#lol this must be a relief from fighting
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Both his arms crosses over his chest as he began to ponder, thinking of what other detail heâs accidentally left out for Trunks on his trip to deliver the goods, but nope he couldnât think of anything substantial to the little mission in itself. âNot that I can think of, one crate to Jinai, hugs store with the logo cart flashinâ. OOH maybe I should mention you go tâ the back where youâll find the warehouse. Youâll notice a lot of large containers there, itâs always open so you can swoop in and look for a guy named Kintoko. Heâs the boss, the feeâs 8400Yen, watch out with that guy he might cheap out on ya and give you a sob story. He runs a good place and is regularly a nice guy but he CAN be a weasel if he takes ya for a sucker.â Yusuke spoke up with a smile on his face.
âAs for the other place, old folks home. I donât charge âem anything. The goods they get from me are free. Look for a kinda tall dark woman named Sakura. Good luck with her though, I give the veggies and fruits frâ free but she still insists on findinâ some way tâ thank me. So I hope youâve got an empty stomach because it usually turns out to be a meal. Thatâs on the other side of the store, so youâre gonna wanna head west, youâll see a big bowling alley before you spot that little place. Youâll know when ya see it when you see gigantic bowling pins on the road. The white place with the nice fence on the other side of the street would be Ryugai Homes. "I appreciate you doin' this for me Haircut. Be more than willin' t' pay you for the airmail."
continue from here / @hopefromadoomedtimeline
#â rp â all these bitches comin' but i'm stayin' at the ready.#â au ââ heard you turned it up to 99 well bitch you gettin' betty'd.#verse: modern fantasy#hopefromadoomedtimeline#lol this must be a relief from fighting#and no worries#make the destination and i'll give you more than enough#from the first place he decides to go to
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Hi! I love your work! I saw that you had requests open, so could I request something with Hotch and the reader having to share a room for a case? I'm a sucker for awkward moments and pining so could this be like pre-relationship? And maybe the reader has to ask for a shirt or sweatpants because their own pajamas aren't very appropriate.
Thank you! â€ïž (feel free to ignore it if you don't want to write it)
Thank you for the request!
Word count: Just slightly over 2k.
A/N: MDNI! not super anything but I would feel better lol. Also the ending is me chickening out, but I don't rule out a part 2 either.
âOverbooked?â You ask the concierge in disbelief.Â
âIâm afraid so, it means that, unfortunately the hot-â He starts with an apologetic twist of his mouth, but you put a hand up to cut him off, already feeling a migraine beginning to form.Â
âI know what it meansâ You say exasperated. In the short run from the car to the hotel the storm had soaked your clothes making them stick to you uncomfortably, the heat of the lobby doing absolutely nothing to fight back the chill seeping into your bones.Â
Your soaking wet duffel bag hangs heavy on your shoulder forming a small ring of water on the red carpet. The people in line behind you huffing in impatience not helping matters at all.Â
A drop of water running from the back of your neck through your spine made you shiver uncomfortably.Â
The combined feeling of discomfort and exhaustion is making your patience run thin, and the realization that you had no place to sleep tonight was about to bring you to tears in front of the obnoxious family of four right behind you.Â
âDonât you guys have like another hotel or something nearby?â You ask, already knowing the answer by the look of pity the concierge shots you.Â
âmaâam Iâm sorry but -âÂ
Before you can cut him off once more you feel a warm palm softly touch your arm, and Hotch appears right by you. Your shoulders drop in relief knowing heâll fix it. The thought feels silly, Itâs not as if Hotch can build you another room but for some reason youâre sure that heâll find a work around.Â
âIs there an issue here?â He asks, his stature and still pristine, and somehow dry, suit more imposing than the drenched racoon look you ended up with.Â
âAs I was telling her there was a mix up with the reservations and, unfortunately, we donât have an available room for herâ The concierge - Paul - says probably feeling just as relieved as you are to be talking to Hotch.Â
âNot hereâ Paul keeps going before Hotch can ask ânor in any of our other nearby branches. Itâs the National Taxidermists Association Conventionâ He adds with an awkward smile.Â
âDid you hear that? I may not have a room but the dead and stuffed deer certainly doesâ You add unhelpfully.Â
âI understandâ Hotch says before turning back to you and softly guiding you towards the side âItâs alright, weâll just rearrange the roomsâÂ
âItâs eleven PM, besides Pen said everyone got their own room tonight so itâs not like anyone will have the spaceâ You say petulantly before looking back at him, already apologetic for snapping.Â
âI'm sorry, my duffle got ruined because I bought this shitty one instead of my usual so everything's probably soaked, I feel like this shirt is painted on and I'm pretty sure one of the creepy taxidermists was checking me out so I'm honestly not having the greatest night.âÂ
You were all there for a negotiation seminar, which in hindsight made the fact that a dead squirrel got a room before you more humiliating.Â
Hotch only looks at you patiently âit's alrightâ he repeated, briefly touching your shoulder âWe can just share my roomâÂ
Suddenly self conscious, the last thing you wanted was to put him out when all he probably wanted to do was talk to Jack and pass out, alone, in his own room. But he must have read it on your face because before you could make up an excuse he picks up your go bag and adds âIt would make me feel better knowing you're near by and not in some motel, especially tonight.âÂ
As if to back him up, thunder suddenly struck, loud and impossible to ignore.Â
âOkay,â you agree, going for the elevator âbut you're not taking the couchâÂ
âAm I that transparent?â He asks as you both wait for the doors to open, along with some of the other guests and their suspiciously big suitcases. You try really hard not think of what's in them.Â
âSorry, it's the whole Connecticut WASPy manners thing, youâd probably rather get a creek on your neck sleeping on the floor just because it's more politeâ You say with a shrug of your shoulder.Â
Before he could reply the doors opening, everyone flooding in making you press your back against Hotch, his arm went to your waist to keep you steady after a man not much older than you almost rolled his suitcase over your feet.Â
The heat of him behind you and his hand on your front made your stomach clench, it took all of your willpower not to lean back, the thought of him pressing up against you makes your eyes close briefly, his chest almost touching your back with every breath.
It feels like hours pass before you can step into the hallway keenly aware of Hotch just a step behind you.Â
Stepping into the room the first thing you notice is the queen sized bed, the plush hotel comforter drawing you in. You discard your shoes somewhere by the closet, uncaring of where they land.
âYou can take the first showerâ Hotch says, entering leaving both of your bags by the door âbetter warm up before you catch a coldâ The thought feels entirely caring and entirely Hotch but the suggestion brings a more pressing issue to the front of your mind.
âumâ you say, widening your eyes at the realization that you have nothing to wear âeverything I have is soaked, like fresh out the washer before the dryer kind of soaked, you don't happen to have a spare set of pj's in there do you?âÂ
He doesn't reply, just goes over to his bag and hands you a small pile of clothing âyou go ahead, I'll go down with your clothes and see if laundry service is still open, wouldn't want you showing up tomorrow in a hotel bathrobeâ he says with a smile and before you can protest he's off with your duffle bag. Leaving you alone with this uncomfortable feeling in your chest.Â
Once inside the bathroom you go through the clothing, the first thing you pick up from the pile is a threadbare dark blue GWU sweatshirt, soft in a way only a well loved item can be, and you can't help but take the collar up to your nose and taking in the fresh laundry smell and the remnants of his cologne still lingering in the fabric.
By the time you come out, swimming in his sweatshirt and a pair of too long sweatpants, toweling your hair, Hotch is back sans your bag, laying back in bed on the side closest to the door. Surfing through static after static channel on the TV, his head pillowed on the back of his arm.Â
âThere goes movie night, I guessâ you joke walking over to the bed âwhich side of the bed do you wantâ
Without getting up he says âthis oneâs fineâÂ
At that you snort âthat's such a guy thingâÂ
âSorry?âÂ
âThe whole sleeping next to the door in case someone comes inâÂ
âYou say that now but by the time a guy in a deer mask comes through the door you'll be glad I picked itâÂ
âwell how chivalrous of youâ You smile at him leaning on the bathroom door.Â
He smiles back lopsided and a little boyish, his dimples peeking through âItâs those pesky WASP manners rearing their head.â
Hotch looks back at you for a moment from his side of the bed âI hope the shirt is comfortableâ
âItâs great, thanksâÂ
He clears his throat âIt suits youâ
Warmth spreads from the tips of your fingers all the way up your chest where a pleasant weight settles.Â
You sit criss crossed next him to change the channel to something watchable before your mouth wins over your brain and you say something stupid. As you reach over him, fishing for the remote on the nightstand you miscalculate and your hand slips on the bed sheets, toppling you over on top of him, leaving you nose to nose. Close enough to count his eyelashes.Â
You quickly sit back up but upon your haste you both move up at the same time, falling back into him as your hands find purchase in his chest. You feel the rise and fall of every breath he takes, the thrum of his heart matching yours. Your eyes lock again as his hands circle your waist to keep from falling from the bed and into the floor.Â
âShitâ You whisper âIâm so sorry Hotchâ But itâs hard to be when youâre encased in his arms, feeling the muscle of his chest underneath your fingertips as his big, calloused hands burn a mark on your back.Â
âItâs alrightâ He says in a tone matching your own.Â
With his help you sit back up and he hands you the remote you were looking for. Tucking an errand strand of hair behind your ear you put on a random channel.Â
A black and white movie plays on in the background as you look at him, the faint glow from the TV casting moving shadows across his face, suddenly highlighting his strong brow or straight nose.Â
Your breathing matches his, suddenly the low light of the bedside lamp reminds you of candlelight, a gossamer filter cast over you.Â
As youâre about to speak, not really knowing what you were actually going to say he breaks the silence first by standing up and heading to the bathroom to shower. Â
It feels impossible to know Hotch, what heâs thinking or feeling, you want to unspool his thoughts, display them out like a film reel for your viewing pleasure. Know him as intimately as you sometimes feel he knows you.Â
Youâre settled back in bed, still lost in thought, by the time the water cuts off he comes out in plaid blue pants and a white t-shirt smelling like soap fresh laundry. His hair still damp and shirt collar askew like he dressed in a hurry.Â
Hesitating for a few seconds before peeling back the covers and getting in, his body heat right next to you, a contrast against your cold skill, the cold never having left you. Immediately making you shiver despite the thicker sweatshirt.Â
Hotch clears his throat again, more out of embarrassment from what heâs about to do, and itâs odd to see him like this. Youâre used to seeing him be sure of himself, unflinching in the face of murderers, government officials and incensed police captains alike.Â
Itâs an alien feeling seeing him blush, or hesitate before speaking, it only serves to deepen your fondness for him, it makes you want to lean in and press a kiss against his heated cheek.Â
He opens his arm in a silent invitation, you curl yourself sideways against him, your cold nose pressing against his neck as his warm hands trail up and down your back in what began an attempt to warm you back up. The lazy movement up and down meant to lull you to sleep, is instead sending shivers down your spine.Â
âBetter?â Hotch asks.Â
âMuch, thank youâ You reply, resting your ear against his chest.Â
You donât say anything else but let your hand trail up his stomach, feel the muscles softly clench underneath your hand before letting it rest there and look up to see his eyes closed and his lips parted. As if he could feel your gaze on him he opens his eyes still panting.Â
Hotch looks at you with a questioning gaze, the certainty in yours seeming like the only answer he needs.Â
His hand is a gentle weight on the back of your neck draws you in until your nose to nose, lips a breath away from touching. His thumb caresses your cheekbone back and forth, clouding your senses until you have tunnel vision, the room fades away and all you can see is him. You nose trails his for a moment as your forehead presses together, your hand coming up to touch his jaw.Â
âWe shouldnât â He says, breath fanning against your lips while his eyes close briefly.Â
âNo, we should notâ You reply, but neither make a move to part.Â
âWhat should we do then?âÂ
âYou should tell me goodnightâÂ
âGoodnight, thenâ He says and his deep voice reverberates under your hand still perched on his chest. You lean down and leave a kiss on the corner of his mouth as his breath stutters.Â
Before you can pull off of him his hand draws you back in finally kissing you. Time stops existing right then, the kiss is hungry but unhurried, Hotch is patient and tender as he rolls you over resting your head against his forearm.
Your breathing's labored as you part âSee now we really should go to sleepâ You say breathlessly, chest heaving up and down.Â
âWe absolutely should,â He says teasingly.Â
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Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!
[ ###⊠] modern AU, rockstar Wriothesley, gn reader, est. relationship, a lil bit of hurt/comfort, fluff, long-distance pining, lovesick & homesick wrio, kinda cheesy which is kind of on brand for me lol
By the time Wriothesley manages to get back to his hotel room and check his phone, he's pretty sure you're asleep. He hopes you are, knowing how late it must be on your end.
It's no surprise that there are several messages waiting for himâ each day you've been apart, you give him something sweet to read in the evenings after a busy day of promos or after a hectic show. Something to make the distance between you seem a little less vast, to let him know that you're still thinking about him.
Even on days where he's dead tired, he'll always read them. Always let you know that he thinks of you, too.
What does surprise him is the newest text, sent at just over twenty minutes ago. Wriothesley frowns as he wonders why you're still up, and his heart only drops more when he scrolls through the messages and reads the latest thing you sent.
I miss you. I really, really miss you.
Before he can even hope that he's not bothering you, his finger near slams on the call button. You answer on the second ring, voice lacking the raspiness of a roused sleep. It makes him sigh with relief.
"Wrio?" you ask, surprised. "Are you okay? What's up?"
"I should be asking you that." Wriothesley sits heavily on the plush bed, flopping back against the pillows with all the grace of a man who just gave a two-hour performance.
As luxurious as the king-sized bed is, with its soft sheets and myriad of immaculately fluffed pillows, he can't help but yearn for the warm familiarity of your own bed and your well-loved blankets.
"Why're you still up, honey? Don't you have breakfast with your friends tomorrow?"
"...can't sleep," you murmur after a beat, voice so quiet. He hears sheets rustling, then silence again. You hesitate. "I... it might sound selfish but I miss you being here with me. It sucks that the bed feels so empty without you."
And oh, if he could, Wriothesley would crawl through the phone right this very second and wrap you in his armsâ would crush you to his chest and hold you tight as he listens to your breath taper off into sleep. Would keep you against him, wrapped up in his love and adoration, until you practically have to beat him off of you with a stick.
But he can't and it's killing him.
"It's not selfish. I miss you too," he says, voice longing. "I want to go home to you so bad, sweetheart, you have no idea. Wish I could've packed you up in my bag and smuggled you here with me." He has to fight sleepy giggles at the thought.
"Speaking ofâ you better be prepared for a crapload of gifts when I get back. I've got a whole suitcase of stuff I thought you'd like."
You gasp, and even sounding a little crackly from the speakers, his heart does a flip. "A whole suitcase?! I wouldn't even know where to put all that!"
"We'll find space. 'm pretty sure there's some stuff we can jigsaw around." Wriothesley tries to keep the tiredness from his voice, tries to fight back the yawn. It's been so long since you've called, what with timezones and schedules getting in the way, and he wants to talk to you longerâ ask how your day's been, what your plans are for the rest of the week, if there were any places you want to visit when he gets home. This call is much too short for all the things he wants to say, for all the hours he wants to spend listening to you talk.
But try as he might, you can tell he's close to knocking out without even having to lay an eye on him.
"You should sleep," you tell him, voice soothing him like a balm. "You're probably tired after your show. I saw a few videos, you knowâ you were so cool. I'm proud of you, Wrio."
He hums, basking in your praise. His eyelids are already growing heavy, the soft siren's song of sleep growing harder to resist. If he closes his eyes, maybe he can imagine that you're just down the hall, busy with something. You'll come in any second now, crawl into bed and slip into his arms, and everything would be right with the world.
"Thank you for... for calling. For checking up on me just because of a text." You giggle at that last bit, and (as it always seems to do) his heart flips. "I love you lots."
"Mm, no need to thank me. Just gimme lots of kisses when I get home." His tongue is growing heavier, sleep more inviting. But he manages to get one last thing outâ "I love you lots, too."
Right before Wriothesley lets himself drop, you press a loud, exaggerated kiss to the receiver of your phone. He smiles.
That's how you both fall asleep: with both phones still on the line, even breaths and quiet snores comforting the other into a restful slumber.
#ă đâ⏠ă catcze.desserts#astronetwrk#wriothesley x reader#genshin impact x reader#cw gn reader#genshin impact#wriothesley#U dream abt each other btw tee hee âĄ#so tired;;; no speakings rn just vibes then eep#no editing bc got inspired by a song lol
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Stalker Lady pt. 1
Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader (You)
Word Count: ~1.5k
Warning: Mean!Simon Riley, Voice (PORN) actor!Simon Riley, patron!reader, neighbor!AU, description of audio porn and stalking behavior. bad language word people we're talking about audio porn here
Summary: You meet Simon unexpectedly. Unfortunately, he thinks you are a stalker.
A/N: This fic is my rehab-going-back-into-writing fic. And it's the first time I'm writing for "Ghost" I've honestly never played COD. But here's my idea of the scary (not really lol) simon ghost riley :3
After enduring your rented noisy flat for nearly six months, the construction of your new house is finally completed, which is a total relief. You now have a house of your own.
Itâs a small place in the suburbs, with a handful of neighbors on the same block, and a decent lawn that you need not pay too much attention to besides mowing occasionally. More importantly, the quietness.
Youâve settled for this house because of the friendly neighbors and the quietness around the place. Most houses are properly wrapped up in thick walls and heavy planks so no noises would escape. The only sounds that constantly appear from outside of the window are the birds chirping and the laughs and talks from family and friends.
This.
This is the perfect place for you.
You met the Pinewood Residential Community Committee (Really? A community committee? You could be in tears) the day you moved in. A group of five that consisted of three of the actual committee and two of your neighbors. The house to your right lives a delightful family whose wife Sarah came to visit and brought you homemade cookies. The house to your left harbors a tall silent man called Simon who has dark circles under his eyes (You doubt the house was enough for him because he looked like a Tall-nut that could poke through the roof). Most of the time he just nodded to whatever the rest of them were chatting about. He gave you a brand-new Bluetooth speaker about the size of your palm, saying that it might come in handy if you want to play music without carrying your phone around the house.
You were grateful.
For the committee. For the friendly neighbors. For the speaker, even.
Until the day you decide to try this speaker out.
Present day, today, this very hour, you have been fighting with this unruly speaker.
You have pushed buttons. Connecting it to the charger and unplugged it twice. Flipped the on/off switch. Turned the volume thingy at the top to the maximum. Turned up the phone volume, too.
Nothing.
No sound coming out.
While your phone mocks at you by showing you that you have already connected it and no sound is coming out.
You googled, searched, and tried reading the instructions, but nothing helped.
You sigh. Snatch the speaker and the small piece of paper with instructions and head to your neighborâs place.
Simon is just finishing up his work for today.
Itâs not a job, per se, but trades his time and patience for some of the allowances.
Actually, scratch that, he has been making more from this not-job job than spending time in the military, which says something.
He has been considering making this job a little permanent, aside from his part-time work to deliver posts and mails.
He starts the day early, driving his van to the local post office, loading the bunch of stuff onto his backseat, and finishing driving around the blocks at around 1 pm. Works a little on his side job, goes to bed at 9 or 10, simple as that.
He leaves the recording room of his house, only pausing his steps to the showers when he hears something coming from his living room�
He heads back to the recording room, making sure his laptop is turned off, his phone is on airplane mode (which has stayed that way for a while, he must add, to prevent it from interrupting his recording), and his iPad certainly has not connected to his Bluetooth. Which is ⊠odd?
Because why is one of his recordings playing on his Bluetooth speaker?
Simon winces at his own grunts and moans from the speaker. Heâs not particularly proud of it, okay, that he is a member of an audio porn production team. He takes time recording himself reading various scripts of monologues that end up taking the imaginative figure of a woman to bed.
Yes, he records himself twice a week.
Yes, he makes male-for-female porn.
Yes, he never shows his face and has a silly stage name called âGhostâ.
Yes, he does (very occasionally) custom-made fan audio for those generous patrons.
Yes, this is a custom-made audio playing on his Bluetooth â wait what?
A few soft knocks land on his door before he can comprehend what mystical force is toying with his speaker.
âBrilliant.â He grumbles to himself under his breath, âFucking brilliant.â
Now he has another thing to tend to besides figuring out his haunted speaker.
He turns the volume down, shoving the small gadget into the sofa cushions before it can be haunted again.
Opening the door.
And there you are.
âOh! Um, hi!â You are stepping down the porch, thinking that he must be busy, but the noise of the locks startles you a little, turn around to see your neighbor Simon, âHi, I live next door. Uh, I moved here about a week ago?â
Cute.
He thinks to himself.
Technically, his first impression was supposed to be a week ago when he visited your place for the first time, but he missed his nap time so the thirty minutes spent there consisted of him keeping himself awake â hardly, more like keeping his head straight and eyes open, which he failed, for at least a dozen times or so.
Rude. He knows. But he is not the kind of social butterfly either, so you kinda get what you deserve by moving in next to him.
âYeah.â He grunts, his mind still on the fucking Bluetooth, âWhaâd you need, luv?â
âI think this speaker is ⊠I donât know whatâs wrong with it, it just ⊠no sound coming out of it.â You chew on your lower lip sheepishly, âWould you mind helping out, please?â
âTried to dial the volume on your phone louder?â He raised his eyebrows at you.
âYeah, I did, I-â You fumble with your phone, giving him a moment to look at the speaker under your arm.
One glance at the Bluetooth speaker in your hand, same brand, same model, but different color, connects the dots for Simon in his mind.
It is obvious as daylight that you accidentally connected to his speaker.
âIâll try turn it up-â You push the buttons on the side of your phone, turning the volume up to the loudest.
And a guttural groan comes from his couch.
âFuckinâ hell, sweetâart.â His couch moans loudly, âYouâre killinâ me with that sweet cunny-â
Simon acts quickly, yanks you inside the house by the arm, and slams the door shut.
âThatâs my speaker.â He says, quietly.
Your stupid fingers finally manage to turn the volume down. You completely forgot about the audio playing on your phone â your favorite audio, the one you have listened to and cummed to for at least a handful of times. Your face instantly goes aflame. You were planning some quality time with your toy, but not this! You are not connecting to your neighborâs speaker and standing at his doorstep!
The deadly silence is eating you up.
âUm. Guess itâs not ⊠wrong?â You let out a dry chuckle, your mind a puddle of jellyfish that zaps your neurons into firing the wrong sparks, âIâll, um, go upstairs â my home, my place, I mean. Thank you for tonight.â Your face scrunches together out of sheer embarrassment.
His iron grasp on your arm is unwavering.
He has some patrons online, but the fact that you are one of them and live next door is ⊠a bit too much of a coincidence.
âYou a stalker or whaâ?â He growls at you. His eyes flash a dangerous glint as he recalls what had happened to one of his friends, John, with the stage name âSoapâ. Soap works with Simon in the small group of audio porn production called âTeam 141â. Soap was careless about his whereabouts, leading to a crazy woman piecing together information and ambushing him when he gets home from his day job.
âWha- what?â You sound completely baffled. âWhat are you even talking about?â
âDonât play dumb, sweetâart. Doesnât work like âat.â Simon eyes at the now-silent speaker on his couch, before returning his gaze to your startled expression, which is indeed fright, but for different reasons than heâd think of â the fear of being found that you stalked to his house. âPeachy? Peach? âs that your Discord name? Coz this is a specialized piece, custom-made. Anâ I made it myself.â
Your eyes widen at the confession. Your Discord name is indeed, Peachyyy,with two extra Y, and it hits you that this man you are confronting, who is confronting you, might be the one who sent this audio as a special gift to you, their patron.
Every patron for the Team 141 could designate a voice actor for their custom-made audio. When you were notified that you could also participate in deciding the actor of the audio, without a second to stop and think, you chose your favorite one of âTeam 141â.
âGhostâ.
Simon âGhostâ Riley let out a cold smirk. He believes he has this all figured out.
âI wonât report you. Not yet. But if I find you ten feet within my vicinâty,â His teeth bared, sharp canines ready to rip something apart, throat rumbling like a true animal, âIâll get your pretty arse locked up and thrown into jail. Run along now, stalker lady.â
Monster! You shriek. Or perhaps thatâs a pitiful whimper under his massive shadow, and flee from his grasp.
Part 2
#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley#cod#ghost x you#ghost x reader#ghost cod#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley smut
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lucifer, mammon, diavolo apologizing after a fight
includes: lucifer, mammon, diavolo x gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned)
wc: 1.2k | rated t | m.list
a/n: i guess i was in the mood for some mild hurt/comfort and fluff lol. thanks for reading and my inbox is open for reqs, feedback, and just to talk so come talk with me!
please reblog <3
lucifer shuts the door behind him quietly, listening intently. the house is silent, but he knows youâre still awake. trying to shake himself free of his nerves, he checks over the bouquet of flowers, making sure theyâre in top shape, then straightens his tie.
making his way through the house, he checks each room for you, each as dark and empty as the last. until he gets to your shared room, where the door is shut. he listens at the door, and can faintly hear music and running water. youâre likely in the bath.
pushing the door open, lucifer sees then ensuite bathroomâs door cracked and can now distinguish faint splashing. youâre definitely in there. calling out your name so he wonât startle you, lucifer waits until you allow him to enter.
âwhat?â you ask irritably, not meeting his eyes, and his heart skinks. he feels terrible for the earlier argument especially since itâs clear youâre still upset.
âdarling, i wanted to apologize for earlier,â he says, dropping to his knees outside of the bath. you pop some bubbles, resolutley ignoring him, so he goes on. âi was being stubborn and knew even in the moment you were correct. there are no excuses for my earlier words and actions and i am truly sorry.â he offers you the flowers. âwill you forgive me?â
you finally look up at him, and his gut tightens. how could he have been so cruel to you?
you take the flowers, smelling them for a long, painful moment. then you give them back and he feels like heâs been punched. until you speak.
âthank you for the apology. and for the flowers. of course i forgive you. but,â you warn, âyou must never, and i mean never, lucifer, speak to me that way. do you understand?â
âyes, darling, anything,â he promises, overpowering relief crashing through him. you lift a wet hand up and pull him to you by the tie, bringing his face to yours.
âgood. and iâm glad you realized i was right.â you give him a peck, lips there and gone before he can act. ânow, to fully make it up to me, will you wash my hair?â
âyou donât even have to ask,â lucifer replies, already rolling up his sleeves. as he helps you wash, a finally peaceful silence falling between you, he thinks of how lucky he is to have you, something heâs aware of each and every day.
mammon jumps up when he hears the door open, rubbing his sweaty hands on his pants. youâd gone for a walk after the earlier fight and every moment without you was excruciation, especially after heâd finally admitted to himself he was in the wrong.
âhey,â he breathes as you remove your coat. you give him a look, and he knows heâs got to do better. âiâm sorry, mc,â he amends, feeling like heâs speaking too loud for the distance between you. âi seriously fucked up and iâm so, so sorry. i was angry but that was no excuse to treat you like that or speak to you that way. iâm really sorry.â
âthank you,â you finally say, breathing out a sigh. âand iâm sorry too. i overreacted.â
âno!â he says quickly. âyou were only reacting to my aggression. it was my fault. and you were right. i understand if you want more space from me.â
âto be honest,â you begin. âthatâs the last thing i want right now. come here and give me a hug.â
mammon moves faster than he should, almost tripping over the coffee table, and wraps you in his arms tightly. itâs only now that he realizes heâs practically tremblingâman, he must have been really nervous. you hug him back, just as tight, and his eyes are only bringing because heâs got some dust in them, okay? absolutely no other reason.
after a long, long moment, you pull back from him, giving him a watery smile. âi love you,â you say, and he presses his forehead to yours, feeling your warmth.
âi love you too. iâm sorry.â
âyou already said that,â you tease, and he smiles sadly.
ââm still sorry. and, to be honest, donât want to cook. so whaddya say we go out for ramen tonight?â
âonly if i get to pick where,â you say. âand if you pay.â
âwell i thought that was obvious,â he huffs. your stomach growls then, and he grabs your coat, motioning for you to let him help you put it on. he grabs your hand when itâs all buttoned, wrapping his fingers around your tightly. he made the mistake of letting you go earlier and heâs not going to do anything like that now.
diavolo frets, looking over everything once again. he truly has no idea how to apologize, and though asking barbatos had crossed his mind he knew he couldnât ask another man to help him with this. not when it concerns you.
as son of the demon kind, diavoloâs never really been wrong before. demons just kind ofâŠlistened to him, and in cases where he was really off the path barbatos and lucifer would often guide him without explicitly crossing his orders, something he knows they think he hasnât noticed. but navigating life with you is nothing like ruling over the devildom, and in many ways, diavolo finds it much, much harder.
but heâs going to admit he was wrong and apologize! if thereâs one thing he can remember from when he was very, very young, it was watching his father, the king, apologize to the queen, much as heâs doing now. the only difference is that he hasnât officially made you ruler alongside him but that can be thought about later.
he checks his ddd for the time, and exhales nervously. heâd asked you to meet him at the spot of your first date and it was nearing the time that heâd written, and you never were one to be late. as if he imagined you, you appear, hesitant and nervous. but youâd come, and thatâs enough for him.
âdiavolo? what is all of this?â you look over the picnic, from the expensive chocolates to the wrapped gift and then back to him.
âi wanted to say i was sorry,â he says nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. âwhen we argued, i wasnât fair to you, nor did i listen. and then i reacted poorly and in a way thatâs never okay. and i truly apologize.â
âyou did all this to apologize?â you ask, and he nods.
âwas it too much? i donât really know what iâm doing but i know i want to make it up to you. can you forgive me?â
âof course,â you reply, and he feels like he can finally breathe. âand while this is nice, it is a little much. i really only wanted to hear you say you were sorry.â
âiâm sorry.â
âi know. thank you for saying that. and for doing all of this. and iâm sorry too,â you continue, holding up a hand before he can say you have nothing to apologize for. âi should have talked to you instead of just running away. now, letâs enjoy this wonderful picnic youâve prepared.â
âi love you,â he says. âso much.â
âi love you,â is your simple reply, but for him, itâs more than enough.
leviathans-watching's work - please do not copy, repost, or claim as your own
#obey me#obey me game#obey me shall we date#obey me x you#obey me x reader#obey me x mc#obey me x y/n#obey me fluff#lucifer obey me#mammon obey me#diavolo obey me#obey me lucifer#obey me mammon#obey me diavolo#diavolo x you#diavolo x reader#mammon x you#mammon x reader#lucifer x you#lucifer x reader#obey me hurt/comfort#leviswriting#leviswriting-obeyme
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Designated Person | 10
Pairing: Francisco âCatfishâ Morales x F!Reader
Chapter 10: Flat Tire
Rating: Explicit (18+ only)
Word Count: 6.9k+ (nice)
Tags / Warnings: reader pov, infidelity, past romantic & sexual relationship, angst, food & eating, blackout, movie references, car problems, alcohol & alcoholism, 12-step programs, lying, conflict avoidance, crying crying crying sorry, internal conflict, monologue, toxic relationships but listen we're tryna get better, journal entries, nightmares, ptsd, flashback
Notes: WHAT UP PARTY PEOPLE?? MAKE SOME NOIIIISE (insert dallas buyers club matthew mcconaughey scream crying in his car). Sorry for being a bummer lol sometimes growth hurts but we're gonna get thru this I swear. Ok thank u let me know what you think!!!
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Blackouts work like magic.Â
One second youâre perched on a barstool, trying not to sway or slur your words while ordering another drink, and the next youâre jolted awake by the thud of a door closing.Â
Heart pounding in your chest, you sit up and look around, breathing a sigh of relief to see you somehow made it to your bedroom last night.Â
You grab your phone off the side table, swiping away the missed calls from Frankie and Leah, then discover that you apparently re-downloaded a dating app in your alcohol-induced fugue state. Judging by the number of reply messages in your inbox, you must have hit up every man in the tri-county area who was âlooking for a good time.â
Perfect. Of course you did. Why wouldnât you? Bad decisions and dick has never ever steered you wrong.Â
You read one typo-filled exchange between yourself and Russ K, 34, before deactivating the account and uninstalling the app.Â
When you set your phone back on the nightstand, you notice a mason jar filled with ice water and frown. Beside it sits a small plastic container holding four neon orange tablets and two white tablets. A sticky note on the table reads âWent to a meeting, be back this afternoonâ in Frankieâs handwriting.Â
Alarm trickles through your veins and inspires a wave of nausea you canât ignore. Clasping your hand over your mouth to hold down the rising bile, you jump out of bed and beeline to the bathroom.Â
After emptying the sparse contents of your stomach into the toilet, you lean back against the cool tile wall and search the ceiling for answers. How did you get home last night? Did you say anything to Frankie?Â
You think about the ice water and over-the-counter pills left on your nightstand, then think about the note Frankie left. However you got home, he must know you were hammered. Which means you definitely interacted with him while blacked out. Do you even want to know what you said to him?Â
Mortification twists your stomach when you imagine the possibilities. You could have tried to fuck him or murder him or anything in between. Given how you feel about him right now, itâs impossible to predict. That fact alone makes your mouth start to sweat again.Â
So⊠no, you donât want to know what you said to him when you were drunk. You donât want to know how you got home or why the fuck your hair is damp. All you want is to get through this fucking day without hurling again. Maybe greasy food and a NASCAR nap, too.Â
With this new clear goal in mind, you pick yourself up off the bathroom floor and set about making your low-stakes dream a reality.Â
â
You wake on the couch to the soothing lull of commentators giving a play-by-play of the Rays versus Yankees game. A thick web of fatigue clings to you, fighting against your efforts to open your eyes and sit upright.Â
âHey.âÂ
Instinctively, you look towards the noise at the other end of the couch, locking eyes with Frankie. His face droops with this wounded expression that gets under your skin. Diverting your gaze to the TV, you cross your arms and try to keep your demeanor aloof despite the deep ache in your chest.Â
âHow are you feeling?âÂ
You choke out a humorless laugh and shake your head, keeping your eyes trained on the screen. A few tense seconds go by before he accepts that you will not be answering his ludicrous question, so he takes an alternative approach.Â
âI brought home cubanos from that place you like. For, um⊠for family dinner. If you still wanted to do that.âÂ
Home, he says, as if the word meant something to him. As if he didnât match every brick you laid in the foundation of this relationship with paper mache blocks. As if he didnât take a wrecking ball to whole fucking thing regardless.Â
Maybe to him home is just a place he rests his head at night, not where he anchors his heart. A matter of physical location rather than a feeling. You, on the other hand⊠never felt quite at home in this house until he started living here.Â
Are you crazy for having felt like that? Like home was a space you held with him and him alone?Â
Your parents were right. You make too much of things. Youâre overdramatic.Â
Why would he love you? Why would he choose you over his wife? You knew what you were getting into when this started.Â
Stupid girl.Â
âI understand if you donât want to, though.âÂ
His voice brings you back to yourself. You blink hot tears from your eyes, then wipe them from your cheeks, trying to hold yourself together despite the whisper of âstupid girl stupid girl stupid girlâ at the back of your head.Â
âCan we⊠can we at least talk about it?âÂ
You wince as a fresh batch of tears surges up your throat. Rising to your feet, you shake your head and manage to choke out, âJust forget it,â before fleeing to your bedroom.Â
â
I slept most of the day yesterday so it took me forever to fall asleep. Also Frankie was walking around the house all night. At 11ish, I heard him talking on the phone, then I think someone picked him up. I texted him to see where he went because Iâm unfortunately still his designated person. He said he was with someone from AA and heâd be back soon, just needed to talk. I couldnât fall asleep until I heard him come in at 1. He wasnât stumbling around so Iâm guessing he was sober??? Hopefully he was. I donât want this to get in the way of his recovery. Which I sort of hate. I wish I could delete the feelings I have for him. I wish I didnât care. But I guess I do, so⊠I donât know. This fucking sucks. Leah said I should kick him out, but I donât want to fuck up his program. Maybe Iâll talk to Ralph today and see what he thinks. The thing is⊠the more people I talk to, the more I just want to talk to Frankie. Nobody makes me feel like he does. More than the lies, this is what bothers me the most. The fact that I can feel this way and he just doesnât. I donât understand how he canât feel it, too. I thought this was real. But I guess I always do. I guess heâs just a really good liar and I am just a stupid girl.Â
Tossing the notebook aside, you sit up to grab your mug off the side table. Wisps of steam rise from the coffee and dissolve into the air. The image blurs as a thick, wretched sensation twists up your throat.Â
God fucking damnit.Â
Every time you think you have no more tears left to cry, you prove yourself wrong. They just keep coming. Yesterday you waded in and out of these sudden fits where crying was all you could do. It reminds you of all the other times he broke your heart, but especially the last time.Â
After Angie caught the two of you fucking, part of you hoped that maybe she would leave him. From what you understand, though, he convinced her to stay. Called you a mistake. An âisolated incidentâ or whatever. Fucking asshole.Â
Anyway.Â
Seeing each other became logistically and emotionally difficult. Participating in an affair is much easier when itâs still a secret, for obvious reasons. He tried to see you when he could, which wasnât nearly as frequent as you wanted. When you did see him, he was drunk. Youâd pick him up from the bar, or heâd come over after Angie went to bed, but he was always at least five drinks in and counting.Â
You bailed him out of jail twice in those six months. Once for drinking and driving, once for getting in a fight over a fucking pool game, of all things.Â
He seemed so walled-off from you, too. Like he detached from his emotions when he saw you. Maybe it was because of the liquor, but a million other reasons are just as likely. After sex, he would leave. The sex was⊠well, it was still good, but⊠different. Rougher, impersonal. It felt less like making love and more like fucking.Â
You still loved him, though. You still had fantasies of having a real, normal relationship with him. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, you still wanted to believe that he was meant to be with you.Â
Stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl
And then, wellâŠÂ
Your phone starts to ring. Itâs Ralph.Â
You take a few quick sips of your coffee, then set the mug aside to answer.Â
âHello?â
âHey, kiddo. Do you have a minute?âÂ
His tone, less jovial than normal, gives you a small burst of anxious energy.
âSure, whatâs up?âÂ
âI just got off the phone Mr. Morales and he briefed me on the, ahhh⊠situation over there.âÂ
Unsure what to say, you fold an arm over your belly and stare down at your lap.Â
âI understand that things are a bit tense due to an incident that occurred on Saturday, is that correct?âÂ
âYeah,â you nod, voice wavering, âYeah, I, um⊠I overheard him talking to Angie, and⊠well, basically I found out heâs been lying to me.âÂ
It sounds so pathetic when you say it out loud.Â
âUh-huh. He lied about the nature of his relationship with Mrs. Morales.âÂ
âCorrect.âÂ
You prepare for Ralph to tell you itâs not a big deal. Brace yourself for the inevitable scoff, or for him to accuse you of overreacting.Â
So he lied to you, so what? You knew who he was. You knew he had a family to keep together. You should have known better than to get involved with him. Stupid girl, why would you put yourself in that position in the first place?Â
âAnd this isnât the first time he lied to you about this particular matter, am I understanding correctly?âÂ
âWellâŠâ you frown and shake your head, âNo, not really. When we were together before, he was pretty explicit that he wouldnât leave her. I just⊠I just thought⊠I donât know. Itâs dumb. Iâm fucking dumb.âÂ
Ralph doesnât respond right away, so you add, âSorry. Iâm still in my feelings.âÂ
âDonât sweat it, I think Iâm picking up what youâre putting down,â he pauses here to clear his throat, then recounts, âBefore, he told you leaving her wasnât a possibility. And despite my warning going into this, the two of you re-established your romantic relationship, he told you that kind of relationship was effectively over with his wife. Which wasnât true.âÂ
âCorrect.âÂ
âOk. Got it. Has Mr. Morales exhibited any unusual or suspicious behavior since the incident on Saturday?â
After thinking about it, you tell him, âI wouldnât call this suspicious exactly, but yesterday he left a note saying he was going to an AA meeting, which isnât normal. And late last night someone picked him up. I texted him to check in and he said he was with someone from AA, talking.âÂ
âDo you believe he was being truthful?âÂ
âYeah, I do,â you shrug, âI mean, Iâm obviously not the best at detecting his bullshit, but Iâve seen him under the influence more times than I can count and he didnât seem⊠like that.âÂ
âWell, thatâs good. And itâs good you checked in with him, I take that as a positive. You are still responsible for him while heâs on parole.â He sighs, âWhich brings me to my next question. Are you thinking you want to continue serving as his designated person, or should we start looking for alternatives?âÂ
A lump rises in your throat. You swallow it down, wincing at the tears that burn behind your eyes, âI, um⊠Iâm not sure yet. Can I have a few days to think it over?âÂ
âSure. How about this. Why donât you take some time, maybe go to one of those Al-Anon meetings I told you about, and I can stop by Saturday to have a sit down with you and Mr. Morales. Does that sound agreeable?âÂ
âOk,â you nod, âYeah, that sounds good. We can do that.â
âAlrighty then. Iâll shoot you an email with some details sometime today and weâll go from there.âÂ
âThanks, Ralph.âÂ
âCall me if anything comes up, ok kiddo?âÂ
âWill do.âÂ
After hanging up, you put in a load of laundry and wander around the house, stopping by the fridge to stare at the cubano Frankie brought home for you yesterday. You roll your eyes with annoyance as you grab it, then you return to the couch and put on Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.Â
â
By the time Frankie comes home, youâre four feature films deep in your angsty post-breakup movie marathon and feeling indignant enough not to surrender the common space to him.Â
His eyebrows do this little surprised jump when your eyes meet his, and he glances at the TV, âReality Bites?âÂ
You donât respond, just curl deeper into the couch and return your attention to Ethan Hawkeâs spiteful cover of Add It Up.
He kicks off his work boots and walks into the kitchen, coming back a minute later to ask, âIf I make something for dinner, will you eat it?âÂ
Your stomach rumbles at the thought of food. Without looking at him, you shrug.Â
Accepting the non-verbal answer, Frankie returns to the kitchen and starts bumbling around, cussing and grumbling under his breath. Eventually, though, he seems to get the hang of it.Â
Just as the end credits of Reality Bites start rolling, he enters the living room holding two plates and sets one on the coffee table for you, then takes a seat at the opposite end of the couch.Â
You sit up, crossing your legs as you pull the offering into your lap, and toss the remote control to his side of the dividing cushion. He wordlessly searches for something else to watch while you study the avocado-filled hot dog buns.Â
âWhat is this?â you ask.Â
âCompleto. Hot dog topped with good shit, basically. Avocado, tomato, onion, condiments.â He selects play on Moulin Rouge, then looks at you and shrugs, âMa would make it for me when I had a bad day.âÂ
You stare at him for a moment, then roll your eyes and shake your head as you turn to the TV, âI see what youâre doing.âÂ
âWhatâs that?âÂ
âKissing my ass.âÂ
He chuckles, shifting a little, âYeah, well⊠yeah.âÂ
The movie starts to play. You donât mention that this will be the second time youâve seen it today because he probably knows that. After taking a bite of the completo, you hum at the mix of flavors and textures as you chew.Â
âGood, right?â Frankie says through a mouthful.Â
âMmm,â you nod in agreement.Â
He swallows, glancing between you and his food before asking, âCan I ask why you havenât kicked me out yet?â
When you contemplate how to answer, the reasons all snarl into a tight knot of which you canât quite make heads or tails.Â
âNo.âÂ
âFair enough,â he murmurs, letting his gaze linger on you, âDo you want me to give you some privacy, orâŠ? Because I can goââÂ
âIt doesnât matter, Francisco, just stop talking.âÂ
âOk, butââÂ
You hold your hand up to him, âShhhhhh.â
He sighs, but accepts the silence. Tension resides in the air at first, but slowly dissipates as you clear your plates, then settle into the couch. And although your eyes stay trained on the screen, you canât make yourself pay attention.Â
You keep wondering why he lied about being with Angie. Heâs never had a problem making that clear in the past, even if it meant breaking your heart. Is it because he lives with you? Itâs possible he didnât want to risk getting kicked out, so he kept it a secret.Â
Then why get involved with you again? Did he think this was the best way to stay in your good graces? Has he been manipulating you this whole time?Â
Itâs possible. Itâs also possible youâre another one of his bad habits he canât kick. A coping mechanism. Disposable, like always.Â
You remember the night you asked him to come over so you could talk to him about something important. He promised to be there at eight oâclock, which is when you planted yourself on the front porch swing to wait for him. At nine oâclock, his truck came rumbling down the street and parked in front of the house.Â
âWhatâre you doing out here?â he smirked as he climbed the porch steps.Â
âWaiting for you,â you glared at him, observing his fluid movements when he plopped down beside you.
âI went and got a drink, lost track of time.âÂ
He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and drew your stiff body closer to kiss your cheek.
Something hot flared in your chest, and you distinctly remember wishing he would show up sober for once. This wasnât the scab you wanted to pick, though.Â
He tilted your chin up, pressing his lips to yours, breath heavy with whiskey, then pulled back to frown at your lackluster response. His body swayed a little as he studied you, âWhat?âÂ
âI need to talk to you.âÂ
âOk,â he leaned away from you with a scoff, âWell, Iâm here. Talk to me. Tell me how I fucked up this time.âÂ
You winced, âDonât do that.âÂ
Crossing his arms, he stared at you, all fucking wobbly and drunk, irritation folding his facial features. He shrugged, âDo what?âÂ
âThat! Youâre being an asshole.âÂ
âOh, Iâm being an asshole?â he mocked, âHowâs that?âÂ
Rage simmered beneath your skin. You let out a chuckle of disbelief, shaking your head as tears pooled in your eyes. After taking a moment to gather yourself, you spit out, âDo you love me?âÂ
âDo Iâ?â he furrowed his brow like he didnât understand, shifting in his seat, âDo I love you?âÂ
âYes, Frankie. Do you fucking love me or not?âÂ
His indignation melted. Shoulders slumping, gaze going soft. He swallowed hard and looked out at the street as if searching for an escape hatch. Emergency brake. Make it stop.Â
âBecause I love you. Iâve been in love with you for so long⊠and-and I still donât know what the fuck I am to you.âÂ
He seemed frozen, staring at something a million miles away without sparing a reaction.Â
Nine months later, you can still feel the frantic vibration of your bones when you moved closer and cupped his cheeks, forcing him to look at you. When his eyes met yours, they were so cold and vacant that you barely recognized him. You tried to get through anyway.Â
âI need you right now, Frankie. But I need all of you. I canât be on the back burner anymore. I need you to be with me or I need to let you go.âÂ
âYou know I canât do that. I canât be with you, not like that.âÂ
âBut you could, though. You could. We could do this, we could make it work, start a life togetherââ
âI wonât leave her,â he shook his head, âI have a familyâgoddamnit, you knew what this was when it started.â
You sobbed, letting your hands fall away from his face, and his eyelids fluttered with the ghost of an emotion that you didnât understand.Â
He started, âI donâtââ then paused, tapping his clamped lips. His bloodshot eyes flicked around the porch and settled a million miles away again, âI donât love you.âÂ
With this declaration, he took his chisel to you, lined it up in just the right spot, and gave it one firm tap. You crumbled at his feet. Shattered into dust.Â
He got up and drove off while you were still bawling on the front porch swing.Â
Onscreen, Toulouse-Lautrec shouts, âThe greatest thing youâll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return!âÂ
It hits you square in the chest.Â
With tears brimming your eyelids, you jump up and flee to your bedroom before he can see them.Â
â
Terrible nights sleep. Every time I drifted off, I was in the bedroom at my parents house but it wasnât in my parents house. He was there but he wasnât there. I donât know how to explain it. I felt his presence but knew it wasn't him. I kept my eyes closed because I was scared to see, but I could hear him getting closer and closer. When I opened my eyes I woke up. The feeling stuck to me. It took me forever to fall back asleep and when I did it started over.Â
Frankie didnât go to work this morning. I donât think he slept well either. Heard him walking around all night again. Idk if I should ask him what his deal is. I donât want to talk to him about it yet and heâll probably try to do that. Which is weird for him. A year ago Iâd give anything for him to open up like heâs been trying to. But it hurts too much right now. Itâs so messy. Iâm all tangled. I need to straighten myself out before talking about it.Â
I think Iâm going to an al-anon meeting today and Iâm nervous. Not sure what to expect. Keep worrying theyâll tell me I donât belong there or make me talk about him. I donât know if I belong there. I donât know if I belong anywhere.Â
Pulling back from your notebook, you stare at the last sentence for a while before closing the cover and setting it on the end table.Â
Frankie walks out from his bedroom and rounds the corner to the living room, looking suspiciously formal, wearing slacks and a white dress shirt. His dark curls have been combed into a neat side part. It even looks like he trimmed his facial hair.Â
As he peeks through the front window curtains, you blurt, âAre you wearing a fucking tie?âÂ
He looks surprised to hear you speak, raising his eyebrows as he glances down at himself, then up at you, âYeah. I have a uhhh⊠a deposition today.âÂ
âIs that good or bad?âÂ
âNot really either. Itâs normal, I guess. Theyâre just asking me questions on the record.âÂ
Nodding, you study his nervous demeanor, watching him reflexively go to lift his hat, faltering a little before running his fingers through his hair anyway.Â
A desire to comfort him trickles through you, extinguishing the glowing embers of contempt inside your chest.Â
âHow is the case going, do you know?âÂ
The corner of his mouth pulls back into a kind of grimace. He takes another peek out the window, then steps back and shrugs as he approaches the couch, âThe lawyer says theyâll probably offer a plea deal once this is over. Weâll see what that looks like.â He sits down at the other end of the couch, pulling out his phone to keep an eye on the little car on his rideshare app, âHe thinks maybe they could agree to a reduced sentence.âÂ
You pick at your frayed cuticles, holding your tongue for as long as you can before asking, âHow are you doing with⊠everything?âÂ
When you glance at him, his face is crooked with contemplation. He shifts in his seat and crosses his arms, lips parting with an answer. A notification dings on his phone.Â
âMy rideâs here,â he murmurs and meets your eyes with an apologetic expression, âWe can talk about it later?âÂ
You give him a non-committal smile, âGood luck at your thing.âÂ
â
The woman who gave you your new member packet, apparently the leader of the meeting, looks around the room and announces,
âThis afternoon, our fearless speaker will be Taylor. Everybody please welcome Taylor.â
From the back row, you sink down in your metal folding chair and glance around at the attendees, joining in when they start to clap for a woman approaching the podium.Â
âHi everyone, my name is Taylor. Iâm a member of Al-Anon.âÂ
The room responds in unison, âHi Taylor.âÂ
Taylor smiles and shakes her head, looking down at a small stack of trembling notecards. Her round shoulders raise with a deep breath. She closes her eyes for a moment, exhales, then looks up at the room.Â
âIf you wouldâve told me a year ago Iâd be the speaker at an Al-Anon group, thereâs no way Iâd believe you. But here I am,â she chuckles, âWow. Thank you everyone for coming in today. I see so many familiar faces and some not so familiar faces and Iâm grateful to see all of you. Iâm proud of you for coming to this meeting today.Â
âOne of the biggest preconceived notions I had when I started attending Al-Anon meetings nine months ago is that they would help me support my alcoholic husband. At the time, he was about a month into sobriety and had just started going to AA meetings. He was struggling like hell and a friend of his asked if he wanted to go to an AA meeting with him. So he did.Â
âIâll be honest, when he suggested I go to Al-Anon, I was annoyed. I really was. At that point, weâd been married for five years. He tried quitting, oh, I donât know⊠six times in that five years? Three 90-day inpatient rehab stays, two arrests, more sleepless nights than I can count.âÂ
Taylor pauses and looks down at her notes, then back up at the room as an amused smile spreads across her face.Â
âWhat it always reminded me of was this story my husband told me. Every so often, he goes through these phases where he gets very very interested in a particular subject. It completely takes him over. All he wants to do is read about it and talk about it and⊠well, you get it.Â
âWhen he was in his Greek mythology era, he told me about Sisyphus, the king of Ephyra. Sisyphus killed people who visited his palace, which angered the gods because they considered it impolite, which is the understatement of the millennium, but thatâs neither here nor there. When Sisyphus died, Hades punished him to an eternity rolling a boulder uphill. He would fight his way up this steep hill, pushing the boulder with all his might. The boulder was enchanted, though, and every time the it got near the top, the boulder would roll back down the hill, then heâd have to try again. So he does this over and over and over for eternity. Infinite frustration and exhaustion.Â
âSometimes it felt like that with him. With my alcoholic. Like I was stuck in this loop, fighting like hell to push his dead weight to the top of the hill. Just when I got a scrap of hope, it went tumbling back down. Over and over and over again. I structured my whole life around his relationship to alcohol. Checking in with him constantly, making sure I didnât say or do anything that might trigger another relapse, putting myself on the back burner to accommodate his needs. So when he suggested I try going to Al-Anon meetings, I expected it to be another chore catering to his sobriety. I thought I would come here and learn all the ways people support the alcoholic in their life the right way. Because I obviously wasnât doing it the right way. If I was, he would have years of sobriety under his belt.Â
âRegardless, I agreed to go, and quickly discovered my preconceived notions about Al-Anon were wrong. Al-Anon doesnât exist for us to better service the alcoholic or alcoholics in our lives. Sure, weâre all here because of the alcoholic in our lives, but the point is to better service ourselves. I think that distinction is important.Â
âWhen I came home from my first meeting, I went through the new member packet Mario gave me, and found a handout that said: Detachment is neither kind nor unkind,â Taylor nods at the memory and looks around the room, âThat struck a chord with me, that phrase. Detachment is neither kind nor unkind. It didnât make sense to me at first. I thought, how is detachment neither kind nor unkind? It went against my instincts completely. How was I supposed to help my husband if I detached from him? Isnât love about being attached to someone, sticking together through thick and thin?Â
âAttending meetings and working the steps helped me get a better grasp on the concept. I came to understand that, in Al-Anon, detachment can mean two different things. The first is separating the person you love from their alcoholic behaviors. The second is a little harder to define, but it centers around the idea that you are separate from other people, and their actions do not control yours. Let me show you what I mean, though.
âIn my relationship with my husband, we were entangled,â Taylor laces her hands together and holds them up for everyone to see. âWherever he went, I went, too.â She moves her clasped hands back and forth. Spreading her hands apart, she says, âI didnât want to be apart from him. But what I found with detachment is,â she flattens her hands palm-to-palm, âWe can be close without being entangled. That way, if he goes to a dark place,â she moves one hand away from the other and shakes her head, âI donât have to go with him if I donât want to.âÂ
Taylor looks around the room, allowing her words to sink in, then returns her attention to the stack of notecards and flips to the next.Â
âWhen we detach in this way, it both relieves us of our perceived responsibility for their actions and emotions, and grants them autonomy to make their own choices. They deserve dignity and freedom, which is difficult to obtain if we try to manage their lives.Â
âSo often in our marriage, I thought that loving my alcoholic meant rescuing him from himself. I thought that if I exerted myself hard enough, pushed him up that steep hill long enough, we would get to the top together. But the effort was Sisyphean. It didnât matter how much time or effort I put into controlling the direction of the boulder. It would always roll downhill, because the boulder was enchanted. Even if I spent an eternity trying, even if I begged and screamed and pleaded with the boulder, it would still be enchanted. And, you know⊠maybe thatâs ok. Maybe heâs not meant to sit at the top of the hill. Itâs not his fault, either, and I came to realize that instead of getting frustrated at him for being enchanted, I can meet him where he is and love him anyway. If I donât like that place, I donât have to stay there. When I detach with love, I grant myself autonomy as well as him.Â
âPutting the metaphor aside, Iâve used this in practice by no longer lying for him. If heâs at an AA meeting and our daughter asks why heâs not home, I tell her the truth. When my family or friends ask how everything is going, I donât try to make it seem easier than it is so he can save face. I confide in them with sincerity because that is what I need. Iâve stopped giving him advice unless he asks for it, because Iâve learned here that most times people donât need advice, they just need someone to listen and be present. Iâve stopped trying to take the reins when I think heâs making poor decisions, because he doesnât need someone to do it for him. He needs to learn to do it himself. Part of learning is making mistakes and growing out from beneath the consequences.Â
âDetachment is neither kind nor unkind, itâs a tool we utilize to free ourselves and the alcoholic in our lives. Al-Anon doesnât exist to teach us how to help the alcoholic in our lives, although the tools it gives us can aid in their recovery as well as ours. This fellowship exists to help us, the families of the alcoholic, so that we may lead more joyful and serene lives. Thank you.âÂ
Applause erupts from the crowd, and you join in, watching Taylor glow with pride as she steps away from the podium.Â
â
Damp, hot air pours in through the rolled-down windows, carrying with it the earthy scent of algae-bloom off East Lake Tohopekaliga. Driving along the slow, steady curve, you pass by sprawling oak trees, their eaves all draped in spanish moss.Â
Your hope was that taking the scenic route home would clear your head, but itâs not doing the trick. Something shifted inside you during the meeting. You canât quite put your finger on exactly what shifted or why it happened, although your circular thoughts give you the sense youâre on the precipice of understanding.Â
You keep thinking about the speaker, Taylor, and the lesson she relayed from her podium. Her situation is different from yours, but you know it all the same. You know how it feels to dig your heels into the dirt, struggling like hell to push someone in the direction you think is best. You know how it feels to see him tumble to the bottom time and time again. And for what? Itâs not like heâs any better off because of your efforts. Itâs not like you are, either.Â
How many times have you betrayed yourself for the sake of his favor? How many times have you put your needs aside to tend to his?Â
Calm blue-gray water flickers behind the trees you drive past. It looks peaceful. Further up the road, you spot a public access point to the lake and turn into the lot, hitting a bump. When you do, a loud BANG reverberates through the car. The steering wheel shakes as you slow to a jerky, lopsided stop.
âYouâve gotta be fucking kidding me,â you fume, shifting the car into park. Folding forward onto the steering wheel, you pinch your eyes shut and take a deep breath, then exit the vehicle to look at the damage.Â
The front driverâs side tire sits flat against the pavement. You stare at it and shake your head, muttering, âGod fucking damnit,â before walking to the trunk.Â
You open it and pull up the mat to the spare tire well. Itâs empty.Â
âFucking of course. Jesus fuckingââÂ
Cutting yourself off with a furious groan, you pull out your phone and go through your contact list, pointedly scrolling past the Fâs to pause at Leah, whoâs over an hour away, then Marla, whoâs busy enough as it is. You even briefly consider Rory, but the idea makes your stomach lurch.Â
You could just do it all yourself. Order a car on one of those rideshare apps. It would take forever, though, and youâve never changed a tire before.Â
Frankie is the logical choice. The first person who came to mind, if youâre being honest. Something hard and stubborn inside your chest throbs when you hover over his name.Â
Itâs pride, you realize. Maybe a little fear. You donât want to ask for his help. You donât want to burden him. You donât want to be disappointed if he says no.Â
All the same, you dial his number. He picks up on the second ring.Â
âHââ
âAre you at the house?â Â
âI am.âÂ
âAre you busy?âÂ
âNothing I canât put off âtil later. Why?âÂ
âMy fucking tire blew out, and my spare is in the garage,â you sigh and throw your head back, propping a hand on your hip, âIs there any way you can bring it out to me?âÂ
âI, umm⊠yeah, of course. Where are you?âÂ
âEast Lake Toho.â
He snorts, âChrist, whatâre you doing all the way out there?â In the background, you hear the floorboards creaking, mapping his way through the house. Before you can respond, he asks, âSpare tire in the garage, need me to grab anything else?âÂ
âUhhhhâŠâ you wrinkle your nose at the trunk, âI donât know, I have a jack and the tire iron thing.âÂ
âThat should do it. Wanna drop me a pin? Iâll have to get a ride out there.âÂ
âYeah. I can pay you back if you need to order a Lyft or whatever.âÂ
âJust take it off my tab,â he jokes, the back door squeaking open behind his voice, âHang tight, Iâll be there in a bit.â
You turn around to lean back on the bumper, âOk, Iâll be here.âÂ
After hanging up, you share your location with him, then wander down to the dock. It rattles around as you teeter to the end and sit down, letting your feet dangle over the edge.Â
Cattails and lily pads have been cleared from the shoreline near the boat landing, giving you a clear view across the lake, broken up here and there by thick swaths of aquatic vegetation. The glassy surface of the water reflects the hazy blue sky, and stagnant air sticks humid to your skin. Insects buzz and birds sing and somewhere far away you hear a boat motor chugging across the lake.Â
When you think of serenity, this is what you picture. Stillness and calm. Peace. You inhale the scene, allowing it to stretch out inside you and unfurl your tensed muscles.Â
As soon as the unease evaporates from your body, fatigue takes over. Â
Lying back on the dock, you stare up at tall, fluffy clouds littering the sky. Your eyelids grow heavy as you watch the slow-moving parade of shifting giants, the warm air lulling you into comfort until you let your eyes drift closed.Â
Your awareness fades in and out while you sleep. At one point, a car door shuts, then the car drives off. Vaguely, you know itâs Frankie but canât lift your limbs, syrupy thick with lethargy. You hear grunts and metallic clattering. Some time later, your trunk slams shut.Â
When the dock starts wobbling around beneath you, you blink your eyes open and sit up, scrubbing your hands over your face as a yawn overtakes you.Â
âHey sleepyhead.âÂ
You glance over your shoulder at Frankie, who comes to sit down beside you with a groan. Heâs back to his usual attire, jeans and a t-shirt, baseball cap firmly in place atop his head.Â
Still groggy, you yawn, âI couldnât make myself wake up.âÂ
âNot sleeping well?âÂ
âFucking awful, honestly.âÂ
âYeah, I know.âÂ
You frown at him, searching his face until he gives you a little shrug, at which point you mumble, âOh. I forgot that I, umm⊠yeah. Sorry.âÂ
âNo need to apologize,â he tells you, squinting up at the sky before dropping his eyes to his hands as he fiddles with his wedding band, âSame here. Theâthe sleep part, not the nightmares.âÂ
âYeah, I know. I hear you pacing around at night.âÂ
âOh⊠sorry, I didnât realizeââ
You push yourself up straighter to watch his legs dangle next to yours, âItâs fine.âÂ
Quiet settles comfortably between you. Near the dock, you see a cluster of bubbles rise to the surface of the lake and burst. The ripples flatten out and calm returns.Â
A question swells in your ribcage. Just a small pocket of air at first, maybe the size of a pebble. The longer you sit and stare at the water, though, it expands. It works its way up your throat, taking up more and more space with each passing second until you canât contain it any more.Â
âSo you were lying to me, right? About not being with her?âÂ
He meets your gaze, dark eyes all remorseful and gooey, then he nods, âYeah. I was lying. To both of you.âÂ
Folding your legs up onto the dock, you look away in the hope that he wonât notice the tears starting to come. When he speaks, his voice comes out hoarse and quiet.Â
âHow much do you want me to tell you?âÂ
The question replaces the air in your lungs with a vibrating sensation. Another cluster of bubbles dissolve on the surface of the lake. You manage to croak, âI donât know.âÂ
He doesnât respond. You sense that heâs waiting for you to make the next move.Â
Your mind wanders to the front porch swing that night you forced him to choose. He felt so far away. Until he told you differently, you were so certain he was in love with you.Â
âI donât know how to trust your words as truth, Frankie. All the way back to the start, I donât know what was real and what was bullshit and I am fuckingââ your voice cracks from the emotion burning up your throat.Â
He goes to comfort you, but pulls back before making contact.Â
Every cell inside you aches for him to bridge the gap. You follow the instinct, grabbing his shirt to curl into his shoulder. As soon as you do, he wraps his arms tight around you, bringing you in closer.Â
A wave of moth-eaten hurt wells up your chest.Â
âWhy?â you sob, âWhy did you do this to me? I donât understandââ
He starts to rock you in a slow, soothing motion, burying his face in your hair as you cry into the collar of his shirt. In the background, behind your racing thoughts and shattered breaths, you hear him whisper on repeat: Iâm sorry, baby⊠Iâm so sorry.
#designated person#frankie morales#frankie catfish morales#francisco morales#frankie morales x reader#francisco morales x reader#frankie morales fanfiction#frankie morales x you#francisco catfish morales#triple frontier fanfiction#francisco morales fanfiction#francisco morales x you#x reader#triple frontier fic#pedro pascal character fanfic#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal fanfic#pedro pascal character
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Crisis Averted - Part I [Genshin Spoilers 4.1.]
New Genshin Updates always make my thoughts go brrrr. So here's a little something (with modified happenings to fit the story lol) of Wriothesley after he survived the encounter with the Primordial Sea!
Fandom: Genshin Impact Pairings: Yandere!Wriothesley x GN!Reader  Warnings: Yandere, Topics of death (Fear of death, Near-death experiences, Fear of loved ones dying), Reader got locked into a closet, Forced Relationship, Dub-Con touches, Long post
Heavy were his steps as he finally made his way back to his office.Â
The stairs seemed to drag on endlessly after exerting more energy in a matter of minutes than Wriothesley had done in monthsâactually, years. He couldn't even remember when he last needed to drain his vision for just one more blast of ice and then one more. Luckily, Clorinde was neither a talkative fellow nor in much better shape than he was after they both struggled to hold back the Primordial Sea from escaping. They were both tough and hard to take down in a fight, but even they had their bodily limits.
She left him on the floor beneath his office with a short nod, a few words exchanged out of courtesy and thankfulness. Then she was gone, and Wriothesley's heavy boots continued their ascend, disregarding any weariness in his bones and the burning of his muscles. In a way, the Primordial Water was a prisoner of this place, and Wriothesley chuckled at his own thoughts as he came to this conclusion, exhaustion making everything sound a bit more funny in his head. However, despite knowing that the crisis was averted and the seemingly inescapable destruction and ruin had been contained like an unwilling prisoner of the Fortress of Meropide, he didn't feel like he had succeeded in keeping death away from what he treasured.
Muffling the yawn ripping from his throat, how could he not be elated by the thought of returning to you, the feeling giving him back the pep in his step? Even after all that happenedâand Wriothesley had thought of many, many ways this could have endedâyou were both still here. Alive.Â
Unless the ice had frozen you to the core by the time he reached you.
He skipped the last two steps with a jump to avoid this possibility, generating enough energy to jog from the staircase to the closet. Noticing the glistening ice still enveloping the doorknobs, Wriothesley let out a breath of relief before quickly grabbing them, unbothered by the frozen sting ramming into his hands. Not even his body heat would be enough to melt the ice, but he'd be damned if he let his own safety measures keep him from you.Â
Bracing his body against one of the doors, Wriothesley made sure to keep the closet standing upright while he pried the other one open. More strength was needed to loosen the ice that had seeped into every crack, an airtight grave keeping him away from you. But even so, it would have been a better death than what the Primordial Sea would have done to you had they not been able to contain it. Wriothesley forced himself to avoid the thoughts of the pain and agony the water would have caused you, the idea of him suffering such a fate enough to rampage his skin with goosebumps. He had put you into an awful position, but at that moment, he had believed it to be more merciful than being dissolved and drowned in the water.
Jerking the door again, he could hear the ice cracking, more relief washing over him. Relief that it would have succeeded in protecting you until the worst was over, and even more relief that it was giving way now, returning you to him. Surely, you must have already been panicking with the cold raking at you and the slow loss of air. He'd have to apologize later for putting you into this position, wipe your tears if necessary, and get someone to smuggle some cake into the Fortress as a well-done treat. But all he wanted to do now was to have you back in his arms. Everything else was a worry for later, like the Primordial Sea threatening to destroy all life around Fontaine.
One more ice-breaking tug and the door finally gave away, revealing a trembling, miserable person. His trembling, miserable person. Your first instinct was to gasp for air, the few minutes locked away having taken its toll on you. You were coughing and gasping, clawing towards the light, more than ready to exit your makeshift coffin. Wriothesley caught you before you fell, your eyes unaccustomed to the brightness after spending so much time in the dark, and he sat you upright again, helping you out of the blanket he had wrapped around you in a hurry when the commotion started.Â
More than any ice, your body had cooled down significantly, and other than when he touched the frozen doorknobs, Wriothesley noticed the temperature of your skin even through your clothes. It pained him, yet, it had been necessary. Pulling his trusty coat off his shoulders, he slung it around your violently shivering form, closing the front tightly so the fur collar would warm your cheeks and ears. There was no way he'd let you walk on legs that were fragile from the cold, and he never planned to let you go anywhere on your own in the first place.Â
Strong arms wrapped around your body, now engulfed in his coat. His scent was so prevalent, even when it mixed with yours. Wriothesley appreciated how well they worked together. Had scent been enough to mark you as his, he might not have had to do so many things to keep you by his side. You two could have lived pretty normal lives if all it needed was him rubbing off on you, but alas, normalcy wasn't something he had ever been blessed with. Given that there was a very real chance of him dying from being submerged in Primordial Water, not even his death would be able to be claimed as normal. But neither would yours.
But not today. Neither of you died that day, and Wriothesley thanked whatever godly entity he had to thank for that. Even just having the chance to hold you once more was enough to convince him that everything would be okay. At least for now. For one more day. Lifting you out of the closet, he held you, unmoving. Your arms wormed out, desperately holding on to him as if for your dear life, his warmth seeping onto you. Wriothesley felt your nails rake over his chest, panic driving you closer to him. Every shiver, every squirm through the thick material of his coat, and every sob ripping out of your throat, broke his heart more than you'd ever know.Â
"Why did you do that?" you asked, your voice so full of hurt and accusation, yet you pressed yourself harder against him, teeth chattering. For all you knew, you two had been drinking tea (albeit reluctantly on your part) when the alarms suddenly began to blare around you, and Wriothesley shoved you into the closet as if he was punishing you.
"I had to," he mumbled back, his words muffled by the fabric, his arms restricting tighter around your body.
"I could have died! It was so hard to breathe! And the cold⊠the coldâŠâ
More sobs tore out of you, and Wriothesley closed his eyes, knowing he had to endure the blame your shaky, fragile voice rightfully accused him of. You were right, but would you understand? Could you understand that he'd rather allow you to die peacefully and whole than go through the same agony he'd be in at the same time? Wriothesley had laid awake countless nights thinking of the what ifs and what to do if push came to shove, only to still be unprepared and get run over by the events, wrapping you in a blanket and kissing your head before forcing you into a closet and sealing it shut. Your safety, or at least heightened chances of survival, were the only things he could think of at that moment, you being the only component in his plan that could make him panic.
But now you were crying in his arms, the fear of everythingâthe unknown, the darkness,ïżœïżœdeathâspilling out of you. He wished he could have prevented it, but now he knew that the truth would only make it worse for you. If he told you what was happening, you'd react like most prisoners here would, and he couldn't guilt you. Not telling you and keeping you in the dark, doing whatever he had to do, regardless of the feelings, was the only way to keep you safe. Wriothesley was the only one to protect you from a fate much worse than what awaited him if he failed. But now that the danger had been averted, the least he could do was hold you.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, rubbing your back through the fabric, hoping to give you the comfort he needed almost as much himself. But other than you, he could only dream of being comforted by the person he loved. And even those dreams seemed unrealistic. Worse days awaited you two, your and his fate sealed together with that of the rest of Fontaine. But not now. Now wasn't the time for tears and worries, and if he hadn't been so damn exhaustedâwith you in his arms doubly, warm and softâhe would have celebrated your survival more. Soon, you'd come to your senses, fighting him again, and this time, he wouldn't stop you. He couldn't.Â
So he'd use what little time he had to enjoy this moment. Walking over to his chair, you graciously let him carry you, allowing him this little, intimate gesture of holding you in his arms all throughout the short journey. Even though he sat down abruptly, knees giving out from under him, your body landed softly, enveloped in his while he let out a strained grunt. The feeling of gravity pressing you into him was one he would have liked to treasure for the next few days, and if it had been up to him, you two would have been cooped up for just as long. But beneath his calloused hands, he could feel your body warming up, your breath no longer icy when it brushed his neck and cheeks.
The fight hadn't taken too long, evident by you still being alive, and yet it felt like he'd been gone for weeks, maybe months. Years of absence that made him miss the feeling of your body and the sound of your voice. His mind should have been on the enemy he was fighting, and yet, his only concern had been you. Getting back to you and not dying without seeing you one more time was everything he thought of as he pushed another punch of eyes to that gate that kept the Primordial Sea contained. You gave him the strength to keep going, if only to give you a chance of survival and to not die in pain like anyone else who'd get into contact with the Primordial Sea. To not give up until Neuvillette showed up, releasing him from this duty to society so he could return to the duty of loving you.Â
It had been a lot, but when he raised a tired hand to push some of the fur out of your face, witnessing the tears having stopped and the warmth returned to your cheek, it had all been worth it. Wriothesley had to make progress on the project he kept hidden from everyone to ensure that you'd be protected from all the dangers surrounding him. If anyone, then at least you. So even if he couldn't push this tired body of his to do it that day, he knew that from the moment he'd open his eyes after a nap, he'd be back to working on it tirelessly.Â
"This face," he sighed, cupping your cheek and snorting softly at the pout crossing your features. Tracing the bridge of your nose, he hummed, satisfied that everything was still right where it belonged and had not fallen off from the cold.Â
"These lips," he mused, brushing his thumb over the soft cushions he dreamed about kissing every night.Â
"And these eyes."Â
His words made your gaze rise to his, beautiful jewels in the moody, damp lighting of his office, glistening from the tears yet raging like the sea in a storm defying his adoring stare. He wouldn't have wanted it any other way. If you had to hate him, then hate him. Despise him, he'd deal with it. Wanted to hurt him, he'd let you. Love himâŠÂ A man could dream. But seeing a storm of emotions was better than the faded light of death you had when he pulled you out of the closet. That was something he wished to never see again. That he'd fight and strife for to never appear on your face again.
"Don't," he chuckled, grin splitting his lips as he pinched your cheek in a loving reprimand after noticing how you wanted to start arguing. Wriothesley couldn't help but laugh out loud when you let out the most adorable grunt in annoyance, squirming on his lap until you could hide your cheeks into the fur again, away from his touch. He settled for the nape of your neck, holding you there gently and noticing in the back of his head how long your hair had grown since you came to the fortress as he brushed his hand through it.
You glared at him defiantly from the safety of his coat, and Wriothesley couldn't imagine a better place or better look for you. "That's what I'm fighting for," he mumbled, pushing his strained muscles to move so he could kiss your forehead. "It's all worth it as long as I can hold you like this. Just a little longer, alright? I'll get you something nice in return."
Wriothesley wasn't someone who begged, not even for your attention. He'd take it and have it as he pleased, but in that moment, he worried he'd lose you if he let you goâfor real this time. The uncertainty and inability to tell you what was happening, left a cold, dark hole inside him, wrenching his gut and bursting his heart with regret. All he had to soothe the pain it caused him was to hold you and feel your soft heartbeat through the layers of clothes around you two.Â
It relieved him to know you were safe. He was safe. You both were okay, but mostly you. He never told you that if there was a way to save your life in exchange for his, he'd do it, no question asked. But it was a weird topic to bring up, especially when you considered him to be a heartless, manipulative asshole who used his authority to take advantage of someone less fortunate. So he didn't. Like many things, he kept his thoughts to himself, hoping that, in some miraculous way, you'd come to understand one day. Maybe even like him.Â
"I hate you," you reiterated, and Wriothesley managed another chuckle to hide how much that statement hurt him. He fully expected you to jump off his lap now, walk away from him and out of his office, choosing to spend your time wisely instead of indulging him. You were no longer shivering, your teeth calm, and your heartbeat even, and yet, you didn't budge.Â
Turning your head to the side, you placed it on his chest, stilling on top of his heart, this small gesture enough to make it threaten to burst out of his ribcage. Maybe he underestimated you. Perhaps you did understand, at least vaguely, that whatever happened had been pretty bad for him. He'd take the pity if it came from you. Wriothesley could only hope you magically understood that whatever he did in his absence, he did it not to harm but to protect you. You never showed him any mercy with your opinions or actions, so this side of you could only be explained by assuming kindness and understanding from you. But whatever it was, he was grateful. So, so grateful.Â
This was all he ever wanted: holding you, burying his face in your hair in a moment of vulnerability for him. Where he wasn't stronger, wasn't exuding authority over you. Forcing you to bend to his will. A moment where he could forget the world as all his senses tuned themselves on you. Everything was you, from the softness of your body to the smell surrounding him. Your heartbeat in his ears and his eyes closing as Wriothesley was comforted by your warmth. Even if you'd never appreciate what he was doing, this was enough reward for all the hardships he went through for you daily, but especially on this day. It reminded him of why he was working so hard, even though he never meant to fall in love with you this deeply. Your tiny bit of compliance would satisfy this overpowering need for you for a couple of days until he'd be back on his feet.Â
Wriothesley wanted to say more. In fact, he wanted to tell you everything. But it wasn't the right time, nor did he have the strength. Your feelings changed nothing about his, every beat of his heart screaming, "I love you! I love you! I love you!"
He was a little glad you didn't hear it. That would have been embarrassing.Â
Grinning to himself, he could feel his conscience being pulled out from under him. His breaths even, despite the extra weight on his chest that he clung to desperately, his chair never feeling more comfortable than in that moment. He wished to stay awake for a little longer, muse about the fact that you were the best blanket he could wish for, feeling just so right. Sleeping while holding you like this would definitely improve his nights, as he wouldn't have to worry about where you were and who you were with. If you were safe or in the process of trying to do something stupid. But he'd take what he could get, even if it was just this one time of you not trying to tear out of his arms and run from him.
After all, this day could have ended very differently. But it didn't.Â
He got to hold you again, the crisis averted so he could return to you. He had to be thankful for that, as his life would be worth nothing without you. And even waking up with you gone would be more pleasant than any thought about you dying far away from him. So he'd take this time to rest like he always had wanted, his beloved in his arms, his thoughts and dreams filled with you.
Trying not to be too greedy, now that he knew what it felt like not to lose you.
#Wriothesley#yandere!wriothesley#yandere wriothesley#genshin#genshin impact#yandere genshin#yandere!genshin#yandere genshin impact#yandere!genshin impact#yandere#yandere imagines#yandere headcanons#yandere scenarios#yandere fanfiction#yandere writing#yandere stories#yandere oneshots#yandere oneshot#yandere drabble#yandere x reader#yandere x darling#Yandere TW
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your dad!blade fic is so cuuuttte đ what if it was yingxing!dad and his baby justïżŒ born (angst angst angst-)
I honestly don't know what emoji you put there, so I'm guessing it's a "stillborn"?, if not then please correct me lol, usually apple's emoji can't show up on android/windows and vice versa.
TW: death, blood, body being split open, emergency operation, infant death. Itâs just pure angst so read with discretion.
A/N: You ask me to write angst, well, then I shall deliver.
Time is cruel. Time rots everything without mercy, taking away moments, youth, and memories of every being in this world.
For short-life species, time is like a ticking bomb, but instead of making them explode, it makes them wither. Nothing can escape time, not even fate itself. If time decides your life is ending right there, right then, then so be it. If time decides you will live for another hundred years, then so be it.
And Yingxing curses time with every fiber of his being. He curses time for toying with his life, his friend's life, his family, his wife, and his child.
He remembers it very clearly, the moment war broke out and everyone in the Luofu was dying. No matter how hard the Cloud Knight was fighting, victims are unavoidable.
What he didn't expect was, that his wife would be one of them.
Specifically, his heavily pregnant wife.
He thought that she was safe in the shelter, protected by the Cloud Knights.
He thought that he would be able to see her again.
He thought that he could finally see his baby.
Yingxing lets out an anguished scream when he sees the shelter where his wife resides is being torn into oblivion. He desperately searches for her among the rubbles and corpses, occasionally wiping his eyes off of his tears. And when he finally sees her, his heart flutter for a moment before dropping again at her condition.
Blood, blood is pooling on her legs. No, this can't be happening.
It must be blood from another person, he thought to himself. If isn't then it's probably just from her injured leg, right?.
She looks at him, eyes on the verge of blanking out. She reaches out to him, and Yingxing holds her hand tight.
"Yi..ngxing..." she says in a weak voice,
"Please...the baby...take the baby...please..." Yingxing's mouth drops as he hears the absurd request. He looks at her belly, and back to her again. She can't be asking him...to actually perform surgery here, right..?, He might have a dexty hand, yes, but performing a medical surgery?, it's totally out of the question. He shakes his head, tears flowing out of his eyes again.
"No...no...i can't...you'll..you'll die if I do that!"
A tight grip on his hand wakes him up again. His wife is looking at him with determination as if telling him she is ready.
She is ready.
Yingxing gulped, he took his sword, the only sharp thing he had right now, and pointed it toward the belly of his wife. She nodded.
With trembling hands, the furnace master sliced open the stomach, , layer by layer, cringed at every slicing sound his blade made, before finally able to pull his baby out.
Yet he does not let out a sigh of relief.
He stays still, with a bloody infant in his hand, the umbilical cord still connecting to the mother's body.
It's cold.
Yingxing takes a breath, trying to calm himself down. He tried to feel around the baby's skin, trying to wake them up. Anything, anything to feel life in it.
Yet it doesn't move.
The blood in his hands is still warm, yet the piercing cold he feels from the baby's body freezes him to the bone.
"No..." he murmurs, eyes unfocused. He averts his gaze for a second, to see his wife already long gone. He feels his heart crushed into pieces.
The man starts to do everything he can to wake his baby up. He shakes them, pinch them, pat their back, everything. Yingxing tears flow even harder, blurring his sight of the painful sight before him. It hurts.
It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts It hurts.
He feels like his chest would explode as he starts to lose his composure. He hugs his baby tight to his chest, and without even realizing it he is already screaming his lungs out.Â
Yingxing could feel his body being torn to shreds from the inside. It feels like every fiber of his being is bleeding, and the only thing he could feel at the moment is tears dropping from his face and the coldness of his babyâs body.Â
He wants to die, right there, right now, as he wants to immediately go to see his family again in the afterlife.
And it really feels like heâs about to blank out until someone pulls him out from the void.
âYingxing!!!âÂ
The familiar voice pierced his ears, a black haired man with horns appeared before his eyesight.Â
âYingxing, hang in there!â he shouted out to him. Worry adorned his face, a familiar warm hands cupping his tears stricken face.
âDanâŠFengâŠâ Yingxing's voice broke out, energy being drained from his whole being as he slumps to the ground. Dan Feng grimaces seeing the condition, and as much as he wanted to help his friend bury his deceased wifeâs body, he has more important matters to do right now.
âDan FengâŠIâŠI..failedâŠâ The white haired man speaks, âI..canât..save them.., not evenâŠâ He doesnât continue, yet Dan Feng immediately catches up on what his friend meant. The high elder can only stay silent for a while, seeing Yingxing carefully caressing his babyâs head, occasionally kissing its head, hoping they would wake up and greet him.
The Vidyadhara gulped, an idea popped in his head.
âNo, Yingxing. Itâs okayâ Dan Feng grabs Yingxingâs shoulder and shakes it. âWe canâŠwe can save themâ he said with determination in his voice.
Yingxingâs face lights up, a newfound hope appears in his dead looking eyes. Deep down, he knows whatever Dan Feng is about to do is probably illegal, yet at this point, all he wants to do is to be able to meet his baby, even for once.
Seeing Yingxingâs expression changed, Dan Feng grabs his hand and pulls him so he can stand. âGood, but I need you to fetch some things for me. In the meantime, Iâll help you with your wife and babyâÂ
Yingxing nodded, and as much as he was reluctant to let go of his child, he gave them to Dan Feng, fully believing the high elder to take care of them while he was gone.
As a father, heâll do anything to save his child, even if it means he needs to fight against time nor fate.
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omg what abt valorant sova/chamber watching their s/o get killed by their mirror counterparts đ€đ€
The Wrong Reflection - ft Cypher, Chamber, Sova & Phoenix
Includes: Cypher, Chamber, Sova and Phoenix
Genre: angst, hurt/comfort
Summary: you encounter your boyfriend's mirror counterpart and realize all too late what's about to happen, and all he can do is watch
CW: violence, major character death, stabbing, shooting, degrading?, lots of angst, major injuries, near death experience, resurrection, hurt/comfort, some fluff at the end?, fainting
so this isn't *quite* what you asked for but i really loved this idea and wanted to make it a little less angsty so here we are lol...also this is my first time writing about Sova, Chamber & Phoenix so if they're a little OOC or there's timeline issues thats why
ââââ
Cypher:
Though everyone at Valorant had been warned about the evil doppelgangers that seemed to look and sound exactly like your closest comrades, hearing about it just wasnât the same as seeing it. No matter how many times the other agents testified to you that it was the truth and swore up and down that there were âtwo Phoenixâsâ, you just couldnât wrap your head around it.
Until now, of course. Sent on a mission with Cypher and Jett, separated when a grenade went off and forced to hide in an alleyway until the smoke cleared, you didnât think the day could get much worse. Then you saw your boyfriendâs hat through the smoke and went to pursue him, only for him to spin around and shove a dagger just below your ribs.
You flinch and lurch forward, just barely able to catch yourself before going toppling over. He yanks the dagger from your side, and just as youâre about to ask âwhyâ, blood bubbles over your lips. You blink a few times, head spinning from both the pain and blood loss.Â
Why would heâŠ
And then you remember. You remember the warnings from Brimstone and the stories from Phoenix. This wasnât your boyfriend at all. This must have been the mirror counterpart they told you about.Â
Worst yet, your real boyfriend was nowhere to be found and youâre losing blood fast. Itâll be a miracle if you can even crawl, let alone fight.Â
Somehow, you manage to get to your knees and pull out the small pistol you had tucked into your waistband. You brandish the weapon threateningly, swinging it around in a warning. The doppelganger doesnât seem to care, though.Â
You squeeze the trigger.
Cypher is frantic. Heâs tearing through the streets, desperately searching for you. He didnât want to be separated, but there was no other choice. The camera he had placed where you had first been was shrouded in smoke, smoke that was clearing way too slowly for his taste.
How long has it been since your comms went dead? Five minutes? Ten? He shakes his head. He canât worry about that now. You have to be okay. You canât die on him now.
He checks his camera one more time, leaning his back on a brick wall in a futile attempt to catch his breath. When the familiar screen loads, heâs relieved to see the smoke finally cleared enough to grant him sights on the streets below.Â
The relief lasts only a second.
Youâre on your knees, blood pooling down your side and forming a dark puddle on the scorched pavement. And standing in front of you is him. His heart sinks. He doesnât need audio to know what must have happened. You must have mistaken the counterpart for him, and paid the cost.
Not you, he thinks. Anyone but you. Before he knows it, heâs tearing away from the wall, sprinting as fast as his legs can carry him back to where you were. Heâs only seconds away, but he doesnât even know if heâll make it in time. He turns the corner just in time to hear the gunshot.
He flinches, heels skidding to a halt. You collapse to the ground face first in a pool of your own blood. His doppelganger is nowhere to be seen. His heart is racing so fast it's painful. Everything seems surreal. This canât be happening, not to him, not again.Â
His only solace is the slight twitch of your body, a miniscule sign of life.
He rushes forwards, dropping onto the pavement and sliding to you. He ignores the burning in his knees, the strain on his lungs. All he cares about is your collapsed form on the ground.
He flips you over, examining every inch of your body. He squints. Thereâs no bullet wounds, no signs of being shot. Thereâs only a gash just below your ribs, and that's clearly the source of the blood.
But hadnât he heard a gunshot?
He looks at the small pistol laying on the ground next to you, the barrel still warm. Thereâs a bullet hole in the wall in front of you, and he almost sobs in relief. You didnât get shot. You shot back.
He squeezes your body to his, so happy he almost forgets youâre bleeding out. Itâs only when he feels your warm blood staining his clothes and hands that he remembers.Â
âIâve got you, little one,â he murmurs, scooping you up into his arms. âI promise.â
Youâre not going to die on him today, he thinks. Youâre coming back to him, no matter what.
â
You wake up in your own bed. It takes you a while to realize where you are, your eyes barely able to focus and your head pounding. You inch your way towards sitting up, your side burning the whole time.
What happened? You blink, trying to force yourself into remembering. You had been on a mission, right? With Amir.
Oh, you realize, memories coming back. He was there, but so was his mirror counterpart. And he had stabbed you. Thatâs why your side hurts.Â
Still, it doesnât explain how you got back, or how youâre even alive.
The door bursts open, and Cypher is standing there panting. âY-youâre awake!âÂ
Youâre beyond asking how he knows, assuming he put a camera in your room the minute you got back. You just nod, taking in his disheveled state.
âI was so worried,â he closes the door softly, coming down to sit in front of you. âYou wereâŠyou almostââ he sighs ââare you sore? Can I hold you?â
âYeah,â you say, your voice so hoarse you barely recognize it.
He wastes no time in wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling his head into your shoulder. âDonât ever leave me again,â he mumbles into your neck, hot breath fanning over your shoulder, âplease. I canât lose you.â
Chamber:
Chamber had never once been worried about his counterpart. After all, they shared a common goal, and he assumed his counterpart had the same soft spot for you that he did.
He assumed wrong.
It was a month ago when you went on a mission together. A month since you followed the wrong Vincent, and a month since he almost killed you. Had your real boyfriend not been there, you would be toast by now.Â
That incident was almost enough to make him reconsider his partnership with his mirror self. Almost. Still, he swore if he ended up in that situation again, he would protect you. That wannabe wouldnât lay his damn hands on you again.
Now, stepping off the jet with him, youâre not worried. You know better now, and you and Chamber had also come up with a codeword only he would know to distinguish the two.
âJust stay by my side, okay?â He cautions, overprotective as always, âif we stick together, he wonât get the chance.â
You nod, letting him lead you across the abandoned pier. You duck behind storage boxes and abandoned machinery, Vincent trying to find the place where theyâre going to plant the bomb.Â
Thereâs a slight clicking behind you, ever so slight, like the scraping of footsteps on gravel. You turn your head for a second, see nothing, and turn back to see your boyfriend staring at you.
âWhat is it?â You ask, âdid you find it?â
He shakes his head, âwe already passed it. We have to go back a ways.â You nod in agreement, letting him lead the way. He leads you back the way you came, around a corner and to a deserted place in the docks. The surface is incredibly damp and uneven. You canât see how they could ever plant a bomb here.
âAre you sure? It looksââ
Youâre cut off by him pulling out his pistol and shooting you through the shoulder. The force of the shot is enough to knock you onto your ass, the pressure from the bullet making you scream in pain.
No, you think. This canât be. You took your eyes off of him for one second, not even. How had he replaced your Chamber? How did your Chamber not notice you missing orâhad he done something to him? âHow?â You wheeze, applying pressure to your shoulder.
A smirk finds its way to his face.
â
Chamber expects you to be behind him when he runs from the storage box youâre currently behind to another. Heâs so sure youâre going to follow him that he doesnât even turn around. Heâs so focused on finding where theyâre going to plant that he doesnât even realize your body heat isnât behind him.Â
To him, nothing seems wrong until he hears the sound of a gun go off. Not just any gun, his pistol. He whips around, expecting you to be there. His heart drops when youâre not.Â
How had he tricked you? Did you run off? He shakes his head. You werenât stupid, he was just too smart for his own good. But if heâs hurt you or worse, Chamber can only imagine the ways heâll torture his mirror self.
He sprints back to where you were before, desperately looking for any evidence of you or where you could have gone. He tries to think like himself, tries to think of what he would do if he was trying to lure you to an early grave.
But he canât. He would never hurt you, he would never think to even try. Time is running out, he knows it. If youâre not already dead, you will be in seconds. He slams his fist against the steel of the crate, the pounding echoing throughout the pier.Â
He freezes. An echo. Thatâs right, for the sound to carry where he was, it had to have echoed off the boxes. So, he just has to follow them and find you, right?
He takes off quick as lightning, climbing the crate and leaping across the tops for a better vantage point. Â Come on, y/n, he sighs. You canât die on him like this. You canât die because of him.Â
Heâs done a lot of bad things in his life, but he canât possibly see what heâs done to deserve this. He canât possibly see what higher power is cruel enough to take you from him.
Heâs going fast, faster than heâs gone in his entire life. All he needs is to reach you, to save you, to do his job as your damn boyfriend and protect you.Â
He hears a whimper and skids to a halt. There, just below him. Youâre laying on the ground, blood pooling around your head. His other self is crouched above you laughing, dragging his pistol across your body.
Heâs taunting you, he realizes.
Thatâs fine. If he wants to play, Chamber will play. His mirror self doesnât see him coming, doesnât see his sniper rifle being pulled out. Chamber takes a deep breath, steadying the scope like heâs done a million other times in his life.Â
Just as he takes the shot, so does his doppelganger. The bullet rips through your chest, your body seizing once before going limp. The other bullet tears through the skull of his doppelganger and sends him toppling to the ground.Â
Chamber hops down, rushing to your side. The blood is pouring out now, and though heâs seen countless people die, it's different when it's the love of his life. Your face and hair are coated in your blood. He hates the way it gets on his hands and covers his sleeves when he tries to apply pressure to the wound.
Your heart is beating, just barely. His mirror self must have missed butâŠhe shakes the thought away. He needs to focus on you now. You canât die on him, not now. Still, his own hopes donât change the way your heart rate is slowing down more and more by the second.
Heâs out of time.
â
You wake up in a flash of blue light. You have to blink a few times to focus, but the energy coursing through your veins is so intense it's like your senses have been dialed up to 11. Sage is standing in front of you, looking at you in concern. Her eyes are slightly puffy.
Next to her, his head hanging low, is Chamber. Your eyes shoot wide as you remember what happened, and start to register what's going on. He had killed you. Well, not him, but his other self. You died andâand Sage resurrected you.
The energy starts to leave and your strength wanes. You pitch forwards, expecting to hit the floor, but Chamber catches you before that can happen. Heâs holding you gently but securely, strong arms unrelenting.Â
âMon chĂ©rie,â he sighs into your hair. âI canât bear to part with you again.â
Sova:
Itâs white as far as you can see across the horizon, snow blotting out everything in your path. Youâre already nervousâthis is a big mission, after allâbut the snow just makes you feel even more uneasy.Â
Your boyfriend grabs your shoulder reassuringly. âWe get in, we get out.âÂ
You nod at him but your nerves are still on fire. Brim got wind of someone planning on bombing a safe house, and sent you and Sova to go investigate.Â
It made sense why your boyfriend would be sentâhe practically breathed cold airâbut you? You despised the cold. Yet, they were unrelenting in their decision and no matter how many times your boyfriend assured you that you would be fine, you werenât convinced.Â
âCover your footsteps,â you remind him. âTheyâre easier to track in the snow.â
He sighs, âangel, thereâs nothing out there to hurt you. Iâll protect you.â
It warms your chest slightly to hear him say those words. Only for a second, though, until you make a wrong step into a snowbank and youâre sent tumbling away from him.
You roll to your feet, covered in snow and glaring. You look up to where you were, but your boyfriend is nowhere in sight.Â
âSova?â You call.Â
No answer.Â
You turn around. Could he have gone a different way? Or did you fall so far that heâs out of sight?
âSasha!â
You hear a noise behind you and whip around, drawing your weapon. Thereâs nothing there. âSasha, please! Iââ
âIâm here.â
You turn around, coming face to face with him. He has his head tilted at you curiously, using one hand to push your weapon down.Â
You frown. Something seems off. How did he get down here so fast? And if he was here, why wasnât he answering your calls?Â
âWhy didnât you answer me? I was calling you.â
âSorry,â he shrugs. âI came as fast as I could.â
âRightâŠletâs get back up, okay, we need to monitor the situation.â
You start hiking through the knee-deep snow, trying to get back to where you were. You pause about halfway up, though, when you realize you donât hear footsteps behind you.Â
You turn around, about to ask why he isnât coming up with you. You face him, and just as you do, you hear another voice behind you, Sovaâs voice, yell: ây/n look out!âÂ
Itâs too late, though.Â
The Sova youâre facing letâs an arrow fly loose and you have no time to dodge. It embeds itself into your chest with a seeing pain, and you fall backwards into the snow. Despite the cold, your whole body feels like itâs on fire now.Â
Your breaths are shallow and ragged, your chest barely rising and falling with each one.Â
Sova stares horrified, looking between you and his doppelgĂ€nger.Â
As soon as he saw you fall through the snowbank, he was coming up with a plan to come and save you. To get a better look at his surroundings, he uses his Recon bolt.Â
Thatâs when he sees two figures at the bottom of the snowbank. His blood runs cold (or colder than usual), and heâs sprinting towards you. Just when he can see the top of your head, you turn around.Â
He gets closer and thatâs when he sees someone that looks exactly like him. He tries to warn you, yelling your name, but all he succeeds in doing is distracting you.Â
Thatâs when the other Sova lets an arrow fly at you. You have no time to move before itâs planting itself in your chest.Â
Sova nocks an arrow and lets it fly, but all it does is wound his other self. The other Sova gives a half-hearted salute, and runs away.Â
Sova runs to your body, the snow beneath you stained red. He checks your pulse, but thereâs nothing there. Heâs frantic, desperately pressing his head to your chest to hear your heart beating.Â
Maybe itâs the cold.Â
Hoping is all he can do. Hoping against all odds that the cold has slowed your pulse down enough to save your life, that thatâs the reason youâre not breathing.Â
He breaks the arrow, hands shaking when he realizes itâs one of his. He tosses the arrowhead to one side and the shaft to another, before lifting you as gently as he can.Â
â
You come to in an infirmary bed. Starch white sheets pulled up over your chest. Your eyes adjust to the light and you see that youâre in the Valorant infirmary.Â
You try to sit up but your chest burns and youâre left laying down in the bed. You turn your head to the side, just to see Sova laying there.Â
His hair dangles in his face, tickling his nose. You smile softly and push it out of the way. Heâs frowning in his sleep and dark circles sit under his eyes.Â
You wonder how long itâs been since he slept. It was only in his nature to blame himself for something like this. You could only hope it wouldnât change anything between the two of you.Â
You stroke his head gently, flinching when a hand grabs yours. Sova is half awake now, looking at you through tired eyes. His hand is in yours, thumb rubbing circles over the back of your hand.Â
âI didnât mean to wake you,â you say softly.Â
âNo, no. Iâm justâIâm glad youâre alright.â
âHow long has it been?â You ask.Â
He grabs your other hand in his, his need for contact practically insatiable. âA few days,â he admits. âI was worried you would never wake upâŠâ
âHey, Iâm here,â you give a weak smile, âand Iâm alright. But you, you look like hell.â
You slide over in bed as much as you can and pat the spot next to you. âCome rest with me.â
He reluctantly climbs in bed next to you, wrapping his arms around you carefully. He nuzzled his head into your shoulder and kisses it softly.Â
The two of you stay like that until he falls asleep.Â
Phoenix:
Phoenix was the first to see his doppelgĂ€ngerâand he would not shut up about it. Night in and night out, he would talk non stop about it.Â
âHeâs just as cool and as sexy as meâitâs like me, but evil!â
And you would roll your eyes at your boyfriend. âSure he is, Jamie.â
You never pictured you would come face to face with him, so you never cared too much about your boyfriendâs words.Â
Now, on a mission chasing your boyfriend's doppelgĂ€nger, you wish you had paid more attention. He really was identical to your Phoenix, and it only made it harder on you.Â
Youâre pushing yourself hard, harder than ever before, trying your best to catch him. He was faster than you and stronger, and way more agile. It made you wonder just how much he had been holding back on you in training.Â
Your Phoenix is nowhere to be seen, too. You split up at the start of the mission and now he wasnât answering his radio and you had no possible clue where he had gone.Â
The Phoenix ahead of you disappears into a building, and despite your unease, you duck through the doorway and follow him. You follow him up the stairs and into a tiny, half-finished room.Â
He smirks at you, eyes flickering with flames. âWow, you really are almost as pretty as my y/n.âÂ
âIt sucks youâre not nearly as hot as my Phoenix.âÂ
He rolls his eyes at that. You wonder what heâs doing, why he hasnât attacked yet. Is he waiting for something? You canât tell.Â
You had no time to react when he raises his hands and the whole room erupts into flames. Theyâre scorching and they take the wood easily. The mirror Phoenix only gives you a half-hearted salute before leaving you to burn.Â
You rip off your shirt, using it to cover your face from the smoke. You canât possibly escapeâthe windows are barred and the door is blocked by the flames. Youâre going to burn to death, and thereâs nothing you can do to stop it.Â
âÂ
Phoenix only realizes something is wrong when he sees a building up in flames. His comms broke as soon as he left and he had been searching for you ever since.Â
When he sees the building, he just knows what must be going on. It only takes a matter of seconds to get inside the building and tear his way up the stairs to where the flames are beginning to spread.Â
He sees you, limp in the corner with a shirt pressed over your face. He runs through the flames, the heat barely tickling his skin, and scoops you up into his arms. Youâre aliveâbarelyâbut he knows running through the flames with you in his arms might do more damage than good.Â
He canât lose you, and staying here heâll lose you for sure. He has to take the risk, but for the first time in his life, he hesitates. He would rather burn here with you than lose you.Â
You start to come to while Phoenix carries you, coughing up blood and wheezing more than breathing. He rubs your back and tries to reassure you that everything will be okay, but he doesnât know what heâs going to do.Â
Youâre awake, and thatâs a good sign, but you need more medical attention than he can possibly give you in the field. He already called HQ but he has no idea when theyâll be here.Â
He settles down on the ground near where the jet will pick you guys up, holding you firmly on his lap. He kisses your forehead, rubs your back and tries to keep you as calm as possible.Â
You slump into him, arms lazily wrapped around his shoulders. His touch is reassuring but your skin still feels like itâs on fire and your lungs still ache from the smoke.Â
You silently hope you make it through this because you know if you donât, itâll tear him apart.Â
#valorant x you#valorant fic#valorant x reader#valorant#cypher x you#cypher x reader#cypher valorant#chamber valorant#chamber x You#chamber x reader#valorant sova#sova x reader#sova x You#phoenix Valorant#phoenix x you#phoenix x reader#valorant hcs
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Satan Runs Away
My first NB Satan-centric work. Let me know of any other ideas floating in the ether or any other bite-sized ideas for specific characters (time is of short supply lately lol)
Contents: Angst with some hurt/comfort. Boy literally just wants to be thought about/included so bad, I swear-
~âĄâĄâĄ~
Okay, this makes him sound like a disobedient pet, but how else could MC explain why he suddenly disappeared after a fight with Lucifer? They couldn't find him anywhere in the House, the library, or his usual bookstores... it was like he just vanished!
MC was the first to notice his prolonged absence as they were nearly the only person to ever seek him out personally. In the old timeline, Satan dropping from contact for a little while wasn't all that unusual but here it felt far more urgent... What if he wanted to stay gone? What if he didn't come back home???
So it was only natural for them to get swept up in a wave of relief that washed over them when they eventually saw Lucifer march on in through the door dragging a thrashing Satan behind him. The eldest held the snarling demon by the back of the collar while he kicked and fought for his freedom. He was filthy like a stray cat pulled off of the street...
What caught everyone off guard was how quickly they flung themselves at the fourthborn when Lucifer forced him to his feet. It was like the whole room froze, the struggling Satan included, as they wrapped their arms tightly around his midsection. Their cheek flattened against the ruffles on his chest where they kept their ear trained to his heart, finding reassurance in its quick but strong beats...
Meanwhile, both men stared at them like they had just lost their mind. NO ONE touches Satan without permission and expects a good outcome, much less hugs him! What were they thinking??
After seemingly confirming to themselves that the troubled demon was not a just figment of their wishful thinking, the MC pulled themselves back to a respectful distance. Their expression, however, remained laced with frustration, fear, and mounting tears.
MC: "Satan... I was so worried about you! You can't just leave like that, I-I-"
Their voice cracked unexpectedly, making them stop and try to gather their thoughts. Lucifer shot a look at Satan and finally let him go, more or less nodding for him to take over from there but...
Truthfully? Satan was confused. Several new feelings swelled up in his chest and not a single one made any sense... Watching MC tearing up felt like having a bed of nails imbedded in his chest and yet he was... happy? Under all that pain?
For some reason, a part of him felt... joy... to hear that someone had worried about him while he was away... That he wasn't just written off as one less problem to deal with... Happy enough for him to forgive how they had invaded his personal space without asking first.
Satan stood awkwardly for several long moments, frozen in thought as he debated how to respond. Eventually, his brother got impatient.
Lucifer: "Stop just standing there and apologize. Now."
The confusing warmth in Satan's chest was quickly being replaced by the familiar burn of rage with every word out of Lucifer's mouth, and it must have showed, because the MC was quick to jump to his defense.
MC: "No, it's fine, Lucifer! I'm... I'm alright. I'm just glad that he's-"
Satan: "MC... I'm sorry."
Both MC and Lucifer looked at him with surprise, especially given the downcast, almost ashamed, look on his face.
Satan: "I'm sorry the fact that I left upset you... I didn't mean to, I just..."
His eyebrows knitted together as he tried to find the right words... He hated his "brothers" and hated this house but leaving this place also meant leaving MC... Why did it all suddenly feel so stupid in hindsight...?
MC: "It's okay, Satan, you don't have to explain yourself to me..."
Satan guilty frown was contrasted hard by the MC's kind, understanding smile. Though their eyes still glistened with tears, he felt like they were of a different kind now, making his heart practically convulse in his chest. How do they keep doing that...??
MC: "Just... promise me you won't go away again. Not without letting us know where you're going first... Please?"
Their voice was so steeped in worry... a fear FOR him rather than OF him... And in that moment, it was the most compelling sound to ever exist in the three realms.
Somehow, his response felt foreign to his tongue, and yet still very much his own thoughts given right to speak. It was like a powerful force had taken over him, spreading an airy happiness through him to replace the rage that came before...
Satan: "I... won't leave you again, MC. I promise..."
#obey me#obey me shall we date#shall-we-date-obey-me#obey me satan#obey me nb#obey me nb satan#omnb#omnb satan#obey me scenarios#obey me headcanons#obey me incorrect quotes#obey me imagines
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answering more POM WRAITH au/Pingo asks!!
featuring: biology questions, creatures, dingo (unfortunately), and more!! check it out ââ
she does need sleep! she doesn't need to sleep as often as people, but she's a little wraith and she needs to snooze every like... i dunno. three days? sure, let's go with that.
although in the first few days of her being on PNF404, i could see her getting bored one night and poking around her crewmate's rooms to see what they're doing (spoilers: they're all just sleeping). in the morning after, dingo talks about a very bizarre dream he had with a specter watching him sleep! everyone dismisses it as the ranger having some weird sleep paralysis, but pom's sweating at the table thinking about how she should be way more careful if she does that again.
this ask did inspire me though, i'll probably make more art explaining how she works sometime later hehe...
that'd be scary... although, if there's anyone incentivized to wraithify olimar, it'd probably be the plasm wraith! that golden goo is really fond of him, and they'd love to make olimar just like them
WAHH THANK YOU!!! if they ever dated and got married they'd be able to save on a dress! hehe
she might look kinda scary but she's a sweetheart!! pom would genuinely struggle to make herself hurt humans. if there's a beast threatening her crew though -- that thing is mince meat!!
WAAAHHH THANK YOU!! it's definitely a challenge to make it fit with the other wraiths but still be unique... it was fun to design though!!
IM SORRY i didn't get to your ask before i actually posted the full wraith design... there she is though!! HILAHERHLIAEERH
yes!! he's the first one to discover her secret. it'd probably happen on accident out on the field pretty early on when pom is forced to defend herself with no pikmin, but it's no difference to Oatchi -- pom is pom! he'd bark and give her helmet a lick, and when pom realizes her rescue pup isn't scared of her it's quite the relief...
i have art of oatchi and wraith pom i'll be posting later!!
WAHHH... this is cute i like this hehe!! dingo sees those striking X eyes and still falls in love!! GRRRR i must draw more pingo now...
AUGH.... OK!! more pingo on the way then boss đ«Ą (i do appreciate it though lmao)
she doesn't need to eat human food, but she does need to consume living creatures for biomass! human food is definitely delicious and she very much enjoys things like chocolate or hot coco, but to sustain her form and keep up energy she has to go for creatures
i'll probably make art for this later to explain better, but it is kinda like an amoeba -- after killing something, she can cover it and dissolve it with her goo. easy peasy!
Louie: You're a wraith? I thought you were just weird like me Pom: ... Louie: ... Can you go get creatures for me
pom is trying her best to understand human social cues and etiquette but it's a struggle sometimes!
i took psychic damage from this ask thank you for penis ringođ
YES!!!!!!!!! there are so, so many ways that could happen and each one is hilarious... i've written out a few different scenarios, i should pick one to draw out... it'd be funny if dingo learns her secret but decides to trust her and keep it safe. but he's, you know. dingo. he's not good at lying, especially to his crewmates (and especially to his actual childhood friend of a doctor who was already very suspicious of the new blood!)
of COURSE i'm very abnormal about those two.... actually if y'all have scenarios you wanna see with those two, send more asks and i'll probably end up drawing them lol
that's actually a really good question! i haven't thought too much about how her full wraith would visually change, but if she ate enough and got stronger i imagine she'd finally be as big as the other two. she'd probably gain more wraithy abilities and attacks! trying to take down a powered up full wraith pom would be a very difficult fight, even for those with the best dandori skills and a full squad of pikmin
Pom: I can't let anyone find out my secret... Shepherd: I can't let anyone find out my secret... Collin: I can't let anyone find out my secret... Dingo: I can't let anyone find out my secret... Yonny: this is gonna be fun Bernard: (doesn't care if people find out) Russ: (doesn't care if people find out) Oatchi: bark
#modpost#modask#pom wraith au#thank you all for the asks!!#i'm gonna try to keep the asks in batches like these#i still have a bunch to get to#pingo
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i want to spoil megatron ( imagine, megatron / reader, first contact au)
My head is about to split open after my exam, but I can't stop thinking about what it would be like to spoil Megatron. To shower him with affection, gift him with luxury, and drape him in all the finest silks â mulberry and tussar, hand-picked and crafted from mollusks living in the deepest trenches of the Earth and worms hiding in the highest corners of the conifer forests. A part of him would be against it.
It was wrong. He refused for fear that such amenities were born out of inequality. You tell him that while such disparity exists in your world and that everyone should campaign against it and give relief when they can, you were not a billionaire controlling the flow of commerce, the railways, or the traffic in the air. And so letting himself indulge in a part of your world will not poison the soil or kill the trees. It won't send anyone into the hospital if you were to commission a sixty-foot-tall ergonomic chair made purely out of titanium metal for him to relax on while he reads. It would probably give the architect a headache, but it wasn't like you weren't paying them handsomely. (And any engineer or scientist would be thrilled to experiment, take a look at Brainstorm.)
Such symbiosis is one example of how there is a way for the finer things in life not to come at the expense of someone's pain.
It could just be the little pleasures in life.
Such as soaking for hours on end inside your bathtub. The hot, rose-infused water engulfs your body as you embrace one another. The mist rising off the water flushed your cheeks and soaked his cables â laughter echoing down the marble tiles. You had fallen asleep against him twice, and he was happy to hold you against his lap with a servo cradled across your chin to keep your head afloat.
It could also be sinking against the king mattress; his weight supported by the metal inserted in between the frames. Megatron thought it was excessive. The cost of fusing a recharging slab with all the soft padding must be expensive, and yet you had waved him off, beckoning him to lay down â and never before did he feel like staying in one spot forever. And never again did you hear him complain, content in stretching his arm out in the morning to pull you close to him, secure and pressed against his chassis as the sheets pile around like clouds. He didn't know such softness existed, and you pampered him with more â bits and pieces of comfort he doesn't feel deserving of.
As if he had invaded your castle, Megatron felt like an outsider to a life of feathers and flowers.
And yet you insisted. Comfort, safety, stability â these must all be so foreign and new and strange to him. Eons of working in the mines, of conflict and war. If anything, you feel a little lacking in your generosity. You always want to give the best for him. And so you never refuse your lover, even when he sheepishly asks whether you could get him a few physical copies of his latest binge.
He woke up to construction workers greeting him cheerfully, installing shelves and chandeliers in the library you had bought overnight for him. Megatron could only gawk by the stairs, speechless as you walked back and forth to oversee the truckloads of books in the mansion's driveway. Is this what you wanted? You asked innocently. And the ex-warlord had to curl his servos to fight back the urge to pick you up and smother you. No, he'll find a way to thank you later.
For now, Megatron is overwhelmed with your love and how it flows endlessly, almost heady at how his wishes are only a snap of fingers away with you as his lover. Forever will the guilt linger and consume him, but the shine of your smile always seems to chase their shadows away â brilliant like the set of pearls hanging off your ears.Â
( basically, if megatron has a rich human s/o lol )
#this is just a silly daydream please <3#transformers#idw#maccadams#transformers x reader#tf mtmte#mtmte#lost light#imagine#transformers hc#megatron idw#megatron / reader#first contact au#megatron
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wait here's a different way the end of the chunin exams in iwa could go
team 4 still does the same stuff: iwa grabs kushina, kushina yeets tori away. tori runs off to get itachi and deidara; the team then splits up to grab both kushina and ibiki. rn i'm thinking tori-deidara go for ibiki. tori wants to go to kushina but itachi is like "no, you're the ONLY one who can do the transportation jutsu for our mission" so the compromise is he goes after kushina. deidara ends up with tori because she needs extra muscle more, even though deidara would be better at FINDING kushina bc he knows iwa better. instead he just sort of points itachi in a direction.
tori by herself can do the transportation jutsu but it will be rougher when executed solo. she deems ibiki's physical condition too poor to risk it. they get him on a bird and fly out.
okay, so, my original idea was itachi finds a half-conscious kushina and gets her out of the village on foot. this is an insane feat he accomplishes with "massive genjutsu means no one notices for a hot second" no jutsu. iwa eventually realizes they've lost their very impotant hostage, which means they are screwed. they decide to blow up the problem to hide evidence (this will look BAD for them but no evidence means they can claim team 4 started it, which is less bad PR than what they actually did getting out). team 4 gets a fight, kushina recovers quickly enough itachi is like what the fuck, ma'am, and they flee into the night safe and sound.
i think i will keep this as ""canon"" bc it lets team 4 have thier moments. but here's a fun little alt au ending feat. minato:
okay, so, in the minato one shot we see kushina summon chains that aren't attached to her body. so i was thinking it'd be cute if minato had a necklace or bracelet made from one of her chains. it's also a ~kushina's health~ indicator: the chain with break/evaporate if she runs low on chakra (which would ONLY happen in a dire situation), or she can undo it herself if she needs to summon him. remember, her jinchuriki seal has a hiraishin integrated into it, so minato can go to her whenever he wants. minato spends a lot of time fiddle with his chain and sighing wistfully when she's out of the village.
then one day, the chain breaks. minato doesn't even think about it; he's by her side 0.2 seconds later. and then.... fuck it i just wrote it lol
****
Kushina was slumped over Uchiha Itachiâs shoulders. Itachi retaliated the second he felt a presence behind him. Minato dispelled all three layers of the genjutsu, knocked the short sword out of his hand, picked up his wife, and shoved Itachi away. Â
His goal was to get Itachi away from him for long enough to orient himself. If heâd bothered to watch him, heâd get to watch Itachiâs reaction to being pushed around like a child: confusion mixed with a little bit of terror.
Sagged over in his arms, Kushinaâs eyes were unfocused and her face was clammy with a cold sweat. Heâd never seen her like this before.Â
âMânato?â she slurred, and Minato felt a wave of relief at the sound of her voice. âFeel like shit.â
If she was talking, she was going to be okay. Minato shifted her, pulling her into a princess carry. Kushinaâs head rolled against his chest, and Minato felt a stab of worry. Kushina was a live, but what the fuck had they done to her?
âHokage-sama?â Itachi asked, voice wary. He had not moved to retrieve his sword. He didnât need it; all five Iwa-nin in the room were already dead. Minato must have crashed his rescue attempt.Â
âYou have permission to approach,â Minato told him. âWhat happened?â
Itachi gave him the succintest of summaries: Kushina and Tori had been intercepted while attempting to retrieve Morino Ibiki. Kushina had gotten Tori out, and Tori had gone for back-up. Itachi had then found Kushina here, in an underground detention facility. Tori reported Kushina as having chakra-poisoning. It was unclear if Iwa suspected them of their own betrayal of their agreement, or if their attack had unrelated motives. Minato thought the latter: there was only one known chakra toxin that could poison someone enough to take out someone like Kushina, and it was extremely difficult to synthesize. This had been planned.Â
Minato felt a flash of rage. All that posturing about how he was the dangerous one, how he was the one who might unjustly destroy Iwaâs security, and this is what they did?Â
âOkay,â Minato said, very carefully keeping his voice level. âIâll handle it.â
âSir?â Itachi replied. âHandle which part?â
âHold this,â Minato said, and handed him a kunai.Â
Minato teleported Kushina back to Konoha and left her with a medic. âFuck âem up, dawling,â she told him, patting a random part of his face. Then he stopped briefly at home to grab weapons. Then, approximately three minutes after heâd left him, he went back to Itachi.Â
Itachi, for once in his life, seemed to be at a loss for words.Â
âDo you know how to get out of here?â Minato asked.Â
Itachi led him down a hallway, up some stairs, and then down another hallway, passing zoned out Iwa-nin after Iwa-nin staring at the walls or passed out on the floor in the wake of Itachiâs genjutsu. Minato paused a couple times to draw Hiraishin markers, just in case. Itachi waited for him without comment.Â
âDo you know which way the Tsuchikageâs office is?â Minato asked once they were on the ground floor and he could see sunlight through a window. âIâd like to talk to him.â
âI believe itâs towards the mountains,â Itachi said, âalthough he might be overseeing events related to the exam.â
Minato hummed.
âWhat would you like me to do?â Itachi asked when they reached the front doors of the building.
âGo find your team, please,â Minato told him. âKeep that kunai on you.â
Minato tossed a kunai out the door, and then he was off.Â
Iwa was prettier than Minato thought it would be. Red mountains towered above them, and the sky felt closer and more open than it did anywhere in Fire Country. Most of the buildings were grand old things, tall and narrow and brushing up against each other with pointed roofs. The roofs were steep; not convenient for ninja travel. The ninja here all went underground when they wanted to be quick and avoid civilians.Â
The narrow streets were crowded, people all herded together as they spilled out of the stadium. This didnât particularly bother Minato; most of them were civilians who didnât even notice him pass by, one kunai throw after the other.Â
The administration building, when he found it, was carved into the mountainside. This was a really impressive use of earth ninjutsu, he would admit.Â
There was a sign that said the building was closed to the public today, due to the chunin exams. Minato painted another hiraishin marker under it.Â
Lucky me, he thought as his hand moved in quick, practiced strokes. He usually tried very hard not to kill civilians.Â
No one expected him, despite the audacity of kidnapping his wife.Â
âExcuse me,â he said to the kunoichi at the front desk. âWhere is the Tsuchikageâs office?â
âHeâs not taking visitors today,â she started, voice sharp and annoyed. Her eyes met his. Confusion flashed across her face. Minato smiled, charming. Confusion drained into horror.Â
âThatâs a shame,â Minato replied, and then she was dead.Â
The building was fully staffed. Chunin exams took a lot of extra hours from admin behind the scenes, and ninja missions never stopped. Minato picked people off, one by one, as he moved through the building. The Kageâs office was usually at the top, right? They didnât have intel on Iwa, but thatâs where everyone elseâs wereâŠÂ
He was quick enough no one had realized what was happening and mounted a counter until he was on floor six. He wasnât really sure if it was people trying to leave or fight back, but either way they all ended up dead. The entire hallway was sticky with blood, his sandals making that annoying squelching noise as he walked.Â
I guess this is why no one ever invites me to their villages, Minato thought. Hiruzen had visited both Suna and Kiri for Chunin Exams. Minato always got a polite note suggesting he send a representative. He was kind of jealous, actually. Minato liked travel and meeting new people. All they had to do was not kidnap his wife and heâd be happy to play nice and not leave hiraishin markers places.Â
Oonoki was seated behind his desk, a wall of Iwa ANBU in front of him. Cute. Minato dispatched them in the span of an inhale of breath.
âHi,â Minato said, standing in front of Oonokiâs desk. âI donât think weâve met. Iâm Namikaze Minato, Hokage of Konoha.â
To his credit, Oonoki did not cower. He did not bother with a useless attack. He met Minatoâs eyes, gaze steely.Â
âKilling me would be an act of war,â Oonoki said grimly.Â
Minato raised his eyebrows. âSure,â he agreed. He leaned forward, letting just a little bit of killing intent out to punctuate his words. âAnd so would attacking and kidnapping my wife.â
Oonoki stayed silent. Minato reeled himself back in.Â
âHereâs what weâre going to do,â Minato said, uncapping another bottle of ink. He went to work drawing a Hiraishin marker on the Tsuchikageâs desk. âI am going to go get my shinobi. Iâm going to kill whoever I want along the way. Then I will leave, and we wonât have to talk about this ever again.â
Minato leaned forward, grasping Oonokiâs chin in his hand. It was scratchy with the scraggly hairs of an old manâs thinning beard. Oonoki did nothing to resist him tilting his head back, pride keeping his gaze hard.Â
âAnd you,â Minato continued, pressing his brush to the manâs forehead to draw one last marker, âwill do nothing. No declaration of war. No retaliation on Konoha or Fire Country. Got it?â
He pulled his hand back, letting Oonki go. He pocketed the brush. The wet ink of the hiraishin marker glimmered on the old manâs face, a new permanent fixture to his skin.Â
âDo you understand?â Minato reiterated. âSay it.â
There was a long silence, stretching on and on between them. Minato kept eye contact, smile pleasant.Â
âI understand,â Oonoki said.Â
âExcellent,â MInato replied. âGlad weâre on the same page.â
He teleported to the marker heâd given Itachi.Â
Team 4 was currently in Ibikiâs holding cell, having an argument. There was an incredible amount of blood everywhere, considering there was only one dead Iwa-nin in there with them. Ibiki himself was sat against the wall, emaciated with two black eyes. New scars decorated his scalp. He watched Team 4 with what was either exhaustion or intense judgment. Horrific evidence of torture aside, his expression perked up when he noticed Minato.Â
âNo, I canât do the jutsu solo if you want him to not get brain damage,â Tori was saying, jabbing her finger aggressively into Itachiâs chest. âEither summon the Hokage back orââ
âHey,â Minato interrupted, and Tori basically jumped out of her skin.Â
âJesus FUCKââ
âIâll take him back,â Minato announced, and ninety seconds later, Ibiki was in his prepared hospital room and Minato was back in the holding cell.Â
âUm,â Tori said.Â
âWhat the fuck?â Deidara said.Â
âOh wow,â Minato said, having noticed the blood splattered on one wall had been painted into words: Can you find them all? with a hiraishin marker below. âTori, this is mean.â
Funny. But mean.Â
The look Tori gave him was vaguely affronted.Â
âWhatâs our exit plan?â Itachi asked. âAre we also teleporting?â
Minato spun a kunai around his finger casually. âI can take you home first,â he said. âBut thought Iâd walk.â
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Doumeki is the first person ever to reach out his hand to Yashiro:
Part 4 (part 2)
(this time it's really the last part lol)
(Reminder to read the other parts before this one, if it's not already done, thank you)
(TW: suicide)
To go on, living a worn out life
Yashiro is done, so done with this shitty life, give him a break, the poor man is exhausted, living a life that never been his.
Would that be the answer to ALL of this suffering ? Wouldn't death put out this fire that been lighted inside of him since his childhood ? And that he never been able to put out, how could he do it alone, all alone. Letting it consume him till this very day.
(After he been shot, Y talks with kage in the hospital in chapter 10.5)
"Dont they say 'My whole life flashed before my eyes?' in my case, not a single good thing popped up though"
(He is awareeeđ)
"But there have been some good things, you know? One or two... Or three" And Bam! D pop up in Y's mind, because D is one of the few or even the only good thing that happened to Y.
He comes in his life without warning and give him so much in such a short period of time, dismanteling so many hard belief he have, but it's too much for him, he doesn't have the time to proceed any of it, he just got out of the hospital that he already is in danger of death, again. And he knows it, he rushes straight into it.. Into his death, his only escape ?
Yashiro is tired, so tired of this worn out life, he is so over any kind of hope, he don't believe in himself and there are very few things you can do for someone that threw themself first.
Let me... Let me put an end to it..I'm tired, I'm tired of thinking, I'm tired of living, Ah.. I never lived, I just always survived, it's enough... Let me rest.
And that when Doumeki appear again:
Even if he been shot by Y just a few hours ago, sensing the danger Yashiro is in, he runs towards his side, he don't let go, he don't let him, he doesn't let Yashiro's hand fall, he tries desperatly to reach it again.
It is precisely because he is at the bottom of the abyss that he must reach out to him, he needs even more help. Even if this one person pushes him away, now that he knows, he can't ignore what's inside him anymore.
He don't want to let him face it all alone, not anymore.
If Yashiro doesn't have enough straight to fight anymore, Doumeki wants to fight for him, if Yashiro is not attached to his life anymore, Doumeki would be attached to it instead, until he finds a taste for life again.
He want's to also carry the burden, even if it only gives him a tiny bit of relief, he want's Yashiro to rely on him, and to share the burden of all those years with him.
Yes, Doumeki saved you my dear â€âđ©č
Indeed without Doumeki, Yashiro would be dead.
He searched for him and he saved him from a death that would end a life he did not really live.
Doumeki saved Yashiro's life but not only that, he also saved him from the coldness of being ignored.
Even if it's really hard for Y, and that he is not ready for it yet, maybe not even realising yet, that he always deeply, truly, wanted someone to notice, someone to see, to see him, the litlle boy, stuck in the dark of this closet.
Even near of his one death, all of Doumeki's thoughs are going toward Yashiro (in the cd drama we can clearly hear him pant a "kashira.." out).
He is so devouted, so persistent cause he knows, he saw Yashiro for who he is, and he love him unconditionally. Those fragmants of the real Yashiro are enough for him to want to stay.
He is ready to do anything for him.
He is ready to overcome everything for Yashiro.
But it's without counting that, Yashiro is not ready.. Not ready to accept all of this.
(Seing Doumeki's face here fucking hurt..)
It's only here that he perceive a glimpse of Yashiro's trauma, cause even if D sees Y for who he is, he in reality have very few index and understanding of the causes and how far and deep Y's suffering goes.
And he at this moment realise that even with all the best intentions in the world, certain things can't be resolved.
We don't really know what conclusions D does of all of this, but there is one that I am sure that he did:
Doumeki understand that even though all he want is to love him
That will only hurt Yashiro.
He "give up's", he makes up his mind the moment he understand that he is shatering Yashiro, and that sadly, without Y's will he can't do anything about it.
He is at a dead end, and he quickly understands that he is obligated to make a very difficult decision.
(OMG that hurt so baad...cryingggâ€âđ©č)
The two of them have taken all their courage to let each other go.
Yashiro let go Doumeki, his only light, the only hope he ever had, to protect Doumeki (and himself) from further harm, the yakuza world is indeed dangerous and Y don't want D to be in any danger, especially not because of him. D still have his family: his mom, his sister Aoi, he still have a home, Yashiro doesn't have to be part of it.
(To know that he is the one that called D's family when he was in the hospital..đ)
Seing Yashiro make (what he think to be) his last goodby to what could be his only light in the darkness is trully heart wrenching.
This encounter with Doumeki make such a big impact, and changements in Yashiro's life in such a small amount of time (2 or 3 monts at most) I believe they needed to pass trough all of that, it's being part of their journey, to let's hope, someday become each other support.
In the end of the day, they are only, unfairly, deeply, wounded human beings, with qualities and flaws, and we can already be thankfull that their path crossed.
They both need to work on themself so they can after try to find each other.
The path is still long, but I believe in them, I believe that there is still hope, that someday, they'll help each other to heal, to live.
End.
Thank you very much for reading †See you soon.
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scary movies (birthday party!matty x reader fluff)
day 3 of promptober75! this is less about scary movies than it is about the two of them musing on romance. but they do watch bones and all! i don't think there are any spoilers, but don't yell at me if there are please lol this isn't proofread. yeah, this is just a cutely weird little fic about some cutely weird people. i hope you enjoy!
"baaaaaaaabe, hurry up. i miss you!"
you can hear the pout in matty's voice, even from the next room of the hotel suite. picking up the bowl of m&ms in one hand and the open bottle of champagne in the other, you pad back into the bedroom. "how can you miss me? you've been with me the whole day."
"i always miss you when i'm not right beside you, no matter how long it's for," matty replies, sitting up on his knees on the bed to carefully take the bowl and bottle from your hands. the way his stomach muscles shift with the movement makes your knees run the risk of shaking. "the night before our wedding is going to be hellish for me. are you sure we can't just stay together? al green it?"
"baby, it's tradition."
"peer pressure from dead people, you mean."
"fine, another reason, then. oh, here's one - absence makes the heart grow fonder. you can't argue with Classical poetry."
"try me, babe."
you sigh. "matty, sweetheart, love and light of my life, sole occupant of my head and heart⊠it's only for twelve hours of our lives. and we will literally be on the same floor of the same building. it'll be fine!"Â
matty quirks a brow.
god, he's stubborn. you inhale deeply before you talk again. "alright. i'll wait until the bridesmaids are asleep and then we can sneak out together for a walk. but i'm not sleeping with you at all - in either sense, actually - regardless of how crippling your separation anxiety is."
"i can work with that, darling. thank you," matty smiles and leans up to kiss you.
before he can, though, you place your index finger on his pretty lips. "not so fast, healy, i have a caveat: i'll only do it if we can share a cig."
matty rolls his eyes, and nudges your finger from his face with a quick head movement. "should've seen that one coming. christ, fine. one cigarette, and that's it. don't want any rattling coughing fits during our vows."
you giggle, leaning down to kiss him; the speed with which his face softens afterwards is comical, almost cartoon-like. "thanks, angel."
"mmm, can't wait to marry you," matty murmurs against your lips. "nor can i wait for you to get into bed with me so i can cuddle you the way i've wanted to all day."
"point taken, baby, just let meâŠ" your face screws up as you reach around to unclasp your bra through your (matty's) t-shirt, before pulling it out from under the soft material and launching it towards the open suitcase in the corner of the room. relief palpable, you climb onto the bed and grin at an enamoured matty, now sitting against the plush headboard and swigging champagne. "freedom at last."
"you know, i'd gladly do that for you, sweetheart," matty smirks, tugging you onto his lap with one arm. "in the name of feminism, and all."
"as much as i commend your attempts to champion the gender, baby, i'll pass," you smile, enjoying the tiny moan that slips from your fiancé's lips as you weave your hands into his hair. "because i know if i let you do that, your hands are gonna end up on my tits, and then we'll never get anything done."
"oi, that's not true," matty frowns (cutely). "we'll get each other done. and i know you enjoy that. as do i, my god."
his lips attach themselves to your neck, making their way down; your insides begin to liquify, but you fight through the slight haze of pleasure and stand your ground. "yeah, i really do enjoy it. but, baby, there's other stuff i enjoy doing with you that i wanna do too, yeah? like⊠watching this film we agreed we were gonna put on tonight."
matty groans against your skin. "must we?"
"yes. you promised me, matty," you say, as firmly as you can with his lips still attached to your collarbone. "we watched the irishman yesterday because you wanted to, and you said we could do bones and all today. it's only fair."
"a romance film about cannibalism," matty mutters to nobody in particular. "it's foul, that concept."
"well, fair is foul and foul is fair."
"what?"
"macbeth. shakespeare. can't argue with him. anyway," you say, shuffling around so matty can lean back against your chest. "can i put the film on now?"
a deep sigh, one that seems to drag itself up from the depths of matty's soul. "depends."
"on?"
"it depends," matty begins dramatically. "on if you're going to spend the rest of the day thirsting over timothée chalamet or not."
"you know, i seem to like him a lot more in your head than i do in real life."
"really?"
"yeah."
matty hums, appeased. "sick. go on, then, stick it on."
you press a kiss to matty's temple and snake a hand across his torso to hold his own. matty brings it to his lips, and the contact seems to release a swarm of butterflies in your stomach. "thank you, lover."
the beginning of the film passes without much incident; that is, until the first lightly gory scene. you wince a little at the sound of cracking bone, but you're nowhere near as bad as matty, who almost upends the bowl of sweets resting on his lap and vigorously shakes his head as if it'll erase the memory from his brain.Â
once it passes, he reaches for the champagne on the bedside table and takes a long drink, before passing the bottle to you. "maybe you'd better hang onto that, darling."
"alright, baby."
despite both of your respective silences, and although you can't see matty's face, you can picture the disgust colouring his features from the way his head tilts against you as the film progresses. he doesn't speak until the film's main villain is introduced, reaching back for the champagne with a "creepy fucker, that one"; this sentiment is built upon at the shot of a james joyce book in said fucker's residence. "oh, christ, he really is suspicious."
despite your own discomfort towards the happenings on-screen, you grin at matty's assessment. "i mean, yeah, baby. but i think the lurking and creeping kinda gave that away already."
"well, obviously. but that book's an extra layer of him being an absolute wrong'un."
you giggle, wrapping your other arm around matty and resting your head on his shoulder. with a happy little huff of air through his nose, matty turns slightly to kiss your cheek; the two of you stay like that, cosied up in a tableau of casual domestic intimacy. it's sweet, for a while, and comfortable - matty even rips the piss out of you at a particular scene involving timothĂ©e chalamet and a cornfield, touting it as "your dream movie death, babe".Â
(he's lowkey not wrong.)
the sweet moment breaks somewhat, though, as the film progresses and matty gets increasingly more grossed out. with every drop of blood spilled, every jumpscare, every mere mention of the "eating" driving the plot, the muscles in his limbs loosen and contract back into tension, soundtracked by a chorus of gasps, gulps, groans of disgust, and the odd "oh for fuck's sake" when things get really horrid. in spite of your own discomfort at some of the gore, you can't resist fucking with your fiancĂ© a little bit; amidst a silently fraught moment for maren, the protagonist, you lean right next to an unsuspecting matty's ear and crunch a handful of m&m's in your mouth. he practically hits the ceiling in fright, and pinches your thigh with a "not fucking funny". but he doesn't let go of you at all, however grumpy you make him, holding you like a lifeline throughout. in fact, by the time the credits start rolling, matty's fully squished his face into your ribs to get away from the gore on screen, thumbs rubbing your thighs so quickly to try and calm his noticeably thumping heart that you fear he might accidentally set your skin ablaze.Â
despite his terror, though, you have to hold back a laugh. "matty, sweetheart," you say, trying with all your might to keep your voice steady. "were you scared of that movie?"
"no, just unnerved by it," comes the clearly- untrue reply, muffled by your cotton-mix-clad chest. "like, they were just constantly eating raw? really? mingin'."
you can't hold back a derisive cackle now, though. "you're freaked out at people eating raw meat? you fucking hypocrite!"
"i wasn't eating people, was i?" matty protests.
"i don't know, i think you ate with it at finsbury."
matty scoffs, but you feel him smile against you. "you're a right weirdo, sometimes, you know that?"
"and you're a scaredy-cat, you know that? honestly. can't even handle a bit of cannibalism in a movie. pussy."
your fiancé pulls back from your chest to look at you, and you regret your words immediately as soon as you see the shit-eating grin on his face. "well, you are what you eat."
an immediate facepalm. "i can't stand you."
"that ring on your left hand suggests otherwise, darling," matty kisses said ring, then presses little pecks up your finger to the tip. "and look at that - you can be romantic and kiss fingers without wanting to munch on them. this film is nonsensical. i mean, i get it's some metaphorical thing about loving people for who they truly are, but jesus, the cannibalism isn't half disgusting."
"hmmm, i don't know," you muse, twirling matty's curls around your fingers. "i think there's something romantic about it. the ending with maren and lee, at least."
matty peels your fingers out of his hair and moves to face you, his beautiful face contorted into the most bewildered expression you think you've ever seen. "are you on something right now?"
"i'm serious! it's romantic, if ill-advised. and messy."
"sweetheart," matty shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. "politely - what the fuck are you on about?"
you smile. "well, it's all about desire, and lust, yeah?"
"yeah, i get that, butâŠ"
"so, it's just needing somebody so much that you, well, you consume them in their entirety. and also, like," you continue, pushing your slipping glasses back up your nose. "there's an element of closeness to it, too. how much more intimate can you get than having your lover being broken down in your digestive system, literally fuelling you the way their love does so emotionally? oh, and devotion! giving yourself up to your lover like that to sustain them? you're together forever. yeah, it's disgusting, but you can't deny there's a romance to it, matty, you really can't."
he looks like he wants to, though. "but it's so violent."
you roll your eyes. "says the man who wrote a song about the idea of cracking his girlfriend's skull open, just so he could know exactly what she was thinking. and i thought that was sweet, and romantic."
matty opens his mouth as if to disagree, then closes it and shrugs. "actually, you've got a point, darling," he smiles almost shyly, tracing patterns in the bare skin of your shin. "i wrote that about you, you know."
"you did? aww, baby," you coo, pulling your fiancé's face towards you so you can kiss all over it. "i had no idea!"
"oh, come on, babe, who the fuck else would it have been about?" matty scoffs. "used to daydream about being so intimate with you like this, just hearing you think out loud, as unedited as you'll ever get."
you smirk. "bet you didn't think the thoughts would be about the inherent romance of cannibalism, huh?"
matty laughs, leaning in to kiss you slowly, deeply, passionately. "no, but it doesn't matter. i love you regardless."
"i love you too. and i promise i won't try to eat you, baby."
"nor will i take a heavy object to your skull, sweetheart. however," matty smirks, shuffling down the bed to rest his head in the gap between your legs. "i would quite like to eat you in a slightly different sense, if you'll allow."
"oh, go on then."
#mads does writing#mads muses#into the birthday partyverse#matty healy fanfiction#matty healy fic#matty healy fanfic#matty x reader#matty healy x reader#matty healy fluff#promptober75
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sorry i dont know how to be happy...and slight cw for implied sexual harassment feel free not to post this <3
but. bucky having a close call incident with one of the guards in the camp- the first person he runs into after *isn't* gale but the get the vibes of what happened and know they need to get *him* to gale asap. and gale is so angry and hurt but tries so hard to push it down to comfort him </3 his poor sweet boy has been strugglig enough and really didn't need one more thing. sobbing in gale's big arms telling him he's sorry, gale rocking him shushing him telling him he has not one thing to be sorry for he didn't do anything wrong.
giving me angst asks is so dangerous rn while i'm still in postâfinale grief lmfaoooo count your days (buckle in, i think this is gonna get lengthy and i should probably just write a oneshot bc i have many thoughts but we'll see) (and yeah, cw for assault)
vv
i haven't seen anyone talk about this happening to john (might've just missed it tbf) and in a way i get it, because y'know gale is 'visually' more likely to be a target of things like that and we don't see what he goes through at the camp before john gets there, but i'm also surprised that i haven't seen more posts talking about it the other way around because i mean john literally comes into camp with a reputation, we see it right off the bat when the interrogator basically calls him on being a man whore lol.
i can see guards (hypocritically, bc they'll turn around and hurl slurs in the next breath) making offhand comments and passes at him, "nothing that i can't handle" when one of the others catches it happening one day, and the way john is so nonchalant about it makes them wonder how often it happens.
but one day a guard doesn't like the way he mouths off at them when they say something gross to john, and it results in john being shoved to the ground with the guard atop his back in a quiet corner of the camp, and he doesn't even hear half of what's being said because his ears start ringing and all he can remember is the feeling of the cold cobble street beneath his face and the shouts of the riot around him.
vaguely registers the guard moving to feel him up, his skin crawling, bile rising in his throat, but it only takes a few seconds before someone else is approaching and the guard jumps up so as to not cause suspicion. john drags himself back to his feet in a daze, stumbling away in the general direction of his block with his head buzzing, flinches hard when he feels a hand on his arm but realizes it's just brady looking at him with concern, brady who'd caught the guard on top of him.
gale looks up from his bunk when the door opens and he sees brady ushering john in, watches brady sag with relief when he sees gale's there, and gale only has to glance at john to know something's happened, rolls out of his bunk immediately and looks at brady in alarm. he sees red when brady tells him how he'd found john, but john is staring into a corner of the room and he knows anger isn't what he needs right now, so he swallows it down, moves to stand in front of john instead as brady leaves the room, reaching up to cup his face in his hands.
john's eyes move to look at him, but he's not really looking at him, until gale murmurs a "hey, you're okay", brushing his thumbs over john's cheekbones, and then he watches john crumble and his heart sinks. and maybe any other day, john wouldn't break like that, but gale knows he's already had a hell of a week and whatever went down must have been the final nail in the coffin because as soon as he's led john to the closest bunk, john's collapsing into his arms and he can feel hot tears against his neck and gale feels sick and has to keep swallowing to fight his own tears back.
he can feel how tense john is in his arms, like he's still trying to hold back from really showing his emotions even now, and gale pets his hair, assures him it's okay, "you don't have to hide from me, bucky." and his heart shatters when he starts getting whispered apologies through hiccuped sobs where john's face rests on his chest, gale shaking his head immediately, promising him that he has nothing to be sorry for, squeezing him tighter as he rocks him gently.
gale thinks about all the different ways he'd like to go out and murder that guard, almost scaring himself with the aggression he feels, but he shoves it down so john doesn't pick up on the redâhot anger, focussing that energy on holding john tight and whispering words of comfort until the sobs become quiet shudders, feeling him finally, slowly start to relax in his arms.
(gale probably hears john huff out a shaky little laugh when he tells him "that guard better sleep with one eye open until we get out of here" because the thought of gale actually being violent is laughable to him; he doesn't realize how much gale would really do for him, how much it hurt gale to see him stumble into the room like that.)
i definitely want to properly tackle this concept in a oneshot someday so forgive me for being vague in some areas, i don't wanna fully brainrot it out and then not feel the need to write something longer about it, you feel? <3 but hopefully this is sorta what you were envisioning. they both deserved better :(
#sorry for the angst once again#tbf i've held back a lot more than expected since the finale LOL#buck x bucky#buckbucky#johnslittlespoon asks#johnslittlespoon brainrot
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