#so i postponed it and ended up with this somehow

[fakesimp]

A Gift — ft. Lighter

Fluff ; Established Relationship

A/n — Happy birthday Lighter, my love, my Champion.

You're stumped, you have no idea, what to give to the champion. Left wondering if he even remember his own birthday, he should be, right? ..right?

And now here you are, feeling restless as you watch him fight in the ring, winning every single one like the champion he is. Sometimes will glance down to you who's in the crowd, watching him landing punches to his opponent.

It's 4 days before his birthday, Burnice somehow slip up a party conversation for Lighter 3 days ago, you didn't know what the party was for until she told you that your beloved Champion's birthday is coming up. Leaving you in slight panic since you had forgotten about it and have no idea what to give him, now you feel guilty for not remembering his birthday.

So now, your attention is divided into two, watching him in the ring whilst also trying to think of what to give to him. And everything clicks after you got everything planned, it's not too much, not too fancy, but you believe this is enough for him. He probably won't be too fond of anything too fancy right?

So a new day arrives, the first thing you do in the morning, is admiring your man beside you, leaving a short kiss on his forehead, before leaving the bed— well that was the plan till he pulled you back down, postponing your plan for a bit.

"Where are you going at such early hour? I thought we're gonna be all cuddly and things today." He said, seeming a bit sour at the thought of you leaving so early. His arms around your waist, preventing you to leave the bed. "C'mon, just a bit longer. M'tired, can't you pity this champion for a bit?" He let out a groggy chuckle at his own words, "You're the one that's being unexpectedly clingy, not that I'm complaining.." You lowered yourself down, pulling his head close to your chest as you ran your fingers through his hairlocks. Earning a satisfied hum from the male in your arms, maybe you can relax for a bit and start your plan a little late.

After postponing for almost 3 hours, huddled in bed with him, now you're on your way to the flower shop in Lumina square, Dew Gardening Shop. Planning to buy a bouquet for him, and will take the bouquet on his special day. You ponder what flower to buy though, it took you a good while to figure out what flower to buy and you end up with multiple, Red Orchids, Red and Pink Carnations, Red Tulips, Edelweiss, and The classic red roses.

They're mostly red, you chuckled at the choices, maybe his red scarf truly made him so identic, you couldn't even go anywhere without associating the color red to him. Red equals Lighter. After you're done, you told Orchidea that you'll pick them up exactly at 27th.

The bouquet is done, now it's the present, you tried to go here and there, for almost 2 days, you couldn't find it, and you finally relents and asked for Caesar's help to find it.

It's a bell, A Guardian bell. For him.

Thank the God's above the girls helped you finding one, and bought one for you, Burnice was so ecstatic when she knew you're preparing a present for him, though you are feeling quite, not well with the choice you did.

"Hey, it's okay, it's the thought that counts. You preparing a gift for him, i bet he's going to feel all giddy receiving one from you" Lucy said, patting your back as you stare at the small gift that's already wrapped tidily by you. "Yeah! I bet Lighter will love it! Maybe he'll even show them off too." Burnice added, the girls truly made you feel better.

"Thank you guys, I appreciate it. A lot."

And so the day of his Birthday arrives, your eyes flutter open at the sound of your alarm, turning it off you turned to the man beside you, who's sleeping facing down, wearing absolutely nothing on the top, exposing his back for your eyes to see.

The sight of his scars adorning his skin, made you slowly trace your fingers on them, feeling his muscle tensed up under your touch. You then heard a grumble coming from him, he turned his head to you. His hair is literally covering his face. Making you chuckle as you brush them away, "Good morning My Champion." You greeted him, scooting closer to kiss his temple. His arm draped over your waist, pulling you close, he pecked your lips. "Morning.." he replied groggily, you can never move on from how hot he sounds every morning.

You ran your fingers through his hairlocks, hearing him letting out a content sigh as he nuzzled his face to your neck. "Are you leaving early again?" He asked, it's because the last few days you really left him at such early hour, leaving this needy man all alone in bed. Though he didn't want to bother you about it, so he let you go. But today he seemed a bit more clingier than usual, he doesn't seem like he's going to let you go anytime soon.

Last night before you part ways with the girls, you asked them to bring the bouquet for you, somehow your guts are telling you in the morning the man himself won't let you go.

And it actually happened.

"No," You play with his hair as you reply in a whisper, "I've done what I need to do, we can spend the rest of the day together." You added, earning a soft hum from him. "Caesar told me that I'm getting a day off today, I don't know why, I can't really argue with her so, I don't know what to do now." He kissed your neck after he explained his situation, it was you who asked her to tell him to get a day off today. You love her and the girls for being such an amazing wingman.

"Well, I also don't know what to do, maybe we'll figure it out as the time goes on." You press your lips on top of his head, now what you have to do is to wait for the perfect moment to give the present.

But when will that time come? Is it okay to give it to him now? You feel the excitement building up for giving him the present, but at the same time you feel nervous for his reaction. Afterall what you bought for him is something small, but as the girls said, it's the thought that counts. And the present you're planning to give holds so much meaning for bikers like them, since they ride so much into the dangers.

Ah, whatever! You pouted and shook your head, you poked his back, making the male that's currently on your chest wiggled slightly at that action. "What?.." "Get off for a minute, I need to get something." He didn't move for solid 10 minutes, until he begrudgingly move himself from on top of you. "You're not leaving me again now are you?" "No Lighter, I'm just getting something from the wardrobe. Wait there okay?"

His words made you chuckle, he really such a loveable man. Making you want to spoil him with love, much love. You went over to the wardrobe, rummaging through them trying to find that small wrapped gift for him, after you found it. You hid them away from his sight, you saw him laying there, on his sides, the blanket covering nothing, just from his hips all the way down to his foot.

His bare chest exposed for you to admire, his messy hair, his eyes looking at you with so much love and tinged with curiosity. "What you got there?" He asked, his eyes following you as you walk over to his side of the bed, sitting by the edge, he looked at you. Waiting, for your explanation at least.

But just as you're about to explain, someone's knocking by the door, making both of you just jolted in surprise, "I'll get it, stay in bed." Lighter was just about to hop off before he just lay back down again chuckling.

Closing the door of your shared bedroom, you hurriedly went to the front door, it was the girls, smiling at you whilst holding the Bouquet you ordered from Orchidea, "Thank you so much." You whispered, hugging them for a moment before stepping away, earning a whispered good lucks from them before they leave.

Walking back to the bedroom, holding the Bouquet, standing by the closed door, you placed the small gift in between the flower. You contemplate for a moment, should you just walk in or do you call him to go outside. After a good minute of contemplation, you decided to go in, only for you to see the door swung open with him looking down at you holding the Bouquet in hand.

"I," He blinked, staring down at you. "Wait, what day is it today, did I miss our anniversary—" "Lighter no, you dork." You let out a hearty laugh as you hid your embarrassment behind the bouquet. "It's your birthday, I couldn't get you anything.. so I bought you a bouquet and .. that little gift"

You heard a small 'oh' from him, soon enough you felt his rough hands brushing against yours as he took the bouquet off your hands, he stared at the flowers, and then at the gift. Curiously shaking the tiny box, he heard small jingles. "You didn't have to," he said before leading you and himself to the living room, sitting down by the couch together. He put away the bouquet as he stare at the small gift in his hand, "Is this what I think it is?" He asked, you simply shrugged and smiled at him.

He raised a brow, before sighing lovingly at your lack of response, slowly he unwrap the gift, he was so careful with it as if it was the most fragile thing. The moment he sees what the gift is, you see how his lips parted slightly, taking out the bell, he sway them in between his fingers. Hearing a soft ring from it.

"it's not much but I—" "I love it." He beat you to it, "I love it so much, I, thank you." He look over at you, "I'll place this on my bike," he went over to you, sitting on the floor. He pulled you by the waist, "Lighter—!?" The position is so weird at first, but you work it out, you're sitting by the couch, him literally draping half of himself over your lap, hugging you by the waist. "Thank you so much," He said again,

Oh my god, is he, crying?

"Oh Lighter," You immediately coax him to get up, hugging him properly as he slightly shook in your arms, cooing at him oh so gently as you pat his back and put your hand at the back of his head. "I never thought you're gonna react like this over a bell—" You whispered, you felt his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close he whispered. "You will never believe me when I say, I have been waiting for you to give me that bell for so long, I thought, Maybe I should just give it up." He admitted. Making your heart clench, you hug him closer, his face buried at the crook of your neck.

"But now that I have it, I, I don't know what to say," You can feel his body tremble as he took a deep breath, "... Thank you, so much.." He thanked you for the nth time. You then heard another whisper that made your heart skipped a beat—

"I love you, please don't ever leave me."

"I won't, and will never be. I love you too, Lighter, My Champion."

©fakesimp . 2024 ; Do not copy/translate/use for ai

[darkmatilda]

𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐥 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: in which spencer can’t believe he ended up in an art class, you can’t believe you ended up in an art class, and neither of you can believe you both ended up in the same art class

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist reader, banter at its finest <3

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 2.2k

𝐚/𝐧: anon's request marathon masterlist

Spencer never considered himself particularly talented in the field of art.

His biggest problem was that, while creating, he had trouble switching off and simply focusing on what he wanted to express. When he painted, images of Van Gogh, Picasso, Dalí crossed through his mind—their characteristics and information about the movements they represented—and he would immediately start wondering whether what he was creating truly fit into expressionism, or maybe leaned more toward fauvism. No one should be surprised that he did much better with technical drawing.

He once talked about it with JJ—the topic came up when Henry talked them all into a group drawing session. What he said then somehow stuck in his friend’s mind—enough that for his birthday, she decided to give him…a pass for creative art classes.

He kept postponing going until the very last moment. However, the deadline for using the pass was approaching, and he felt a little guilty about potentially wasting the gift from JJ. So, one Saturday, he physically forced himself to go, even though there were dozens of other things he would have preferred to do in the meantime. In fact, on that particular day, he even had more desire to do laundry than to play at being an artist, but he knew that if he didn’t go then, he wouldn’t get around to it anytime soon—and the pass would expire.

So, he found himself in the painting studio, the entrance of which he could spot even before stepping inside thanks to the glass doors—beige walls, student easels arranged in a circle, a crocheted orange rug on the floor, and plenty of flowers and other props seemingly designed to spark their imagination. Taking in the room with his eyes, Spencer opened the door, allowing a woman who had arrived around the same time to pass in front of him.

Without a thank you, she crossed the threshold confidently, brushing past him—but before she fully entered, Reid widened his eyes…recognizing her.

"What are you doing here?"

His, well... acquaintance from work (the one he'd once ended up in bed with, went on an undercover mission with, and even saved a cat together, but  couldn't spend more than five minutes with each other without at least once threatening each other's throats, so overall, they didn’t get along that well) reacted similarly, though with a more outraged expression on her face.

"What are you doing here?" she put her hands on her hips.

Unconsciously, he glanced at her outfit. The dress code for the class was to wear something you wouldn’t mind getting dirty, so she had veered a bit away from her usual stylish outfits, wearing something much simpler. But that wasn’t why he didn’t recognize her—her attractiveness was unmistakable, no matter what she was wearing, she still looked just as good. It was simply in her.

She sounded outraged, but he didn’t feel guilty, because he felt the same way. The purpose of these classes was relaxation, clearing the mind, releasing stress...which was impossible when they were both within a mile of each other.

"I asked first," he stated.

She sighed in irritation, then quickly forced a wide smile onto her face. It looked terrifying, just so you know.

"I'm spending my free Saturday afternoon," she explained stiffly. "And you, Doctor Genius? Did you get lost on the way to a chess tournament?"

Reid snorted.

"If I had the chance to be at a chess tournament right now, trust me, I wouldn’t be here..."

"You two for the painting class?" A woman who must have been the instructor caught their attention.

She kept her hands clasped in a basket-like gesture, quite friendly, though her expression showed concern. Some random duo had just started arguing at the entrance to her studio. Who knows, they might be some vandals…

"That's right," his acquaintance said, completely changing her tone when she wasn’t talking to him. As if she were making an effort to emphasize the difference. He already felt like rolling his eyes—and they had met, what, maybe... eighty seconds ago?

"Oh, in that case, welcome to the creative art class. My name is Carla, and I’ll be leading it. It’s best if you just take a seat, and I’ll explain more about what we’ll be doing shortly..."

They arrived as two of the last people, so the only available seats...were right next to each other. Their exasperated sighs synchronized almost perfectly, and they exchanged glances that weren’t any more enthusiastic. Maybe later they could switch seats with someone, or maybe they just wouldn’t talk...

He spoke to her a minute after they sat down on adjacent stools.

"Are you here out of a passion for painting, or out of a passion for making my life miserable with your presence?"

She slowly turned her head in his direction.

"You might not be aware of it yet, but my presence is the brightest point of your miserable life."

"Oh, you're right. Bright from radioactive radiation—"

"Excuse me, could you please not talk to me for now?" she said intentionally louder, drawing the attention of everyone present, including Carla, who had just been explaining some introductory topics and what they would be doing. With feigned concern, she continued, "I'm trying to focus to understand the basics."

Spencer pressed his lips together, feeling the weight of so many unfriendly eyes on him.

"We know each other from work," he added, sliding his finger between them.

He didn’t want to be seen as some creep, harassing a random woman!

"This is the first time I see this man in my life," she lied without hesitation.

A bit of sarcasm crept into her voice, confusing everyone around them. Carla ran her fingers through her platinum, short hair and cleared her throat before continuing from where she had been interrupted.

They were kind of being jerks—both of them. The bickering and snide remarks were fine when they stayed between the two of them, not when they involved over a dozen other people. Strangely enough, she seemed to come to the same conclusion—when he caught her gaze again, there was something in it that looked suspiciously like a proposal for a ceasefire. He gave a barely noticeable nod in return.

Carla kept talking for a few more minutes before suggesting they start with a few simple exercises. As she launched into the basics of color theory, Spencer couldn’t help but feel like he’d regressed all the way back to a crib.

“I get explaining the fundamentals, but this is…” he muttered under his breath.

He didn’t expect anyone to hear him.

But of course—she did.

"You don’t get to talk," she replied, just as quietly. "You’d probably say the same thing during a lecture on quantum physics."

"If that lecture started with explaining what an atom is, then yes, I absolutely would—"

“And now that you’re familiar with the basics,” Carla said, shooting Spencer a meaningful look that clearly suggested he should, kindly, shut up. He did.

“I want you to try a little exercise. Mostly for fun—because that’s what we’re here for, right? You’ll be drawing portraits of each other, in pairs. Or at least, you’ll try. A few classes from now, we’ll do the same thing again and compare how much you’ve improved…”

Reid glanced around, hoping to catch the eye of someone willing to team up. But everyone had already paired off—almost instantly, like they were afraid of ending up with either of them. The two of them, constantly hissing at each other like stray cats, radiating more hostility than friendliness. Honestly, he couldn’t blame them.

So they were left with no other choice but to sit across from each other and start drawing.

He actually decided to take the assignment seriously. Better that than the realization he'd wasted his entire afternoon on something completely unproductive.

Glancing at the woman across from him—already hard at work, barely sparing him a glance—he spent a moment just studying her features. Analyzing the proportions, tracing imaginary angles across her face like some kind of invisible protractor.

At first, purely out of spite, he planned to exaggerate that perpetually annoyed look she wore like a second skin. But she kept smiling while she worked—so absentmindedly, so genuinely—that he found himself accidentally transferring that softness onto his sketch without even thinking.

He was only halfway done when a small giggle reached his ears from across the table.

She had set her brush down and was staring at her work, visibly amused.

“You’re done?” he asked, incredulous.

Was he really that easy to draw?

“Almost,” she replied vaguely, leaning over the canvas to add a final touch. Then, biting her lip, she studied it a moment longer—before finally presenting it to him with a proud little flourish. “Voilá. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you…Doctor Spencer Reid.”

He was silent for a moment.

“…What is that?”

“It’s you, silly!”

The sound he made was somewhere between a scoff, a snort, and a defeated sigh. He’d actually tried…

“Are you fucking serious…”

Her laughter.

“I swear, you’re the most insufferable—”

More laughter.

“—spiteful, venomous little—”

Her laughter only grew louder with every word, especially as her eyes flicked back and forth between the portrait and his very unamused face.

“How’s it going over here?” Carla materialized beside them, clearly drawn over by their very audible presence.

She glanced at Spencer’s portrait and gave a small nod of approval. Then she turned to look at hers—and her lips parted in stunned silence.

The figure on the canvas bore only a vague resemblance to Spencer. The oversized brown eyes were exaggerated into near cartoonish black holes, like twin collapsing stars. His hair had been rendered into a wild mess of scribbled brown, aggressively unkempt.

Beyond that, his body had been minimized to Lego-figure proportions while his head—a massive balloon-shaped monstrosity—was adorned with stress veins sketched on either temple.

The cherry on top? A single, disproportionately large hand raised with one finger pointed dramatically upward, as if delivering an unsolicited lecture.

A speech bubble floated from his mouth containing just two words:

Um, actually…

“I’ve always had a passion for comic art,” the artist of the masterpiece finally explained after a short silence, nodding with mock seriousness.

Carla tapped her chin thoughtfully, then gave her some kind of critique—though Spencer had stopped listening. His attention drifted back to his own work. The portrait wasn’t finished yet, but it did resemble her—he’d actually tried, unlike some people in the room.

On a sudden impulse, he grabbed his brush and with two swift strokes, added a pair of curly mustaches and a full Viking beard to her face.

Her eyebrows shot up.

Carla wandered off to check on another pair.

“Wow, I’d be such a hot guy,” she said, dramatically sighing as she pointed at the updated painting. “I wouldn’t be able to walk ten feet without getting hit on.”

“And are you now?” he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Twelve, last time I counted,” she replied nonchalantly.

Honestly, he was inclined to believe her. Before he could rush into a response, however, she suddenly straightened up on the wooden stool, as if struck by some sudden idea. From her pocket, she pulled out an intensely red lipstick, and to his utter bewilderment, began applying it to her lips.

“I’m leaving my signature,” she explained, puckering up and blowing him a kiss. Then, she kissed the corner of her painting, leaving a bright red lipstick print. Without missing a beat, she took it off the easel, practically shoving it into Reid’s hands.

“Here you go. If you ever go bankrupt, you can sell it. I won’t be offended.”

Spencer stared at the lipstick mark on the painting for a moment before shifting his gaze to her face, which still radiated so much self-satisfaction. He sighed, giving in, and a fleeting, amused smile appeared on his lips.

“Do you think it’s worth that much to pull me out of debt?”

“People don’t pay for art. They pay for the artist’s name,” she said, casually folding her hands over her knee in a comfortable pose. “So yes, that’s exactly what I think.”

On Monday, Morgan asked him what he had been up to over the weekend, and Spencer, adding a fifth spoonful of sugar to his coffee, shrugged and replied nothing interesting.

[itstheghostofmypast]

🔥Overwhelmed🔥

Corporate AU Wooyoung x (F)Reader

Summary: No one could stop swiper when his queen was overwhelmed.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1.1 K

Est. Read Time: 5 min

Warnings: None

Rating: PG-13

Type: One-shot

Networks: @cromernet @k-labels @illusionnet

Banner: @cafekitsune

A/N: I'd like to thank @edenesth for this picture- and dedicate this to her - my corporate queen.

Overwhelmed

That was one way to describe how you were feeling right now, from the way your admin had dumped everything on your department to the way clients were ringing your phone like you owed them money- incorrect, you had nothing to do with anything that had happened. The missing records, unfilled forms, lack of digitisation of pre existing documents, somehow ended up being given to you- sure, you knew with great power came an even greater responsibility, but being team leader did not mean you were willing to become a punching bag of your superiors.

To top it all off during your break an idiotic colleague from the IT department had decided to come at you for something, yelling at you, ruining your gaming session- the 30-40 minutes of peace you'd have during work- and in the end it turned out to be not your desktop that had an issue, the virus was in the lady in the cubicle next to yours. During that drama, you had been reported and banned from the game for 24 hours. It was wonderful, it was just wonderful. What were you going to do on your drive back home now?

The worst thing of all was that you were unable to see the only person who'd make your day bearable, the only person who'd wake you up gently every morning, with a soft damp tissue gently pressing against your closed lids, then his warm lips against your own before he'd whisper sweetly in your ear, “Time to dominate the day, my queen.” The same person who'd have your breakfast waiting for you as soon as you'd rush out of the room all dressed, forcing you to sit down and eat with him, sometimes feeding you if you'd try to say you were in a rush. The only person who would spend the night with you, choosing your clothes, shoes and accessories, ensuring to match his tie and socks with your clothes, “Pink shirt huh…welp, pinks socks it is.”- yes, he had worn pink socks and a pink tie, which most men at work found funny, but most women at work found it adorable.

Hence, now, you were sitting in your cubicle, staring at the spreadsheet, wondering what you had done to deserve this. Maybe you were too nice? Maybe you wronged someone? Maybe you - the irritating ringing of your phone had you heave out a sigh and pick it up, letting out a tired, “Hello?”

“Excuse me, miss, this is the police. You're under arrest for being so damn hot that your boyfriend is willing to commit murder for you.”

A chuckle broke past your lips as you sighed, leaning against the seat and humming, “Ah…really? Well, Mr.Police, I'm a bit busy right now, so I'll have to get back to you soon.”

“Nonsense.”

You heard from the phone and from behind you, causing you to turn around, phone pressed between your ear and shoulder, facing the man holding his phone to his ear with one hand and in his other hand he held a white box.

Hanging up, he placed it on the desk before pushing your keyboard aside, causing you to gasp in disapproval, “Silence my queen.” He demanded before flipping open the box and showing you the sweet treat that you had been eying for a while. You'd glance at it everytime you'd buy your morning coffee, knowing very well it was the bakery's best selling treat, but you'd postpone it often, for various nonsense reasons, as Jung Wooyoung would claim.

“Woo…” you glanced up at him with a pout, “Work…I have work-”

“It's 6 p.m. No more work, only cake!” He declared dragging a stool next to your chair and handing you a spoon, “I was away for one meeting, and I came back to my queen in shambles? The nerve of people - just you wait, I'll punch San in the face for leaving you like this.”

“Woo…his wife was giving birth.” You shook your head in defeat and amusement, suddenly remembering another reason to your glum mood, you had missed your boss and his wife- your friend's birth of their first child.

“I know. Where'd you think I got the cake from.”

Your eyes widened at the statement before flickering to the cake, squinting at the small card that had, “Congratulations, it's a girl!” written on it.

“YOU STOLE HIS CAKE!?”

Your screech echoed in the empty office followed by his shameless cackle, and a “REVENGE SHOULD BE SWEET, MY QUEEN!”

“JUNG WOOYOUNG!?”

He rolled his eyes at your yelling and scooped up a good amount of cake and pressed it against your lips, “Say ahhh…I got coffee too.”

Taking in a deep breath you reminded yourself that the intention behind this was sweet, and that later, perhaps tomorrow you'd be apologising to the new parents with another cake and a gift for their new born baby. Parting your lips you let him feed you, closing your eyes in pure bliss, instantly forgetting about everyone and everything, wanting nothing more to smooch the man infront of you for blessing you with this wonderful, sweet, delicious treat.

The moment you opened your eyes, you realised that his lips were on yours, and you gently pushed him away, swallowing and mumbling, “Y-you idiot we’re at work.”

“Don't worry, ain't nobody here but us and this cake.”

You shook your head in amazement. This day had been shit, but at least you had your personal little clown, your companion, your lover, and your little thief swiping around and getting you treats. As the thoughts processed you had somehow started crying, tears rolling down your cheeks that you realised when you felt him wipe them with his thumb, giving you a small smile, “It's okay… its okay to feel overwhelmed, love…the world won't hate you if you take a little break.”

Nodding at his statement you let him pull you in a hug, your head resting against his shoulder as he gently stroked you back, mumbling, “Their daughter is beautiful…I'm glad she takes after the mom…imagine if her head was as big as his…pushing it out would've been hell.”

His smile widened at the sniffled laughter, hugging you closer as he eyed the cake that San’s wife had insisted he take back to you, knowing how you had to handle her husband’s load today and how the lack of a Jung in your life today may have overwhelmed you. She was right. Perhaps she was a good friend- welp. He was gonna swipe the cake anyway, Mrs.Choi only caught him and laughed it off.

“Woo…”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you…” you mumbled, moving back before you started eating again, taking a sip of your coffee, realising how hungry you were, how grateful you were, how loved you were. It really was a blessing to have someone like Jung Wooyoung in your life - no matter what kind of chaos he brought with him.

“Anything for you…my queen.” He whispered, watching you eat in peace, chin in palm as he admired you, taking in your tired posture and eyes, naturally you were tired and exhausted, drained and overwhelmed- no matter, he'd make sure to fix all that. It was his job to keep his queen, the love of his life, safe and happy.

[poppadom0912]

Holding on

Warnings: Guns, shootings, blood/injuries, hospitals and lots of angst.

Summary: When going to visit your older brothers, things suddenly take a turn for the worst.

Submitted by @lokiswife18

A/N: I'm so sorry, this was sent in ages ago but with some free time now, I can finally get all of these done. There's multiple medical inaccuracies so I apologise in advance. I somehow ended up writing over 2k words, so this is a long one. Hope you enjoy this, it feels like i haven't written angst in a hot minute so this was super fun to do. Enjoy!!

Today's dinner had been planned for months now and every single time, something came up and it had to be postponed.

First, Jay was unexpectedly gone undercover, and you and Will didn't want him to 'miss out'. The second time, you were pulled in last minute to supervise the annual school camping trip. The third time Will had been unavailable to what you guys later found out was a massive pile up at the hospital that he didn't reply till two days later. And the other four times after that were all results of mainly your brothers work lives getting in the way.

Today had been the day where nothing would go wrong. You'd all messaged earlier on and nothing had come up to change your plans. There was going to be nothing in the way to stop this dinner from taking place tonight.

The high school you worked at was having their parent teacher meetings today, your last one being half an hour before the reservation Jay booked.

Your work best friend who you always drove with had a later meeting and so you were taking the train, your make up in your bag. Your clothes were good enough for restaurant you three frequented growing up.

Waving the other teachers goodnight, wishing them luck with the remainder of their parents, you made your way to the train station, phone in hand as you updated your brothers that you had left work.

It was dark out, the sun had almost fully set, and it was at that time during the autumn when the sun started setting earlier. But the station was close enough and having a detective as a brother meant that he taught you things that would be useful just in case.

Rummaging through your bag looking for your card, you cursed yourself for how messy your things were and with the addition of your makeup, searching for your card that wasn't in its purse was very difficult.

Stopping in your tracks, you huffed in frustration at not being able to find your card. Taking your bag off your shoulder, you used your dominant hand to dig deep. You definitely put it in this morning, you never left the house without it.

Finally finding the card, you resumed your walking, rounding the corner from the train station when you heard very familiar popping sounds went off.

Ducking around the corner, you stood still as you waited for the shooting to pass. Your hands trembled slightly as you dialled 911.

But before you could press the call button, a wave of immense pain washed over you.

Time seemed to move in slow motion. Your surroundings all started to blur; the shootings no longer audible to as a ringing sound drowned your ears.

Following such intense pain was numbness. Your phone and card fell from hand, pins and needles enveloping your fingers as you lost all feeling in your entire body but your chest.

In the far back of your mind, you could hear Will's words from a night he taught you and Jay first aid. At the distant thought, you tried moving your hands to put pressure on your chest, but nothing moved.

Your breathing was now shallow, gasping out of rhythm the more you struggled. Everything was becoming so blurred to the point the flowers on your dress were no longer visible.

Coughing increased your pain tenfold; blood was now trickling out your mouth. With whatever consciousness remained, your panic sank in even further.

What had been a good day at work and a supposed even better evening spent with your brothers had taken a sudden turn for the worst when you'd been caught in the crossfire.

Here you were, bleeding out in the dark in the middle of the street with no one nearby.

Forming any sort of thoughts became even more difficult the more time passed. While thinking about what was going to happen next, your inevitable thought were your brothers who were completely oblivious.

And they were the last thing on your mind when you were no longer able to fight against your heavy eyelids.

*****

Jay arrived first. Everyone was still at the precinct but after asking very politely, Voight let him off early. Jay was sat at the reserved table for twenty minutes before Will showed up, apologising for his tardiness as surgery ran over a little longer than expected.

They had put off ordering till you arrived, only asking for drinks as they waited for you.

The first ten minutes they simply thought you got caught up with more parents but then ten turned into twenty and they were concerned.

You were usually very punctual so being this late was out of the ordinary but to also not tell them in advance that you were going to be late. Something was clearly wrong.

Confused, they both took turns messaging and calling you, both of which you didn’t reply or answer.

Now they were concerned.

Luckily, all three of you were sharing your locations with each other after leaning from many past experiences. Quickly checking your whereabouts, they found you not too far away from your school near the train station but looking at your movements for five minutes, you remained put.

Without any words, both brothers were out their chairs and apologising to their waiter who had been so patient with them. Getting into Jay’s truck – Will being dropped of by Natalie – they drove towards your location, their concern transitioning into anxiety at the unknown.

It didn’t take too long to get there. Jay parking his truck on the side and Will getting out without waiting for the car to stop.

Walking around the corner, they weren’t too sure what to expect but it definitely wasn’t this.

There you were, unconscious, leaning against the side of a building, legs sprawled out forward and your head tilted to the side, blood trickling out your mouth. Your hands were limp around your abdomen where your floral dress was clearly ruined, drowning in blood.

Instantly, Will sprung forward, kneeling besides you as he called your name several time. You never responded nor did you even move an inch.

“Y/N? You with me?” As Will switched into ‘doctor mode’, Jay wasted no time in calling it in, relaying his badge number and stressing the importance of this emergency to dispatch before calling Voight, knowing the man and a few of his colleagues were still working.

Placing his fingers on the side of your neck, Will tensed up as he felt your weak and irregular pulse. Swallowing harshly, Will took inventory of every injury, not matter how big or small.

He addressed the obvious first, your chest that was still bleeding profusely. Taking off his jumper, he ripped it in half, wrapping one around your chest as tight as possible to try stop the bleeding. You had lost so much already and even with the clothing around your chest, his jumper was already soaking in so much blood.

“I’m so sorry Y/N.” Will apologised before tightening a knot, wincing when you finally whimpered. Your whimper was ever so soft that if he wasn’t so focused on you, he wouldn’t have heard it.

“Hey- Y/N, open your eyes for me please.” Will’s resolve was struggling at the sight of his little sister bleeding out and there only being so much he could do to help. But Jay, he felt even more helpless, standing back only being able to watch as his brother did his best to help with so little resources.

Surveying the area, Jay tried looking for anything out of the ordinary, but it was fully dark now, no people out as they all got ready for bed.

Turning on his phone flashlight, Jay easily caught sight of several stray bullets littering the road and pavement. With this new lighting, you looked even worse for wear, your bloody chest even more alarming now that they could actually get a good look at you.

“Shit. Will what- “

“I’ve got her Jay.” Will said firmly, looking him in the eye but his own were watery. That didn’t assure Jay as much as he wanted it to.

All of a sudden, before Jay could say anything, Will’s head snapped back towards you, his fingers going back to your pulse before moving even more forward, ducking his ear near your nose.

Will’s fast movements could only mean one thing. Before Will could even do anything, Jay already knew what was happening.

You weren’t breathing anymore.

Laying you flat on the pavement, Will winced as he placed his hands on your chest, apologising before he started chest compressions.

Each compression produced more blood, Will’s hands absolutely coated and dropping in your blood. It made him feel sick.

“Jay, I need you to take over.” Will said after some time had passed, his arms slowly starting to aching, knowing he had to take a minute before he could continue.

Kneeling on the opposite side of Will on the other side of your body, Will counting him in before he took over.

As soon as Will’s hands were off your chest, they were immediately replaced with Jay’s, almost as if it wasn’t two different people.

Will’s fingers were sticky, your blood dripping down his fingers, glued under his nails and coating his sleeves. It felt so surreal.

“Alright Jay, swap back with me on three.” Will told his brother after two minutes, not wanting him to get too tired either.

Jay’s hands were in the same state when he stopped.

“Will, its so much blood.” His voice was shaky, reality setting in as Will continued chest compressions when nothing changed.

Will only looked up at Jay with a certain glint in his eyes that he hadn’t seen since their dad died-

“Will she’s-“

The blaring sirens cut him off, blue and red lights blinding them as the appeared around the corner.

Jay got up, walking towards the newcomers when he recognised the cars in front.

“Jay, what happened?” Hank asked, approaching his detective first. His eyes clocking Jay’s bloody hands before asking “Who-“

“It’s Y/N.” Jay said, leading Intelligence and the paramedics towards the scene. “She’s been shot. I think she got caught in a shooting- she’s lost so much blood and she’s not breathing anymore but there’s no culprits anywhere and-“

“Jay, it’s okay, we’ve got this.” Hank physically had to stop the younger man, looking him straight in the eye. “We’re gonna get them, I promise.”

Hank never made promises, it was sworn off by every first responder but everyone knew that Voight never broke his promises.

“Alright Desmond, on my count I need you to take over for me.” Will said, taking charge as soon as the familiar paramedics joined him.

Instantly complying, the paramedic took over the compressions, letting Will sit back on his toes. “We need to shock her, she’s gone without a pulse for nearly thirteen minutes.”

Both paramedics looked up at him knowingly, their sombre faces ones which Will purposefully ignored even with the bitterness heavy on his tongue.

“Will I’m sorry but…”

*****

You were now connected to the portable monitor in the ambulance and to hear the repeating beeps, signalling there was no heartbeat only made things more real. But Will hadn’t given up, even with the sympathetic looks he received from the two paramedics.

Jay had joined them in the back of the ambulance, leaving the crime scene in the capable hands of Intelligence and with the promise that he’d be kept in the loop.

In what felt like recording breaking speed, they arrived at Med. Wasting no time, the stretcher was pulled out the ambulance, Desmond swapping places with Will on top of the stretcher over your body, who now took over the chest compressions.

“Maggie, is Baghdad open?” Will asked, raising his voice as they rolled into the ED, his back to all his colleagues.

“It’s all yours. Connor, Ethan!” The two men were already moving before Maggie had even called out their names.

“She’s been shot in the chest, the bullets still inside. Pulse was weak before it was lost, been doing CPR ever since and was shocked twice in between.”

“How long Will?” Connor asked, looking at the redhead worriedly, eyeing the bloody states of all three Halstead siblings. “Will, how long has she been unconscious?”

But Will never replied. “Ethan, come here and take over.”

The Korean shared a knowingly glance with the trauma surgeon but obliged anyways.

Stepping back, Will stood besides Maggie who was hooking you up to all the monitors necessary.

“The bleeding finally stopped en route.”

“When was she shot?” Connor asked, surveying the rest of your body for any other bullet wounds.

“We, we don’t know.” Will’s voiced cracked from the emotion and uncertainty. “Gosh, it’s been over fourteen minutes since.”

Will physically couldn’t find it in himself to finish the sentence.

“Okay, paddles Maggie.”

*****

Both brothers were forced out the treatment room and Will could not convince Maggie to change her mind one bit.

“She’s in good hands. Ethan and Connor will be in surgery for hours so I need you two to rest.”

Will and Jay were way too tense, their faces grim at the unknown future of their younger sister.

“Let’s wash your hands first and get into a change of clothes.” Maggie was as gentle as she would be with kids, smiling softly as she helped the brothers somewhat get their shit together.

The blood wouldn’t wash away. It remained stuck under their nails, speckles stubborn like glitter. Knowing your blood was on their hands, it was gut wrenching.

Will always kept a change of clothes in his locker. He and Jay rid of their stained shirts with whatever was left in the locker but even in a new change of clothes and washed up, they still felt disgusting.

“Will…” Jay softly called his name, clearing his throat when his voice cracked. “What did they mean about not breathing for more than fourteen minutes?”

The doctor screwed his eyes shut at his younger brothers question. His tone insinuating that he knew but was in denial and wanted confirmation that his suspicions were wrong.  

“There’s-“ Will struggled to face reality, ripping off the bandage for his brother. “There’s a very low chance she makes it. And, and if she does there will be consequences- like, really bad side effects.”

Jay clenched his jaw, turning his head away to look out the doctors lounge window into the surprisingly mellow emergency department.

“We broke our promise.”

“I know.”

“What are we meant to do?”

Several beats passed before Jay received a reply, one in which caused silent tears to finally start falling.

“I don’t know.”

[ccazimi]

Nightingale (pt. 4)

Read pt. 3

CW: stepcest, noncon, partial p in v, choking/breathplay, dacryphilia, namecalling (sweetheart, cockslut, etc.), degradation, dirty talking, sadism, cock worship, blowjob, throat/facefucking, cumplay (?), lmk if i missed anything else WC: 3.5k a/n: please! pay attention to the warnings! i'm gonna proofread this tmr so excuse any mistakes... also i think this miniseries will have one more part as the last one

“I’ll make it up to you.”

You hate those stupid words that he’d uttered because now you can’t get them out of your head.

With bated breaths and timid glances you sneak at him you wait patiently, wondering if he really meant what he said.

Those stupid words that kept you yearning in a way that was unfamiliar to you- if not to feel his tongue or his touch again then that damned toy he’d used on you.

The orgasm it gave you kept you up for nights, only heightened when you thought of him using it on you.

But Sukuna had been working long hours lately, and you had no idea how to even bring this up to him- as if you would, even if you knew how.

Amidst your thoughts being infected with him, you somehow didn’t feel the want to go on anymore dates. You gave excuses- that you were busy with schoolwork or that your parents were strict, because the truth was gross.

You wanted your perverted stepbrother to fuck you, use you, make you feel good in ways that had you questioning your sanity. That he’s tainted you till the point you get wet when he calls you his little sister.

These days disgust and discomfort are hard to differentiate from want and dark desires.

Still, you wondered if something had shifted in your dynamic with him since that night. He seemed a bit less antagonistic these days the few times you saw him, still teasing and taunting but in a more playful manner, and you felt yourself easing up with his presence, like you weren’t a stranger in your own home whenever he was around.

Any amiability came to a stand still not even a week later, when the situation regarding your finances came up.

Maybe it partially arose from the fact the Mr. Itadori had stepped up in his paternal role, happily offering to pay for your expenses including your college tuition. It was no secret that he was smitten with you, maybe because having a daughter was a nice change after raising two sons his whole life.

Even this would still be fine if he didn’t make Sukuna - the only other earning man in the household - pay for your expenses as well.

You insisted otherwise but Mr. Itadori was set on making his older show up for you, perhaps thinking this would show him how to act or how to be a real brother to you.

And that’s how you arrived with Sukuna having to pay your credit card bill, which clearly pissed him off to no end.

“Seventy-eight thousand yen?! Are you fucking serious?”

You stood awkwardly in the doorway of Yuuji and Sukuna’s shared room, feeling guilty enough as it was going up to him and asking him if he could pay your bill since Mr. Itadori told you to go to him for it.

Honestly, you’d try to postpone this meeting for as long as you could but your bill was due very soon.

“It was over the course of one whole month, okay?” You reply defensively, thinking you’d actually done a decent enough job budgeting this month.

Sukuna’s lip curls in irritation as he looks up from the statement to glare at you. “You don’t fucking get it do you? Spoiled fucking brat, you’ve just had everything handed to you your whole life.”

His words sting, like they always do. You’re tired of hearing this same tirade from him over and over again- and to act like he knows you or whatever the hell your life was like?

It grates your nerves.

“Don’t act like I’m the problem just because you’re miserable.” You finally spit back.

“You are the fucking problem, you just enter our fucking lives and start leeching off of us.” He seethes, creases etched into his face that’s twisted in anger. “Getting coddled like you’re a damn toddler while the rest of us actually have to work.”

“I’m a full time student, you know this!” You step closer, done bowing your head and putting up with his bullshit. “And you have no right to act like you’re a fucking saint just because you have a job, after all the things you’ve done to me.”

You despise the way your voice breaks just a bit after you hiss out the last part, the way his expression contorts with something mocking, condescending.

He scoffs. “Done to you, huh? You keep playing this card like you don’t fucking love it,” He leans closer, “Like you don’t fall apart under my touch as if it’s the only good thing that’s ever happened to you. I bet you even fuck yourself on your fingers at night pretending they’re mine, don’t you?”

Sukuna watches you try to hold yourself together and keep your composure as you stubbornly deny him what both of you know is the truth, acutely aware of how close he was and that glint in his eyes. “I don’t. You’re getting ahead of yourself.”

“Sweetheart, you’d probably get on the floor and do it in front of me right now if I asked you to.” He smirks. “If I promised you I’d make you feel so good, if you did. You don’t have nearly as much shame as you pretend to.”

You push down the lump in your throat, fingers curling inwards and unfurling again as you’re rudely reminded of the situation you’d been dealing with this whole fucking week, how even now your craving mind wonders if this is an offer.

“Make me feel good….how?” You murmur under your breath, heat seeping through your body and across your cheeks as you look down and away from his face and towards the long fingers that were pumping inside you.

You’re ridiculously horny for him.

He laughs, a callous sound that rips through and yanks you out of your stupor.

“God, you were really fuckin’ gonna do it, weren’t you? Pathetic bitch.” He sneers.

Tears of resentment, anger, and humiliation prick at your eyes and before they have a chance to fall your hand is suddenly flying through the air and slapping him squarely across the face.

“Fuck you, fuck, I wish you’d never entered my fucking life!” You yell, hating how your hit seemingly does nothing to him, or that sleazy grin on his face. “No wonder your mom left, it was probably because of you, her fucked up shit-show of a son.”

Whatever mirth lingered on his expression quickly disappears as his face hardens.

You know you’ve crossed a line, even before he stands at his full height reminding you of just how much bigger and stronger he was then you.

You’re still angry and honestly it felt good spewing that venom at him, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t feeling something new right now like cold water in your veins.

It turns icier when he smiles again, the kind of smile that signals you should leave now.

“Maybe you’re right. Wanna see how much of a ‘fucked up shit show of a son’ she gave birth to?” He prowls closer, agonizingly slow as you continue to back further and further away until you’re near his door.

You really shouldn’t have gotten yourself into this situation while the only other person at home was Mr. Itadori who was contentedly asleep in the living room sofa while the tv plays loudly in the background.

Finally you swivel around, though you know it’s pointless.

You’ve played this game before- Sukuna will always be bigger, stronger, faster.

And just like that he’s in front of you, shoving you away from the door as a condemning click tells you there’s no getting out of this now.

It alarms you, enough that you’re leaping across the small expanse of the room, though you know it won’t do anything, confirmed by a tight grasp around your wrist before you’re shoved face first into the dark covers of his single bed.

It all happens so fast, you feel the immovable weight of him above you as you struggle uselessly and panicked tears are wet on your cheeks. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry Sukuna, I didn’t mean it—”

His hand is around your throat in an instant, pressing the air out of your words as he pushes your head back till your neck is straining. “Shut up, just shut the fuck up. You had it fucking coming.”

You stop trying to fight back, with both wrists held together behind your back in just one of his hands and another that could choke you out at any time, you were only just wasting your energy.

He leans in, breath hot and humid as it ghosts across your ear. “I really held out on this, you know. But you’ve pushed your luck too far this time…”

A sickly feeling curdles in your gut when he shifts so you can feel the hardness in his pants, rubbing along the curve of your ass. “So let me show you what a mean older brother I can be.”

Your breath turns shaky as you feel him undo his pants, shifting around to free his erection before crudely yanking your own bottoms and panties down, just enough that you can feel air brush against your exposed ass and cunt. “No, no, no, I’m not ready Sukuna, please you c-cant,”

His fingers tighten back up around your trachea, the uncomfortable pressure and your anxiety letting only a scant amount of oxygen to make it to your lungs.

“I can, and I will. Besides, you were ready that night, huh? Just to lose it to some random guy you barely even knew, if it came to it.”

You feel it then, the hot and leaking tip of his cock rubbing against your pussy. You try to swallow but you can’t. You want to yell, say something, anything, but not a single word can make its way up your squeezed throat.

“Oh fuck, you’re wet.” He chuckles lightly, exhaling audibly as his cock slides further into your lubricated folds, sliding it back and forth in your slick. “You like this or something? Is this turning you on? God, you might just be as ‘fucked up’ as me…”

His grip loosens slightly on your throat, allowing you with some much needed air as you find yourself getting even more worked up, despite the fear and bitterness that boiled in you.

Your stomach tightens when you feel him stop his movements to prod his tip against your entrance. “St-stop Sukuna, I won’t be able to take it,” You whisper as fresh tears fall, “You’ll tear me up.”

“Just take a deep breath.” He says flatly, not a hint of concern in his voice. “Or don’t, I don’t really care either way.”

He presses himself further into you, and you can already feel the pain gathering as he’s barely even inserted himself.

“No-”

Your cry of protest turns into a wincing gasp as he pushes himself further into you, just the tip of him forcing its way past your entrance.

“Oh shit, you’re tight,” He groans.

It hurts. A painful burn that felt like you were being ripped open as he tries to inch himself deeper into you.

Your body’s tensed in pain, breath labored while you let out feeble whimpers as tears stream and stream, trying to just get through it, remembering how you were always told that there would be pleasure after the initial pain.

Even if it doesn’t seem like this pain would ever be worth it.

He can’t honestly be more than an inch in, but you feel him stop moving.

He’s looking at you.

A second passes before he sighs. “Fuck.”

And with that there’s another sudden burst of pain before it’s gone all together and you realize he’s pulled himself out of you.

His hand leaves your throat, relief flooding your veins when you feel his weight lift off you.

As soon as you can, you quickly turn over, harshly pulling your own pants up to see he’s already tucked himself back in as well.

You scoot farther away from him on his bed until your back is to the wall.

He’s looking down at you with a scornful look of frustration with a gaze that makes you feel small before finally breaking the silence. “Get on the ground. You’re gonna have to make me cum another way.”

“Wh-what?”

“Are you dumb? Get down and on your knees. Now.”

You do as he says, slipping off the edge of his bed and slowly lowering yourself till he knots a hand in your hair and pushes down on your hear till you’re at his crotch level.

“And take off your top.”

You hesitate.

It doesn’t make sense for you to be shy about this, especially after everything else.

You swallow and grab your shirt by the hem to pull it up over the top of your head before pausing and looking up at him.

“Don’t make me fucking say it.”

Well, at least you tried your luck.

Slowly you unclasp your bra and take off the straps before throwing it to the side to expose your bare chest to him.

Sukuna’s eyes roam over your tits as your nipples harden in exposure to the air and his tongue darts out to wet his lips.

“That’s what I like to see.” He hums before gripping your head tightly again to push you forcefully into the large bulge in his pants so that he can grind it on your face. “Feel that? You’re gonna take all of it down your dumb little throat and you’re gonna love every single second of it. Understand?”

Tears sting your eyes and your face burns in equal parts shame and arousal as you nod obediently.

“Say it. Haven’t I taught you how to use your words?”

“Y-yes, I understand.” The words come out muffled by his clothed erection pressed against your mouth.

He pulls away. “Strip me.”

For a second you pause before quickly getting to work, unable to look up at him in the eye as you do so.

You unbutton his jeans and pull them down, the outline of his hardened cock through the black boxers sucking the air out of your lungs. Your fingers brush against his skin as you hook them around the waistband and peel them down to release his swollen dick.

Your stomach coils again.

Maybe it’s just the angle but you swear it looks even bigger than last time, with a vein running around the underside that you hadn’t previously noticed.

There was no way in hell you could have possibly taken that thing inside you and survived.

“Look up at me.” He orders as he grasps his cock with one hand.

You tilt your chin, round tear eyes meeting the hungry ones above you, watching his pupils blow out even more when he slaps his blushed tip against your face, making you wince softly.

That wicked leer of his only grows, the one that always means bad news.

“Kiss it. Show me how much you love my cock.”

Your eyes widen slightly, laying your hands around the dark tattooed bands encircling the muscular tops of his thighs before placing a chaste kiss right on his slit.

“Ah, fuck,” He exhales as he rubs the leaking tip of his dick up against your lips, smearing the precum all over them like it’s lipgloss. “That’s a good girl. Keep this up and you might actually make up for before.”

You resist the urge to bite his dick off.

He taps his cock on your mouth. “Open up.”

You comply, entirely confused by how much you hated this, especially after what he’d just tried, yet found yourself just as desperately wanting to taste him.

He immediately begins to slide his length through your opened mouth, groaning at the contact against your wet tongue, continuing to go deeper and deeper till it was uncomfortable.

You try to fight your gag reflex from being triggered but it happens anyway, with something so long and large being pushed down your throat. You grip his thighs pathetically and try to push away from him as your throat convulses around his cock, trying to squeeze it out.

You’re offered no mercy because it only hardens his dick more, and with a cold laugh he harshly shoves your skull further down his length till your nose is pressed against his pelvis. “Oh come on, you’re being dramatic.”

Dramatic?

You can barely breathe, growing dizzy when he finally pulls out and peers down at you as you cough a bit and regain your breath.

“Maybe it’s a good thing you’re such a sensitive little thing, because fuck, it turns me on to see you all pathetic like this.” You wish you could ask him to be gentler but you know by now that there was a good chance he’d likely just do the opposite. So instead you wipe your tears and determinedly take his dick in your hand to put it into your mouth again- though this time not all the way.

Sukuna let’s you do this without shoving himself back down your throat, watching your face and fighting the urge to let out a moan as you swirl your tongue around his swollen tip.

You gaze up at him and he inhales sharply when you dig your tongue into the divot of his frenulum, dragging your soft tongue up from it over his tip, and back down his shaft again.

His breathing grows heavier, no longer able to fight the urge to thrust in and out of your warm, wet mouth in time with your motions and the way your tongue laves so sensually all over his dick. “Shit, you like this you little cockslut? You like sucking off your big brother?”

You moan around his dick without even thinking, and Sukuna grins again. “Wow, you really are messed up.” He rasps. “Now suck my balls like a good little slut, yeah?”

He pulls his wet length out of your messy mouth, smeared with precum and saliva. You hold his cock up and close your lips around his heavy scrotum, sucking and lapping gently at the soft flesh while you stroke his shaft with your hand.

The last restraints of his control begin to crumble at the sensation, at how fucking filthy you look like this. “Ah -fuck- god, you really are nothing more than my obedient little dog, huh? I can make you do -hah- whatever the fuck I want you to…”

His grip in your hair suddenly tightens and he pulls away to shove his cock through your parted lips, unable to control the urge to fuck your mouth any longer.

The pressure is sudden and before you can adjust he’s gripping your hair so tightly you feel pinpricks on your scalp. That pain is quickly overshadowed when he begins snapping his hips back and forth at a brutal pace.

You struggle to keep your mouth open while you try not to choke on the cock slamming into the back of your throat over and over again.

“Ah, shit, you pathetic, stupid, needy little thing. You’re -hah- really worth nothing more than being a -fuck- a cocksleeve for me to use.”

You don’t notice tears are falling again, running down your cheeks and only adding to the ness of spit dribbling obscenely down your chin from where he mercilessly thrusts in and out of your mouth.

It hurts, your jaw aches and you feel like you’re suffocating on his cock abusing your throat, hoping it won’t be long till he cums because you don’t think you can keep this up much longer.

And like your prayers have been answered, suddenly he snaps his dick all the way out of your mouth and jerks it above your face before cumming with a hiss, ropes of thick hot cum spurting out and painting your whole face white. They keep coming for a few seconds more, and by the time he’s down you feel the viscous fluid dripping lewdly down your face.

He pants, eyes drinking in the sight of you kneeling with cum all over your face, and it almost makes his dick harden again. “God, you look perfect right now, sis.”

You can barely look up at him, thinking it would’ve been a lot less degrading for him to just cum down your throat than this.

Sukuna furrows his brows in mock confusion. “Where’s your gratitude? Show some thanks and lick that shit up like a properly trained mutt.”

You don’t even think, just moving automatically to swipe your fingers in the semen drying on your face, and sucking them clean. He watches you do it over and over till of it is gone into your stomach, and you look expectantly up at him.

He’s tucked himself back in, reaching forward to pet the top of your head. “Good girl. I guess you’ve earned me paying your bill, huh?”

[killerpancakeburger]

Breaking Point (1/2)

SUMMARY: Civilian!Reader, who works as Price's assistant, has a breakdown at work. Soap+Ghost help the best they can. Hurt/comfort. Can be read as platonic or romantic. Gender Neutral Reader.

PAIRINGS: Ghost x GN!Reader

Soap's version.

TAGS: Hurt/comfort. Military inaccuracies (I make shit up for the sake of the plot). Ghost is... Ghost; taciturn, blunt, aloof, but Not An Asshole, protective, trustworthy, He's Trying ☆.

WARNINGS: Mention of relative in the hospital, suicide ideation, depressive thoughts, swearing. Ghost's part is significantly darker than Soap's (in terms of suicide ideation, not as in he's a yandere).

WORDS COUNT: 3.6k

A/N: Very self-indulgent, Reader is going through it and so am I. 🙃 Ghost role-plays (NOT SEXUAL) as the world's worst psychiatrist. Yours truly suggest to listen to "Strong For Somebody Else" by Citizen Soldier to set the mood. (Song includes suicide ideation and depressive thoughts too, so listen at your own risk).

After ending the call, you put down your phone on your desk in a daze, hand shaking.

The news you’ve just been told cannot be real. Life could not possibly be that cruel. What did I do to deserve this? you wonder helplessly. It’s like every time you get back up, life knocks you down again, sending you tumbling on the cold, hard ground.

Clenching your fists, you stare into space, a thousand thoughts disorderly swirling inside your brain, all bursting with anguish, until a burning tear running down your cheek brings you back to the present. You’re at work, your boss is in the next room; a breakdown is a luxury you cannot afford right now. Better bite your tongue hard enough to draw blood than be caught sobbing. 

Inhaling a shaky breath, you take your head between your hands, shoving your fingers into your hair, trying to convince yourself to postpone your nervous collapse. Only one hour left, and you’ll be free to cry your eyes out at your flat. Or on the way home, even. It’s not like the other passengers ever paid you attention the other times you’ve cried on the bus.

But somehow your attempts have the opposite effect, and more tears roll down your face, staining the papers beneath it. As you furiously wipe your face with your sleeve, with a blend of frustration and despair, pissed at yourself, and wanting to get rid of the evidence of your fragile state as fast as possible, the unmistakable sound of your office’s door opening makes you look up.

The sight of the dark, bulky silhouette standing in the frame does nothing to appease your worries - quite the opposite. Of freaking course of all bloody people that could have walked in on you, it had to be fucking Ghost. The most intimidating - not to say terrifying - man on the whole base, but also the most cryptic. 

Towering over 190cm and built like few were, even on a military base, you had recoiled despite yourself the first time you met. Every single detail regarding him was redacted - you knew because you had checked his file, consumed by curiosity -, including his own face - unvaryingly covered by a black mask adorned with a white skull. That semblance of halloween mask and an alias was all that he shared with the world. 

He dispensed his words in dribs and drabs to a handful of privileged people, which seemed limited to your supervisor, Captain Price, who was also his direct superior, and his teammates of the Task Force 141. He couldn’t have offered you more than ten syllables in the six months you’ve been there. Yet, everyone knew who he was, what he was capable of, and crowds systematically parted with his passage like the Red Sea. 

You had wisely taken the resolution to not heed the rumors about him, which ranged from hardly believable to frankly ridiculous, but you couldn’t help the knot in your stomach every time he was nearby. It wasn’t only his imposing stature that put you on edge, but mainly the fact that he was always impassive. His mask effectively hid his emotions, sure, but his voice didn’t let anything show through either. Most of the time you had no idea what he was thinking or feeling, leaving you puzzled at how to interact with him. Not that there were that many interactions to begin with, but the few that happened left you with a lasting impression.

However you were pleased with yourself after you quit agonizing over his opinion of you, focusing instead on doing your best to treat him like the other soldiers. He may not be friendly, but he never had been disrespectful either.

You stare at him in horror, a deer in the headlights, unable to emit a sound. You didn’t even have the time to fabricate a bunch of excuses to get you out of this situation.

Shit, shit, shit. What do I do? WHAT DO I DO?

“Ya good?” 

His tone is gruff, as it always is, but not hostile. The question feels like a way out of this awkward situation, a lifebelt. You cling onto it like you're lost at sea.

Maybe you can still turn this around - pretend everything is OK. He will follow the implicit rules of politeness and leave you to it.

You hasten to reply.

“Yeah, yeah, it's fine. I'm fine.”

As you finish drying your face, he steps into the room, stopping in front of your desk.

“Did you need something?”

Your voice automatically switches to “customer service” mode, and you plaster a fake smile on your face. The mental image of a puppet, strings forcing the corner of its lips to lift, comes to your mind.

Ghost doesn't respond. His eyes are searching your face like it's an encrypted message that could provide a target's position.

Your smile vacillates under his scrutiny. The examination is cold, clinical; there's no warmth nor sympathy in those brown eyes.

“Doesn't look fine to me.”

He announces the statement like a fact, voice dull, neutral. He doesn't provide sympathy, but he doesn't cast judgment either. It’s not less irritating though.

Your first instinct is to snap at him, tell him to mind his own business, ask why he even cares. You resist it. Picking quarrels will only make matters worse. You grit your teeth and lie some more, trying to sound carefree.

“It's nothing, really. I'm just being a crybaby.”

Crybaby.

Ghost turns the word over in his mind, unconvinced. He still recalls vividly the moment he stopped considering you like another faceless office worker amongst others and made an effort to remember your name.

He was mindlessly killing time in the break room with Gaz and Soap until you showed up at the door, a forced smile on your face, attempting to look casual but your body language betraying your nervousness. He spotted you first, the other two engaged in a lively conversation. Relief spread on your face when you saw he had noticed you, sparing you the trouble of having to call out for him, and you approached.

“Ghost, can I have a word? … in private?”

He straightened up from the wall he was leaning on and followed you wordlessly, feeling the prying stares of his teammates lingering on him. You stopped in the hallway to face him.

“You forgot to fill out the medical part in your last report.”

Fingers linked together, you were anxiously twiddling your thumbs. His eyes followed the movement unconsciously.

“I haven't.”

You frowned in uncomprehension. 

“Your medical file said-”

“I know what the medical file said,” he retorted firmly, hoping that you would understand his intention without him having to spell it out loud.

The furrow in your brows didn’t go away, quite the contrary.

“You want me to lie.”

The statement wasn’t an accusation, but a request for confirmation.

“You catch on quick.”

The sarcasm and patronization unintentionally slipped into his voice. You were just a newbie trying to do your job well, after all. However the others before you never took the trouble to confront him about this, either out of fright or negligence, and this felt like a waste of his time.

He watched you search his face for something, an explanation, a way out? You bit your lips, conflicted, before replying:

“No.”

“No?” he repeated, raising a skeptical eyebrow that you couldn’t see, crossing his arms. He didn’t know whether to be annoyed or amused. He wasn’t used to being turned down anymore, except for so few individuals, like Price or Laswell, that they could be counted on the fingers of one hand. That the first person to oppose him in so long wasn’t an uptight high ranking or a gutsy enemy, but you, an average civilian, was definitely a surprise. 

“I'm not taking that risk”, you added with a determination he didn’t expect.

“Ya wouldn’t be takin’ any. Nobody will be none the wiser.”

“That's not what I- urgh. I am not letting you go back injured on the field! I don't care if you're the ghost or whatever, you’re not invulnerable. So either you fill that damn file or I'm telling Price.”

“Oh? You'd snitch on me?”

“I'd do it to save your life, yeah.”

And with that, you shoved the papers in his chest, turned around and walked away. You had barely disappeared around the corner that he was already mentally calling himself a bloody idiot. Why had it been so tempting to provoke you? Because out of nowhere your usually bashful self showed audacity? Because you were absurdly hellbent on defending his expandable life? No matter the reason, he started to look at you differently from that day on.

Clearly you and him had a different definition of “crybaby”.

He deposits the stack of files he had been holding on your bureau, but as you reach to seize them, he covers your hand with his own and leans in.

You would have stared in disbelief at his gloved hand over yours if the proximity of his face wasn’t a much more pressing matter. You can feel your face warm up and you loathe it.

“Those'll still be there tomorrow, love.”

You blink in surprise at the pet name. It's like you're a spooked horse and he's trying to soothe you with sweet nothings.

“But the paperwork-”

“Fuck the paperwork.”

Easy for him to say.

“But Price-”

“I'll deal with Price.”

“My mom's in the hospital”, you brutally admit, having run out of pretext.

You look each other in the eye for what seems forever. 

“Ye take yer coffee with three sugars, yeah?”

“Uh, yeah?”

You reply hesitantly, stunned by the ask that, a priori, has nothing to do with your wholehearted confession. How did he even know that? The words have barely left your lips that he already disappeared into the corridor. You stare in disbelief at the door, mouth agape. You poured your fucking heart out and that socially inept bastard in his goofy ass halloween costume just ditched you after wringing the truth out of you like you were an interrogated enemy soldier.

Sipping the content of your mug with the Ghost's unblinking stare fixated on you is an unsettling experience, to say the least. Seated on the chair facing your desk, legs wide open, wearing a black hooded sweatshirt and gray pants, one hand holding his mug of tea, he hasn’t taken his eyes off you since he sat down. 

Does he seriously not realize how unnerving his starring is?

He exudes an aura of tranquil power; the unchallenged authority of someone who is used to being obeyed without question, combined with the nonchalance that comes with being unmatched. Even casually sprawled like this, he remains formidable.

A few minutes ago, he set down a steaming mug in front of you and a box of tissues - a delicate attention that sent a pang in your chest -, before taking a seat. The fingers of his free hand are softly taping his knee.

“Guess I won’t need to kill anyone tonight,” he declares in a detached manner.

You blink in incomprehension at that.

“But you don’t have a mission tonight…”

“Won’t have to kill anyone for makin’ ya cry,” he clarifies.

“Oh.”

What else can you possibly reply to that? The murder machine lounging in front of you has enough confirmed kills to make a sniper of legend green with envy.

“So…”, you initiate, not without uncertainty, “is this the moment where I get everything off my chest?”

“Do whatever ya want.” he placidly counters, shrugging.

It really, considerably, sounds like he doesn't care at all; but if he did, he wouldn’t be here.

You take a deep breath, staring at your desk.

“She's in the ICU. Paralyzed, intubated, put in a coma.”

Tears flood your eyes again. This time you don't try to fight them.

“I'm terrified for her. But, what's worse is…”

You swallow your saliva; blink in rapid succession - the tears sting.

“I can’t help but think the worst. About what'll become of me without her.”

Water overflows your eyes. The dam ruptures abruptly. Raw honesty spills from your lips.

“She’s all I have. Without her, I have nothing. I am nothing.”

The ensuing silence is deafening. You wonder what the hell you’re doing. There’s something about the man in front of you that, paradoxically, makes you want to confide in him. Despite his lack of warmth, he feels steady, reliable. A rock to lean on when your whole world is crumbling. Solid ground when it feels like everything is caving in around you. Like you could lay all your burdens on him and he wouldn’t even flinch under what feels like the weight of the world.

You feel awfully selfish to entertain that thought, but you doubt he'd ever give you the opportunity to return the favor. 

“Bollocks.”

His tone is surlier than before. You look up at him to be sure you heard correctly.

“What about yer job? Ye enjoy it, right?”

You scoff bitterly at that.

“It's just a temporary gig. I'll be kicked out in two months.”

“We can make it permanent.”

You shoot him an incredulous look.

“You're just saying that.”

“‘M not. Wouldn't lie just to make ye feel better. Not my style.”

A cynical chuckle escapes you before a mischievous smirk stretches your lips.

“I’m sorry big guy, when did you get nominated as the commander of the base? Cause as far as I know this is outside your jurisdiction.” 

A similar smile spreads behind his mask. He’d take your sass over your tears any day.

“I have my ways,” he replies tranquilly.

From anyone else, you’d call it bragging or bluffing. Coming from the Ghost, it doesn’t sound as anything but the truth. He stares at you intensely, as if daring you to doubt him again, or intent on proving you his integrity through gaze alone. 

You look away, your cheeks heating up.

Ghost never minded that you can’t maintain eye contact. Just like he’s not into small talk, or physical contact. He knows most people tend to take it the wrong way, interpret it as contempt, when it couldn't be further from the truth.

“Thank you, but I can’t.” 

“Why not?” 

“I’d feel like I’m manipulating you.” 

He chuckles darkly, sending a shiver crawling down your spine, one you do not know if it was born of fear entirely or attraction. 

“Oh sweetheart, you couldn’t even if you tried.” 

Another tingle. Definitely pleasant this time. You desperately busy yourself with the content of your mug, the effects of that sentence on you too intense for the solemnity of the situation. 

Your strategy proves itself fruitful until a movement at the periphery of your vision attracts your gaze. You peek without thinking, and freeze at the sight of Ghost lifting his mask above his nose to drink from his cup. One scar crosses his mouth, another departs from the corner of his lips, both ancient but deep. They don’t faze you though - truth be told, the omnipresent mask made you expect him to look like a world war one veteran, so heavily disfigured that you wouldn’t be able to bear it. 

“Enjoyin’ the view?”

He doesn’t sound even remotely annoyed, but you lower your eyes in shame all the same.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.”

“If I didn’t wantcha to look, I wouldn’t have taken it off.”

As you need a moment to take in the implications of that sentence, he talks again.

“What's your poison?”

“Pardon?” you reply, genuinely lost.

He snorts at your exaggerated politeness.

“Coffee isn’t gonna cut it. Whataya usually take when you feel like this? Alcohol? Cigs?”

A pause.

“Sex?”

You choke and set down your mug out of fear of dropping it.

“No, no… and no.”

“Nothing?”

He sounds doubtful.

“I… cry myself to sleep?”

It makes no sense to formulate it like a question, but everything about this is surreal.

He hums, contemplative.

“You’re not making this easy.”

“What?”

“Helpin’ ya.”

You scoff, suddenly irritated.

“You could lend me one of your guns and let me blow my brains off with it. That would help.”

 “Not gonna happen,” he counters with emphatic authority that leaves no place for rebuttal. 

“Worth a shot,” you say, trying to get the last word. “Ha, shot. Get it?”

“Very funny.”

You roll your eyes at his comment, like he’s a tired parent indulging you, a tireless child.

“You just don’t have any humor.”

The words left your lips before you could consider their impact. Yes, you never heard the Ghost laugh, but maybe he has a very good reason for that. Maybe several. Maybe you’re just a fucking asshole.

“Why are colds bad criminals?” 

Your head pivots towards him so fast you fear your neck is going to snap.

“Why…?”

“Because they’re easy to catch.”

You stare at him in bewildered silence, not quite believing what just happened, before starting to laugh, first softly, then, carried away, louder and louder, bordering on hysterical. You don’t even giggle because of the joke, but because the contrast between the silliness of it and how deadpan Ghost was when enunciating it is simply too good. That, and the nerves are probably getting the better of you.

“Never had anyone laugh that much at this one before.”

You attempt to get your breath back, alternating between pants and laughs, wiping a solitary tear at the corner of your eye.

“It’s just… you… I didn’t see it coming, jeez.”

Sighing wistfully, you take in the quietude of this fleeting moment.

“This is nice.”

“I'm always nice,” grunts the lieutenant. 

You let out a good-natured scoff, then reality catches up to you.

“SHIT! What time is it!?” you shout in panic as you violently get up. “Maybe I can still catch a bus-”

You log out of your work session, turn off your PC and shove all your belongings inside your bag in record time. Ghost barely bats an eye, still like a languid cat; a very big, very dangerous cat.

“You can spend the night.”

“No I can’t!”

You push your chair under your desk and pick up your coat.

“We can make some sorry bloke sleep outside.”

“Noooo- That's horrible!”

You have no idea if he’s messing with you or not.

“Not worse than what's waiting for ‘em on the field.”

“Well, I still can’t do that.”

“Good for you that I can, then.”

You finally look at him, an half-amused smile on your lips, raising a skeptical eyebrow. 

“Lemme guess. This is you ‘having your ways’ again, isn’t it?”

His offer is tempting. You really don’t want to be left to your own devices tonight.

He stands up and takes a step towards you while pulling his mask down and, oh, with him sitting this all time, you would have almost forgotten how much he towers over you.

“S’that a yes or a no?”

You could almost detect a hint of playfulness in his voice.

“It’s a yes, sir,” you retort while pronouncing the “sir” with as much impertinence as you can muster.

“Better keep up, then.”

And just like that, he vacates the premises, and you do have to focus to keep up because those long legs of his ain’t just for show.

As you two travel across corridors unknown to you, you wonder once again what the hell you’re doing, hanging out with this mountain of a man who’s more myth than human, and breaking the rules of a military base on a whim. Lost in thought, you don’t pay attention to the voices edging closer, and you’re completely taken aback when Ghost grabs you by the back of your shirt and drags you in a dark alcove with him. You’re so astounded, you don’t even make a sound. He takes hold of the back of your head and presses you against him to occupy as little space as possible, effectively hiding you from the men walking by. Only then you recognize Captain Price among other officers.

“Sorry ‘bout that, love,” whispers the man you’re squeezed against, barely audible, imperturbable as ever, like this is an everyday situation for him.

You don’t answer - you can’t, anyway, essentially muffled by his pecs. You should be more irked by those circumstances, but the sudden proximity set your face ablaze, therefore you’re very happy with its current concealment. 

“Price will have my head if he thinks I made you cry.”

You’re about to protest, but then you remember that one time when Soap tagged along when you were carrying a huge box back from the archives, and when Price saw you two, Soap unconcerned with empty hands, and your face almost disappearing behind the imposing cardboard, he called the sergeant a bloody useless muppet and then proceeded to call into question his ability to transport his rucksack for days. Nevermind that you were the one who insisted on carrying the crate on your own as it provided a nice workout, and that you had to bare your teeth at Soap to prevent him from taking it from you.

When the peril has walked by and Ghost releases you, you silently thank the shadows around you hiding how affected you are by this ersatz of a hug. Later, he drops you off at an unoccupied bedroom, small but including a bathroom and furnished with everything you could ever want. You say your goodbyes and your thanks at the door, and he. pats. your head. You don’t even have time to be outraged that he states he will see you tomorrow, something that sounds like a promise as much as a threat, probably in reference to the morbid fantasies you shared, and he vanishes into the shadows like a… ghost.

A/N : The real reason Ghost ran out:

He be googling “how to comfort female civilian age between 20 and **”

In the TF Group Chat (Price not included):

“We have an emergency.”

“Send as many kitten pics as possible to [Reader] … stat.”

[xoln04f1xo]

Dark Fic

Oscar Piastri x Reader

WARNINGS: Emotional manipulation, obsessive behaviour, surveillance, kidnapping?, captivity, gaslighting, and psychological abuse, mentions of drugging

WC: 3.1k

Y/N POV

There was a time when you loved mornings.

They started slow with the smell of clean sheets and the low hum of the ocean behind double-glazed windows. When Monaco was still just a dream - when he was still just a boy with a bright future and a gentle voice - mornings meant croissants, cracked knuckles over sudoku, and sunlight kissing the side of his jaw. You used to trace it with your eyes. Memorize it.

Oscar.

At first, he was quiet in the way that made you curious. Still water, you told your best friend once. “But I don’t think he runs deep. I think he runs cold.” You were wrong. He wasn’t cold. He was calculating. But back then, it was easy to mistake that for control. Discipline. Precision.

The kind of man who measured his words like lap times.

Your first trip with him was to Melbourne - a Grand Prix weekend wrapped in jetlag and adrenaline. You stayed in a high-rise suite where everything smelled like leather and lemon cleaner. He let you wear one of his team hoodies, snapped a photo when you weren’t looking, and later posted it with a soft caption:

"My favourite part of the track isn't on it."

Thousands of likes. You remember how your phone exploded. Friends congratulating you, joking about marrying rich. But there was something in Oscar’s eyes when you laughed at the comments. Like a flicker. A shutter snapping closed.

“You like that attention?” he asked that night.

You thought he was teasing.

You kissed him on the shoulder. “It’s harmless.”

He didn’t smile.

Two weeks later, you noticed your DMs had been cleared. No more message requests. Even your best friend's old photos had disappeared from your tagged feed. You asked him, offhandedly, if he’d seen anything weird on your phone.

“Probably just a bug,” he said, eyes not leaving his screen. “iOS has been trash lately.”

You told yourself it didn’t matter. You weren’t hiding anything. Maybe it was good he cared enough to look. Most men didn't. Most men forgot anniversaries, birthdays, everything. Oscar remembered it all.

Even your dentist appointment.

He called you after it ended - before you even texted him. “So? Did it hurt?”

You laughed nervously. “You have my calendar notifications?”

A pause. “Just making sure you’re okay.”

It was easy to let it slide, because being with Oscar felt like being in a parallel world. Where everything was faster, brighter, but somehow… smaller. Your social circle narrowed. Nights out turned into quiet evenings in. Messages from friends were always “forgotten,” plans always postponed. You convinced yourself it was just the nature of dating someone famous.

He needed privacy. You were just protecting him.

Right?

The first time you noticed the lock on your apartment door had been changed without asking, Oscar handed you a new key before you could even open your mouth.

“Upgraded the security,” he said, brushing your hair back behind your ear. “Don’t want anyone sneaking in.”

You stared at the old key in your palm.

“And you... didn’t think to tell me?”

He blinked, as if confused by your question. Then smiled. “Telling you now, aren’t I?”

It escalated slowly. The way thunder rolls in before a storm.

At first, he asked about your day. Then who you saw. Then why you saw them. Eventually, it became easier not to go anywhere. Easier to let him track your phone, check your DMs, read your texts.

“It’s not control,” he once said. “It’s trust. You wouldn’t hide anything if you weren’t doing anything wrong.”

And the worst part?

A small part of you agreed.

You’re not sure when exactly things changed.

Not really.

You just remember waking up one morning, wrapped in Egyptian cotton sheets, in an apartment you didn’t recognize - with windows that didn’t open, and doors that only locked from the outside.

Oscar was already dressed. Black t-shirt, watch glinting on his wrist. Calm as ever.

“Morning,” he said, placing a coffee by your bedside. “Welcome home.”

The coffee is your favourite kind - hazelnut roast, one sugar, oat milk - but it’s cold.

You sit up slowly, blanket falling from your shoulders, heart pounding before you know why. There’s a hum beneath your skin, like your body knows something your mind hasn’t caught up to yet. Your phone’s on the nightstand, but it’s face down. That’s not how you left it.

You glance at Oscar.

He’s standing by the window, looking out at the harbor with the sort of quiet intensity that used to feel elegant. Now, it feels like silence before a verdict.

“Where are we?” you ask.

He turns. Smiles. “Our place.”

You shake your head. “This isn’t your flat. It’s - this is… new. When did we come here?”

“Last night.”

You don’t remember last night.

You remember a conversation. You remember saying you needed space - not in an angry way, not even in a final way. Just clarity. Time. He had nodded, like he understood. Said he’d be patient. Said he’d take care of things in the meantime.

Apparently, this is what he meant.

“Oscar,” your voice cracks slightly, “I want to leave.”

He doesn’t react. Just tilts his head.

“You are home.”

The words land like weights.

You slide your feet to the floor, test the edge of the room. The door is shut. Not locked - not obviously - but something about the way he watches you makes you feel like a mouse eyeing the trap.

“Where are my keys?” you try. “My stuff?”

“It’s all here,” he says, like that solves everything. “You don’t need to worry about those things anymore.”

You stare at him.

His calmness is unbearable.

“Why would you do this?”

He finally turns to you, arms crossed. “Because you’re not thinking clearly. You say you want space, but you don’t mean it. Not really. You’re confused, and the world out there - it feeds on that confusion. I’m the only one who knows how to protect you from yourself.”

You blink. “That’s not protection. That’s prison.”

Oscar exhales through his nose. “You always say the most dramatic things when you’re overwhelmed.”

The first 48 hours blur.

You learn the apartment has no physical address. No working intercom. The windows are made of reinforced glass and don’t open - you try, of course. The locks on every external door have electronic access, fingerprint-only.

Yours doesn’t work.

You can move through the apartment freely. Kitchen, bedroom, bathroom. But that’s it.

No balcony.

No outside line.

He brings you meals. Watches you eat. Talks to you like nothing is wrong - asks about your sleep, offers to put on movies, gives you “little projects” to stay occupied. Once, he brings a jigsaw puzzle. A thousand pieces. You stare at the cover image for an hour before opening it.

It’s a photo of you two.

You don’t remember it being taken.

He gives you your phone back on the third day.

You stare at it, hesitant. “It’s been wiped.”

“No,” he says evenly, “it’s been cleaned.”

You open the messages. Every contact is gone except one.

Oscar 💖

Your heart races. “What did you do?”

“I backed up everything,” he says. “Sorted through the stuff that didn’t matter. Cleared the noise. It’s better this way. You only need one person.”

You almost scream. Instead, you speak through clenched teeth.

“You’re insane.”

He doesn’t flinch.

He walks to you, kneels in front of the couch, and looks you dead in the eyes.

“No,” he says. “I’m focused. And the world calls people like me insane because they can’t understand loyalty like this.”

So...insane... you thought

Later, when you’re alone, you test the bathroom for privacy.

There are no visible cameras. But you know better. You take a glass from the sink and hold it up to the walls, listening.

Nothing.

Still, when you whisper, you do it directly into the drain.

“If anyone can hear me… I need help.”

Every time he leaves, you check the door. Still locked.

The only other way out is the guest bathroom window - too narrow, but you measure it anyway. He notices the bruises on your arms the next morning.

“Don’t do that again,” he says, voice flat.

“You’re hurting me,” you whisper.

His eyes soften — not with guilt, but something worse. Pity.

“I’m saving you.”

You start to unravel differently after that. Less like breaking, more like… peeling. Each day strips away another layer of resistance. Not because you want to give in, but because you can’t afford to feel anymore. Emotions are too loud. Too risky.

So you fake it.

You let him read to you at night. Let him hold your hand. Let him tuck your hair behind your ear like nothing’s wrong.

You wait.

And watch.

Because the only way to escape is to make him think you never wanted to.

It happens on the eleventh day.

You stop counting them on purpose. Let time dissolve into quiet rituals - eat when he eats, smile when he smiles. Let him believe you’ve softened. Let him think the edges have dulled.

You start asking for things. Small, domestic, harmless.

A book here. A specific kind of tea there. Music.

He obliges, pleased. Always so pleased when you ask. It reinforces the idea that you're dependent. That he's essential. It’s exactly what he wants.

So you let him believe it.

But while he scrolls through his phone on the couch, you trace the layout of the apartment in your head. Memorize his routines. When he showers. When he charges his phone. When he paces on the balcony that only he can access.

He never locks the guest bathroom door from the inside.

You begin testing the window more aggressively now, bruising your shoulders, your ribs. It’s tight, but you can almost get through - if you turn sideways and push hard. It opens onto a sheer wall, no ledge. But there’s a drainage pipe, two meters to the left.

It’s stupid. It’s dangerous.

But it’s a way out.

The opportunity comes after midnight. You feign a migraine, lock the bathroom door, turn on the faucet. Let it run as cover.

You open the window slowly, silently.

Pull yourself up.

You don’t look down.

Your ribs scrape the frame. You stifle a cry. You’re halfway through when your shirt catches on the hinge. You panic and twist...

Then you hear the click.

The bathroom door opens behind you.

You don’t turn around.

“Don’t,” he says.

You freeze. His voice is calm. Flat. Not angry.

Worse.

“Come down,” he says. “You’ll fall.”

You stay still.

“I said...” There’s a pause. You hear him take a breath. “If you jump, I won’t catch you.”

That gets you. A tremble runs down your back.

He steps forward slowly, but not too close. He knows better than to spook you now.

“I built this place for us,” he says. “I picked the tiles in this bathroom because you told me once you liked the way sunlight reflects off pale green. You don’t remember that, do you?”

You say nothing.

“I remember everything,” he whispers.

Then, softly, so softly it nearly shatters you:

“You don’t want to die like this.”

You close your eyes.

And for one split second... you believe him.

You let yourself slide back down into the bathroom, knees hitting tile.

Oscar doesn’t say anything. He just kneels in front of you, wraps a blanket around your shoulders, and holds you.

As if you’re the one who broke something.

The next morning, the window is sealed.

Bolted. Painted over.

He brings you breakfast and says nothing about it.

But there’s a new camera in the hallway.

You notice it. He wants you to.

That night, he sits across from you at dinner. The mood is quiet, but not tense. Oscar carves into his food like nothing’s changed. Like you didn’t almost run. Like he didn’t have to lock you in tighter.

“You’re not ready,” he says, finally.

You keep your eyes down.

He sets his fork down carefully. His voice is gentle. Controlled.

“I didn’t want it to be like this.”

You blink. He waits.

Then he leans forward, elbows on the table, head tilted like he’s studying you.

“But now you’ve proven I can’t trust your judgment. You understand that, don’t you?”

You nod slowly.

Because what else can you do?

He shows you a box the next morning.

Inside it: a ring.

Simple. Silver. Understated.

Your heart nearly stops.

“We’re already something better than married,” he says. “But this is for you. To help you remember.”

You want to throw it at him.

Instead, you slide it on your finger.

You have to survive.

You can’t afford defiance.

Not yet.

Later that night, you lie awake in the bed you used to share with him. Now, he sleeps in the room next door. Says you need “space” again, like it’s a kindness.

There’s a sliver of light under the door.

You stare at the ceiling and begin counting again.

One day.

Two days.

Three.

There will be another chance.

You just have to wait.

You wait two weeks.

Fourteen days of smiling at the right moments, of wearing the ring, of letting him believe that you’ve settled. That his warped version of love is finally working.

Fourteen days of pretending to be his.

During that time, he returns small freedoms to you like tokens of trust. Your favourite playlist. A softer blanket. A journal - with every page numbered. You notice that. Just like you notice the faint scratch across the spine of the hallway camera. You hadn’t touched it.

Which means he had. Probably testing. Probably watching how often you look at it.

You look often.

You make him think you care about being watched.

So that when the real plan begins - he won’t see it coming.

The plan isn’t elegant. It isn’t clever.

It’s just human.

You make him believe he’s won.

That’s the real trick.

On the fourteenth night, you set the dinner table yourself.

You wear the softest thing you can find. You tell him he’s right. That you’re sorry for the fear. For the resistance. That maybe you did need this - time, safety, him.

You say it all with your hands flat on the table so he sees there’s nothing to hide.

He watches you with narrowed eyes at first.

Then he smiles.

It’s almost heart-breaking. Because for one moment, you see the boy he used to be - the one who quoted lap times and made you tea during late-night race weekends.

Then he takes your hand and says:

“I knew you'd come around. I always knew.”

You drug him that night.

Not with anything dramatic.

Just a slow dose. Benadryl dissolved in wine. Enough to pull him into something heavy. Enough to stall his reflexes. The glass trembles in your hand as you pour it. You’re careful not to overdo it. You don’t want him unconscious - you want him slow.

He downs the wine with a quiet sigh and pulls you close on the couch. You feel his breath against your neck, the weight of his arm draped over your shoulders.

He falls asleep with his hand still tangled in your hair.

It takes everything not to scream.

You wait until his breathing shifts.

Then you move.

Softly. Quietly. Every step rehearsed a thousand times in your mind.

You retrieve the screwdriver hidden in the lining of the hallway lamp - taken apart and reassembled over a week of quiet hours while he thought you were “healing.”

You head to the security panel in the utility room. The one you spotted him using through a cracked door three days ago. The keypad glows. You enter the numbers.

6… 2… 7…

He uses racing numbers as codes. Always has. You try his F2 championship date next.

It works.

The front lock disengages with a dull thunk.

For the first time in weeks, you breathe like air matters.

You move to the door. It opens silently.

Beyond it... a hallway. No guards. No traps.

Just freedom.

You run.

You make it as far as the second-floor stairwell.

That’s when the lights go out.

And his voice returns...

Not angry. Not yelling.

Just steady.

“I thought we were past this.”

Your blood runs cold.

You turn - and he’s already there, barefoot, calm, breathing a little heavier than usual.

His eyes are glassy. He’s still groggy.

But he’s awake.

And the worst part?

He’s smiling.

“You waited so long,” he says. “I thought you really meant it this time.”

You back away, heart slamming against your ribs.

“I did mean it,” you whisper. “I meant to survive you.”

Oscar nods.

Then, like it's nothing: “I could let you go. You know that.”

You stare at him, hope flaring.

But he steps forward.

“I could… but I won’t.”

You fight him.

For the first time, really fight him.

Fingernails, elbows, teeth - anything to make him let go. He doesn’t expect it. You knock him back against the wall hard enough to hear the breath punch from his lungs.

You run again.

This time faster. Down the stairwell. Barefoot. You scream - once - just to hear your own voice echo in the real world. Just to know it still works.

The front lobby opens up like a dream.

You hit the last set of doors—and they’re open.

Unlocked.

You stumble into the street.

You’re in a quiet neighborhood.

Industrial. Empty.

But not far from the city. There are people.

And someone sees you.

The hospital room is white.

Clean.

Free.

You stare at the window for a long time before speaking to anyone. You tell the nurses your name. Tell the police your story. They listen. Some of them don’t believe you at first - who would? A Formula 1 driver, kidnapping a woman?

But they see the bruises.

They read the journal.

They watch the security footage pulled from hidden drives in Oscar’s apartment.

He never deletes anything.

Control, you realize, is its own undoing.

He’s arrested four days later.

Not publicly. Not yet.

The team releases a statement about “mental health leave” and “ongoing investigation.” The internet buzzes, but no one really knows. You don’t care.

You’re out.

One month later, you walk barefoot through a real field of grass and cry.

You feel the sun.

The actual sun.

You start to remember how to feel hungry. How to trust the time on a clock. How to look at a door and not measure how fast you could get through it.

You’re not healed.

Not yet.

But you’re you again.

And that’s enough.

For now.

A/N: Okay this one is like.. EXTREMELY fucked up i cant lie, but i hope you enjoyed it

Click here for more!

[oceantornadoo]

can be read as part of the duckie universe?? standalone tho. here

“‘ello, duckie.” john’s voice was smooth gravel in your ear, honeyed and sweet. “hey john. date was ok. won’t be a second one though, it felt like i was talking to a colleague, not a potential lover.” john was silent on the other end, just gruff breathing. you bit the tip of your tongue, cursing yourself for giving so much information. he was supposed to be your best friend, your confidant, but somehow this felt like crossing a line. but you weren’t anything, he never tried anything, so really this wasn’t even your fault.

“where are you?” what if you didn’t tell him? what if you ignored the fact that he has your location and was probably already on his way? what about the sound of an engine turning on in the background? “that one thai place off base. john i-“ “took him to our spot?” shit. you were in for it.

john pulled up ten minutes later in his worn truck, the transport he took when he was undercover or off duty. when he was wearing those jeans that hugged his ass way too well and that black henley you bought for him two christmases ago, his biceps practically bursting out of it. “john, it’s not a big deal.” he refused to meet your eyes, taking your bag and guiding you to his truck door, ever the gentleman. “get in, duckie.” instead of complying, you turned and placed a hand on his chest, an attempt to make him meet your eyes. instead, he gazed at your hand, your left hand, with its bare fingers. “don’t make me say it again.” to postpone a fight in the parking lot and to quicken the time it would take you to get home and out of these extremely uncomfortable shoes, you rolled your eyes and made your way to the passenger door. you ignored how he opened it for you, how he placed a hand on your ass to help you up into the truck, even thought it was just a few inches off the ground.

the ride back to base was silent, your fingers itching to press the radio button just to break the tension. the minutes passed quickly, john pulling up to his base quarters with practiced ease. he backed into a parking spot, a hand on your headrest that you tried valiantly to ignore. the smell of his cologne reached you anyways, a pavlovian reaction relaxing your body on instinct. he helped you out of the car despite his anger, rough hands guiding you towards the familiar path leading to his room. never mind that you desperately wanted to go to your own room, change into sweats, wipe off your makeup, decompress with a glass of wine or two. instead, you were walking to john’s room like a prisoner, heavy steps echoing your own as he opened doors and tugged you through them.

finally you were at his room, watching his nimble hands open the door with the slightest shake. that couldn’t be right. he only shook when he was angry and - you did a quick catalogue of his bunched shoulders muscling through the entrance, the sharp way he toed off his boots - maybe you were wrong. he knelt down before you before your brain could even register, grasping at your ankle and tugging off your shoes. he did it with too much force, causing you to stumble into him, stomach squishing against his face. “i’m sorry.” he grunted in reply, still not meeting your eyes. “sit.” you gulped at the sight of his bed, tucked in with military precision.

“explain.” john was looking down at you, arms crossed against his chest. instead of answering, you tugged him down to sit next to you. the fact that he let you? he wasn’t that mad. “we were supposed to eat at the pub but it was closed so that’s why we went to the thai place. and he suggested it, ok? it wasn’t on purpose.” he shook his head, shoulder brushing your own. “he’s a bloody idiot for not checking beforehand.” you giggled, laying your head against his shoulder. “right? i would never betray our restaurant like that, john.” john was silent, lost to his thoughts. the anger was still there, a simmer instead of a boil. he wasn’t hearing you, so you decided to take matters into your own hands.

“john, you’re not listening.” you stood up, walking in between his open legs, your hand on his shoulders. his eyes were still glazed, brows furrowed. deciding on drastic measures, you dragged yourself into his lap, straddling him into the mattress. finally, his eyes met yours, all blue and wanting. his hands on your hip, your pelvises kissing. “duckie.” you shook your head, biting your lip. “there a reason why you’re so mad at me, captain?” john’s hands tightened against your body, holding you in place. “don’t play that, sweetheart.” you dragged your hands into his beard, tugging lightly on the strands. “then why did you pick me up all stoic?” he brought his face closer to yours, noses touching. eyes flickering to yours, searching for something. you were tired of this caveman act. “kiss me, john.”

his eyes widened. "stop playin', duck. not the time." you shook your head, giving him a roll of your hips. denim brushed on denim, stirring his cock to life. "don't you want to kiss your future wife?" his eyes widened at the mention of the marriage pact that usually only he brought up. "you told me to wait, so i'm waitin’, sweetheart." he wasn't getting it. you finally saw past it, past the wall of anger he portrayed. "well, if you won't, then maybe i'll call my date and-"

john's lips smashed against your own, his hands tugging you closer into his laps. he was searching, for what you didn't know, chasing you with a kiss. his cock was hard against you, the brush of denim against your clit sending shock waves to your system. "not gonna fuck you, duckie. not yet." you frowned, breaking the kiss. "why not?" he moved to your neck, kissing it frantically.

"'cause you're not as deep as i am. 's okay, i can wait a few more years." you started bucking in his lap, chasing the feeling in your stomach. "john, you're so hot when you're mad. please please please fuck me." he chuckled at your tone, one hand moving from your hip to grip your jaw in place. "y'r so whiny when you're horny, baby. can't wait to fuck you one day." his beard was scratching your neck, the sensation setting you on fire. you kept grinding, his hands pulling you in and own, helping you chase your orgasm. "gonna come like this for your husband?" you didn't even try to correct him, too lost in the waves of pleasure. just a bit more and - he bit your neck, sending you over the edge into blissful orgasm. you worked out the waves in his lap, slowing down as the exhaustion hit you. "john, i-' you ended with a yawn, sinking into his embrace. "'s okay, duckie. all the time you need. i can wait."

[grimpath]

Breadhead x human!scientist!You

As requested, with minor narrative changes. Here I rely on one of the theories that humans are born randomly, not exclusively once every 10,000 years. It's just that such humans either do not pose a danger, or they are used for scientific purposes. Mel exists, as well as reader, who is also a human.

"...the child born of the angel egg will determinate the fate of the gaslight district"

— you are aware of your own role in the prophecy. the mother of angels, however, completely ignores the thought of a favorable outcome for rotlings, insisting on the extermination of those who roam on earth.

— you've been everywhere. even in the porcelain hands of virtues, who intended to turn you into a weapon, too.

— you've been partly raised and strongly affected by temperance, who has sown a thirst for knowledge in your soul.

— you renounced them all, escaping, finally choosing to seek your own path. joining those who you are expected to demolish.

— it's hard to be someone who is rejected in both worlds. you truly are alone.

— you've found your place amongst rotlings occasionally. and started to perform experiments. it's hard to live among those who want you dead. especially when you crave immortality yourself.

— you've vivisected dozens of denizens. scraped hundreds of black hand's marks off their rotten flesh. nothing helped to get closer to figuring out the solution. not a jot.

— one day, while looking for another victim, you stumble upon him. someone who is different from them all. the one whose identity you immediately guessed. but why was he created? and by whom?

— you found the answers to your questions almost immediately. it's amazing how they manage to hide the truth in plain sight... unlike you, who live in the shadows, afraid of any unnecessary attention.

— however, you doubt that the peculiar specimen knows about the origin of its protectee.

— you postponed your experiments for a while, deciding to devote yourself entirely to observation. not only because of curiosity towards certain family, but towards the particular member of it…

— you cannot even explain such an interest to yourself. an interest you've never felt for anyone or anything before.

— he stands out from the general crowd so much... untainted by the filth of both worlds. of course, not physically... he resorts to violence without a murmur. but mentally, he's not doing this just because he's hungry for blood.

— his views are controversial, but he seems to lean towards the better side of himself. dauntless. reliable. caring.

— such creatures as him aren't mere puppets. the more they live, the more conscious they are. the more of a person they become. and he… seems to have exactly the one your soul craves now.

— you barely even realize how you managed to become Ken's employee. what the eyes fear, the hands do…

— you feel like you're not yourself. it's like your body is dictating its own rules, and your mind has receded into the background.

— you often find yourself closer to him than you better be. it's so easy to identify you by the warmth of your body. by the sound of your accelerated heartbeat. even by too alive behaviour. you hope that the burning cheeks are not visible under the layers of disguise...

— you cannot but cling to him when he's playing the piano, hoping he's the most distracted at such moments to notice your origin.

— as you found out by eavesdropping on conversations, he doesn't know about Mel's belonging. moreover, he seems to target humans. it made your heart drop.

— you don't even know how it happened, but you ended up being closer than friends but further than lovers.

— you even became a little too reckless, clinging to him whenever there's a possibility. he even comments on your warmth, referring to you as ember/emby. it made you think he supposes you're a rotling, yet somehow with a high body temperature.

— the other crew of the smiling dead doesn't seem to be bothered about you too much. Mel's happy for her brother, Mud's throwing jokes in the style of "keeping each other's buns safe", and Ken… he's just keeping an eye on you.

— but one day the idyll ended. when you were reckless enough to join one of their deals. it was an honor for you that they invited you, and it was just impossible to refuse.

— the bullet went tangentially, slicing your flesh, drawing blood. the first one who noticed was him, and you were ready to get crushed.

— you noticed how realization flashed in his eyes, which for a moment lit up with bloodlust. you remain frozen like a deer in the headlights, afraid to even move, waiting for the verdict.

— despite expectations, he grabbed you with the tenderest care and hid you in a secluded place, and then turned the culprits into an unidentifiable mess. with such brutal cruelty that the others stared at him in a frenzy for a moment.

— whew, no yeast can do this to him like this one can!

— while others were distracted, you managed to take care of yourself, at least hiding the stains and wound itself. you always carry things for such occasions, such as disinfectants and bandages.

— from that moment on, everything changed significantly. he didn't tell anyone about your origin but never discussed it with you either. now he just doesn't let you out of his sight, ready to strike whoever would try to hurt you.

— since then, it's both easier and harder for you to accept your own mortality. the care he gives you makes you feel safe, even as a human being. however, you hate the idea that one day you will have to say goodbye due to your finiteness. you'll keep searching for the solution, but now with a beloved guardian by your side...

[n0tamused]

Do you have any Avenchurin headcanons please, anything you got to feed us?

A/n: I have some unreleased hcs that I wrote some time ago for a friend that I hope you enjoy!

Contents: Aventurine x GN! Reader, fluff, sleeping hcs, hand holding hcs, his reaction to different forms of affection from you, all sfw

Sleeping

-Aventurine and cuddling are something that somehow occurs rarely, yet they go hand in hand so well 

- The man needs comfort more than so many others it's undeniable, and once he warms up to you he really does crave that physical touch and affection a lot more openly. He needs it more and more until he's all but crawling into you, slotting himself between your arms without a word in silent worry you might not accept him

- But you do and when that settles in his mind he really clings on. He wraps his arms around you and does not let go, nuzzling into you, your neck, your hair, your chest, your back, all depending on your positions and preferences at the moment 

- His favorite position would be something face to face, or rather front to front as he does like to nuzzle into your neck a lot so it's not really eye to eye lol

- He prefers hugging you from the back and cuddling like that when he doesn't really want to face you if he's got something troubling him and he just wants to feel as if he's enough to hold you. Just some little trick he plays with himself ig

- loves when you run your fingers through his hair, and often falls asleep like that, his hold on you slowly growing looser as he slips into slumber

-He has a tendency to seek you out in his sleep at times, he just needs to feel your warmth, especially when the days get rougher and days become darker. You’ll just randomly wake up with his head on your chest or his hand holding yours.

-Aventurine and sleep can vary from time to time and depending on the activities during the day really. He isn’t exactly constant with his sleep schedule. So if he’s had a long, tiring  and busy day he would sleep for longer and go to bed earlier, with his mornings consisting of a few “five more minutes please” if you try to wake him up. His work time doesn’t start too early anyway, so please don’t wake him (his words, not mine)(wake him up)(he needs to get to work-)

- On the other side, if he didn’t have much to do during the day or the activities were more on the satisfying end for him, he does tend to have some form of late night “zoomies” and doesn’t go to bed until at least 1am. It’s not like he is jumping around the house and bouncing off of walls, but he is still talkative, a big chatterbox, and could definitely use a walk to blow some energy off before finally deeming himself tired enough to attempt falling asleep. Playing card games with him also is a nice way to unwind, even if you're too tired to speak, Aventurine will talk for the both of you.

-However, sometimes he stays up for another reason, and that being his own emotional state that comes back to bite him in the rear just when he thinks he has forgotten enough about it, but ignoring it only postpones the issue. Staring at the bedroom ceiling until the early hours of the morning and with his head clouded with thoughts, he tends to just …exist.. Sometimes he cries, sometimes he feels he’s too numb to even do that. Either way, his sleep is fucked wholly in this scenario, and he has half the thought to take a sick day for himself

-As for bed sharing and cuddles - Aventurine doesn’t mind sharing in the slightest, if anything it can be quite comforting. He only makes an exception to this rule when either one of you needs privacy and some time to yourselves. He doesn’t really care if you happen to steal his blanket either. Take it, he’s used to sleeping however and can sleep in most positions, warm or cold. In terms of positions - he doesn’t have a favorite

-As for cuddles, in the start of your relationship he likes to fall asleep solo, with you there if you’re already sharing the bed, but he will crawl to you, be it due to his dreams or in some half asleep- half awake faze in the middle of the night

-He goes for either his head on your chest or in your neck or spooning, can be quite the big cuddler as you grow even closer

Hand holding

- He has gloves on a lot of times but when he goes to hold your hand he does stop to take a glove off, he really does prefer skin on skin contact and, although a minute detail in day to day life, he appreciates it a lot

- If you two are walking he does prefer to hold your hand in a way where your fingers interlock together, just feels so safe and warm and y'all can drag eachother around comfortably and it also shows a side of Aven he often hides. 

- side note(?): Aventurine would love to just pretend for a day or two. And by that I mean he'd love to take you to a planet where both of you are just two nobodies with no names, and he'd love to change out of his signature attire and just be a nobody with you, enjoying the small "meaningless" things with you on this unknown world. In short- being human with you is his fantasy, a dream

- back on track- he prefers if you hold his right hand since he doesn't want you to feel his left one shaking when he's afraid/nervous (if I got the order wrong, don't mind me, just flip em around)

- but if you insist on holding his left arm, he prefers if you hold him by the elbow a lot of times instead of going for your usual interlocked fingers

- if you insist further, he sighs softly as you hold his shaky hand and he internally melts too, occasionally. It does comfort him when you caress that hand or play with his fingers or the rings he wears on them. It gives him something else to focus on and it brings the cacophony in his mind down

Reactions to different ways of affection

- Aventurine has a rather similar reaction to most displays of affection but that doesn't mean they're any less genuine, and there's always a small variation in the way his eyes light up or how big his smile is - it's just that an ordinary person wouldn't quite catch these variations 

-Sometimes, if you manage to catch his reactions on camera they can be quite the precious keepsakes

- How Aventurine melts into the palm of your hand when you cups his cheek, leaning some of his weight into it like an oversized cat and looking at you with shimmering, colorful eyes that just scream "oh how much I love you", his cheeks dusted with faintest of reds

- How Aventurine chuckles, laughs, when you give him a kiss on the cheek or on his temple without any warning sign you'd do anything like that. His hand scratches back at his nape as he waves it off but teases you simultaneously. How could you ever miss the sheen of want in his eyes, the way they glaze over and look at you for the rest of the evening in silent admiration

- Most favorite of all, and especially during the night, Aventurine loves the feel of your fingers through his hair. He looks and feels calmer, he feels human and he feels seen. He feels all his sins and worries melt from his body to get soaked by the mattress beneath him. And he hums shortly, low in his throat as he slowly feels sleep cloud his mind like heavy, comforting mist. And he has the most important person in his life in his hold... he's holding the whole world in his arms tonight.

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[sleepylaing]

Énouement [3]

You're not surprised: at times like this, when Suo smiles that unbearable smile of his, you always get the feeling that you've willingly signed over your entire inheritance to him, even though you have no inheritance at all.

a/n: took me long enough... sorry for waiting. thank you all for your comments, it gives me so much inspiration!!

← previous chapter

ch 3. Wrong.

You weren't planning on becoming a vice captain. It sounded like a lot of work and responsibility. You'd rather stay at your desk all year, occasionally going out on the town to catch another lost cat.

You definitely didn't plan on doing that, but.

When those big, honey-glass eyes looked at you, your confidence evaporated. When they looked at you with such a sincere plea, and when even Suo, who had you warming under his side, supported Nirei's idea, you couldn't help it.

So, now you were the vice captain. You should have refused - and you almost did, but your weakness for Nirei and another Fox played a cruel trick on you. You hoped you wouldn't have to exert yourself.

“Look, the one with the short haircut is Kurita-san, the one with the tufted head is Takanashi-san, and the one with the black hair is Kakiuchi-san.”

Sakura makes a complicated face. You can tell that he can't remember anything, even though he's trying. Moving his eyebrows to the bridge of his nose, he admits: “Didn't remember shit.”

“Sakura-chan's stu-u-pid...” you moo from your seat and yawn at the end.

“Shut it!” Multicolored eyes cut into you with a sizzling stare. “Y-you! Have you already forgotten that you only remembered my name from the battle with Shishitoren?!”

“Eh?...Nirei-chan told you that?” you ask, but there's no reproach in your voice. You don't even sound interested.

“I fear for Sakura-kun... Togame is the second strongest in Shishitoren,” Nirei says quietly.

“Sakura? Who's that?”

You knew the second. Togame, if your vague memory is to be believed, is heavy footsteps, the clatter of flip-flops, and a deep voice.

“Our classmate, Akashi-kun,” Suo, sitting to your right, patiently responds. You didn't participate in the single combat, dozing in your chair. And actually, you ended up here by chance after you followed the others outside for some reason when the leader of Shishitoren appeared at your school. The morning before the battle, Nirei had texted you out of the blue and asked you to come - he soon admitted shyly that he was afraid of being the only one who didn't fight. Somehow, you found it hard to refuse, so you agreed. That trip to the bakery you've been saving up for for half a month had to be postponed.

“You just don't stand out,” you inexplicably justify, “and walk strangely.”

Five pairs of eyes stare at you in surprise. You shiver involuntarily. Cold.

“Sakura-chan? Doesn't stand out?” Kiryu shifts his gaze back and forth between you and him.

You blink. The sleepiness slowly fades. “Never mind,” you mutter to yourself. People never understood that. You were bad at memorizing faces. You recognized people by their features. The smell, the timbre of their voice, the sound of their footsteps, their breathing rate, their accessories. It was always too painful and too long to explain, and most of the time people didn't understand you anyway, and you didn't really care whether they did or not, so you stopped bothering to try to be understood.

There is a strange silence. Nirei hurries to smooth it over, laughing awkwardly and distracting Sakura by continuing to talk about your classmates. The conversation slowly resumes. The top of your head falls on the shoulder of Suo sitting next to you. He doesn't look disturbed or displeased, on the contrary, he smiles brightly and moves a little closer to make you more comfortable. He offers you a candy bar. Wondering how he knew your favorite flavor, you moo gratefully and open the wrapper. You haven't eaten since yesterday.

“Anzai-san... he's with a bandage.”

“Did something happen?”

“I didn't hear anything.”

“Won't tell,” you think, opening an eye to catch a glimpse of Anzai, “won't tell anything even if you ask.” You've seen it. You felt it.

Suddenly, there's an indivisible hiss from the loudspeaker on the wall, and in the next second, the deafening voice of Headmaster Bofurin sweeps through the classroom. Everyone jerks. You wrinkle your nose unhappily: you almost fell asleep. Nirei clings to your forearm, even unconsciously, and you respond by reassuringly covering his hand with yours. After a moment, realizing your position, he blushes and pulls away at the speed of light.

You are called to the roof. What a pain.

Maybe Suo can carry you up on his back.

Please?

***

The blue sky is sprinkled with clouds. The cool breeze kisses your face, slides down your neck, and gets lost in your blond hair. You close your eyes blissfully, arching toward it.

The fresh air has done you good. You're not even upset that you had to come here anymore. In fact, it's beautiful here: there's a big tree, some chairs, a table, and even a small garden, which Sugishita is digging through now. There are paintings in the corners, and some junk scattered around, but that just makes this unusual place cozy.

Nirei admits that he memorized all the names of Furin's students in just one night. Says it like it's a common thing. Deep down, you admire him. Suo, on the other hand, says something about negotiating and imposing points of view. You're not surprised: at times like this, when Suo smiles that unbearable smile of his, you always get the feeling that you've willingly signed over your entire inheritance to him, even though you have no inheritance at all. And for some reason, you have the feeling that this isn't the only thing Hayato can do. You don't know if you want to find out yet.

On an intuitive level, you feel them turn on you.

“And Akashi-kun is...” begins Nirei, looking you over from head to toe, and hesitates briefly, “...the calming factor.”

Suo smiles softly and nods in agreement.

“What is that supposed to mean?!” Sakura explodes.

You open one eye and squint at him, smirking.

“It means I don't have to do anything.”

“Asshole!”

You giggle involuntarily. Sakura's funny. You can see why Suo enjoys teasing him so much.

***

“Hold still,” you hiss nonchalantly as you stick another bandage on Anzai's cheek, who flinches under your piercing gaze and cold fingers.

You found him beaten up in a dirty alley while patrolling the city. Had you been walking alone, you would have pretended not to notice and left him there. Okay, maybe you'd poke him in the cheek and see if he'd walk home on his own, but nothing more. Well, that's not your problem, is it?

But you were with the guys, and of course they're not as bad as you, and there's no way they would have left him there. So now you're sitting in a diner, which happens to be the closest one.

Since you were the only one who could tell the difference between bandages and gauze, and since you had already treated the boys' wounds after the fight with Shishitoren (only because Nirei had asked you to, mind you), everyone decided to solemnly present the first aid kit to you. Not that you were happy to be a medic, but Anzai did look a little shabby, and you felt a bit sorry for him. Just a bit.

“S-Sorry...” he mumbles and clears his throat, “So there's this big... big-big-big dog! Chased me like a... like a real bear!”

The boys sigh unimpressed. You continue to press the cotton wool harder against the injured boy's eyebrow, causing him to hiss in pain.

Even the dim-witted Sakura has already guessed that there's no dog.

As soon as you finish the last bandage, Anzai jumps up from his seat. “Okay, I guess I should go, I still have things to do,” he mumbles, “Thank you, Akashi-kun,” and bowing to you, he almost runs towards the exit.

Suo stops him with a question. “Did something happen between you and KEEL?”

Anzai, seemingly covered in cold sweat for the hundredth time in these fifteen minutes, stumbles on the flat spot. Laughs out loud. Waves it away. Squeezes out an unconvincing lie, rushes back to the door, waving his head from side to side.

“Don't tilt your head or you'll bleed,” you warn, frowning, “and change the bandages tonight.”

Your admonition dissolves into the ringing of the doorbell. You snort. Fine. Let him bleed tragically and die.

“Ah, is he gone already? I wanted to give him some fresh ones,” the woman in the apron, probably the owner of the restaurant, said frustratedly. Smelling the aroma of food, you jumped out of your seat, and the next moment, you were already affectionately sticking your nose into the bag she was holding. Monjayaki? It smells delicious.

“Akashi-kun...” Nirei calls out to you sheepishly. By this time, you're already shamelessly stealing a few pancakes from the bag. Fighting is fighting, but you haven't eaten since this morning. How sometimes it's good to wear a Furin jacket.

“Take it, take it, sweetheart,” she holds the bag out to you generously, not the least bit worried, “Furin's students are almost like children to me!”

You freeze. Open your eyes in a daze and stop chewing. Your little heart is pounding in your chest. Faster, faster. Faster and faster. For some reason you feel like spitting out all the food. Finally, you swallow hard and blink because for some reason your eyes are starting to burn.

Why?

Is there something wrong? You thought everything was fine. Then...

is there something wrong... with you?

The others didn't notice, happy about the free food. Only Suo looks at you intently. Faintly frowning. “Akashi-kun, are you okay?”

“Y-ye-... Yes. Fine,” you pull yourself together, returning to your usual calm expression.

You thank the owner and return to your seat. Suo's warm hand rests gently on your forearm, as if sensing something wrong.

Your jaw clenches.

Your heart is still trying to escape from under your ribs.

***

The fight with KEEL comes unexpectedly. One moment — you were dozing sweetly on your desk with Sugishita snoring beside you, the next — you were hanging on Suo's shoulder as he dragged you somewhere. A grumbling Sugishita lounged behind you.

“Guys! Akashi-kun and Sugishita-kun say they're coming with us.”

“Liar,” you murmur weakly into his shoulder. Inside, you feel him smile mischievously and gently stroke your hair as if to apologize.

The touch involuntarily relaxes you. The old resentments vanish.

The sly, sly, insufferable fox.

The sly, sly, deceptively kind fox,

into whose trap you willingly keep falling.

→ next chapter

[befemininenow]

Do a dare, or should I say a task, and please share this post if you support our right to exist, as well as for others who are also struggling right now!

This was a very difficult caption to make, not just because of the celebrity worship topic that I'm not used to making, but mainly because of the divisive topics mentioned in the captions. The latter is not the kind of stuff you often see in feminization captions since they are meant to be a form of entertainment, but I couldn't stay quiet anymore. If what I wrote has got you mad, whether you agree or not, it should: because all of what is currently happening will also affect you. Interested in reading? Continue below.

Warning: Don't be surprised if this gets taken down. This post is going to be very long.

This Pride Month has arguably been the most tumultuous June I've ever experienced in my entire life. Let's see:

A bunch of goons posed as "agents" forcibly kidnapping mostly innocent people without warrants while creating havoc amongst communities for the past month

Governments actively censoring or shutting down voices for speaking out and labeling them as dissidents, like what happened to the Norwegian guy for having a meme of the couch fucker in his phone and being tortured for hours

Bills being passed that are stripping crucial medical help while charging a premium for basic insurance (making life-saving HRT more expensive and difficult to obtain), not to mention that tariffs and corporate greed are the cause of everything getting so expensive. Oh, and the Trevor Project being shut down, all of this during Pride Month.

Courts actively allowing injustices without putting up a challenge (ex. birthright citizenship, being arrested for using the "wrong" bathroom/WC, banning HRT for anyone under 21, letting sex offenders off the hook, etc.)

The threat of a potential war happening anytime soon, (not just in Gaza and the Middle East, but anywhere) which the most affected are always the younger generations, who are also most likely to be trans. While trans people aren't allowed to serve, that doesn't mean the government won't force you to detransition. (Hope that doesn't happen, but I wouldn't be surprised.)

Even mentioning a bit about this could put me at risk, but I don't care anymore. I'm happy that my platform has grown thanks to all of you, but I also want to use it to speak out. Because at the end of the day, we don't fit the "traditional" role in society.

Seriously, if you spent a lot of your free time wishing to become a "full-time" girl and browsing feminization captions while also presenting male in daily life due to societal pressure, do you really think you're still cis, though? These kinds of spaces are a refuge for us who try to "boymode" in the real world, but are anything but cis in reality. While the circle you try to fit in cheers about gender affirming therapy being banned for people under 18 or 21, deep down you want to scream because you were that kid that had to wait until they were older and are now scared that you can be next. HRT isn't cheap, coverage doesn't cover it anymore, and it's possible you can't even access it nearby. Cross over to another state and get apprehended for buying hormones while being misgendered and deadnamed? Not very ideal. Heaven forbid you just started HRT and are forced to postpone it due to being drafted for an uneccessary war.

There's too much to list, but it's unfortunate that a lot of slippery slopes are becoming true, especially for us who are trans. HRT is being taken away, trans people are seeing their gender identities being erased, lifelines are being shut down, traveling even to the shop next door is increasingly dangerous, and somehow the biggest danger isn't the wealthy hoarding all the declining wealth, but trans girls participating in sports? Give me a fucking break! Even the media is tired of using trans people as a punching bag, and yet very few are brave to say the truth: Leave trans people the fuck alone!

I'm glad people like Pedro Pascal are stepping up for trans rights by popularizing the "Protect the Dolls" phrase and shutting up monsters like the one who must not be named. After all, his sister is trans girl actress Lux Pascal and both have the blessing of being very attractive, something that bigots will never have in their life. However, the reason I'm using Jenna Ortega here is for three reasons:

This was supposed to be a Woman Crush Wednesday post, pun intended. However, this is the last day of the month and I couldn't upload it in time due to technical issues. Oh, well.

Jenna is outspoken about current social issues affecting our society, as well as certain affected groups. This includes, but not limited to, the Palestinian G.E.N.O.C.I.D.E., the forced deportation of migrants and citizens, undocumented or not, and her support for the LGBTQ+ community. It also helps she has a very active online presence compared to other celebrities.

This is my take on the current trend of celebrity feminization captions. Although celebrity captions aren't new, they've been catching ground for the past year or two to the point where there's even blogs specialized in celebrity feminization captions. Though I'm not a huge fan of those since they're the worshipping type, I do like making Woman Crush Wednesday posts as a way to acknowledge the girls that seem inspiring. Jenna Ortega is one of those girls.

I can argue that this "essay" is my longest post ever, but it's definitely one of my most divisive yet. I do find it ironic, however, that a few people that followed me or chatted with me and loved my content and vibe also happen to have views that are against one or two of these topics covered here. To those people, aren't you aware that you're in a page from someone who is also part of an affected group? You do realize this isn't just a page where fantasies are expressed, but also harsh realities that will strike a nerve or two? Like, where's the self-awareness on these people? SMH.

Lastly, I want to thank you, my supporter, for reading this very long post. I would be even happier if you shared it as well. Like I said before, this isn't your typical feminization blog that posts smut or fantasy desires. I also post struggles, realities, and thoughts as well. Remember, Pride Month may be over, but our pride will never be!

[vamptarotscam]

I got more evidence that @vamptarot is scamming people in the community. VICTIM BLAMING, LYING AND THE USUAL. COMMUNITY PSA. SCROLL FOR EVIDENCE.

This person has no shame at all.

SHORT INTRODUCTION BEFORE SHARING THE SCREENSHOTS.

Someone in the community dm'd me with SCREENSHOTS. Keep reading.

This person paid 70 pounds for a reading on February 14th, with a "quick delivery" promise too. By February 27th, no reading was delivered. But somehow, the seller had time to actively post online and scam other people.

When questioned politely, the client was met with ever changing excuses:

-"I lost electricity" -"I have arm problems" -Then suddenly a car accident involving a suicidal driver. What were the chances?

Each excuse became more and more dramatic, less coherent and very conveniently timed whenever accountability was requested. SHE KEPT LYING AND POSTPONING THE DELIVERY.

Instead of taking responsibility and delivering the reading the client paid for, the seller mocked the client, suggesting that 70 pounds was "too much" for them. Truly vile behaviour for someone that should be guiding their clients, clients who paid hard earned money for a service that was never delivered. The seller failed to deliver the service promised and when the client rightfully pushed back, she threatened them with a blacklist for DARING to expect the service they paid for.

1. If you can spend all day online defending yourself, you can spend five minutes delivering what you were paid to do. 2. If your arms are too hurt to type, they should be too hurt to post on Tumblr. 3. If you're too sick to work, you refund, you don't gaslight.

This is textbook scammer behavior: delay, distract, dramatize, threaten. And the sad part? People trusted her with not just their money, but their vulnerabilities.

While I do not condone the client's behaviour at the end of the screenshots, I also understand. Spending close to 100 dollars for a reading and getting treated like that is vile. "Please do not interrupt me while I am talking" to someone that you scammed is simply insane @vamptarot. You knew they had been waiting for weeks to get their reading from you for which they already had paid for.

Also. "In this case you made your situation worse", what happened to treating people with respect, @vamptarot? Specifically, people who paid you for a service?

SCREENSHOT EVIDENCE:

February the 14th the client requests a reading and pays for it.

2. "Text me whenever you wish" but not to get their reading, right? Also, by this time it is now FEBRUARY 21. @vamptarot promises to deliver it in 2-3 days.

3. February 27th, it has been more than 10 days already since the client paid. Still no reading. The client asks for an update and this twat lies again. Mind you, the reading should have been delivered by FEBRUARY 24TH.

4. MARCH 1ST AND 2ND. The client asks where their reading is. The scammer ghosts them.

"That is if you still want them" after a service they paid for. A classic scam. She was trying to not send the reading the client paid for.

Also, I am aware that screenshots show "today" and "yesterday" but that's because the client was screen recording back in February or March. Here is the screenshot with the DATE:

"I do not wish to work with someone who couldn't respect the rules". HOW ABOUT YOU RESPECT THE RULES AND SEND YOUR CLIENT THE READING? Or are rules arbitrary? Also threatening to blacklist them is the cherry on top.

The client waited patiently while the seller went ghost again. THEN SHE MOCKED HER CLIENT.

5. THE "ACCIDENT": Now the scammer mentions a convenient car accident (this is March 5th). More than two weeks have passed since the reading got paid for and she still hasn't delivered it. Again, she always comes up with fake shit. Notice how she always gets in accidents when it's time to actually do the things she needs to? Also, if she was actually in a car accident how come she's replying on Tumblr? After something so traumatic, nonetheless.

What a twat. "I am more concerned about being alive" and yet she still has time to cuss out the reader for asking for their 3 WEEKS AWAITED READING. THERE ARE NO EXCUSES FOR THIS BEHAVIOUR. Her wrists are messed up only when it comes to delivering the readings people paid for, fyi.

This is the part where I disagree with the client. I don't condone this but I understand why they got mad.

This is absolutely disgusting.

PLEASE keep her accountable. I cannot do this work on my own without the help of the community.

[kang-mi-rae]

WTFR: MY ROMAN EMPIRE 📞

I am writing this post so that I could pour all my thoughts and feelings about WTFR into this and FINALLY MOVE ON. 😭😭

I never thought there would come another drama that would consume my whole being. Nobody expected it to be so good. I would yearn and long for new episodes each week. Considering how short everyone’s attention span has become in recent times it’s very commendable that an ongoing drama (which was postponed in between) put us on chokehold, on the edge of our seat every weekend and made us submissive.

Baek sa eon the man that you are 🤌🏼🤌🏼 he’s the protector, provider, obsessive husband that everyone desires. He has raised our (fan girls) expectations and taken the bar so high up it’s unreachable and idk if any kdrama would be able to top. Hong hee Joo is the FL that was need in drama world. She is fierce, stubborn, unhinged and would go above and beyond for the people she loves. Both the leads are so different yet so similar in personality. Both obsessed with each other. Both trying to understand each other. Both not able to communicate. Yet they LOVE each other which is seen in form of their actions than words. I’m so so grateful to both actors soo bin and yeon seok for bringing out these characters to life. This is how intimacy in a marriage should be portrayed This drama had so many beautiful, unique, heart warming couple scenes I’ve lost count. At the end of the episode I would always think, there’s no way they could top this and yet somehow they would surpass my expectations in the next episode. These two will be my ROMAN EMPIRE FOR A LONG TIME. Thank you for the memories and thank you so making us a part of your world

Forever grateful to this one ❤️❤️

There’s a couple here now

They don’t hide their true feelings and are honest with each other

They promised to make an effort to be happy together <3

[grimm-the-tiger]

I made this post a little while ago listing some facts about shipwrecks that probably only I find interesting, so now I’m back to talk about some of them. Specifically, the Olympic. The Olympic was the namesake of the Olympic-class liners, whose most notable member was the Titanic. Out of the three Olympic-class ships - Titanic, Olympic, and Britannic - only one of them was actually unsinkable, and that was the Olympic. 

Over the more than 20 years of its existence, the Olympic was never once in real danger. The Olympic was the danger. On its fifth voyage in September 1911, Olympic was running parallel to the HMS Hawke, a British warship designed specifically for ramming things. Olympic suddenly turned to starboard (right side of the ship if you were facing towards its front), catching Hawke’s commanding officer off-guard; he wasn’t able to avoid the collision and ended up ramming the other ship. Olympic was left with a substantial hole beneath the water line (although flooding was for the most part averted due to its bulkheads actually working properly, *cough* Titanic *cough*) and a slightly less substantial hole above it. Hawke, meanwhile, had its entire bow caved in. Olympic made it back to port just fine under her own power, while Hawke almost capsized. Somehow, no one was seriously hurt or killed. 

Three fun facts about this situation: Violet Jessop, a woman famous for surviving the sinkings of both of the Olympic’s sister ships, was onboard the Olympic when this happened. This incident also reinforced the idea that the Olympic-class was unsinkable. The famous postponement of the Titanic’s maiden voyage also occurred because of this incident; a propeller shaft was damaged in the collision, they needed a new one ASAP, and, well, the Titanic was right there... 

Four years later, WWI broke out. The Olympic was requisitioned as a troop ship, given 6-inch naval guns, and sent on its way. In 1918, while travelling to France with a literal boatload of American soldiers, Olympic spotted U-103, a German U-boat chilling on the surface of the ocean. Olympic opened fire on U-103, which immediately crash dived to keep from dying, then turned to ram the U-boat. Olympic hit U-103′s conning tower and tore open the hull with its propellers. U-103′s crew decided “fuck this” and abandoned ship; Olympic didn’t bother to stop to pick them up, so a nearby American warship did instead. It was later found that U-103 was preparing to torpedo Olympic when they’d been spotted, but they couldn’t flood the torpedo tubes in time. Olympic remains the only merchant vessel in WWI recorded to have sunk an enemy vessel (which would become a more common occurrence during WWII, to the extent that the Nazis apparently tried and hanged at least one captured British merchant captain for ramming one of their U-boats. The Nazis were ones to talk, considering they rehired the man who sank the Carpathia and was notorious for war crimes that included things like “drowning surrendered enemy crews by forcing them to strip and stand on the roof of his submarine, then diving the submarine” and “attacking designated hospital ships that made it very obvious they were hospital ships”). 

Following WWI, while Olympic was being refit for civilian service, a sizeable dent was discovered below the waterline. It was later concluded to have been caused by a faulty torpedo, most likely fired by U-53 while the Olympic was travelling through the English Channel. 

Olympic collided with another, smaller ship, Fort St. George, in New York Harbor on March 22, 1924. There’s not much information on how badly Olympic fucked Fort St. George up, just that Olympic apparently fucked around a little too much and found out, because the collision broke its sternpost (support post in the back of the ship; think of it like a central pillar in a structure), forcing the entire stern frame to be replaced. 

On November 18, 1929, Olympic was cruising not far from the Titanic’s wreck site when the whole thing began shaking for two minutes. This was later found to have been caused by a 7.2 magnitude earthquake off the coast of Newfoundland. 

The Olympic’s last hurrah (and casualty) was on May 15, 1934, when it collided with the lightship LV-117. Olympic had known the lightship was in the area, but didn’t know where exactly it was until they were right on top of it. Olympic’s captain immediately ordered a hard turn and the engines slowed, so Olympic wasn’t moving particularly fast when it did hit LV-117 (about 3 and a half miles per hour), but Olympic was fucking huge, and the people onboard barely noticed when they practically crushed the lightship under them. Only four of the eleven crew aboard LV-117 survived; four went down with the ship and three died in Olympic’s hospital (yes, these things had hospitals; I told you there were fucking huge). 

Olympic was fully scrapped in 1937, forever going down in history as both the only Olympic-class ship that was actually unsinkable and the one with the longest reign of terror. Good God, man. I understand sinking the U-boat, but you didn’t need to bring like four other ships down with you. 

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Warrior's Wrath - Part 2

Source for pic

Word Count: 5994

Tags: Medieval Scotland AU; Highlander Kid; Blurry non-con; Angst without happy ending; Fluff and angst; have I mentioned ANGST? soft Kid; feral Kid; Blood and gore; Killer might have a crush on reader (didn’t notice I did this until I was editing); MDNI!!! 🔞

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: You and Kid, the fiercest worry of your village, get married and happiness is just within your reach. Until Blackbeard, the laird, comes to claim prima nocta and takes you. Somehow, you are able to placate Kid’s anger before you go, yet, when you return filled with marks and bruises, Kid can no longer be controlled.

Notes: Highlander Kid lives rent free in my head and I can’t help it. This one got away from me, though. I meant it to be around 5 or 6k words, it turned out to be almost 13k. Historical note, there’s no concrete historical evidence to support the existence of prima nocte, but this story was heavily inspired by Braveheart - God, I love this movie. I do hope you enjoy it! I’m so sorry for breaking your heart again. I thrive on angst! 

PS: Decided to compromise and split this into two parts but posted at the same time!

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane

MASTERLIST

|Part 1|

Kid slept through lunch and most of the afternoon and when he woke up, you had already instructed Killer to ask him for help with a very important task that needed his craftsman expertise, so he wouldn't observe you too closely again. 

Killer gave you a frown and a veiled judgmental look that you decided to ignore and, by the time they returned, you had dinner on the table. Kid's portion had a special ingredient in it. 

And it wasn't just love. 

He fell asleep the second his head hit the pillow and a soft sigh left your parted lips as you cleaned the table and applied more poultice to your wounds. They seemed less inflamed now. Their colour was a bit more faded and the swelling on most of them had gone down. 

You nodded as you prepared for bed. You could do this. 

-*-

You were woken by a wave of heat and pleasure. Something so strong that immediately pulled a moan from your open mouth. 

The room was dimly lit by the light of the crescent moon coming through the window and the small flame of the burning embers in the fireplace, but you could make out Kid’s fiery red hair between your parted thighs. Though you didn't need any sight to realise what he was doing.

His tongue licked and lapped at your lower lips, tasting, sucking nibbling. He was teasing you awake with the gentleness of his touch, purposely dragging his tongue around your clit. 

“Kid!” You huffed, eyes shutting hard as your fingers clenched the sheets. 

“We still haven't tried this bed out, lass. I don't know why I've been so tired, but I'm not postponing this anymore.” His calloused hand grabbed the back of your knee as he hoisted your leg over his shoulder. “The other one.” He commanded you as you silently obeyed and placed your other leg on top of him. 

The room was dark. He wouldn't notice the dark finger-shaped bruises around your hips. There was barely any light, he wouldn't notice the crust already coating the bite mark on your right thigh. You could scarcely see the orange of his eyes so there was no way he would notice the purple of the bruises on your buttocks. 

Right? 

Besides, you couldn't even think straight as he plunged two digits inside you and bullied your throbbing nub. His efforts now only aimed to get you off as you were already awake, all previous gentleness quickly forgotten. The pressure building in your core made your legs clench around his head and he groaned into you, the low vibrato of his voice adding another layer of pleasure, tightening the coil and making your back arch. 

The pain from the bruises on your back and the bites on your nape mingled with the waves of pleasure that overtook you almost without warning. 

“Mmph, Kid! I'm gonna-...” You didn't even finish your sentence as it turned into a litany of moans and mewls, thighs clenching and squeezing Kid's head, pulling him further into you as you rode out your high on his face. “Stop, enough, love.” You tapped his head lightly as your legs released him from your grasp, clit aching and throbbing, begging for rest. 

He emerged with a wicked grin on his face. “All tapped out, lass? This is just the beginning. I'm not done with ya.”

Your heart leapt and rejoiced at his words, but your body was so tired and sore that it begged for rest. You needed to stall him. 

“My love, let me just brew us some tea. I'm so tired that I need a little pick-me-up.” You kissed his forehead and swung your legs to the side to get up. You were naked - Kid's work - but quickly stirred the embers in the fireplace, adding some kindling and bringing it back to a roaring flame so you could heat some water. You planned to mix a bit of nightshade in Kid's tea. That would put him to sleep. 

Except you didn't notice how your husband silently followed you to the brightness of the fireplace - he was the fiercest warrior for a reason. 

As big as he was, he moved with the stealth of a stag, so you didn't hear him until his hand was on your arm, stilling your movements. Biting your lip you tried to suppress a hiss. He could see you clearly now. 

All of you. 

All of your bruises and marks and cuts. 

All of your shame. 

Your eyes searched for his, embarrassment and fear written all over your face. He gazed at you with a piercing scowl on his lips, orange orbs scrutinising every bit of skin, taking in the full extent of what the laird had done to you. 

To his wife! 

“Kid…”

“So ya weren't disgusted by me.” He grunted. “I thought ya just didn't want me anymore. But ya were just hiding this.” He dragged out the last word, his growl shifting the sound to something dangerous. 

“I…”

“That fucker.” The eerie calmness of his voice made all the hairs on your body bristle and brought tears to your eyes. This was what you wanted to avoid.

The tea, he needed the tea. 

“Let me just-...” He cut you and your movements off by grabbing your waist and laying you down on the deer pelt you had on the floor - you had put it there for cuddling. 

“Shut up, lass.” His voice was hoarse and pained. He forced you to lie back as his eyes ran over your body, taking in all the wounds, bites, scratches, cuts and bruises. There were so many. You knew. 

You lay still. Your eyes shut as you tried to keep your tears hidden inside. You never wanted to hide something like this from him, but you had to. 

“Did ya really think I wouldn't notice this?” You had never heard him speak so calmly. It was another stage of rage you had never encountered. And it was terrifying. 

“I hoped I could hide it from you.” The whisper that left your lips felt foreign and odd. And you still couldn't meet his gaze. 

“For how long? Ya were going to deny me for how long?”

Biting back a sob you shook your head and scrunched your shoulders. “How long it took.”

“That fucker hurt ya. Why? Ya fought back? If ya wanted to fight I was ready for it before he took ya! Ya didn't have to do it alone!” He emphasised his anger with a punch to the floor and you inhaled deeply. This type of anger you were familiar with. 

“It wasn't like that. He realised I wasn't a maiden anymore. Then he ripped my wedding dress and told me he would make me forget you.” Finally your eyes met Kid's as you smirked and a silent tear ran down the corner of your eye. “I told him there was no chance of it happening with his tiny dick.”

You saw as your husband's lips twitched, and his orange eyes brightened with the slightest hint of humour. Yet he didn't laugh. 

“So he did that.” He gestured to your body and you nodded solemnly. You had to find a way to drug him before he did something drastic. 

Except he just inhaled. A deep breath as he closed his eyes. You could almost feel his anger draining away from him so you didn't dare speak a word. 

When he opened his eyes, there was nothing but love in them. Kid lowered himself above your body and you felt his lips on yours, very softly, then they moved towards the bruise on your jaw. You let out a low hiss because of the pressure but he didn't say anything. Instead he continued, kissing every bruise on your neck, on your breasts, chest, belly, legs, thighs… 

Your husband worshipped your body like he had never done before. You knew he loved you deeply, and you loved him beyond anything rational, but he showed his love with coarse gestures, with brutish affection. Never like this.

Slowly you laced your arms around his neck, pulling him back to you just as you saw his fist clenching, knuckles turning white and veins protruding from his biceps. He was stuck on your thighs, where there were some of the worst bruises. 

“My love.” You brought him back to reality, pressing your lips firmly against his, noticing the lingering scent and taste of yourself in his mouth, not caring one bit. “It’s still me. I’m fine. Forget it, please forget it.”

Kid didn’t say anything. He pressed his knee against your legs and you parted them so he could slot himself there. He kept trailing kisses all over your body. Soft kisses. So, so soft. He was trying to caress you at the same time, but with only one arm he couldn’t find support to keep upright.

Grunting and cursing about his limitation, he sat down and used his arm to hoist you up so you could sit on his lap, one leg on each side. You used this leverage to grab his face with your hands, tracing your fingers through the scar on his face and kissing him gently. “Kid…” You didn’t quite know what you were about to say. Something to try and steer away his anger. 

Whatever it was, it was quickly set aside when he claimed your lips again. A kiss so sweet and so soft, so unlike anything you were used to, that it almost brought tears to your eyes. Clawing with your hands, you pulled his shirt over his head and aligned yourself with his hard dick.

His arm circled your back as his hand settled on your nape, deepening the kiss and he gave a gentle thrust, sheathing himself completely and swallowing your soft moan. You rocked your hips gently, following his slow pace. 

It was utterly different from all the times you had been together with him and yet, still as pleasurable as when he was using you brutally. You couldn’t explain why this heat coming from within you felt different, except that it just did. It built in soft waves, spreading slowly to your toes and making your head light. So much so that you had to bury your face in the crook of his neck, your fingers tangling themselves amidst red locks as faint moans escaped your lips, just to keep you tethered to reality. 

His head fell on your shoulder as well, lips kissing softly instead of biting angrily; his hand caressing you instead of pressing and bruising. He was treating you as if you were a delicate flower instead of the wild thistle he knew you were. 

And for all the old gods and the new, you didn’t even know you needed to be treated this gently until the tears started streaming down your face. Hot droplets, one or two at first, and then an unending torrent. You saw them fall on Kid’s shoulder, and you were sure he felt them because he stopped for a second before resuming his languid, soft thrusts. 

“It’s ya and me lass.” He whispered near your ear while his arm gripped you tighter. “Always ya and me. Always.” He punctuated each word with a harder thrust and the wave of pleasure that hit you with the last ‘always’ came unannounced, crashing over you like a raging tsunami, making you cry out his name as your whole body clenched around him, locking him in a desperate embrace.

He finished a few thrusts later and you remained locked together for a while. You don’t really remember falling asleep, you recall him softly cleaning you up and helping you to bed as you muttered softly: “It’s me and you Kid.”

And then darkness took over.

-*-

The dawn came too fast. Light seeped through the window lazily as the birds chirped their morning song, too close to your window, reminding you that it was time to get up and get ready for the day.

You felt happy. Your heart lighter than it had been since your wedding day. Last night you had made love with your husband. You loved the way he roughed you up, taking you hard and possessively, claiming you as his whenever and however he pleased.

But last night felt different. And it was healing in more ways than one.

Your hand reached for his side of the bed, searching for his body so you could claim some cuddles and kisses. Even if he protested a bit, you knew he was a softie for your affection. 

But the bed was cold and he was gone.

Gasping, you jolted upright, stifling a cry of pain as your body protested with the effort. Your eyes immediately went to the mantle, to the designated place of his axe, silently praying and begging all the gods for it to be there, resting idly against it. 

It wasn’t there. 

Nausea overtook you and you barely had time to find a bucket to vomit of bile that surged up from your stomach. You knew where he was.That was why he had been so gentle and so caring last night. 

He had gone to seek vengeance. 

-*-

After he put you to bed, Kid donned his kilt, a scowl on his lips as he regarded your spent, sleeping form. He could still recall the shape and indent of every bruise, every bite mark, every scrape and - that fucking fucker - every cut. 

There was no way he would let this pass.

Throughout the night you were gone, he had come to terms with what happened. Flanked by his best friends - Killer, Heat and Wire - they had drunk themselves into a stupor. He was willing to forgive that laird bastard for what he had done. 

Kid had promised you.

But now he was seeing red. After what he had seen, after the marks that useless arse had left on your body and your soul - your tears had broken Kid in two - he would never let that bastard live another day. 

With you tucked safely in bed, he pressed his lips to your forehead. You were the love of his life. He had never felt this way about anything or anyone. He had learned long ago that vulnerability was a weakness, something to be taken advantage of. 

Except with you.

With you he could be vulnerable, kind, gentle, warm… you would never judge. Only reciprocate.

“I love you forever.” He mumbled into your hair as his hand lingered with one last caress before he left your home.

He was going alone. With all the rage he felt, he knew he could take on the world if it stepped in his path. Except the one who did was Killer.

“Where ya going?” Killer asked, a soft chuckle letting Kid know he already knew the answer.

“Claim some blood. Wanna come with?” The growl that accompanied his statement was involuntary. 

“Been waiting for it. I saw that fucking bruise on her jaw. That fucker.” 

They both started to pace towards the dense forest. “Those were not the only ones. He scarred her all over. Fucking bastard, I’m gonna carve a grin on his fucking face.”

“We’ll help.” Heat and Wire said, emerging from the shadows.

Kid grinned maniacally. Fuck, the four of them would burn the world down.

Just for you.

-*-

As you left the house, looking frantically for Kid, hoping he was just sparring with Killer, you realised that all of the four warriors were gone. Your stomach churned again and you threw up some more behind a bush.

Your worst fears had come true. This was all your fault, you forgot to give him the tea.

Tears streamed down your face as your heart clenched in your chest. He would come to you alive, you knew that perfectly well, but he would never live down the murdering of a laird. He would be sentenced and executed. Hanged, most likely, beheaded if there was any justice left in this world.

But he would be torn from your arms. For eternity.

As you slumped to the floor, your wet eyes fixed on the battered path that came from the woods and led straight into the village, you heard him. A boisterous laugh, a thunderous cocky roar of victory. He’d done it.

-*-

Kid had gone straight to the laird’s quarters, leaving his men to handle whatever else came along. They were told to try and hold back on the killing, but they were free to do as they pleased. 

Fortunately for them, most of Blackbeard’s household hated his guts. They let them pass without bothering them. Only some of his personal guards gave them trouble. But Kid strode on. His eyes burned with rage, his hand clenched around the handle of his axe, which was calling for blood.

Kicking the door of his room down, Kid rejoiced from the startled yelp that came from the bed. The bastard had been in a deep slumber, but Kid wanted him wide awake for what was coming next.

“Lass, go away.” Your husband growled at the girl that was in bed with Blackbeard, a very young girl. And that only managed to fuel Kid’s rage.  A groggy Blackbeard tried to get up, but Kid drew a knife from his belt and threw it at him, hitting his nose with the hilt and eliciting another yelp. 

“Ya stay right there.”

With two long strides and while the laird was still clutching his nose in pain, Kid approached and, as soon as his enemy removed his hands from his face, he delivered a powerful punch to the same spot where the knife had hit, effectively making him lie back down. 

“I said, stay down, fucker.”

Kid snarled, his lips curling back, revealing his menacing canines. 

Blackbeard opened and closed his eyes between groans, as the punch from your husband had made him very dizzy, almost unconscious. A perfect stage for what came next. 

With dexterous fingers, Kid tied Blackbeard’s wrists together, threw them over his head, and secured them to the bedpost. He repeated the procedure with his legs, and then nodded in approval.

“Just like a fucking pig ready for slaughter. Ya fucking asshole.”

The laird blinked, his mouth opening and closing, revealing his many missing teeth and lending him a terrified look. Your husband leaned down, putting his face right next to Blackbeard’s bleeding nose. “Remember me?”

Blackbeard spat in Kid’s face, which only managed to make Kid's cackle more menacing. “I remember your wife very well. She squirmed a lot beneath me and-...”

Kid didn't let him finish as his forehead collided with Blackbeard’s mouth, knocking out a few more teeth. “Keep my wife's name out of ya filthy fucking mouth or I make this last way longer than it needs to. And ya won't like it.”

“Her name wasn't the only thing in my mouth.” He taunted and Kid cracked his knuckles against his leg. 

“The long way it is, then. Even better.” It was a good thing that Blackbeard was too busy blinking back tears from the sting of the headbutt, or he would've noticed the unhinged glint in Kid's eyes. 

It was also fortunate that he was spitting out teeth and blood for a good part of the minute because he missed seeing Kid lay out his knives, ready to exact his vengeance. In the slowest, most painful way possible. 

-*-

You got up on shaky legs, nausea still making you wobbly, but you strode with purpose towards your husband, your eyes wide as saucers and your mouth hanging open. 

You had seen him bloodied from fights and hunts before, but right now he was soaked in blood. Head to toe, there was barely an inch of skin that was clean. 

With each step you took, more tears fell from your eyes, and your heart clenched more tightly. Breath hitched in your throat as your limbs trembled and shook relentlessly. 

“You idiot, reckless, careless, moron!”

Killer whistled as he, Heat and Wire stepped out of your way. 

“Feckless gowk, you're always, always, thinking with your fist instead of your head, Kid! Why?” Your voice grew louder and louder, reaching a screech so high that would make a forest banshee squeak in fear. As soon as you reached him, he greeted you with his cocky smirk, tilting his head sideways and looking down at you with a bit of blood smeared near his lip. 

“Hello, lass. Miss me?”

You clenched your fists, relentless tears still dripping down your face, drenching you in sorrow. Pressing yourself against him, you punched his chest, over and over while your eyes tightened and sobs clawed at your throat. 

Somehow you still managed to speak between heaves and hiccups. 

“You promised me a lifetime! A lifetime entails an actual life! Why did you do this, Kid, why? Gods, why?” Your legs gave out but before you collapsed, his strong arm enveloped your waist, pulling you into a crushing embrace. 

You locked eyes with him and his were filled with tenderness. Something he reserved only for you. 

“Lass, for ya I'd make the whole world bleed. Over and over again until all the rivers ran red.”

His words hung around you, heavy and painful and you kept sobbing into his chest, your fingers clawing and clenching his blood-soaked shirt. 

“It's ya and me, love. No one in between.” He finished as you felt yourself drifting into unconsciousness. “Forever.”

-*-

You barely had a few hours with him before the sheriff came to take Kid away to the gaols. He didn't protest. You however did. 

Your screams were heard all over the Highlands. How it wasn't fair, how the laird was dreadful and terrible and how no one liked him or thought he was fit to lead. You even showed them most of your bruises. 

When none of that worked, you dropped to your knees and pleaded. You begged like never before. 

To no avail. 

They didn't even let you say goodbye to him properly. 

-*-

Kid had weeks to ponder his wrongdoings as he sat in jail. He was pondering all right, but they were not wrongdoings in his eyes. 

He thought about the way it felt as the tip of the knife sank into the laird’s thigh, right where you had a mark. He thought about the cut he made from Blackbeard’s lip to the exact place where the bruise on your jaw was. He also thought about the joy it gave him when he ripped the laird’s balls out with his bare hands. 

It was such a shame the bastard passed out from shock and blood loss immediately afterward. Such a shame. 

On other days, most of them, actually, Kid thought about you. Your scent, your touch, your lips, your hair, your smile… 

But mostly, your love. 

-*-

You tried everything. You spoke with the highest ranks in the clan - the ones who were deciding both Kid's fate and who ruled the land - but they quickly dismissed you. 

You spoke with the druid who had officiated your wedding but he couldn't do anything to help. When you managed to speak with the sheriff, he told you Kid had made a deal of his own. He would gladly pay the ultimate price and serve as an example: even if the laird was a total bastard, there could be no rebellion, much less from within the clan. 

But only if his friends were spared the repercussions. Killer, Heat and Wire wouldn't be charged. 

The sheriff accepted. 

-*-

They decided on a beheading. Which was much more humane than just leaving someone dangling from a noose. That was torture if the neck didn't snap right away. 

Kid was grateful for that. 

They were going to make an example out of him, but they were still thankful for the service he had provided. Blackbeard had been in charge for a short time but the damage had been extensive. Both to the vaults and to the towns and villages under his command. 

The sheriff confessed - over drinks Kid should have been denied but wasn’t - that he should be made a hero instead of a martyr. But life was just like that. ‘One minute you're here, the next you're dead.’

Kid tried to push his luck a bit more and asked to see you. 

The sheriff said he would see what could be done, but his smile and wink gave Kid hope. 

Kid just needed to make sure you were all right. He knew you would be mad at him, cursing him, condemning his soul to wander aimlessly with all the grudge you held against his actions, and he needed to apologise to you. 

Not for what he did, he would do it all over again - except, maybe, leave the laird  conscious for more time - but for what he put you through. And for breaking his promise. 

He would love you forever, that he would. Except his forever would be far shorter than yours. And perhaps that was something you couldn't forgive. 

-*-

When the sheriff came to get you so you could see Kid, you almost wept. You were knee-deep in your herb garden, trying to gather some peppermint and chamomile to brew a tea that might help keep food in your stomach, as you didn’t seem able to hold anything down these days.

You were mistaken, though. You thought he meant you could bring Kid home to you. But it was just so you could say goodbye. His execution was scheduled for the next day. 

Quincy and Killer had to help you through your shock as you tried to regain your breath. Even the sheriff seemed flustered by your fit. Yet how could you help it? When the love of your life was going to be executed?

After your friends forced you to drink some of that tea, you accompanied the sheriff to the gaols, dread making your stomach churn as the nausea returned tenfold. The smell of the gaols alone was enough to make anyone queasy. 

But soon enough the sheriff led you to a small room - not his cell - where Kid was waiting for you, his wrist shackled to the stone wall. As soon as his bright orange eyes fixed on yours, you became a sobbing mess. 

Closing the distance between you with a small sprint, you jumped and dangled from his neck as he took two steps back gaining enough leverage from the chain to hug you back. “Kid! Kid! Gods… oh, gods…” Burying your face in the crook of his neck, you sobbed and cried until your throat was raw and your tears had dried.

“There, there, lass. It’s okay. It’s okay.” He kept repeating those soothing words, his dry lips placing gentle kisses on your skin. You showed no signs of letting him go anytime soon, so he slumped against the wall and slid down, cradling you in his strong lap as your arms held on for dear life around his thick neck. 

After what felt like an eternity, you heard the soft thump of Kid’s head against the wall and you moved to look into his eyes. He looked pained and exhausted as he let out a deep sigh. 

“Forgive me, lass.” His mumble made his chest rumble and, instinctively, you pressed closer to him. “I broke our vows. I cannot give ya forever. But I’ll always love ya.”

Fresh tears ran down your face, gathering at your chin and dripping off. You didn’t even bother with cleaning your face as the tears would only carve new paths, like a river that keeps flowing, shaping the earth as it passes. 

“Will ya? Forgive me?” You should. You wanted to. But his parting would leave a chasm so big within you that you didn’t know if you could. Besides, there was something else he needed to know.

“I’m carrying a child in my womb.” You said softly. You had suspected it for a while, but now that your monthly cycle had fully stopped, you were sure. 

You felt him stiffen against you, the soft caresses of his hand against your back suddenly halting as he turned his head to look into your eyes. You indulged him by lifting your head, a strained smile pressed upon your lips as you realised, far too late now, that this information was bringing regret to his eyes.

If you had known sooner, perhaps you could have prevented this. He might’ve stayed home instead of seeking vengeance. He would still be with you tomorrow, and the day after, and the one after that. Because there would be a child to tend to as well. 

Except there was a slight problem.

With a trembling lip and shifting eyes, you grasped his dirty ragged shirt. “I don’t know… gods, Kid I don’t know if the child is…”

“It’s mine.” He roared. A primal growl escaping his lips as he swallowed a hard lump in his throat. “I know it’s mine. I know it, lass.”

You nodded at him, fresh tears rolling down your cheeks once more. “It’s yours.” Kid dipped his head as he took your lips into his and you couldn’t bear the thought that these moments were the last you would spend with your other half. “Kid, beg for clemency. Please, Kid. Beg for your life. Say you’ll repent for your sins. Admit you were wrong and ask for mercy. For me, for the child, for us! Please, Kid, please!”

He shook his head softly, seemingly out of strength to contradict you, and you continued. “Please! They hated the laird, they’ll forgive you if you plead enough! Even if you stay in jail for the rest of your life, please, love! Please!”

The words kept catching in your throat. Desperate, raw, filled with sorrow and grief. You didn’t know what else to do.

He simply kissed your forehead and sighed. “Lass, a warrior doesn’t beg. A warrior has his pride. I will not beg.” He seemed resigned to his fate now, you knew there was nothing else you could say that would swindle his will. He was a warrior through and through and you knew he would never live in shame. Even if it meant he had to be away from you.

“Please…” You begged one last time.

“Love, ya’ll stay away tomorrow. I don’t want ya at the beheading. I don’t want ya to remember me like that. Ya’ll stay home, feed, take care of our child. Raise him to be a strong, powerful warrior like his father. Stay away.” 

You shook your head as another fresh wave of sobs made your shoulder heave. “Say you’ll beg, Kid, please, for us…”

“Stay home, forgive me. Make me these promises, lass, so I can go in peace.” This unfamiliar softness in his voice only broke you more. You needed to forgive him so he could rest in the afterlife. You knew that. But you also knew that forgiving him meant you had to accept the fact that you would never see him again.

That he was lost forever.

And that was a terrifying thought.

Instead you pressed your lips against his, deepening the kiss, drawing him close, clawing at his body in desperation and grasping every bit of him, trying to imprint his mark upon yourself so you could forever remember the shape of his body against yours.

After an eternity you whispered: “Aye, Kid. I forgive you. I love you forever.”

“And always.” He finished in a mournful tone.

-*-

Quincy stayed with you. Killer wanted to be at your side, to help you through the pain, but you needed Kill to be there for Kid. You were still hoping he would beg for mercy. Deep down you knew he never would, but there was a very slight tingle of hope in the pit of your stomach and you almost didn’t dare give it any attention.

Your nausea was overwhelming and you were bedridden, barely eating and with no will to even open your eyes. 

Noon was the time of the execution. Ten minutes to go.

“He’ll beg. He has to beg.” You whispered to the wind, Quincy was holding your hand, feeding you tea from time to time, her face heavy with the loss. 

Five minutes…

“Quincy… he can’t leave me! He can’t!” The sobs and hiccups pulled more bile from your stomach, your limbs trembling relentlessly as your head throbbed and ached. 

Noon.

The bells didn’t ring and you hoped. Your breath hitched in your throat. They only rang the bells when the execution was over. The bells were silent.

The bells were silent.

Shallow breaths left your parted lips, your tears frozen in your eyelids as your hand crushed Quincy’s, who stood by you without making a sound. 

Then the relentless toll of the bells started. Each toll carved away a piece of your heart. Each chime brought a wave of agony up your chest. Each clang resounded deep in your soul, bringing flashes of the brief time you spent with Kid: his smiles, his frowns, his growls, his eyes… the light in his bright orange eyes which you would see no more.

The pain was unbearable.

With each heave you made, gasping for air that seemed to never reach your lungs, your heart broke another piece. With each wail that left your lips, a part of your soul left with it. Your heart had parted from this world.

And now you were left empty.

Forever.

-*-

“Push! Push, lass! A little harder, come on!” House instructed, her hands deep in your thighs, helping the baby be born.

You were spent. The last eight hours had been laborious, painful and filled with memories. You were physically drained and emotionally exhausted. 

“I can’t!” You whined, a fresh bout of tears leaving your eyes as you cursed and tried to push.

“Ya can! Ya know why?” House looked up from your thighs, a wicked smile spread upon her lips as she lifted her bloodied hands and clapped, droplets of blood flying around her. “I see a redhead!”

And with a hearty laugh you gave a final push, your strength renewed, your love rekindled.

“It’s a boy!” House exclaimed as the sweet sound of cries filled your ears.

-*-

The stone marker was very simple. Heat had carved a red flame upon the stone with Kid’s name on it. Every month you visited it, leaving a wreath of wildflowers on top of it. White heather and clovers, primroses and daisies, meadowsweet, and ropes of ivy to symbolise fidelity and eternity. 

An exact copy of the headdress you wore on the day of your wedding. You didn’t take any other man, though you didn’t make that promise to Kid, you couldn’t find enough strength in you to give yourself to another person. 

And Kid would be waiting for you in the afterlife. You were sure of it.

Your child was already one year old. A fiery redheaded boy, the spitting image of his fierce father. Every night you stared at him for the longest of times, seeing so much of Kid on your son, wishing your husband were by your side to share the joy.

He would have loved to carry the little one on his shoulders, to make him giggle, to spin him in the air… he would’ve been proud to train him in the ways of the warrior, to follow Kid’s footsteps.

He would’ve been proud.

“Your father was very brave. He gave his life to defend our honour. He’s watching us!” The tears were still a constant, but rarer now. The ache in your heart somewhat subsided, but was still there. Throbbing from time to time. A painful remembrance of what could have been.

With a sigh you placed the wreath on top of the stone and uttered the same words you uttered every time: “It’s you and me, Kid.”

Forever and always.

The End