#trying to explain it all away by sheer force of will

[pamwritessometimes]

Tuesday's Gone — Chapter 7

Russell Shaw x reader

Summary: When the police does little to no help to find your missing daughter, you are forced to contact Colter Shaw. What you don’t expect is how his investigation will reveal secrets about both your past and your daughter’s, in ways you never imagined.

Warnings: fluff, mentions of murdering someone (as a joke, kind of), so much Scooby-Doo and dog talk, GIRL DAD RUSSELL!! (he's a warning because – well, you'll see)

Y/N: This chapter... this chapter is literally my favorite from this series. Enjoy!🤍

Title’s based on Tuesday’s Gone by Lynyrd Skynyrd.

Catch up on Chapter 6 here

Tuesday’s Gone masterlist

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“What the actual hell are you doing here?” she snapped, her words laced with enough venom to make anyone think twice about speaking.

Russell, clearly anticipating her fury, quickly raised his hands in surrender. “I know this sounds insane, and I know you probably hate my guts – fair enough, you’ve got every reason to – but Y/N sent me to grab some stuff for her and Emma.”

Your sister’s brows furrowed in confusion for many things. “Where the hell are they? What did you do–”

“They’re at the hospital in Springland” Russell cut in, holding up a hand. “They’re fine, okay? Just– let me pack some things for them. You can come with me, I’ll explain everything on the way” he said.

Her hands started to tremble, and she had to grip the doorframe to steady herself. “So, they’re okay? Emma’s okay?” she asked.

“Yeah. They’re good” Russell said, though his gaze was unreadable. “Please, let me–”

A flood of emotions hit Anna all at once. Relief, yes, but also an undercurrent of fear she couldn’t shake. Emma was okay. That’s all that mattered. Still, she didn’t understand why they would be in Springland. And…why hadn’t Y/N called her? And why the hell was he here picking up their stuff?

Anna stared at him, trying to read him. The whole situation was a mess. Y/N and Russell hadn’t exactly parted on the best terms, and now here he was, showing up at her door, looking exhausted and out of place. Why him?

Still, Anna couldn’t help the relief flooding through her. Y/N and Emma were safe. They had to be. But she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something was still off.

“Alright” she sighed and reluctantly let him in. She helped him pack some sweaters, a new pair of jeans, clean underwear and everything you’d need during a hospital stay. She also tossed clothes to Emma, her favorite plushie – a Scooby-Doo toy your parents gave her. 

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Exhausted didn’t even begin to cover it. The last few days had chewed you up, spat you out, and trampled over what was left. You weren’t just tired. You were hollowed out, running on fumes and sheer willpower. You had a feeling like you’d need a month's rest, minimum. 

But at least Emma was safe. She was sleeping peacefully now, tucked into the hospital bed beside you. Physically, she was unharmed, Rourke and his men hadn’t laid a finger on her. Yet, you knew that wasn’t the whole story. Mentally, the trauma of it all would leave scars neither of you could see just yet. Your brave, sweet girl had been kidnapped. Stolen away. And the thought of what could have happened – no. Your mind can’t even go there.

Now here you were, sitting vigil beside her hospital bed. You’d been given your own bed in the room – thank heaven for small favors – but you couldn’t bring yourself to use it. Instead, you stayed planted by Emma’s side, staring at her tiny face as she slept. Her brows were furrowed even in rest, her lips pressed into a worried pout. Seeing her like that made your guilt weigh heavier.

You should have been her protector, her guardian angel, the one who kept the bad things away. And yet here you were, staring at the evidence of your failure. No four-year-old – or any child, for that matter – should have to go through this.

Your mind wouldn't quit, racing through the last few days like a bad movie on loop. First, the panic when you realized Emma was gone, the gut-wrenching moment it hit you, like a punch to the stomach. Then there was Rourke, that smug, twisted, mustache-framed smile of his, and the mess you’d thrown yourself into just to get her back. The helplessness you felt when you finally decided to call Colter. And, of course, there was Russell blowing back into your life like a hurricane, as if you hadn’t just spent years avoiding him.

They’d saved her. Saved both of you, really. And for all the hurt and confusion between you and Russell, you couldn’t deny that he had stepped up when it mattered most.

A soft knock on the door pulled you from your thoughts. 

The door creaked open, and Anna’s familiar auburn hair peeked in first. Her eyes softened when they landed on you and Emma. She slipped inside, moving quietly not to wake Emma, and behind her came Russell, lugging two heavy sports bags.

Anna came straight to you, her arms wrapping around you tightly as soon as she reached your side. You returned the hug, letting her warmth chase away a fraction of the chill that had washed over your skin.

“God, I was so worried. So, so, so worried.” she whispered with a voice heavily trembling.

“I know, I– I’m so sorry” you murmured. “I was too. Did Russell tell you?”

She pulled back just enough to look at you. “Yeah, he briefed me” she said as her hands were still gripping your arms. “Don’t worry, I put him in his place” she said and Russell rolled his eyes at that. She really did, the whole car ride had been a rather tense experience.

You nodded, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. “Thank you for coming. You didn’t have t–”

“Stop” Anna cut you off, smoothing a hand over your hair like she used to when you were kids. “Of course, I did.”

Her eyes slid to Russell, and her mouth tightened into a thin line. She knew you two had so many things to talk about, but – for obvious reasons – she didn’t want to leave you with him. On the ride here, Russell tried to explain everything. And by everything, he meant everything. His line of work, the reason you were brought to your sister’s house that night four and a half years ago, and the real reason Emma was taken. To say Anna hadn’t taken it well was an understatement. But even in her anger, she couldn’t miss the regret in his voice, or the way he spoke about Emma – like she was the most precious thing in his world, even though he barely knew her. That, more than anything, made her hesitate.

Anna’s gaze darted to Russell, who was mindlessly unpacking one of the bags she’d hurriedly thrown together, then back to you.

With a reluctant sigh, she said, “I’ll leave you two to talk.” Her voice carried the weight of a thousand unspoken warnings, all of them aiming directly at Russell. “I brought the essentials,” she added, nodding toward the duffels by the door. “I’ll be outside. Need to call Mom and Dad anyway.”

“Thanks, Anna”

She gave you a small, tight smile and leaned over to press a gentle kiss to Emma’s forehead. Without another word, she stepped out of the room.

The door clicked shut, leaving you alone with Russell. The silence that followed wasn’t heavy, not this time.

Russell cleared his throat, abandoning the duffels mid-unpack, and shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

“Thank you” you said quietly, your voice softer than you’d expected.

“For what?” he asked quietly.

You didn’t have a specific answer, really. There was too much to thank him for.

Bringing you here to make sure you and Emma were safe, for one.

At the diner, he’d distracted Emma with soothing words and a little game – like connecting with her was the most natural thing in the world. That moment had surprised you, even warmed you.

And then, of course, there was the big thing. The thing that mattered most. He and his brother had risked their lives to save Emma. Your child. Your entire world.

Sure, he was partly the reason Emma had been in danger to begin with. But after everything, could you really hold that against him? Not more than you blamed yourself, anyway. He hadn’t even known about her, let alone that she could be used as a pawn to hurt him. That part? That was on you. You’d made the decision to keep quiet about your pregnancy, letting your own hurt and anger drown out better judgment.

Really, both of you had made mistakes. He hadn’t told you what his real job was. You hadn’t told him he was going to be a father. And now, here you were – two people who had made a mess, trying to pick up the pieces.

“How is she?” Russell asked, his gaze landing on Emma. His voice was steady, but you could hear the waves of guilt underneath like a howling ocean.

“She’s... okay” you said, letting out a breath that felt like it had been trapped in your chest for days. “Physically, at least. The rest? That’s going to take time.”

He nodded but his jaw worked like he was trying to grind his regret into dust. “She’ll get through this…She’s strong. Like her mom.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the unexpected warmth in his words. For a second, the fortress you’d built around yourself wavered.

Hell, who were you kidding? That thing had crumbled the second Emma was back in your arms.

“I don’t know about that” you admitted.

“I do” he said, stepping a little closer, careful. “I saw it. These last few days... you didn’t stop. You didn’t back down. Not even when I showed up and probably made everything ten times harder.”

Your chest tightened, and you glanced down at your hands. They were still trembling, like your body hadn’t gotten the memo that the worst was over.

“I was terrified, Russell. Every second, I thought I’d lost her. I thought I’d never see her again.”

“But you didn’t” he said, sitting beside you like he belonged there. After a beat of silence, he added, “Because you fought for her. And when it came down to it, we fought for her together.”

That last word hit you like a gentle nudge to the heart. Together. You lifted your eyes to meet his, and for the first time in longer than you cared to admit, you saw something there you hadn’t let yourself see before. Honesty. Regret. And maybe... hope?

“I don’t even know how to thank you” you said, your voice soft. “You and your brother. I don’t even know where to start. I can’t—”

“Don’t” he interrupted, shaking his head. “You don’t need to thank me. I just... I had to. For her. For you.”

Your throat tightened, and you had to blink a few times to keep the tears at bay. “You saved her, Russell. That means everything to me.”

He leaned forward, his hand hovering near yours, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to close the gap. “I’d do it again. A thousand times over.”

The silence between you stretched, but for once, it wasn’t awkward. It was thick with all the things neither of you were ready to say but couldn’t deny anymore.

Finally, you reached out and your fingers brushed his calloused hands. “Stay” you whispered. “We’ve got a lot to figure out, but... I’d like you to stay. At least until she wakes up.”

The corners of his lips tugged up slightly, almost like he wanted to smile but thought better of it.

“I can do that.”

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You can’t remember when or how you drifted off, and you certainly can’t remember how you got into the bed beside Emma’s. For a moment, you were completely disoriented, like a GPS that lost signal. Your ears perked up at the sound of the TV, the familiar voice of Don Messick’s echoing through the room like an old friend. Was that Scooby-Doo you were hearing? Had you and Emma watched so much of it that now your brain was hallucinating talking dogs in your sleep?

You slowly peaked one eye open, then the other, dopiness sweeping through your system. You had to blink a couple before the blurry sight became clear in front of you.

There was Emma, sitting up on her bed, her eyes glued to the hospital TV in the corner, watching a rerun of Scooby-Doo, Where Are You? She was making soft, nonsensical sounds that barely registered to you in your half-awake state. 

And next to her, there was Russell, lying on his side with his head propped up on one arm, also mumbling. Emma’s head was nestled against his torso, her small body curled up in a cozy little ball next to his as she clutched the Scooby plushie Anna must have packed for her. They were both completely absorbed in the episode, their voices blending together in what could only be described as an animated commentary on the show.

You tried to make sense of what they were saying, but their words were a jumble to you – intelligible to them, maybe, but not to your sleep-fogged brain.

It didn’t take long for you to recognize the episode they were watching: Decoy for a Dognapper.

Of course. Emma was a Scooby fan. You and her know all the episodes by heart at this point, so much that Scooby-Doo was practically a second language in your house. And it seemed like Russell had caught on too, or at least, he’d been swept into the Scooby-verse by default. The two of them were so wrapped up in their conversation, they didn’t even notice you were awake.

“No way! She won’t? Why not? A dog is awesome” Russell said, his voice carrying the first full sentence your foggy mind could grasp.

“She says I’m too young” Emma replied, snuggling closer to his side as though the injustice of it all was just simply too much to bear.

“Too young? That’s ridiculous. What does that even mean?” Russell shot back, his tone scandalized for comedic effect. “Dogs don’t care how old you are. They care if you’ve got snacks and ear scratchin’ in store for ‘em.”

Emma giggled. “Mom doesn’t wanna pick up poop.”

Russell tilted his head thoughtfully. “Well, if I remember correctly, your mom was seriously considering getting a dog a few years ago.”

At that, you sat up with a groan. “Really, Russell?” 

It was true, he and you both knew it. About five or so years ago, you’d gone on and on about adopting a dog – all the goddamn time. Russell had endured countless rants about breeds, shelters, and the pros and cons of pet ownership. Now, the smirk on his face told you he was thoroughly enjoying throwing it back in your face. Payback’s a bitch, huh?

Both of them turned to look at you. Emma with her wide-eyed, angelic innocence, and Russell with a grin that was downright infuriating in its smugness.

“Morning” he greeted with a widening grin. “We were just discussing the tragic lack of a dog in Emma’s life. Care to defend yourself?”

“Yeah, Mom!” Emma chimed in with an emboldened voice by her new ally. “Why can’t I have one?”

You rubbed your temples, though a smile tugged at your lips. “Because you’re too young, and I know exactly how that would end. I’d be the one walking it, feeding it, and cleaning up after it, dealing with everything.”

Russell raised a brow, looking way too amused. “Funny, you didn’t seem to mind the idea a couple of years ago.”

You shot him a pointed look. “Don’t make her think she has backup in this, Russ.”

“Too late” he said, leaning back with a grin. “Team Dog is officially in full force, yeah?”

Emma threw her hands in the air triumphantly, flashing you the biggest grin. “Team Dog!”

You groaned, but the warmth bubbling in your chest betrayed you. It wasn’t just the banter – it was seeing them like this, bonding over something silly, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Emma looked like a carefree kid again. 

You narrowed your eyes at Russell, fully expecting another smug remark when he suddenly looked... hesitant. He cleared his throat, shifting his weight on the bed like a man about to drop a bombshell.

“What?” you asked, immediately suspicious.

“Well” he started, scratching the back of his neck, “don’t freak out, but... your parents are here. They got here a couple hours ago while you were out. Anna called them, I guess. She must’ve worked her magic because, well... let’s just say I was fully prepared to be murdered the second they walked in.”

Your hand flew to your forehead as you groaned, visions of your parents tearing into Russell flashing through your mind.

You didn’t tell them about him being here yet… and you guess it was already too late.

Your dad would be loud about it, your mom quieter but somehow more terrifying. You could only imagine the list of grievances they had ready for him. You just hoped they didn’t cause a scene in front of the whole hospital – and most importantly, in front of Emma.

“Wait” you narrowed your eyes. “They’re not trying to kill you? What did Anna even say to make that happen?”

“I think she went with the ‘he saved Emma’ card. Pretty sure your mom’s exact words were, ‘Well, I suppose I won’t bury him under the hydrangeas... yet.’”

You couldn’t help it, you snorted. It was just so her. “Sounds about right. And dad?”

Russell winced theatrically. “Your dad... definitely gave me the look. You know, the one that says, ‘I’m debating whether you’re worth the jail time.’ But he hasn’t thrown any punches yet, so I’ll count that as a win.”

Emma tilted her head, a frown pulling at her lips. “Why does Grandma and Grandpa wanna hurt Russell? He’s so nice!”

The room went so quiet you could hear the faint hum of the hospital machinery. Russell froze, looking at you for backup, but you were too busy giving him a look – the universal signal for you started this, buddy, now deal with it.

“Well, sweetheart” he said slowly, scratching his head. “They don’t actually want to hurt me. It’s just... a joke. You know, like when people say they’re gonna kill someone, but they don’t really mean it?”

Emma gave him a serious look, like she wasn’t entirely convinced. “But why? What did you do?”

You sighed, realizing there was no easy way out of this. “Sweetie” you began gently, “it’s kind of a long story. But Grandma and Grandpa are just... protective. They’re not mad at Russell anymore. Or at least, not much.”

Emma’s curious gaze ping-ponged between the two of you. “Why?”

“Okay” you said, sitting on the edge of Emma’s bed and taking a deep breath. “The thing is... Russell didn’t do anything bad. Not really. It’s just... well, a long time ago, before you were born, Russell and I used to–”

“Date…” Russell interjected, apparently deciding to rip the band-aid off.

Emma’s eyes widened. “Date? Like boyfriend and girlfriend?”

“Yes” you admitted, your cheeks warming. “Like boyfriend and girlfriend.”

She stared at the two of you, her little brows furrowing as she processed this new information. Then her face lit up with excitement. “Were you married?”

“Whoa, whoa, pump the brakes” you said, holding up your hands. “No, we were not married. We just... used to be together.”

Emma tilted her head again, her expression now puzzled. “Then why are Grandma and Grandpa angry at Russell?”

Russell chuckled nervously. “It’s not as bad as it sounds, kiddo. They’re just... protective of your mom.”

“Very protective” you muttered. You took a deep breath, preparing for the big reveal. “Sweetheart, here’s the thing. After Russell and I stopped being boyfriend and girlfriend… I found out that you were already growing in my belly.”

Emma’s eyes widened to the size of saucers, her mouth forming a perfect O at your carefully selected words. “You mean… like when babies are in tummies?”

You were trying to keep your tone light as you nodded. “Exactly like that.”

Emma tilted her head, her little brow furrowed as she worked it out in her mind. “So… that means… Russell’s my daddy?”

Russell smiled, his heart visibly melting. “Yeah.”

Emma blinked at him, then at you, then back at him, as though she was piecing together the most important puzzle of her life. After a moment of silence, her face broke into a huge grin. “YAY! I have a daddy!”

Emma scooted closer to Russell, wrapping her arms around his neck in an enthusiastic hug. “You’re my daddy now! That means you have to stay forever!”

Russell’s eyes glistened, and he hugged her back tightly. “I’ll be here as much as I can, I promise.”

Emma pulled back slightly, her face lighting up with another burst of excitement. She turned her wide, sparkling eyes up at Russell. “Can we get a dog now, Daddy?”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Oh, for the love of – Emma!”

“What?” she said innocently, looking between you and Russell. “You said no before ‘cause it was just you! But now Daddy can help with the poop!”

Russell burst out laughing, clearly enjoying this too much. “She’s got a point, you know.”

You shot him a look that could have frozen water. “Don’t encourage her.”

“Team Dog!” Emma giggled and Russell ruffled her hair affectionately, somehow steering her to sit back down and continue their Scooby-Doo marathon.

Despite yourself, you took a deep breath, still trying to get your head around the unexpected turn of events.

This was... a lot.

But for some reason, it didn’t feel as overwhelming as it should. Sure, it had been a complete curveball to drop the whole Russell-is-your-dad bombshell, but Emma’s bright smile, the way she’d lit up at the news, somehow made it all feel like it could work.

As Emma giggled, you let out a sigh of relief. This wasn’t how you thought this conversation would go, but somehow, it was already starting to feel a little more like a family.

A very unusual family.

But a family nonetheless.

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Next on Tuesday's Gone (Sneak Peek from Chapter 8):

Still, Russell had clearly decided that proximity was his job. He was there nearly every day, and on more than a few nights, too. 

“Just in case” he’d say. You didn’t know, but he loved staying there when the both of you were sound asleep. During those times, he felt an indescribable peace. 

And then there was his latest obsession: fixing everything. It started innocently enough – he noticed a cabinet door hanging loose and gave it a quick tune-up. Then he spotted the wobbly bathroom doorknob. Before long, the guy was like a one-man Home Depot commercial, patching up squeaks and quirks you hadn’t even realized were annoying you.

And at first, you didn’t even notice. But one day, you walked into the kitchen, and something felt... off. Not bad-off, just different. Quieter. 

The cupboards didn’t bang shut anymore, the sticky drawer slid like butter, and that creaky floorboard by the living room? Silent. It was like Russell had decided that if he couldn’t fix all your problems, he’d settle for conquering your house.

And the worst part? It was kind of working.

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I might have giggled all the way while writing it, or maybe I didn’t. But hey, Emma has a dad!

Chapter 8 coming soon...

🤍Taglist🤍

@bitchykittenconnoisseur @smoothdogsgirl @spnfamily-j2 @winchesterwild78 @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @zepskies @kr804573 @sebastianstangirl01 @kmc1989 @drakelover78 @amberlthomas @lomlbuckybarnes @n-o-p-e-never

[completeoveranalysis]

[6]

I genuinely love that Watanuki, the guy who works for and practically lives with Yuuko Ichihara, continuously meets any suspicious scenario with a: Oh this must be one of those perfectly ordinary situations I keep hearing about

And Doumeki just sits there silently going >:| 

They work so well together.

[dwaekkicidal]

"Heats" with Bunny!Lee Know

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ summary: Day 2 of my Bboki-Dwae collab with @bbokicidal <3

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ word count: ~900

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ warnings: gn!reader but theres pregnancy mentions in the last two quotes at the very very end of this post, constant mentions of breeding, 1 mention of a spank, overstimulation, some cum talk, using another person's clothes+scent to get off, this last one is marked with "⚠" but 1 mention of being forced down with a foot on ur head lol

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

❥ Has no real heat cycle, at least not an obvious one, since male rabbits are always ready to breed year-round.

❥ That being said, he will be very obsessive about breeding you from the very beginning of the year, usually February or March, all the way to September. You both quickly come to learn that it is because of rabbit's mating season! Which explains why he's constantly insatiable during this time frame and will usually want to go multiple rounds a day, every single day if you'll allow it.

❥ He cums super fast sometimes, so oral is not an option in his mind. He will taste you at least 3 times a day and he'll dig his nails into your thighs if you start trying to squirm away from overstimulation.

❥ Once he's got his fill and he's sure you've enjoyed yourself, he’s wasting no time to flip you onto your hands and knees. It’s his favorite position!! something something "Best for me to breed you thoroughly"

❥ He’s gonna keep your hole nice and stuffed while he roughs you around for as many rounds as he deems sufficient enough for his seed to take. (Spoiler: it's NEVER enough for him)

❥ And if he’s that deep in, that he’s giving in to his more 'primal' side, then you will be at it for hours before his mushy little brain pushes past the chants of “breed. breed. breed.” and remembers that you’re, in fact, a human and need a second to breathe.

❥ He quite literally does not care if you physically can not get pregnant... You not having the means to get pregnant or simply being on birth control will never stop him from talking or thinking about breeding you. If anything, he finds it even hotter because his minds convinces him that "If we try hard enough.."

❥ You don’t need lube when he has almost disgusting amounts of precum/cum leaking from his tip <3 So much so that you now have a towel drawer in your nightstand

❥ Much to his human side’s dismay, and to his rabbit side’s joy, he will cum buckets every 2nd time. Meaning that once that second round of the day is hitting, prepare to literally overflow due to the sheer amount of cum his heavy balls will pump into you.

❥ Oh, and don’t even think about letting any of it go to waste. The second a singular drop of his cum falls past the midpoint of your thigh, he is racing to shove it back inside where it belongs.

❥ Depending on how deep into this “headspace” he is he might even growl, which always comes out as a huff, and land a warning slap to your ass cheek. Loves to combine it with some crude comment (like the very first quote at the end of this post)

❥ If he’s reaally really into it he will mount you as best as he physically can: If you’re in a position similar to missionary, you’re getting shoved into a mating press and held in place. Or if you’re in a position similar to doggy style, you’re getting shoved flat into the sheets so he can straddle the backs of your thighs and spread your cheeks while he watches himself fuck into your tight hole <3

⚠ You didn't hear this from me but if he's particularly insatiable & has lost himself to his instincts, he may or may not hold you down with his foot on the back of your head while you're in downward doggy. This is so he can force you to sit still and fuck your brains out so that you stay pliant for him until he's ready to take a break <3 In this position, he fucks you soo much more aggressively/rougher than ever before so prepare to not be able to walk for a bit hehe

Now, let’s say he goes through one of these “mating season” fits while you’re nowhere near. Maybe in another country or state for whatever reason and there’s no possibility that you and him can reunite anytime soon.

❥ He WILL try to breed hump everything that smells like you. From using your towel(s) to tug one out all the way to humping your favorite spot on the couch until his dick is raw.

❥ This also means he will throw one of your clothes (cough 90% of the time is your worn underwear cough) onto a pillow and will rub his cock against it until he dirties it even more.

❥ But, he is a good boy. So he won’t be gross and leave his cum to seep into your clothes until you come home. He’ll be good and thoroughly clean whatever he lost his mind on and definitely will get horny again in the process

❥ You let him think he’s gotten away with it, but in reality? He cums so much that some stains just don’t go away…

Well... that and you leaving a semi-filled laundry basket just to come home to an empty basket and suspiciously clean clothes always gives him away.

“Tell this ungrateful, little hole to take what it's given and stop wasting.”

“Jagi- Fuck. Jagiya, stop wiggling so much. The deeper I am, the better I can breed you.”

"I need to cum- God, please, baby- you haveta' take it all. You owe me for being so fucking tight and wasting all my cum."

“If you keep spilling, I’ll have no choice but to fuck another couple of loads into you, Honey.”

"You're gonna be so fucking sexy, all nice and round with my kits in your tummy. Yeah? Right fucking here." As he puts his palm on your lower stomach 🥴

"Yeah? You're gonna give me a litter? Gonna have our babies runnin' around my parent's house while I stuff you full with even more of them."

Taglist:

@valkyriexo @lunearta @jabmastersupriseee @rylea08

@yaorzu-blog @amararosesblog @jiminssluttyminx @clemissleepy

@miss-daisy04 @kittyxnoa @dwaekkiiracha @bubblerizz

@mariteez

[stevestark]

Eddie survives the Upside Down by sheer force of Steve Harrington's will. He, Robin, and Nancy come upon Dustin sobbing over Eddie's very alarmingly still body, and Steve doesn't even hesitate to heave Eddie over his shoulder and carry him to the gate. He refuses to think about whether or not Eddie is dead and this is pointless — he'll be damned if he doesn't try everything. They manage to get Eddie through and escape themselves before the earth starts ripping itself open, and Steve carefully lays Eddie on the bed in the RV, tearing down the road at an ungodly speed, driving straight for the hospital.

He's so singularly focused on not letting Eddie die that he doesn't remember about Erica, Lucas, and Max until he watches in horror as a gurney carrying Max comes flying through the doors of the emergency room, Lucas and Erica running behind it. The nurses stop the Sinclairs from following her through to the surgical wing, and Steve hurriedly vacates his seat, pulling the two kids into a hug, apologies pouring from his lips. Eventually, he stops babbling, and everyone takes a seat, Steve wincing as he does so.

The bites on his sides still smart, but he can — and will — wait to get seen himself until he hears something about Eddie. When they'd shown up, Steve carrying Eddie bridal style and screaming for help, everyone around them had thought Eddie was dead; after getting him on a gurney, a nurse yelled at everyone to shut up as she pressed a stethoscope to Eddie's chest, and the next thing Steve knew, Eddie was being wheeled away from them to surgery. Dustin had fallen to his knees, appearing to be praying to anything listening, and Steve nearly joined him. Somehow, Eddie was still alive. Steve refused to be seen until he knew that was still the case.

Hours pass before they're allowed in to see Eddie; when they are, it's somehow more horrifying than the moment Steve had found him cradled in Dustin's lap. Eddie is still motionless, but now he's paler, there's what looks like a hundred wires coming out of his body, and a tube is breathing for him. Steve hazily registers the doctors explaining that the blood loss was significant, as were the wounds littering Eddie's body, and that it's going to be a waiting game to see what happens next. He startles when he hears the gentle comment that if Eddie doesn't wake within a week, it's unlikely he ever will; Steve refuses to even consider that as a possibility.

Nancy manages to talk Steve into getting his own bites cleaned and stitched, which turns into taking him home for a shower and a change of clothes; they're still driving the stolen RV, and when Steve pulls back into the hospital parking lot, he hesitates before climbing out. Eddie's denim vest is still sitting on the sofa, bloodstained and ripped all over. Steve digs through the cabinets of the RV until he finds a sewing kit, and brings the vest inside with him.

He carefully washes out as much of the blood as he can in the bathroom sink, and plops into a chair at Eddie's bedside, pulling out red thread and a needle from the sewing kit. Nancy, Robin, and Dustin all exchange looks before simply sitting in silence, watching Steve carefully begin to repair every tear in the fabric.

Eventually, Nancy gets a hold of Wayne Munson, who enters the room, sees Steve hard at work on his project, and doesn't say a word — he just pulls a chair up next to Steve's, claps him on the shoulder, and reaches out to pat Eddie's leg through the hospital blankets. Neither Steve nor Wayne leave their spots other than to use the bathroom, and nobody tries to make them.

Three days into Eddie's hospital stay, the door opens, and Eleven, Jonathan, Will, Mike, and someone Steve doesn't recognize enter the room. Steve looks up, unblinking and on the verge of unseeing, before turning his attention back to the vest; two small hands reach out and cover his, and it's only then that he registers who's standing in front of him. Eleven is looking at him sadly, and hesitates only briefly before she leans forward to hug him.

He grips her tightly, and takes a shaky breath before holding a hand out toward the Byers brothers and Mike, and sooner than anyone can blink, there's a massive huddle of arms enveloping Steve. For the first time since leaving the Upside Down, Steve lets himself cry; nobody comments at it, nobody even acknowledges it — other than Eleven, who gently wipes his face with her sleeves when they finally separate.

More chairs are dragged into the room, and suddenly Eddie is the most popular patient in the hospital — tied with Max, of course, as the group takes shifts between the two rooms. Steve and Wayne are the only permanent fixtures in Eddie's room, just as Lucas and Erica are the only permanent residents with Max.

Steve finishes patching the tears in the vest, but Eddie hasn't woken up yet, so his fingers itch to keep going. He pulls out a spool of white thread, and outlines the jagged stitches he made before, carefully working his way over the entire vest once more. When he finishes that, he grabs black thread, and repeats the process.

He's in a sort of trance as he stitches away, conversations happening around him but sounding like they're miles away. It's not until someone physically stops his hands moving again that he realizes the words are being directed towards him; confused, he looks up and jolts so strongly he nearly tips his chair backwards. The person who stopped him working this time is Jim Hopper, and for the first time since the doctor gave them the stupid timeline, Steve feels hope. If Hopper can come back, Eddie can too. Eddie can too.

On day 6 of Eddie's coma, Steve speaks for the first time, tired eyes looking at Eleven beseechingly. "Can you... will you see if he's still in there?"

Eleven takes the bandana Wayne passes her and ties it over her eyes, one hand gripping Eddie's, the other intertwined with Steve's. She focuses on the steady beeping of the heart monitor and the wheezing of the oxygen pump, the sounds allowing her to drift into the in-between. She finds Eddie curled in a ball, hands clutching his sides, tears silently streaming down his face.

As she did with Steve, she gently reaches out and wipes his face clean, and waits for him to acknowledge her; he eventually looks up at her and his eyebrows furrow. "Who are you?" he asks, voice scratchy with disuse.

"Eleven," she says, holding out her hand to you.

"Henderson's friend?"

Eleven nods. "Come. Time to leave here. They're waiting for you."

She pulls Eddie to his feet and starts walking forward, focusing her hearing until she can isolate Steve's breathing pattern under the din of the hospital machinery. Her eyes fly open under the bandana, and she rips it off, turning to look at Eddie expectantly. For a moment, there's nothing and then —

Eddie starts choking on the breathing tube, Wayne starts yelling for a doctor, Steve breaks down in fresh tears, and the kids are cheering.

It's hours of examinations later that Steve is finally able to return to his seat at Eddie's side, everyone, Wayne included, giving him a minute alone with Eddie. When he enters, he notices Eddie is holding the vest, tracing his fingers over Steve's haphazard stitching.

Sheepishly, Steve raises a hand to rub the back of his neck. "Sorry," he mumbles. "I did the best I could."

The stitches zigzag across all the places the fabric had been slashed, both by demobat talons and sharp bushes in the Upside Down forest, and Steve's work has it looking like branches of lightning working their way across the vest. Eddie shakes his head and looks up at Steve, eyes wide and shining. "You fixed it."

Steve shrugs and Eddie shakes his head again. "Harrington.... Steve. You... you fixed it. For me."

Steve inches forward in his seat, and reaches out to grab one of Eddie's hands. "I dunno, I kinda think I fucked it up. But I could tell when you threw it at me that this was something that was important to you. I didn't let that place take you away, why would I let it take your things?"

Eddie laughs, head thrown back against his pillows, hand squeezing the absolute life out of Steve's. When he finally settles, he looks at Steve bashfully, head dipped down just enough that he's looking up at him through his eyelashes. "Talk about a declaration of unambiguous true love," he whispers.

Steve doesn't seem surprised or put off by Eddie's assessment; in fact, all he does is beam at him before lifting Eddie's hand to his face, pressing a featherlight kiss to his bruised knuckles.

"Take me out on a date first, Munson. Then we can start throwing words like love around."

As the room fills with the sound of Eddie and Steve's laughter, the rest of the group filters back in, including Lucas pushing a wheelchair-bound Max; Steve looks around at all of them and sighs around a soft smile.

They won.

[hp-lonesome-actual-art]

Ah yes, the aforementioned comic I was scheming up that one summer I had theater camp and always arrived five hours before it started (due to my parent having a librarian job in the area lol). Hence why I even had the time to make this silly concept into comic form. However it was never finished or continued as you’ve probably figured by now :P

Funny enough though I have leftover digital sketches for the initial conceptualization of these panels and the dialogue, which were never released once I finished the pages to be more refined. Think it’s neat to see the sketchy process tho. And since I’m not continuing it, might as well dump unfinished work or else it’ll just rot in my photos

These were part of the initial comic linked, before I redrew it and placed into comic boxes with background outlines

And this was part of the secondary comic prequel that I released. The dialogue got changed up and shortened quite a bit

And I think this was an alternative version to the second image in this sequence? Because it just kinda restates what was already said but different wording

Here’s some doodles in reference to the comic I created lol

I didn’t include The Badge Seller deal part in the comic, but it’s part of the overall story. Maybe I’ll make another comic explaining more about that

(Here’s the comic link btw. Just so it’s all connected together:)

[surielstea]

Guilty Pleasures

Based on this request.

Pairing: Azriel x Vanserra!Reader (fem)

Summary: Readers secret relationship with the Shadow Singer can’t be suppressed when Azriel finds himself in Readers room after a meeting with her brother, Eris.

Warnings: smut | pwp | minors dni | p in v | rough sex | mating press | controlled orgasm | creampie | praise/degradation | name calling | pure filth

3.4k words

The Forest House is crawling with night dwellers. That's what Eris had told me when he woke me up this morning, throwing a gown at me and telling me to get dressed before attending the meeting between Night and Autumn. Since my brother was the new high lord I could do little to argue with him, if he wanted me to participate I would be forced to do so. I was the farthest from the throne, and even less, a girl.

Though Eris seemed to look past the imbalance of power between us, even if it was blatantly obvious I had no choice but to do exactly as said.

I may not have not been the strongest fire wielder in my family, hel, Lucien practically started glowing whenever he conjured fire, but then again he's always been a little different from the rest of us. Without flame, I was dealt with the same cunning tongue as my father. It was a wicked trait to inherit, but also my best weapon. I could do more damage with my words than a sword because let's face it, internal wounds never really heal, and my father made sure he taught me that.

So I put on the deep green dress and tied the corset around my waist and bust tightly, keeping my retorts to myself about the style of the dress, wishing it wasn't so flashy. But this was a meeting with the Lord of Night he was flashy if anything, and so was the rest of his court. So I understand what Eris had been planning.

When I stepped into that meeting room I made sure I was making an entrance. Whatever discussions that had been ongoing before I walked in ceased. As his courtier, I was familiar with the members of Rhysand's court, specifically the two Illyrians flanking his left side. I flash the blue-siphoned male a sinister smile, reveling in the way his eyes drank me in, trekking down me from head to toe with an incomprehensible amount of lust, the kind that's guaranteed to have dropped panties before.

When his eyes return to mine I playfully look away with a smirk, making it clear that I'd caught him in the act. I take my place next to Eris at the other end of the table, his side comparably smaller in group size, void of friends and family like the High Lord of Night. But Eris did what he had to in order to survive, even if that meant pushing everyone else away— well, everyone but me. Because even with sheer determination, he wasn't able to get rid of me, who has been clinging so tightly to him since I was a child.

The meeting had already begun by the time I walked in so I didn't waste my time trying to catch up. I was only there to make an appearance, Eris had claimed it puts people at ease when they see a familiar face, invoking a more positive response. That was all I managed to pick up when he was explaining his schemes, I knew they'd stay true to our alliance. They needed us, we had one of the strongest armies, and even if they were guaranteed a win they didn't need to add bodies to the death toll.

The Shadow Singer's eyes tracked my every movement, he stared as I played with the ends of my hair, and practically started drooling when I flicked my eyes up to look at him every now and then. Gods he was so obvious, and they called him a spymaster?

I smirked down at my lap at the idea, picking at my nails to distract myself but it did little to help when I could practically feel his need for me from across the room.

The meeting went on for what felt like hours. I thought it'd be fairly straightforward when Eris explained it to me yesterday, I guess I underestimated the dramatics of the Night Court's strongest. Not to say it wasn't entertaining, but I found myself nearly laughing at some of the remarks made throughout the meeting.

Eventually, it was brought to an end. Rhysand had inevitably agreed to continue the alliance, just as Eris had suspected, and soon everyone was filing out of the meeting room.

I had beelined straight back towards my bedroom, aching to rip myself free from my revealing dress, in need to slip back beneath my sheets and go back to bed.

But as soon as I entered my room, I noticed there was someone's presence already occupying it. I was startled, staring at the Shadow Singer as he gazed at all the trinkets lined on my shelves. Most of them were souvenirs Lucien had collected for me during his travels across the continent. I was always jealous of him for that. While he was out exploring the world, I was still here, stuck in the same house I was born in.

"What are you doing?" I immediately question and Azriel whirls around, facing me with pure stoicism.

"Got lost," He shrugged.

"This is my room," I say with stern brows. He looked around the space, at the books on the shelves, the messy papers on my desk, and my unmade bed that was calling my name.

"Is it?" His eyes returned to mine and he took a bold step forward.

"Yes, if you need me to call a maid to escort you back to your room I'd be happy to oblige," I offered him a kind smile but he only continued with his strides, another pace, slowly closing the distance.

"That's kind of you," He takes one more step and suddenly I have to crane my neck up to look at him, my chest nearly pressed to his. "But I don't think that's necessary," He leaned against the door, closing it to peering eyes. At the newfound privacy, my smile widens and I practically tackle him to the ground, my arms sling around the nape of his neck as his lips crash onto mine.

I melted into the kiss and I swore for a moment he was holding up most of my weight. His hand comes to the back of my head, pulling slightly at my air and forcing me to back away.

"Gods, I missed you," He confesses through a breath. I beam, rising onto my toes and pecking him, pulling away as quickly as I came.

"I missed you too, Az," I murmur, pulling him so much closer. He stumbled forward and my back came into contact with the door, trapped between him with no exit. I couldn't find it in myself to complain.

His lips find mine again, like magnets pulling us together we slot into each other perfectly, filling every crevice and meeting every rendezvous of his touch. I reacted to his kiss in such a way that the first time our lips collided I thought I had lost my mind. It made me feel powerful and made me feel I was capable of so much more.

"It's been too long," I murmur as his hands trail down my sides, putting pressure on my waist, brushing along my hips, then curving along the side of my ass before reaching my thighs and hoisting me up.

"I know love, I know," He sighed onto my lips. I open my mouth wider, inviting his tongue as I wrap my legs around his torso while he holds me up.

His tongue dances with mine, like the last two warriors left on a battlefield, needy and restrained, torturous and passionate.

"I need you," I confess into his mouth and he grunts lowly at the words. "That meeting was cruel," I mumble while he begins to kiss down my neck.

"I know," He repeats, his voice desperate and raw. "The whole time I've been here I've only wanted to rip your dress off and fuck you on the floor," He admits and the apex of my thighs thrums with a chant of need.

"Then what are you waiting for?" I retort with a foxlike smirk. He pushes off the door, and rather than the floor he carries me over to my bed.

I grin against his lips in anticipation as he begins untying the back of my dress, the corset loosening and allowing me to breathe fully.

He pulls me free from it entirely, tearing my dress off and discarding it to the floor before he mounts over my mostly nude body. He lays me down, his lips coming to mind in a moment of need. I begin unbuckling his pants, tugging at them with needy movements. He helped, taking off his shirt for me while kicking off his pants.

His hands roam my body, over the curve of my breasts, past my waist, then finally to my hips where he found the waistband to my pink undies, toying with the lace.

"You wear these just for me?" He purrs into my mouth and I nod, capturing his lips with mine yet again. He pulls the lace down my thighs, allowing the cool air to hit my soaked cunt. I gasped as two of his fingers immediately delved through my folds, drenching his hand.

"Gods, you're soaked baby," He admires and I flash an embarrassed smile. He smirks at the reaction, pressing his dripping fingers to my clit with rough circles. My breath hitched before I let out a string of moans, pawing at the imprint in his boxers with an unquenchable need.

"Please," I beg.

"I have to stretch you out first," He tuts and I whine in protest. "I know, but it'll hurt otherwise be patient," He explains. Tears well in my eyes as I look up at him with a dramatic pout.

"I want it to hurt," I confess. "Make it hurt, I swear I'll be good." My pleads are met with a stern look from him. I palm him, my hand wrapping around the tent in his boxers, gripping him slightly and he grits his teeth at the feeling.

"I'm not stopping when you tell me it hurts," He threatens and I nod in agreement, my hunger becoming too strong to ignore as I pull down his boxers and his heavy cock slaps up against his abdomen.

My mouth waters at the sight, my pussy thrumming against his hand with anticipation.

He swipes his length through my folds and I revel in the feeling of his warm length running through my cunt, the ridges of his thick member adding friction to my sopping folds as I continue to lube him up.

"You sure?" He says, looking at me pointedly and I nod. "Be a good girl and use your words." He prompts and I swallow thickly.

"Yes, Az," I plead. "I want you," I add and before I know it he's aligning his tip and pushing the head of him inside of me.

I gasped, clawing at his tan back, drawing blood with my nails but he didn't seem to mind the marks I made as he pressed into me.

When Azriel fucked, he fucked good and hard. He didn't relent his pace and he only sped it up. He knew I was teasing him in my dress earlier, how tortuous it was to have me in the same room as him yet he couldn't have me, not how he wanted to have me. Not like this.

He made each of his movements rough and pleasurable. He snapped his hips into mine, my base meeting his as he began to roll his hips into me. "There Az, right there," I cry out as he finds a sensitive bundle of nerves nestled deep inside of me that only he could reach with his impressively long cock that he's molded me to, so it's only him I can seek pleasure with.

"Yeah? Be a good girl and open wider for me," He says and I do just that, spreading my legs as far as I can, allowing him to his me deeper as his balls slap against my ass. "Atta girl, taking me so well," He hummed and I smiled hazily up at him. It didn't hurt, or maybe it did and the pain hadn't settled in over the adrenaline— but all I felt was pleasure, I was too wet for there to be any discomfort.

"You feel so perfect wrapped around my cock baby," He admires, looking down and watching the way he disappeared inside my entrance. "Fuck, you're so tight," He grunts, bringing his scared hand down and pressing it to my stomach. I mewled at the feeling of him rubbing harder against my walls, clamping down around his base and making it harder for him to drive into me.

"You feel that? Feel how deep I'm in your pretty pussy?" He smirks and I nod with a whimper leaving my lips. He continues his brutal pace, pushing me up onto the bed with the force that he was fucking me with.

He grabs the back of my thighs and pulls my legs up, putting me into a mating press.

I wailed at the new position, practically feeling him thrust into my womb. "So good," I murmur and he only smirks.

"Yeah? You like it when I'm using you like this?" He asks and I flutter my lashes up at him, tears dripping down the sides of my face.

"Yes, love it when you use me Az," I confess and he twitches at the words. "All yours," I sigh out.

"That's right," He leans down to press a kiss at the corner of my jaw. "My perfect little slut," He purrs at the shell of my ear and I gasp, my orgasm nearing rapidly. "You like when I call you a slut don't you? Dirty girl," Azriel rolls his hips over mine as he speaks, creating a loss of words to form on the tip of my tongue, being replaced by moans and screams instead.

I pulse against his cock, my puffy pussy twitching around his base as he continues his vile movements.

"I'm gonna— Az, m'close," I warn and he kisses me with a smile, toying with me, seeing how long I can hold myself back from sweet release.

"Not yet baby, want you to cum with me," He directs and a whimper falls from my lips in defiance, the pain beginning to set in as I drag out my climax, forcing it away per his demand. I squeeze around his tighter, attempting to spur him on to find his release quicker.

"Az— s'too much, it hurts," I cry out and he smirks against my skin, nipping at the side of my neck before lifting up to meet my teary gaze with his lustful one.

"Poor girl, you said that's what you wanted." He kissed up the side of my face, licking away my salty tears. "Keep to your promise and I'll let you cum soon, alright?" He offers and I rapidly nod. "Good."

He presses me into the mattress, my thighs still at my sides as he folds me in half and forces his the head of his cock into my cervix. I gripe at the feeling, writing beneath him but fighting off my impending orgasm nevertheless. Moans spilled from my swollen lips and he basked in them, in all the noises I made as his cock pushed deeper into my cunt.

He twitches and I thank the gods, the signal meaning he was close and my torture would end soon.

"My perfect little slut, so good for me," He croons, his words ghosting over my lips but not quite attaching them, loving the way I gasped out with moans into his mouth.

I clench tighter around him and he grunts, his jaw feathering as he grits his teeth.

"Go ahead, make a mess all over yourself." He allows and I immediately meet his request, my release dragging screams out of me. I don't even know when my hands got into his hair but I pull at it as my climax takes me full throttle and I fall beyond words to describe just how glorious the euphoric feeling is.

"That's it, keep milking my cock just like that," He groans in pure pleasure, his warm seed seeping into each and every one of my crevices as his thrusts slow and he attempts to pull out from my tight cunt that was still clenched around him, not wanting him to disappear quite yet.

But eventually, he removed himself from me and I was left panting on the bedspread, pulsing around nothing.

"Alright, let's get you cleaned up before I have to leave." He scoops me up into his arms and I whine, my brows bunching into a knot as he carries me into the connected bathing chambers.

"I don't want you to leave," I whine and he settles me down onto the cold bathroom counter.

"I don't want to leave either." He meets my gaze, looking down at me with soft eyes that contrast with his rough movements from only a moment ago. "But I have a mission passing through here next week," He said, grabbing a cloth from beneath the sink and wetting it with warm water. "Maybe we can meet at an inn and stay there for a few days," He plans and a small smile spreads across my face.

"I hope you know I'm not planning to leave that bed the entire time we're together," I hum and he smiles cheekily, his dimples making an appearance. I cup his jaw in my hands, admiring the panes of his face as he begins to wash the insides of my thighs.

"Sounds like a perfect plan to me," He flicked his eyes up to mine, away from my pink folds, still irritated from his harsh actions. I gasp slightly as he runs over my clit with the cloth, my legs jolting with overstimulation.

"Sorry, I was so rough," He uttered, continuing his gentle ministrations. I shake my head, not accepting his apology.

"Felt good," I tilt my head back as if reminiscing about five minutes ago. "I wish you could stay for another round." My fingertips dance down his chest. He looks at me sternly, catching my wrist before it can get too low and placing it on his broad shoulder.

"You know I won't be able to leave if I get back in that bed with you," He stated and I nodded, biting into my lower lip.

"Exactly," I say and he hoists me up into his arms, discarding the dirtied cloth into the hamper and placing me back down onto my bed.

"I'll see you next week, alright?" His shadows bring me a pair of clean panties and the softest nightgown from my wardrobe.

"Next week is too far away," I groan and flop back onto my bed while he hikes my undies up my thighs and snaps them against my hips with a satisfying sound.

"I think you'll survive," He lifts me upright. "Arms up," He casually muttered and I did as he said, lifting my arms so he could slip the comfortable nightgown over my head.

"I don't think I will," I sigh once the gown is past my head and he offers me a soft, reassuring smile.

"Maybe I'll sneak by sooner," He dips down and presses a gentle kiss to my forehead. "If you're lucky," He warns as I wrap my arms around the nape of his neck and pull him onto my lips, kissing him with the same amount of heat as earlier, but also with an addition of love, my last ploy of getting him to stay. But he knew what I was doing, and he pulled away before he could fall for it.

"I'm sorry baby," He whispers and I frown. "I'll move things around and I'll come earlier than next week," He says but my frown remains. "And we'll spend days in bed, how's that sound?" He offers and a small smile forms over my pout. "Yeah? Good?" He asks and I nod with a cheeky grin. "Okay, I'll see you soon my love," He presses one last kiss to my lips, relishing the taste of me against him one more time.

"Bye Az," I murmur against his lips. He pecks me once again before shadows swarm around him and he is consumed by darkness, slipping through my grasp and leaving me alone.

But he'll be back sooner than next week, and his promises gave me more than just one thing to look forward to.

General Taglist: @fxckmiup @olive-main @iluvyewman-blog @gaymistakeboi @glitterypirateduck @amara-moonlight @impossibelle @fauxdette @going-through-shit @glam-targaryen @hufflepuff-pa55 @sarawritestories @tele86 @rogerbarnesxx @azriels-shadowsinger @stinkinstuffie @sandramalikstyles-blog @sassyangel16 @lilah-asteria @starsinyourseyes @inloveallthetime @melsunshine @nighttimemoonlover @ireallywannasleep127 @cumuluscranium @adharanotfound @azrielsmate3 @aelincaddel @hiddlestonspassionsackx @dee-writes-smut @secretlyhers @pit-and-the-pen @mybestfriendmademe @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @circe143 @bubybubsters @joshysloshy @username199945 @ivy-34 @notsarareallynot @vixenshiftsvrs @aurorab99 @pey2618 @loving-and-dreaming @wildfl0w3rss @andreperez11 @thatacotargirl @123345566 @one-big-fangirl @moonslitluna

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[dolicekiss]

Yandere Will Graham Headcanon

PAIRING: Yandere!Will Graham x reader

CONTENT WARNING: Noncon (not in detail), dark Will Graham, yandere behavior, manipulation, coercion, obsessed Will, adult grooming, taking advantage of reader, trauma, kidnapping, abuse, murder, guilt tripping, forced impregnating.

He first laid his gaze on you when he found you cooped up in the corner of a house, a victim of utmost violence by the hands of an unstable woman who thought she was only protecting you from evil — a mother who'd lost her child so she went on a rampage to kidnap girls and forcefully mother them.

Will Graham had saved multiple girls from the clutches of that woman but you — you had caught his attention.

Late at night, he often found himself thinking about you. How your hair hovered over your face, the sheer terror in your eyes. You were the most abused and hurt victim of that woman. It left a scar on you.

His visits at the hospital you were admitted grew more upon finding out from Jack Crawford that you were an orphan.

Bringing you food, taking care of you, even reading books to bring ease to you and sleeping on the couch across your bed.

Slowly and surely, he found his way underneath your layers and coaxed you into depending on him. Grooming you into becoming dependent on him.

Whenever he didn't visit, you denied your food as well as resisting to eat your medicines. But when Will Graham came, everything calmed down.

People began to talk. Just why had you grown this attached to him? And when Will Graham was told to stay away from you by Jack Crawford, it only angered him.

So he stopped visiting you. Waited and waited for you to be discharged, lurking in the shadows. He waited for you to come to him and when you came running to his office, it was a sight he couldn't forget.

Yandere!Will Graham who immediately took you in when you came to him — knowing he had you wrapped around his finger.

He saw you talking to Alana and after eavesdropping on your conversation with her, he figured she was advicing you against him. It angered him. So he decided to get rid of her.

When she ended up dead, everyone was scared because of how brutal her death was. It even left you scared, turning to Will for comfort.

And the man welcomed you with open arms. Telling you to never leave him, or you'd end up like her too.

Only he could protect you, only he could save you like how he already did against your perpetrator and you believed him. How could you not? He was always there to protect you.

Yandere!Will Graham not allowing you to leave his house, guilt tripping you into taking care of his dogs because they don't have anyone other than him.

One day you were cleaning around the house and found a heel, a very familiar looking heel. It was Alana’s and before you could register what was happening, Will was behind you.

He tackled you down on the floor, holding you against it while trying to explain himself.

You'd realized that Will had killed Alana, the same man who claimed to be your protector.

“She was telling you to be independent, to find yourself. Just how could I let that happen? You're mine, I did all this for you.”

There was no way you could free yourself from him. You were terrified, remnants of your horrifying experience coming back to you.

Will held you tightly against his chest as he stabbed you with a syringe, rendering you unconscious. When you woke back up, you found yourself chained.

He sat right next to you, arms on his knees as he stared at you. Eyes glimmering with excitement when he saw you regained consciousness.

“Don't be afraid. I would never hurt you, don't look at me like that.”

It didn't matter. You were all over the place. Face wet with tears and sweat, lips twitching in fear and breath ragged. You were still a sight for sore eyes. His sore eyes.

Yandere!Will who believed that the only way to change your mind was to fuck you, take you right then and there and make you his totally.

And after he was done with you, he'd left you so braindead, there was no way you could leave him now.

Weak minded, broken and with nowhere to go, you accepted him.

Yandere!Will promising you that he'll give you a child to strengthen your relationship — no matter how much he feared his own turning out like him. He was willing to risk it for you.

[pretty-circa006]

OKAY imagine IMAGINE reader sees negan/jeffrey naked for the first time AND sees his chest full of chest hair THENNNN nakedly grinds on his chest

Negan x F! Reader

tags nudity, smut, grinding, chest hair fetish i think??

note i did my best, i hope you like it

wc 1.5k

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆ 

Negan sits at the head of the table with Lucille in hand and his leather jacket resting on the back of his metal chair. He’s explaining something, likely what the Saviors’ next move against Alexandria is going to be, but it all flies above her head. Her eyes watch his lips as they move in tune with his words, his hazel eyes as they alternate eye contact with each Savior at the table, and occasionally glance down at what parts of his body were visible above the table. 

“Ya get all that, darlin’?” He asks, looking at her. 

“Oh..yeah! Uh huh. Yes…sir,” she lies. The deadpan look Negan sends her way tells her that he is not convinced, and honestly, neither is she. She bashfully looks away from him and down at the table, this time actually trying to pay attention to the rest of the meeting. 

With a bang of his barb wired bat to the metal table, he dismisses everyone as he gets up and leaves, too. She's the last one out of the room, partly because she didn't want to meet Negan's eye on the way out but mainly because she wanted to watch him as he left. Before she can leave the room something catches her eye—Negan's jacket. She looks around the room, making sure it's empty before walking over to his chair and grabbing the expensive looking leather garment. She picks it up and it almost feels unreal to be holding it. She hesitantly brings it up to her nose and breathes in the scent: leather and manliness. She could get lost in it and almost does, but she quickly remembers the task at hand and rushes out the room to catch up to Negan. 

With the jacket cradled in her arms, she hurries down the halls in search of the man in charge—he's nowhere to be seen. She sees his right hand, Simon, walking idly down the hall. 

"Wait, Simon. Do you know where Negan went?" she asks him. The mustached man's eyes drift down to the jacket in her arms and back up to her eyes with suspicion. 

"What're you doin' with Negan's jacket," he questions, reaching down for it as he does. She clutches it closer and moves it out of reach. 

"He left it in the meeting room, so I'm bringin' it back to him. Do you know where he went?" 

"I can give it to him, it's no trouble." 

Annoyed with Simon's insistence, she sidesteps him and storms down the hall, protectively clutching the jacket. 

"I'll handle it, thanks!" 

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆

Nobody said anything when she knocked on his bedroom door, so she waited a second. She knocks again and yields the same results. She tries the doorknob and surprisingly, it gives, opening the door and letting her into his bedroom. Until now, she'd never been in his room. The sheer luxury of it all strikes her with awe. The king sized bed, the leather couches and chairs, the tall windows and dark curtains, even when the world was normal she's never seen anything anything like this. 

The sound of Negan's voice saying her name snapped her attention away from the room and onto him. He's standing in the middle of the room, practically naked other than the towel wrapped dangerously low around his hips. His tattoos are on full display along with the salt and pepper hair on his torso. Unintentionally, her eyes drift down his body to his belly button, to his v line, and even his–

"My eyes are up here, sweetheart," he reminds her, forcing her eyes to meet his hazel ones. 

"Ah, shit! Sorry, I umm..." 

"The hell are ya doin' in my bedroom?" he asks. 

"You left your jacket," she holds the jacket out to him, to which he accepts. 

"Thanks..." He still looks at her suspiciously as she awkwardly rocks on her heels and doesn't leave. 

"Uh, you're dismissed." She's about to turn and leave, but the sound of fabric hitting the floor keeps her there. Her face burns with heat and eyes widen as she makes eye contact with his dick. He always brags about his size, but now she has proof that he was never exaggerating. Negan doesn't make any moves to grab his towel nor cover himself, instead, he's smirking at her, amused by wide eyes and dropped jaw. Subconsciously, her thighs squeeze together at the feeling of heat pooling in her core.  

"Y'alright, darlin'?" he asks out of amusement rather than concern. She blinks rapidly as her mouth opens and closes but no words come out. Her eyes alternate from meeting his to dropping down to his penis again. 

"S-sorry! Sorry!" she apologizes as she covers her eyes with her hands. The attempt to cover her eyes is fruitless since she's looking through the gaps in her fingers anyway.

"Like watcha see?" he teases. He half expects her embarrassment to take over and for her to run away, but instead she stands her ground and nods. 

"Yes, s-sir." Her breathing is shallow as she shifts around trying to subtly sooth the needy ache in her throbbing pussy. Negan can tell that she wants him, needs him even, and honestly seeing her so needy and desperate is a turn on for him. 

"Well, you can either get the fuck outta my room or take your goddamn clothes off. The choice is yours, doll, but make it quick." 

He didn't have to ask her twice, she's already unbuttoning her jeans. In a rush, she clumsily toes off her shoes before stepping out of her pants and panties. She wishes she could've given Negan a show instead of the unsexy rush-job she's currently putting on but luckily for her, Negan finds her sex crazed desperation for him endearing. But she's taking a little too long for his liking. He approaches her and pulls her shirt over her head before unclasping her bra and discarding the items. 

"Holy shit, baby. You look downright fuckin' delicious," he compliments as he eyes her naked body from head to toe. His arms snake around her and pull her body into his. His hard length slides between her thighs, almost slotted between her lower lips. Her hands slide up his chest, her fingers weaving through the wispy hairs on his chest. By the back of her neck, he pulls her in for a heated kiss, teeth clashing as their tongues get to know each other's mouths. His hands slide down her back and around the curve of her ass before squeezing and kneading it in his hands. He holds her firmly and close as he thrusts his dick along her soft inner thighs. Their pleasured moans mix in their mouths which are still attached to each other. As they kiss, her hands never leave his chest. Her fingers continuously play with his chest hair and occasionally give it a gentle tug. 

He pulls away from the kiss, the string of saliva between them breaks. He looks down at her, his hazel eyes dark with lust. She looks back up at him, her eyes begging him to fuck her. 

"You like my chest hair, don't you, babydoll?" She just giggles but doesn't any anything and continues to doodle abstract swirls with her finger on his chest. 

"I asked you a goddamn question," he says sternly. 

"I do, sir." Without warning, he picks her up by the back of her thighs and she reflexively wraps her legs around his waist. While still holding her, he lays down on the bed with her now straddling his waist. 

"Get yourself off on it," he orders in a way that leaves no room for questions. But she has some anyway. 

"Wh...what?!" she asks through a bout of nervous laughter. 

"If you like my chest hair so much, get yourself off on it, baby." 

"What if I crush you o-or something?" 

He scoffs and rolls his eyes before just pulling her onto his chest by her thighs. He smirks, enjoying the view of having such a beautiful woman on top of him. 

"Well, I'm waitin'," he huffs. Her hands cautiously grip his shoulders before she begins grinding her hips against his strong chest. Her movements are slow and apprehensive at first, but eventually pleasure starts building up. The friction of his chest hair against her clit feels better than she expected and brings her closer to her orgasm. Negan watches her from beneath his thick eyelashes, in awe with the way her tits move in unison with her grinding. 

"I shoulda made you my fuckin' wife," he comments as his hands caress her thighs. 

"Better late than never, right?" comes her breathy reply. She's close and Negan can tell by her breathlessness and sweaty, flushed face. Her hand creeps down between her legs and she rubs her clit in quick circles, urging her orgasm closer. Her thighs squeeze his ribcage and her eyes screw shut as the dam breaks and her orgasm comes crashing over her. 

“You liked that, didn’t you?” He teases. She climbs off his chest and flops onto the bed beside him. 

“Mmm hmm.” She nuzzles into the crook of his neck. He wraps his arm around snugly her as she  caresses his chest. 

“So what was that you were saying about makin’ me your wife…?”

[nemo-writes]

⋆˚࿔ ⋆˚࿔ 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐞 ; 𝐬𝐢𝐱 𝜗𝜚˚⋆𝜗𝜚˚⋆

↣ pack!tf141 x witch!reader

↣ chapter summary; summoning her was a choice heavy with consequences. now, you're forced to confront buried loyalties and a steep price for salvation.

★ warnings; body horror, mommy issues

☆ story masterlist

Hours pass after the call, each second heavy with anticipation as you sit on the porch, nails tapping out a nervous rhythm over your knee. Calling her was a decision you didn’t take lightly, and now that she’s coming, you can only wonder how it’ll play out after all this time. You’d left, and now, after everything, you’re the one who reached out first.

Suddenly, the rumble of an engine breaks the quiet, and it makes you straighten immediately. A sleek, black Mustang pulls into the drive, its windows so dark they blend seamlessly with the car's polished frame. It parks beside your own truck and where Sybil is sleeping inside. You stand up, unconsciously straightening up and brushing invisible lint off your clothes.

The moment the engine cuts off, you feel your pulse kick up a notch, the anticipation turning almost to dread.

A tall and imposing figure steps out of the driver’s seat first. It’s König, towering as ever, his dark, broad frame cutting a familiar figure in the low evening light. He steps up to meet you and doesn’t speak right away. His eyes, visible through the thin slit in his mask, soften just a little, a trace of warmth amidst his usually stoic demeanour. Carefully, he thumbs your chin in a familiar and comforting gesture, before he steps back.

“It’s been a while,” he murmurs quietly.

You give him a small nod, secretly grateful for the reassurance he brings. But the spell of reassurance fades as he opens the back door. Out slinks Cath Palug, your Mother’s familiar, a sleek, pitch-black sphynx cat with eyes like twin pale green mirrors, large and unblinking. The cat stretches his lean, wiry body and pads gracefully from the car, casting you an assessing gaze with piercing intelligence. Cath Palug’s presence is a prelude to the inevitable, and you swallow, feeling the familiar pressure of old expectations closing in.

Then your Mother steps out.

She’s a striking figure, even more intimidating than you remember, her poise and presence as commanding as ever. Dark glasses cover her eyes, and a sheer veil drapes elegantly over her face. The rich red of her lipstick is perfectly applied, as are her sharply pointed black nails, all silent declarations of control and power.

The instinct to fall back into your old ways is overpowering, and before you can think twice, you take a single step forward, bowing your head as you take her outstretched hand. You press a respectful kiss to the ring on her finger, a gesture that feels as natural as it is jarring—old habits and all. She says nothing as you straighten, and though her eyes are hidden, you feel her gaze on you, sizing you up. The faintest smile touches her lips, cold and knowing.

“Hello, darling,” she finally says. Your pulse quickens as you nod, bracing yourself for whatever comes next.

Her gaze flickers over you, taking in every detail. “You look dreadful,” she says bluntly, the hint of a frown just barely touching her lips. “Haggard, exhausted. Stand up straight, would you? And explain the situation clearly.”

Her voice is clipped and unwavering, the very tone you’d grown up trying to avoid displeasing. The urge to explain, to smooth over any cracks in your composure, presses against you, and despite the bitterness it brings, you lift your head and straighten your shoulders, forcing calm into your voice as you begin.

“Yes, of course, Mother.”

As you start to recount the events, Cath Palug rubs briefly against her heels, tail flicking as it studies you with the kind of scrutiny that is all too familiar. Meanwhile, König moves ahead, his tall frame cutting through the space with purposeful strides. You can tell by his pace that he’s already in full guard mode, reading every shadow, every open corner for a potential disturbance.

You guide her through the entrance, and with every detail you recount, she says nothing. Her nose wrinkles as she surveys the house, one hand reaching delicately into her pocket to retrieve a crisp, black-lace handkerchief. She presses it to her nose, a distasteful sigh escaping her lips.

“Charming place they have here,” she murmurs, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Your beloved truly have a flair for neglect, don’t they?”

You clench your jaw, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady. “I asked them to stay on the far side of the house for now,” you reply, your voice laced with as much calm as you can manage. “They won’t interfere.”

Her critical gaze sweeps over you, and she nods, looking satisfied, as if you’d passed a test you hadn’t realised was still in place. “Good. That makes this far easier.”

As you reach the door to Leah’s room, she pauses, assessing the energy hanging thickly in the air.

“König,” she says, her voice softer but no less commanding, “stay back. Watch over us but don’t enter. I suspect whatever is inside may corrupt even the strongest minds.”

König bows his head, stepping back with the same silent grace he used upon entering. He positions himself just outside the room, gaze sharpening, vigilant and ready but out of view. As the two of you step in, you can feel her energy tense, the magic in her stirring to meet whatever lay inside.

You clear your throat and try to keep your voice steady. “It’s a parasite,” you explain, feeling the sting of her scrutiny with each word. “And it’s vampiric in nature.”

She waves a hand dismissively. “Yes, yes. The signs are practically screaming.” Cath Palug, hops into the bed and arches its back, sniffing cautiously as if tasting the darkness in the air, before hissing sharply at Leah and jumping back down. Your Mother steps closer to Leah, removing her glasses and examining her with an appraising look that makes your stomach twist.

“Beautiful,” she murmurs, trailing one long, black nail above Leah’s arm. “I can see why she was chosen. A perfect little target for something so vile.”

Her gaze flickers over to you then, sharper, assessing. Her eyes carry that icy, knowing weight. “Your situation couldn’t be more clear, either,” she says, her tone cutting. “Discarded, were you? Cast aside without a second thought, as if the love you poured into them was nothing compared to this... human.” She gestures toward Leah, her lips curled into a thin, humourless smile.

The truth in her words is a punch to the gut. Tears prick at your eyes, but you won’t let them fall—not here, not in front of her, not after all the years you spent learning to hold yourself together under her piercing gaze. You swallow down the sting, focusing on keeping your composure, just as you always had in the past.

Finally, she steps back, putting her dark glasses back on as her expression cools. “I’ll treat her,” she says, a glimmer of satisfaction in her voice, as though she’s won something precious. “But there’s a toll to be paid, of course.” She tilts her head. “You’ll return to the coven. That’s my price. Come back as my heir, and I’ll cleanse her.”

Shame curls tight in your chest, creeping into every part of you, but your thoughts linger on them—on how, despite everything they’ve put you through, you still love them. You remember when they were the ones who held you up, who sheltered you, loved you. For the memory of those days and the loyalty they once showed you, you draw a breath and nod, head bowed.

“I shall serve,” you say, the words heavy on your tongue.

A faint smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, and without another word, she turns back around to face Leah. Her hand hovers over her chest for a moment, then sinks into it as if phasing through mist. You watch, heart pounding, as her fingers disappear beneath Leah’s skin, moving with a surreal ease. She reaches deeper, her arm lost in Leah’s body until, with a sharp tug, she yanks her hand back out.

In her grasp is the parasite, writhing and hideous, a twisted, centipede-like thing. She holds it up, it's dark, slick body wriggling, as she flicks her wrist and tosses it into the air. Cath Palug leaps, claws extended and teeth flashing, catching the creature in one swift, lethal motion and dispatching it efficiently.

It’s gone as quickly as it appeared. And just like that, it’s over.

The tension in the room is palpable as Leah lies motionless on the bed, the air thick with expectation. After a heartbeat, she gasps and jerks awake, pulling you from your anxious vigil. Relief tries to settle in your chest, but it’s quickly swept away as your Mother’s elegant hand presses firmly onto your shoulder, steering you out of the room without a second glance at Leah.

Her work here is done, and by her rules, so is yours.

Stepping into the hallway, you’re met with a tense standoff. König stands, silent and imposing, facing off with Price and Gaz. Their expressions are tight, But when König's gaze falls on you, his stance softens, just slightly, allowing a gentleness to seep into his intense demeanour.

Words start to form on your lips—an explanation, a warning—but they’re forgotten as Price and Gaz push past you without a second glance, their attention fixed solely on Leah. The pang of their disregard twists painfully inside you, deepening as your Mother lets out a disapproving click of her tongue, muttering, “Predictable,” with cold satisfaction.

Yet König steps up to stand by your side. His eyes linger as he wraps one of his arms around your shoulder. As he holds you, his calm strength eases some of the tension from your shoulders. Gently, he guides you away from the room and the people who were once everything to you.

Before reaching the front door, you hesitate, glancing up at him with a thousand concerns flickering in your gaze. Your mind returns to Sybil still back in your truck. 

“Sybil… she’s—,” you whisper, unable to hide the worry in your voice. König’s eyes meet yours through his mask, understanding immediately. He gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“She’s safe, meine liebe,” he murmurs softly. “Sybil’s waiting for us in the car. I thought you’d want her close.” His thoughtfulness eases your worry. “I know how much she means to you. The ward you left behind was sublime, as always.”

Your face warms at his compliment, and you start to thank him, but he hushes you gently, brushing a calloused finger over your cheek. “Let me take care of you,” he says, his voice soft yet steady, an unwavering promise.

It’s not unfamiliar, this caring side of him, but after everything, it still catches you off guard. He picks up your bag of supplies from beside the door, effortlessly slinging it over his shoulder before acknowledging your Mother, who watches a few paces away. She gives him a curt nod, a subtle approval that König returns with a respectful bow before leading you outside.

At the curb, he helps your Mother into the car first, Cath Palug jumping in right after. Then, he guides you into the back seat. Sybil, just as he promised, is curled up in the front seat. Relief sweeps through you as you lean forward, pressing a soft kiss to her nose. She lifts her head to gaze at you with sleepy, trusting eyes, her tail thumping faintly.

For once, your Mother remains silent, her face impassive as you reunite with Sybil. König watches you in the rearview mirror, his gaze holding yours for a brief, grounding moment before he starts the engine.

Just as the car pulls away from the curb, your Mother speaks, her tone as sharp. “Take us to Black Mous.”

The command strikes you like a shock, but you swallow any questions that rise in your throat. König’s eyes flick to her in the mirror, and he responds with his usual composure. “At once. We’ll be there shortly.”

. . .

The car stops smoothly at bar's entrance. König steps out first, opening the door for your Mother with a practised ease, her familiar jumping out behind her. She whispers something to König that you don't catch, and he nods solemnly before rounding the car to help you.

He then goes to your door, offering you a hand which you take with a soft thanks. His grip lingers on yours however. “Sybil and I will be right here.” His voice is soft, steady, even though you can see the slight tension in his jaw. He gently squeezes your hand before finally letting go, settling back against the car with folded arms and a watchful gaze even under the mask. 

With one final look, you follow inside after your Mother.

Inside the bar, the world falls silent. The regular patrons, familiar faces who would normally greet you with nods or smiles, freeze at the sight of your Mother. She strides forward with Cath Palug keeping pace beside her, his slitted eyes glinting dangerously.

“Everyone, out.” Laswell’s voice cuts through the silence, firm and resolute. She doesn’t need to repeat herself. Chairs scrape across the floor as patrons hurriedly exit, their glances lingering on the two of you before quickly darting away.

You follow after your Mother, feeling like a shadow—silent, resigned, and drawn along by her intense presence. She halts before Laswell, Cath Palug twisting around her feet, her movements slow and foreboding.

Laswell’s gaze flicks between the two of you. “To what do I owe this… visit?” she asks cautiously, her usual confidence strained.

Your Mother doesn’t waste a second. “The Le Fay coven withdraws its support. Effective immediately,” she declares, her voice cutting through the air like a blade.

Laswell’s face blanches, her mouth opening in protest. “Surely there’s something we can discuss—”

Your Mother raises her hand sharply, silencing Laswell mid-sentence. “Enough.” Her tone is cold, final. “I’ve seen the state of things. Your judgement is clouded, and this establishment has drifted too far from what it once was.”

For years, the Le Fay coven had been her most steadfast ally. They’d depended on her just as much as she on them—a mutual pact so deeply woven it felt unbreakable. And yet, here your Mother stands, wielding her power to sever it with a single decision. She speaks with the conviction of one who knows her word is law. 

There’s no room for Laswell to manoeuvre, no path to reverse what’s been done. You watch her expression flicker from anger to desperate resolve, and finally, to a bleak resignation. She glances your way, perhaps seeking some support. But before you can even gather the strength to respond, your Mother snaps her fingers, and the effect is instantaneous. 

Laswell’s pleading expression crumbles, her gaze clearing as though an unseen fog has lifted from her mind. “I… what—” she stammers, blinking rapidly, as if seeing the room and the two of you for the first time.

“Consider this a lesson,” your Mother says with a hint of a sardonic smile. She turns sharply, her familiar trotting behind her in perfect synchronisation. You glance back at Laswell, once your friend and confidant. The desperation painted all over her face is now replaced with stunned silence. 

Without a glance towards you, your Mother’s peaks. “We’re going home.”

Her words settle over you like a sentence to exile from this place you once thought of as your real home. Though she doesn’t say it, you understand—she’s making it clear: you’ll never set foot here again. You do nothing more than nod in silent acceptance. 

The price you’ve paid feels almost unnamable, yet you bear it without a word, quietly resigning yourself to the weight of the path you’ve chosen.

banner credit

[dracowars]

of kings and queens | halbrand

pairing: halbrand x númenorean!princess!reader

word count: 6,6k

summary: where halbrand and y/n are forced to marry and he unveils a world she's only ever dreamed of

a/n: how do i manage to make it longer every time you ask?? i have no idea, i just go with the flow & suddenly i'm at 6k~ i have been struggeling with this one but i'm proud of how it ultimately turned out!! feedback is always appreciated and thank you for all the love <3

warnings: angst, forced marriage, panic attack, mentions of sickness, soft sauron

universe: the rings of power

"I won't marry a stranger!", you loudly cry out in anger and slam your fists on the table with all your might, the sheer force of it causing some of the parchments to fall to the marble floor.

"He is no stranger. He is the King of the Southlands", your sister, Queen-Regent Míriel, tells you matter-of-factly.

"Who told you that? The elf?", you spit out, the blood running through your veins seething with anger. "Just a few days have gone by since he was detained in one of our cells, and now he is being hailed as a long-lost king? Do you even listen to yourself?"

"Sister-"

"Don't 'sister' me right now."

Míriel takes a deep breath, resting her weight on the table with both arms, and lowers her head as if she needs a moment to avoid lashing out on you in the same manner you are currently displaying.

"Listen. A marriage like this would rekindle and strengthen the bond between the people of Middle-earth and our kind for generations to come", she explains, her voice calm, but you know her well enough to notice that she has to pull herself together.

"Very well, go ahead and marry him then", you counter and give her a challenging look, the one you have been giving her since you were children. "Why should I be the one to suffer?"

"As the Princess of Númenor, it is your duty to prioritize the welfare of your people over your own!", she yells at you now, her nostrils flaring. You'd be lying if you said you didn't flinch a little when she raised her voice. Usually, it takes longer to unsettle her.

Elendil, who is standing at the large doors to the room, also seems a little shocked. As the two exchange a tender look, however, Míriel's features relax again and she straightens up, slipping back into the role of the wise, majestic Queen-Regent of Númenor.

"I won't accept no for an answer", she tells you, all calm and collected again. No trace left of your loving sister whom you loved so much.

"You have held me captive within these castle's walls for longer than I know and now you wish to ship me off like that?", you scoff in disbelief, crossing your arms in front of your chest, trying to mask how much she's hurting you right now.

"You wanted freedom. Here I am granting it to you."

"This is not freedom", you express your words through gritted teeth, your eyes burning with tears as your words have no effect on Míriel. "You think you can still control me like a child. But you no longer hold any power over me. I won't let you dictate the course of my life."

To emphasize your point, you grab the unassuming tiara adorning your head, smaller and thus in stark contrast to your sister's, and forcefully hurl it to her feet. Several small diamonds come loose and the sound of them scattering around the marble floor makes you shiver.

"I don't care who he is", you say angrily, your hands clenched into fists at your sides while Míriel only looks at you in shock, her eyes wide. "I won't marry someone I don't know, let alone love."

With these final words, you turn away and walk towards the door, which Elendil quickly opens for you. On his face, you clearly see that he feels sorry about how this whole situation expired. But you don't need his pity.

You stomp out angrily, holding back your tears, your pulse pounding in your ears. You have never told her what you think before. You have always done what she asked of you, been a good little sister because you can only imagine the burden she is carrying. But today she has crossed a line.

When you turn around in the hallway one last time, catching a glimpse of Míriel through the closing door, you see Elendil carefully approaching her to comfort her. From this perspective, she looks exhausted, hurt even. But all you feel towards her is anger. You can't help but roll your eyes and release a heavy breath of air from your lungs.

Undoubtedly, that is the reason why she wants you to marry Lord Halbrand. Because her heart is already taken.

You think back to times when you would have been overjoyed, when you would have been genuinely happy for her. You two would have lain on soft pillows and talked about everything, every little detail. Now, you can find none of these feelings inside of you.

Completely lost in your thoughts, you walk through the large halls of the castle, your home. A home that feels much more like a prison. With your head low, you turn a corner and suddenly collide with a hard wall. Caught off guard, you stumble back until a hand closes around your wrist and holds you tight.

You forget to breathe for a moment when your gaze meets his.

"Whoa there. Where are you headed, my lady?", Lord Halbrand asks you in surprise, a gentle smile on his face as he holds you close, his touch on your skin burning. As soon as you notice this, you break free from his grip and take your distance, smoothing down your dress, which he only comments on with a frown.

He is the last person you want to talk to right now.

"Are you all right?", he asks you with concern in his voice, making you realize that you haven't given him an answer and just stood there in silence. In fact, you don't really have anything to say to him. You just wish he would go back to Middle-earth where he belongs.

"Yes", you finally answer, coldly and curtly. "Now if you'll excuse me."

You walk past him, your shoulders almost touching, and listen to your own loud footsteps echoing through the halls as you walk down the corridor.

"Your demeanour leads me to believe that the Queen-Regent informed you of our plans", his voice calls after you, suddenly bringing you to an abrupt halt.

Our plans? That means they have been talking about this behind your back for who knows how long. You were deemed to lose from the beginning. As always.

"She did", you say, slowly turning around and towards him. He hasn't moved from the spot where you left him moments ago, but his presence fills the entire hallway anyway.

The way he stands there and looks at you, as if you were fragile and pitiable, makes the anger inside of you boil up once more and you walk towards him. Instead of taking a step back, however, he takes one towards you so that he is now towering over you with all his height.

"Listen to my words: I don't know what exactly you hope to achieve with this.. marriage. But it will never happen. I will not marry you", you tell him clearly, emphasizing the last words by poking your index finger into his chest. You don't give him time to answer, but as you turn around you notice the knowing grin that plays around his lips.

You decide not to respond to this and move away from him entirely. As soon as you turn into the next corridor, you finally feel like you can breathe again. At least as much as is possible for you within these walls.

You haven't been able to breathe properly in here for a long time.

You walk to your room, two guards posted on either side of the massive doors, and let yourself through without a word. Once inside, you find your way directly to the balcony, which overlooks the entire city and the harbour. The wind blows through your hair and creates a sad smile on your lips. From up here, you can hear nothing but the wind, the people frolicking down there nothing more than tiny black dots. A single tear finds its way down your cheek and you don't bother to wipe it away. Rather, you are amazed that you can even cry at all after all the tears you have already shed here.

You don't know if it is at that moment, or before, when you threw your crown at Míriel's feet, but you make a decision.

With a goal in mind, you go back inside, into the huge room you call your own and search through several closets until you find what you are looking for. You swap your beautifully ornamented dress for a more simple one, get rid of all your jewelry and put your hair into a casual updo. On the way to the door, your own reflection briefly looks back at you from the mirror across the room and you pause as you look at yourself.

Nothing is left of the little girl who once had dreams and pursued goals.

Taking another deep breath, you open the door and step out. The guards bow, as they always do when they see you.

"I'm going to pay a visit to my father", you explain to them, which they confirm with a short nod. They are about to follow you, but seem to remember that you are now allowed to walk around without guards constantly at your side, at least within the castle's walls. A change that hasn't been in effect for very long.

Nevertheless, you quicken your pace once you are out of their reach, afraid that they will decide to follow you after all. On your way, you make sure to avoid the maids and other guards, hiding behind corners, holding your breath. When you finally arrive at the stairs to the tower that lead up to your father, you stop hesitantly. But it only takes a moment, remembering your conversation with Míriel and all the other terrible events of the past, for you to regain your strength and turn away. With quick steps, you take the next set of stairs that lead down.

As you arrive in corridors that lead to the kitchen and staff facilities, you pay close attention to every little noise. Your heart is pounding so hard against your chest that you feel like it can be heard echoing throughout the corridors. You put your shaking hands against the spot where your heart is and try to calm yourself down. You've never tried to break out of this prison before, you always thought you were here for your own good. But you know better now. The thought of the outside world, which you have encountered so rarely in your life, scares you beyond belief either way.

Your sister's words still roam around your mind, making you clench your fists, until you gather up all your courage. Finally, you make it out of one of the doors, out into the fresh air that greets you lovingly.

However, you have no time to linger and quickly move forward, with careful steps as not to alert anyone. As you walk, you pull a cloth out of the corset of your dress that you had previously hidden there. In one swift motion, you pull it over your head and hide your face behind the fabric, only your eyes visible now.

With these safety measures in place, you make your way to the harbour, away from the castle. The entrances for the staff are guarded, but because of your disguise they let you pass. Once you slip past them, you are immediately surprised by the number of people walking through the streets. The sun is already setting on the horizon and the warm light of lanterns illuminates the alleyways.

With a gentle smile, you watch as two children whirl around, holding dolls that they chase each other with. You follow the mass of people who probably want to celebrate the end of their day in one of the taverns. The closer you get to the center of the city, the market square, the louder and more crowded it becomes. You hear them talking, laughing with each other, arguments are being settled, some young girls dance in the middle of a crowd of people who happily watch and applaud.

Despite the positive and joyful atmosphere, you are overcome by a feeling of sadness and sorrow all of a sudden. These people are your people - and you never get to see them. They don't get to see you unless they enter the castle, and that is something only a few people are allowed to do, reserved especially for the nobles and those of higher rank. But what makes you even sadder is the fact that very few of them even care for you. You are second in line to the throne. Once your father leaves this world, Míriel will be their Queen. Accordingly, interest in you is quite low. You are not even sure they would recognize you if you took off your disguise.

The sad truth is that they wouldn't, and that hurts more than you thought. And these are the people you are supposed to give your life for.

Suddenly everything becomes too much for you. Your ears are ringing, your heart is pounding, your whole body is shaking. No matter where you look, there are crowds of people everywhere. You feel small, constricted, helpless. You are carelessly pushed to the side, shoved forward. Your feet are stepped on, no one apologizes. You try to break out of the crowd, but your head is spinning and you no longer know which direction to go. Your breathing is getting faster and louder by the second. Nobody notices, nobody shows even the slightest hint of interest in you.

When you feel your legs giving way beneath you, you are suddenly grabbed by the arm and pulled into an alley.

You are terrified when you realize that you cannot defend yourself, your body is completely frozen and does not listen to your commands. Only when you feel a gentle hand on your cheek - the cloth must have come loose in all the chaos - and look up do you let out a breath that you didn't even know you were holding in. Lord Halbrand is standing in front of you, his face painted in concern as he looks you up and down.

"What are you doing out here all alone, Princess?", he asks and quickly grabs a hold of your shoulder as you start to drift away again, your legs no longer able to hold you upright. Exhausted, you lean against the stone wall behind you and close your eyes. You don't like that he sees you like this. On the other hand, he just saved you and prevented you from fainting in the middle of a crowd.

"I.. don't know", you whisper in defeat and it takes all your strength to admit it.

"What were you even thinking?", he says quietly, more to himself than to you. It feels like he doesn't want to scold you, but on the other hand he also does want to.

You look into his eyes, his face bathed in warm light from the soft candlelight of the lanterns around you. The wounds that are covering his skin have slowly healed, but even in this dim light you still notice them. Only now, when staring at him, do you realize that he is distracting you from all the noise and hustle, faded into the background.

"Come. I'll escort you back to the castle", he finally offers, his hands still on your shoulders as if he doesn't dare let go of you, afraid that you'll drift into the darkness at any moment.

Once again, you don't react and only stare at him, making the worry on his face deepen. In the meantime, you just can't wrap your head around how a Southlander like him, a low man, who barely knows you and who you've met with nothing but hatred, is worried about you while the people around you, your kind, are far away from even remotely caring about you.

"Can you walk on your own?", he asks, and when you finally nod in agreement, he lets go of you. But not for long, because after he puts the cloth back in its place to cover your features one of his hands wraps around yours and holds it tightly in his grip as he pulls you behind him, up several steps that lead further away from the cheerful scene.

You are grateful that he doesn't ask any questions, doesn't want to know why you were out here in the first place.

"Thank you."

That makes him pause for a moment and his hand applies a little more pressure on yours. In response, he turns to you with a gentle smile and lowers his head in resignation.

For some inexplicable reason, your heart suddenly skips a beat. He doesn't seem to notice the change in your face, however, and walks on. Together you make your way through the winding streets and you are amazed at how well he already knows his way around. You have to admit that it also hurts. After just a few days he's already more familiar with this city than you are.

You can already see the entrance to the castle when Lord Halbrand halts in his step, forcing you to stop as well. Turning to you, he steps closer and lifts your hand. Then, he gently places his other hand on top of it.

"I don't know what you were doing out there", he starts, looking from your hand between his to your eyes. "But rest assured that I'll keep it to myself."

The relief you feel in that moment is indescribable. If your sister found out you had escaped, she would surely reinforce all safety measure to protect you. This feeling doesn't last long, however, when another emotion suddenly overshadows it once he continues speaking.

"A princess like you doesn't belong out here."

He may not notice it, but these words hurt you deeply and make your eyes burn with tears within seconds. Without hesitation, you snatch your hand from him and put some distance between you by taking a few steps back. Your knees still feel weak, but you don't let it show. Lord Halbrand's face meets yours with incomprehension as you do so.

"I know where I belong", you spit out angrily and straighten up. For a moment you actually thought there might be more hidden beneath his facade. Oh, how wrong you were.

With these last words, you leave him standing there and walk the last few meters to the castle without him. Once again, you sneak through the staff quarters into the castle. Although you don't want to admit it, the walls suddenly give you comfort, making you feel safe and protected.

You quickly blink away a few tears and return to your chambers, where you go straight to bed. Even though you are incredibly exhausted and drained, you don't sleep all night. You toss and turn in the sheets, your mind plagued by nightmares until you hear the birds outside singing.

════════════

Annoyed, you slam the door to your chambers shut behind you and lean against it with a huff. Then you slide down to the cold ground and pull your knees closer to you, hugging them against your body.

Once again you tried to talk to your sister. Once again she dismissed your words as if they were worthless.

And that's exactly how you feel right now: worthless. Born into a life that brings you nothing but suffering and pain.

Ever since you were born, you were the one who would never ascend the throne. Who would never rule. And you never wanted to. You would never want to be your sister. But right now, you wish that you were both just born into a normal family, with no wealth or power. At the end of the day, she is still your big sister, the one who has always watched over you. Your mother dead, your father long bedridden - she is the only family you have left.

You miss the times when everything was peaceful. Happy times long gone when two sisters were inseparable. But the years made you believe that this world is not made for anyone to be happy.

You lower your head and let the sadness wash over you like waves finally bringing down a ship, and tears stream down your cheeks. Your body shakes, but you hold back any sobs, crying in silence.

You don't know how long you sat there, alone with your thoughts, the very last tear leaving your eye, but eventually something catches your attention. Something that reflects the light from across the room, lying on your vanity table that wasn't there when you left in the morning. Slowly, you get up and walk over, only to discover a beautiful brooch on top of a small piece of parchment. The design is that of a sun and the brooch is decorated with white and blue diamonds. It's breathtaking to look at.

You glance at the black ink on the parchment and your heart involuntarily jumps once more. The words read: 'Forgive me'.

When you suddenly hear footsteps behind you, however, you don't have time to think about these words any further. In one quick movement, you take an ornate dagger out of one of the drawers and turn in the direction of the noises. What you don't expect, however, is that Lord Halbrand emerges from the shadows behind your bed.

"H-How did you get in here? Who let you in?", you ask, out of breath, your heart pounding. The dagger in your hand is still raised, even as he approaches you. He doesn't say anything, however, just stands in front of you and slowly grabs your hand, which is tightly gripping the weapon. He lowers your joined hands and carefully removes the dagger from your grip, leaning over you to gently place it on the table.

"I was uncertain if my apology would be deemed acceptable, hence I wanted to see you in person to make sure", his soft voice sounds in your ear and sends a shiver down your spine. He is definitely too close to you right now and even though you'd never admit it, it doesn't feel uncomfortable. You look straight into his shining eyes which are not quite blue and not quite green but something in the middle. You swallow because the intensity in his gaze leaves you speechless.

"Get off me", you manage to croak out, sounding anything but convincing. Lord Halbrand notices this too, a smirk playing around his lips.

"I know you don't mean that, Princess. And that, deep down, you have already forgiven me", he breathes in a deeper voice than before and brushes a strand of hair from your face. In an instant, you grab his wrist and stop him from touching you any further. Because you know exactly what his touch does to you. And you simply cannot and do not want to acknowledge that you like what he does.

So far, every encounter with him was exhilarating, thrilling, like you were finally embarking on a long-awaited adventure. He awakens feelings you have kept locked away for a long time, sealed behind thick iron bars. Brick by brick, he slowly destroys the protective walls you have built around your heart.

It scares you.

"Lord Halbrand", you say more seriously now and stare directly into his beautiful eyes while he does not even try to free himself from your grip. "Get out of this room or I will call the guards and have you removed."

At that threat, Lord Halbrand lets out a quiet chuckle and removes his hand from your tight grip with ease.

"Before long, I will become your husband. It's time for you to get used to my presence, my lady", he states and the fury that rises in your eyes at his words is unmistakable. "I am aware that this.. arrangement may not be something you look forward to, but I suggest that you begin to come to terms with it. I fear you have no choice but to agree."

"Don't do this", you plead, and even though you try your best to hide it, your body trembles and your eyes fill with tears. The realization that he is telling the truth makes you feel sick to your stomach. Not wanting him to see your obvious discomfort, you turn your head away, lowering it in the process.

The next moment, however, you are unexpectedly pulled forward and suddenly feel two strong, muscular arms around you. Lord Halbrand hugs you as if his life depended on it. You can't even remember the last time someone hugged you. Especially not like this.

The slight scent of sea salt and smoke greets you and you have to admit that his embrace makes you feel safe, comfortable even. With his arms pressing you against his firm body tenderly, he manages to stop your body from shaking and your head from spinning. Right now, it's just you and Lord Halbrand. No could-haves, no would-haves.

The fact that you are no longer averse to his proximity scares you an immeasurable amount. That is also the reason why, in the next second, you push him away with all your strength, your hands on his hard chest.

"Please, Lord Halbrand. I need you to leave", you almost beg him and when his hand clasps yours on his chest, you look up at him and suddenly feel seen. The way he looks at you is unlike anyone has ever looked at you before.

"Your wish is my command, Princess", he nods and lifts your hand to his mouth, where he places a feather-light kiss on the back of your hand before he walks back to the large doors to your chamber, not taking his eyes off you. You also watch him and wait for him to finally leave you.

"Leave out the Lord next time", is the last thing he says before he disappears.

As soon as you see the door slam shut behind him, however, you run over with quick steps. Only when you get there and reach for the door handle do you stop yourself. What has gotten into you? Overwhelmed by the emotions flowing through your body all at once, you lean your forehead against the door in defeat.

After staying there for a while and taking several deep breaths to calm your rapidly pounding heart, you walk over to the brooch that is still shining at you from the table. Carefully, you place the fragile thing in the palm of your hand and examine it when you suddenly hear a whistle.

Wondering where it came from, you step out onto your balcony and see a few ships leaving the bay in the distance. But your attention is quickly drawn to the person standing in the courtyard a few meters below, looking up at you. You don't have to look twice to know that it is Halbrand.

"Give us a chance", he calls up to you and even from this distance you can see the bright smile on his face. Then he turns around and disappears under one of the archways.

Holding the brooch tightly to your heart, you can't believe that a soft smile creeps onto your lips.

════════════

"His Lordship Halbrand has requested to see you, my lady", one of the guards announces as you step out of your chambers the next morning. The mention of his name makes your heart skip a beat and you straighten up immediately.

"Then I shouldn't keep him waiting", you reply gracefully and let the guard accompany you to the place where Halbrand wants to meet you. You wouldn't have expected this to be the inner courtyard, though. And even less that he would be waiting for you there with two saddled horses.

"I hope you had a good night's sleep, my lady", Halbrand greets you with a gentle smile and notices that your steps immediately slow down when you see him with the horses. "Rest assured, Princess. I have consulted with the Queen-Regent regarding this matter. With her approval, I am permitted to accompany you on a brief ride. If that is what you wish, of course."

You pause entirely. You can't believe he convinced your sister to let you leave the castle, and with only Halbrand as your company as well. On the other hand, you've gotten a sense of how charming and persuasive he can be in the last few days.

Smiling, he holds out the reins of a white mare that is standing calmly next to him. Still a little unsure about the whole situation, you take the reins and stroke the horse gently, but don't take your eyes off Halbrand.

"H-How?", you ask him in disbelief. You can't help but think back to how often you have begged your sister to finally let you leave the castle. The fact that she is allowing this now makes you a little suspicious, but you certainly won't question her motives if it means that you can experience freedom once more, even if only for a few hours.

"We have to be back by sunset", Halbrand winks at you and comes closer, making you take a step back instinctively. When he reaches out his hand, you realize that he just wants to help you onto the mare, so you put your hand in his. Once you feel his calloused, rough yet soft hand, a pleasant feeling flows through you and when you sit upon the mare's back, you feel like you could conquer the world. He mounts his black horse as well and together you lead the horses out of the gate.

You turn around, your eyes fixed on the castle and the guards who make no move to follow you. A sense of relief flows through your body at once. Side by side, you make it out of the city and as soon as you leave the border of the capital, you are greeted by vast meadows and fields, grass gently swaying in the wind.

It doesn't take long before you get your horses galloping over the fields. Your white mare is a little faster than his horse, but you hardly even notice. You can only concentrate on the wind blowing through your hair, letting your dress float gently behind you. The air feels liberating and you are amazed at the beauty of nature, the beauty of the island you call home but have seen so little of.

A little later you reach a white sandy beach, the waves calm, seagulls squalling in the distance. The sea suddenly smells completely different from what you are used to and you can't help but smile.

If this is what freedom feels like, you won't ever go back.

Finally, you bring your horse to a stop on the shore, scratching her head, and turn to Halbrand, who stops his stallion right in front of you. Your hair is all tousled by the wind, but Halbrand smiles at you so genuinely that your cheeks flush. Without saying a word, you hop off your mare's back and bend down to bury your hands in the sand. As Halbrand dismounts, you quickly take off your shoes, lift up the fabric of your dress a little, and wade into the shallow water, which laps warmly against your skin.

You can't remember the last time you felt the ocean. As a Númenorean, you are connected to the sea on a deeper level and it feels like, right now, it's showing you how much it's missed you, like you're reuniting with an old friend. The sun is high above you, warming your skin as you close your eyes and enjoy the moment. Then you jump around the water playfully and with so much joy you haven't felt since you were a child.

Until you meet Halbrand's gaze. He is still standing where you left him, the reins of both horses in his hand, watching you enjoy yourself with so much affection in his eyes that you want nothing more than to run to him and fall into his arms, chasing the exhilarating feeling he gave you the day before.

Shyly, you slowly walk back to him through the ankle-deep water, your dress a little wet at the bottom.

"Enjoying yourself?", he asks with a smile, one hand scratching his horse behind the ears as he looks you up and down with sparkling eyes.

"Not exactly princess-like behaviour now, is it?", you shrug, eliciting a chuckle from him that gives you goosebumps and makes your heart beat faster.

"If you want my humble opinion: I think it's exactly how a princess should behave", he replies, the wrinkles around his eyes from smiling making him even more handsome in your eyes. "You shouldn't have to hide from the world."

"I wish I could come here more often", you sigh, ignoring his statement, your mood suddenly burdened by the thought that this moment of freedom will not last long and you will soon find yourself locked up inside the walls of the castle again. Halbrand's expression matches yours, but his gaze lays you bare. Feeling weak, you turn away. You stumble through the sand and finally flop onto the ground on a small dune, neatly placing your shoes next to you. Halbrand leaves the horses in your sight and joins you, sitting just a few meters next to you, your elbows touching.

For a while, neither of you says anything and you just stare out at the waves, which radiate a certain calm.

"As a child, I was very sick. An unidentified illness that was brought over from the continent. Despite having overcome it, I remained in a very weak state, requiring assistance with everything. I was not allowed to go out neither were people allowed to see me for fear of infecting me again. I was always surrounded by guards", you explain, your voice strong, but you have to pull yourself together not to sob. "Míriel was the only one who stood by my side, who made my time a little more bearable. Since our father.. has fallen sick, my sister feels even more responsible for my safety and, just like him, doesn't let me go out. She says it's for my own good and I once believed that, a long time ago. But now I doubt her concern is rooted in anything else than her own fear of losing me."

As soon as the last words leave your lips, you feel free. Free from the burden of not being able to tell anyone. But saying it out loud makes it feel so much more real. Still, pride fills you that you didn't shed a single tear. Halbrand, who was hanging on your every word, looks at you not with pity or sadness, but with a smile.

"Thank you for confiding in me. I can hardly imagine how hard that must have been for you", he tells you, speaking as if all of this is no longer your present. Maybe it's not right now, but it will be once you return.

"I have been wondering why you were locked up inside your whole life", he mutters to himself and takes a handful of sand, letting it trickle through his fingers. "And despite the prospect of freedom, you are against this marriage?"

His words hit you harder than they should, because you have to admit that you haven't given it a thought since yesterday.

"It's about her treating me like I'm a commodity that can be sold for a price", you answer, anger rising inside of you at the thought. "Either she keeps me here and risks a war or she finally lets me leave, with the ulterior motive that I at least bring some added value to Númenor. Besides, no one ever said that I would come with you once we were married."

"You think she would keep you here?", Halbrand asks, astonished. When you nod, something like determination paints his features.

"I won't allow that."

"I fear none of us will have much say in this", you sigh, exhausted and defeated, absentmindedly playing with the sand now as well. "I'm sorry you have to put up with a princess who knows nothing about this world, let alone has seen anything-"

"Don't say that", Halbrand interrupts you firmly, his eyebrows drawn together as if it physically hurts him to hear such words coming from your mouth. "You are perfect in my eyes, Princess."

You are glad he can't see the way your heart has started beating faster. What he can see, however, is the blush rising to your cheeks, which you quickly try to hide by turning your head away, pulling your knees closer to you.

"I feel like no one has ever told you how beautiful you are. In every way", he continues and you are startled when you feel his hand on your chin, gently turning your face back to him. You find it difficult to look at him, his eyes are looking at you so intensely that you no longer know which way is up and which way is down.

"Lord Halb-"

"What did I tell you about the Lord?", he chuckles, shaking his head at your cute behaviour. He loves the colour of pink your cheeks have taken on and how your eyes search his for any sign that he is lying, but you find nothing but the truth in them.

"When I told you that a princess like you doesn't belong here, I meant that a princess like you, who should be a queen, doesn't belong on this island, isolated from the world", Halbrand whispers, his hand moving from your chin to your cheek, where he gently strokes your heated skin with his thumb. "You belong in the very middle of it."

"N-No. I could never be a queen, I was not born for that", you explain, confident in your own words because it's all you have ever heard in your entire life; you would never be queen.

"I will make you a queen", he replies and the conviction with which he says this, the affection that resonates in his words and his features, makes you believe in his words. You desperately want to believe them.

"I promise I will not go without bringing you along", he assures you, holding your face in both of his hands now, his face so close to yours that you only have to lean forward a little to taste his lips. Halbrand notices this too, his gaze wanders to your lips and back to your eyes, which meet his almost pleadingly. As soon as you slightly nod, he connects your lips in a gentle but longing kiss. You gasp, never having been kissed before. Your heart feels like it will jump out of your chest at any moment, the sound of the waves blurs with your heartbeat and your hands get lost in his hair.

The kiss only lasts a few seconds, both of you having to catch your breath, but you don't want to let go of him. You have no idea what this man, this inconspicuous King of the Southlands, is doing to you, but you don't want to think about it because all you know is that you finally feel like yourself again, a feeling that seems so familiar yet unknown.

"I promise I will make you a queen and if it's the last thing I do", Halbrand tells you once more, leaning his forehead against yours before leaving a gentle kiss on the side of your mouth. Smiling up at him, you waste no time to wrap your arms around his neck and connect your lips in another kiss.

You will be his queen. And then you will finally be free.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

What if all the yeerks suddenly died? AU

Part 3.5; Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3 are here. All you need to know from earlier parts is that all the yeerks disappeared at once after the events of #19, and that the Animorphs and ex-controllers have been trying to resume a normal life ever since.

• Hedrick Chapman wanted to be an ecologist when he grew up.  Or a veterinarian.  Barring that, he’d have settled for being rich.  At no point did he ever want to be a vice principal of a criminally underfunded public high school.  That had been a yeerk decision, not his.  Certainly not his.  And yet, here he is.

• Then again, Chapman reflects as he watches Andy Mitchell vomit into the potted plant on his desk, this job has recently involved far more working with wild animals than he initially anticipated.

“It was horrible,” Andy sobs.  “Her f-face, it… it split open.  I could see bones under the—”  He cuts off, retching more.

Probably in shock, Chapman thinks.  A perfectly understandable reaction to having seen someone morph for the first time.  “What did she turn into?”

“What?”  Andy lifts his head.  Milk-pale, except for those red-rimmed eyes.  Definitely in shock.  “What do you mean?”

“Rachel.”  Chapman didn’t get a name, but that description could only apply to so many students.  “What did she morph?”

“I don’t know,” Andy wails.  “Her face got all baggy and horrible, like the skin was coming off, and it…”  He makes a pulling motion, away from his own mouth.

“So she turned into an elephant.”  Chapman notes that down.  “Then what?”

“You don’t understand,” Andy says.  “She… she… her body was melting!”

Chapman sets down the pen, looking him in the eye.  “I believe you.  You saw her turn into an elephant.  Did she try to attack you, once she was done?”

“I don’t know!  I ran for it.”

“Smart choice.”  Chapman massages his left temple, which is where his Rachel-shaped headache seems to have taken up full-time residence in Iniss 226’s absence. “I figured as much, since we’re not having this conversation in the hospital.”

“It was horrible,” Andy says again.

“And what did you say to Tobias Fangor that precipitated this incident?”

Andy blinks.  His color looks a little better, anyway.  “How did you know that?”

Chapman does not roll his eyes.  Because he’s an adult, and in control of his own body.  “I just so happen to be fluent in English, Mr. Mitchell.  Which is, by enormous coincidence, the language used to write your disciplinary file.  I’m also capable of basic pattern recognition.”

“What are you going to do to her?” Andy asks.  “Rachel.  What happens to her?”

An excellent question.  Bringing a deadly weapon to school results in a ten-day suspension.  But if Chapman applies that statute in this case, then he’d be forced to suspend all five Animorphs for the rest of eternity.  Threatening a classmate can result in expulsion, though it sounds like no actual threats were issued.  There isn’t a rule on the books for showing a classmate something so disturbing his brain tries to turn itself inside-out from sheer horror, although in light of recent developments there really should be.

“Not your concern,” Chapman says.  “Thank you for telling me.  Back to class.”

Andy takes several more minutes to collect himself before he goes.  Chapman uses that time to catch up on paperwork, though he does offer the young man a tissue.  And a breath mint.

• Andy is barely out Chapman’s door when it swings open again and Tom Berenson strides in.  “You have to tell my parents it’s not Jake’s fault,” he announces.

I am not your therapist, Chapman would dearly like to say.  I am not your best friend.  I am not, regardless of Iniss 226’s relationship with Temrash 114, your fucking subordinate.  I do not ‘have to’ do anything.

Not being snippy with vulnerable teenagers is probably one of those things they’d cover M.Ed. programs, if Chapman had ever actually been to school for this job.  “Why don’t you take a deep breath and explain from the beginning.”  There.  That sounds like something a vice principal would say.

“Jake.”  Tom sits down.  “My parents keep forcing him to go to school.  They think he’s, like, being a moody teenager.  Or faking it.”

Chapman may not be a therapist, or even a college graduate, but he does recognize that Jake’s entitled to as many sick days as he feels like taking, for the rest of eternity.  However, “That’s between your parents and your brother.”

“You can’t do anything?” Tom asks.  “You have the ability to give kids permanent excuses for made-up medical conditions— Iniss did it all the time—”

“I am not,” Chapman says severely, “Iniss 226.”

Tom stiffens.  “I just meant…”

“I recognize it is not your fault you have entirely too much information about the administration of this school.”  Chapman tries to soften his tone.  “But if you can do without using the Krav Maga or ability to home-assemble a working handgun that you also didn’t choose to receive, you can do without that.”

“But— Jake.  They don’t get it.”

“I will speak with your parents.  I’ll express these concerns to them,” Chapman says.  “In the meantime, might I suggest you focus on your own grades?  Thanks to Iniss, you’ve missed far too much school already.  If you want to have any hope of graduating on time, you need to catch up.”

“Why?”

He says it so simply.  It’s a question Chapman’s been asked before: Why bother?  Of all the kids who’ve asked him, only Marco Santiago has been more entitled to ask.  Why, indeed, bother with school?  Why care about Civics and Algebra when the world itself has already ended around you? 

A real vice principal would make a speech about learning being its own reward, or the importance of insuring one’s future.  “Because,” Chapman says, “when I speak to Coach Lu about letting you back on the basketball team, he’ll point out that student athletes need a minimum two-point-oh GPA.”

Tom’s whole face lights up.  Suddenly looking years younger.  Looking like a kid, for the first time in months.  “You’d do that for me?”

That M.Ed. program no doubt would have advised against bribes.  “No skin off my butt,” Chapman says.  “Now go do your homework.  And let the adults worry about your brother.”

“Yes sir!”  And he’s off like a shot.  Possibly even, miracle of miracles, off to work on that backlog of English essays.

• The first time Jake called a meeting in Cassie’s barn, even though they don’t really have a reason to meet anymore, it was to discuss what they can do to help the hork-bajir—taxxon alliance.  The second time, it was to make a plan to help Tobias get caught up in school.  The third time, he doesn’t even make an excuse.

Rachel complains about the press hounding them for a statement.  Marco complains about his parents making out on the couch while he’s in the house.  Tobias complains about Ms. Paloma’s workload, and about the hork-bajir constitution negotiations.  Jake complains about his dad’s horrifying questions about how morphing affects puberty.  Ax complains about Alloran’s frequent, extremely snobby, emails.  Cassie complains about her parents constantly asking her to morph their patients to figure out what’s wrong with them.

It’s silly.  It’s fun.  It’s playing at being teenagers with teenage problems.

“This time next week,” Jake announces, at the end.  “And if there are any major developments in the meantime, keep the rest of us posted.”

• “Tobias Fangor’s aunt called again,” Principal Walsh says, when Chapman gets to the office on a Tuesday morning.  “Don’t you think we should at least speak to her, see what she wants?”

“No,” Chapman says.  “I don’t.”

“His uncle.  This…”  She glances at the paperwork.  “Axel Mili-Esgarrouth.  Didn’t show up for last parent-teacher conference.”

Small mercies.  Chapman doesn’t explain Tobias’s living situation.  Doesn’t reveal that he owes the kid’s parents the kind of debt that cannot be repaid in an entire lifetime of favors.  Doesn’t deign to find out if Maggie Walsh knows what an andalite is.

“Tobias Fangor,” he says, “is part of the one-tenth of one percent of students who are, somehow, attending this high school because they want to be here.  If you give him reason to transfer out, I will resign.”

• There are reasons that Chapman stays in this job, despite being stashed here against his will.  Not the pay.  Not the sullen ingratitude from the teens he helps.  Certainly not the parents.  It’s because he’s needed here, now more than ever.

• He stays for the times Loren’s kid comes skittering into his office, wild-eyed and muttering, “Sorry, I just, sorry, I’ll be out of your hair soon, I promise…”  Chapman knows to open the window, when that happens, knows to shove a chair already well-deformed with talon marks out from behind his desk.

•  He stays for the kids who on paper had straight As, perfect attendance, promising gigs at The Sharing — and overnight became failing wrecks with insomnia and dozens of unexplained absences.  He can explain to their teachers, to their parents, in a way that someone who hasn’t been there will never be able to understand.

•  He stays for the way Eva Santiago clasps his hand and says, “You will look out for him.”  Half-supplication, half-command.

•  He even, despite himself, stays for Tom.  Who showed up at school the day after Aegas 1909 died, trying to pretend like nothing had happened.  Who is a truly godawful actor — he took one look at Chapman, went dead-white, and ran for it.  Who was backing away even as Chapman cornered him in the parking lot.  “Wait!” Chapman had said.  “Wait! Iniss is dead too.”  And Tom had burst into tears.

•  No one else would understand them.  No one else would know why nearly every one of the seventy-three ex-hosts in this school has been sent to his office for not paying attention, for sleeping in class, for allegedly being stoned during school hours.  No one else would overlook the absolute illegal mess of Tobias’s paperwork, or give Rachel a fortieth second chance after she has yet another hair-trigger reaction to being bumped in the hall.

•  But there’s one reason above all others that he stays in this job.

“You don’t mind?” Melissa says, every single time he offers her a ride to school.  As if he’s doing her a favor, letting her take up space in the car he’s already driving that way.  As if it’s a chore to get to spend time with his daughter and hear about her day.

“You sure you don’t mind?” he always answers, smiling, and she always runs to get her bag.

It takes so little — a smile, a nod, an offer to feed the damn cat, sometimes even just a glance her way — to get her to light up with gratitude.  It breaks his fucking heart to know the reason why.

He drives her every day.  He helps her with homework every night, and cooks her dinner afterward.  He drops more than he can afford on leg-warmers and Lisa Frank and Limited Too.  He’s every parenting cliché: on a trial separation from Alison, spoiling their kid rotten because of the guilt.

Anyway, time with Melissa is worth a hell of a lot more than mere money.  And it’s almost enough to make up for dealing with parents.  Almost.

•  “But Cassie’s a good kid,” Michelle Logan says.  “She’s always been responsible, and she’s always taken care of herself.  There has to be some kind of mistake.”

Chapman looks at the good kid sitting between her parents.  Thinks of watching her rip a hork-bajir’s throat out, taking an innocent life along with the guilty one.  Trusts that she had no choice in the matter, because if it was him she’d killed instead then he would have understood.

“I recognize that Cassie has had an overall clean record thus far,” Chapman says.  “However, the Rain Forest Café is filing charges against the school for the impersonation and theft of several live animals, and I don’t have other suspects.”

“Cassie would never,” Michelle said.  “She’s a good kid.  She just fell in with the wrong crowd, that’s all.”

“Of that,” Chapman says dryly, “I have no doubt.”

Cassie lifts her head then to look straight at him.  “I’m sorry,” she says, not sounding it.  “I was trying to help the parrots.”

I.  Yes, she’s a good kid.  “It’s admirable,” Chapman tells her, “that you’re covering for your friends.”  Probably also on the list of things a real vice principal wouldn’t say.  “But there is no way that you could have acted alone.”

“Can you prove that?” Cassie asks.

“Can you even prove it was her?” Michelle says.  “What about Marco, or Rachel?  They morph.  Isn’t Tobias a bird quite often?  Who says it wasn’t him?”

Cassie and Chapman make eye contact.  Marco is one incident away from being expelled.  Rachel is about negative eight incidents away, and Chapman can only do so much to protect her.  Tobias isn’t supposed to be at this school at all, which the board will surely notice if he comes to their attention.  Cassie confessed, because Cassie can take the heat.  And Chapman’s letting her take that fall.

“It’s okay,” Cassie tells the adults.  “It’s only a week of detention.”

Because that was the lowest sentence he could propose, while still avoiding a legal proceeding.  She really is a good kid.

•  “Where you going?” Jake asks, not looking up from his Spanish homework, when Tom unlocks the front door at 8:00 PM on a Sunday.

“Sharing meeting,” Tom says casually.  “Wanna come?”

Jake sets down his pen.  He looks at his brother.

Tom stares back, smirking.

“Where are you actually going?” Jake says.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”  And with that, Tom walks out the door.

Despite himself, Jake follows.

 • It’s an under-21 nightclub that Jake vaguely recognizes as being a front for The Sharing, but the crowd spilling onto the lawn around it is truly all ages.  There’s a giggling pair of 10-year-olds standing too close to the beer keg for his comfort, a middle-aged guy handing out glow sticks, and a woman with gray hair and a hand-knit sweater smoking a joint on the curb.

“Tommy-boy!” That’s the guy standing next to the door, an ex-controller Jake thinks is named Bill.  He throws out his arms and, before Jake can react, has grabbed Tom, spun him around, dipped him, and kissed him on the mouth.

“Hands off, asshole,” Tom says, laughing as he pulls loose.  “You are so fucking drunk.”

“Sssshhhhhh,” Bill says, not disconfirming the accusation.  He points to the Employees Only printed on the door.  “Just meat-puppets tonight.  Ditch the tagalong.”

“Oh, come on.”  Tom gestures at Jake.  “The kid was a controller for a hot second last November.”

Bill squints at Jake.  “Wait, really?”

Jake shrugs.  He doesn’t want to talk about it.  “Yeah.”

“Well all right, then.”  Bill ruffles Jake’s hair, Tom slaps Bill on the ass, and they shoulder their way inside.

• The club is jammed full of bodies, most of them sweaty and partway naked.  Jake retreats until his back is against the nearest wall, looking over the mess of dancing humans.  Tom has split off, chest-bumping with some other guy Jake doesn’t know and stealing a drag off his cigarette.  None of them are acting remotely like controllers, which is reassuring, and now he’s wondering if it’d be rude to leave without Tom about 10 seconds after having arrived.

 No one would notice if he turned into a bug, he decides after about an hour of this.  Seriously.  This crowd would not notice, and it’s not like they’d care if they did.  Tom can find his own way home.

A small form sidles up next to him.  “Hi, Jake.”

“Melissa!” he says too loudly, glad to see a familiar face.  “Hi.”

“You want some drink?”  She holds up a clear plastic cup, three-quarters full of liquid.  “There’s plenty more over…”  She points to the punchbowl behind her.

“Drink?” Jake asks.

Melissa shrugs.  “From the empty bottles, it’s mostly beer and tequila, with a little bit of Bloody Mary mix.  Which is probably why it…”  She grimaces down at her cup.  “Looks, smells, and tastes like urine.”

“Um.”  Jake peers at her cup; her assessment isn’t wrong.  “I think I’ll pass, thanks.”

“Cool.  There’s also a guy around here with E, if that’s more your speed.”

“Gee.”  Jake looks back over the crowd, which includes several couples openly pawing at each other, a group of four with hands inside each other’s clothes, and Tom apparently attempting to eat some woman’s tongue before she can eat his.  “There’s ecstasy here?  I never would’ve guessed.”

“People are just glad the war’s over,” Melissa says.  “And your brother’s a really good kisser.”

It’s official: this is worse than the gathering of alien slugs plotting Earth’s destruction that Jake expected to find.  It’s not even a proper orgy, just a whole crapton of giddy ex-hosts hugging each other and then getting too enthusiastic about the hugs.

“Look,” Jake says.  “This has been nice, but I have school tomorrow, so…”

•  Which is when the commotion breaks out near the door.

“Gatecrasher!”  That’s Bill, brandishing a mason jar as he continues to yell.  “We have a gatecrasher!”

Several people crowd around him to get a better look, someone holding up a glow stick to reveal that, sure enough, the jar in his hands contains a single wolf spider.  Among this crowd, animals that act strange or aren’t native to California don’t go without notice.

«I’m innocent!  And even if I’m not you can’t prove anything,» the spider says.  «Maybe I just wandered by accidentally, and this is all a big misunderstanding.»

“This thing’s for full members only,” Tom says, straight-faced.  “There’s a sign on the door, can’t miss it.”

«Maybe I want to join the Sharing?» the spider suggests.

This gets him several unamused looks.  “Toss him out,” Li says.  “And let’s get back to the keg stands.”

“Nah, let him stay!”  That’s Koko, piping up from the back.  “God knows every person in this bar owes the Animorphs a drink.”

Looking between them, Bill turns back to the jar.  Finally he lifts it up to eye level, starting at the spider’s middle two eyes.  “Repeat after me,” Bill intones.

«Uh-huh.»

“What your mom doesn’t know…”

«What my mom doesn’t know…»

“Will not hurt her.”

«Dude, I wouldn’t narc on you!  What do you take me for?»

“A chip off the old block,” Tom mutters.

“Repeat it,” Bill says severely.

«What my mom doesn’t know, won’t hurt her.»

“Great!”  Bill unscrews the lid of the jar, dumping it out on the ground.  “Welcome to the Sharing.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Melissa says to a slowly-demorphing Marco, “I got the same speech.”

“It really does.”  He presses a hand over his heart.  “Now, someone mentioned buying me a drink?”

•  A small nightclub on the outskirts of the city burns to the ground, shortly after having every piece of its furniture and glassware smashed in a pile in the middle of the floor.  The local police force, over 30% of whom were controllers three months ago, elects to ignore this development.

•  Chapman loathes paperwork to the absolute depths of his soul.  Nothing, absolutely nothing, is worse than filing paperwork to get permission to file paperwork, and yet here he is.  The state of California cannot possibly need this many copies of Ashley Shawn’s transcript.  This has to be a torment invented by an evil god to punish him for everything he did aboard the Jahar.  There is no other explanation.

So when Ms. Hanna comes skidding into his office and announces “Science wing! There’s a brawl!” his first thought is, oh thank god.

His second thought is to wonder why she came to get him, skipping the security officer and Principal Walsh, but they’re already running by the time that occurs to him.

When they get there the press of screaming-chanting bodies fills the hall from end to end, but kids still find room to crowd out of the way when they see Chapman coming.  The circle of spectators breaks long enough to reveal the melee at the center, and—

Oh hell.  Chapman can tell exactly why Ms. Hanna got him first.

Fiona Aherne has one hand fisted in the collar of Tom Berenson’s shirt, and is punching him repeatedly in the face.  Joe Lassen catches her around the middle and rips her off Tom, tossing her to the floor, only to be caught in a side-tackle by Li Saren.  Beyond them, Hailey Ng and Bill Renaldi are hanging onto Asher Reed, until Asher suddenly rolls forward and body-slams Bill to the floor.

Chapman winces — so much for not using that Krav Maga. He's knocked aside as Jake shoves past him and dives in to the fray.

Principal Walsh is across the battlefield, staring in bafflement.  Shouting ineffectually for everyone to stop.  She doesn’t know, of course, what Tom and Joe and Asher all have in common.  What Bill and Li and Fiona and Hailey do.

Li has Tom by the throat from behind, which is why Jake throws himself onto Li with the gracelessness typical of a high-schooler.  Li head-butts Jake, only to have Jake, snarling, bite him in the face.

“Stop!” Chapman bellows.  “ALL OF YOU!  STOP!”

Jake drops off Li.  Hailey drops Asher.  Slowly the others lower their fists, glaring.

Good to know everyone’s fear of Iniss 226 is still good for something.

“Everyone in the Biology classroom,” Chapman barks, pointing at the door.  “Bill’s lot near the windows, Tom and the others by the door.  Move it!”

Principal Walsh stares at Chapman in confusion, which deepens when everyone obeys him without question.  He beckons first to Ms. Hanna, then to Mr. Tidwell, pointing them into the room as well.  They also take their places without question, Mr. Tidwell supervising the voluntary half of the room as Ms. Hanna covers the involuntaries.

Pausing in the doorway, Chapman turns at last to face Maggie Walsh.  His boss.  Who has the ability to fire him, if she misunderstands the situation.  “It’s about yeerks,” he settles for telling her.

Her look of bafflement doesn’t fade.  “How?”

Chapman opens his mouth. Hunts for words.

“Jake had nothing to do with this.”

Chapman doesn’t have to turn his head to know who spoke from the involuntary side of the room.  What a surprise, a Berenson kid running his mouth.

“Thank you for your input, Thomas.”  He spins around.  “That isn’t your call.”

Tom crosses his arms.  Between the fingernail marks down his cheek and the broken knuckles of his right hand, he looks the very picture of delinquency.

“He’s right,” Joe says, from the voluntary side of the room.  “It’s nothing to do with Jake.”  In Chapman’s peripheral vision, Maggie Walsh blinks several times.  He’ll explain later.  Or try to.

“Fine,” Chapman says.  “Jake, get back to class.”

Jake lifts his chin, blood striping the lower half of his face.  “I chose to get involved,” he says.  “I’ll take my punishment.”

“Oh yeah?” Tom says.  “Then what was the fight about?”

Jake looks from one side of the room to the other.  Both sides have ninth graders, twelfth graders, jocks and nerds, white and Black and brown kids.  Jake’s probably smart enough to identify several ex-controllers, and to guess at the rest, but unable to tell how or why they sorted themselves like they did.  Nonetheless, after a second he opens his mouth.

“That’s what I thought,” Chapman cuts him off.  “Anyway, if I suspend you then Marco and Rachel will have burned down the school within a week.  Fix your nose, then back to class.”

Knowing when he’s beat, Jake leaves.  Chapman makes a note he’ll also have to explain to Maggie how morphing works, and that he didn’t just order a 14-year-old to hand-set a broken nose.

“The involuntaries started it,” Bill announces, the moment Jake is gone.

“Yeah,” Tom snaps, “and the voluntaries are the ones who—”

“Who were lied to, instead of being coerced?” Mr. Tidwell suggests.

Tom shuts his mouth.

“Asher called me a traitor.”  Li points a finger across the room.

“Six months ago Li told me,” Asher says quietly, “that I should really join the Sharing.”

“And so,” Chapman drawls, “you had no choice but to punch each other in the face.  Is that correct?”

Tom mutters something under his breath that Chapman chooses not to catch.  He can’t threaten them, not this crowd.  Most of them have survived worse hells than the Geneva Convention ever dreamed of.  Detention means nothing.

Fine.  Persuasion it’ll have to be.  Fuck his life.  Chapman raises his voice to address the involuntaries.  “They—” He points to the voluntary side of the room.  “Are not the enemy.  The yeerks are the enemy, and the yeerks are dead.  Don’t start doing their work for them, you hear me?”

There’s a long silence.  Asher scuffs the toe of his shoe on the floor.

“Yeah,” Tom says at last.  “We hear you.”

“Everyone get checked at the nurse’s office,” Chapman tells the room at large.  “You’re all suspended for the rest of the week.”

Maggie Walsh takes a seat next to Chapman, even as the kids all file out.  Yeah.  He owes her an explanation.  Taking a deep breath, he tries to sum up what just happened.  Hopefully in a thousand words or less.

Don Tidwell, coward, takes that opportunity to slip out the door.

•  “Does anyone have anything to report?”  Jake looks around Cassie’s barn.  It’s still odd to see Ax and Tobias sitting out of morph and in the open.  There was a brief collective panic when Cassie’s mom poked her head in earlier to ask if they want any lemonade or feeder mice.

“I have,” Marco says grandly, “a date… with Destiny!”

«Oh, you mean Destiny Trembull in tenth grade?»  Tobias immediately undercuts this, because of course.  «She seems nice.»

“And we don’t even have to spend the next three days following her around,” Rachel comments, which gets Marco to lob a horse comb at her head.

«I have accessed one-hundred twenty-three additional channels on my television,» Ax adds.

Cassie and Jake exchange a glance.  “How’s it going, getting a ride home?” Cassie asks.  “Any word on that?”

Ax shrugs — he isn’t even going to fit in on the andalite homeworld anymore when he does finally get there — and looks away.  «I’ve been told that there are more important priorities concerning the Navy.»

«Their gratitude,» Tobias drawls, «is overwhelming.»

•  Chapman explains to Jake’s parents that Jake needs a therapist, and also permission to miss school if he needs to.  Chapman explains the Yeerk Empire and how exactly they recruit humans to Li Saren’s parents for the third, then the fourth, then the fifth time, until they are in tears and begging their son’s forgiveness for doubting him.  Chapman explains to the district that he has no idea how the school ended up with a staircase leading from a supply closet to the alien sinkhole, but that he wants it sealed up posthaste.  Chapman explains himself to Naomi Berenson, and then he does his best to explain Rachel as well.

• "No," Chapman tells the officious-looking little man sitting across his desk. "I don't know of anyone like that. I'm sorry, I wish I could be more help."

The man — he's probably a real detective, he has a badge — leans across the desk to push the photo array a little closer to Chapman. "You're sure? None of these individuals is a..." He glances at his notes. "Voluntary controller."

Chapman looks at the array, which includes images of nearly 100 students. Some of whom weren't controllers at all — that's Tobias Fangor in the upper left corner. Some of whom were lied to by the Sharing, and then lied to by the Yeerk Empire. Some of whom, like Bill Renaldi and his absolutely debilitating major depression, felt they had no choice but to give up their bodies. "Sorry," Chapman says. "None of these individuals appear to be voluntary controllers to the best of my knowledge."

The detective stares at Chapman, waiting for more information. Chapman stares back, waiting for the detective to get bored. He can do this all day, literal hours of silence if that's what it takes. He doubts any mere civilian can say the same.

Sure enough, the detective breaks first. "You see," he says, "we know for a fact that some of these individuals did, in fact, collude with the Yeerk Empire. And we have CCTV footage indicating that you might have been one of those colluders yourself. So anything you can do to help us out..."

Chapman lets the silence go for another minute, long enough for the detective to shift in place. "You're mistaken," he says at last. "About what it means to be a voluntary controller. Or an involuntary one, for that matter. The distinction you're seeking does not exist."

"I'm sorry." The guy has his notepad out now, pen moving. "You're saying... there's functionally no difference between the voluntary hosts and the involuntary ones?"

"Yes," Chapman says, unaware of the hell he's about to unleash. "That's exactly what I'm saying."

•  “Ms. Paloma’s being a butt,” Melissa says, spinning her chair with a toe on the floor.  “I told her that I have a French test the same day as the Bio one, but she just said that means I have to learn to manage my time.”

She just walked into his office.  Without knocking.  Without asking if he’s busy, if he minds, if he’s sure.  Without apologizing for her existence.  She walked in, she sat down uninvited, and now here she is complaining to him like any normal teenager.

“That sounds stressful.”  Chapman is choosing his words with infinite care.  He’s six years old again, holding a butterfly cupped in his palms and knowing that even a millimeter’s clumsiness will crush this precious living jewel.  Thinking this.  This is what I want.  “I’m sorry to hear that,” he says.

She came in unprompted.  She just walked right in.

“I hate French.”  Melissa spins the chair again.  “It’s all those lists of vocab words, and I can’t even say half of them correctly…”

“Do you want me to help you study?” Chapman asks.

Her head pops up with the force of her surprised, pleased smile.  “You’d do that?”

That’s it, then.  He’s never leaving this job.  Paperwork and all.

[maybesamikins]

𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 » 𝐬.𝐰

sam winchester x female!reader

genre: smut warnings: NSWF , 18⁺ , explicitly sexual content , mention of readers death , spoilers? wc: 2.6k

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: when sam faces death, he wakes up in heaven and is forced to relive one of his happiest memories with his late girlfriend who tragically passed away six years ago.

𝐚/𝐧: this idea literally came to me in the middle of the night… i’ve never written smut before nor have i ever actually posted a fan fiction, please be nice or i think i might die. and please ignore any typos and grammatical errors i don’t feel like proofreading.. ENJOYYY!! <3

ꔫ » 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐝𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝟓𝐱𝟏𝟔 “𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧”

the two men standing before sam exchanged looks, nodding at one another. sam’s heart was pounding so hard he swore it was about to burst out of his chest. sam clinched his eyes shut so he no longer had to stare down the barrel of a shotgun. the sound of the trigger clicking echoed through his ears, then all he remembered was the bright flash that followed. he felt his body growing cold as the world fell quiet.

“sam, c’mon we gotta leave!”

his eyes fluttered open, in a confused daze he began checking out the very familiar surroundings. his dorm. and was that her voice?

“sam? you dressed yet, babe?” after hearing your voice for the second time sam came to the conclusion that this was the light at the end of the tunnel before eternal hell.

your sweet voice came from behind the door of his room. a smile instinctively grew onto his face. the small sound of the door knob twisting followed by the larger sound of the door opening grabbed his attention, he turned to face the now open door. his eyes instantly met your face. the familiar glow of your face and the welcoming smile that had stuck with him over the years made him feel like he had just fallen in love all over again. god how he’s missed you. he had only seen your face as an image in his head for the past six years. and to see you now, so vividly, it felt so real– it made his cheeks hurt from smiling so hard.

“what’s got you so smiley?” you giggled at his goofy smile as you walked further into his room. he remembered now, this had happened before. a full year before you died, the night of some halloween party, which explained the angel costume, coincidentally enough. he remembered how you had wanted to go with the witch costume, which sam had talked you out of— he hated witches.

“just happy to see you.” he found himself stuttering over his words trying to gather the right things to say. sam couldn’t wipe the smile off of his face even if he tried his hardest. he walked over to you and gently placed his hands on your waist that was covered with a sheer white fabric. leaning down, not once letting his eyes fall away from you, slowly connecting his lips to yours with anticipation. it was just as he remembered, your lips still soft and sweet. the distinctive taste of the chapstick you always wore he had been dreaming of for years.

your arms flat against his chest to playfully push him off.

“alright, loverboy. where's your costume?” you stood with your arms crossed waiting for an answer. he could only smile, this all felt so surreal. to feel your lips plush against his for the first time in forever, to taste the reminisce of your sweetness lingering on his own lips. he was so happy to see your face again, this time your eyes filled with light instead of terror. for years the scared expression you had before you died had haunted him.

“you know halloween isn’t my thing.” he finally spoke.

“yeah yeah, whatever,” you rolled her eyes in a toying manner. “you ready to go then?” you gestured to his current outfit. he had on what he had every time this memory would repeat in his dreams, the button up shirt that had the sleeves pushed up a little past his forearms and his jeans that hung the slightest bit low.

sam looked at you for a moment, his eyes falling over each and every one of your features before his gaze finally met your eyes again,

“mm’ not yet.” he hummed to himself with a low mumble.

he pulled you in by the waist once again, this time with more grip in his touch. one hand falling on the small of your back guiding you closer to his body. your hands glide up his toned chest and land on the back of his neck, you pull him down to you connecting your lips with his. the hand that laid on your back moved to the warmth of your cheek only pulling you further into the passionate kiss that was growing sloppy. your hands now in his soft brunette hair, playing with it gently in your fingers— including an occasional tug. his tongue slowly grazes over your plump lips, slightly parting your lips allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth ravenously. his hand slid onto your back as you arched closer into his needy touch, he kissed slowly along the soft skin of your neck. you tilted your head giving him additional access to more of your tender skin. taking your swollen bottom lip in between your teeth clenching your eyes shut at small tickling feeling of sam kissing up your neck.

he couldn’t help but tease the skin of your neck, abusing the sensitive bits of your skin that would make your breath hitch and your heart speed up a beat. sam was like a starved man in front of a perfectly plated meal, and he just couldn’t get enough. his hands wandered over your clothed body feeling more of your warm skin. reluctantly removing his lips from your skin, he gently tossed you onto the bed with a sense of urgency. immediately climbing on top of you, your hips slotted together perfectly. he left small kisses on your body occasionally sucking harshly on your skin. leaving a trail of small pecks as he made his way back up to your lips. his arm on the side of your head caging you in propped him up over your body, while his free hand rested beneath your back. his knee between your legs supported the rest of his larger body that covered yours entirely. the hand beneath your back now grazing over the fabric of your costume. he began slowly slipping the material over your shoulder as he kissed further down your neck and along your collarbone taking note of the spots that made you let out those cute little noises. his free hand pushing more of the costume material down your body, leaving your upper half in just that white lacy bra that he could never forget. he slowly slipped the straps from your shoulders, still kissing along your skin.

“this okay, pretty girl?”

he looked up at you with those beautiful hazel eyes. begging for your permission to go any further. he already knew what your answer was, he had relieved this moment time and time again in his head and his dreams, but he just needed to hear you say it— to listen to your sweet voice telling him to continue.

nodding frantically, you answered. “mhm, please keep going, sam.”

and that’s all he needed.

the underlying hints of sultry and desire in your voice made his mind foggy. his thoughts being taken over by the pure feeling of lust. your lips link together once again, like two magnets being pulled together. warmth coursed through his core as he deepened the kiss, his body ached for more. his fingers fumbled with the clasps of the white lacy bra that had been committed to his memory by now, he was quick to discard of it by tossing it to the floor. you simultaneously run your hands beneath his shirt against his toned torso urging him to lose the layer— which he happily did. quickly unbuttoning the buttons that lined his shirt then throwing it to wherever your bra had ended up. he pulled away to take in the image of you laying beneath him; your bare chest rising and falling at a quick pace, lips parted sucking in the cold air of the room. his legs now straddled over your frame, soaking in the moment with a growing smirk on his face. his coarse hands ran up and down your body appreciating every curve, the same hands that could be so violent, but were always gentle when it came to you.

lowering his head he began leaving small kisses against your chest all while taking your exposed breast into his big hand and massaging your tender skin. he hummed against your smooth skin as you played gently with his hair, urging you to continue combing your fingers through his hair. he ran his hands down your figure, pushing the material of your costume fully off your body and discarding it to the growing pile on the floor. you now laid beneath him, almost completely bare. the only thing that was covering you was the matching lacy panties that were decorated with a small bow on the hem.

you watched his own eyes trace the outline of your body, his eyes full of lust and desire. you return his gaze with a sense of anticipation in your eyes. his hands glide up your soft legs slowly parting them to make room for himself in the middle of them. he gently rests his hand on your knee as his other hand slides over your slit that was still clothed.

he notices the way your body shudders as he teased your sensitive core, and with no rush he slowly pushed your damp panties to the side. he then ran his two of his fingers between the slick of your folds. he watched you take your bottom lip in your mouth in an attempt to suppress the small whimpers that were on the tip of your tongue. slowly slipping his index finger into you with ease, he studied your reaction before he slipped his middle finger in along with the first one. your eyes fluttered open and closed as you felt this sudden feeling of pleasure. he leaned down connecting his lips to yours as his fingers continued to work inside of you.

he’d slowly pull his fingers out, then he’d quickly push them deeper in. repeating this process over and over, pumping deeper into you with more pace each time. his lips suppressing the moans that were dying to spill from your lips. your hands run up his bare back feeling his muscles flex as he pleasured you. his free hand connected with the small of your back as you arched further off the bed trying to get closer to the pleasure sam was giving you. he watched your eyes squint shut while you threw your head back letting out a few small whimpers that sent heat coursing through sam’s body. your hands fall down to the waist band of sam’s jeans that have failed to come off. your hands fumbling with the belt on his pants, your progress reset each time he’d push his fingers deeper into you. finally unbuckling his belt, you yanked the belt from the loops of his jeans and tossed it to the floor.

“sam, please..” you whimper his name, your voice hoarse. you begged him to take it further, you needed to feel him against you. and he’d do anything you asked for.

“please what, sweet girl?” he whispered close to your ear as he began teasing at your sensitive clit. he knew what you wanted, he just desperately wanted to hear you say it. to hear you beg to feel him deeper inside of you.

your hands gripped onto his flexed biceps in an attempt to pull yourself back down from this high. “need to feel you inside me.” your words came out broken and breathy from the pleasure he was not letting up on. your thoughts were scattered, barely able to finish one thought before you’d get distracted from the satisfaction you were feeling.

“yeah? i can do that for you, baby.”

he peppered kisses down your neck while he spoke to you, a tone of sultry in his voice. he once again leaned over your body and kissed your swollen lips, this kiss being more aggressive and hungry. the proximity made you feel how hard he was against your bare pussy. you squirmed beneath him as he slowly grinded against you. he finally sat up and began to unbutton his jeans, you eagerly watching as he pushed the waistband of his jeans and boxers down at the same time, then discarding them to the floor just like every other layer of clothing that had been shed. you bit down on your bottom lip, your gaze focused on his finally completely bare body. your eyes traced over his v-line, noticing each and every vein. he took his hard dick into his hand and guided over your wet slit, coating this tip of his cock in your slick. he slowly pushed himself into you, watching your face twist as he pushed further in.

“shit, you feel so good.. so tight.” he slurred against the crook of your neck.

you were boxed in beneath him, his forearm on the other side of your head keeping himself propped up above you while he left sloppy kisses down your jawline. when he finally bottomed out in you, he found your eyes with his own looking for approval to start moving. you nodded, looking at him through your lashes. he took a moment to take in the look on your face, committing the way you looked at him to memory. the way your eyes had been lit up pretty much the whole night, and how your lips looked so soft and plush.

“my beautiful girl.” he whispered to you, his voice low and almost hurt.

he had finally started to move inside you, pulling out just enough to push further in. repeating this movement over and over picking up pace with each thrust. your hands gripping on to his back, digging your nails into his toned back as you felt him push further into you. he went back to leaving sloppy wet kisses over your body as he continued to push deeper into you. your legs now wrapped around his waist trying to get even closer against him. the sound of skin slapping synchronized with the moans and breaths you’d let out.

as you felt yourself getting closer you felt a knot growing in your stomach, your eyes closing shut as a small tear fell down your cheek. sam’s thrusts grow increasingly more sloppy as your walls squeezed tight around his cock.

“s’close..” you moaned against his neck, your words were slurred and broken. he began to whisper strings of praise against the cuff of your ear. going on about how good you were taking him, trying to get you closer and closer to the edge. his thrusts not showing any signs of mercy as he continued to plunge deep into you.

“c’mon, cum f‘me pretty girl.”

you finally felt the pure bless of your release, letting out a loud breathy moans as a few tears stream down your face. at your release sam pulls himself out, and with his hand he strokes his cock over your body. within seconds he came, spurting out a stream of hot liquid onto your body, groaning as he squeezed the last few drops out.

his tired body falls next to yours after he had fetched a towel and cleaned you up. his back flat against the bed. the two of you laying next to each other sweaty and out of breath, now both of you under the covers of his bed. you cuddled up next to sam, tracing small circles over his chest as he looked up at the ceiling with his arm under his head.

seconds later the moment of peace was interrupted by the door flinging open, dean falling through. sam shooting up from his side of the bed. meeting eyes with dean, who immediately went to cover his eyes.

“jeez, you dirty dog.”

[disillusioneddanny]

Postcards and Polaroids

Bruce Wayne sighed as he walked through the streets of San Francisco, his shoulders hunched in on himself. He had been dreading this business trip for days now, and had been doing everything he could to get out of it but Lucius had put his foot down and all but demanded that he go.

Yes, Bruce’s friend knew what going to San Francisco meant to Bruce, knew how hard being in this damned city was but he didn’t particularly care. Not when he still blamed Bruce for what had happened in the first place. The Fox family in general had treated the Waynes differently ever since the event had happened.

Ever since Tim Drake had taken his own life.

Nearly two years later, Bruce still didn’t know how he didn’t notice the signs. Now looking back on it, it was so ridiculously obvious just how badly his middle son had been hurting and Bruce had done nothing for him, had not been there for support, and hadn’t given Tim the love he so desperately needed.

Instead, he had put the Mission first. He had been so consumed in catching up on what he had issued during his time last in the time steam that he had started to treat Tim more like a soldier than a son. Looking back now he knew what he should have done differently.

It was so glaringly obvious to him now how he should have handled things, how he should have handled Tim.

Tim had managed to pull him out of the timestream and Bruce had not thought too much on the lengths that Tim had gone to do it. If he was being honest, he still was not sure how Tim had done it. All Bruce remembered was there was a bright green portal that had opened up before him, Tim had walked out in a suit that was definitely not the Robin suit that Bruce remembered and had taken Bruce’s hand.

He remembered he didn’t even hug Tim as he stepped out to the other side. He just remembered being led to the med bay for Alfred to check him over, remembered that Tim had quietly left the Batcave without a word to a single person in the family and Bruce hadn’t seen him again. At least, not his Tim, he should say.

He had seen Tim’s new vigilante persona Red Robin at least once every two weeks when Red Robin would check in with Batman on how his patrols were going. He would see Tim Drake-Wayne when Bruce was forced by Alfred and Lucius to check in on the going ons of Wayne Enterprises. But he had never tried to take the CEO role back from Tim. In his mind at the time, the seventeen-year-old had been doing so well, he had taken to the job like Bruce had never been able to do and he was thriving.

Or at least, that’s how Bruce had seen it at the time.

He hadn’t noticed the bags that covered the skin under Tim’s eyes, and hadn’t heard the sheer exhaustion that was in his voice. He hadn’t noticed that Tim was slowly killing himself under the pressure of trying to do everything.

He never questioned why Tim stopped coming to family meals. He never questioned why Dick and Damian both refused to talk about him. He never asked why Jason had pulled away from the family again when he had just gotten Jason back before the entire time situation had started.

He had never questioned how Damian had become Robin.

There were a lot of things that Bruce had simply allowed to continue on without investigation and looking back on it now, he didn’t understand why he did. It was never in Bruce’s nature to not question things. He had always been a curious person, even as a child before the deaths of his parents. He had always wanted to know why, when, and how on every single thing.

But for some reason when it came to Tim, it had never even occurred to him to ask.

Jason had been the one to explain why.

Tim had proven himself to be so unbelievably independent, so similar to Bruce in a way that none of Bruce’s other children seemed to be able to do. Bruce saw so much of himself in Tim that he had never thought to ask Tim how he was doing, he had automatically assumed that Tim would say something if there was a problem and that had been where Bruce had screwed up. Considering even now as an adult Bruce struggled with sharing his feelings or letting others know when the world was starting to get too heavy on his shoulders, he should have known that Tim would be the same way.

He had just never expected that Tim would crack under the pressure.

Strong, capable, intelligent Tim who had singlehandedly brought Bruce back when no one else knew how.

Independent, determined, amazing Tim who at just seventeen years old was smarter than Lex Luthor, Bruce Wayne, and Ra’s Al Ghul combined.

Tim Jackson Drake-Wayne who had been Bruce’s pride and joy, his son had been crumbling under the weight of the world and no one had noticed.

It was Tam who had found the body.

None of the bats thought twice about the fact that they hadn’t seen or heard from Tim in days. It was usual for him to go days without checking in. Even as Red Robin he only checked in every two weeks and it hadn’t been that long yet.

Tam had noticed the day it had happened but she had investigated with Bruce and his family first to find out what was going on. When they didn’t have answers she went to find Tim.

She had gone into Tim’s house, a house that none of the bats even knew about, and found Tim sprawled on the floor of his living room, a single gunshot wound to the head.

There was something symbolic about Tim using a gun to kill himself. Bruce wasn’t sure what the symbolism was, had never really let himself look into it more but he knew it had to do with him and he couldn’t bear to try to understand why Tim thought it the best way to take his own life. Why Tim had thought it necessary for him to take his own life in the first place?

They had done all the tests they could, Bruce had turned down an autopsy on the very slim chance of Tim coming back to life but they had proven it was Tim and not a body double or a clone of some sort.

It was upon the family learning about Tim’s death that each member of Bruce’s family had broken down, and had started to blame themselves for Tim’s suicide.

It had started with Alfred the night they had taken Tim’s body to the mortician’s office. In a moment of what Alfred would consider weakness, he had broken down to Bruce. Had admitted how he had not done enough, how he had not tried hard enough to keep Tim in the family. He had quietly admitted to Bruce that he had talked to Dick about admitting Tim to Arkham Asylum while they had been under the belief that Bruce was dead.

He had quietly admitted to not believing Tim, to even going so far as to raise his voice at the teenager and told him to cease with his crusade. Bruce had listened in horror as Alfred explained his role in taking Robin from Tim and supporting Dick into giving the role to Damian. He had accused himself of driving Tim away from the family.

The next had been Dick.

He had been inconsolable from the moment he had learned of Tim’s death. Had been unable to keep himself together long enough to form coherent words much less sentences. It wasn’t until a week after Tim’s funeral that he had finally come to Bruce about it and he had just sobbed. He had explained through broken words and a quivering voice how he had treated Tim worse than any of his brothers. How he had failed the promise that he had made after Jason’s death to be a better big brother.

Dick had been the one to say what Bruce had been numbly thinking himself.

Tim was just so utterly reliable and independent that he had forgotten at times that Tim was still just a seventeen-year-old kid. Not only was he just a kid, he was a kid with trauma, with secrets that none of them had ever known about.

At that point, Bruce had already been slowly unraveling the secrets that Tim had kept close to his chest or only allowed certain people in his life to know about. He had learned about the loss of Tim’s spleen, the strange relationship he had with Ra’s al Ghul and so much more. It was horrifying to know just how much Tim had been carrying on his own but it was all there in Tim’s files, the meticulous reports he kept for himself painted a picture that Bruce had no idea about.

There were just so many different sides of Tim and for being his father, Bruce felt like a lousy human being.

After Dick had finally calmed down to explain how he failed Tim, failed him in so many ways, in the same ways that Bruce had. Bruce had no words for him. How could he tell him that it was okay when they were all still in the aftershocks of Tim’s death, of his suicide?

He had taken his own life and hadn’t even bothered to leave a letter explaining why he had done it. All they had been able to find was a post-it note with the scribbled words “I’m sorry” written upon it so hard that each letter was indented into the pages of the post-it pad.

Instead, he had told Dick that they would both work to be better for the future, for the rest of their family so that no one else in their family would ever experience the kind of pain that Tim had gone through.

The next had surprised Bruce the most.

He hadn’t expected for the silent tears that had streamed from Damian’s face as he crawled into Bruce’s bed one night. He never said a word, never breathed out a single utterance of how he had wronged Tim. They all knew. They had all known the harmful words that Damian had thrown Tim’s way, and knew of each attempt to kill the older boy. Bruce had never said a word about them further than scolding Damian when it had happened in front of him.

He should have done more. He should have punished Damian for his treatment of Tim, and should have done what he could to make sure that Tim knew just how loved and treasured he was. How important he was to Bruce and their family and instead he had allowed the abuse from his youngest son to continue and called it brotherly bonding, assuming that it was just how siblings treated one another.

But he knew that night that he would never allow for another child of his to treat another one the way Damian had treated Tim. He also knew that Damian would never continue to treat others the way he had treated Tim. Knew that the pre-teen saw the way he had assisted in pushing Tim over the age and knew he would never do it again.

Jason had been the quietest in his grief.

He had cut himself from the family once again upon Tim’s death as if the only reason he had rejoined in the first place was because of Tim. It had been a quiet resignation with Jason, no more taunting, no arguments. If a member of the bats did contact the crime lord the conversations were short and sweet with none of the barbs that the family had come to expect from Jason.

It wasn’t until he had found some discarded polaroids in one of Tim’s safe houses that he realized that the two were mending the bond between them. The resigned smirk on Jason’s face besides a beaming Tim spoke volumes to Bruce as he looked at the picture of the two.

The others had all grieved quietly as well, none of them ready or able to talk about Tim, about why he would have taken his own life when he had so much to live for. The Titans had been inconsolable upon learning of Tim’s death, Bart and Conner going as far as to blame Bruce and the others for Tim’s death, accusing them of driving Tim to suicide of all things.

Reflecting now, they were right.

The Wayne family had caused the death of one of their own.

It made times like now even more difficult.

He was in San Francisco for a business meeting, yet he couldn’t help but look out to Titan’s Tower and even two years later briefly wonder if Tim was there. He knew, at his deepest core he knew that Tim wasn’t there yet his heart always hoped.

It had been two years, Bruce had seen Tim’s body with his own eyes and he knew, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Tim was dead. Yet there was a small, hopeful part of him that wanted it to all be an intense mission that required Tim to erase himself from the world. That Tim was just in an intense undercover ops mission.

Being in San Francisco always made him think about Tim, though. Of his adventures with the Teen Titans, of the way he would gush about how the best pizza was found here. How he would always look to the West as though that was where his heart truly was.

Losing a son caused Bruce to be more introspective, to look more back on things and analyze them in ways he didn’t used to.

With Tim he would look back and realize that Tim was never actually happy in Gotham. That the only reason he was even still living in Gotham was for the Mission. He had felt an obligation to stay. Jason had been the one to finally explain to the rest of the family that Tim never saw himself as a member of the family.

That he only saw himself as a necessary cog in the machine. That he was simply there to make sure that the rest of the team was a functioning machine, that he was only there to assist them and nothing more. He had never really seen himself as a part of the family, never imagined himself as Bruce’s son. Hell, he had even gotten himself emancipated when Bruce had gone missing. Bruce could see it now, could see how Tim carefully cut each of his bonds to the family one by one without any of them ever noticing he had done so.

The vigilante shook his head, trying to forcefully clear his mind of the thoughts that were currently plaguing his mind. He couldn’t think about Tim right now. He had things to do, he needed to get lunch, needed to prepare for this damned meeting and then fly back to Gotham as soon as he could so that he would no longer be haunted by the ghost of his son.

He tiredly looked at the others passing by him on the street, the bright and happy faces of people who would never understand what it was like to know that they had driven their son to suicide. Bright happy couples who looked like they knew what it was like to cherish their loved ones.

Bruce did a double take, though, at one man who walked alone on the sidewalk. His dark black hair was covered in a beanie and he wore sunglasses reminiscent of the ones that Tim used to wear religiously. That wasn’t what stopped Bruce in his tracks, though. It was the jacket that adorned the young man’s shoulders. It was a jacket that Bruce had seen Tim wear like a second skin when he wasn’t wearing any of his suits. A gray denim jacket with a few worn patches upon it. One of the Flash logo and one of the Superman logo. But they were never for either of those heroes, they had always been for Impulse and Superboy. He knew that if he looked at the back of the jacket there was a black patch sewn in from where Damian had ripped the jacket after one of his murder attempts.

His legs took control of his body and made their way towards the young man who had stopped to type on his phone.

“Tim,” Bruce breathed out and the man looked up and frowned and Bruce knew he had made a mistake. It wasn’t Tim. He had likely bought the jacket from a thrift store. Bruce knew that they had donated nearly all of Tim’s things after they were certain that he wouldn’t come back from the dead.

The young man looked Bruce up and down for a moment before he gave him a small smile. “No Sir, I’m sorry. I’m Danny,” he said, giving Bruce a crooked smile.

“My apologies,” Bruce nearly stammered out, still unable to tear his eyes from the jacket that adorned his arms. “You uh, you look like my son. He passed away two years ago and sometimes I see him in others.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” the young man said and gave him a sad look. “I hope that wherever he is now he’s a lot happier.”

Bruce just gave him a small, sad smile of his own. “It’s quite alright, it’s been two years. Everyone says that grief will fade with time but I don’t think that’s true,” he said before he shook his head. “I apologize, it seems that this old man is a little more emotional than usual today.”

“It’s quite alright,” Danny said with a laugh, repeating the same phrase Bruce had just given him. “Someone very close told me that grief is love everlasting, it means that even though the person you love is gone, you still love them. You still hold their memory tight to your chest and you treasure them.” Danny furrowed his eyebrows and tilted his head to the side. “I think that grief gives us a reason to keep moving forward in life. Because we are no longer living our lives for ourselves, we’re also living life for the ones that we lost in the hopes that they’re proud of us.”

Bruce paused and looked at the man in front of him searching for something, he didn’t know what. “Have you already eaten?”

Danny shook his head. “No sir, I was just headed to a little shop for lunch. Would you like to join me?”

“If it isn’t an inconvenience,” Bruce said hesitantly and Danny just beamed.

“Not at all! My husband just canceled our lunch plans on me so I’d be more than happy to have you join me,” he said. “There’s this pizza shop down the street that has some of the best pizza I’ve ever had in my life.”

“That’s where I was headed, actually,” Bruce said and followed the younger man down the sidewalk, opening the door for his new young friend before the two were seated.

“What was your son like?” Danny asked as they waited for their orders to arrive to the table.

Bruce gave him a brilliant smile, he had never felt so thankful to be asked to talk about his son. “He was amazing,” he said breathlessly. “One of the most brilliant minds I had ever encountered. I remember when he was just a tiny thing and he would come with his parents to galas that I was at and I just remember being so amazed at this little boy and his bright mind. And then I adopted him years later and he just never ceased to amaze me. He was so strong and determined. And he cared so much about the people around him. I failed to realize until after he passed on that the same love for others he did not have for himself.” Bruce was quiet for a moment as he stirred his straw around in his cup for a moment. “He killed himself.”

Danny let out a breath. “I’m sure he sees now, knows just how much you love him,” he said, still giving Bruce that sorrowful look.

“It should have never gotten to that point. I should have made sure he knew when he was alive just how much I love him. But Tim, Tim was always my strong kid. He was the one I never thought I had to worry about because he was just so capable. He was so sure in himself, I mean the things he did, they were amazing. I would have never felt so confident in myself at just seventeen years old, not the way he was,” Bruce snorted. “I’m well into my fifties now and I still struggle with self doubt and I never took a minute to realize that Tim did. I never felt like I had to worry about him and that was my mistake. Because no matter how sure I was in my love for him, no matter how I felt about Tim, that’s not how he felt. And he deserved to get the love and support from his family and not just know that we loved him, you understand?”

The young man nodded his head sagely. “I understand. My parents were similar, they had just assumed that I knew that they loved me, assumed that I knew their jokes were lighthearted and in jest but for me they never were. They were harmful and mean and my parents were neglectful and never cared about my feelings. I don’t talk to them anymore,” he said with a sad twist of his lips. “They don’t reach out either. I-I would have loved for a dad like you, Bruce. But I don’t think my parents will ever realize that it was their fault I left or that I never felt welcome. Wherever Tim is, he’s very lucky to have you as a father. Because even if you realized too late, you still realized it. I doubt mine ever will.”

Bruce gave him a soft smile and leaned across the table to grab Danny’s forearm in a comforting grip. “Your parents are missing out,” he said with a kind smile. “If you ever need anything, call me,” he said quietly before he slipped Danny his card with his personal number on it.

Danny took it and gave him a small smile. “Thank you.”

The waitress soon brought their pizza by and the two fell into a comfortable silence.

“What do you do for work?” Bruce asked and Danny chuckled.

“I’m a mechanic,” he said simply. “I own a shop here in town with my husband. He actually ditched our lunch plans because our supplies truck came in and he wanted to get it done.”

“Oh? Well, if you ever find yourself in Gotham, we would love a mechanic like you at Wayne Enterprises,” he said with a small smile. Danny let out a soft chuckle.

“I appreciate it, Mr. Wayne,” he said and Bruce raised an eyebrow, remembering that he had never introduced himself to the boy. Danny flipped the card to show Bruce’s full name on the card and laughed. “I recognized you the moment I saw you,” he admitted and Bruce chuckled.

“I’m not surprised,” he admitted. “I’m unfortunately a recognizable face.”

“I can imagine,” he said before he stood. “I had a lovely time, Mr. Wayne but I have to get back to the shop before my husband goes insane. I can’t trust him alone in the shop for too long before he gets another hair-brained idea,” he said, chuckling at what was likely an inside joke between him and his husband.

“Of course. It was nice to meet you, Danny, you were a wonderful lunch companion, and thank you for listening,” he said with a kind smile.

Danny smiled and nodded before he made his way out of the pizza shop.

Bruce smiled and sat back in his seat, shoving his hands in his suit pocket as he stared at the spot where Danny had previously been sitting when he felt the sharp edges of something in his pocket. He furrowed his brow and pulled out two pieces of stiff paper. One looked to be a Polaroid picture, the other a postcard.

The postcard read Greetings from San Francisco. It also had a folded-up piece of paper taped to the back that Bruce carefully unfolded.

Hi Bruce,

I’ve written and rewritten this a thousand times. I never knew how to write it. I guess I should say surprise! I’m not dead! I’m sorry for making you and the others think I am. But it was for the best, it was for the sake of my mental health and it was the only way I could get away from Ra’s al Ghul and live my life. Someone I love once asked me if I could do anything in the world without the Mission hanging over my head what would it be? And I realized that I didn’t have an answer. I didn’t know who I was outside of being Tim Drake Wayne, CEO and Vigilante and I realized I wasn’t happy. Maybe one day I’ll somehow reappear in your lives, maybe I’ll be able to share my joy with you and the others, maybe you’ll get to actually get to know my husband. I’m not sure when that will be, but maybe one day I’ll come back. I’ve obviously contemplated it enough considering I even made a point to reach out to you at all rather than let you continue to think I was dead. Which, I’m sorry about. It was the only thing I could think of to get out and I was drowning. If I hadn’t faked it, I would have actually gone through with it, I would have killed myself and been done with it. Danny saved my life when he helped me fake my death. I know you’re angry, I know you’re hurt. But I need you to understand just how badly I was hurting for years. This is not meant to make you feel guilty, I honestly never wanted any of you to blame yourselves for my death. But it’s simply for you to understand that I had my reasons and I don’t regret them. The last two years with Danny have been some of the best times of my life and I’m immeasurably happy.

Please don’t look for me. Don’t look for Danny either no matter how much you want to. I’m happy. I’ll reach out when I’m ready.

Tim.

Bruce wiped the back of his hand against the tears that threatened to spill over as he read over the note once, twice, three times before he finally managed to look at the polaroid picture. On the film showed two men, one holding the other in a bridal position, the two of them wearing wedding bands that they happily showed off to the camera. Tim looked beyond happy cradled in Danny’s arms as they smiled at the camera and Bruce felt some of the heaviness lift.

He wiped at the tear that managed to escape his eyes and looked around, carefully to see if anyone noticed him when he saw two figures standing outside on the sidewalk across the street.

Danny just gave him an awkward smile as the man next to him threw his arm around Danny’s shoulders and from beneath his black sunglasses and ball cap gave Bruce a tiny smile and a peace sign before the two started walking down the sidewalk together.

[ponderingmoonlight]

Chapter 1 : Forbidden Bond

Pairing: Gojo x fem!reader

Warnings: Language, violence, physical abuse, traumatic childhood, Gojo being a jerk

Next Chapter ->

His usual so unbothered eyes grow wider and wider with each passing second, watch in slow motion how this tiny human being he’s never seen before draws closer to him. Step by step, not paying attention to the stinging fact that she’ll run straight into him. He couldn’t care less, though.

That smile.

Has he seen you before? No, he would have remembered for sure. There wasn’t a single moment in his still young life that made Gojo Satoru gaze at a smile twice, that made him wonder about the name and voice behind it. But seeing you like this, laughing to yourself so unmoved by your surroundings leaves him pondering.

Who is this girl?

He doesn’t get the chance to think about it any further. Like in slow motion, you trip over his feet first before dragging him along with you onto the hot tarmac, tiny stones digging themselves into the palms of his hands.

“Oh my, I’m so sorry! I didn’t even look out, I…I’m so clumsy!”

“It’s okay...”

No, it’s not. Why weren’t you paying attention to where you’re walking, how dare you to run him over – him, the pride of the Gojo clan? Now he’s all dirty, his pants probably sliced open.

But instead of complaining, he simply watches how you lift yourself off the ground so awkward that you almost trip right back on top of him, brushing the dirt off the dark blue kimono you’re wearing.

“Now you’re all dirty because of me”, you sigh with a pout.

Your voice. It matches your appearance perfectly, the innocent gleam in your eyes, the way your laughter sounded earlier. Angelic, hypnotizing, so melodious that he urges to hear you talk again.

“Let me help you back up!”

You stretch out your tiny hand in front of his and out of instinct, he grabs it. How is it possible that his palm seems to swallow yours whole? You have to be around his age, an inch or two smaller. But his hands…

Your hands…

You let go way too early.

“I was actually on my way home and got distracted by that dog over there. It got so happy when I laughed so I couldn’t stop and then you came and-“

“Do you ever stop talking?”

His cold interruption catches you off guard while he shoves both hands in the pocket of his hoodie. That boy…You’ve never seen him before around here. Sure, you would have remembered those bright blue eyes and white hair. Where does he come from? Why does he look so different? All those questions piling up inside your head.

Where were you even going?

“(y/n)?”

Her cold voice makes your blood freeze in an instant, widened eyes not daring to look behind you. Why is she here? You aren’t late, did nothing wrong…did you?

“Who’s that?”, the boy in front of you questions.

“(Y/N) ZENIN!”

You swallow hard, the tone in your nanny’s voice making you realize what will happen next. Suddenly you don’t care about the boy with the bright blue eyes or the happy dog anymore.

“You…You’re a Zenin?”

He can’t believe his ears, orbs studying you up and down. Of course, he heard about your family, about the stinging fact that he should keep a safe distance from you. Out of all big jujutsu families, the Zenin clan is the worst with its members being as cold as ice. His teachers warned him, parents literally begged him to keep himself away from anything that comes from this family. And that includes you as well, apparently.

“A Zenin…”, he mumbles under his breath.

You look nothing like their description, though.

His voice fades into the back of your mind. All you feel is thick fear crawling up your veins, the dark foreshadowing making your limbs ache already.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing here with this brat!?”

Her cold hand grabs your tiny arm roughly and forces you backwards so harsh that you almost fall over again.

“I ran into him-”, you desperately try to explain yourself.

“You…You are that Gojo kid, aren’t you? The honoured one…”

“And you’re a nobody.”

Gojo.

Your eyes widen in sheer horror. If there’s one thing your father told you over and over, it was staying away from members of the Gojo clan.

“Especially Gojo Satoru. Don’t you dare to even talk to him or you’ll feel my anger.”

“I didn’t know it was him, I was on my way home when I-“

“Quiet.”

A ruthless slap right in your face sends you onto the ground all over again, blood squinting out your tiny nose immediately. You…You did something unforgivable, something your father will punish you for. Shivers haunt your whole body, thick fear almost taking your sight. One last time your glossy eyes dart towards the boy with the unbothered blue orbs that now show a hint of disturbance.

-8 years later-  

“Look what we have here, Suguru! There’s that dirty brat from the Zenin clan!”

“I don’t think you should call her like that…”

“I smelled your arrogance miles away, douchebag”, you mutter under your breath.

There he stands. Probably a few inches taller than the last time you saw him but still with the same dumb smirk plastered on his dirty face. He looks horribly good, arrogance dripping from every pore of his body. Oh, words can’t describe how much hatred you hold for that boy, how much willpower it costs you to not wipe him from the surface of this earth in an instant.

“Be nice to me, (y/n). After all I’m a special grade while you’re a lousy grade 1”, he bites back at you.

“Don’t make me launch another bit of Phobia Projection your way. I’ll never forget the way you cried like a baby.”

A cursed technique rooted in the dark arts of Jujutsu, a technique you learned by your grandfather by the age of 12. Those who wield this technique have the ability to delve into the depths of their target's psyche, extracting and manifesting their worst fears into reality. Through manipulation of spectral energy, the user projects vivid illusions that evoke intense sensations of terror and anxiety, effectively trapping their victim in a nightmarish realm tailored to their deepest fears. This technique not only inflicts psychological torment but can also paralyze the victim with fear, rendering them vulnerable to further attacks. It is a formidable and sinister ability that exploits the vulnerabilities of the human mind, leaving a lasting impression of dread long after the encounter has ended.

And made none other than Gojo Satoru break down in front of your feet.

“You’ll cry as well when I’m done with you, little bitch.”

Gojo builds himself up in front of you before Geto is able to stop him, glimmering eyes staring at you filled with nothing but hatred.

“Want applause for using a dark art on me? You’re nothing but a pathetic little girl that got slapped by her parents a little too often. And even though they trained you like there’s no tomorrow, your still not good enough to face me.”

His words hit you with full force, flood your mind with memories you tried to avoid so desperately. Out of instinct, you grab him by his throat and thrust him into the grass underneath, dig his flawless white hair into the dirt. If there’s one thing your family was right about, it was Gojo Satoru.

“I fucking hate you, Gojo. You’re nothing but a waste of space, just like your whole pathetic clan”, you hiss through gritted teeth, voice dripping in venom.

“My pathetic clan? Your family roams around and kills innocent people, (y/n). Who the hell are you to judge, huh? You’re not even strong enough to even talk to me”, he barks in reverse.

“Why does it always have to end like this between you two? Get off him, (y/n).”

Geto’s firm hands grab your shoulders and yank you backwards in order to create distance between Gojo and yourself while you can’t catch your breath.

Your deadly orbs still glare at him, blood pulsates through your veins so rapidly that you feel like exploding any given minute. He has some fucking nerve, talking about your past like that. Him, who’s nothing but a spoiled brat. Him, who’s gifting just by being born. Him, with nothing but immense powers and a pretty face.

“Next time you’re getting so close to me, I’ll kill your ass without thinking twice”, you spit at him from afar, Geto holding you back with all his strength.

“I love to see ya try little girl!”

“Come on, (y/n). Just turn around and leave, this is senseless. You’re just hurting each other.”

Suguru’s calm voice has always been the only thing that kept you from scratching those bright blue orbs out of his eyeballs. You allow your eyes to rest for a brief second, your heartbeat to calm down. Your family told you to stay away from him, to be better than him and forced you to attend Jujutsu High. Why does it have so damn hard to make them happy, to show your father that you’re worthy? How are you supposed to stay away from him when he’s around you all the time?

Without gifting him a single look, you turn on your heel and simply walk away.

Training. A training session is exactly what you need right now.

“Don’t you dare to shout after her, Satoru”, Geto warns his best friend right when he takes a deep breath in.

“I really don’t get it. All that hate just because your families don’t get along?”

“You don’t get it, Suguru.”

“What makes you hate (y/n) so much?”

Satoru can’t believe his ears, the sheer question of his best friend seeming like an insult. Why would he even like you? You with your stupid pretty face, you with those remarkable eyes that shook him to his core when he first saw you, you with that laugh…When was the last time he heard you laugh?

He shakes his head violently. Why would he even care about something so stupid?

“Cause she’s a Zenin brat”, Satoru replies monotone.

You are his enemy, the biggest threat of his family, hunting after his future. You deserve nothing but his hatred, nothing but disinterest. You are the devil himself. Yes, your sheer presence on this earth is enough reason to hate you.

“Didn’t you tell me she was quite nice when you met her as a child?”

“I never said that”, Satoru mumbles under his breath immediately.

Enough of all that bullshit, all that talking about your dumbass. It’s not like you deserve his attention anyway.

“C’mon, let’s grab something to eat.”

That was the first chapter babes, hope you enjoyed! It would mean the world if you take your time to tell me what you think and how you liked it so far! 🤍

Tags: @whereismysane @risuola @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @livmarauder @sapphireandange @madaqueue

[jennifer-jeong]

Angst + Fluff | Ryomen Sukuna x Reader Next time

hehehe see what I did with the header picture, they're leaning on each other (you'll get it if you read)

SUMMARY Sukuna promises you he’ll be better for you in your next lives.

CONTENT NOT SPOILER FREE, suggestive, angst to fluff, gender neutral reader, it’s supposed to be a happy ending if you pretend that things don’t go according to canon LOL, very OC Sukuna so he actually has emotions, near death experiences, injuries, blood, death, suicide, ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+

AUTHOR NOTES I can’t write canon Sukuna because he doesn’t even like humans 💀 Basically this is pookie Sukuna LOL There’s a lot of deviation from canon in this fic. I'm probably going to make a smut portion to this in a separate fic so stay tuned hehe, I'll link it here if I finish it!

WORD COUNT: 2244 why did this turn out so long... maybe I actually do like him

Back in the Heian period (a millenia ago), Ryomen Sukuna, “the king of curses,” peaked in power. At the same time, you were just getting started with your adult life. Unfortunately at this moment, however, it seemed that it would be cut short. A strong, locust-like, curse manifested in your village and you’ve been trying your best to stop it but to no avail. In fact, it’s currently pinning your body to the ground, trying to bite your head off. You imagine that the curse came to be due to the fear of famine in your farms, but you didn’t think it’d be this strong. You struggle but the curse is much larger than you are. You don’t even know what your last words should be, your mind going blank in panic. Your life starting to flash before your eyes-

“I suggest you fuck off my turf,” says a dangerously domineering voice. The curse looks up down the road and sees something you can’t in your current position. You barely need to look to figure out who it is though. The curse above you freezes in pure fear and eases up on crushing your body in a jolt. You hear the same voice “tsk” at the curse’s “disrespectful” hesitation and suddenly the giant bug flies in a seemingly random direction before essentially exploding due to the force. You sit up slightly with shock evident on your face, you turn around to finally see your unfortunate savior. He takes your silent shock as confusion and explains “the area is mine… filthy curses have no right to do as they please around here.” Your body feels heavy from the sheer aura of power he gives off but you can’t help but still make a mildly disgusted face at him for what he’s saying. You’ve heard he treats humans like livestock and you have always despised him for having power like that and choosing to do this instead of something good. He makes an angered face back saying “hah?” and just when you start to regret your choice of facial expression, he rolls his eyes and walks away. You pause for a few seconds before taking a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You mutter a “thanks” that you don’t think he hears before heading back to your home to tend your wounds.

Sukuna had been watching you recently. It was no coincidence that he appeared in front of you that night. He first noticed you when you were able to kill any of the curses that attacked your village. He watched, quite amused, that you continued to struggle with no fear against these monsters while the rest of your idiotic village sat back and watched, some even calling you insane despite you saving their lives. Sukuna doesn’t understand why you don’t just beat up the humans that don’t listen. You let them take advantage of your kindness even though you could wipe them all out with an arm tied behind your back. You’re overly kind but you still have the guts to stand up to someone like him. He heard your small mutter of gratitude while he walked away and smiled slightly. He’s never met someone he actually felt bad for in this way. He’s found something he feels pity for, and it’s enough to make him want to protect it, treat it like it’s special.

So now you’re here, a few days later in his temple, bowing 90 degrees in front of him with an offering in your hand. You came here to show him respect for not killing you or the other villagers. He’s impressed you even found him and more impressed that you made the trek here. He walks towards you and reaches for your chin with his hand to make you look at him and stand up. His eyes inspect your slightly flustered face while his thumb very slightly caresses your chin. He releases his hold on your face and takes the offering. You stand there, still on guard and weary of the man. But you know he hasn’t done anything to your village in the time that you’ve been alive, you just know he’s the “disgraced one” and that it can’t be good.

For the next few weeks, your time is spent half at the village and half at Sukuna’s temple. He decided to help you with the journey by just teleporting you with a “simple” technique that you couldn’t comprehend. You slowly discover that Sukuna is actually just so strong he’s bored, no one really stands on equal ground with him. Even if all the sorcerers in the world fought him, he’s confident he’d win, and you don’t doubt it (canon).

He thinks it’s cute that you still go back to the village to help out here and there. He’s only okay with it now because he can watch over you and intervene if anyone wants to be rude. Many of the villagers are kind to you from a distance, only some actually approach you to thank you from time to time. A small group of the villagers unfortunately highly suspect you to be a curse of some sort though and don’t trust you because you’re so powerful. You’ve only ever done good with your power and you know that for a fact, so you ignore them. Sukuna, however, sits in his temple absolutely fuming whenever they interact with you, he’d maim them if you told him to, but you specifically told him he can’t hurt any humans unless they attack first.

Sukuna enjoys watching your little daily endeavors, smiling whenever you’re clumsy while cleaning or when you accomplish hunting down and killing some curses. It brings a sense of innocent joy to his life that he hasn’t ever really had. He’s had violent, murderous joy in his life, but nothing like this before. Some might say it made him soft, but really it made him stronger in a sense, he finally had something to protect.

As time goes on and seasons change, you and Sukuna only grow closer. You can’t explain why you’re still here with someone you used to hate with every fiber of your being. You think it might have something to do with how he actually sees you. He sees your struggle and your kindness and properly appreciates you for it. No one else in your life has done that for you. No one protects you and cares for you like he does. You also learned that he’s always been pretty good or at least neutral in using his power too. Only killing humans when attacked, beating up strong sorcerers but not killing them, and killing curses that bother him in his land. He was never actually as bad as the rumors made him out to be. Basically, Sukuna fell first and fell harder before you realized that you had fallen all the same.

Sukuna can’t help but be a little obsessive over you. You’re the only one he has eyes for afterall. He always checks in to make sure you’re safe when you aren’t at the temple and actually learns how to cook new dishes so he can feed you. His touches always linger on you: his hands on the small of your back, fingers brushing through your hair, lips ghosting over your skin. When you spend nights together, he’s essentially worshiping your body, telling you how beautiful you are and how he’s all yours. You make sure to return the favor and make him feel loved, it makes his heart feel so full and only deepens his love for you.

You’ve discovered overtime that Sukuna is actually human, he’s just so unbelievably strong and feared that people think he’s a curse. It was strange, you could almost draw a parallel between Sukuna and yourself. Both of you were feared by some because they just didn’t understand you or your intentions. It was an unfortunate part of this reality, but as long as you could live happily together, you didn’t really mind.

Another unfortunate part of this reality, though, was that things never go according to plan. Your plans of living happily together with Sukuna quickly fell apart soon after your 3 year anniversary. The sorcerers knew that they could use you to bait Sukuna and have a much better chance at defeating him. So that’s exactly what they did. They caught you when you were out in the village in the late summer. You were strong, but there were too many of them.

It was doomed before it even started.

In the end, Sukuna is out of energy, being forced to fight offensively instead of defensively if he wanted to save you. You managed to escape to return to him and help, but you were both quickly overwhelmed since the sorcerers decided to play dirty like this. You were both sitting outside of the temple, having teleported away to buy some time. You both just sit and talk. “Have we even killed anything other than curses recently?” you question. He chuckles at your seemingly lighthearted question in this situation, “not that I can think of… I think this was always coming for me though.” You look up at him with concern, he can only smile back even though you can see the clear sorrow in his eyes. “Humans are always scared of what they don’t understand. It’s just how it is” he says as he closes his eyes and enjoys the sun. The warmth drying the blood on both of you, some of it belonging to you both, most of it belonging to your attackers. You’re silent, not sure of what to say in what seems to be your last few moments. He leans on you and you turn your head to touch foreheads. He sighs and says “I’m glad I met you at all though… You showed me what being loved is like. It was something I never thought I’d find or deserve.” You start to tear up and reach a hand to caress his cheek. “You always deserved love, darling. I’m sorry the world was so horrible to you,” you say to him in a gentle voice. “Don’t apologize, love” he says as he kisses your forehead and wraps an arm around you.

“Maybe if we can get them to hate us enough, they’ll curse us together and we can live on like that” you say jokingly. He chuckles and says “wow you really do like me, huh?” You both laugh and hold each other.

A group of sorcerers are within view and are approaching fast. You give him one last kiss and speak your last words to him: “maybe we’ll reincarnate together someday. Maybe as curses, maybe as humans.” His eyes soften with sadness written all over his face “if that happens, I promise our lives won’t be like this one… I want to be a good man for you next time… I’d give all this power up if I could just live a long and happy life with you.” You close your eyes as tears fall. Your eyebrows scrunch as the pain washes over you, physically and emotionally. You see him tear up ever so slightly and whisper “I’m sorry for all the trouble, my love.” “Just make it up to me next time,” you giggle. He knows you never blamed him. He smiles.

You always knew what you were getting into when you approached Sukuna. It was dangerous, delusional, and stupid. But you know you would’ve never had it any other way.

You both still sat side by side, foreheads touching, holding each other. You quickly charged two shots of cursed energy. One piercing his skull, the other, yours.

You eventually become a small part mentioned by people when they retell the tale of the king of curses. Many described you as a traitor or as a curse. But some could see that you prevented Sukuna from spiraling deeper into his distaste for humans. Without you, he might have become a sadistic psychopath as time went on since no one would have any way to kill him. They praised you for that, thinking you did it on purpose to save the nearby villages. Both these ideas were lost in history though. In modern times it’s only written in some books at jujutsu high as hypotheses. No one truly knew what happened.

Sukuna’s powers sealed into his fingers upon death. A technique he used on himself before he met you and one he long forgot about. The sorcerers, out of fear, scattered his indestructible fingers to prevent anyone getting their hands on them and reincarnating the king of curses. Hoping to keep the man dead.

Again, reality makes sure things don’t go to plan, and it’s Yuji’s first day meeting some of his classmates. Sukuna has been wondering what to do since he’s been reincarnated into Yuji’s body. He’s been uncharacteristically quiet in Yuji’s mind and it makes everyone question if Sukuna is really the evil being they all thought he was.

Sukuna is barely paying attention until he feels a familiar warmth walk into the room, not even needing to see you to know who you were. He couldn’t believe it, he almost laughed, thinking that the universe really brought you two back together after more than a thousand years. But he paused, suddenly serious because he realized he had a chance to make things, not right, but different.

After class, Sukuna switches with Yuji, and lo and behold, you show him the exact same disgusted face you made to him centuries ago when he came to greet you in Yuji’s body. It made him smile as he let out a whisper,

“I missed you.”

|| MASTERLIST ♡ || Thank you for reading! ||

[ravenna-reid]

Kisses, Lulls and Incoherent Ramblings

~ what happens when the lights cut out at one of Bruce's galas? ~

You and Jason were attending the last gala of the year when suddenly, there was a power outage and you two were asked to explore the manor.

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None <3

The gala was magnificent. Golden chandeliers littered the ceiling with their crystals cascading down and shimmering. Waiters went around handing out decorated tarts and some of the most expensive wines and champagnes in Gotham. Distinguished guests were dressed in their best tailored suits and array of velvet and satin dresses.

Hours had passed, and given only you and Jason were so reclusive when it came to Galas, you eventually gravitated towards each other. Bruce and Dick were both socialising with all of the guests, Dick’s charm coming more natural to him then Bruce’s forced persona. Tim was with Stephanie and the boy he’d been seeing, laughing in the corner of the opulent room. Lucky for Cassandra, she was on a ballet trip across Europe right now. 

And Damian. Well, no one knew where Damian was.

Nevertheless, you were just content that everyone was happy and safe right now.

Drinking your what, third? Fourth drink of the night? You began to feel the tipsiness seep into your bones. Usually, you were great with alcohol. Always pacing yourself and knowing when to stop. But given it was the last gala of the year, and you, Cassandra, and Jason had been left to deal with Deathstroke whilst Bruce went off somewhere to fight Ra’s, you were in dire need of some fun. You wanted to drown the thoughts out in your mind that constantly gnawed away at you. Hell, it had been a rough five months, and you deserved this. 

You couldn't help but notice Jason seemed to have the same idea as you. Maybe he needed the champagne to get through this evening, as you knew that these sorts of things were more unbearable for him than anyone else.

Unexpectedly, the lights had all cut out as darkness quickly enveloped the room. Gasps filled the room before Bruce and Dick began to calm everyone down and try to figure out what caused the sudden power outage. Dread filled their stomachs as they all hoped it wasn’t an attack orchestrated by some villain that had a vendetta against the Wayne’s. After a while, Alfred had come over to you and Jason, explaining how Master Bruce had informed him to tell everyone to search the Wayne Manor for any unwanted visitors. Just in case. You and Jason agreed, Jason more so happy to leave the watchful eyes and prying questions of the guests. Setting your glasses down on the nearest table you both headed up the winding stairs to the West wing. 

As you cautiously walked down the hall, Jason poured over how the moon beams streamed through the windows beside you, casting soft shadows across your face. He didn’t think you could look any more angelic, but you seemed to always prove him wrong. Hands beside your glistening navy silk dress as you scouted your surroundings, he wanted nothing more than to tenderly grab hold of your hand. To pull you in closer to him as you strolled around the dark manor. 

“Hey look, this door is slightly open.” You whispered dramatically as you edged back towards him. The alcohol seemed to still be in your system. 

Jason was suddenly torn from his thoughts. Clearing his throat and raising his brows, he spoke up. “What?” He slurred. 

“That door, it’s open. Let’s go take a look.”

As you both neared one of the manors libraries, Jason instinctively stood closer to you, just in case there was someone in there. Slowly pushing the door open, you both walked into the room, the strong scent of antiques and old books filling your senses. You and Jason split up and roamed around the room, taken aback by its sheer beauty, especially in the moonlight. Meeting in the centre of the library once you both realised the room was empty, your gazes met each other. 

A small small crept onto your face when you noticed Jason was hiding something behind his back.

“What’s that you got there?” You asked with a light laugh. 

With his signature smirk on his handsome face, Jason revealed a wine bottle he had found hidden amongst the books. 

You laughed, grabbing the large bottle from him.

“Probably Bruce’s.” He said, watching you read the golden label. 

It was an expensive bottle. A well known wine. Probably thousands of dollars. 

Either way, you handed it to Jason and he did the honours of opening it. 

Weaving through the many bookshelves with Jason and the wine was far better than anything that was happening downstairs at the gala. Here you could relax. You could be yourself rather than this ‘uptight, pretentious socialite’ everyone wanted you to be. 

Taking turns of having swigs of the bottle, your laughs soon filled the air. Jason’s smile was so perfect as he flashed you his pearly whites. A flutter began in your stomach once you realised you’d never seen him like this before. He was acting so carefree and open. Not like the stoic, intimidating, sarcastic Jason he usually was. You didn’t mind either side of him, but this one made your smile grow. 

Twirling around with the bottle in your hand, you turned to go down the Classical Literature section of the library. Following behind, the wine made Jason admit something he would have never admitted to anyone sober.

“This is my favourite section.” He said sheepishly. 

“No way.” You smiled, running your hands along all of the lined up dusty books. “Let me guess. Wuthering Heights?” 

 “Pride and Prejudice.” He admitted, a blush creeping onto his face. 

You laughed and jokingly nudged his arm. “You big marshmallow.” 

Turning the corner, you hadn’t seen the wooden carving stuck onto the wall, a design meant to hold candles. You smacked your head on it and a turrent of curse words left your lips. 

Jason quickly made his way over to you, his hand on your arm.

“Are you alright?” 

You held your hand over the spot on your forehead you hit. “Yeah, I’m fine.” You giggled, slightly embarrassed. 

“Are you sure?” 

Before he could stop himself, Jason’s hand was tenderly moving yours so he could see if you had a mark, his thumb running over the skin on your forehead.

“Should we go get some ice?”

“Jason,” You laughed, grabbing his hand and cupping it in yours to grab his attention. 

Suddenly, his entire world froze as he gazed back at you. 

Heavens, you were gorgeous. You were just…everything. 

And it made him giddy. And hopelessly devoted to you. And also sick, although he was sure the alcohol was to blame for that. 

“I promise, I’m alright.” You said. 

Your mind was dragged to the music you could hear beginning again downstairs. The power must be back on. Swaying to its rhythm, you began to hum along, poking Jason on the tip of his nose at the end of the verse. With the confidence from the wine and the admiration he had for you, Jason went for it. Leaning in, he gingerly placed a kiss on your cheek. Warm and firm. His kiss cut you short, a soft gasp escaping you as your body stilled. When he pulled away, his head was bent down, his soft, raven black hair brushed against your face.

You couldn’t stop yourself. You just had to do it. Bringing your hand up to his face, your fingers began to trace his skin. 

“Pretty boy.” You murmured. 

And with that, Jason fell back into your embrace. His soothing, slurred words played against your ear. Each soft kiss brought lulls and incoherent ramblings from Jason in attempts to show his undying affection for you. But given that he was tipsy, probably more than tipsy, you didn’t know how much of what he said was true. You could hardly focus yourself. 

Sweet promises and loving remarks. So foreign from the Jason you knew. It was like an entirely different person stood before you. Instead of a scowl, there was a soft expression that brushed upon his features. Instead of the aggressive and brutish nature that he acted in so naturally, there was a tender and gentle side of him you had never seen before. Instead of holding guns in his hands, he held you. The sudden display of affection towards you had your cheeks burning and heart beating in your chest. You never wanted this night to end.