#i have only one final and i’m still suffering

[ghostsirensworld]

Late-Night Snack Raid with Luffy

Warnings: ooc? No use of y/n

You biggies are stealing food (I would too dw)

Obviously if you’re dating luffy you need a big appetite

You’re peacefully asleep in your shared room on the Sunny, dreaming of something pleasant, when you feel a poke. Then another.

“Hey. Wake up.”

You groan, turning away from the voice, only to be poked again—this time in the side.

“Luffy,” you mumble sleepily, “go to sleep.”

“But I’m hungry.”

You crack one eye open to see your boyfriend kneeling next to you, his face just inches from yours, his usual grin in place. His straw hat is tilted back on his head, and his eyes gleam mischievously.

“We had dinner three hours ago, Luffy,” you say, turning over in an attempt to ignore him.

“That was three hours ago!” he whines dramatically. “I need a snack.”

“You always need a snack.”

Luffy flops onto your bed dramatically, arms stretching over his head as he sighs like he’s suffering. You peek at him, and there he is, looking at you with the biggest, most ridiculous puppy-dog eyes.

You sigh. “What do you want me to do about it?”

Luffy grins. “Let’s go steal food from the kitchen!”

You blink at him. “You mean Sanji’s kitchen? The one you stay getting kicked out of?”

Luffy nods enthusiastically, like this is the best idea he’s ever had. You stare at him for a long moment, considering the sheer suicidal nature of this plan. Sanji would kill both of you if he caught you raiding his carefully stocked supplies.

But then again… you’re hungry too now.

“…Fine.” You sighed

Luffy whoops in excitement, grabbing your wrist and pulling you up. He’s practically bouncing as you both sneak out of the room, tiptoeing down the hall.

Or rather, you tiptoe. Luffy? He’s just casually strolling like he isn’t about to commit grand food theft.

When you get to the kitchen, Luffy carefully pushes open the door, peeking inside. “Clear,” he whispers, and with a giggle you both step in.

The pantry is a treasure trove of food, and Luffy immediately goes for the meat, grabbing a huge chunk like he’s found buried treasure. “Jackpot,” he grins.

You roll your eyes and grab something for yourself—a small pastry Sanji must have made earlier. But just as you take a bite, you hear the worst possible sound.

A click.

Both of you freeze.

The kitchen door locks.

“…Luffy,” you whisper.

“…Oops,” he whispers back.

You both turn, and there, standing in the doorway, is Sanji.

The blond cook takes a slow drag of his cigarette, blowing out smoke as he glares. “What do you two think you’re doing?” His voice is calm. Too calm.

Luffy, ever the fearless idiot, grins through a mouthful of stolen meat. “Hey, Sanji! We were just—”

“OUT. NOW.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You grab Luffy’s hand and run. Behind you, you can hear Sanji yelling about greedy captains and ungrateful crewmates, but Luffy is just laughing, his hand squeezing yours as you dash down the hall.

When you finally reach your room, breathless and victorious, Luffy flops onto the bed, still chewing on his stolen prize.

“That was fun!” he says through a grin.

“You almost got us killed,” you say, collapsing beside him.

He just grins wider and leans over, pressing a sloppy, meat-flavored kiss to your cheek.

“You’re the best.”

You sigh. This idiot. But he’s your idiot.

And, honestly? You wouldn’t trade this life for anything.

IDK IF THIS WAS GOOD OR NOT BUT YEAHHH REQUEST PLSSSS

[chenlezip]

──★ ˙☕️ !! an annoying customer | a na jaemin smau .

PART 5 : what a party, huh? (written)

warning : mentions of alcohol, erm i’m not sure what else so just let me know if you see anything i need to add!

annas note : well.. what a party indeed.. 😅 did anyone expect this coming?

last | next | masterlist

well, there you were, sat in the back of a taxi on your way to jackson’s house once again. his parties were always over the top and always ended up in shambles. you were excited to finally have a break and just let loose for a while but also a bit nervous because.. what the hell is going to happen at this party? you’d soon find out.

a couple minutes later of driving and you were outside of his house, paid the driver and exited the car, closing the door and breathing in the fresh air. oh.. how you’re going to miss this when you enter the god forsaken frat house of his. you noticed your friends standing outside and calling you over, smiling and waving for you to join them.

“looking sexy ynnie!” karina grinned at you as she intertwined your arms, “wow~ so are you, rina, dress to impress much?” she giggled and shook your words off with an exasperated gasp.

“always so dramatic..” giselle teased as she lead you all inside, beelining straight for the drinks. “right! let’s get this party started and off the right way, straight tequila coming up!” “oh no..” ningning mentally facepalmed. she could see where this night was going.. dealing with three drunken idiots, having to stop at jackson’s house and dealing with him talking about the most random shit that only ever could happen to him.

surprisingly that didn’t happen at all, she ended up being the first drunk and the first to leave you all, telling you she was going to go find a cutie to talk up. you just hum in response, paying attention to karina and giselle who were still downing shots. how could they have such a tolerance? you thought to yourself as you watch them. “want one?” giselle asked and you just shrugged, “fuck it- give me one.”

oh yeah.. how you regret that. you swallowed it down and it immediately burned your throat, the feeling making you grip it and choke out a cough, “what the fuck was that?” “rum..” she smiled sheepishly.

jackson came over now, throwing an arm around your shoulder and laughing, “you can’t handle rum? what are you like 15 all over again? come on.” you groan, pushing him off of you, “shut up..”

“what a party, huh? you enjoying it?” he smirked, leaning down so he is eye level with you. you think for a second, “yeah it’s not too bad, you always go overboard with them, don’t you?”

“gotta have the best of the best. come on, loosen up a bit, you’ve been so stressed recently. don’t think i haven’t noticed. maybe some soju might help ease off the rum?” jackson asked as he grabbed a bottle and opened it for you, handing it. you take a hold of it and sigh, taking a sip, “it.. kinda does..” “i know my stuff.”

“you girls loosen up too, alright? let’s all enjoy ourselves! i’ll check back with you ladies later~” jackson soon whipped away from you three, going to entertain the other goers at this party.. as he always does.

giselle and karina took it too literal, shitfaced on the kitchen counter and giggling at stupid things with one another. you look at them with a soft gaze, it was nice seeing them relaxed and carefree. you smile and just continue to stick around them until they both go their separate ways from you — mumbling something drunkenly. you just nod.

“oh god..” you groan as you stumble outside, taking a breather and feeling the fresh air go into your lungs. you hear someone familiar behind you, “suffering are we, yn?” you turn and you’re met with jaemin. oh shit - oh fuck. you look over his outfit and you had to physically and mentally hold yourself back from pouncing on him and just taking him right then and there. wait no- you couldn’t be thinking that of someone you barely know and have only seen just ordering coffee.. but hey, it didn’t hurt.

“no- no, of course not haha, i can handle my drink.” you stood up straight. “yeah, you’re still a lil’ wobbly though, aren’t ya?” jaemin smirked as he grabbed a hold of your arm gently, holding you upright because he was too scared you’ll fall. “careful.” he mumbled and you look up, meeting his gaze.

“you’ve got really pretty eyes..” you mumble softly which elicited a chuckle from him, “mhm, do i? well thank you gorgeous.” you notice a hint of pink on his cheeks. is he blushing? cute you thought.

“you’ve irritated me these past couple months coming in and ordering coffee around 11pm.. but i guess i don’t mind actually, i don’t know, it does annoy me but.. i’ve never paid much attention to you and while i am now, it doesn’t matter.. you’re very attractive and i’ll give you a pass..” you ramble on, you can’t help the words that just keep exiting your mouth. you’re going to regret this tomorrow. “for some reason as well there’s a pull i feel toward you and i want to get to know you better…”

“ah, and you’ve waited until now to tell me? well.. i’ll try and come in a little earlier if i do get coffee, will that satisfy you? if i’m getting pretty privilege, i might as well use that to my advantage.” jaemin smiled as he took his time to gaze over your features. you’re beautiful, really. your hair.. your eyes, nose, lips. everything about you. “i’ve thought the same about you though, every time at the cafe when you’re not paying attention to me, i find myself admiring you and the way you work..” jaemin mumbled to you, “i know we hardly know each other, but can i.. kiss you?” he added and you couldn’t help but nod, whining, “please.. please, kiss me jaemin..”

he couldn’t resist. he smashed his lips onto yours, a hand placed on your cheek to deepen the kiss, his other hand running through your hair and moving to the side of your hip. you moan into it, moving closer and wrapping both of your arms around his nape, his lips tasted weirdly good.

before it could get any better (or worse), you heard someone shouting “fight!!”. you both broke away and stared at one another for a second before jaemin smirked, “can’t help myself wanting to watch a fight, you comin’?”

you just shook your head, “not my sorta thing..” you mumble softly as he bids you a small goodbye, making sure you’re okay before he rushes over to the scene. you take the time to realise what the hell just happened like.. did this happen? hello? him admitting that he.. paid attention to you when you were working, that he felt the same magnetic pull.

you let your head drop into your hands, groaning and shaking your head, “this can’t be real..” you mutter under your breath.

taglist : @jeonghansshitester @kukkurookkoo @cigsaftersuh @polarisjisung @injvns @kaosuni @sibwol @n0hyuck @ayukas @phototypee @hyckvr @swee7dream @haechology @holyhaech @blondemrk @222low @njmluvr

[nexiva]

You made me hate you

Part 4

Bucky x reader

Warnings: ok now they really hate each other, really angsty part and a lot of swearing (again)

Summary: A not so nice morning in the kitchen with Sam and Bucky

A/N: I couldn’t wait any longer haha so enjoy this part :)

Masterlist

Five months. Five months of avoiding each other like the plague. And when we do run into each other? Jesus Christ, even Captain America himself would bolt from the room.

Barnes has gotten a little more… how do I put it? Confident. In the wrong way. About three months ago, he was still trying to talk to me, still trying to convince me—just like everyone else. But I wouldn’t give in. I would never forgive him. Maybe after all this time, it seems childish, but I didn’t care. I stood firmly on my ground.

And once everyone realized I wasn’t going to change my mind, that’s when things started heating up. Barnes was starting to get so cocky. The worse my remarks got, the more he started snapping back at me. I could see I was driving him insane—not that it was my intention. I just didn’t want to see him. But since he was already there, I couldn’t stop myself from throwing sharp comments his way. Until, finally, he had enough and started fighting back.

“Fuck, Sam, I swear I tried everything. But she wouldn’t even let me get a word in. I’m so done with this. Guess some amends just can’t be made.”

I walked into the kitchen with every intention of ignoring Barnes and making myself a great breakfast.
“Morning, Wilson.”
“Hey, Y/L/N.”

I could tell Sam was uncomfortable, but that didn’t stop him from asking a stupid question.
“So, Bucky and I were about to go for a run. Do you wanna join us?”

Oh God. Pathetic.

Barnes practically choked on his coffee, barely stopping himself from suffocating (what a shame that would be).

“If I were you, I wouldn’t let him outside. He might ‘accidentally’ run over someone and then claim he was forced to do it.”

Oh, I knew that one was going to hurt. But it rolled off my tongue so sweetly that I couldn’t stop myself.

Barnes threw his cup against the wall. Sam flinched slightly.

“You are a cunt, you know that?”

Bucky stepped closer like he was about to throw hands. I got up immediately.

“What? You gonna kill me too now? Finally finish collecting the whole family, asshole?”

And he just stared.

Nothingness in his eyes.

I wanted it to hurt. I wanted him to feel exactly the way I did. But strangely, there was no satisfaction in seeing him suffer. It wasn’t as enjoyable as I had imagined. So much time had passed, my rage had only grown, and yet… I couldn’t put a name to that stupid feeling inside me. Oh no, it definitely wasn’t sympathy or guilt—it was just exhausting.

For the first time, I saw something in his eyes. Fear?

I didn’t care to figure it out. Not at that moment.

“Fuck you,” was all he said before leaving the kitchen.

I sat down with a small smirk but also with a hint of uncertainty (hopefully, it didn’t show).

“Um, so that went well?”

Sam, not knowing what else to do, sat down with me.

“Y/N, aren’t you tired of this?”

The bastard could actually read my mind sometimes.

“Despite everything, you two have a lot in common. He was under HYDRA, you had NEXUS. You really should—”

I couldn’t listen to him any longer.

“Despite everything? You mean the fact that he killed my sister? And HYDRA? NEXUS? We have nothing in common. I never killed anyone for someone else. No one ever controlled me like some brainless puppet!”

“Because Fury saved you! You little brat! You think you wouldn’t have done the same as him if Nick hadn’t stepped in?”

Silence.

A long, awkward silence.

I had no idea how to respond. And I sure as hell wasn’t about to admit he was right—even if he was.

“I wonder if you’d say the same thing about him if Fury hadn’t shown up back then. You need to get it together, Y/N, because everyone is tired of your shit.”

Sam stood up, looked at me, and walked out.

I couldn’t admit he was right. I couldn’t get rid of the fog in my head. That horrible memory.

I refused to back down.

The kitchen felt emptier than before.

Sam’s words hung in the air like a goddamn storm cloud, suffocating me, pressing against my chest. "Everyone is tired of your shit."

I clenched my fists. Fuck him. Fuck them all. They didn’t get it. They weren’t the ones who had to wake up every morning and remember that someone ripped their soul apart like it was nothing. They weren’t the ones who had to stand in the same room as the murderer and pretend like he was just another member of the goddamn team.

I grabbed a piece of toast and took a slow bite, staring at the shattered ceramic from Bucky’s cup still lying on the floor. Someone else could clean it up. I wasn’t going to.

The compound was quiet now, except for the faint hum of the fridge and the distant sound of traffic outside. I let myself breathe. But my hands were still shaking.

Then I heard it—the door slamming shut.

I exhaled through my nose, already knowing who it was.

“What the fuck do you want now, Barnes?”

Silence.

I turned my head slightly, and there he was, standing in the doorway, arms crossed, jaw tight. He looked like he hadn’t cooled down one bit since storming out of here a few minutes ago.

“I’m not done talking.”

I let out a dry laugh. “That’s funny, I could’ve sworn you told Sam you were done trying.”

His nostrils flared. Good. I wanted him angry. I wanted him to feel something.

He took a step forward. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Y/N.”

I shot him a look. “Oh, I don’t? Enlighten me. Please.”

His eyes darkened. “You think you’re the only one who lost someone? You think you’re the only one who wakes up every day hating the person in the mirror?”

That caught me off guard. For a second. But I didn’t let it show.

“The difference between us, Winter Soldier?” I stood up, stepping closer until there were just inches between us. “I lost my family. You were the one pulling the goddamn trigger.”

He swallowed hard. I saw his fingers twitch—just slightly. Like he wanted to punch a hole in the wall. Or grab something. Maybe grab me.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he let out a bitter chuckle and looked down.

“You think I don’t know that?” His voice was lower now. Tighter. “Every goddamn day, I think about the people I killed. I hear them screaming in my fucking head. And you?” He shook his head, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. “You don’t even want revenge anymore. You just want something to be angry at.”

I stiffened.

He saw it. He fucking saw it, and I hated him for it.

“Go to hell, Barnes.”

His lips curled into a humorless smirk. “Already been there, sweetheart.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and left, leaving me standing there, fists clenched, pulse racing, and for the first time in a long time—completely speechless.

[gogandmagog]

Anne of the Island, by L.M. Montgomery

Anne of the Island, Chapter Six! 

Getting so very close to being finally caught up. 🫡 I’m still in the book clubs dust, but if I squint, I think I can almost see you guys! Apologies to anyone that might see this, that might’ve already previously (and punctually!) shared a sentiment that I spent any amount of time reinforcing in my own posts. I haven’t skimmed the book club’s tag so far, just because I have this brain impediment where if I see someone else has already mentioned something I think, “...oh excellent! Now I needn’t bother!”, only, that everyone is so thorough that if I did go ahead and look at them, and saw everyone’s thoughts, I’m sure I’d find I had nothing left to speak on. A serial liking of all book club posts, coming soon to a notif near you, honestly.  

Some weensy Phil bullets: mostly that well, I persist in representing Team Alec (only until a certain long-legged Minister appears, of course), because here is a fellow who would at least find the mix-up of Phil’s letter postscripts “funny.” This puts him eons and miles and worlds ahead of Alonzo imo... a sense of humour is so necessary!  

Speaking of Redmond football, an insignificant matter that is once again very much nonsense and not particularly worthy of spending any large amount of much time reflecting on, yet remains a great area of interest for me personally... guys, what do we reckon the Redmond Football mascot was? Team name? I know there’s future canon abbreviation of Redmond students as “Reds,” but a colour is hardly a sufficient team name, nor do I really think it’s meant to be taken as such, and listen, no one even think of mentioning the stinking Cleaveland Browns football team to me, lmao.  

“That Gilbert of yours.” + “outraged Anne” AIR KISS to these lines specifically.  

“But Sloane was blissfully ignorant; he thought he was quite a fine fellow to be walking with two such coeds, especially Philippa Gordon, the class beauty and belle. It must surely impress Anne. She would see that some people appreciated him at his real value.” Oh, Charlie. I constantly waffle between feeling pity for Charlie, the butt of many-a-joke, and then also feeling that wellllllll his ego is a little bit exaggerated perhaps - although I suppose we get a clearer sense of that later on. Since all of Avonlea knows that Gilbert’s dead-gone on Anne, to the point of pubic heckling in a Charlottetown newspaper, we must recognise that in Charlie’s mind, he’s in active competition with Gilbert, who has certainly loved Anne the longer. Not an ounce of discernable bro-code anywhere.   

Gilbert quoting some Bret Harte verses to Anne. This boy might not have a propensity for writing original poetry, but his memorisation and ability to drop a line or two so easily? He’s got a romantic soul, for sure. In a lot of ways, between him and Anne, it’s actually Gilbert that’s the romantic one (also see: keeping the rose that fell from her hair, back at the White Sands recital), and Anne the steady practical.  

“Gilbert, who could not connect the idea of sorrow with the vivid, joyous creature beside him, unwitting that those who can soar to the highest heights can also plunge to the deepest depths, and that the natures which enjoy most keenly are those which also suffer most sharply.” This is heavy. But more than anything, something I very much enjoy about Maud’s work is her ability to maintain core characterisation. I see this line, and I also think of how much it (later) casts light onto Gilbert’s struggle to really relate to some of Walter’s Anneishness. There’s a wonderful yin and yang balance between the slinky black cats and golden retrievers of the world, and often enough they are deeply attracted to each other, but there are some differences that can never been fully reconciled.  

The matter of Spofford Avenue! Again the scholars have already done a ton of the legwork, and lots of preliminary digging into Maud’s journals, picking out real-life links between between her time in Halifax and how it corresponds to Anne’s… and they’ve decided, very logically, that Spofford Avenue was based on Young Avenue.

At the time, Halifax was one of the richest cities in Canada and building on Young Avenue, definitely reserved for prominent families and the wealthiest, apparently came with enough beautification restrictions to satisfy even the choosiest A.V.I.S. member, only of a few of which I can easily remember… that power poles were banned on the basis of being “unsightly,” for starters. I know there’s a whole essay dedicated to the ‘real’ Kingsport somewhere, and if I can find it instead of just my jumbled notes & misc. folder on it, I’ll be sure to share it in case anyone’s interested. 🧐 I also recall that a very real tobacco king called Alexander Hobrecker (‘Hobrecker House’) did indeed make residence on Young Avenue, though whether or not he really had an affinity for well-made country quilts, is anyone’s guess.

[lavender-rroses]

no new art. have this

[dykedvonte]

Curly had two days to act and Swansea had two months.

I think it’s just interesting that every defense of Swansea not immediately acting are the same ones that are argued against for Curly. “He didn’t want to alert Daisuke or makes things worse for Anya either Jimmy!” I mean people also assume that about Curly and the crew. “He has to think about his plan of action and a right moment!” Again so did Curly, power and authority aside, he still would have to think of what he had to do. “He makes sure he doesn’t have to be around Jimmy!” So did Curly and they only do this to an extent, both give Jimmy more than a few opening to keep harassing Anya.

This isn’t defense of Curly nor a damnation of Swansea. Their actions are very parallel to each others in tragic and sour ways when it comes to how they approached helping Anya. In the grand scheme of it all they both did the same thing: Nothing. No action either took stopped the inevitable outcome of her death nor Jimmy’s continued damage to themself.

The only real difference is Swansea didn’t like Jimmy which is pretty substantial, but also just as damning as Curly knowing how bad Jimmy could get to an extent. He had even less of a reason to wait, even more of a reason to act seeing as he was now worried for Anya AND Daisuke. He is not bound by the possible procedure as Captain and actively does not care about what happens next. So what does it matter if he acted in the moment? Why did he wait? I think he’s just as morally complex and grey as Curly and we hold him on a pedestal that still perpetuates things in rape culture the game critiques.

It’s not just enough to dislike and be abrasive to predators/abusers like Jimmy. It’s not enough to just put yourself between them and the other person. It’s not enough to hold tensions when you know someone is vulnerable. He and Curly do the exact same things but on different sides of the coin. I ask how is it better to not turn a blind eye but still not really do anything about what you are seeing? Not until it affects you atleast…

The game makes a big point to not put men doing the bare minimum or who wait to do more on pedestals and I’m actually surprised so many are missing that point.

[byakuyasdarling]

Do you guys think around 1,000 - 1,200 words is a good length for a confession fic? I don’t want it to be too long to the point people won’t read it but I do like to push some JUICE in there — regardless of how weird my writing style can be.

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[pucksandpower]

Kiss It Better

Charles Leclerc x medical student!Reader

Summary: your boyfriend has a habit of faking injuries in order to receive some tender loving care

Warnings: 18+ content and non-life threatening health issues

You let yourself into the Monaco apartment you share with your boyfriend, dumping your heavy backpack by the door with a sigh. Another long day of classes and clinical rotations. Being a medical student is exhausting.

“Charles? I’m home!” You call out, slipping off your shoes. No response. Frowning slightly, you pad down the hallway toward the living room. “Charles? Are you here?”

That’s when you hear it — a muffled groan coming from the bedroom. Your heart leaps into your throat as you rush over, pushing open the door. There’s Charles lying on the bed, face contorted in apparent agony.

“Charles! Oh my god, what’s wrong?” You hurry to his side, dropping to your knees by the bedside. His eyes are screwed shut, jaw clenched as he lets out another pained groan.

“It hurts,” he grits out between clenched teeth. “So much pain ...”

“What hurts? Where does it hurt?” Your mind is racing, trying to diagnose based on his symptoms. Does he have gastritis? Kidney stones? A twisted intestine? You reach for his wrist to check his pulse.

Charles doesn’t answer, just squeezes his eyes shut even tighter and groans loudly. You feel a surge of panic. This could be serious!

“Charles, you have to tell me what’s wrong so I can help you! Where’s the pain?” You grip his arm urgently. “Should I call an ambulance?”

“No … no ambulance,” he manages to choke out, shaking his head minutely. “Just need … you ...”

“Me?” You stare at him in bewilderment. “Charles, I’m just a med student, if you’re really sick we need to get you to a hospital right away!”

He cracks open one eye to look at you piteously. “Please … you’re the only one who can make it better.” His voice is strained as he reaches down to grasp your hand, guiding it lower … lower ...

You suck in a shocked breath as his hand moves yours to cup his crotch over his thin athletic shorts. “Charles! Is that what hurts? Your … special place?”

He lets out a shuddering breath and nods weakly. “Yes … I need you to take care of it. Only you can fix this pain.”

It hits you then — the dramatic groaning, the vague answers, guiding your hand … Charles isn’t sick or injured at all. He’s turned on beyond belief and putting on this whole pained act to get you to help relieve him.

You gape at him, caught between exasperation and reluctant amusement at his antics. “You complete dork! I was so worried something was seriously wrong!”

Charles finally breaks into a sheepish grin, though he’s still palming himself urgently through his shorts with your hand. “What can I say? I’ve been thinking about you all day. Imagining you in those tight little scrubs … bending over examining patients ...” He gives an unconvincing whimper. “The ache has been unbearable, ma chérie.”

You roll your eyes, but can’t fight the smile tugging at your lips or the warmth unfurling low in your belly. Even after all this time, Charles can still make your heart flutter with his flirtatious charm and that roguish smile. You lean in closer until your face is just inches from his.

“Is that so?” You murmur, voice dropping into a sultry register. You give him a lingering stroke through the thin fabric and he draws in a sharp breath. “Well, we can’t have you suffering, can we Mr. Leclerc?”

“Please, no more suffering,” he whimpers unconvincingly, eyes sparkling with mischief now. “You’re the only one who can cure me, Doctor.”

You chuck softly at his overacting and lean down to kiss him, long and deep. Charles moans into your mouth, hands coming up to tangle in your hair as the kiss turns hungry, passionate. When you finally break apart, you’re both panting harshly.

“Well then, I better take a look and get you … taken care of,” you murmur, slowly inching his shorts down over his straining erection. His hips rut up shamelessly as you wrap a hand around his hot, silky length.

“Oh god … yes ...” Charles groans, head tipping back against the pillows as you start to stroke him firmly. His eyes slip shut again and his breath comes in harsh pants as you steadily work him over. You drink in the sight of him like this — cheeks flushed, lips parted, utterly lost in the pleasure you’re giving him.

“Tell me if it still hurts,” you tease lightly, swiping your thumb over the slick head in a way that makes his body jerk. “We have to take care of all your aches and pains.”

“It hurts so good, mon ange,” he gasps out, hips rocking shamelessly up into your fist now. “Don’t stop … please don’t stop ...”

You lean down to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses along the taut cords of his neck, relishing the whimpers and moans you pull from him. Charles always loves a bit of teasing during sex. You torture him sweetly by licking and sucking at the sensitive spots that drive him wild even as your hand continues to steadily pump his length.

“You like that, don’t you baby?” You tease against his skin as he writhes beneath you, mewling and chanting your name. “Can’t get enough of your girlfriend playing doctor for you.”

“Yes, oh god yes,” he gasps, hands fisting tightly in the sheets as his hips stutter. You can see his abdomen tensing, muscles clenching as he nears the edge. “I’m so close … I’m going to-”

You silence him with a searing kiss, swallowing his cries as you jerk him firmly through his climax. Charles bucks and shudders, body pulled taut as a bowstring for long moments until he finally slumps back against the mattress with a ragged groan. There’s a sticky mess between your bodies but neither of you care in the least.

“Better now?” You tease lightly, gently stroking the sweaty curls from his forehead. He blinks up at you looking utterly blissed out and sated.

“I’ll say,” he rumbles throatily, pulling you down for another lingering kiss. “My own sexy doctor, taking such good care of me.”

You grin at his playful tone, happiness blooming in your chest. You’re so lucky to have this man in your life — this kind, generous, funny, impossibly charming man who somehow loves you just as much as you love him. What did you ever do to deserve someone like Charles Leclerc?

He seems to read your thoughts in your eyes and smiles softly. “I love you, do you know that? So much.”

Your breath catches and you lean down to rest your forehead against his. “I love you too, you big goof. Even when you pull crazy stunts like this to get my attention.”

Charles chuckles unrepentantly, cupping the back of your neck to hold you close. “What can I say, ma belle? I’m skilled at getting what I want.”

His eyes are shining with quiet devotion and you know, without a doubt, that underneath the teasing bravado Charles truly means those words. He loves you, wholly and completely. A swell of emotion rises in your throat.

“Yeah, well, lucky for you I don’t mind playing doctor,” you murmur, leaning in to kiss him again. Charles’ arms come around you, holding you flush against his body as the kiss turns heated once more. You’re breathless when you part again.

“If I get sick, will you put on that naughty little doctor’s outfit for me?” He waggles his eyebrows at you comically.

You laugh out loud, swatting his arm in mock chastisement. “You’ll be lucky if I don’t send you to a real hospital and leave you to the not-so-tender mercies of Nurse Helga.”

“No need for jealousy, mon amour,” he croons, rolling you onto your back and hovering over you. There’s a wicked glint in his eyes as he leans down to nuzzle your neck, making you shiver. “You’ll always be my favorite caregiver.”

And with that, he shows you just how much he appreciates your caregiving in a very thorough, very passionate way …

***

A few weeks later, you’re settled on the plush couch in Charles’ motorhome, legs tucked up under you as you watch replays of the post-race interviews on the large TV screen. Your heart swells with pride as your boyfriend appears, beaming and sweaty in his race suit as he answers questions about his thrilling come-from-behind victory today.

“It feels incredible to get this win,” Charles is saying, running a hand through his tousled hair. “The team worked so hard and we’ve had some tough races recently, so to finally get back on the top step is amazing.”

You can’t help but grin at his obvious elation. Few people know just how driven and dedicated Charles is — how much time and effort he pours into racing at the absolute highest level. Seeing that hard work and sacrifice pay off never fails to fill you with joy.

“I just want to thank the team again for all their-” Charles breaks off, wrinkling his nose and reaching up to dab at his lip with a finger. When his fingertips come away smeared with red, you frown in concern. Is he hurt?

“Ooh, looks like I bit my lip out there,” Charles says with a rueful chuckle, still prodding gingerly at his mouth as a thin trickle of blood runs over his chin. “Must have been clenching my teeth a little too hard battling for position.”

“I didn’t realize you were injured!” You start to rise from the couch with worry etched on your face, moving towards your now off-screen boyfriend. “Here, let me take a look ...”

“No, no, it’s just a little cut.” Charles tries to wave you off, smiling reassuringly even as he winces again, dabbing at the fresh flow of blood. “No need to fuss, mon cœur. Just a tiny thing.”

You hesitate, hands on your hips as you scrutinize him skeptically. Charles has a bit of a flair for the dramatic at times, always playing up little hurts or mishaps as if he were holding vigil at his deathbed. But you know from experience that he tends to downplay any actual significant injuries.

He senses your continued concern and lets out a theatrical moan, tipping his head back dramatically. “Oh, the AGONY! So much pain … so much … if only there was a way to make it stop ...”

Your eyebrows shoot up as realization hits. Oh, you know that tone. And the coquettish look he’s giving you from under his lashes, lower lip caught between his teeth … yes, you definitely recognize those signs. You shake your head slowly, fighting a grin.

“Seriously, Charles? Not this again.”

“Non, I fear it’s no use,” he groans pitifully, draping a hand over his eyes. “My poor, mangled mouth … so damaged and bloody … the pain is becoming … unbearable ...” Charles pauses to peek at you from between his splayed fingers, eyes twinkling mischievously.

You put your hands on your hips and arch one eyebrow at his antics. “Uh huh. Is this the part where I’m supposed to swoop in all concerned and give you a bunch of sympathy kisses to make your agony all better?”

“If you insist,” he quips, pursing his lips in an exaggerated pout. The effect is somewhat ruined by the fresh smear of crimson at the corner of his mouth.

You can’t help but laugh softly as you move closer, cupping his stubbly jaw in your palms. “For someone so good with their mouth, you’re just a giant wimp, you know that?”

“Maybe,” Charles allows with a roguish grin. “But you love me for it, no?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” You trace your thumb lightly over the plump curve of his lower lip, wiping a smear of blood. “Now hold still, I guess I better give you a little tender loving care for that gaping wound.”

“Oh please, doctor! I need your magical healing touch, I’m in so much — mmph!”

You cut off his theatrical plea with a firm press of your lips, kissing him hard and insistent. Charles moans into your mouth, the sound sending a shiver down your spine even as his hands come up to grip your hips and pull you flush against him.

The coppery tang of blood mingles on your tongues as the kiss turns heated, deep and wet and dizzying. You suck lightly on his split lip, gentling when he winces, and Charles rewards you by dragging blunt nails over the sensitive skin at the small of your back.

When you finally part, you’re both panting harshly, staring at each other with heavy-lidded eyes. Charles’ pupils are blown wide, lips red and slick.

“Better?” You murmur, voice low and throaty.

He gives a slight shake of his head, tendrils of curls falling over his forehead. “No … I need more treatment, I fear. The pain … it still lingers ...”

You chuckle at his dramatics, hands sliding up to tangle in his hair as you tug him back in for another searing kiss. Charles releases a noise that’s almost a growl against your lips, big hands cupping your backside and grinding you firmly against him.

You can feel him, hot and hard already as he ruts shamelessly against you. The desperate urgency of his movements thrills you, sends sparks of arousal zinging through your veins. Charles always gets so worked up so quickly when you two play these little games.

This time it’s you who pulls back first, sucking in a shaky breath. His eyes are blazing, swollen lips parted invitingly. You deliberately rake your gaze over his disheveled appearance — the tousled curls, the swipe of crimson over his mouth, the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

“Mr. Leclerc, are you quite sure your … condition requires such aggressive treatment?” You try for a clinical tone but it comes out more of a lustful purr. Charles’ nostrils flare and his fingers tighten convulsively against the curves of your ass.

“Yes, yes, it absolutely does,” he rasps out urgently, already trying to pull you back in. “Please, you must heal me ...”

He captures your lips again in a fierce, demanding kiss and you melt into him with a soft moan. His clever tongue is doing wicked things, slick and hot as it slides against yours in a sensual mimicry of what’s surely to come.

A teasing nip to his swollen lower lip makes Charles gasp and jerk against you. Taking shameless advantage, you swiftly divest him of his sweat-damp race suit until he’s bare from the waist up. Muscles rippling beneath tawny skin, his toned chest and abdomen shiny from his hours in the cockpit.

It’s a deliciously debauched look that makes arousal curl hotly in your belly. You drag your lips in open-mouthed kisses along the sharp line of his jaw, down the strong column of his throat as he tips his head back with a groan.

“There … is that helping with your … condition, Mr. Leclerc?” You tongue at the hollow of his collarbone, tasting salt and musk as your hands skim over his chest in teasing caresses.

“Ohh god, yes … but I need more ...” He’s panting harshly now, muscles jumping as you rake sharp nails over one reddened nipple. “Please … more ...”

“Good. Then you’d better hold still for me to examine the problem area more thoroughly.” Before Charles can blink, you’ve shoved him back to sprawl gracelessly against the soft leather couch. He stares up at you with heavy-lidded eyes, lips parted enticingly as his chest heaves.

You drink in the sight for a long moment, satisfaction curling in your belly. Sometimes it’s nice to be the one calling the shots, to see Charles squirming and flushed and desperate beneath you for a change.

Slowly — torturously — you strip out of your own clothes until you’re equally bare. Charles tracks your every movement with burning eyes. When you sink down to straddle his hips, both of you groan at the scorching friction as bare skin meets bare skin.

“God, you’re exquisite,” he husks out reverently, hands trailing up the dips and curves of your body with something like awe. “An absolute goddess ...”

You can’t resist leaning down to capture his mouth in another heated, messy kiss as you grind down shamelessly against his rigid length. Charles muffles a hoarse cry into your lips, hips jerking up to meet your movements.

You let the kiss turn sloppy and wet and deep, both of you luxuriating in the hot slide of tongues and the delicious glide of bare skin. Charles’ hands roam greedily over your body, squeezing and caressing as you rock together in a sensual push and pull.

“Please … I need you ...” he growls against your lips when you momentarily break apart. His voice is wrecked, eyes dark with lust. “Need to be inside you … now ...”

You shudder at his heated words, arousal a molten ache between your thighs. Reaching down, you grasp his rigid length and line him up with your slick entrance. Charles sucks in a sharp breath, muscles going taut beneath you as the swollen head catches on your folds.

“Like this?” You breathe, swiveling your hips in a teasing grind that has him throwing his head back with a guttural groan.

“Yes! Putain, just like that ...” He bucks up helplessly, trying to force you to sink down onto him, but you resist with a low chuckle.

“Patience, Mr. Leclerc. Don’t you want me to take care of your … condition properly?” You murmur, lips brushing the shell of his ear. You punctuate the words with another maddeningly slow roll of your hips and Charles legitimately whimpers.

“Yes, yes … anything! I’ll do anything, just please ...” His eyes are wild, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs hard enough to leave marks. “I need you so badly, ma chérie ...”

Smiling, you finally take pity and sink down in one smooth glide until he’s sheathed to the hilt. The sensation of being utterly filled, stretched and burning in the most delicious way, makes you throw your head back with a long moan. Beneath you, Charles lets out a broken litany of French and English and Italian curses as his hips pump up in short, jerky thrusts.

You set a driving pace, lifting and dropping in a dizzying rhythm as Charles matches you stroke for stroke. The room is soon filled with the lewd sounds of slick flesh and harsh breathing, punctuated by grateful whines and moans. You lean down to capture his mouth again, the angle shifting to let him plunge even deeper until you’re both trembling on the razor’s edge.

“You feel so good, so incredible,” Charles pants harshly against your lips between sloppy kisses. He grips your hips hard enough to bruise, using the leverage to somehow take you even faster and harder. The pace is almost punishing but you can’t get enough. “Always so tight … so perfect for me ...”

His praise and the delicious drag of his thick length have you quickly spiraling higher. You brace your hands on his heaving chest as you throw your head back, overcome. Every nerve in your body feels electrified, set alight from the inside by the sheer intensity of your joining.

“Oh god … Charles, I’m gonna-” You cry out sharply as he aims for that one angle that has stars bursting behind your eyes. He latches onto your exposed throat, sucking a stinging mark as his thumb finds your pearl and begins rubbing merciless circles.

That’s all it takes to send you shattering apart with a keen, clenching down with bruising force as your climax rips through you. Charles pounds up twice more, teeth sinking into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, before following you over the edge with a guttural roar. His hips stutter erratically as he empties himself in hot pulses that you can actually feel hitting deep.

You both gradually come down, slumping gracelessly together as your harsh breathing slowly evens out. Charles carefully rolls until you’re cradled against his sweat-slicked chest, nuzzling languidly at your temple. His palms stroke up and down your spine in a gesture that’s somehow both possessive and worshipful.

After a few minutes, you let out a breathless giggle that has him pulling back slightly to look at you quizzically.

“What’s so funny?” His voice is gravelly and well-fucked.

You tap the wound on his lip lightly, tsking in playful reproach. “I’ll say this — you certainly know how to get my attention when you’re … ailing. I think you milked that little injury for all it was worth.”

Charles doesn’t even have the grace to look sheepish. He breaks into a slow, self-satisfied grin and shrugs unapologetically. “What can I say? Worked, didn’t it?”

You roll your eyes but can’t fight your own matching smile as you lean in to kiss him softly, carefully avoiding his split lip. When you pull back, you brush back the tendrils of hair from his forehead with a tenderness that makes his eyes go warm and molten.

“You’re ridiculous, Charles Leclerc. Completely ridiculous … but I love you.”

His smile somehow grows even more blinding. “I love you too, mon ange. And I always will.”

His sincerity washes over you in a wave. You know without a doubt that despite his antics, his words ring completely true. This funny, passionate, caring, magnificent man truly does love you with every fiber of his being. And you love him just the same.

Maybe you’ll both drive each other crazy for the rest of your lives … but at least you’ll never be bored. Settling back against his chest, you let your eyes drift shut contentedly. Yes, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be than right here in Charles’ arms.

***

A few months later, you’re woken abruptly in the dead of night by the sounds of muffled groaning coming from beside you. At first you think it must just be a dream, but then Charles lets out a pained whimper and your eyes fly open.

“Charles?” You blink groggily and prop yourself up on one elbow to peer at him in the dim light filtering through the curtains. “Hey, are you okay?”

He’s curled into a tight ball on his side, arms wrapped around his midsection as if cradling his stomach. A sheen of sweat glistens on his brow and his face is pinched in an unmistakable expression of agony.

Alarm spikes through you and you quickly reach over to grasp his shoulder, giving him a gentle shake. “Charles? Baby, what’s wrong?”

Charles just groans again, a low wounded sound that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. He’s trembling finely against you, teeth clenched and eyes screwed shut against the obvious wave of pain rippling through him.

“Talk to me,” you urge, trying to keep the rising panic from your voice. “Where does it hurt? Should I call an ambulance?”

For a long moment he seems incapable of speech, muscles going rigid and a harsh gasp tearing from his lips. You watch helplessly as he rides out the spasm, cold dread coiling in the pit of your stomach. This is bad … this doesn’t seem like one of his pranks or games to get attention. Charles looks to be in genuine, serious distress.

“Charles?” You try again once he’s relaxed slightly, dragging in shallow panting breaths through his nose. His eyes slit open to mere glassy slits, unfocused and hazy with pain.

“M’stomach ...” he finally gets out through gritted teeth, voice thin and strained. “It hurts so bad … like I’m being stabbed ...”

Your own abdomen clenches reflexively at the words as your brain kicks into high gear. Severe, stabbing abdominal pain that seems to be localized in one area and radiating out … it could potentially be appendicitis. That would definitely explain the excruciating nature of Charles’ discomfort, as well as why he’s curled in the fetal position. Appendicitis is considered a medical emergency — a ruptured appendix can lead to a life-threatening infection if left untreated.

“Okay, we need to get you to a hospital now.” You scramble out of bed and quickly throw on some clothes, grabbing your keys and phone. “I’m calling for an ambulance to come get you. Just stay still and try to breathe evenly.”

Charles doesn’t argue or even crack one of his customary smirks or jokes, just nods weakly and tries to pull himself into an even tighter ball. It’s frightening, seeing the normally confident and charismatic man so thoroughly debilitated by the waves of torment rolling through him.

The emergency dispatcher responds promptly and assures you that an ambulance is being dispatched to your address straight away. You quickly relay the situation to them — the acute pain, localized in the lower right quadrant of the abdomen, along with the nausea, fever, and Charles’ otherwise good health. They seem to share your suspicion of appendicitis and promise to give you further instruction once the paramedics arrive.

In the meantime, you hurry back to Charles’ side and try to keep him as comfortable as possible. You gingerly help him out of bed inch by agonizing inch, grimacing at the stifled cries he can’t quite bite back. It’s slow going, but eventually you have him propped up against the pillows and headboard in a semi-upright position that seems to ease his suffering slightly. You grab a cool damp washcloth and gently sponge the beads of sweat from his ashen face, murmuring soothing nonsense as he pants through another visible spasm.

“You’re alright, just keep breathing,” you coach him. “In and out, nice and slowly … the ambulance will be here any minute now.”

“Hurts so much ...” he whimpers, looking utterly pitiful and nothing like the cocky, self-assured star athlete he normally is. It nearly breaks your heart to see.

“I know, I know ...” You stroke his sweat-dampened curls back off his forehead. “And I’m sorry, but please no joking right now, okay? I want to stay focused in case … in case this is really serious. Like, potentially life-threatening serious.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, there and gone in a flash. “Trust me … m’not … feeling cheeky right now.”

You press a feather-light kiss to his clammy forehead, relieved that he seems to understand the gravity of the situation. “I didn’t think you were. Just hang in there for me, okay?”

Ten long, agonizing minutes later, you finally hear sirens blaring outside. The paramedics move swiftly once you let them in, whisking Charles onto a gurney and starting an IV line. They pepper both of you with rapid-fire questions as they assess him, all while carefully not jostling his abdomen too much to avoid exacerbating the pain.

All too soon, though, it’s time for them to whisk him away to the hospital. You trail after them anxiously, only pulling up short when Charles suddenly grasps your hand like a lifeline.

“Wait … wait!” His eyes are still hooded with pain but there’s fierce urgency there too. “Kiss me one more time? Before they take me in?”

Your heart clenches in your chest at the pleading in his tone. Brushing your thumb soothingly over his cheekbone, you lean down and press the sweetest, gentlest kiss to his parted lips. Charles sighs and seems to melt into you for a moment before the gurney is jostled and he grunts in agony again.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be right behind you,” you promise softly. “We’ll get you all taken care of.”

He nods weakly and blows out a harsh breath as the paramedics start wheeling him back towards the elevator. You let his hand slip from yours reluctantly as you watch him go, then hurry to grab the essentials and follow. The whole way to the hospital your mind whirls with fearful possibilities as you pray that whatever is causing Charles such terrible pain, it isn’t life-threatening.

Hours later, after CT scans and blood tests and evaluations from the E.R. doctors, you finally get confirmation — it is indeed acute appendicitis. Charles is swiftly admitted and prepped for emergency surgery to remove the severely inflamed organ before it ruptures.

You’re pacing anxiously in the pre-op area, wringing your hands, as nurses bustle around him getting the I.V.s ready. In the harsh fluorescent lighting, Charles looks small and pale against the crisp white sheets. But he greets you with a wan smile when you approach his bedside.

“Well … this is certainly not how I thought this day would go,” he quips tiredly, always looking for an opportunity to try and lighten the mood. You snort a quiet laugh despite yourself, allowing your fingers to brush against his arm in a gentle caress.

“Yeah, you and me both. Believe me, I didn’t think the first time I’d ever have to rush you to the emergency room would be for a burst appendix of all things!”

Charles frowns thoughtfully, looking exhausted and drained but mercifully no longer in dire, crippling agony. “Remind me … have I ever pretended to have appendicitis before?”

“No, somehow that particular organ didn’t come up in any of your medical fantasies,” you tease lightly. Then your smile falters as you recall just how horrifically bad it had looked earlier. The memory of Charles stifling those tortured groans, jaw clenched and body wound tighter than a bowstring, has a sobering effect. “But I’m really glad this wasn’t some dumb prank or act this time. You were … it seemed so awful, I was really terrified there for a while.”

His eyes soften and he captures your hand to give it a comforting squeeze. “I know. I’m just sorry I put you through that kind of scare with all my previous fake bouts of pain to rile you up.” Charles grimaces ruefully. “Not my finest habit, in retrospect.”

“Well, we can discuss suitable penance for all that later.” You try for a playful wink though it falls a bit flat against your lingering nerves.

Just then a nurse bustles over, all brisk efficiency as she prepares to wheel Charles back to surgery. “Alright Mr. Leclerc, we’re going to take you back now. The anesthesiologist is ready.”

You squeeze Charles’ hand one more time before leaning down to press a soft kiss to his forehead. “I’ll be right here when you wake up, okay?”

He nods bravely even as the nurse starts pushing the bed toward the operating room doors. “See you soon, mon amour. Try not to worry too much.”

“Me? Worry?” You force a small smile, desperately attempting to keep things light despite the knot of tension in your gut. “When do I ever do that?”

Charles chuckles weakly before disappearing through the swinging double doors. You stand there for a long moment staring at the entryway, running your hands through your hair agitatedly. This entire situation is your worst nightmare — your loved one being wheeled into surgery, their life quite literally in someone else’s hands.

Blowing out a shaky breath, you turn to find a place to wait during the procedure. It’s going to be a tense few hours, that’s for sure. You just have to trust that the doctors and nurses will do everything in their power to get Charles through this safely.

Several agonizing hours later, a surgeon in scrubs finally appears to fetch you from the waiting room with an update. Your heart leaps into your throat but the man is smiling, so it can’t be too terrible, right?

“Ms. Y/N? I’m Dr. Beaumont, I operated on Mr. Leclerc. I’m pleased to report that the surgery was a complete success. We were able to remove his inflamed appendix without any complications before it could rupture.”

You nearly collapse with relief, legs going watery. “Oh, thank god! He’s okay then?”

“He’s doing very well, all things considered,” Dr. Beaumont confirms with a nod. “Of course, we’ll need to keep him here for a few days to monitor for any signs of infection or complications from the anesthesia. But barring any unforeseen issues, I expect him to make a full recovery within a couple weeks.”

“That’s … oh, that’s wonderful news. Thank you, Doctor. Truly.” The words are woefully inadequate but you hope he can hear the depth of gratitude behind them.

A few minutes later, you’re settled into a chair at Charles’ bedside in the recovery ward. He’s still unconscious, face lax and peaceful in drugged sleep as the anesthesia slowly wears off. His chest rises and falls evenly with each reassuring breath. You reach out to gently brush some wayward curls from his forehead, relief crashing over you in waves.

It’s only been a few hours, but it already feels like a lifetime ago that Charles was writhing and groaning in unspeakable agony. To see him now, resting comfortably with the threat neutralized, it’s almost surreal.

You lean forward to press a feather-light kiss to his forehead, breathing in the familiar, grounding scent of him. “You really gave me a scare today, Leclerc,” you murmur against his skin. “But I’m so thankful you’re okay.”

His eyelids flutter slightly, lashes brushing high cheekbones as he starts to slowly swim back toward consciousness. You sit back and simply watch, letting the tension finally drain from your shoulders as he gradually blinks awake.

“Hey there, champ,” you say softly when his eyes find yours, still looking a bit dazed and glassy. “How are you feeling?”

Charles considers this for a moment, taking stock. “Floaty … but not too much pain anymore.” His tongue darts out to wet dry lips. “Did they ...”

“Yeah, they took out your appendix,” you say, unable to stop the relieved smile that curves your mouth. “Surgery went perfectly, and the doctor says you’re going to be just fine.”

He returns the smile, looking exhausted but still radiant with that dimpled grin you love so much. “Well … maybe there is an upside then.”

You tilt your head quizzically. “An upside to your burst appendix nearly killing you?”

“Of course.” Charles releases a tired chuckle, leaning back against the pillows. His gaze grows impish despite his pallor. “At least now I’ll save some weight in the car, no?”

You stare at him for one long beat of silence … before bursting into somewhat hysterical laughter, tears of sheer relief and exasperation pricking the corners of your eyes. Trust Charles to find the humor even in the most dire, frightening circumstances.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” You roll your eyes fondly as your giggles taper off, leaning forward to take his hand and squeeze tightly. “Honestly Charles, what am I going to do with you?”

His expression grows impossibly tender as he squeezes back just as firmly. “Just keep loving me, ma chérie. No matter how many stupid jokes I make or stunts I pull to get your attention.”

You hold his gaze for a long moment, letting the warmth and sincerity of his words wash over you. Despite his recent trauma, you can see the pure devotion shining in his eyes. How could you ever want anything else?

“Always,” you whisper, fiercely meaning it with every fiber of your being. “I’ll always love you, Charles Leclerc. No matter what.”

[dollishmehrayan]

# “HOLD UP, POSE!” ── .✦ ( model!reader x batboys s/o kinda requested ˚⟡˖ )

a/n: so sorry for the break and how i traumatized half of you guys with my rant (if I suffer you gonna do too && let’s move on now ) and it’s lowkeyy funny ngl but omgg, I’m finally back though soo yeah but I’m finally taking requests again for a bit too so about that yeah and also make sure to go vote on the poll, we’re at 600+ votes already for my 1k event!! Tags: (batboys x model!reader)

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Your biggest fan, no contest. He has a folder on his phone labeled “My Gorgeous Girl” filled with all your magazine covers, runway shots, and candid photos he’s sneakily taken of you (even the ones where you’re eating pizza in sweats).

Loves to drop the fact that you’re a model into conversations. Someone says something even remotely related, and Dick is like, “Oh, that reminds me of the time yn walked for Valentino. She looked stunning. Anyway, how’s your dog?”

Flirty but lowkey jealous. He’s all smiles at your shoots, but if a photographer or fellow model gets a little too friendly, he’ll sidle up behind you, wrap an arm around your waist, and casually go, “Hey, babe, everything good here?”

Runs your fan page in secret. He denies it every time, but you know it’s him posting like archive photos of you? with captions like, “Truly the most breathtaking woman alive.”

Always hypes you up. You’re stressing before a runway show? He’s holding your hands, looking you dead in the eyes, and saying, “You’re going to kill it, just like always. They’re not ready for you.”

JASON TODD ── .✦

Pretends not to care, but he’s secretly obsessed. You’ll catch him flipping through your magazines with a bored expression, but the dog-eared pages of all your spreads say otherwise.

Gets grumpy when he has to share you with the world. “Do you really have to fly to Milan again? Can’t they get someone else to wear the fancy coat?” But he’s the first one to text you after your show with a “You looked amazing. Miss you, though.”

Always lurking at your events. He doesn’t do red carpets, but you’ll spot him in the back of the after-party, leaning against a wall with a drink in hand, watching you like you’re the only person in the room.

Jealous but funny about it. If a male model gets paired with you for a shoot, Jason will grumble, “You know I could wear that suit better, right?”

Says he doesn’t care about fashion but definitely critiques it. “They put you in that? Really? That’s what they think is high fashion?” (Meanwhile, he still owns a leather jacket he’s had since he was 17.)

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

The low-key proud boyfriend. Tim doesn’t brag about you… unless someone else brings it up. Then it’s a full PowerPoint presentation: “Oh, you didn’t know she walked the Paris Fashion Week finale? Let me show you.”, “it’s not that serious Tim.”

Forgets how famous you are sometimes. He’s so focused on his work that when he accompanies you to an event, he’s always surprised when people scream your name. “Wow, they’re… really excited to see you, huh?”

Pretends to be chill but panics at your shoots. If you’re wearing something too revealing, Tim’s sitting in the corner like, “Does she really need to wear that? I mean, it’s fashion, I guess, but still…”

Shows up to all your shows with coffee. He knows your schedule can be brutal, so he always has your favorite drink ready and a warm smile. “Long day, huh? Here, you’ve earned this.”

Accidentally goes viral as your boyfriend. Someone snaps a picture of him holding your bag while you’re doing a fitting, and now he’s trending as “hot model’s mystery man.” Or “Drake Spotted With L/N?”

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Thinks modeling is beneath you. Not because he doesn’t support you, but because he genuinely thinks you’re too good for it. “Tt. Why waste your time parading around in someone else’s designs when you could rule the world instead?”

Still shows up to your shows like a proud dad. He won’t admit it, but he’s ridiculously proud of you. He’ll sit front row, arms crossed, looking annoyed until you walk out. Then his face softens, and he claps (but only once).

Hates everyone in the industry. Photographers, stylists, agents—he side-eyes them all. “Do they have to touch you so much?”

Quietly supportive in his own way. You come home exhausted, and he’s already brewed your favorite tea and laid out your comfiest pajamas. “You should rest. You’ve worked hard enough today.”

Keeps all your clippings. You find a scrapbook in his study filled with your covers, tear sheets, and event photos. When you ask him about it, he just mutters, “I didn’t want them getting lost.” And even keeps some fan letters that you keep or lost along the way.

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

Thinks it’s “adorable.” Bruce can’t help but chuckle whenever you mention your modeling career. “You really enjoy this, don’t you?” But he’s not teasing he genuinely admires how passionate you are.

Surprisingly knowledgeable about fashion. He knows every major designer, can spot couture from a mile away, and will occasionally surprise you by saying things like, “That’s Galliano, isn’t it? From the ‘06 collection?”

Makes every event feel like a power couple moment. When you walk a red carpet together, it’s like the world collectively gasps. He keeps his hand on your back, whispers sweet nothings, and makes sure you’re the center of attention.

Defends your career to anyone who dares question it. Someone makes a snide remark about modeling being “shallow,” and Bruce immediately shuts them down with, “Actually, it’s an incredibly demanding profession that requires both discipline and skill. You should try it sometime.”

Buys your agency. You’re stressed about a bad contract or a difficult agent? Suddenly, Wayne Enterprises owns the company, and Bruce is like, “Problem solved. You can thank me later.”

[grimmsbride]

▗▬̸̎͞/̄͆̅ ̎ ̎̿͞͞͞͞͞͞͞͞ι̚━─ ⠀ NYCTOPHILLIAC ⠀ ⠀ 𑄼ల۫ thanos / reader

getting caught up in thanos’s web was a mistake, especially when it interfered with your sleep.

𓂂 ͜ᩘ ̵̼͓̥͒̾͘𑣿 ⁣⁣⠀ TAGS unconsensual voyuerism (thanos & reader have sexual relations in her bed while everyone is asleep. even though they are asleep, i still put this warning because i know some people can get uncomfortable). ooc thanos (first time writing for him). oral sex (fem. receiving). porn no plot. mentions of past sexual relations. fingering. dirty talk. unrealistic expectations of quiet sex(?). overuse of pet names (senorita, mama, etc.) etc.

𓂂 ͜ᩘ ̵̼͓̥͒̾͘𑣿 ⁣⁣⠀ NOTES please heed the warning above as i would hate to make anyone uncomfortable while reading this fic. with that said please enjoy and i apologize for any grammar mistakes or typos.

Despite different games being assigned each day, it all felt the same — as if you had just stepped inside this odd room, surrounded by strangers that held far too many similarities with you. You couldn’t count the amount of times you flinched or teared up as you watched and heard bullets tear people apart, how their strangled cries escaped in a last ditch effort to somehow convince the ruthless guards to spare them. You nearly screamed yourself when blood hit your cheek, tainting the already sweaty area — which you gingerly cleaned up the moment you got time to.

You somehow survived, in just the nick of time too. You wondered if you had any right to be happy for your victory, or you should be remorseful for all the lives lost today. You pondered it for a complete moment before deciding doing so was useless, and not impertinent to your current situation.

Getting out with enough money was of the upmost importance, nothing more and nothing less.

Which is why you were quick to settle into bed the moment the opportunity arose, slipping out of your socks and jacket, pulling the blanket up over yourself, and shutting your eyes. The world around you seemed to cease — aside from the old man’s snoring beside you — your body melting into the mattress. Sleep was the only comfort you could afford to cling to in this situation, anything else was an unnecessary distraction.

Including the one that stood infront of you, taking form as a purple-haired devil.

You never intended to get entangled with any of the other contestants. You could smile and cheer together, but it wasn’t a secret how quickly that relationship could turn sour. Mixing any type of deeper attachments just seemed like a bad idea.

But you fucked up horribly, one thing leading to another, with you in the arms of a man named Thanos, who said just the right words at the time.

You promised yourself that one time was it, you wouldn’t slip up again. You couldn’t afford to slip up anyway.

“Thanos.. go away.” You murmured, courteous of the other contestants around you. You wondered if the two of you were the only ones awake.

Through the dimmed room you could spot Thanos tilting his head, elbow pressing against your bed as he leaned closer.

“C’mon don’t be like that.. just checking on you.”

You rolled your eyes, growing more frustrated by the minute. You desperately wanted sleep- actually, you needed it. You refused to suffer the next morning, especially since your life was literally on the line. You adjusted your pillow, basically staring daggers into the man.

“I’m fine, now, go to your own bed—“

“And.. I’m also cold.”

You blinked rapidly, nearly slapping that stupid smile right off his face. You decided to turn your back to him, ignoring that soft sound of disapproval he released.

“Wear your jacket or something.. hell— steal your friend’s blanket. Just let me sleep.”

You chose to ignore the second sound he released, which seemed to be an unusually pitiful whine, mixed with an obnoxious groan. You wanted to tell him off for his volume, but decided not to— trying to seem as stern as possible so he could finally leave you alone.

But Thanos wasn’t the type to let up, something you quickly learned the moment you met him. Seeing as his fingers began to graze your blanket, rising closer just so his lips were hovering over your ear.

“But you’re right here.. can’t we share some warmth until morning? You wouldn’t want me to freeze, right?”

Thanos’s words were tempting, as usual. Whether you liked to admit it or not, he knew just what to say. Which is why you called him a devil, a sickening demon with that silver tongue.

You bit the inside of your cheek, desperately trying to fight mind over matter. Not only was this bad for your sleep, you were also at risk for breaking some unknown rule. And if you got shot over cuddling, you would definitely haunt this place like a vengeful spirit.

But in the end you gave in, the reason fleeting at the moment. You could only focus on the fact he would hopefully shut up when he got what he wanted. So, wordlessly, you brought up the blanket behind you; hearing his small giddy voice as he climbed in with you.

At least the man was nice enough to allow most of the blanket to cover you, the rest of your exposed self covered by his larger frame. Thanos made quick work of wrapping his arm around your waist, tugging you closer to him as his face found your neck.

“You have to leave before morning.”

Whether acknowledging you or not, the man just let out a hum, lips treading across your warm skin in the process. With a shiver you attempted to focus on sleep, admitting to yourself that the extra warmth was comforting. It also allowed you to truly relax, knowing your back was covered— literally.

Your hand found the back of his, fingers spreading along it as your eyes settled shut. You felt your self slipping in slowly, body growing heavier as that relaxation began to reach its peak.

Only to tumble down the moment you felt a thumb play at the waistband of your pants.

“Thanos..”

“Hm?”

You slowly turned your head, tight-lipped and squinting at him through the darkness. “Don’t fucking hm, me— what are you doing?”

The shit-eating grin that developed was telling, his thumb now slithering under your shirt and rubbing small circles into your skin.

“Not a thing.. yet.”

“We’re supposed to be sleeping!”

The man was quick to raise his free hand, placing a taunting finger to his lips. “Don’t wake the others Señorita, that’ll be just plain rude.” The circles on your skin continued, Thanos closer as his lips brushed against your own yet didn’t fully touch.

“This will help you sleep better. Erasing alll your worries in the blink of an eye.” He breathed, eyes flicking low as if attempting to see beneath the blanket. Instead his hand did the seeing for him, fingers breaching your pants and underwear; tips stroking your soft cunt. He couldn’t help the little twitch of a smile the moment he felt you release a strangled breath, using two long fingers to spread you open to his hand.

And when your lips parted to speak, his own covered them; a gentle kiss that caused your mind to grow dizzy. You couldn’t help your legs spreading, hand wrapping around Thanos’s wrist the moment you felt him at your clit. He rolled his thumb so perfectly, applying delicious pressure to the little bud that caused you to see stars.

The moment you needed to breathe you regretted leaving his lips, seeing as you struggled to keep your voice down. He wasn’t even touching you much yet here you were, panting and releasing the softest moan. With a quick raise of your hand, you covered your mouth— teeth biting into the flesh the moment you felt a finger slowly sink into your wetness.

“Wish I could see..” The soft comment made you groan softly, hips rising the moment he began to piston his finger. Within moments a second was joining, scissoring you open and plunging deeper then your own fingers could. Your eyebrows knitted close, the pain of your bite washing away with each thrust of his digits.

“Thanos.. please..”

“Oh no.. keep your voice to yourself— I wouldn’t want anyone else to hear how pretty you sound.”

As usual his words held such a teasing tone, face moving back to your neck to kiss and bite gently. Even with his small request the man wasn’t making the situation any easier, especially when his thumb moved right back to your sensitive clit; rubbing those same dizzy inducing circles.

You felt way too good right now, your body practically shaking with how much you struggled to keep in. The thought of anyone waking up right now with you in this state — under the mercy of a certain purple-haired, tattooed rapper — was a thought you couldn’t even imagine without your heart pounding with anxiety.

The best thing to do would be to push him off before things progressed. You hadn’t a clue how far he wanted to take this, nor did you think it would end in time for the lights to cut on. And Thanos wasn’t a creep, he would listen to you the moment you expressed actual discomfort from the situation. But you weren’t, that pain you felt all day, that anguish; did truly wash away in seconds just from the flick of his fingers.

The thrusts against your velvety, soaked walls were perfect— your eyes rolling to find your skull the moment the ferocity increased. A metallic taste invaded your mouth from how bad you were biting yourself, but you didn’t care; it was a concern for morning [Name], not horny [Name] who was currently being cared for by the hottest contestant in this god forsaken place.

“Oh, all this clenching— you’re close aren’t you? Can barely get my fingers out.”

The smile in his speech was obvious, breath fanning against your skin as he urged you more and more; curling his fingers just right to hear your muffled sounds peak into a small squeal.

Your nails dragged across his tattooed hand, feeling it flex with each movement of his fingers. Your mind was growing cloudy, barely being able to register the words that were being pressed right against your ear.

“How about I get a taste, huh? Wanna come all in my mouth, mama.. it’ll be such an easy clean up.”

Before you could even think to speak Thanos was pulling his hand out from within you. You had little time to protest when you felt him grabbing your blanket, pulling it over his body as he crawled down your own. Your eyes slowly widened, realizing his words and actions; a new sheen of sweat finding your skin. Your nerves were on fine at this point, inner mind screaming to tell him to do anything else but that.

However, the moment you felt him pulling down your pants and his lips finding your pretty cunt, all hope was lost. The back of your head quickly found your pillow, hand going right back to your mouth to bite down even harsher than before. His tongue exited his mouth in a long stride, gliding across your wet center, and parting you easily.

Thanos created similar ministrations with the tip of his tongue like his thumb, circling your bud and slowly pulling it between his lips. There, he began to suck, the sound noisy but muffled by your blankets and other’s snoring.

Muffled gasps pushed against your skin, hips rising and legs closing around his head; bringing him even closer to you. The peak that was steadily approached seemed to pick up speed far too quickly, your mind turning to mush.

No more were you number so-so, victim to madmen and their sick games. No, you were simply [Name], moaning wantonly with little care for the environment around you.

Your other hand slithered under the blanket, finding his hair and tugging the soft tresses; feeling them stick between the gaps of your fingers. Shamelessly you rubbed against his face, desperate for that sweet release. Your pussy convulsed with each struggled breath you took, stars impeding your vision as you got closer and closer.

You felt it before you heard it, Thanos’s sweet urges right into your pussy. His wet words of make me a mess, pretty girl— don’t hold back on me now, causing you to tip over the line.

His mouth latched to you, drinking up your release as if you tasted better than any drug within his cross. It didn’t help he was practically praising your taste, a sloppy groan being delivered right into your pussy. Gingerly, Thanos licked you clean, assuring not a single drop was left.

Only when the man was fully satisfied did he let up, climbing up from the blanket and popping his head out to look down at you.

“See, it helped— you can barely keep your eyes open right now.”

You released a soft breath, a mix of a chuckle and a sigh as you stared up at the man. “You gonna let me sleep now?” You spoke softly, watching his wet lips curl into a gentle smile.

“Of course. Good night, [Name].”

[luv-lock]

For SpiderGirl Y/N, how would they react to her being injured or dead. I wanna see them suffer. Only if you are ok with it. Love all your stuff, btw.

If you being injured:

The mission had been brutal, the enemy relentless, and the stakes higher than ever. But somehow, they made it through. Barely. And now, there you were—injured but alive, laying on the med bay table like the biggest diva Gotham had ever seen.

“Oh, God, I’m dying,” you groaned, clutching your side dramatically. Your hand was caked in blood, but it was far from life-threatening. Still, that didn’t stop you from milking it for all it was worth.

“You’re not dying, Y/N,” Dick said, crouching beside you with a worried expression. “The wound isn’t even that deep.”

You shot him a glare, your lips curling into a pout. “Easy for you to say, Golden Boy. You’re not the one bleeding out.”

Jason snorted from where he leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. “She’s got a scratch, and now she thinks she’s in a soap opera.”

“Shut up, Jason,” you snapped, though the bite was lessened by your theatrics. “I’m injured! I could have bled out on the battlefield. The least you could do is pretend to care.”

Jason rolled his eyes but walked over anyway, leaning down to inspect the wound. “You’re fine, princess,” he said with a smirk, ruffling your hair.

“I’m not fine!” you whined, slapping his hand away. “I need love and attention. Lots of it.”

Dick’s Turn

Dick was always the softie, and you knew exactly how to play him. You reached out with a trembling hand, your eyes wide and watery. “Nightwing,” you murmured weakly, “I don’t think I’ll make it. Hold me.”

He hesitated for a moment before sighing and sitting on the edge of the table. Carefully, he pulled you into his arms, cradling you against his chest.

“There, there,” he said softly, stroking your hair. “You’re gonna be okay, Y/N.”

You sighed dramatically, leaning into him. “You smell nice,” you muttered, nuzzling into his neck.

Dick blushed furiously, but he didn’t pull away. Jason, on the other hand, gagged audibly.

“God, get a room,” Jason muttered, clearly annoyed.

Jason’s Turn

You turned your big, watery eyes on Jason next. “Jay… my favorite outlaw… my knight in shining armor… can you carry me? Please?”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Carry you? To where? The couch is like ten feet away.”

You pouted, batting your eyelashes. “But I’m injured! And it’s your fault for being so handsome that I got distracted during the fight.”

Jason stared at you for a long moment before groaning. “Fine. But only because I don’t want to listen to you whining all night.”

He scooped you up effortlessly, and you wasted no time wrapping your arms around his neck. “You’re so strong,” you murmured, resting your head against his chest.

Jason’s ears turned red, but he kept his expression neutral. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get used to it.”

Tim’s Turn

When Tim walked in with a first aid kit, you immediately perked up. “Timmy! My hero!”

He sighed, kneeling beside the table to inspect your wound. “Let me patch you up.”

You let him work for about two minutes before you got bored. Then, with a sly smile, you reached out and pulled his head into your lap.

“Y/N, what are you—” Tim stammered, his face turning bright red.

“I need comfort,” you said innocently, running your fingers through his hair. “You’re such a good boy, Timmy.”

Tim froze, his brain short-circuiting as you hummed softly, clearly enjoying his embarrassment.

Damian’s Turn

Damian stormed into the room, clearly irritated. “Why are you whining like an infant?” he snapped, crossing his arms.

“Because I’m injured, you little gremlin,” you shot back. “Now come here and give me a hug.”

Damian scoffed. “Absolutely not.”

But when you held out your arms, looking pitiful and teary-eyed, he hesitated. Finally, with a huff, he walked over and awkwardly patted your head.

“There. Are you happy now?”

You grinned, pulling him into a tight hug. “Aww, you do care, baby bird.”

Damian squawked indignantly, struggling to escape, but you held on tight. “Let me go, you lunatic!”

Bruce’s Turn

Bruce entered the med bay last, his expression as stern as ever. “What’s going on here?”

“She’s being dramatic,” Jason said, gesturing to you.

“She’s injured,” Dick corrected.

Bruce sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Y/N, stop harassing them and let me see the wound.”

You pouted but let him approach. As he carefully inspected the cut, you leaned your head against his arm. “Daddy Bats, you’re so gentle,” you teased.

Bruce froze, giving you a pointed look. “Do you want me to help or not?”

You grinned. “I do. But a kiss on the forehead would speed up my recovery.”

Bruce groaned, clearly regretting every decision that led to this moment. “You’re impossible.”

By the end of the night, you were bandaged up, pampered, and thoroughly satisfied with the attention you’d received. And while the boys all pretended to be annoyed, they couldn’t hide the fact that they cared.

If you die:

The night was eerily silent, as though the city itself knew it was about to lose its spark. Gotham was cold and unforgiving, but it had always been alive because of you—chaotic, unrelenting, and fearless. And now? Now, you were gone.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

Dick (Nightwing)

Dick was the first to find you. Blood pooled beneath your broken body, your mask torn to reveal your face—pale and eerily peaceful. For the first time, he saw you. He saw the girl who was tired, scared, and brave all at once.

“Y/N!” he screamed, sliding to his knees beside you. His hands shook as he cradled your head, desperately searching for a pulse. “No, no, no! Stay with me, okay? You’re gonna be fine!”

But you weren’t fine. You’d fought until the very end, trading jokes for grit, determination, and a ferocity none of them had truly appreciated before. And now? Dick was left holding your lifeless body, sobbing into your blood-soaked suit.

“This isn’t fair,” he whispered, his tears falling onto your face. “You were supposed to be invincible, dammit.”

Jason (Red Hood)

Jason was next, drawn by Dick’s anguished cries. The moment he saw you, his heart stopped. You, who somehow made him laugh even on his darkest days—you were gone.

He didn’t cry, not at first. He couldn’t. Instead, he fell silent, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Who did this?” he growled, his voice trembling with rage.

When no one answered, he turned to Dick, his eyes wild. “WHO DID THIS?!”

Jason’s fury was all-consuming, but beneath it was a grief so raw it threatened to break him. He knelt beside you, brushing the hair from your face with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with his shaking hands.

“You weren’t supposed to go out like this,” he muttered. “You were supposed to annoy us forever, you hear me? Forever, Y/N.”

Tim (Red Robin)

Tim didn’t want to believe it. He stood frozen, his mind racing to find a way—any way—to fix this. You couldn’t be dead. You were the one who called him “good boy,” who smothered him with affection, who always seemed untouchable despite your reckless behavior.

“This… this isn’t real,” he stammered, his voice breaking. “She’s faking it. She’s… she’s messing with us.”

But you weren’t. And when Tim finally accepted the truth, he collapsed. He crawled to your side, his hands trembling as he reached for yours. “You can’t leave us,” he whispered, tears streaming down his face. “I need you. We all do.”

Damian (Robin)

Damian didn’t cry. He didn’t scream. He simply stood there, staring at your body as though willing you to get up. You always did when he told you to. Always.

“Get up,” he demanded, his voice cold and sharp. “You’re not allowed to die.”

When you didn’t move, his composure cracked. “Y/N, I’m serious. Get up! Stop… stop playing around!”

And then, for the first time, Damian fell to his knees. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms so hard they drew blood. “You’re a coward,” he spat through gritted teeth, his voice thick with emotion. “You left me. You promised you wouldn’t.”

Bruce (Batman)

Bruce arrived last, his face as stoic as ever—until he saw you. His shoulders sagged, and for a moment, he wasn’t Batman. He wasn’t the Dark Knight. He was just a man who had failed someone he loved.

He knelt beside you, his gloved hand brushing against your cheek. “You were just a kid,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “You deserved more time.”

Bruce had seen death before, but this? This was different. You weren’t just another casualty. You were family. And he had failed you.

“I should have stopped you,” he said, his voice cracking. “I should have protected you.”

Alfred’s Grief

Alfred was the one who had always known how to handle you, from the moment you spat in Bruce’s face as a child to the day you showed up in a spider suit, smugly proclaiming yourself Gotham’s best hero. You were incorrigible, maddening, and unapologetically yourself, and Alfred adored you for it.

When he heard the news, Alfred didn’t cry. Not at first. He simply closed his eyes, placed the tea tray he’d been preparing on the counter, and leaned against the sink. His hands trembled as he clutched the edge, the weight of your loss sinking into his bones.

“She was just a child,” he murmured to no one, his voice thick with grief. “My child.”

That night, Alfred cleaned your suit. He worked silently, meticulously wiping away the blood and patching up the tears as if you might walk through the door and demand it back at any moment. When he finished, he folded it neatly and placed it in the Batcave beside the others, his hands lingering on the fabric.

“She would have wanted it spotless,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

The Manor felt colder without you. He found himself pausing at the sound of laughter, only to realize it wasn’t yours. He missed the way you teased him, calling him “Alfie” and sneaking cookies from the kitchen. Most of all, he missed the way you brought life into a house filled with so much darkness.

The Funeral

The Manor was silent in the days following your death. No one spoke unless absolutely necessary, and even then, it was barely above a whisper. Your absence was a gaping wound none of them knew how to heal.

Jason stayed in his room, punching walls until his knuckles bled. Tim buried himself in work, desperate to distract himself. Damian trained until he collapsed, refusing to let anyone see him cry. And Dick couldn’t even look at your room without breaking down.

Bruce tried to hold them all together, but even he struggled. At your funeral, he gave a speech, his voice steady but his eyes filled with sorrow.

The Aftermath

They all dealt with your death in their own way, but one thing was constant—they would never stop missing you. Every quip, every smile, every moment of chaos you brought into their lives was etched into their memories forever.

Jason would often find himself staring at the night sky, muttering, “You’d probably call me a softie for this.”

Tim would keep a photo of you on his desk, a constant reminder of the person who always believed in him.

Damian would visit your grave, silently promising to make you proud.

And Dick? Dick would tell stories about you to anyone who’d listen, keeping your memory alive.

As for Bruce? He’d sit in the Batcave late at night, staring at your suit and wondering what he could have done differently.

You may have been gone, but you would never be forgotten. You were their light. And the hole you left in their lives would never be filled.

𝒍𝒖𝒗-𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌 ☆ 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[shegetsburned]

Uhm hi 👋🏻 could you please write something about Gojo, Nanami, Geto and Toji's reactions to their significant other's life being threatened? Like heartbreaking stuff that ends up well? 👉🏻👈🏻

LOSING YOU w. jujutsu kaisen men ˚ 𐙚 ⋆.

.angst/fluff.

• — ft. satoru gojo, kento nanami, suguru geto, toji fushiguro. took me ages to get to but i’m a sucker for angst, so i just had to do it. thanks for the request, luv! • — content. their reaction to your life being threatened. • — tw. mentions of death, violence, murder.

satoru gojo

₊˚⊹ ᰔ as soon as your name came out of yaga’s mouth, satoru wasted no time and vanished. he searched every place he knew, every corner and alley, in a matter of seconds. there was no coherent thought in his mind while he teleported. the only thing he could clearly see was you. that you were in danger and that you needed to be saved. that he couldn’t let you die and that he previously had so clearly promised that he’d never let anything happen to either you or him.

a liar, he thought he was. how could he have let this happen? what was the point of being the strongest sorcerer if he couldn’t even protect you. he really did believe nothing could happen to you if he was by your side. he’d murder anyone who’d ever try to harm you without even looking back. this time wouldn’t be any different.

he felt his heartbeat reach his ears when he finally felt you near an ally, back pressed against the wall. a hand on your chest, crimson blood dripping down your shirt. jerky breaths escaping your trembling lips. this curse had taken his sweet time with you. it wanted to feed and you were a tasty dinner. there were marks of struggle on your shredded clothes and bruised wrists.

nothing came out of satoru’s mouth when his eyes landed on you. he just couldn’t believe he had let this happen to you. his expression was stoic. when he slowly approached you the curse immediately felt it. the strongest sorcerer doesn’t let most curses escape from his grasp. but this one.. this one would inevitably suffer the most.

it wasn’t long before the curse felt his body being pushed against the wall in front of you. a yelp was heard when his skull hit the wall head-on. you could hear the bones crack and send shivers through your entire being. that’s when you realized your boyfriend had finally arrived. but when you lifted your head trying to catch a glimpse of his eyes he had already turned all his attention towards the threat.

you had never seen him like this. he was lifeless. his eyebrows were lowered and pulled closer together. you could’ve sworn his eyes bulged. he was enraged. he didn’t even bother to raise his arm towards the curse, he just advanced and slowly- very slowly crushed every little bone in the monster’s body.

you were out of breath but couldn’t shift your gaze from the horrible spectacle in front of you. the wall caved under the pressure as gojo used his infinity to create a space between him and the curse which only crushed it more. it was cruel. cruel but deserving considering the circumstances.

the curse’s body was retracting upon itself with no way out. a loud and piercing cry followed the sound of the wall being crushed under the weight of the infinity. the only thing you found the strength to mumble under your breath was your boyfriend’s name.

after a few seconds, black smoke emanated from the crushed bricked wall with no curses in sight. no remains, nothing. your heavy breath filled the air as satoru finally sighted. you could barely see his eyes when he turned to you, crouching down at your height.

his violence had surprised you, but you were so relieved. tears ran down your cheeks when you tried to speak. you tried to reach for satoru when he crouched but he was quicker and wrapped one arm around your back and another supporting the back of your head. he held you close and it made you feel at home. his scent and touch reassured you when you buried your head in his neck.

still silent, he held you tightly close to his chest. his hand threaded your hair, a slight pressure applied so he could make sure you were okay. you could feel all his anger slowly fade when you returned the gesture with one hand against his chest. your tears slowly fading as you felt the warmth of satoru around your body.

“satoru..”

he shushed you. always pulling you closer and closer to him. he wasn’t going to leave this time. he’d never let you endure something like this ever again.

“i’m right here. you’re safe. lend me your pain, baby. i’ll carry you the rest of the way.” he whispered into your ear, caressing your back so that you’d warm up to his touch. you could feel he was slowly coming back to being the satoru you knew.

you were safe in his arms but guilt still ran deep inside of him. he promised to take you to shoko as soon as possible, resting by your side until you were completely healthy. he also promised himself to assign you with an escort when he couldn’t be here to protect you.

satoru’s only concern was you and he’d never let anything get in the way of your well-being ever again. if he had to show every curse on this earth that he’d destroy them if they ever tried to get near you, he’d have no hesitation in doing so. you were safe. you knew it, now.

kento nanami

₊˚⊹ ᰔ you were the most important person for nanami. his one and only. his love, his soul, his heart. he would’ve resigned in an instant if you hadn’t begged him to keep his job as a sorcerer. but knowing his personal feelings about loss, you knew it’d break him if something came to happen to you. that is precisely why you always acted cautiously, never putting yourself in harm's way and living your life as safely as you could. unfortunately, this time, your efforts had been in vain.

when he saw you, helplessly struggling at the mercy of a first-grade curse wrapped around your throat, all he could think about was how much he regretted not having taken a safer job and bought you that house you both talked about so much on a beach in malaysia.

he knew he needed to act quickly or the curse would finish you off as easily as it had taken you hostage.

you wiggled your feet when it lifted you off the ground, hands desperately scratching and holding onto his grasp so he’d let go of his claws around your throat. you could feel kento’s eyes on you but couldn’t even dare to look at him or do anything else than push against the claws so they wouldn’t crush your neck further.

therefore, you couldn’t see him remove his tie, wrapping it tightly around his knuckles. he knew he couldn’t use a weapon, scared that the curse would use you as a shield. his fists were more precise and his sword wasn’t enough to unleash the rage he had built up inside.

he slowly made his way to the curse but, with every step, its hold crushed you more. you were so scared, almost out of breath with tears rolling down your cheeks. these cheeks kento had kissed so many times to take away your pain. you were hoping he’d do it once more.

once he realized that the threatening stance he was in only alarmed the curse, kento stood down, lowering his curse energy’s flow to an almost invisible state. he made himself look harmless in the face of the monster which slowly but surely helped you to breathe better.

you knew your husband. you had heard it several times from yuji and Ino and you also personally knew that he always handled things the right way. this is was kept you from breaking down and letting go of your almost meaningless fight against the curse’s strength. you had never doubted him and you wouldn’t now. he built his strength with yours. that’s what kento had told you the day he had asked for your hand.

his eyes were locked with your struggling gaze. despite him trying to contain himself, his veins stood out from how tightly he clenched his fists. he would’ve massacred the curse right here and now if it hadn’t cowardly taken you hostage. nanami might have seemed harmless in the moment but his anger was apparent.

without thinking much about it, he threw his sword aside, lifting his hands above to show complete surrender to the curse.

“let her go.”

the furious and deep voice of your husband made you whine, finally hearing a sign from him. unfortunately you could feel that the curse was still hesitating. the clinging of the sword on the ground had startled it which only showed kento how weak it really was. it also showed that it did not want to fight but preferred to flee.

this strange demeanor encouraged kento to step closer, hands still in the air, and that’s when he saw his opening. the curse was looking left and right to find an escape which diminished his attention and loosened his grip around your throat. it lasted just a few seconds but it was enough for you to breathe out his name.

“kento..”

that’s when he drew his fist and used all of his force and cursed energy to deliver a devastating blow right into the curse spirit’s face. it was sent flying several meters away after dropping you so kento could easily catch you and keep you from hitting the ground, arms wrapped around your body.

it only took one hit. one punch to obliterate half of the curse’s body in pieces. the shock had been so violent that your savior’s knuckles bled on your shirt through his yellow tie.

“mine.”

you could feel his heavy breath against your neck when he got on one knee, holding you against him, a hand carefully placed on your cheek. his thumb caressing your skin and whipping the single tear you shed.

“my love..”

kento’s expression had returned to the one you knew. the calm but stoic gaze he wore returned your breath to a normal pace. his arms pulled you always closer to him and he felt his sense come back when your fingers brushed the hand he had placed on your shoulder. you couldn’t talk or you’d burst into tears so you smiled in admiration.

he placed his warm lips upon your forehead and you could feel how scared he had been, maybe even more scared than you. his eyes were stuck on your finger, the one that wore his ring.

losing haibara had crushed his soul to tiny little pieces and you had been the one to delicately put them all back together with your innocent kindness and understanding. he’d be damned if he was to let something happen to the one who saved his heart.

this was the first and last time your life had been threatened, thanks to the careful supervision of kento but also his promise to quit his job and buy that house. he hadn’t realized how much he already had with you and would curse anybody who tried to take his happiness away from him ever again.

suguru geto

₊˚⊹ ᰔ you trusted him. you trusted that, if you were in pain, suguru would find ways to eradicate that pain. you trusted that if you showed any sign of distress, he’d be by your side helping you in any way he could. most importantly, you trusted that he’d protect you no matter the cost and no matter the consequences, because he was devoted to you. if there was something he’d burn the whole world for, it’d be you.

these men, these humans, these pathetic monkeys that had attacked you on your way home never knew what would come for them. you were beaten and almost lifeless when the men started searching for any kind of money or jewelry you had on your person. of course, you had resisted. that’s the only thing you could do, because you were so scared that if you had willingly complied to their demand they would’ve asked for more.

being helpless was scary. you thought it wouldn’t be so scary with suguru by your side, but right now you had never been more terrified. you also knew that your boyfriend would never forgive the men that harmed you, so the only thing you could do was wait. because you did not doubt him. you never doubted him. you knew he’d come for you.

when the men had finished checking your bags and any belongings you had on your person, one approached you, lifting your chin with a vulgar smile. you couldn’t even look at him in the eyes but hit bullseye when you spat directly in his face making him drop you in anger. he cursed under his breath before tightly grabbing you by the collar. a hand in the air so it’d land on your face.

with a weak and desperate groan you turned your face away but was surprised when the slap never landed.

when you reopened your eyes to look at your aggressor, he had his own hands wrapped his throat. it’s like he was struggling to breath, a firm pressure was crushing his neck as he tried to break free from this invisible hold.

when you realized what might be happening you tried to take a peak at the other men who were all struggling with the same problem. scratching and screaming at the invisible menace that were preventing them from breathing.

under the distressed shoutings, a cocky laugh attracted your gaze. when you turned to look at the source, your face lit up at the sight of suguru. but he didn’t look as relieved as you were. his laugh was dark, almost cynical. it was psychotic and displeased.

you had seen him despise simple-minded humans before but killing them was a different story. he wasn’t only taking their lives, he was torturing them. their necks were getting slowly squashed by the curses he had sent on them.

seeing you struggle to breath, helpless at the hand of those who had harmed an innocent girl like you. his girl. it had awaken another kind of hatred in him. a hatred that had been buried deep for so long.

suguru took one good look at you, searching for your eyes but you were incapable of keeping them open. you were just glad your boyfriend had arrived. you knew you were safe when you rested your eyes, a small smile of satisfaction drawn on your lips.

when he concentrated his gaze back on the man that had touched you, he crouched in front of him, getting to his level before taking over the curse and wrapping his hand around the stranger’s neck. tormenting him and taking the air away from him. suguru tightened his grip, his smile fading when he brought the man closer and closer towards death.

“so you think you can just harm her and get away with it?”

the man was hissing swears as small cries of help escaped his bloody lips. his face was swollen and breaking down under suguru’s hold and his watering eyes looked like they would pop out of their socket sooner or later. that’s how tight he held the man.

“pathetic.”

he fed on their cries. helplessly calling out for help, the men only fueled his rage with their insufferable sounds. the sorcerer remembered every time he had felt an ounce of empathy for these beings in the past and regretted every actions he had done to protect them when he saw your wounded state. what they had done was inexcusable and no amount of pain would be enough to atone for it.

after a while, resigned, your offender chocked out a weak apology. but as he did, all the bones in his body instantly broke under another a new kind of pressure coming from yet another curse suguru had unleashed upon him. so now he laid there, between your boyfriend’s compressed clutch. dead.

after a few seconds he dropped the body on the ground like garbage waste and walked to you, passing by the other men that were struggling to breath. he pushed the first one aside with his foot, throwing one on the ground, creating a path for him to walk to you.

“move. i’ve come to take what’s mine.”

on suguru’s command, two snaps followed when the curses broke the other men’s necks before they fell on the floor. three lifeless corpses were now scattered in front of both of you, and as soon as he made sure those stupide monkeys had payed for what they had done, he joined you.

when he leaned towards you, his hand grazed yours, wrapping it with his own in a warm grip. his eyes searched for yours, lifting your chin with his thumb before running it along your jaw, making comforting circles on your cheek.

“are you alright, my love? can you walk?”

suguru’s tone was calmer than before. his eyes never left yours when he wiped one of your tears. his comforting smile reassured you and you nodded at his question, holding onto his wrist when he helped you up, closing the distance between the two of you.

you could hear his calm heartbeat when you leaned against his chest, hiding between his arms and you wondered how he could be so tranquil after killing these men so easily. little did you know the only thing he felt was rage. he knew he was right to despise these inferior beings that had harmed the only important thing that mattered.

he could’ve burned the world for you.

toji fushiguro

₊˚⊹ ᰔ toji fushiguro was an asshole. a first-class asshole. you guys had slept together left and right and he always left first. you had no expectations regarding the man. no doubt that you were replaceable. he didn’t open up much and never talked about his work which didn’t alarm you much considering toji’s character.

basically, emotionally and personally speaking, you two weren’t close. that’s why, when two strangers raided your apartment, screaming fushiguro’s name in anger, you wondered why you had accepted to sleep with a man with a secret and violent past.

your furniture was on the floor and the men had destroyed most of your electronics so you had no way to call for help. one was guarding the door while the other took care of questioning you. it had something to do with a bet and broken promises. of course, money had to be involved, otherwise, why would they be threatening the girl he had slept with once or twice to know of his whereabouts?

tied to a chair, almost unconscious, he had been covering you with bruises and scratches using anything that he could find but you still gave him the same answer. you had no idea where toji was as he never kept contact with you. he was always the one that came to you. and if you were honest with yourself, you didn’t expect him to come save you anytime soon.

after a while, when the man realized he might not easily get an answer out of you, he reached in his back, pulling out a pistol from the edge of his pants. at the sight of the gun, your heart shattered. that was it for you, you thought. you couldn’t get out of this mess and you would die convinced toji was out there somewhere, probably getting rich and fucking naive girls like you.

you couldn’t even talk anymore, your head was hanging in front of you, blood dripping from your mouth to your thighs. you didn’t know if you’d last long, your vision was blurry and you felt yourself chasing the dark tunnel that clouded your eyesight.

you could hear faint words of command when your chin was lifted with the cold metallic canon of the pistol. the man had your life between his hands. you knew he’d pull the trigger if he eventually realized you couldn’t give him any information he needed. you knew he would kill you. it was so easy and you were pissing him off.

your eyes never left his nervous figure which only frustrated him more and, out of instinct, he slapped you with the handle of the pistol, almost knocking the air out of you. your jaw was broken and tears were flooding your eyes when the blow forced you to look away.

but as he pulled his arm up, preparing for another strike, he seemed to stop in his movement, startled by something behind him. sounds of struggles and a broken door were heard when he shifted his gaze entirely towards the front of your apartment. his accomplice had disappeared which alerted the man and made him call out to him.

several seconds and unanswered calls later, on his guard, the armed stranger decided to go take a look. as soon as he took a step towards the broken piece of wood that was left, a corpse dropped to his feet.

it was the other man, and he seemed to have been brutally murdered from the back, a hole at his heart’s level revealed the level of violence he had endured which left the man panicked and distressed. sweat was covering his forehead when he tried to peak out the door, fingers trembling against the handle and trigger.

unfortunately for him, a tall and broad shadow quickly covered him, before a shot came off. one single gunshot followed by a loud thud.

you could barely make up the identity of the person who had saved you with your weak sight, but his odour was enough for you to distinguish the man clearly. he always smelled the same.

toji was here. he was standing in the doorway, a tight grip around his gun and a grin covering his scarred lips. “can’t believe they send these weaklings to come after me.”

he carefully stepped between the cadavers, examining the poor state of your apartment and their lifeless bodies before his gaze shifted to you. a quick exchange was enough for you to sigh in relief and let yourself relax to an unconscious state.

despite himself, he did feel an ounce of guilt when he took a good look at you. his mistakes had almost gotten you killed. he couldn’t have imagined how he would’ve felt if he had arrived too late. the blood on your face, the broken jaw and the many scars were revealed by the moonlight passing through the door. the cold air misplaced your hair for toji to see tears strolling down your face.

his grin faded as he stood still in front of you and the mess he had made. his grip had loosened around the gun but he slowly moved the canon towards the second man he had killed. without hesitation, he emptied his clip through the culprit’s head, a look of contempt and disgust plastered on his face.

“tsk.. you just had to go and get yourself noticed, hm?” he said, now focused only on you.

thanks to toji, you were safe now. and you had silently thanked him for coming back for you.

carrying you bridal style as you laid there now unconscious but safe in his arms, he placed his thumb against your jaw, tilting your head to get a proper look at you. even now, you were so beautifully calm and your cheeks wore a pink tint, probably because of the cold, which only accentuated your beauty and innocence.

with a sigh, like it weighed on his conscience, toji murmured. “guess someone’s gonna have to take care of you, from now on.”

but the truth was far from what it appeared to be. saving you that night had just brought the man closer to the conclusion that he cherished you more than he thought he did. you weighed on his conscience like a guilty obsession which he could only nourish by spending more time by your side.

© shegetsburned 2024 please do not repost/edit/or claim my writing as your own.

[foldingfittedsheets]

A few years ago my dad got hit by a car. He was on his bike when a van merged into him and smashed him up pretty good. I found out because he posted it on Facebook, along with a comment that he’d just walk home.

I have a long history of haranguing my father about his health but this really took the cake. I called him to insist he get a ride home and go to urgent care. I was summarily ignored and once shock wore off he was in a lot of pain.

He had a cracked pelvis, fractured fingers, and a dozen scrapes and bruises. Over the course of his legal battle to get his medical shit covered there’s been several small battles. The first was his cane.

He refused to use it for ages. The physical therapist insisted he should but he stubbornly repeated, “I’m strong enough!” It took months for him to give in and walk with it, but he eventually thanked me as it makes his life easier.

The current fight is getting him a handicapped placard. He’s finally admitted after a year that he needs one but still hasn’t done it.

So we recently went to pick up my nephew from the airport and I was like my dads assigned disability advocate. We got to pass through security to meet my nephew at the gate but my dad tried to put his cane up on the conveyor and I grabbed it right back, loudly addressing TSA to ask if he really needed to scan that. The guy said he supposed not, the agent could check it out at the scanner.

Then as we were refilling our pockets and getting belts back on a TSA agent was chiding us for holding up the line. I snapped back, "My dad is disabled, he needs a minute." She glanced at him and reluctantly backed off while he slowly got all this belongings back on his person.

We had to take a train to my nephews gate. It was pretty full and a lady who'd gotten on before us plopped into one of the only handicapped seats. "Excuse me," I said as we got on, "Can my dad please use that?" She clocked his cane and moved without apology and my dad gratefully sat down.

At no point in any of those stages was he prepared to advocate for his own needs, he just decided suffering was the only recourse. I wish the world were softer, and I wish he didn't just accept hardship but I definitely know where I got it from.

[satori-runa]

—In the warmth

Summary: You are genuinely wondering why your captain doesn't show more skin despite Natlans hot temperatures.

Words: 0,6k

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Natlan was quite the opposite of your home nation. The heat assaulted your body, forcing you to strip off your coat and minimize your movements before a heat stroke could knock you out in the middle of the mission.

Your hand barely created a cold breeze, no matter how hard you tried to wave it in front of your face to generate even the tiniest bit of fresh air. You could swear the air wasn't even moving; it was just warm and stuffy, even out in nature.

The only one unaffected by the oppressive climate was the captain himself. He still wore that large black coat lined with fur and heavy chains. His stance showed no sign of discomfort, indicating that he wasn’t affected like you or the others. In fact, he maintained his usual behaviour. It really irritated you—he didn’t shed a single piece of armour, didn’t roll up his sleeves, and never took off that giant coat in front of the team. Whenever you approached him to ask if he wasn’t hot, he would simply say, no, he wasn’t.

"If you need a break in this weather, you can take it." his deep voice told you. He shifted the focus from your concern for him directly back to you, like a mirror. After all, he knew you weren’t truly worried about him suffering in the heat. You were just curious to see even a little bit of his skin.

"I'll manage, but I appreciate the offer, Captain. I can’t slack off while the others are working so hard to set up the rest of the camp."

There was a hint of disappointment beneath your layer of gratitude, but he chose not to address it.

Later that night, Capitano sat alone by the campfire, his gaze directed toward the ground. He had sensed you nearby a while ago but said nothing as you approached his tall form. The heat of the nation was even worse at night, especially in a place like this, which only added to your irritation upon seeing the Captain seated in front of a fire.

"You should at least take off your mask." you finally said, breaking the silence. A few seconds passed before he responded. "There is no need." Of course, he wouldn’t, if he had wanted to, he would have done so long ago, even without your prompting. "I’m curious." There it was, the sheer honesty you had tried to mask with concern before. It made him chuckle. He liked that side of you.

Capitano and you had known each other for years. You were a loyal member of his regular troupe, yet you didn’t know him well. And still, he chose to trust you. His hands slowly lifted, removing the helmet and the mask that covered his face.

There he was, illuminated by the warm fire. His eyes were like stars, shining and deep, staring right through you with an expression that could be described as curiosity. His raven hair fell perfectly into place, framing his face and accentuating his features. But what caught your attention most was the rotting dark part—it looked strange, inhuman, more like it was tainted by the Abyss. It exposed part of his teeth, and yet, oddly, it suited him.

"I know what you’re thinking." He huffed, moving to put the helmet back on, but your hand caught his wrist just in time to stop him.

"The air feels good without the extra layer, right, Capitano?" He glanced at you, and all he could see was your genuine smile, no fear, no disgust, just radiant joy that burned in his chest more than Natlan’s heat ever could.

"It does."

[speed-world]

Hey, I got this idea from watching some Dark Souls lore videos, so can I request a HC of beast cookies being beaten by a chosen Undead reader.

Plot: when the Beast cookies went on a rampage The Witches knew they had to stop them but the cookie were too powerful to do so so they decided to work together to bake a new cookie, a cookie that can weaken them to a point that they can be in prison, a cookie that can come back from the dead as much as possible until the deed is done, they call them the Chosen Undead Cookie

Sworn Purpose

The Five Beasts. The primordial Cookies created by the Witches as emissaries of the Godly Creators; that fell from grace due to their Absolute power corrupting them completely. The Witches couldn’t bear to see their creations promised as saviors turned apostles of evil, and so they punished the Beasts by sealing them away in Beast-Yeast. At least…that was what should have happened.

The Beasts rebelled, refusing to go quiet into the night. They broke free from their shackles and dominated the lands of Beast-Yeast without challenge. The Witches refused to give up however, and would go deeply into a period of heavy trials and error in baking something …greater. They combined their magic to create a Cookie that could complete the task they failed too. A Cookie that would never rest until they sealed these Beasts, even if the Cookie was crumbled. A Cookie that will rise and rise again, as if freshly baked out of the oven, to complete their assigned life purpose. As the Witches spent numerous days and nights creating this Cookie, they’d mix so many flavors into to them that the Cookie was ultimately nameless to the Witches. When finally completed, passerby Cookies knew them only by a couple of names: Y/N Cookie, or their more known, and more appropriate moniker…Chosen Undead Cookie.

It was never easy completing your task, but you never once questioned it or the Witches. They told you all the features and names of the Beasts, that you must do whatever it takes to seal them away, and you followed as such.

During your first attempt, you could barely make a move against a jester before being crumbled in a mess of crumbs and jam. The last thing you heard was the jester laughing before you reawakened in a different location.

One of the many blessings you had received from the Witches was that you could communicate with and hear them. You could hear some the Witches applaud you for your efforts, and others express their apologies for what you must suffer through. It didn’t faze you though, you had a God-given purpose, and you’d curse at yourself if you never finished it. Maybe one day…you could live a fairly normal life, but it won’t happen until your job is done.

“Oh~? Pfffttt AHAHAHAHAHA~~!! Oh this is priceless, you’re still kicking huh? I mean, what attempt is this, number….59? 100? Isn’t this tiring to you buddy~?”

“Silence, jester. I am not tired, not one bit. I have been assigned this duty by the Witches, and I refuse to stop until you Beasts are sealed away…”

You stared at him with the same neutral yet angry expression that you almost always have. He upsets you, just as the other Beasts. And, like him, they will be sealed by your hand sooner or later.

“Really now…? How many times have you said that? And yet the result is still the same! I’ll give you credit though, you’re getting closer each time!! But all that means is that I’m improving myself to make sure you continue to be the failure you are!!”

“Am I the failure, Shadow Milk Cookie? You were meant to be a savior, a hero to all Cookiekind until the end of days, but you failed at your duty. Don’t tell me, are you jealous that I’m favored and know how to follow simple instruction? Does it upset you that I’m succeeding in the role you failed to fulfill?”

“Tch…didja learn to talk all smart while you were in between the states of dying and living? Those Witches can BURN IN THE OVEN, AND YOU’LL JOIN THEM YOU MISERABLE PUPPET!!!”

“….I’m assuming you’re done wasting your breath away now? I’m glad you’ll be the first I seal, your voice annoys me…”

You readied yourself again for the umpteenth time, and stared holes into Shadow Milk Cookie. “You are the miserable one here, jester…” You muttered to yourself, before clashing with the jester once more.

————————————————————————

The cold steps of the Ivory Pagoda are all too familiar for you now. The aroma of the incense, the reflective gold of the tiles, all of it was practically burned in your memory as you approached the Master of the Ivory Pagoda yet again. Of course, you couldn’t meet the Master without seeing the guardian of Ivory Pagoda as well.

“Oh, Master, look who’s back again~! You must really enjoy witnessing the truth that my Master has to show the world! At this point, you’re the most frequent visitor here to the pagoda, maybe you’d want to stay here for the rest of your life~? It’s not like your immortality is doing you any favors being the Witches’s pawn~…”

You ignored the mocking comments of Cloud Haetae Cookie. They’re not what you’re here for anyways, so they can berate you all they want, it won’t take your attention away from your mission. You walked past the haetae and stared up at the Beast, who didn’t even open her eyes to you.

“One day, you will come to see how pointless your mission truly is. Again and again, you challenge my truth and power, and again and again, you fail to understand that you’ll never succeed…”

“That is where your arrogance has mislead you, Mystic Flour Cookie. You insist on yourself so much that you fail to grasp the reality around you. More and more, I grow resistant to your power, and I keep parts of my flavor in spite of being turned to flour. One day, you will come to realize that the madness you speak of will never be heard as you’ll spend your days sealed away as you deserve.”

Mystic Flour Cookie doesn’t bother responding to you. She only waves her hand, uttering the phrase you’ve heard numerous times now: “Return to Flour…”. Your words were true: you were still maintaining your flavor and everything else about you, and only small crumbs were being taken away, albeit incredibly slowly. Then you lounged at her, slashing at her with your blade….and you cut her. Jam leaked out of her thigh from the gash you made. Although your magic and control over the chains and Witch’s fork specialized for sealing the Beasts weren’t strong enough yet, you were making fast progress.

Cloud Haetae Cookie was shocked, but Mystic Flour appeared unfazed as usual. But one thing was abundantly clear, you were improving. Even if you didn’t seal her during this time, you would overcome her powers and seal her away, even if you were crumbled to flour in the process. Mystic Flour will be sealed, just like the other Beasts, and you’ll rise and rise again until your deed is done and all of the Beasts are sealed away.

————————————————————————

Hellish blazing embers and the ruins of forests are the most recognizable sight you know. Whenever you hear the fires crackling, you know that you’re close to Burning Spice Cookie. Burning Spice stares daggers into you just as you stare a hole back.

“You again, eh? How many times are we going to do the same song and dance until you’ve crumbled for good? Those damned Witches must have spent days, perhaps weeks trying to perfect a herald to defeat us, and your failure of an existence is all they have to show for their efforts. It would be funny, if it weren’t so sad and true…”

“I’ll keep coming back as many times as needed until you—“

“Yeah yeah, until us Beasts are sealed away. You’re a broken record at this point, and it’s really beginning to annoy the Hell out of me…. Then again, you do have your uses for being a toy, free for me to play with and break whenever I feel like it. So c’mon, let’s not waste words and entertain me, Chosen fool~…”

You smirked at Burning Spice; at least you two could agree on something, that being words are useless at this point. You steeled yourself and gripped your sword tightly, and Burning Spice did the same with that giant axe in hand. All you need to do is seal away Burning Spice, and even if you crumbled in the process, it will be done.

————————————————————————

The skies were an incredibly dark shade of pink, and you’ve slowly grown to hate it when the skies were like this. Mainly because you knew who it was that was around, and Witches did Eternal Sugar Cookie, wielding the power of Sloth, utterly piss you off.

All Eternal Sugar did was yawn on top of the cloud she rested on, and looked at you haphazardly with her hand resting on her cheek*

*Yaaaaaaawwwwnn* “Ahh, who’re you again? You always come here for ah…some mission from the Witch’s I think? Can’t you bother anyone else with your nonsense, I have a lot of better things to do than waste my precious energy on you agaaaaiinn…”

The tone in Eternal Sugar’s voice and manner is what really bothered you the most. Although it was fitting of the Sloth power she held, she just couldn’t care less about you or whatever inhumane actions she did to others. Granted, you weren’t much for words yourself, the most you talk is when dealing with the annoyance is Shadow Milk Cookie, so at least with Eternal Sugar you can get right to the point without any hesitation.

“At least you know what I’m here for, Beast…I’ll gladly make sure you’ve suffered in the last moments of your recreation…”

“Mhmmm, sure thing. Just hurry up and crumble already so you can bother someone else when you resurrect, please~….

Without waiting anymore, you charged at the lackadaisical Beast. Thankfully, the more you do this the more stronger and better you’re getting. Because the sooner you seal away Eternal Sugar, the better. Not just for the Witch’s and Cookiekind, but for the sake of your own mind.

————————————————————————

The eerie silence of the area you stepped into would be enough to scare any being beyond belief. It was dark, quiet, perfectly becoming the scene any scared children would have when fearing the dark. Only this was no dream, is was the brutal reality of a vicious Beast that you could never seem to get an upper hand against.

Silent Salt Cookie was just standing there, sword in hand as always. Out of all the Beasts, Silent Salt doesn’t do anything else now except wait for you. Silent Salt knows of your ability to keep coming back to life after dying and knew sooner or later you’d be back.

The quietness from you and Silent Salt was loud and easy to understand. You weren’t much for words yourself, no need to start now with a quiet Cookie. You both knew each other well enough, understanding the other’s goal in mind as you both nodded and readied your swords yet again. The area soon became loud with the sounds of clashing swords in a struggle of life and death.

Until your mission is fulfilled, until the Beasts are sealed away and no longer a threat to Cookiekind, then you will be raised from the dead. Retaining your mixture of flavors, knowledge and power, and using all of them against the foul Beasts that defiled their roles as promised saviors. Until the deed is done…