#with hurt/comfort... because it's my downfall

[calamitoustide]

"are you crying?" from the prompt list (also hi gabby 🤗)

hi zar! so funny story. I completely forgot about this ask and game until I was sitting in class today not paying attention and thinking about this little scene and then I realized it fit the prompt you gave me so I used it. Even though I'm supposed to be focusing on so many other things right now... I wanted to write Regulus with Harry so that's what I did <3

"Papa, are you crying?"

Regulus' breath hitches at the noise. He would've thought if anyone would catch him like this it would've been James, he was kinda expecting it honestly. He didn't think it would be little feet running over to him, and a soft voice so small it weakens his heart every time he hears it. Through his blurred vision, he sees Harry rushing towards him, his little Spiderman shoes lighting up with every step he takes. He takes no hesitation clambering onto Regulus' lap.

"Hi, mon cheri," Regulus murmurs, his voice catching on each word, keeping Harry steady, even if his hands are shaking.

Harry's face scrunches up, "What's wrong?"

Regulus opens his mouth to speak but no explanation comes. His chest caves in more with every breath he takes. He wouldn't give the real one, even if he had one, but he can't come up with a false one either. The panicked breaths and brittle chest are something he's so familiar with, and yet it feels like a new feeling now. It's been so long since it's overtaken him, that he's not sure what to do with it. He learned things to make it better. He's learned the signs so he can call someone to help talk him down. He felt them now too, but he brushed it off. He feels sixteen. He never thought he'd feel sixteen again.

It's stupid. He knows it's not just something that goes away, it's built within him, and yet he had so much hope.

"Papa?" Harry calls out again, his fingers reaching out for the side of Regulus' face. Regulus almost wants to push him away, little tendrils reach for his brain begging him to find a quiet corner far from the light, but he doesn't. He just tries to take another breath, even if it comes out more like a wheeze.

Regulus wants to be able to explain this to him. He wants to explain that he's okay, he's just a little panicked for no good reason. He hates worrying him, especially for things like this. He's too young to see this. Regulus never wanted him to see this.

Harry sits back before suggesting, "Do you want a hug?"

Regulus' chest splits in two. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying again to take a deep breath but it's hard, and the most he can do is a hitched breath before he's consumed by it again. He feels himself nod even if anyone else's touch would feel like sandpaper against his skin right now.

Harry wastes no time wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pushing his face into his neck. Regulus holds him back keeping his eyes closed. He can feel his tears soak into Harry's shirt. He didn't even realize he was crying until Harry asked him about it, he couldn't feel anything, but he feels it now. It's an endless ache, not enough to really hurt him, but he feels it still.

It's been years since he's felt this trapped. He's not other sure what word to use even if it doesn't sound quite right. He grew up as nothing more than a kid trapped in his room. Trapped in a life he didn't want with no options of leaving it. Trapped in skin that didn't feel like his own and a brain that was working overtime to go against him. He's better now. He got out of his parent's house, and he fell in love with a man who showed him all the colors he could only dream of before. He has Harry now. He loves his life. He's even surprised to admit that but he does. He has no reason to feel trapped. He has no reason for his chest to fail him, but here it is caving in again.

Sirius used to tell him there's no straight line for progress. It's not linear. Going backward doesn't truly mean going back, you're always moving forward even if it doesn't feel like it. Regulus doesn't know. He thinks he might've believed it once. He tries to. He tries to be good. He just thinks no matter where he is in his life he'll always be that sad little kid who's trapped in his childhood bedroom. He's afraid it'll never leave him.

"Daddy's taking me to the park," Harry tells him, still refusing to let go. James taught him to not let go first if someone really needed a hug, and Regulus isn't ready to let go yet.

He can't manage to say anything, he only hums instead, feeling the texture of Harry's sweater underneath his fingertips.

"Do you wanna come?" Harry asks him, "We can go on the swings."

Regulus hums again, he wants to say more but all he can manage is, "Sure."

"Good," Harry tells him, "I like when you come."

Regulus' heart aches, but it's a good one this time, he takes a breath. It's shaky but it still fills his lungs all the same. He takes another letting his shoulders drop. He pulls away and finds Harry still smiling softly at him, it's like taking a first breath after you've just almost drowned.

"Better?" Harry asks.

Regulus only manages to nod before kissing the top of his head.

He doesn't have the time to say anything else before James is walking through the doorway, "Kiddo, you ready to go? I thought-" he cuts himself off.

"I'm okay," Regulus beats him to it, letting Harry off his lap.

James' eyes still flicker over him like he's trying to find an open wound he can stitch closed, "What happened?"

Regulus shakes his head, "Just..." he sighs, he knows he can't get out of it. James has never been known to just let these things go. "Worked myself up," he ends up on, "It's okay now."

James doesn't seem convinced, he opens his mouth to say something else but Harry beats him to it.

"Papa's going to the park with us," he says, grabbing at his hand to bring him to stand.

James looks over at him, "Are you-"

"I'm okay," he tells him, giving into Harry's pulling on his arm. He can't make it to the door before James stops him, forcing Harry to slip from his grip making a break for the door.

"Reg..."

Regulus sighs, "I'll talk about it later, okay?"

James' gaze flickers between his eyes before he nods, "Alright," he says, "If you promise you're-"

"James," Regulus stops him, "I'm fine."

Before either of them can say anything Harry's voice calls out from the hall, "Hurry up!"

Regulus smiles softly, "If we leave him waiting he'll kill us you know it."

James rolls his eyes, kissing his cheek, "Yeah, yeah let's go."

James goes through the door first. Regulus stays back to take a breath, he thinks he still feels that crack in the middle of his chest. He knows it'll never go away, but maybe he's okay with that, for a moment anyway. The water doesn't always have to be violent, it can be kind and innocent too.

"Papa! Come on!"

Regulus lets out his breath, dispersing the ocean around him, "I'm coming!"

[asxgard]

Omg I love your jack Abbott writings! All of the written so well. So I have a request if theyre open.

Jack x nurse reader who had a fling but it ended soooo badly because emotions weren’t being regulated. This makes reader quit PTMC and work elsewhere when she finds out she’s pregnant. Never tells jack. Cut to a year or two later, and they manage to cross paths where jack realizes it’s his son/daughter, feelings get thrown out the bag, and they all lived happily ever after?

in the wreckage | one shot

Dr. Jack Abbot x ex!f!nurse!reader

Requested

Summary: It’s in the wreckage of what was that you find hope for what could be.

[ My Masterlist ]

Note: Thank you, anon, I hope you enjoy! I struggled between giving him a son or daughter here, frankly because I really enjoyed both in my head. So like it has been in the past, it came down to a coin toss lol

Jack strikes me as both ‘“I walk you to your door and maybe kiss you goodnight on the second or third date” slow, intentional, traditional man and “if I don’t talk about my feelings, they don’t exist” longing, no title, all physical man’ so I float between them lol

Word Count: 3.1k (I blacked out)

Most of my works are 18+ for adult language and content.

Warnings: afab!reader, ex-situationship, implied age gap, foul language, hurt/comfort, mild references to smut, unplanned/surprise pregnancy, not telling jack about said pregnancy (reader being in the wrong oof), single mom!reader, hospital settings, medical inaccuracies, injuries relating to a car crash, angst with a happy ending, fluff

not beta read

It had started in the heat of the moment, neither of you being particularly careful with your feelings. The collection of lingering glances and secret smiles had brought it all to the surface until it was just the two of you after a bad shift. You had found comfort in each other that night, and several nights afterwards, lost in heat and an unspoken understanding of the horrors you faced each day.

Jack Abbot was a man of many complexities, though you thought that was what had sucked you in in the first place. The mysterious edge always left you wanting, always kept you guessing, and that just seemed like a recipe for disaster.

Perhaps because it had started on uncertain ground, always leaving you on the edge of your seat, left the relationship constantly feeling strained. What was worse was that neither of you called attention to it and simply let the insecurities fester. Simply never brought up what you were, or what you wanted to be, or got too personal to be vulnerable, though Jack had more of an affinity for that last one than you did.

You smiled at him less and less in the hallways of the Pitt, overwhelmed by the unknowing eating at your insides. You avoided him at work. He avoided your calls. Sooner or later, one of you always turned up at the other’s door. It became habitual, like a moth to a flame.

It only made your downfall so much worse.

—

You had wanted a clean break, and leaving the Pitt had been like leaving home. It had been necessary after that night with Jack, unable to look at him, let alone continue working with him. Not after what he said — not after you had asked for more and he had calmly, collectively, refused you. Like it didn’t matter. Like you didn’t understand.

It had done more than just hurt and embarrassed you, it had burned.

Like everything had reached its crescendo before stopping cold. All the feelings buzzing around your chest had been too much in the aftermath, so you left. Just left.

The two little pink lines staring at you just a few weeks later were a bitter pill to swallow. A cruel cosmic joke reeling you back to the man you were trying to run away from — leaving a constant reminder of the downfall. Bile had risen in your throat, and you felt a petty feeling rise with it.

He didn’t need to be in your life. You could do it alone. Who said you had to tell him? Perhaps that was wrong of you, a bit too childish, but you were still angry. Still running.

As your belly swelled, your feelings started seeming less bitter and more sweet. You moved out of your crappy one-bedroom apartment and into a fresh start, committing to your choice. Committing to the child in your womb and the choices that had led you there.

There was a tiny part of you that wanted to reach out, let him know, but you grew embarrassed each time you stared at his contact. You did not want him to feel like you were trapping him after he had made it clear that nothing more could happen between you.

For months you struggled with your decision, trying to wrangle your worries and insecurities about being a single mother. All the work, all the money, all the stress it was going to bring you.

It all seemed to fade away when you held your son in your arms, so small and screaming, and yet your heart filled with joy. He was perfect, with tiny fingers and toes, small tufts of dark hair atop his head. His eyes gave you pause — as they were unmistakably Jack’s.

You cried without really knowing why. Joy, longing, loss, love, or something in between had boiled up and then boiled over. Jack should know, echoed quietly in the back of your mind, he should know he has a son.

It felt too late to say it. You had had months to say something, anything and chosen not to. It was too late.

Despite the hardships you faced as a new mom facing it alone, Daniel was loved fiercely and spoiled when you could manage it. Your friends and co-workers helped when they could, and never let the absence of a father grow when they could help fill the void. Even your old co-workers came to see you and your son, visiting with curiosity soaking their eyes.

If any of them caught on, they didn’t say anything.

—

It felt crazy to you that a year since your son had been born had passed so quickly, so fleetingly. You worked a lot to afford rent, food and childcare, but even still, it felt strange that a year had gone by without fanfare.

Your friend had been a lifesaver when she allowed you to use her backyard for his first birthday party. It would be a small affair, with only a handful of kids Daniel knew from daycare and a few of your friends and their kids. Perlah and Dana even stopped by, giving their well wishes from everyone.

When you ran out of ice for the coolers, you and one of your co-workers, Liam, offered to go get more at the corner store. You left Daniel in the caring hands of Dana and promised to be back in only a few minutes.

A few minutes turned into a few hours after you had been blindsided and t-boned by a car trying to run a red light. You felt hazy when the paramedics arrived, carefully trying to apply pressure to the gash on Liam’s leg.

When you were wheeled into PTMC, you felt a flood of panic. Hadn’t you asked to head to Alleghany East? Maybe it had only been in your head. You prayed to whatever was out there that you would only see Robby.

Fate had other plans, it seemed, as Jack was the one who had come to the ambulance doors to assess you.

He stared at you like he had seen a ghost before buckling down and getting to work. He checked your pupils and your vitals, muttering something about a concussion, before checking over the handful of cuts the glass had made when the windows broke.

You were stable, so they wheeled you back into an open room to wait for a head CT. Jack lingered in the doorway, before shooing away an intern who had come to clean your wounds.

“How’s my friend? Is he okay?”

Jack pulled the stool close to you, “He’s just a room over. Nasty laceration, concussion, but Robby’s taking care of him. He’ll be okay.”

You nodded and took a deep breath. You picked up your phone to call Dana.

“I shouldn’t be long.” You told her after explaining what had happened.

“I’ll be right there.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Like hell I don’t. Don’t you worry about a thing, I’ll take care of it.”

You sighed, “Thank you, Dana.”

Jack, who had silently been cleaning your wounds, spoke, “So…is it just me you don’t talk to anymore?”

You scrunched your eyebrows and looked at him quizzically, “Excuse me?”

Hazel eyes flicked up to meet yours.

“I thought you made it clear that was the last thing you wanted.” You said, tone hard, lips dipping into a frown.

Jack let out a long sigh. “It was a bad shift. Bad day. It doesn’t excuse what I said. I was running from it being something real, I’m sorry.” A long pause echoed. “But I’d like to try and at least be friends.”

Friends? It ached somewhere deep in your chest. You could not be friends. You had made that decision over a year before and decided against having him in your life at any capacity. You frowned at him, looking away from his face before you could crumble.

��I don’t think that’s wise.” You said quietly.

He nodded, pulling over the suture kit. That seemed to be the end of it.

You let him finish working while the silence washed over you, thick and guarded. Your thoughts felt cloudy, and your head hurt, your muscles ached, but doubt began to creep in.

Had you made the right decision? You wanted to believe so. With one foot constantly out the door, would he even make a good father? Had you waited too long to even consider telling him? You felt stuck in your head, going over all the what ifs until you felt queasy.

A knock sounded on the door, pulling you from your thoughts. Dana’s pleasant smile greeted you, but it was your son in her arms that made you flush with distress. You stared at her with wide eyes, heart picking up speed.

“Someone was worried.” She told you simply, but her eyes flickered to Jack.

Jack looked up at Dana, then at the boy in her arms. The toddler was tucked against her neck, leaning on her like he was trying to sleep. Jack schooled his features easily, though it looked like he was disappointed for just a fraction of a second, which sent you reeling.

“Should I have someone call your…boyfriend?” Jack asked tightly, looking back down at the stitch work.

“No boyfriend.” You frowned, but accepted your son from Dana eagerly. Did Jack think that you’d had a baby with someone else? Good. Good. That was for the best. Bile burned your throat.

“How’re you feeling, kid?”

“I’ll be fine, thank you. Can you call my parents? I’ll need help getting him home.”

“Of course, I’ll be just outside if you need anything else.” Dana said, eyes moving to Jack and then back to you.

Your cheeks heated and you held your son tightly to your chest. You rubbed his back and hummed softly, though it was more to comfort yourself than him. Maybe Jack would not notice, just finish his stitches and be on his way and you could go on pretending this had never happened.

Though, thinking Jack wouldn’t notice something was a fool’s game. Your son turned his head to look at him, blinking his tired hazel eyes at Jack. Like you had thought when you first saw them, they were like a mirror of each other.

Alarm raced through Jack’s features, eyes flickering from Daniel and back to you, eyebrows raised, breath caught. You stopped breathing, and your joints locked into place like you were bracing for it to all fall apart. He just stared at you.

“How old is he?”

“Jack—”

“How. Old. Is. He?”

“A year…today.” You said quietly. Meekly. Words cutting your throat like they had been glass.

It was simple enough to do the math, and his expression hardened. He stood, and the air shifted to something uncomfortable, uneasy, uncharted, unknown.

“Jack—wait—let me explain.”

“So I take it this is why everyone has been so secretive about why you left.”

“They didn’t know. No one knew.”

He gestured to where Dana stood in the hall.

“No one knew for certain.” You elaborated, trying to defend them. Perhaps you could handle him being mad at you, but not the family you had made in the Pitt. You had never told them, and they had never asked, though from how she had handed your son to you, it was clear Dana had known.

“You were never going to tell me.” It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation.

Shame bubbled in your gut, low and searing, working its way upwards until tears formed. What you had been bracing for hit you like a punch to the chest — hurting more than that car had inflicted.

“I thought it was the right choice at the time.”

He scoffed and recoiled, his expression flinching between pain and anger.

“Jack—” you sighed, leveling your voice so you didn’t raise it. “—you told me I could never understand you, or the role you played here. That asking for any more from you was pointless…that it had all been a mistake and I needed to move on. I really couldn’t bear to work with you after that, so I left. I didn’t know I was pregnant yet. Was it wrong to keep it from you once I found out? …yes. But I was hurt.” You swallowed tightly, and wiped away your tears, annoyed they were forming.

He walked to the far wall away from you, then paced back toward you before repeating himself, hands on his hips. His expression broached closer to unreadable, which fueled your panic. With a long, heavy sigh, he stopped to lean against the wall. Never one to stray from eye contact, he found your eyes. Heavy, hard, reserved.

“I thought it was for the best. I didn’t want you to feel like I was trapping you, especially since it seemed like kids were the last thing on your list. I just wanted a clean break. I doubted my decision a lot—”

“And yet, you did nothing about it.”

You bit your lip. “I’m so sorry, Jack. I really messed up, I know that now. Time kept slipping away from me. I was still figuring out parenting — I still am — and to throw co-parenting into the mix? It felt like an impossible climb.”

“If you had never come here today…if Dana had never brought him in…you never would have said anything.”

More tears came as shame burned your face, “Maybe you’re right. I don’t know.”

Silences with Jack used to be comfortable, easy, as simple as breathing. The one now settling between you? It ached, it burned, it crushed.

“What’s his name?” Jack asked quietly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Daniel.”

You swore you saw his eyes grow glassy.

“I made the wrong decision, and I’ll own up to that.” You admitted quietly. “I can’t change what I did or didn’t do, and I’ll never be able to apologize enough for it. I just thought this…this would be easier. For everyone involved.”

“I’m involved now. Don’t fight me on that.”

“I won’t.” You vowed.

—

Trust was built back slowly, through long conversations and with actions followed through. It had been tense and awkward as your son grew to know Jack as his father, though he fell into the role like he was made for it. It only made the guilt over stealing a year of your son’s life from him hurt all over again.

The tension and burning guilt were the hardest thing for you two to overcome. While he never raised his voice, he would grow accusatory when he remembered how much he had lost out on. You would double down on the night you had left him behind — or perhaps it truly was him leaving you behind — and the words he had said to you.

Neither of you were particularly blameless, not really. The relationship that had been was not one formed on a solid foundation, so everything felt like new territory. The pull of will they, won’t they, as Princess had put it, constantly making you question where you stood.

You just wanted to focus on co-parenting effectively, and Jack just wanted to focus on making up for lost time. That felt easy enough.

But something from the past — from the wreckage of what you had been — lingered like some part of you and Jack was haunted. An echo of what should have been fizzled just below the surface.

On the first night you felt secure enough to leave Daniel at Jack’s apartment, you settled in his kitchen to clean up a bit of the mess from dinner. Jack’s guest room had been quickly converted to be a bedroom for his son, pulling together everything he needed without complaint.

Jack wandered back into the kitchen after settling Daniel down for the night. You hummed softly, and Jack leaned against the doorway without saying anything.

“I know this is hard for you.” Jack said, hands in his pockets. “Thank you for giving me tonight.”

You smiled even though a sadness lingered at leaving your son somewhere overnight that was not his home. But this would need to be his home, too, so you swallowed it.

“You two need some quality time,” after I ripped the beginning away from you. “You two will have fun tomorrow.”

“...I got an extra ticket, if you’d like to come with us.”

Hope bloomed, “You did?”

“I’d like to put the past behind us. Move forward together.” He said, eyes never leaving yours.

Forgiveness had come with your son’s echoing laughter and hues of blue shimmering against your skin, as light moved through the water. Daniel pointed up at the sharks in their tanks while Jack held him, watching in his own kind of excitement, a smile cracking against the corner of his mouth.

Jack had grabbed your hand without saying anything.

You intertwined your fingers and let out a long breath of relief.

—

Something like love had come in a flourish after Daniel’s first words: dada. It might have felt like a punch to the gut, another cosmic joke, if it hadn’t lit up Jack’s face in a smile you had never seen before. It warmed the ache in your chest and decided it was okay for Jack to have this first.

It felt like forgiving yourself.

You ended up staying the night, curling up against Jack’s chest while your son slept soundly in the next room. Neither of you wanted to rush what was blossoming between you, or jinx it. If you were going to go for it, you each deserved steady ground to stand on.

“You’re doing really well with him.” You whispered. “I was worried it would feel clunky or unnatural to have you around. But it works.”

He looked at you for a long time. “I don’t want to mess this up, too.”

You softened, “I think that’s what parenthood is. Messing up and trying to do better, every day.”

“Do you think relationships are the same?” He asked, low and deliberate.

“Yeah, I do.”

It felt like a confession.

He leaned down to kiss you, but paused just before his lips met yours. Your heart hammered against your ribs, and you wet your lips with your tongue.

“I like what we have. I don’t want to screw it up by trying to be something we’re not.” You said quietly, though you felt the pull of wanting to kiss him.

Co-parenting had been bleeding closer to a relationship for quite some time, but you had not wanted to be the one who spoiled it.

“I’m not going to run this time, not if you don’t.”

You swallowed, focusing on his eyes, “I’m here to stay.”

He captured your lips, pulling you flush against him, one hand going behind your head and the other settling on your hip. It was hesitant, but full of feeling, of all things left unsaid.

It felt like was a promise.

same prompt, but with Robby: A Fresh Start

want to join any of my taglists? shoot me a message!

Dr. Abbot taglist: @flyinglama @valhallavalkyrie9 @melancholyy-hill @travelingmypassion @yournerdmodziata @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sarah-the-bird-nerd @artsymaddie @partofthelouniverse @woodxtock @rachel2494

The Pitt taglist: @cannonindeez @spoiledflor @kittenhawkk @nessamc @thatchickwiththecamera @sharkluver @loud-mouph @ksyn-faith @sunfairyy @dragonsondragons @mischiefsemimanaged @pastelbunnelby @jetjuliette @that-one-fangirl69

All content taglist: @nixandtonic

this inspired two tiny multis:

casual (coming soon) (Dr. Robby)

champagne problems (coming soon) (Dr. Abbot)

whoops

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Hiii! Could you write a one shot with both Caracalla and Geta? The idea is that the reader is their favorite concubine (or legit their wife idk if that's how it works lmfaooo) but she's a witch? Like she's an oracle or something, they keep her around because she brings them luck and what not (they also kinda love her but they're both insane so...)

No worries if you don't want to write this!

The oracle of the emperors

Geta/Caracalla x witch!reader

warning : hurt/comfort, power inequality, kissing, mention of smut (light smutish), family issues

Summary : In times of war, one had to resort to everything, be it rationing, ambushes, burning or fetching the walking omniscient shadow from the alleys of Rome. An oracle surrounded the two emperors and was so much more to them than just a surrogate for the gods.

info : I love the idea, almost an au in Gladiator (maybe more someday) thanks for the request and have fun reading :)

masterlist

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

Rome was a world city, an empire for decades no for centuries, it would outlast all time. Everything would fall to make way for the glorious holy roman empire and no one would stop it, no country, no army, you just had to keep conquering and conquering.

An idea, a thought, a dream that had burned itself into the minds of the two emperors - they wanted more, had to and needed more. The reign of Geta and Caracalla was to be glorious, but the body cannot bear what the mind dreams of, especially not when its own warlord threatens to withdraw.

You can't keep a man from dying for a lifetime without risking his downfall, a fact that the two also saw...but if the fighting force failed, what could be done to win more easily and quickly?

Gods, oracles and witches, the supernatural, that which could see more than only man could see.

Since the conquests, the oracles had only predicted victories, but why did more and more bases go under, why did the harvests come to an end and why did the emperor's gold seem to dwindle?

Wrong answers were punished with death and the temples remained mostly empty, the only thing that was known to help was the shadow of Rome, the woman who was found before she was even looked for.

Her figure emerged from the streets wrapped in the dark fabric, the rustling of the small bones in her pouch accompanying her as the people looked at her in awe, as much as she was feared she was revered, ,,The sound of water will bring you a poet, just as these bones of death brought me to you...my honorable emperors” she greeted them as she came up the stairs to the palace and saw the golden gods in human form.

Of one she had dreamed his gold would cover the Senate like blood that would not stop flowing and the other she had seen an agonizing spirit that would perish along with all of Rome.

,,You will be placed in our service, no harm shall come to you as long as your words are of use to us,” Geta assured her as he showed her a bedchamber larger than anything she had ever had and still needed some work, for as much as she saw and heard them all, she knew how to interpret the looks in their eyes.

And the looks of the brothers were full of desire.

After a very short time she was surrounded only by the two of them, hardly any other servants or concubines, the campaign was victorious as she had predicted, but her warning also came true.

It only took a full moon for the “poet” to arrive inside the palace and she saw the amused look on Caracalla's face as he grabbed her hand, ,,You predicted it!” he said, and his brother looked at her, a look she took as respect.

When they were with the brothers during the day, she was with Geta, his hand at her side, the human god who wanted to be closer to Olympus through her, ,,You belong to me, here, in the Senate and out there,” he reminded her whenever they took up political matters.

Dark eyes with make-up looked at her whenever she moved the figures on the map, whenever she whispered her proposal to him in the senate and when he drew her to his bedchamber.

Why should she say no? Even a fool would have slept with the most powerful man whose voice was almost as intoxicating as his body, his kiss intense he wanted this power she had, his gold soon adorning her too, gifts in the hope that she would stay with him, touches of lust, he desired her power and beauty until the day she asked the question.

The fire turned bluish and she heard the cry of a monkey asking him, ,,You speak of belonging but this mine, is it none of your brother the Emperor Caracalla's concern?" a question that drove him from her, his face became incredulous and she saw the disbelief in his eyes.

He felt betrayed.

A betrayal she thought he would spear away, but her last prediction that this mine would mean his end must have frightened him, frightened and almost more God-given.

The gifts of gem and gold he made sure she wore, as much as he tried to hold it back she belonged to one god and not two at the same time.

Geta would spend hours in the temples, making people feel at ease and being addressed as a god. it was during these days and weeks that the monkey Dundus would often run up to her and she would see the uncertain look on Caracalla's face.

As much as he was fascinated, he was also afraid of her, ,,Witches are a bad omen...but you helped us,” the younger one said as he ventured into her room and watched, curious about what she was doing there.

Instead of luring him with physical devotion like his brother, she put a motherly smile on her lips, ,,Look even I can make fruit dance” she lured him and he sat down on her chair while she instructed him to close his eyes, she mixed a few simple tinctures and dripped them on the grapes.

A simple reaction of plants, but for Caracalla, who clapped his hands in delight, it was worth almost as much as the whole of Rome, ,,You see, I can't be angry at all, my sweet king,” she murmured to him and hugged him carefully, an embrace he wanted more and more from then on. during the day she belonged to Geta, who soon ignored her warning.

Why listen to a witch when he was a god? The jewelry covered her body, his love visible on her body and at night she took care of the younger one, so much pain and suffering as she held him like a child who would soon take advantage of her when his madness took over, ,,His gold, his jewelry but you're mine, aren't you? I need you alone, not shared,” he ordered, fingers clutching hers helplessly.

A question she answered with a kiss and the game between the two emperors continued to grow daily. The bones in her bowl became more and more when she made new predictions and she went from a god to a delusional one whenever one of them needed her.

Gold and make-up adorned her body and whenever Geta and Caracalla met it seemed as if Rome was on the verge of collapse.

In the midst of this they stood, the most influential authority taking on the two emperors while Rome changed around them, brothers not seeing that the shadow had closed in around them when the first thought had fallen upon them.

She felt at home in the madness of the two and the threads that held everything together, because no one could separate such a love. Yet to everyone else outside the palace she was nothing more than the concubine of the brothers Emperor Geta and Caracalla.

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

[moonmaiden1996]

Part 5 🗣️🗣️🗣️

You want more???? Well, if you insist...

Love at First Sight (According to Nagumo, Anyway) Part Five

You barely had time to react. One moment, you were standing there, trying to process the horrifying revelation that Nagumo had somehow orchestrated your boss’s downfall, and the next—

Warm fingers wrapped around yours, pulling you along beside him. His hand was impossibly large and shockingly warm, an unexpected comfort that would’ve been reassuring if it weren’t attached to someone as strange and dangerous as him. An assassin, of all things.

Nagumo held your hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world, as if he had done it a thousand times before. And before you could jerk away, he was already walking, gently but relentlessly tugging you along. To anyone else, it would have looked like a couple on a casual evening stroll, perhaps heading to their favorite eatery or to the place of their first date.

“Come on, my love,” he purred, his voice rich with amusement. “We have a date to enjoy.”

“No, we don’t,” you snapped, digging your heels in, but even with all your body weight, he simply pulled you along, like you were nothing.

Nagumo didn’t even slow down.

“Oh, but we do,” he said, glancing back at you with that infuriating smirk still plastered on his face. “You agreed, remember?”

Your eye twitched. “I was tricked into agreeing.”

“Semantics.”

He didn’t let go, nor did he stop smiling.

You twisted your arm, trying to slip free, but Nagumo’s grip was like steel wrapped in silk—unyielding but deceptively soft. It wasn’t painful, not even close, but it was final. "Stop that, you’ll hurt yourself. And as much as I would like to play doctor, I’d much prefer to do so in another capacity.”

He wasn’t letting you go.

Your heart hammered in your chest.

“Let me go,” you tried again, voice low, warning.

Nagumo sighed dramatically. “Why must you resist happiness, my love? It’s just dinner.” He paused, then tilted his head. “Well, dinner and some light assassination talk, but mostly dinner.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “I knew you were crazy. I knew I should have given up caffeine. My mother was right—It is bad for my health.”

“And yet,” he said, smug as ever, “we are still here... must be fate.”

The worst part? You were still here.

And with every step, the escape route back to Sakamoto’s store was getting further and further away.

Nagumo led you down the quiet streets, weaving through the dimly lit alleys like he belonged there. He probably did.

Finally, he stopped in front of a small, hole-in-the-wall noodle shop, its faded red curtain swaying gently in the evening breeze. Warm light spilled out onto the street, and the rich scent of broth and spices curled in the air. Your stomach betrayed you with a loud growl.

Nagumo grinned. “See? Even your body agrees with me.”

You scowled, but your resistance was starting to waver. You could always run after dinner, right?

With a resigned sigh, you allowed him to pull you inside.

The shop was quiet, tucked away from the busy streets. The restaurant was small, empty, with no hope of calling for help from other patrons. The solitary chef behind the counter greeted Nagumo by name and gestured toward a booth at the back of the shop. The smell of freshly cooked broth hung in the air, making your stomach churn—not with fear, but hunger.

Nagumo guided you to a corner booth, finally releasing your hand as you slid into the seat across from him.

The moment you were free, you considered bolting.

Nagumo must have noticed, because he propped his chin on his palm, watching you with that lazy, amused smirk. “Sit tight, my love. I promise I didn’t kill anyone. Plus, the food is amazing. You like soba, right? They have ramen too, with hand-pulled noodles.”

You froze mid-movement. “Excuse me?”

Nagumo chuckled. “That’s what’s been bothering you, isn’t it? You think I killed him after he quit.” He leaned forward, eyes gleaming with mischief. “I didn’t. I simply… convinced him that leaving was in his best interest. Not that he wouldn’t deserve it, such a disgusting man. Should we get pudding too? Treat ourselves, it is a celebration of course.”

You stared at him, your pulse hammering in your ears. “How?”

Nagumo hummed, tapping his fingers against the table. “How, dessert? Or how did I give your old boss the old push?’’ he smiled across at you. ‘’Oh, you know. A little whisper here, a little well-timed accident there. Nothing too dramatic.” He smiled wickedly. “He got the message.”

The blood drained from your face.

Nagumo tilted his head, eyes sparkling. “You should be thanking me. I cleared the way for your promotion, didn’t I? He was awful to you. Lucky for him, I would’ve much rather put an ice pick through his eye socket, but Aoi frowned on that idea.”

You were going to be sick. "Aoi?"

"Sakamoto’s wife. She gave me lots of great advice. She's lovely, you should go out shopping with her sometime. We could even go on a double date.”

“You’re insane,” you whispered, barely able to comprehend it.

Nagumo grinned, delighted by your horror. “And you’re adorable when you’re horrified.”

You wanted to scream.

Your fingers clenched under the table, nails biting into your palm. Your pulse was erratic, your mind screamed at you to do something, anything, to get away.

That’s when you saw it.

The tattoo.

A swirl of ink peeked out from beneath the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt, intricate and sharp, curling along the skin of his wrist. You didn’t recognize the full design, but something about it screamed danger. People had tattoos these days, but the thick black lines, the sharp design—it screamed Yakuza more than it did a rebellious teenager trying to piss off their parents.

It was the final confirmation.

Nagumo wasn’t just some overconfident flirt with questionable morals. He was an assassin.

A real one.

Your breath came faster. Your mind raced. Your fingers inched toward the wooden chopsticks resting beside your bowl. Not a weapon, but sharp enough to give you enough time to escape.

Nagumo was still smirking, still watching you, completely unguarded.

This was your chance.

Your hand shot forward.

In an instant, Nagumo moved.

Before you could even register what had happened, your wrist was caught—flipped effortlessly, twisted just enough to disarm you. The chopsticks clattered uselessly against the table.

You barely had time to gasp before Nagumo’s other hand reached out, cupping your chin with unnerving gentleness.

His grin was gone.

For the first time, he actually looked serious.

And then—

He laughed.

“Oh, my love,” he breathed, eyes practically glowing. “You are perfect.”

You stared at him, stunned, your wrist still trapped in his hold.

Nagumo exhaled, shaking his head with something that disturbingly resembled fondness. “I knew you’d be perfect, but this?” He chuckled. “Trying to stab me in the middle of our date? How did I get so lucky? Beautiful.” He purred, pressing a soft kiss to your wrist.

Your entire body locked up.

He—

What—

“Let me go,” you forced out, but it came out weaker than you wanted.

Nagumo hummed thoughtfully, his fingers still wrapped around your wrist. Then, slowly, he released you.

But not before dragging his thumb lightly across your pulse point.

A deliberate, lazy touch.

Your skin burned where he had touched it.

“You really are something else,” he mused, sitting back like nothing had happened. “I knew you were the one for me.”

You yanked your hand back, your breath uneven. “You’re delusional.”

Nagumo just smiled, resting his chin in his palm. “No, I’m in love with the most perfect woman in the world... Now, let me order for you. I’ve always wanted to do that.” He beamed at you, his eyes scanning the menu with intense focus. “I promise you won’t regret it. I am, after all, the best husband. Let’s get some sake to share. They have a sparkling one you’ll love.” He giggled.

And despite everything, a small, twisted part of you—a sick part of you—thought he looked very handsome the way he smiled so determinedly at the menu, so happy. 

What the hell were you going to do?

I rewrote this three times in the last two days.... I hope I got it right. I am not sure if I am going to do the next chapter focusing on the Reader or Nagumo or both so please stay tuned. Maybe some interaction with the other characters :P

Like. Comment. Request.

[homestylehughes]

boyfriend quinn headcanons

pairing(s): quinn hughes x fem!reader

summary: headcanons of bf!quinn!

wc:703

warnings: fluff, cute soft quinn, smut 18+!

authors note: hi guys!! i randomly had this idea this morning so i thought id write about quinn and how i think he'd be as a boyfriend! hes been taking up too much of my mind recently LOL. i hope you guys enjoy!! more fics are coming up later this week! like and reblog if you like <3. as always much love <3

happy reading <3

Sfw/fluff: 

Bf!quinn: quinn would be the type of boyfriend to wake you up with kisses all over your body, tracing his hands all over your back. Quinn would love looking at you while you're sleeping, not in a creepy way, in a loving way, that he couldn't believe that you're his.

Bf!quinn: he would give you one on one skating lesions, holding your hand whenever you feel like you're going to fall. He'd insist that he put on your skates, tying them extra tight and patting your leg to make sure you're okay. Quinn would laugh at you when you get excited about skating on your own finally, giving you a forehead kiss, saying he's proud of you. 

Bf!quinn: After a long day at work, when he knows you've had a bad day, he'll cook you your favorite meal. Even drawing you a bath, that you then insisted that he had to get in with you. He would ask you about your day, you would tell him as you lean comfortably into his touch as he runs his hands all over your body to help you relax. 

Bf!quinn: quinn lovesssss when you wear his jersey to a game, he loves seeing you in the stands in his jersey, cheering for him and the rest of the team. He loves the support that you always give him. Waiting for him by the locker room, giving him the sweetest hug and kiss. Always letting him know that you're proud of him, win or lose. 

Bf!quinn: quinn loves how you are around his family, how you think of them as your family. How you laugh and joke with his brothers, talk hockey with his dad, how you embarrass him and smile with his mom. He loves the relationship that you have with them. His family jokes that if you guys ever broke up, his family would be more hurt than you or quinn. 

Bf!quinn: quinn would definitely get baby fever when seeing you around children. Imagining if they were your kids, wanting nothing more than to pull you home, and make his dreams come true. 

Bf!quinn: quinn loves to be babied, he loves when you let him be the little spoon. His favorite way of being babied is when he comes home after a long road trip is throwing himself into your arms, dragging you to the bedroom, quickly getting changed and laying down on top of you. His face finding its way to your neck, nuzzling himself in your body breathing in your scent. He'd quickly fall asleep as you play with his hair, and rub your hands up and down his back.

nsfw 18+ below: 

Bf!quinn: quinn is definitely a munch. He could spend hours in between your legs, even when you try to push him away he always comes back. He could never get enough of your cunt.  

Bf!quinn: He loves marking you up, showing everyone that you're his. He can't help but feel a sense of pride when he looks over the marks. Smirking to himself, knowing you'll yell at him when you see how dark they are the following day. 

Bf!quinn: quinn is obsessed with your boobs, he considers himself a lover of both ass and boobs equally but his downfall is your boobs. Any chance he has to kiss, bite, lick them he takes advantage of it. You can't even count on your fingers how many times you guys have been late to dinners because your boobs are “calling his name.”

Bf!quinn: quinn loves when you take control during sex, it's a side of you that he doesn't get to see a lot but he loves it when he does. The view of you on top of him riding him, never fails to take his breath away. 

Bf!quinn: Your moans? Oh gosh your moans. They make his knees weak, He loves hearing how responsive you are. His favorite is when you moan lowly in his ear, feeling your warm breath fan his face. When you drop your head back and your mouth is hanging open as your body shakes in pleasure. 

Bf!quinn: loves everything about you.

[ticifics]

Heya!! I loved your peter maximoff music fic and if you are back on your peter obsession, can I request something with him and reader going on a date and facing backlash from rude people who don't like seeing a mutant in public?? Make it as angsty or happy as you like! Thank you!!

Silver Blur

Peter Maximoff x f!reader

Summary: “I’m a failure, you know that? I have nothing. Still live in my mom’s basement. I steal stupid shit because, I don’t know, my brain doesn’t know how to work any other way. I’m weird. And, to top it all off, I’m not even really human.” He looked down at his hands, long and nimble fingers, as if they carried something dirty, something that couldn’t be fixed. “And you… you’re everything.”

Warnings: fluffy, hurt/comfort, est. relationship, no use of y/n, prejudice towards mutants, a nasty guy, a bit of 'aggression' (totally deserved), insecure!peter, human!reader

A/N: hey love! i'm glad you liked that fic and i hope you can like this one <333 we have a little bit of angst, but i couldn't make it a tragic ending. and yes, my god, i watched x-men again just to see him and he is without a doubt the highlight of the movie

The diner had a nostalgic feel to it, even though you were too young to be nostalgic for anything there. The neon lights reflected off the chrome counter, the jukebox played an upbeat melody in the background, and the smell of greasy fries and burgers lingered in the air. It was the kind of place that suited him—half retro, half chaotic, a space that seemed to exist outside of time.

Peter sat across from you, silver hair catching the colorful glow, a crooked smile playing on his lips. His silver jacket, an essential piece, gleamed under the fluorescent lights. He was leaning on his forearms, watching you with an expression that made it clear that, if it were up to him, he’d spend his whole life just looking at you.

“You know I’m not supposed to be here,” he murmured, but with no real intention of leaving.

You raised an eyebrow, bringing the straw of your milkshake to your lips. “Peter, you always say that.”

He grinned, and his dimples appeared instantly. “And I’m always right.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the warmth that spread through your chest at the sight of him, all soft and melted for you. He wasn’t anything you ever expected to find in life, but somehow, he was everything you wanted.

And then came the first glance.

The one you felt on your skin before you even realized what was happening.

A woman at the table next to you pulled her son closer, as if Peter were some kind of creature ready to attack him. A couple in the booth across whispered something to each other, eyes fixed on him with a mix of disdain and distrust. The waiter, who had seemed friendly until now, hesitated for a second before setting the plates down unceremoniously, as if touching them was enough to get contaminated.

Peter said nothing.

You knew he noticed. He always did.

But instead of reacting, he just drummed his fingers against the tabletop, looking away. His jaw was tight, shoulders a little more tense.

Hate.

People had so much hate.

“Do you want to get out of here?” you asked, your blood boiling.

He finally looked at you. And God, those dark eyes were a damn downfall. There was still a trace of a smile on his face, but it was different now—one you recognized.

The smile that said “it’s fine” when it really wasn’t.

“No.” He picked up a fry, twirling it between his fingers before popping it into his mouth. “If I left every place where I wasn’t welcome, there wouldn’t be much left, huh?”

Your chest tightened. He said it like it was a joke. Like it didn’t hurt. Like he was used to it.

And maybe he was.

But you weren’t.

You let go of your straw, crossing your arms over the table. “If anyone says anything, I—”

Peter let out a quiet laugh, leaning back against the seat. “You’re gonna defend me?”

“Obviously.”

He tilted his head to the side, silver hair falling over his forehead. His eyes glimmered, and a real smile returned.

“You’re perfect, you know that?”

This time, you were the one to look away, feeling your cheeks burn.

But the discomfort around you was still there, pulsing like a second skin.

Peter played it off well.

So well you almost believed he really didn’t care. That the stares didn’t get to him, that the whispers didn’t burn under his skin. But you knew Peter Maximoff. And Peter Maximoff was many things—fast, chaotic, ridiculously charming—but he wasn’t unbreakable.

You saw it in his eyes.

You saw it in the way his smile started to fade, in the way his fingers traced distracted patterns on the table, never stopping. You saw it in the way he got quieter, like he was disappearing into himself.

And you saw the exact moment he started to think he shouldn’t be here.

Not just in this diner.

With you.

He dropped his gaze to the table, idly playing with the cold fries on his plate. “Hey…” he murmured, without that usual easy, teasing tone. “Have you ever wondered what it would be like if you were with someone else?”

Your heart stumbled.

“What?”

He forced a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m not saying you should, it’s just that… I think about it. A lot.”

You felt a lump in your throat.

“Peter.”

He looked away.

“I mean it. Look at you.” He gestured in the air, like he was presenting you to an invisible audience. “Beautiful, smart, cool as hell—it’s ridiculous. You could be with anyone. Any normal guy.”

“Normal,” you repeated, feeling something simmer beneath your skin.

He let out a quiet laugh, but it was empty.

“I’m a failure, you know that? I have nothing. Still live in my mom’s basement. I steal stupid shit because, I don’t know, my brain doesn’t know how to work any other way. I’m weird. And, to top it all off, I’m not even really human.” He looked down at his hands, long and nimble fingers, as if they carried something dirty, something that couldn’t be fixed. “And you… you’re everything.”

You clenched your fists on the table.

No.

No, you weren’t going to accept that.

“Peter, look at me.”

He hesitated, but obeyed.

“You’re not doing this.” Your voice was firm. “You’re not pushing me away with this bullshit speech.”

He opened his mouth, but you were faster.

“You are not a mistake, Peter. You are not a burden. You are not—” your voice faltered for a second, but you held his gaze, reaching out to take his hand, feeling his long, nimble fingers hesitate before intertwining with yours. “—a monster.”

His eyes widened, like you had just hit him square in the chest. Like he had never even considered the possibility of someone saying that out loud. He didn’t blink, didn’t breathe, just stared at you, dark eyes filled with something between shock and desperation, like he was trying to understand how the hell you could see all the good in him when he saw nothing at all.

You leaned over the table, completely ignoring the murmur around you, the strangers’ presence trying to creep into the night that belonged to the two of you. Your fingers traced the pulse at his wrist, following the line of a vein that was beating too fast, as fast as his erratic heartbeat. His face was close now, so close you could count his silver lashes, see the reflection of the diner’s neon sign dancing across his dark eyes, hear the way his breath hitched when you squeezed his hand tighter.

“You’re mine,” you murmured, each word sinking into his skin like a promise. “And I’m yours.”

His throat bobbed.

“Did you hear me, Peter?”

He blinked, dazed, like he was processing it slowly, like the idea of belonging to someone—of someone wanting to belong to him—was too distant, too impossible to be real.

So you did something that left no room for doubt.

You leaned in and kissed him.

His lips were cold from the milkshake, but his mouth gave in immediately, warm and intense and tasting like something he never, never believed he deserved. His body tensed for a second, like he was about to run, but then his hand squeezed yours tighter, and he leaned in for more, like he was trying to memorize every detail of the feeling before someone could take it away from him.

But then, the voice came.

Sharp, filled with disgust.

“You mutants never know your place.”

The world froze.

You pulled away slowly, feeling Peter’s skin stiffen under your touch, feeling his fingers turn cold around yours.

The voice came again, this time even more venomous.

“People like you aren’t welcome here.”

You turned around.

The man was big, broad shoulders, disheveled hair, his eyes carrying a very specific kind of rage. A rage that didn’t come from anything concrete, nothing he could truly explain. Just pure hatred for something he didn’t understand.

Peter didn’t say anything. He just stared, an eerily serene expression on his face.

His silence only seemed to make the man angrier.

He let out a low, sarcastic laugh, leaning over the table with a dirty smirk. “Look at you. You know you’re a freak, right, kid?”

Your blood boiled.

You didn’t care about the stares, didn’t care about the whispers or the way people seemed to subtly move away from your table, like Peter was a threat, like he was something to be feared. You knew he had dealt with this for years. You knew the words rolled off him like water, that he was too fast to care, that the best response was always a joke.

But not now.

Not when some disgusting man thought he could open his mouth and spew all that hatred like he had any right to.

You felt your chest rise and fall too fast, felt your fist clench at your side, ready to say something, do something—but then you felt it.

His hand. His long fingers slid over your wrist, a steady grip, a silent squeeze that said “no.” Peter held your hand.

And then the man turned to you. And smiled. A filthy, disgusting smile, all yellowed teeth and rotten intentions.

“Bet you’ve never been with a real man. I could show you a good time, girl.”

Peter’s hand slipped away from yours.

It was immediate.

You felt it before you even realized. The air shifted, thick with electricity, like the second before lightning splits the sky.

When you looked at Peter, he still seemed calm. But it was the dangerous kind of calm.

His mouth was still relaxed, his shoulders still loose, but his eyes—God, his eyes—held no amusement now. They were fixed on the man before him, burning like embers, scanning every inch of him like he was deciding the best way to take him apart.

And then Peter smiled. A lazy, lopsided grin, a glimmer of mockery dancing behind the threat.

“Wow.” Peter whistled. “Did you rehearse that in the mirror, or did it just come out like that?”

The man’s face darkened. Peter grinned.

“Because if it just came out like that, congrats. You’re a natural asshole.”

And then, in the blink of an eye, he was gone. Just one second. Just a silver blur.

The man didn’t even have time to react. One moment he was standing—and the next, he was on his knees.

The entire diner went still. Glasses rattled on the tables. The air was split by the sharp sound of impact.

No one saw Peter move.

The only thing left was him, standing in front of the man now kneeling on the floor, fingers delicately gripping the collar of his worn-out jacket, like he had placed him there as easily as setting down a cup.

Peter’s eyes glowed under the diner’s red neon lights, the shadow of a smirk twisting his mouth.

“Let me tell you a secret.” His voice came low, slow. “If you open that filthy mouth again, I’ll make you swallow every word.”

The man froze.

Peter’s smirk widened.

“And trust me,” he slid a finger over the guy’s shoulder as if brushing off dust, “I’m very fast.”

The man tried to move.

Another silver blur.

And suddenly, the guy was sitting on the counter, feet dangling in the air, not even knowing how the hell he got there.

The entire diner gasped.

Peter clicked his tongue, resting an elbow on the counter, relaxed, as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

“Need a map, buddy? You look lost.”

The man blinked. His hands pressed against the counter, as if trying to find balance, as if trying to understand.

Peter just smiled, and before the guy could open his mouth, he tilted his face, lowering his voice to something more intimate, almost confidential.

“Let me guess.” He rested his chin on his hand, eyes lit with a cold amusement. “You’re not feeling so brave anymore, are you?”

He snapped his fingers. Another silver blur, and the man was back on the floor.

His breath came fast, erratic.

This time, he didn’t try to speak.

Peter smiled, as if finally satisfied.

You threw a few bills onto the table, not counting, not looking, just leaving them there, as if money had any significance in the middle of that mess, as if it could pay for the man’s discomfort, for the disgusting words he had pretended didn’t affect him.

And then you turned.

He was already waiting for you. His face still slightly tilted, eyebrows raised in a mix of impatience and expectation, as if silently asking if you could finally leave.

You nodded.

And in the blink of an eye, the world disappeared.

Your stomach flipped, and your heart jumped to your throat. It was like being pulled by an invisible force, a train too fast to follow, to process—cold air cut against your skin, sounds blurred into the distance, and then, suddenly, everything stopped.

Your feet touched solid ground. The world stopped spinning.

But your body didn’t know that yet.

You blinked a few times, trying to adjust your vision.

The sky was dark, speckled with stars, the moon casting its silver glow over everything around you. The grass beneath your feet swayed gently with the wind. You were alone, no artificial lights, no whispering voices, no disgusted stares burning against his skin.

Just the two of you.

Just him.

Just Peter, now looking at you with raw concern in his eyes, eyebrows furrowed, lips slightly parted, as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know where to start.

“Hey.” His fingers touched your face with impossible gentleness, pushing strands of hair away from your skin, thumbs brushing slowly over your cheekbones, as if searching for something. “You okay?”

Your breath was still uneven, the adrenaline from what had happened at the diner, from the impossible journey to this place, still rushing through your veins like a reminder of how fast he was.

But he was here. Dark eyes, watchful. Fingers still on your face. His concern hung in the air, dense, almost tangible.

You closed your eyes for a second, inhaling slowly. “Just… a little dizzy.”

Relief flickered across his face. He let his hands slide down your arms, from your shoulders to your elbows, a warm, steady touch, like he was grounding you here, with him. Then he stopped—his gaze shifted.

You felt it before realizing what it was. The wind blew, sharp against your exposed skin, and before you could react, you felt something warm and soft drape over your shoulders.

His jacket.

The silver fabric still held his body heat, still smelled like him.

Peter adjusted it around you, his fingers lingering on your collarbones for a second longer than necessary before pulling away.

The silence between you was different now. Heavy. Charged. You looked at him, and he looked away.

His eyes didn’t meet yours. His jaw was clenched, shoulders tense, fingers idly playing with the zipper of his hoodie—a nervous habit you knew all too well.

Peter was never one to keep things to himself. He filled every silence with fast words and unfiltered jokes.

But now, he was quiet.

And that said more than anything he could have said.

You took a step forward, feeling the jacket move with you, his scent wrapping around you.

He noticed the movement but didn’t move.

Your fingers touched the side of his face, guiding him to look at you.

And he did.

His eyes were dark, deep, filled with something he was trying to hide, but that overflowed anyway.

You knew that look.

It was the look he had when he saw the prejudice he had faced since childhood spill onto you. It was the look of someone blaming himself for something that wasn’t his fault.

You sighed, your fingers tracing the strong line of his jaw, moving up into his silver hair, threading through the soft strands. He closed his eyes for a second.

Rested his forehead against yours.

Sighed.

“I hate this.”

His voice was low, restrained.

You didn’t ask what.

You already knew the answer.

He hated that you had to hear that kind of thing.

Hated that your name had been spat from the mouth of a disgusting asshole.

Hated that you had been dragged into it.

He hated that the world didn’t accept who he was.

And he hated even more that it hurt you.

You held his face more firmly, forcing him to look at you again.

"I love you."

His eyes shone.

You traced your fingers along the sharp line of his jaw, the space between his cheek and that ever-present dimple, the corner of his mouth—mapping him with care, as if reaffirming something he should never doubt.

"I don’t care what they think. I don’t care what they say."

You leaned in closer, and he stayed still, like he was absorbing every word, like he needed to hear them.

"You’re mine, remember?"

Peter swallowed hard.

A muscle jumped in his throat.

His chest rose and fell in a slower rhythm, his breathing heavy.

And then, he moved. His fingers found your face with urgency, his mouth pressing against yours without hesitation.

The kiss was slow, deep. Filled with everything he didn’t know how to say. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you in, holding you like he needed to feel that you were there, real, whole.

When he pulled back, just enough to breathe, his eyes were softer.

The weight on his shoulders seemed a little lighter.

He nudged his nose against yours, a small smile dancing at the corner of his lips.

"I’m yours, huh?"

You smiled back.

And when you answered, your voice was absolute certainty.

"Yes."

Peter smiled.

That smile. The one that was just yours. The one that made his dimples appear, that made his eyes crinkle slightly at the corners, that left him looking hopelessly in love. The one you would never get tired of seeing.

He kissed your forehead, slow, his lips lingering a little longer than necessary before pulling away.

And then he laced his fingers through yours, holding your hand firmly, like he knew that even without words, that touch said everything he wanted to say.

And somehow, you knew exactly what it was.

Peter didn’t like the world.

But he liked you.

He liked you a lot.

[heliosunny]

hiii, your work is amazing and I love the way you portrait characters, could I maybe request yan!fyodor with a darling that struggles with self harm? how he would react to it if their darling hurt themselves as a coping mechanism or any other scenario but if it’s too dark you don’t have to write it of course i’ll understand! :)

There's nothing I wouldn't dare to try as long as I find it within reach darling.

Fyodor had always known you were fragile.

It was written in the way you carried yourself, shoulders slightly hunched, fingers twitching when you thought no one was watching. It was evident in the way your gaze would drift, lost in thoughts he could only assume were far darker than you let on.

But he never pried. Not immediately.

Why would he? A master strategist does not rip a secret from its hiding place. He waits, watching patiently, until it reveals itself.

And one evening, it did.

You had been careless. You thought you were alone. A moment of weakness, your sleeves rolled up just a little too far, and he saw.

A glimpse of red, raw skin.

His reaction was not dramatic. There was no sharp intake of breath, no widening of violet eyes in horror. Instead, he merely observed, head tilting ever so slightly, as if studying a fascinating piece of art.

"My love… what have you done?"

His voice was soft. Almost fond.

You flinched. Quickly, you yanked your sleeve down, but it was too late. His gaze had already captured you, held you prisoner in his quiet amusement.

You had seen many expressions from Fyodor, mockery, arrogance, that soft smirk when he was toying with someone before their inevitable downfall.

But this smile? This was different.

"You hurt yourself" he mused, stepping closer, hands still calmly tucked behind his back. "And yet, you try to hide it from me. How cruel, my dear."

"It’s not important."

His head tilted further, as if humoring you. "Not important?"

You didn’t answer. And that was fine. He already knew what came next. He never forbade you from doing it. No, that would be too simple, too obvious. Fyodor was far more patient than that.

Instead, he made you question it yourself.

"Tell me, my love…" he began one evening, seated comfortably in his chair as you stood across from him. His violet eyes flickered with quiet amusement. "Does it help?"

The way he spoke made you hesitate. He wasn’t mocking you. He wasn’t disgusted. If anything, he sounded… curious.

You swallowed. "Sometimes."

His lips curled in a thoughtful smile. "I see. You inflict pain upon yourself, yet the relief is fleeting. A temporary solution for a permanent suffering, no?"

You looked away.

"Then… why not something more effective?"

Your brows furrowed, confused. "What do you mean?"

Fyodor reached for your hand, gently, effortlessly. His fingers traced over your knuckles before flipping your palm upward.

"If pain is what soothes you" he murmured, "why not let me be the one to grant it?"

He did not hurt you, no. He merely suggested, the way a devil offers a deal—so tempting, so logical, that you could almost convince yourself it was your own idea.

"Wouldn’t it be easier, my dear? To leave such things in my hands?" His voice was velvet, wrapping around your ribs, coiling into your lungs.

"I could make it so much simpler for you."

You yanked your hand away.

"That’s— That’s not why I do it."

His laughter was soft. Patient.

"Oh? Then why?"

You hesitated.

Because you couldn’t answer. Not really.

-----

You hadn’t meant to meet him.

It was a brief moment, an accident born from circumstances neither of you controlled. You had merely been outside, alone for the first time in what felt like forever, when the infamous Dazai Osamu happened to cross your path.

His sharp brown eyes took you in too quickly, and you knew—he saw.

"Ah," he hummed, tilting his head. "I know that look."

Your breath caught. "What?"

"The look of someone trying very hard to pretend they’re fine."

It was… strange. He spoke so easily, as if he had known you for years.

For the first time, someone looked at you and didn’t try to control, didn’t try to manipulate. Dazai wasn’t kind, necessarily, but he was familiar. He understood in a way no one else had.

And for some reason, before you could stop yourself—you told him things you never told Fyodor.

You shouldn’t have.

Because Fyodor found out.

"You met Dazai."

His voice was calm.

You turned, heart hammering. He sat in his usual chair, fingers laced together, expression unreadable.

But you knew him well enough to recognize the shift in the air.

A quiet threat, veiled beneath his usual serenity.

"And?" you challenged, forcing yourself to stand your ground.

His lips curved. "And you spoke to him."

You didn’t respond.

"Why?"

A simple question. But one that wrapped around your ribs and squeezed.

"It was nothing important."

His gaze softened, and for some reason, that was worse.

"Ah… my love." He sighed, shaking his head. "You wound me."

He stood, approaching you with unhurried steps.

"I thought we had an understanding."

Your breath quickened.

"Do you not trust me?" he continued, voice gentle. "Do you believe I cannot soothe you in the way you need?"

You shook your head. "That’s not it—"

"Then why turn to him?" His fingers brushed against your cheek, a lover’s touch masking a noose tightening around your throat.

You clenched your fists. "It was a mistake."

"Yes," he agreed. "A mistake."

His gloved fingers trailed down your arm, slow, deliberate—until they reached your wrist. His grip remained featherlight, but you knew he could break you if he wished.

"You understand why I cannot allow that again, don’t you?"

You nodded.

"Good girl."

And somehow, in that moment, you felt guilt.

Not because you had spoken to Dazai.

But because Fyodor had endured it. Had been patient with you, despite your transgressions.

Your lips parted, and before you could stop yourself—the words slipped out.

"I’m sorry."

His smile widened.

And just like that, the web wrapped tighter around you.

Because now, you were the one apologizing to him.

At first, Fyodor’s patience seemed unchanging. He remained soft-spoken, ever indulgent, a shepherd gently guiding you back into his arms. But something felt different. A shadow in the way his fingers lingered when he touched you. A weight in his gaze, as if he were waiting for something inevitable.

You thought you were imagining it.

Until one night, when you woke to find yourself not alone.

A dim candle flickered on the bedside table.

And Fyodor sat at the edge of the bed, watching you with violet eyes that gleamed in the low light.

"Did you think I wouldn’t know?"

Your blood ran cold. "Know what?"

His smile was faint.

"You tried again."

No... You had been careful. You had waited until you were alone, ensured that no trace of your actions could be found. Yet now, beneath the thin fabric of your sleeve, you felt the sting of fresh wounds.

He knew.

Before you could react, his hand latched onto your wrist.

His grip was like iron.

"Shall I see it for myself, then?" His voice was still calm, but there was something new beneath it. Something dark.

"L-Let go."

His fingers didn’t loosen. If anything, they tightened, fingertips digging into your pulse. You felt it. His power.

"You are testing me, my dear" he murmured, thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles against your skin.

"I have been patient. I have been kind. But tell me—must I truly remind you of what happens when my patience runs out?"

You opened your mouth—then froze as he leaned in, his lips mere inches from your ear.

"Shall I break something this time?"

"W-What?"

His grip on your wrist shifted, slowly, deliberately bending it just enough for you to feel the hint of tension.

"If you are so intent on hurting yourself," he whispered, "then allow me to do it for you."

The unspoken implication struck you like ice-cold water.

He wasn’t saying he would kill you.

But he would make you regret it.

"Perhaps a broken bone?" His fingers trailed up your arm, slow and deliberate. "Or maybe I should take something away instead. Hm?"

His free hand moved to your throat, thumb pressing lightly, just a whisper of pressure.

"Would you like to learn how fragile you truly are?"

Terror gripped you, drowning out everything else.

"Stop" you whispered, voice barely audible.

He sighed, as if disappointed. "Then stop making me remind you."

And just like that, his grip vanished. His hands fell away, and suddenly, it was as if nothing had happened at all.

The only evidence of his warning was the lingering ghost of his touch and the way your pulse thundered in your ears. Fyodor straightened, brushing nonexistent dust from his coat.

"I do hope," he murmured, "that I won’t have to repeat this lesson."

And with that, he was gone, the flickering candlelight casting shadows on the walls.

And you sat there, heart hammering, mind spinning, body frozen in place, realizing just how close you had come to something you could never undo.

You had seen patience. Now, you had seen the edge of it.

[deathbxnny]

"The sun always comes back in the morning." | Arlecchino x Wife!Fem!Reader

Please refer to my Genshin Masterlist in my Navigation Masterlist under Arlecchino's name for the previous parts of this, as I can't tag them for some reason.

Woo... man, this is the finale of a truly great series that I'm almost sad to see go... but I hope you guys will enjoy this and thank you once again for X Anon for their important and phenomenal contributions to our little community! (Read their ask HERE.)

Anyways... buckle in, because this may hurt. (I cried whilst making this ngl lmao)

Content: Bitter sweet ending?, doomed Yuri, wlw, wife reader, heavy angst, hurt/no comfort, sfw

Reader is afab and has she/her pronouns!

((Not proofread))

"Are you... sure about this, Mother?"

Lyney breathed out after a long, deafening pause. The flickering flames of the fireplace illuminated the room and filled the silent gaps between his barely audible words. His two siblings sat at his sides on the couch, bodies stiff and rigid, faces illuminated by the merciful warmth of the fire whilst their hearts ran cold.

But it was inevitable, wasn't it? Everyone knew it would happen eventually. They were just too scared to face the truth, wanting so desperately to disillusion themselves than to to see what was really happening.

And you couldn't help but smile at that knowingly, the corners of your lips shaking. You made them this way. You hid the truth from them for so long. Selfishness was never a part of you. It was their well-being and feelings you always put first.

But it was time for the truth.

"Yes. Yes, I am."

Freminet was the one to break first. The tears came flooding in, his body shaking uncontrollably whilst he keeled over into the embrace of his trembling hands. His soft sobbing filled the room, but the other two stayed strong, eyes focused and unmoving.

But the pain... oh, the pain.

It was unbearable, and your heart broke at the sight, but you knew this was right. It was time to finally reveal everything. To show your cards and tricks, allow them to see behind the curtains of your perfectly crafted play. You knew better than to believe that they didn't know at this point, after all. Not after what happened just a week ago.

The tension was thick and suffocating, the rest of the children in the house picking up on it and drowning in it knowingly. The end was near. Doom was coming. And no one could stop you now.

"And none of you are at fault for it."

Lyney took off his hat slowly, and you could see the slightest shake in his hand as he gulped down his agony. You knew he blamed himself, thinking he wasn't good enough for his Father and, therefore, the reason for your downfall. But that wasn't it. "... How could it come this far...?" He asked finally, although he knew the answer already deep down. He just had to hear it from you.

Your head turned to a nearby window, the moon shining beautifully in the night sky. What you'd do to disappear in its light than do this. "Sometimes, things such as these can happen when you ignore the early warning signs of a catastrophe... it was... always destined to fail." Lynette sunk into the cushions further as though to escape from your words and reality itself. But she heard every word and understood. She always did. "This is simply how life is, however. We both always had different views and opinions on everything. We... never saw eye to eye. That's ultimately the reason as to why I have decided to do this, children."

More silence, that was filled with Freminet trying to get himself together whilst Lyney closed his eyes in defeat. He knew the consequences of a divorce from his father. They all did. And that may even have hurt them more than it hurt you. But it was alright. They will get through this. Somehow. Gently patting his brother's back, he sighed softly.

"We understand, Mother. As much as it pains us." Tears burned in your eyes, and even then, did you not break. Your children should see your strength and follow it, as they always did. Ultimately, your sacrifices and love for them weren't entirely for nothing. You had raised them into good, kind children. Something your wife couldn't stand at times due to seeing softness as weakness. But you didn't care anymore and prayed they'd keep that part of you in them forever. Even just out of spite.

You nodded and stood up, your shadow casting largely over their sunken and weakened frames as you made your way to the door. They knew what would come next. And it made Lynette finally speak up, her voice barely above a whisper. "If you... had another chance at life... what would you be?" You turned your head and smiled again, nearly chuckled too. You understood what she was asking, as out of place it may have seemed to be.

Your eyes met the moon again and then mountains in the distance. A childish wish came back to mind, one you buried when you took on your role as the "Mother." When all there was, was you and Clervie dreaming of a life beyond the stale walls of your prison. Neither of you ever escaped them in the end, you realised grimly now.

"... I'd be an adventurer traveling endlessly through all of Teyvat... yes, I think that's what I'd be."

You left the room with those haunting words, your gaze focused on the walls and hallways of your home as you walked to where you needed to go next. You've spent years in this house, putting your own blood, sweat, and tears into all of your endless hard work. Your reward was dead children and an endless graveyard to fill. And for what? Was love really all that held you here? Who were you beyond your role as the mother? Who were you as a singular human? Clervie's shadow was haunting you, watching you from the corner of your eyes in the stead of cruel mother. She'd rest once you did. She promised that.

And it was time for you to do just that at last.

The Knave prided herself in being extremely insightful.

She had eyes and ears everywhere. Nothing ever came as a surprise to her. But you... you were the exception. She never knew what came next or what was going on in your mind ultimately. She could only guess your suffering by the endless tears you've shed and the painful fire that burned in your eyes. Yet it never went further than that.

A fatal mistake, she realised grimly.

Was it too late to fix it now? She didn't know. This was the one thing she couldn't plan for nor predict. For once, you had the power in your hands. You never did before. And it secretly irked her more than she liked to admit. But the near panic and sorrow that surged in her usually cold heart overrid the annoyance and replaced it with something she hadn't felt in a very long time.

Dread.

So much dread.

Is this what doom felt like? Is this what it felt like to lose? She hated it. She hadn't felt it in so long. She couldn't stand it! But it was her fault. Peruere understood that. Yet Arlecchino was still in denial. She refused to believe that this was it. There had to be a way to fix it. There just had to. You always forgave her for everything. You knew how she was when you married her and even before then did you never shy away from her demeanor.

Couldn't you understand that the Harbinger had no choice to be this way?

Arlecchino's confidence crumbled as fast as it came, when she saw you calmly sitting there on your once shared bed, the peaceful acceptance in your eyes soul crushing. She wasn't a fool. She understood. She really did. But it didn't mean that she couldn't try to-

"Sit down."

Your voice steady and calm, as though you weren't about to end everything. She obliged, however, visibly unmoved and unbothered as always, but you knew her too well. Peruere could never hide from you.

Sitting down on the nearby vanity chair, she crossed her legs and waited for you to speak. She had to fight for you now more than ever. She... she had to do something. She was losing you. She- "-Do you remember when we used to sneak out at night to see the moon?" She didn't respond. "I remember it well. Those were the small moments of freedom I starved for... a freedom I always starved for. We all did. And for a moment, we thought we had finally escaped for good, didn't we? For a while, we believed we had done better. We had become better."

The tears in your eyes finally betrayed you, and you didn't know why. Was it the reality that was finally dawning on you? Or the heartbreak you knew would be much greater than you could ever handle? You didn't know, but it didn't make you stop talking. The words flowed out of your mouth, the damn finally breaking after so many damned years.

"We never got out of that cage, Peruere. You have become it instead. We never had a chance from the start, and I... cannot do this anymore. I can't stand the ghost of the past haunting me. I can only take so much. I just wanted to see the moon for all of eternity with you and Clervie and yet-" A crack in your voice, a sob escaping your throat. You were overwhelmed by the emotions that ran through you. There were so many of them. Sorrow, grief, sadness... relief. So much relief.

"-We never got out. We have become what we hate the most. And I refuse to be a parf of this llay any longer. My children deserve to feel the breeze as they spread their wongs and fly out of this hell, even if I have to fall for it first." Then came the rage. It was scorching and hot. "For all the ones that have been injured. For all the ones that died. For all the ones I had to bury with my own two hands. They all deserve better. We all did."

Tears ran down your face, fire burned in your eyes, and rage made your body tremble. Arlecchino could just watch you in disbelief. She had never seen you this way. Not once in her life... what was this feeling? Was it loss? Was she losing?

"... It's over. It will all end now." You stood up and carefully presented the papers to her. Papers she had never thought of ever having to see or sign. Silence filled the room, aside from your labored breathing and the clicking of a clock on the wall.

And then she spoke for the first time. "... You... understand that you will have to leave if you do this?" She saw the muscles on your neck tighten, more tears welling in your eyes. "You were right all along, if it makes you feel better... I was never made to be the "Mother." I'm a weak disgrace of one... but I've accepted that a long time ago. I have raised my children to my best abilities, and I'm proud of it until the very end. My image will haunt you in their eyes and their hearts for the rest of your life. I will never leave."

When she looked up at you, then you saw the woman you married years ago appear again for the first time in years. "I... you..." She was speechless. She was actually speechless and powerless for the first time in her life. You just stared down at her, not backing down.

Your decision has been made. And Peruere realised then what her last action of her love for you had to be then. She had to open the gate to the cage. Even if that meant that the bird would never come back.

"... Very well, my love. As you wish." She said as she took the papers from your shaking hands.

The docks to the Aquabuses were always busy, as people rushed to get on and off the vehicles. You often had passed by them and wondered what it must've felt like to travel far away from here. The envy you felt for the foreign passengers that disappeared over the swell of the horizon was one you had always pushed away... until now, as you wanted on your own bus out for the first time in your life.

Clutching a simple leather suitcase in one hand, you turned to look at your children with a pained smile. "This... is my stop, I believe." You said gently, the morning breeze rustling through your clothes and hair. Lyney took off his hat and nodded at that with a sigh, the acceptance grim in all of their eyes. But they were happy deep down. Relieved that at least you got to get out before things got much worse. Maybe one day they'll find the courage to do the same. Not today. Not tomorrow, either.

But one day.

The Knave hadn't come along to say goodbye, but you didn't mind. It was fitting in a way. No goodbyes were needed. You had given her your inner farewell a long time ago.

Once the older two siblings took their turns to hug you tightly, it was Freminets turn. His lip was trembling, his eyes red from the many tears he had shed. But he had one last mission to fullend. A small form of rebellion. "Take this and drink it once you're on the Aquabus. It will give you strength for your travels, Mother." He said as he pressed a small vial of familiar liquid and a folded paper into your palm. You stared down at it knowingly, and Lyney closed his eyes painfully at the sight of it. You all knew what the liquid did.

But you were willing to play pretend one last time.

"Thank you, my love. I'll... write you letters." They all gave you weak smiles, and you took the opportunity to press a kiss to Freminets forehead, his eyes closing with tears escaping them treacherously. Such a terrible actor, but you weren't any better either. Like Mother, like son. "Stay strong, all of you."

Stepping onto the Aquabus, you settled down as it began to pull away from the station. And only then did the three finally break down fully. You could only sit there and watch for the first time. It took all of your strength not to jump into the water and swim back to comfort them like you always did. But you knew what you had to do. Their small act of rebellion would not go to waste like this.

Once they were almost out of sight, you finally popped the vial open and hesitated as it touched your lips. You watched their small forms in the distance, tears welling in your eyes before you finally drank it. Repeating their names over and over again, you hoped to not forget them this way.

Lyney, Lynette, Freminet.

Lyney, Lynette, Freminet.

Lyney... Lynette... Freminet?

Lyn... ette... Fremi...?

.........

.......

.....

...

..

.

"Ma'am, are you alright?" The Melusine conductor asked you, making you blink in surprise and look around in confusion. "I... yes, I am fine. My apologies... I must've... zoned out." You hum carefully, your eyes spying a foreign folded piece of paper in your hand. Opening it curiously, your brows furrowed in confusion.

"The sun always comes back in the morning. -LLF"

Odd. You didn't know what it meant nor how you got here in the first place. But it felt right, either way. "I feel like I've forgotten something, though." You added on in thought. Your head hurt, and you simply used it as an explanation for your odd memory loss. Perhaps you were just tired. But you couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing.

"Oh! Is it something you require urgently, ma'am? I can turn the bus back around to the station if needed!" The helpful Melusine chirped, yet you shook your head at the suggestion.

Leaning back in your seat, you watched the sun rise over the horizon. Your mind was scrambled and disoriented, but one thought prevailed against all odds. You were an... adventurer. Yeah, right, that's what you were. And you were on your way to... well, wherever the flow of your heart takes you.

"No... It's alright. I'm sure it wasn't anything important anyway."

[bitchface24-7]

Hi V! I was wondering if you felt comfortable doing a fluff fic of reader x viktor or jayce comforting reader on her period ?

All goods if you can't!!

I really enjoy your writing and I live all the attention to detail you put into your stories !!

THIS SUCKS… - VIKTOR & JAYCE X READER

synopsis: you're on your period, you feel bloated, agitated, and your stomach hurts. You can't tell if you're hungry, if you're cramping, or if you really need to shit. Your lovely boyfriend sees you struggling, and takes care of you the best he can.

warnings: menstruation (obviously), pain, fluffy fluff of our boys taking care of us.

genre: m/f or gn/m

p.s. I'm going to write this in the style of bullet points. Also, why not get both? This isn't Jayvik, so if you prefer one over the other, you can just read one part. Love ya! ❤️

VIKTOR X READER

You dread everytime your menstrual cycle hits you. It's painful, messy, and makes you agitated at the littlest things.

It makes you unintentionally be snippy with Viktor, something that upsets you even more since he hasn't done anything to deserve that treatment.

He's incredibly understanding. As someone who deals with chronic pain he understands that pain can make you act in ways that you typically wouldn’t.

Your pain may not be 24/7, but he knows it comes once a month for a week straight.

He has pain killers, a heated weighted blanket, and light food that surprisingly fills you up ready for you.

He’ll even make you sweet milk when you ask for it.

You typically do parallel play, he’ll continue to work, but he’ll make sure he's in the same room as you.

More times than not, he's cuddled up with you in bed, your pleading eyes and pouty lips will be his downfall. He can never say no to you.

Viktor makes this part of your life so much easier, and you can't thank him enough for it.

(its actually his way of thanking you. You take care of him all the time. Adjusting his spinal brace, his leg brace, making sure he has his cane. Helping him take off his assistive devices when he asks. Making sure he eats, he sleeps. He appreciates your care and love more than you'll ever know. So he tries his best to help you when you need it.)

JAYCE X READER

Jayce has a good idea how to take care of menstruation aches and pains. He's practically Cait’s older brother. He was around when she went through puberty.

It was not a pretty sight.

He knows you'll crave sweets, chips, sushi, fried chicken, really anything super flavourful and bad for you.

He knows teas help with cramps, so do heating pads, and lightly massaging your lower abdomen.

He knows you'll alternate between wanting to be alone, and being cuddled.

He knows you'll accidentally get snippy, feel bad, and want to hug him.

He knows it all.

It’s like it was ingrained into him on how to take care of you. He just appreciates that the hellish years he had to deal with a pubescent Cait paid off in the end.

(no he swears she was going to kill him at one point)

Being able to cook delicious food because of his mama makes it even better. He’ll make so much food you honestly wont know where to start. But they'll for sure be something there you can stomach.

They'll always be there to take care of you ❤️

Hi Anon! Thank you for the compliment! Sorry this is much shorter than you probably expected, I just don't deal with my period often? I go like one to three months in-between cycles and I just take care of myself when it happens. I medicate myself and essentially sleep away the pain for a day and a half, then I'm back to normal, I’m just bleeding now as well.

The longest time I went without a period was six months back in 2022 (I was 20 and had gotten it in November after my assumption of extremely early onset menopause LMAO, after that I got a tracker app to help me remember when I get it) and no I was not pregnant. Unless I’m Mother Mary reborn, that wouldn’t be possible.

[solxamber]

Heartbyul, "for you anything" , comfort pls 🥹🙏🏽 could you please make the character say it? Have a nice day 💜💜💜

i didn't know if you wanted hurt/comfort so I made just fluffy

Light of My Life || Trey Clover

For the Holiday Event! || Prompt: "For you, anything." ; Genre: Fluff

The door to Trey’s room creaked open, and the two of you stumbled inside like a pair of zombies. Both of you were utterly drained from the day.

"Never… again," Trey muttered, dragging himself to the couch and flopping down like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

You groaned in agreement, tossing your bag onto the floor and collapsing next to him. "I swear, the freshmen are plotting our downfall. Why is it always us?"

"Because no one else has the patience to deal with them," Trey replied, running a hand through his hair. "Do you know how hard it is to stop Ace and Deuce from throwing cake at each other while Cater’s livestreaming? And Riddle’s just in the corner writing his execution list? I had to confiscate a fork as a weapon today."

You snorted. "I spent half the day as NRC’s official delivery mule. ‘Hey, can you bring this to the library?’ ‘Oh, while you’re at it, can you swing by Sam’s shop?’ ‘Hey, Prefect, got a sec?’ Spoiler alert: I didn’t have a sec."

Trey sighed, his head lolling back against the couch. "Rough day."

"Yeah," you agreed, leaning your head against his shoulder. "Can we just… sit here forever?"

There was a pause, and then Trey shifted slightly.

"I’ll make dinner," he said, starting to rise.

You grabbed his arm, pulling him back down. "Trey, no. You’ve been refereeing a food fight all day. Sit down."

He smiled softly, shaking his head. "No way. You deserve it."

"But you’re just as tired as I am!" you protested.

He placed a hand on your cheek, his eyes warm and unwavering. "For you, anything. You’re the light of my life, you know that?"

Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt a wave of guilt wash over you. "Trey…"

"Don’t worry about me," he said, his smile widening as he stood up and headed to the kitchen. "Just sit tight. I’ve got this."

You watched him go, feeling simultaneously touched and terrible. It wasn’t long before the delicious scent of your favorite dish began to waft through the air, and you couldn’t help but smile.

When he returned with two plates, you reached out and gently tugged on his sleeve. "Hey. Thank you."

Trey sat down beside you, handing you a plate and pressing a quick kiss to your temple. "Always."

As you ate together, the exhaustion of the day began to fade away, replaced by the quiet comfort of each other’s company. Trey might have been tired, but he looked content—his shoulders relaxed, his smile easy.

And as you leaned into him, your plate balanced precariously on your lap, you couldn’t help but think: maybe the chaos was worth it, so long as you had Trey by your side.

Masterlist

[mimi-cee-genshin]

A Slight of Hand Makes Colour - Lyney x f!reader

Summary: You think Lyney hates you. He's never used his charm on you. Lynette's response? If you look behind his ear, just under the stands of his hair, the answer will magically appear. (A cute and heartwarming getting together fic that I hope will make you smile.)

Other info: fluff, cute, some hurt/comfort, some pining, family, getting together, yes I know it's "sleight of hand", 2.5k words

*****

"Does Lyney hate me?"

You sat in front of the cafe with Lynette, enjoying a late night drink, and typically you'd be enjoying the silence and scenery together. But your thoughts slipped out of your mouth before you could snatch them back, ruining the peaceful moment you were having.

"Forget what I said," you said, eyes darting back to your drink.

Lynette placed her cup down and put a new cake slice on her plate. "Why do you ask?" she said with no hint of shock on her face.

"No. It was a stupid question." You took a sip, hoping she'd drop the topic.

"I see… Have you finally begun to wonder why Lyney has never used his charm on you?" she asked.

Your drink went down your throat the wrong way and you began to cough. "How did you know?" you asked, a little embarrassed.

"I could tell from how you were eyeing him as he welcomed our newest guest," she explained.

Nothing got past Lynette. You knew better than to try to hide anything from her. You'd often wondered if her greatest talent was actually reading minds.

She was right. You had never noticed the slight difference in Lyney's behavior towards you, even though you had known the twins for a long time now. He had always treated you with care and respect, but lately, you felt ill whenever he showered others with his suave words. You used to be happy just to see him smile.

You sighed, knowing exactly why you felt this way. You just didn't want to admit it.

"I think it's the right time to tell you this," Lynette said.

"Hm?" you asked. "Tell me what?"

"There's a reason why Lyney acts differently around you," she said.

You raised your brow, but you placed your cup down anyway and to listen for her next words.

"I'll give you a hint," she said. "If you look behind his ear, just under his strands of hair, you might figure out why he treats you this way."

What? It was always hard to tell what Lynette was thinking because of the lack of emotion on her face. But even if she'd crack a joke once in a while, she wouldn't do so when you had a genuine concern.

Lynette took another sip of her cup and returned back to standby mode, drifting somewhere within the stars.

You weren't sure what to make of her comment

*****

It was four in the afternoon and the workshop needed to be cleaned before you could start any work. You took the vacuum, which Lynette fortunately didn't break yet, and removed the sawdust on the floor from this morning.

Next, you wiped down the workshop's two-way mirror, knowing Lyney would need it to test another trick today. The majority of the cleaning fell on you, which you didn't mind. You used to be a maid after all – a maid to a cold and cruel mistress. You had never expected to see the twins again after her downfall.

Lyney walked to the entrance after the doorbell had rung and greeted the lady here for a delivery. You smiled as he chatted up a storm with her, always happy to meet new people, and he even added a magic trick to top it off.

"And that concludes today's mini show," he said, returning his hat on his head. "With your lovely shirt and trousers, I hope to see your excellent style at my next performance."

Ah. Another compliment, another knot in your stomach.

At the door, Lyney received the package which reached just above his eyes when he carried it. You placed your rag down and got the other package that was left at the front door.

"Thank you, Y/n," he said with a smile.

It was a short and simple statement of appreciation, which you typically didn't mind. Yet, he didn't say, 'Thank you. Whatever would I do without you.' Nor did he say, 'You're just as reliable as always. Why, I must ensure that you never leave us!' You'd often hear these words when he talked to your co-workers.

But not with you.

You placed the package on the table beside the retrofitted vase and the room went quiet. The two of you typically didn't mind a comfortable silence, but today felt different. You went on with your work anyway, cleaning up the scraps on the work table as Lyney worked at his desk. He didn't even hum a tune as he usually did when the others were around. It was only silent with you.

You sighed, thinking you would've noticed earlier if you were as observant as Lynette. You weren't sure if the subtle difference in behavior was something you should be concerned about.

Once you were done cleaning, you peeked over Lyney's shoulder as he sketched out a mechanism he'd need for a trick. He smiled at you and pointed to the drawing, explaining to you how the system worked.

"But if I place this gear here, its axel would obstruct the door of the hidden compartment," he told you. "I'm not really sure how to solve this one."

"I see…" you said, pulling out a stool beside him. "You said the axel needs to be at least an inch long... Could you add a slot for it on the door itself?"

He placed his pencil's end on his cheek. "That could work since it's hidden anyway," he said.

He continued to alternate between thinking and drawing, often erasing his paper and even getting another sheet to redraw it. You had always admired the work he put into his shows. You enjoyed watching him passionate about his craft.

"If you look behind his ear, just under his strands of hair, you might figure out why he treats you this way," Lynette had said.

You lifted your hand up to brush his hair away from his right ear.

Lyney's pencil stopped moving and his hand was frozen in place. "W-what are you doing, Y/n?"

You were right. There was nothing there. You didn't expect anything, but you thought maybe there could've been a secret magic trick the twins set up for you. There was nothing of that sort.

And then you saw it.

"Lyney, why is your ear…"

His hand rushed to cover his ear. "I-It just turns red sometimes. That's all," he explained. "It's unfortunate that most of my tricks are done at a distance, so I don't have any plans to create tricks that involve me turning red."

"What are you even talking about–"

His hand… He was tapping his finger and counting down from five. Lyney would only do this to activate his 'performance mode', when he needed to calm his nerves.

"Lyney, is there something wrong–"

"Oh, would you look at the time... The sun is about to set," he said, leaving his chair.

"Lyney, wait!"

Crash!

The pieces from the broken vase were scattered next to your knees and under the table. Memories flooded back of your mistress's twisted scowl and piercing eyes, and you quickly bowed your head and apologized. Your breathing became shallow and your eyes didn't leave the floor.

A fan of cards appeared in front of your face.

"Now you see them, and now you…"–he pulled the cards together–"Hey, hold on a moment, why didn't the vase disappear?" Lyney said before sighing. "I guess we'll have to do it the old fashioned way."

You looked up to see Lyney's smile and outstretched hand.

"Would you like to be my assistant for today?"

You had never forgotten how you first met Lyney. Two magicians on a secret mission and your mistress and her husband had a lot to hide. And yet, Lyney had taken the time to redirect your mistress's anger and given you a hand, just like he was doing now.

You took his hand and stood to your feet, not once leaving your eyes from his.

"Now, where were… uh…" he said, breaking eye contact. He released his grip from you hand, but you held him even tighter. "You're not going to let go, are you?" he said, running his hand on the back of his neck.

"No," you said. "I'm not."

You wanted an answer. You wanted to hear it – that this man in front of you was attracted to you. A wonderful magician who won you over not only because of his magic tricks and charisma, but also because of his kindness, hard work, and love for his siblings. And yet this same person whom you admired all this time had the tips of his ears burning red at your gentle touch.

"Lyney…" you managed to say. "Do you like me?"

He sighed and laughed a little. "I guess the cat's out of the bag. There isn't a way for me to escape out of this one, is there?"

You shook your head.

He gave you a gentle smile. "Do you remember our second meeting?" he said. "When you showed up at our rendezvous point?"

Panic had covered his face when he saw you instead of Lynette, his posture revealing he wouldn't hesitate to attack you if you had harmed her in any way. You had to quickly explain how you hid Lynette in a storage room after she almost blew her cover.

"You had come up with a detailed plan that helped Lynette escape and sacrificed your own food for her as she hid. And you did all of this while you were terrified of your mistress. How could I not have fallen for you then and there?"

You had never realized that Lynette noticed you gave her your food. You would've done it for anyone, knowing what the punishment would've been if she was caught.

"Anyway, that's the story of my one-sided love. We should really fix up the vase that had fallen earlier," he said, quickly returning to the scattered pieces.

"Lyney, but…"

"Be careful now, or you might get hurt. I wouldn't want to see any tears on that beautiful face of yours–" His eyes saw the mirror behind you before he covered his face. "Um… pretend you didn't see that."

You grabbed his face and pulled it back, observing his red blush up close.

"Uh…" he said, eyes darting away. "What are you doing–"

"You know, I wondered why you never used your smooth words on me," you told him. "Why did you hide it?"

He took your hands from his face and placed them back by your sides. "Nothing good would come out of it," he said with a sigh. "Especially with my association with the Fatui."

"And what if I want to take the risk?" you said, still clinging onto his hand.

"What?"

"You've always meant a lot to me Lyney, even before my feelings turned romantic," you told him. "I've taken risks for you before. And I'm willing to do it again."

He lifted his other hand to fix a strand of hair on your head, gently pushing it back and getting a better look at your face. "You shouldn't do that to yourself, Y/n. You deserve more than that."

"We can work together," you said. "Just like we always have."

He pulled his hand out of your grip. "I… I can't," he told you. "I can't do it. How…" His voice wavered as he turned away from you. "How can I take care of you too?"

A door clicked open and you turned to look behind you. Lynette had walked into the workshop from the other room.

"Oh…" Lyney looked at her with a nervous smile. "Did you see all of that?"

Lynette pointed to the two-way mirror. You wouldn't be surprised if she heard the whole conversation.

"Lyney," she said. "Do you remember when we jumped off the cliff, and you shielded my fall before going unconscious?"

"What?" he said, turning towards her. "How could I forget? That was the day you received your vision."

Lynette placed her hand on her chest. "You've taken care of me so much for as long as I could remember," she said. "But I love you too and care dearly for Y/n as well. So if any issues arise because of your relationship with her, let me help. I'll protect you."

"I…" Lyney lowered his eyes.

"I'll be alright, because as always…" she began.

"... Lynette is by my side," Lyney finished. Yet his shoulders sagged. "I… I don't know Lynette. What if something goes horribly wrong? I don't want Y/n to take the fall too."

"Don't worry," she told him, shaking her head. "I've already gotten some ideas to get you two out of any sticky situation. Keep it a secret as long as possible and I'll prepare for any contingency plans for whatever comes up."

"I'm still not so sure…" he said.

"Both of you are also discreet and know how to keep secrets," she continued. "The rest of the family would be excited and 'Father' would be fine with it as long as she doesn't hinder any missions. We both know that won't be a problem."

You stared at Lynette, amazed she thought all of this through. She really wanted this to work out, wanted us to work out.

Lyney placed his hand on his chin and thought for a long while. Both you and Lynette gave him a chance to think and didn't mind the silence he needed.

"So what's your plan?" he finally asked.

"For now, the biggest issue is that Lyney needs to figure out how to stop blushing." Lynette turned to you. "I figured that giving you the hint would get Lyney the help he needed with that."

"You gave her a hint?" exclaimed Lyney. "About my blushing? Lynette… I told you to keep it a secret."

"It was going to show sooner or later," she said. "Better here in the workshop than in public."

"Oh Lynette…" Lyney whined. "I can't believe you were the one who started this."

The tips of your mouth tugged back into a grin, seeing Lyney's arms relax a little. "So is that all he needs to do?" you asked. "Just stop blushing?"

"It's not that easy," Lyney said, a bit embarrassed. "Which was why I've been cautious with my words around you."

"Then why don't you practice now?" you said with a smile.

"What?"

"Practice flirting me until you can stop going red."

"I… uh…"

"What? Is the great magician who's a master at winning hearts actually at a loss for words?" you teased.

"I can't help it. You leave me breathless," he whined, sounding more like a complaint than a flirty remark. Yet his face turned red once again. He looked up at the two way mirror behind you and covered his face with both hands. "Okay, I need help," he said through his fingers.

"Keep practicing on me," you said with a smile.

"Can't we start tomorrow?"

"Nope. You need to make up for all the times I got jealous."

"You got jealous?"

You giggled as you scooped up his hand. "Of course I did. I just wish Lynette had given me the hint earlier."

*****

I hope you liked it. Please check out my other fics if you're interested. :)

[wandasaura]

BURN

summary — when years of abuse piles up, and you’re face to face with your ex in a familiar manhattan court room, olivia and amanda remain by your side through it all

warning(s) — mentions of sexual assault, discussion of rape and domestic violence, physical abuse, emotional/mental manipulation, trauma, mentions of child abuse/childhood sexual assault, cursing, derogatory names, panic attacks, anxiety, angst/hurt, comfort, soft olivia benson, protective amanda rollins, sonny carisi is my italian baby and what about it, verdict reading, john buchanan warning, men/minors dni

authors note — and we’re back for part two of stay alive (reprise), requested on ao3. once again brought to you by high aura and not proof read/edited

“Can I ask you a question, Councellor?” Your voice carried through the courtroom, catching through the wind and propelling itself through the room until it disintegrated upon contact with the double doors behind Olivia. You’d been up here for an hour. Carisi throwing questions at you that only further stripped you down, left you naked and exposed in front of your decorated squad members. John Buchanan trying to take away your account and rewrite the narrative to fit your girlfriends — ex girlfriend. Olivia had sat beside you when you’d blocked her contact and her mothers — retelling of events, was one of the most humiliating things you’d been forced to endure for ‘justice’, the frustration of it leading you to quick emotions that had every potential to hurt this case. This she said, she said case that never should’ve been anything more than a simple conviction and plea deal.

You’d been willing to drop the assault charges if she just admitted to the rape.

She hadn’t though. You should’ve assumed she’d try to get away with it, even though you were a New York City detective trained to weed out the sexual predators tainting Manhattan. Even though you had Olivia Benson in your corner and she was relentless on a good day. Regardless, she’d looked Dominic Carisi dead in the eyes and denied accountability, instead spinning wild narratives that painted you as the crazy, traumatized, cop in your relationship. She hadn’t even had the maturity to call you a Detective when she’d told everyone in the interrogation room you’d asked her to fuck you till it hurt. You didn’t. You never had. But it felt futile to stand listening in Olivia’s offices and tell Amanda that at the time. She knew it, Olivia knew it, Carisi knew it. You’re sure John Buchanan knew it as he sat beside her with his hands clasped, the only reason your girlfriend could even afford him as her defense is because of your paychecks that you split in thirds and distribute amongst yourself, your savings account, and her. You’d given her everything. All that you had left and had rebuilt after somebody else tore your world apart.

You shifted your gaze to the judge, Elizabeth Donnelly, and she inclined her head just slightly in interest, She nodded her head, affirming that you had her permission to ask the defense a question at all. Buchanan didn’t hesitate to accept once he’d seen Donnelly nod approvingly, always ready to somehow talk himself up, never afraid of what could be at the forefront of a witnesses mind. That would be his downfall one day, even if you failed to bring him down a peg like you aimed to do now.

“Do you enjoy asking your colleagues for help? You just recently went through a lawsuit of your own. Your son. What was that experience like for you?” Your voice was firm, laced with that edge only Olivia could pull from deep within you when she joined you in the interrogation room. You preferred to gain your intelligence through compliance and trust. You were the stations star victim cross whenever it was particularly sensitive. Olivia cherished, assured that you never loss that intent to connect and understand, but she’s knows there’s more to you. She’s found your bark, but she knows there’s bite in you too, it’s just hidden beneath decades of trauma and reopened wounds.

Buchanan blanches at the reminder of his son's trial — it ended with him walking out scott free, but that was not the principle you tried to hone in on — and blinks at you uninterestedly. “Relevance, your honor?” He snapped his gave back to Donnelly, but if there was one thing you had going in this courtroom that felt like a slowly sinking ship with you tethered to the cabin, it was your relationship with the Judge. Elizabeth Donnelly would go as far as she could to stretch your point without tainting the laws of the courtroom. Her fairness would not give or gain, she’s never sacrifice your trial in such a way, but that meant her patience for this case was through the room. She’s scrape over once sentence of evidence a day if it meant sending you out with the verdict you deserved.

You are a New York City Detective, a prized addition to the police force. The favor is in you, but the jury is a wildcard. You hold your breath at the thought of the jury.

“Move it along, detective.” She instructed pointedly, her firm gaze trailing to look at you. There was only support in her eyes, shining brightly like the sun. With every day, you think it gets easier to handle this, but then you remember what this is, and it breaks you down from the inside again.

“It’s just a question, Counsellor. Did you enjoy having to ask your buddies for a favor?” Buchanan sighed, because evidently you were not going to be shut down by Donnelly who raised an eyebrow in the same curiosity. It was an odd question, one that hardly anybody thought to ask. Why were you asking? Buchanan couldn’t figure it out, and you know that infuriates him more than anything.

“I suppose it did, Ms. Y/L/N.” He refused to call you detective, refused to acknowledge that you amongst the group of people that got this city out of shit and scandals. In some way, you’re sure your devotion to the force has touched his families. This city is big, but its so small. You can’t fathom how he sees any case as a stomping ground, any person as collateral, any victim as a liar until he’s walking away without a win and only a paycheck from his client.

“Detective.” You seethed, unable to stand it anymore. Carisi had told you to let his taunts fall off of your shoulders, he’d warned you that Buchanan plays mind games, that he’s ruthless and looking for bloodied hands, and you’d known that. For an hour, you’d let him call you whatever he wanted, kept your composure when he’d tried to insist you liked kinky rough sex because you’re a lesbian and that’s the only way you can get off. He’d made you out to sound like a vile person, not even a detective, because it was like admitting you were that title gave his case something it didn’t already have. The minute he acknowledged your role, the jury was swayed in your favor. You’d pieced that together, but it didn’t make sense to you right now. Winning this case didn’t make sense to you. You just wanted someone to believe that it happened again. You wanted him to believe, because right now, he’s the loudest opposing force and your heart cant handle living another four decades knowing theres an egotistical man out there siding with your rapist because of a paycheck. It makes you feel dirty. Dirtier than you already felt. “I am a Detective. A special victims detective beneath Sergeant Benson. And that is the only thing I have ever wanted to be since the first time I was raped at twelve-yeas-oldold by my mother’s husband. So, Counsellor, this is not how I want to spend my Wednesday. There are people out there who could use my help, because they don’t have another way out. The last thing I want to do, is be unmade on this stand like I don’t stand in front of teh barrel of a gun and with pedophiles every day just to make sure your granddaughter, doesn’t end up like me. Your client, she raped me. Just like she bashed my head into the fireplace we hung stockings on last December. Just like she threw a wine glass at my head because after I made her dinner after removing a seven year old from her abusive hours ago, I was tired and forgot to do the dishes she left scattered around the apartment — my apartment. The one that I pay for, that I signed the lease to, that I pay every utility bill for with my job as a Detective. That was not a reason for her to rape me. Maybe I like rough sex, maybe i’ve never even considered it, you are not at liberty to prod into my sexual fantasies and shame me for the hypothetical of it all. If you think rough, consensual sex leads to your body being stitched together by a nurse because you were so overlooked in the entire thing — used as nothing more than an object — than I worry for you, Counsellor. Her assault left me with third degree teas, rough sex does not lead to three stitches because she raped me so brutaly I had third degree tears. Do you know the force it takes to tear the perineal area all the way down to the anal sphincter muscle. Oh, you grimaced Counselor, was that to much information for you?”

“That’s enough, Ms. Y/L/N.” He tried to concede, to wave you off and shut you up like he’d been doing since Carisi stepped down, but you couldn’t. Not when you were finally speaking your mind. Judge Donnelly didn’t look bothered by your outburst, infact, you think you might even notice a sheen of pride glazing over her typically set and forced eyes. You cant look out into the audience. You can’t find Amanda and Olivia because Fin sits between them, and Kat sits off to the side. You can’t look down at Carisi, because you know he’s looking at you the way he looks at Bella in the pictures of them as kids. If you look at them you break, you lose the spark of anger that’s fueling you to finally, finally defend yourself against her.

“It’s Detective!” Your voice is shrill, and you're vaguely aware of how your throat vibrates with the force of your correction. “I will not sit up here and be unmade any farther by you! Or you! You, who rebuilt everything that had been broken after I went through this the first time, who came to therapy with me when it felt suffocating to remember that at twelve, i’d lost the one thing I was meant to decide to give away when I was ready. You and your words flooded my senses! Your defenses and your excuses and your apologies left me defenseless, and I’m trying so hard — so goddamn hard — to see what I did at the start, to see how I used to loved you, but I never loved you. I loved the narrative you painted in my head with blood. I loved the way you held me after you beat me because nobody had ever apologized for hurting me before. I can’t do it anymore! You raped me! You beat me! For years! You fed me clorophil because you thought it’s as clorophorm and you wanted to fuck me while I was unconscious. Even though you know that’s what he did! Even though you know he’d choke me out and then do whatever he wanted. I’m done! Your lies are transparent. They’re evident in everything you say. You told me you were a paranoid liar, and you should be! You should be! You raped me! Your biggest fear is being abandoned, and I tried for so long to never let it come to me walking away first, but I’m done. I’m erasing myself from the narrative you’ve spun, fed to anyone who will listen, forced down my thraot until I started questioning if I had it wrong. I don’t. I never did. You nearly crushed my windpipe. You bruised both of my knees. I needed twenty-three stitches between everything you caused. You forfeited any right to my heart, my life, my bed, when you decided I was just something you could manipulate.” You seethed, eyes directed at your ex, the woman you would’ve given the world to when you’d been drowned in her blue sorrow. The water had looked so beautiful from up high, you didn’t know how deadly it would be.

Her eyes flamed with rage, a look you’d seen a million times. “You stupid bitch! All you’re fucking good for is a cheap fuck. You’re damaged goods! You’re lucky that I wanted you at all! You let your step-father fuck you, you really think any of these insufferable morons would believe that I raped you? You’re crazy! Everyone knows that getting raped twice basically means you were asking for it!”

“Judge!” Carisi and Buchanan raised at the same time, but you didn’t even realize that she’d admitted it, that you’d gotten too deep into her head, into her traumas, that her anger had unleashed the truth you’d been so ferociously trying to unmuddle.

“I hope that you burn.” You spat, shaking your head, standing up from the stand, no longer willing to be everyone’s entertainment for the afternoon. You’d need to return, they’d need to read the verdict, but for now, you were done. You couldn’t sit in that room for another minute.

You found the bathroom in a haze, moving on autopilot as you entirely bypassed Olivia who tried to reach out for your hand before you could flea. You don’t recognize anything as you weave through people in the courthouse, somehow finding the bathroom but you think that’s solely because it’s never been moved in the years that you’ve dedicated your life to law enforcement in Manhattan. The beige and grey scenery didn’t help, only forcing you to feel like you were spiraling farther and farther from the current moment. You couldn’t decide if the grey stall doors looked so dark because they were, or if your vision was swimming with dark spots as you held your breath desperately. If you let it out, if you exhaled everything that had been weighing on your chest, you think you’d die. It would crush you, smother you, drown you in the pain of constantly loving and being hurt. At every phase of life, you’d been shown that you’re nothing but disposable and dispensable.

The bathroom door pushes open, blonde hair and caramel highlights cutting through your vision in the reflection of the mirror. You couldn’t look at yourself. Your eyes had been fluttering to everything else. You don’t know if anyone else noticed that toilet paper in the third stall, a red heart drawn onto the first hanging square, but your eyes had locked onto it, unwilling to move away and be forced to submit to Olivia’s affection. She’d drown you. She’d break you. She couldn’t. You had to get back in there. This wasn’t over yet. It felt like it was never going to be over.

”I can’t breathe.” The words don’t sound like your own, nor do you recognize your mouth moving at all. You don't know when holding your breath became not being able to breathe, but as you try to draw in a gulp of air, everything gets caught in your throat and a desperate sob stumbled out, hoarse and utterly devastating. “I don’t— I can’t—“ Your hands grab at your throat, at the skin that’s not even begun to heal from when her hand had wrapped around it unforgivingly. Your nails claw at the bruised skin, something that should’ve made you wince, but the dull ache of pain was diluted by the panic circling your eyes like sharks in the water.

“Alright, alright, hey,” Amanda concedes, whatever praise she was ready to bestow upon you pocketed for a time when you weren’t turning purple beneath your own hands. Her touch pulled yours away from your neck, and every nerve in your biceps flexed with burning pain as you fought against the nurturing guidance. “No, no, hey, don’t fight me. It’s Amanda. Just Amanda, only Amanda.”

“I can’t breathe!” You sobbed, finally recognizing her blue eyes, accepting their comfort even when it felt like sandpaper being rubbed directly against the healing laceration on your forehead.

“What are the ten amendments?” Amanda asked, grabbing your cheeks, only when she was certain the unexpected touch wouldn’t send you right back into the pits of unreachable panic. She couldn’t help you if all you could hear was the heartbeat in your chest, nor could she guide you when your vision was clouded with blood and darkness. But, she was pulling you down, letting your feet find the ground at a pace that wouldn’t entirely unravel you.

Benson inched up beside you, her hand waving over the automatic paper towel dispenser. You flinched at the sound it made, almost certain if you closed your eyes you’d see shattering glass. You’d never thought they’d sounded alike before, but you cant mistake the harmonized pitch of the dispenser and shattering glass. Water runnings breaks that train of thought, and your mind can barely grasp onto Amanda’s question, but it tries.

“F-Freedom of religion, speech, press, um, I-I don’t know!” You tried to explain, but Amanda shook her head, her hands on your cheeks pulling your gaze back to her, not letting you subconsciously worry about whatever Benson was busy doing at the sink.

“Freedom of religion, speech, press, and what else? What’s the rest of the first amendment?” Amanda’s thumbs brushed against the tear tracks on your cheeks. You hadn’t worn makeup, no energy to spare on the task, and you’re grateful. You would’ve looked even worse than you do now with mascara running down your cheeks like rivers.

“Um, petition and assembly.” You couched, craning your neck to miss Amanda’s face. You felt like a child, your face snotty and damp, your hand now covered in a cough that had sent a deep pang through your tired heart. Amanda didn’t bristle in the slightest, only let her lips twitch slightly. Coughing was good, it meant you were getting air in. The purple sheen was beginning to twinge, flush with peach tones again.

“How about the second?” She asked, and this time, the answer was at the top of your head quicker. The fog was clearing slowly, disappearing into the back of your head for later on when it was more appropriate to cry on the shoulder of your Captain and partner.

“The right to keep and bear arms.” You mumbled, sniffling, reaching up to wipe at your nose that was tickled with dripping wetness. You didn’t have a chance to make contact with your bruises and battered skin, Olivia’s hand grabbing yours and pulling it back, her tongue clicking against the roof of her mouth as she inched toward you with a damp paper towel. Oh, so that’s what she was doing.

Rollins guided you through the remainder of the ten amendments, all while Olivia dragged the paper towel over your tears and nose, and assured that your rage hadn’t pulled any of the stitches in your face. Their coddling did eventually clear your mind as much as it could’ve, and when Amanda realized that your eyes were actively tracking hers, reacting to the inflection in her tone, she smiled.

“You did good in there.” She praised, and you figured that’s what she’d been dying to say all along. Now, you could nod, could begin to process what you’d done. You stood up to her, to him, to everyone who had ever thought less of you because of the circumstances you’d been forced into. You’d never yelled at someone like that before. Not unless it was a heated interrogation and not even iced tea from your favorite bodega could save your mood.

“I knew you could bite.” Olivia chimed in, and you offered a soft chuckle at her admission. You hadn’t laughed in a while, Amanda and Olivia would take that as a minor win. Suddenly, Bensons arms gripped your biceps, not a single hesitation in her features. You’d lashed out at them multiple times in the last few days, unable to help whenever a flashback randomly came over you, or something snapped and you remembered how it felt to not have a choice in contact. They’d both learned to be cautious, to be gentle and slow. But she didn’t do that now, and you didn’t even realize that you didn’t flinch. “You took your power back.” WHen she jostled you slowly, your head bobbing, not expecting the quick motion of your chest while your feet remained stationary, it dawned on you fully.

You’d finally let yourself accept what had happened, what had been done to you, and you cursed them out for it. You’d let them know it hurt you, even if your step-father wasn’t around to hear the message, something inside of you know that he got it — that he was suffering, wherever it was he found himself now. Your ex, with whatever verdict was found, would suffer with the weigh too her actions because you know that this will eat her up inside. Maybe not what she did, you can’t speak to her guilt or lack-there-of, you hope that with time she’ll realize, but if not, you know that just the simple fact of you besting her in open court will live with her eternally. You can find peace with that if its the only justice you get.

You stiffened when the door creaked open again, but then Sonny’s blue eyes found yours and you relaxed. Your chest panged with guilt at the red rim in his eyes. “The jury’s back. I can ask Donnelly for another five.” He said softly, looking only at you.

You shook your head, your shoulders falling backwards. Even if you didn’t want to do this anymore, more than ready to call it a night in Jesse’s bed while the toddler sleeps between Amanda and Carisi, but you can pretend that your walls are made of steel for another twenty minutes or so. You could see this through. You have the power, even if it still doesn’t feel like you wanted it to. “I’m ready.”

“I never doubted that for a second, kid.” Carisi nodded, turning around and marching back to the courthouse. You sighed, turned toward the mirror, and let Olivia fix your hair whilst Rollins gave you another pep talk, probably the seventh one you’ve received in the last four days. Even if you didn’t love it; didn’t love that they had to be in this position with you, you adored the sentiment behind her steady and unrelentless support.

In any other circumstance, you would’ve shouted after Carisi not to call you kid, but he’d been the one to wake you up that morning when he’d heard you tossing and turning, sobbing in your sleep so loud it trigged the baby monitor that him and Amanda had turned off seeing as Jesse was in their room on the nights you felt like Noah needed Olivia’s attention more than you needed a place to crash. The nightmares didnt happen often, if you were able to fall asleep, usually it was peaceful (albeit short) but whenever they did, someone came running, usually with a gun in hand. Amanda laughed at the trauma they all carried, but you were too deep in the tidal wave to laugh. Either way, it felt wrong to protest the nickname when Carisi had caught you with your head squishing one of Jesses beloved stuffed animals.

You stood beside Carisi, facing Elizabeth Donnelly. Olivia and Amanda sat beside you, both of their hands clutching the wooden banister separating your anxious bodies. “Has the jury reached a verdict?” Donnelly asked, and your gaze shifted, only just looking at the jury for teh first time. You hadn’t realized how they looked at you with such conflicted emotion, but not the ones you’d anticipated. Not disbelief, not disgust, not…amusement. They looked at you with pity, but teh kind of pity that came when you heard something truly devastating. The kind of pity that didn’t feel sinful, just heavy, because you know its deserved, you know nothing you can say will change the fact that terrible things happened. But, there was something else in their eyes, something that you couldn’t name, but felt empowered by. Without a single word, you knew the verdict, and your heart soared.

“We have, your honor.” A man stood, and it dawned on you that this was real, and suddenly that certainty dwindled. He extended a page of verdicts, watching it be passed along until Donnelly held it. You held your breath, only until Sonny’s leather loafer nudged your kitten heel, his eyes ablaze with protectiveness. You exhaled slowly, and your sure that somewhere behind you Amanda is staring holes into the back of his head, proud and in love with his care and consideration.

When the paper is passed back, you know that its time. That it's now or never. “On the charge of assault in the first degree, what is your verdict?”

You held your breath, but the words were spoken anyways. Carisi didn’t nudge you this time, he held his breath with you until both of your braids could process the single word utterance; guilty.

“And on the charge of rape in the first degree, what is your verdict?” Donnelly asked, her tone clipped, and if you weren’t so absorbed in hearing the verdict yourself, you’d have thought she was just as anxiously anticipating the call, the seal of your abusers fate.

“Guilty.”

You don’t recognize the wailing of your assaulter as she’s cuffed and dragged out of the courtroom. You don’t process the weight of Carisi’s hand clapping against your back, or the defeated look of John Buchanan as he shook his head and dipped out of the room — a piece of him knowing he never questioned you in the first place, but at the end of the day this was his job. You sobbed, loudly, ugly, unabashedly, and then you weren’t crying alone. Arms wrapped around your waist, around your torso, they squeezed your rib cage, your belly, any part of you they could touch. Somebody’s chest trapped Carisi’s hand to your chest, somebody’s tight embrace pulled you into the banister until you were flush against it. You didn’t care. It was over. You won. Everyone knows, but also, everyone knows. It was your story or it was hers, and you’d won. She’d never be able to say you were dramatic. You had your justice, even if there was still a wild road of recovery ahead of you. You weren’t alone. You hadn’t been alone this entire time.

”You did it.” Benson’s voice whispered in your head, her lips pressing against the side of your head in a fond kiss. You let your eyes close, let the sobs stop. You did it. You won.

[bokettochild]

What's your take on Legend's thoughts on the Master Sword. From what we see, he has a great deal of respect for her, even calling the Master Sword by female pronouns where most others just refer to the sword as 'it' as if she is just an inanimate object and mot a sacred weapon housing a spirit

Okay, well, remember that you asked for MY take on it, not the factual one ;)

So, obviously Legend's relationship with anything regarding being a hero is a bit messier than a lot of the rest, and the Master Sword is not excluded from this.

Given the inherent tragedy of Legend's existence, and the legacy he was born to, (AKA a world where heroes' dying/falling/being corrupted isn't just remembered but the NORM) one would think that the kid's probably got a ton of resentment for anything that makes him more like his predecessors and perhaps, like Time, he'd resent the key attributes of hero-hood in Hyrule: the Triforce, the goddesses, and the sword.

But legend is a li'l shit and he likes to defy expectations: he's friends with the goddesses, has had the Triforce of courage since he was a wee tot, and he actually respects and cares for the Master Sword.

I think it was I Have Questions For You where I said that Legend likely sees a reflection of himself in the state of the sword.

The Master Sword, for all intents and purposes, was forged by the Chosen Hero and then put away in a temple, and while it was moved to the Temple of Time, it's still held in a place of reverence and safety in the games set earlier in the timelines. Legend's is the first game to feature it lost out in the woods with no guards or protective measures or even walls, and while we have no cannon reason for this, the fact remains that it was left there and it was allowed to fall into disrepair so bad that, when eh first found it, Legend couldn't even wield it (he had to continue using his uncle's sword instead).]

My theory? After the Hero of Time's death, both his body and his sword were buried in the Lost Woods; where he came from, and mostly forgotten while the rest of the world moved on. I have a particularly angsty headcannon that in the Downfall Timeline, Ganon himself managed to kill the hero USING the Master Sword, and that's why she was outcast rather than being kept close by the royal family for future use. After all, if she can be turned against them, it's best to let her fall into nothing more than legend.

All that to say, I like to imagine that when Legend found the sword, she was still stained with the blood of the last hero, but just the same, he was still stained with his Uncle's blood.

Because let's face it, prior to Legend finding the Master Sword, his life was a literal hell-scape. he was a small child, who just watched his guardian/parent be brutally murdered in front of him, and then was framed for everything wrong in the kingdom at the time, which caused every adult he should have been able to turn to for help and comfort to instead try and hurt him. He was probably tired, hungry, hurting, and definitely still scared (rabbit form isn't for nothing) when he finally managed to find the Master Sword, the thing Zelda told him could fix everything and- and she's just as broken, and tired, and hurt as he is, just as abandoned, just as forgotten and demonized, all alone and stained with the blood of someone who mattered to her.

I think Legend felt connection.

He didn't just leave her behind as a sword with no worth, despite it being stated, in game, when you draw her, that she's no good against your enemies. Instead, he takes her with him and tries to find a way to fix her, to bring her back around.

Legend reforged Fi himself, albeit with help from the dwarves. He took her from her lowest into something magnificent, even if it's no longer the same as she used to be. just the same, she took him from wandering and fearful child to a hero; they reforged each other, tempered each other into what they are now.

I think, for Legend, his entire identity is more tied to his sword than to his title. She is, in every way, an extension of himself, not just another tool he uses.

Unlike any heroes' before and after, legend never had to prove his worth to her. there was no test, no trial, no life-risking necessary for him to take her. Perhaps this was because Fi knew she wasn't much herself back then, but given how stubborn and set in her ways that she is made to be, it's more likely that she didn't feel the need to try a child, and given the purity of heart we know is inherent to the Hero of Legend, who's every adventure is him giving of himself for others with nothing to gain in return, I thinks he simply saw him as worthy as was, albeit in need of some refining.

I like to think she was gentler with him though, unlike with the older ones. Both because she's seen more, already failed Time, and worn down herself, but also because she would have quickly realized that harshness wouldn't work well on a rabbit-natured hero.

So we have two beings, blade and wielder, who came together at their darkest, and re-defined each other and shaped them into something new, powerful, beautiful, all while still being inherently broken. There's a poetry there, I think, and I have a feeling that's not beyond them; they know what they are, to each other and themselves.

So, there is no saying how Legend feels about the sword really, because, in a way, she's part of him. She need improvement but she's amazing as is. She's just a sword, but it's in the same way that he's just an average nobody. She's a person as much as he is, but where she ends and he begins has been blurred.

He loves her though, I think. And in a way, I think that's the closest to self-love and care that he's come in a long time.

[adventuringblind]

Don't Leave Us

Lestappen x Reader

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Summary: With the mass amount of online hate and a relationship that's not public, it all gets too much.

Warnings: graphic depictions of self-harm, graphic depictions of suicide

Notes: I hope you're doing okay, Nonny! Maybe this will help you like it does me :)

side note: I am not above begging for interaction. Fill my inbox with feral driver thoughts! Interact with my posts! It feeds my praise kink and makes me giggle and kick my feet 🥰

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

It's not like the toxicity of social media is a new thing. She's always known that it could happen. She just wasn't expecting it to be so... much.

Her relationship with Max and Charles isn't out for the public. There are dangers that come with opening that up for everyone to get a glimpse of. Reporters waiting to make snide remarks. Fans that want to bash on the drivers they dislike.

Plus, she's not famous. People don't notice her. At least - they didn't until recently.

Some WAG account had managed to get photos of her with either Max or Charles. Not the three of them together. Speculative fans determined she must be playing both of them.

Not all of them, some people defend her. Those comments make her cry out of relief that at least someone isn't trying to tear her down.

She doesn't bring it up to either of the boys. They have enough on their plates as is. Stress and sickness become her new best excuses to not go out in public.

Sure, she's isolating herself and not talking to anyone. Carmen and Lily keep trying. She's just not ready to show her face.

Nothing is sacred anymore. The rumors are too much. Even avoiding all social media isn't enough. She can't even leave her house without someone trying to discreetly take her photo.

Her skin burns with attention every time she steps out the door. She can't eat knowing people are always looking at her. She can't even go to the shop to get groceries or to her mailbox.

It gets worse by the day. Soon enough, someone figures out where she lives. Knowing she has a stalker makes every ounce of security she once had vanish.

It's miserable seeing her information leaked out for everyone to see. Privacy is now a luxury of the past. It's enough to send her spiraling.

When her safety is called into question, Max and Charles bring her to Monaco. They are willing to risk it for her. Their attempt at giving her some piece of mind by staying in the same apartment only makes her thoughts darker.

She's the reason there is so much negative publicity. The sharks are circling them, just waiting for one wrong move. Is she ready to be the catalyst for her lovers' downfall?

The thought sends her stomach up her throat. The thoughts swirl around her head, paralyzing her body into a perpetual state of fear. Stuck in a luxurious Monaco penthouse. Because people being toxic and stalking her is such a horrible problem to have. She should just suck it up; pretend everything is fine.

So then, why is it so hard? Why can't she just be alright?

One week. A plan in her head and a smile plastered on her face. The boys haven't asked about it. Their concern shows in the facial expressions, but they don't push. Maybe it would be better if they did. Send her already crumbling walls to the ground.

She deep cleans on Monday. She does her best to make sure the apartment isn't in disarray, that her own things are packed away, so they won't have much to deal with. The contrasting red and blue of Max and Charles' clothes are the only things left in the closet when she's done.

Speculations start again on Tuesday. Max and Charles spend all day in some PR meeting about it. It gives her time to sort out her affairs without them hearing her. She cooks them dinner to help ease the frustrations. Their teams don't want them to come out, but they do.

Wednesday, they leave to their next destination. She doesn't leave the hotel room despite the concerns of others. Carmen and Lily come around at some point. They eat in with her and kick out the boys. It feels normal for the first time in months. She almost breaks and tells them.

Thursday is media day. She feels for both boys as they get asked invasive questions about their love life. They look stressed. She gets hugged a little tighter that night. It calms the thoughts, but it's not enough. They hurt more every day. She's just wants it to stop.

Practice on Friday goes well for both. Max and Charles are in better spirits. She drags herself out to eat with them. the boys don't care who sees. She does. The anxiety nearly suffocates her. eyes crawling over her skin. Please, make it stop.

Saturday is a wreck. The qualifying is difficult for both her partners. Their relationship status is once again coming under fire. The speculating is becoming extreme, enough for the whispering of the paddock to become deafening to her ears. She spends her time hiding away, writing her last thoughts in messy scrawl.

Sunday, they turn the weekend around. The podium has always suited them. Smiling for everyone to see and dousing each other in champagne. She smiles too, even though it hurts.

They fly back to Monaco that night. Conversation turns to going public despite team wishes. They are willing to risk it for her. She can't bring herself to say yes. They worked hard to live their dreams; she won't ruin it for them.

Monday comes around again. The notes are laying out on the table. The boys are with their friends, some kind of brunch get together.

She leaves the bathroom door unlocked.

The bath filled, her clothes still on. Her thoughts finally still. Tears streak down her face.

The water is cold.

Then it's red.

~~~~~

"I worry about leaving her alone." Charles pulls the car back into its spot.

"Well, if we brough her along it wouldn't be much of a surprise, yes?" Max checks his watch again. "Plus, what could she have done in the fifteen minutes we were gone?"

They haul the ridiculous number of snacks to the front door. They decided last week they would see if they could coax the female out of her depressive state, just for a little while. Maybe get her to confide in them. If not, then at the very least a therapist.

The distance is damn near suffocating. She's so close physically, yet so far away mentally. Always staring at the walls with a distant look in her eyes.

The apartment is eerily quiet when they step inside. The kind that Charles despises after living in a chaotic house with two brothers and three busy schedules his Maman had to keep track of.

He drops the bags and peers around the entry way. Then searches the corridors until he finds one of the bathroom doors closed.

Charles knocks on the door but receives no response. "Cheri? Are you not feeling well?"

Charles almost dives out of the way when Max comes barreling down the hallway. The Dutch tries the doorknob, heavy breathing filling the odd silence.

Charles pales at the sight revealed to him. Paralyzed that this horrific scene could even be a possibility. Is he dreaming? He has to be - there isn't any way for this to be real... right?

"Charles!-" the Monegasque is dragged from his thoughts. Real or not, Max needs his help. Scratch that - she needs his help. "- Get an ambulance!"

Charles fishes his phone out of his pocket and makes the call. Max is desperate trying to stop the bleeding from the vertical slit traveling her forearm. "Is she...?" He can't finish the thought. Heart being through his chest at the possible answer.

"Pules is there but faint." Max sounds like he's desperately trying to hold back his tears. His mind working desperately to keep her alive.

Charles must space out. He doesn't remember opening the door or watching her be carried out by the swift paramedics. The car ride doesn't register, not until they are already in the waiting room.

Max hands him her notes. The paragraphs she wrote to them. A final goodbye in messy scrawl, but the tails of her letters still curled.

"She did it for us, Charlie, because she thought she was hurting us."

They both break down in the uncomfortable waiting room chairs. Charles violently sobbing. Neither of them respond to their messages. Phones buzzing with calls that go to voice-mail.

A doctor comes calling her name. Charles is only half listening. Specifically looking for either a confirmation of death or the relief of hearing that she's okay. Max seems to be paying attention. His shoulders sag, and there is a soft look on his face when they are left to their own devices.

"She's alive, Charlie."

He erupts until tears once more.

~~~~~

Everything hurts. Her thoughts are fuzzy. There is something soft beneath her.

The white ceiling is paired with the burning smell of alcohol. A sterile environment. Meaning-

Fuck. How did it go so wrong? How had they managed to keep her alive?

The beeping on the heart monitor picks up. A sign that she's definitely alive and in a hospital.

Her attempts at moving are futile. There is too much pain and exhaustion to do so. A pulsing behind her ears drowns out the thumping of her heart.

"Rest now, amour."

It takes a single stroke of Charles' fingers on her cheek to make her entire facade shatter into nothing.

She's mumbling incoherent words. It's a string of apologies, rants of anger and embarrassment, and confusion at why they are even here with her. They are continually reassuring her. They coo into her ear how they are so glad she's alive. That she doesn't have to fight whatever battle through hell this is alone.

Recovery is difficult. They have to put her on a suicide watch, but Max and Charles somehow manage to keep her out of the psychward. Mostly because they want to be with her at all hours of the day.

They miss a singular race for her. Then drag her to the next. Part of the deal they had made was that they won't sacrifice their careers for her.

They negotiated with the teams. Managed to wriggle around their soft spots and get them to approve going public. Max and Charles want to openly defend her. No more public executions. They'er pulling her out of the shark infested waters that is the media.

It's slow. People ask about it sometimes; why Charles and Max had missed that race. None of them give an answer. They aren't obligated to.

"Why fight for me?" She asks. a year after the events.

"Because chéri, we love you enough to help you carry the burden."

"Honestly liefste, we fight for what we believe in. We believe in you and the love you have for us."

"Maybe it's selfish, but we want to share that with you. Keep you here with us to go on adventures and explore the different paths life offers."

"So don't leave us yet. You are worth every sacrifice."

[rebornofstars]

MY FAVOURITE PARTS OF THE UPDATE

BECAUSE THIS HAS BEEN MY FAVOURITE UPDATE EVER

all comic panels from crescent flame by @linkeduniverse. readmore bc its LONG

can we start with the gorgeous lighting please . like this has to be one of the absolute prettiest palettes i dont know how the colour wheel works but PLEASE im dying over this peach coloured light. and the camera angles??? absolute fire

and we already knew he had it but as far as i can remember this is the first time we've actually seen legend using his lantern????

somoene will have to help me (SOS 😭🙏) because ive lost the spreadsheet matching each item in the december art with its name & game of origin so FORGIVE ME IF IM WRONG BUT ISNT THIS THE SAME LAMP FROM LINK'S HOUSE AT THE BEGINNING OF ALTTP??? legend you sentimental freak (deeply affectionate). hes everything.

and!!!! rulie with the candle. i dont know why im going crazy about a candle but i AM. the fact that rulie uses a light method less modern than legend's old lamp is speaking to me and the inevitable conversation about legend's legacy and the gulf between their eras. this is canon and we've been talking about it for years but seeing them together in direct comparison like this is really hammering it into my skull. and of course jojo's attention to detail is once again UNPARALLELED

also the architecture in this dungeon is just gorgeous. jojo can u design my house pls??? 🥺🥺 i'm in love with all these zoomed out shots as well like holy shit. so effective in creating an atmosphere

PLEASE the fact that hyrule holds his candle right over it to look but then backs off a bit when legend comes over so he can light it with the lamp?????? WORDLESSLY??? i dont know if its just because he knew the lamp would do a better job but the TEAMWORK??? THE COOPERATION??? I LOVE THEM???? i used to think that downfall duo was mostly a fanon invention cause legend and hyrule didnt spend much one-on-one time in the comic but FUCK THAT I BELIEVE!!!! I SEE THE LGIHT!!!!! legend's little grin is telling me everything i need to know

his face im wheezing 😂😂😂😂 rule please how did u survive this long 😭😭😭

and then it doesnt even attack them it just runs away!!!!! accurate!!!! dfd (downfall duo? is this an acceptable acronym?) are TOO OP

im actually fucking dying over this panel u dont understand. strong contender for one of the panels of all time. four has STRUCK UP A POSE. nobody walks down stairs with their hands behind their head that boy is RECLINING DRAMATICALLY.

and WIND DOING HIS LITTLE LEAP. ITS TOTALLY UNECCESSARY. IM SO GLAD IT EXISTS. and time descending in the middle of the stairs staring straight ahead 😭😭😭 equally theatric in his own stupid way im wheezing this is too much. the drama kids. old man & the Youngsters

THE ARGUING ABOUT WHO GETS A TURN AT WHAT. SOOOO SIBLINGS CODED. IM DEAD ON THE FLOOR

wiat wait wait fuck. wait fuck HOW OLD IS FOUR. theyre thinking so furiously theyre gonna hurt their brains. recontextualising every single conversation theyve ever had with the smithy!! im actually sooo sooo happy abt this panel because cheekily mysterious four (especially about completely unecessary things like his AGE) is my kryptonite & i feel like this couldve come straight out of a crackfic. the chaos is unmatched. jojo is on our WAVELENGTH ‼️‼️‼️

they are soooo sooo comfortable with each other. hyrule sasses everyone its true BUT LEGEND IS TAKING HIS SASS AND RESPONDING TO IT. theyre having a debate. legend is expressing all his grumpy opinions and hyrule is like lmao ok i see ur point. ahgsjdbgsj

the way the games are baked into every panel and plot point of this comic.. im actually deceased. also legend's stance is cracking me up

ADORE the way this is framed. love love love

the MISCHIEF AND GLEE ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️ WHAT IS A LINK IF NOT A DESTROYER OF POTS‼️‼️‼️ this whole page im obsessed with i read it like 3 times cause i couldnt believe my eyes. they ARE besties they ARE. theyre both being so playful & theyre both in their element & pairing them up was a gorgeous fantastic idea and i am SO here for it

in conclusion every update is getting better and better i am LIVING for this dungeon arc and i adore this comic to pieces. thank u for coming to my ted talk

[lurkingshan]

I really love this week's episode of When It Rains It Pours, because despite my fears, it managed to address the fallout of Sei and Hagiwara's affair with nuance and without villainizing their partners. I am a bit perplexed at the broad reaction I've seen to this episode painting Fujisawa and Kaori as evil and/or abusive, so I want to talk a bit about why I don't think that is the show's message at all.

The opening scene of this episode, with Sei wandering around ruminating on his feelings for Hagiwara and then coming home to Fujisawa, set the tone for their confrontation. Sei's feelings changed after the night of "going at it like rabbits" that he experienced with Hagiwara. He is frustrated with himself for developing romantic feelings after he is the one who said they shouldn't destroy their relationships, but he can't help but want more with Hagiwara now. And it's in that mindset that Fujisawa catches him off guard first by revealing he already knows about the affair, and then by making a desperate play to give him sex to prevent Sei from leaving him.

This scene is uncomfortable to watch, but to me it is an interesting and well motivated transgression of the boundaries they've set in their relationship that naturally flows from earlier scenes where Sei tried to push himself on Fujisawa despite knowing he was making him uncomfortable. Fujisawa definitely went too far--he should not have held Sei down or touched him in ways he was protesting--but it's important not to forget that Sei has been crossing boundaries by begging Fujisawa to touch him for their entire relationship (and even grabbing and clinging to Fujisawa to try to make him give in), and has also just indicated that sex with someone else is what might finally end things for them. Fujisawa is panicking and realizing that the boundary he set may be the downfall of their relationship, so he tries to give Sei what Sei has always said he wanted from him. And let's be real, if this had happened a couple episodes ago, Sei would have wanted it. But his feelings have changed now, and he no longer wants sex from Fujisawa. Once Sei says that clearly, Fujisawa stops.

In the aftermath of this emotional outburst, Sei is not afraid of Fujisawa, and Fujisawa is contrite and apologetic. They both know they have contributed to damaging their relationship by trying to force an arrangement they knew wasn't working. Living together this way long-term was always the wrong choice, one they made out of grief and a desire to cling to someone comfortable. This is not a story about Fujisawa abusing Sei, it's a story about two friends who love each other but don't want the same things from their relationship, and the tension and irreconcilability of that finally coming to a head. I thought it was really well done, and I'm glad the show allowed both Sei and Fujisawa to be imperfect and make big mistakes in the way they dealt with their feelings as things fell apart. The way Sei clasped Fujisawa's hand says it all; they will never be the same again, but there is still love there alongside the regret.

Now, onto Kaori. I really appreciated the way the show calibrated her discussion with Hagiwara as a slow unfurling from her cheerful front to her sincere regret and distress. Kaori is hurt, but she is not truly angry with Hagiwara because she knows she is the one who pushed him to this. She is struggling with understanding herself, and it's in that context that she wants to understand why Hagiwara cheated with a man. On first hearing it her line about this could be read as homophobic, but if you pay attention to the context and the rest of what she says, that's not what it is at all. Kaori is repulsed by male sex organs, and she hasn't figured out what that means for her yet, and that is why she was getting so upset trying to understand why Hagiwara cheated with a man specifically. She doesn't understand why a man's body repulses her, but not Hagiwara. You can see on Hagiwara's face that he feels for her, and is maybe starting to have a better understanding of why their sex life went wrong.

And to Kaori's immense credit, despite the fact that she is the one who was cheated on by her long-term partner and caught him in his lies, she took accountability for her contributions to the destruction of their relationship. She admitted she snooped through his phone to confirm her suspicions. She owned that she intentionally avoided a need she knew he had, and that she hurt him over and over again in doing so and also in refusing to talk to him about it. She recognized that despite his frustration and cheating, Hagiwara was kind to her and never spoke about her with cruelty in his conversations with Sei. And she respectfully asked him to make a choice about whether to end their relationship so that they could have a clean break. Given the scale of his betrayal, Kaori would have been well within her rights to make this a lot harder for Hagiwara, but she wasn't interested in hurting him anymore. I hope she is able to figure herself out and be okay now that she has also broken free of this relationship that wasn't working for either of them. And it's clear from the way Hagiwara gazed after her as she departed that he feels the same.

So where does that leave us headed into the finale? Both Sei and Hagiwara's relationships as they knew them are over, and they both want more from each other, but there is still a lot of emotional carnage to wade through before either of them can have a healthy relationship. That the start of their relationship is mired in lies and betrayal and the destruction of other relationships that mattered to them is no small hurdle, and I'm hopeful that the show will address that with the nuance and emotional honesty it displayed in this episode.