#white shatter dabs

[gigilovespink]

Satoru was heartbroken. No, he was shattered. Ruined. Obliterated.

His heart bled painfully as it broke down in pieces, watching the scene unfolding in front of him incredulously.

“Stop pouting” you say, sipping from a glass of orange juice.

“Pouting!? I am not pouting, I am suffering, babe, and you only seem to be enjoying my pain!”

You snort a laugh, patting his forearm reassuringly as you dab your daughter’s face clean with the other hand. Your one year old toddler was sat on Suguru’s lap, squealing in delight and covering her face almost giddily with her chubby little hands every time he shot her a gentle smile. She looked positively infatuated.

“And you laugh!” Satoru adds, stirring his overly sweet beverage brusquely as he glares at his best friend.

“You are being overly dramatic, Satoru” Suguru adds, chuckling as he twirls a strand of white hair that falls out of one of her pigtails. “She just enjoys attention.”

“Attention she should be seeking from me” Satoru counters indignantly. “I am her father, the only man she should be in love with is me.”

“Oh my God…” you sigh, shaking your head. “Sometimes I forget I have two toddlers.”

“At least this one behaves like the princess she is” Suguru chuckles, tickling your baby’s side and making her laugh happily, to Satoru’s dismay.

“Don’t side up with him” the white haired man sulks miserably, “it’s enough torture having one of my girls stolen from me in my face. First my daughter and now my wife? Seriously Suguru?”

The eye roll you and said man give him is almost choreographed. “Did you invite me for lunch just to accuse me of being a home wrecker?”

Satoru crosses his arms. “I never said you were, you are admitting it yourself.”

Suguru snorts, you sigh, and Satoru seems to be in an awfully petty mood.

“Dadaaa…”

Short arms reach for your husband, little hands curling around air in an attempt to cut the distance between both of them.

Satoru’s long arms pull her up easily, retrieving her swiftly from the other man’s lap and balancing her on one of his legs. The megawatt smile on his face could fool anyone into believing he had never been annoyed in the first place.

Big blue eyes mirror his as she stares up at him, laughing and squirming in his arms as he peppers her face with kisses. “Yes, Dada is the only man you are allowed to love, baby girl. Don’t give those eyes to uncle Suguru.”

Suguru shakes his head, an amused and warm smile on his face as he looks at them, “you do know she is going to meet boys her age sooner than later, right? And go on dates and things like that.”

Satoru keeps smiling down adoringly at his daughter, her little fingers wrapped around his as he bounces her on his leg.

“I’ll hollow-purple the hell out of them.”

——————

Suguru never left in this little drabble, let me live that fantasy 💔

[littlelamy]

the aftermath of the fight: s1!rafe x reader

the tension in the cameron estate was thick, almost suffocating, clinging to every corner of the house. the echoes of raised voices were still fresh in your ears as you made your way down the corridor toward rafe’s room. the fight between him and ward had been explosive—a storm of bitter accusations, angry words, and the unmistakable sound of glass shattering. both men had walked away from it bruised, emotionally and physically.

you’d hesitated for a moment, but the silence that followed the chaos made your decision for you. rafe was volatile after moments like this, and the thought of him alone in that headspace made your heart ache.

the door to his room was slightly ajar. you pushed it open softly, stepping inside. the sight before you was both heartbreaking and infuriating. rafe sat on the edge of his bed, fists clenched tight, knuckles white. his face, usually sharp and full of confidence, was clouded with something darker—anger and pain, mingled with exhaustion.

“hey,” you called softly, keeping your voice gentle. “you need anything?”

his head snapped up, eyes meeting yours with a mix of frustration and something softer, more vulnerable. “what the hell are you doing here?” he snapped, voice rough and raw.

you took a deep breath, swallowing the sting his words left. “i’m here to help, rafe. i heard what happened. you’re hurt.”

he scoffed, turning his head away, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “i don’t need your pity.”

ignoring his harshness, you crossed the room and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. he flinched at your touch but didn’t pull away. “i’m not here to pity you,” you said softly. “i just want to make sure you’re okay.”

you knelt in front of him, taking his hands into yours, carefully turning them over to inspect the bruises and cuts that marked his skin.

“shit,” he muttered, wincing as you gently touched one of the scrapes. “this is a mess.”

“i know,” you replied, your tone soothing despite the tension in the air. “but we’ll fix it. let me help.”

he stared at you for a long moment, the frustration in his gaze slowly softening into something like resignation. “why the hell do you put up with me?” he asked quietly, voice barely audible. “i’m a mess.”

you sighed, reaching for the antiseptic. “because i care about you, rafe. and you’re more than just the anger or the pain.”

he looked away, the faintest blush creeping up his neck, shame weighing heavy on his expression. “i just wanted to prove something to him,” he mumbled. “i wanted him to see i’m not just some...”

you waited, dabbing the cloth on one of his cuts. “not just some what?”

“not just some disappointment,” he finished, the words heavy in the quiet room.

you shook your head, continuing to clean his wounds. “you’re not a disappointment, rafe. you’re just... hurting. and that’s okay. it doesn’t make you any less.”

he let out a low groan, eyes squeezing shut in frustration. “i hate this,” he muttered. “i hate feeling so...so weak.”

you paused, looking at him with a firmness he needed to hear. “you’re not weak. it takes strength to admit you’re struggling. and more to let someone help you.”

his hands trembled slightly in yours, and you could see the cracks forming in the walls he always built so high. the vulnerability in him was raw and real, and it tugged at your heart.

“why are you always so damn good to me?” he muttered, half exasperated, half grateful. “i don’t deserve it.”

you finished bandaging the worst of the cuts, sitting back on your heels. “maybe you don’t think you deserve it, but that doesn’t mean you don’t need it.”

he looked at you, eyes filled with something between frustration and relief. “you really mean that?”

you nodded, leaning up to pull him into a hug. his hesitation lasted only a moment before he wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight, almost like he was scared to let go. the embrace was intense, charged with emotion—his anger, your care, and a shared understanding.

as you pulled back slightly, your gaze locked with his, an unspoken tension hanging in the air. the kiss that followed was slow at first, your lips barely brushing his. but then, it deepened, the softness giving way to something more passionate, more urgent. his hands found your face, holding you close as he poured everything into that kiss—his regret, his need, his longing for something more than what his life had been up to now.

when you finally pulled away, both of you were breathing heavily, the intensity of the moment still lingering between you. rafe’s eyes were softer now, a little lighter, like the weight he carried had lessened, even if just a little.

“thank you,” he whispered, his voice quiet but sincere. “for being here... for putting up with me.”

you smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “i wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

for a moment, the world outside faded away. the fights, the pain, the weight of everything that had happened—it didn’t matter. in that small, quiet space, it was just the two of you, connected in a way that made the chaos of life feel a little more bearable.

[ynsbarbbb]

tell me you love me | l. norris

hypothesis - on days like these, where everything just seems to go wrong, the uttered words from your boyfriend is the only cure.

pairing - lando norris x fem!driver!reader

[fic is inspired by “tell me you love me” by demi lovato]

“i need someone on days like this, i do”

“are you fucking kidding me right now?” you groan as your car’s engine died, right at the turn of the finish line. right at the turn of qualifying for the miami grand prix.

“come on, come on,” practically begging the car, trying to see if you could just get it back to life, to salvage the last bit of your pride that’s hanging on by a damn thin thread.

slamming your hands on the wheel, “son of a bitch!”

“lost power,” you sigh into your ear piece, defeated. laying your head on your hands that rested in the steering wheel.

this is really just what you needed.

another layer of cake on your already shitty day.

first the argument you had with lando this morning, really, about something so imbecile silly that you can actually laugh about it right now. running late, missing your shoe, bumping your hip on the counter - sure to leave a nasty bruise and lando not wanting to get out of the bed.

silly, right?

and now this.

“what happened?” zac questioned, concerned. the car was perfectly fine yesterday, practically soaring all over the track. you were sure that you’d start first pole by how the car roared.

“you fucking tell me,” you didn’t mean to be so harsh. zac’ question just scratched that itchy irritable spot that has been bothering you, all day.

zac sighed, not commenting on your response, sensing how it’ll make the situation worse.

knowing that if he said anything about your starting pole, which you already definitely knew, you’d blow your head.

smart man.

“sending tow, stay there.”

like you’d be going any fucking where.

~~

a coffee. that’s what you needed. a strong one at that.

with your suit arms tied around your hips you walk the way of the holy grail, not really observing your surroundings and stumbling straight into the blistering coffee cup of one of mclaren’s mechanics.

the liquid seeping through your shirt, burning your skin. his cup falling to the ground and shattering in hundreds of little pieces.

“y/n,” the mechanic was quick to react, grabbing napkins that rested on the edge of the table, dabbing at the material, pressing into your now third degree burn.

why didn’t you pay attention? why where you so wrapped up in your head?

why?

“just leave it,” hissing, you swatted the napkin from his hand, you take the route back to your room. the ceramic pieces crunching under your shoes.

with a hand pressed to your head, you can already feel the lump forming in your throat, eyes burning as tears well up behind your eyes. you bite your lip, you won’t succumb to today, you won’t show your white flag just yet.

you won’t acknowledge the pitying looks from everyone on your team.

you won’t acknowledge the murmurs on the paddock of mclaren’s worst starting pole.

you won’t acknowledge the desire you feel to be wrapped up in your boyfriend’s arms.

you just won’t.

another, beautiful layer of cake stacked.

~~

“really?” you whine as you pat your pockets, looking for the keycard that’s used to unlock the door, but it comes out empty.

damn zac for changing the locks. damn the security protocol.

you left, or more like forgot, it at home. on the counter, where you usually leave it. your shoulders sag and with your back turned to the door you glide down it. arms wrapped around your knees and head rested on it.

here it comes, the wall to the well finally comes crashing down and the first tear rolls down your cheek landing on the coffee stain.

you finally hoist your white flag, today won.

a pretty red cherry on top of your stacked cake. a delicious topping.

“there you are,” a muppet voice says, breaking you from the train of thoughts that’s currently speeding down the tracks in your mind.

you look up, and lando is peeping around the corner of the wall.

on every other day you would’ve laughed at the sight.

your lip trembles and a new wave of tears wells up behind your eyes. lando makes quick work to scramble towards you, crouching down in front of you.

“hey, hey, no, none of that,” he’s gentle. he brought his hands up to your face, wiping the stray tears that ran down your face. you lean into his touch, and finally, something that feels right for today.

“turn that frown upside down,” he says in a sing song voice, a smile creeping onto his lips. the gaps in his teeth more than welcoming.

you bite on your bottom lip, the corners of your mouth slightly lifting.

but lando takes that as a success nonetheless.

“there she is, my beautiful girl.”

a sob like snort leaves your mouth and lando can’t keep that muppet laugh of his in any longer.

hair that fell around your face, he pushed it behind your ears, “rumour has it that someone is having one hell of a day.”

you wipe your nose with the sleeve of your shirt, “really? who is it? max?”

“ah, sarcasm, it’s welcoming,” lando jokes.

rolling your eyes you look at his, wispy lashes, a light shade of red tint on the apples of his cheeks, “just tell me you love me, norris.”

“i love you.”

he leans closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“i love you,” a kiss to your brow.

“i love you,” a kiss to your cheek.

“i love you,” a kiss on your nose.

“i love you,” a final kiss to your lips.

“i love you.”

fin.

[hopesworlld]

౨ৎ princess of the realm ( prelude )

౨ৎ 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 — aegon targaryen x aemma velaryon

౨ৎ 𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 — the birth of princess aemma velaryon

౨ৎ 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 — 693

౨ৎ 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 — graphic depictions of child birth, swearing

౨ৎ 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗸𝘀 ! — making a new series, bitches ! the feminine urge to want to fix aegon is real so here i am with the prelude ! no aegon yet but he'll be here soon i promise !

heart of the dragon series

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A harrowing scream tore through the frozen air, shattering the silence and plunging the room into chaos. 

Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Realm’s Delight, first-born daughter of King Viserys I and Queen Aemma, and future heir to the Iron Throne sat hunched over. Silvery blonde hair clinging to her face, tears running down her cheeks as she clutched her swollen stomach. 

“You have to push, Princess,” One of the handmaidens cries, watching as Rhaenrya’s head falls back, sweat coating her brow, blood seeping from between her legs. 

The princess let out another cry, hands clasping at her headboard, straining so harshly her legs were trembling, lips split and broken as she sucked in harsh breaths of air. The Maester quickly crossed the room, body clad in deep smokey gray robes, settling himself between the Princess’s legs as she forced herself to push once again. 

“Gods,” Rhaenyra screeched as her handmaiden gently dabbed her forehead with a wet cloth, dapping away the perspiration that pooled there, carefully tucking the Princesses silvery blonde hair from her eyes. 

“I can see the head,” The Maester exclaimed, “Princess, you need to push harder,” He said, and the woman’s jaw clenched, violet eyes blazing with the flames of the dragons.

“I am fucking pushing,” She spat, knuckles turning white with the force she was gripping her bed frame as she let out another groan, pushing once and gasping for air frantically, before pushing once again. A horrific tearing feeling welled between her legs, so intense her vision went hazy, and then there was crying. There in the Maester’s arms with a writhing babe, all pink skin and blood. 

“It’s a boy, Princess,” The Maester smiled, Rhaenyra gasped, eyes fixed upon the tiny thing that he been nestled in her womb only minutes before, her hands coming out to reach for the child, her first babe. They lay him against her breast and his wails fell silent. For a moment all was calm, then came another harsh pain to her stomach that made Rhaenyra jostle her new babe, a restrained groan falling from her lips. 

“The afterbirth,” One of the handmaidens whispered, gently reaching out to take the babe, the Maester snipping the cord that connected mother and son swiftly before turning back to Rhaenyra, the princess was rigid, legs spread, blood coating her thighs, eyes darting between her new born son and her stomach, still aching with pressure. 

“There’s another,” The Maester gasped, dropping back down, watching as the head began to crown.

“Another?” Rhaenyra sobbed, eyes rolling back as another wave of pain overtook her. 

“Yes, Princess, I can see the babe’s head,” The robed man said. Instantly the handmaiden’s fell back to the princesses, clutching her hands and supporting her into a sitting position as she cried out, pushing out the second babe with considerable more ease than the last. 

“A girl,” The Maester announced, “You have a daughter, Princess,”

Sobs tore from Rhaenyra’s lips as they now placed her daughter upon her chest as they had done with her son only minutes before. The baby did not cry, but her violet eyes were wide and alert, little arms flailing around as she stared at her mother. 

“The other,” Rhaenyra whispered, “The boy, bring me the boy,” She said, tearing her eyes away from her daughter for just a moment until her son was also placed in her arms, the two babes silent as they nestled againt their mother. A brilliant smile breaking across her cracked lips. 

“Twin’s,” She whispered in disbelief, planting a delicate kiss on each of their heads. “Oh my sweet loves,” The Princess was enamoured, staring at her two children with nothing but love, she had never felt anything quite like this, complete and utter contentment with the two babes in her arms. 

“Jacaery’s,” She pronounced to the boy, with a shock of dark hair and deep brown eyes. “Aemma,” She whispered to her little daughter, considerably smaller than her twin. 

The Seven Kingdom’s sang, a new Prince and Princess of the realm had been born. Prince Jacaery’s Valaryon, and Princess Aemma Valaryon, the Princesses heirs once she came upon the Iron Throne. 

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[revasserium]

hurricane

sakura haruka; 1,189 words; fluffy fluff fluff, first love, sakura learns the meaning of friendship, no "y/n", lapslock, mindless fluff tbh

summary: after all, the rain is still just... the rain.

a/n: inspired by clementine von radics poem mouthful of forevers, and also wow sakura is adorable

when he tells you that anger is a language that he’s never needed to learn to know, that loneliness and rejection are dialects as near to him as his hometown used to be, you do not run away.

maybe it’s this place — maybe the blue of the sky from the rooftop garden. maybe, he thinks, there’s something in the water here that makes people kinder, makes them so damn comfortable with splitting open their skins to show him their insides, while asking for nothing in return.

“the summers are hot here,” you say, pressing a cool, dripping bottle of water to his cheek, laughing as he jumps and jerks back, holding it out as he looks from you to the bottle and back again, “make sure to hydrate.”

“why do you care?” he asks, because sometimes, it’s the only way he remembers how to say thank you.

“here, take it,” you say, offering him your handkerchief when he comes back from yet another fight, blood still trickling down the corner of his forehead, “it even matches your hair.”

“don’t need it,” he says, glancing down at the black and white checked piece of cloth, but he doesn’t push you away when you reach out to dab at the drying blood, your hands soft and careful. he never knew hands could be such things, but he supposes there’s always time to learn.

“isn’t that what schools are for?” you say, giggling when he plucks up the courage to tell you one day, when the nights slowly grow longer and the days are clipping own tails, tucking in earlier and earlier. the wind is just on the other side of biting and he’d stared down at his own hands for a solid half minute before reaching out to offer you his scarf — a present from the old lady from the musubi store for putting up her brand new awning.

“y-yeah. guess so,” he says, pulling back to admire his handiwork, the thick knit of the scarf now wrapped snuggly around your shoulders. his blush is more than enough to keep him warm the rest of the way home.

when he lashes out — because its the only way his body remembers how to react to the act of kindness — he sees the hurt flicker like fireflies behind your eyes. but still, you don’t turn away. instead, you sit back, you sigh, and you tell him you’ll wait.

“why?” he asks, because it’s the one question that keeps on echoing through him, like the tolling of a hundred thousand bells, reverberating through him till it’s all he can hear — why?

“because,” you tell him, “sometimes people just need time — and lucky for you, we’ve got a lot of that here. so…” you shrug, sitting back with a sweet, knowing smile, “take your time. that’s what friends do for each other — sometimes, we’re there, but sometimes… we give each other space and we give each other… time.”

time, he thinks, turning the words over his head. how long has it been since he’d had to sleep with one eye open, to always look over his shoulder, to wake up knowing that he’s gotta hit the ground running. how long? what was it that he was running away from?

and sure, he still doesn’t quite have a setting between off and a hundred, but he thinks… maybe with enough time, he can learn. and you teach him.

slowly, he learns the weight of laughter, pure and sweet and joyous, the power that tenderness can bring, the way that sometimes a smile is more potent in a fistfight than as well-aimed punch, that somehow, your hits always land harder when you have a thing worth fighting for. and it should’ve been obvious, but maybe it’s not — that love is a thing of viciousness and vengeance, but also a thing of delicacy and light.

when he holds your hand for the first time, he thinks his entire body might burst at the seams, shattering into a million and one pieces if ever you tried to pull away, but still, there comes a time for letting go.

“i’ll see you tomorrow?” you say, the pair of your teetering on the front steps of your house. behind you, the warm glow of your living room lights paints your outlines in gold. sakura swallows, your fingers still laced in his. he reaches for a reason — any reason — not to let go.

“unless… you wanna come in for dinner?”

he whips around so fast he almost cricks his neck, but he nods before he can psyche himself out, and the next second, you’re tugging him into the house behind you. it’s not the first time he’s met your family, but it is the first time you introduce him as your boyfriend. the word has a strange ring to it, a one-two punch that knocks the breath from his lungs every time you say it.

and it’s only really been a week.

later, in the dim halo of your bedroom lamp, your legs dangling over his as the pair of you read manga on the floor of your room, he reaches out to pull you into his arms.

“i — i’m not a — hm,” he clears his throat and tries again, fighting the urge to bury his face in your shoulder from behind, “i’m not good at… this kind of stuff…” he admits, though your tinkling laughter tells him that yes, you know. still, he forces himself to go on —

“so… uh — if i like… blow up over something random just… like slap me or… or something.”

for a second, you’re quiet, your steady breathing and his much less steady ones the only sounds in the room.

then, you twist slightly to face him, peering up at the profile of his face in the burgeoning dark.

“do you remember that one day — when it rained this summer? and it was so, so nice because it was so freaking hot that whole week?”

“uh… yeah?”

“and then… like three weeks later, there was a hurricane warning, and everyone had to stay home?”

“sure. umemiya made everyone run to put away his stupid planter boxes —”

“but… if you think about it, the rain is still just… rain, right?”

sakura frowns, pausing, “i… guess so.”

“yeah. so… it’s kind of like that with you, i think.” you smile, settling with your back against his chest, his arms around your middle, “the rain is still the rain, whether is light or it’s heavy. and… i’ve always loved the rain.”

sakura makes a soft noise, letting his head fall back against your bedframe.

“it doesn’t matter to me… cause, i think i’d still feel the same about you either way,” you say, turning around once more to fix him with a smile —

“i’d love you if you were summer rain… i’d love you, still, if you were a hurricane.”

[heavenlyakin]

Sanemi Shinazugawa x Fem!Reader 

tw: modern au (sanemi is a boxer), established relationship, mention of blood, smut. Not edited. minors and blank blogs dni

wc: 1.2k 

network: @enchantedforest-network

–

When he enters the house, you’re standing over the counter, chopping a carrot. 

The sight of blood makes you stop in your tracks. Dropping the knife, you take a moment to examine the blood stains on his green pants, the white of his top also smeared with streaks of red, but he stands as if he’s uninjured. 

“You’re home,” your voice is soft, barely a gasp. 

He smiles at you, dropping his gloves by his shoes. “I’m home,” he replies, excellent hearing as usual. 

You follow him to the bathroom, watching as he strips from the bloody clothing. He must have beaten the shit out of someone tonight, or he got in another fight on his way home. Either way, the facts are still that your partner of several years is covered in blood, again. 

“Are you not tired of it?” You ask, helping him shed his shirt, and draping it over the laundry basket so you can treat the white with bleach spray before you wash it. 

He laughs, “Don’t ask stupid questions.” 

As he turns to face you, you notice a cut above his left nipple, small but still bleeding. “Let me treat that,” you sigh, grabbing the first aid kit from the shelf beside the towels. He closes the toilet seat, sits down atop it, and grins at you as you sit on the edge of the bathtub. 

“You know,” he says after a few minutes of you dabbing alcohol on his cut with a cotton swab, “somewhere else needs some attention.” His pale eyes drift down to his crotch, where he’s visibly hard. 

You smile, heat creeping across your cheeks. “You’ll be lucky if I even kiss you after making me wait all night for you.” 

“Honey,” he smiles, lifting your chin to make you look at his face. “I made it home before dinner. You can’t be that mad at me.” 

“Shut up,” you smack his hand away. “Let me bandage this cut then we’ll see about that.” Your eyes drag back down to his erection and his lips curl into a smirk. He relaxes now. 

“Thank you,” he kisses your cheek as you place a pink bandaid over the cut. 

You pull him closer, into you and against your lips. 

He doesn’t react at first, but then he’s devouring you. His arms around your frame, his fingertips digging into your skin, his body melding with yours as if he can’t get close enough. You bite his bottom lip, pulling a deep sound from his throat. 

He pushes you back, guiding you to the bedroom down the hall from the bathroom. The sound of something crashing and shattering on the ground goes unnoticed as your shirt is tossed on the floor. Sanemi’s rough hands palm at your breasts through your bra. 

Your thighs hit the bed, and you drop down onto it, looking up at your boyfriend. You kiss his stomach, just above his belly button, while you slip your hand into his boxers. He sucks in a fast breath, tilting his head back as you stroke your hand down his cock. 

“-----,” he groans your name. “Don’t tease me like that,” he looks down at you as you’re getting on your knees in front of him. 

“Tease you?” You say as innocently as possible as you slide the boxers down his thighs. 

“God,” he brushes his hair back from his face as your lips wrap around his cock. 

He groans as your tongue swirls around the tip, his body reacting with a shiver. You grab the back of his right thigh with your hand, holding him still as you take more of him in your mouth. Your free hand squeezes him softly before you use the spit drooling down him to stroke his length as you start bobbing your head. 

It’s only a few minutes of this before he’s pulling you up to him, his tongue flooding your mouth as he strips you down until you’re bare under him on the bed. His lips are all over you. Your lips, your neck, your collarbones, your shoulders, your breasts, and down down down until he’s between your legs. 

Your fingers grip the bedding as his tongue drags down your cunt and teases everywhere but your clit. He likes to play this game, but you’re in no mood today. You sit up on your elbows, looking down at him. 

“Can’t find it?” You smirk, cupping his cheek as he frowns at you. 

“Really?” He deadpans. 

“You get knocked around an awful lot, so it’s understandable if you’ve forgotten…” 

“I don’t get knocked around that much,” he rolls his eyes, his mouth connecting with your cunt again and his tongue flicking your clit as if to prove a point. 

You moan, falling back onto the bed and letting him prove the point.

A very good point. 

Two of his fingers slip inside you, stretching inside of you to pull an even louder moan. Between his lips and fingers, you come undone, cumming against his mouth as he laps at you like you’re his favorite dessert. 

The second his mouth detaches from you, you pull him up to kiss you. The taste of you on his lips still. He bites your bottom lip, making you open your mouth more for him. As he sucks on your tongue, you moan again. 

You push him over, forcing him to lay on his back. You straddle him, grinding your cunt down against the length of his cock, the slickness allowing you to glide up and down him smoothly. He groans, his fingertips digging into your hips to guide you. 

Reaching between you, you take his cock in your hand and guide it to your hole, sliding down on him slowly. A small moan escapes your lips, him mimicking you. The first few times are slow, and calculated. You enjoy the way his face contours in pleasure as you ride him this way. 

However, Sanemi isn’t patient. He grabs your hips sternly, fucking up into you hard and fast, making you bounce more than you had intended this to go. You lean down, kissing him, biting his neck, sucking on it too, leaving a pale bruise you know will darken. 

“Fuck,” you moan against his neck, sitting back up and placing your hands on his chest.

He’s so toned and so pretty to look at. The scars that gather across his body are all reminders of the times you’ve helped patch him up over the years, mentally and physically. 

“Gonna cum again, baby?” His eyes shine as they look at you. 

You nod, biting your lip as you slow down, Sanemi letting you take over again. You drag the orgasm out of him, cumming with him as your head spins. You collapse beside him, him turning to lay on his side, propping his head up on his hand. 

“You’re beautiful when you cum,” he whispers, kissing your cheek. 

You laugh, pushing him away. “Stop trying to suck up to me.” 

He grins, “Just tryna butter you up so we can order pizza instead of whatever the carrot was going to be used for.” 

“I’ll shove it up your ass if you don’t watch it!” You tease, grabbing one of his shirts to slip into while you search for your phone to order pizza.

[sleepy-writes-stuff]

DP X DC WRITING PROMPT #10

(#) = Notes at end of post

TW: mentions of human experimentation and blood

✦

The Sapphire Stone Sits Highest on the Throne

The GIW have done the unthinkable. They've captured Phantom, King of the Infinite Realms and ruler of all who reside within it. The government organization tortured and experimented on Danny so much and for so long that Danny was forced to recede into his core. While a ghost's core is relatively strong by itself --only another ghost of similar strength could shatter it-- it's also extremely vulnerable to misuse if left in the wrong hands.

The GIW use the King's core to ravage Amity Park --uncaring if human citizens got in their way-- as well as the Ghost Zone itself. The Ancients combine their efforts to search for the lost, little king, desperately trying to find Danny's core and take it back from the blood and ectoplasm stained hands of the agents. As a result of their dogged search, the Ancients bring worldwide destruction down upon the Earth in their hunt for every single white suit agent remaining, scurrying from one hiding place to another like rats in the walls of a dilapidated house.

One by one, almost every agent was hunted down and bound in unbreakable chains of ice, awaiting their trials for the atrocities they committed against the Infinite Realms and its King. The only one left is the leader of the organization itself, the one who holds Danny's core. The leader, however, is extremely slippery and has managed to evade capture for months now, going so far as to throw their own men to the wolves if it meant an easy escape with the jewel-blue heart of a scared, grieving, and injured child.

At this point though, the Ancients have caused so much destruction and natural disasters, that the Justice League has no choice but to step in. At first, the JL actively try to fight the Ancients, not fully understanding the situation but having little luck in actually hitting any of them regardless. It isn't until John Constantine runs onto the battlefield like a bat out of hell and skids to a stop right smack dab in the middle of the fight that things change. He's out of breath, his hair is in disarray, he smells heavily of smoke and alcohol, and that's definitely a still fresh coffee stain on his weather beaten trenchcoat along with red blood painting his knuckles.

Normally, one small human wouldn't be able to stop the wrath of the Ancients when they've set their sights on something. This instance, however, was very different. As Constantine raised his hands up towards the rampaging Ancients about to unleash their fury on the JL, one thing managed to capture every single one of their attention.

That being the weakly glowing, sapphire-like core held in one of Constantine's outstretched hands(1 & 2) and the faint, echoing cries of a child begging the Ancients to put an end to the carnage they've unleashed upon the world.

✦

Notes:

(1) Constantine gives little explanation on how he got his hands on Danny's core. Little do the JL know, it was just pure, dumb luck. He ran into the leader of the GIW right as the bastard was leaving a coffee shop. Coffee got spilled all over Constantine and, being slightly drunk off his ass, he decides to deck the person in the pretentious white suit and knocks him out in one shot. Constantine's about to walk away when he hears a child crying. He finds Danny's core in one of the downed guy's pockets and has a panic attack when he immediately realizes what it is. Danny explains what's going on and Constantine books it towards where he can sense a large amount of necrotic energy gathering. The rest is history.

(2) ALSO, sapphire is a pretty significant gem. According to the internet, the sapphire symbolizes wisdom, royalty, prophecy and divine favour. It's a symbol of power and strength, but also of kindness and wise judgement. Which just fits Danny PERFECTLY in this prompt, imo.

[mistydeyes]

cardigans - "please don't go, please don't leave me" with ghost?? :,)

Thank for for submitting @corvusmorte ! Literally buckle up bc this is one of many angsty ghost prompts to come (y’all love seeing this man suffer)

link to the prompt list and 1k celebration!

prompt: cardigans - "please don't go, please don't leave me"

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x gn!reader

warnings: swearing, ANGST, VIOLENCE (emotional and physical), verbal insults, depiction of injury - you have been warned simon is a bad bad boyfriend in this

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

As you sat on the couch enjoying a bottle of wine, the last thing you expected was the rhythmic thumping on your door. Your merlot splashed in the glass as you rushed to answer. “Jesus I’m coming,” you yelled as the pounds grew louder. On the other side of the door, you were met with the tired and darkened gaze of your boyfriend. The air smelled of bourbon and cigarette smoke as you looked up at him. “Simon,” you gasped slightly as he pushed past you into the shared flat, “where have you been?” Your question was met with empty air as he slumped his large body across the couch. “Didn’t I tell you to never fucking ask me about work,” he angrily replied as you saw him grip your wine bottle and drink it like water. There were only two rules in your relationship. 1. Never leave fights unresolved (especially before deployment) and 2. Never ask about what happens once Simon walks out the door. It was as if he changed from the quiet, civilian Simon to the cold hearted and emotionally-charged Ghost, once he left.

“I’m sorry, I just was so worried,” you said as you locked the door and sat on the loveseat adjacent to him, “you hadn’t said how long you’d be gone.” “I just want to rest,” he mumbled and harshly drank from the bottle in his hands. “Do you want anything? I can go out and get you some food?” you offered but he gave you a pathetic flick of the hand which shut you up. Your fingers anxiously tapped on the frosted glass in your hands. You hated when he came home like this, you never knew how to react and he somehow made you feel at fault for every action you did. “Fuck can you just sit still!” he said through gritted teeth and you couldn’t help but jump in response and cause the crimson wine to coat your clothes. “God you’re such a mess,” he dryly laughed and you hoped this night would end in a drunken stupor. You tried to put your mix of emotions aside as you walked to the kitchen and cleaned yourself up. You couldn’t help but feel a few salty tears fall as you dabbed your clothing. You turned away as you could feel Simon’s presence in the kitchen. You said nothing as he cleaned the bottle to put in the recycling. Despite being drunk and angry, he still held onto his routines. “Do you have another?” he asked in a sudden kind tone but you were too preoccupied to answer.

Wrong choice as your indecision sent him on another drunken argument. “I fucking asked you a question,” he barked and as you turned, he furiously threw the bottle into the sink. The moment it fell, Simon could only watch as the shattered glass coated your hands and forearms. You screamed as your already stained white shirt flickered with more crimson specs. He moved closer to you in a moment of sobriety. “I’m sorry,” he said flatly but you were terrified as you reached for a rag. “Don’t come near me!” you commanded and he stepped back at your shaky voice. You were sobbing as you did your best to release the glass from your arm on the way to the bathroom. He stood silently as he heard your painful tears and the sound of drawers being slammed in an attempt to bandage yourself. Eventually, you emerged with two arms wrapped in gauze and you made a sprint for your phone and shoes. Simon was quicker than you and in an act of desperation, harshly grabbed your wrist. You let out a hoarse scream at the shooting pain and he dropped it as you fought against him. “Please, I didn’t mean to,” he tried to apologize but your ears rang with adrenaline as you pushed past him to the locked door. You fiddled with the lock as you fought through the cuts. As you finally got it open, you could hear him whisper a statement that made you almost turn around. “Please don’t go, please don’t leave me,” he whispered and you ran out the door without hesitation. First was rule two and now rule number one officially broken.

[lovetei]

The characters comforting you after you experienced an extremely frustrating day

Versions: Demon brothers, Side Characters

Warnings: Twisted feelings (Simeon), MC using their and them pronouns, grammar errors, spelling mistakes

Links: Masterlist

--------------------------------------------------

DIAVOLO

He went to where you are as soon as he heard Barbatos said that you're in the castle.

He looked for you in the whole palace and even called out your name.

And when he got close to the banquet area he felt your prescense and thought that it would be nice to surprise you!

So he slowly opened the door and saw you,

Standing in the middle of the room,

With all of the lights off

There's something off in the atmosphere and he can feel it...

He waited for a few more minutes but you just stood still, refusing to move.

You then suddenly sat on the ground and laid on the floor before screaming...

"MC ARE YOU OKAY?!"

He rushed to your side and when he was about to pick you up he just saw your eyes

It's so tired...

Then he picked you up and hugged you.

You too just stood there in the middle of an empty room, hugging each other in a comforting silence.

Like he's willing to stop the world, if it means to end your pain...

It's alright MC, just rest.

BARBATOS

He saw you leave a classroom with an unpleasant expression on your face and he wondered "What could have happened that even MC looses their cool?"

He followed you secretly

You went straight to your room and he thought there's nothing wrong

But when he's about to leave he heard a loud scream that might have even pierced the hearts of those in the heavens.

And it might have pierced his too

Especially when he saw you throwing your things around, not caring if the mirror you broke bruised your knuckles

Before you can even punch the broken mirror once again his tail sneaked up to your wrist and held it tightly,

Before pulling you to his chest

He covered your knuckles and healed it instantly as his gaze focused on your non-ending stream of tears.

All he can do is gulp his own saliva

He doesn't know what to say

He doesn't know what to do...

So for now, he'll continue healing you

Wishing that his powers will remove the pain inside of you too

SIMEON

He's an angel who takes care of himself and the people around him

His magic is one of the purest

Just like your heart

So when he saw you sitting alone in an abandoned alleyway

His heart just shattered

How can such a kind hearted feel this much pain..?

All he can do is stretch his arms to you and you to a hug

The way you desperately stood up from the ground and put all of your weight into him as soon as you hugged him...

It brought him some type of twisted feeling where he lived the feeling of you being completely dependent on him but

He knows that it's bad, he just hugged you and tapped your back as his white wings spread out to shield you from the sin of this place.

To keep you and cage you up with himself

SOLOMON

You burst open the door

Looked at him once

And he already know damn well what you're about to do

You run full speed towards the cauldron, attempting to drown yourself on whatever is inside the large pot

"M-MC!" He called out as he grabbed you from the waits and tried to pull you back, away from the pot.

He sweats as he tried to fight your strength on trying to get out of his grasp and jump, head first, on the potion.

He then threw you on whatever surface and got on top of you before sighing and asking you what is wrong

You failed a test?

I did too!

"Ey bro dab me up!" He said and you just giggled before doing what you're told to do.

He won't give you the test paper though...

He didn't exactly failed the exam today...

That test was hundreds of years ago but... You don't need to know that!

What's important is that you both failed a test!

MEPHISTOPHELES

He asked you to help him finish this news paper since it was due tomorrow and one member of the journalism club just can't make it today...

I wonder why?

It can't be because he threatened that member to forcefully don't attend so that you can substitute because you haven't been spending time with him these days right?

Can't be.

But he noticed how pale you are and how you look like you're about to tear up at any moment given...

"MC... Are you okay..?"

Crack

That question cracked the shield you're using to conceal all your tears

They just poured out all of a sudden which made Mephisto panic, just a little bit

Just don't look at how he's sweating so much!

Wait!

He has a little brother!

When he's crying... His mother picks him up and taps his back!

He ran to you, picked you up, wrapped your legs around his waist and tapped your back as he cooed at you.

Telling you that it's okay and the pain will only be temporary...

Hopefully this works for now...

He'll blush so hard if you tolf him that, that is not how you comfort someone who is crying after you calmed down.

RAPHAEL

Man's down know what to do

Let's all be honest

You're ranting in front of him about how everything just went wrong and he's just there, silent and nodding.

Occasionally, he'll hand you a handkerchief if a tear accidentally fell out

And then he'll hand you a cup of water so you can stay hydrated after a single tear escaped because apparently it makes you dehydrated.

"MC... I know that sometimes the world just feels like it's turning it's back on you but I promise everything will be alright. There are people around you, reliable people, dependable people, people who's willing to help you at anytime given..."

He randomly said after you finished your rant

And you just stood there, mouth agape.

Sure, there are depende bake people around you.

I mean, you're around, Raphael.

You just hugged him for a little and behind your back

He's smiling a little...

THIRTEEN

You know what this scenario calls for?

Wine.

Psh, these boys out there thinking long ass speeches will solve problems when a bottle of wine can work the magic!

You're in a private room Thirteen managed to book

On robes, with face masks as people do your manicure and pedicure while a glass of wine is on your other hand

"Hah, MC." Thirteen randomly called out as she smiled through the wet face mask.

She told you that she can be the three types of friend for you so you wont be needing anyone else other than her!

She can be the friend who silently listens to your rants

She can be the friend who will give you solutions to your problems

And she can be the friend who'll take you out in a Friday night to get wasted

Anything

Everything

Just to make you feel better

Because she's the standard

She's your standard.

[eyesthatroll]

NO MORE JELLY SHOES!

IN WHICH WINNIE / (Y/N) FINDS OUT SHE IS PREGNANT

PAIRING JACK HUGHES X FEM!POC!READER

WARNING(S) PREGNANCY , ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP , SLIGHT ANGST ? FLUFF , CURSING , EDITED SLIGHTLY

WORD COUNT 2.4K

BTBR SERIES MASTERLIST!

Nervously, you find yourself pacing in the cramped bathroom tucked away at the rear end of your quaint bakery. The soft hum of the ventilation fan blends in with the uneven rhythm of your breathing, while your teeth bite relentlessly at the frayed skin of your fingertips, a telltale sign of your mounting anxiety.

Time stretched out, each of the ten excruciating minutes mandated for the pregnancy test's results feeling like an eternity. It was as if the universe itself was conspiring to torment your mind and body, leaving you suspended in a liminal space between excitement and fear, unsure of which emotion would emerge victorious.

On one hand, it was exhilarating. The idea of experiencing the beauty of pregnancy, bringing a new life into the world, and embracing motherhood, ignited memories of childhood dreams when you'd passionately declared your desire to be a stay-at-home mom.

But, on the other hand, it was paralyzing. You were no longer that wide-eyed child, clad in jelly shoes and braided pigtails; you'd matured, grown into adulthood. Your bakery had just begun to flourish, and the new hockey season was just starting for your boyfriend, who was no doubt coming into his own as one of the most talented centers in the league. Everything seemed to be in perfect harmony, and you couldn't help but ponder what would happen if a baby entered the equation.

The timer you'd set on your phone shrieked mercilessly against the cold, porcelain sink, its shrill cry reverberating through the confining space. The sound is nearly drowned out by the thunderous, erratic beating of your heart, it's rushing rhythm echoing in your ears like a relentless drumbeat.

As you flip the test over, a sudden hitch in your breath accompanies the sight of those two life-altering red lines. An overwhelming surge of emotion engulfs you, and your body quivers uncontrollably. Your knees give out, slamming against the unforgiving, icy tiles beneath you. The sharp jolt of pain goes unnoticed as guttural sobs wrench from your chest, the bathroom seeming to shrink, as if the walls themselves were closing in.

Tears streamed down your face, a tumultuous cascade of emotion you couldn't quite decipher. Your feelings were a tangled web, and you found yourself adrift in a sea of uncertainty. Your thoughts gravitated toward Jack, and the impending revelation of potentially becoming parents at the tender age of 22. It was a situation you both had never anticipated or discussed. You weren't teenagers anymore, but you were far from being settled adults. The weight of the unspoken future bore down on you as you grappled with the daunting reality of your unexpected pregnancy.

"Winnie..." Sophia, your business partner and right-hand, knocks gently on the door, her unmistakable southern drawl calling out to you, her soft voice a lifeline pulling you back from the depths of your turmoil.

Her soothing presence momentarily steadies your racing heart, and you make a frantic effort to regulate your breathing. You're grateful for the locked door, guarding your vulnerability from her prying eyes.

"(Y/N)?" Her concern colors the way she utters your name.

Clearing your throat, you hurriedly dab at your eyes with the ends of your sleeves, rising abruptly from the cold, unfeeling floor. "I'll be right out." You attempt to convey normalcy, but your voice wavers, betraying the emotional tempest inside you, shattering any façade you hoped to maintain.

As you approach the door, your fingers find the handle, and you turn it slowly, allowing it to creak open. On the other side, Sophia stands, her white baking apron cinched around her waist, red curls meticulously gathered into a bun. Her head tilts slightly, and her eyes brim with empathy.

"What's the verdict?" she asks, softly.

An uneasy sigh escapes your lips, and you feel the sting of stray tears as they once again trace a path from your eyes down to your chin.

"I'm pregnant." you admit, your voice a fragile thread holding back a tidal wave of emotions that you weren't quite sure how to deal with.

Wow, that feels weird to say out loud. you think to yourself. Your eyes gaze downward, where a tiny human is growing inside you.

A broad, joyous smile lights up Sophia's tanned face, and she immediately envelops you in a tight, warm hug. "Congrats, Winnie!"

You can't help but let out a genuine laugh at Sophia's infectious enthusiasm. She had always been the unwavering optimist, and her support was a ray of sunshine in your moment of uncertainty.

You met Sophia the first week that you moved to New Jersey, about three years ago.

You were a newcomer with dreams, a run-down bakery in your possession, a shitty apartment, and an intimidating $48,000 small business loan hanging over your head.

Sophia was a college student at the time. She came bumbling into your bakery half an hour late for her job interview, apologizing profusely for a class that ran late. She confessed, with charming honesty, that she had zero baking skills or experience with ovens, but her eagerness to learn was undeniable.

Back then, she could barely handle a piping bag. There was countless late nights that were devoted to imparting your baking wisdom to her, the two of you bonding in the flour covered kitchen, exchanging laughter and shared frustrations into the early hours of the morning.

Now, she not only matches, but surpasses you in the art of decorating, and a swell of pride fills your heart when you think of how incredibly far she's come.

In what feels like the blink of an eye, she's transitioned from a clueless novice, to your dependable right-hand woman.

The bond between the two of you now a treasured friendship that has withstood the test of time

"I'm so scared," you admit, a nervous laugh escaping your lips. Sophia releases you from her hug, her hands finding your shoulder blades, offering a reassuring squeeze.

"Winnie, I am so happy for you and Jack," she begins, tears shimmering in her eyes as a joyful smile lights up her face. "This is an incredible blessing, if you let it be."

You nod at her, hoping that her heartfelt words will fortify your resolve as you prepare to share the news with Jack.

"Would you be okay if I left early for today?" You ask. Part of you hopes that she'll say that she needs you here, so you can have a few more hours away from Jack, but you know she won't.

She shakes her head at you, laughing softly. "We're fine here, go home to your man, tell him the news, then call me."

Her playful insistence elicits a warm laugh from you, and you draw her into a final, affectionate hug.

Carrying a heart brimming with emotions, you navigate your path to the small manager's office.

The creak of the door, the scent of new invoices mixed with the smell of baked goods wafting through the air, everything is the same as how you left it, and that somehow seems to emphasize the gravity of the moment and how everything would be changing faster than you knew it.

The drive back home is filled with a racket of sound, your voice joining the chorus of top 40 hits as you sing along in an attempt to drown out the anxiety bubbling within you. Right now, tears haven't surfaced, but you can sense their impending arrival, like a storm gathering on the horizon. The looming prospect of stepping into the apartment you share with Jack and Luke weighs heavily on your mind, and you can't help but wonder how the dynamic will shift in the moments after you announce your pregnancy.

The half-hour drive from the bakery to your apartment seems to go by in a blur, and before you know it, you're parking in the dimly lit garage, cutting the ignition and pausing at the wheel to regain control of your breathing. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows, signaling that both the boys would have returned from their practice, especially with no preseason game today.

You retrieve your bag, exit the car, and make your way toward the apartment, choosing the stairs over the elevator. Each step feels like a deliberate choice, a way to delay the inevitable conversation looming on the other side of the door.

As you twist the handle, the door swings open effortlessly, and you step inside. You make eye contact with Luke, who lays sprawled out on the couch, engrossed in a TV show. His brows furrow in confusion.

"Why are you home so early? Is everything all right?" His voice carries a touch of worry, and the subtle shift in his demeanor makes you wince.

You nod in acknowledgment, slipping out of your Converse and adding them to the growing pile of footwear that congregates in a small corner near the front door.

"Everything's fine, babe," you reassure him, your voice gentle. "Where's your brother?"

Luke considers for a moment. "In your room, I think?"

With one final nod, you offer a tight-lipped smile, a mixture of emotions playing across your face as you take measured steps down the narrow hallway.

Reaching the door to your shared room, you hear the faint murmur of Jack's favorite show, Entourage, playing softly in the background. Gently, you push the door open just a crack, allowing a sliver of light to spill into the room. There, you see Jack lying on his side, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest indicating that he's fallen asleep.

A quiet sigh of relief escapes your lips, and you gently widen the door just enough to slip inside, carefully closing it behind you.

With deliberate motions, you shed your clothes, and toss them into the laundry hamper. From your dresser, you look for some night clothes. You settle on an oversized Devil's t-shirt of Jack's that's worn, familiar, and smells like him, paired with comfortable sleep shorts.

While the details of his day at practice remain a mystery, you know that you're using his impromptu nap as an excuse to delay sharing the news of your pregnancy with him. You slide into the bed beside him, and nestle under the warm embrace of the duvet, allowing the comfort of his presence to lull you into peaceful sleep.

It's 9:22 pm, when the screeching noise of the shower turning off awakes you from your slumber.

With a languid yawn, you gradually raise yourself, resting your back against the headboard of the bed. Your fingers reach for your drowsy eyes, desperate to dispel the remnants of sleep that cling to them.

Jack emerges from the bathroom. A towel slung low around his waist, his damp chestnut hair a tousled mess, and his skin, slightly flushed from the warmth of the shower. A warm smile graces his lips as he looks at you. "Hi, my love."

"I'm pregnant." The words tumble from your lips, a confession that spills forth before you can rein it in.

Jack, halfway into slipping on his boxers, freezes at your announcement, his mouth agape. "I'm sorry, what?"

Gathering your resolve, you take a deep breath and repeat, "I'm pregnant, Jack."

Jack's eyes widen in disbelief, and he collapses onto the edge of the bed, his fingers clutching at his still-damp hair, locks slipping through his trembling grasp.

The minutes stretch on, heavy with an uncomfortable silence that envelops the room. In your two-year relationship, it's an unusual rarity when Jack's thoughts are inscrutable.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, and a soft sniffle escapes you as you avert your gaze from him. Your yearning to be close, to feel his touch and find solace in his embrace, collides with the disquieting uncertainty of whether he desires the same.

"Jack?" Your voice trembles.

He turns to you, uncrossing his legs and motioning for you to come closer. "C'mere."

You shift towards him, unable to stifle the sobs that escape your lips, one after another.

Jack sits beside you, rubbing your back and whispering words of comfort that you can barely hear through your tears. "I-I don't want you to break up with me," you hiccup.

It surprises you, your own admission. Just an hour ago, the thought of a breakup hadn't crossed your mind, yet sitting here, in his arms, all your fears surface.

"Why would I do that, my love?" he asks gently, his tone laced with incertitude as he looks down at you with eyes shimmering from unshed tears.

"I-I don't know." You breathe out.

Jack hums softly in response, lifting you gently so that you can look into his eyes.

"I need to talk to my mom. Have you told anyone else?"

Your eyes widen, and you shake your head frantically. "No, no, Jack, you can't tell your mother. She'll think badly of me."

Fresh tears flow down your cheeks as you contemplate the possibility of Jack's mother, Ellen, disliking you.

"My mama adores you, baby. She won't think badly of you," he reassures you, but your doubts persist.

"I don't know. We've only been dating for two years. What if she thinks I'm trying to trap you or something?"

Jack shakes his head firmly, an incredulous laugh escaping him. "She absolutely will not think that."

The unwavering certainty in Jack's voice offers a glimmer of relief, enough to embolden you to gently slip from his embrace. With a recovering breath, you employ the hem of your shirt to dab away the evidence of your tears and the persistent trickle of snot from your nose.

Jack shifts from his spot at the foot of the bed, returning to his familiar place beside you near the headboard. He draws you close into his embrace, your head now finding a resting place on his bare chest, while he intertwines his legs with yours.

"Let's talk about this tomorrow, alright?" he murmurs softly. "I can tell it's been a long day."

Gently, you press a tender kiss against his chest. "I love you."

There's no room for doubt; you can feel the words forming on his lips before they even escape. "I love you too. So fucking much.”

taglist; @tomhollandsbabymama | if you'd like to be added please leave a comment

mari speaks! is this the best thing i've ever written? maybe. the ending does feel rushed, though, so i’m not really sure how much i like it, but i’ve been wrestling with writing this for weeks, so it feels good to finally get this out. i have a lot planned for this series, hopefully you all will enjoy. wishing everyone a wonderful day, and sending my love. <3 feel free to send any asks, blurb or fic requests for this series, i’d love to garner some of your ideas :)

[sleepinthrumyalarms]

— their affair, bloody

pairing: wednesday addams x fem!vampire!reader

warnings: mentions of blood/blood drinking

summary: could a vampire actually feel anguish? she wished she didn't have to feel at all, but whenever she looked at wednesday she could almost feel her undead heart beat in her chest

word count: 3.1k

a/n: the snippets before the rave'n dance are just a small foreword i feel i had to write not to make the ending scene seem meaningless. enjoy!!

"A new arrival, huh?" A blonde vampire next to (Y/n) chuckled, gently elbowing her friend in the side to catch her attention.

“Doesn’t she look cheery,” Yoko commented, sipping on her bottled blood.

(Y/n) tilted her head, taking a look at the small stranger over her glasses. Indeed, the look on her pale face was far from happy when she looked around the quad, as if judging everything and everyone she was seeing.

The girl was… small. Even from where the (h/c) - haired vampire sat with the Fangs she could see how miniature the ravenette’s frame was as she stood next to Enid. Despite the frailness of her shoulders, she held them straight, hands dutifully by her sides and posture perfect.

(Y/n)’s slitted pupils traced over the dark burgundy lips of the stranger, up to her perfect cheekbones and rested on the ravenette’s eyes.

Oh. Oh no, their gazes met.

“That stare is far too long to be judging, (Y/n). Speak up.” Yoko poked her fellow vampire in the shoulder, bringing the girl out of her thoughts. Adjusting her glasses with her finger, (Y/n) cleared her throat and turned away.

“That looked like it hurt.”

Wednesday turned at the sound of a voice she hadn’t heard before, spotting a (h/c) - haired vampire in the doorway. The girl’s hands were folded on her chest as she leaned her frame against the door, watching the other through her tinted glasses.

“Not as much as my shattered ego.” The ravenette replied, unblinking as the nurse disinfected the cut on her forehead.

“Yeah, I can imagine,” (Y/n) chuckled, moving to sit on a bench opposite to Wednesday, taking off her glasses and resting them on her forehead. The red in her eyes glinted, mischief evident in the bloody pools, “You were really… impressive there. For a second I thought you might beat even Bianca.”

“Are you here to rub it my face, perhaps? Or are you always lured in by the slightest smell of blood?”

“No, no. None of the above,” the vampire shook her head with a smile, “Just wanted to make sure you were alright. I’m (Y/n). It’s very pleasant to make your acquaintance, Ms. Addams.”

“Are all you vampires so fancy and sugar - coated with your words?”

“That’s just my way of wooing you. Is it working?”

Wednesday rolled her eyes, clearly not in the mood for the vampire’s impish antics.

“Do you only drink human blood?”

(Y/n) looked up from her phone, taking her plastic straw out of her mouth and licking a salty droplet off her lips.

“Well... Animal blood just lacks the taste, you know?”

“What are you, a gourmet then?”

The vampire huffed out a laugh through her nose, “You could say that. I mean, you do have a preference in coffee, right? Same goes for me.”

“Is there some kind of a blood type you prefer over others?”

“It’s not really about that,” putting her phone away, (Y/n) leaned closer to Wednesday in her seat, a thoughtful look on her face, “For example... Hard – working people taste better than those who lead an idle lifestyle,” she stirred the straw in the bottle, then took a sip, “And drinking a smoker is like... adding barbecue sauce? Does that sound coherent?” She chuckled.

Wednesday watched the vampire for a while, lost in thought, then her hand suddenly reached for the napkin holder next to her. Grabbing one, she leaned in towards the taller girl who was sitting opposite to her, and, carefully wrapping the white cloth around her finger, dabbed at the side of the vampire’s mouth. When Wednesday pulled away, the napkin had a small pink stain.

“You had blood on your face.” The ravenette deadpanned, fondling the tissue and leaving it on the side of the table before returning her focus back to the book in front of her.

(Y/n) didn’t like going out to Jericho. She was content with never abandoning the school grounds, actually, as she had been doing for a few decades now, but, alas, Bianca’s outlook on bonding wasn’t limited by sharing each other’s traumas only. So almost every Sunday (Y/n) spent with the siren, walking around the town and checking out shops that didn’t seem to change its stock ever and spooking every normie they would meet on the way.

As the girls chatted, they passed by the Weathervane, and (Y/n) looked at the window absentmindedly, watching customers enjoy the atmosphere of the cozy café. Her gaze landed on a couple of teenagers sitting closer to the glass, and she stopped walking.

There, pointing at some book laying open on the table and talking intently was Wednesday. And right next to her was Tyler, leaning over the small girl, brows furrowed as he listened to her ramble, completely engrossed.

(Y/n) watched her through the lenses of her glasses — and for a second wished they were rose — colored.

"(Y/n)? You okay? What are you looking— " Bianca's voice reached the vampire but (Y/n) didn't see the girl coming up to stand beside her, catching sight of the pair through the window, "Fuck, (Y/n)... Come on.”

It was such a rare thing to hear the siren swear, and that was enough to bring (Y/n) out of her stupor.

She tore her eyes away from the small ravenette she was watching to look at her friend, "Yeah... Yeah, sorry. Let's go." The vampire muttered quietly and let Bianca wrap her hand around her arm in a soothing way, tugging her away from the coffee shop.

"Nothing to be sorry about. That psycho's the one who should be sorry." The girl seethed, frowning.

(Y/n) knew it was more of a personal thing for the siren. Because... Wednesday didn't do anything wrong. She was just there. Cold, distant, calculating and unnervingly beautiful.

She was there... with him. Why was the vampire so bothered by that? She guessed the answer was right there, waving in her face like a red flag. She didn't want to admit it.

Walking up to the door, (Y/n) raised her fist to knock. It was early in the evening as she stood in the corridor of Ophelia Hall, feeling completely out of place despite always being welcomed here, and the vampire hoped her werewolf friend was ready to head out. The possibility of running into Enid’s gloomy roommate was impossibly high, considering she was knocking right on the devil den’s door.

It wasn’t like (Y/n) didn’t want to see her. This was really petty of her, now that the vampire was thinking about it. Wednesday was her friend, first and foremost. Her silly little crush came second. She should’ve been there for her, not running away and moping constantly.

But (Y/n) guessed this was the feature she shared with humans, and one that made her imperfect — she could feel. The jealousy, the heartbreak, despite how angsty and pathetic all of it was. Despite how the girl didn’t even have a heart.

The vampire heard footsteps inside the room and instantly fixed her gaze back on the door, straightening her slouched shoulders. It opened, and (Y/n) grinned, before she saw who was behind the door.

“(Y/n). Did you need something?”

Wednesday stood at the threshold, looking up at the vampire with a seemingly impatient gaze. She was dressed in a warm — looking black-and-white checkered sweater, the size big enough to hang off her shoulders in a cute cozy way. The ravenette certainly wasn’t expecting any guests.

(Y/n) gulped and felt her toothy smile waver.

"Hey. Is, uh... Is Enid around? I was supposed to pick her up at about... right now. " She chuckled, trying to suppress a lump forming in her throat.

"She hasn't come back from her extracurricular yet." Wednesday answered curtly.

"Ah. Typical Enid," (Y/n) cursed mentally, baring a sharp fang to scratch at her lip, anxious about what she was going to ask next, "Do you mind if I chill here for a bit while I wait for her, then?"

There was no way in hell she just asked that.

Wednesday seemed to think for a moment before she stepped away from the door, letting the taller girl in, "As long as you promise to be silent."

"Sure thing. Thanks."

The vampire walked into the room, closing the door behind her, and plopped herself on the bed of her werewolf friend with a sigh. She watched Wednesday take a sit at her desk, back turned to (Y/n), and the monotonous but hardly unpleasant sound of typing resumed.

"So... Are you going to the Rave’N next week?" (Y/n) asked, trying her best to seem nonchalant, and for a second regretted asking – she didn’t want to hear an affirmative from the girl.

“(Y/n). What did you just promise me?” Wednesday scolded, her fingers never ceasing their chaotic dance on the typewriter.

The vampire huffed, “Right. Sorry.”

She watched the smaller girl type for a while, lost in thought, before the ravenette's voice made her flinch.

“Are you and Sinclair going on a date?”

“What? No, no, it’s a girls’ night out,” (Y/n) explained, a bit embarrassed, “Me, her, Yoko, some girls from Ophelia Hall... Didn’t she invite you?”

“It must’ve slipped my mind.” The ravenette deadpanned, as if having lost all the interest in the conversation.

“Well... I can invite you. Right now. I’d be glad if you went. And, you know, the girls would be, too.”

“I’ve got something planned for tonight already.”

(Y/n)’s brows raised in surprise, then she frowned, scoffing, “Right. I can imagine.”

“Can you?” Wednesday asked incredulously.

“Yeah. That curly – haired guy, Tyler, was he? Must be a bit bold to ask you out past the curfew."

“Is there something wrong with that?” The typing stopped, but Wednesday didn’t turn in her seat to face the taller girl.

“No. Nothing,” (Y/n) stood from the bed, turning to head for the exit, “Know what. I think I’m gonna go look for Enid myself. The puppy is certainly taking her time.”

“Do you have some kind of a grudge against me, (Y/n)?”

The vampire stopped in her tracks, “Why would I?”

“Don’t play coy. You’ve been cold and distant – snappier than usual, too,” Wednesday got up from her seat, moving closer to the taller girl but not daring to take a step too close, “Do you hate me? Is that why you avoid me?” She asked, scrutinizing (Y/n) as if trying to figure out a complex math problem that challenged her intellect, and the inability to do so irritated her endlessly.

The vampire felt the dam in her throat she was trying so hard to keep intact break. (Y/n) swallowed, gritting her teeth, terrible burning overtaking her larynx. Her glasses had slid down her nose somewhere in the middle of her movements, and Wednesday could see desperation swirl in the red pools.

“You’re so unfair.” She tried to keep her voice flat, but the anger and sadness was evident in her tone lacking its usual soft cockiness. Her slitted pupils fixed on the short ravenette, and Wednesday froze at the intensity of the gaze.

Hate is the last fucking emotion I feel towards you.

“Unfair and... so cruel.”

Fixing her glasses back to their place, the (h/c) – haired vampire turned on her heel, heading for the door and grabbing the handle.

“Have a fun date, Wednesday.”

The slam of the door made the smaller girl flinch. She stared at where (Y/n) had left, unblinking, wondering if her exit had something to do with a gaping hole forming in her heart.

(Y/n) had promised Enid – no words starting with ‘W’ this evening. It was the Rave’N Dance, the very thing every single student of Nevermore had been looking forward the whole year. The vampire wasn’t as excited as she thought she would be, but the idea of muting her aching thoughts at least for a bit sounded nice. To think of something aside from the cold – hearted ravenette.

She hoped someone would actually spike the punch this time. Heaven knew she needed that.

Teenagers were slowly starting to gather at the huge hall, and Wednesday detested having to be among them. She looked at herself in the mirror. The dress that adorned her being was... perfect. It fit like a glove, the semitransculent fabric on her shoulders clashing gorgeously against her pale complexion, and the black collar complimented her slender neck in a way that could make one want to trace their fingers over the soft skin to really make sure she wasn’t made of porcelain.

But Wednesday herself wasn’t feeling as beautiful as she looked

A certain vampire wouldn’t abandon her thoughts. Her words, the way she had looked at the ravenette that day... Wednesday could swear all of those were hints that were supposed to bring her closer to unveiling the mystery that was (Y/n) (L/n).

Shame she was too oblivious to see the answer right in front of her nose.

But there was no use in pondering now. She hoped the evening would help her forget about the girl... at least for a moment. Grabbing the hem of her black lacy dress, the gloomy girl went down the stairs and past the taken – aback Tyler who hurried to follow her. A familiar voice made the ravenette stop in her tracks, and she turned to look at its owner.

“(Y/n)’s been there for a while...” Enid hummed, standing next to the staircase and looking at the upper floor, hoping to see her friend finally emerge from the corridor.

“She’s allowed to be fashionably late,” Yoko assured, “I don’t remember the last time (Y/n) went to the Dance – and the two of us have been in the academy long enough.”

The girls’ conversation died at the sound of heavy footsteps. They looked up, and there the vampire latecomer was.

“I, uh... I think I went a little overboard.”

(Y/n) wore a silky black shirt with long fringed sleeves, and on top of it she had a dark – red vest, perfectly tight over her torso. Her high collar was adorned with a black broche, and her patent leather shoes tapped on the lacquered floor when she went down the stairs.

“Holy shit, did someone rob Dracula’s coffin? You’re to die for, (Y/n),” Yoko complimented, looking the taller vampire up and down with a proud toothy grin.

“Do a twirl, babes!” Enid exclaimed, and (Y/n) blushed under their gazes, raising her arms and spinning on her heels.

“You’re exaggerating, girls.” She murmured, cheeks pink with embarrassment.

“No way,” the werewolf came to the girl’s side to grab her arm, pressing herself closer to her frame, “You look so dapper! Walking into the Rave’N with you will be the biggest flex of the year.”

The vampire grinned, chuckling, “Fine, fine. Thank you. You both look extremely gorgeous, too. I could melt at the amount of such pretty women giving me their undivided attention.”

The three girls laughed before Yoko moved to tug at (Y/n)’s other arm, “C’mon. The girls are already there.”

Wednesday watched the vampire leave, unable to move a muscle. Enid was right – walking with such a beautiful being would’ve been an honor... and it was supposed to be the ravenette’s honor.

“Think we should move out?”

She looked up at Tyler who watched her expectantly, a lopsided smile on his face, and then headed for the Rave’N hall without a word.

How did it go so wrong?

(Y/n) had a hard time not stealing glances towards a certain ravenette and her date – she couldn’t help herself, really. Wednesday looked gorgeous. Even when she danced with him.

But before (Y/n) could sulk over her thoughts, she’d get pulled in to the dancefloor by one of her friends, and then she’d loose the small girl in the crowd.

She didn’t bother seeking her again.

And even if she did, the vampire wouldn’t be able to find her amidst all the red she was seeing.

It reminded her painfully of a horror movie she had seen a while ago, and the recreation of it in real life seemed so obvious and cliché (Y/n) found herself chuckling as she stared up at the thick sprinkling liquid.

People around the vampire were screaming, running out of the hall and slipping on the puddles of blood, and the girl watched with amusement as even the stone – cold principal of Nevermore got overtaken by panic. (Y/n) scrunched her nose, and a single whiff made the vampire realise it wasn’t actual blood – just mere paint. She scoffed – way to go, outcasts.

Taking off her glasses, (Y/n) looked up towards the raining red, liquid staining her shirt and west, getting into her eyes and hair. Students ran past her, bumping into her frame, but the girl couldn’t bring herself to move.

(Y/n) craned her head to the side, and suddenly her eyes met pools of grey. Wednesday stood a few feet away from her, unmoving, her hair completely drenched in paint, some dark locks sticking to her face.

She watched (Y/n), gaze unreadable, then took a single step. Then another. Her shoes squelched against the wet floors.

Wednesday was standing in front of the taller girl now, not uttering a single word. They watched each other, transfixed, fake blood pooling around them. Wednesday stepped closer, looking up at the vampire, and (Y/n) found herself unable to breathe.

The short ravenette leaned in on her tip – toes, and her painted lips pressed against (Y/n)’s.

The vampire’s eyes closed on their own accord, and her hands landed on the smaller girl’s waist, gently pulling her closer. For a second she thought she was dreaming, but the warm feeling of Wednesday’s lips on hers, the girl’s long lashes tickling her cheeks and the herbaceous woodsy smell of her perfume that overwhelmed the vampire’s senses was so real it grounded her to earth like nothing else.

Their lips parted, but (Y/n) wasn’t in a hurry to move away. She watched Wednesday intently, pupils tracing over the slopes of her perfect cheekbones, and the warmth of the feeling bursting in her stomach almost made the vampire pull the smaller girl into another kiss – but she didn’t.

Wednesday leaned in herself again, her plump lips ghosting over the corner of (Y/n)’s mouth where redness was smeared in a feather – light touch.

“Amateurs. They didn’t even bother to get some actual pig blood.” She muttered softly, sighing in half –hearted exasperation.

“Would’ve been a funny thing to watch me run around with my tongue out trying to catch the droplets as if they were snowflakes, huh?” The vampire chuckled, raising her hand to gently wipe some liquid off the smaller girl’s cheek.

Wednesday smiled, eyes fixing back on (Y/n)’s lips. And the taller girl quickly understood the message, leaning in again.

Yeah. She’d rather busy her tongue with something else.

[fangirlingfromdownunder]

A Sweet Mishap - Chapter 1

Pairing - Jensen Ackles x Reader 

A/N: Long time no post! Sorry for the lengthy hiatus! If you read my Christmas Advent stories then you may be familiar with this story already, however, I've been working hard to turn it into a longer fic and as such a few things have changed (including the POV, hence the reposts). I hope you enjoy! Let me know if you want me to start a taglist for this fic.

A Sweet Mishap Masterlist | Main Masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Christmas pay is great, but dealing with the influx of customers – everyone in a rush to get their Christmas shopping and preparations finished – sucks. I’m well into the morning rush having made to my best estimate near a hundred coffees in just a few hours. I’m already exhausted and sick of people; many of whom have short tempers due to needing their daily caffeine hit ASAP. Somewhere around the 30th coffee I burnt my hand on the steamer and it has been in pain since, but I need the money so I ignore it and push on. Not that I’d have time to dwell on the pain even if I wanted to; the orders just keep piling up. 

Peppermint Mocha Latte with extra whipped cream and crushed candy canes.

Gingerbread Latte with a sprinkle of cinnamon on top.

Chestnut Praline Frappuccino with caramel drizzle.

White Chocolate Peppermint Hot Chocolate with marshmallows.

Winter Wonderland White Hot Chocolate with white chocolate syrup.

Almond Joy Latte with coconut and almond flavours.

And so on and so on into oblivion. Maybe it’s my fault for choosing to work in a cafe that prides itself on its range of festive flavours. But despite the exhaustion, I serve every drink with a smile and never-dwindling love for the holidays. 

My steady pace and rhythm are jolted by my coworker getting into my personal space. “Come on, (Y/N)! It’s time to switch, I can’t keep weaving through these crowds with hot drinks and dishes! I need space! Please!”

I add the finishing touches to the drink I’m currently working on and then nod at her. “Fine. I’ll deliver this one and go from there. Just start from the next hot chocolate there,” I nod at the list of order notes stuck on the metal shelf above the coffee machine as I carefully lift the full mug off the bench. 

She nods enthusiastically, pulls a new, clean mug off the stack and gets started. I take the fancy hot chocolate out to table 5 as per the order card. My coworker and I fall into perfect harmony quickly. She makes drinks and I deliver them seamlessly until a tall, well-built guy comes bursting through the doors straight in front of my well-worn path causing me to dump an entire Peppermint Mocha Latte on him. The mug and saucer shatter on the tiles by his feet as my hands immediately cover my mouth to hide my embarrassment. But the shock quickly wears off as I jump into action, gathering napkins to wipe the mess while I apologise profusely. I don’t even look up at his face as I continue to attempt to clean out the stain. 

“I am so so sorry! Whatever you want is on the house, I’ll cover it all. New shirt and jacket even. It’s all on me. I am so sorry, sir,” I ramble as I continue dabbing at the mess. 

Noticing everyone’s eyes on the two of you and customers starting to get restless, he wraps his hands around my wrists to make me stop and look at him properly. “It’s no problem, really. It’s all good. I wanted a reason to buy a new shirt anyway.”

“Please, at least let me get you a coffee to go then.”

“To go?” He questions.

“Yeah, so you can go change.”

“But you did such a good job cleaning me up.” A blush sneaks onto my cheeks at his words. I hear my coworker calling from behind the counter. “Sounds like you need to get back. Just surprise me with something when you get your break. But make sure you’re the one that makes and delivers it,” he says with a wink as he releases his grip on my wrists. 

I quickly compose myself as I rush over to grab a broom and mop to clean up the mess as my coworker attempts to manage the impatient customers. 

After about half an hour, the morning rush finally starts to die down and the afternoon shift arrives for handover. I finish adding some whipped cream, chocolate powder and marshmallows on top of the white and milk chocolate peppermint mocha lattes and then untie my dirty apron. Thanking my coworkers I take the two festive mugs to the table in the corner where the now dry man is waiting patiently reading a newspaper. I place them down carefully on the table causing him to look up.

“I was starting to think you forgot,” he says.

“You kidding me? I still feel so bad, but it gets so busy here during the holidays.”

He takes a sip of the drink closest to him and then says, “I can see why. I’m used to straight black coffee, but I can get on board with this.”

As I go to take a sip from the other mug, a bright flash from outside the window causes me to spill my drink all over the table and myself. Looking in the direction of the flash, the man jumps into action. He passes me some napkins and stands up.

“That’s my fault. Should’a known word would get out if I stayed here this long. That’s my fault,” he says apologetically.

I dab at my now, evenmore stained shirt and say, “I guess now we’re even.”

He slides a coaster across the table with a few more napkins. “I’m so sorry.”

He shrugs his jacket on and walks away. After a second, I regain my senses and go to call out and stop him but the door’s already closing behind him. I look down at the coaster and see a phone number written in neat handwriting. With a sigh, I slip it into my pocket and smile.

[luvrodite]

THINGS WE LEFT UNSAID JASON TODD

↳ patching him up and all that passes, unsaid

This is an old song and dance, you know it well.

The creak of your living room window draws you from your dreams, sleep bursting like a bubble with the first rattle of the windowpane. You are asleep, and then you are not, so swiftly carried between realms you can barely register it. You lie in bed, staring through bleary eyes at the ceiling as the sounds of your monthly late night visitor filters through the walls. 

A muffled thud of boots knocking against the window sill. There’ll be dirt there in the morning, a size 13 boot print that’ll return a month after you wipe it away. Glass rattles, and you know he’s hit his shoulder–clumsy, tonight, but there’s no shatter. It’s bad, but you’ve borne worse.

A grumble of your name is your cue, and you slip from the sheets. Summer air filters in through the open window when you enter, a thick, stifling heat that clouds around your skin, smoke and rain and chemical scented. 

You reach for the first aid kit, kept on a side table in the hallway, and move to close the window first. The lump on your couch breathes through his mouth in shallow pants, almost drowned out by the sound of traffic below–even after midnight, this part of the city is loathe to rest, high pitched laughter and squeals of amusement raising up above the fog. 

“Did I wake you?”

You shrug, taking a seat on the coffee table. Jason’s knee brushes against yours, and you ignore it in favour of setting the kit by your side. 

“It’s fine. Shirt off, please.”

On good nights, he meets you with a poorly delivered “Buy me dinner, first.” Tonight, he’s silent, and you can feel your chest tighten when he grimaces trying to lift his arm. There’s a dark liquid seeping through the fabric and you can smell the gunmetal on him.

You’ve borne worse. 

He’s been in worse shape.

But still your eyes grow hot when you lean to assist him and the smell of copper settles on your tongue. There is so much red, smeared along the curve of his bicep, and your hands shake when you reach for the cloth tucked in the kit, standing to wet it in the sink. Your legs feel weak beneath you, a constant threat to give under you with every step between the couch and the sink.

The towel is no longer as it had been when you’d first bought it, alabaster replaced by an off white from the frequent washes. A speck of brown from where you could never quite get the blood to wash off remains on its care tag, staining the black lettering. 

The wound has mostly stopped bleeding, you figure out once you look past all the blood, but you hold it there anyway, taking your seat on the edge of the table once more. Your eyes follow the slow way it stains, red seeping into the fabric in a slow diffusion. 

“You hurt anywhere else?” your voice is raspy, and you don’t meet his eyes when you ask. 

“Just a few scrapes,” he rumbles. His fingers twitch in your peripheral vision, tapping against his thigh anxiously. “Pretty much healed already.”

You nod, biting your tongue as you lift the cloth. 

“This should be fine, soon,” you manage to string together, adding an unsure, “I think. Could be worse.”

He breathes out a tired sigh. “Lucky I’ve got you to stitch me up.”

You don’t know what it is, only that one moment you’re dabbing away the blood and the next you’re snapping at him. Maybe it’s something in his tone, weary and yet still teasing–does he not understand the gravity of the situation? Your fingers are stained with his blood. 

“I wouldn’t have to if you’d just stop being so reckless,” you snap, and he stills under you when you meet his eyes, angry heat flooding your face as everything you’ve kept under a lid comes rushing to the surface. 

“Would it kill you to take a second to think before you act?” you ream him out as you reach for the ointment. “This isn’t a joke you know?”

You know it’s over when your breath stutters, a hitch in the quiet of your apartment that sounds too loud to your ears for your liking, too much like a sob. Jason stays silent, and you find yourself loathing the look in his eyes, teal softened around the edges, bearing the brunt of your anger. 

The both of you are aware this isn’t a result of carelessness. Jason hasn’t been reckless in years–his anger is a cold, calculated thing, burning low and steady but never uncontrolled. You wish you were so measured.

You can’t stop yourself from bleeding out alongside him, words like knives thrown from your lips as you grow more and more worked up. Your eyes burn, your hands shake, the bandage trembling between your fingers as you wrap it around his arm. 

He doesn’t say a word through it all, only watching you with eyes too knowing, fingertips a whisper away from your bare knees but never touching. You don’t know what you’d do if he did. 

When the last of it is done and all that’s left is the bloody cloth on your coffee table, you swallow down the words you’ve left unsaid and nod at him. 

“Couch is yours, if you want it,” you offer hoarsely, standing. You don’t look at him as you return the kit to its rightful place, shame-faced and retreating. You’ve no bravery tonight, having shown too much of your hand.

“Yeah,” he sighs out. 

The click of your bedroom door feels like the turn of a key, something of a mountainous wall erected between you and your living room. 

In the morning all there’s left of him is the blood in your rug, two drops by the leg of your coffee table. You know they’ll be there when he returns again, just another mark he’s left behind that you won’t be able to remove.

i don't know. this popped into my head and i was just thinking about how hard it would be to have this relationship with him knowing the both of you can't ever be together but neither of you are willing to save yourselves the pain that comes with being in contact. just. all the things that you can never say

[flowerbetweenfangs]

Holy Light

You found her in a lantern being held by your latest target. Normally, a holy knight wasn't to take loot from evil people, but the makeshift cage sparked.

A tiny voice, higher pitched than anything you'd ever heard, whispered:

Help me...

Your head was on a swivel as you approached the lantern. The light within grew almost white, filling up with sparks that looked almost like fireworks.

Before you could even touch it, the glass shattered, still glowing with heat. You threw up a hand up in time to block a few shards from striking you, the hotness filling the air. If you hadn't been wearing armor, it would have scorched your skin.

Then, you found a small ball of flame sitting on your gauntlet. No... Slumping. It was orange and flickered, as if about ready to go out.

Without hesitation you checked the lantern. There was still oil and a wick inside.

"No please!" The creature squeaked. "Don't put me back in there!"

"I'm looking for fuel!" You reassured her. Was it a her? You shook your head.

"Oh." It went back into the cage. The flickers stopped, and it sighed in relief. Then, pillars of fire erupted from the holes, taking out the rest of the glass.

Jumping back, you took in the creature in front of you. It was maybe a little shorter than you. The silhouette looked like a woman with wavy hair. The lantern was in her chest cavity, glowing with hotness.

"He kept me fuel deprived so I stayed small. When he let me out I would..." Its voice trailed off as steam began to come from where eyes would be on the face. "You're a holy knight, right?"

"I am. I work for no Monarchy but the celestial." You explained.

"Do you think there's a chance of redemption for everyone?"

"It depends." You shrugged and made a fist, showing her the symbol on the back of your gauntlet. "I'm not the decider of that. It's all up to the Stars and Heavens."

She nodded, dabbing her eyes, looking longingly at the way outside.

"Well, let's go." You beckoned her forward, staring at the lantern as i took a few steps, legs weak like a newborn fawn. How would you protect it from the wind?

There were so many questions that it hit you.

You were going to have to take a lot more than the lantern.

"What's your name?" You asked.

"Imbyr.... What's yours?"

[fatale-distraction]

Kar’niss x Tav... Tav helps Kar'niss clean himself up after taking him in?

Not sure if this turned out how you were expecting, dearest Anon, but here’s a thing!

~~~

"Hold still, now," Qilue murmured, dabbing carefully at the drider's temple with a damp cloth. Kar'niss had settled himself near the fire pit, legs folded beneath him obediently while his newest mistress scrubbed at his face with a gentility he had become so unaccustomed to, his shattered mind couldn't recall the last time someone had treated him with such tender care. He had thought The Absolute had been good to him, rewarded his devotion with such generosity. It was nothing compared to this new mistress, her touch feather light and full of love. Even as the drider peered with mixed suspicion and curiousity around the camp, a purr began to rumble in his chest, accompanied by the occasional anxious chitter over his new surroundings. Water sloshed in the bucket at Qilue's side as she rinsed the rag and squeezed it out. Kar'niss winced away when she swept it around his primary eyes and moved on to the secondary ones dotting the left side of his face. Her touch remained gentle while she murmured comforting words in a low voice and continued scrubbing the filth from his mottled skin. She moved to the jagged scarring that split his face, blood boiling as she tried not to remember the circumstances behind it, the vicious snake-headed whip that had flayed skin and muscle to the bone.

"How long do you think it's going to take you with that little scrap?"

"Shut up, Astarion."

"Excuse me, I am asking a genuine question," the vampire scoffed. "Wouldn't it be easier to just have Gale soak him?"

Gale glanced up from his book. "I'm sorry," he quipped. "You may be curious about what an angry, soaking wet, mentally unstable drider tearing through our camp would look like, but I am not."

Kar'niss hissed and both men snapped their mouths shut. Qilue barely restrained a smirk as she washed behind his ears. "Behave yourself, my love," she instructed fondly.

The drider shrank. "Forgive us, mistress," he babbled. "We are loyal, and she is kind, we will behave."

The drow woman pet his lank white hair and whispered to him in a soothing tone. "Ssh, Kar'niss. I'm not your mistress," she reminded him. "Don't be afraid, you won't be punished. Just be nice."

His trembling eased as he stared with trepidation at the curious woman. "No punishment?"

"No punishment," she assured him, wiping down his neck. Dirt and grime flaked away from the chitin, and it began to take on a dull shine as she scrubbed. Kar'niss let his eyes drift shut. It felt so good; the abrasive cloth and her gentle touch cleaning away months of misery and leaving behind raw skin and gleaming carapace. The purr returned and tentatively he bowed his forehead to hers.

"Thank you, mistress," he said in an awed whisper. "We do not deserve your kindness, your mercy."

"I'm not your mistress," Qilue reminded him again, smiling as she attempted to continue her scrubbing with his forehead pressed to hers. "And kindness is always deserved. It is not something that needs to be earned."

"Yes, my queen."

"No."

"Savior?”

"Try again."

His eyes flickered open and considered her with confusion. "But then, what shall we call you, my lady?"

"My name," she insisted. "Qilue."

A shudder ran through his body. Moonlight. Yes. It had frightened him at first, that bright orb floating in the sky, surrounded by knife-points of glittering stars, but he had quickly grown to love it. The moon was good to him, it was kind. It lit the way in the dark and scattered the shadows. "My light," he gasped in a hoarse, pained whine.

The rag dropped from Qilue's fingers to land on the ground with a wet slap. Hope shone in her eyes and she clutched his clawed hands to her chest.

"Yes!" she cried, tears stinging her eyes. "Yes, Kar'niss, that's what you used to call me! Do you remember?"

"No!" he wailed, clutching his head with sharp claws and staggering back, his body quaking. "No, there was no one. NO ONE. There was only the Absolute, only the Spider Bitch before her. No one else. No light, no light..."

The companions' hands went to their weapons, but they held their positions at a panicked signal from their leader.

"Ssh, darling, it's alright," she murmured, approaching the shaking drider with a soft step. "Come back to me. You're safe."

"We are NEVER safe," he snarled, lips peeling back to reveal his glinting fangs. "The things in the darkness are always there, watching, waiting, HUNGERING."

A pale, bluish light flickered to life in Qilue's palm. The bard murmured a simple, soothing song for his ears alone. The tune was one she had written for him, long ago, to fit the words of his favorite poem. The effect was startingly instantaneous. His breathing slowed, all of his eyes swivelling toward her with an intent, watery gaze. He lowered his hands from his face, pin-pricks of blood left behind from his claws. The companions relaxed slightly as he quieted, lowering his body back toward the ground, entranced by the song and the light.

"Moonlight," he murmured again, broken voice choked with tears. "That was her name, Moonlight...she was my light--MY light, and she was good and she was kind...and they took her away and they broke her and they HURT her--"

Qilue shushed him again, gently gathering him into her arms. "She's okay, Kar'niss. She's alright now. Try to remember her face," she urged, taking his face in her hands and focusing his frantically wandering attention on her face. "Remember my face, my love."

It took several minutes of coaxing to calm the drider enough to resume his bath, her attempts to trigger his memories of her fruitless. Qilue's companions awkwardly relaxed their grips on their weapons and resumed their rest, each trying to pretend they hadn't heard Kar'niss' words. Astarion stormed away from the camp after a few moments, snatching up the moon lantern and muttering in a dark rage that he needed to feed. If anyone heard an agonized scream in the dark, cut off with a sudden, wet squelch, they pretended not to hear that as well. Qilue continued her work, intentionally oblivious, humming her little song every time Kar'niss began to tremble and fret again.

~

Before long, Minthara emerged from the tent she had kicked Halsin out of, bleary-eyed from a deep trance and crunching on a burnt meat-kabob of uncertain origin. She came to an abrupt halt as she came upon the drider-bath-time, eyes shot wide open, half-eaten kabob partially raised to her mouth. She swallowed and lowered the meat.

"There is a drider in our camp,” she rasped.

"Yes," confirmed Qilue, not looking up from her intent polishing of a chitinous shoulder-plate.

"Why is there a drider in our camp."

"His name is Kar'niss."

"WHY is there a DRIDER in our CAMP," enunciated Minthara raggedly.

"He's Qilue's ex-boyfriend," Astarion snapped, stepping back into camp, dragging a badly mangled body behind him and wiping his bloodied mouth with the back of his hand. He dropped the blood in front of Kar'niss. "For you, darling. If I'm not allowed to snack on our friends in the middle of the night, neither are you."

All seven of Kar'niss' eyes widened hungrily at the sight and smell of the half-drained corpse, breath quickening. Qilue put her hands on her hips. "I JUST finished washing his face, Astarion!" she complained. "He's going to get blood everywhere all over again!"

"Let the drider eat!" several strangled voices chorused. The young drow sighed and dropped her rag in the bucket.

"Very well. Try not to make a mess, my love..."

Licking his lips, Kar'niss pounced on the body, sinking his teeth in and gulping down the cooling blood with a moan of ecstasy, babbling his gracious thanks until Qilue scolded him for eating with his mouth full. Her friends averted their eyes and tried not to feel sick as he tore into his meal, with the exception of Lae'zel and Minthara who looked on with interest, and Astarion, who remained disinterested.

"I am going to need a better explanation than that," Minthara said at last, turning back to her fellow countrywoman. "How in the hells did you end up with a drider for a mate?"

"He's not my ex-boyfriend," sighed Qilue, massaging her temple and flopping down in front of the fire. "Or my mate. He's...I don't know what we were. But he wasn't a drider then."

Minthara's eyebrows lifted, a nearly sympathetic expression that fit strangely on her face. "I...see. My condolences. That is not a fate I would wish on my second-worst enemy, but any who would willingly take on a trial of Lolth--"

"It was not willingly," bit out Qilue, holding back tears. The warden's eyebrows climbed higher. "It was a punishment. The Matron Bitch offered him choice between life or death, and he chose ME."

"You surname," the Nightwarden suddenly demanded. "You hail from Menzoberanzan, do you not? What house are you from?"

"Valtaya," Qilue spat.

"House Valtaya..." Minthara mused. "Yes, I recall. Your mother was an idiot."

"I know."

The pair were silent for a moment as Qilue continued to stare into the flames.

"Would it comfort you to know that your eldest sister now leads your house?"

"Oh?" hummed Qilue lightly, eyes unfocused. Kar'niss had slowed his feasting and listened intently, his attention fixed on the drow women as blood dripped down his chin.

Minthara nodded. "The rumor was that she grew tired of your Matron's wasteful, fruitless ambitions and stabbed her ninety-five times in her sleep. The deed was praised quite highly by those who dared mention it.”

Qilue laughed under her breath. "It was ninety-seven. And my sister didn't do it. I did."

"I see." The warden didn't seem surprised. "Why ninety-seven?"

"One for every year of my life," she replied too easily. "And the poison coating the blade was for Kar'niss."

"The stories didn't mention the poison. What kind?"

"Drider vemon, ironically. I didn't even know of his fate then. They told me he was dead."

Minthara hummed. "It would have been better if he was."

"I know."

"And what of the Patron?" asked Qilue after a moment, dragging the water bucket closer, giving it a casual inspection. The water needed changing, murky and black with dirt, dried blood, and gods knew what else. "Did the rumors mention his fate?"

"He is no longer the Patron, but from my understanding still leads your family's guard."

Qilue scowled. "He was supposed to kill himself. I even gave him a clean knife, which was more than he deserved. Fucker."

A snort burst from the other drow. "If you trusted a male to do the proper thing unsupervised, you're a fool."

"Apparently." Qilue tipped the bucket, spilling water downhill. Gale, listening and watching the exchange with interest, refilled it with a wave of his hand.

"How's that for supervision?" he muttered, mocking the warden's distainful tone.

"Your males are useful," Minthara, having overheard his disrespectful grumbling, pitched her voice to carry. "But poorly trained."

Qilue stifled a laugh as Gale bristled and opened his mouth to retort just as Kar'niss licked the blood from his chin with a tongue much longer than it should have been, half of his eyes squinting in concentration. Gale gagged instead, Astarion chortling as he examined his nails and leaned back against a pillow in front of his tent, one leg propped up on the other.

"I can't speak for Gale, but I'll have you know," the vampire drawled. "That I am in fact MOSTLY house-trained, thank you very much."

"Shut up, Astarion," the drow women and Gale ordered in unison.

[still-breathing-au-p3r]

At first Minato thinks the sound he hears is his eardrums popping, but a moment later he realizes that it came from a distance– a distance they’re closing as they sprint onward, in fact.

In front of him, Sanada stops short. “What–?” Minato can barely hear him. “Dammit… Both of you, hang on!” He takes off again, not even short of breath. 

Minato is almost jealous. Despite all of his time spent with the track team, he feels dizzy and ready to collapse by the time the alleyway behind Port Island Station comes into view. Every breath might as well be filling his lungs with tar instead of air.

The shadows in the alley sharpen and focus into human shapes– not two, but three of them: one sprawled on the ground; one standing as tall as it can; the third looming over them both, arm extended towards the smallest figure, taking aim–

“Takaya!” Minato’s voice sounds foreign in his own ears. He wouldn’t have guessed he’d be able to speak at all, much less shout.

Everything happens all at once after that.

Takaya’s whole body jerks towards Minato’s voice. 

The shape on the ground lunges up and forward, taking the smaller figure crashing back down with it.

The gun goes off with a sound like–

Like a gunshot.

It isn't a clap of thunder. It's not at all like the crack of a whip. 

There is no metaphor that can soften the truth. 

The noise that tears open the silence of the Dark Hour is a gun being fired: a spark igniting powder propelling a bullet at shattering speeds towards the soft, vulnerable bodies of his friends.

Speckles of something dark and reflective fan through the air, glittering obscenely where they catch the light of the moon. Takaya almost seems to glow under that sickly light; pale skin and hair and eyes and shining silver gun gleaming ghost-bright in the murk of the alley, in stark contrast to the dark shapes huddled on the ground.

He meets Minato's eyes briefly. His expression is openly astonished for less than a moment before it shifts to fury, then is immediately papered over with a mask of calm indifference. He says something, but Minato is still too far away to hear. The Dark Hour swallows him up faster than Minato would have assumed possible.

He isn't terribly preoccupied with Takaya's Houdini act at the moment though, because–

"Shinji–!"

Aragaki lies prone on the pavement with Amada pinned underneath, whose breath is coming in shallow, panicked gasps, his face pale under dark splotches of blood. The bullet intended for Amada has shredded Aragaki’s right shoulder into a confusion of gore and torn wool and glimpses of pinkish-white that Minato tries not to think too hard about.

“Hang in there, Shinji!” Sanada hauls him off of Amada and onto his back, revealing another wound in his gut, a black well of blood. More of it dribbles sluggishly from the corner of his mouth. Aragaki doesn’t cry out in pain as Sanada and Mitsuru rearrange him in their hold, lifting him off of the cold concrete and supporting his head. He hardly makes any noise at all.

Minato feels like his ears have been jammed full of cotton. He can tell people are talking, but he can no longer pick out any voices or words. His vision tunnels, phantom colors chewing at the edges. 

He stands there and watches as Yukari frantically tears out of her jacket and hands it off to Mitsuru, who packs it hard against Aragaki’s ruined shoulder. 

He stands there and watches as Junpei unties his own jacket from around his waist and uses it to dab gingerly at the side of Amada’s face– it’s only now that Minato realizes that not all of the blood that Amada is wearing is Aragaki’s. The shape of Amada’s left ear is all wrong, like some of it is just missing, but Minato only catches a brief glimpse before Junpei presses the jacket over the injury and holds it there, hiding it from sight.

Yukari tries to summon her persona. Io flickers above her like a mirage for less than a second before vanishing. She pulls the trigger again, but the result is the same. She pulls the trigger again and again and again, face contorted and body heaving with sobs that Minato can’t hear. Io stops appearing at all. He stands there and watches.

It’s no use. They’re too far from Tartarus or any powerful shadow that could be harboring a piece of its influence. They’re too close to the end of the Dark Hour. Minato has two personas that can cast Recarm, but they wouldn’t be of any use even if he could draw his evoker, if he could move at all.

He stands there. And he watches.

Aragaki is saying something to Amada, and Amada answers through his sobs. Their mouths are moving, but Minato still can't hear. Why can’t he hear anything? Why does it feel like his mind is clouded over in static? 

Something jabs hard into his side and suddenly Minato’s ears work again, like a loose wire has been jarred back into place.

“--ato! Minato! Hey, are you listening?!” He blinks, dumbfounded, and turns to the source of the voice. Junpei is staring at him. Minato has no idea what he’d call the expression Junpei is making at him, but it’s not one he’s ever seen him wear before. “Give Sanada-san your coat, man! We need to stop the bleeding!” 

Even though he can hear again, it still takes him far too long to actually comprehend what’s being said. Junpei starts to repeat himself before it finally clicks and Minato shucks his jacket and hands it over. Junpei passes it off to Sanada, and Sanada presses it against the hole in Aragaki’s stomach. Aragaki doesn’t even flinch, just looks over at Koromaru gently nudging his hand. He pets him weakly. It’s probably the most movement he can manage.

“Just a few minutes–” Fuuka says, nearly hysterical. “The Dark Hour ends in a few minutes. As soon as it does, I-I’ll call an ambulance!” 

“Did you hear that, Shinji?” With the hand that isn’t leaning on the makeshift bandage, Sanada grabs Aragaki’s, gripping tight. Aragaki grips back, much weaker. “Just hold on for a bit longer!” 

“Aki…”  Aragaki’s voice is quiet and thready, but everyone falls silent at the sound of it. “Take care of him…” He slowly inclines his head towards Amada. 

“Don’t talk like you won’t be around!” Sanada says through gritted teeth.

“Pr…promise me, Aki.” 

Sanada’s breath hitches and he bites his lip against it. “…Alright. Alright, I– I will. I promise I will.” 

Aragaki smiles and Minato’s heart lurches. It’s sad. It’s final. 

It’s relieved. 

Aragaki is smiling like a weight has finally been lifted from his shoulders. He looks so content that Minato almost envies him. “This is…how it should be…” he sighs.

He slumps in Mitsuru and Sanada’s arms. Minato’s ears ring. There is a chorus of strangled cries from his teammates. 

Amada chokes like he’s been stabbed. “No–! H-he can’t–!”

“Is he–?” Junpei’s voice shakes.

“He’s alive,” Sanada gasps, still clutching Aragaki’s hand. “He’s still breathing–”

“I can feel his pulse,” Mitsuru affirms, pressing two fingers gently to Aragaki’s neck. “It’s weak, but it’s there. He’s only passed out, but unless he gets medical attention soon…” She can’t even finish her sentence, but she doesn’t need to. The implication is heavy enough. 

“Still breathing,” Sanada murmurs to himself. “He’s still breathing–” He says it again and again, as though he can force the words to remain true through sheer repetition.

Without fanfare, the green glow of the Dark Hour vanishes. The murky clouds that had blotted out the stars disappear and the moon returns to its normal size. 

“Yamagishi!”  Mitsuru exclaims.

“R-right!” Fuuka is already dialing. Her voice is strained and thin but steady as she relays the necessary details, and the person on the other end of the line thankfully seems to understand. It isn’t until she closes her phone that Fuuka allows a choked sob to escape. “Th…they’re on the way,” she says, her voice breaking. 

All they can do now is wait. Nobody speaks. Most of the team crowds around Aragaki, if nothing else to assure themselves that he’s still alive. Only Amada stays off to the side, until Junpei breaks away to crouch next to him and speak quietly. 

And Minato. He’s frozen in place, staring at the battered body of a man he’s come to greatly respect as the life slowly leaves him. His eyes burn, but it doesn’t feel like the sting of tears. They don’t feel wet at all. Has he been blinking? 

A hand rests on his shoulder. “Minato-san,” Aigis says, her vocals strangely gentle. How does she feel about all of this, Minato briefly wonders. “Are you alright?” 

“...No,” he answers, voice barely audible even to himself. Minato hasn’t felt like this since… not since Back Then. Not since the bridge, and the car.

Aigis’ face remains as impassive as always, but somehow she still looks sadder than she ever has. Sadder than Minato thought she was capable of. “I am here if you need me.” The compassion in her voice feels like a brick thrown against his chest.

It’s only a few minutes until they hear sirens, but it’s the most agonizing few minutes of their lives. Even in Tartarus, where a minute can stretch like taffy, time has never seemed to creep by so slowly.

A group of punks has started to gather, trying to gawk at the sprawled figure hidden within the protective ring formed by his teammates. They scatter as soon as the ambulance pulls up, stopping right next to the huddle. Four paramedics pour out and swarm around the injured parties as fast as they can. Two police cars arrive moments later. Officer Kurosawa steps out of one of them.

The alley is filled with disorienting pulses of red and blue light. Minato almost misses the sickly haze of the Dark Hour.

There’s a whirlwind of voices– explanations and questions and medical jargon– but Minato absorbs none of it. He just watches (again– again, he just watches, and does nothing) as three of the first responders transfer Aragaki onto a stretcher and load him into the ambulance. The fourth gently guides Amada inside as well. 

Everyone wants to go with them, but there’s only enough spare room for one more person. Minato isn’t surprised when Sanada insists it be him. Nobody argues, and the ambulance takes off the moment Sanada is inside. 

The last train has already left the station, so the rest of them will have to find another way to the hospital. And they will. They have to.

None of them can bear the idea of doing anything less.