#so shoot. ive exhausted my brain

[hughjackmansbicep]

The Seamstress

Contains: Logan Howlett X F!Reader

Summary: Youre a seamstress and he seems to have an endless supply of holey clothes....

Wordcount: 1.2k

Warnings: None :D

a/n: haiiiiii ive always loved this trope in fics !!! tehe!! srry for not writing much recently i got fired from my job LOL anywayssss... i was listening to the smiths writing this unrelated but related.

Most days bled together, the same mundane routine playing out in front of you each day. Wake up, go to work, go home, eat takeout, and pass out to some soap opera. Currently, the highlight of your life was finding out what was going to happen next on The Days of Our Lives. You were a seamstress in the middle of Manhattan; you owned a small shop off 64th, and although you were living out your dream, nothing excited you anymore. Every task felt exhausting; you couldn't even find passion in sewing anymore. That was until he stumbled into your shop.

“Hi, yeah, I was wondering if you'd be able to sew this up for me.” He grumbled, holding up what appeared to be some yellow and blue jumpsuit. You'd almost forgotten to respond, completely captivated by his sheer beauty. His gorgeous face, chiseled body, kitty-like hair, and you can't forget the unusual yet totally working for him mutton chops. “U-um, ahem, yeah, I totally could.” You manage to choke out, reaching for the clothing item. “How long do you reckon it'll take?” You examine the clothing carefully; it's decorated with rips and holes everywhere. He's lucky if I can get this finished by the end of the week, “Tomorrow.” Your mouth moves quicker than your brain can. “Cool, I'll come by at 10? Is that alright?” He asks, slowly backing out of the shop, his eyes never leaving you. ‘10am? I can't begin to do that either; I mean, I wouldn't get to sleep tonight’. “Yep! See you at 10!” Cure that mouth of yours; you give him a smile and an awkward wave as he makes his way out the door.

You blow your breath out as if you'd been holding it the entire time, sinking down into your chair. You silently cursed at yourself for agreeing to such a stupid timeframe, but this meant you could binge Days of Our Lives tonight, so maybe it wasn't half bad.

The rest of the day went just as you expected. A couple hems, a few cinches—nothing out of the ordinary apart from the comic book cosplay you agreed to revive back to life. It was currently 3 o’clock in the morning; you'd been sitting there sewing the garment for 7 hours. Honestly, you'd been making great time; you were so close to finishing, maybe 20 stitches left total. Somewhere between the last stitch and a doctor getting slapped, you'd passed out on your living room floor.

You'd awoken to the feeling of your feline licking your cheek, causing you to immediately shoot up off the floor. Your eyes frantically searching for a clock, the power Must’ve gone out sometime around 5 in the morning because that's all you saw flashing back at you on the stove. In a frenzy, you started throwing random clothes on, praying they'd match, shoving the costume in a garment bag, and running out the door. Thats when you finally looked down at your phone, seeing the time read 10:03, “God damnit.” You whined under your breath. Your shop was only a couple blocks away, but that was still a 15-minute walk, so you sprinted. You probably looked like a complete lunatic, but you couldn't care less right now. The incredibly hot customer probably waiting outside your doors was the utmost important thing on your mind.

Dripping in sweat and hyperventilating as you turned the corner to where your shop was, you saw him just as you thought you would. Leaning up against the door, one arm crossed over his torso as he took a drag from his cigar with his other. God, he looked heavenly, and you... Well, maybe not your best day, but definitely not your worst. “Hey, sorry I'm late.” You breathed out, hands resting on your knees as you caught your breath. “But I've got your thingy.” You hold the garment bag up; he just furrows his eyebrows at you, cocking his head to the side. His silence makes you feel more embarrassed than you already do. You get up to unlock your doors, ushering him to follow you inside.

You check him out at the register; the only words being exchanged were the cost of the repairs and where he can tap his card. He walked out with a smile and a nod, a soft ‘Thanks’ escaping his lips before the door shut. You throw your head in your hands, feeling shame wash over you. You were hoping and praying he was going to leave his number on the receipt, but obviously he did not. I mean, why would you have had him waiting and showed up looking like a complete mess? Not very good looks. You simply had to chop it up as a loss and return back to the mundaneness of your life.

The very next morning, though, he was here again, this time holding an old brown jacket. He'd said there was a small hole in the pocket he wanted fixed. This time it only took you all 20 minutes. You asked him to wait upfront as you brought the jacket to the back to repair it. When you returned, you checked him out the same as before, and he left exactly the same as before. This became an everyday routine for the two of you. Every day he'd walk in with some worn-out article of clothing asking you to stitch it up; you always obliged, even if the clothes looked and smelled like they came from 1987. You always did wonder how this guy had so many ripped-up clothes just lying around, and why wouldn't he just bring them in all at once?

This charade had been going on for 2 weeks now when you finally decided to break from your usual script of ‘thank you, come again’. “Why is everything you own torn apart? Is everything okay back home?” You asked as he slipped his card into the machine. You could see the heat rising to his cheeks as he tried to hide a smirk creeping its way on his face. “You want me to be honest with you?” He looked up at you, pursing his lips together in a thin line. You nodded your head, waiting for him to continue, “I honestly thought you were gorgeous when I first walked into your shop.” Now your cheeks started burning red as your eyes went wide. “So every day since then I head into Goodwill and find anything I can with a hole in it so I can find an excuse to come see you.” This was the first time you'd ever seen this man avoid eye contact with you. You couldn't find your words as your throat had gone dry. He was into you??? And here you were this whole time thinking you ruined your shot (and that he was homeless, but you weren't going to tell him that). 

"Well, say something.” He exasperated, snapping you out of your daze. “I honestly don't know what to say; I’m shocked. I get off at 6 if y’know... You wanted to grab something to eat?” You offer awkwardly, smiling through the pain of how anxious you sounded. He looks up to you finally meeting your gaze, a soft smile painted on his lips. “Ill be here to pick you up at 6 doll.” He grabs your hand, planting a gentle kiss on your knuckle. He walked out the door, leaving you in utter shock and denial for the rest of your shift.

hi ps u can always request me shtuff to write! :3

[tortillamastersblog]

♕ No Matter What - Part 15 | Lena Luthor ♕

Pairing: Lena Luthor x reader

Warnings: mentions of blood, injuries and some swearing

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist

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I slip in and out of consciousness for what feels like an eternity until an explosion close by makes me flinch involuntarily.

My eyes snap open and my brain tries to make sense of all the blurry things I’m seeing.

There’s flashes of light, muffled shouts and gunshots and for a second I think I’m overseas again.

Then, however a pair of warm hands cups my cheeks and turns my head.

I blink rapidly until a pair of green eyes comes into focus above me.

“Lena.” I gasp, the metallic taste of blood in my mouth almost making me gag.

The young woman has tears in her eyes and her face is scrunched up in pain.

“Don’t say anything,” she urged and when she lets go of one of my cheeks to press her hand against my side I yelp weakly.

My shaking hands try to pry her’s off my waist, but she pleads, “No, stop. I’m trying to help,” while my blood seeps through her fingers.

“It hurts.” I managed to get out and Lena’s guilty eyes meet mine again.

“I know,” she croaks. “I’m sorry.”

Around us, I still hear shouting and gunshots and I let my head roll to the side to see what’s going on.

Several heavily armed figures are swarming the place with their guns at the ready, shooting occasionally.

My eyes land on an unmoving body nearby and I feel disappointment wash over me when I realize it’s not Lex but his goon, Otis Graves.

There’s a pool of blood around his head and I’m assuming he’s been shot.

“Y/N, hey,” Lena’s voice makes me tear my eyes off the body. “Stay with me.”

I try to smile but a cough racking cough shakes my entire body and I feel more blood run down the side of my mouth.

“Lex. . .?” I ask weakly and Lena moves her one hand from my cheek down to my neck, tracing her thumb over my skin in soothing circles.

“They’ll get him,” she says with a watery smile.

Good. At least one good thing came out of this.

I don’t know when or how she got here, and how she managed to get help this quickly, but I couldn’t care less about any of that.

All that matters is that she’s okay and that Lex won’t be able to get to her anymore.

I feel the fight leave my body and let out a shallow breath, allowing my head to loll to the side again.

My eyes begin fluttering, but before I get to close them, Lena’s hand is back on my cheek, forcing me to look at her.

“No, hey! Keep your eyes open. You hear me?!” she’s crying softly and I want to wipe away her tears but my arm won’t move. She sits up straighter and looks around frantically, shouting for help.

My ears begin ringing and my breaths are coming out shorter and more shallow.

This must be how Noah felt, I think, remembering how I used to be in Lena’s position, trying desperately to stop the blood from seeping out of Noah’s chest.

The sound of his rattling and gurgling breath still haunts me to this day and if I could, I’d switch places with Lena just so she doesn’t have to feel like I felt back then.

But then again, I wouldn’t want her to have been shot, so I’m glad it’s me on the ground and not her.

My eyes flutter again and a wave of exhaustion washes over me and I can’t help but let them close.

Just for a few minutes, I tell myself.

Lena’s warm touch lulls me to sleep even more and the last thing I hear before drifting off is her desperate plea of,“No! Please. . . You told me you’d stay with me, no matter what. Remember?! Y/N, please.”

When my eyes blink open, the first thing that comes to mind is that I’m dead because I’m warm and comfortable. Then, however I look, seeing that I’m in a hospital room.

I’m exhausted beyond belief, but the pain is completely gone and when I glance at the bag on the IV pole next to my bed labeled Morphine I know why.

It’s dark outside, I realize when my eyes drift to the large window before sweeping over the rest of my surroundings.

The room is dark as well, but because of all the monitors and machines next to my bed it’s not as dark as outside.

A small body, slumped over in a chair next to me catches my attention and it’s then that I feel the person’s hand in my own.

Oh shit. . .

“Rubes,” I whispered as I squeeze her little hand. “Hey, wake up.”

I don’t know what time it is, but it must be late if she fell asleep and if she’s here, Sam can’t be far either.

But where is Lena?

I can’t imagine how worried they must have been and I’m sure I’ll hear all about it later when Sam returns and Ruby’s out of earshot.

Speaking of the devil, the door to my room slowly opens and in steps Sam, dressed in pajama pants and a hoodie.

She’s holding what looks like a cup of coffee and she moves slowly so as to not make too much noise.

Even in the dark, I can make out the circles under her eyes and I feel horrible, knowing she probably hasn’t slept a wink.

She goes to sit on the vacant chair next to Ruby’s, the girl still fast asleep, but then her eyes connect with mine and she shrieks, dropping the coffee before slapping her hand over her mouth.

“Y/N!” Her eyes tear up and she rushes to hug me.

Ruby startles from the sudden movement, whining at being woken up so abruptly but the she realizes what’s going on and throws her arms around my neck as well.

“Hey, guys,” I whisper as they both cry against me. “It’s alright. I’m going to be okay.”

Sam shakes her head and pulls back while Ruby continues to cling to me. “You don’t know that!” she hisses with tears streaming down her cheek. “Have you seen the state you’re in?! The doctors say it’s a miracle you’re still alive.”

I frown anxiously take her hand. “I’m sorry, Sam. That’s not what I— Shit. . . I’m sorry.”

Sam sighs and squeezes my hand, using her free hand to wipe at her tears. “No, please. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. You just woke up and — We were so worried about you. I can’t believe Lex—“

“You know what happened?” I cut her off with wide eyes.

She nods. “Lena told us. She called while you were in surgery.”

Lena. . . My Lena.

“Where is she?” I ask quietly. “Is she okay?”

Lex’s words stung more than I’d like to admit and the fact that she’s not here makes me worry that he was right about everything.

I am a nobody and I wouldn’t be surprised if she thinks she deserves better than what I have to offer. Which isn’t a lot, let’s not forget.

I’m not poor per se, but Lex is right. I’m nowhere near as wealthy as the Luthor family and if we’re going by their standards, I am poor.

Oh, and not to mention my fucked up family situation and the mountain of trauma I bring with me everywhere I go.

“Hey,” Sam squeezes my hand again, bringing me back to reality. She’s watching me with curiosity, knowing I tend to get into my own head. “She’s okay. I sent her home. She was exhausted. She wanted to stay with you, but she almost fell off the chair in her sleep.“

Ruby chuckles against my chest, clearly amused by the memory and I can’t help but smile as well.

Okay, so maybe Lex was wrong after all.

But what if—

“Stop it.”

I raise my eyes to meet Sam’s glare.

“What?!” I defend weakly, but she just raises an eyebrow.

“I can practically hear you overthinking,” she says with a deadpan voice which makes me roll my eyes.

“Okay, okay.” I give in, running the hand that’s not holding Sam’s over Ruby’s back. “It’s kind of creepy how you always know.”

Sam laughs and tilts her head adorably. “It’s not creepy. I just know you.”

I huff, not knowing what else to say and close my eyes for a moment.

The morphine might be working overtime to stop me from feeling any pain, but it’s also making me feel drowsy and with the comforting weight of Ruby’s head on my chest I feel like falling asleep.

“Y/N?” Sam whispers after a moment, and I force myself to open my eyes again.

“Hmm?”

“Tired?” she asks softly and I nod. “Okay. We’ll let you get some rest then. . . Unless you want us to stay?”

I shake my head and press a kiss to Ruby’s forehead. “No, it’s okay. I can’t imagine how tired you guys must be.”

Sam squeezes my hand one last time before letting go and prying a half-asleep Ruby off of.

The young girl whines at the loss of contact, but once she wakes up completely, she lets Sam guide her out of the room.

“We’ll stop by again tomorrow, alright?” Sam asks as she’s already halfway out the door.

“Please do,” I say with a smile, sending them off with a wave before finally turning over and closing my eyes again.

The next time I wake up is when a doctor, Doctor Mike, comes into my room to check on me.

By now, the sun has come up, bathing my room in a soft orange light and I just lean back as he goes to check all my bandages and bruises.

He tells me I have a few cracked ribs from where the baseball bat hit my side, and a sprained shoulder.

He also tells me I had some internal bleeding from when Lex shot me and kicked me in the stomach, but they managed to fix everything during surgery.

“Now, the only thing we have to keep a close eye on is your leg,” he says, once he’s done examining my stitches.

“My leg?” I frown. As far as I know the only injuries either of my legs sustained are a couple of scrapes and bruises from when I got knocked off my bike.

“Yes,” Doctor Mike says with a grimace. “Once we dial back the painkillers, you should feel a burning or tingling sensation run down the side of either just your left leg or both of your legs.”

He watches me closely for a reaction, but I don’t react which prompts him to continue explaining.

“The bullet grazed your lower spine,” he says. “We know there is some nerve damage, but we can’t know how extensive it is until you’re completely off any and all pain medication.”

I gulp and clench my hands into fists, only now noticing the bruises on my wrists where my hands were chained together. “So am I going to be stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of my life?”

Doctor Mike shakes his head. “No, no definitely not, but it is possible that even after physical therapy your leg or legs won’t ever feel and function the same as before.”

I swallow the growing lump in my throat and press the heels of my hands against my eyes.

“For now,” Doctor Mike continues softly after a beat of silence, “You should focus on resting and letting your body recover though. We’ll worry about everything else after.”

I don’t say anything and just continue to press my hands against my eyes.

There’s nothing I could possibly say right now because I’m still processing.

“I-I’ll give you some space,” Doctor Mike says after quite some time. “If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask for me.”

Silence.

Then, the sound of the door opening and closing confirms that he has left.

I drop my hands into my lap and bend my head, no longer holding back my sobs until I pass out once again, exhausted.

“Oh, my poor baby. . .”

My mom’s voice reaching my ears makes me open my eyes slowly.

I look to my right where it came from, thinking I might have just imagined it, but then my gaze lands on her sitting on the chair by my bed.

To my surprise, she’s not alone. Next to her is my dad and behind the two of them, standing with a nervous smile on her face, is Harper.

My dad looks paler and thinner than the last time I saw him, but it’s him nonetheless.

I clench my jaw, ready for a screaming match even though I just woke up, but then he suddenly starts. . .crying?

He grabs my hand and squeezes it between his own and bends his head in shame.

My mom and Harper watch wordlessly, though the sympathetic look in their eyes makes me soften as well, even if it’s just the tiniest bit.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, his voice strained. “I- I fucked up, Y/N. So, so badly. I hurt you because I was hurt. I was so. . .fucking hurt. . . but I know that’s no excuse for how I treated you. I wanted to reach out sooner. . . The guilt was eating me up on the inside and I thought— I thought I already lost one of my kids. I can’t lose the other one, too. I don’t want to lose you.”

That’s all I’ve wanted to hear ever since he kicked me out a little over a year ago, but what is it they say, sometimes words can be just a little too late.

Coward!

I pull my hand out of his and cradle it against my chest as if his touch burns.

He looks up with tears in his eyes and when his eyes meet mine, I can see the realization that I’m not forgiving him on his face.

“Y/N. . .” My mom tries to intervene, but my dad cuts her off with a sad smile.

“Don’t,” he says quietly. “It’s okay. I-I’m going to wait in the car.”

My mom looks between the two of us with a conflicted frown, but before she can object my dad’s already on his feet.

He sends me a tight lipped smile that I don’t return before leaving the room with slumped shoulders.

It’s looks pathetic, and I wonder if that’s what I looked like when he kicked me out.

Harper hesitantly sits down on the now vacant chair and after a few minutes of awkward small talk the tension between the three of us disappears.

My mom and Harper both fawn over me, telling me how worried they’ve been and saying how they found out about what happened when they turned on the news.

Apparently Kara, who was still at Lena’s when Lex called, filmed everything with her phone and started a livestream on the CatCo website.

Law enforcement was called immediately and Lena being the genius she is, traced Lex’s call back to our location outside of the city.

She and Alfred followed the police to the warehouse and went in after the building was breached and Otis Graves was shot.

It turns out Lex was arrested without incident after he tried to make a run for it and is now in police custody with another attempted murder charge to his name.

They’re also going to trial him for blackmailing Lena and kidnapping me which will most definitely earn him a spot in a high security prison in the desert.

My mom and Harper stay for about two hours before leaving, seeing that I’m still struggling to stay awake for more than a handful of hours.

They leave behind a bouquet of flowers and small teddy bear that joins Sam’s and Ruby’s stuffed koala on the windowsill which they bring with them when they visit me a couple hours later.

Kara, Winn and James also stop by over the course of the day, checking in with me and showing me all the news article about the event before leaving again with the promise of returning soon.

As it’s nearing dinner time, my windowsill now full of flowers and get well cards, I can’t help but worry about Lena.

She’s the only one that hasn’t come to see me yet and because Sam’s not here to stop my overthinking, my thoughts begin to spiral.

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Uh oh, where’s Lena 👀. . .??

Tag list: @nerethos @orange15quote @nuianced-tck-enby @autorasexy @unexpected-character @nothisismax @wandatasha @rosea-reginae

PSA about the tag list:

If I can’t find your blog when I try to tag you, I will reply to your comment asking to be tagged and tell you that you’re account is hidden and that you can’t be tagged.

If, from that point onwards, you don’t change your settings and I still can’t find you when trying to tag you in the next part, you will be removed from the tag list and I won’t try tagging you again in future parts.

I’m not trying to be mean or anything, but this has happened a few times now and I don’t have the time or energy to reply to your comments multiple times, telling you to change your settings.

[larkspyrr]

chapter iv — i'll use you as a focal point (wc. 5k)

prev — masterlist / ao3 — next

reblogs are appreciated!

You groaned, a noise that you were fairly certain rose from the very depths of hell itself to give life to your marrow-deep exhaustion.

From somewhere to your right, you could hear the duke laugh, a sound distinctly shit-eating. He then leaned over you and into your line of sight, causing you to squint to try and make out his face against the backdrop of the obnoxiously bright golden skylight far above.

"How you doing down there?" he asked, a smug, gleeful grin to match his laughter tugging at each corner of his mouth.

You grimaced by way of an answer.

Wriothesley reached his hand down to you, looking more chipper than he had any right to. You fought back the urge to slap it away in a petty display of childishness which the only remaining functional portion of your brain recognized was undeserved, no matter how many spars he had won in the last two hours. However, it turns out the majority of your muscles no longer quite wanted to respond to your mental commands, so you accepted the lift, letting your palm fall heavily into his grip. He pulled you up roughly; his warm, calloused hand tight around yours as you stumbled back onto your feet. He took a second to make sure your balance had fully returned before he released you.

"That was invigorating," he said, breathless and windswept in an infuriatingly charming sort of way. The man was not nearly as affected by exertion as he should have been — according to you, anyway. You were certain you hadn't been that much of a pushover. "Well done."

You grunted, surely the very picture of nobility, silently preening at the praise you hadn't known you'd been hoping for. Every fiber of your body felt like frayed thread — but your mind was buzzy and alive.

Everything about the ring was as exciting as it was new. You'd been taken to the limits of your abilities and then ushered past the threshold, again and again, but you'd loved every moment of it; every loss, every clip you weren't able to dodge in time, every rare instance where you were able to clip Wriothesley right back.

There was something electrifying about exchanging blows, trying to anticipate your partner's next move whilst planning your own. About testing the boundaries of your abilities, your strength and dexterity, about making decisions in less time than it took to blink. It dug its fingers into you, created a hunger that you'd never experienced before, something primal and unfiltered and thrilling.

Suddenly, you were in perfect understanding as to how the Pankration Ring had become such a staple for the residents of the Fortress. You were fairly certain you now had a better understanding of the duke himself, too, having seen how he teaches — thorough and patient and kind — and, maybe more importantly, having seen how he fights — with power and grace and dignity and a ferocity that might have frightened you if you'd never seen the warmth he kept safely hidden behind his cool facade.

Boxing went against everything you'd ever learned at every ball and in every etiquette class and at every overstated, vacuous dining table — it was brutal and untamed and utterly lacking the propriety you'd learned to wear like armor, as though your composure was all you'd need in order to weather a world that wanted only to see you fail. It awakened an instinct that you had never been allowed to even acknowledge, let alone encouraged to follow. It stripped you down, scrubbed you raw, and then built you back up again, shiny and new.

You couldn't wait to come back.

Instead of giving voice to any of that — you had a reputation to uphold, after all — you opted to exhale roughly, shaking out a foot. "I can't feel my legs."

"Good," Wriothesley chirped merrily, slapping you on the shoulder. You gasped, pitching forward. The duke's eyes wrinkled at the corners, watching you straighten and shoot him the dirtiest look you could muster. "And don't try to fool me — I can tell you loved it. Now go shower and get your fancy stuff back on. I'm starving. To death, in fact."

You sighed but obeyed, your soul answering to the promise of a cool shower and hot food. Stretching your overtaxed limbs, you made your way back to the locker room, Molly trailing swiftly behind, chattering away at a mile a minute, seemingly almost as energized as the duke after your series of bouts. She was carrying your dress in her hands, freshly laundered and folded and smelling far too lovely for it to belong anywhere near a prison, let alone a boxing ring.

"And you were just wonderful," Molly was saying, smiling widely. "Frankly, I know you're no stranger to sparring with Miss Clorinde, but that was always with swords so I didn't have high expectations for you when it came to boxing."

You huffed. "Wow. Thanks," you drawled.

"Oh, don't be that way, miss, you know what I meant," she said easily, a lazy wave of one of her hands. She nearly dropped your dress onto the locker room floor but saved it with a wobbly oof, slapping her free hand back under the neat pile. She trotted on, unaffected. "I can't be blamed for having doubts! Besides, you blew me away."

You breathed a laugh. "I didn't win even once, Molly," you told her, untying your boots.

"Not today!" she gushed, nearly bouncing on her feet. "But His Grace has been doing this for years and you still managed to keep up, even if you didn't win! I wager it's only a matter of time before your training sessions are more evenly matched."

You smiled, a hopeful little flicker of pride settling in your chest.

A quick shower, a rote redressing, and a tidal wave of chatter later, you reemerged from the locker room, looking and smelling fresh, hoping that the stiffness in your limbs wouldn't betray your secret training session from behind the haze of lavender-scented detergent. You'd had Molly's help putting yourself back together and she had given her seal of approval, so you couldn't have looked too worse for wear.

The duke turned away from the ring, fastening the usual gloves back onto his scarred hands, eyes meeting yours. He grinned, wide and wolfish. He had changed into a fresh suit, dark and grayscale like his usual, burgundy tie once more secured around his neck, dangling pointlessly and crookedly in front of an indecently undone series of buttons. An unprofessional and deliberate stylistic choice for sure, dishevelment juxtaposed by all the accoutrements you'd associate with a man in his position, in a way which was clearly meant to illustrate his status while still embodying the spirit of rebellion. You had respect for that. So much that was familiar to you, reimagined to suit his own desires. You were positive it must piss Thibeault off to no end. You were jealous of the debonair audacity. Maybe even a little appreciative.

From an aesthetic standpoint, at least, you were certainly... appreciative.

You shook your head, banishing that particular train of thought.

"You two hungry?" he asked, offering his arm to you. Woefully, it was once again concealed behind his shirt sleeves.

You shook your head again for good measure. Clearly the first had not been powerful enough.

"Naturally," you said, twining your arm with his. "You also promised me tea."

"A woman after my own heart," he said in a conspiratorial undertone to Molly. She giggled. "Let's all depart then. I know just the place. Even if it is the only place. You remember the Coupon Cafeteria, don't you?"

"Victory has put you in a good mood."

"I'm always in a good mood."

Side by side, you made your way back through the halls surrounding the Pankration Ring to the elevator, ascending from the deepest depths back to the main level. Once on the administrative floor, the familiar hustle and bustle continued on, the heart of the underwater city beating as strongly as ever. Weaving between the milling crowds of people, arm-in-arm, you couldn't help but notice the number of surreptitious glances and hushed words exchanged as you passed. Wriothesley had been right about the gossiping, that much was clear. You wondered if it would make its way to the surface as quickly as he seemed to think it would. You hoped it got up to Thibeault and soured the milk in his tea.

There was a pause in the clamor of the cafeteria as you entered, bread and drinks frozen halfway up to agape mouths, eyes wide and watchful. You saw a tomato slide out of someone's sandwich and onto the brass of their bench. He seemed not to even notice himself.

"Wolsey?" Wriothesley called, leaning forward into the kiosk to search for the man in question, either oblivious to the scrutiny, unaffected by it, or very good at appearing unaffected. You could hear the distant clanging of metal and raucous laughter from somewhere deep in the kitchen. After a moment, Wolsey ducked beneath the row of hanging pots and pans separating the kitchen and kiosk to stand behind the counter, a harried smile on his kindly, weathered face.

"Ah, Your Grace," he said, dipping his head in greeting. "I received your request this morning for the meals — I've prepared something I think you'll all like. Should only take a few minutes to finish up."

"Wonderful," said the duke with a gracious nod. "Thanks, Wolsey."

Wolsey disappeared back into the depths of the kitchen, the clanging picking up twofold. Wriothesley guided you away to a table at the edge of the cafe seating area, pulling out one of the rickety iron chairs with a theatrical flourish.

"My lady," he said in an imperious tone, bending into a deep bow, peering at you from beneath a dark, raised brow. His lips quirked at the corner.

You rolled your eyes at his display, but took the offered seat, settling in and fanning out your dress around you. You shot him a look. "You're enjoying this far too much." Wriothesley winked at you and pulled out a chair for Molly as well, who flustered at his courtesy, waving her hands.

"Oh, thank you, Your Grace, but I was just about to go summon the aquabus back for my lady and me," she said apologetically. This was news to you. You raised a scrutinizing eyebrow which she pointedly ignored.

Wriothesley, oblivious to her shenanigans, smiled warmly at her. "Ah, I see. Thank you, Molly."

"Of course, Your Grace," she said with a tiny curtsy and a wicked little smile in your direction. Traitor. "Enjoy your meal, you two!"

"Dinner for two?" he said as she scurried away into the crowd. "How utterly scandalous."

"And specially requested meals, at that," you quipped. "I'm flattered. You spoil me."

"Anything for my intended. This is one of the many perks of the job," he responded easily, gesturing at the liveliness of the cafeteria. "No dental, though. And as for the food, I... uh..." His face scrunched. "I make a point of preparing my own meals unless I'm able to tell Wolsey in advance that I'm coming."

You couldn't help but snicker. "That bad, huh?"

"Oh, you have no idea," he replied wearily, dropping into the seat across from you.

"They're happy to do anything for the darling of the Fortress, though, I'm sure," you said innocently, leaning back and letting your eyes scan over the massive room and its vibrant array of occupants. "I've seen no fewer than two dozen people looking at you with stars in their eyes since we left the elevator. And that's just since the elevator. We've only made it about, oh, a hundred yards or so."

He scoffed. "Please," he said. "That's rich, coming from the belle of the ball. I'm frankly surprised anyone would believe that you'd ever choose a delinquent like me. Even I didn't think you'd give me the time of day," he said, a playful smile on his face as his eyes flicked from where your hands folded in front of you to your face. "No matter how handsome and charming I am. You could have anyone you want when you're finally ready to settle down and start a family."

You shook your head. "No, I told you I'm not concerned with anything like that," you said quickly. "Starting a family is not in my plans. Now or ever."

His eyebrows narrowed. "You're serious?" he asked. "Ever? Even after you've become a Champion Duelist?"

After, you noted, a sharp pang resonating behind your ribs. Not if.

You cleared your throat. "Nah," you said, trying your best to sound casual and not at all touched. You cringed inwardly at the unnatural way the word sounded, grating like a tin can down a gutter. "My aspirations would conflict with familial responsibilities and I need to be able to focus all my efforts on my work," you explained. "I just... it wouldn't be fair to anyone to ask them to sacrifice their future for me. I will take care of my family now so that I won't have to feel guilty for focusing on my future afterwards."

He frowned, deep in thought. "Well, I don't know if that's strictly true," he argued. "You should never feel guilty for having dreams or for pursuing them. A future can be shared, you know?"

Your swallowed, your stomach in a knot. "Well, what about you?" you asked lightly, intent on turning the conversation away from you. Evidently it worked, as Wriothesley looked briefly startled by the abrupt pivot. "Does the illustrious Duke of Meropide ever plan on settling down?"

Wriothesley looked like he was seeing something far away, carefully swirling his drink while he thought. "Maybe," he said finally. "Not in the immediate future, but someday, yeah. I'd like to."

You sat back against your chair once you realized how far forward you had been leaning. The extra space made it easier to think. "Really?" you asked. "You didn't strike me as the type."

Wriothesley laughed but the sound was brittle and half-hearted. "What 'type' did I strike you as then?" He shrugged. "I guess I'd just like to have the family I never had. With the right person, of course," he amended quickly. "I don't want to be rushed into the decision, as the court would like me to be."

You look at him for a long moment. Understanding... recognition flared inside you. "I know what you mean," you said softly

He scratched at the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Sorry, didn't mean to get too heavy on you there. Go ahead. You can call me a romantic fool."

Your brows knitted together and you shook your head. "I don't think wanting to have a family makes you a fool, Wriothesley. Not at all. I'm confident you're a fool for other reasons," you teased with a gentle smile, "but not this one. I think it's a nice desire to have. I hope you find the right person one day."

"I... thank you," he said haltingly. The tips of his ears looked faintly tinted. He cleared his throat with a noncommittal wave of his hand, and he might as well have been dispersing any hint of vulnerability in the air as though it were a wisp of smoke. "Sadly, here my options are somewhat limited," he lamented with a melodramatic sigh, a clumsy but firm topic change of his own. "However... there is a very charming young man who works in PZ2 who's expressed interest. I believe he's in for tax evasion."

You held a dainty hand to your chest, gasping in delight. "So you have prospects after all!"

"Oh, I do," he said, raising his chin haughtily. Amusement danced in his eyes. "As you observed, I'm very popular."

Wolsey approached your table as you laughed, dishes in hand, raising a scraggly, aged eyebrow at the baffling exchange before him. You recognized that it would appear, at best, odd to anyone not aware of the true nature of your relationship with Wriothesley, so you hoped Wolsey wasn't one to partake in the notorious Fortress gossip cycle. Wolsey shook his head wearily with a good-natured smile. One that said with no words, clear as day — kids these days. You hoped that was the green light that he wouldn't go poisoning your meticulously crafted well.

"Here you are," he said, placing a dish down before each of you. "Enjoy your dinner, Your Grace, my lady."

You both thanked him happily before digging into your meals.

You swallowed, eyes wide. "The inmates eat like this every day?" you asked, barely resisting the urge to shove more food into your mouth while you still spoke. It was phenomenal.

The duke snickered and for your life you couldn't understand what could possibly be so funny. "Archons, no. No. The welfare meals here are a bit of a... lottery system, so-to-speak."

"Hm?" You tilted your head, puzzled. "A... lottery?" you repeated. "Like gambling?"

"Yep," he said, popping the 'p', tossing another piece of his steak into his mouth. He proceeded to explain while chewing. "Exactly like gambling. We have several chefs on staff. Some of them are even inmates themselves. So let's just say, the type and quality of the meal depends upon whose you end up receiving. That's why I notified Wolsey in advance to ask him to make our meals himself."

You paused for a moment, letting his words sink in before throwing your head back in laughter. "A lottery," you wheezed, nearly choking on your food. "Oh, that's delightful. Probably cruel and unusual punishment, too, but delightful."

He beamed at you, eyes scanning over your face as you fought to regain your composure through fits of giggles. "If anyone asks," he said, blue eyes alight with mischief. "I didn't say a word. It would be bad for kitchen morale."

You snorted. "Perish the thought. Far be it from me to damage kitchen morale."

You were wrapping up dinner when a young man approached the pair of you, looking for all the world like he'd prefer to be anywhere else. He was thin, wearing the standard inmate overalls and an uneasy expression beneath a mop of sandy hair. He twiddled his thumbs in front of him as he waited for Wriothesley to notice him. You couldn't help but wonder how old the kid was. He couldn't have yet been out of his teens.

Wriothesley trailed off as he noticed the new spectator to your conversation.

"Your Grace?" the boy said at last. "Might I have a word?"

Wriothesley smiled tightly, placing his fork back down onto his empty plate. "George. Of course," he said to the boy who exhaled with palpable relief. Wriothesley turned an apologetic look at you. "Please excuse me. Feel free to have a look around. This shouldn't be long."

"Of course. I'll be fine," you reassured. Wriothesley nodded gratefully and began walking with the boy to a quiet corner near the cafeteria, already speaking in hushed tones. Wolsey came over to clear the rest of the table, offering you a polite smile as he collected the empty dishes. You thanked him and made your way in the opposite direction from the duke to explore a bit more freely, side-stepping inmates and guards and doing your best to take it all in. You noticed nowhere near as many people paid you any mind while you walked alone, despite the fact that you stuck out like a sore thumb in your stiflingly formal attire.

"Hey, lady!"

Clearly you stood out more than you'd thought. You came to a stop so abrupt it felt like reaching the end of a chain tether. You turned your head to find the source of the call, but could see no one close enough to have been the owner of such a high-pitched, authoritative voice. You turned even further, confused, completing an entire circle in place like a music box ballerina.

"Oi, over here!" came the voice again, cutting through the pandemonium. "Whaddarya, blind?"

You rotated once more to the source, emanating from a stack of various storage boxes and cases tucked away between two huge pillars of bronze and iron. Your eyes had to fall a few feet short of the height you'd been expecting to find the culprit — a little girl, no older than ten, little fists firmly anchored on each hip. She looked at you, up and down and then back up again with judgemental, green eyes.

"I never seen you ‘round these parts before," she said. She lifted her chin at you. Ornery little thing.

Your lips twitched as you watched the kid size you up. You couldn't help but feel a surge of fondness for the defiant, precocious little gesture. "That would be because I've never been here before," you told her.

She blinked, head tilted. "You servin' time?" she asked gruffly.

"No, ma'am," you said, squatting down to get on her level. Your freshly laundered hem dragged into a murky little puddle and you immediately felt a streak of guilt as Molly's hard work was once again ruined. "Just visiting the duke."

She rose an eyebrow. "The duke?" she intoned disbelievingly. "You tellin' me you're friends with His Grace?"

You nodded, smiling. "That I am."

She gave you an odious look, turning her back on you to make her way back to her corner. "If you say so, lady," she called over her shoulder. As she reached the stack of boxes, she spun to face you again, folding her arms in front of her chest. There was a boy you hadn't noticed before now standing beside her. He looked at you shyly, eyes comically wide.

You laughed softly, straightening and walking to the pair of them, near what you now realized was a small fort built between the two stacks of boxes. "What are the two of you up to?" you asked, leaning down to peek beneath the tarp draped over the two kids. There were a bunch of small items lying in cluttered, well-loved disarray across a rumpled plaid blanket — toys, knickknacks, clothes, and a lantern. Pillows. A couple of stacks of books, some for kids, some looking far too advanced for children their age. A small stuffed duck, a hint of fluff poking out from a small rip in the seam of its beak. "Do you two live in there?"

"No," said the girl insolently, as though to ask such a thing was the most preposterous thing in the world. "We have a room with some of the other kids. This is just our castle."

"No one minds when we build the castle here." The boy didn't look up from his feet as he kicked them softly against the iron flooring. He nodded. "We were playing checkers."

"Oh, I love checkers," you said brightly, kneeling down again so you'd be able to meet their eyes on their own level. "Can I join? I'm afraid His Grace is a bit busy right now and I'd love to hear more about the Fortress."

She looked at you, expression a little too calculating for your comfort. "It'll cost ya," said the girl at last.

"Huh? To play checkers?" you asked, confused.

"Nah, lady. The intel," she corrected.

"Oh, I see," you said seriously. "What'll it cost me?"

She leveled you with an unimpressed stare. "What else?" she said. "Credit coupons."

You frowned. "I'm afraid I don't have any credit coupons. But I do have… let's see… I have..." you trailed off, searching your brain absolutely anything of use to the kid. You came up short. You currently had nothing except, quite literally, the dress on your back. "I don't have anything at all."

She harrumphed, putting her fists back on her hips. "Whatever then, we don't need any coupons. We'll give you the info on the house. Just put in a good word for us with His Grace."

You grinned. "Oh, absolutely. I can do that." You chuckled and introduced yourself. "What are your names?"

She sniffed. "I'm Paulette. He's Jean. We're twins."

You grinned. "It's very nice to meet you, Paulette and Jean." Your eyes scanned the room quickly, locating Wriothesley as he bid goodbye to the young man from before. "And I'm afraid it seems we are going to have to postpone our checkers game."

Paulette grunted. "Rain check, then. Jean's too easy to beat so I expect you to be a better opponent than him next time."

"Hey!" said Jean, offended.

"You bet," you said, straightening back up. You winked. "But I won't go easy on you. Take care, you two."

Paulette waved you off with a noncommittal hand as she and Jean ducked into their castle. You turned away to find Wriothesley already walking over to you from across the administrative floor, his hand rising to seize your attention, almost as though he was unaware of just how much he stood out from any crowd. You began to meet him in the middle, trying to avoid the dinner rush of people coming to and from the cafeteria in a chaotic shuffle.

You'd almost made it when you felt a sharp force colliding with your shoulder, sending you careening forward and into another man, cup of coffee knocked clean out of his hand and hurtling straight toward you.

In the split second before you realized the steaming hot beverage was about to scald the bare skin of your collar, you braced for impact, but it never came — at least, not like you'd expected. Instead, a cold, hard, coffee-colored mass slid harmlessly down the front of your dress, meeting with the floor and sliding smoothly away a few feet before coming to a stop.

The duke stood before you with a worried expression, hand outstretched, a tiny cloud of frost dancing between his extended fingers.

You gawked, gaze darting between his hand and the brown, misshapen ice on the ground several feet away. "Did that just freeze?" you asked at last.

He nodded, worry fading away into perplexity. "That's right."

You passed your hand through the cloud at his fingertips. Tiny flakes of snow clung to your skin before melting away, leaving no evidence they had ever been there at all. You felt a surge of sadness, but it was short-lived. Wriothesley flexed his fingers, a second, tiny blizzard coming into being between your hands. It swirled in and out of your fingers and curled around your wrist with a mind of its own. You marveled at the tiny phenomenon. "I didn't know you had a vision," you said quietly, eyes glued to his hands.

"I mean, I suppose it's not common knowledge," Wriothesley said. "But it isn't a secret, either."

"Huh," you said intelligently as the rest of the blizzard faded away. You looked at him, scanning his vest and belt. "Where do you wear it?"

"Back of my coat," he said, turning just enough so you could see the glittering blue ornament hanging from the back of his left shoulder. "Have for a while now."

A puzzle piece clicked into place in your mind and you brightened with understanding. "That's why your back felt so cold at the ball," you gasped. "My hand was freezing."

"That... sounds about right," he said, smiling sheepishly. "Look, I'm sorry. We're going to have cut our date a little short today. Something's come up that can't wait."

"Oh. I see," you said, vaguely disappointed but unable to pinpoint exactly why. "Rain check on the tea, then? I was looking forward to it, you know."

He shook his head, smiling in a way that looked almost awed. "You really are something," he said. "But yes, next time. I have a blend with your name on it."

"I hear you've been rather busy," came a voice from the shadows in your foyer.

You sighed, letting your front door close behind you. You told Molly she could retire for the night with a tired smile — she nodded and excused herself.

"Clorinde," you said wearily, by way of greeting. "I was wondering when I'd see you."

"Honestly? I made the trip over as soon as Navia gave me ‘the latest gossip'," she quipped, stepping into the light of the foyer so you could see her scrutinizing gaze more clearly. She did not look impressed. "Duke Wriothesley?" she asked flatly. "Seriously? Since when have you been interested in marriage?"

You sighed, acknowledging to yourself that this conversation was always going to be unavoidable. You'd known Clorinde for years — long enough not only to be familiar with her persistence, but also her discretion. You trusted her. "I'm still not interested in marriage."

She narrowed her eyes, coming to a stop in front of you and crossing her arms. "And so the rumors are...?"

"Intentional," you said slowly with a pointed look. "We agreed on a ruse to keep suitors off my back, and as for him... he has his own reasons."

"The threat to the Fortress' autonomy," Clorinde supplied, and it wasn't a question. You raised an eyebrow. She sighed. "Why is it always a scheme with you? What if you ever want to be with someone in earnest?"

"I won't. I can't afford distractions. That would be a distraction."

Clorinde's eyes were sad as she regarded you. "That's not necessarily true."

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" you gritted. "It is true. I've seen what happens to every other girl like me when she shackles herself like that. I can't allow that to happen to me and I won't... entangle myself with someone and not be able to give them what they deserve."

"And so to avoid such an awful fate, you are what? Taking tea with the duke?"

"No," you snapped haughtily before exhaling. Brushed the dust off your skirts. You tilted your chin upward. "We're training as well." You shifted your weight awkwardly. "We... haven't gotten to the tea yet."

She shook her head, eyes wide. "Forget tea, training? You're boxing?"

You scowled. "How did you know that?"

"His Grace and I are acquainted," she said shortly. "You realize how many ways this could go wrong, right?"

"The only ways it could go wrong is if we were found out or one of us developed feelings for the other," you said, nodding primly. "And I can promise you, we are at risk of neither. This is a mutually beneficial arrangement."

Clorinde looked thoroughly skeptical. Her violet eyes glimmered in the dim light. "Famous last words."

Your frown deepened. "Enough. I have it under control. Is there something I can do for you, Clorinde? Or are you just here to interrogate me?"

"Just to interrogate you. Tonight, anyway," she said casually. And just like that, the tension dissipated. She strutted towards the door but paused before she reached it. She glanced at you from over her shoulder. "Training session this week?"

"Sure, yeah," you said, exhaling in relief. "Yeah. I will see you then."

"See you then," she said. She chewed on her bottom lip, not yet turning back away. "And uh, hey. Just one more thing."

You were quiet. Clorinde's eyes drifted somewhere off to the side, not looking at anything specific.

Her gaze flicked back to you. "Be careful, okay?"

Your cocked your head. "What do you mean?"

Her lips pulled into a thin line. "Just... take care of yourself," she said. "Don't get hurt. And try not to hurt him either, okay?"

You looked at her for a long moment. "Sounds like you aren't just acquainted. How well do you two know each other?"

"I'm allowed to have other friends," she said pleasantly. "Just please. Promise me, okay?"

You couldn't help but feel... off-balance. What she was asking was so simple but felt as loaded as her gun, carrying unspoken truths and a sense of foreboding you couldn't dismiss. She stared at you, her dark gaze earnest and not unkind. Nothing about Clorinde was ever unkind.

"I..." you started, unsteady. "Yeah. Yes, of course, Clorinde. I don't plan to hurt him. Or be hurt."

"Good. Thank you," she said. "That's all I can ask. Good night."

You smiled softly. "Good night."

She returned your smile and nodded, finally slipping out of the door and disappearing into the dark.

She was silent, but the door shutting behind her was louder than you ever remembered it being.

a/n: haha heyyy sorry this was so late but thanks everyone for being understanding about the delay. we been going through it at work but it'll hopefully even out in a few weeks

i hope all wriothesley wanters are or will be wriothesley havers <3

[blankwashed]

Sleepless Shadows (Part 6)

Chapter: I II III IV V VI VII

Recap: “If you had told me that you were a virgin, I wouldn’t have taken it so far you know?” he said as he came closer to you in a soft voice.

“I-I didn’t want to seem inexperienced, I-I hope I came up to your standards, sir…” Satoru looked at you with disapproval as you called him sir. Again.

WARNING & A/N: Do not read if you get triggered by mentions of rape, molestation, kinks, force. Really weird shit goes down here, I don’t know what’s up with my brain.

Satoru shakes his head once again at you. He doesn’t want to think about work and how you address him in university at the moment, why are you always reminding him?

“My dear,” he looks at you with thirst in his eyes still. Eyes, rolling to the back of his head as if he didn’t shoot the biggest load into your mouth. His thick cock coming back alive and practically making you afraid at how fast he can get hard again.

You stepped back from him, afraid of how he will treat you again. There were multiple times where you misbehaved and called him the honorific that he repeatedly asked you to not to address him by tonight. Even when he was railing you from behind, he swore he heard you say “sir, this is so good” but he let those slide.

Clearly, you were tired and exhausted. Your mind wasn’t in the right place at the moment. After some time you realized your mistake but it was already too late. He already had your hands pinned up against the wall, restricting all your movements. Sweat started to drip from your forehead and your breath was hitched, “S—Satoru, I’m sorry I f—forgot and you can’t blame me you were pleasuring me so well it just slipped my mind—“ you started to give out reasons for your mishap.

“Don’t you know how much your mistakes have an effect on me? Only you, baby that can do this to me. No one else. That’s why out of all the people I have ever met, I selected you because I know how smart and you’re such a perfectionist,” He uttered from his soft, rosy lips. Does Satoru have a perfectionist kink?!

He continues, “That’s why I like you babe, you’re perfect. Oh so perfect for me, and always doing what I ask you to do like a little follower, my slave if you will,”

Your eyes just widen because this is a whole lot of information for you to grasp. Mr. Gojo—I meant Satoru, likes how I do things according to what I’m asked to do? And he wants me to be his slave? The BDSM kind? Or is he into something much worse? You shook the thought off your head.

“B—but Satoru I—I’m tired, I just lost my virginity to you…can’t you just let me rest for a while? Please? I can please you in other ways,” you begged the lustful Gojo who can’t stop the idea of hammering you onto the floor. His mind was out of control at this point, only thinking of forcing himself into your tight pussy. He didn’t bother how he broke your hymen which caused you to bleed because the pleasure was overwhelming. All he wanted to do was use you as a fleshlight. He’s wanted to use you as one ever since he spotted you in class. Just to flip you on a desk, taking you from behind while grabbing your large breasts. But he remembered that your mouth would do the job.

“I guess your mouth was good too,” He growled and grabbed you by your hair and brought your white lips to his cock once more. You were exhausted from being fucked around but still you tried to open your drained and pallid lips wide enough to take in his length. Apparently it was not wide enough and he was not pleased at how you weren’t giving your best. He then grabbed you by your hair and choked your throat in order for your mouth to open wider. Grasping onto your hair, he brought your face to the rim of his cock, which caused you to choke profusely.

You scratched, clawed and hit his abs trying to inform him that you were in overwhelming pain, not sexual pain. Despite how loving Satoru was before, now his mind is not in the right place anymore and all he wants is your sweet & hot mouth to engulf his member. “Was this a new person?” You thought to yourself with tears running down your cheeks. You were choking but did he care? He didn’t, it made you want to die.

Satoru fucked your face for what it felt like ages to you until his hot, steamy cum was running down your throat. You thought that if this what it felt when someone were to force feed someone? This was worse. There you were, practically on the floor looking like you were just raped, but by who? A lecturer whom you love? Tears continued to flow down as you were conflicted with your feelings.

“Was he into me or does he only like my body?” You thought to yourself. Everything was confusing for you at that moment, you were only a 24 year old student in Jujutsu High, trying to learn how to fight for the better good of the world and I just got raped? It was consensual right? You had no idea.

Curled up as a ball, you wished you weren't there. Maybe even spending the night with Toji could've been better, at least he won't play with your feelings mentally. You thought at the moment that it was the beauty of one night stands or friends with benefits, no emotions will be attached.

"I'm sorry," you heard Satoru whisper. It took him a couple minutes to say that. You were collapsed into a cocoon, hugging your thighs and just wailing and sobbing. An aura of darkness was over you from all the negative emotions you were feeling at that time.

Both of you remained silent for a long time and things became uncomfortable among you both, which usually never happens. You were his star student, right? The only star that was exceptional to him. Satoru was feeling very guilty of everything he did, even to the point where he felt ashamed to urge you to do such immoral and kinky things to him. It was all his fault, right?

A/N again: this was alot. im sorry i made satoru into someone who cant resist, i didnt mean to but i think the plot just had to go there.

I just updated some stuff I’m horny now I’m sorry (im sleepy too so my brain isn’t functioning now)

[redeemingvillains]

the soul's brand (iv) - draco malfoy

pairing: draco malfoy x half-blood fem!reader

summary: hogwarts throws a ball that brings a heightened awareness to the feelings draco has for you.

word count: 4.2k

a/n: screaming and kicking my feet in the air for this chapter!

chapter three series masterlist

The staff and professors did a marvelous job trying to keep Hogwarts a safe haven and a welcome distraction, doing it as much for the students as for themselves. As the last breaths of autumn swirled frosty air on the grounds, they had the idea of having a ball. They knew that winter break would be here before long and that students would be returning home to face the real world; it would be a gift to give them a night of carefree fun.

The afternoon that Flitwick broke the news to your house, the common room erupted and Luna and your friends quickly dissolved into eager chatter about dates and dresses. You chimed in amiably. You were excited to have something to look forward to before returning home, but it was met with some anxiety about who you would go with. In your Fourth Year you had all decided to go to the Yule Ball as a group of friends, it seemed better that way, but you could tell that a lot had changed since then and your friends were now eager to go with a proper date, which meant you needed one too.

The excitement was so palpable around the ball that it didn’t take long for couples to start pairing off, everyone eager to find a suitable match and not to be left alone. Sure enough, within a couple of days, Cormac McLaggen pulled you aside on the way out of Ancient Runes. You knew him well enough from all of the Gryffindors you hung out with and the fact that he played quidditch with Ron and Harry. You had the same general group of friends but he had never pulled you aside to speak one on one like this before. You tried to shoot Hermione a ‘Help Me!’ look as she walked by but she simply smiled and shot you a thumbs up before abandoning you.

“Y/N” Cormac started, getting your attention as you smiled at him. “I was hoping you might do me the honor of being my date to the ball?”

Your mouth ran dry and your palms felt clammy. There was no reason to say no. He was perfectly lovely and honestly would probably make a great date, but part of you couldn’t bear to say yes. You were holding onto the tiniest thread, the smallest possibility that maybe a certain blonde Slytherin would ask you. His demeanor had certainly changed this term, and for once it didn’t seem out of the realm of possibility.

“Uhm, can I think about it?” you asked kindly.

“Certainly” he said, blushing slightly, whether out of embarrassment or something else you weren’t sure.

“I promise, I’ll let you know soon” you said, trying to lift his spirits.

“Thanks” he replied, smiling genuinely as he walked away.

Your friends begged you relentlessly to say yes. Cormac was a catch in their eyes and they were sure to remind you of his many attractive qualities over the next couple of days. Needing a break from it all, you snuck into the library, to your favorite quiet corner to read with sizable window seat and a view over the lake. You watched the snow fall gently, blanketing the world in white as you lay your head back, enjoying the solitude.

Draco had had the same idea, exhausted of Pansy pestering him about going together and his friends agonizing over every new couple. He sought solitude in the library when he saw you framed in the large window. The shimmer from the snow set your face in an angelic glow. You worried your bottom lip with your teeth, deep in thought and he couldn’t tear his gaze away from your lips, your long eyelashes that fluttered against your rosy cheeks, your hair, your everything. He realized too late his feet were moving towards you before his brain could register what he possibly had to say.

Movement out of the corner of your eye caught your attention as Draco approached you, clearing his throat and holding up his book by way of excuse.

“Looks like we had the same idea" he said.

You smiled at that. Your shared love of reading used to be one of your favorite things about him. You tucked your feet under you to make room for him on the window seat and he sat facing you, but glancing out the window.

“This ball is driving me insane” he said after a moment’s silence. Your heart skipped a beat at his chosen topic of conversation.

“Mm, yeah” you said, laughing quietly. “Everyone’s lost their head… it feels so complicated.”

“Right?” he replied genuinely. “Like it should be so much easier to just pick a date and have a good time.”

You laughed at that again and he turned to face you, meeting your eyes. Your knees were inches from his, and this was probably the longest time you’d spent in such close contact with him, your body humming and tingling in response. Your heart was beating so fast and so hard you were sure he could see it through your sweater and you tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, nervous under his gaze.

“Y/N” he said then, leaning forward, placing a hand on your knee. You could feel his warmth through your leggings. Was this really happening?

“Just – try to have a good time. Don’t let it get to your head. Don’t let anyone ruin it for you. I’m sure there are loads of good blokes lined up to take you. Just, have as much fun as you can.”

He looked like he was trying to say something more between his words that you couldn’t pick up on. His eyes flitted imperceptibly to your lips before he quickly pulled away, righting his suit jacket and wandering back towards a darker corner of the library.

It was the best he could do. It was the most he could say without saying it all. Have as much fun as you can because next term, I am going to do something so unforgivable that neither you nor the rest of the world will look at me the same way again.

This was the beginning of the end, and you deserved so much better than the reality that was coming for you.

You felt like an idiot for thinking for even a second that Draco Malfoy would be seen with you, a half-blood, on his arm in any public function, anywhere. History be damned, nothing changed. Later that afternoon, you let Cormac know you would go with him and he hugged you genuinely, the joy clear on his face. By the time word of your coupling reached the Slytherin common room, Draco had resigned himself to going with Pansy, but that didn’t mean the news didn’t cut like a knife in his gut. Cormac was a good guy and a good quidditch player if not a little full of himself. Draco should be happy for you. But all he wanted to do was pout and scowl, which he did with practiced ease.

As the ball approached, the deep, overwhelming sadness and embarrassment you had felt at your dashed hopes of a date with Draco simmered. It simmered and it grew from pain into white-hot anger.

Draco didn’t want to go with you? He didn’t want to be seen with a “mudblood”? Fine. You would go with Cormac and you would make Draco regret every waking moment of it. Your newfound anger and bitterness felt good, felt like you were in control and could wield the power for once instead of being helpless, always on the receiving end of disappointment. Fragile. The victim. Hermione picked up on your change in demeanor, happy at first that you seemed excited to go with Cormac, to shop for a dress and new shoes, but realizing perhaps a little too late what it was all about.

You picked out the perfect dress, a deep emerald, Draco’s favorite. It was floor-length with an open back and a steep thigh-high slit up the side that gave a tantalizing view of your long legs. You paired it with three-inch heels, thanking Merlin that Cormac would be tall enough to accompany you in them. You teased your hair so it fell in luscious waves over your shoulder and spent more than twice as long as you ever had putting the finishing touches on your makeup. The end result was stunning. You were going to bring this boy to his knees.

Your friends gushed over your outfit, your hair, your makeup, chiming in on what a lucky guy Cormac would be, thinking that all the extra effort was for him. Hermione simply gave you a knowing look, not judging, just noticing as she pressed a friendly kiss to your cheek as you met up in the hallway.

“Absolutely stunning” she said.

When you met up with Cormac outside of the Great Hall, he immediately flushed red from his cheeks to the tips of his ears and you worried for a moment that you may have pushed it a little too far. For someone always so sure of himself, he stumbled clumsily over his words.

“Y-you l-look lovely, Y/N, stunning, really. I-Wow. We make a good pair” he said, recovering nicely. And he wasn’t the only one who thought so as a sea of whispers and murmurs followed your entrance into the hall.

Draco heard you before he saw you. That is, he heard the murmurs in the crowd and Blaise say beside him “Merlin’s Beard would you look at McLaggen and Y/N, she is on fire tonight boys.”

Draco turned to take you in and nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

‘On fire’ didn’t even scratch the surface.

Your thick lashes were set against eye makeup that made your eyes pop, your cheeks were pink with excitement and your lips were shiny and glossed. Your hair was pillowed in soft waves and you were in a tight-fitting dress with a ridiculous slit down the front revealing your bare legs. My color he thought to himself absently as he reveled in the way the emerald green sat on your skin like pure perfection. He simultaneously wanted to cover you with his jacket and pull you back to his dormitory. He watched you like a man bewitched, unaware that he was open-mouthed staring until Pansy slapped his arm and tugged him onto the dance floor, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing herself into him.

You were making the best of the situation at hand, trying to focus on Cormac and getting through the night. He was a perfectly acceptable date, but from the moment you entered the Great Hall you could feel a pair of grey eyes on you like a hex on the back of your neck. You hoped your plan was working. Draco looked so handsome in his new all-black suit that you felt a physical ache in your body, like it was rejecting the distance between you.

After several dances, you managed to steal a glance between the moving bodies and felt a burning in your throat and behind your eyes as you saw Draco’s attention was monopolized by the woman in his arms. Pansy was pressing herself against him, in an emerald dress of her own, leaving almost no space between them, nearly nose to nose. And that is when you finally realized, finally accepted that this was a lost cause. That no amount of makeup, curled hair, high heels or green dresses was going to change a thing. You willed yourself not to cry even as you felt the tears in your eyes. How could you be so stupid?

He tried to focus, to avoid being utterly rude to his date but the picture of you was seared in his mind like the bright flash of a camera that left black spots in his vision.

You, in emerald green.

Did she do that on purpose? he thought. He stole glances between moving bodies as McLaggen led you onto the dance floor, he watched as your eyes traced his face, as his hands glided down your back over your bare skin.

Pansy pulled herself closer to him and he suddenly felt hot and stuffy, his suit and perfectly knotted tie like a straightjacket and a chokehold. He tugged at his collar, his mind racing. McLaggen. What right did he have? What made him such a good date? Did he know that your favorite color was blue? That you were afraid of thunder and lightning? That the first time you tried to ride a bike, you fell and skinned your knee? Of course not. He didn’t know any of that. But Draco did. He was the one that learned the charm to turn the white daisies in the field blue for you, he was the one that hugged you the morning after a thunder storm, reassuring you that it would be okay, he was the one that conjured bubbles that sang when they popped after you fell off your bike to make you laugh. He did. She should be with me he thought suddenly.

You realized too late that you wouldn’t be able to control your emotions. Hoping to save your dignity, you whispered curtly “I’m so sorry, Cormac, would you excuse me?” and holding yourself up by the very last thread of strength you had, you walked quickly and purposefully off the dance floor, towards the doorway, fighting every urge to run.

She should be with me, Draco thought, but as he lifted his head to find you, you were gone. Cormac stood alone on the dance floor looking dumfounded and Draco followed his line of sight to the door just as you pushed past several people to make it through the entrance. Draco quickly stepped away amidst frustrated cries from Pansy and let his feet follow you without hesitation, dipping in and out of the crowd unseen. He burst into the hallway, caught the slightest glimpse of you taking off around a corner and hurried after you.

You let your feet carry you without thinking, seeking solitude and a place to think. So many people littered the castle in the throes of the party that you resigned yourself to a hallway open to the outdoors that aligned one of the courtyards, the biting wind and snow flurries enough to scare people away and wake you up. You let out a shaky breath that puffed in front of you, frantically wiping the tears that poured unwillingly from your eyes, desperate to save your makeup, your strength, this night.

You were exasperated when you heard the door open and close behind you, wondering who would be crazy enough to be outside too and you turned just as a head of bright blonde hair came around the corner. No. You thought to yourself. Please, anyone but him. Not now. You sucked in a deep breath, straightening up.

“Draco?” you called, arms crossed against your body in frustration and cold. “What are you doing out here?”

“Looking for you” he said simply, as surprised to hear the truth coming from his own lips as you looked to hear it. “I saw McLaggen… saw you leave…I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Your cheeks flushed at the idea that anyone had seen that play out, least of all Draco.

“Well, I’m fine. Just wanted some fresh air is all. You can go back to the ball, back to Pansy” you said, trying not to sound bitter and jealous and failing miserably.

He was quiet for a moment. “You’re doing me a favor, really. I think I’m better off out here. I haven’t been the best date.”

You looked up at him, doubt etched on your face, still angry but admittedly curious.

“I have a very hard time believing that, Draco” you replied, gesturing at his overall put-togetheredness, his suit, his perfect hair, his everything.

“I don’t think my company was the problem as much as the fact that she could tell hers wasn’t what I wanted.” He walked closer to you and saw your chin quivering, which he thought was from the cold until he saw a few tears escape down the side of your face. You wiped furiously at them as they dripped unrelenting, a dam of pressure building up behind your eyes that was threatening to break. He reached out slowly and brushed the pad of his thumb against your cheek, no longer thinking about what he was doing or the consequences, just wanting to touch you, to make you feel better, like he used to.

“You look breathtakingly beautiful” he said quietly. “I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you. That dress… that color… it suits you.”

“Draco” you whispered, a plea, a prayer, a question with a thousand more behind it.

He tried to come up with the words to say, an explanation to make it all make sense, to verbalize how he felt, how he had felt for years, what was going through his mind, how you had begun to eclipse his every thought and he could only come up with one way to answer you. He ran his fingers down your jaw, his presence now overbearingly close, his cologne overtaking you. He tilted your chin up gently to face him and his lips ghosted over yours, touching them only slightly, barely. Your breathing was erratic, causing your chest to visibly rise and fall, straining against him. He wasn’t teasing you so much as he was letting the moment last as long as he could bear it, relishing in it, never wanting it to end but so desperately seeking the release on the other side. In the end, it was you that relented, pressing forward slightly to close the distance.

At first, he kissed you like you would break, so tender, so gently, so soft. It was such a stark contrast to his entire aura, his entire being, his tough exterior, that your brain could hardly comprehend it. His hand cupped the side of your face, pulling you toward him and every inch of your body met his, your arms finally unfurling to wrap around his neck. The feeling of you pressed against him broke the last ounce control he was struggling to hold onto as his tongue traced your bottom lip, opening you up to him. He tasted like champagne and your head was dizzy as he walked you backwards, lips never leaving yours, pressing you gently into the stone wall behind you; the cool brick contrasting with his warm body caging you in. Your tongues tangled as your fingers wrapped into the hair at the base of his neck, eliciting a groan deep in his chest that curled your toes as you pulled him into you, impossibly closer.

It could have been minutes, it could have been hours that you lost yourselves in each other when the sounds of footsteps and shouts down a nearby hall snapped you both back to reality. As you pulled back reluctantly, you took in the look in his eyes, desire etched in them in the way they were eclipsed by his dark pupils. He had an uncanny blush on his porcelain skin and he ran a thumb over his lips, now swollen with your kisses. He glanced briefly down the corridor, then back at you, smirking mischievously before you both broke into a fit of comfortable laughter that reminded you of the way things used to be.

He rested his forehead against yours, his fingers reaching to tangle in your own. He tried to hold onto the moment, but it was like floo powder slipping through his fingers. He was being unimaginably selfish. He couldn’t do this with you.

Always so attuned to him, you noticed the change in his demeanor almost immediately.

“Draco” you whispered, trying to call him back to you. Don’t do this you thought desperately. Don’t you pull away from me. He looked at you, the grey smoke back in his eyes that screamed of frustration, of pain and of guilt.

“I-I can’t do this” he said finally, pulling back, letting your hand fall to your side.

“What do you mean?” you said, wanting to kick yourself for how desperate you sounded. That same tone in your voice nearly brought Draco to his knees. He was hurting you all over again, just like he did on the train platform in your first year when he didn’t hug you back.

“I’m sorry” he said, turning to walk away.

Only this time, you weren’t going to let him.

“No” you said sternly, stepping after him, grasping his wrist in your hand and pulling him back to face you and frantically pressing your lips to his again. You knew he felt something and you were desperate to make him confront it. His resolve weakened as he took you in his arms again. He could turn away from a hug when he was eleven, he couldn’t turn away from this as he grasped your face, kissing you back earnestly. You pulled away.

“You don’t get to do that to me anymore. Please. Talk to me, Draco. Don’t pull away from me again. Whatever it is, whatever this is, we can figure it out. I’m here for you, I’m always here for you.”

“That’s the problem” he said, stepping back slightly, his voice rising.

You looked at him, baffled, as he continued, “You’re here for me, but I can’t be there for you. I’m not good for you, Y/N. This isn’t safe. I’m… dangerous. To everyone, but especially to you.”

“I’m the one who gets to decide that for myself” you said strongly. "I’m tired of this world feeding us a narrative of fear, of living in constant anxiety about what’s around every corner, about who we can and cannot trust. I’m done fighting it. I’ve known you for more than five years, Draco, and even when every other person tells me that I should be afraid of you, even when you tell me I should be afraid of you, I know in my heart I have nothing to fear. You would never hurt me.”

“But other people will. People… I’m associated with…” his voice dropped to barely a whisper as pain wracked his face. “…My parents…” he said finally.

“You are not your parents, Draco. You never have been.”

His face scrunched in anguish at that, his head falling at words he had never allowed himself to believe. You had managed to see right through him, to the very center of his guilt and shame.

“I’ve changed” he tried to argue further, “I’m not the little boy you used to know.”

“Good” you said resolutely, and he lifted his head at that. “He never wanted to share his pumpkin pasties with me anyway.”

He let out a quiet, unexpected laugh and wiped at the tears brimming his eyes with his sleeve. You tugged him forward and looped your arms around his neck, and he return the hug, the tension leaving his body in your embrace as you nuzzled into his neck. It was the first time in months he felt calm as you rubbed circles in his back, your perfume covering him like a blanket.

“You can’t be seen with me” he said quietly. “I don’t want to walk away from you but I don’t know how to keep you safe, and you unequivocally cannot be seen with me.”

“We’ll figure something out” you whispered, your breath hot against his neck. “Just, no more pulling away from me. We find a way to see each other, every day, in the middle of the night if we have to, and we tell each other everything” you felt him tense at that as he pulled away to look at you.

“There’s so much you don’t know…” he started, his forearm writhing like it knew he was talking about the mark on his arm.

“And we have plenty of time to catch up” you said resolutely.

No, we don’t, he thought, until you strained on your tiptoes to press your lips against his gently.

After some time, you adjusted your lipstick, your hair and your dress, as Draco shot you a wink loving just how disheveled you looked from his lips and his wandering hands before pressing a kiss to your cheek and heading back to the ball. You followed a few minutes later and found Cormac, apologizing profusely to him, and letting him know straight out that you were only interested in a platonic relationship. He was clearly disappointed and slightly confused but took it in stride and you spent the rest of the night with your friends. Hermione shot you daggers across the table, perhaps the only person to have registered your swift exit and the boy that ran after you.

That night you told her everything in silent whispers outside of your common room. She was undeniably shocked, gasping and covering her mouth when you revealed that Draco had kissed you… multiple times. But she remained ever the steadfast friend, hugging you warmly, expressing her excitement for you but not without a look of cautious pity that said Merlin please make sure this girl doesn’t do anything more extremely stupid than she’s already done...

chapter five series masterlist

taglist: @moiravim

[fruit-salad-ship]

Can I request some Witcher au Drabble my brain is in need of some brainrot after a exhausting last few weeks

Sorry to hear youve been worn down a bit, ive tried to scramble together something, but admittedly witcher AU is a fun one but also one ive not explored as much with feeling and emotion.

Hope this is better than nothing at least.

It starts in a bar, plums been sulking the whole way home as the pair ride back, now held up by the fireplace chewing through slightly old bread and some kind of cured meat with a pout on her features that Peach cannot ignore. The rain hammers on the window, the establishment is rife with drunkards, and people seem to have taken shelter here from worsening weather. “How many times do I have to say sorry?” Plum shoots her company a glance and goes back to the fire, huddled under a cloak that still feels damp. “More.” She wasn’t exactly angry, more, embarrassed, frustrated. The other patrons in the bar could feel the sheer cold energy coming from her, her menacing stare and both the woman’s gear keeping them away. No one cared much for Witcher’s, let alone ones who didn’t even fit the conventional definition for the hunters. Peach picked up a jug and leant across, refilling the little fighters glass as a small peace offering. “You-“ “Don’t.” Plum cut the broader, taller woman short immediately, and peach dared not continue, holding her hands up in defeat as she huffed back into the chair she occupied.

She was mad. This had been their first job alone, no one higher up in the ranks with them to make sure things got done, and plum was over the moon with the fact that she dealt the killing blow. The whole ride towards this grim little town was originally spent with her stomach in knots, thinking they’d fail, they’d die, all the worst outcomes, she planned and overthought every detail. All the while her partner, this egotistical, calm woman, just as new to the work as she was, simply rode, joked around, took time to rest without too much though, assuring her things would be fine. They were opposites, one worrier, and one carefree. Their hunt had been successful, they had trained twice as hard as the others in their order to make up for their gender, an issue that plagued them since being taken in by Witchers. By all accounts they should not have come through, Peach in particular had undergone a far more violent transition. But they got to the area where a Nightwraith was known to frequent. In a moral boosting act, Peach feigned injury and fell as if downed by their foe. Plum, overcome with worry pushed past fears, casting Yrden and ending the creatures suffering. She returned to peach’s side, triumphant but thinking her childhood friend dead, or close to. In that moment Peach kept the act up to mess with her a little but it allowed Plum to admit some…more personal feelings, assuming this might be the last chance to do so. The shock when her companion opened her eyes and sat up perfectly fine was so great she fell back onto the dirt a little. The realisation that she’d blurted out feelings, and Peach was in fact conscious and now AWARE of those feelings was crushing. And so now, they sat in this uncomfortable realisation.

Plum sipped, glaring over her goblet, trying not to feel completely stupid. “What I said was in the heat of the moment, and not true. I was scared, thought you’d die!” She observed, expected peach to be sarcastic, to take a dig at her, but she didn’t. There was a pause as the big woman watched the fireplace, before a short calm ‘mhm’ followed. She drank, and did not focus on the topic at hand. Somehow this made things worse. “What do you mean ‘mhm’? What’s that?” “It’s just a ‘mhm’, don’t read into it so much.” There was another pause, peach took the jug in her hand once more and stood to leave with a huff. “Where’d you think you’re going?” “Away, I can’t apologise, you’re in a foul mood, it doesn’t matter what happened, but you’re not going to let this go, so i’m better off letting you cool off. We’ll get back on the road first thing tomorrow.” And with that she skulked off out of the bar into the rain. Plum knew she’d be hanging around with her horse, not going far, so retreating to the room they’d rented that night was the best she could do to put her angry energy somewhere.

It wasn’t until the late hours that she was awoken, the sound of the door opening, familiar footsteps making their way inside. Plum didn’t move, feigned sleep, heard the form pause before sitting on a chair she knew was by the small window. Some gear was removed, probably anything water logged, the drips from it loud on the wooden floors. Peach sat quietly, a little drunk, cold, wet, and very conflicted, refusing to get into the only bed in the room. Damn tiny Inn had three rooms, only one of which were available. Go figures. So a chair would do, give the poor woman some space. Her guilt of playing a trick on her during their work was heavy, she made a mistake thinking it’d just push the smaller person to be a little braver with the fight, not…everything else. Sometimes she could stand to be a little more serious about things, her teachers always scolded her for messing around, for not being focused on the task at hand. This was a lesson well learnt. She tried to get comfortable on this hard chair, finding a position that wasn’t too bad, attempting to get some rest listening to the sheets of rain on the window. She could sleep just about anywhere, this was arguably a bit of an upgrade to rest on the road.

Plum lay, waiting, listening, realising that the woman with her was not coming to bed, she’d be worn out riding home tomorrow, perhaps… no. No way. Peach wasn’t getting a free pass on this one. She huddled up tighter under the blanket and stood her ground, didn’t give in. Not for the first 20 minutes at least, able to hear her partner slipping into a deeper sleep, peaking over. She’d leant herself on the window ledge, awkwardly crumpled to balance herself in a way that didn’t mean she’d instantly fall if she moved around, clothes still dripping wet, swords and heavier gear placed on a table close by.

“Idiot.” Slipped from her lips, this is how people got sick, though she recalled that peach never seemed to grow ill, not since she was turned, she’d grown in stature, in durability, and became something…different. None of the historic texts of their order covered whatever she was now. Whatever they did to her, it created something new, something that sometimes felt unnatural. The memories of hearing the elders discussing what happened rung out, Plum had turned over what was said a million times in her head, recalling being hidden in the shadows assuming Peach dead, they were just kids, she was so sure she’d never see her friend again. But her midnight trip to steal a snack from the kitchens got her more than she bargained for. She knew more than Peach did… Plum sat up and looked at her. Growing irritated that she was considering this, slowly feeling the floor come into contact with the bottom of her feet, standing, approaching. Two steps from her, she noticed Peach’s eyes open, reflecting back what little light was there, a red reflective sheen to them, something Plum had seen in bears and wolves, but never humans, not until this one. She reached out, touched the woman’s arm, unsurprised by how cold she was, Peach use to be so warm, but now she was always cold as the grave. “Come to bed.” There was no arguing. She got up and followed the little hand that pulled her, being stopped a few steps in, plum turning back to touch the shirt she was in, still soaked from rain.

It was lucky that the dark masked her reddening cheeks. First the impromptu confession during work, now this, pulling the clothes from her body, hanging them to dry. She could hardly see, and Peach wasn’t about to let her friend know that her vision allowed her to see more than most, picking up on the little micro movements in her companies face that showed she was going through a lot of complex feelings right now. The bigger woman said nothing, a welcome feeling of warm hands on her skin from time to time, until she was pulled once more, now unable to hide behind clothes, to a warm, far more comfortable bed. There was a quiet moment where they lay beside each other. Face to face, each on their side, huddled under admittedly scratchy sheets, but neither cared. That empty quiet lingered for a moment, Peach said nothing, she’d done enough damage for one day. Plum wanted to say so much, but there was comfort to this quiet, for the first time since she’d said too much, they reconnected in the silence, this was her best friend, someone who understood more than anyone what it was like to walk in her shoes, both having been worked to the bone their whole lives, bound together by some strange twist of fate. It was not lost on either of them how important this moment was, Peach put her hand on her companions side, pulling her in closer, tucking her up under her chin, feeling a little hand placed on her back, the weight of an arm over her side something that felt so natural. Plum could feel the scarring on this woman, gouges in the skin that told many a story, burying her head in the cold chest, able to for a moment hear a heartbeat, feint and very slow, so weak for someone so strong. It didn’t use to be like this.

One day Plum would tell her, tell her she’d found her father while digging for information during a job, a lord who saw a daughter as a waste, who got rid of her, that she had two brothers out there who got given the world, while she was thrown away. Tell her that she died, that she died a dozen times in fact, each time brought back by the very order she swore to stand by obediently as a test, an experiment. Tell her they turned her to one of them expecting her to die, and yet she did not, they were willing to lose her for the sake of scientific curiosity. That whatever happened to her was so horrifying the order swore to never perform those methods again, acknowledging their mistakes in secret amongst elders. But right now? It didn’t matter, nothing else mattered but being in the arms of someone who was always there for her. Neither had to say sorry, it was an unspoken feeling they understood.

In the dark Peach felt a kiss, one small little gesture left beside a collar bone before Plum curled up tight and drifted off. The words from their first job bounced around in her mind in the quiet, entranced by the heat of this little woman in her grasp, a woman who’d admitted feelings Peach never thought she’d receive from anyone. There was so much more to fight for now.

[leebrontide]

Secondhand Origin Stories, Chapter 3

Here's this week's chapter!

For those of you just joining us, I'm posting a chapter a week of my free near future scifi/low neon cyberpunk YA/NA novel, Secondhand Origin Stories, which has been described as

"-a character driven, compelling story full of family, queerness, corruption, brain altering nanites, secretly teen parenting AIs, and taking aspects of the superhero genre to their very human and rarely-explored natural conclusions."

For content warnings and more, check here:

You can follow along by following #SHOSweekly

Chapter 3

Awareness crept up on Issac slowly and was, at first, made up of nothing but pain. He pulled away from consciousness, against waking up to that. It flooded him anyway, dragging him into his body.

He hurt everywhere. The pain wasn’t quite unbearable. He’d had worse. But not often, and it couldn’t be a good sign.

He tensed, straining the miasma of injuries even more. The last time he’d been this badly hurt, kidnapping terrorists had been involved. 

He tried to listen for signs of where he was, but couldn’t make out anything. The tilt of the surface he was laying on suggested “hospital bed,” and-- yes, there was some kind of IV in his arm. He noticed the itching tightness of stitches in his arm. So wherever he was, someone wanted him alive. That was probably a good sign. It should be safe to alert whoever was in the area that he was awake, since he didn’t hear any monitors going that would clue them in.

He opened his eyes.

Yep, that was one blank, featureless white ceiling. “Hospital” was looking like a solid option. Something was wrong, though. Why weren’t there monitors beeping away? Where the hell was he? Who would put an IV in someone without monitoring him?

He tilted his head-- which hurt, but slowly gave him more bright white room to look at. Small, no windows, walls as white as the ceiling and--

And Dad, wearing the now dusty, ripped clothes he’d been in that morning, sitting in a plastic chair. He sat by the door, head tilted slightly back against the wall, eyes closed. He wasn’t hurt, and he wasn’t on high alert. So they weren’t prisoners, then. 

Issac exhaled, sending shooting pain up through his ribs. At least the worst option was out of the way.

He felt his eyelids droop, exhaustion sweeping back in. Maybe from his injuries, maybe from whatever was in that IV. He suspected serious painkillers were involved. He pushed his eyes open again as Dad noticed he was awake. He wasn’t surprised by the cocktail of angry, guilty emotions on Dad’s face. Yep, Issac was hurt. Yep, it was probably because he lived with superheroes. Issac himself wasn’t worth attacking.

Something was still off, though. He just didn’t know what. It felt like it should be obvious, but the answer stayed just out of reach. He tried to ask Dad.

His voice wouldn't work. His throat hurt trying, but he tried again. No sound. Nothing.

The banked fear from before surged back. He tried again to ask what was going on. No sound. Not even a gurgle or a rasp. 

Dad got up from the hospital chair to stand by Issac. Issac tried to sit up. The IV needle yanked at his arm. Something was wrong. Really wrong. Why the hell couldn’t he figure out what it was? Lightheadedness swamped him for a second, and he started to fall back. A metal hand was under him, slowing the drop rather than helping him sit up. 

When his vision cleared, he looked up at his dad, who was torqued around, half-facing the door. What was he doing? He was just…moving his mouth a lot. Like he was pantomiming shouting furiously at someone. 

Issac’s painkiller-addled brain caught up. It wasn’t his voice that was broken. 

He grabbed a fistful of starched hospital sheet, yanking it upwards, needing confirmation and noticing this time that he couldn’t hear the rasp of the blankets as they moved. He craned his head around painfully, finally seeing all the monitors he had expected but not heard earlier. 

This was too much to deal with right now. His stitched and strained back spasmed, and he allowed himself to collapse backwards into the bed. He stared up at the ceiling. His mind raced, trying to wrap itself around the possibility, but was slowed by the sludge of whatever chemicals were in his system.

His ceiling view was interrupted by Dad, looking down on him. Dad didn’t try to say anything. They must have already told him Issac wouldn’t hear it. Issac stared up at him, breathing hard. Searching for some sign he was misunderstanding, or some kind of reassurance. All he saw was a mirror image of his own dark eyes staring back at him. Maybe looking for the same thing.

He was grateful when people in scrubs poured in, and Dad’s gaze was diverted off Issac. They moved around the edge of his vision, hands moving on tubes and monitors and lips moving silently as Issac’s awareness flickered. The strain of his breathing hurt his chest. Dad’s hand closed around one of his, squeezing tight. It was cool and familiar, but it wasn’t enough. He felt like he should have questions, but they slid away from him when he tried to grasp them. The needle in his arm tugged again, as some medical person did something with it. He had just enough time to wonder if his disorientation and slowness were from the painkillers, or something more permanent, before some new chemical flooded his system. He felt darkness swallow him from the feet up, and he surrendered readily.

* * *

It wasn’t fair that Opal felt homesick when she was still standing in her room. Pre-emptive homesickness shouldn’t be a thing. And she wanted this. She should be excited. She was sure that some part of her was very excited. It just wasn’t the most prominent part of her right now.

She stared at the big, empty rolling suitcase laying open on her botanical illustration bedspread. What did you bring to chase a dream of being a superhero? So far, she’d managed sandals, and some underpants. She was not an expert on superheroing by any means, but she felt confident that that was not going to pass muster.

Shani leaned around the door frame, looking at Opal, then the suitcase.

<Captain Underpants?> she signed. <good superhero role model. I approve.>

Opal smiled. <Thanks.>

Shani wandered the rest of the way into the room and sat on Opal’s bed, looking at the open closet door. Opal looked at it too. It was bursting, but it was a tiny closet. A tiny closet full of clothes Opal was half afraid to pack. Shani stood up, and pulled Opal’s prom dress out. She started to fold it. Opal laughed a little, and took it back. She hung it back up, shaking her head no. It was a great dress, all teal frills and iridescent sparkles, and Auntie had made it fit perfectly, but no.

Shani gave a stellar artificial pout. <superheroes go to fancy parties!>

Not in prom dresses they didn’t. That was the problem with a lot of Opal’s clothes. They didn’t seem like clothes a superhero would wear. A lot of them seemed too juvenile, like her prom dress, or her cute t-shirts with flowers on them. She had far more pink clothes than she’d realized.

Or, they were too faux-fancy. She pulled out her favorite hoodie. Not only was it pink, but it had a big Fleur-de-lis on the front, and fake military detailing. How would this look to people with real power, real military accomplishments? Would she look like a silly little pretender? A wannabe?

Shani threw a ruffly gray skirt into the suitcase. Opal dove on it as if the Sentinels could actually see her packing in real time. Her friend Nevaeh had talked her into that at Goodwill, but it was way too short. Opal would never wear it in public, much less when she was trying to land a job.

Opal threw the skirt at Shani’s head. Shani threw it back behind her without even pausing in her rummaging, tossing some sweatpants in next, which…OK, that was actually a good idea. Superheroes had to work out, right? Opal grabbed two sports bras out of her dresser.

She had a row of antique books on top of her dresser. No room for all that.

But she couldn’t just leave all of them. Even if she did have digital copies…What if there weren’t any other old books around to smell? Aldis was providing her a place, but she didn’t know what kind of place it was.

She picked a 100-year-old copy of Jane Eyre. It was seven kinds of beat up, but it had that all-important book smell. And it was the story of another young woman who’d gone out into the world to seek her fortune against long odds and a stacked deck. Yeah. Jane would be Opal’s special companion on this trip. Hopefully the Sentinels would be less judgy than the aristocrats in a Gothic romance.

She gathered some of her good letter-writing stationary for her weekly letters to Daddy and turned back around to her case.

Shani was arranging a bunch of clothes in the case with single-minded determination. And she was sniffling. Aw.

Opal was a fan of hugging in general, but hugging Shani was extra nice, ’cause Opal could hug her as tight as she wanted and not hurt her. She kissed the top of her baby sister’s head, and stayed there for a second, just enjoying the soft puff of Shani’s hair. Shani’s hand closed over Opal’s arm. 

Then Shani started walking forward, still holding onto Opal’s arm, semi-dragging her along. Opal couldn’t take a real step because she was too close to Shani’s feet, so she shuffled and laughed her way across to Mom’s room.

Mom looked up as they shuffled in, her eyebrows up, a little smile tucked into the corners of her mouth. “Mom, the present,” Shani prompted seriously.

Mom nodded, then sent a text on her phone and stood up. 

Auntie came up the stairs a moment later, grinning like the cat that got the canary, holding something behind her back. Shani grabbed Opal’s hand and pulled her to Mom’s bed. 

Opal sat, starting to tear up. She didn’t even really care what the present was. She just wanted to bask in the way she felt with the three of them. They loved her so much. She was going to come home at night and not see any of them there. How would she ever get used to that? Aldis was great, and she’d have him. But she didn’t think that could make her not miss Auntie, Mom and Shani.

Auntie produced the gift with a flourish.

It was a suit. A black suit Opal was certain would have been tailored to her exact measurements. 

Opal would never have even thought to get a suit. Mom had one, but she only wore it to job interviews and the occasional funeral. But this was what powerful people wore, wasn’t it? 

It looked so…adult. So responsible. Like the kind of thing that would get her in to see the right people. Also like you could wear it with a pink shirt and still not look like a kid.

Opal knew a rite-of-passage moment when she saw one. She blinked at them owlishly. 

Mom’s smile faded a little. “I know it’s a little plain, but you can wear it with any kind of jewelry, or shoes, or shirt…”

“Come on! Try it on!” Shani demanded.

Opal couldn’t picture herself in a suit, but she was willing to try it. Auntie brought in one of her blouses, and Mom lent her some jewelry and a pair of flat shoes. 

She changed, and Mom closed the door to give Opal access to the full-length mirror.

Oh wow. So much for worrying about looking too young. It was like looking into a portal to the future. Except it was right now. That was Opal, standing in her mom’s room, today.

And that Opal looked like she could shake things up at the APB. Like she could do a press brief about the prison system. 

Well, that was intimidating as hell.

But excitement was gaining traction. It was definitely a tearful grin, but it was a real grin nonetheless. <Thank you. Everybody. Thank you.>

* * *

Yael dug frantically through the same pile of comics and laundry xe’d just dug through a minute ago.

They’d been kept down in that basement for hours while the top floor got assessed for safety. Which meant Yael’s hamster hutch had been laying open on the ground for six hours. Wood shavings were everywhere. Xe’d put it back together right away, but three of its eight residents were still missing. Yael felt terrible for not having gotten back up to see to them sooner. They must have been so scared when their home fell over. 

Issac wasn’t back yet. Neither were Melissa and Neil. 

But xe couldn’t do anything about that right now. 

Jamie’d tried to help, but she’d started to look woozy, so Yael had installed her on Yael’s bed with the plate of toast she was still trying gamely to choke down to settle her stomach. Yael had to find Twinkie, Jerky, and Skittles before xe’d even think about resting. 

Yael knew they were hamsters. That xe was more like scenery to them than a friend or protector. But xe couldn’t help imagining them feeling betrayed by xyr absence and negligence. 

Damn it, they were hamsters. People got them as pets for little kids because they were easy to take care of. And Yael was failing them anyway. If something happened to one of them-- if xe saved some of them, but left another abandoned--

“Yael! Yael NO! By your foot, don’t move--” Jamie shouted around a mouthful of toast. 

Yael hastily picked xyr heel back up as Jerky skittered out from under xyr foot.

Yael could scoop faster than Jerky could skitter. She scrambled over Yael's hand, frightened by the suddenness of it. Yael made as big of an enclosed bubble as xe could with xyr hands, and sagged back down, exhaling. Xe’d almost crushed her xyrself. 

“Is she OK?” Jamie prompted. 

Yael could feel her moving around in the protective case of Yael's hands. A flurry of a heartbeat and movement. She seemed to be moving just fine. “She’s OK.” Yael stood, and returned Jerky to her home and family. The hamster fled into her little chew-nest. 

Papa appeared in the doorway, looking harried but relieved. “One Twinkie, and some news,” he sighed. Sure enough, a small puddle of golden fuzz sat comfortably on his shoulder, since he had a phone in one hand and the doorknob in the other. Yael rushed across the room to retrieve Twinkie. Seven down. One to go.

Unlike Jerky, Twinkie hadn’t almost just been crushed. She was perfectly relaxed, and went to Yael's hand readily after only a moment of sniffing. Yael kissed the top of Twinkie’s head, stroking her with xyr thumb.

Papa was less relaxed. “Issac is coming home today. The hospital has concluded there’s nothing they can do for him. But he’s not seriously injured beyond losing his hearing-- and that’s permanent.”

Issac, permanently deaf. Xe couldn’t picture it. His headphones were practically grafted onto his head. He was always playing piano, or humming, or whistling, or trying to figure out the selection algorithms on music streaming services…

There was a moment of silence. Yael delayed putting Twinkie back. She, at least, was calm. And soft. And safe.

“I found an ASL learning app,” Jamie offered from the bed. “It can’t be harder than French or Hebrew.”

“I don’t know Hebrew,” Yael mumbled. Xe should put Twinkie down. Go find Skittles. 

“Well, at least he’s coming home,” Papa suggested. “I’ll be happier when everyone’s home safe again.” He looked around the room. “But clean your room up, Dove. He’s sprained some things, and may be in a chair for a while. A wheelchair could never get through this mess.”

“I still can’t find Skittles.”

“I’m sure she’s fine. I’ll make sure everyone knows to keep a lookout.”

“Is Issac mad?”

“Mad?” Papa echoed. 

“At me.”

This got a frown. “Why would Issac be mad at you?”

Yael turned back to the hutch. Set Twinkie down slowly. “I didn’t save him.” Xe stood there, one hand inside.

“We can’t always save everyone,” Papa answered quietly. “You know that. I’m sure he does too.”

Yael wasn’t so sure.

But he was alive. Nothing meant more than that.

* * *

Jamie had pretty much tamed her rebellious stomach by the time Issac was supposed to come home. She’d moved into the courtyard to try to find Skittles, and to wait for her parents and brother. 

She was up a tree when she got the signal they were about to arrive. She wasn’t sure if hamsters could climb trees. But it gave her a good view of the courtyard, and the rest of the family as they streamed in, tense and expectant. 

The elevator door opened to the three of them. Issac was in the same rental-grade wheelchair she’d seen the team need for a day or two from time to time. He had on a set of his own rocket-ship pajamas, a hoodie over a sleeping t-shirt, and a tablet sitting in his lap. He was badly bruised up, his hair an even more chaotic tangle than it had been. His eyes were glassy and vague. Jamie went cold at the sight of it-- too much like Jenna’s eyes had been. It stalled her trip down the tree as she stared at him, trying to figure out how scared she should be.

Behind Issac was Mom, her eyes pinkish but her chin up and her jaw set, hands on the handles of the chair. Dad was beside her, face clean, but clothes covered in dust, looking detached and angry. His chin was up like Mom’s, but his eyes were guarded.

There was a flicker of understanding and discomfort from Issac as Mom wheeled him off the elevator. He leaned back in the chair, as if he could hide from everybody seeing him like this. Which was more or less the reaction Jamie’d expected. That was the Issac she knew.

Jamie looked at the rest of the crowd, trying to see what Issac was seeing. Solomon and Yael had almost identically heartbroken expressions, with Yael's maybe a hair more horrified. Drew looked like he was watching a funeral procession. None of this was what someone as proud and stubborn as Issac would want to see. If he was even thinking clearly enough to process it fully. 

Dad gave Issac's shoulder an awkward, halfhearted little pat, then he peeled off from the group, making a beeline for his own door. Jamie frowned. That was not what she’d been expecting. 

Solomon flinched. Drew and Mom seemed to expect it, but they looked disappointed. Issac looked confused, with a dawning hurt as he registered their dad walking away. 

Yael's voice was too loud. “Neil!” Xe headed after him. Dad didn’t react at all. He was almost to his door when xe caught up to him and grabbed one metal wrist, pulling him around to face xyr. “Neil!”

He turned suddenly, twisting his arm out of xyr grasp with a growled “Get off me.”

Jamie almost fell out of the tree. Dad almost never raised his voice. Not in the house, anyways. Not at any of them. And he never sounded that-- mean. He might flip-flop between smothering and distant, but he was never mean.

Dad slammed his front door in Yael’s face. Jamie climbed down, and stood next to Issac as Yael banged on the front door. Dad had locked the door? He never locked the door. Solomon rushed over, trying to hush Yael and pull xyr away. 

Jamie looked at Issac, who looked back at Jamie as if she had any clue what was going on. Jamie shook her head. She had nothing.

Mom looked away from Dad’s door with an air of resignation. She knew something. Whatever it was, though, she didn’t say it. She wheeled Issac towards their front door, and Drew opened it for them.

Jamie tried to think of something useful she could do right now, since she couldn’t fix Issac’s ears, make her dad make any sense, or find Skittles. She darted into Drew’s apartment-- also never locked-- and grabbed a few Cokes she knew would be there. If Issac’s stomach was bothered by any medication, this would help. 

She got at least a sort-of answer about Dad as she bolted back through the courtyard. She overheard Solomon. “--know how hard it is to catch someone mid-fall. He needs rest for his healing to kick in.”

Not a good enough excuse in Jamie’s mind, but it was some kind of information. Dad wasn’t who needed her attention right now, anyway. Yael and Solomon followed Jamie back into her own living room. 

Issac’d been parked next to the couch. Mom was in the process of drawing blinds as Issac squinted around the room. Probably a concussion, then, on top of it all. Jamie’d seen lots of those. 

Yael and Solomon stayed hovering by the door, as if they were afraid to come any closer. Bad move. Mom re-hung a picture, then turned to them, crossing her arms. “I don’t think he can read right now. At least, he hasn’t answered any of my questions. For now, we can’t tell him anything.”

Maybe he wasn’t answering, but he wasn’t asking, either. Which meant he understood. Issac hated being confused. If he wasn’t demanding answers, he’d found them himself.

Jamie sat on the edge of the sofa arm and opened a can of pop, offering it to him. He might not be reading, but he was watching everyone. There was a lot of information he could get from that. He took the can, slowly. His hands were stiff and bandaged, and she wondered how long it would take him to heal. 

He looked at her. His eyes were glassy, but he was watching as well as he could. 

What would Jamie want to see, in his shoes? Not a comforting smile. Not whatever that was on Yael’s face that probably wasn’t pity but made Jamie’s spine itch just like pity did. Even sympathy would tick her off. But she couldn’t play this off like it was nothing, either. 

She decided to not do anything. Just meet his eyes with hers. Let him read whatever was naturally on her face. 

He sat back in his chair. It was harder to read him this way, but it looked like he was satisfied with whatever he’d seen. She’d just have to wait to see what else she could do.

[biwritesfics]

Dead Girls Don’t Die

Part 2: When the devil calls

Warnings: Mentions of death and violence, hospital setting. My previous parts have more exhaustive warnings just make the decision that feels right for you.

1k words

——————————————————————————

Something was very very wrong. I bolt up lashing out blindly. A ball of ice-cold crackling energy shoots from my hand. A bearded man dressed in some kind of robes moves his hands opening a portal out of thin air and then closes it; trapping the energy. That's shocking and amazing and all but I can't help but stare down at my own hands in shock. “I apologize, that is- erm, a new development.” I murmur.

“It's alright I've handled worse, it's actually my job to handle mystic problems but that's not why I'm here.” I raise an eyebrow in his direction. “Tony Stark called in a favor so I came to look at your scans. In my career I handled some interesting cases, but it's rare to see damage like yours.” My heart skips a beat. “You can see the damage?” “Yes there’s damage to the frontal cortex of your brain and various injuries to your nerves If I’m correct you don’t have feeling on the soles of your feet?” I nod. It wasn’t that big of a deal until it turns out I’ve had something embedded in my foot for God knows how long.

“You're otherwise functional, we released some pressure from the base of your skull so that should be tender for a while, overall you have a clean bill of health. I raise my eyebrow inquisitively at him. “Is the psych eval not in or what?” “That’s clean too, you tested positive for the mutant gene. It explains your abilities.” My mind is going a mile a minute trying to process exactly what he’s saying. “That can’t be it, at least not the only…” I pause thinking for a second. “They found the bunker didn’t they?”

He seems to contemplate lying before admitting the truth. “Yes State and Local authorities are on scene, I suspect the FBI won’t be far behind.” I nod softly, it’s strange for my deep secrets to be common knowledge. “I appreciate your help but I have one question for you. Am I taking this IV out or are you because I have to go.” “No one is taking the IV out because the moment you’re off the morphine you’ll have a migraine strong enough to take out a grown man.”

“Coming from a girl who's taken out two grown men, just remove the damn IV” I wasn’t angry, just firm. I could tell he would be a tough nut to crack. “No I’m not risking the wellbeing of my patient you’re staying put” he counters. “You have a very short amount of time before I just rip it out.” I threaten. “Try that young lady and I'll restrain you.” His glare shows that he wanted to use words other than “young lady”

Sadly I’m still above begging. “Can I at least get a call? I've been in prisons with better bedside manner” I grumble. I think he says something about kids these days as he hands me the hospital phone. I feel a presence behind me. “I memorized the Lawyers number” Martin says. I push the phone in his direction and he dials. I place the receiver to my ear and listen to it ring.

I can hear the conversation in the background of the call. “I’m not your fucking secretary Red Im not taking your calls. “Just five minutes Castle I have to talk to the police chief and social services.” There’s some grumbling before someone finally speaks directly into the phone. “This is Matt Murdock’s phone. What do you want?” “Hi I’m Sylvia Cole I was hoping I could speak to Mr.Murdock regarding his visit to Massachusetts? He inhales sharply. “I’m assuming you’ve seen it, can I

ask— . “There were 12” he answers quickly, sparing me from asking the question.

My mind is reeling for a moment. “You need to tell then there are five more, the earliest ones.” “Alright Doll I’ll send the message,” he tells me. “Thank you, Mr…?” “Castle, Frank Castle you can call me Frank,” he replies. “Thank you, Frank, I truly appreciate your help,” I tell him softly. “Anytime Doll, call if you need anything alright? “I will, goodbye.” I set the phone in its cradle appreciating the satisfying sound.

Strange was staring at me as if he expected my head to burst into flames at any given moment. “I do hold some respect for you Dr.Strange I won’t rip the IV out I swear it. If you find me a bible I’ll swear it well or the Torah I’m half and half either works,” I offer. “Somehow I don’t believe that as you choose to sass me and promise in the same breath.” “You gotta let a girl have her fun somehow Doctor. The ghosts don't always get my humor.”

“The ghosts, what exactly are they like?” Strange asks taking a seat in the hospital chair. “Well they're all different, most of them are either terribly sad or angry at their predicament. I'm not entirely sure how they become ghosts, but they're not quite good or evil. Not in the black or the white ; they just get stuck in the grey. That's what I call where they go when I can't see them.” I explained to him. He begins to ask a question but doesn't get to finish it as I begin to scream bloody murder at the sight in front of me.

“What is it, what is it!?” Strange grabs me by the shoulders. I fall against his chest sobbing. “I can see them and I can feel their pain. They were just babies how could he do this? He was a father, he was my father, how could he do this to us.” Strange wraps me in his arms awkwardly at first but he softens a bit rocking me back and forth. “It’s alright he’s gone he can’t hurt anyone else.” “No no! you don’t understand they keep chanting it.” I try and scream louder to drown them out but I still hear them as a needle pricks my shoulder and my eyelids droop.

He’s alive He’s alive He’s alive He’s alive He’s alive

[dominoblues]

I WANT TO BE A WORM CRAWLING INSIDE MOKUBA'S BRAIN AND STARE AT HIS THOUGHTS IN BLISS.

----

The KitKat bar is challenging him. He is sure of it. Looking at him behind the glass with a smug expression. Mocking him, making fun of him. I dare you to push the button. Fucking annoying. He redirects his attention to the row below. The small pack of Kopiko tells a different story altogether. It is begging him, watching him with pleading eyes to free it from the sorrow of the refrigerated prison. That KitKat asshole must have everyone under its thumb, ruling as a king over the microcosmic empire of snacks called FamilyMart. Well, fuck you KitKat.  

Mokuba inserts the coins in the slot (one cherry blossom, two phoenix hall) and presses the number ‘one’ followed by the ‘five’. The machine awakes from its sleep with a buzz. The metal coils of the prison rotate releasing the captive small pack which falls in the open compartment below. Finally, freedom. Mokuba grins victorious. He kneels and pushes the compartment door reaching for his cold prize. He shoots a last glance at the snack on the other side of the glass: emperor KitKat is raging, yet powerless. That doesn’t mean Mokuba has put a stop to his reign of terror. No, the moment he turns away KitKat will divert its rage and punishment to the other prisoners under his control. Well, nothing Mokuba can do about it. Goodbye asshole. Not my fucking problem.

He walks away from the vending machine and sinks on the closest bench in the white room, his body feeling understandably heavy because he hasn’t slept in ages. Like a true Kaiba. Fuck hospitals fuck doctors fuck my idiot brother laying semi-comatose upstairs. Again. For the second time. A cosmic wicked prank, that’s what their life is. Years pass seasons change and we are clinging in this fucked up eternal looped hoax of our misery stuck in the same immutable frozen truth over and over again. I hate you so much. I love you so much. I have been surviving just fine without you and I cannot live without you.

Mokuba leans his head compliantly against the wall, closes his eyes and lingers. Seconds, minutes, hours. It doesn’t matter. If he falls asleep, someone will come waking him up just in time for the bijillion things appointed on his daily to-do list he doesn’t even bother to check. As if he needed to. cfo at 9.00 meeting.meeting.meeting. industrial illusions ceo at 11.00. report to the board at 12.00 because those assholes wants to keep up with everything that’s going on like they give a shit about him and the other idiot because this machine for pigs cannot stop grinding and profits.profits.profits Marx was right.   

Mokuba lets out an exhausted sigh. He opens his eyes again and looks down at the Kopiko pack hanging from his fingers. He pulls it open and sticks his hand in to draw the small wrapped confectionary. Lunch break at 1.00 reports.reports.reports. r&d at 2.00 testing.testing.testing. He removes the thin paper and shoves the sweet block into his mouth whole. Released from a lifetime under dictatorship only for it to end its journey in a stinky toilet. Someone somewhere has written a philosophical essay about the meaning of life of FamilyMart snacks. The intense flavor of coffee melts in his palate. Mokuba’s eyes fixes on the white spotless ceramic tiles covering the floor of the small waiting room.

Seto woke up two days earlier in the ICU. He opened his eyes briefly. However, they soon had to administer an IV dose of morphine before he went into tachycardia. Doctors tried to cheer him up saying the response to pain was a good thing. YEAH LET ME TELL YOU A COUPLE OF THINGS ABOUT MY BROTHER’S PAIN, he wanted to yell. Not a word about the rest, though. It is still too early to know, mister Kaiba. He called Mokuba’s name. That must have been a good sign, right?

He had been comatose for sixteen days, fourteen hours and thirty-seven minutes after the surgery. Mokuba had been measuring the time painstakingly with the meticulous precision of an atomic clock because that’s exactly what Seto had been for two weeks: an idle mass of still particles and unreactive electrons at zero frequency of resonance and momentum debunking the entirety of Heisenberg's uncertainty principle; an immovable and immutable pile of flesh and tubes, lines and cables sticking out his nose, chest, stomach and bladder as an extension of his own starving emaciated body.

Yet, Mokuba thinks there’s something decorous and beautiful in his blissfully simulated sleep. Even in his resting state Seto is a fixed mark in the flow of time. Pale and inert like marble crystallized in the eternal beauty of a greek statue that would make Michelangelo blush in admiration and jealousy at his sight. Seto’s charming even in a coma, gorgeous and grotesque as something born simultaneously from the hands of a Canova and a Dalí. It horrifies him and it amazes him he can barely keep his eyes away from the lifeless cocoon.

He woke up then and he went back to sleep. Seto is now a pupa. The chrysalis will complete its transformation and Seto-imago will emerge from its shell at the conclusion of this metamorphosis. Will you still be the same will you be different will you still love me will you accept the pain that we are fucking broken and I don’t care about perfection I never wanted a flawless you I want you to accept me/us for who we are.

-----

(WIP)

[gayspock]

ok im finished with s2 of bsg btw

EVERY TIME I THINK I KNOW HOW BAD GAIUS CAN FUCK UP HE ASTONISHES US ALL. ITS SO FUCKING FUNNY. HES THE FUNNIEST FUCKING CHARACTER EVER TO FUCKING EXIST.

LIKE IVE NEVER... THE WORD CRINGEFAIL? ITS FOR HIM AND ABOUT HIM; DEFINED BY HIM. HOW DOES HE FUCKING MANAGE IT. IM LOSING MY MIND. THIS MAN WILL DOOM US ALL . GOD SPEED

anyways im starting the resistance webisodes rn. a few things. i hope going forward we do get more development for the civilians and again not the same recurring issues ive been bringing up bc NOW i feel like its imperative that theyre well fleshed out if this is taking the direction i think its taking

bc otherwise this whole thing could be exhausting as hell LOL

also cally. her actress is really cute and early on i was endeared to her (bc shes set up as a chara i'd rlly like) but since then its so funny like... they just get her to do whatever the fuck huh. like. she'll shoot sharon or she'll get beat up and now shes married to the chief. ok. right. its so funny like shes existing outside the narrative until they randomly decide to ave her do osme shit

btw i bet if billy was still alive the voter fraud well they would have still been caught no doubt tory fucking rules but it would have been funny if billy was caught instead

ALSO GOD I DONTKNOW WHAT ELSE TO SAY MY BRAINS EVERYWHERE LIKE

i dont know how i feel about the cylon storyline right now. i absolutely did really love the caprica six and boomer episode bc theyre my favies BUT im unsure if i like it narratively speaking does that make any sortof sense

again i think its coming from a place of like... hmm... the societal aspects of cylons ALSo has always felt underdeveloped BUT that was more passable under the guise of mystery and NOW i think its one of those things where its like... ahrgh you've tried to put the bad sfx into good lighting and we can see it dont do thattt LOL bc like

i dont know i do worry that the cylons will approach a state of "too human" if that makes sense. like within the story and within their own motivations. i dont quiteknow how to describe it im very tired but its like... I DONT mean discussing how they're like/unalike humans thats FINE but. AHRHGHGHGHGG

YOU KNOW WITH LIKE EVERY AI STORYLINE THERE'S ALWAYS THAT "I'LL NEVER BE AREAL HUMAN

YEAH but then a lot of the time its still done in a very... human way even when theyre trying to reject it and... NOT purposefully its like people cant write an actual inhuman perspective, without assuming some fundamental aspects of human nature. does that make any sense in the world and whatsoever???

anyways i dont know my point is i get a little anxious the more and more aspects of cylons that come to light bc i feel like ive been anticipating A LOT with them with the wa y theyve been stringing us along but yeah theres behaviours like that where im like am i about to get terribly disappointed

speaking of im wondering who he other cylons are in the fleet still bc they mentioned 8 and idk if that meant 8 copies or 8 models and who that counts as but surely there must be some unrevealed did the girlies just pretend thats not a concern or assume it was porkie pies

also also im . very tired all over the place but hmm.im thinking moreso about the nature of the others and i think i brought up last time abt how lee couldnt be a copy bc theyd have to make a line of models identical to him and so and such BUT ehhrm. hm. i still dont think lee is one but i do wonder if like... the order of their numbers is significant that maybe like. there are later/newer models thatmight be unique or are working to be replicas of existing people rather than just .. whatever is occurring with them rn

alsog od what else

roslin is so girlboss funny for just becoming a teacher again

what else

idk

im tired

i'llremember whatelse later<3

[ooglywooglies]

dysphoria

just having a feeling of like its nice that hrt is soon but i still just feel like i will literally never pass no matter what i do, too short, to stout

i barely have the will to fantasize about the POSSIBILITY of ever passing because it just feels so off the table. im extremely full of shame and would ideally try to stealth bc like, ive said it a million times i already dont have the will to leave the house being at a sort of inbetween ambiguous state sounds like my worst nightmare.

ive been reading some like community focused tags recently, its not really related its just that ive been thinking about it literally all day and i honestly dont know what to think so its stressing me out a bit. idk??? hyper empathy + discontinuation ???

my brain is swirling with many different insecurities and i kind of want to shoot myself and not exist anymore. its not related to the tags its just in response to feeling stress. like i said ive got discontinuation syndrome or whatever its called and im still acting overdramatic about everything.

probably worst timing ever to watch to take all my pills (i could, i totally could, i fucking wont dont talk to me dont check on me leave me alone) i have a lot of valium still bc i never use it, not bc im fine but bc im sick of being tired, im sick of having no energy im sick of being exhausted and alone and i FUCKING HATE MY ART

i tried to draw something because i have to work on stupid promotional shit so i can work on a fundraiser so i can afford stupid top surgery so i ACTUALLY dont kill myself in probably 2 years is about my limit for this fucking shit, i need 15000 and its so impossible.......... i cant market my stupid garbage art, my stupid ugly art style my shit trash coloring, no skill, no appeal

actually kill myself, useless worthless little fuckhead die, cant do anything, shouldve done it back then, failure, failure at everything, worthless

[briamichellewrites]

55

Jon and Brad talked to Mike about going back to work. They both had contractual obligations. He understood. They exchanged phone numbers, so they could be kept updated. He told them not to worry about not being there. Thank you. That made them feel less guilty. David had been holding down the Bon Jovi fort, so Jon could be at the hospital but he was having trouble. He didn’t want to ask for help because he didn’t want to take him away from Bria.

But, they needed his vocals. He appreciated them trying to work around him. Brad was obligated to start shooting a movie with Angelina Jolie. He could be sued for breach of contract if he didn’t show up. Matt texted him to see if Bria was okay. He gave him all the information he had. She passed out due to low blood pressure. That restricted oxygen to her brain.

She was in a medically induced coma to give her brain time to heal. Once it was safe, she would gradually be brought out of her coma. There was still no guarantee she would wake up. If she did wake up, there was a chance she would be physically or developmentally disabled. Currently, she is on a ventilator to help her breathe. She also had an IV to administer fluids since she couldn’t eat. It was very difficult to see. Matt was devastated for her.

She was so outgoing and so full of life. It sounded like it happened out of nowhere and without any signs. It could have happened to anyone. That was the scariest part. Since he had Adrien’s phone number, he asked if he could tell him. After getting permission from Mike, he gave the okay. He also gave him Bradford’s phone number since he was answering calls and texts.

He didn’t want Mike to be overwhelmed with everything, so he volunteered to do it. Jon was giving updates to Dorothea, who was also devastated. She heard about it on the news. Someone who she assumed was her publicist put out a statement saying she was receiving medical treatment. They asked for privacy, along with thoughts and prayers. It was later revealed that someone had leaked her hospital records to the internet. Everyone was extremely angry at the lack of privacy.

The hospital CEO personally sought the band out and apologized. They found the person who went to the media and fired them. They didn’t want to start a lawsuit because it wouldn’t be what Bria wanted. They just asked for better privacy protection. She had them assured it would never happen again. Good. Thank you. Just because she was famous, it didn’t mean she didn’t deserve privacy.

It was also a federal crime to release private medical information. They talked about it amongst themselves to get it out of their systems. The most important thing they had to focus on was Bria. Bradford was visiting her. He felt overwhelmed by the medical equipment. But, he had to be there. He would feel guilty if he wasn’t and he would hate himself. She was so beautiful and so full of life. It wasn’t fair. That was what they were all thinking.

He got a text message from Phoenix explaining why he wasn’t there. Linsey wanted him home because he was at risk of relapsing. His brother, Joe was coming over to stay with him while she was at work. Was everything okay? Mike didn’t tell them anything.

He’s probably respecting my privacy. If you want to tell the other guys, I’m okay with that. My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. We’re going to meet with Joe on Saturday afternoon to discuss what her options are. Because of that and Bria, I have the impulse to drink. Linsey took my car keys, so I can’t sneak out to buy alcohol. It’s also why Joe is staying with me. Tell Mike thank you for respecting my family’s privacy. – Phoenix

Joe, Chester, and Rob were devastated for Phoenix. They didn’t blame him for taking the day off. He had a lot of stress on his shoulders. It would make sense as to why he seemed exhausted. He was. Mike verified he had been protecting his privacy. He didn’t have his permission to tell them. They appreciated that. It wasn’t his responsibility to tell them.

Since Jon and Brad weren’t there, Bradford was in charge of communications. He had their phone numbers, alongside the phone numbers of Céline and Renè. If anything happened, he would be the one to let them know. The intensivist, or intensive care unit doctor was giving them updates on her progress. Her brain was slowly repairing itself. It would be a long time before she would be taken off the medications keeping her in a coma.

Phoenix and Joe went out for pizza. He slept in until ten in the morning. Linsey had already left by then. He woke up to the doorbell. Who the hell was at the door? He threw on a pair of sweatpants over his boxers and went downstairs. It was his brother. He had completely forgotten he was coming over. It wasn’t a problem. Did he eat anything yet? No, he just got up.

“Get dressed. We’ll get pizza.”

The pizza was good. Meat lovers. He had a Diet Coke to go along with it. How did he sleep the previous night? He slept like a baby. After dinner, he took a nice relaxing bath. What happened to his friend? She had low blood pressure and passed out. Her heart was unable to get oxygen to her brain, so they put her into a medically induced coma, so it could rest and repair itself. It happened out of nowhere. Was she the girl he dated for a while?

Yes, her name was Bria. She was the girl who helped him discover he had been abused. One day, he hoped he could meet her because she was just incredible. After eating and paying, they ran errands before returning to the house.

He hadn’t checked his phone all day, so he did that while in the living room. Joe sent him a text earlier letting him know he was at the front door. When he hadn’t heard from him in ten minutes, he rang the doorbell in case he was asleep. He was. Being asleep was better than being drunk or passed out. They had a fun afternoon together. He needed to get away from the hospital for forty-eight hours to recharge. Mike let him know that nothing had changed with Bria.

Matt and Adrien reached out to Bradford about visiting. They were going to come over some time the following day. He was going to leave when Joe and Rob got back from eating dinner. How was he doing? Did his brother come over?

Yeah, he’s here right now. It was such a relaxing day! I’ll be there tomorrow. Do you want to come over and hang out with us? – Phoenix

He declined since he was tired and wouldn’t make good company. That was perfectly okay. Get home safe. He would. Thank you. After an half hour, he got a reply saying he made it home safely. He was going to bed and would be turning off his phone. If he needed anything, he was told to text Rob or Joe. Linsey was happy to see him in a good mood when she returned home from work.

She heard about their day. It sounded fun! It was. Who was at the hospital? Rob and Joe.

“Mike texted me letting me know that nothing changed. I invited him over but he said he was tired, so he was going home to sleep. He texted me about a half hour later letting me know he made it home safely. One or two of her friends are going to the hospital tomorrow to see her.”

“That’s good news that nothing has changed because it means her condition isn’t getting worse. Are you going to the hospital tomorrow?”

“Yeah, if that’s okay.”

Yeah, she had zero problems with that. He would need his car keys. She promised to give them back to him. Joe confirmed they had a very fun day. Good for them! She was happy they were able to do something together. They thanked him for coming over. Yeah, he would see them on Saturday. He was going over to see their mom to see if she needed help with anything. Give her our love. He promised to do that.

@zoeykaytesmom @feelingsofaithless @alina-dixon

[fecundaratis]

i dont wanna write creatively about it today.

today, i just feel sad and empty.

for the last month or so, ive been having panic attacks. not every day, a few times a week at most i think. every other day maybe.

my whole body tenses up. i shrink myself as small as i can. my neck and shoulders are killing me. i dont even realize its happening.

my partner notices something off. asks if im ok. if i want a hug. and i freeze and start panicking. no, dont, dont you fucking touch me. get away. im holding my breath for minutes at a time, completely unaware that im even doing it. they tell me to breathe and it just makes me angrier. im pissed off that theyre trying to help me. pissed off that they noticed something was wrong. when they walk towards me slowly, like theyre trying to calm a feral neighborhood cat, i get this instinct to run as fast as i can. to hide. to become invisible until they stop looking for me. instinctively, i feel that once they stop looking for me, it will be safe to come out.

but i never do that. because they arent so pushy as to make me finally take that step. they tell me gently to take deep breaths. but trying to regulate my breathing just makes me hyperventilate. my lungs are sore from holding my breath for so long.

after it passes, my whole body hurts. i feel like ive run a marathon, i feel like ive lifted up a car. im exhausted and i ache so much that i can barely move.

lately, i dont leave the house to do errands with my partner. when i think about what makes me so anxious to leave, i think about people seeing me. not even speaking to me, or attacking me, or getting hit by a car or a mass shooting, i dont think about all of the things that would almost be reasonable to be afraid of. i just think about being seen.

i am terrified to my bones of being looked at right now. i feel like being acknowledged is the worst thing that can happen to me. when i think about my loved ones seeing me, my siblings or my parents or grandparents or friends, i worry theyll see that somethings wrong just as easily as my partner does.

my thoughts are so constant, so quick that they feel like tv static inside my head. thoughts so numerous and constant that it almost feels like im not thinking at all.

im trying not to. but im distancing myself from people i care about. when they try to take care of me, i want to fight them. i want to yell at them to leave me alone. i get so mad that it scares me.

im so worried about what will happen when people care about me, but i also feel betrayed when they dont. almost like, im suffering so prettily, dont you see it? i put all this effort to be perfectly tragic and you dont even notice. you arent even grateful for how i suffer. as if im doing it for them.

im terrified of what this means for me. if my symptoms are real, or if theyre just desperate bids for attention. a 15 year old pretending to be depressed for attention is sad, but im 31. now its just pathetic.

i told my partner eariler, "i dont like when you humor my delusions." they told me, "you think so many fundamental truths about yourself are delusions."

when i think about the possibility that my problems are real, i feel cold terror in my gut. like being afraid of getting caught doing something bad. when i think about maybe ive lied about every bad thing thats ever happened to me, i feel something like relief. maybe ive lied so much, that i dont even know what the truth is anymore. or how to tell it. maybe ive lied so much ive completely convinced even myself that those lies are true.

when i tell my partner these thoughts, they tell me "you include details that someone lying about these things wouldnt think to include. you leave out details that someone who was lying would add to aid the deception." they insist that they can tell im not lying about any of this. they tell me that there are things about me that retroactively made sense after i disclosed some of my history.

a part of my brain hisses out that theyre blinded by love for me. that the possibility that they couldve fallen in love with someone who was so deceitful is so harrowing for them, that they ignore the clear truth: that i am someone who lies for attention and pity.

that part is so loud sometimes. a part of my brain is so loud and verbally abusive that i cannot cope with it. i dont know if its my conscience or a coping mechanism.

im so tired. i just want to know what is real

[evilishei]

Needing help since I'm short of brain cells as of this moment and lagging. I'm targeting to finish a one-shot come weekend .

The crew's out to explore an abandoned manor... in Halloween costumes. Kindly give me ideas on who will be who or who will be what.

Thank you! 🎃☠👻

[tony-smol-bean]

.... so I may have gotten a bit carried away

reblog and put in the tags a phrase/quote about your OTP that only your fandom would get

[hajimescutie]

HEYYYYAKZHZJZBZ ITS 💘ANON

IM SO TIRED THESE DAYS TBH AND KIBDA SAD TOO SO CAN U DO A ANGST TO FLUFF SCENARIO WHERE THE HAIKYUU BOYS (TSUKKI IWA SALUSA AND BOKUTO) SNAP AT THEIR S/O NOT KNOWING THEYRE NOT DOING REALLY WELL ANSHAJSJZHSJA

KISS KISS 💘ANON

# — haikyuu boys snapping at their s/o

includes: k. tsukishima x gn!reader & h. iwaizumi x gn!reader

genre: angst to fluff (also in timeskip! obvi)

warnings: cursing, they kinda mean in this one but it ends up being okay!

a/n: APSKQNSJQQ 💘 ANON IVE MISSED YOU SM😭😭 I HOPE YOURE DOING OKAY ILYSM KISSES 😘 i only did tsukki and iwa i hope that's okay :(( whenever my schedules starts to clear up i'll do sakusa and bokuto i pinky promise! i love u and i hope this makes you feel better <3

main masterlist 

karasuno masterlist aoba johsai masterlist

TSUKISHIMA:

today was not your day at all.

it felt like the whole universe decided today was the day to make your life absolutely miserable. it all began when you overslept for work, tsukki had already left for his job, and you forgot to put your work clothes in the dryer. then, showing up to work in damp, uncomfortable clothing 15 minutes late, your boss was not happy. the whole rest of the day they were nitpicky about anything you did. you were getting sick of it, you rarely were ever late and this is how they decided to treat you?

when your shift was finally over and your boss didn't have anything else for you to do, you bolted out of there. the only thing on your mind was going back home, cuddling with tsukki, and telling about each other's day. on the way back you had a raging headache, silently hoping it'll go away by the time you get back home.

when you did get home, you were met with silence. you took your shoes off with your head tilted slightly. shouldn't he be home by now?

speaking of the devil, you heard your phone ping with a notification.

tsukki <3: gonna be home late. don't wait up for me.

you rolled your eyes at the text, your frustration built up from earlier beginning to grow and grow. you just wanted this day to be over with, you just wanted to be held and told that everything was going to be okay.

not even bothering to begin making dinner or replying to your boyfriend's text, you headed to the bedroom and fell asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow.

you were startled awake a couple hours later to the front door slamming shut. you sat up, rubbing the tiredness from your eyes. you grumbled a bit to yourself when you saw you were still in your work clothes. when your vision became clear, you saw a very disturbed tsukishima standing at the bedroom door suddenly, frustration clear in his eyes.

"hi baby, how was your da-"

"why isn't dinner ready yet?"

you blinked at him, "i'm...i'm sorry?"

he crossed his arms while shooting you a glare, "i've had a pretty shit day today, and for you to not even prepare dinner or do anything except sleep for the rest of the day really shows how responsible you are."

all you could do was gape at him. you couldn't even process words in your brain from what he just said to you. he doesn't even know how your day went, so that gives him the right to act selfish?

"i'm sorry, your majesty, but i've had a pretty shit day, too. i was hoping to come home to you but you said you stayed late. i was exhausted from today so i took a nap," you scoffed at him.

"wow! must be nice to act like you can just push aside your priorities while others are out there working their asses off," he said sarcastically. you were beginning to get pretty fed up with his attitude, him not even giving you the benefit of the doubt.

you got up out of bed and stormed over to where he was, almost coming nose to nose with the blonde. "i don't know what crawled up your ass while you were at work, but i don't need this right now. you better get your fucking act together before-"

you let out a choked sob you'd been attempting to hold back. you closed your eyes and let out a shaky breath through your nose, "i'll go make dinner, since your head's too far up your ass to see how i'm on the brink of having a mental breakdown. now if you'll excuse me..."

tsukki's eyes widened at your statement. usually you'd be going back and forth with venomous remarks, trying your best to get under each other's skin. but you were almost quiet, and that scared him a tad bit more. he saw how you were still in your work clothes, most likely too tired to change out of them.

when he said nothing, you took that as your cue to drag yourself to the kitchen, but not before you felt a large hand grip your bicep gently. tsukki pulled you back in front of him, pulling you into a much needed hug. as soon as your head hit his chest, the tears fell free. you gripped the back of his shirt tightly, the pent up emotions from today soaking the former middle blocker's shirt.

tsukki rubbed his hands up and down your back while letting out a sigh, "i'm sorry, i should've realized instead of snapping at you. i love you and if you'd let me, i'd love to hear you tell me what happened. as long as i can tell you about mine?"

you pulled away from his chest, sniffling while tsukki brushed a couple stray tears from your precious face. he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, hands playing with the ends of your hair.

"that'd be nice."

IWAIZUMI:

exams were the worst.

you were pretty sure your hair was going to start falling out from how stressed out you were. you had an insane amount of deadlines, too many assignments and essays to submit, so many damn email notifications popping up on your phone and your computer. it was safe to say that you weren't doing too hot.

you had been running around campus all day today, talking to professors and students in your class about anything and everything. some even gave you worried glances, but you chose to ignore them because you had so much shit to get done.

when you finally got home, you immediately sat down at the dining table and pulled out your school supplies, already expecting to pull another all-nighter.

your olive-eyed boyfriend, on the other hand, wasn't doing all that great either. team japan was not on their game today during practice, especially since one of them was injured and couldn't perform at their best. he wanted to rip his hair out, his frustration starting to get the best of him.

when work was finally done and over with for the day, his anger was at his peak. he just wanted to go home, eat dinner, and then head straight to bed. but, when he finally walked through the door and saw that not only was dinner not made, but that the whole place was a mess. you had gotten home before him, so why weren't any of the chores done?

he looked towards the dining table and saw you with your headphones in, too engrossed with your computer to even notice that he was home. he rolled his eyes, grumbling as he stomped over to your hunched over figure, aggressively tapping your shoulder to get your attention.

you jumped when you felt his touch, ripping your earbuds out to turn to hajime, who did not look happy. your eyes softened at him, giving him a soft smile, "oh, hi haji. did you just get home?"

you attempted to reach out to touch him but he quickly swatted your hand away. "yeah, i did just get home. care to explain to me why our home looks like a mess?"

you gave him a confused look before finally taking in your surroundings. blankets were strewn across the living room floor, the kitchen sink was filled with dirty dishes while the dishwasher held the clean ones, and some of your assignments were flung on the coffee table in front of the couch.

you shrank back in your seat, avoiding the ravenette's harsh gaze, "'m sorry haji, i've just been stressed with school and-"

"i don't want to hear your sorry excuses, y/n. i want this done now," he stated, teeth gritting together.

"and it will get done! i just have to finish this assignment..." you were turning back to your laptop before it was slapped shut, a gasp emitting from your lips.

you gaped at your boyfriend, "what the fuck hajime?! i hadn't even saved it yet!!"

"stop making excuses for not taking responsibility around the house, you're not the only one that's stressed. god, it's like i'm the only one that does anything around here," he mumbled out the last part, but you heard him loud and clear.

the tears were already flowing down your cheeks before you could stop them, some of them staining the papers you had organized on the dining table.

"oh what now you're crying? this is ridicu-"

"shut your fucking mouth hajime."

your boyfriend's eyes widened at your tone, hearing nothing but venom come from your trembling figure.

"y-you have absolutely no idea the amount of stress i'm going t-through. i have deadline after deadline, project after project, i've been glued to a s-seat all fucking day. and for you to blatantly disregard my feeling right n-now," you choked out another sob, "i'm sorry that the house is a mess. i guess i'll push aside my "excuses" for once."

you pushed past him into the living room, beginning with organizing the school papers that were on the coffee table. your tears hadn't stopped flowing, staining these papers as well.

hajime felt like an absolute piece of shit. with your back turned, he eyed the amount of papers on the table, diligently opening your laptop again. the assignment you were working on was still there, thank god, but he saw your calendar pop up in the bottom right hand corner. his eyes widened at the amount of dates that were listed, feeling even worse that he added more to your stress.

when he turned back toward your weeping figure, he walked over and stopped your hand from picking up anything else.

you immediately looked up at him with fear in your eyes, afraid that he was going to berate you again, "what- what are you doing?"

he pulled you against his broad chest, large arms wrapping around your waist. you let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding in, soft sobs racking through your body.

"baby, i'm so sorry. i shouldn't have made you feel like you don't do enough around here, especially while you're still in school. i'm grateful for everything you do for us, can you forgive me?"

you nuzzled your face deeper into his chest, his hands now massaging your scalp to relieve any tension. you nodded your head slightly, pulling away to give him a teary smile.

he leaned forward and pecked you on the lips, mumbling something about cleaning tomorrow before he pampered you with affection in order for you to relax.

reblogs are appreciated! <3

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