#like exhausted and like someone has used me as a punching bag

[madegeeky]

Apparently my brain has just decided it's done with everything and has decided it's time for a stay-at-home vacation. Like, it's there but it's not answering any work calls. And I think it's smoking pot but, like, without me which is a weird sensation.

Anyway, what all this means is after 7 days of shit sleep I appear to have gone past exhausted into something that, I imagine, is similar to the way one feels when high. I'm also feeling my personal brand of manic: bad typing (y'all, this post took me so much longer than it should have) and talking too fast, too loud, too much. And I keep feeling I'm opening my eyes too wide but I can't tell of that's actually true or not. And, I don't know of any other way to explain it, but I feel dizzy but without actually being dizzy.

In a weird fucking place today, friends.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

The Perfect Life || CL16 {2}

Summary: Charles finally gets to see the person his brother was proud to call his best friend, and in doing so realises he has some amendments to make. Warnings: angst, swearing, sarcasm WC: 2.4k

One || Two || Three

It was foolish to think the Leclerc’s would just leave you alone. It wasn’t so much of a surprise that Arthur stopped your door from closing but you did frown when his brother followed him inside your humble abode. 

It was dim inside, with only shafts of starlight coming in from the missing tiles above. You walked blindly through the sparse furniture to the fuse box and pulled the lever down, flooding the room with flickering fluorescent light. “Not quite up to your standard?” you challenged Charles with a daring arch of your brow. 

Arthur detoured to the small alcove that was once the factory staff room kitchen and grabbed two beers from the fridge that whined loudly to maintain its temperature. You immediately pressed your bottle to your cheek and moaned as the cold seeped into the bruised skin. Letting the makeshift ice pack do its job, you dropped onto the couch, avoiding the wayward springs that jutted out and tried to snag your clothes, and watched Charles walk around the cavernous room.

“This place is a dump,” he stated. He inspected the bed that consisted of a mattress thrown over pallets that had been abandoned inside the factory before eying up the punching bag that hung from the open rafters. 

“If you’re only staying to insult me, just go.” The exhaustion in your voice came from deep inside your soul and even Charles paused at the sound. 

You hated how he turned his inspection on to you instead. His eyes followed the length of your legs and you tucked your knees up under the hoodie, but then he finally noticed you had been barefoot the entire night. 

“Pack your shit, let’s go.”

You closed your eyes and tipped your head onto Arthur’s shoulder. “I liked him more when he ignored me.”

“I’m not going to tell you again,” Charles growled as he swiped your beer bottle from your face. 

“Charles, have you ever been beaten unconscious?”

“No.”

“Unless you want to find out how it feels, give me my fucking beer back.” You didn’t even open your eyes to see if the threat was taken seriously but then the cold touch of the bottle in your palm was an answer enough. “Thank you.”

“You can’t stay here,” he said calmly. “Pack your things, or I can buy whatever you need in Monaco.”

“I am not marrying you.” The beer was cheap and left a bitter aftertaste but you used it to smother the hot anger that was quickly starting to bubble in your gut. “Twenty minutes ago you would have let me risk being mugged while I walked home and probably asked for popcorn too while you watched.”

The old recliner you found at a secondhand store squeaked under Charles’ weight as he took a seat and said, “I don’t like popcorn.” You cracked an eye open to see amusement gracing on his face. “I also picked you up, didn’t I?”

“Wow, pick a girl up once and expect her to marry you.” 

Arthur snorted a laugh. “I offered first.”

“Maybe you two can fight it out for my hand.” Sarcasm dripped from your lips as you tipped your head to Charles. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you land on your ass again.”

“It was a cheap shot.”

“Are you gonna let him disrespect you like that?” you asked as you nudged your friend. 

“I’m not hitting him again,” Arthur grumbled. “It really hurt.”

“Oh, so not out of concern for me, thanks little brother.”

“She did warn you to shut up but you had to keep running your mouth.” Arthur looked at his brother’s lip but it wasn’t all that swollen thankfully. “Please don’t tell ma.”

“I can do your makeup,” you offered to Charles with a smirk. “I’m actually pretty good at covering up bruises now.”

Charles' eyes turned down and he shook his head as he felt guilty for how he had treated you over the years. 

“I don’t want your fucking pity,” you snapped. “Stop looking like someone kicked your puppy.”

An awkward silence grew until you growled in the back of your throat and rose from the couch. “Tur, can you lock up when you leave?”

“Where are you going?”

You made your way to the ‘bedroom’ and pulled on a pair of riding leathers, not bothering with the jacket since you were comfortable and warm in the hoodie. “Home. I have to get ready for a charity brunch in Marseille.” 

Charles watched curiously as you unlocked a thick padlock to what he thought was just a storage locker. Those green eyes widened when you swung your leg over the seat of the sleek Honda motorbike and grabbed your helmet that hung on the handlebars. 

“You let her ride that?” 

Arthur shrugged and finished his beer. “One: I’m not her keeper. Two: she has a licence. And three: you’re an idiot if you think anyone has a say in what she does.”

“You’re her friend, you should stop her from getting herself killed.”

“I am right here,” you reminded him. “I love the vote of confidence you have in me, by the way, really endearing.”

Whatever he was about to say was silenced when you clicked the remote for the roller door, kicked the bike stand back and turned the ignition on. The roar of the engine was deafening in the space and you slapped the shade down on your helmet before shooting out of your sanctuary. 

“We have a lot to talk about,” Charles warned his brother. 

Arthur nodded as he got up and dropped his empty bottle into the recycling bin. “Yeah, I figured that. Let me just lock up real quick then we can go.”

Charles watched as Arthur walked around the room like it was a routine chore he was used to doing. He hit the button on the wall to close the roller door before checking the windows were locked. He turned the phone charger off beside her bed and slipped the cash he had in his wallet under her pillow. 

“She won’t accept it otherwise,” he said over her shoulder. “She doesn’t want charity, Cha. Your plan isn’t going to work unless you change your approach.”

“What do you mean?”

“Offering to buy her things. She won’t take it. Everything here was earned the hard way, independently.”

Arthur could see Charles was absorbing the information and already a plan was forming in his mind. 

—

“You look beautiful.”

The stem of the champagne flute in your fingers was nearly snapped when Charles startled you and you turned to find him in a tailored suit, the jacket left unbuttoned. “What are you doing here?”

“There aren’t that many charity events in Marseille today. I thought I would make an appearance, it’s good for the image.”

“What a humble philanthropist you are,” you said with a roll of your eyes while he scanned your face for any sign of the bruising from the night before. “Told you I was good.”

“You could be a professional.” 

A waiter passed by and you swapped your empty flute for a full one while Charles grabbed one of his own. Already you could see the inquisitive looks cast in your direction and knew they would only grow the longer Charles spoke to you. Not wanting to be the focus of the gossip mill you took a step away from him, ready to make your escape.

“I have a proposal.”

“Christ, not this again.” You stepped toe to toe with him so as not to be overheard when you hissed. “I’m not marrying you.”

“Not that kind of proposal,” he chuckled. “Arthur tells me you are quite good at fighting.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, wondering where he was going with it, but nodded confidently. “I am.”

“I have a team of security, but they struggle with the female fans when they get a bit too aggressive.”

“You think having a woman throw them down is more…polite?”

He winced and shook his head but it wasn’t very convincing. “I hope it doesn’t come to that but the guys aren’t very comfortable with the idea.”

“You do realise my father is never going to let me leave Nice to work for you, right? That would not fit the image of his social standing.”

“I know. Now before you shut it down completely, just hear me out.” He paused and you immediately knew you were going to regret even listening to him. “You work for me, secretly, but we tell your father we are engaged.”

“No, no, absolutely not,” you hissed. “Argh, you said this wasn’t a proposal.”

“It’s not, well, it’s a fake one so there’s no suspicion why you are always with me. No one will know you work for me, but I’ll pay you well. You can have new bank accounts in your name that your father can’t access. When you have saved up enough money to live on your own then we can break off the engagement and you will have your freedom.”

“I-”

“Don’t give me an answer now, just think about it, okay?”

You turned on your heel and left the stately rooftop garden. The sun was suddenly too warm and the laughter of conversation seemed to mock you personally as you passed by. It would only be a matter of minutes before your father’s assistant came looking for you but you would take every second of freedom that could. 

You got exactly 97 seconds before the bathroom door swung open and Veronica sighed. “You don’t have a scheduled bathroom break until 11.”

“Too much bubbly,” you lied as you tossed the damp hand towel into the basket. It hadn’t even helped to cool your burning neck so you mentally pulled yourself back together and followed the wretched human back out to the event.

Veronica clasped her personalised diary full of notes behind her back as she nodded her head to a portly man ahead. “Mr Henri Cartier, two sons, wife - Charisse, $3 billion profit.”

You plastered a smile back on your face and approached with all the confidence that your father had trained you to fake. “Mr Cartier, how lovely to see you again. How is Charisse? It is a shame she can’t be here today.”

You zoned out as he started to recall how his wife had flown to London in their Lear as their sons had an important polo match. Cambridge versus Oxford, naturally. It obviously wasn’t important enough since he would rather be shaking hands with this lot instead of watching the game. “…the King himself will be there.”

“Ah, but this is France, we have no King,” you teased. “We take care of our own people. Now, a little birdy told me your business had a remarkable turnover this quarter. I hope to see a reflection of that in your donation.”

The Forbes billionaire laughed haughtily. “Of course, my dear. What else would I do with all the excess?”

You opened your mouth to list off all the other purchases he would rather spend his money on but a slick voice eased into the conversation.

“How many superyachts can one man own?” your father asked. “I’ll tell you, Henri, it’s the same thing I say when my wife makes her famous cannoli - there’s always room for one more.”

The two men laughed way harder than the joke called for, but the real joke was the fact that your mother had never stepped foot in a kitchen. 

“It’s a wonder your charity survives with that advice,” you said as you took a step back and let them pick out the shortcomings of their children, and your entire generation, together. You pretended that you didn’t hear them and let the passive blank face fall into place until a hand took yours and pulled you away.

Veronica’s hand lifted to alert your father to your absence but you took the rescue that Charles offered and trailed behind him, losing sight of the assistant in the crowd.

“Well that was uncomfortable to watch,” he murmured in your ear. It concerned Charles at how quickly you had fallen into the charismatic charade he was accustomed to as he watched. He had hated how comfortable you were at these events, and how you charmed everyone you spoke to. He never realised it was all an act, and that the real person behind the whimsical smile was an intelligent, and abused, woman. “I don’t think I have heard so many variations for the word ‘useless’,” he continued.

Charles was right, your father had used them all in his complaints about you. Henri’s response about his children was equally cold, ‘but at least you only have the one weed in your garden.’

“I’m convinced he reads the thesaurus to find new insults for me.”

“That’s so messed up.” This time he didn’t aim the words at you and you weren’t sure how you felt about that. It was easier to think of him as the asshole you had come to know for the last decade.

“Welcome to my life.”

Charles slowed his pace for you down the stairs but you were used to moving deftly in high heels and raced ahead, tugging his hand to hurry up. A smile grew on his face until you reached the last step that exited the venue and breathed in the salty breeze blowing in from the sea across the street.

“My offer still stands,” he said as the valet quickly brought his car around and he took a step off the curb. “You’re not scared, are you?”

Charles smirked as your eyes narrowed and you took a step closer. “Why are you suddenly so interested in helping me?”

The valet opened the passenger door for you and Charles faced you from over the roof of the black sports car. “Get in and find out.”

Your eyes traced the white and red stripe that ran along the car before looking back at the entrance. The choices weren’t overly appetising but you sighed and ducked down into the low seat, tucking the tail of the gown in before the valet closed the door.

“Don’t make me regret this, Leclerc.”

Part Three.

[andreas-river]

helloo!! i got a request ofc if you don’t mind<33

its reader x 141 + könig where we are complete sweethearts and we never raise our voice, everyone like thinks we are too innocent to even be there with them.

but one time someone completely pisses us off and we are already mad so we just snap and start threatening them and stuff. i would love to see their reactions:))))

if you don’t want to do this feel free to change this or ignore!

take care of yourself!<333

right and before i forget, do you take emoji anons? i kinda wanna be -💎

BYEEEEEE💕����

141 + König X Reader Who Snaps At Them And How They Would React

Warnings: anger, mention of insult, female period (so fem!reader), light mention of sex.

Disclaimer: nothing at all, but remember: anger is never the best way to solve problems!

A/N: hi anon, sorry it took so long! And sure, you can be -💎, but if you even gonna request NSFW, please don't use the anon button!

════════════════════

 Simon "Ghost" Riley

Ghost has never been the kind of person to be affected by the behavior of others: he can handle his own emotions as well as those of others around him better than anyone else;

At first, he paid no attention when he saw you with the eyes of a hyena, looking at everyone around you with the intention of devouring them; but as soon as he heard you raise your voice to him, he froze in place;

He knew that he was not the cause of your anger, that you were having one of your worst days - someone had even insulted you and he had refrained from dealing with it personally - but now the situation was as if it had gotten out of hand;

He had never seen you in such a state: your hands clenched in an iron grip, a pen between your fingers even showing a crack in the material, your face completely red, your lower lip trembling slightly, and your eyes filled with tears: you were not the kind of person to get angry, and that emotion was not good for you at all;

And so, without saying anything, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards him, letting you take your anger out on him: he didn't care if you punched him in the chest or if your tears soaked his shirt.

He knew what that feeling was, and it's not easy to let it out without hurting objects or people: so he kept his arms around you as you let it out, creating a space for you that felt good as you released your anger.

¤

John "Soap" MacTavish

Soap always knew a thing or two about anger: he often had moments when he could not hold it in, so he often went to the base gym and took out all his frustration on the punching bag hanging from the ceiling;

But seeing you angry for the first time in his life made him regret all the decisions he had made in the last few days - how did it happen? Why were you so angry? You've never been angry since he first saw you;

Even when he made all his attempts to help you look futile, he decides to take a completely different approach: he moves your attention to him, tells you how to get it all out safely without consequences for you, and both end up in the gym while he shows you how to punch the bag, the same one he has been punching almost every day;

He's not bothered by your attitude, and he's going to help you through it.

¤

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

"Oh Lord help me," will be his first thought when he sees you pacing around the room, fists clenched at your side, not paying much attention to your surroundings; he already knew about your terrible day, your terrible training, and even your period;

But no, he wasn't ready for you snapping at him, your finger pointing at his chest while he thought your eyes were capable of piercing his body. He immediately understood your anger and why you snapped at him like a rubber band, so fast he didn't even notice;

He took your hands and led you to the couch, encouraging you to talk and release the anger with him, even if it was difficult to explain what was going on inside your head; he listened to all your words, and even if at some point you were exhausted from all the rage boiling inside you, he continued to hold you, even if you fell asleep right in his arms, humming softly a melody for you.

¤

John Price

Being surrounded by angry people made him stressed beyond his own limits, but he learned to deal with it in any way he could;

The first solution was the cigar, the smoke always had a calming effect on his body, helping him to relax when he needed to;

You were so calm, so gentle, even your mere presence was something he craved in his own moments, but when he saw you throwing a punch at your desk, he jumped out of his skin at your flared nostrils, your white knuckles at the side of your head, and your body stiff as a violin string;

He walks behind you and puts his hands on your shoulders, but you shrug him off harshly, not even realizing how he's reacting;

He never, never expected you to snap at him, you've always been a sweetheart to him, and in that moment it looked like he flipped a coin and could only see one side;

He sees how your anger fills your movements, pacing back and forth without even looking at him, trying to pull you out of the feeling you were experiencing: it was obvious that you were "new" at this, plus it was a reason why you never got angry even in the worst situation;

He took control of the situation by putting you on his shoulders like a sack of potatoes, making you even more annoyed with his actions: but he continued, locking the door of his own office and putting you down on his chair;

Both out of breath, he just looks at you, his hand running down your body, watching you and how you try to wriggle away, but he just rests his hand on your tight, whatching you with a playful smile and eyes filled with a different light.

In the end, he knows how to make you forget even the reasons for your anger.

¤

König

He never coped well with his own anger, which led him to run away when someone was angry at him: probably a trauma response, or his anxiety kicking in. The only healthy way for him to deal with it was sparring;

And he freezes in place when you unintentionally snap at him, not even thinking about how he would react; he just stands there, listening to your unconnected words, witnessing your anger for the first time.

He doesn't speak or move, he doesn't even dare to react physically: he just watches you carefully, noting every movement, how you speak, how you try to hold something in your hands but almost break it;

That's when he realizes how to take the anger out of you: his sudden change of behavior makes you fall silent while he invites you to follow him. When he takes you to the mat for sparring, he gets into position and waits for you, and it doesn't take long for you to step in front of him;

Even if he doesn't put all his power into the fight, he notices that his plan is going right: he makes you let off steam by giving all your attention to him, to the fight, and to his movement;

Even if you don't get angry anymore, sparring has quickly become the best activity for both of you.

[mothtral]

sunday was chained up in the rooms he secretly kept you locked away in. the family knew of the area, of course they did, it’s where they kept the traitors and the highest ranking criminals. they thought sunday was visiting various convicts to gather more information… they weren’t aware someone innocent was hidden away like a prized jewel.

mind you, many of the older members of the family wouldn’t have mattered if you were innocent, but luckily for you, many have been trying to find you for a long time. enough there’s been missing posters of you yellowing on penacony’s streets. a beloved friend of sunday and robin, including other younger elite members of the family. it was too public, them bringing sunday to that room.

so out you went and sunday guided inside. sunday said nothing. he didn’t look at you. maybe, he knew the dream you had, one where you were running through an open field under the sun, your arms spread apart like a bird about to take flight; free.

robin was horrified and bundled you away, she ignored the flinch you gave her when she got too close, too fast. most wouldn’t think you were missing for months, perhaps even years. dressed to the nines in silk clothes and not a single scratch or bruise on your body. the chains sunday used on you were cushioned; he wanted you by his side, not a walking punching bag.

time flew past you at a nauseating speed. you never were one for rollercoasters, or the pin ball transportations in penacony. one thing is for certain, when everyone’s backs are turned, you will leave and never step foot in penacony again.

first, you must do something. sunday took your life from you. but… you never wanted to see him in your place in that little cell.

“come to gloat?” sunday said. he sounded so bitter, tired. it was almost enough for you to take a step closer, to get within range of his telepathy.

sunday… he didn’t treat you badly, per se. you clung to your childhood much like he did; you, sunday, and robin. all brought to the family at young ages, the only ones at that time that were considered outsiders back then. you gravitated to each other, your dream much like theirs as a child.

your dream… you don’t dream anymore. you haven’t for a long time.

“no,” you whispered. you hadn’t spoken a word to anyone since leaving this cell. you hadn’t spoken a word since sunday brought you to this cell. it hurt. “i wanted to say farewell.”

you have never seen sunday like that before. after the words left your mouth, his head snapped up from where he was fixated at the ground, his neck audibly cracking. before, you thought sunday’s eyes looked like the evening sky, soft and sweet, the perfect sunset. now, they looked like threshold to mania, pupils shrunken and nearly glowing; something else was watching you from his gaze.

“you—cannot—leave me,” sunday rasped out, teeth bared and spit clinging to his lips. he strained against the chains holding him back that for a moment, he looked like a beast held restrained by flimsy material it could easily break free from. distantly, you noticed, they no longer held the cushions they did for you. now, they were a sickly purple; you did not want to know why it looked like that.

“i can. i will,” you replied. you thought this should’ve been more emotional; you did not have it in you to be passionate. exhaustion clung to your limbs, but somehow you kept striving forward. maybe it was the inherent stubbornness sunday used to bemoan.

you turned around; you saw enough. it was time to go, your goal accomplished.

“what about our dream?” sunday hissed. behind you, you heard something creak, and knew you couldn’t stick around for much longer.

“it has not been our dream for a long time, sunday. i hope just that one day you realize it wasn’t your dream, as well.” you wondered if you should clarify, let sunday keep this little flicker of a flame, of hope. and you decided you would. “i know i said this was a farewell. we both know you won’t let it remain that. i await the day you find me again. maybe we can find a new dream together.”

[farfromstrange]

Customer Service | Matt Murdock

Pairing: Matt Murdock x afab!reader

Summary: After a particularly rough week, all you want to do is cry. It has you on edge and makes you say things you don’t mean. After letting out your anger on your boyfriend, he makes it his mission to take care of you for a change.

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ MINORS DNI, oral (f receiving), Matt Murdock eats pussy like a champ, fingering, squirting (I feel filthy), emotional hurt/comfort, no use of y/n, no pronouns, reader has female body parts, 1st person pov (?)

a/n: As someone who quit their job in customer service for the exact same reasons I have stated in this fic, this is very personal to me and self-indulgent, again. I wrote this after a particularly bad day. Sometimes I wish Matt were real so he could actually do this to me.

There is nothing in all of existence that I loathe more than people. Why I chose to work in customer service in the first place has become more and more of a mystery to me. I could have quit after the first week, I should have, but whenever the thought crosses my mind, I tell myself: ‘It’s going to get better. You will get used to it.’ I did not, in fact, get used to it. Or, I did, I just started to hate myself even more. Every day I get home from an eight-hour shift, I’m tired, I’m exhausted and I feel the desperate need to throw myself off a cliff. 

There are days when it’s easier. The elderly couple who comes in every Sunday, for example, to drink their coffee and have a lengthy conversation over a piece of cake, never fails to make me smile. They’re always kind, and forthcoming and they tip, even though I know they don’t have the money to.

Or the woman who likes to pick up lunch for her husband, she always calls me sweetheart, and she’s never bothered if her order takes just a little too long. The regulars chat me up and I like it because it makes me feel less alone behind the counter, as life passes me by and I can’t help to stare at the clock every five minutes to calculate how many hours of the day are left. They make it easier to forget about the overtime I inevitably have to put in every night. They know I don’t eat enough or smile enough or drink enough, and so they make me smile because they’re good people. 

But some continuously want to tell me how to do my job, the one I’ve given blood and sweat for to master down to the smallest detail, and those who treat me like I’m responsible for their bad days and those who don’t care that I’m human, I just have to serve.

It’s so exhausting that some people don’t care about the workers behind the counter. I hate that my boss doesn’t seem to care either, that we don’t get paid enough, and that I’m expected to jump whenever they want me to. I got a life too, but that doesn’t matter because I’m cheap and they love to use those who never learned how to say no.

I physically can’t tell them I can’t work whenever I’m asked to pick up an extra shift, or when I’m sick or have to do anything else. It’s not even my main occupation and yet, here I am! Every day, I tell myself, I should just quit. It’s not my responsibility if they can’t treat their employees right. It’s not my responsibility they’re understaffed. I’m a student, I go to college, and I’m working hard on my degree - why should I prioritize my job over the thing that will determine the rest of my life? 

And yet, every day, I go back. I go back and I work until my feet hurt and I’m sick and I’m tired and all I want to do is just cry. I go back because I, for the life of me, can’t say no. I can’t quit. I want to, but I can’t, and it’s killing me inside that I can’t talk about it the way I want to. In the end, I will always feel like everything is my fault and that I messed up, even though all I did was show up to work and turn into everyone’s punching bag. 

My stupidity is what got me here. Usually, I would be home now, studying, but they asked me to pick up a late shift at the cafè again, and I worked for seven hours with only a fifteen-minute break in between - I look horrible, I smell of coffee and cake, and my body is hurting in all the wrong places. The weight is heavy in my stomach. I’m nauseous. I ate, but not enough. I’m hungry. I feel sick. Even the smallest sounds make me want to jump up the wall, kill someone, or perhaps even both. I’m angry, and I don’t even fucking know why because nothing happened. Other than a rather messy day with too much to do and too few people to do the work, the people weren’t even rude and I’ve had worse days - still, I feel everything at once and it’s ridiculous, really, because I’m an adult and I should know better than to let a rough day affect me. I don’t. 

When he called and asked if I wanted to come over, I said yes. I didn’t want to, but saying no? Not something I would do, especially not to him. I walked into his apartment with a lump already in my stomach. The door creaked - God, I told him to oil it - and that was the first strike. I tossed my key into the bowl and it promptly fell back out. Second strike. My coat slipped from the hanger the second I hung it up. Third strike. I breathed, I had to, then went to the kitchen to make some dinner. Cooking usually works, usually, but the day must have gotten to me because the fourth strike - the fucking milk being expired - happened way too soon and it hit me, hard. After that, I was pretty much done for, and I knew, I just chose to ignore it. 

Of course, I should have known I would screw up everything else, too.

“Hey, sweetheart,” his voice is kind and soft in my ear as he presses a kiss to my cheek. His stubble has never been something to bother me before until that very moment. I flinch away, not sure why. If he realized it - which I’m sure he did - he doesn’t show. 

“Smells good,” he says. 

I put the garlic into the pan. It smells too much like garlic and I hate it. 

“What you making?”

“Pasta,” I tell him. 

He kisses me again. “Mh-hm. How was your day?” the question is stupid, but it’s normal and he always asks. He gets himself a beer - only himself - removes the cap with his mouth and then leans against the counter. 

He shouldn’t infuriate me. He shouldn’t make me angry just by standing there and asking me questions couples ask themselves, but inevitably, he does. And I hate myself all the more for the way my voice sounds when I answer him. 

“Fine,” I say. 

“Fine?” he asks. “How was work?” I feel like he’s getting suspicious. “You only had two lectures today, right? English lit and what was the other one?”

“Linguistics.”

“Ah, yes. Your least favorite.”

Perhaps that’s why I’m angry. 

“You know,” he says and the tangent he goes on after revolves around him and only him, and while I don’t like talking about myself, that doesn’t mean he has to unload all of his stress on me - I don’t know why I think that way and it’s scaring me because I don’t actually feel that way, but at that moment I do and it’s all very confusing.

I just want to lock myself in his bedroom and cry. He looks so good with the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up. He’s wearing his glasses, still, but his tie is loosened and he smiles because he knows I love that smile. I should love it. I should love the way his muscles tense underneath his shirt or the way his dress pants hang impossibly low on his hips, but for the first time, I don’t. I don’t love anything, I just feel anger, which makes me hate everything, but mostly myself. 

I must have zoned out. Suddenly, he’s calling my name and he’s calling me sweetheart and he’s poking me with his hands - no, he’s stroking my hips, hugging me from behind, and it’s all too much. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I lie. He knows I’m lying. He can hear it in my heartbeat. He can feel it in the way I move away from him to rinse the now-empty pan in the sink. 

How is the food already finished?

“You didn’t listen to a word I just said,” he dares to sound offended. 

“No, I did.”

“Really, what did I say?”

“You and Foggy had a case, didn’t go well, bla bla bla. Same as every day.”

He sets the bottle down. “Alright, sweetheart, what’s wrong? I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“Oh, so just because I don’t care about hearing the same story repeat itself every day and you whining about it means there’s something wrong with me?”

He’s taken aback. Quite frankly, I’ve never snapped at him before, not like this, not out of nowhere, and we’ve been dating for over a year. With his super senses, there is little that eludes the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, especially when it comes to his girlfriend. I hate that it’s like this. I hate not having any privacy, even when I try to. But I don’t want to be alone, I don’t want privacy. Or, I think. I don’t even know what I want. I know I want to be around him, but at the same time, it hurts because the anger is too damn hot to swallow, and his concern doesn’t make it any better. It should be, but it’s not. I’m a lost cause. 

“I was just telling you about my day,” he says. I would yell back at myself if I were him, but he knows me. He knows yelling doesn’t help. He knows I’d cry, but maybe that’s what I want. Maybe I want him to yell just so I have a valid reason to cry, to be angry. 

I want him to hate me the way I hate myself. 

That’s why I can’t help it anymore. “Maybe I don’t want to hear about your day.”

“What?”

“The world doesn’t revolve around you, Matthew!”

He’s confused. I don’t blame him. The second the words left my mouth, I regret them. They make me sound like the most selfish person on the whole planet. I can’t take them back though. If I did, he’d know something is wrong and then he’d worry, he’d pity me and no, I don’t want that. I want to rile him up. I’m not sure why, but it makes me so angry that he’s so calm and I’m… well, I’m me, but I’m also not me. I’m a stranger in my own body. 

I put the pasta in a bowl. It stinks of alcohol and tomatoes and garlic, too much of it. I wonder how anyone could eat that. 

“Here,” I shove it into his hand, “You’ve been served. I’m gonna take a shower.”

I’m a bad person. I’m pretty sure I am. Who yells at their boyfriend because they can’t deal with their own problems? Who makes the person they love more than life itself feel like shit on purpose for no reason whatsoever? A sane person wouldn’t. We have never been a normal couple, Matthew and I, but we’re trying. Turns out, I suck much more than I thought I would.

It’s not the age gap, I’m sure of it. I’m in my last year as an English Major and he’s a defense attorney. Somehow, we make it work. He loves me, I know he does. He’s afraid of rejection - he thinks everyone he loves will leave him, which is why it took us a while to find together. I should have known my words were going to hurt him unimaginably. He thinks he did something wrong, but it’s not him. It’s never him. He’s damaged, but he’s nothing if not perfect to me, most of the time. 

I’m heavily crying at this point, trying to conceal my sobs, but it’s not working. The water is loud, not loud enough to fool Matt’s hearing, but even if he were to hear it, he knows better than to provoke me any further. He doesn’t know what’s going on and neither do I, so it’s just the two of us silently waiting for the other to come around. He shouldn’t have to feel that way. And so I cry more because God, I do not deserve that man. I don’t deserve his kindness or his love. I don’t. I really, really don’t. 

And once I’m out of the bathroom, I remember why I don’t deserve him. 

The table is set for two. Candles substitute for the harsh ceiling light. He knows it gives me headaches sometimes. He put a bowl out for me and a glass of wine. White wine. The sweet kind. The kind he hates but keeps around in case I ever need a glass. He’s drinking red wine. It’s cheap, but it looks expensive and he likes to feel special from time to time. 

I hug my arms around my body. He has his back turned to me, fixing a salad in the kitchen - I must have forgotten it. The way he moves is almost angelic. He moves as if nothing happened, as if I didn’t just treat him like a bitch. He’s singing my favorite song or humming it, anyway. The room smells of him and me and the food I loathed before, but watching him do all of this for me, even now, is sucking the air out of my lungs and suddenly, I don’t mind the thought of eating with him.

I only want one thing. I don’t want to ask for it and he’s not going to do anything unless I talk. We agreed on that from the beginning, no matter what kind of intimacy it involves. Without consent or a proper conversation, nothing will happen. And I curse myself for not being able to speak without the tears blocking my view again. 

“There’s a sweater on the couch,” he states. He knows I’m cold. “And some fuzzy socks, if you want.”

The clothes smell like him. 

“I put some more salt in the pasta. I think you forgot to salt the water, so I took it upon myself. I hope you don’t mind. Also, I tried to make your favorite salad dressing, but I’m not sure if I managed to get it right this time.”

He smiles and then his glasses are gone and he has an apron on and he looks like he loves me, really loves me, and that’s it. I pull my legs up to my chest, falling deep into the couch and I cry. All the pain just comes exploding out of me like an active volcano. 

The leather dents next to me. “Comfort or solution?” he asks. It’s so casual, I get the feeling he’s not mad at me. 

“I don’t know,” it sounds so broken.

His arm finds around my shoulder. “Is this okay?” I can only nod. Yes.

He moves me gently so I’m in his lap and he can rock me like a baby. It feels good to be loved like this, but it’s also suffocating. Still, I can’t help but fall deeper into his hold because this is, in fact, all I needed. Too stubborn to ask for it, I almost ruined something good. I know I did. He knows, too, but unlike me, he knows the difference between me being mad at him and being mad at the world. He knows I don’t mean what I say unless we’re fighting, and this isn’t it. We’re not fighting. I’m just angry and I want to cry, even while crying, and that makes me cry even more. 

“You want to talk about it?” he asks once I can finally breathe again. 

I blow my nose like a disgusting person and say, “Yes. No. I don’t know. Maybe.” And that about sums up all of my life. 

“Is it school?”

I shake my head. If it’s not school, it can only be one other thing. 

“Work?”

I nod. 

“Anything happen or just a bad day?”

“Bad day.”

“That’s why you yelled at me? I didn’t do anything wrong?”

“No,” I say truthfully for the first time. “I’m just angry. I don’t know, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Maybe next time try telling me though. I was actually scared I did something until I heard you cry in the shower.”

I don’t know what’s wrong with me and I tell him that, to which he only chuckles. 

“You know how many times I acted hostile towards you after a long day?” he says. “It happens. It’s okay.”

“I just… I’m so stressed all the time. I hate work and I hate people and I hate not getting paid enough or on time, but I can’t quit because you know, I’m me and they know that, so they take advantage of my inability to say no, and it sucks because I’m so tired of working more than I go to school, but I need the money, and so I can’t leave until I’ve found another job, but no one else wants me, so now I’m here, trying to see the good in this stupid job, but I don’t. I can’t. I hate it. I hate everything and everyone and I hate myself and I think I’ll get my period soon because this should not be upsetting me this much.”

His hand on my back manages to soothe me. 

“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it.

He smiles down at me, all loopy, and his sightless eyes are focused somewhere on my forehead, which makes everything so much better. 

“I love you.”

And yes, I love him too. I love him so fucking much, it hurts. 

“I love you too, Matty.”

As soon as I say his name, he knows what I want. He knows I need to destress. He knows I can’t eat until I can forget. 

“Is there something I can do?” he asks, but damn him, he already knows. 

“Can you…” no, I can’t ask him for that.

“Yes?”

“Matt, can…” No. “You know what, never mind.”

“No, sweetheart. Tell me. What do you need?”

“I just…” my chest heaves a frustrated groan. “IneedyoutoeatmeoutuntilIcantremembermyname.”

He enjoys it. He gets off on it, my desperation. “Sorry, what?”

“You heard me.”

“I don’t think I did. Can you repeat that?”

“God.” My face is burning. 

“I’m sorry, it’s just, this is the first time you actually asked me and I love hearing you ask for the things you want. It’s sexy.” 

Somehow, that’s even worse. My thighs clench like I’m some pathetic little schoolgirl with a crush on her teacher. 

“You know, maybe you can ask for a raise tomorrow, or quit altogether,” he says. “But for that to work, you have to tell me what you want right now.”

“I asked you to eat me out until I can’t remember my fucking name!”

“Thank you. Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

If there is one thing Matt Murdock is incredibly skilled with, it’s his mouth. And I don’t just mean the words that come out. Essentially, it’s all in his tongue. He’s managed to render me speechless on more than one occasion, and he knows. He knows I love when he touches me, but there are times when it has to be about me, and only me, and he’d gladly suffocate between my thighs. He’s told me that time and time again.

He keeps telling me to ask him if I want something. I never do. I hate asking for it because it’s embarrassing. It’s good that he knows what he’s doing, that bastard because if he didn’t, I wouldn’t be cumming and I wouldn’t tell him. Somehow he always gets the job done, no matter how stressed I am. 

That’s why I need it so badly. I need him to take care of me, no matter how long it takes. I know it might take a while because I’m tense and he knows too. He reads my body like an open book. That’s how he knows I’m horny before I even do. 

He doesn’t move for another minute. He just stares at me. “You want me to take care of you?” he asks.

“Please,” I beg. 

“Guess I’ll have dessert before dinner today then.”

He lifts my head and then he’s suddenly on top of me. He’s sliding me up the couch so he can fit in between my legs. I’m dressed in shorts, a t-shirt, and his sweater and for a second I wonder if it’s even worth it. I’m ovulating, I’m bloated. I feel like shit. My hormones are all messed up. I can feel the weight of my boobs tear on my back and I’m pretty sure the hairs on my legs prickle his cheek as he kisses them. It’s making me want to take back everything I asked of him. 

My confidence has taken a low blow this past week. 

Though Matt doesn’t care, he never does. He digs his nose between my thighs and takes the longest whiff I’ve seen him take in a while. To be fair, the last time we saw each other, he was busy with work. We didn’t have time for intimacy, which hardly ever happens. He moans. 

Smug bastard.

“You’re so beautiful,” he tells me. It melts my heart. The compliment means so much more knowing he can’t physically see me. To him, I’m beautiful. He couldn’t care less about what I looked like. Although sometimes I wonder what picture he has made up of me in his mind. 

His lips are on mine fast. I can’t help but sigh. They’re so soft. He doesn’t rush, he just kisses me and then kisses me some more. I tangle my hands in his hair. I’m sure, this is what heaven must be like.

“Let’s take this off.” His sweater joins my shorts on the floor. “May I?” He hooks his fingers underneath the waistband of my panties. “Or do you want me to keep them on?”

I have no doubt he could do it with five layers in between and still make me cum.

“Off,” I say. I want this. I have to remind myself that my insecurities mean nothing – he loves me. He wants to do this for me. He wants to do this because he likes it, or else he would say it. 

Matt is vocal, but I’m not. If he doesn’t want to do something, he’ll say. Can’t say the same about me, which is why he asks repeatedly, even after I already told him it’s okay. He wants to make sure I’m on board, that I don’t feel pressured and can pull out any time I want, but I don’t, because the second the cold air hits my bare cunt, all I want is him. 

I can feel his eyes searching for me. “Hey,” he says my name. “We’re not playing this time, okay? You can cum when you need to and how many times you want to. You just have to lay back and relax. I’ll take care of you.” 

He intertwines our fingers on either side of my spread thighs before he dives into me. It’s slow and steady. He doesn’t care about fucking me with his tongue like he usually does. He licks and bites, but mostly, his tongue and lips stay around my clit and they suck. They suck so good, I see stars behind my eyes. His touch sends shocks down my spine. My sensitive walls clench around thin air, but his head is so far between my thighs, I still manage to feel full. 

But no matter how hard I try, I can’t focus. It feels so good, way too good, and on any other day, I would’ve come by now. His beard burns into the inside of my thigh as I rock against him. I try to, but it’s exhausting. I can feel the coil in my lower belly clear as day, and yet it’s too far out of reach. I need it, I crave it. 

I can hear myself saying, “This could take a while.” And he laughs because he finds it funny. It’s not funny though, it’s serious. I hate the fact that he makes me feel so good and I can’t find it in myself to enjoy. 

“Close your eyes,” his breath fans hot against my folds. “And just stop thinking.” 

He makes it his mission to ruin me. I close my eyes and as soon as I do, he’s on me. It’s not just his mouth. One of our joined hands reaches up to touch my breast – he twists my nipple through the shirt until it’s hard and has his attention. The other reaches behind me and lifts my hips. The next thing I know, he has me propped up on a pillow. The muscles in my lower back relax. I sigh. It’s so good. 

He’s given up on slow and steady. His head moves in circles as he abuses – I don’t have another word for it – my clit and eats the rest of me like a man starved. I realize I need it fast and I need it hard. He knows it before I do. His tongue expertly parts my wet folds, a mix of arousal and spit trickling down my thighs, but I could care less. He’s inside of me and then his thumb is there and it’s rubbing and rubbing and rubbing and I’m so fucking close, the knot in my stomach feels like it weighs a hundred pounds, and it’s applying sweet, sweet pressure on cunt. 

“Fuck!” I throw my head back into the leather. My back arches impossibly high, and his head squished tightly between my thighs. I need him closer. His hair is so soft, it makes me want to cry, and I do. I cry, but not in a sad way. I cry out because yes, God yes! and then I’m cumming, suddenly and without warning, hard, all over his face, and it doesn’t stop. He doesn’t stop.

The growl is animalistic. It vibrates perfectly through my pussy and I can’t help it – it barely takes two minutes until his lips start hurting so good as they keep sucking my clit, a series of ‘one more’ leaves his lips in a plea, and I’m rocking against him hard. I’m begging him, “Matt,” but I’m not sure what for. 

“C’mon,” he says, “you can give me one more.”

He’s right. God, I hate when he’s right. My toes curl and I push his face so deep into me, I’m convinced he’s running out of air, but that’s what makes him moan and it sends me over the edge.

I’m pretty sure I passed out. The pleasure is so intense, my stomach feels like it’s being torn apart and then put back together. The world is dark and for the first time today, quiet. 

Something nudges my cheek softly. It’s his hand. Matt kisses me and I can taste myself on his lips. “Hey,” he coaxes me back into lucidity. “There you are. Are you okay?”

I nod.

“You need anything?”

It’s a reflex, reaching for him. He gasps slightly when my hand touches between his thighs, expecting to find a visible bulge, but there is none. I’m not sure if it’s my mind playing tricks on me, but there is a visible wet spot where his dick is supposed to be. 

“Did you-“ I finally open my eyes. He looks so drunk in the candlelight. I realize then that he is drunk on me. 

He buries his head in my neck. “You’re not the only one who’s been worked up all week,” he says. 

“You just- oh, my God.” I never thought it possible that it could be enough for him. “Thank you.” 

“No, thank you. You’re always so good to me. Good girl. But I think-“ his finger steals my breath as it circles my entrance and promptly slips it inside of me. “You can cum for me again.” 

I arch into him. My chest brushes against his. Our shirts suddenly feel like too much clothing and I’m desperate, so I tear at the buttons until they come apart. He has his arm back underneath me, holding me flush against him as if he’s afraid I might slip away. 

A wanton moan escapes me. “That’s it,” and his praise is even better. “Think you can take another one?”

He adds a second finger. It burns but only because even after a year, I’m still struggling to take any part of him. His fingers are thick and they’re rough and they’re scratching my inside walls just right. They massage the flesh. He’s pumping his fingers in and out and in and out, and he adds his thumb back on my clit because he knows I won’t be able to cum without it.

All of the stress falls off my shoulders. I feel him everywhere, his kisses, his touch, his hard nipples against mine. He’s hard again, poking against my thigh. I reach for him and he whines, he whines into my mouth. I’m not sure which one of us will come first. I suppose it’s me, it’s always me. He makes sure it will be me.

He hits as deep as he possibly could. His fingers curl inside of me and then, “There it is!” Is so victorious, it makes my eyes roll back. He keeps hitting that particular spot over and over again. My hand clutches his shoulder. I want to scream, but all that comes out is a series of whined and pathetic moans. I can’t help it, my muscles contract around him. 

“Damn, you’re gonna break my fingers,” he says. His chuckle is breathless. “You close?”

I hum.

“Do me a favor,” and I expect him to tell me anything but what he requests, “Don’t cum.” 

It’s rude. It’s cruel and it’s vile and I want to murder him because just as he says it, the coil tightens impossibly tight and I need to let go. It’s painful to hold it in, especially now. But I do as he tells me nonetheless. I want to please him. 

“Matt,” I moan. He’s so unfair and he knows it.

He smirks. “Just hold on a little longer.”

“I can’t!”

“Yes, you can. I know you can.”

“St- oh, fuck!” He hits my sweet spot with twice the intensity. I almost cum, but only almost. I keep it together, no matter how much it hurts, and it’s making tears prick at my eyes. “Please, just let me cum,” I hate begging him. “Please, Matty.”

“Shhh. We’re almost there.”

His thumb speeds up. I can see heaven. God is reaching his hand out for me. My stomach is in a tight knot, so tight, the silk might rip any second. The pressure is unreal. My muscles have been trained by him, I admit, but nothing can prepare you for this. Nothing can prepare you for the times when Matt has his mind set on something and he’s going to take it. He’s going to take you. 

I can’t think. It’s too much. I know I’m going to disappoint him. The animal inside of me is beyond satisfied and she wants out. She wants to let go. She loves the feeling of his fingers buried to the hilt inside of her. She loves him, and loving him tends to turn into sweet, sweet torture.

I moan his name again. His cock twitches underneath his dress pants, hot against my fingertips. 

“Almost,” he promises. “I just want to try something.”

What could he possibly want to-

“Cum.”

I’m flying. My back lifts off the couch and if it wasn’t for him, I would be dead by now. My body is shaking. It’s earth-shattering and it’s wet and it’s everywhere. I can feel the orgasm tearing me apart from the inside, blood rushing in my ears. My senses go black. I can’t see, feel or breathe. Everything is too much. It’s burning, it’s heavy, but it’s amazing.

His fingers don’t stop until he has milked the last drop of me until even the last ounce of stress has left my body and I’m limp. I’m a corpse. I’m barely breathing, a wet sack of potatoes in his arms. 

God, the look on his face. He’s cumming too. The wet patch on his pants has doubled. It’s not from me, although I’m suddenly very aware of the fact of what he just made me do.

“Oh.”

“Fuck,” he growls. “That was amazing.”

I never expected to have it in myself. “Oh, Jesus.” My words are highly blasphemous but I don’t care. I’m not even sure how to feel. The blush creeps up my cheeks and I close my legs a little. Everything is so wet. It’s all me and some of him, but mostly me. Just spurts of cum all over his hand and his couch.

He clicks his tongue, shoving my thighs apart. “Don’t go shy on me now,” he says.

“No, it’s embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing? Sweetheart, I’ve never felt more proud of myself.”

“I just- your couch. Oh, God.”

“I’m pretty sure the couch will survive it. Leather is easier to clean. How do you feel?”

I sigh, snuggling against his chest. “Better,” I have to admit. “Much, much better.”

“Good.” He kisses my neck. “Can I have my fingers back now?”

“No.” I like the feeling of him inside of me, even if it’s just his fingers. It makes me feel complete, almost. 

“Okay.” 

“Just gonna rest my eyes now.”

“You do that, sweetie. I’ll be here.” 

And he is. He always is. I wake up, and he’s there, and he always will be because he promised me this is forever. Us. Me and him. And I realize then that I’ve never been more in love with another person than I am in love with Matt Murdock.

[donniesgirlie]

I’ve reacntly just read your “kisses and kips” and I freaking loved it! But I was wondering what if reader reacted differently after the line “Y/n, I'm perfectly capable of determining what I do or don't need. Just go to bed, I'll be there soon.”

As someone who doesn’t really handle “getting in the way” of someone else’s business very well, is terrified if they are bothering someone, specially a special someone (like an s/o) I’d froze up after that line, even if his tone isn’t directly at reader per say, I know I’d probably closed off to the point of leaving and sleeping back to my place out of fear I’ve made Donnie upset and getting in his way. Do you mind making a scenario out off this reaction? If not, you can ignore this request

Thank you!

First request, LET'S GOOOO!!

Me too - I hate the thought of even potentially being a bother😭

Hope you enjoy!

Original

Kisses and Kips - Alternate Version: Donatello x F! Reader

.

"Donnieeeeee~" You pull at the side of the doorframe, swinging yourself in and out of the lab as you draw out his name.

He had told you he'd join you in bed an hour ago under the guise of "5 more minutes." You get why he is working so hard; you do. With the recent uptick of Foot Clan activity, he needed to get the truck up and running again as soon as possible, but goddamn it- you just want to cuddle your boyfriend. You don't think it's too big of an ask, especially considering he's been working on that damn gadget for days now with little to no breaks.

With a sigh and light shake of his head, Donnie sets down his soldering iron. "Yes, love?"

You can hear the edge to his voice, strained from disuse and tilted with frustration. He slips his glasses off to pinch between his eyes, exhaustion clear on his face.

"Come to bed?"

He slips his glasses back on and swivels back to his work. "I can't. I need to finish this."

You let go of the frame and walk over to him. "You've been up over 48 hours, you're clearly exhausted, and you need rest - even if just for a little bit."

"Y/n, I'm perfectly capable of determining what I do or don't need. Just go to bed, I'll be there soon." You know he's not upset with you, but his sharp tone makes your heart drop; you can feel your stomach turning sour and your mouth going dry.

"Oh." You swallow, feeling your eyes start to prick with the threat of tears. Your voice comes out in a whisper as you turn to leave the lab, "okay..."

You know it's stupid, that he's been frustrated with the truck, and you shouldn't take it personally, but logic doesn't quell the small voice in the back of your mind whispering that he's upset with you and that you're smothering him. You calmly walk back to his room, ready to hide your tears in your pillow.

-

It's hours later when Donatello decides to come to bed. The first rays of sun are surely starting to peak over New York's surface, but all he can think about is you.

He knows he was harsh; he knows that you didn't deserve the cutting tone when you were simply expressing your concern for his well-being. He has just been so frustrated with the truck - the nunchucks are sticking and he can't figure out why despite taking them apart three times now, and the grill won't properly shut after shooting manhole covers. Not to mention the various other upgrades that he's itching to start but can't until the main problems are fixed.

He refuses to use that as an excuse, though. You're not his verbal punching bag that he can toss attitude at whenever he's inconvenienced.

So, as much as he hates to wake you, he refuses to go to bed without apologizing.

His heart breaks when his sits on the edge of the bed and looks at your sleeping face. Dried tear tracks streak your face as you grip his pillow.

Reaching a hand out, Donnie gently shakes your shoulder. "Y/n... Honey, please wake up?"

After a few coaxes and prods, you finally stir - slightly curling into yourself before stretching back out. "Dee?" You mutter, eyes slowly blinking open. "What time is it?"

"It's still early," he replies easily, moving his hand to lightly trace his thumb along your cheekbone. "I just didn't want to sleep without telling you that I'm sorry. I was upset because one of the circuit boards was giving me trouble, but I shouldn't have snapped at you; I'm sorry, love..."

"It's okay," you say, scooting closer to drape your arm over his lap, lightly nuzzling your face into his side.

"It's not," Donatello pulls from your hold just long enough to properly lay next to you before pulling you back against his plastron. "You didn't deserve to be yelled at just because I was annoyed."

His hand splays out on your back, rubbing up and down it as he buries his face in your hair.

He feels the soft press of your lips to his collar before your muffled voice mumbles, "Well, I forgive you," against his skin.

[lunajay33]

Destiny Pt.6🐺 (Bonus)

Summary: Paul has just shifted to his new life as a wolf and feels empty without his imprint hoping he finds her soon, y/n just moved to forks to live with her dad and sister Bella and decides to go to the bone fire to make new friends

Part.5

•Masterlist•

It’s been a week since I moved in with Billy and Jake, and I’ve noticed I’ve gotten a bit better, I didn’t have to walk on eggshells and watch everything I do, plus Paul was able to come over all the time, I really loved Billy for allowing me to stay

Paul was laying in my bed as I was decorating the little room with the things I’ve brought over from my old room

I turned around and he was spread out just looking at me

“What?” I smiled as I jumped ontop of him

“You’re just beautiful” he laughed as he held my hips against his lap

“Stop that you know I don’t like all that attention” I said hiding my face in him chest

“Oh yes you do, I see the way you smile and blush after I say something like, how beautiful your eyes are, or the way you scream when you laugh, I know you love it when *I* compliment you” he poked as he rolled me over on the bed

“I suppose you may be right”

“See that’s my girl”

Those words went right to my heart, I can’t believe he’s all mine

“I love you Paul” I said softly as I placed my arms around his shoulders

He was quiet for a while but I could hear a growl or maybe some kind of purrr from his chest

“I’m sorry it’s too early I shouldn’t have…”

“No, I love you too, you’re my everything, my life” he took my hands and placed them against his chest

“You feel that?” The thrumming and warmth enveloping my hands

I nodded excitedly

“That’s my love for you, the love that will never die”

“Oh Paul how did I get so lucky” I said about to cry

For the rest of the evening we were wrapped around each other talking, sleeping, making out until Jake came barging in saying they had to go and patrol

“COME ON PAUL” Jake yelled from the front door

“You can come back here after patrol tonight that’s if you want!!” I smiled

“I’ll definitely see you tonight baby but don’t wait up for me, but I gotta go, love ya” he said running out with the boys all waiting there for him

“LOVE YOU”

~~~~~~~~~~

I stayed up as long as I could before I had to go to sleep exhausted, I pulled on my matching pajama shirt and shorts and tucked myself in

Hours later I heard the front door creaking open and a bunch of rustling around, too tired to get up I just waited till I felt Paul lift the blankets and pull me against his chest

Feeling his worth lul me to sleep

“Night baby” he whispered as I fully feel into the best sleep of my life

~~~~~

The next morning I woke up to the sun shinning in my face, I groaned roling over to be facing Paul

The sun was highlighting all his stunning features, his brown hair, his tan skin

I ran my fingers through his hair as he started to wake up

“Morning my love” I smiled

“How was your sleep with your personal heater?” He laughed

“Good except for the part where someone snores loudly in my ear”

“Hey I was exhausted from patrol give me a break”

“Okay fine just this time” then the phone rang

I ran to the phone wanting to let Jake and Billy rest longer

“Hello Black residence”

“Y/n is that you?”

“Bella? Why are you calling” I said nervous as I felt Paul come behind me and wrap his arms around my waist

“Look im sorry for what i said, we want you back”

“Bella you can’t keep using me as your punching bag when you have problems, I deserve to be happy too, and I’m happy here” I said leaning in closer to Paul

“But Charlie talks about you all the time, you could atleast visit him” she said getting angry

“Well I can call him myself and work it out, I gotta go now” I said hanging up

“You okay?”

“Ya I just can’t get a break with her”

“How about I take you to the woods for the day and show you a good time” he smirked

“I’d love that”

~~~~~~~~

[xzaddyzanakinx]

Part two thoughts on an ani x bpd reader? Like, when things get that bad, does either of them wake the fuck up and realize things need to change? Remorse or guilt? The reader leaving? Ani leaving or falling into a self loathing hole, doing bad stuff again and again whether to himself or reader) and not taking care of himself?

It’s interesting to read some of your takes on BPD relationships, because I obviously have no idea what that’s like, but you do. You can make it seem very addicting, but also very terrifying and unhealthy, depending on which way the pendulum swings (I hope you take that as a compliment. Tone is hard through text. Lol. 😅).

I personally do not believe abuse is justified in any situation, whether you have a disorder or not. There’s lots of ways to deal with feelings without taking it out on someone else. On the other hand, I know some BPD’s have described feeling horrified with themselves after an episode like that, and so I’ve never really known just how much ‘control’ someone has in that moment. Either way, I still believe it’s the person’s responsibility to find a way to deal with it. Nobody deserves to be miserable around them just because they can’t handle something.

Anyway, I kind of went off on a rant. Apologies. Lol. My main request was for a part two of Ani x BPD reader! ❤️��✨

Not offended at all bby.

I think after I’m done with stalker!ani I’ll write a fic on this. Just cause so many people have asked about it.

100% BPD X BPD would be a terrible pairing. Coming from me as a bpd gal.

Now, personally, I’ve never physically abused anyone during an episode. But I HAVE done lots of property damage and I also broke my hand when I used a concrete wall as a punching bag. I split a wooden bat at the tip from whacking a fence once.

When it gets that bad, I don’t really remember what I said or did. I just feel really jittery, almost like an extreme caffeine high you know? (Imagine old cartoon character drinking coffee and their whole body vibrates, eyeballs and all)

But if it doesn’t get to that point, which it rarely does now that I’m medicated correctly and have a good support system, I IMMEDIATELY feel regret. Like horrible sorrow. Bpd means big feelings and when I feel regret, which isn’t often, it feels like I’m grieving a death that I’m to blame for.

For the smaller, more snappy or short outbursts:

My mouth works faster than the logical part of my brain that tells me not to say something mean.

Sometimes I catch myself in the middle of saying something awful and then I just have to finish it because the damage is done and I may as well spit it out. Then I’ll lock myself in the bathroom for an hour until I’ve hyped myself up enough to apologize, then I’ll go back to the bathroom until the big feelings from my apology die down. I’ll be quiet, basically selectively mute for the rest of the day and be super irritable.

It’s exhausting. But it’s even more exhausting to have to continually remind myself not to spew the first thing that pops into my head or not to chuck the bag of shredded cheese at the wall because I can’t get the ziploc to open.

It’s so stupid that something so small as getting my hairbrush stuck on a knot in my hair could set me off into a teeth gritting, foot stomp and shriek. Like wtf? That’s embarrassing. But it happens before I can even think about what I’m doing.

The best way I can describe it is: I’m a bratty toddler when it comes to emotional regulation.

But you’re so right tho, your illness doesn’t give you an excuse to be an ass. It just proves the person doesn’t want to put in the work to get better if they use it as a justifying reason.

BPD might cause my reactions, but I’m in charge of my actual actions. Sometimes it takes a long time for them to recognize that though. I’m an adult now, I’m medicated, I’ve spent my fair share of days in the loony bin. Looking back at my teenage self? It’s horrific and sad. For me and everyone around me back then.

[s-henanigans-h]

moments in the DNPG mug cakes that punched 13 year old me in the face (plus random moments I liked) PART 1

hand on shoulder - oH MY gOsh thEy'RE toUcHinG core (0:08)

hey can someone translate this morse code?? (0:43)

2 tail jokes in less than one minute?? damn okay

wait y'all, we fully saw the fox mask and still managed to be surprised when it was revealed (1:09)

THE REAL HORROR…

shut up. oh the gay mug that has the meme of “they loved each other so much they have bags of each other” and then the fact that that’s the mug dan uses for such a simple reason (SM’s mug) and phil’s just says “oregon” 

oh I’m constantly overwhelmed by how comfortable they seem on camera these days I’m so proud of them (I fear I have a parasocial relationship)

the fact that they can just be gay now. ughhhhh like the amount of years they spent changing pronouns in stories - folks who have been in the closet know how exhausting it is and they did it for years because that’s what dan needed - and now they can just make silly little gay jokes and it’s so gorgeous and free (2:11)

horny jail bonk

hearing dan howell say “trans people” saved me (2:45)

I love when they tell little stories that remind us of the fact that they spend the entirety of their lives together and it’s not even veiled anymore bc they’re ON TOUR together and their lives are so intertwined I will cry (2:57)

oh I’m so intrigued by the reality of tour life as a crew member

(3:50) daniel what are you talking about? who told you this was true???

can you imagine if phil called dan a “salty bitch” in 2016? the waves that’d send among the phandom (4:12)

this is getting much lengthier than anticipated so here’s part one. all of this is said with the utmost respect and love for them and the fandom, rb to add your own if you want. 

[mayabooowrites]

Witness||J.P

James comes home to find a letter from his Ex

Based on this song:

I entered my apartment after a long day at work. I sighed as the place had felt empty since she had moved out, but I didn't want her to know that.

Walking into my living room, I felt exhausted after a long day at work. I set my work bag on the coffee table, where an unopened letter caught my eye. I picked it up, confused to see that it was from Y/n, my ex-girlfriend. My heart dropped as I wondered what could be inside the letter. The envelope felt heavy in my hand, and I hesitated to open it, unsure what emotions it might bring up.

Dear James,

I am writing to let you know my thoughts before leaving the country, as I may not return. I want to start fresh and leave everything behind.

While cleaning my room yesterday, I stumbled upon the 23rd birthday card you gave me, now stained with coffee. It made me smile as I reminisced about that night, but I know it's a memory of the past that I'll always cherish.

I was told that you kissed someone to get it out of your system. It's great to see you becoming more open and finding happiness again, but I would rather not be a part of it. Every time you're around me, you say another shot at me, and it's holding me back from moving forward.

Please feel free to do what you need to get over me. But I won't be your witness.

It deeply hurts me to see you constantly hurting me and taking cheap shots at me whenever I'm around. The pain you inflict on my heart is unbearable, and I would never treat you the way you treat me.

I know you like to feel seen, but I can't give you what you need. Our relationship has ended, and for us to move forward, I need to establish some space between us. I mean, I'll be relocating to France. I don't know how much distance I can put between us once I'm gone.

Feel free to go ahead and kiss my friends; go ahead and kiss Lily again because I understand that it's just another attempt to provoke me. But honestly, I genuinely want you to do whatever it takes to move on from me. Your happiness doesn't cause me any pain; it brings me joy. Even if I know you only kissed her to spite me, it's alright.

But please don't write back, I don't want to know how you been, I'll find it out from them.

I get it; you're looking for a reaction. You want me to feel jealous, but James, it's not good for us to play that game. Trying to make each other jealous is just not healthy.

I'll be long gone by the time you finish reading this. Since our breakup, you've acted like a total jerk, so I got a job in France. I will start in 3 days. Sirius and Lily helped me pack up everything, and while writing this, I just finished; after I drop this letter to you, I'm off to France, sipping wine while looking at the Eifel Tower in my new apartment by now.

As I won't be your witness James. I wish I had more to say but I don't

Goodbye

Y/n

Her words packed a punch, replaying my actions and her disappointed expression. She's absolutely right. I treated her terribly, and now I can't even say sorry.

She's gone probably forever. And I can't even tell her I'm sorry.

All I felt was regret. Tears stream down my face as I think of Y/n in France falling in love with someone a thousand times better than me.

And in that moment, I wanted to be her witness.

[barbex]

Happy Friday! Prompting: "laying awake at night, wishing your lover was next to you" for whoever you feel like writing ✨

Thank you for this prompt for @dadrunkwriting. It didn't quite work out but someone lies awake and they could become lovers, right? Fenris x Anders, of course.

---

Fenris can't sleep. It's ridiculous, he is exhausted, he should be dead asleep after that three day trip at the Wounded Coast. Three days in blistering heat, sharing the tent with the mage. Three nights of laying next to him on thin mats, naked, because it was just too hot to cover themselves. Three nights he slept, instantly. And now, in his home, he can't sleep. 

He turns from one side to the next, kicking the blanket off, only to draw it back up. Nearly dislocating his jaw from yawning, he presses his face into the pillow and squeezes his eyes shut, but sleep just doesn't want to come. He punches the mattress, glaring at the thin streak of light from the window the never bothered him before. 

But then he hears another noise, his front door creaking as it opens. He is on his feet immediately, grabs his sword and storms out, only to stop at the top of the stairs. Down in the hall, determinately stomping towards the stairs with a bag and a blanket over his arm, is Anders. He lost his hairband, his hair sticking out in all directions, a threadbare shirt barely covering his upper body. When he is halfway up the stairs, Fenris realizes that he still holds his sword and lowers it.

"What are you doing here, mage?"

"Can't sleep," Anders grumbles, walking past Fenris into his bedroom. His bag falls to the floor and the bed creaks when he lies down on it, on his stomach, with his face pressed into the spare pillow. 

"Why are you here?" Fenris leans his sword against the wall and stares at the half naked mage in his bed. 

Anders looks at him from under his arm. His hair shines like silver in the moonlight.  "Can't sleep."

"Why does that fact put you into my bed?"

"I slept well next to you."

"But that is —"

"Oh, get off it. Don't tell me you slept. Get in the bed, maybe we can both finally sleep then." Anders pulls his blanket up to his back.

Fenris stares for a few moments longer, and then shrugs and climbs into his bed. Next to him, Anders sighs and soon, his breath evens out. Fenris wants to turn to him and look at his face, but his eyes feel too heavy. It's soothing, to listen to Anders breathing.

Sunlight lights up the room when he wakes. He slept through the night, a rare treat. Next to a mage. Fenris looks at the shock of blond hair on the pillow next to him. This mage.

As if he feels Fenris watching him, Anders blinks, his eyes still hazy from sleep. He looks at Fenris with a dumb smile. "Morning, beautiful," he says and curls back into the pillow.

"What did you say?"

Anders lifts his head, blinking until his eyes are clear as he looks at Fenris. "Good morning."

"No, what did you call me?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Sitting up, Ander wipes his hair back and looks around. "It worked, didn't it? We could both sleep." 

Fenris turns on his back to stare at the patchy ceiling. "I certainly did not ask for this."

"Relax, I'm sure we'll get used to sleeping alone again soon." Anders disappears in the adjacent bathroom and when he comes back out, he still only wears his thin shirt, but his hair is drawn back into a tail and he looks fresh and awake. 

Anders is going to leave, and he knows, with startling clarity, that he doesn't want him to go. "Maybe I do not want that."

"What?"

"Sleeping alone."

With a confused frown, Anders steps closer. "Well you could ask Isabela, or Hawke... I mean, I'm probably not who you had in mind..."

Before Anders can slip away, Fenris grabs his hand and pulls him back. "That's where you are wrong." 

"But... you want me to stay?" The way Anders stares at him in total disbelief, stings.

"Why is that so unbelievable?" His hand hovers near Anders' face, he doesn't know how it got there but he has to brush over the stubble on his cheek and feel how different his hair feels.

"Because... you barely tolerate me on a good day." Anders holds himself very still.

Fenris drops his hand. "I apologize."

"You don't have to apologize," Anders says. "Just... I could do with a little more explanation."

Whatever Fenris feels, he does not have the words to describe it. "It feels... it feels right to have you here."

Anders watches him for a long time. Then he leans forward, brushing through Fenris' hair. "Does this feel right?"

A shudder runs through him. It has been so long that anybody touched him like this. "Yes."

Leaning closer, Anders slides his arms around Fenris' shoulders, pulling him closer. "And this?"

A gasp escapes him. It's too much and not enough at the same time. "Yes."

"Lie down?" 

Fenris lies back down, and Anders lies down next to him, behind his back. He slips one arm under Fenris' neck, and wraps the other around his waist, holding him. "Maybe we could sleep some more."

"Yes, maybe." Fenris leans against Anders, soaking in the touch, the closeness, the safety, until he cannot take it anymore. With a moan, he turns in Anders' arms and kisses him. 

Anders kisses him back, carefully. "Fenris," he whispers against his lips. "Are you sure this feels right?"

"Yes, I am sure." Nothing else has ever felt so right.

"Good." Anders kisses along Fenris' jaw. "Because it feels right for me too." 

[aetherceuse]

So.

It's been a few weeks since I announced taking a step back from Lusamine's blog, and, I think I'm at a point where I can put my struggles into words.

Before I get into my issue, I'm politely asking that this post is read and digested. In the past, whenever I post about something that I am struggling with in terms of roleplay and community interaction, my post has been used as a springboard for the dash to turn into "vent hour." That isn't what I want. I'm genuinely asking for people to read this, to digest it, and respect the fact that I am having a major issue with writing this character, which has been preventing me from actually being active-- and it is rooted in how the muse, and her information, has been treated.

I'm not tagging this as drama, because it is not drama. This isn't pointed at any individuals, because frankly, it's an issue I have had with writing villains my entire life, and it's only been amplified on Lusamine's blog in particular.

For starters: Lusamine is a beloved muse of mine. She is one of my favorites to sit down, dissect, and write about. It's important for people to understand that all of my canon muses are retellings in a way, but with Lusamine, that's ESPECIALLY important to understand. This Lusamine is not canon, she is a retelling, with her own backstory and world-relevant lore that is very important for people to read, grasp, and understand before proceeding forward with interactions.

However, it doesn't seem as though people really-- respect that, or even bother to read the bio and headcanons that I've written on her. I can tell, because a lot of the interactions I get are people reacting to canon events that haven't happened in my retelling. Mother Beast, for example, hasn't happened, and I've stated that multiple times over and over, yet that seems to be falling on deaf ears.

I really need my writing partners to actually read my content, and understand what I'm doing. I don't write headcanon posts and bios just because I wanna take up space on Tumblr dot com. I write them because they're a crucial part of what I'm doing.

And honestly-- that's not even the biggest issue I've had.

It is EXHAUSTING to open my ask box on a daily basis, and deal with asks sent in just calling her: bitch, cunt, 'Lusa-mean', 'Lusa-bitch', whatever. I don't think you guys understand how mentally taxing, and depressing that is for me. I get it. I'm writing the villain. Lusamine hasn't done great things. But I feel as though people are forgetting that there is an actual, human person sitting behind the inbox, who is writing a character that he loves-- and instead of getting thoughtful engagement, it's a barrage of "bitch." I've had to block people for doing this (IF you are reading this post on the dashboard, that means you're not guilty of doing this.).

But, this extends to the dashboard too. I feel as though I cannot write or do anything without someone dash comming or being automatically aggressive the moment Lusamine even so much as opens her mouth.

It's really, really not fun to be minding my business, and receive asks, IM's, or dash comms of this nature-- especially when I'm trying to write a complex character. I pour my heart and soul into what I write. And it's really sad that I have all of this stuff that people could be reading, interacting with, and reacting too-- and instead people just focus on all of the potential trauma that Lusamine could subject them to. It's not fun. At all. It really makes me feel like shit. I don't want to be used as the target of someone's parental trauma. Just because I am writing a villain, does not mean I am consenting to be nothing but an angst punching bag. I want to write stories, not just receive one-liners and zingers and "AH HAH, GOTCHAS!" in my ask box.

Frankly, I do not have nearly this much of a problem on any of my other antagonist blogs. Even though I'm still subject of whump at many times, it's not nearly as bad anywhere else, as it is on Lusamine's blog. It's really discouraging, and it makes me feel like I'm writing something that people don't really have any care or interest for. I get that my writing can be a little strange and off putting. I know that I dig into uncomfortable topics. It's not for everybody, but, I've never been the type of person to try and appeal to the greater audience. I'm very niche.

We talk about communication in this community a lot. We talk about wanting to interact. We talk about feeling as though engagement is down. And while I sit here and write this, I'm reflecting on that ongoing issue. I really feel as though we can improve the health of peoples' experience in this RPC if we-- y'know-- actually sat down, read what our partners are writing-- and ask questions/engage with it.

I don't know when I'll return to Lusamine's blog. I'm not deleting it obviously, I've put a lot of hard work into her character. But, until I feel as though there's a genuine interest in reading what I have going on, and engaging with it fairly, I'm going to keep my focus on Proton-- because, honestly, I feel really insecure on this account. At least over on Proton, it seems as though people are reading my glitch lore, respecting my muse/worldbuilding, and interacting with it. And it means the world to me. I hope to have that here one day too.

[skateordiebitch]

PHOTOSYNTHESIS || EUPHORIA AU

CHAPTER II. New Year’s

this is a series, so make sure to read part one first!

summary: elliot and indigo realize they must become friends to work together. he asks her to stay late to help him clean, but indigo fears that giovanni will become suspicious. oh yeah... and then there's that new year’s eve party she invited him to.

word count: 5.2k

enjoy!

II. New Year’s

"Hey, Janae is coming over today at 12:00, so I need Grandma to see that our place is put together," Andre says as Indigo awakens out of bed, "I don't need her trying start shit with us."

Janae is Indigo and Andre's three-year-old sister. But, has lived with their Grandma every since their mother's passing.

"How's she doing?" Indigo tiredly asks, "She barely lets me talk to her after rehab."

Her eyes had that certain droopiness to them, that she was exhausted and hasn't slept in days.

When Indigo was in the peaking stage of her depression, she wore that same look for weeks and he noticed—

"Hey, have you been sleeping?" He asks her as he shrugs, "Why do you care?"

"Because you look like you haven't eaten or slept or done anything good for you in days," The boy says, in reference to the malnourished, sunken eye-bag look that she was rocking.

"My sleep schedule's been shitty, whatever. It's just work. You look like shit too, but you don't hear me saying it to your face," Indigo snaps back as Andre raises his brows.

"Okay, damn. Well, I'll admit, I'm not in the greatest place, either. We're twins, maybe we're both just fucking depressed."

"Maybe," She chuckles, getting up and accidentally revealing the multiple bruises on the side of her stomach.

Andre squints his eyes, "Indigo, what the fuck?"

"What?" The girl reluctantly asks, acting as if nothing was wrong. She puts her sweatshirt back on, but he refuses to let it go—

"Where did you get those bruises?"

Indigo plays it off casually, "Drunk me had a little too much fun."

"Those look like someone fucking hit you, did you get into a fight? Did Gio do this to you?!" Her brother accuses, setting her off, "Absolutely not! Don't fucking accuse people for shit like that."

She immediately gets up and removes herself from the room.

"No, stop! I'm not dealing with this shit, come back here!" Andre exclaims, chasing the girl down the hallway.

"Good! It's not your shit to deal with, anyways!" Indigo yells back, locking herself in the bathroom.

Andre stops in front of the door, "Indigo, this is the exact shit that my ex accused me of. You know that I would never accuse someone else, unless I had a bad feeling. Please, don't try to avoid this."

Another beat of silence surrounds their home.

"Those bruises looked like you got sucker punched in the stomach," He tries again.

This time she opens the door, "Andre, I am going to ask you nicely to leave it alone. Please, drop it. This is my situation, true or not, to deal with. Let's clean the house, and focus on spending time with our little sister.”

He doesn’t exactly know how to respond.

“I'm 22-years-old, I can take care of myself,” She adds, opening the door.

Knowing that he couldn't do much more after that, he nods his head-- "You'd let me know if you were in trouble, right?"

Indigo slowly nods back, "Yeah, Dre. I would. I know you'd be there for me, too."

The silence is broken by a knock at their door;

"Come on. She's here."

They opened the door to find their Grandma standing there with the energetic three-year-old, who immediately wrapped her tiny arms around Indigo's legs.

"Hey, sweet girl," Indigo whispered, forcing a smile as she bent down to pick her up, "How's my favorite person doing?"

The toddler giggles, giving Indigo a big hug, "I missed you!" She exclaims.

"Alright, I'll be back to get her later tonight," their Grandma said, her eyes darting between Indigo and Andre, "Don't keep her up too late."

Indigo barely managed to nod before the woman disappeared, leaving Janae in her arms.

She set Janae down, watching as she ran into the living room where Andre was waiting. He lifted her onto his lap, making her laugh.

"You wanna watch a movie?" Indigo suggests, plopping down on the couch as the little girl runs into her lap.

In moments like this, Indigo almost believed that one day she could be a responsible mother and be able to give them a life she never had growing up.

-

The soft hum of fluorescent lights overhead and the quiet shuffling of mall workers signaled the end of another long shift at PhotoWorld.

Indigo moved methodically through the tiny studio, straightening the counter, wiping down surfaces, and mentally counting the minutes until she could slip out of the building and head home.

It was a routine that had become familiar, even comforting, in its predictability. 

Her life had been ruled by schedules, caution, and avoidance for as long as she could remember—anything to keep her head down and avoid stirring up trouble.

Especially trouble like Giovanni.

She was just about to hang up her vest and call it a night when Elliot’s voice broke the quiet, startling her out of her thoughts.

“Hey, you,” he said, leaning casually against the doorframe that separated the main room from the back storage area.

His smile was warm, a little tired after the long day, but genuine, “Could you stay a bit later tonight? I need help replacing the backdrops, and I can’t do it alone.”

Indigo hesitated, her fingers tightening around the seams of her vest. She knew she should say no. Staying late wasn’t part of the plan.

Giovanni could see her location; Knowing when she usually arrives home, and anything outside of that strict schedule was grounds for suspicion.

He had been especially on edge lately, monitoring her comings and goings more closely, and the thought of what he might do if he found out she was spending extra time with Elliot made her stomach clench.

But then, she looked at Elliot—really looked at him.

His eyes were kind, his posture relaxed but somehow inviting. His fingers ran through his bleached curls as he leaned there, eager for her response.

It was just a simple request, a small favor, but the idea of staying a little longer, of spending more time with him in this tiny bubble of normalcy, pulled at her.

Here, in the fading light of the mall, she could almost pretend that she was just a regular 22-year-old girl, that her life wasn’t consumed by fear and control.

“Just for a little while?” she asked, her voice softer than she’d intended.

Elliot nodded, his smile growing.

“Yeah, just for a little while. I promise I’ll make it quick.”

She bit her lip, considering. Giovanni wouldn’t know, not if she made up a quick excuse about Andrea running late.

And the thought of spending more time with Elliot— was too tempting to resist.

“Okay,” she said, nodding, a small but genuine smile forming on her lips. “I can stay.”

Elliot’s face lit up in response, and the warmth in his eyes made her heart flutter, “Great! I swear, I won’t keep ‘ya too long.”

They moved to the back storage room, where stacks of old photo backdrops—faded landscapes, tacky seasonal scenes, and peeling abstract designs—were crammed into every available corner.

Elliot began pulling out the ones they needed to replace, and Indigo helped, the two of them falling into an easy rhythm.

The work was simple but tedious, and the silence between them was comfortable, broken only by the occasional joke or comment about the absurdity of some of the old backdrops.

At one point, Elliot pulled out a particularly hideous backdrop featuring an exaggerated cartoon beach scene—complete with an oversized sun wearing sunglasses and a grinning palm tree.

He held it up with a mock-serious expression.

“Think we should keep this one?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Indigo laughed—a real, unguarded laugh that bubbled up from somewhere deep inside her. She hadn’t laughed like that in what felt like years.

“I think that one should have been burned a long time ago,” she said, shaking her head. “Who thought that was a good idea?”

Elliot chuckled, tossing the backdrop aside. “Some visionary, obviously. We should go wherever this is.”

“The beach?” Indigo giggles, “I can’t swim.”

“So? I’ll teach you.”

As they continued working, Indigo felt herself relax more and more. 

The tension that usually coiled tight in her chest seemed to loosen, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed herself to simply enjoy someone else’s company without the constant fear of retribution hanging over her.

Elliot was charming in his own quiet, and quite odd way—funny, thoughtful, and kind without ever being overbearing.

He asked about her life, but he never pressed too hard, sensing her reluctance to share too much.

At one point, as they worked side by side, Elliot glanced over at her, his expression softening.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever said what you’re really into. Like, outside of work. What do you do when you’re not here?”

Indigo hesitated, caught off guard by the question.

She wasn’t used to people asking about her life, especially not in a way that felt so genuine, like he actually cared about her answer.

For so long, her life had been defined by survival— by taking care of others, avoiding conflict, and making sure Giovanni didn’t have any reason to suspect her of anything.

There hadn’t been room for hobbies or passions, not really.

But there had been a time, once, when she had dreams. Before everything had spiraled out of control, before Giovanni, there had been art.

“I used to paint,” she said quietly, her eyes fixed on the backdrop in her hand, “A long time ago.”

“Paint?” Elliot’s interest was clear in his voice. “That’s amazing. Do you still do it?”

Indigo shook her head, feeling a pang of sadness as she thought about the canvases and paints she had long since abandoned.

“No, not really. Life got… complicated, really fast," She glanced up at him, offering a small, apologetic smile, “It’s just hard to find time for things like that anymore.”

Elliot’s expression softened, and he nodded, understanding without pressing. “That’s a shame. I bet you’re really good.”

She shrugged, a little embarrassed by the compliment. “I was okay. It was just a hobby.”

“A hobby you should get back into,” Elliot said with a grin, “I mean, who knows? You could be the next big thing. People would pay a fortune for an Indigo original.”

Indigo laughed again, though this time there was a trace of wistfulness in it. “Well, I don’t know about that.”

Elliot set down the backdrop he was holding and leaned against one of the shelves, his gaze thoughtful as he watched her.

“You ever think about going back to it? Or… I don’t know, going to college or something?”

Indigo’s breath caught in her throat. College. It was something she hadn’t allowed herself to think about in years.

There had been a time, back when she was younger, when she had dreamed of going to art school, of making a career out of her passion.

But that dream had been buried long ago, crushed under the weight of responsibilities and fear.

“I used to,” she admitted softly. “But… it feels impossible now. There’s too much going on.”

Elliot didn’t say anything for a moment, but his expression was serious, thoughtful, “I mean, it’s not impossible,” he said after a pause, “It might be hard, but it’s definitely not impossible. You could do it.”

Indigo shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her. “I wouldn’t even know where to start. And I have my siblings; Janae and Andre to think about. It’s not just me anymore.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you have to give up on your dreams,” Elliot said gently. “I know it’s tough, but you deserve to have something for yourself too.”

Indigo’s heart twisted at his words.

No one had ever said anything like that to her before, not even her brother.

Giovanni had made her feel like her dreams, her wants, were nothing more than distractions from her real responsibilities.

But here was Elliot, telling her that it was okay to want something for herself. That it was okay to dream again.

For the first time in a long time, Indigo felt a flicker of hope—a small, fragile thing, but it was there.

The idea of happiness, of a future that didn’t revolve around fear and control, seemed distant but not entirely out of reach.

They continued talking as they worked, the conversation flowing easily between them.

Indigo found herself sharing more than she had intended—

And Elliot listened intently, never interrupting or judging, just letting her talk.

"So, how long have you been working here?" Indigo asked, leaning casually against the counter, her eyes flicking over to Elliot.

Elliot paused mid-clean, thinking for a moment before he smirked.

"Three years, six days."

Indigo chuckled, amused by the precise answer. "You keeping track in your head or something?"

"Nah," he said, shrugging. "Photographic memory. I remember everything. One of my special talents."

"Oh yeah?" Indigo tilted her head, testing the waters a little. "What other special talents do you have?"

Elliot stopped wiping down the spare cameras and locked them back into the cabinet. With a quick hop, he perched himself next to her on the counter, giving her a playful look.

"Well, babygirl," he said smoothly, eyebrows raising in a teasing arch, "I've got plenty of special talents."

Indigo raised a brow, intrigued.

"Really? Like what?"

He grinned, a low chuckle escaping him. "Like making people fall for me with my undeniable charm," he teased, though Indigo wasn't entirely sure if he was joking, "Plus, I'm decent at making music... and, well, I take some pretty solid photos here."

She smiled, sensing his cocky, but amusable laid-back energy, "Ah, I see. So, basically, you're a whore?"

Elliot barked out a laugh, "No, no, no. See, it's not my fault I'm... me," he replied, tone still laced with that self-assured playfulness. "But, for the record, I've only been in like, two relationships."

"Must be nice," Indigo muttered, more to herself than to him.

"Eh, relationships get complicated," Elliot said, glancing at her, "I'd rather be free, you know? Do my whatever I want."

"Do whoever you want, you mean?" she quipped, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Yeah, basically. I mean, are you happy in your relationship?"

Indigo's stomach twisted slightly. She shrugged, her expression hard to read, "It's not really a relationship. But, yeah, I'm... happy."

Elliot wasn't convinced. He watched her for a moment before pressing a little more, "But he fucked up, right? Something bad happened when you were together."

His words weren't a question—they were a statement, one that hit too close to home.

Indigo's gaze shifted, avoiding his eyes, "Yeah," she admitted quietly, then quickly tried to brush it off, "But I love him. So, I'm trying to be the bigger person, patch things up."

Elliot didn't say anything for a beat, waiting for her to go on. When she didn't, he pressed gently. "Well, what happened?"

"It doesn't matter," Indigo said quickly, deflecting as she often did when the subject of Giovanni came up.

She wasn't ready to dive into that mess, at least not tonight. Instead, she leaned on her usual tactic—changing the topic.

"Are you coming to the party tonight or what?"

Elliot smirked, his mood lightening instantly.

“You want me to come?"

Indigo shrugged, playing it cool. "I mean... I don't not want you to."

-

As the hours passed, Indigo realized something that startled her: she was happy.

For the first time in what felt like years, she was truly, undeniably happy. It was a quiet kind of happiness, the kind that settled in your chest and made everything feel lighter.

She wasn’t looking over her shoulder, wasn’t constantly on edge, wasn’t waiting for the next bad thing to happen.

She was just here, with Elliot, enjoying the moment.

When they finally finished replacing the backdrops, the mall had long since emptied out, and the only sounds were the faint hum of the ventilation system and the occasional distant footsteps of a security guard making his rounds.

Indigo glanced at the clock and realized with a start that it was well past closing. She should have left hours ago.

Panic flared in her chest, the reality of her situation crashing back down on her. 

Giovanni would be wondering where she was.

She fumbled for her phone, dreading what she might find—a missed call, an angry text, something to remind her that this brief moment of peace was nothing more than an illusion.

But when she unlocked her phone, there were no messages. No missed calls. No angry demands for an explanation.

Relief washed over her, and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“You okay?” Elliot asked, his voice soft.

Indigo nodded, though her heart was still racing. “Yeah. I just… I should probably get going.”

Elliot’s expression shifted, a trace of disappointment flickering in his eyes, but he didn’t push, “Of course. Thanks for staying late to help out.”

Indigo smiled, feeling a strange mixture of regret and gratitude. “Thanks for… everything.”

As she gathered her things and made her way toward the exit, Elliot walked with her, their footsteps echoing in the empty mall.

When they reached the door, he paused, turning to look at her with a serious expression.

“Indigo,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “If you ever need anything—if you ever need to talk, or just get away for a bit—you know you can count on me, right?”

Her throat tightened, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure if she could speak. But then she nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “I know.”

They stood there for a moment, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them.

Indigo knew that something was changing, that the walls she had built around herself were beginning to crack. And for the first time, she wasn’t afraid of what might happen next.

She was hopeful.

As the weeks passed, Indigo found herself drawn to Elliot more and more.

Their time together became the highlight of her day, a bright spot in the otherwise bleak landscape of her life. They developed a routine—sneaking in quick lunches in the mall, meeting after their shifts to talk, or even just sitting in comfortable silence as they shared a cup of coffee in the break room.

It was all done in secret, of course.

Giovanni couldn’t know—Of course, he couldn’t.

But the more time she spent with Elliot, the more Indigo began to imagine a life without the constant fear of retribution, without Giovanni’s shadow looming over her every move.

Elliot never pushed her, never demanded more than she was willing to give.

He seemed to understand the delicate balance she was trying to maintain, and he was patient—always patient, always kind.

And slowly, little by little, Indigo allowed herself to believe in something she hadn’t dared to hope for in a long time: the possibility of happiness.

“Will I see you later tonight?” Indigo presses again.

“If you’re there, I’m there.”

And the possibility of finding the strength to move on.

-

The air was cold and crisp, biting at Indigo's skin as she stepped out of the car.

The sun had dipped below the horizon hours ago, leaving the sky a deep, inky blue, dotted with stars that twinkled faintly through the city's glow.

She pulled her jacket tighter around her, her breath clouding in the night air as she made her way toward Daniel's house.

New Year's Eve. 

The end of one chapter, the beginning of another.

It was supposed to feel like something magical, something full of promise and hope.

But Indigo couldn't shake the unease that had settled deep in her stomach all day.

Maybe it was the weight of everything she was carrying—the lies, the fear, the exhaustion from pretending everything was fine.

Or maybe it was the way Giovanni had snapped at her yesterday, his voice cutting through the air like a knife as he accused her of being distant from him.

He wasn't wrong, but it wasn't like she could tell him the truth.

How could she admit that she felt suffocated by him, that every touch felt like a trap, every word another brick in the wall he'd built around her life?

"Indigo!"

Monet's voice cut through her thoughts, and Indigo looked up to see her best friend waving at her from the front steps of Daniel's house.

Monet was already half inside, her face glowing with excitement, a bottle of tequila in her hand.

She was in full party mode, ready to leave behind the chaos of the past year and embrace whatever came next with open arms.

Indigo envied her for that—for being able to let go so easily.

Indigo forced a smile and made her way over to Monet, who was practically bouncing on her heels.

"Bitch, we’ve been waiting forever for you!" Monet grinned, wrapping an arm around Indigo's shoulders as she led her inside, "I thought for sure Gio would pull some last-minute control freak move and keep you at home."

Indigo winced at the mention of his name but quickly masked it with another smile. "Nope. He's coming, but he gets off later."

Monet narrowed her eyes slightly but didn't push.

She knew how Giovanni was. She had seen the bruises on Indigo's arms, the way her mood shifted whenever his name came up, but she also knew better than to ask too many questions when Indigo wasn't ready to talk.

"Come on," Monet said, tugging her toward the living room. "Everyone's already here. Let's get you a drink and start this night right."

-

The party was in full swing by the time they made their way into the living room. Music pumped through the speakers, loud and bass-heavy, vibrating through the walls and floor.

People crowded the space, laughing, talking, dancing—everyone seemed lost in the freedom of the night, eager to leave behind the past year and start fresh.

Monet handed Indigo a drink, her eyes scanning the room for familiar faces.

“So, have you seen Elliot yet?" she asked, a sly smile playing on her lips.

Indigo's heart skipped a beat at the mention of his name, and she shook her head, pretending to be more interested in her drink than she actually was.

"I think he's around somewhere," Monet continued, her tone teasing, "You know, it's New Year's. Perfect time for new beginnings, if you ask me. Maybe tonight's the night you finally make a move on that fine piece of a man."

Indigo shot her a look. "Oh geez, what are you talking about?"

"Oh, come on," Monet said, rolling her eyes. "I hear what you tell me. You guys were just casually working late together today? Get a room. There's something there, and you know it."

Indigo's cheeks flushed, but she quickly downed a gulp of her drink, hoping the alcohol would dull the nerves suddenly buzzing under her skin, "Monet, you've had too much to drink, I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't," Monet smirked, nudging her playfully.

"Look, I'm just saying... if you want to start the new year right, maybe you should go after what you want. Life's too short to keep waiting around."

Indigo didn't respond, but Monet's words stuck with her, swirling around in her mind as she glanced around the room, searching for any sign of Elliot.

It wasn't like she hadn't thought about it—about him.

Their stolen moments at work, the way his smile made her heart race, the way his eyes lingered on her just a second too long sometimes.

But it was complicated.

Giovanni was still a huge part of her life, whether she liked it or not, and she couldn't risk everything just because she was starting to fall for someone else.

Could she?

-

It wasn't long before Indigo spotted him. Elliot was leaning against the wall near the kitchen, a beer in hand, talking to Daniel.

His eyes scanned the crowd absently, and for a second, Indigo felt her breath catch in her throat.

He looked good—too good, like he had just stepped out of one of her late-night fantasies.

His blonde hair was tousled in that perfectly messy way, and he was wearing a jacket that fit him just right, showing off his broad shoulders.

She tried to ignore the flutter in her chest as she watched him from across the room.

She shouldn't be thinking about him like this, not when everything in her relationship was so tangled and dangerous.

But something about the way he looked at her—like he saw her, really saw her—made it impossible to pull away.

Monet nudged her again, her voice low and conspiratorial, "He's looking over hereeee," she dragged, watching the girl's face heat up.

Indigo's heart pounded in her ears as she turned slightly, just in time to catch Elliot's gaze.

Their eyes met for a brief, intense moment before he gave her that half-smile that always made her feel like the ground was shifting beneath her feet.

Before she could think twice, Elliot pushed off the wall and started making his way toward her, weaving through the crowd with that easy, confident stride of his.

Indigo's pulse quickened, her drink suddenly feeling too heavy in her hand.

"Hey," he said, his voice low and warm as he came to stand next to her.

"You made it."

"Yeah," Elliot smiled at her voice being a little breathless. "Wouldn't miss it."

Indigo chuckled softly, her eyes never leaving his. "Good."

Eyes still locked, she realizes she had chugged her entire drink.

“Thirsty?” Elliot laughed, stepping closer to her.

“Not really.”

“Do I make you nervous or something?”

There was something in the way he said it, something that made her feel like they were the only two people in the room.

“Maybe.”

The noise of the party faded into the background, the music and laughter becoming a distant hum.

All she could focus on was him—his presence, the warmth of his body so close to hers, the way his eyes seemed to pull her in.

"Are you having fun?" Elliot asked, leaning in slightly so she could hear him better over the music.

Indigo nodded, though the truth was she wasn't sure if fun was the right word. She was too on edge, too aware of everything happening around her—of Monet's watchful eyes, of the secret she was keeping from everyone, of the way Giovanni still held so much power over her, even when he wasn't there.

But with Elliot, things felt different. Lighter. Like maybe, for once, she could let herself relax, even if it was just for a moment.

"I am now," she said softly, surprising herself with the honesty in her voice.

Elliot's eyes darkened slightly, something unreadable passing between them.

He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, Monet reappeared, her timing impeccable as always.

"Hey, lovebirds," she teased, grinning as she handed Indigo a fresh drink. "Come dance with me!"

Indigo laughed, shaking her head. "I'm not a dancer."

Monet pouted dramatically. "Come on! It's New Year's! Stop being a freak in the corner. You have to dance!"

Before Indigo could protest further, Monet grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the makeshift dance floor in the center of the living room.

Elliot followed, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he watched the two of them.

The music shifted to something upbeat and infectious, and soon the three of them were caught up in the rhythm, laughing and moving together as the party swirled around them.

Indigo found herself lost in the moment, the alcohol buzzing pleasantly in her veins, the warmth of Monet's arm around her waist grounding her in the present.

Elliot danced close to her, their bodies brushing against each other in the crowded space.

His hands found her hips at one point, guiding her gently as they moved in sync with the music. Indigo's heart raced, her skin tingling where he touched her.

She could feel the heat of his body, the way his fingers tightened slightly against her waist, like he was fighting the urge to pull her closer.

Time seemed to blur together as the night wore on, the hours slipping away in a haze of music, laughter, and stolen glances.

Indigo found herself leaning into Elliot more and more, her inhibitions fading with each drink. It was dangerous—she knew that—but for once, she didn't care.

She wanted this. She wanted him.

At some point, Monet wandered off to mingle with the rest of the party, leaving Indigo and Elliot alone near the edge of the dance floor. The crowd had thinned slightly, the music shifting to something slower, more intimate.

Elliot leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear. "Wanna get out of here for a minute?"

Indigo's heart skipped a beat, but she nodded, her voice catching in her throat. "Yeah."

The music pulsed through the walls of Daniel's house, vibrating against Indigo's skin as Elliot guided her down the narrow hallway, his hand firmly wrapped around hers.

Her pulse raced, and the weight of the night felt heavier with every step.

She knew what she was doing. It wasn't just some innocent escape anymore.

The tension between her and Elliot had grown, becoming something undeniable, something she couldn't walk away from.

But the risk—oh God, the risk.

Her mind flashed briefly to Giovanni, wondering if he had any inkling of the truth.

They reached the end of the hallway, slipping into the dimly lit bathroom. The muffled sound of the party dulled behind the closed door, leaving just the two of them in the small, intimate space.

Elliot leaned against the sink, his dark eyes never leaving hers. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the air thick with the unspoken tension that had been simmering between them.

Indigo's heart pounded in her chest. She was already thinking about what this meant, what she was doing.

Her thoughts spiraled between the excitement of being with Elliot and the terror of what Giovanni would do if he found out.

Elliot moved closer, his fingers brushing against her arm, sending a shiver through her.

"Indigo, I can’t seem to keep my eyes off you," His voice was soft, cautious, “You sure you want this?”

There was something more to his question. A deeper meaning. He wanted to know if she was okay with this, if she was okay with them.

Her breath caught as she met his gaze, her body torn between desire and fear.

She was sure, at least in this moment.

It was the only time in recent memory where she felt like she could breathe without someone else watching her every move.

"I'm sure," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the rapid beating of her heart, “I’m really sure.”

Without another word, Elliot pulled her closer, their bodies pressed together in the cramped bathroom.

His lips found hers, gentle at first, then more urgent as the weight of everything they had been holding back the entire night exploded between them.

The kiss was hungry, desperate, like they both knew this moment was fleeting, like they both knew that what they were doing would have consequences.

But for now, they didn't care.

Indigo felt her hands slipping up to his chest, gripping his shirt as if holding on to him would anchor her in the storm of emotions swirling inside.

His hands roamed up her sides, his touch sending electric sparks down her spine. She leaned into him, wanting more, needing the escape he offered.

The heat between them built quickly, the tension that had been simmering for weeks now spilling over. Elliot's hands moved up her back, pressing her closer, deepening the kiss.

Indigo melted into him, the fear momentarily eclipsed by the warmth of his touch.

His hands toy at the hem of her shirt, itching to get it off of her, needing to feel her bare flesh against his hands—

But the moment was cut short by a loud, angry voice from down the hall, booming over the sound of the music.

A voice that sent a cold wave of fear crashing over Indigo.

"Indigo! Where the fuck are you?"

Giovanni.

Her blood froze. Elliot's body went rigid against hers, his eyes widening as they both stood still, listening as Giovanni's voice grew louder, closer.

"Indigo!" Giovanni's voice was dripping with fury, and the sound of his footsteps thudded heavily against the hardwood floor, growing nearer with every second.

Indigo's heart slammed against her chest as panic flooded her system.

She pulled away from Elliot, her breathing quick and shallow.

"Shit," she whispered, her eyes wide as she stared at the door. "He's here."

Elliot's expression darkened, his jaw clenching. "Why is he screaming?" he asked, his voice low but laced with concern.

"He's always scream—"

Before she could answer, the door to the bathroom rattled violently, followed by a sharp pounding. Giovanni's voice was right outside now.

"Indigo, I know you're in there! Open the damn door!"

Indigo's heart raced as she glanced at Elliot, panic coursing through her veins, "I have to—"

"Don't," Elliot whispered, his hand reaching out to stop her, "You don't have to go out there. We can be quiet. Let him think you're gone."

“Elliot—”

"I need you."

[howlingday]

If you're feeling up for it I Have a Suggestion for the Tragic Backstory™ Au:

Jaune, Exhausted with all the antics of people trying to marry him, or disrupting his families lives, even Nora with her dumb Betting Pool, makes an announcement, finally using the Rumors to his advantage in a way that definitely won't backfire:

His Queen has been fortold; She is one Who's Bones are as tough as steel, Lightning Coursing through her veins as blood, Hair as full and Bright as a Harvest moon, and ... uh ... She Flies like a Comet. A green Comet. Yeah. Nobody like that on Remmnant!

Huh? Penny's Coming to Visit?

I Am Coming Ready!

Jaune: (Takes a deep breath) Okay. Let's do this.

Pyrrha: You're not hyperventilating this time. All those breathing exercises are finally kicking in, huh?

Jaune: I guess. Thanks again for teaching me some tricks to deal with this public speech stuff.

Pyrrha: Of course, Jaune. But, are you sure about this? I mean, you're going to be addressing a lot of people today?

Jaune: I know, but... I have to. This lie has going on for far too long, and I have to tell people the truth.

Ren: She's right, though. At least three of the five Kingdoms will be watching you with keen interest.

Jaune: Three?

Ren: (Nods) Vale, Atlas, and Mistral. There will be hundreds, perhaps even thousands watching your every move, studying, plotting against you to strike at your moment of weakness.

Jaune: ...Did someone bring a brown paper bag?

Nora: I did! (Holds up bag) It's got brownies in it~!

Jaune: ...Can I have one?

Nora: Mmmmmmmmm, no.

Jaune: Can I at least have the bag?

Nora: Mmmmmmmmm-

Ren: It's time, Jaune.

Jaune: But-! But-! My bag!

Nora: Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm-

---------------------------------------------------

Winter: Here's your report on the repairs, General, sir.

Ironwood: Thank you, Schnee. Leave it on my desk.

Winter: How's the press conference?

Ironwood: It's starting. Look at him, stepping out with such stiff motions. Are we certain he has no bionics?

Winter: There's nothing in Atlas records that confirms this, sir. It could be he's just nervous.

Ironwood: This man took on Adam Taurus, a ruthless leader of an international terrorist cell, and killed a Grimm Dragon that's sliced up one of our battleships. There's no way this man is scared of all five Kingdoms watching him.

Winter: ...Wyvern, sir.

Ironwood: Huh?

Winter: The official reports are calling a "Wyvern," sir.

Ironwood: It's a giant scaly monster with wings and probably breathes fire.

Winter: Still called a "Wyvern," sir.

Ironwood: ...It seems we are at an impasse. Perhaps we should call Penny?

Winter: Unfortunately, sir, Penny isn't here.

Ironwood: Ah, that's right. She took leave. Where did she go?

Winter: She left this morning from the bullhead station, sir.

Ironwood: What bullhead did she leave on?

Winter: She didn't, sir.

---------------------------------------------------

Theodore: BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! That was a good one!

Xanthe: Headmaster, please, I'm begging you. Students are staring. I'm pretty sure he can hear you in Vale.

Theodore: It's funny, though, Rumpole! This kid comes outta nowhere, gets called a king, kills a dragon with a horse and spear, and now he's saying he's not a king to all these people!

Xanthe: It's not that funny.

Theodore: It's hilarious! Oh, I wanna fight him real bad! I've never punched a king before!

Xanthe: Sir, that'll cause an international incident.

Theodore: ...

Xanthe: You'll go to jail.

Theodore: ...

Xanthe: You won't be allowed to fight anymore.

Theodore: ...What about dueling? Would dueling be out of the question?

Xanthe: (Sighs)

---------------------------------------------------

Jaune: No. No. That's not- Look, whatever beef Adam Taurus and I had was over that night we fought, okay?

Reporter: Beef! Ha! That's going in the paper!

Jaune: No! No! It's not like that!

---------------------------------------------------

Lil Miss: (Via scroll) You havin' fun out there, girls?.

Melanie: Yes, Mom.

Lil Miss: Good. I'd hate to pay Roman another visit because he still can't take care of you.

Miltia: He's nothing, Mom.

Lil Miss: Nothin but trouble, you mean.

Roman: (Sighs)

Lil Miss: By the way, girls, just makin sure, but you know about that king nonsense goin on, right?.

Melanie: Yes, Mom.

Lil Miss: You girls stay away from all of that business, you hear me?.

Miltia: Aw, but he's so cute!

Lil Miss: And almost half your age, but that's not the point. The point is that boy king is nothin but trouble. Somethin bad is gonna happen to him, I just know it.

Roman: Yeah? And what do you know?

Lil Miss: Oh, you should know that by now, Roman. I know what I know, and I don't give hand-outs.

---------------------------------------------------

Sienna: More tea?

Kali: No, thank you. (Sips tea) He's doing well, isn't he?

Ghira: They're eating him alive out there.

Sienna: Not even you were this bad in your first public speech, Ghira.

Kali: Really? What was he like?

Sienna: An absolute mess. I actually threw a tomato at him, and he started sniveling!

Ghira: I knew that was you in the crowd!

Sienna: He was going on about "managing our resources" and "not letting what we've gained go to waste"! I felt the mood called for ironic comedy.

Kali: Hahaha! That's so cute!

Ghira: You're both the worst. (Sniffs, Inhales) Promised myself I wouldn't cry.

---------------------------------------------------

Jaune: No! No! I am not "seducing" anyone for a "progeny"! What the hell are you-?!

Jaune: Okay, you wanna know who I'm dating right now, since you're all so into these fairy tales?! Well, if it'll get you people to leave me and my family alone, then I'll tell you!

Jaune: My "queen" is a woman with bones as hard as iron- No, as steel! With a heart that pumps lightning through her veins! And her hair is a red and foreboding as a Blood Moon! And she has eyes that shine with a light that gleams and glimmers with lover's light! Oh, but here's the kicker! She flies! Yeah, that's right, she soars through the air, faster than any comet or shooting star in the sky! In a ball of green fi-

SHOOOOOOO-BOOM!

Jaune: (Coughs, Waves hand) What the...?

Lisa: Get a camera on him!

Cyril: Yes, ma'am!

Jaune: Wait... PENNY?!

Penny: (Blows dust away, Strikes a pose, Smiling, Pink eyes) I am here for my beloved!

Jaune: Ah... Crap-baskets...

[azuramarigold]

Wishes to Tell

Originally posted on my ko-fi - a short story blab.

FANDOM: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: Nobara Kugisaki x Toge Inumaki

SFW. Mild violence. Mild cussing/cursing.

Cursed Energy gif by: https://ko-fi.com/setermd/shop

Dividers by: https://www.tumblr.com/saradika-graphics?source=share

SUMMARY: Nobara Kugisaki happens to be stubborn about a few things, but there is one person at Jujutsu High School that pays attention and makes sure she gets the care she needs, even though she doesn't realize it herself. It's the little things that shows that someone does care, even if they don't speak a lot.

Toge Inumaki for the most part hates in Clan Curse Technique of "Curse Speech". He had to develop his own set of safe words to use in order not to hurt people on accident. The one person he really wants to speak with and spend time with has a difficult time understanding his safe words, but that doesn't mean he still doesn't do things to show that he still cares.

It was another day of training at Tokyo Jujutsu High School, the sun blaring down something extra fierce.

            Nobara was starting to really regret not buying a thinner track suit for training, or just wearing shorts and a tank top. She was sweating like crazy, the small hairs from her bangs sticking to her forehead like concrete. Her orange eyes were half lidded as she huffed and puffed, clearly exhausted from the heat.

            “Nobara, you alright?” Maki’s voice asked worriedly. “Don’t pass out on me now.”

            “Pass out?” Nobara scoffed with a smirk. “As if! I still have plenty of fuel left!”

            Of course, this was a lie. She was completely exhausted. Her eyes were fluttering. She was hot.

            “Tuna Tuna,” Inumaki’s voice then said, him pressing a cold bottle of water to her.

            “Huh…?” Nobara murmured. “Oh, I’m good, Inumaki-Senpai, I have my water by my bag.”

            Inumaki’s violet eyes narrowed in concern. “Mustard Leaf,” he then said, thrusting the water to her. He had his own bottle of water in his hands and gestured between his and the one he forced on her. With a small hand motion, he mimicked opening the bottle and pointed at hers.

            “I’m not thirsty,” she argued stubbornly.

            Inumaki pinched the corners of his eyes and sighed, “Fish Flakes…”

            Nobara finally rolled her eyes. “Fine, Inumaki-Senpai, if I drink the water will you stop being weirder than usual?” she nearly snapped.

            “Salmon.”

            “Ugh…” Nobara then opened her water and took a sip. Then she realized just how thirsty she was and downed the whole bottle in one swig. “Oh… wow. I guess I was thirsty.”

            “Salmon,” Inumaki nodded happily. He then gave a small wave and walked away.

            Maki gave a frown. “HEY! YOU DIDN’T GIVE ME A WATER!” she screamed at him.

            “BONITO FLAKES!” Inumaki shouted in terror as Maki made a tear at him.

            Nobara tilted her head to the side, confused. Why wouldn’t he bring water for Maki as well…? She decided not to overthink it.

🌹🌹🌹

“Ah, shit… I tore my skirt again...!”

            Nobara, Itadori, and Fushiguro just got back from a basic First Year mission. It was an easy Curse to deal with. Fushiguro went at it with his shikigami as usual and Itadori went in with his punches. Nobara, being more of a distance fighter, stayed further back, pounding her nails imbued with her Cursed Energy and doing her Straw Doll technique to deal damage when needed.

            Occasionally, though, a Curse gets up on her physically. She Is not as physically strong as Itadori or Fushiguro, or nearly as fast as the former, so her ranged attacks become harder to use. Nobara would try her best to slam a nail into the enemy head on, but sometimes it just wasn’t enough.

            Luckily, all she got this time was a torn skirt. Itadori managed to punch the Curse away from her with one Divergent Fist while Fushiguro’s Divine Dog: Totality finished it off swiftly. It was missions like these that made Nobara realize that she needed better combat skills.

            Nobara sat in the courtyard of the school in casual clothing, a nice pleated purple and white checkered skirt, white penny loafers with white tights, and a light purple blouse, as she tried to repair her school uniform. 

            “Now I wish I paid more attention to my grandma when she was trying to teach me to sew…” the teen grumbled. “OW!” she shouted, once again stabbing herself with the needle.

            “Kelp,” Inumaki greeted with a held-up hand. He was also wearing casual clothing; a short-sleeved white jacket with its high collar to cover his mouth, the bottom of his black t-shirt poking out from the jacket, and he was wearing white shorts.

            “Hi, Inumaki-Senpai,” Nobara greeted back glumly.

            The second year raised a brow as he saw what she was working on. “Mustard Leaf…?” he asked.

            From what Nobara gathered, “Mustard Leaf” seemed to be a phrase he used when he was concerned over something.

            “It’s nothing, I just tore my skirt while on a mission,” she assured him with a small smile.

            Inumaki cleared his throat. He then gestured to the skirt and the small sewing kit next to her. When she looked at him confusedly, he began making a basic sewing motion and pointed at himself.

            “You… know how to sew?” she clarified.

            “Salmon!” he agreed. Even with the jacket covering his mouth, his eyes told it all: he was smiling.

            “I can use the help…” she admitted. “I don’t know how really…”

            Inumaki sat next to her and gingerly took the needle and thread from her grasp. “Salmon Roe…” he almost chided. He then showed her how to properly thread the needle and showed her how the one single piece of thread she had tied to the needle was now almost doubled and tied off at the end, the needle moving freely. “Tuna Tuna…!” He showed her the needle and thread.

            “Oh… that’s how you thread it…” she said sheepishly.

            A nod. Inumaki then turned the skirt inside out and found where the tear was. He attentively began to sew the tear together, closing it effortlessly. Once done, he inverted it back and held it toward Nobara.

            “Wow…! I don’t even see it!” she smiled happily. “Thank you, Inumaki-Senpai!”

            “Salmon, Salmon,” the young man affirmed. 

            “Hey, since we’re already in casual clothes, wanna go grab something to eat in town…?” Nobara offered with a smile.

            A blush flushed up Inumaki’s cheeks. “Sa… Salmon…” he then said.

            “I’m guessing that’s a yes!” Nobara then stated. She stood up quickly and threw her skirt into her side pack before grabbing Inumaki’s hand. “Let’s go…! I know a cute little café that has that best drinks and cakes!”

            “Tuna Mayo…?”

            “Um… if you don’t like cakes… they have dessert onigiri…?” she then offered.

            A genuine laugh escaped Inumaki. “Salmon Roe… Salmon Roe…” It was almost as if he couldn’t believe she said that. 

🌹🌹🌹

A month later, Nobara was pouting on the stairs inside the school, her head balanced on her hand as it was on her knee.

            “Mustard Leaf…?” Inumaki then asked.

            He has some uncanny timing coming to me when I have an issue.

            “Oh, hey, Inumaki-Senpai,” Nobara greeted with a subtle wave.

            Inumaki narrowed his eyes in concern, something Nobara came to notice as his way of saying “What’s wrong?”

            “Oh, I was in town today,” she began with a heavy sigh. “I won’t sugarcoat it, I saw a cute guy and tried to flirt with him… he told me that he rather date a man than a brute looking girl like me. Like, who says that!?” Her voice had wavered at the end, her lips quivering. She didn’t realize it affected her that much.

            “Assholes do,” Inumaki said abruptly.

            It came as such a surprise to them both that they just stared at each other in shock. As they stared at each other, a blush went across both of their faces.

            “I think… that’s the first time I’ve heard you speak that wasn’t your technique or rice ball ingredients,” Nobara teased with a smirk.

            “Salmon…” Inumaki then agreed, back to his safe words.

            “It was… nice,” she then admitted. “It would be nice if you talked a bit more outside your rice ball ingredients.”

            “Can’t,” was the singular word he said as he shook his head.

            “Are you worried people will get hurt?” Nobara asked curiously.

            “People have,” he affirmed. “And… I don’t… want my friends…” He then paused as he didn’t want to say something to cause the Curse Speech to activate.

            Nobara then nodded. “Okay, I get it… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed it,” she apologized sincerely. “You’re just being considerate… unlike that asshole in town today… could’ve just said he wasn’t interested or something…” She then gave him a small huff, although not truly directed at him, as she got up and gave him a small wave. “See ya around, Inumaki-Senpai.”

            Inumaki returned the wave, feeling a sense of guilt in his chest. He wished he could speak to her properly. There were many things that he wished he could say to her.

            Like how her eyes sparkled when she found something she enjoyed, whether it was a new piece of clothing she bought, or she was enjoying a new flavor of bubble tea she discovered at a hole-in-the wall shop. Or how even though she thought of herself as weak, she was very strong, never backing down from a fight no matter the odds; it took every fiber of his being not to find a way to get a description of the guy that called Nobara a “brute” so he could really show off how dangerous his Cursed Speech was.

            Inumaki just had to show how he cared subtly, like just being there to listen, or giving her water when he noticed she was dehydrated. When they were at the dessert shop a month prior, he sat contently, listening to Nobara ramble about the mission she was on, or how she couldn’t wait to get her compensation from said mission so she could get a new dress for the upcoming autumn season.

🌹🌹🌹

He doesn’t go into town often on his own unless it’s for a mission, but he did this time as he knew Nobara was going into town alone.

            Toge wasn’t a fan of her going by herself as he knew she had a knack for getting herself into trouble. If she was with Itadori or Fushiguro, that was a different story, at least those two could cause Curses or other potential threats to back off. But here Nobara was, dawdling around with her bag twirling around her, a perfect target for anyone to try and snatch.

            It wasn’t that she didn’t know how to take care of herself in a fight, Toge knew that. Nobara always had her hammer and nails on hand, and even without her traditional Straw Doll, she knew how to craft one how of various materials within a pinch. The girl could throw a punch, if necessary, as well – Itadori could attest to that.

            So, Toge followed from a distance, staying in the crowd, grunting apologies if he bumped into someone.

            When Nobara stopped in front of a window looking at a new dress collection for the season, a young man scoffed at her that was walking by.

            “Oi, I didn’t know brutes like you knew how to shop for dresses!” the young man sneered.

            Nobara immediately snapped into attention and gave the man a glare. “Hey, what do you want?” she boredly asked. “You already said what you wanted to say a couple of weeks ago, so leave me alone.”

            The guy laughed to another friend that was next to him, “This is that chick that tried to flirt with me before,” he explained, not bothering to hide laughter. “Told ya she was practically a gorilla!”

            Nobara narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms, her black ballet flats tapping on the concrete. “Well, this gorilla is gonna kick your ass in a minute if you don’t leave me the hell alone,” she threatened.

            “Hey, just trying to have a good time,” he chided lightly. “I bet even brute girls like you wanna have a good time, right?”

            “Excuse me?” Nobara hissed in offense. “Are you trying to imply something here?” She began to reach for her side and out came her hammer.

            The young man howled in laughter, “Oh, wow! What are you gonna do? Build me house like its that stupid battle royale game?” He then grabbed her arm that held her hammer, her wincing in pain with a yelp.

            Toge had enough from listening from a distance once he saw the grab, especially after what the guy had insinuated with Nobara. He quickly pushed his way between two people, them grumbling at how rude he was, as he made his way to her.

            “Kelp,” Toge greeted casually to Nobara, a hand raised.

            Nobara whirled her head to him in surprise. “In-Inumaki-Senpai…!?” she gasped. “Wh-What are you doing here…!?”

            All Toge did in response was unzip the collar of his jacket, revealing his “Snake and Fangs” seal on his tongue and cheeks. 

            “The hell…?” the asshole young man grunted. “What kind of freakshow is this?”

            “Go away,” Toge said to the young man’s friend that was just idling. 

            Without a second thought, a blank look overtaken the friend’s face, and he turned to his left and began walking away. The asshole raged, his face turning red.

            “Hey, where do you think you’re going!? GET BACK HERE!” he screamed.

            Toge gave a smirk as he looked at the young man’s left arm, which was still gripping Nobara’s arm. “Let go.” He ordered.

            The young man immediately let go. “HUH!? WHAT THE!?” he shouted.

            “Get twisted.”

            The arm twisted counterclockwise with a snap, the bones piercing through the skin and blood splattered out.

            “AUUUGHHHH! WHAT THE FU-!”

            “Tuna Mayo!” Toge then quickly said to Nobara as he grabbed her hand and sprinted away from the scene, dragging her along as he screeched in surprise.

            Toge dragged her a few blocks before they stopped, catching their breath. “Caviar…” he gasped for breath.

            “Inumaki-Senpai, I could’ve handled it…” Nobara then huffed, trying to catch her breath.

            “I… know…” Toge replied. “I didn’t like… that he grabbed you…”

            Nobara’s face flushed. “Huh…? Were you… watching me…?” she asked him shyly.

            “Salmon…”

            Nobara looked stunned for a moment, then she started laughing. “At least you don’t think I’m a brute, right?” she asked him.

            “Never,” Toge told her with a smile. “Bonito Flakes to the max.” 

            Another laugh escapes her. “Well… thank you,” she thanked him. “I mean that, Inumaki-Senpai. And not just for today… but for all the little things you’ve been doing for me too…”

            As Toge never zipped back up his jacket to cover his mouth, his mouth opened and closed as he didn’t know how to process his words. What safe words to use? Can he use real words? His cheeks flushed a deep pink.

            “You can try saying ‘You’re Welcome’,” Nobara teased with a grin.

            “Um… You’re welcome…” Toge finally said.

            “There! Not so hard, is it?” she playfully said to him. Without even thinking, she pecked a kiss on his cheek and stretched. “Now I need some bubble tea from that nonsense from that dickhead… Wanna get some bubble tea…?”

            Toge’s brain was fried from just the peck on the cheek. 

            “Earth to Toge,” Nobara snapped her fingers in front of his face, him just barely registering that she used his first name. “Bubble tea?”

            “Yes!” he then practically shouted.

            A teasing smirk played on her lips. “Look at you, not using ‘Salmon’ to agree,” she told him.

            “Look at you, knowing what ‘Salmon’ meant,” he countered with his own cheeky smirk. His eyes widened at the realization that he just casually talked without safe words. Nothing happened – no one was cursed. She wasn’t cursed.

            Nobara held out her hand and Toge placed his hand in hers. “Come on, Tuna Boy, bubble tea isn’t gonna buy itself.”

            “I’m buying…?”

            “You’re buying…” Nobara tried to emphasize her words forcibly.

            Toge laughed, “Salmon Roe… You’re Cursed Speech is not very good… But I’ll do it.”

            “YAY!”

A/N: Did I make a reference to "Fortnite"? Yes. Yes I did. Did I play the game? I did - for a week until Epic Games pissed me off so bad. Wouldn't connect my Ps5 account to my actual Epic Games account - which cost me progress and roughly $50 of vBucks that I used to buy skins that I could no longer get. Epic Games tried to gaslight me saying it was a "misunderstanding" on my end on the instructions they gave me in an email, but I literally highlighted their stuff and sent it back because they legit pulled a "Trust me bro" move on me. So, yeah, that's why I don't play the game anymore or I would totally have the JJK skins by now.

[whump-lover-and-reader]

Leverage: Con Artists (레버리지: 사기조작단) Whump List

Synopsis: Meet Lee Tae Joon, a former insurance claims investigator turned scam strategist. Backed by a group of former criminals, they aim to bring to justice fellow thieves, grifters and con-men world-wide, who, otherwise, would not get their due, through the usual legal channels. Those who hide illegal activity behind their reputations and think they are above the law, soon become the target of mastermind Lee Tae Joon and his unusual team of talented experts.

Genre: Cop/Crime, Action, Mystery, Comedy

Whumpees: Lee Tae Joon played by Lee Dong Gun, Roy Ryu played by Kim Kwon, and Jung Eui Sung played by Yeo Hoe Hyun

Note: Joint effort once again: up to 3rd episode the list was done by the awesome @love-me-a-lotta-whump, the rest is by me. Enjoy!

!!Spoilers Below!!

Lee Tae Joon

Ep. 01: panicked, hit by a car (minimal consequences) ::: in an explosion, ears ringing, wincing

Ep. 02: arrested, exhausted, concern for him ::: punched twice (comical) ::: found out his son died, grieving, fell to his knees, crying, arrested, fighting, manhandled

Ep. 03: grieving, arrested ::: in prison, feeling unwell, groaning, concern for him, brought to the infirmary::: someone tries to stab him, grabs the shiv, bloody hand ::: grieving, crying ::: drinking too much, passed out ::: manhandled, saved

Ep. 04-05: none

Ep. 06: at gunpoint, pressed to kill

Ep. 07: (cont. from the previous ep.) at gunpoint (turns out the gun wasn't loaded), secretly filmed

Ep. 08-09: none

Ep. 10: feeling betrayed

Ep. 11: someone got killed right in front of him, secretly filmed, stalked

Ep. 12: secretly filmed

Ep. 13: threatened with lives of his friends, protective, angry, handcuffed

Ep. 14: (cont. from the previous ep.) threatened with a bomb, saved

Ep. 15: none

Ep. 16: at gunpoint, their headquarters were broken into, blackmailed

Roy Ryu

Ep. 01-02: none

Ep. 03: fought

Ep. 04: none

Ep. 05: fought (kinda, but really he just messed them up like little kids)

Ep. 06: attacked with a knife, fought, cut on the side, nearly stabbed in the eye, using wall as support, helped to walk, wound treated, slapped on the wound, yelped

Ep. 07: attacked with a knife, fought, cut on the cheek, in chokehold, in hospital, in a wheelchair, bandaged arms and neck, teary-eyed, embarrassed, secretly filmed

Ep. 08-09: none

Ep. 10: fought, nose bleeding

Ep. 11-12: none

Ep. 13: has to fake fight a friend, locked up in a warehouse full of explosives, taken hostage

Ep. 14: saved, fought×3

Ep. 15: fought×2, locked up in a bathroom

Jung Eui Sung

Ep. 16: at gunpoint, their headquarters were broken into, blackmailed

Ep. 01: feeling sick (semi comical)

Ep. 02: kicked in the back (comical)

Ep. 03: hungover ::: pushed up against a wall, saved

Ep. 04-06: none

Ep. 07: scared, teary-eyed, grabbed by the throat, tasered, lost consciousness, scared, secretly filmed, in chokehold(comical), passed out(for like two seconds, comical), uncomfortable touching, anxious he'll get caught, scared, screaming

Ep. 08: (cont. from the previous ep.) scared, screaming, hand pressed over mouth(semi-comical), shoved, fell, clutching his hand

Ep. 09: passed out from sleeping gas in someone's arms(semi-comical?)

Ep. 10-11: none

Ep. 12: grabbed, manhandled, bag over head, kidnapped, concern for him, tied up, threatened with a gun, fell out of his chair, threatened with a gun, forced to help his kidnappers

Ep. 13: (cont. from the previous ep.) forced to sleep while still tied up, crying, manhandled, handcuffed now instead of being tied up, has to fake fight a friend, panicked, in chokehold(semi-comical), locked up in a warehouse full of explosives, taken hostage

Ep. 14: saved

Ep. 15: none

Ep. 16: their headquarters were broken into, blackmailed