your face and tells you “come on baby touch me” and encourages you, and gropes themselves like the filthy boy they are, SODA…!!”, she called to Sodapop, who must still have been at the back of the room (Will turned in his chair to look, but couldn’t spot him in the gloom), “… in that instance, I’d say it’s ok! But, bless you, my darling,” Liv reached a painted-long-nailed and bejewelled hand out for Pamela’s, and Pamela took it, “bless your heart! Ordinarily that’s absolutely the right reaction! Thank you, my love!” She released Pamela’s hand with a warm smile. “Now then! Up next…”

[nyxnightshade1332]

Expectations When Expecting (Prologue)

Chapter 17

Chapter 18:

The three teens and the cat monster raced out of the abandoned dwarfs’ mine, clutching the magestone they had recovered. They rushed into the silent woods, only to realize that the giant, inky monster had managed to follow them. The monster howled and gurgled on its own ink as it approached them. 

Ace looked back, incredulous and nervous at the sight of such a disgusting monster stomping toward them. 

“Are you kiddin' me?!” He cried in exasperation. “It's still coming! It pushed off all that weight!” 

Yuu felt her heart drop at the knowledge. 

“Giiive it baaaaack...!” The giant roared, launching a tree at the group, Yuu barely managing to dodge it. 

“It's too fast!” Deuce gasped, exhausted. “It's about to catch us!” He stated nervously as he began to fall behind. 

“You know what? Fuck it! Then it's kill or be killed!” She cried, glaring at the monster, shaking as she guarded her abdomen. Ace seemed to notice her fear, but followed along, a crazed smirk painted on his face. 

“Aw, yeah! Let's just smash the thing. Try not to wet yourself, Deucey!”

“Same to you, Ace!” Deuce smirked back, clutching his magic pen. 

Yuu watched as Grim placed himself in front of her. “I'm gonna show ya why they call me Grim the Great!” She watched Grim inhale, puffing out his chest. It was a clear indication of the monster’s signature attack of blue flames. She gave Grim a grateful smile as she picked up a stone. 

Yuu pulled her arm back, eyes locking onto the monster giant, glass head with only one conclusion in mind. Break the head and it will die. 

When Grim released his flurry of flames, she threw the rock as hard as she could, hearing the satisfying cracking sound, and she picked up a second stone she watched, weaving between the trees, similarly to the way she would when playing hunters with her friends as a child. She pulled back her arm again when the monster was distracted. She took a breath as she aimed, her eyes fixated on the cracked part of the monster. 

And as she released the stone, there was one final CLANG that echoed in the woods. Yuu felt herself be pulled away, a white light seemingly keeping her from being crushed or drowned by the monster. She shut her eyes in fear and surprise of the light that blinded her bracing herself. 

She froze when she felt the cool, ghostly brush of a hand against her face. Tentatively, the young woman opened her eyes for long enough to catch a glimpse of who had touched her, only to see the familiar form of her deceased lover leading a small man away. She saw the smaller figure pause, turning toward her before nodding what appeared to be his gratitude. She nodded back, watching the two figures retreat before she realized that she had not been breathing. 

Yuu took a gasp of air, registering the sounds of triumph of the boys, Grim happily prancing around her. He stopped in front of her, sharp teeth flashing a happy smile at her, and he held up one paw. 

“C’mon! Gimme a victory high-five!” 

Yuu felt a relieved smile form on her lips as she bent down, giving a high five to the cat. She looked to Ace and Deuce, whose celebrations were ongoing. She stood up Grim scampering onto her shoulders. 

“Shared adversity sure brings people together, huh?” She gave a smirk as she noticed the boys scramble backward. 

“Uh... I don't think that had anything to do with it.” Deuce muttered, rubbing the back of his neck in an attempt to soothe his embarrassment. 

“Yeah! Spare us the clichés, bro.” Ace chimed, face slightly red. 

“There's no "together" here! We won 'cause of me!” Grim bragged, nose held high. “This is all from me bein' a magical genius!” 

“Hush you.” She half-scolded before noticing Ace’s expression toward her. 

“Y'know... I hate to admit it, but... We mostly won because of your plan.” 

“Yeah... if you hadn't managed to keep your cool and tell us all what to do, we never would have got this magestone.” Deuce agreed, noticing the sudden sheepish appearance of Yuu. He said something else that Yuu couldn't quite remember, apparently a thanks for preventing the expulsion. 

“Aww, c’mon guys. It wasn’t really much… I'm just glad no one got hurt.” She muttered shyly. 

“Yeah, yeah, lessons were learned, et cetera. Can we just go home already? I'm wiped.” Ace remarked. 

“I think that may be the most logical thing you’ve said since I met you.” She teased.

“Shut up!” 

“UGH, Usin' all that magic made me hungry!” Grim whined, annoyed before he paused. Yuu stopped, noting the strange-looking stone on the ground. 

“Huh? What's this?” Grim made his way to the mysterious object, picking it up in his paws and bringing the stone up to his nose curiously. 

“Is that a part of the monster we just beat?” Deuce questioned. “It looks like... a magestone? But it's black as coal! I've never seen one like that before.” 

Yuu watched, her eyes narrow, watching Grim as he sniffed the stone, his eyes widening. “Woah! What IS this? It smells amazing!” He took a deep sniff of the stone once more, eyes wide with excitement.

Yuu recognied the look in Grim’s eyes as the same one her dog had when she’d accidentally dropped a $100 bill. She tensed, completely prepared to scramble to wrestle it out of Grim jaws. Maybe he won’t try to eat it? Hopefully? 

“What are you, Insane?” Ace exclaimed. 

“Must be some kinda fancy monster candy that it was hidin' from us! If this tastes half as good as it smells…” 

It all happened much quicker than she’d expected. Grim opened his maw, tossing the entire stone in before the sound of crunching was heard. 

“Grim, you trash panda!” Yuu screeched. “Spit it out! Out! Bad cat!”

She rushed to open is jaws when she heard the heavy swallow. A very loud meow echoed in the woods, startling the group. 

“Are you okay?!” Deuce squawked in surprise. 

“That's what you get for eating trash!” Ace stated, eyes trained on the monster.

“Oooooogh... Urrrgggh... That…” Grim groaned out. “ …was AMAZING!” The group stared, bewildered at the cat’s pleased smile.

“Rich in flavor and full-bodied... Like sweet, fragrant flowers burstin' into bloom on my tongue. A whole field of 'em! Right in my mouth!” He sang, praising the flavor of a random stone. Yuu’s shock quickly melted as she slightly knocked the cat on the head. 

“Darn it Grim! I thought you were going to die!”

“Gross. Monsters must have real weird tastes.” Ace stated, earning himself agreements from both of the other humans. 

“And… you’re sure you're okay?” Yuu asked, examining her cat. 

Grim belted out a cocky laugh. “Don't worry about me. I don't got a weak stomach like you humans do.” 

Ace snorted, looking at Grim. “Hmph. We'll see if you're so smug when you're sick later tonight.” 

“Okay, let's pull ourselves together. We need to get this magestone to the headmage!” 

Chapter 19

[most-definitively-a-human]

Oh dear. It seems I may have made yet another character autistic without realising. We've got three now. (Most likely.) Yay!

I'm happy her experiences are different enough to mine that I'll still have fun. (I get bored when characters are too similar to me)

I'm seeking out the input of people who aren't as negatively affected by autism as I am to get a clear view of things. I'm disabled to the point where I can't drive or work by it, have a caregiver, and don't relate much to much of the autistic representation I see. My experiences with autism are predominately sensory, motor, and with executive function, but I don't struggle to make friends and Lumin's are mainly social and about routine, I think that's why I didn't notice for so long. In many ways we're complete opposites.

My experiences are a skewed and incomplete perspective of what the spectrum is, and something I'd like to rectify/add onto.

About Lumin

Lumin despises interruptions, experiences outbursts of rage whenever interupted, and follows a strict schedule (mainly due to being a workaholic but she does find it soothing). She prefers to do things together than talk most of the time (like sparring), has to excercise to deal with a ceaseless and restless energy, and doesn't understand people different to herself and assumes everyone is similarly oppurtunistic.

She communicates in a blunt, direct manner, with occasional vivid metaphor. She despises looping floral speech, abhors small talk and beaureocracy, and doesn't understand how to interact with others outside of intimidation or power plays as that was all she was taught.

Other people's emotions and sentimentality baffle her, and she's annoyed by their outbursts. She sometimes attempts to soothe people by saying things like "you have nothing to cry about" and "it could be worse" with genuine kind intent. She wishes she could find people who aren't so easily upset.

As a doctor, she is baffled by people who say she has a bad bedside manner. Why are they angry at her for failing to interrupt her duty to engage in pleasantries? Do they want her to be slow and incompetent? If you want pleasantries go elsewhere. You have a broken arm. Why isn't that your priority?

She couldn't bear working as a soldier since she hated being ordered about and 'being in the prescence of so many unambitious idiots' (I think she might also be overwhelmed by all the people but too proud to admit it) (she also hates turning her hobby into a job) (sparring is the one thing in her life that wasn't graded and she wants to keep it that way)

When she meets Asran (a small child of eight years) she decides to entertain him by reading out loud medical textbooks. This works. She does not have any other ideas for methods of entertainment other than "put him in a garden and ignore him" or "give him non sharp medical tools to fiddle with"

Most people dislike her, and she gave up on trying to be friendly long ago. She tries to seem as intimidating and unpleasant as possible because if she can't be loved, at least she can be feared.

She also has a strict moral code and is relentlessly adherent to authority figures she admires. She thinks it is sacriledge to question them.

Typing this out, it seems the main reason I didn't realise it is because she doesn't need a carer like me. She seems pretty obvious now that I type everything up.

I do have another few points of difficulty though.

Reasons why I'm uncertain

-Her inability to empathise is more due to her experiencing severe trauma and also being a jerk. She could understand others if she tried. She just doesn't want to because a) she has work to do and b) to her people are all the same anyway. No point in analysing them when the only important thing is ascertaining whether or not they're useful or a threat. (She would still have a naturally blunt style of communication without trauma - might be even blunter) (And would still be fixated on medical knowledge to the detriment of everything else.)

-She's an alien mermaid with a different set of instincts. She has a heightened prey drive and heightened instincts. Due to her species this explains much of the autism like symptoms, like the sensory seeking behaviour and love of schedule. In short, she wouldn't qualify for a diagnosis without being an alien so I'm not quite sure if she counts.

Personally I think her experiences will be very relatable to many autistic people, but I'm not quite sure yet due to the alien mermaid thing.

I want to make sure I'm describing her accurately. I'm not interested in changing her to be more in line with the diagnostic criteria - she's her own person and close to being fully developed as a character at this point. If she's subclinical that's great because people on the border between neurotypical and autistic get someone to relate to, and if she isn't that's also great. Either way she'll resonate with people, and that I'm content with

I just want to know how best to describe her and make no false promises. (Don't want to say she's autistic rep when she might just a more relatable than average ornery fish lady)

[girlfox]

kuro is familiar with pain. it doesn't get much easier with time, but he knows what to expect, what to prepare for. ahri is perhaps the best thing that's happened to him since he was cursed. since his 'god' stole death from him. she's beautiful, and clever, and a light in his life-- teeth and claws and hunger included. all of it. and he knows that even without his immortality, he would not hate her for her nature. it is what she is, a creature, wild, and enigmatic. he loves her he thinks. he loves her so much, yes that's what it is.

" i'm okay. " his voice is wet and rough, but he's breathing. the blood remains but his wounds are already gone. " i'm okay, see? i told you once before i could not die, didn't i? " his hand as found hers, slippery fingers tangling together. despite the apparent horror, this feels right. " i'm not mad-- " pushing himself up, just enough that he is just a little closer. " i promise. it's okay. "

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐄? her breath is raspy, scratching from her throat and slick with the tang of copper. it heaves from her chest, up and down, in time with the rapid beating of a drumbeat heart. what have you done, sweet creature? hadn't you promised long ago not to let yourself slip into the darkest depths of yourself, swallowed whole like a dark lagoon, tinged with moss and dead fish, bottomless, bottomless— when ahri's vision unblurs itself, she sucks in a sharp and loud intake of breath, as if she'd just awoken from a bad dream.

her hands are shaking, violently. she forces her gaze down to them, but it feels like turning her head through a thick sludge, each movement screaming against her: don't look. they're saturated in dark red up to her elbows and her knuckles are bone white as fingers clasp the fabric of his torn shirt. " kuro ... " she whimpers out, voice barely above a weak, trembling whisper. a frail noise drags out of her, on the verge of a wail, and unleashes her grip, moving the heels of her palms to visage in a fruitless attempt to wipe away the copious amounts of blood. it only smears further, compounded by the thick wash of it on her face and throat.

tears sting at her eyes. " i ... i didn't mean to, i thought i— i could ... i'm a monster, " the taste of his flesh brands itself into the fox's tongue and she knows she'll never be able to remiss the memory of it. it'll haunt her, ahri thinks, until the day she dies; and how far away that day is, and how long she'll be burdened by the taste. it's deserved.

kuro's fingers entwine with hers, but she doesn't return his weak hold on her. she can't. ahri's body is revolting against itself, shaking with the sinking realization that she'd just lost herself to her urges once again and tried to eat him, kill him. what if he was capable of death? what if he couldn't simply undo the damage she'd done? he tries to soothe her, but it falls on deaf ears. the fear and anxiety is crushing her to her core.

" it's not okay, " ahri squeaks out. " i would have killed you, " her voice is trembling with desperation. it fights to be understood that she is dangerous, that she is not worth the pain and the maiming. " i'm— i— i'm sorry, i'm so sorry, kuro. you have to leave me, you— you can't stay. " her sentiment echoes an ancient memory: that he must leave, because despite herself, she cannot bear to be the one to give him up. she's a prowling beast in sheep's clothing, waiting for the day it remembers it has teeth, and he's the sacrificial lamb.

finally, her mouth curls into an unrepressed scowl, and ahri leans forward, releasing his hand and instead wrapping her arms around him. she realizes her hair is knotted and matted and wet with blood as it catches between them. it smells divine, and the very thought revolts her. big, ugly tears spill down her face and the fox tremors against him, burying her head into the space between his neck and shoulders— ahri wonders if she would have torn into the softness of his flesh here, too, if she were to lose control again. despicable thing.

her words come out muffled and broken, " please, go. i don't want to hurt you again, " the dichotomy of her pleading words and her arms around him are ironic at best, but she's always been a bundle of conflictions. but what is one to do when their heart and their instinct are in direct opposition of one another? she thinks he smells like the soil on a dewy morning underneath the blood, and it makes her chest pang, because she's never quite intertwined home with another person like this.