#the damage i took at the beginning shames me

[mychoombatheroomba]

Almost 2 minutes of Krauser going absolutely ham to Rihanna (sound on for the full vibes)

[urdreamydoodles]

X-Men x Reader (Part.1)

You are being mind-controled by a villain and you believe your lover cheated on you (Part.1)

A fog has settled between you, a cruel illusion woven by unseen hands. You now look at your beloved with wounded eyes, twisted by whispers that cloud your trust.

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Rogue, Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier & Bobby Drake

Logan Howlett aka. Wolverine

- You stormed into Logan’s quarters, your heart pounding and your fists clenched, fury mingling with disbelief. You’d seen what you thought was proof—evidence that he’d betrayed you with someone else, leaving your heart cracked and bleeding. Logan’s stoic expression softened the moment he saw your face, but the pain and mistrust in your gaze threw him off. The look in your eyes seemed to strip him of his tough demeanor, revealing a wounded vulnerability as you accused him of something he couldn’t even fathom.

- “Darlin’, you know me better than that,” he said, voice rough with confusion and the beginning tremors of hurt. His hands were up in a calming gesture, yet you took a step back, unable to bear the thought of him reaching out to you. The raw agony in his voice almost made you falter, but the accusations burned too brightly in your chest. His face contorted with frustration and sadness, but he let you finish, taking each verbal blow without pushing back.

- Days passed, and the silence between you two felt like an endless canyon, too wide to cross. Logan tried reaching out once, showing up near your room or during training, but you brushed him off coldly, unwilling to let him anywhere near your heart again. You knew you’d hurt him, but the thought of betrayal consumed you, filling your mind with a vicious loop of lies you’d unknowingly been fed. Logan’s presence felt like a haunting reminder of the love you’d once shared, now tainted by supposed deception.

- When the mind control lifted a week later, the weight of the truth came crashing down, leaving you stunned and guilt-ridden. The realization hit hard: he’d never betrayed you; he’d never once given you a reason to doubt him. The villain’s twisted manipulation had clouded your mind, robbing you of the trust you had once shared so naturally with Logan. Shame settled like a stone in your stomach as you processed the damage you’d caused, your accusations like knives you’d driven into him.

- You found him in the training room, his shoulders tense as he focused on striking a dummy with restrained but undeniable fury. He paused when he noticed you, his hardened expression flickering with something softer, perhaps hope, though it was tinged with hurt. As you approached, your voice came out small, shaky, an apology tangled in each word as you tried to explain the manipulation you’d been under. “I’m so sorry, Logan… It wasn’t real, I—” you stammered, voice thick with remorse.

- Logan didn’t respond right away; his jaw clenched as he looked down, processing your apology in silence. But then, with a heavy sigh, he pulled you into his arms, the warmth and familiarity of him enveloping you, melting the tension from your body. He whispered, “Next time, come to me first, darlin’. I’d fight the whole world before I’d ever hurt you.” There was forgiveness in his voice, even if the pain lingered, but he held you close, and you felt the pieces of trust slowly knitting back together.

- That night, you lay beside him, listening to the soft rumble of his breathing, finding comfort in his closeness as he traced gentle patterns along your arm. He didn’t speak much, but his steady presence reassured you that, though scarred, your relationship could heal. You both knew it wouldn’t be easy, but Logan’s quiet strength gave you hope, his forgiveness a balm for your wounded heart.

Remy LeBeau aka. Gambit

- You barged into Remy’s room, the image of him with another woman branded into your mind, his playful smirk twisting into something cruel as you confronted him. Your heart ached, not understanding how someone who’d once held you so gently could betray you like this. Remy’s easygoing demeanor faltered as he met your gaze, surprise replaced by hurt when you spat accusations, your voice trembling with sorrow and anger.

- “Chère, I swear to you, it ain’t true,” he tried to insist, his tone serious, stripped of the usual teasing warmth. But you didn’t let him finish, words spilling out like poison as you described the pain his supposed betrayal had caused. Remy listened, mouth set in a line, his dark eyes clouded with anguish, but you turned away before he could respond, ignoring the way his outstretched hand dropped back to his side, fingers curling in frustration.

- A week went by, each day feeling like a splinter under your skin as you avoided him, memories of his charming smile now laced with bitterness. Remy, ever the gentleman, respected your space, though you often caught glimpses of his devastated expression from afar. You overheard others speak of how he’d thrown himself into training, his usual flair dulled, his laughter absent. Yet, every time you passed him, his gaze still followed you, a silent plea hidden beneath his usually confident gaze.

- When the villain’s hold on your mind finally dissipated, clarity returned, bringing with it a crushing wave of guilt and self-reproach. You realized the image of his “betrayal” had been a malicious trick, a deceitful seed planted to tear you apart from him. The weight of your harsh accusations pressed on you, a constant reminder of the pain you’d inflicted on him without cause. Heart pounding, you steeled yourself and set out to make things right.

- You found Remy in the rec room, the lights low as he tossed a deck of cards absentmindedly, flipping each one into the air with his usual deftness. He didn’t look up right away, but when he did, his gaze softened, and his lips curved slightly, though you could see the shadow of hurt still in his eyes. Taking a deep breath, you poured out your apology, explaining the mind control that had twisted your perception, your voice filled with regret.

- He listened in silence, watching you with an unreadable expression until you finished. Then, a small smirk crept onto his lips, though his eyes were still vulnerable. “Chère, you broke my heart, y’know,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. But then he pulled you close, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his embrace as warm as it had always been. “Ain’t nothin’ gonna make me stop lovin’ you, though. Just don’t make me wait so long to fix things next time.”

- That evening, as you curled up in his arms, Remy gently traced circles along your back, his familiar scent and warmth calming your guilty heart. His fingers laced with yours, and the soft whisper of “I love you, chère” melted away the last remnants of doubt, grounding you in his unwavering affection.

Kurt Wagner aka. Nightcrawler

- You found Kurt in his room, your voice trembling as you confronted him, eyes filled with tears. The image of his supposed infidelity haunted you, the kind-hearted, compassionate Kurt you loved now tainted by betrayal. His golden eyes widened as he listened to your accusations, his expression crumpling with shock and heartbreak. He reached for you, his voice soft and pleading, “Liebchen, please… I would never…” But you pulled back, too hurt to listen.

- Kurt stood there, his tail swishing nervously, torn between reaching out to comfort you and respecting the painful distance you’d created. He watched helplessly as you turned and walked away, leaving him alone, his prayers for understanding left unanswered. The sadness in his eyes stayed with you, even in your anger, like a haunting reminder of what you’d shared, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of betrayal weighing on your heart.

- Days passed in agonizing silence, Kurt’s usual warmth missing from your life, replaced by a cold emptiness. You avoided him, and he, respecting your wishes, didn’t try to bridge the gap. Yet, you could feel his sadness from afar, a sense of sorrow that tugged at you each time you caught a glimpse of his shadow in the halls or heard his voice. The playful spark you’d once shared was gone, and the regret began to gnaw at you, though the pain of betrayal still held you back.

- Then, the fog lifted, and the truth of the mind control emerged, crushing you beneath a tidal wave of guilt. You realized how the villain’s manipulation had poisoned your mind, distorting the love Kurt had shown you into a twisted illusion. Heart aching, you felt the sting of your unfounded accusations and the weight of the hurt you’d caused him, each memory of his pained gaze lancing through you.

- You found Kurt in the chapel, praying, his silhouette outlined by soft candlelight. He looked up as you approached, his face a mixture of hope and trepidation, his usually joyful smile subdued. As you explained everything, your words laced with remorse, he listened intently, his golden eyes shining with unspoken forgiveness. The apology spilled from you, a torrent of sorrow and regret.

- Kurt took your hand in his, squeezing it gently as he spoke, “I forgive you, liebchen. My heart knew it wasn’t true.” His voice was tender, each word a balm to your guilty heart. He pulled you into a tight embrace, his warmth soothing the ache of your mistake, and you felt the comfort of his unconditional love envelop you. “Let us leave this behind us,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

- That night, as you lay beside him, your fingers entwined, Kurt’s laughter returned, soft and comforting. His playful smile reappeared, and the joyful glint in his eyes sparkled anew. His forgiveness, given so freely, renewed the light in your relationship, reminding you of the deep, unshakeable bond you shared.

Scott Summers aka. Cyclops

- When you stormed into the war room, your anger boiled over as you accused Scott of betrayal, the stoic leader you’d trusted having seemingly shattered your faith in him. Scott’s face fell, his usually composed demeanor shaken as you poured out your pain, describing how you’d seen him with someone else. His lips parted in surprise, but you didn’t give him a chance to explain, too hurt by the thought of him being with someone else.

- Scott’s initial shock shifted to pain, his jaw clenching as he listened, unable to find the words to defend himself against accusations he didn’t understand. His eyes—so often shielded behind his visor—seemed to reveal a vulnerability he rarely showed. He tried to reach out, his voice low and steady as he denied your claims, but your trust had been severed, leaving you feeling distant and alone.

- The following days felt like a hollow void, each passing moment amplifying the absence of Scott’s steady presence in your life. Scott continued his duties with the X-Men, though his usual precision and focus seemed dimmed. You caught glimpses of him, his shoulders tense, his face etched with a sorrow he tried to hide, and though a part of you ached to believe him, your mind remained clouded by distrust.

- A week later, the fog lifted, and with it came the crushing reality of the villain’s manipulation. Realizing you’d been deceived into doubting Scott tore at you, guilt consuming you as you remembered each harsh word you’d thrown at him. You’d wounded him deeply, casting him out in your pain, and now the weight of that regret sat heavily on your heart as you prepared to make amends.

- You found Scott in the danger room, his focus intense as he trained, his body moving with practiced precision, though there was an underlying tension in every motion. He paused when he saw you, his face a careful mask as he waited, giving you the space to speak. Your apology tumbled out, words spilling over each other as you explained the mind control you’d been under, your voice breaking with regret.

- Scott’s face softened as he took in your words, nodding slowly, though a hint of hurt remained in his gaze. “I understand,” he said quietly, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into his embrace. His hold was gentle yet reassuring, a reminder of the unshakable trust he placed in you. “Next time, talk to me first,” he added, his voice a mix of relief and gentle admonishment, and you nodded, knowing the advice was well-deserved.

- That night, as you lay with him, his calm, steady breathing beside you, Scott’s familiar hand rested over yours, anchoring you in his quiet strength. He leaned down to press a soft kiss to your forehead, and with that simple gesture, the sense of peace returned, his unwavering loyalty rekindling the trust you’d thought you’d lost.

Jean Grey aka. Marvel Girl / Phoenix

- When you confronted Jean, the weight of betrayal and disbelief surged through you, making it hard to catch your breath. Your accusations spilled out, each word sharpened by hurt, as you described seeing her with someone else. Jean’s emerald eyes widened, her expression reflecting your own pain as you accused her of infidelity. Her mouth opened as if to defend herself, but the words didn’t come. You could feel her shock and sadness pulsing back at you, a faint psychic echo that only deepened the ache in your heart.

- “Please, you have to believe me, it’s not true,” she murmured, her voice gentle but edged with hurt. Jean tried to reach out, fingers trembling as they stretched toward you, but you pulled back, retreating from her touch. Her face fell as you turned away, her pleading expression remaining etched in your mind as you left her there, feeling shattered and alone. The telepathic bond you once shared now felt cold, a reminder of the trust you thought had been broken.

- For days, Jean kept her distance, though you’d catch her watching you with a quiet sadness whenever you passed each other. Her usual warmth, the fiery passion she radiated, seemed dimmed, like she’d wrapped herself in a barrier to shield from the hurt. You tried to push her out of your mind, but her absence left a hollow ache, one that only deepened each time you remembered the way her eyes had softened as you walked away.

- When the villain’s manipulation lifted a week later, the truth hit you like a tidal wave, leaving you reeling with guilt. You’d been tricked into believing Jean had betrayed you, but in reality, she’d been loyal to you, her love unwavering. Shame washed over you, knowing that you’d hurt her without reason, tearing apart the trust she’d cherished. You could only hope that it wasn’t too late to make things right.

- You found Jean alone in the gardens, her gaze distant as she sat in silence, a small frown creasing her forehead. Her shoulders tensed as you approached, but she didn’t look up. Heart pounding, you poured out your apology, explaining the mind control that had twisted your perception. She listened, her expression unreadable, though a glimmer of hope began to soften her gaze as you continued.

- After a long pause, Jean reached for your hand, squeezing it gently as tears brimmed in her eyes. “I wanted to reach out, but I could feel your pain too deeply,” she whispered, voice trembling. She pulled you into a soft embrace, her presence like a warm blanket around your heart. “Please, let’s promise to trust each other from now on, no matter what,” she added, and you nodded, feeling the first glimmers of relief.

- That night, as you held each other, Jean’s fingers gently traced along your arm, her psychic presence soothing and warm as she shared her feelings with you. The silent bond between you two, once bruised, began to heal, mending the hurt that had divided you. You found comfort in her arms, her forgiveness a balm that promised a fresh start, her love as unbreakable as ever.

Ororo Munroe aka. Storm

- Your voice shook as you confronted Ororo, disbelief and betrayal twisting inside you as you accused her of infidelity. Ororo’s calm gaze held your own, her eyes wide with shock and a hint of sorrow as your words struck her like thunder. You saw her usual composure flicker, her regal presence momentarily faltering as you laid out your accusations, heart aching with each word you threw at her.

- “I… I don’t know where this is coming from,” she replied, her voice soft, laced with heartbreak. She reached for you, a gentle attempt to reassure you, but you stepped back, hurt mingling with anger as you turned away. Ororo watched you go, her hand still outstretched, her usually warm expression now marred with the anguish of unspoken words. Even as you walked away, a part of you felt the sorrow radiating from her like a storm brewing in the distance.

- Days passed with silence filling the void between you two, the peacefulness she usually brought into your life now replaced by a cold emptiness. Ororo respected your space, though you’d catch glimpses of her from afar, her shoulders tense, her face etched with the sadness she struggled to conceal. Every time you saw her, it felt like the calm before a storm, the ache of loss lingering as the reality of her absence settled around you.

- When the fog of mind control finally lifted, understanding hit you like a gust of wind, and you felt the weight of guilt pressing down on you. Ororo had never betrayed you; her loyalty and love had remained steady. The villain’s manipulation had twisted your perception, turning the warmth you shared into bitter suspicion. Heart pounding, you knew you had to find her, to make things right and ask for her forgiveness.

- You found her in the garden, surrounded by blooming flowers and a soft breeze. She stood with her back to you, eyes closed, as if in quiet communion with nature. When she sensed your approach, she turned, her expression unreadable, a mixture of hope and lingering hurt. Words tumbled from your mouth, the apology spilling out as you explained the mind control that had manipulated your mind, your voice breaking with remorse.

- Ororo’s expression softened, her serene gaze meeting yours as she listened. After a moment of silence, she placed a gentle hand on your cheek, her touch soothing as she whispered, “I forgive you. I know the heart can be clouded by lies, but our love is stronger than that.” Her words were a calm reassurance, her forgiveness like a gentle rain that washed away the doubt and guilt that had lingered in your heart.

- That night, you sat together beneath the stars, her hand entwined with yours as she told stories of her childhood under the open sky. The peaceful presence she exuded settled around you like a comforting blanket, and as you rested your head on her shoulder, you felt the scars of your doubt fading, replaced by the steady strength of her love.

Anna Marie aka. Rogue

- You stormed into Rogue’s room, accusations slipping out before you could even consider the impact of your words. Rogue’s eyes widened in disbelief as you described what you’d seen, your voice laced with pain and anger. She shook her head, stepping back as you continued, your heart aching as you accused her of something you never thought she’d do. Her lips parted, her shock transforming into sorrow, as if each word was a blow that left her more vulnerable than you’d ever seen.

- “Ah wouldn’t ever do that t’ you,” she whispered, her voice thick with hurt, her Southern accent laced with a trembling sadness. Rogue reached out instinctively, her gloved hand hovering as if to reassure you, but you pulled away, the ache of betrayal too fresh. The sight of her slumping shoulders haunted you as you walked out, her sadness lingering in your mind even as you tried to push her from your thoughts.

- The following days felt hollow, the vibrant spark that Rogue usually brought into your life now replaced by a dull ache. Rogue didn’t try to push her way back in, though every time you saw her, her gaze lingered, a mixture of hurt and confusion visible in her green eyes. You’d catch her in training, her laughter absent, her confidence dimmed, each glance at her a reminder of the trust you’d once shared, now seemingly fractured.

- A week later, the villain’s hold on your mind lifted, leaving you reeling with regret. The image of Rogue’s “betrayal” had been nothing but an illusion, a trick meant to sever your bond. The guilt weighed heavily on you as you remembered each accusation, each moment of doubt you’d forced on her. The damage was done, but you knew you had to try to mend the hurt you’d inflicted, to apologize and hope that she’d understand.

- You found her on the mansion’s balcony, gazing out at the sprawling landscape, her expression pensive. She turned when you approached, her gaze wary, the pain still fresh in her eyes. Taking a deep breath, you offered a heartfelt apology, explaining how you’d been manipulated, each word laced with sorrow and remorse. Rogue listened, her expression softening as you spoke, though a hint of hurt remained.

- She was quiet for a moment, studying you, before her lips quirked in a sad smile. “Ah figured somethin’ was off, but it hurt, sugar,” she murmured, her voice raw with the vulnerability she rarely showed. But then, in true Rogue fashion, she pulled you into a tight embrace, the warmth of her hold seeping through your guilt. “Just promise me you’ll trust me next time, alright?” she whispered, her voice thick with forgiveness.

- That night, you lay side by side, the moon casting soft light across her face as she told you stories of her past, her gloved hand tracing gentle patterns on your arm. She forgave you with a grace you hadn’t anticipated, her love steadfast and undiminished. As you held her, you felt a renewed trust blossom between you, a bond that had withstood the storm, now stronger than ever.

Erik Lehnsherr aka. Magneto

- When you confronted Erik, anger and heartbreak mingled in your words as you accused him of betrayal. His normally sharp, guarded gaze softened, showing a flicker of vulnerability you’d rarely seen as he absorbed your accusations. Erik’s face darkened with pain as he denied your claims, his usual calm and confidence faltering as you recounted what you’d seen. He reached out, trying to make you understand, but the hurt clouded your judgment, leaving you feeling shattered and disconnected.

- “You know me better than that,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, a hint of desperation in his tone. Erik’s hand dropped to his side as he watched you turn away, his shoulders tense with a restrained sorrow that only deepened the ache in your heart. He didn’t chase after you, respecting your choice to walk away, though the look in his eyes haunted you, a mixture of regret and confusion that lingered long after you’d left.

- In the days that followed, Erik returned to his usual demeanor, his powerful presence now tainted by an unspoken sadness. Though he resumed his work, his moments of quiet solitude grew longer, the stoic mask he wore cracking slightly under the weight of the distance between you. You saw him standing alone on the mansion grounds more often, his expression hardened but with a flicker of sorrow that betrayed the pain he carried within.

- A week later, as the fog of mind control finally dissipated, the truth hit you with a crushing force. The betrayal you’d seen had been nothing more than an illusion, a cruel trick meant to drive a wedge between you and Erik. Regret flooded through you, the weight of each harsh word you’d thrown at him settling heavily on your heart. Determined to make amends, you knew you had to find him, to confess the truth and ask for his forgiveness.

- You found Erik in the metal workshop, his focus intense as he worked, manipulating metal with quiet precision. When he noticed you, his hands stilled, his face carefully guarded as he met your gaze, waiting for you to speak. Taking a shaky breath, you apologized, explaining the mind control that had twisted your perception and pushed you to doubt him. Erik listened silently, his eyes never leaving yours, a mix of hurt and understanding etched on his face.

- Erik stepped closer, his hand reaching out to rest against your cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle. “I know the world often gives us reason to doubt, but I hoped you’d trust in me,” he murmured, his voice heavy with both forgiveness and a lingering sadness. He pulled you into a strong embrace, his arms wrapping around you in a way that felt protective, as though he’d keep you close, despite the pain you’d caused.

- That night, as you lay beside him, Erik’s fingers traced gentle patterns on your arm, a soft reminder of his silent devotion. He held you close, his presence both reassuring and grounding, a quiet promise that your bond was stronger than any villain’s lies. In his arms, you felt the forgiveness you’d feared you’d lost, a renewed trust settling between you as the weight of doubt faded away, replaced by a love that defied all odds.

Charles Xavier aka. Professor X

- When you confronted Charles, the words spilled out in a painful rush, your heart aching as you accused him of something you’d once thought impossible. His calm blue gaze wavered as he listened, the hurt in his eyes clear as he took in each painful accusation. Charles tried to reach out telepathically, his gentle voice brushing against your mind, but the hurt pushed you to block him, leaving him standing there, stunned and sorrowful.

- “Please, if you’d just let me explain,” he pleaded, his usually steady voice faltering as he took a step toward you. Charles’s outstretched hand fell back to his side when you backed away, his face softening with regret and a sadness that tugged at your heart. He watched you leave, his expression a mixture of sorrow and helplessness, a silent question lingering between you that neither of you could answer.

- In the days that followed, Charles kept his distance, his presence around the mansion more subdued than usual. Though he carried on with his responsibilities, his usual warmth and reassuring smile seemed dimmed, a hint of sadness in his eyes whenever you passed each other. You noticed him sitting alone in his study more often, his gaze distant, as though wrestling with the hurt of your accusations in his own quiet way.

- When the villain’s manipulation finally lifted, the realization of the truth hit you hard, guilt flooding your heart. You’d been deceived, twisted into believing a betrayal that had never happened, and in doing so, you’d hurt the man who had trusted you so deeply. Shame filled you as you remembered each accusation, each cold look you’d given him, and you knew you had to make things right.

- You found Charles in his study, his gaze focused on a book but distant, lost in thought. When you entered, he looked up, his expression a mixture of surprise and guarded hope. Stumbling over your words, you explained the mind control that had been used to deceive you, your apology spilling out as you begged for his forgiveness. Charles listened, his expression softening as he absorbed your words, though a trace of hurt lingered in his eyes.

- “I understand, my dear,” he replied gently, reaching out to take your hand in his. His touch was warm, comforting, as he squeezed your hand reassuringly. “The mind can be a fragile thing, easily manipulated. But I believe in us,” he added, his voice a gentle reminder that trust, once broken, could be rebuilt. Charles pulled you into a soft embrace, his forgiveness radiating through you like a quiet, calming balm.

- That night, as you sat by the fire, Charles shared memories of times you’d spent together, his voice soothing and full of love. With each story, he reassured you of his unwavering trust and commitment, your bond gradually healing in the warmth of his presence. The quiet strength of his forgiveness wrapped around you, giving you a renewed faith in the love that had weathered even the darkest of manipulations.

Bobby Drake aka. Iceman

- You confronted Bobby with a whirlwind of hurt and frustration, accusing him of betrayal with an intensity that left you both shaken. Bobby’s usual carefree grin vanished, replaced by a look of shock as he absorbed your accusations, his blue eyes wide with disbelief. He tried to protest, to deny what you were saying, but the pain in your voice silenced him, leaving him looking lost and wounded.

- “I would never do that to you,” he said, his voice quiet but filled with sincerity, hurt flickering in his eyes as he searched your face for any sign of belief. He reached out, his hand trembling as he tried to reassure you, but you pulled back, the ache of distrust making it hard to accept his words. Bobby’s shoulders slumped as you turned away, his usual bright spirit dampened by the weight of your accusations.

- For days, the once lively mansion felt colder, the warmth Bobby usually brought replaced by an uncomfortable silence. He withdrew, giving you the space you needed, though his gaze would linger sadly whenever you passed each other. You missed his humor, the lighthearted moments that had once filled your days, but the cloud of suspicion remained, leaving a hollow ache that only grew with time.

- A week later, the villain’s hold on your mind finally lifted, and with it came the realization of the truth. Bobby’s supposed betrayal had been nothing more than a cruel manipulation, meant to tear you apart. The guilt was overwhelming as you remembered the hurt in his eyes, the way you’d rejected him despite his protests. Heart heavy, you knew you had to find him and apologize, to explain the lies that had clouded your mind.

- You found Bobby in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, his posture tense as he focused on an ice sculpture he was absentmindedly creating. He looked up when you entered, his expression guarded, a flicker of hope in his gaze as you began to apologize. Your words tumbled out, explaining the mind control that had twisted your perception, the regret heavy in your voice.

- Bobby’s expression softened, his usual playful spark returning as he let out a soft laugh, though there was a hint of lingering hurt in his eyes. “Guess I can’t stay mad at you,” he said, a playful grin breaking through the sadness as he pulled you into a tight hug. He held you close, his embrace warm despite his powers, a silent reassurance that he forgave you and that he’d missed you too.

- That night, as you lay together on the couch, Bobby’s arms wrapped around you, he cracked jokes, his usual humor returning in full force as he playfully teased you about your suspicions. The lighthearted banter soothed the remaining tension, reminding you of the joy he brought into your life. In his laughter and his forgiveness, you found the comfort you’d missed, the love between you rekindled with a warmth that melted away all doubts.

[maddie-dog-story-blog]

The Birthday - An Interlude - Halloween

"Mommy says when you get scared, you forget your potty training," a soft feminine voice whispered in my ear.

"Mommy says Halloween makes you a scaredy cat, ready to jump at the tiniest spooky or scary thing," the voice continued.

I moaned in my half-asleep state, wondering what was going on, and beginning to feel a deep anxiety form in the pit of my stomach.

"Mommy says that she is the only one who can console you when you get scared."

At the third strange command, I opened my eyes and the reality of what was happening hit me. I was greeted by my wife's grinning face.

"Mommy, please, no!" I said exasperated as Melody gave me a soft, motherly kiss to my forehead.

"Good morning, baby. Happy Halloween!" is all she said as she ignored my futile protest.

It had been nearly six months since the fateful weekend where my wife had discovered my AB/DL kink and treated me to a birthday weekend of both my dreams and nightmares.

Since that weekend, very little had actually changed in my life. Melody had lifted most of the hypnotic triggers she had implanted in me (although I was still forced to refer to her as Mommy, exclusively). She almost never used her 'Mommy says' trigger against me, only reminding me of it if I got "too big for my britches" as she liked to put it.

The only major change is that my little hobby as an AB/DL smut author had become a little more complicated. Melody still allowed me to write my 'little stories' as she liked to put it, but I was no longer the final arbiter of what got posted.

Mommy made me show her each and every story I wrote, and she decided whether it was good enough and 'appropriate' enough to get posted. She also made me make a post apologizing for the treatment of the female characters in my story and explain her newly assumed role of Mommy-editor-in-chief.

My reputation as a big and a dom took a drastic hit. But, over the course of a few months, things settled back down and we settled into comfortable dynamic and rhythm.

That was, until I woke up to my wife's new commands this morning.

"Mommy, please, what did I do? I've been a good boy! You can't do this to me!"

I hated how whiney and small I sounded pleading with my wife like this, but I had long since had my pride beaten out of me.

"Halloween is my favorite holiday! If I can't control myself when I'm scared, if I get scared easily, if I need you to calm me down, I'll… I'll… I'll…"

I couldn't finish my sentence as I realized that, in the early morning hour, the room was still dark. I noticed shadows dancing around the corners of the room and suddenly, a pang of terror, raced through me.

I felt my sheets grow warm and wet beneath me as I let out a panicked cry.

"Mommy!"

I dove for my wife's arms, horrified and desperate for her, the only person I could see as my protector, to help me.

She laughed softly as she pulled me into her arms, and I felt my rational mind retake control.

"Aw, is my little baby afraid of the dark? And," I feel her pat my wet butt, "did you have a little accident! Let Mommy help make it all better."

I whined as she got out of bed and turned on the light, subconsciously rebelling against the lose of the comfort being held by her provided.

As the light turned on, a feeling of relief washed over me as the phantoms in the corners of the room dematerialized. At the same time, I blushed as the light revealed the shameful puddle I had just made in the bed.

"Mommy, please, Halloween is my favorite, you can't make me, force me, let me… I can't be this," I pleaded as Melody walked over to inspect the damage to our bed.

She reached over and brushed her fingers lightly on my cheek as she responded to my pleas.

"Oh, my precious little pants-piddler, you and I both know that Mommy can and will make you be whatever I want," She bent over, making eye contact with me as she showed off her ample cleavage, "And today, I want you to be Mommy's perfect little scaredy-cat toddler."

I groaned, knowing there was absolutely nothing I could do to resist Melody's power over me.

"Ok, Mommy," I responded, defeated.

"Perfect, now, let's get you diapered up before some little ghoul or goblin scares you again, and you make another mess."

I just sighed and laid on my back as I waited for Melody to diaper me so the worst Halloween of my life could begin in earnest.

[marvelmymarvel]

Not Special

Kakashi Hatake x NarutoMotherFigure!Reader

Synopsis: Before Naruto, you were a feared kunoichi who killed thousands before the age of 14. Naruto didn't know any of this, which is why you weren't anything special to him. But that all changes after the Hokage asks you to pick the sword up again to protect the village against an impending threat.

Naruto Masterlist: Here

“My mom isn't anyone special. She's just normal!”

Kakashi’s eyebrow shot up at that, eyes landing on the blonde as he talked adamantly to Sakura about how cool the other kid's parents were - and how uncool you were. He pursed his lips, fighting back the urge to spill the truth about you and your past, but he knew you wanted to keep it a secret. You weren't proud of it; it was much bloodier than his was. You gave it up for Naruto when he came along. Your time in the ninja world was short, yet many feared you.

All things Naruto didn't know.

But Kakashi couldn't stop his questions from coming out, wondering why Naruto saw you as a ‘weakling’ in the first place. “You say Y/n isn't special? How come?” Naruto stopped in his tracks, eyes narrowing at Kakashi. “Well, she’s not a shinobi, first off. Secondly, all she does nowadays is help out at the daycare-”

“So that makes her not special?”

“Come on Kakashi-Sensei. You know what I mean! She's just not as strong as we are… Ya know?” 

The silence that hung in the air made Naruto shift on his feet, unnerved by his Sensei's sudden change in attitude. It was almost like he was challenging him to say another word. But Naruto knew better. “You don't know anything about who she was before you came along, Naruto….” 

“Wasn’t she 14? Kakashi-Sensei, I’m not sure she could have done much damage by the time she had turned 14-”

“That's enough” Kakashi’s sharp tone had Naruto shutting his mouth from fear; he didn't know how or why, but his statement cut deep. Kakashi wished you would have told Naruto about your past, why you stopped fighting, and why you kept it hidden. He wouldn't have to continuously hear about how ‘weak’ you were if you had just told Naruto everything.

“Now, let's begin our mission, shall we?”

Days had passed since Naruto left for his mission with the rest of team 7. You made Kakashi promise to keep him safe, which allowed you to focus on other ways to help the community. You had just handed off the last toddler to their parent and headed into the daycare to clean up your room. A figure in the middle of the mess caused you to jump in your spot - “Lord third! You scared me.”

He hummed at that before leaning against a bookshelf, pipe in between his teeth as he took in the chaotic room. The Third Hokage was against the path you chose; he’d have you as his personal guard if it were his way. He respected your wishes and respected them for 12 years, but now, as the threat of an enemy loomed over the village, he was coming back to you with a new offer.

One you simply cannot refuse.

“It is quite a shame that you gave up the Jonnin life at 14. You were a fine student, almost, if not better than Kakashi was,” He started as he moved through the room, his old eyes scanning over the arts and crafts drying on the tables. 

Your lips pursed at the sound of the Third Hokage’s words. You’ve heard this rant before; it was his specialty. He’d build you up with praise and acknowledgment, making you feel like you were the only person who could save the village before throwing an offer for you to return to the ninja life. You couldn't deny you missed it but didn't miss the blood. Didn't miss the death. Raising Naruto was more rewarding than killing hundreds of people for the village's sake.

Yet, you listened. Soaking up every word he told you as if you needed to hear them. He continued, recounting all of your successes before stopping to look at a particular picture on the wall. It was of you and your classroom, all in the picture, smiling. Did he want to do this? You sighed before bending down to pick up the toys on the floor.

“You don't just give praise without a request. Get on with it, Lord Third. I have a classroom to clean up.”

His eyes flicked to your figure. Your tone alone told him that your walls were up, and you wouldn't let him easily throw his suggestion over them. You would put up a fight, but maybe if he added Naruto into the mix, then you’d listen.

“You care about Naruto’s well-being, yes?”

Your body froze as your fingers hovered over a toy, your heart lurching in your throat as you braced yourself for this new approach. This was a sick, twisted way of getting what he wanted. He’s done this to you many times before, and while you know it's a trap, you always walk into it. You don't answer him, but your silence does.

“There's a threat looming over the village… I’ve gathered my best men, but I’m still missing the greatest one of all….” You sighed at that, eyebrows crinkling in pain as you felt the guilt creeping up your neck, practically strangling you with its cold bony fingers. “Naruto won't be safe if you can't help protect the village.”

There it was. 

Your e/c eyes flicked to his as you stood up straight. He was right in a sick, twisted kind of way. If you were involved, the threat would be easily avoidable. But how would you tell Naruto? You never once told him how many you’ve saved and never how many you’ve butchered in the name of the leaf village. He didn't know of the nightmares you shared with Kakashi or the vomiting due to the stress your young body was under.

He didn't know any of it. 

To him, you were just a daycare teacher. But to the village, to your Hokage, you were more. 

“I would like you to join the ANBU. When the threat passes, I will let you decide if you want to stay in the ANBU or return to this lifestyle.”

Your eyes brimmed with tears, and you fought the panic in your chest. You’ve been on a couple of missions with the ANBU; they were more ruthless than you were. Your teary eyes drifted to the picture beside the Hokage, lip pursing as you took in the smiling faces of the children you cared for daily. It wasn't just about you or Naruto; it never was.

“What do you say?”

You looked back at him before nodding slowly, “I will join the ANBU, but once this is over. I will never be picking up a Kunai again.”

Naruto bounded back into the village as their mission got cut short. The news spread like wildfire that a threat was coming down on the village, and all ninjas had been requested to return for backup. He raced to the daycare despite Kakashi’s yells. He had to get you to safety. You were the only person he cared for the most in this entire world. If anything happened to you, he would lose himself.

Naruto screamed your name as he ran up to the daycare, flinging open the doors as he flew down the hall. The lights were off, and a cold breeze flew past him as his eyes landed on the sight of your daycare room. Bodies lay everywhere, causing his eyes to widen at the sight of the enemy ninja strewn along the floor with jagged stabs in their chests. He backed out of the room; breath growing labored as he thought through where you may be. Naruto wasn't thinking clearly as he flew out of the daycare building. He would have known that the trap was set just for him if he were thinking clearly.

And he walked right into it.

A bag was shoved over his face as he was tackled. He called out for help, kicking and screaming for the men to get off him. The sound of slicing filled the air, and warm liquid splattered all over him; bodies were shoved off him one by one. Before long, he had freed himself from the group and ripped off the face covering. The sight before him made him stare in awe - A female ANBU officer was slaughtering the ninja one by one without breaking a sweat. It was as if they were nothing to her, almost as if she could take a hundred of them all at once and never falter in her movements. Finally, her sword drove through the chest of the last remaining ninja.

Naruto’s mouth hung open as she ripped the sword from the man's chest, sighing as she looked down at herself. She was drenched with blood. It was on her uniform, on her mask, in her hair, on her hands. The only thing she could wipe off was her sword. 

“Wow! That was, uh… Thank you” 

Her head snapped to the side to look at him before she once more let out a sigh. She slid the blade against her pant leg, trying to wipe off the blood she had accumulated in the past couple of hours. She put the sword back in the sheath on her back before storming towards him; reaching down, she hauled him back onto his feet.

“Why are you here?! Where is Kakashi?!” 

Naruto’s eyebrows furrowed at her words, the voice sounded familiar, but his brain refused to connect the dots. “You know Kakashi-Sensei? You’re starting to freak me out, lady.” The woman froze before him, realizing she had made a deadly error and there was no going back. She sighed before lifting her hand to her mask, “You can't tell anyone, Naruto.”

Naruto’s jaw dropped at the sight before him, ��Hey… What the hell?!”

You shot a warning glare, silently scolding him for his language, but he didn't care. You were the ANBU lady??? The one he just saw brutally murder the 20 men lying around you. His eyes wandered around your face, brows crinkling in confusion as his brain caught up to the fact that you were in front of him, wearing an ANBU uniform and covered in blood. Lots and lots of blood.

“But, you’re not a shino-”

You sighed at his statement before he even finished, “A shinobi, yes I haven't been one for years” Naruto grew more confused at your confession. “For years? You were a shinobi before?” A small laugh flew from your lips as you face-palmed yourself. The blood on your hand smeared onto your face, making you cringe at the feeling and smell. Your heart started to race as you brought your hand from your face, eyes wide as you took in the crimson staining your skin. It made you feel sick; you didn't miss this at all. 

“Didn't I tell you to stay by my side Naruto?” Naruto jumped at Kakashi’s words as he landed beside you, slowly approaching you as if not wanting to spook you. “God, I hate this, Kakashi,” you whined out as you tried to look away from the blood on your hands. Kakashi quickly wiped it away with a small rag, reassuring you that you were doing something good, even if it meant killing people. There had been many nights where he’d have to reassure you in such a manner. The guilt you felt drove you mad; in a way, you were thankful for Naruto, who gave you a way out.

“How many did you kill, Y/n?” Kakashi whispered as he looked around the daycare. He was trying to gauge how many angry men would come after you. “About 70” 

Naruto gasped at the number, eyes widening as you turned into Kakashi. “So we should prepare for 100 more coming your way?” 

You nodded as your lip quivered - “I don't want to kill them. I can't do it anymore. I’m so tired.”

Kakashi nodded before starting to take off your vest. If he could get you out of the recognizable outfit and away from the fighting, he could quickly finish off the 100 angry men for you. “I can handle them; it's fine-”

“70?!” 

Your eyes shot to Naruto’s, and you froze at his awe-struck face. You didn't know if he was amazed or disgusted, but both reactions would have made your stomach churn all the same. Kakashi felt your sickness by the way you swayed in his arms, “Naruto, now is not the time-”

“I mean, how badass are you!? And you didn't even tell me?!?!”

Your eyes grew wide as you scanned the tree line for incoming intruders; suddenly, your fear-stricken face turned hard. Snatching up the mask from the ground, you shoved it on before drawing your sword. Kakashi held his breath. Your hearing was much sharper than his ever was. Before you knew it, 100 ninjas surrounded you three. You’ve fought more in one go; it was a simple task compared to other things you’ve had to do.

But doing it in front of Naruto made you falter. 

Did you want him to see the beast inside of you? The beast you hid from him as best you could. You let him believe you were boring to conceal that you were a kunoichi feared by many nations. You killed many men without mercy because you were instructed to, just as a good soldier does.

One of the ninjas looked toward Naruto, causing you to jump into action. You screamed for Naruto to run before slicing your sword to kill them quickly before they could get their hands on him. Naruto, for once, listened and ran to hide behind the building wall, far enough from the fighting to stay safe but close enough to watch you fight through the group. Kakashi did help a little, but you did most of the work. He was amazed and felt slightly guilty at his previous assumptions about you being weak. The display before him was anything but weak.

Within minutes, you had thinned down the group until the last one remained. Naruto expected you to kill him, but you did something else entirely. Your fingers gripped the bleeding man's collar, ripping him up so he was face-to-face with your ANBU mask. “Who do you take directions from? Who was the leader of this attack??” Your words were icy and full of hatred, not full of the warmth and love Naruto was used to. A shiver ripped down his spine as he watched you cock your head at the spluttering man. “Who. Is. In. Charge.” your snarl made the man break as he screamed out the name of the person in charge of the entire thing. You scoffed at him before driving your sword slowly into his chest. It was deliberately pushed in at a location that would  ensure a slow and painful death. It was then that Naruto realized this was the same ninja that looked his way at the beginning of the fight.

You ripped out your sword, letting the man fall to the ground as you watched him gasp for breath. Blood bubbled up from his throat before spewing from his mouth, he wouldn't die from internal bleeding, but he would die from drowning in the blood pooling in his lungs. Your head turned to the side, and while Naruto couldn't see your eyes, he knew your gaze was locked on him. You scared him and amazed him at the same time. He was amazed that you had taken down so many men without a worry in the world, but he was also scared at how fast you turned off your emotions when you went into killing mode.

You weren't the same. He didn't like this side of you.

A sigh flew from your lips as you read him like an open book. He was always so easy to see right through. You saw the fear radiating off him, causing you to drop your sword and rip off your mask as if trying to show him it was still you. That you were still the mom he loved so much. 

That you were nothing special.

But that wasn't true anymore; at least the last part wasn't.

You stepped towards him, head cocking as he cowered behind the wall. “Naruto, honey, I won't hurt you.” He didn't budge, didn't dare to, as you walked closer to him. “You aren’t my mom. I don't know who you are, but-”

“You’re right. I’m not your mom,” you stated firmly as you dropped into a crouch feet away from him. He jumped in his spot, flying back as you startled him. You smiled at his jumpiness but knew that this reaction was warranted. His lips trembled at your statement, and you realized your mistake. “No, no, that's not what I meant. The mom you know is not the mom in front of you. The person standing in front of you is someone that hasn't existed for 12 years. Naruto, I hate this person more than you would ever know. I let this person go so I could raise you, and after tonight, she will never come back.” You moved to sit cross-legged before him, hoping the childlike position would reassure him that the one he was talking to was his mom. 

The old you was far gone.

Naruto’s blue eyes flicked from you to Kakashi, who stood quietly behind you, hands in his pockets as if all this was old news. Because it was. Kakashi was the one that got you out of this mindset, and it silently terrified him just how easy it was for you to slip back into it. He knew he needed to bring it up later but now was not the time.

Seeing that his Sensei was calm and collected, Naruto nodded at your words before crawling towards you. Your eyebrows furrowed as he approached you, but they soon relaxed once you realized what he was doing. Naruto climbed into your lap, forcing your arms to wrap around him and cradle him in your embrace. You bit back a chuckle and pulled him in more, the blood smeared all over his clothes, but he didn't mind. He just needed to be reminded that you were his loving, carefree, warm-hearted mom. He didn't want a mom that was special. He didn't want a mom that was a renowned shinobi. He just wanted you. As you held him close, you decided then and there that you would never pick up a sword again, because caring for Naruto was more rewarding than wearing a mask and protecting the village. 

And nothing would change that.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

"I'm so sorry Crewel-sensei, I did not mean to summon one of your cauldrons into the floor of Ramshackle Dorm! It's just, Grim happened and I..." - Deuce

[Relates to this little theory!]

If he doesn’t scare you, no evil thing will.

“SPADE!!”

Crewel’s roar rumbled in his ears. From his bowing position, Deuce winced. Somehow, even with his courage shriveled, he managed to wrench himself to address his livid professor.

“S-Sorry, sir!” Deuce repeated, bowing even deeper. “So, SO sorry!!”

“Sorry? SORRY?! Do you really believe an apology alone will fix things? This—” Crewel jerked his chin in the direction of a cauldron that had collapsed into Ramshackle’s brittle floorboards. “—has happened far too frequently!!

“How many of our school’s cauldrons have you called away? Do you know just how much in damages this costs each time? Have you not properly reflected on your actions?! Lab equipment doesn’t grow on trees!”

His pointer sailed through the air, punctuating each pressing inquiry with a harsh CRACK. It made contact not with Deuce, but with Crewel’s palm—yet he still felt the weight of its impact, the biting guilt.

“It seems as though you’ve yet to be adequately trained. I’m disappointed in you, pup,” Crewel continued with a frown. “Detention!! Am I understood?”

“Y-Yessir!” Deuce replied miserably, his face burning with shame. He couldn’t argue—not when he agreed with all of his teacher’s points.

“Then I will see you in my office, on time and prepared to learn.”

“Learn…?”

“That’s right. It falls to me to curb the bad habits of misbehaving pups.” Crewel gave a wicked grin. “That you are pulling cauldrons from only our labs… It’s proof that your imagination is limited and inflexible. This Crewel-sama will change that.

“Prepare yourself, Spade! You’ll be on the receiving end of an intensive tutoring session. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll no longer be summoning from just our supply closets—no, you’ll be reaching farther than that. And, of course, I expect you to be cognizant of when it is and is not appropriate to use your magic.”

Deuce’s confusion morphed into hope. A fire ignited in his eyes.

“Thank you very much for believing in me, Crewel-sensei!! I…. won’t forget this—and I’ll work hard to make you proud of me!”

“Your bark is commendable, but let’s see how well your bite compares. To begin with, let’s haul this cauldron back to where it belongs.”

“Yessir! I’ve got this!”

Deuce crouched and, with a grunt, hoisted the cauldron up on his back. His arms shook, muscles straining against the extra weight. He took in a deep breath, then released it with a mighty shout.

“GRAAAAAAAAAH!!”

Crewel paled. “Wait, Spade—”

Deuce bolted off, cauldron and all, racing down the street toward the main school building. His voice, a continuous string of nonsense sound, carried across campus. He was nothing if not committed.

“… I meant hauling it back with levitation magic,” Crewel groaned, fingers massaging his temple. He could feel a migraine coming on. “That pup is all brawn and no brains…”

[the20thangel]

The Emperor and His Lady Chapter 8 (Finale)

Summary: Arabella and Geta flee from the Chaos that Macrinus and Caracalla placed in Rome. Lucius fights for the dream that is Rome, and new beginnings blossom.

Word Count: 4K

Tags: violence, angst, and comfort.

Masterlist

Taglist: @barcelonaloverf1life @justnobodynothingmore

Arabella placed herself before Geta, “Uncle, please, We seek refuge…” 

Arabella’s uncle, the eldest of the two brothers, never had the chance to marry. So, he used his brother’s children to gain control of the family. Arabella was their last chance for glory; he would not give up easily. 

“My dear, you are confused… come, there will be an emperor at the end of the day, Caracalla or Lucius… they will need an empress, and you…” 

Growling, Geta pressed Arabella to his body, “Choose your next words carefully; I can still find ways to get rid of you!” 

Arabella watched as her uncle staggered back before forming a weak smirk: “With what army? I can yell and have Caracalla arrest you or wait until Lucius takes back Rome, and you will still lose Geta. Come, Arabella. You have done wonderful with him, but it’s time to move on.”

“No….” she protested, walking away from Geta. She glared at her uncle. 

“No… what nonsense are you speaking, stupid girl? I said, come.” commanded her uncle. 

Tired of all the stress from the day and tired of being used for men’s gain, Arabella’s face darkened, “I said NO! I am done being used as a pawn for your and my father’s gain. I have always done everything you commanded of me since I was 11 years old. You pushed so much to become Geta’s empress; what did you expect that I do not love him? I will not leave him. I love him and our child, who is growing in me. Caracalla nor Lucius would let me keep my babe, and I would rather die than lose another son. So go ahead, try to force me away from Geta, but you will only have a corpse to use or a girl so damaged she will be useless to you. I will make sure I cannot conceive another child if you force me. I want to live peacefully with the man I love and my child. So what will it be? Uncle, choose now, and I will make my choice.” 

Geta and her uncle froze their blood cold at Arabella’s words. Geta’s face hardened as he placed his hands on his lover’s stomach, glaring at her uncle. In contrast, Arabella’s uncle could only stare. All for naught, he thought, exhaling as he backed down. 

Arabella and Geta watched as her uncle's shoulders dropped. Shaking his head, he made eye contact with Geta as he spoke, “You would have made a wonderful, kind but fearsome empress; such a shame you never were made one.” 

Geta gulped, feeling the guilt returning to him; her uncle was correct. His Arabella would have been the best empress, but he was too selfish to make her one. After a beat, Arabella and Geta could finally breathe as Arabella's uncle led the two lovers to a Villa that belonged to her family—one that was away from the main areas of Rome but still close. 

Once they had arrived, Arabella’s uncle said they should relax while he returned to the palace. An emergency Senate meeting was to occur; he would return with news after the meeting. Leaving the two on their own, Arabella sighed, rubbing her belly as she calmed herself, hoping all the stress would not take a toll on her or her child. Turning, she watched Geta sit by the hearth, staring at the fire that the servants quickly lighted. 

“Geta… my love? What bothers you?” she whispered as she knelt before him, taking his hands into hers. 

Geta took a moment before turning to stare at her, “Your uncle is right. You have been a wonderful empress… I… I was too paranoid to allow it… I was too jealous; I wanted you for myself…Would it have changed what is happening now if you were my empress?”

Shaking her head, Arabella sat on his lap, cradling his face as she spoke, “It is not good to dwell on the past or what could have been. Hush, my love, take comfort that we are alive, the three of us, and take comfort that I will never… never leave you.”  

Leaning down, Arabella kissed Geta, taking his arms and wrapping them around her. Geta deepened the kiss, pressing her body to his as they comforted each other from the hectic and terrifying night. The two stayed awake for another hour to see if any news came, but once they heard nothing, they decided to retire for the night. 

The following day, Arabella’s uncle returned with a haunted look. As she led her uncle to the dining area, she watched in suspense as he placed his head in his hands. 

“Uncle… what has happened?” she asked, watching Geta enter the room and sit beside her. 

“Caracalla… he… he placed two new senators to his consul… his monkey Dundus and the second Macrinus. He gave the throne to Macrinus.” Her uncle explained, closing his eyes in disbelief. 

Arabella and Geta inhaled sharply at the news, realizing that Macrinus used both Geta and Caracalla to get to the throne. 

As her uncle raised his sight, he gave her a look, telling her there was more. Arabella gave a worried brow as she silently urged her uncle to speak. 

“Your father…he has been sentenced to be killed along with the senators who conspired to usurp Geta and Caracalla. They will be killed along with former empress Lucilla,” he spoke, massaging his brow. 

Arabella softly gasped, “But he wasn’t part of the coup… why would he be sentenced.” 

Her uncle smiled contemptuously, “He denied your hand in marriage to Caracalla. He also denied knowing your whereabouts. Macrinus convinced Caracalla to kill him, saying that your father was deliberately offending him. I’m sorry, my girl, I could not save him.”  

Arabella sniffed, having lost both fathers in her life in less than 24 hours. As Geta placed a soothing hand on hers, she proudly spoke, “My father was a servant to Rome, and he will die knowing what he did was for the betterment of Rome.” 

Arabella’s uncle agreed before stating he needed to leave for the Colosseum, promising the pair that he would return after the events. 

At the Colosseum, the crowd was anxious, not knowing who or what the cause of the games was for that day. The Senators shifted as many of their own were at stake, including the former empress. They knew if they killed the empress, Rome would eat them alive; they could only hope the gods were merciful. 

As Caracalla walked down, he noticed his people cringe before him. They looked at him in disgust or fear, and he wanted to weep. He always had his brother to protect him from the wolves. Now his brother was gone… and he was alone, with no one to defend him, and Caracalla thought, “I made a mistake…”. Macrinus, seeing the hesitation, gently pushed the emperor into his throne. 

The Gates opened, and the people gasped in outrage as they saw a cart of senators walking out with their beloved Empress Lucilla standing at the top. 

“Lucilla! Gods have mercy on you, empress!” 

“Empress Lucilla, she is innocent!” 

“Release her! Release the empress!” 

Caracalla whimpered, hearing his people shouting in outrage. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. 

Marcella looked at the royal box, smirking as Macrinus, a fool, looked like he already had won; little did he know. As the plan started, Lucius came out fighting the guards one by one, making sure to stall to give the impression he was desperate to save his mother; as he reached the top, Lucius again asked Marcella if she wanted him to save her. 

“No, my emperor, I need to die. We need the people of Rome to fight against Macrinus and Cara-” Marcella gasped as an arrow shot through her chest. 

“NO!” shouted Lucius, being caught unprepared as he turned to glare at Macrinus.

As Macrinus lowered his bow, he relished at the chaos ensuing, the people screaming and rioting as the Senators ran away. Leaning towards the young emperor, Macrinus threw his arms around Caracalla’s shoulders. 

“Well done, my imperator. You have won, but unfortunately, it's time you step down. Not to worry, Rome will be in good hands, my hands.” He sneered as he took a pin out and stabbed Caracalla. 

As Caracalla shouted in pain, he felt blood gushing out his ear as his vision began to blur. Feeling coldness roam over him, Caracalla thought of his brother, his protector. He regretted killing his brother… for Geta truly did love him. Then his mind to Arabella, sweet and beautiful Arabella. Caracalla knew his love for her was not romantic but of a brother and sister. His problem with her was that he was jealous that Geta and she were in love, leaving him behind. He had no one like they had each other. He felt regret for tormenting her all those years. He wished he could have been kinder. Finally, as Caracalla left the realm of the living, a riverboat greeted him. Terrified, Caracalla looked around when he heard someone calling for him. Seeing at a distance, he saw a woman he recognized as his mother. 

“Caracalla, come, my sweet boy!” shouted his mother. 

Grinning, the young emperor walked up to the boat and waved to his mother as he crossed the river Styx. 

Macrnius smirked at the dead emperor, staring at the floor. He saw Luicus’ glare and decided he needed to leave. Lucius, seeing Macrinus running, began to pursue the man. He would not leave Rome alive. 

At the outskirts of Rome came Lucilla, leading a horde of Roman soldiers waiting to meet their enemy. At a distance, she saw two horses coming towards them and another group of soldiers. Gasping, she saw Lucius jump from his horse, tackling Macrinus to the ground, and the two men began sparing. As Lucius tripped into the river, he held his breath and reached for his dagger. Macrinus blindly stabbed him, trying to pierce through the armor. Seeing an opening, Lucius shouted as he rushed up from the water, slicing Macrinus through his stomach. Breathing heavily, he watched as Macrinus slowly sank to the river's bottom. 

As Lucilla and Lucius took back the throne and ensured the people of Rome were calm and safe, they began to assess the damage in the Palace. Lucius, noticing his mother searching through Emperor Geta’s chambers, the gardens, and, lastly, another chamber, finally asked her what or whom she was looking for. 

“A maiden named Arabella… was my companion for many years. I grew to love her as a daughter. She was with Geta… before he was killed. Senator!” Lucilla ended shouting, seeing Arabella’s uncle walking. 

“My empress, Imperator, what can I do for you.” bowed the Senator. 

Lucius squirmed, not being used to being greeted as a royal for many years, and answered for his mother. 

“A girl, Arabella. My mother is wondering if you have seen her. " Lucius pondered, growing nervous, seeing the Senator's remorseful look. 

“I know not what happened to my dear niece. She was with Geta when Caracalla killed his brother. I fear... I fear the rumors are true; my niece threw herself to her death rather than becoming Caracalla’s empress. I am so sorry, Empress Lucilla. I knew how much she meant to you.” Arabella’s uncle lied, bowing as Lucilla began weeping for her little girl. 

“Thank you, senator. I am sorry for your loss,” consoled Lucius, who found it strange that the Senator was not distraught like his mother. 

Six months passed, and Rome began healing from the injustices she suffered. The people were healing and beginning to thrive. Lucilla, although still grieving the loss of her daughter and husband, provided excellent support for Lucius in ruling Rome. To rejoice, The Senate decided to throw gladiator games to celebrate the six-month mark of Emperor Lucius’s reign. Although Lucius was against it at first, he was later convinced by his mother that it would be a good idea. 

As the two walked to see the gladiators, Lucilla noticed Arabella’s uncle bringing supplies to a specific group of men. Knowing that he was never a Senator who paid interest in the gladiators or had any military knowledge, she walked towards him curious. As she walked closer, she heard the conversation that made her freeze. 

“How is my lady, Senator? I bet her belly must be huge by now! And Gano? How is he fairing?” 

“My niece is thriving through her pregnancy while her husband panics about everything; it is quite charming to see, " the senator laughed. His laugh, however, was cut short once he noticed Lucilla. 

“Senator, six months ago, you told me Arabella killed herself; I am now shocked to hear not only is she married, she is expecting her first child,” questioned Lucilla, growing upset with her surrogate daughter’s uncle. 

As the Senator gulped, he nervously tried to deny it, but Lucilla would not be deceived again. 

“You will bring her to me; I wish to see my girl healthy with my own eyes,” Lucilla commanded, walking away from the Senator. 

At a nearby Villa,  Arabella walked towards her husband carrying a refreshing drink. Rising from his papers, Geta smiled as he greeted his wife. 

“Wife, I am sure I heard the healer tell you not to be on your feet so often," he asked his wife, kissing her lips quickly and taking the drink from her hands. 

“Walking to my husband does not count, Geta. My back starts aching after laying down so much.” Lightly complained Arabella, rubbing her round belly as she pouted. 

Geta grinned, placing his hand on Arabella’s, his smile growing as he felt his son kick against his hand. 

As the two kissed, a servant girl told them the lady’s uncle had urgent business to speak with them. The two separated, sharing a confused look as they greeted the visitor. 

“Uncle, you were just here? Has something happened?” questioned Arabella, allowing Geta to lead her to sit down. 

As her uncle sat beside her, he grabbed her hands, “Ara…Empress Lucilla knows you are alive. She has commanded me to take you to the palace. I’m sorry, niece, but I can’t go against the empress.” 

Arabella's brows rose in shock. She had hoped that Lucilla never found out about her whereabouts. Looking towards Geta, she saw her husband furrow his brows in confusion.

“Why does Empress Lucilla want to see Arabella? Does she want to marry her to Lucius,” growled Geta, jealousy blooming in his chest. 

Arabella held a hand to her husband’s chest, hoping to calm him from his anger.

Arabella’s uncle shook his head, “No, Emperor Lucius is still adamant about not taking a wife. The empress wishes to see you healthy with her own eyes. She has missed you so much, dear girl. Please pay a quick visit to ease her and then return to your life here.” 

Nodding, Arabella agreed to visit her lady; unfortunately, Geta was still paranoid about the reason for the visit.

Geta grunted, grabbing Arabella’s hand as he commanded, “I will go with you.” 

“Geta, you are still wanted in Rome. I am not risking my husband getting arrested by the emperor; stay here, " Arabella countered, annoyed that her husband was trying to be difficult. 

“I wasn’t asking Ara… I’m going. I don’t believe the emperor just wants you to visit.” argued Get, narrowing his eyes. 

Like times before, the Lady and her Husband continue their battle through their eyes, each equally stubborn trying to win against each other. 

Arabella’s uncle chuckled, having gotten used to the young lovers' antics. “Niece, you know him better than anyone. You know he will not stay behind. He will go as he is known outside, Gano, and we will dye his hair dark brown. Hopefully, the emperor doesn’t remember how much Geta looked like, and we can quickly visit and  let it be done.” 

Arabella sighed in defeat, sending a quick glare as her husband smirked, feeling like he had won the argument. 

As the three walked through the white floors of the palace, Arabella and Geta could not help but feel nervous about their visit to the emperor and his mother. Geta looked around and saw how much his former home had changed in under six months. Nothing of him and his brother were shown or left in the palace. Sighing, he walked behind his wife somberly, missing his twin. As husband and wife entered the feast chamber, Lucilla gasped in delight, seeing her girl not only healthy but practically glowing from her pregnancy. Standing from her spot next to Lucius, Empress Lucilla greeted her daughter. 

“Arabella! Oh, my sweet girl, I am so happy you are well and with a child. You are glowing!” exclaimed the empress mother, gathering Arabella into her arms. 

As Geta stood back with his hood covering his face, he stood nervously, feeling paranoid at being close to Lucilla and Lucius. Emperor Lucius smiled at his mother, who was reuniting with his surrogate sister. Turning to face his sister’s husband, he could not help but narrow his eyes and recognize the man. 

“Empress, it's good to see you again.” greeted Arabella, bowing only to be raised by Lucilla, who waved her off.

“None of that bowing, especially with you so heavily pregnant. How far along are you?”  questioned Lucilla as she toyed with Arabella’s curls. 

Smiling, Arabella rubbed her ever-growing bump, “In a week, I will be seven months. I’m counting the days until my child rests in my arms instead of kicking every second of the day, more if he feels his father's hands on my stomach.” 

Laughing, Lucilla took a turn to rub the young lady’s bump, “Lucius was the same way; nothing could soothe him until a lullaby was sung.” 

As Lucilla turned her sight behind Arabella, she noticed the man who she assumed was Arabella’s husband. 

“Sweet girl, why don’t you introduce me to your husband? I assume he is the father, yes?” Lucilla requested, growing confused as the young man twitched and lowered his head to hide his face. 

Arabella, growing nervous, gulped as she stared at her husband. Opening her mouth, she felt tongue-tied, “Yes, this is my husband-” 

“Hello, Geta… I’m surprised you would be willing to step back into the palace,” interrupted Lucius, who was walking towards his mother and sister while glaring at the young man. 

Geta raised his eyes, glaring back at Lucius; it allowed his hood to fall off. Lucilla gasped as her face paled like she saw a ghost, turning to Arabella, who furrowed her brows with worry. Arabella placed herself between the emperor and her husband, not wanting a fight to ensue. Geta took the opportunity to grasp his wife’s waist and pull her body to press against his. 

“Hano… ah, I forgot it’s Emperor Lucius, now is it?” taunted Geta, smirking when Lucius growled in annoyance. 

“Geta, enough,” commanded Arabella, shaking her head at her husband’s antics. 

Lucilla and Lucius were both surprised to see how easily Geta backed down. Lucilla, wanting an answer, turned to Arabella.

“How… everyone in the Senate said they saw his head… Caracalla and Macrinus showed it off?” questioned Lucilla. 

Arabella sighed as she began her tale of how they evaded being killed by Caracalla and their current life situations. After the lady’s tale, Lucius shook his head in disbelief before turning to the former emperor. 

“You know, in any other situation, I would have had the guards arrest you against the crimes you did on my mother and stepfather, but I grew to care for Arabella because of my mother. I know how much my sister has sacrificed for Rome and my mother. Consider yourself lucky, Geta, that I am a forgiving man. I will pardon you injustices…” started Lucius. 

“Thank you, Imperator,” praised Arabella, feeling grateful. 

“I have two conditions for his pardon…” continued Lucius, watching as Geta and Arabella nodded. 

“One, Arabella, do not call me imperator. We are siblings; call me brother. Second, Geta is banned from ever joining the Senate. I will be gracious and not place the ban on any nieces or nephews, but you can never step foot in the Senate. Do I make myself clear?” said Lucius. 

Arabella and Geta nodded, feeling grateful; while Geta did not mind being banned from the Senate, it was never his passion. As the couple left, Lucilla asked Arabella to visit often and to keep her updated on her pregnancy, expressing her desire to be there during Arabella's birthing.  Agreeing, the couple left for their Villa peacefully, excited and nervous for the future. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Screaming could be heard from a room as Arabella pushed with all her might. Collapsing on her bed, Arabella tiredly exhaled as she tried to catch her breath, preparing for another contraction to hit. Lucilla, holding her daughter’s hand, soothed the tired mother. 

“There, my sweet girl, you are doing so well. Just a few more, Ara… you baby wants to greet you,” she consoled the young woman. 

Nodding, Arabella took a deep breath as she pushed all her might, feeling sweat fall down her forehead. Taking another breath and pushing again, wishing her child could just leave her body. 

Outside the room, in the living area, paced Geta, growing nervous with each scream coming from his wife. Lucius watched in amusement as he watched a man feared by Rome be reduced to a nervous wreck. Turning to the floor, he ruffled a tuff of ginger-colored hair. Gaius, who just turned four, raised his head from his toy soldier to playfully glare at his uncle. Lucius chuckled. His nephew looked so much like his father, but that glare was all his mother.  A smaller wail joined the air as another yell broke out, making Lucius rise and Geta freeze. 

Lucilla came out with a bright smile: "A beautiful little girl with the same face as her mother and her father’s fiery locks.” 

As the men sighed, their relief was short-lived. They heard Arabella let out another yell, with the midwife exclaiming that another babe was on their way. Lucilla turned and quickly returned inside to help the young mother. Fifteen painfully long minutes passed before a little boy let his arrival know with a loud shout. 

“He has a pair of lungs,” commented Lucius, watching as Geta held his daughter, watching her as if she were the world's most precious jewel. 

Arabella smiled as she caressed her youngest son. They were perfect. While her daughter followed suit like her older brother in having fiery locks. Her youngest held brown curls much like her own. Gaius was in his grandmother’s arms, looking at his young siblings. Scrunching his nose, he sniffed and looked at his mother: " They are too pink.” 

Laughing, Lucilla kissed the young boy, “They just came out of your mother. You were as pink as them when you were born, my love. They will soon change after a few days.” 

Lucius grinned as he kissed Arabella’s forehead, “How are you, sister?” 

“Tired, but I would do it all over again for them….that does not mean you can touch me,  Geta. You will wait another four years before you touch me.” Commented Arabella, playfully glaring at her husband once she saw his mischievous smile. 

“Do they have names?” questioned Lucilla. 

Arabella nodded, “Yes, our daughter will be named Carmella Julia, and our son… he is Marcus Maximus…” 

As the twins' names were spoken, both children opened their eyes to stare at their parents. Geta’s throat dried up as tears welled in his eyes. His daughter had the brightest blue eyes, just like Caracalla. Kissing his daughter, Geta nuzzled her tuff of ginger hair. 

Lucius and Lucilla smiled tearfully as they stared at the youngest of the three. Soon, the Emperor and Empress left the family of five. As the three youngest slept soundly, Geta scooped up his wife and kissed her neck. Arabella giggled at being tickled, returning a kiss. 

“Thank you, my love,” Geta whispered as he nuzzled his face to his wife’s neck. 

“For what, my love,” pondered Arabella, caressing her husband’s cheek. 

“For loving me, for fighting for me… for never giving up on me, on us… I truly don’t deserve you,” confessed Geta. 

Arabella smiled, cradling her husband's face; she kissed him before whispering on his lips, “I was always meant to be yours, your lady. No matter where or whichever life, I will always come to you, My Geta.”

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Fool's Errand Pt 9

Part (9) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Warnings: Tension. Some big emotions. Mild cursing. Also some legit fluff

WC: 3,257

It’s easy to believe that children are resilient, that once physical wounds heal, we might pretend no further damage remains. The horrors they can adapt to, the things they can survive, it’s just as incredible as it is heartbreaking. But there’s a very big difference between surviving and thriving, and that youth that offers such ‘resilience,’ in truth, merely masks scars far deeper than we’d like to admit.

Sometimes those scars are loud; evident in bursts of rage far more violent than normal tantrums. Something they are quiet. Sometimes those scars hide until the child is grown; until they can’t be dismissed beneath the cover of youth despite never having learned how to cope with the terrors veiled in shadows only they can see, and if those around them plead ignorance to the cause of those terrors, they leave wounds that may never heal.

“Look at that! You must be a Jedi!” I exclaimed with wonder at the unblemished skin of legs once covered with tiny scrapes and burns. The girl shook her head so quickly that her hair, now hanging loose to her shoulders in puffy curls, bounced against cheeks bunched into a wide grin.

“Yup, she definitely has some kind of secret healing power.” Echo chimed, and she shook her head even more emphatically, shoulders shaking with nearly silent giggles.

Crosshair was out on patrol with Wrecker providing what cover he could from the ramp of the Marauder, his leg still preventing him from moving much. Tech still hadn’t stirred since his brief moment of near-lucidity, and Hunter snored softly from the co-pilot’s seat where, not five minutes prior, he’d denied the obvious exhaustion Echo and I had silently agreed against commenting on.

I’d spent another twenty minutes coating his battered form with bacta, fingers carefully guiding the blue gel across dark bruises and skin split beneath cruel strikes. It had felt… intimate… the way I kneeled between his legs to tend his wounds, dimmed lights soft enough to hide my blush from anyone but him as we both carefully avoided the other’s gaze, and I couldn’t help but remember the quiet moment just before coming out of hyperspace above that feral planet where I’d so nearly died to the locals' poisonous arrows. It felt like so long ago… but the way he’d held me, arm locking around my waist in a silent plea to stay as he'd laid nearly bare atop my bed, skin still glistening with oils and body blissfully limp in the aftermath of my touch… The memory of it still sent my heart racing.

He’d declined my offer to help him into a fresh set of blacks, and I tried not to argue as he bit back a wince from how the act of dragging the sleek fabric down his powerful form tortured already abused flesh, instead turning my attention absently toward Tech if only to grant myself a moment's reprieve from the heaviness lingering on air rife with shame and want and denial. There was no place for those feelings here. Not anymore.

“I bet she haS other hidden powers, too.” I continued, heart alight at the beaming smile on her innocent face.

“Yeah? Think she’s hiding a lightsaber somewhere?” Echo asked suspiciously, making the girl’s eyes dart to him with an excitement poorly veiled beneath mock nervousness.

“Only one way to find out.” I replied, bringing my hands up as of I were about to snatch her. A squeal burst from her lips as she leapt from the chair and took off down the small room, gangly limbs flailing with that precious, youthful clumsiness as she raced to climb the first few rungs of the ladder before I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her against me with a victorious laugh. My entire body warmed at the look on Echo’s face as I turned back to him, giggling child locked to my chest. There was no trace of tension or dread or regret in eyes so often weighted beneath far too much guilt. Instead, his lips just hinted at a soft smile, stance loose where he’d lazily risen from his seat.

“Well?” he pressed, making a show of crossing his arms over his chest. I let my hands dance over ticklish skin under the guise of patting the girl down while carrying her.

“I'm afraid she's too clever for me.” I lamented. “Wherever she's stashed it, I fear we’ll never find it.” He let out a quiet chuckle as the girl paused her thrashing just long enough to stick her tongue out at him, his hands reaching up to fondly ruffle her hair.

“Alright, little jetii, let's get out of here before your giggles wake that guy up.” He nodded back toward Hunter, even breaths still enunciated with the faintest rumble. She nodded and readily leapt down from my arms before darting back to the ladder, not waiting for us to join her as she scrambled up the worn metal once more.

“You'd think she hadn’t just been held prisoner in a kriffing black site…” Echo murmured, that earlier warmth lost beneath a deep worry.

“It’s easier to pretend to be happy than it is to let yourself be scared.” I whispered back.

“Those feelings aren't going to just go away.” I looked back at him with a quiet understanding, wondering how desperately he’d tried to ignore his own fears, how violently they still haunted him.

“No,” I agreed softly, “they don't… but she'll have her entire life to deal with what happened. And, hopefully, she'll be surrounded with people who love her to help her through it.” He glanced toward me, eyes resting on mine for a long, silent moment before something clattered loudly overhead followed by a hissed curse.

“Crosshair's back.” I couldn't quite hide the humor in my voice as we both started toward sound.

-

“They've got the planet on lockdown.” Echo reported. “Which means the Senator is still here, but it also means it's going to be a lot harder for us to get out."

“It also means they'll have him hidden somewhere even more heavily guarded than the last place.” Came the grumbled reply.

Crosshair and Wrecker stood close to the arc as they spoke in hushed voices while the girl kneeled atop Hunter’s cot with Lula dancing between her small hands, some foreign tune humming softly through pursed lips.

I wanted to help. Maker, how I wanted to pluck the correct answer from the ether that we might hurry and focus on our own escape from this tortured world… but this: plotting and strategizing, accounting for all known factors and preparing for inevitable surprises… this was beyond me.

“I anticipate his position will be made known shortly.” Tech stated from behind me. My attention instantly snapped toward him.

“Tech! You shouldn't be up yet!” I scolded, already snatching my datapad with a mumbled, “The hell… None of my alerts went off…”

“I disabled them.” He answered nonchalantly, and offered no hint of chagrin at the glare I shot him. “I’d already reviewed my vitals. There were no signs of abnormalities, thus no reason to delay my return.”

“Tech…” I sighed, making no attempt to hide my frustration even as his brothers smirked at us.

“I am…” his voice quieted, and I couldn’t help but mirror that quiet as I looked at him, as I noted the odd stiffness in his jaw beneath eyes narrowed in an attempt to gather his thoughts, “impressed that you were able to repair the damage to my arm. I anticipated waking to find it gone… Thank you.” My own jaw tensed briefly at the knowledge of just how close he'd come to exactly that, and I gave a small nod.

“Then we would'a had to get you somethin’ like what Echo's got!” Wrecker chuckled as he said it, but his voice was still oddly subdued.

“While I admit to a certain degree of curiosity toward being able to connect directly to a network relay, I think I'd prefer to keep my natural appendages.” Tech replied dryly, but then he glanced toward Echo with a subtle, contrite frown.

“Yeah. Me too.” Echo grumbled, but offered his brother a small smirk before turning the conversation back toward the mission.

I let out a short breath before finally allowing myself to wander away from the conversation, attention turning back toward the girl, who's earlier glee had finally begun to dwindle. Lips draw  into a gentle smile, I sat softly atop Hunter's bed with her.

“Not much fun all by yourself, huh?” I kept my voice quiet, and my heart broke at the way her lips bunched, jaw grinding as she let her hands drop heavily to the now wrinkled bedding. For just a moment, she released the toy, arms raising as her fingers began to move with some half-hearted intent before catching herself and going still once more, but that was enough. I recognized that halted gesture.

“You know,” I whispered, as though I was about to share a secret, “when things are really scary, and we have to be really quiet, we use our hands to talk to each other.” Her eyes flashed up to mine though she kept her head tucked to her chest, reserved interest poorly stifled beneath a dejected frown.

“Watch.” I murmured before turning back to the others. Cross met my eyes and paused at the beseeching expression on my face. I smiled gratefully as I waved a quick question.

Number of nearby hostile? His brows pulled together, confused, but he hesitated only a moment before replying.

All clear.

My attention darted back to the girl at the sound of her sharp gasp. With Lula tucked beneath her arm, she jumped from the bed and raced across the room to the others, and I couldn't help but chuckle at how quickly I'd been forgotten.

It was Tech she ran to, though her gaze kept darting between the others as well, and I cringed slightly as how forcefully she threw herself into his side. He froze mid-word, attention instantly dropping to the girl. She seemed to struggle with keeping herself pressed tightly against him while still freeing her hands enough to sign something, and he automatically lowered himself to a knee to better address her.

“Yes, I can understand you.” He said it so thoughtlessly, as though it were almost silly to assume otherwise, but the way that girl’s face lit up left me tightening my jaw to keep my breath steady. Her hands became a blur of movement, but he didn't hesitate in responding.

“Standard soldiers have a very limited and specialized set of signals for instances when verbal communication could prove dangerous, but I am quite well versed in the more standardized sign language you appear to be using.” He answered. I understood only a few snips of the flurry of signs that followed. Scared. Home. Dad. Help. Mean. Tech, however, nodded knowingly.

“I assure you, from what you've said, your father's kidnapping was in no way a consequence of your actions, and my squad and I will do whatever is needed to free him as well.” The motion for “punch" was unmistakable, and even Tech let out a small huff of laughter.

“While I appreciate your enthusiasm, I do not believe it would be wise for you to accompany us… No, droids would be more likely to use you as a hostage than they would be to show you any leniency due to your being “small,” thus eliminating any strategic advantage having an additional person keeping watch might grant.” Crosshair rolled his eyes at Tech's reply, and I couldn’t help but chuckle softly.

There was something wonderfully familiar about this; the hum of their voices weaving into a gentle chorus I’d heard a thousand times yet would never bore of. I don’t know when I shifted atop Hunter’s bed to let my back rest against the sidewall, when my head gradually fell toward my shoulder as the day’s exhaustion finally made itself known once more, but I didn’t doubt that it was their voices that lulled me into a gentle sleep.

-

“Hey… come on, mesh’la… need to wake up.”

A grumble caught in my throat, shoulders tensing against the ache of such an unforgiving position.

“Don’t yell at me – we all tried to convince you to lay down.” The air of annoyance twisting those words was ruined beneath the smile I could hear woven through that low rasp.

“…liar.” A quiet huff of laughter was his only retort before letting his hand whisper over my shin, fingers tightening for barely a breath before the touch was gone.

“Hunter’s waiting to go over the plan.” He continued. I begrudgingly forced my eyes open just in time to watch him take a small step back, arms already adorned in armor folding across his chest, fond smirk still playing with thin lips. “Not that it’s much of a ‘plan’.” He added with that familiar façade of disdain.

“That’s our specialty.” I replied, words taut as I curled my arms over my head, back arching in a vain attempt to stretch out the lingering stiffness before pushing myself toward the edge of the narrow cot. He merely hummed in response, the quiet sound infused with every ounce of resignation he felt toward that fact, and I let myself laugh softly at the small scowl it drew to his face.

Hunter's gaze flicked only briefly toward me as we arrived in the cabin. The ramp was still open, inviting the midnight air to bring a pleasant chill into the normally stuffy room. We were on the very outskirts of the forest, where the treeline ended so abruptly, the prairie that followed looked oddly intentional. Wisps of light occasionally danced between the distant strands of tall grass, tiny bursts of yellows and gold gleaming brilliantly for mere moments before fading back into a gentle darkness.

I wondered if Tech had already spoken on the seemingly magic chemical reaction granting the tiny insects that burst of luminescence. I wondered if he and Hunter had needed to corral the small girl to keep her from racing off to see them up close, and I wondered if Crosshair could still see smoke from the havoc wrought upon that wretched base, if the trees still smoldered and the air still burned with the scent of ozone from electrical fires. Probably not. By now, the site had likely already been cleared and returned to an unnatural illusion of feral wilderness, a realization that left my skin crawling with the knowledge of what nightmares that artificial wilderness had concealed.

“Echo and Tech were able to pinpoint the ship they evacuated the Senator on and traced it to a transfer station three klicks outside the city.” Hunter started, hip cocking as he glanced over the screen of his datapad.

“Given their obvious failure to conceal that fact, they’re clearly attempting to use the Senator to lure us in a trap.” Tech added.

“And we’re going to take advantage of that.” Hunter continued, and I had to pointedly keep myself from sighing at his haughty smirk. “Echo, Wrecker: you two are heading straight for the transport. Rig as much of their docks up with explosives as you can. Cross – I want you on the north end to start: take out the power transformer, then find a place to whole up near the Marauder. Provide cover fire where you can, but be ready to bring the Marauder in for a pickup as soon as the Senator is secured.” Tech’s fingers tapped impatiently at his thigh as Hunter spoke, and took the first opportunity he could to cut in.

“That transformer is only a decoy. The real one is hidden underground.” He explained quickly. “There’s likely to be a brief interruption of power intended solely to sell the deception before the real generator kicks back in.”

“That’ll give Tech and I an opportunity to grab one of their smaller ships as a distraction while they go on the defen-”

“Wait.” I said firmly, brows furrowing as I met Hunter’s confused gaze. He went perfectly still, clearly shocked to be interrupted. “You can’t go running around a Separatist base, right now, Hunter. It’s bad enough the others are going, but you’re barely standing.” He didn’t answer for a moment, as though expecting that heavy silence to be enough for me to back down, but my gaze didn’t falter.

“I’ll be fine, Doc. If everything goes according to plan, we should be in and out in-”

“No.” I said, voice granting no room for argument, and a flare of frustration darkened eyes still swollen with heavy bruising as he turned his full attention to me. “You want me to list off all the reasons you should still be in bed? The broken ribs, internal bleeding that’s only barely patched, probably a mild concussion at best; all of which could be exasperated with even light activity.”

“Your concerns are noted, but these are extenuating circumstances, and we don’t have the luxury of being overly cautious.” My own frustration turned nearly violent at his dismissive retort, shoulders drawing back as I glared up at him, pointedly ignoring the way Crosshair was fighting back a smirk.

“You can complain all you want about me being overly cautious from the damn cockpit of the Marauder.” I retorted, nearly snarling at him.

“This isn’t up for discussion, Doc. I’m not-”

“You’re right: this isn’t a discussion.” I interrupted sharply. “As squad medic, I have the final say on this. Not you.” Crosshair looped his arms over his chest, hip cocking slightly with an amusement he no longer tried to hide while the others stood frozen, stances rigid as they watched in tense silence as Hunter stared me down. I could see the enraged sense of betrayal stealing over him, heard it in the heaviness of his carefully controlled breaths, and I hated the guilt that coiled through my chest. But I didn’t back down. The risk was too great.

“I’m pulling rank, Hunter.” I stated, voice painfully even, the faintest hint of an apology quieting the almost whispered words. “I’ll go with Wrecker – I’ve picked up enough of his tips here and there to help set the charges, and Echo can help Tech nab a decoy ship.” That silence grew almost debilitating, and I felt the way my heart raced beneath the weight of this moment. Hunter’s reaction meant more than just this mission. If he refused, if he ignored my orders now… that would illustrate more than just a lack of respect for me as a medic. It would call into question my very place on this squad and my ability to be their medic…

Right hand curling into a tight fist, Hunter’s lips just hinted at a scowl before those infuriated eyes finally turned away from me, shoulders drawn taut as he stormed around us and vanished into the fore of the ship without a word. I didn’t watch him go, though his brothers showed no such restraint, staring in shock as their Sargeant disappeared down the stairs to the cockpit.

It was Echo that finally broke the silence.

“Wrecker, make sure Doc has what she needs to help you set the charges.” Wrecker’s attention shifted to the arc with a fresh note of surprise before coming back to himself.

“Yeah… right…” He muttered, hesitating for just a moment more before glancing toward me and then starting toward the supply room.

Next Chapter

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[pimosworld]

Only if you catch me

Pairing- Frankie Morales x f!reader

Chapter Summary-You and Frankie have your first official date.

Chapter Warnings- 18+, MDNI, mentions of addiction, angst, fluff, first date jitters, kissing, sexual tension, flirting, Frankie is a gentleman

WC-6.7k

A/N- These two are so sickeningly sweet I can’t stand it. Reader and Frankie have a long way to go but it almost always starts with butterflies. @toobusyshrimping Thank you for the help with the “foot in mouth” line.

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Chapter 2. Composite

For some people, one slip up means disaster. There is a huge emphasis on not taking that first drink. That first drink can trigger the obsession, the compulsion. The need for more and more. 

  It took Frankie awhile to find an NA meeting not focused on shame, but healing. A place that didn’t ask you to share something about your week like you were a child. A place that didn’t tell you to be comfortable all the while making you sit on hard metal folding chairs in a cold dingey room. 

  Soft ambient lighting strategically placed to help you relax, instead of the harsh fluorescent lights like you were being interrogated. 

  It’s a weekly routine. 

  One Frankie has grown used to over the last year. From that first day feeling like he was going to crawl out of his skin to now being a regular face amongst the crowd. 

  His knee no longer bounces nervously as he listens to others talk about their battles with addiction. His hands are steady resting along his thighs instead of worrying at the frayed lines on his shirt.

  He’s seated facing the door so he sees Jones enter. The older man looked a little more gray than usual. The worry lines deeper and more evident on his face. His clothes could use an iron and he looks on the tail end of a three day bender…but he’s here. 

  He gravitates towards him and Frankie offers the open seat. 

  “Look, I’m sorry about…”

  Frankie waves him off, not wanting to do the awkward song and dance. Offers him an easy out and a curt don’t let it happen again. 

  “I hope your lady wasn’t too upset.” 

  Thankfully the moderator enters the room to save him from an explanation. His lady. A statement he hadn’t heard in awhile. Obviously way too soon to call you that, but he doesn’t feel like correcting him. He may be getting ahead of himself but he hopes he won’t have to correct him. 

  Frankie hasn’t felt this way about anyone since her. Somewhere deep down where he shoves every ounce of guilt he thinks he may have never felt this way about her at all. 

  Bonded by trauma and addiction, he somehow thought what they had was love. He thought they were meant for each other because who could possibly love him and all his fucked up past. He started coming to these meetings with her and then she made excuses as to why she didn’t need them anymore. That was the beginning of the end, when he finally realized that maybe they weren’t as compatible as he thought. Each day he healed his trauma, each day he stayed sober they grew further and further apart. 

  And then Colombia. 

  Frankie returned with the boys and no Tom. No amount of money could fix the damage they had all done. Fractured and barely holding on, when he needed her the most she came to him so strung out he didn’t recognize her. The woman he used to love, the woman who had laid her life on the line for them so many times he lost count. He’s glad for her sake that Santi couldn’t find her before Colombia or she might not have made it home. 

  “Francisco, do you want to share anything new about your week?”

  All eyes are on him and he’s not sure how long she’s been trying to get his attention. Judging by the sly way Jones tries to hide his smile behind his hands it’s been a second. 

He adjusts his cap on his head, nervously running his fingers through his hair. “Umm, not much to share about this week.”

  “That’s okay, we don’t always have to share. I’m just glad to see your face.” 

  He’s not sure where it comes from as she goes to address the next person. As though he has no control over his body when he begins to clear his throat and she redirects her attention back to him. 

  “Actually.” 

  He straightens up a little in his seat, squaring his shoulders back. 

  “I met someone this week.” He’s met with her pleased smile and a few low whistles. “We have a date this Saturday.” 

  He lets out a sigh of relief, not usually one to share during meetings but never being pushed too. Something makes him want to open up more. Perhaps it’s you. 

  “I’m proud of you Francisco. For sharing and for putting yourself out there.” 

  He knows she’s the only one who keeps track of everyone’s recovery process. He brushed it off six months ago when she informed him that he’s been coming in consistently for a year. 

  The silent understanding that he’d reached a milestone. 

  He memorized the pamphlet his first time coming in. The only thing he could focus on while his hands shook and his back sweat. 

  He scoffed when he first read the part about dating.

Dating too soon can be detrimental to mental health and well-being, and increase the risk of relapse. During early recovery, people are still learning to navigate their new sober lives, and dating can be a distraction or replacement addiction. It can also be difficult to maintain sobriety while dating. 

He ignored the advice that first month when Benny needed him as a wingman for a double date. He nearly had a panic attack at the restaurant when his date wouldn’t stop pestering him about his time in the military, what he did for work, does he have any siblings. All the monotonous first date conversations that he should be able to answer but her wine stained lips and suffocating perfume were making it all too much. 

For what it was worth Benny felt bad when Frankie ditched the date and drove straight to Will’s house because he didn’t trust himself to be alone. 

A year and a half later and you come along. A breath of fresh air

The rest of the meeting goes by in a blur of introductions, confessions and thoughts of you as he makes his way out to his truck. 

****

“I’m not entirely sure why you think I’m gonna be able to help you pick an outfit.” 

Your phone is propped up on top of your mirror with a little FaceTime image of your sister in the corner as you twirl around. 

“You used to help me pick outfits all the time Dom.” 

“Yes but I have no sense of style now. I spend most days in sweats.” 

You step out of frame not satisfied with the third outfit you’d tried as you add to the growing pile of clothes on the bed. 

“Tell me more about the date and I might be able to help you.” She yells knowing you’ve gone to your closet.You’ve spent the better part of the last hour hoping to find something that doesn’t remind you of him. You really needed to get some new clothes but that would require money you did not have at the moment. 

You pull out your dress from your college graduation. A red satin wrap with a low neckline and a flowy skirt. You may have worn it a thousand times but it’s never done you wrong. 

“He said we’re going to dinner, he’s picking me up at seven.Those are all the details I have.” You smooth your hands along the soft fabric as you stand in front of the mirror once more. Standing on your tip toes to get a better look you hear a tiny gasp. 

“Auntie you look so pwetty.” You can see the top of your nephew's dark curls just peeking out in the frame as your sister props him on her knee. 

“Well I think that’s a winner.” Dom says as she tickles her son and he lets out an excited squeal. “Don’t you think so buddy?” 

He nods enthusiastically and you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face. 

“I love red!” He yells and you both burst into a fit of laughter. 

“Red is his favorite color.” She ruffles his hair as he  slides off her lap, bored with the adults' conversation. “Red is bold?”

“Too bold?” 

She holds up her hands as she senses the nervousness in your voice. “I’m just saying it’s refreshing to see this side of you again.” 

You fix her with a look already knowing where this conversation is heading. A direction you don’t even want to follow right before a date. 

“Don’t think I don’t recognize that dress, I haven’t seen you wear it since that party.”

“Dom.” Your voice in a low warning. 

“I hated the way he spoke to you and then you never wore it again.” 

“Please don’t start.” Your voice trembles as you move out of frame, hastily untying the knot in the dress. 

“Come back please, I’m not trying to start a fight!” 

You know deep down she’s just being a concerned sister. You’ve been working on this particular trigger with your therapist. Not being able to sense when someone is helping and when someone is judging. 

You let out a shaky breath as you grab the phone from the mirror, plopping down amongst the clothes on your bed. A stray tear rolling down your cheek as you see her moving through her house to a quiet room. 

“Listen please….I love you and I just want what’s best for you. Don’t shut me out again because it nearly killed us both last time.” 

You close your eyes as you listen intently to your sister's words. Trying desperately to shove down the thoughts you’ve kept at bay for the better part of a year. 

“I’m not mom okay. I’m not judging you, I just want my sister back. I want that person back who wore the red dress. I want the person back who snuck out with me and got a tattoo for my eighteenth birthday.” She’s crying now and it’s just occurred to you that it’s been ages since you’ve seen her cry. “I want the sister who forged moms signature so she could go skydiving.” 

You both let out a guttural laugh when you remember how livid she was at the both of you. 

“I saw a glimpse of her the other day when you called me to talk about the job…and just now when you put on that dress.” 

You're grateful you still have hours to go before Frankie comes to get you as you wipe the mess on your face and smile back at your sister. 

“Jesus Dom, I’ll wear the damn dress. You didn’t need to make me cry.” 

She’s smiling ear to ear as she wipes the tears from her face and you both let out wet laughs. 

“Call me when you get home please.” 

“You know I will. Tell Elise I said hi and tell Casey I love him and thanks for the vote of confidence.” 

You hang up the phone and lay in your pile of clothes a little while longer just thinking about what your sister said. She was right. She was always right. 

****

6:45 pm

Frankie sits outside your quaint apartment building not wanting to head up too early. 

You live on the top floor, which is definitely the safer option for someone like you living alone. The complex isn’t gated and that makes him uneasy. 

Anyone can just walk up to your doorstep. 

He did notice security driving around which is nice, but security guards are a dime a dozen and they can’t really protect you from much.

It is one of the nicer neighborhoods in town, close to schools and a police station just down the road. 

But when do the police ever show up in time. 

He can tell he’s obsessing but he can’t really help himself. He is not really sure why he’s even so concerned about these things when it comes to you. He just met you and you’ve lived on your own successfully without him. He doesn’t need to swoop in and save you. In the words of his therapist, you don’t have to be in protective mode all the time.

Easier said than done. 

In the time he’s spent scoping out your living situation five minutes have passed. He figures that should give him enough time to head upstairs and only arrive five minutes early. He checks his hair once more in the rear view mirror not totally loving how it looks without his hat but deciding not to fidget with it anymore. He grabs the bouquet of red roses that he thought too hard over at the florist thinking maybe it was too cliche but at her insistence on how romantic of a gesture it was decided to go for it. 

****

6:45 pm

You’ve been standing in front of the floor length mirror in your bedroom for the last ten minutes trying to decide on a shoe. You texted your sister and she was no help telling you to go for something wild yet sensible. Those two things could not be more opposite. You didn’t want to go too fancy just in case this was a casual restaurant, but what if it was a really nice restaurant and you decided on a sandal? 

You were definitely overthinking this. 

You silently curse to yourself knowing you were running out of time and you can’t really go on a date barefoot when you remember some strappy low heels you bought for a wedding awhile ago. Perfectly cute and sensible all at once. 

You throw them on and give yourself one last look before you glance at your vanity table. The red lipstick you went back and forth over practically mocking you with the cap off. 

I want the person back who wore the red dress. 

Your sister's words echoing in the back of your mind. 

Fuck it. 

You hold the tube in your hand as your fingers tremble slightly. You stare down at the vibrant, fiery hue in stark contrast to your normal understated palette. With a deep breath you carefully apply, the texture smooth and crisp against your lips. When you first take a step back and look, the color is so striking it feels foreign. 

It’s also exhilarating and cliche that some red lipstick is giving you this huge boost of confidence. 

You grab a black leather purse hanging from your closet door opting to forgo your usual tote bag for something a little nicer. You tuck the lipstick, your phone and a little wallet inside leaving just enough room for Andy. Your sister would probably have your neck for bringing your camera on a date but it was your comfort blanket at the moment and you weren’t ready to let go of it. 

A heavy knock on your door and you take a deep breath and glance at the clock on your bedside table. 

****

6:55 pm

He knocks once and winces at the loud sound that echoes against the cheap wood. His hands are sweating against the plastic wrapped around the flowers and he hopes he’s not this rusty the rest of the night. 

When you greet him at the door he’s sure his heart stops for a few seconds. It’s entirely unexpected, his reaction and his complete underestimation of what he thought you would look like. He knew you were beautiful when he first saw you in the gym but this. This has him questioning everything. 

The red. 

Your dress and your lips. It’s Pavlovian the way he wants to sink his teeth into them. If this is you then he’s a goner. 

“Frankie…do you want to come in?”

“Oh shit…sorry. Ya, these are for you.” He practically shoves the roses at you and thankfully you laugh at his fumbling. He’s not sure how long he stood there gawking at you. 

“Why don’t you come in so I can put these in some water.” He’s following the scent of you like a cartoon Pepe le pew through your quaint apartment. 

You fumble around the kitchen cabinets looking for a vase as he takes in the space. It already feels a lot more warm and inviting than his five bedroom house that seems like a void of endless drab furniture. 

Little hints of you everywhere, a shelf with vintage cameras lined up. An odd shaped purple suede couch in the middle of the room, your coffee table looks like an old door with legs on it,  plants hung in any available window. A picture of you with a little baby on the wall along with some of the most vivid scenery shots he’s ever seen. Another picture with a woman who closely resembles you and an older man on what looks like your graduation day, wearing this dress. 

“I know I have a lot of…eclectic things.” You say as he turns to you. You’ve somehow trimmed and arranged the roses in the time it’s taken him to inspect your space. 

“Is that a pitcher?” 

“I mean…technically yes, but it’s serving as my vase since I don’t receive flowers much.” 

He hums in disbelief because how could a woman like you not receive flowers just for merely existing. 

He doesn’t even know if you realize you’re smiling behind the bouquet. A perfect blend of red that you serve as the backdrop. He takes out his phone and boldly takes a picture. 

You squint your eyes at him because he has his sound on. 

“Francisco.” Your voice drops an octave dripping all syrupy sweet. 

He surely won’t make it with you saying his name like that. 

“Yes, that is my name.” 

“Did you take my picture?” Hands on your hips and your tongue on your canine. 

“Maybe? I get the feeling you’re behind the camera too much.” 

You laugh as though it’s some inside joke because it is really. Your sister is always pestering you to be in the photo. But that leaves someone out and it might as well be you. 

“Can I see?” You move towards him and place your hand on his arm and he’s tempted to let you. He could read lips if they were yours as he repeats them back to himself. 

He places his phone in his pocket and watches as your eyes flit briefly to where it disappeared. 

“Not tonight.” 

Some other time 

You’re not so bold to reach in and see for yourself. You’re so close to him now you can feel his body heat and if this is what weak in the knees feels like then you’re certainly that. It takes every fiber of your being to remove your hand from his arm. 

He misses the warmth immediately as you step back but the look on your face shows a sign of that shy girl from the other night. 

“Should we?” You gesture to the door. “I don’t want to miss a reservation.” 

“No reservations needed. I know the owner of the restaurant.” 

You raise your eyebrows and he didn’t mean for it to come out so cocky. “I hope you like Italian.” He changes the subject hoping to avoid the awkwardness that he’s let fall over the room. 

“Points for you since that’s my favorite.” You reach for his hand as he leads you out and as you lock up your apartment you have to remind yourself that he’s not your ex. The man who knows the owner, the man who decides what you eat and drink, the man who didn’t care less what you wanted as long as you didn’t embarrass him. 

****

If he notices your shift in demeanor he says nothing. It’s easy to relax around Frankie and you notice yourself slipping into a peaceful routine with him. When he opens your door and helps you into the truck. When he instinctively grabs your hand as he drives, you notice his signature cap left at home for your date as his hair blows in the wind. 

This doesn’t feel like a first date. 

This feels like something you do all the time. Like you fit right into some imaginary puzzle piece in his life. He’s humming some tune under his breath and you’re feeling a little more bold as your fingers lace with his. 

You can feel him watching you from the corner of your eye as you look out the window at the familiar surroundings. He likes the way you look next to him, in his truck and something bubbles to the surface that he has to push down to not scare you away too soon. 

“I don’t think I told you how beautiful you look tonight.” You glance over at him as his large hand grips the steering wheel. “I was thinking it real hard but the words never came out.” 

“I was thinking something similar myself.” 

He notes that low timber in your voice when you compliment him. It takes everything in him to keep his eyes on the road. 

“I was hoping I wasn’t too overdressed.” You say apprehensively as he pulls into a small parking lot. 

“Baby for where we’re going you’re perfectly dressed.” 

You don’t have time to even react to the pet name when you see the restaurant come into view as he parks directly in front. 

“Frankie, this place is impossible to get a reservation. Trust me I tried and failed when my sister was in town visiting me.” 

He smirks as he opens and closes the drivers side door leaving you momentarily to saunter around and open yours. 

He holds his hand out to help you down and gently grabs your waist in the other. “Make sure to let me know next time she’s in town.” 

“Okay.” You say a little breathlessly as his large hand engulfs yours and he guides you towards the entrance. 

****

“Morales for two.” 

“Right this way Mr. Morales.” The Maitre d’ leads the way dressed in a tailored suit with a vest and small black bow tie. 

The interior is breathtaking as you make your way through the ornate hallway. Chandeliers cast a warm, golden light over the crisp white linens. There’s plush, crushed velvet and intricate woodwork furniture throughout.The walls are adorned with tapestries and the scent of fresh herbs and garlic wafts from the kitchen. 

You’ve noticed the entire night Frankie has been sure to walk behind you or beside you. Something you didn’t even realize in your previous relationship was a courtesy you weren’t afforded. Always being pulled along or left behind. His hand is warm, placed gently on your back as you pass by other well-dressed couples engaged in intimate conversations. Their voices a soft murmur against the backdrop of classical music playing somewhere in the distance. 

You’re both ushered toward a secluded corner of the restaurant, away from the bustling dining room. Your breath catches as you take in the scene before you. A small path opens up to a hidden courtyard, bathed in a soft glow of candlelight. Ivy climbs gracefully up the old stonewalls. A table set for two is adorned with empire candles and one single rose. 

Frankie’s eyes are on you, a mix of nervousness and pride etched across his face. He’s clearly pleased with your reaction and he chuckles to himself as he takes in the romantic setting his friend arranged just for this moment. 

“I hoped you’d like it.” Frankie says, his voice a soft murmur as he pulls out your chair. 

“Like it! Frankie, are you serious? This is incredible.” 

He smiles at your reaction as he takes his place across from you. The tenderness in his gesture, the thoughtfulness of the setting-it all makes your heart flutter. This isn’t just a date. It’s a memory in the making, and his effort to impress you is overwhelming in the best way possible. 

****

“Frankie I have to say the website photos do not do this place justice.” 

The laugh that erupts from his chest catches you off guard briefly. “The owner was being cheap-.” 

“Cheap!” A familiar voice sounds from behind you as the gorgeous man you recognize from Benny's fight strolls over to your table. His hair is slicked back showing off his perfect bone structure. Slight salt and pepper stubble across his face. Dressed in all black and the first two buttons undone to show off his tan chest. 

Frankie stands from the table and embraces the man in a tight hug. He whispers something you don’t quite catch before turning to you with a wide smile. 

“Hi, I’m Santiago.” He holds out his hand for you and to your surprise kisses the top of your outstretched hand. “Fish whisked you away before I had a chance to introduce myself the other day.” 

“Fish?” 

“That is exactly why I whisked her away.” Frankie says through gritted teeth. 

Santiago holds his hands up in apology. “Sorry, I mean Francisco.” 

The waiter appears with a pitcher of water and pours for the table as Santiago instructs him to bring a bottle of sparkling when he returns with the bread. 

“So I hear you’re quite the photographer, I could use your help.” 

“Pope.” Frankie eyes him in warning. 

You reach across the table and take Frankie’s hand in yours. “It’s fine really.” 

Santiago’s eyes on your joined hands and a knowing smirk on his face. 

“I would love to take some photos for your website. They really are quite awful.” You say honestly. 

“Well I took them myself so…”

You unconsciously grimace and it’s equal parts comical and painful to look at as you palm your face. “I’m so sorry.” 

Both men are laughing before you can continue your apology. 

“No hard feelings, cariño. I’m a big boy and can take some criticism. This guy on the other hand.” He pats Frankie on the back. “Go easy on him for me.” 

A look of gratitude passes between them and Santiago steps back as the waiter reappears. 

He claps his hands. “I’ll leave you two love birds to enjoy. I have a very special meal planned for the evening so I hope you’re hungry.” 

He turns to leave but not before Frankie speaks. 

“Gracias hermano realmente aprecio todo.” 

“Para ti cualquier cosa.”

****

The conversation between you and Frankie flowed easily as each course was presented to you. Per Santiago’s instruction the waiter presented each dish to you in great detail. 

First Course: Antipasti Deliziosi

The evening begins with an elegant spread of antipasti, served on a polished wooden platter. The colorful assortment included thinly sliced prosciutto, delicate burrata cheese drizzled with balsamic reduction, and an array of marinated olives, artichoke hearts, and sun-dried tomatoes. 

Frankie tells you a little about his time in the military with the boys. After a brief explanation that because of some private government contracts they all did very well for themselves after the service. Of course your curiosity was peaked at the thought of Benny and Will owning their own gym and Santiago owning the most popular restaurant in town. Frankie had casually mentioned at your first encounter that he owned a private helicopter business. None of these men came off as self centered or what you would consider avaricious so it was refreshing to see such successful men be so humble. 

Albeit very intimidating that you struggled most months to pay your bills and your savings was almost at nothing after a year of being here. You quickly steered the conversation away from that topic which made you uncomfortable because of your previous relationship. You didn’t want to come off as some kind of gold digger. 

Second Course: Risotto ai Frutti di Mare

The second course featured a luxurious risotto with a medley of seafood—plump shrimp, tender scallops, and mussels. The creamy, saffron-infused risotto, complemented by a hint of lemon zest. Between forkfuls, Frankie shares anecdotes about his most memorable helicopter flights, while you told him( sparing some of the not so pretty details) of your spontaneous move just a year ago. 

He listens intently to you talk about trying to work when you first arrived but it being too overwhelming. You briefly mention therapy and for that he’s grateful he doesn’t have to be ashamed to talk about his struggles after leaving the military. There’s no judgment in your eyes when he talks about those meetings that saved his life. 

First date feels inappropriate and a little too heavy to mention ex’s so you both stay far away from that topic. 

You don’t mention your sobriety so he doesn’t push. 

You talk about finally taking that step and reaching out to Will for the shoot and he can’t help but shake his head on the timing of it all. 

Third Course: Filetto di Manzo con Salsa 

For the third course, the table is graced with a perfectly cooked filet mignon, its tender surface glazed with butter and rich red tomato purée . Accompanied by truffle mashed potatoes and sautéed asparagus.

You’re beaming when you open up to him about some future projects you want to work on and the need to get back into weddings since those were your favorite. 

He may know some people that are seeking you out for just that but he won’t spoil the surprise. 

All of the normal first date questions that would usually bore him to death seem to feel different when he’s with you. The way you look in his eyes makes him feel like he’s floating. He’s sure you don’t notice the way you bite your lip when you’re thinking or the way you moan after trying the first bite of each course. 

Your knee keeps brushing his under the table but it’s comforting when you don’t pull away. 

Dessert: Tiramisu Classico

The evening concludes with a classic tiramisu—layers of espresso-soaked ladyfingers, creamy mascarpone, and a dusting of cocoa powder. 

Once the waiter disappears, and since he’s feeling a little bold he takes your fork and a small piece. Holding it out for you as you wrap your still red lips around it and let out the most sinful sound he’s ever heard. 

Worth it. 

You take his fork and serve up a slightly larger piece and do your best to lean as he meets you halfway. His eyes nearly roll into the back of his head when he takes a bite. 

Without thinking you reach across with your finger. “You’ve got.” And swipe the cream from the corner of his lip. Boldly licking the remnants as you watch something flash in his eyes. 

“Frankie. I don’t know how you’re gonna top this.” 

He watches you take another bite. “Oh I’m sure I can think of a few things.” He finally managed to say after he composed himself. “In fact, if you’re not afraid of heights I definitely have some ideas.” 

You sit back and clutch your chest. “Oh I would love to meet Lucy.” 

He chuckles as he looks at you and wonders where the hell you’ve been hiding. 

****

Santiago of course waited until you were finished to get your opinion and say his goodbyes. Frankie suggested you walk in the small park across from the restaurant. With a little push from Santi, the name he preferred you call him since Santiago was my father as he put it. 

It was a short walk to the park. 

You and Frankie strolled along the winding path encircling a small pond. The sun was already set but the sky still had those remnants of dusty pink and purple as the last rays bounced off the surface of the water. 

You love the way he instinctively takes your hand and he thinks it’s almost too perfect the way it fits in his. Like they had been designed for each other. The both of you walk in a comfortable silence exchanging glances as you stare at his profile and laugh to yourself. 

“Something funny hermosa?” 

“You never told me about the nickname.” You say matter of factly and he just sighs. 

Instinctually rubbing his hands along his jaw as he stops walking and you face him. “It’s better now but. I couldn’t grow a beard to save my life.” You laugh and he crowds your space. “The guys said I had whiskers like a catfish.” 

He raises his eyebrows as you hide your smile behind your hand. “I like it.” You say softly as you reach out, grazing your finger over the small spaces still missing some hair. His eyes close for just a moment and he leans into your touch. 

He’s so close you can feel his breath fan across your face and it would be so perfect if he just-

“You wouldn’t happen to have Andy in your bag by chance?” 

It takes you a moment to register what he’s said instead of kissing you. 

“What? I mean yes…um ya I do. Why?” Sounding more flustered than you want as he places his hands on your shoulders and slowly turns you around. 

You stifle a gasp as you see a man across the pond getting down on one knee and the camera is out of your bag before you can blink. 

You can see the woman as she covers her mouth in shock. Her excited squeals echoing over the water and it couldn’t be a more perfect backdrop. 

Frankie’s hands haven’t left you as his thumbs rub circles on your shoulder and he steals peaks of the photos when you take a moment to make sure the shots are just right. Adjusting the zoom on a few and grateful you don’t need the flash with just enough natural light left over.

Frankie watches you work and he’s just in awe of how you can capture the moment so well. You’re quiet and methodical in your approach and the juxtaposition of you moments ago makes his head spin. It’s like when he’s flying and everything else just shuts off around him and he can only focus on the controls and the shifts. 

He watches as the couple embraces and for the first time he thinks that’s something he wants. He’d spent so much time with his ex and that thought never once crossed his mind. 

“We should head over before they leave so I can show them.” It’s all rushed out in a hurry as you grab his hand and pull him along the path. 

He can’t help but laugh at your pure joy as you turn to look at him over your shoulder. 

He hangs back a little as you show the couple the photos. Your hands animatedly flailing to match the woman’s as she jumps up and down. The man looks over to him briefly and Frankie flashes him a thumbs up in congratulations. A man not much younger than him and he has his whole life to look forward to with this woman. 

****

“Oh my god, she thought he hired me.” Your voice comes out louder than you expected. As he glances over to you in the passenger seat looking through the photos. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. 

He clears his throat but keeps his eyes on the road. “I love watching you work.” 

“It doesn’t feel like work for moments like that.” 

“Hmm…ya I know what you mean.” 

His free hand resting on your thigh, you don’t think he’s gone the entire night without touching you and you don’t mind at all. He’s so grounding in a way you’ve never experienced before. 

The soft glow of the street lights are filtering in through the window as he pulls into your parking lot. That familiar tension is starting to settle into your chest at the thought of saying goodbye or at the prospect of Frankie being disappointed that you’re not quite ready for that next step. 

Frankie notices you’ve gone quiet in the seat next to him as he puts the truck in park. “Everything okay hermosa?” Suddenly feeling a little apprehensive. 

“Oh ya it’s fine…everything is fine.” He could tell by your tone it was most certainly not and he was starting to wonder if he’d done something to make you uncomfortable. 

He turns towards you, his hand resting on the seat next to you now. “I had a really great time tonight.” Frankie says, his voice steady and sincere. 

Your cheeks grow hot as you avoid his intense gaze. “Me too. It’s been…really nice.”

There’s a brief pause and you can feel that unspoken question lingering in the air. You’re fidgeting with the hem of your dress trying to gauge his reaction. “So,um, would you like to come up for coffee or something?” You asked, your voice wavering slightly. 

Frankie’s expression softened as the realization set in. “You don’t have to invite me up if you’re not ready. I want you to feel comfortable.” He takes your hand again forcing you to meet his deep brown eyes. “Just because we had a great dinner doesn’t mean you owe me anything. Or anyone for that matter.”

You exhale a sigh of relief. “Are you sure? Frankie…I really like you, but it feels too soon.” You turn to look away but he gently grabs your chin. 

“Of course I’m sure. We can take things at your pace.” 

Your pace

His eyes flit to your lips briefly as he retreats his hand. You stop him and grab his wrist hoping you didn’t send the wrong message. Your heart flutters as he leans in and you meet him halfway. Your lips meet in a tender kiss. You could taste the sweet remnants of dessert and the warmth of his breath. It’s intoxicating as his hands drift to your waist and despite the awkward angle you find yourself impossibly closer to him. 

Frankie has never felt like this before. Your hands drift to his hair and a deep growl erupts from his chest and he’s starting to question what your pace is as the kiss starts to get intense. It’s one of those kisses that has him questioning every one that came before you. 

You break apart for a second and rest your forehead on his trying to catch your breath. You had to remind yourself for what felt like the hundredth time, that you needed to be patient.

“How about I walk you upstairs? Just to make sure you get there safely.” 

All you can manage is a nod. “That would be nice. Thank you.” 

You both exited the car in silence. Your fingers brushing occasionally, sending small sparks through you. When you finally make it to your door he turns you to face him. His hands around the back of your neck as he leans in for one more kiss. This one much softer as the last still lingers on your lips. 

“Tonight was really special.” His voice full of gratitude. 

“Thank you Frankie.” You whisper against his lips, unable to pull away. “I had a great time.”

“Me too.” He says pulling back slightly, but keeping his hands on you. “I’ll call you soon okay?” 

If he doesn’t leave now he probably never will.

“Okay.” You laugh breathlessly as you wipe the evidence of lipstick from his face.

You have to let him go or you’ll end up eating your words and inviting him in. He’s backing away slowly as you turn to open your door. You can feel him watching you as you close the door behind you and lean against it, finally letting the breath out of your lungs. 

You can feel your phone buzzing in your purse. 

Glancing down to see Frankie’s name light up on the screen. 

“Have you even left the parking lot?” You hear his heavy breathing and a huff of laughter. 

“I told you I'd call you soon.” He teased as the sound of his truck door closing echoes in your ear. 

“A man of his word.” You reply as you walk through your apartment stripping yourself of your shoes and untying your dress. 

“So…what are you doing?” A hint of mischief in his voice. 

“Frankie.” 

“I’m just kidding.” He pauses briefly as you hear the truck roar to life wishing you were still sitting passenger. “If you’re free this Friday-“

“I am!” You hold the phone away cursing under your breath for sounding so eager. 

“Good, it’s a date.” 

You hang up and take in your reflection in the bathroom mirror. Your lips stained a pretty hue of pink now that the red has been kissed off. Your fingers brush them slightly and you know that Francisco Morales has your heart in his hands. 

Hopefully for your sake he treats it with care. 

Prev/Next

Taglist- @sawymredfox @morallyinept @ak-vintage @romanarose @avastrasposts

@lizzie-cakes @yopossum @sirendyes

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

[asarigg]

Body for Sale: a second reading of a disturbing past (csa)

Well, this part of the essay is the one where I imply a possible sexual assault towards Koujaku when he was a teenager, but since I was hesitant at first of talking more about it because I didn't want to be insensitive I made it shorter than originally intended. I was encouraged to expand a little bit on it, so I edited it. Since the post is already kinda long, I thought of doing a separate post for those interested. Please don't hesitate to correct me if you deem it needed.

I’ve sometimes wondered if there was some sort of sexual abuse on Ryuuhou’s part towards Koujaku. Nothing is implied canonically, at least physically, but the erotic connotations of the story of the tattoo artist he’s based on, the sadism, the drugging in order to do something non-consensually, and his constant references to love make me think of it happening on a symbolic level. I think it’s obvious that Ryuuhou loves Koujaku, in his own way, as his creation, and he’s talking about love at first sight and the similarity of love and hate. Besides, the way Koujaku acts can be easily associated with it.

Even though he appears to be charming and flirty, he actually has a very low self-esteem, seeing himself as worthless, dirty, and constantly self-blaming for what happened. His tattoo being his shame and filth, something he doesn’t want to taint Aoba with, works just as an allegory of victims so commonly feeling guilty and dirty (causing them to shower more regularly than before in an attempt to wash it away). He shows unconformity when Aoba wants to touch him in bed (something that with time and the support of a loved one gets a little better), and when he tries to touch and wash away his dirt, his shame, his tattoo, Koujaku jumps at contact, which could also be interpreted as having a flashback as part of his ptsd.

All the anger he feels inside could also be part of the consequences. And he mostly shows his hatred towards Ryuuhou, even though his father is supposedly still alive and was the one who did the most damage to them, especially his mother, whom he cared about the most. At the end of the day Ryuuhou “just” did the tattoo and his father has been treating them like that for years. So why does he tunnel all his rage only to him? Budget and time limit reasons? Maybe, but in this essay we’re not taking that. Obviously Ryuuhou was the one that made him lose it, torturing him ever since the beginning only to anger him, ultimately causing the death of his mother. Maybe he was too used to see his father being aggressive with them, something to be expected, kind of like how it's established that men are more violence driven and women are emotion driven. But it can also be read as the response Koujaku had to a possible abuse. Physical punishment was to be expected, but sexual abuse?

Ryuuhou took advantage of his situation, to stop him from resisting he could always use his mother. We’ve already seen Ryuuhou being referenced as male and Koujaku as the female counterpart, being lovers and enemies at the same time, with the female being associated with the powerless, abused victim, submissive, and being controlled by the male, as disgusting as it sounds. Ever since he was tattooed his body did not belong to him anymore, Ryuuhou made sure to mark his body and mind so that he could never forget him. He could have found refuge in his religious practices as well.

There’s always stigma around these cases, and the stigma around male victims makes it especially harder for them to speak about what happened to them. That sense of powerlessness, of losing control, of being less of a man, causing them having trouble with their identity, all of it is wrapped in toxic masculinity. And all of this is seen in Koujaku. He keeps all his feelings for himself, feeling distant from other people and engaging in a lonely way of life.

There are people that report having trouble with their relationships with others not only because of the trauma that happened to them, but also out of fear of doing that very same thing to someone else.

This traumatic event usually makes victims apprehensive of any sexual activity, but there’s a considerable large number of victims that, opposite to this, develop hypersexuality. His sexual life is more important to Koujaku's character than it may seem at first (like it's just a quirk of him), he sees his body as a tool for the pleasure of others, meanwhile his own pleasure is not important. He developed an unhealthy way of interacting with others, therefore he developed unhealthy sexual practices. This view of him being sort of a prostitute isn’t so far away. Flame Willow, the part of Platinum Jail they end in, pretty much looks like a red light district. It’s introduced as a place for “passionate folks to get their thrills”, an euphemism. Not only it looks visually similar to a red light district, but the name of this area also directly references the red light district: Yoshiwara. This district had a willow tree at the entrance, which grew popular because clients would look back to it when they left. The "Flame" talks about the two great fires the district suffered, one in 1657, which made it change its location, and one in 1913, which almost destroyed it completely.

He also smokes and drinks, which are not talked about a lot as an addiction to cope with his pain. In the Drama CD though they do talk about it as a way to escape the stress he’s facing because of the Tamaokuri, so we can assume that he uses these two and possibly developed an addiction, wanting to drink until blacking out to forget for a moment.

Even if the sexual abuse didn’t happen canonically, the metaphor is as close as it can be, so it’s in your hands how you want to see it. Even if it’s hard to talk about something like this, I really like how this was built, because something that isn’t sexual abuse (at least canonically, and I wonder if the allegory was intentional or not) actually feels like it, something that changed a person’s entire life, his perception of himself and the people he interacts with, an event with an actual weight, something I missed from literally any actual SA scene that we got in the rest of the game.

[superluver]

how about fake dating with satoru gone wrong 👀 (they fall for each other)

Do you see what you do to me? G.S.

Pairing: Gojo Satorux Fem!Reader

wc: 3271 | cw: gojo has dimples, CURSING, fluff, angst if you squint, overthinking, Gojo is TOUCHYY, FEM!READER, cuddling, Gojo being a gentlemen?!, SLIGHTLY SUGGESTIVE

Description: Gojo is attending a month long ceremony, and as a single head, the higher-ups would do anything to pair him up with a powerful sorceress. Gojo invites you to go with him, as his lover.

Im sorry, who ever requested this if this isnt what you were looking for you can request me again and i'll fix it, @teaaleefs thank you again for helping w the story

“You want me to what?” You gape at the man who is kneeling on the ground before you. His eyes bandaged with a pouty lip to make up for the lack of eye contact.

“Please, (Y/N)?!” He begs, grabbing on your pant leg, tugging at you relentlessly. “DAMN IT GOJO,”

“Satoru,” he corrects, but your eyes are ablaze with anger. “You’re gonna tear up my pants again! This is my last pair—!”

He ignores your complaint, continuing to tug hard at the cloth. Your arms are holding down on the stretched fabric, and you pray it’s enough.

Gojo has a tendency to pull on your leg— literally— every time he wants you to do something for him.

“Please! Pleasepleasepleaseplease,”

You groan in annoyance, eyebrows furrowed as your arms pull away from your pants. Instead, your hands slam onto the arm rests of your chair. “FINE— Yes, fine I will help you! Just let go—”

Rip

The two of you stare at the damage he had caused, your face emotionless.

“Oopsie?”

“Gojo, get out before I change my mind.”

He stands up quickly, saluting you before walking off. “Roger.”

You slump back into your seat with a sigh, rubbing the corners of your eyes.

What did you just get yourself into?

It’s a major event, a gala if you will, for the 3 Big Clans. Festivities for a consecutive month. And Gojo— Satoru, Satoru has no doubt that the higher ups are going to try and set him up with a powerful sorceress.

That’s where you come in.

For this entire month, you will be treated as the Gojo clan head’s lover. And it’s a big responsibility at that. Not only must you demonstrate your ability and your worthiness, the higher ups may begin to throw jobs at you left and right in order to see you falter.

It’s shameful to see the lady of the house falter at a trivial matter.

On the day of, the two of you were wearing extremely formal wear. Kimono’s in plain colors of blue and white; matching. Unconsciously you squeeze his hand for some form of comfort, protection, even.

You feel his gaze on you, your eyes meeting his crystal colored ones. His gaze is conceited, eyebrows raised, shit-eating grin… that fucker was annoying.

“G—Satoru,” you call out his name, casting him a seemingly polite closed eyed smile, your lips pressed together. It was clear you were agitated— if anyone knew better that is.

And there was only one person who knew better, and that person would be Go— SATORU. Please! Get used to his name.

“Hm?” He hums almost snarkily. His eyes are still on you, but not on your face anymore.

Just you.

Taking in the ornaments adorning you, his eyes wandered over you. Over the kanzashi in your hair, the diamonds dangling from the ends of it.

As well as the strong, yet elegant, steps you took in your zori sandals. All that before finally settling on your fierce gaze. But you didn’t know that he was, well— checking you out.

His gaze seemed gentler, softer than it normally is, but to you it seemed like he was nitpicking you with his eyes; tearing you apart with every individual scan he made of your body.

And at that moment, you had never felt so bare in your life. The most cloth you had ever worn, wrapped around your body, yet he still had the talent to make it feel as though you wore none.

“You look beautiful,” he muttered under his breath, snapping you out of your trance. You stare at him, confused with his words.

He’s smiling at you and you can see a dimple— which you never knew he had— cratering his cheek.

‘How adorable,’

“Thank you,” you mumbled in reply, feeling a little shy at the sudden compliment.

His eyes still linger on you, burning your skin.

“ENTERING, GOJO CLAN.” Someone shouts followed by a loud drum.

Satoru, being Satoru, snorted loudly as the doors opened. He was never one for old fashioned traditions. You clenched his hand, and to your surprise he squeezed back, smiling brightly at you as the large doors creaked open.

It was assumed Gojo would go alone like he did every year. So imagine the surprise on the elder’s and higher-ups' faces when you showed up, holding the young Gojo’s hand.

Your head was strongly held up, eyes blinking softly. Every time he glanced at you, he was reminded of a fairy from a story his nanny would tell him as a child.

“You’re staring, Gojo.” You say through clenched teeth, smiling at the elders.

“Yeah, I know.” He smiles back at you as he heads to the Gojo head’s seat. Normally, there would be two seats, one for the Lady and the Head. But, since Gojo always attended alone, they had left one seat.

Your face grew warm with embarrassment, having realized you would need to stand up at the table. You knew he would be the one sitting down so,

“Oh no, this won’t do.” He waves you over, hands on your shoulder as he guides you to his seat, pushing you down. The elder’s gape at his actions.

The lady sitting at the head’s seat? It’s uncalled for!

His hand slides down your arm, grabbing ahold of your hand. He pulls it up, placing a lingering kiss to your palm, his blue uncovered eyes staring back at you. “Anything for my lady,” he confesses, and you begin to stammer.

“G-go—”

“Satoru,” he whispers back, your palm still covering his mouth.

Eyes half-lidded, anyone would think he was in love with you.

Then, you feel wet. Your hand… was wet?

HE LICKED YOU?!

You feel the need to scream, but in order to keep your image you tug your hand back, wiping it on his own kimono rather than your own. He laughs in response, trying to dodge your currently slobbery hand.

Your eyebrows are furrowed, hand still extended trying to wipe it.

Finally, you get it on him, wiping your hand off of his drool.

“Ahem!”

Your head turns creakily to the voice that commanded your attention. A very wrinkly man, fist to his mouth.

You sweat, adjusting yourself in the very comfortable seat. Satoru has your hand in his own, his thumb rubbing circles on the backside of your palm.

You truly seemed like a couple in other people’s eyes. Satoru, a normally childish person, allowing his lover his seat. Something he probably would never do for anyone.

The old man reads some scriptures from the beginning of time, and you find yourself dozing off, blinking slowly.

Suddenly, his mouth nears your ear, bringing you to shiver at his hot breath hitting your neck and ear. “Don’t fall asleep now,” he teases.

You flutter your eyes at him, raising an eyebrow with pressed lips.

He smiles, and you smile back this time. With infinity being off, you never knew he could be so warm.

When you look at him, he seems like he’d be cold. Body temperature lower than the norm, but it’s surprisingly quite the opposite.

His hands are warm, radiating with heat. You wonder if even on the coldest days he would stay warm.

“I should be telling you that,” you whisper back, smirking at him. He, with raised eyebrows, steps closer to you before seating himself on the minimal space left on his your chair. When he realizes that the two of you won’t fit, he lifts you up, placing you on his lap. His arms wrap around you, securing you so you don’t run off. You squirm in his hold, but he tightens his grip.

His voice goes an octave lower, and into your ear he whispers. “I wouldn't do that if I were you..”

It was almost like a groan the way he said it, and it took two and two to put it together.

You stiffen, almost becoming statue-like as he chuckles into your shoulder, batting his long white eyelashes at you.

“You’re sick.” You spat.

“Just playing the part, sweetheart— hey! That rhymed!”

The elder finishes the scriptures, and that’s when it's time for sorcerers all alike to converse and meet heads of different clans. Though, for being a small percent of the population, there sure were a lot of people here.

“Okay sweetcheeks, time to get up.” He laughs loudly, lifting you up with him as he stands. His arms still wrapped around your waist, forearms in your armpits holding you up. Your feet grazing the ground.

“Let me go!” You swing and wriggle in his grasp, and he laughs manically, setting you down.

“Remember,” he tells you while you brush yourself off, straightening your kimono with an annoyed expression. “I’m Satoru to you— come up with a nickname if worst comes to worst.”

“Got it.” You say with clenched teeth, walking off towards the crowd of people. Satoru trailing closely behind, which gathers unnecessary attention.

“Why are you following me?!” You whisper-shout, and he grabs your wrist, tapping his finger on his cheek motioning for something. He stands with a minor slouch, as if he is leaning for something.. for you.

“What?” You ask, and he says nothing, continuing to tap on his cheek.

Your eyes go wide when you realize what he wants.

A kiss.

Unable to fight or deny out in the open you bite your tongue, pressing your plush lips to his pale cheek. He smirks, pulling your face closer, his pointy nose hitting yours. You can smell the dessert on his breath.

“One more?”

With a roll of your eyes, you bring your free hand up to his face and flick his forehead. While he’s busy rubbing his head in agony, you yank your wrist back, stomping off and away from the man.

“(Y/N)!!!” He calls your name, which sounds distant as you immerse tourself in the crowd of people.

Many woman and younger men stare at you bashfully, few tilting their head with respect as you step through. Their faces reddened at the scene of the strongest sorcerer bowing down to a measly woman.

The thought threw the higher-ups into a fit.

They had to get rid of you.

“How did you guys meet?” A woman asks you, a warm tea cup in your hand. You’re sipping it slowly, eyes scanning the room as you remenise back to the time when you first encountered Gojo Satoru.

“I met Gojo at the Jujutsu Tech,” you confess, and the woman stares at you with a raised eyebrow. “Gojo? Wouldn’t you call him as his first name.”

Caught red handed, and it hadn’t even been a day.

“O-oh! Yeah, Satoru. It’s a long story, of course I call him Satoru.”

She squints at you, then going into a face of shock. She’s not looking at you anymlre, now at the person who looms behind you. “Havin’ a party without me?” He jokes, swinging an arm around your shoulder.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” he waves her up, almost commanding her to move closer. The woman does as she’s told, hesitantly moving her head closer.

“I like when she calls me that in bed.”

You gape, she gasps, he grins.

Her face is cherry red, now unable to look you or Gojo in the eye. And with a bow, she steps away.

“Wow,” he breathes out, taking your cup from you and placing it on the table, continuing as he does this action. “Couldn’t even hold out for a day.”

“I'm sorry, old habits die hard.”

“Wow, are you like 50?”

You deadpan, slapping his chest with the palm of your hand.

“We’re gonna have to have one on one training.” He whispers into your ear, then blowing air into the canal. You slap a hand over it, glaring at him. He doesn’t seem to care, casting you his childish grin.

You feel your heart flutter, eyes widening at him. Those dimples again.

Your hand trails up his face, thumbs pressing into the dents in his cheeks. “You’ve got some cute dimples there big shot.” It was meant to be teasing, but you couldn’t help but truthfully mean what you said. They made him so much more attractive.

Everyone knows Satoru Gojo is an attractive man. Hell, even Utahime confessed he was good-looking.

It’s just a fact.

“Why thank you,” he smirks, tapping his head onto yours. “You seem tired, let's get you to bed, yeah?”

With a hand on the small of your back, he leads you out of the gathering. Everything felt too natural with him, and you find yourself doubting.

‘He’s probably been with many women..’

For the first time this night, you find your head hanging low, lips pouty.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

“Whatever do you mean?” You snakily reply.

“You’re all… pouty.”

You raise an eyebrow and meet his eyes, though you say nothing as you stare at him. “I’m just tired,” And that wasn’t a lie. It was a partial truth!

He blinks at you, squinting before shrugging.

“Well, if you say so.”

He said that in a knowing tone, as though he knew you were lying. He probably did, cursed energy had a tendency to vibrate and move in uncertain ways when someone is nervous, and with his six eyes, he’s practically a walking lie detector.

He takes you to the hotel you would be staying at, walking to the room only to find there was only one bed.

“Ah.”

“Gojo, why is there only one bed?” You ask groggily, pointing at the large king size bed.

He shrugs, almost clueless and as confused as you, he responds, “I have no clue. Maybe there was a mix up?” (He does very much does have a clue, he was the one that reserved the single bed).

“No, I guess it's alright. It is a pretty big bed, just dont touch me.” You tell him sharply, waving your finger at him.

He pouts, crossing his arms. “I can't make any promises, sweetheart.”

You click your tongue, grabbing your pajamas and undergarments and storming off to the bathroom.

He watches you silently enter the bathroom, and when you come out a while later.

Hair damp, a towel around your neck catching the moisture. Your lips parted, eyes closed... a satisfied expression.

He finds himself staring at you, and YOU catch him.

“Gojo? The shower is ready.” You tell him, placing the towel in a bin the room service provided. He blinks before he scrambles off the bed, dashing into the bathroom.

“Hm, I feel like im forgetting—”

A loud, high pitched scream erupts from Satoru. Soon after the bathroom door slams open, Satoru holding up your underwear with it hooked around his finger.

“You, uh— probably want this back.”

If you could die right now, you would.

Quickly, you snatch it away. Face as warm as you feel. Unable to meet his uncovered eyes, you stare down, “Y-yeah, thanks.”

He’s still standing in front of you, and you finally glance up. Blue hues stare into your own. He makes the prettiest eyes boring compared to his own.

“You should go shower,” you tell him, and he nods slowly, turning to enter the bathroom once more.

You dispose of the dirty clothes, placing them in the bin before making yourself comfortable on the right side of the bed.

“Oh no. I’m on the right, you’re the left.” He tells you once he comes back, pointing at you and the empty side of the bed.

You already started dozing off, you don’t open your eyes. Instead, you sink further into your pillow, “Too bad,” You mutter.

He grumbles, glancing left and right before sighing. You expect him to give up from the tone of that sigh, but what you DONT expect is for him to jump on you, full weight on your body.

“GOJO!” You screech, squirming away and trying to push him off.

“No.” Is the only word that comes out of his mouth.

“Offffff…! Off, off, off, off, offf!” You groan, pushing and hitting him with your palms.

He smiles into the sheets and you, his arms wrapping around you.

“Good night..”

“SATORU!” You scream, rolling away from his grip to the left, leaving him to the right. He sighs, slipping into the sheets before reaching his arms out once more, dragging you over to him.

Your back pressed on his chest, his arms wrappung around you. “Satoru, what are you doing?"

“Sleeping.”

You sigh, grumbling but not moving away. You liked this.. Not like you would ever admit it though.

His nose is buried in your hair, so much so that he can smell your shampoo. It’s nostalgic from your highschool days, when he first saw you pass by him, that same smell was much stronger than now.

It was like getting a whiff of roses, so refreshing the smell was. The smell would linger for long, and there would be days where he would pause in the hallway, taking deep inhales of your scent.

Now, it’s died down. Very faint, but still there. He doesn't even remember strengthening his hold around your waist, his head sinking further into your hair, spooning you.

Your body was swallowed in his much larger one, it was almost funny how much of a giant he was.

Like he was meant to be someone big in this world.

You’re a nobody, only given an opportunity to spend your days with this man before again going your separate ways.

So you'll take this in as much as you can. Allowing yourself to relax in the grip of the strongest, because he wasn't yours. However you can't say that you aren't his; your heart has been his for a long time.

You wonder if he can feel the thumping of your heart. It's worrisome. A tell-tale sign you’re nervous.

You can only sigh, not remembering when or how, but you begin to finally doze off.

Gojo, on the other hand, is not fully awake but awake enough to be aware of his surroundings. His lips end up curving slightly. Much to your dismay, he can in fact hear the erratic pumping of your heart.

He has to hold back his laugh, ‘you’re nervous,’ he thinks, his eyes half-lidded slits. Blue hues peering at the side of your face through your hair.

You don’t even know what you do to him. The way he keeps this façade, but in reality, his heart’s pounding through his chest and ready to burst. It’s giving him away too.

‘Can you really not feel it?’ He wonders, eyes shutting once more.

Since highschool, ever since you passed by him with that smell of flowers on a spring day, you’ve had him wrapped around your finger.

He’s yours, and he’s trying to let you know that he’s always been yours.

“I love you,” he whispers, before succumbing to his own exhaustion.

Little did he know, you weren’t all that asleep.

In the dark, your eyes went wide, and breathing halted. If you started breathing, you think you would gove away the fact that you weren't truly asleep.

Your face grew warm, and through that look of shock, a smile settled on your lips. Your hands finding his own— which are wrapped around your waist— you squeeze them.

It was your way of letting him know, ‘Me too, I love you too,’ without using your words.

And finally, your slumber comes too. Another couple days of acting as Gojo’s lover, might as well make the most of it.

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 52: The Maestro's Correction

Prev > Masterlist > Next

tw: mind control, body control, burns, hand whump, whipping, blindness, abuse, blood drinking

October 1925

Alexander stood and bowed low as the Maestro entered the music room, trailed by Oliver in eerily perfect synchronization. "Good evening, sire. I hope you are well."

"I also hope I am well. That depends largely on your hospitality, I'm afraid," he said. "Let us begin by examining your new acquisition in more detail."

"Certainly, sire."

No, no, no -- it took all of Oliver's self-control to not fight as the Maestro sat down on the padded bench and forced him into a submissive kneel. The hook and eye on his dress was undone, and Oliver's dread rose. What did he mean by examining in more detail…?

It was somewhat of a relief when those stony eyes focused on the brand on his chest. "Slipshod. The edges are clearly uneven. The symbol will hardly be readable." The Maestro looked up. "It's obviously your work, Alexander. If you had coerced Lily into fulfilling your obligation, as you were no doubt tempted to do, it wouldn't be in such a sorry state."

"Yes, sire."

"Your thrall is permanently marred, the results of your task an abject disappointment, and all you have to say in response is 'yes, sire'," said the Maestro, his tone like a knife pressed against Alexander's neck. "When I attended the ballet, your thrall informed me that you are allowing him a great deal of freedom, as well, are you not?"

"Yes, sire."

Oliver couldn't turn around, but he could hear the despondence in Alexander's voice. This had been his fault, hadn't it? He should have covered for his master. But Alexander had warned him in no uncertain terms to be honest. What was the correct action? Was there even a correct action?

"Because your thrall is otherwise so obedient, I feel inclined to only impose a light punishment this time."

"Thank you, sire."

The Maestro indicated a fat candle sitting on the end table, its flames providing the only cheer and warmth in the room. "Place your hand in the candle's flame until I am satisifed."

"Yes, sire."

"No!" The choked cry came from Oliver's mouth before he could stop himself. He wrenched his head out of the Maestro's grasp just enough to see Alexander's shock, his hand hovering dangerously near the flames.

"Oh?" Oliver's head was snapped back to look in the Maestro's eyes, filled with a cold fury. "You disagree with my judgement?"

"No, no, sir, I don't --"

The Maestro slapped him across the face hard. "You disagree with my judgement and then you lie to compound it," he said, rage in every note of his musical voice. "You do this out of loyalty, no doubt. My misguided children seek companionship among humankind, and value loyalty over obedience. A flaw I have not yet burned out of them."

Oliver trembled as the Maestro took his right hand. The vampire's hands were colder than ice and smooth as porcelain. He ran his finger's down Oliver's palm in a way that might have been tender in other circumstances. "Do you play any instruments, child?"

He was thinking of burning Oliver's hands, wasn't he? Oliver desperately wished he could answer yes to that question, in the hopes that he would be spared, but the blossoming bruise on his cheek warned him otherwise. "No, sir."

"Are you clever with your hands?"

Oliver thought back to the many evenings he'd spent repairing the bindings of antique books and mending his worn clothes. "I believe so, sir."

"I see." The Maestro turned over Oliver's hands in his own. "Human hands can be permanently damaged. A shame, truly. Mutilating your hands before you've been given the opportunity to prove yourself useful would be a waste at this time, as would any corrective action that spills excessive blood."

Oliver wasn't sure if he should be relieved by that. "…Thank you, sir?"

"You have an obedient soul. I'm not wrong about such matters," said the Maestro. "It is your master's lack of discipline that is to blame for your insubordination. Therefore, I will not punish you."

"You won't, sir?" Oliver would have found this mercy difficult to believe even if he didn't notice Alexander tensing.

"You don't want to watch your master's punishment, do you?"

"No, sir."

"Then look into my eyes, child. Deep, deep into my eyes."

He didn't have a choice, as the Maestro's power drew his gaze upwards and locked it there before he fully realized what was happening.

"Deeper. Lose yourself."

There was a disconcerted ticking noise in Oliver's head, as though his ear were pressed to a clock, and he realized in terror that he was being enthralled, the power like chains wrapping around his mind. Despite Alexander's many warnings and his own resolve to be obedient and avoid trouble, Oliver couldn't help the urge to pull against it. It was bad enough to have to give over his body. The idea of this cruel vampire invading his mind was too much to bear.

But it was already too late. Oliver was already trapped in his eyes. As the ticking of the clock gradually slowed like a mechanical toy winding down, his thoughts slowed too, his vision engulfed by the cold oblivion of the Maestro's gaze.

"Close your eyes down. Tight. As tight as they can."

"Yes, sir." Oliver's eyes obediently shut, sparing him the weight of that gaze, but doing nothing to free his mind.

"I am placing lead weights on each one. Weights that are far too heavy to allow you to open your eyes on your own." A cold finger tapped each of Oliver's eyelids. "Only I can move these weights. You will not open your eyes again until I allow it."

"Yes, sir."

"Wake."

That crisp snap sounded next to Oliver's ear, and he felt the chains on his mind lift, but he did not open his eyes. Could not. Oliver couldn't help but be confused. The Maestro had full control of his body. Why go through the trouble just to make him shut his eyes?

There was one obvious, awful possibility: because he did not intend for Oliver to open his eyes ever again.

"Now that that's settled, you may take your punishment, Alexander," the Maestro said.

Oliver was forced back into a kneeling position and the Maestro placed one hand atop his head. He heard several steps across the wood floor, and then absolute silence.

Was his master actually burning his hand in the candle's flame? There was no sound at all, no cries of pain from Alexander, not even the sound of breathing. The only thing tethering Oliver to the world was that hand on top of his head. As much as Oliver would hate to see or hear his master in pain, the deathly silence and darkness and suspense made it so much worse.

And just as Oliver thought he couldn't take it any more, he smelled what he desperately hoped was not the scent of charred flesh. His spirit cried out to do something, anything, to help his master, but blinded and bound as he was, there was nothing he could do.

"Enough," said the Maestro, after what seemed like an eternity. "I grow weary of watching you disappoint me. Alexander, play."

Play? Alexander's sire couldn't possibly expect him to play an instrument with a ruined hand. Yet Oliver could hear Alexander sit down at the piano bench and begin to play a piece which obviously involved a great deal of intricate fingerwork. Perhaps his hand was not that damaged after all -- but the smell in the air said otherwise.

He didn't have long to sit and enjoy the music (as much as he could under the circumstances) because the Maestro stood and pulled Oliver up, leading him in a dance. Oliver couldn't see and didn't know the steps, but he didn't have to, as his body was once again puppeted without his input, gliding across the room with a grace that was not his own, his trembling hand trapped in that cold porcelain grasp.

"One," intoned the Maestro. "Two." Several beats of music. "Three."

Oliver didn't know what it meant. Swirling around the music room with his eyes shut tight, his anxiety was reaching a fever pitch, making it difficult for him to relax enough to allow his body to sink into the control.

"Four. Five."

He was counting the mistakes, Oliver realized. Every moment his concentration broke, his body was fighting just the smallest bit against the unwanted intrusion. Each time that happened, he would slightly miss a step, or pull against the Maestro's grip.

"Eleven. Twelve."

He couldn't focus. He couldn't follow. He couldn't stop his treacherous body from rebelling against being made the plaything of the implacable vampire in front of him. And the number was climbing.

"Twenty-two." The Maestro released his grip on Oliver, who reeled backwards. "You may stop now, Alexander. Do you see now what I was talking about? He has obedience, but lacks discipline."

"Yes, sire." Alexander sounded as dead inside as he was metaphysically.

"Try not to spill blood unnecessarily when you administer the punishment. I finally find myself with an appetite."

"Yes, sire."

Oliver didn't have to wait long to know what the punishment was. Once more, he was kneeling, and he felt a sharp blow from a thin implement sting his back. It was followed by another, and another, and although Oliver was being kept from movement, he couldn't help but cry. The anticipation of each blow was as bad as the pain, and his back felt like it was on fire.

"That's twenty-two, sire."

"Your hand was light," said the Maestro. "No matter. You had three mistakes in your playing."

He heard Alexander kneeling beside him. The blows the Maestro delivered to Alexander's back rang out through the music room, unmistakable.

"Now that that unfortunate business has been taken care of," said the Maestro as casually as though he'd been discussing an unpleasant chore, "I will take my meal."

Oliver felt every muscle in his body tense, despite the control holding him. It was wrong, wrong, wrong for anyone but his master to drink his blood, but everything about this evening had been wrong.

And it was made even worse by the fact that Oliver couldn't see what the Maestro was doing, when the bite was coming for him. All he could feel was a hand on his head and a thick vampiric aura enveloping his mind. It felt strangely empty. Not like desire or hunger or pleasure, like Oliver had always felt with his master. No, the Maestro's aura was purely about control and practicality, freezing him in position so that he could be fed from. Oliver couldn't even tilt his neck as he'd been trained.

At least a feeding wouldn't be so bad, compared to everything that had happened so far, Oliver reasoned. Miss Lily had instilled in him the craving to provide for a vampire, and the feedings he'd experienced so far had been pleasant, even euphoric. He'd been dreading it previously, but now it actually be a relief.

At least, it seemed like a relief until the Maestro's slender fangs sunk into the flesh of his neck.

Oliver gasped in surprise and pain. It hurt, agony radiating from the bite, and the sensation of teeth in his muscles was deeply violating, not to mention the uncomfortable suction of his blood being consumed. His world narrowed down to nothing but the awful, aching wound, his body spasming with the need to escape from the predator, frozen in place by unnatural means.

It hurt, of course it hurt. He should have known better than to think this might be a relief. Alexander always put him under a gentle spell of sleep and submission and pleasure as he fed, a spell that kept Oliver from feeling any of the pain that would naturally accompany his neck being bitten. Of course the Maestro would not do that, would instead relish his suffering.

As his master's sire drank his blood, his thoughts began to overpower Oliver's own, and he found…

Nothingness.

A pitch black sky with no stars or moon or clouds. An empty field devoid of life as far as the eye could see. A bitter chill sapping the strength and cheer from his very marrow.

Order. Solitude. Misery.

The inky sky rushed to meet him, to swallow him in oblivion, and Oliver thought he might be dying.

"Oliver?"

He was floating back up through the darkness, tethered by his master's voice.

"Oliver? Oliver, please wake up."

"I'm awake, sir," he said, trying to open his eyes and finding that he couldn't, the memories of what had transpired rushing back to him. He couldn't open his eyes at all, the imaginary lead weights keeping them firmly shut. He could tell that he was laid out on the padded bench, cradled gently in what he hoped was his master's arms. His back hurt and his cheek stung and the wound on his neck was intensely uncomfortable… but he was alive. "I can't…" he said, panic rising. "I can't open my eyes, sir. Is he still here? Is it over?"

"He's gone. He probably won't trouble us for some time," Alexander said. "You were brilliant, Oliver. A picture perfect thrall. I wish you didn't have to go through any of that, but you handled it all so well."

Praise from his master cut through some of Oliver's fear and pain. "Will I be able to open my eyes again, sir?"

"Yes, you will, I promise. Hypnotic commands usually fade away on their own if they're not reinforced."

"How long will that take, sir?" said Oliver. Despite the welcome reassurance that this wouldn't be forever, his mind was already filling with anxiety over how he would be able to live. How could he find his way around the expansive manor while blinded? How long would he have to go without reading?

"Well… my sire's very powerful, as I'm sure you know, and you're…"

"Weak, sir?"

"I wasn't going to say weak. You take to enthrallment very well, which has nothing to do with mental weakness, believe it or not. And it's a trait I find endearing, but unfortunately in this case it might be a problem. It could last a month, maybe more…"

Oliver's heart clenched at the idea of weeks in the dark. How could he even take care of himself? Would he be able to cook or bathe? Would he need his master to help him do all of those things? Would Alexander help him?

"…but don't worry!" said Alexander hastily, running a hand through Oliver's hair. "I'll take you to see Lily first thing tomorrow night. She can usually undo things like that, especially considering the grip she has on your mind already."

Oliver never thought he'd be so grateful for Miss Lily. "Thank you, sir. I hope it isn't too much trouble."

"It's no trouble at all. You endured all of this for me. Helping undo my sire's damage is the least I can do. Speaking of which, I've already bandaged your neck, but I should tend to the wounds on your back and make sure they aren't too serious. I could get some ice from the icebox for your face, as well."

"But what about your hand, sir? Did you actually…"

"Yes. It will heal on its own, and I can clean and bandage it later. You don't need to concern yourself with it. I wish to tend to you."

Blinded and in pain, Oliver couldn't bring himself to argue with that. "Thank you, sir."

"I can't easily undo my sire's work, but I can help ease your pain with my song. Would you like that?"

"Yes, very much, sir."

His master began to sing, and his voice was like a lifeline in the dark, soothing and relaxing him and making him feel like everything would be okay, even if it very much wasn't.

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Thanks for reading. Next week: happier days with Fitz.

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[averillaratargaryen]

‘The Bitter Bond.’

Chapter II

The dinner table had been gathered, as many guests had arrived, in order to greet the Princess Rhaenyra, and her children.

They had not seen the outside of Dragonstone in many years.

“She is beautiful, Princess” Corlys Velaryon praises Daerlyssa as they are sat afar, yet keeping a stern eye on their children.

“Isn’t she?” Viserys answered for his daughter, as he let out a soft chuckle, “I should hope she make a fine choice for Aegon one day.”

“You mean your drunken son, who is nowhere to be found?” Daemon muttered under his breath.

Rhaenyra had given him a slight nudge, not wishing for her father to face any embarrassment.

“From what I have heard, I believe you are bethroed?” Helaena asks as she shares glances across both Jacerys and Lucerys, before looking across to Daemon’s two daughters, Rhaena and Baela.

“They make a fine choice” Daerlyssa gives her support.

“It is easy for you to say sister. You haven’t got much pressure on you” Lucerys responds, before he leans in to whisper, “they keep an eye on our every move.”

“It is not a crime to wish to protect you” Daerlyssa responds.

“I- I am here!” Aegon calls out, after tripping into the dining room, having every murmur fall silent, all eyes laid on him.

“Where have you been?” Viserys asks.

“Ah- just some training, father” Aegon let out a small hiccup, leaning forward as he held the chair beside Jacerys, “I am not drunk, I am fine.”

“No one claimed you were, son” Otto sighed in defeat, as his grandson continued to make himself look unworthy of a position to be King.

“This is the fool you ought Daerlyssa to marry?” Daemon whispered to Rhaenyra.

“He is.. harmless” Rhaenyra looked away in cringe, at the sight of Aegon’s drunkness.

“Take a seat, Aegon. Do not stand there idly” Viserys spat out, a tinge of annoyance in his voice.

“Of course” Aegon nods, pulling back his chair before falling onto it, his body leaning against Jacerys.

Calmly, Jacerys manages to lift him off, and gently pushes him away, in order to have him seated straight.

“So, how are you finding the stay… nephews” Aegon let out another hiccup, as he looked toward both Jacerys and Lucerys.

“Absolutely perfect” Jacerys sighed in defeat.

Aegon nods, as he let out a hmm, his eyes slowly blinking as he tries to make the best of his situation.

“Brother, perhaps you’d wish to introduce yourself to Daerlyssa. Our niece” Helaena let out awkwardly.

“It is alright. No one really knows of me here, it is not a shame to be overlooked” Daerlyssa would rather have continued to stay unoticed, yet she understood Helaena’s reasons for introducing herself.

“Daerlyssa..” Aegon tilts his head as his eyes begin to squint slowly.

“Your grace” Daerlyssa smiled back, finding his stare quite uncomfortable.

“That is quite strange” Aegon whispered before he chuckled, “you are not a bastard.”

“Aegon!” Helaena shouted out in a lowered tone, to not be heard from those across them.

“It is alright. He is obviously.. far too drunk, to speak in a proper manner” Daerlyssa then looked toward her brothers, Lucerys who gave no interest in Aegon’s word, and Jacerys, who’s look could kill.

“Jacerys” Daerlyssa called out, to gain his attention away from Aegon.

He took a deep breath, composing himself, knowing what a pity it would be to fight a drunken man like Aegon.

Instead he played a smiled as he turned away, looking toward the others.

“Perhaps Aemond is a drunken fool too?” Daemon spoke in a lowered tone, toward his brothers ear.

Viserys turned his head to look over at him, confused by Daemon’s words.

“He is not here. I would not suppose he tumbles himself in with a stutter and the smell of wine on his breath?” Daemon responds.

“Aemond is not one to eat at the table with guests. I should like to keep it that way too, as much damage has been done tonight” Viserys responds, his hand reaching the cup of wine in front of him.

He took a large sip, in hopes of drowning his worries out, until his worries had made its way in, when Aemond walked through the doors.

“Aemond? I thought you would not come this evening” Alicent stood up as she watched him walk in.

“I could not miss out on such an opportunity to sit beside… our guests” Aemond responds.

“Your family, Aemond” Viserys corrects him.

“Right, family” Aemond turned to his niece and nephews, “my two dear nephews.. I do not see Joffrey about?”

He turned to face Rhaenyra.

“Joffrey is asleep” Rhaenyra responds.

Aemond nods, before turning back toward the children, his eyes meeting Daerlyssa’s.

He noticed the gulp that came from her, as her bottom lip trembled.

“Aemond” Alicent called out.

“I see our family have not learnt their place yet” Aemond began to make his way toward her.

Her eyes followed him, as he strides behind her, looking down at her, “you are in my seat.”

“I let her sit here, brother” Helaena answers, “we did not think you’d join us this evening.”

“And now I am here” Aemond responds.

“I apologise, your grace” Daerlyssa found herself frozen under his gaze, unsure as to whether she should get herself out his seat, or look at someone for help.

His stare was intriguing, which is what he found this situation given to be, as she continued to stay seated, in a seat he claimed was his.

She did not wish to look up, despite feeling his eyes stare down at him.

“Aemond” Alicent called out.

“I am waiting, Princess” Aemond ignored his mother’s worried call, his palm against the table as he leaned down to get a look at her.

Slowly averting her head up, their eyes meet.

Daerlyssa had no experience toward men, when it came to intimacy. She had only ever created one friendship, with Cregan Stark.

However they had only communicated through ravens. Not having the advantage to meet one another for many years.

She had been familiar of her brothers, the most she has ever been comfortable with men, was around the three, who spent their entire growth teasing their younger sister.

So for a woman like Daerlyssa, who found herself looking into the eye of a man, with much arrogance and dark demeanour, it shook her to her core.

Once again, she gulped, as her lips slightly folded together, her chest heaving up and down, as she continued to look toward him in silence.

She had found herself deaf to those around her, as her heartbeat ran through her eardrums. Daerlyssa hadn’t realised Daemon had got out of his seat, as he made his way toward them.

She hadn’t a clue as to what were going on, given that she was focused on getting her heartbeat to calm down.

Until Aemond averted his eye away from her, as he stood up straight, now looking ahead.

Daerlyssa turned her head around, as she noticed her father walk toward them.

Her hearing coming back to life.

“Do we have a problem here?” Daemon asks.

“Not with you, Uncle. Unless you wish it to be” Aemond responds.

“Aemond, mind your tongue” Viserys stood up.

“Father it is okay” Daerlyssa stood up, “i will move.”

“Aemond there is a seat beside your brother. Do not be so adamant” Alicent called out, as she worried for the two, only getting the view of Daemon’s back.

Not realising the two could not come face to face, when Daerlyssa stood up, between the two.

“Sit down, Daerlyssa” Daemon responds, without looking in her direction.

“But-?”

“Sit. Down” Daemon’s hand was placed above Daerlyssa’s shoulder, as he pushed her back down to the seat.

“Daemon, please” Rhaenyra whispered out for him to hear, as she wished for him to control his anger.

“Aemond, you heard your mother” Viserys called out.

Both, uncle and nephew, stared toward one another, a flame of hatred spewing between the two.

Aemond then let out a soft chuckle, his lips twinged in disbelief as his tongue poked the inside of his cheek.

He turned his head, as he strides away, having no choice but to listen to his parents command.

Daemon’s eyes follow, his body turning as he watched Aemond’s every move, until he is sat, and away from his daughter.

“Brother, i apologise. I am sure everyone has just had too much to drink tonight” Viserys cleared his throat, “please be seated, so we can finish this dinner as planned.”

Daemon looked toward his daughter, who smiled with a nod, assuring him that she were fine.

He looked toward Jacerys, in hopes that he understood if anything needed to be done, let it be done, before he turned to walk back to his seat, beside Rhaenyra.

“You’d have to convince me much harder if you believe i will let our daughter be married into such a fucked up family” Daemon whispered to her.

“We will discuss that later” Rhaenyra responds.

The silence slowly dispersed, before conversations began to flow once again, everyone occupied in their own conversations.

As Baela and Helaena were sat on each side, to Daerlyssa, she averted her eyes down, whilst the two engaged in conversation across her.

Her eyes were keen to focus on the wine cup infront of her, as she replayed back the look Aemond had given her.

He did not seem pleasant. The moment she had met him, he was not pleasant. But there was something.

A feeling, that tinged in her stomach, when he leaned closer to her.

She couldn’t know what it was, as she was a woman with no experience to such things. So Daerlyssa found it to be nerves, from facing such a monstrous face.

“Hey, Aemond” Aegon whispered drunkly, as he turned to face his brother.

“What?” Aemond spat out in annoyance.

It was one thing, that the smell of wine that lingered his brothers breath had him so tired of him.

But it was another, to the fact that Aemond was Viserys son. Sitting at that table, he valued himself higher, then his niece and nephews.

For Daerlyssa to continue to sit in a place he demanded her to leave, it angered him.

“She’s not a bastard” Aegon whispered before he let out a drunken chuckle.

“I am aware” Aemond responded, his eyes dawning away from his brother and onto her, noticing the way she kept her eyes averted down.

But why? What was she so afraid of, after all he knew she could not be harmed.

Not when his father, the King himself would not allow it. So why did she sit there idly, staring down and away.

He found himself questioning why she did not look up at him. Her confidence was lacking, despite being the treasured person at that table.

Aemond leans back, his fingers trancing up and down his wine cup, as he tilted his head, his eye dawning down at her.

Daerlyssa could feel his gaze, fighting herself to not give in. But she was one of curiosity, wondering why he continued to stare down at her.

She lifted her head up slowly, her eyes following after, as she looked back at him.

The two looked at one another across the room.

Her lips quivered, as she found herself in question, to Aemond’a smirk, who was delighted by her presence, in the thought that she were afraid of him.

It was exactly what he needed, in order to prove his power over them.

-

The night had grown tired, as everyone had found themselves to their chambers to sleep.

It was an awkward evening, no one wishing to speak of it.

With that being said, it was not known that Aegon and Aemond would both get an earful, based on their behaviour toward Rhaenyra and her family.

Daerlyssa walked through the corridor, making her way back to bed, after she had just visited the kitchen, for a glass of milk.

With Ser Harrold seeing her to it, as he followed behind.

“… do you not think of your reputation? You are a King’s son, Aegon!”

Daerlyssa stops in her tracks, turning to face the door of her grandfather’s room, as he heard his voice.

“I did not mean to” Aegon responded.

“Did not mean to?” Viserys let out a scoff, “What is wrong with you?”

“Princess, you should not be here” Ser Cole, who stood guard of the chamber took a step forward.

Daerlyssa took a step back, away from him, before Ser Harrold approached closer.

“He is right, Princess. You should not be here” Ser Harrold responds.

“Is he alright? Aegon, is it?” Daerlyssa turns, to ask Ser Harrold.

“I can not interfere with such matters” Ser Harrold responds.

The quietness hung, as the sound of Aegon’s mumbles were heard, as he spoke at a low tone.

Yet the sound of Viserys’ anger only grew, as he struck his hand against Aegon’s cheek.

Daerlyssa looked back toward the door in shock.

“Get out of my sight!” Viserys shouts.

“What is wrong with you? He is your son, Your Grace” Alicent responds.

“He is not my son. I will not have a drunken fool as my son” Viserys responds as he looks toward Alicent, “I asked them here to make alliances. For us to be a family. Now, your sons make us look like fools?”

Daerlyssa turned to look away, a slight pain in her chest, as she felt quite empathetic toward Aegon. No one would wish to hear such a thing, from their father.

Before Aegon could exit the room, to find her listening, she continued walking on, Ser Harrold following on, as he got her safely back to her chamber.

The rest of the night had become quiet, before she found herself sound-fully asleep.

-

It was the afternoon, the day after Rhaenyra’s arrival.

As expected, both Daemon and Rhaenyra were found in busy work, as they had disappeared along with her grandfather.

“Is there anything I could do?” Daerlyssa asks Ser Harrold.

“You could read?” Ser Harrold suggests.

“Read?” Daerlyssa chuckles, “my father does not let me read. He says it will corrupt my thoughts.”

“He is right. Forgive me, Princess. I should not have suggested such a thing” Ser Harrold responds.

“What of my brothers? Where are they?” Daerlyssa asks.

“Sword practice. At the grounds” Ser Harrold responds.

“Then, take me there” Daerlyssa responds.

“It is not a place for a woman to visit” Ser Harrold responds, “Prince Daemon would not allow it.”

“Please?” Daerlyssa grows her eyes to doe, as she let out a pout, “it will only be a minute. Besides, my father is busy, and my brothers will be present.”

Ser Harrold sighed as he looked at her in defeat, “you are just as your mother was, at a very young age. Convincing to every thing she asked of.”

“It is in our blood” Daerlyssa teases.

…

They arrive at the grounds, Daerlyssa watching from afar in awe, her lips slightly agape as she watches the skills from the young male’s whose swordsmanship was quite strong.

“Again!” Ser Cole shouted.

She peered in closer, before she found her brother Jacerys, head to head with another male, as the two fought on.

It was a strong fight, as both their attack and defence techniques were sharp and well put.

But it was no doubt Daerlyssa would cause a distraction.

“A woman” the young boy who stood beside Daerlyssa spoke.

She looked down at him, confused, before looking up once again, to notice all eyes on her.

Daerlyssa was a humble woman no doubt. Which is why she could not fathom the looks she got, the moment a man laid his eyes on her.

Many referred to her looks as angelic. Much like her mother.

Jace looked toward his opponent, confused as to why he suddenly stopped, before turning his head over his shoulder to find Daerlyssa stood, looking back at everyone blankly.

“Who is she?” A young boy took it to ask Ser Cole.

“Daerlyssa Targaryen. The daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen” Ser Cole responds.

“I thought the Princess only birthed bastards” the young man responds.

Ser Cole signed in disappointment, turning his head back, as he looked toward her.

He understood why the young men would drool upon her. She was a woman of beauty. Targaryen beauty.

It was beauty you were lucky to have.

“Daerlyssa, what are you doing here?” Jacerys asks.

He makes his way toward her, pulling her aside, and back behind the walls, away from all the staring eyes.

“Wait, I can explain-!”

“Prince Jacerys” Ser Harrold managed to handle Jacerys’ grip as he pulled the two apart, “I apologise. It was my fault, I should not have bought her here.”

“No it is not Ser Harrold’s fault, I insisted” Daerlyssa responds, “I just wished to see your skills, that is all.”

“Daerlyssa you are not to enter the grounds again, do you understand?” Jacerys asks.

“Brother-..”

“Do you understand?” Jacerys raised his voice slightly.

“Yes” Daerlyssa sighed in defeat.

“What if Daemon were to find you there, among the group of young, dirty minded men, whose eyes lure toward any woman who come across them?” Jacerys asks, “you could have Ser Harrold lose his title!”

“Do not tell Daemon, please!” Daerlyssa responds, “I-it is my fault, and I take responsibility. I won’t do it again.”

“Go, before someone sees you lingering around here” Jacerys sighed, before he turned to walk away.

Daerlyssa watched him leave, before she groaned in annoyance, turning to face Ser Harrold.

“Why is it only men, who get to do as they please?” Daerlyssa asks.

“It is just for your safety princess. Do not be disheartened” Ser Harrold responds.

“Perhaps.. but it is not entirely my fault if young men look to me with.. a dirty mind. Whatever that must mean” Daerlyssa responds.

With her head down, she felt a presence almost walkjng past her.

Looking up, she notices Aegon, immediately stopping him from walking past, “your grace.”

Aegon stopped himself, as he heard her voice, looking up from his distracting thoughts toward her.

“Daerlyssa” Aegon responds.

“I am glad you remembered” She responds.

Daerlyssa took the chance to get a good look at him, Viserys’ mark stained against his cheek, as Aegon looked much more sober, yet very unhappy.

“Is everything alright?” Daerlyssa asks.

“Of course. Why do you ask?” Aegon responds back.

“It is just.. a common question, for an individual to start a conversation” Daerlyssa shrugs with her response.

Aegon nods, “I apologise, given my behaviour yesterday.”

“It is nothing, your grace. To be drunk once a while, it does not hurt anyone” Daerlyssa responds.

“Sure” Aegon responds, “I thought you’d be beside my sister, Helaena.”

“She has accompanied your mother, to Church” Daerlyssa informs him.

“It is their custom. I am sure she will be back soon. Excuse me” Aegon took a step away, ready to dismiss himself.

“No-!” Daerlyssa stops him once again, taking a step in front of him, “I wish to speak with you.”

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

chapter 3

[cocogum]

The Great Wave - Chapter 8 Review

‼️SPOILERS FOR THE CHAPTER‼️

Warning(s): unhinged behavior, fat shaming, unnecessary use of foul language, watch me pulverize a bag of expired chicken trash, aurora slander, no one is safe, cyberbullying at its finest ✨

I never thought I would have laughed at the beginning of this chapter.

Like I legit goofed off when I read it no joke.

We come back to Amalia and the beginning of her “fight” against the professional clowns and fatty is telling trophy daughter to get away.

No, come closer Aurora. For once, be an independent woman and don’t listen to your father. You got this honey, get A LOT closer 🥰🥰🥰

Oh my gosh, and she did!

She actually got closer! Good for you, Aurora, you’re such a good girl!

Eyo what.

I did not just hear this bitch say “I won’t run away”. Did I hear that right?

This is coming from the cunt who ran away from HER HUSBAND’S PEOPLE’S FUCKING WAR who’s saying that??

This is coming from the blue-skinned mc fry chicken-looking ass who listened to her daddy tell he to run away from a war but disobeys him when he tells her to not fight another woman?

Aurora.

You’d rather disobey your daddy to fight an experienced adventurous heroine but you’d listen to him when he tells you to flee from a war you were supposed to stay in?

This bitch is clinically slow.

Please lord, let this be a foreshadowing that she’ll actually die when she fights Amalia. 🙏🙏

And then you got her DUMB ASS turning into a Temu version of Echo saying:

Man, SHUT YOUR STUPID MICKEY ASS UP BITCH THOUGHT SHE WAS THE SHIT TALKING LIKE THAT‼️‼️‼️‼️

WHERE WERE YOU WHEN THEY NEEDED THAT ENERGY DURING THE WAR?!??

HOE THOUGHT IT WAS QUIRKY TO ACT UP LIKE THIS‼️‼️ AS IF IT WAS FUCKING APPROPRIATE ⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️

THIS U?

Nah. Amalia cook her up.

Fry her up into that McDonald’s Angus sandwich they took out from the menu AND LEMME EAT THAT SHIT RIGHT AFTER IT-

Literally what the fuck is wrong with this blue hoe. She uses her anger like that towards Amalia but not when it’s necessary???

How?? How does she think like that?

She did not do shit during the war and ran away because she said she was pregnant and did not want to fight and yet here she is saying she’s ready to brawl with Amalia while being pregnant. This doesn’t do shit for her cuz this is just implying that she was fully capable of defending the sadidas during the war!!

WHAT??????

AURORA WHAT MADE YOU THINK YOU COULD TALK LIKE THAT, YOU ONLY LOOK EVEN WORSE‼️‼️

Aurora is yapping as if she can efficiently win this.

Meanwhile, you got Amalia over here, who fought straight-up divinities: she fought against Harebourg, an infamous demigod xelor before he ran away, damaged Jiva's hands, the month protector of Javian, was able to momentarily restrain Oropo, a demigod copy of Yugo, managed to beat Black Bump, the demigod feca, by partnering up with Yugo, and stood her ground against a freaking necrome (a necrome is not a divinity but it technically stays "alive" for eternity).

Aurora has no brain cells, doesn't watch what the hell she's saying more than half the time, has no experience in battle, her pregnancy is the only thing relevant about her, lies for the sake of lying, and has a hideous bird transformation.

Because let's talk about it.

This might just be the ugliest bird transformation I have ever seen in my life. It’s not even pretty at all. Look at how her fingers turn into vulture claws and those feathers just sprouting out of her shoulders and arms.

Echo did it far better than her because her transformation was actually elegant and sublime. Meanwhile, you got Aurora’s slow-ass vulture transformation where she looks like she’s about to take a shit in that panel. Her head is lowered down, her face is hiding behind her hair, her body is shaking, her shoulders going back, and her hands trembling, yeah she’s definitely shitting herself just to do this transformation. Even Efrim’s paws are cuter CUZ HERS LOOK LIKE CHICKEN/VULTURE FEET.

ECHO COME BACK THIS BITCH IS RUINING YOUR FLOW‼️‼️‼️

Also, when you say: “It’s time we put her in her place”, who’s “we”??? You and your dad??? You think that fatty can fight back? Just a second ago, he was telling you to stay back and was sweating like a pig, so again, tf you mean “we”???

Woman thought she ate saying “iT’s TImE ThAT We PuT hEr iN HeR pLaCe” go sit your ass down, you couldn’t even fight against A THUNDER STRIKE. That thunder wasn’t even from the Eliatrope goddess, it was literally just nature that kicked your ass by touching your furry finger.

And that’s the worst part of it. It didn’t even touch your whole body. It touched the edge of your fucking fingers and you immediately dramatically fell like a bird’s white shit.

She’s such a clown omg…

This ain’t even funny anymore. She really thought she was on the same level as Amalia.

Even fucking Eva could take on Aurora while being pregnant, cuz unlike that blue-skinned brat, Eva was able to defend herself against a sram demigoddess AND escape from a pandawa demigod WHILE BEING MUCH FURTHER IN HER PREGNANCY THAN AURORA.

Tot, please for the love of god turn Aurora into a soufflé before the sadidas cause a rebellion French style with the guillotine when they find out she’s actual trash.

Aurora is literally that one jujutsu kaisen meme where they go “Nah, I’d win.” 💀💀💀

Our boss queen Amalia immediately picked up on her bullshit and sensed her coming from a mile away even when she was “going fast” while flying.

And this is literally one of the best krosmoz manga shots of Amalia ready to fucking destroy this worthless excuse of an osamodas.

I swear no matter how many times I keep seeing this panel, my heart wants to pull itself out of my chest, screaming, getting on adrenaline. Amalia’s just so perfect, I wanna be her and kick that chicken-legged braindead woman so badly 😫😫

But sadly, we’re going to have to wait for the next chapter to see this “fight”. I’m calling it like that cuz I bet my whole bank account that it’s just gonna be Amalia pummelling Aurora repeatedly, ain’t no way that blue hoe can actually fight after the shit I saw in Season 4.

And I hope that’s the case because we can see Aurora looking like she’s struggling on the cover of Chapter 9.

She looks enraged and flying fast towards Amalia perhaps. But she definitely looks furious and whenever she looks mad, we all now know it’s always because she’s losing or not getting something she wants.

So yes, Amalia, destroy this wench.

Meanwhile, Yugo’s tasting what hell feels like and my god that crater looks even bigger when we get close up…

What I especially loved about this chapter, was that we finally got another interaction between Yugo and Adamaï, this time more personal and something that felt like their dynamic from Season 2. It’s sad to know that their bond won’t be the same as it was before even when they have finally reunited and forgiven each other.

But this scene gave me hope that their brotherly bond has not entirely been washed away from the years of being apart.

Adamaï still cares for him a great deal and Season 4 was able to show it. And this chapter did the same thing.

This is heartbreaking too look at.

Yugo’s face when he hears him say that, is the look of realization, you can tell his heart just squeezed at his words.

It’s been so long since Adamaï told him these words. He didn’t even say them in Season 4 when they were both reconciling.

Adamaï actually had a really good idea to solve this issue. A temporary solution if you will. Since they’re both primordial twins of the Eliatrope goddess, it was very clever of him to deduce that they should both share the pain of the belladone poison!

Ad can actually impress us when he wants to damn…

Yugo refuses at first but realizes that since they don’t have any other options, he accepts.

(*i just now realized how big Adamaï’s hands looked in this shot. Damn. Imagine getting choked by that-*)

This whole scene, I genuinely felt the bond they used to share back in Seasons 1 and 2. The way Yugo completely relies on Adamaï for any decision that they make together and Adamaï being the one who highlights the issue at hand before coming up with a solution for the both of them.

And ngl, it actually felt very refreshing to see this change.

And here’s the shot guys.

This is the shot we’ve been waiting to see ever since that damn great wave webtoon trailer came out!!

I like how some of us collectively agreed that this was the moment where Yugo created the wave but I’m so happy it wasn’t the case. Because if it did happen like this, the timing would have felt way too forced and rushed. Now I’m just happy Yugo won’t have to cough up blood all the damn time (even tho I like that idea so much cuz Yugo suffering is something i KNOW we all want cuz god zammnn-) because he’ll actually be able to be balanced and stable for now.

Now that the link has been made, Adamaï lets Yugo know that they should move somewhere else to not cause any other damage to the kingdom which is another great idea (Adamaï’s all fired up with good ideas today lol)

ARE THEY IN SPACE?!!?!?!!

LITERALLY SLOW DOWN, YOU GUYS ARE ZIGZAGGING EVERYWHERE WAIT-

I believe there is a way to find a cure for the Belladone poison. Based on what I found, the poison doesn’t seem to have any remedy since it’s such a deadly substance to drink but I believe they could be able to find something that could potentially help Yugo and Adamaï get rid of it from their systems.

For example, the same thing happened to Amalia back in Season 1. Not only did she get bit by a demonic rose known to have been created to hurt Jiva, one of the month protectors of the world of twelve, but she ended up being fine once the others found a cure for the flower.

Granted, the flower and the belladone have two distinct differences that separate them on their severity level : A) The demonic rose is a flower while the belladone is a berry. B) The demonic rose is a deadly flower that, once touched, can kill you in under a day while the belladone, once eaten, can kill you in under a few seconds. It can even damage your skin if you hold one for too long.

Even so, it doesn’t change the fact that if an infamous red flower that has impacted a divinity can be cured, then so can the belladone.

These two are pure morons.

It doesn’t matter when or where they are, they’ll still smirk and come up with dumb jokes even when they’re in pain like this.

Adamaï’s over here treating this like “training”. I have no idea if he said that to lighten the mood when he realized they were somewhat stable now that they shared the pain or if it was just because he genuinely tested this like training to see if they could withstand the pain together.

Either way, they’re both idiots and brothers for life. Brothers who smile even when they’re not sure about the pain.

Extra: let’s just enjoy more pained yugo expressions lol

[moonlightspencie]

wait i noticed you also tagged remus lupin?? it's okay if you don't do it but what about a lil drabble where he comes back from a full moon with a new gash that's pretty deep and he tries to hide it but he's bleeding through his shirt so you take care of him and patch him up <3

i’m barking and growling. hurt/comfort with my current favorite man??? absolutely yes

pairing: remus lupin x gn!reader

warnings: owies (blood and patching it up)

“Remus?” you asked carefully, peeking into the room he’d just wandered into.

He turned quickly, face paler than it usually would be after a full moon. He tugged his half-off jacket back onto his shoulders, but it was too late— you’d already seen the damage done. He slumped in his posture when he saw the change in your face, looking away towards the ground.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, though the wince he gave when he tried to tighten the jacket around his middle proved otherwise.

You sighed softly, approaching him.

“Can I see?”

He shook his head. “No. I’ll take care of it.”

“It looks bad.”

“It’s not.”

“Then prove it,” you challenged, knowing he was lying. It looked like the worse one he’d had in a long while. “Let me take a look.”

He flushed in embarrassment, shaking his head slowly. You merely reached out your hand, placing it on his shoulder. When he didn’t pull away, you rounded him to slowly take the jacket off of him. He didn’t meet your eye the entire time, but made a special effort when you took in a breath at the sight before you. The entire side of his white shirt was no longer white— it was completely stained red.

“This is bad, Remus,” you said quietly. “Come. Let’s go in the bathroom. This is going to need some special care.”

He begrudgingly followed you to the bathroom just down the hall, moving quite uncomfortably with the obvious pain that was radiating through him.

“Can I get you anything to help with the pain?” you asked, shutting the door as he walked inside the small room.

“No. I can manage,” he said softly. “You don’t have to do any of this.”

“Of course I don’t have to,” you began, unbuttoning the stained shirt, “but I want to. There is no shame in letting someone care for you when you need it.”

“It’s my own fault.”

“No, it isn’t. You and I both know you don’t choose to transform.”

He finally met your eyes for the first time since you’d caught him, and you gave him a reassuring smile. He didn’t smile back, but you could see a softness begin to settle over his features. You pulled the shirt over his shoulders, helping him out of it completely. You observed the gash in his side, trying to hide your own wince at the severity of it. It was a miracle he could walk back to the house at all after that.

“Remus,” you said softly in concern, looking at his face again.

His expression had soured again upon seeing your reaction, and even more as he saw the damage in full for the first time.

“M’sorry,” he muttered.

“Don’t apologize. It’s just— I’ll have to clean this up before I can start the healing process. Are you sure you don’t want anything for the pain?”

“I’m sure.”

You shook your head as you moved behind him to get to the sink.

“Stubborn. I’m force feeding you soup after this,” you mumbled to yourself as you wet a washcloth in warm water.

This time, you caught a brief glimpse of a smile when you looked at him in the mirror.

“This is going to sting,” you warned.

He nodded, bracing himself with a hand against the counter top as you started cleaning around the wound. He tried hard not to react, but you could see it in his face every time you glanced up. It was a couple of long minutes before you were satisfied. You reached into a cupboard to take out the essence of dittany, giving him another, similar warning to the previous one.

You got to work, applying the essence and hearing a sharp hiss as it started doing its work.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly, making sure you covered every bit of the gash.

“Don’t be.”

“You’re hurt.”

He nodded. “You’re helping.”

You nodded along with him, finally finishing. You took up the washcloth again, wiping any places you’d missed before, and ensured that you’d done a satisfactory job. You’d decided it was done well enough, at least.

“That should heal just fine,” you noted, glancing at him again.

He looked back at you with a small, grateful smile, and a glimmer of something else in his eyes.

“Thank you.”

You smiled back, cheeks suddenly a little warmer.

“Of course.”

[gravelsong]

I call this the "what if I overanalyzed the HELL out of the Arcee and Carly interaction" post because this scene was really good

Before this, the ONLY time we've really seen them interact is when Arcee saved Carly from falling. They're still on unfamiliar terms, probably only knowing each other through name. Arcee's come over to see Carly, being curious about her, wondering what she's doing, or both. Carly clearly doesn't give a shit though, responding in a very short, and clipped answer.

Okay, so she doesn't seem to be that thrilled about Arcee being over there. That's okay, Arcee will simply ask what Carly's doing instead of beating around the bush, which Carly ALSO responds to with a short, sarcastic answer. Her answer doesn't really help Arcee work out what's going on all that much, so she asks for further elaboration, both wanting to know more and also learn something new about Earth.

Carly gives another vague answer ("gotta start somewhere") so Arcee offers to join her in her activity, maybe hoping that they can connect more and she can learn further about what's on Carly's mind. However, Arcee's blaster causes a solid amount of damage, but it seems to catch Carly's attention and even makes her smile, impressed with the sight.

With Carly seeming more open, Arcee talks a bit about her own skills, her own history with weaponry. She IS a very impressive shot, as vouched by Optimus, but with her time spent fighting in the war, she's mournful over this, as her skill with a blaster adds to the carnage and horror she's seen (the flames in the background serving as a reflection of her memories, what she's witnessed through her talent).

Carly, who just recently lost her father to Starscream, is baffled by this statement, saying that Arcee's skill would REALLY help with killing decepticons (as she seems to have missed the point with what Arcee was trying to say). Carly even specifies Starscream, which makes it clear that she's practicing specifically for revenge purposes against Starscream (great news Carly, Soundwave already took care of that problem). Arcee recognizes this desire for revenge, and states her thoughts clearer: that she can see how Carly's falling to her rage, that her hurt is driving her to future pain (with Arcee probably reflecting on her familiarity with her own hatred).

Unfortunately, Carly is no longer open to listening, switching back into being angry and annoyed. She knows that Arcee's analyzing her, thinking that she knows better than her (also Carly is a teenager, and hurt teenagers tend to shut themselves off to focus on what they think is best for them). The remains of Arcee's shot also look like a burning inferno behind Carly, used as symbolism for her own feelings, her own rage.

("I apologize. It's just... you remind me of myself, when my gears were beginning to turn. I had a teacher then.")

Arcee isn't using subtle dialogue or small talk anymore, she's outright telling Carly of her own history, of how she was the same way. Of how she had someone she loved and trusted so dearly, but he died (ALSO MAGNUS IS DEAD AUGHH) because she allowed her hatred to control her. She was so focused on revenge, she lost another loved one. Even now, Arcee's reflection on her journey of healing is that her hate costed her far more than helped her. It's a painful memory for her, and she doesn't want to see someone else go down the same path she did.

But she's too caught up in her desire for revenge to really hear what Arcee's telling her.

Hell, even in the scene afterward, Cliffjumper is berating himself for not killing Starscream, and that Carly isn't even speaking to him anymore because he couldn't kill Starscream. Jazz tells him that there's no shame in pulling the trigger, but if that was true, then why does he feel so awful (he feels awful because he feels like he hurt Carly right there and then. Also, Starscream immediately grabbed her, and would've killed her if he hadn't been crushed. Cliffjumper is feeling guilty over not taking the shot because it could've killed Carly, and even though she survived, a part of her was still killed in that moment.)

[queenshelby]

Yes! Mr Murphy (Rewritten)

PART 43: MORE TAPE(S)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Lots of Angst, Age Gap, Teacher x Student, Extreme Smut

PLEASE COMMENT AND ENGAGE!

Two days had passed and you were back home in Dublin, confronted with a sex-tape between Cillian and his assistant Kit that, by now, had spread like wildfire, making you uncomfortable and emotional every time a notification popped up on your social media accounts, alerting you to the video. All of your friends and acquaintances had, by now, sent this to you and you were sick of it.

Reaching for his phone, Cillian shut off the recording, unable to bear witnessing further humiliation in front of you. The walls of his luxury apartment closed in on him, suffocating in an oppressive shroud of shame.

"My own daughter has seen this and so has my son! Fuck!" Cillian groaned aloud, pacing agitatedly in the room. He turned to you with a look of desperation, his eyes pleading for understanding. Despite your resignation to the fact, your heart went out to him, feeling sympathy and guilt for placing him in this predicament.

"You know you can sue her for this, right?" you suggested hesitantly, clasping his hands softly, trying to offer whatever solace you could provide. Though your intentions were pure, you couldn't help but notice Cillian's reluctance.

"No, this would make things worse, I think," Cillian responded solemnly, running his fingers through his tousled hair in distraction.

A heavy silence settled upon the two of you as reality seeped in – there was no escaping the consequences of this event. No amount of legal action could undo the damage already done.

"Will you at least confront her about it?" you asked, seeing that she had filmed this without his knowledge and then leaked it to the press in spite.

"Yes, I am meeting with her tomorrow. My lawyer has sent her a letter to address the issue privately at first. But legal action? It would just create more publicity which I don't want for Nina's sake," Cillian revealed, looking downward, defeated. 

"I understand, Cills and I think that you should tell her exactly how devastating this is for everyone involved, especially your children. Surely, she can see this. You need to be firm," you advised earnestly, trying to impart strength to his weakening spirit. He nodded gratefully, appreciating your support during this challenging period.

"I will be firm Y/N. I promise," Cillian responded resolutely, pulling away from your touch with newfound determination. He needed to maintain composure now more than ever; letting emotions overwhelm him wouldn't serve anyone's best interest. Instead, it required coolness, levelheadedness, and strategizing. The battle was about to begin, and it wasn't one easily won.

Kit, his once trustworthy employee, had betrayed him in the worst possible way.

The very thought made him nauseous. How could she film them doing something so personal and share it with the entire world? The anger boiling inside of him threatened to consume him entirely.

Walking around aimlessly throughout the day, you noticed his turmoil increasing tenfold. Every step he took echoed with uncertainty and doubt; you could sense that something truly dramatic was about to unfold. After hours of deliberation, Cillian finally decided to take matters into his own hands, requesting a change of scenery.

"We should do something nice after I deal with this tomorrow. Just you and me," he suggested, and you smiled faintly, grateful for any respite from this hellish storm. Glancing at his tired features, a wave of protectiveness swept over you. It was essential to stay strong for him, offering moral support where necessary.

"That sounds perfect. We need a break from all this madness," you agreed, smiling warmly at him. As you looked into his weary eyes, you felt a mix of love, admiration, and concern, knowing just how difficult this whole debacle had become for him.

"How about a trip to somewhere like the Maldives? I have never been there, and Dermont reckons it's quite nice. Just you and me on the beach," Cillian proposed with a sparkle in his eye, as though daring you to imagine the possibility.

Your stomach fluttered, excitement building within you at the prospect of exploring such an idyllic destination while, at the same time, you knew that you could not leave Ireland now without risking being denied re-entry upon your return.

Your visa was about to run out and you needed to address this issue before embarking on a vacation.

"Cillian, I would love to go on a holiday with you, but I can't leave the country right now. My student visa expires soon, and I don't know what to do about it just yet. I am working on it though. But, if I leave Ireland now, I can't return without a new visa in place," you explained sheepishly, avoiding his gaze.

His expression shifted instantly, a mixture of disappointment and frustration flashing across his features.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Cillian murmured softly, his eyes filled with understanding and worry.

Flinching momentarily, you admitted to him the difficulties you faced due to your impending immigration issues.

"Well, you've got your birthday coming up. You also have more important things to worry about at the moment and the premieres next month...I didn't want to burden you with my problems. I was just going to sort it out, but it proved to be much more difficult than I had anticipated, " you said and your words trailed off as your shoulders slumped, indicating your defeat.

Cillian wrapped an arm around your waist tenderly, displaying solidarity amidst adversity.

"Listen Y/N, you are my priority! I will ask my lawyer about this tomorrow after dealing with Kit. There must be an option if you want to stay. You may be able to change your visa to another visa or something," he said, and his tone exhibited care and understanding, allowing you to lean on him for support. "You do want to stay here, don't you?" Cillian questioned, wanting affirmation that his plan for staying together wasn't merely wishful thinking.

"Yes, Cillian. Of course I want to stay here. With you. I love you. Despite, Emma is staying in Ireland too. She is moving to Cork soon, and I want to be close to her as well," you expressed sincerely, locking eyes with him to convey your commitment.

His relief was palpable, and he held you closer still, promising to find a solution.

"Good. I am glad. Because there is no fucking way, I will ever let you go again," Cillian proclaimed confidently, taking charge of both situations which were now overshadowing your happiness.

"Dublin is my home now Cillian, so don't worry!" you replied cheerily but, just as you did, a bound of nausea hit you again, forcing you to make a mad dash to the bathroom.

Cillian, worried, followed behind and gently placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, whispering sweet words of encouragement, easing your anxiety somewhat.

He led you towards the bedroom afterwards, sitting beside you carefully, ensuring you felt comfortable enough to discuss the matter openly, thinking that the nausea was the result of your stress levels lately.

Feeling better physically, Cillian reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers lovingly. His eyes searched yours intently, seeking confirmation of your feelings regarding the situation.

"I hate seeing you like this, because of what Kit has done..." Cillian told you, but you interrupted him.

"No, it's not because of this. I am just hormonal. My cycle is all over the place ever since the surgery and I think that this is why I feel sick sometimes, "you tried to explain your condition, hoping that he understood the physical strain it put on you.

Cillian nodded sympathetically, wrapping you tightly in his arms, providing much-needed comfort.

"You should probably see someone about this again," he offered kindly, genuine concern evident in his voice. Your brow furrowed slightly in response, sensing the underlying undertone of concern rather than dismissal.

"I will, once you have dealt with Kit," you conceded, pondering the idea seriously for the first time. Your health had always taken a backseat, considering the recent surgeries and recoveries, coupled with the chaos surrounding the scandal. And perhaps this constant stress wasn't helping either.

"No, let's make sure we prioritise your health," Cillian remarked solemnly, adding weight to the conversation.

"Okay, I will get an appointment scheduled," you promised reluctantly, aware that the stress might eventually cause serious complications. Nevertheless, you couldn't help feeling irritated that these small concerns seemed to dominate most of your life currently.

With an aching heart, you glanced at your lover, acknowledging the gravity of the situation involving Kit and what you suggested next caught Cillian by suprise.

"You know, maybe, we should do something a little bit adventurous. Maybe this will take our minds off this video your crazy ass assistant shared on the internet," you teased playfully, your lips curling into a wicked smile.

"What do you have in mind?" Cillian asked, intrigued, as his eyebrows raised salaciously, a gleam of mischief lighting up his eyes.

"Something kinkier than anything we've done before," you told him before sliding down onto his lap.

"Okay. You have my attention. Tell me what you want to do," Cillian asked eagerly, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

A delicious thrill coursed through your veins as you contemplated the possibilities. The seductive power dynamics between you two made the air thick with sexual energy.

"I want us to explore some boundaries," you began slowly, savoring the taste of the forbidden fruit.

As you breathed heavily, trying to steady yourself against his chest, you continued, "And do things that we haven't even talked about."

Cillian swallowed hard, his breath catching. "Like what?" he ventured hesitantly, a hint of trepidation crossing his face.

You grinned wickedly, running your tongue along your bottom lip.

"Well, you are an actor, aren't you? So, how about some role play?"  You suggested coquettishly, letting your imagination run wild with various ideas dancing inside your head.

"I am all ears," Cillian said, his curiosity piqued.

"Well, we could pretend to be strangers meeting for the first time at a hotel. Then we could indulge in our fantasies, testing boundaries in our roles – teacher and student, doctor and patient, maybe even a dominant and submissive scenario," you mentioned, excited by the thought of turning the tables and experiencing each other differently.

"And we will film it, but just for us," you added, causing a wave of nervousness to ripple through him. Cillian hesitated briefly, his mind processing everything rapidly. Finally, he took a deep breath and accepted the challenge.

"I need to buy a camera first," he started, finally breaking the silence that hung heavy in the room. 

"Of course," you agreed, smiling warmly. The intensity of the discussion had increased exponentially, and your body burned with desire. It was almost painful to contain yourself, longing to experience the scenarios you discussed. As you kissed passionately, tangled limbs entwined in an erotic dance of pleasure, but your excitement was short lived as, suddenly, the doorbell rang startling you both.

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