#you know I don’t think he’s even a doctor

[pucksandpower]

Malpractice

Franco Colapinto x physician!Reader

Summary: when you agreed to join your cousin Lily at the Las Vegas Grand Prix to watch her boyfriend race, you didn���t realize the weekend would end with you saving a rookie driver with a concussion from the dangerous schemes of his team

The Williams Racing garage is chaos incarnate. The crash replay loops on the screens above the engineers’ heads, showing Franco’s car slamming into the barriers. The sound of carbon fiber shattering is so vivid in your mind it might as well have happened right next to you.

The footage is brutal.

50G.

The kind of impact that makes your stomach twist into knots. Franco couldn’t even get out of the car by himself, the marshals had to haul him out like a ragdoll. And now, the garage feels like it’s on edge, everyone pretending they’re not watching for updates while they pretend to keep working.

“He’s at the medical center,” someone mutters behind you. “They’re checking him out now.”

Good. He needs checking out. A crash like that doesn’t leave you unscathed, no matter how tough you think you are.

You stand off to the side, arms crossed tightly over your chest, watching as engineers, mechanics, and media relations people swirl around each other, avoiding eye contact but buzzing with nervous energy. Lily had invited you here as Alex’s guest, but you feel completely out of place, like you’re intruding on a family argument you weren’t supposed to overhear.

Then you hear it.

“He’ll be fine to race tomorrow,” James Vowles says, his voice low but carrying just enough weight to reach your ears.

You blink, sure you’ve misheard. But no, he’s standing near a huddle of engineers, speaking in clipped tones like this is just another logistical problem to solve. “We can’t find a replacement on such short notice,” he continues, “so we need him in the car. No excuses.”

Your jaw drops. You can’t help it. “You’re joking,” you blurt out.

James and the engineers freeze, turning to you like you’re some alien creature who’s wandered into their secret lair.

He recovers quickly, offering a tight smile. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met-”

“Are you serious right now?” You step closer, fueled by disbelief. “He crashed into the wall at 50G. He couldn’t even stand up without help. And you think it’s a good idea to put him back in the car tomorrow?”

James’ expression hardens. “Miss, this isn’t your concern-”

“Actually, it’s Doctor. And it is my concern if you’re planning to endanger someone’s life for a race.” Your voice rises, but you don’t care. Let them stare. Let them glare. You’re not about to stand by while they make decisions like this.

“Look,” James says, trying for diplomacy. “The FIA medical team will clear him if he’s fit to race. That’s their job, not yours.”

“And what if they’re wrong?” You demand. “What if he has a concussion? What if he gets in that car and something happens because you couldn’t be bothered to prioritize his safety?”

Before James can reply, the garage door creaks open, and Franco stumbles in.

All eyes snap to him. He’s leaning heavily on his physiotherapist, his helmet dangling from his other hand. His usually sharp, confident features are slack, his eyes glassy. He looks like he’s barely holding it together.

Your chest tightens. He shouldn’t even be standing right now, let alone back here in the thick of it.

The physiotherapist helps him over to a chair, and Franco slumps into it with a groan. “I’m fine,” he says, though his words slur slightly. “Just a little — what’s the word? Shaken up.”

You don’t even think. You march over to him, the rest of the garage fading into the background.

“Franco,” you say firmly, crouching in front of him. “Look at me.”

His unfocused eyes wander to your face, and he frowns like he’s trying to remember where he’s seen you before. “Do I know you?”

“No, but I’m about to save your life, so let’s call it even,” you say briskly. “How many fingers am I holding up?” You hold up three.

He squints at your hand. “Uh … six?”

Your heart sinks. “Okay. Follow my finger.” You move your hand slowly in front of his face, but his gaze wobbles, unable to track it.

“Wow,” he mutters, blinking rapidly. “You’re really pretty.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from reacting. “Franco, focus. Do you feel nauseous? Dizzy?”

“Both,” he admits, leaning back in the chair. “But it’s fine. I’ve felt worse.”

“It’s not fine.” Your voice is sharper than you intend, but you can’t help it. “You have a concussion. Probably a severe one. You need to rest and recover, not get back in the cockpit tomorrow.”

He grins lazily, his head lolling to the side. “Are you my MILF angel?”

Your brain short-circuits. “What?”

He waves a hand vaguely in your direction. “You’re older, right? Like … a doctor? And hot? Definitely an angel. My MILF angel.”

Someone behind you chokes on a laugh. You whip your head around to glare, silencing them instantly.

Turning back to Franco, you take a deep breath. “Okay, you’re clearly not in your right mind, so I’m going to ignore that. But you need medical attention. Real medical attention. Not whatever half-assed clearance the FIA is going to give you.”

He reaches out clumsily, his hand brushing against your arm. “You’re bossy. I like that. Are you the same way in bed?”

You grab his wrist gently but firmly, lowering it back to his lap. “Franco, listen to me. I’m serious. You can’t race tomorrow. You could get seriously hurt. Do you understand that?”

He stares at you for a long moment, his expression oddly thoughtful. Then he smiles faintly. “You’re really worried about me, huh?”

“Yes,” you say without hesitation. “Because someone has to be.”

For a second, something shifts in his eyes, like he’s seeing you clearly for the first time. But then he blinks, and the moment is gone.

“You’re nice,” he murmurs, slumping further into the chair. “I like you.”

You sigh, glancing over your shoulder at the Williams team members still hovering nearby. “He needs to go back to the medical center. Now.”

James steps forward, his face a mask of polite concern. “I appreciate your input, but we’ll handle it from here.”

You stand, squaring your shoulders. “No, you won’t. Because if you try to put him in that car tomorrow, I’ll make sure everyone knows exactly what you’re doing. And trust me, the media will eat it up.”

James’ jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he nods to the physiotherapist. “Take him back.”

As the man helps Franco to his feet, he glances back at you, his lopsided smile still in place. “Don’t go anywhere, pretty doctor. I’m gonna marry you.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, fighting the urge to scream. “You’re definitely not racing tomorrow,” you mutter, more to yourself than anyone else.

But as you watch him stumble out of the garage, you can’t shake the feeling that this fight isn’t over yet.

[netherfeildren]

Busy, Dying. Part 2;

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: In an in-between place called his life, Joel Miller is alone. In search of a cure. In need of a miracle. In want of God.

Can I interest you in a cure for loneliness? She'd asked him in a language without words. Taking it is the easy part. Letting her go is impossible.

-OR-

an a/b/o soulmates AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No Outbreak AU, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Soulmates AU, Infidelity, Cheating, They're behaving badly and doing things they shouldn't be doing idk, HEA!!!!!, Angst, Fluff & Smut, Scenting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Group Therapy, Social Experiments, Explicit Sexual Content, Dom/sub Undertones, Complicated family dynamics, Discussions of self harm, Depression, Existential Angst, He’s a loser your honor!!!

Word Count: 6.3K

Read on AO3

Part 2;

It is your own conspiracy that if you say the words three times in the mirror—I am so alone I am so alone I am so alone—the feeling will go away. Banished ghost. 

You commit yourself to this practice religiously for three weeks before you feel you must absolutely return to the meetings held in the basement of the Emmanuel Episcopal Church or you might just die. 

The first Friday back, you watch him. He blunders around the crowd, struggling to find a seat when he rushes in late that evening, trying to sit as far away from you as possible and, to his great misfortune, ending up right behind you. Squashed between two old ladies, his big body comically trying to fold itself into the tight rows. You laugh at him the whole way through the meeting. 

He’s like a raging bull after that. Scowly and unapproachable as the omegas in the group inevitably make their meager attempts to talk to him. It makes it all the more irreconcilable, a man like that here in a place like this—all the while with a wife at home. 

You wonder about her. 

“That one has a bad temper,” Maria warns as the two of you watch him. They seem to know each other in some way outside of this church, and it takes everything in you not to beg for details. “Big and hairy like a bad, lonely dog.”

You say, “I think he’s shy.” 

She watches you very peculiarly after that, and tells you, “You’re lost, girl. Joel Miller isn’t what you need finding you.”

But you know this, you assure her, and you continue to avoid him. 

The following Friday, he’s the one playing the disappearing act. The next week, as well—no show. You start to dread even your own shadow, wondering where he is, wondering if he’s ever coming back, if he has children and how old he is. Wondering if he wonders about you. Wondering why you’re so obsessed.

Too full of curiosity for your own good, you hover when he finally appears once again. Circling him and Maria, desperate for any sort of information. 

His wife had been sick, he says. He’d had to take her to the doctor. 

You wonder if her sickness might be his baby—sick to your stomach at the thought of it yourself. 

Finally, the week after, the two of you break your fast from one another. 

“You’ve been ignoring me,” he says, coming up from behind, ambushing you once again at the dessert and coffee trough. This is supposed to be a safe space, yet it feels anything but with him near. 

“No I haven’t.”

“You’re not supposed to tell lies in church. It’s a sin.”

“I don’t believe in sin.” You turn to face him, and your stomach hurts. 

He’s got on a dark green fisherman’s sweater—well worn but knit sturdy. A thing that looks as if it’s been his for years. 

You’re feeling thin-skinned and unable to face him today, and for no good reason. You don't know this man. You have no right to punish him with your silence, no right to be angry, to wonder about him. But that sternness from before, the one that looked too heavy for him to carry, has been wiped away from his face now, and in its place he only looks very earnest, like he really wants to talk to you. And it’s only that, well you don’t know him, yes, but you’d felt that you needed to, or that you would. That you were meant to find him in this place, and you’re angry at yourself and at him at how wrong you’d been, still even after all these weeks of radio silence while he’d been busy caring for his sick wife. 

“Me either,” he gives a small huff of laughter, shoving his fists into the pockets of his dark jeans. 

Setting the donut in your hand back on the table—rude and gross, but it’s an afterthought—you wipe your sweet sweaty palm against your hip, appetite all gone now. The basement is suddenly unbearably hot, your heart beating in your throat. 

“Anywho, I gotta run. Somewhere to be—” you mumble, brushing past him. There’s a sudden rush of itching heat burning its way up your chest, your throat, ants crawling over your scalp. The room is stifling, your limbs leaden and too many bodies; so many disgusting, clashing scents: pheromones, and desperation and such terrible loneliness, and him at the center of it, ambrosial.

You’ll have to recite your mantra more faithfully in the mirror every night, not a single miss. Remind yourself, I am so alone, so that the feeling might go away, and you’ll forget him and the way he smells and his eyes like amber green river stones, more quickly. 

“Whoah, hold on,” he calls after you, following to the exit and up the steps to the world outside of this church. You’d brought a coat today, unable to enjoy the cold the way you usually do, uncharacteristically chill, aching limbs, miserable in the biting morning air. He calls your name, and you clutch the wool against your chest, trying to hurry away from his much longer legs and pace as he catches up. 

Suddenly, though, you change your mind. Whirling around to look up, you stop your running, and he’s right there, so close. “I haven’t been ignoring you. You were gone.” Mind changing again, your gaze falls, unable to hold his eyes. You watch his left hand flex like he wants to do something with it. 

“I know. I’m sorry.”

A scoff. “What are you apologizing to me for?” 

“You’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met in my entire life.” He says it quietly by way of explanation, like another apology. 

“You must not have met very many interesting people.”

It feels hot and cold at the same time out here. Your stomach still hurts. Your eyes ache as if you could cry, which is ridiculous because you have absolutely no reason to cry. 

“Maybe not,” he says very low. It seems he’s drifting closer, like you’ll float away. A car honks its horn loudly somewhere in the background, and you still can’t look at his face. His own coat is clutched in his fist and now the honker is shouting too, expletives and God’s name being taken in vain. 

“You should go back in there,” you tip your chin at the depths you’d just fled from, stealing a quick glance at his face, “Find someone else who’s interesting.”

He grunts once, a wordless no and lifts his coat to drape it over your shoulders—you decide you’re even colder now, you don’t think you’ll ever be warm again—and takes yours from your listless grip, draping it over his elbow. 

This man. “Aren’t you here to get to know people?” You demand, finally looking up at him angrily. 

“No,” he shakes his head. “Let’s go for a walk.” His palm at your bicep urging you towards Arlington and the garden sends all sound skittering out of your ears. He reminds you of your earlier words, that he might like to walk, and you can hear yourself agreeing while you look up at the muted light of the late November afternoon leaching through the cloud cover. Through the wool and cotton you feel your skin sucking heat from that singular point of contact, warming you entirely.

It had been blisteringly cold last night, the alluring taste of incumbent winter in the air, and a vicious frost had ermined all the tree trunks within the Boston Public Garden, roughened the surface of the grass. 

Joel chooses a quiet spot by the pond, the willow weeps above your head and all around the two of you the sharp autumn air is lightly laced with the fragrance of leaf rot. An elderly couple floats serenely in a lone swan boat at the center of the pond, not a ripple in the surface, as if they weren’t really there. 

Helping you to sit, he gently pulls his coat from your shoulders, laying the garment for you to rest on protected from the frigid ground and carefully looping your arms through your own coat now, he pulls the excess fabric of his up, draped over your shoulders once again, leaving you securely enveloped from the cold. 

“Here, let me help you,” he says, and the sudden gentleness in his voice makes you want to burst into tears. His character, that of some matryoshkin sort, one embedded in another in another, never knowing which is the realest one, the truest one, which will come next. Angry snarling dog one day, a gentleness that burns the next. You have the sense that a person could know him for decades and still never reach the center, never cease to discover more. 

Sitting before you—you perch alone on the island of his given coat—he tilts his head, leaning back braced on thick arms to look up at the swaying vines with just an impression of brilliant yellow-green, as if that were the color of the air. A sudden breeze stirs the softness of his hair, lifting a stubborn cowlick, and at that exact moment, the cloud cover parts on the face of the sun. In the brilliant shaft of buttered sunlight, his dark curls glint with specks of purest silver, leaving you wishing you could touch the fan of fine lines at the corner of his eyes, feel his age with your fingertips. 

“You’re angry with me,” he finally says, head still tilted towards the sky. You watch him very closely, learning. His voice is deep, quiet. He looks tired, the violet shadows beneath the brilliant hazel eyes. Still beautiful, the full, slightly sulky curve of his mouth surrounded by dark beard. He is everything, all of him, masculine. 

“It doesn’t matter.”

Finally, he looks at you, too. He’s got a big head, proportionate to his big body, that falls back heavily. You can’t help smiling at him, it feels too natural. 

“Now you’re honest.”

“I wouldn’t tell a lie here,” you say, and he sighs like you’re a supremely difficult little omega, too impossible to be reasoned with. But turning back to the sky, eyes closed now, there’s a smile across his mouth also, and you wish the two of you could sit here and laugh forever in this moment.

The silence between the two of you is marvelous enough to be unnerving. Settled beneath his great coat, you’d never believed you could feel the cold so little—learning every fine detail that makes up the man. Even inches away from him, he seems utterly unattainable, each of the two of you existing on your separate islands—you trace the woolen edge of his coat against the ground—some twenty years your senior and married. But the cold has given you such a feeling of grounding buoyancy. You’d awoken angry, miserable, so full of despair you would’ve been sick with it if it were possible. And now—you hadn’t felt this alive or awake in years, perhaps your entire life. He is a marvel, and there are bubbles in your head threatening to take you floating away, and yet, your feet are firmly melded to the ground in reality. 

How attractive, how delicious the prospect of intimacy is with someone who you know will never grant it. It fills you with something ferocious or hungry or snapping, something pathetic that makes you want it all the worse. And he, with a gravitational pull too strong to even think of escaping.

Yes. You hadn't felt so happy in years. 

“How old are you?” Breaking the silence, you ask him.

“Forty three.”

“You have a brother.” He nods. “I have one too.”

“Do you speak to yours? I don’t.”

“He calls me once a month. It’s all he can bear of me.”

“Mine won’t speak to me.” He sounds sad saying so. 

“Why not?”

“I hurt him. Scared him.”

“My brother, he says my whole life is papier-mâché. My values are all wrong, I’m a crowd-pleaser. It’s probably true.” You’d felt it impossible to better yourself, and yet still, you tried for him. “How did you hurt him?”

“You can’t change a man, only make him more secure. Depending on his character that may then bring happiness or strength or success. Tommy’s failure of this in me was more than he could bear, also.”

The willow becomes your confessional. “I spiked my own drink once just to see what it would be like. A doctor told me afterwards that I have self destructive tendencies. I want to hurt myself, but I don’t want to actually feel the hurt, which makes me all the more addicted to it. A supernumerary on the stage of my own life, too afraid of hurting and hungry for it at the same time.”

The heel of his left hand, you notice, is bearing down on an old acorn burr, and yet he seems not to feel the pain. 

He’s looking at you very intently now. Some glimmering streak in his eye. It almost looks aggressive, and a muscle flutters madly at the edge of his jaw. He straightens, sitting up to face you. The acorn burr is left flattened and disfigured in his wake.

“The last doctor I saw told me I was depressed. I never went back after.”

“Are you?”

He laughs surprisingly full of humor and then instantly serious again. “Probably. I’ve been watching my life, scratching at it trying to get in. I can’t. It’s right there.” The matryoshka shuffles, locked in his melancholy one moment, spilling brightness the next. 

You want to understand him so badly your hands shake with it. 

“What’s your favorite thing about your work?” You ask him. 

Where does his wife think he is right now?

“That’s a nice question. Maybe…” he thinks a moment, “Getting to make things that’ll go in people’s homes. The idea that something that came from me will be surrounded by a family.”

You can’t help yourself. “Why aren’t you at home?” You ask him imploringly, unbearably sad for him, sick with need, desperate to understand what it is he’s doing here, and all at once, utterly certain of what it is you are. “Don’t you love your wife?” The question is posed with no bravery, and yet it still comes out into the world demanding. 

He clicks his tongue, taken aback, a shocked breath, maybe even a small, reproving smile. A hundred different emotions coming to life across his face in that single moment. 

“I don’t know,” he finally answers. “I remember loving her. Maybe. At best? She’s a stranger. At worst? An excuse?” But he says it like a question. He’s asking you, not telling, for he isn’t even sure of it himself. You’ve caught him off guard. 

“No…” the click of his tongue snapping you to attention, “That's too generous. We’re trapped in a box together, but completely strange to one another.” It suddenly feels like he shouldn’t be telling you this—about her. You’re sure he shouldn’t be. 

“Do you hate each other?” You ask anyway. There’s something…your only example of love and marriage being two people who had always hated one another and filled the home where their children lived with more hate. It’s difficult to fathom something different than what that had looked like. 

If you were truly brave, you’d ask if he has children, too. 

“No,” he says immediately, a non option, his brow furrowed. “That would take too much effort.” 

Now you understand. He’s alone anyways. The feeling of urgency within you mounts. You’re frightened by this moment of discovery. 

“You’re Southern. Your accent…” You can’t discuss this anymore, needing to change the subject. 

“Texas.”

“When did you leave?”

“Long time ago.”

“Do you miss it?”

At his, he laughs like the question is ironic. “No. Where are you from?”

“Sometimes it feels like I can’t even remember.”

And as if he’d pulled the feeling straight from your mouth, he tells you that he understands what that’s like, and you can’t help it when you reach for his hand, being as careful with him as you would any shy creature, needing to hold him. 

-

“I’ve never been in love,” you tell him, childish look of recklessness and valor coming across your face as you pick up on the earlier thread of conversation you’d frightened yourself with. “It seems too daring, even grotesque.” 

He thinks he wants to capture that look in a bottle and take it everywhere with him. His entire body throbs with a heartbeat and the shape of your hand fits his as if every joint and muscle and soft ligament had been specifically designed for him to hold, filled suddenly with a terrible sense of foreboding. Looking at you, one just knows there’ll be a broken heart. 

Your small thumb smooths gently over his large one, and he marvels that such an exquisite creature would touch him. God, but you’re beautiful. Your touch, soft and enticing and painful all at once. No one had ever been so gentle with him.

“Won’t you tell me a secret?” You beg.

He will. He might give you anything in this moment. In the weeks he’d been kept away, he’d desperately counted the days and minutes until he could return to that place of worship and honesty. 

“I think about you,” voice hushed, the shaking of the leaves not loud enough to mask the soft breath you suck in as he gives you his confession. He maps the architecture of the small hands in his grasp, fingers tracing fingers, uncured clay fragile before the heat. He feels tired and strangely spent, almost drunk on your touch. His thumb slides upwards, marveling at the softness of your wrist, and then there, beneath the shivering distraction of your pulse and his disturbing search, the unlocked fragrance of your scent gland. It drifts towards him slowly like smoke rising from sleep.  

The air seems to pulse between the two of you with heat and premonition. That singular moment before everything goes terribly wrong, he can see it in your eyes. Such vibrancy, excitement, recklessness turned danger. 

“We should…” you feel him begin to pull away, grappling to hold on to the moment and his hand, “We should fuck.” He takes himself back, letting you go. Where else was this being led?

He cringes away from you. “Excuse me?” 

“Sex. You’ve had it before.” His mind reels. His body’s reaction at hearing your mouth say these things, the way it shapes them, the soft, full lips wrapped around the words.  

Looking away, he watches the pond’s couple help each other out of the swan. In his periphery, he can see you begin to bristle at his silence. 

“Don’t be peevish. It’s unbecoming.” 

He can’t help feeling angry. “I’m not. I’m old enough to be your father.” And you laugh at him. You’re deviating paths now, going opposite ways and angry at one another for it. 

“We could pretend that—if that’s what you want,” you say, voice husky and seductive. A small palm smooths up his thigh and his gaze snaps fire at you, hand clamping painfully at your wrist, fingernails digging at your gland, disturbing more of that gorgeous scent into the air. 

You make a pained sound. He needs to leave. He needs to never see you again.

“Don’t be disgusting,” he shoots back, hot everywhere. 

“Don’t be a prude.” He flings your wrist away, and you cradle it against your chest as if he’d hurt you. The heat turns to guilt pulsing through his limbs. 

Warring to wounded then, your eyes. You wrap your fingers around your discarded wrist. “What if we lose everything? What if tomorrow’s the end of the world? What if we’re so thoroughly cured of our loneliness after all this is done, we never feel like we need another person this way again?” 

His muscles tense with the need to flee or attack, the thought of you needing him, of being needed in such a way—he’s like some creature coming upon its mate. 

Despite his age, he had never tried to truly seduce anyone. He had never truly wanted anyone. Not in any real and base sort of way. Desire for him had been a mute and ordinary thing. But he could have you now, turned into a thing he’d never been before, he could mount you and rut you into the dirt like an animal. Never so much a product of his designation as he feels in this instant. 

He can’t even form word, and your body seems to pulse against his with embarrassed heat and indignation. 

“Have you ever even fucked an omega?” You spit at him meanly. 

“We shouldn’t be talking about this.” Voice carefully restrained, each syllable off his tongue is measured with his tenuous control. 

“Tell me anyways,” you demand, shoving his coat off your shoulders being the thing that almost makes him lose it. 

“It’s cold. Put that back on.”

“Tell me.” And he shouldn’t. You should have no sway over him. No demand of his honesty or anything else that belongs to him.

“Once. Only because I wanted to know what it was like.” He’s man enough to admit to himself the embarrassment he feels telling you this.

But it seems to quell some tremor in your eyes, and you sit back, palm petting at your throat as if you’re trying to soothe yourself. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, gaze averted, glassy, delirious look there. “I’ve always gotten my feelings hurt easily. I’m—” you shake your head quickly, sucking on your lip. “...too sensitive. Sometimes I feel like I’ll float away if I don’t find anyone to hold me down.” 

He should tell you that you’re not, wants to, but the image of you weak and pinned beneath him churns in his mind. Whole body aching suddenly, needing his hands on you before he does something truly heinous—he straightens abruptly, abandoning your reassuring warmth. Feeling suddenly cold despite the sweat dotting his spine. 

Without another word he turns to leave you there, alone, while the swan pair watches from across the pond as the two of you part ways. 

The next morning he awakens stiff and burning, his cock a brand of heat against his stomach. And works his entire day in a static haze, lavender spots at the edge of his vision where all he can think about is how you smell and the way your hand feels in his. By five o’clock, his fingers ache, spasming painfully from gripping his tools too hard. Breaking his weeks-long habit, he decides to attend the Saturday night meeting, full of constrained energy and sullen moodiness. Reasoning that a pretty, young girl like you wouldn’t waste her weekend in the basement of a church abandoned by God. 

And is sick to his stomach with equal measures elation and dread when he spots you sitting amongst the crowd of metal folding chairs—wearing his coat. He doesn’t hesitate even a little when he claims the seat next to yours. 

The two of you sit in strained silence the entire meeting, the other alphas and omegas surrounding throwing alarmed and intrigued glances your way as the tension brews hotter and more frenzied. 

His body hurts. This is a painful kind of lust. 

He listens to the speakers tonight with only half an ear, instead, occupied with the memory of what you’d looked like the other week eating a jelly and cream filled donut, imagining what your mouth would look like smeared with his blood and come. He can smell your body, how hot and trembling nervous you are. So unlike all that blistering, innocent valor from yesterday. 

The omega with the cruel husband turned sick one is taking her turn again tonight. Now that he looks at her, she has hair that at one time was vibrant red, now turned a softened copper threaded through with white. Time is such a painful, slow thing, Joel thinks. 

“Have you ever been with someone you knew you were too good for?” The omega asks the room, while the one beside him begins to shake, knee jolting nervously.

You’re anxious, and it makes him angry that you should be made so by his actions. 

Too rough for forbearance, his palm clamps down tightly on your knee, holding it still, and you make some supplicant whimper at the back of your throat. Almost imperceptibly, you draw away from him, the line of your shoulders growing rigid, and a wild, irrational sense of loss steals his breath. 

He’s been so busy lately, distracted. He’s hungry, overstrained, anxious himself. He doesn’t mean to be brusque with you. He just can’t help himself. 

Would we be here if we had? Someone lost in the crowd pipes back. 

The woman laughs, she has a kind face. “Me either.” You shove his palm off your leg as if it burns. “But there was someone… once. A chance, maybe. Someone I didn’t choose but should have. We were friends. We came very close to being happy.” 

And he suddenly feels a wave of desolation so overwhelming wash over him. He turns to look at you, your vibrating profile, so pretty, and he’s gentle this time when he touches your knee. Just to feel you. How terrible, he thinks, to only come very close to being happy. 

The speaker changes, and then it’s Maria’s voice talking to them all. Joel still can’t look away from you as you, in turn, refuse to look at him. “Stop, Joel,” you whisper. But he can’t. 

“At the start of this, we usually discuss a second option for those of you who aren’t able to find what you’re looking for in this. Sometimes it’s not so simple,” Maria tells them. 

A miracle move on drug, she calls it. 

The group’s coalition is sponsored by a pharmaceutical company, one testing a cure for loneliness. Something they think of as pilled perfection, something to numb the pain of loss. Any emotional wound, now with the potential to be a thing of the past. The young omega handing out the pamphlets had promised an easy cure, it seems this is what he’d been referring to. And if the potential side effects included an inability to hold on to any sort of emotional attachment afterward, well, the encounter groups they’d targeted thus far were grateful for it in the end anyway. They were all alone after all. 

“It’ll help you let go of everything you can’t let go of,” Maria tells them. “Help make you forget. Help make you un-lonely. We’ll be holding a session Wednesday morning for anyone who’s interested in being part of the trial. Our sponsor company, Firefly, is very happy to welcome as many of you as possible.” 

Beside him, you whisper, “Only a coward would take that option. What a cheat.” He hesitates, perplexed and wounded by your words. 

“You’ll never have to grieve or miss something you can’t get back, ever again. I know that for many of you, this is the ultimate fantasy,” Maria says.

“I think it sounds like something to help let go. Like what I came here for.”

You exchange cards. Now it’s your turn, the wounded look. 

When Maria’s through, bidding the group goodnight and setting them all free to mingle, you’re up and out of your seat before he can get a word in. He watches you go as if he were some sort of abandoned lapdog, only for a second, before he’s once again, striding after you. 

You weave almost drunkenly through the crowd, first heading towards the exit, then to the beverage station, then correcting and veering towards the back hall where the restrooms and catechism classrooms are. 

Gaining on you, he takes you by the elbow, pushing you deep into the darkness of the long hallway. Going far enough the din of desperate socialization turns a quiet murmur. You’re really in the belly of the beast now. So quiet and dust infused it feels as if it’s been years since a soul stepped through here. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Your face glows with fevered sweat. 

“I’m sick,” you mumble on the tail end of a whine when he shakes your arm into responsive compliance. “Let me go. Stop,” you fight, trying to claw away from him.

“No you’re not.”

“Yes, I am. I threw up all night. And you have the personality of a snarling dog more than a man. Has anyone ever told you that?” Shoving at his chest now feebly.

Ignoring your caterwauling, he takes you in entirely. “You’re not sick,” he says again, sure now. 

There’s a timeless hunger gnawing at his gut. Joel suddenly feels more himself than he think he’s ever felt in his entire life. 

Dragging you high against his chest by the collar of his own coat, he brings the tip of his nose slowly to the valley of sweet fragrance at the side of your throat. Inhaling deeply at the flushed, swollen scent gland there. The sound of your toes scuffing against the floor excites him even more. 

“You’re not sick. You’re going into heat,” he says slowly; gathering the overwhelmed, shivering creature as gently as he can in his arms. 

Your fingers claw at his own throat in return, as if digging for his own answering scent. “No. But it’s not time. I had one not so long ago.” You sound on the verge of tears, and he makes a deep, soothing sound in his chest. “My blockers...I— I can’t be. It’s not time yet.”

“It’s a breakthrough heat.” His other hand comes around to the small of your back and ever so slowly, he presses your hips closer to his. “It’s mine. Because of me.”

“No.” You shove back with renewed strength suddenly, spinning around to scurry deeper down the dark hall and then careening on weak legs into an abandoned classroom. 

Heart beating madly at the prospect of the hunt, he takes a singular calming breath before he’s prowling after the sound of your crying. 

-

“You need to not run from me right now. It’ll make my rut come faster,” his deep voice comes from somewhere in the dark unknown. 

You scramble around the children’s desks, weaving your way clumsy with disorientation to the far end of the classroom. You don’t want to go into heat right now. You can’t. Not with him. You need to be safe and alone in the confines of your warm, comfortable bedroom, far away from the temptation of him.

His heavy, panting breath sounds closer and there’s a shriek in your throat like a struggling kitten. 

“You want me to lose my self control. That’s what this is, isn’t it?” There’s a loud crash as he shoves one of the little desks out of his way, followed by your answering shriek. And then he’s here, coming up behind you but finding mercy enough to hold himself back at the last moment, panting as if he’d just run miles fighting against himself. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry. Come here, baby. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s okay.” He takes a step closer, and the slowing of his breath and soothe of his voice calms you in turn. “You’re only going into heat, that’s all, sweet girl. I’ve triggered it for you and I’m sorry. Let me come to you.”

You let out a high and harried sound, palm smoothing over your throat over and over again. “Joel,” you say once.

“I’m here. It’s okay.”

“It’s only that—”

“What is it?”

“I have to tell you something.”

“Tell me.”

“I’m embarrassed.” A helpless tear spills out over the edge of your eyelid. 

“You’ve nothing to be embarrassed about with me. Ever. We understand each other, you and I. Don’t we?”

And he’s right of course. You’d picked his face out of the crowd in instant recognition, after all. “I’ve had heats…but I’ve never—never had a, a heat with someone. With an alpha.” 

He’s utterly silent and you feel deranged enough you’re almost certain you can hear the pound of his heart inside his chest.

“You’ve never had a knot take your cunt?”

“No.” You swallow. “Never.”

You hear a muttered fuck, and his breathing goes quick and shallow and then even again. He has better control over himself than you do at this moment. 

“Then how?”

You flush full of heat, embarrassed. “T—toys,” you stutter. “Medication to help ease it.”

When he steps closer, only calm accompanies him. All is suddenly quiet. You want him. Your disjointed mind, overwhelmed by too many confusing emotions had gone into overdrive for a moment, but now, with the scent of hot, aggravated alpha surrounding you, it’s obvious this was all you’d needed to calm down. 

You can feel his hot breath against your forehead, the wash of heat on each exhale and the lingering scent of sweet musk at his inhale. You touch his cheek with shaking fingers and feel him turn ever so slightly into your palm, and then he’s bending slowly. 

First, it’s a soft, wet nudge of his mouth, your bodies held apart. Then his strong nose bumping into the side of yours, the splendor of inexperience turning to knowing, a nuzzle. Coming in again hungry, with the slick of tongue now, and the deep inhale of shock at first taste. Your breaths rush through one another, and you feel yourself backing away in maybe fear, more likely overwhelm, but his mouth follows your retreat and then his palms are at your waist, tugging you into himself, pressing you tightly to his body with a ragged groan. 

“Your mouth…Your mouth is so beautiful,” he says.

Everything in your lower belly cramps in painful agony, and you scratch at his arms and neck without much strength, trying to climb higher and take more of him into your mouth. Oh, you want this so badly. You want it to be everything you’ve dreamed of so obsessively the past weeks. Nothing else in the world exists except for your two mouths pressed together.

His lips burn a wet path across your cheekbone, sliding to the side of your neck to suckle at your scent gland. “Fuck.” His scraped teeth along the patch of sensitive skin. “Have you had sex before?” The question is gentle, understanding, his tongue tasting your sensitive earlobe, head ducking suddenly to give a sharp bite at your breast. 

“Yes.” His erection is pressed firm at your belly, hot even through his jeans and your sweater. His large body radiates heat. At your back, his palm finds the edge of your top, sliding underneath to make first contact, blistering skin against blistering skin. 

“But not an alpha.” He says it smugly, the bastard. Palm sliding down to your rump, tucking you more tightly against his hard cock. You shake your head at the crook of his neck, fingertips twisting in the back of his hair. Your breath comes in wet little pants that sound too pathetic to bear. 

“It’s going to feel so good,” he promises, rubbing slow circles low on your back with that wide, strong palm. “It’s different. It’s…” That palm slides lower, squeezees the curve of your ass. “It’s ordinary if it isn’t with someone…special. If there’s not the possibility of—” 

You tell him you understand what he’s trying to say. 

“I think it’ll be so good between us,” he finishes. 

At the waist of your skirt, his fingers press between your skin and the stretch of your tights, forcing his large hand into their confines. Your breath skips into his open mouth, panting into one another he cups you between your legs and suddenly all you can focus on is the tight ache there, the nylon soaked obscenely between your thighs. His arm around your back squeezes you tighter to his chest and his fingertips are pushing past lace edge to feel the slick swell of wet cunt. 

“Oh, Joel. Not here,” you moan. “Someone will come in.” He’s circling your clit, so sensitive and so swollen it hurts. You tug him impossibly closer, and he presses you back into the cold stone wall. “We can’t in a church.” Your protestations sound weak even to your own ears as you spread your legs wider for him. 

“I don’t give a fuck.”

He takes your mouth again, sucking deeply, groaning even deeper when he presses inside of you to the first knuckle. “Tight, baby,” he breathes into your neck, his hips slowly grinding into your pelvis. 

He feeds you more, then presses a second finger, holding still for a second, then another. Panting like a rabbit caught in a trap with three of his too thick fingers stuffed in your overstretched cunt. The sound of popping seams moves up your spine. 

“Can feel your little cunt shaking around me. Jesus—” he groans. It’s all mine, whispered into your hair. 

Suddenly, there’s the open and close of a door nearby. And then the sound of someone’s voice calling your names. Joel huddles you further into the dark corner, confined by the protection of his body, his fingers still moving in and out of you, stretching you well enough to burn as he presses as deeply as he can and with the utmost gentleness, pets lightly at the painfully sensitive mouth of your cervix. Humming in satisfaction at the feel of you. 

“Right there?” He hums. 

You’re crying, clutching at him even more tightly. Your name sounds again, being searched for, like a warning. 

“If I fuck you, nobody else ever will.” His voice is so dark it’s menacing. It’s recklessness, verging on a lie. Maybe it’s hope. 

Pressing lightly again, petting, petting, he pulls his fingers back a little, the loud sucking sound of your cunt trying to hold onto him, and you’re coming for him, crying into his neck, sucking on his scent gland so that the taste of him floods your mouth. The sound of a door opening, and you hear him growl at someone to fuck off in a very scary voice, his fingers never ceasing their steady thrust inside of your clenching pussy, and the frightened slam of a door. 

“It’s alright. You’re alright. That’s my good girl,” he pets and soothes at you, pressing a kiss to your temple, your eyelids, your mouth again and again.

Part 3;

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Truth Without the Lasso

Requested Here!

Pairing: Jason Todd x fem!powered!reader

Summary: You're Wonder Woman's protégé and adopted daughter. Jason Todd admits that you look familiar, and you tell him secrets the gods have kept for your entire life.

Warnings: brief angst, fluff

Word Count: 1.9k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

Masterlist | DC/Jason Todd Masterlist | Request Info

19 Years Ago

The human, mortal-born baby washed ashore in Gotham Harbor was the talk of the town. Yet, when an out-of-town woman arrived in the dead of night and adopted her, the city quickly forgot the child, too caught up in its unraveling seam to wonder if the young girl found a home. Though they did not notice nor question her humanity, it was the first topic breached after she arrived on Mount Olympus.

“Who is the mortal?” Zeus demanded.

“She has no name,” Diana Prince, Wonder Woman, answered. “No family, no birthright. With the permission of the gods, I would like to adopt her, raise her, transform her into the warrior she is destined to be.”

Achilles looked to Zeus and nodded once. Other gods and goddesses followed, leaving their lofty perches to examine the young life nestled in Diana’s arms. She was at home with Diana, calm and content, and even smiled up at her. When Athena held the child, she squirmed and reached for Diana and cried against Hera’s chest.

“Diana has a connection to her,” Hera told Zeus, “one even you would have trouble breaking.”

“You have our blessing, daughter,” Zeus announced. “And for the child, age will bring her closer to her mother.”

Diana returned to Themyscira, growing to love the young child more each day. As she learned to crawl, walk, and talk, she showed early signs of powers like Diana’s. The blessing bestowed upon her by the gods brought her closer to her mother, indeed, and by the time you were old enough to leave Paradise, you’d met more than enough heroes, villains, and vigilantes to know your fate.

Present Day, Gotham

“What about you, Alkmini?” Flash asks. “Any ideas?”

You shrug, and Black Canary leans over. She whispers, “What about the public approach idea?”

“It’s stupid,” you mumble.

"I said the same about the idea to reform the JSA, but here we are,” Batman points out. “What were you thinking?”

You shift in your seat and look at the table as you say, “What if we just approach them as the JSA rather than trying to find some way to get past the Senate without exposing our identities?”

Batman looks to Superman, who undoubtedly has the most experience hiding his truest identity from humanity.

“Would Diana approve?” Clark asks, smiling at you.

“Why does it matter what Wonder Woman thinks?” Doctor Fate inquires. “Oh, right.”

“She would,” you answer.

“Then, in three weeks’ time, we’ll greet the approaching alien ship as the Justice Society of America, with or without the government’s approval,” Superman announces. “Meeting adjourned.”

“Patrolling tonight?” Bruce asks, seeming to spawn at your side.

“If they’ll let me tag along,” you answer as you prepare to enter the boom tube.

“The day my boys don’t let you patrol with them is the day they’ll need you most.”

“Alkmini!” Tim cheers as you join them on the roof.

“Drake,” you reply softly.

“You do enjoy reminding us that you know our secret identities,” Jason says, and you’re sure he’s smiling beneath the helmet.

You feel fingers along your belt, and the telltale crack of the Lasso of Truth precedes Dick asking, “ Do you care?”

“Of course not,” Jason answers, kicking his foot to remove your rope from his ankle.

“Why not?”

“I’m going to kill you,” Jason grits out, clearly talking through a clenched jaw.

“Where’s Robin?” you ask as you pull the lasso from Dick and return it to the hook along your waistband.

Jason breathes his thanks as Dick answers that he’s with Batman tonight. You feel more courageous than ever standing with Red Hood, Nightwing, and Red Robin. You’ve grown to love the bats and birds, and you know they care about you, too. Since learning their secret identities, you’ve noticed the long looks they send you, trying to decide if they should know who you are based on what they can see past the small mask your mother had forged for you. Diana’s your mother, biological or not, and your Themysciran family is as important to you as your Gotham family.

Batman flies across the sky before landing on the opposite side of the roof from you. You narrow your eyes and ask, “Did he get taller?”

“Let the criminals think so,” Batman rasps as he enters the light.

Damian is perched on his shoulders, his arms hanging as he blinks sleepily, leaning his head against the top of the cowl. Bruce’s gloved hands are wrapped protectively around Damian’s ankles as he moves carefully.

“Who can take him home?” he asks.

“I can,” you offer.

“Does Wonder Woman know where you are?”

“Of course.”

Bruce nods once, and when he tips toward you, Damian wakes. “Alkmini,” he says. “Your assistance on my Greek mythology essay was most….”

You wait for him to finish, but he slumps heavier against Bruce, asleep, and you take him carefully. Damian is incredibly special to you, and it isn’t the first time you’ve gone out of your way to protect him. You say goodbye to the boys, careful not to look directly at Jason’s red mask because you swear you can feel his intense gaze on you through the red material.

After you leave, Jason mumbles, “ So familiar. I should know by now.”

“How are the boys?” Diana asks, in her Wonder Woman costume – uniform? You aren’t sure of the correct terminology and are too far into training to ask – as she surveys the city.

“They’re good,” you answer. “Thanks for helping me with the braces. I’d hate to try to stop a real bullet without the practice.”

“Keep spending time in Gotham and you’ll appreciate the training even more.”

You chuckle and prepare to move your arms to deflect projectiles with the armor around your wrists once more.

Several hours after the conclusion of a rough patrol and a text from Dick, you knock on a locked window. Damian looks up from the couch and smiles before he lets you in. He hugs you tightly before stepping back.

“Where’s Jason?” you inquire, looking around the apartment.

“His room. You can go see him; I believe he’s sulking again. I don’t know if he reread Mr. Darcy’s first proposal or if tonight got to him,” Damian answers.

“Thanks.”

At the end of the short hall, you knock and wait for Jason to invite you in. He’s sitting on the floor, leaning back slightly with his patrol uniform still on, only his helmet and domino mask discarded beside him. You close the door and kneel beside his feet, giving him plenty of room.

“You know what one of my first memories is?” Jason asks, his head tipped back against the wall, his eyes closed. “When I was two or three, a kid washed up in the harbor. I don’t remember specifics, but it was a girl. The story stuck with me. I looked into it last night and read that a woman from out of town adopted her and took her away.”

You watch Jason and shift slightly. That was you, but you had no idea Jason knew about it. He opens his eyes and looks at you, smiling as you lose your fight to maintain eye contact and drop your eyes to his chest.

“Why haven’t you told us – me – who you really are?” he asks.

Your voice is soft, but you know Jason hears when you say, “Growing up, I wasn’t allowed to. And then, after that long, it just felt like… I guess I thought if I told you then it would be like I didn’t trust you before.”

“Do you trust me?” Jason asks.

You notice he didn’t even bother to include the rest of his family this time and pass him the lasso. With the end wrapped around your wrist, you say, “I trust you more than anything or anyone. Except my mom, maybe.”

Jason tilts his head, and his tongue runs over his lips quickly before he says, “I wasn’t aware this made shy people talk easier. I’ll have to remember that.” He tosses it back to you and places his hands on the floor beside him. “I trust you too, without the lasso.”

“Why’d you bring up the little girl from so long ago?” you inquire.

“There was a baby left in an alley tonight. Bruce said he’d look into it, but it just reminded me of that.”

You nod and roll your bottom lip between your teeth.

“You look so familiar,” he mutters. “Especially when you do that.”

Carefully, you move closer to Jason. He extends his arm, and you scoot forward until your hip is against his, facing him as his hand settles on your waist.

“Nineteen years ago, I was adopted by Wonder Woman,” you begin. “But, because of who she is, she couldn’t just take me in, she had to get permission from the gods.”

“The gods? Like Zeus, Athena?” Jason interjects.

You nod and continue, “They gave her permission, and gifted me some of her powers because we were connected and because I was a warrior.” You hold Jason’s intense gaze as you explain, “I was a warrior because I’d survived on my own and washed up in Gotham.”

“You visited with Diana,” Jason realizes. “That’s why you look so familiar! When Bruce first took me in, Diana would come by sometimes, and she always had a little girl with her.”

You smile, and Jason extends his legs out further. He pulls you against him, brushing his fingers along the bottom of your mask. After you nod, he peels it away from your face. It’s like he’s seeing you for the first time and the thousandth time, he thinks as he tugs you into his lap.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you whisper.

“I trust you wholly,” Jason admits. “And that scared me. Do you remember playing together once, around Christmas the year after I stole Bruce’s tires?”

“Of course,” you answer as if it’s obvious. Something about having the mask off, being truly seen, makes it easier to admit everything. “How could I forget the Christmas I fell in love?”

Jason smiles and leans up, wrapping his arms around your waist as his nose taps yours.

“Are you decent?” Damian asks at the door. “I have a question regarding Odysseus and the suitors.”

“Is he reading The Odyssey?” you ask Jason.

“Sounds like a question for you,” he responds with a shrug.

“Are you okay? Finding a kid in a position like that can’t be easy.”

“I am. I’ll check on her tomorrow, and tonight hasn’t been all bad.”

“Come on in, Damian,” you call.

Jason scrambles for your mask, but you catch his wrist and shake your head as you stand from his lap. He pushes himself up beside you, and Damian enters with his nose in the book. When he finishes his question and looks up, his eyes widen.

You answer Damian’s question, but he doesn’t seem to hear it before he asks, “What’s your name?”

Jason answers with you, and you smile up at him.

“What’s that look for?” he inquires.

“I’m going to Themyscira for my birthday pretty soon. Do you want to come with me?”

“Will Diana threaten to kill me?”

“Probably.”

“I’ll go,” Damian offers.

“You’re all invited. But I should probably put Dick out of his misery and tell him that I am who he thinks I am.”

“Let’s take this,” Jason suggests, tugging your Lasso of Truth to pull you closer.

[hannahbarberra162]

Emperor's Prize, Part 3 (ABO, Yandere Alpha!Shanks x Omega!Reader)

on Ao3 18+ MDNI

All the other chapters

Shanks POV

Shanks blinked awake a few hours later, his arm wrapped around your waist as you slept tucked into his side. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep next to you, it had just come naturally after laying down beside you. Even though he’d rather drift back off to sleep curled up next to you, he was hungry and thirsty as he’d missed dinner taking care of you. As he slowly retracted his arm trying to avoid disturbing your sleep, you let out a soft chuff of displeasure but didn’t wake. Shanks smiled, you derived some kind of physical pleasure from sleeping near him even if you weren’t ready to say it out loud. He left the bed and the cabin as quietly as he could, tiptoeing his way around the piles of dirty clothes he’d left on the floor. He decided to leave the door slightly ajar so he could hear if you woke in distress, perhaps frightened of an unfamiliar location. 

As he moved further from his cabin across the deck, his ear was pinched and tugged. Hard. He trailed behind Beckman who kept a firm hold on his Captain’s ear.

“ Ow! Hey! What gives?” Shanks whined as his first mate’s smoke wafted into his face. Beckman kept walking towards his cabin, not turning his face to answer.

“Did ye hear anything the doctor told you? He said -” 

“ ‘Course I did! I did everything he told me - bathed her, gave her food -” Beckman stopped walking after Shanks spoke and turned to face him. He pulled on Shanks’s ear even harder, making Shanks pout.

“You laid her down…next to you…in your bed..for the night. Are ye trying to get her to go into heat faster? Her smell’s all over you, did you fuckin’ mark her? If you did Shanks, I’m gonna cut off yer dick myself -” Beckman finally released the Captain as they were approaching Beckman’s cabin.

“I didn’t! Hardly even touched her. Poor thing fell right asleep, barely had time to get a sentence in before she was out like a light,” Shanks said, rubbing his ear with his hand.

“Decide what ye want to do with ‘er, Cap. By the end of the night,” Beckman demanded, opening the door to his cabin. Shanks usually liked Beckman’s cabin, the tidy space a pleasant spot for drinking and talking the night away. Right now Beckman’s potent smell inside made Shanks’s nose wrinkle in displeasure. When had Beckman started to reek so badly? Shanks leaned on the doorframe but didn’t follow his first mate inside.

“What now, Redhair?” Beckman grumbled, getting two glasses out of his small cupboard.

“Dunno. Just…don’t wanna come inside right now,” Shanks answered, not wanting to offend his friend.

“Are ye… sigh ..no wonder I went gray so fast. No shit ye don’t wanna come inside. I’m another Alpha and you’re about to start courting that Omega sleeping in your bed. It’s not personal, it’s biology. Doesn’t mean we’re not friends or that I won’t be yer first mate. Just complicates things for a few days between us,” Beckman said while handing Shanks his glass of whiskey. Both of them took their first sips, Shanks enjoying the burn on his tongue. 

Beckman looked over at his Captain, who was draining his glass quickly. “Yer keepin’ her,” Beckman stated. Shanks polished off the whiskey in a gulp and held the glass out for more. 

“Think so,” Shanks confirmed. 

“It’s a bad idea to keep an Omega on a pirate ship,” Beckman said, pouring Shanks another drink and handing him back his glass.

“Roger did it. That’s how he got Ace,” Shanks replied, swirling the drink in the glass. Beckman grunted, but Shanks wasn’t sure if it was in agreement or not. 

“Not sure that’s the best example to pick,” Beckman argued lightly, leaning against the doorpost to his cabin.

“What else’m I gonna do with her? She’s injured and alone, can’t just drop her off on an island. Not gonna sell her, there’s nothing else -”

“Oi. Play games with yourself but not with me. Admit you want tae keep ‘er for yourself. I know you, Shanks. I know what’s going on in that head,” Beckman said with a knowing look.

“Fine. I do want to keep her, yeah, that’s part of it,” Shanks muttered sullenly. He hadn’t sorted through his thoughts about you yet but Beckman wasn’t wrong. Shanks almost felt compelled to keep you and protect you though he’d barely known you a day. He supposed it was biology but he was also one to take things as they came - who was he to interfere with the plans of fate?

“So be it. We’ll dock tomorrow or the day after, she’ll make it until then. Just don’t fuckin’ mark her or she’ll go into heat right thereafter, yeah? Keep yer head on straight,” Beckman’s voice was firm as he gave his captain a hard stare. Shanks resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his first mate’s attempt to lecture him. He’d listened to Hongo, he knew what to do. Taking the next drink in one gulp, he handed the glass back to Beckman.

“And stop drinking my good whiskey like yer cheap vodka,” Beckman complained without rancor. 

“Aye, aye Cap’n,” Shanks said easily, saluting and handing the glass back to the first mate. He was still hungry and meandered down to the kitchens, looking for something to snack on. Shanks overheard the conversations flowing between his commanders as he approached the kitchen and he found himself rolling his eyes as they prattled on. He should have known they’d be gossiping because normally he’d be right there with them talking shit. Shanks stood listening in just outside the open door to the galley.

“- know he’s gonna keep ‘er, there’s no way he won’t,” Rockstar exclaimed, slamming down something heavy on the wooden table.

“‘Course he is, have you seen her? All that hair, those legs, the smell? Can you imagine what it would feel like to fu -” 

Shanks’ Conqueror’s haki surged with power causing the wood door to splinter as a rumble simultaneously built in his chest. Bonk Punch, Gab, and Yasopp looked up from their seats astounded, nearly frightened. Their stares confirmed that this wasn’t the Shanks they were used to - he had never used any kind of force against a member of his crew. He was barely conscious of his actions but he couldn’t stop himself from acting this way. He’d barely felt his haki gathering much less activating, shocking himself as much as his crew. But hearing the Omega in conjunction with the thought of anyone other than himself fucking her was sending him into a rage. Yasopp looked over at Gab and put his hands up in an apologetic supplication.

“Sorry, Cap. Was just…chatting. Didn’t mean nothing by it,” the sniper’s voice was faint as his eyes darted from his captain to his crew mates. Shanks tried to stop growling but the apology offered wasn’t enough to calm his Alpha side.

“Go,” was all Shanks was able to say in between warning growls. The men scrambled away with their plates of late night food forgotten on the table in their haste to leave. After they were gone Shanks sat down heavily on the wooden bench before dropping his head into his hands, the long red strands in the front falling over his fingers. Shanks prided himself on his self control, on his ability to be who he needed to be at all times. And this? This Alpha wasn’t someone he recognized or wanted to be. His mind raced as he began to think that maybe keeping the Omega wasn’t the right decision to make after all. Shanks munched on his crew’s leftover food as he meandered back to his cabin, purposefully avoiding talking to any more crew until he’d sorted his mind out.

Pushing the door in while holding it down to avoid the creak he knew would come, Shanks inhaled your light scent of lily of the valley and cedar and the smell went straight to his cock. You had moved from your previous position, now curled up completely into a little ball at the far end of the bed against the cold wall with the bathrobe from before discarded at the foot of the bed. Shanks frowned at the sight of your defensive sleeping position. Throwing off his cloak again, he undressed completely and laid down where he was previously. Shanks didn’t like wearing clothes to bed so he figured you might as well get used to it sooner rather than later. 

“Come on, Love,” he said while pulling you towards him again. You were warm and sweating despite the cold air in the cabin and your muscles were tight as he shifted your body so your back was against his chest. You jerked awake as Shanks settled you into his side, moving your arms and ducking your head quickly to protect your face. The sight of your terrified and confused expression broke Shanks’ heart all over again. He patted your face and hair, trying to calm you down from whatever nightmare you’d just been experiencing. How could he think to get rid of you when you were so traumatized and broken? No, he needed to keep you by his side and protected - he’d work on his aggression. Maybe after you’d gone through your heat his aggression would decrease on its own.

“Shhhh, it’s just me. Go back to sleep, it’s the middle of the night,” Shanks whispered into your ear as he resumed purring for you. You closed your eyes again and tried to relax your stiff body but whatever you’d been dreaming about was sticking with you. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Shanks asked quietly as his purr rumbled through his chest. He wasn’t surprised when you shook your head in response to his query but Shanks didn’t mind. There would come a time when you’d want to share everything with him, and he was willing to wait as long as it took. To Shanks’ surprise, you rolled over and buried your face in his neck, feeling the vibrations of his purr on your face. He ran his hand up and down your back as your scent blossomed in the cabin. The longer he purred for you, the more your scent bloomed in the small cabin, making his desire to scent you grow with each whiff of flora he inhaled deeply in his lungs.

Holding you close to his nude body, Shanks couldn’t help himself from licking a long stripe up your neck, tonguing hard over your scent gland. Your wound was on the other side of your neck, he wasn’t going to risk reinfecting you, but the smell you produced was so tantalizing and potent he couldn’t help himself; he simply had to taste you. He also couldn’t stop himself from moaning softly as he ran his lips over your scent gland and trailed his tongue over the front of your neck. You tasted just as good as you smelled and he wanted more. He spent several minutes mouthing and licking your scent glands, wanting his smell to linger there as you shivered beneath his attention. He could smell your slick starting to pool between your thighs, it was said that the scent glands of an Omega were as sensitive of an erogenous zone as their groins. 

Shanks felt his canine teeth elongating in preparation for a bite before he pulled himself away at the last moment. His dominating side was roaring at him to bite you, to properly claim you, but his rational side knew it would bring you into heat faster. As he pulled back, Shanks noticed you were stiff and unmoving in his hold despite the purr still emanating from him, your eyes wide and wary of his next move. You were leaning back away from him, as far back as you could get without moving away.

“ ‘M sorry, got away from me,” Shanks mumbled his apology into your hair. He was sorry you were afraid but he wasn’t sorry he’d done it. Even Hongo said that you needed to have his scent on you, this was one of the ways he could do that. Ideally, he would have loved to continue his scenting and stuff you with his cock but he knew that would only ruin whatever small amount of trust he’d begun to build with you. He resumed slowly stroking the skin of your back, purring all the while. Eventually, you were lulled back to sleep by his soothing purr, Shanks feeling your even breath fanning across his neck. Drifting off, Shanks couldn’t believe he’d thought to get rid of you.

Your POV

You woke up confused. You were very warm and no one had come to wake you via bodily harm. You hadn’t been woken up in the middle of the night by someone pulling on your chains - and actually, you had no chains on. You were…in Shanks’ cabin. Alone. Covered by his blankets and doused in his smell as the late morning sun streamed through the window. You weren’t sure what time it was but it was definitely later than you’d slept in a long time. You blinked a few more times as your memories of the previous day came back to you - the rescue, the bath, the food, the scenting…

Shanks’s attention to your scent glands the previous night worried you. He had come back to bed naked, you could feel his hard length grinding against your ass as he held you close. You’d wanted to stay like that and try to forget the nightmare you had but he’d started purring and your resolve weakened. You’d wanted to feel his strong purr, to wrap yourself up in it as securely as the blankets around your body. So you’d turned towards him and immediately felt yourself held in place as Shanks licked and sucked on your scent gland. Between the purr, the heat of his body, his hard cock, and the feeling of someone almost lovingly tending to your glands, your mind was swimming in the face of the overwhelming stimulation. You felt more pliant under his hold, like any whim that came to his mind was yours to fulfill. The rational part of your mind screamed for this to stop but another part of you had come forward to not only accept his ministrations, but to revel in them.

Besides, it wasn't like you were actually going to tell him to stop. Those were all thoughts swirling around your head as you fell under his Alpha spell, but you’d let him do anything he wanted to you. After all, you knew how things went with an Alpha from your time on the Victoria Punk. You’d let him do as he willed, merely grateful he stopped before he bit you.

Alone for now, you took stock of your injuries as was your morning custom. Your neck hurt where Hongo had stitched it but that was to be expected. Your other sores ached as well but you were used to it and you hadn’t received any new injuries so all in all you were doing well as far as you were concerned. Looking around, you saw the Emperor had an ensuite you hadn’t noticed the previous night. Even Kid had let you use the bathroom when you needed to, surely you could now. After relieving yourself, you happened to look at your face in the mirror hanging above the bathroom sink.

Objectively, you knew it was yourself staring back at you. Who else would it be? But the longer you looked, the more separate you felt from the person in the mirror. The features that were once so familiar to you, that reminded you of your family, now belonged to a stranger. You reached up to touch your chin, the same one your Grandmother had, and pinched it hard. The body you were in registered pain but you couldn’t seem to care. Pulling your eyes away from the person in the mirror, you returned to your spot on the bed and hid yourself with the covers once again. You were hungry but there wasn’t any food in the cabin and you wouldn’t have eaten it without express permission anyway. 

You lost yourself in thinking about the person in the mirror while you sat in the bed for an indeterminate amount of time. You didn’t mind, you were used to waiting without any diversions, and you had always enjoyed spending time alone. At least here you weren’t in chains or bound in an uncomfortable position. The sun shifted as the day passed, bringing the warmth of the afternoon into the cabin. The way the cabin steadily grew warmer made you glad you were naked, you would’ve been a sweaty mess by now if you had been clothed. As you lounged and absently brushed your tangled hair with your fingers, there was a single knock on the door before it opened. You averted your gaze and brought the blankets up to cover your neck.

“Good afternoon, Sleepyhead!” Shanks said merrily, opening the door with his hip to bring in a tray of food and drink. You didn’t reply and didn’t look up, choosing the safer option of waiting for him to tell you what he wanted you to do. Even though he had been fairly nice so far you didn’t want to push him before you knew him well enough to predict his behavior. 

“Been up for a while, then? Why didn’t you say anything or come out?” Shanks asked with genuine curiosity while holding a mug of water out to you. You extended your hand to accept it but he pulled it away before you could take it.

“Answer me, Love. I enjoy hearing your voice. Why didn’t you let me know you were up or come out of the cabin?” he prodded gently. The truth was you weren’t going to do anything he didn’t tell you to do, but that wouldn’t satisfy the Emperor. He’d already told you he wouldn’t harm you but you weren’t sure if you could trust him and you didn’t want to risk incurring his wrath should your doubt be considered a slight against him. Instead, you gave him a half truth and hoped he’d accept it without asking anything that might put you in danger.

“No clothes,” you said in a rough voice before accepting the water as Shanks handed it to you.

“Ah, right. My fault for that one,” Shanks said with an easy smile and set the tray down on the bed. You watched him amble over to his clothing pile on the floor where he began kicking it with one sandaled foot. “Go ahead and eat while I look for something for you to wear. Those need to be washed, not for you. Maybe there’s something in here,” he said while opening a chest filled with fabrics. Rummaging through them, he pulled out breezy cotton shirts, loose fitting pants, and an endless array of sashes.

“Hmm. Not sure there’s anything in here that would fit you, but we’ll give it a go. Here, try….these,” Shanks said, handing you a billowy top and hideously colored orange pants. You set the mug of water you were still sipping on the bedside table and stood up to pull the shirt over your head. It had one button that sat below your navel and the plunging neckline left your breasts completely exposed. The pants were large but you rolled the legs up a few times and they would work if you didn’t have to run anywhere. 

“Well, that won’t do. Can’t have everyone seeing you like that, yeah? Maybe I could…hold on. Lemme go check and see what’s on the ship. You sit tight here and I’ll be right back,” the Emperor said while looking at your outfit. Sitting back at the edge of the bed, you waited patiently and nibbled at the food until he returned just moments later. 

“Well, it’s a mixed bag. The good news is that we’ll be docked at an island by tomorrow and I can buy you new clothes. The bad news is I have nothing for you now, so you’re gonna have to wear these. I don’t have a lot of, oh wait…I have one long sleeved shirt I think…the one from the time with Ace…" The Emperor was throwing clothes from his trunk onto the floor as he sorted them while still looking for something for you to wear. It was almost surreal, here was one of the strongest men in the world at your feet, looking through his old clothes on your behalf. He must have sensed you were watching him because he looked up and beamed at you. You didn’t know what to make of the gesture so you looked down and picked at a stain on the pants you were wearing.

“Ah well. We’ll be at an island tomorrow so we can raid their stores. Not literally though, we’ll pay for whatever you need,” Shanks said, stuffing everything back in the trunk without sorting or folding and shutting it by pushing the lid down. Your heart swelled with the thought of being on land once again, you hadn’t set foot off a ship since the day Killer had brought you to the Punk. 

“Can I go too? Please?” you asked quietly without looking up. After a moment, Shanks stood up and walked over to where you were by the bed. He put his hand on your forehead, the action causing you to flinch backward. As he touched you, the feeling of his chilly hand against your hot forehead felt wonderful. You leaned into his touch, wanting to feel something cold against your warm skin.

“I don’t think so, Love. You’re already getting warmer, you’re getting too close to your heat to risk going on the island. I’m not going to let anything happen to you but it might make other people uncomfortable with how much scent you’re producing. So, no, Love, you’ve got to stay here for now. I don’t even want you leaving the cabin until your heat starts.” Shanks was patting your hair, like you would a dog who needed to be shown affection lest it act out again. You nodded at his statements. Logically, it made sense and you understood why the Emperor had denied your request. But…it had been so long since you’d asked for anything and you were immediately told no. You were keenly aware of your place once again while you sat and waited for his next command.

Shanks POV

Shanks was distraught at the Omega’s minute reaction as he told you that you had to stay on the ship. He wanted to show you the world as he saw it, a place rife with fun and adventure, not keep you in a cage like you had been before. But based on your rising body temperature, they’d dock at the island just in time for your cycle to begin. The increasing smell emanating from you was already causing the crew agitation, even though the majority of them were Betas. Hongo had assured Shanks that once you’d started your heat and he joined you, it would be easier on everyone as your scents merged. For now tension was high on the ship, tempers rising and fights breaking out over small matters.

Shanks had left the cabin to look for clothes for the Omega, thinking that maybe Beckman or Yasopp had something that would fit you since Ben liked smaller shirts and Yasopp was the shortest on the crew. He hadn’t made it three steps outside the cabin before he’d turned around in disgust. Shanks couldn’t bear the thought of his Omega wearing anything but his own clothes, if anything at all. You wouldn’t be wearing anything from Beckman or Yasopp or anyone else on the crew as long as he was breathing. Turning around, he saw Beckman growling while talking to Monster, something he hadn’t seen in all the years they’d been sailing together. For the crew’s sake, he had to tell the Omega to stay in the cabin.

Breaking the news to you hadn’t been easy either, your carefully schooled features concealing nearly all your sadness as he said you had to remain in his cabin. Just the slightest wobble of your lush lower lip told him you were upset about his decision, though you didn’t voice any discontent. You merely kept your gaze averted as your hands gripped the fabric of the pants you were wearing tightly in your small fists. Shanks sat down next to you on the bed, crowding you with his physical proximity.

“It’ll be ok, don’t worry. You’ll get off the ship soon, just not now. You can be brave for a few more days, yeah?” You nodded as you moved your torso slightly further away from Shanks. Shanks moved around and laid on the bed, opening his arm to you, wanting you to receive affection from him. You took the hint and laid down next to him, side by side on the bed, your head resting on his bicep.

“Who will…help me?” you asked in a small voice as you worried the fabric of your shirt between your fingers. 

“Through your heat? I will, Love,” Shanks informed you with a kiss on the top of your head. You pressed your lips together tightly and closed your eyes. It was well known that if an Omega didn’t have an Alpha for their heat it was tantamount to torture, so someone was going to have to help guide you through it and it might as well have been Shanks. He was the Captain and an Apex Alpha beside, no one else was going to have the honor. 

“This will be my first time with an Omega in heat, we’ll both be new to this. We’ll go through it together,” Shanks said reassuringly, pulling the Omega up farther so your neck aligned closer to his mouth. Your scent glands were tantalizing in their nearness, he just wanted one small taste to tide him over for now. Flicking out his tongue, you couldn’t help but shiver when he licked over your scent glands as he had the night before. He wanted to feel you shivering under his tongue in other places…and he would be soon enough. Shanks began lapping your neck, making sure to avoid the area with the stitches. 

“Needta get you things for your nest,” Shanks thought out loud, remembering what Hongo had told him. He threw his leg over yours, keeping you still beneath him as you squirmed from his attention to your neck. He still hadn’t kissed you on the mouth, Shanks wanted to wait for you to initiate that intimate moment between you. 

“Afterward…after the heat…am I…” you asked him in between kisses, licks, and nips to the skin of your neck. You’d let the question dangle but Shanks knew you were asking if he’d free you. Another disappointment to come your way, Shanks thought. He’d find some way to make it up to you, some kind of present you’d like. 

“No, Love,” Shanks said, stopping his onslaught against your neck for a moment. He propped up his head on his hand, looking down at you lying on his bed. Your face was flushed and your pupils were blown wide, your body preparing you for pleasure at his hand. You looked radiant and it was taking a great deal of restraint to hold himself back from opening the shirt you were wearing further and sucking on your pert nipples. “You can’t go back. You’ve been identified now and there’s a target on your back. Unless you’d rather be sold at a slave auction, you should stay here with me,” Shanks said. Your face paled immediately at his words and your hands reached for him, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling gingerly.

“N-no, please Emperor. Please let m-me stay,” you bleated out. Shanks almost regretted his choice of words but seeing you reaching for him, for his protection, had his Alpha side crowing in delight.

“Of course you can stay, Love, don’t worry,” Shanks murmured into your skin as he kissed your shoulder where his shirt had fallen to the side. 

“You’ll be with me for as long as you’d like.”

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[daisymbin]

Prompt request thingy 💜

Wonwoo with 2nd chance prompt #45. "i wanted to call, but i didn’t think you’d pick up."

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second chance prompt #45: "I wanted to call, but I didn't think you'd pick up."

wonwoo stared at the ceiling, the stark white tiles above him offering no escape from the ache that wasn’t just in his body. the hospital room was quiet, save for the occasional beep of a machine and mingyu scrolling on his phone in the corner.

the accident replayed in his mind in flashes—skidding tires, the crunch of metal, the rush of adrenaline as everything came to a sudden stop. he’d been lucky. that’s what everyone kept saying.

but all he could think about was you.

“you don’t have to stay,” wonwoo muttered, his voice low and strained.

mingyu didn’t even glance up. “yeah, i know. but someone needs to make sure you don’t pull your usual stunt and leave before the doctor says you can.”

wonwoo didn’t respond, only huffed softly as he shifted on the stiff bed.

mingyu’s phone buzzed, and he let out a small hum as he glanced at the screen.

“what?” wonwoo asked, eyeing him warily.

mingyu pocketed his phone with a smirk. “she’s here.”

wonwoo froze. “who’s here?”

“who do you think?” mingyu’s smirk didn’t fade.

wonwoo sat up straighter, ignoring the sharp protest from his shoulder. “mingyu, tell me you didn’t.”

“i did,” mingyu said plainly, leaning back in his chair.

“why?” wonwoo groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“because you wouldn’t,” mingyu said, his tone firm. “and don’t give me that ‘i didn’t want to bother her’ excuse. it’s not bothering her. she’d want to know. if something like this happened to her, you’d want to know too, wouldn’t you?”

wonwoo opened his mouth to argue, but mingyu was already standing and heading for the door.

“good luck,” mingyu tossed over his shoulder before disappearing.

wonwoo didn’t have time to process his frustration before the door creaked open, and there you were.

your eyes met his, and his heart stumbled in his chest.

“wonwoo,” you said softly, stepping into the room, your voice trembling just enough for him to notice.

he blinked, unable to find his voice as you rushed over to his side.

“what happened?” you asked, your words spilling out in a rush as your eyes darted over his injuries. “are you okay? does it hurt anywhere? why didn’t anyone call me sooner?”

“i—”

“wonwoo,” you interrupted, your voice cracking as you reached for him. your hands hovered just above his bandaged arm, afraid to touch but desperate to comfort. “you’re hurt, and you didn’t tell me. why didn’t you call?”

your eyes glistened with tears that you were clearly trying to blink away, but one slipped down your cheek before you could stop it.

“don’t cry,” he said softly, his voice breaking.

“don’t tell me not to cry,” you shot back, wiping at your face hastily. “you… why didnt you call me?” your voice faltered, and you shook your head, your hands brushing lightly over the edge of his sling as your chest hammered.

wonwoo swallowed hard, his chest tightening at the sight of you—at the way you cared, even though he’d convinced himself you wouldn’t.

“i-i wanted to.. i wanted to call but, i didnt think you'd pick up” he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

you froze, your gaze snapping to his. “what?”

“i thought you wouldn’t want to hear from me,” he said, his throat tight. “after everything, i didn’t think you’d care even if you knew.”

“you’re an idiot,” you said, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and pain.

he flinched, but you didn’t let up.

“of course i care, wonwoo,” you said, tears slipping freely now. “how could you think i wouldn’t? you could’ve…” you trailed off, shaking your head again as your hands finally settled on his uninjured arm, gripping him gently but firmly. “don’t ever do that again. promise me.”

“i promise,” he said immediately, his voice thick.

you nodded, sniffing softly as you blinked back more tears. “good. because if you scared me like that again and didn’t tell me, i don’t know what i’d do.”

his heart twisted painfully, guilt and relief warring inside him. he wanted to say something—anything—to make it better, but no words felt like enough.

“i missed you,” he said finally, the confession slipping out before he could stop it.

you looked at him, your eyes still watery but softer now. “i missed you too.”

he swallowed hard, his gaze searching yours. “i didn’t think you’d come.”

“of course i’d come,” you said, your voice breaking slightly. "i still…" you hesitated, then shook your head. “you’re still you, wonwoo.”

his breath hitched when he realised what you meant, knew what you were burying even if you don't say it, and for the first time in a long while, he felt something like hope bloom in his chest.

you reached for his hand, your fingers brushing his before curling around them. he held on tightly, his grip firm but careful, like he was afraid to let go.

“thank you,” he whispered, his voice raw.

“for what?” you asked softly.

“for loving me still,” he said, his eyes meeting yours.

you gave him a small, shaky smile. “i’ll always love you.”

and just like that, the wall he’d built around his heart began to crumble, piece by fragile piece.

[starlightkun]

finders keepers ⇢ teaser 1

⇢ teaser word count: 1162 | full fic: 37.8k total (22.7k & 15.1k) ⇢ genre: sci-fi/science fantasy au, soulmate au, alien!jungwoo, human!reader, slow burn, fluff and angst ⇢ warnings: blood/injury mentions (but like, alien blood, if that makes a difference?), a couple needle/injection mentions, if u get secondhand embarrassment this one might hurt in places, a couple crude jokes about alien stuff iykwim (reader’s friends r kind of the worst), this fic is just a rlly sweet soulmate au i swear idk why these tags look horrendous 😭 ⇢ extra info: this will be released in two parts bc of tumblr’s 1000-block limit that was put in place to hurt me personally :)) BUT both parts will be released on the same day ⇢ estimated release: saturday, november 30, 2024, 3:00 p.m. eastern time (sign up for my taglist here)

At your building, Johnny and Jaehyun helped you drag the spaceman up to your apartment on the third floor, and you had them deposit him on your bed. Johnny brought his travel vet kit up from the car, and together, you managed to get the shiny silver jacket off of him. Underneath, he had a fairly plain white top, which was also torn and blood-soaked. Johnny snapped on a pair of gloves before he pushed the hem up to appraise the stranger’s side, where there was a huge gash in his flesh.

“Oh, Christ, okay,” Johnny sighed, inspecting the wound. “I guess I’ll disinfect and suture it up?”

“Just do it,” you mumbled, pressing a towel to the man’s sweat-sheened forehead.

“Jaehyun, mind assisting?”

“You do know the ‘Dr.’ I put in front of my name is just decorative, right? It’s in Poetry—”

“And now you can brag to all your colleagues that you’ve done real medicine like a real doctor,” Johnny snapped back. “Disinfectant, get it.”

With Jaehyun assisting him, Johnny made quick work of patching him up. Pressing the bandages down over the site so the adhesive would stick, Johnny then disposed of his navy-splattered gloves. He grabbed a stethoscope, putting the end up against the spaceman’s chest.

“I think he’s alive?” Johnny announced. “I don’t know. If he is, he doesn’t have a heart because I’m not getting anything.”

He shifted the placement, presumably to listen to his breathing, and an even more bewildered look overtook his features. Sliding the stethoscope over to the right side of the man’s chest, he sat there for a moment, just listening.

“It’s on the other side,” he breathed out. “His heart’s on the right side.”

“But he has a heartbeat?” You clarified.

“Yeah, he does. Faint, but it’s there. He’s breathing, too. A bit shallow, but otherwise normal. I think.”

You let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God.”

“I don’t think there’s anything else I can do until he wakes up. If he wakes up.”

“Right, thank you Johnny,” you smiled wearily your friend. “I’ll call you when he wakes.”

Jaehyun and Johnny looked at each other skeptically. Jaehyun spoke up, “You’re going to stay here alone with some rando we literally pulled out of a burning hunk of metal?”

“My couch only fits one person. So unless you two are offering to sleep on the floor to protect me or whatever?”

“Call us if anything happens,” Johnny sighed, packing up all of his supplies.

“Of course,” you nodded. “Thanks, guys.”

You heard the sound of your front door clicking shut as you stayed sitting on the edge of your mattress, wiping the spaceman’s face. He really did look human, two eyes that were now shut, lashes resting on his cheeks, a nose practically just like yours, with an elegant slope to the bridge, and a pair of plush, pouty lips.

He let out a soft sigh, his head rolling over towards you. But then he went silent and still again.

You finished cleaning up his face as best you could, then pulled the covers up over him. Readjusting his bangs that had been stuck together by the damp washcloth you’d used, you gave a final determined nod to nobody in particular before standing up. Grabbing a change of pajamas from your dresser, you got everything you’d need from in here for the night, then went to leave.

“Alright…” You stopped at the threshold of your bedroom, looking over the spaceman’s sleeping figure one last time. “Goodnight, I suppose.”

And with that, you turned the lights out, and quietly closed the door behind you. You were sure to leave it slightly ajar, though, just in case. After taking a much-needed shower and getting ready for bed in your bathroom, you headed out to the living room. You set up a few pillows and blankets into a comfy-enough makeshift bed, then tucked yourself in. Despite the exhaustion in your muscles, the excitement of the night hadn’t worn off yet, and you laid awake for another hour just staring at your bedroom door.

Waking up in the morning to sunlight streaming in through your living room windows, you covered your eyes with a groan and rolled over to bury your face in the back cushions. The sound of your phone buzzing incessantly from the coffee table came, however, and with a guttural groan, you flopped back over to pick it up.

“Yeah?” You mumbled, not even checking the caller ID.

“Y/N?” It was Yuta on the other end.

“Who the fuck else would it be? You called me at whenever-the-fuck-in-the-morning.”

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

“Couch,” you corrected him, swinging your feet over as you sat up properly. “I slept on the couch.”

“Gave E.T. your bed? Such a kind hostess.”

The mention of your guest woke you up more. You got to your feet, shuffling towards the bedroom with a yawn. “Yeah, you know me, I’m a fuckin’ peach.”

“So how’s the…” Yuta dropped his voice to whisper into the phone, “Alien?”

The door hadn’t moved since last night, and you cautiously pushed it open to peer inside. You could see the stranger exactly where you had left him, laying on his back under your blankets, chest shallowly rising up and down. Pushing further into the room, you hesitated on whether to try to find a pulse again. You settled for trying once around his wrist, and if it didn’t work, then you’d just have to assume he was fine.

Surprisingly, you found his pulse in one go, and it felt steady.

“Fine, I think,” you answered Yuta quietly, walking back over towards your door. “He’s breathing, he has a heartbeat. He’s just not… ambulatory.”

“Still passed out cold?”

“Yeah.”

“Imagine if he was in one of those comas that you don’t wake up from, and we just had to deal with this comatose alien.”

“Stop, you’re going to manifest that or something!” You hissed.

“Not manifesting, just joking.”

“You’re hilarious.”

“Anyway, some of us went back to the beach this morning, because Mark really wanted to see the UFO—”

“Don’t touch anything!”

“We couldn’t. The whole place is locked down. Couldn’t even park on the shoulder, it was swarming with cops. They were still putting out the fire.”

“Do you think any of the ship survived?”

“I have no clue. Doyoung said he’d ask his dad about it.”

Doyoung’s dad was the fire chief, making your participation in the conflagration last night even more dicey.

“Tell him to call me as soon as he finds out anything.”

“I think he was already planning on that, but I’ll make sure he knows.”

“Good. Also, I’m sorry for kicking you in…” You trailed off as you turned around to see two big brown eyes staring at you from your bed. “I’ve got to go, Yuta. I’ll call you back.”

“What’s hap—”

You hung up.

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[nanamineedstherapy]

Mouth to Meat

Cannibal Yakuza Sukuna X [Retracted] F!Reader

A/N: This one-shot is inspired by an amazing fic idea shared by @sukuna-ryo. Thank you so much for letting me explore this concept! Your creativity brought this to life, and I hope I did it justice. 💕

GIF by feitanporter

Summery: Dr. Y/N L/N is tasked with profiling Ryomen Sukuna, a feared yakuza boss known for his violent tendencies and taste for human flesh. Through a series of therapy sessions, she gains his trust—or so it seems. But Sukuna isn’t the only predator in the room. Behind Y/N’s professional demeanor hides a secret far darker than even Sukuna’s sins. When the masks drop, it’s clear: monsters don’t always look like him.

Tags: Sukuna x Reader Cannibalism Yakuza AU Dark Psychology Slow Reveal Manipulation Monster x Monster Energy Gritty, morally ambiguous character studies

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence Implied cannibalism Moral ambiguity (everyone’s awful) Mentions of child endangerment

Please read tags/warnings as this will get dark!

The room smelled faintly of metal and antiseptic, overpowered by the stink of Sukuna’s restraints. He leaned back in his chair, chains rattling against the bolted-down table, lips curved into an irritated smirk. Another day, another self-important idiot thinking they could peel back the layers of Ryomen Sukuna like some common criminal.

When the door opened, his curiosity barely flickered. Until she walked in.

Unlike the usual parade of interrogators or officials, she carried herself with a casual confidence. No clipboard. No body armor. Just a slim file in her hand and eyes sharp enough to cut glass.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Sukuna,” she said as she sat across from him, her tone light, unbothered.

His gaze dragged over her like a predator sizing up prey. “And you are?”

“Dr. Y/N L/N. Forensic psychologist. I’m here to evaluate you.”

He chuckled, low and mocking. “Oh, they sent another one. Let me guess—you’re going to crack open my head and figure out what makes me tick?”

Her lips twitched, almost a smile. “Something like that.”

Leaning forward, Sukuna rested his chin on his palm, the chains clinking with the movement. “Tell me, Doc, what’s the diagnosis so far?”

“You’re impatient,” she said easily. “And maybe a little bored.”

For the first time in years, Sukuna’s smirk faltered—just a hair. “Keep talking.”

She set the file down, not even opening it. “You’re not here because of some uncontrollable bloodlust, are you? You’re not a mindless killer. Every choice you make has purpose. Even your cannibalistic tendencies—they’re calculated.”

His grin widened, shark-like. “You’ve done your homework.”

“I have,” she replied, leaning forward slightly. Her voice dropped, just enough to draw him in. “I know you don’t just eat to survive or for power. You do it to send a message. To dehumanize your victims.”

“Or to elevate myself,” he shot back, amused. “It’s not about dehumanization, Doctor. It’s about taking what others won’t. What they can’t.”

She tilted her head, intrigued. “And what does that give you?”

“Dominance.” His tone was smug, matter-of-fact. “In every way that matters.”

There was a pause, the kind that should have made anyone squirm. But Y/N met his gaze without flinching.

“Does it ever get old?” she asked softly.

The question caught him off guard, though he didn’t let it show. “You’d be surprised, Doc. The taste of fear? That never gets old.”

She leaned back, as if satisfied, and tapped a finger on the edge of the table. “You fascinate me, Sukuna. You don’t just kill—you savor it. I’ve seen your records. You’re… meticulous.”

“You sound impressed,” he teased, voice low and dangerous.

“Maybe I am.” Her smile was small but sharp. “Or maybe I see potential.”

His laughter echoed through the room, rich and feral. “Potential for what? Rehabilitation?”

“Something like that,” she said cryptically. .

.

The sessions continued daily. Y/N’s approach was unorthodox—no lectures, no moralistic speeches. She asked questions that dug deep, steering the conversations toward his cannibalistic acts. Why this victim, why that moment? What did he feel when he consumed them?

Sukuna, for once, played along, curious to see how far she’d go. She didn’t flinch at his answers, no matter how grotesque. If anything, she seemed intrigued, even... amused.

“You’re not like the others,” he said one day, eyes narrowing as she scribbled something in her notes.

“Is that a compliment?”

“An observation.”

Her smile was polite, but her eyes betrayed something darker. “Maybe we’re not so different.” .

The room was quiet after Y/N left for the day. Sukuna leaned back, replaying their conversation. She was digging for something, and he wasn’t sure what. Not fear. Not control. Something deeper.

His tongue clicked against his teeth as he mulled it over.

.

Meanwhile, Y/N stepped into her dimly lit apartment, setting her bag down by the door. She pulled off her coat, revealing the faintest smear of something dark—something red—on the cuff of her sleeve.

In the kitchen, she opened her fridge. Rows of vacuum-sealed packages lined the shelves, each labeled with dates and initials. She reached for one, her fingers brushing the plastic before pulling it out.

“Meticulous,” she murmured, her smile stretching wide as she placed the package on the counter. A butcher’s knife gleamed under the fluorescent light.

As she sliced into the flesh, her mind wandered to the child she had rescued from an alley once, its tiny body trembling with gratitude. The memory turned deliciously dark as she savored the look of dawning horror on its face when it realized not every woman was as kind as its mother. Y/N reveled in the bitter taste of fear—fear that lingered, even after the flesh was cooked.

She set the knife down, adjusting the heat on the stove to a low simmer. A small smile tugged at her lips, wicked and sharp. “He thinks he’s a monster,” she murmured, almost lovingly. “He has no idea.”

.

Back in the cell, Sukuna’s smirk returned. His instincts screamed that Y/N L/N was far more dangerous than she appeared.

And for the first time in years, he wasn’t bored.

A/N: Thank you for reading! 💀✨ I had way too much fun diving into the twisted dynamic between Sukuna and Y/N. What did you think of their little “therapy session”? Who do you think is the real monster here? 👀 I’d love to hear your thoughts, theories, or even just your favorite line! Drop a comment and let me know if you’d like more stories like this—or if you think Sukuna ever stood a chance. 😉 Your feedback means the world and keeps me inspired! 💬🖤

All Works Masterlist

[mysticaltora8276]

Small problem with that. Amy Pond wasn’t special. She only had a crack in her home which made her special but she herself wasn’t special. Clara was literally touted as you know seemingly normal and just ordinary. Bill was also ordinary. Rose? Let’s see she is the bad wolf and literally a goddess. Donna is called the most important woman in all of creation. I don’t even get me started about Martha. Martha was abused by the writing staff, and it did not help the fact that they just didn’t seem to know what to do with a person of color. And it made the Doctor look like an insufferable jerk.

Yeah, Moffat does a better job at showing companions that are pretty normal. Save for some that have mental problems. Russell is better at drama, which is fine although I do think the sometimes leans up a little bit too hard into the drama. It becomes soap opera mill dramatic, which annoys me. Let’s just say I’m not a fan of that. I like him when they remember that this is a sci-fi show that can go anywhere in any win. I do not need the drama of. He said she said and love triangles. I don’t care if I wanna watch that I’ll watch a supernatural thing with a local vampire or something like Buffy.

I say this as someone who stopped watching after Capaldi so I can't say anything about after that but the reason why I prefer the RTD seasons to the Moffat seasons btw is that Moffat is incapable of writing a main companion who wasn't special - everyone had to have something particular or unusual about them, Amy was the girl who waited for the Doctor, Rory was the closest we got to this but he was literally plastic, don't get me started on River Song, and Clara was the impossible girl from the start. I've seen people (beloved mutuals but I can't quite remember which ones so if you're reading this ily I'm not vagueposting on purpose) say that Moffat valued mundanity more than RTD but his companion backstories refute that. Whereas Rose, Martha (Martha especially my darling Martha she didn't get any magic or space science she was just so incredibly brave and clever and kind, Martha who was mistreated by the writers and yet still is this stunning representation of look this is what ordinary people can do! This is how good they can be!), Donna, they're extraordinary in their ordinariness, and that's really emphasised and I like it so much more. I prefer how Moffat handled the doctor himself (but to a large part that might be I prefer how 12 was handled overall), but in terms of companions the first four seasons were the best to me because they really dug into how companions aren't special, they're people like you.

[goddessofroyalty]

hello! the fanart of Viktor with a baby you reblogged this week got me right in the soft feels u.u would you consider revisiting the Work/Life Balance 'verse? (random ideas: pregnant Viktor dealing with a minor illness (very minor, not a complication, no real threat to his health and no threat whatsoever to the baby, but Jayce is still fussing over them)? how a newborn affects Viktor's already hectic work/sleep schedule? either Viktor can't or chooses not to nurse and good papa Jayce does his part with formula and bottles?)

Kind of combined the second two parts of this into what I’ve written but more leaning on good papa Jayce helping feed their baby. Maybe I’ll figure out a quick 4th scene (to even out the POV’s) that focuses a bit more on Viktor’s messy sleeping schedule. Have also made a note of the first prompt as well to do separately.

I’ve given up and am naming this kid Naph as well. Why? Because it’s a nice easy name for me to kidnap and gods knows Arcane played fast and loose with League lore anyway. Also I like it and it has become the default in my brain if nothing else fills the space. It can be easily subbed out if I decide on something different later.

Warnings: past-mpreg, omegaverse (I refer to the baby as pup that’s literally it), some mention of after-birth pains (nothing major just a bit tender)

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

Viktor wakes to the sound of a baby crying.

“I’ve got him, don’t get up,” Jayce says as the sleep fades from Viktor’s brain and he remembers that it is their baby that is crying not just some random abstract one. Their baby that Viktor had given birth to days prior and had finally been allowed back home that day. The doctors happy with both their progress.

The bed shifts as Jayce gets up to go to their child. Viktor pushes himself up on his arms to sit up more as he does. Wincing as his weight settles on where he’s still tender from the birth.

“I told you not to get up,” Jayce says holding their son in his arms as he looks back at Viktor. It is a good image and one Viktor could get used to seeing. Will get used to seeing, as surreal as that feels.

“And I have not gotten out of bed.” Nor will he be. Not when he has a perfectly good and willing Jayce to get things for him while he still heals from the birth. To make up for you having done all the work to this point Jayce had said and Viktor had nothing to gain from fighting him on it. “What’s the time?”

“2AM. And you can go back to sleep,” Jayce says. “He just needs a bottle.”

“I’m awake now.” Viktor had never been able to go back to sleep once he woke. There always something he’d rather be spending the time doing than tossing and turning. “I can hold him while you heat up the bottle.”

“The doctors said you need rest,” Jayce says despite it being clear he needs both hands to keep their son settled which would leave none free to prepare a bottle as well.

“I am resting!” Despite how much he misses it he still hasn’t returned to the lab since he was put on bedrest in the final trimester. Working on formulas and schematics from bed can hardly be considered work. It’s just keeping his mind occupied. “Let me hold him.”

Jayce clearly wants to argue but he relents when Viktor raises an eyebrow. Carefully handing their son over and only taking his hands away once the baby is very secure and settled.

Viktor would almost be offended at the lack of trust but he all-too-well understands the impulse. It turns out newborns are tiny and so delicate. It is almost terrifying to think about all the different ways they could accidently hurt him. It is scary to even have him in Viktor’s arms but also nerve-wracking when he is not within easy reach.

“I’ll be right back,” Jayce promises, only taking his eyes off them when he physically leaves the room.

Viktor once again examines his son while he waits. He had hoped their child would have taken a little more after both of them rather than looking mostly like Viktor but it is still impressive to think mere days ago Naph was still growing inside him and now the boy is alive and experiencing the world, frowning up at Viktor as his tongue peaks out between tiny lips, followed by a small cry of impatience.

“Not much longer,” Viktor promises. If his milk had come in the wait wouldn’t have to be this long. But it is useful to know that Jayce can look after their son entirely on his own if needed.

Naph is still far too young to actually understand what Viktor is saying. Another louder cry being made as Jayce hurries back into the room.

“No, no, don’t cry, I got it,” Jayce rambles, sliding into bed beside Viktor, warm bottle in hand. He pauses when Viktor holds their child back out to him. “Uh-“

“You said you were feeding him, no?” Viktor has no problems with doing it as well but Jayce likes to feel useful. And Viktor likes to watch him with their son.

“Right, of course,” Jayce recovers quickly. Carefully taking their son back into his arms, offering him the bottle. It only takes two passes of the teat for the tiny mouth to open to let it pass.

“He is hungry,” Jayce says as their son makes quick work of the bottle.

“I suppose it was a big day for him.” For Viktor and Jayce they came home but all their son knew until the day before was the hospital.

“It was,” Jayce agrees, shifting slightly to allow Viktor to lean in closer and push the fabric from their son’s onesie down from where it had crept up to his mouth. “But we can all rest for now.”

Viktor gives a hum of agreement despite how he already itches to get back to the lab.

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

Jayce wakes to find himself alone in the bed.

It isn’t that unusual. Neither he nor Viktor can be said to have a normal sleeping schedule even before their pup was born. But Jayce still never likes it when he reaches out for his partner only to find cold bedsheets.

He pulls himself out of bed and shuffles to the main living area. There’s no point trying to get back to sleep anyway and he might as well check on Naph to make sure he hasn’t woken in the night.

Viktor had apparently had the same thought whenever he had gotten up. He stands in front of the blackboard they had set up so they can make any changes to their equations even when not in the lab, a piece of chalk balanced in the fingers of the hand resting on his cane as the other holds their son steady where he is swaddled against Viktor’s chest. A slight bounce with every move clearly to keep the pup settled.

“I put coffee on,” Viktor says, not even turning around to acknowledge Jayce. Not that Jayce wants him to – he’s perfectly happy just watching his partner and their child together.

“Thanks.” There’s an almost empty baby bottle next to the coffeepot. It’s cold to the touch so Jayce rinses it out in the sink and puts it to the side to be sanitized with the others. He makes Viktor a cup of coffee as well as his own. “Couldn’t get him to go back to sleep?”

“He doesn’t want to be put down,” Viktor says, looking away from their life’s work to their son. “Clingy. Like his father.”

Jayce can hardly blame his son for that – he wants to cling to Viktor too at times.

“I can take him if you need to write,” Jayce says as he brings Viktor’s coffee over to him. Tapping his partner on the arm with it before placing it down on the table they keep next to the blackboard almost exclusively for coffee. He picks up the old empty one and takes it back to the sink.

“It is fine,” Viktor says with a small shake of his head, his eyes flitting back to the blackboard. “I have nothing new to add to it anyway.”

Jayce would suggest Viktor go back to bed then but he knows his partner would have as much a chance of going back to sleep as he would.

Instead he joins Viktor at the blackboard. Close enough that Viktor can shuffle over and lean against him while they both try and figures out how the equations fit together and wait for the morning sun.

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

“Jayce!” Viktor calls because he is in the middle of wiring up the controls for the latest iteration of Hexgates and their son is crying. Jayce is just doing some paperwork, necessary, yes, but nowhere near as dangerous to be walked away from in the middle of.

“Huh?” Jayce asks as he sticks his head into the room before realizing why he was called. “Right. On it.”

“Up we go,” Jayce says as he picks their son up from the cot they keep in the lab for him to sleep in while they work. Out of the corner of his eye Viktor watches his partner hold their son high to sniff at his backside. “Nope. Must be hungry.”

Viktor returns his attention back fully to his work as Jayce carries their son into the kitchenette of the lab to heat up a bottle for him. He’s still at it when he two return, their son still in Jayce’s arms as he comes to watch over Viktor’s shoulder.

“How are you going?”

“Nearly finished.” The wiring had nearly taken him all day but it should be worth it.

“And then we can test it?” Jayce asks despite the fact he should already know the answer.

“Yes. They should lead to a less, uh, jolty experience when the jump is made.”

Jayce doesn’t respond, but Viktor can hear him pace around the lab no doubt bouncing their child in his arms as he does to keep the boy settled and not distracting Viktor’s work.

Viktor doesn’t alert his partner to the fact once he finishes. Instead watching the two of them for the minute it takes Jayce to notice himself. He had been told by many how lucky he was to have Jayce as the father of his child and, really, he cannot argue it.

[kurishiri]

18.5 . . . “ a meaningless emotion ”

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ notice ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ this translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to characterization or narrative flow purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost these or claim these as your own!

— 🤍 his side story, chapter 18. this is one you can purchase on your second play through of his route.

— cw: the very end may be considered suicidal ideation.

Alfons: ...I think I’ve had just about enough of this blasted sob story.

I slipped out of the bed and changed——if I loitered around the castle, running into her would be a pain.

(Today there’ll be some merrymaking happening amongst the eccentric nobility.)

It wasn’t as though I wanted to go out of my way to go there, but it was a perfect way to kill time.

—— Time skip ——

Alfons: Alright then, what shall we bet on next?

Drunken man: I got it! How about this oil painting that my old man said was his most valued one, not that I know anything about it!

Crossdressing woman: Did you steal that? Vincent… huh, who is this? Never heard of him. Isn’t it just a cheap thing?

Alfons: Hehe, I must say it’s quite unlike nobility to worry over the value of the good.

Crossdressing woman: But it’s not so exciting, you know, it’s better to have something that shows its value.

Alfons: Well then… how about I give a dream where “this painting is worth 500 pounds?”

Man smoking a cigar: Oh, that’s a good idea.

Whether it was nobility, drunken people at some street corner of the bar, the orphans at the East End, and what have you, they weren’t so different.

They would find any pleasure they could through gambling, liquor, or sex, so they could live while avoiding their pains and worries.

Drunken nobleman: Hey, Al, is that rumor about you having a recent favorite true?

Noble lady with gloves: Al, you mustn’t become someone’s partner! We need you to stay a star of all single nobles.

Alfons: Yes, yes, such was my intention.

Drunken nobleman: So you say, but your heart’s already taken by that person, isn’t it?

Alfons: Hehe, I digress.

Man smoking a cigar: …Let’s just leave it at that. If we question him any more, he may never come again, and that would sure put us in a bind.

Man smoking a cigar: Even if his heart’s got its sights set on someone, it’s fine as long as he shares some of that pleasure… isn’t that right?

Noble lady with gloves: Well, I suppose. Ahh, I hope my father gives up on matters of my marriage soon…

(‘My heart’s already taken by that person’… huh.)

When I heard those words that seemed to embody the soul of romanticism,

Kate was the one and sole person who came to mind, and for a moment, I felt called out.

——You hurt me so much and leave me in the dust, but now you decide to commit? That’s just cruel…!

At some point, the little robin had made its home within my mind, making an angered face and suddenly turning away.

(Hehe… it’s not as though I’m committing.)

Alfons: Perhaps I do have some guilt left in me… ah, it’s a straight flush.

Drunken man: Al’s win again?!

As I was staring in a daze at the trump cards raining and fluttering down,

just as I had intended, time melted away into idleness.

I ended up drinking through the night until dawn and having a meat pie from a street seller for breakfast, I returned to the castle, and——

Alfons: Oh?

In a stroke of bad luck, I happened upon Roger and Miss Kate walking together.

Kate: Ah... w-welcome back.

Roger: Hey there, Al.

Leaving aside the mentally strong former doctor who, regardless whether he was aware he was being hated on, would initiate a conversation with a light tone and carefree smile,

Miss Kate very obviously looked awkward.

(I can’t even flatter your acting skills.)

She was the complete opposite of me, who had a lot of practice when it came to plastering on a smile.

Alfons: Well I’ll be, are you on your way to a most friendly outing, the two of you?

Kate: Ah, no, we’re...

Roger: What, curiosity got you piqued?

As if to make a point, Roger wrapped his arm around Kate’s shoulder snugly.

Kate: Roger!? What are you doing—

Roger: Alright then, let me fill you in. We’re gonna be spending the whole entire day holed up in a locked room, just the two of us. Let’s get along now, yeah?

(This man needs to get a hobby.)

(I hardly have any intention of hopping on that cheap provocation.)

Alfons: Oh my, is that so? It would appear you’ve found yourself a lovely playmate while I was not around. I’m happy for you, Miss Kate.

Kate: …

I gave a smile to convey I didn’t think anything of it, and Miss Kate, as though hurt, furrowed her brows.

(Aha, you poor soul, you.)

I figured she probably wasn’t clinging to Roger in hopes that he would heal her broken heart.

I knew very well that she was hardly the type to be able to do such things.

Her single-mindedness in facing me no matter how much I refused or hurt her was staunch to be sure.

(And that’s exactly what makes her different from me… I suppose.)

(Well, whether she’ll make it out safely from the basement after being alone with this man is a different story…)

(But it doesn’t have anything to do with me, so.)

The moment I tried to leave, Miss Kate opened her mouth, as though trying to pull me back.

Kate: Alfons..!

Alfons: ? Yes, what is it?

Kate: ...I still very much like you.

Alfons: ...Come again?

Roger: ... (O_O)

It was such a sudden confession of love, I stiffened out of instinct.

(………Has she gone bonkers?)

(You do know I’m the man who played your feelings of love, and to top it all off, told you it was all a ‘nuisance’ and left the bed, right?)

And yet she still insisted on pouring these dazzling words on me; what else could I think her as, if not crazy?

Kate: Even if this all amounts to a nuisance to you... this is the ‘truth’ for me, so.

Alfons: .........

(Ah, now I’ve done it. This should be the part where I laugh it all off.)

I needed to make her think that, no matter how earnestly she threw her feelings at me, they would never get through, so she could give up on me.

(So that these feelings of love she holds for me amounts to nothing but garbage…)

(I need to laugh at her, to deny her——)

My mind knew that, and yet for some reason, my lips couldn’t form a smile.

Kate: Okay, we’re going, Roger.

Miss Kate, seeming as though she wanted to run from my silence, ran down the staircase leading to the basement.

Roger: Pfft, haha... I feel like I haven’t seen you so dumbfounded in forever.

As Kate’s footsteps grew more distant, I heard an unpleasant laughter.

I hated how this man would not seem to pay any mind to the feelings of others like that.

Alfons: ...Oh, believe me, she is far from the first who’s rendered me so positively dumbfounded like this.

Roger: Hmm? So is it safe to say she’s no different than anyone else to you then?

R: Because if so, I may or may not end up stealing her away for real.

While slowly turning for the staircase, those egoistic lips showed a provoking smile.

Roger: After all, it’s not like you’d really care what happens to a toy you don’t need anymore, right?

Alfons: ………

Perhaps the reason I felt displeasure rise up from within me was because the one before me was a man filled with haughty arrogance.

Or was it because she was the one getting stolen?

(Whichever it is, I shouldn’t care for the answer.)

(Because, in any case, I didn’t have such a choice to step even further into her life to find the reason for this temporary displeasure.)

If that was the case, thinking on it was foolish. And yet——

Her lips, which were trembling as she declared how she ‘still liked me,’

the palms of her hands, which were gripped tightly together as though grasping onto courage,

and those eyes that looked so directly at me, as if to say to not misunderstand,

were all engraved into the back of my mind, refusing to let go.

The heavy footsteps going down the staircase grated on my ears, severely so.

For the feeling of a favorite toy being stolen away, it felt extremely bitter.

(Is this… jealousy? Me, of all people? But, how?)

The notion of getting something I said I didn’t need taken away, and then still feeling displeased over it and whatnot, was much like a child’s selfishness.

And besides——

(…The most I was able to do was imitate love, feeling nothing but emotional disconnect.)

Alfons: …I suppose the biggest mystery to one is themself.

Labeling the jealousy I felt that bubbled up from somewhere in me as ‘meaningless,’ I threw it behind me.

Thinking on it more would only make my helplessness more clear than it already was.

Hoping to idle the time away, I walked to my room, when all of a sudden, a certain question came to mind.

(Come to think of it, if they’re not doing anything shady, then what in the world are those two doing in the basement…?)

For a moment, I felt a sense of unease.

Miss Kate, who had said she ‘still liked me,’

was with Roger, the one who spouted off some nonsense about ‘changing fates’ and whatnot,

and they were in the basement, where a lot of documents concerning ‘Cursed ones’ were abundant, which would mean…

Alfons: …Now that just can’t be. She wouldn’t be so much a fool as to not know when to not give up, would she.

I denied it with my voice, but my chest got more and more filled with that uneasy feeling.

(What if, even after I pushed her away this far, it was already too late?)

(What if she poured even more of her feelings into me, continuing to spend more time with me——?)

Alfons: …Should that time ever come,

A: Perhaps I should simply up and disappear, just like that.

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masterlist🪞 ╱ ko-fi ☕️ ╱ comms 🤍

NOTE: this is the last his side story i will translate, and the last chapter i will translate concerning alfons main story. thank you for accompanying me so long in this translation, to those who have read it all! it really means a lot to me! i enjoy translating for al lots, and i hope that came through as you were reading overall 🥹🙏

to those who will be reading his route in en, i hope you enjoy what this roller coaster of a route has to offer! theres a lot of complexities woven into his route thats sure give you something to think about. i translated this last chapter to close off the project, putting in my best wishes for you 🫶

i have heard from those who have read what i did for elbies main story that reading my tl has helped enhance their reading experience in en, and i hope this can do the same for you! or if you cant afford the premium stories or dont want to grind for these his side stories, i hope i could provide a way for you to access them more freely. again, thank you to everyone who has supported me, read my tls, interacted with these posts, etc.

its largely thanks to you that i can close this project and look back on it with positive memories! 🪞🤍✨

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ tags🏷️ ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ @drachonia

[quintessenceofdust88]

Ohhhh it’s so hard to choose—

🍼🍼🍼🍼 & 🚁🚁🚁🚁

(It wasn’t hard at all you’re doing my two of my favorite things!!!) 🤣🫶

HAHAHA and then you chose both, I love that! Thank you smmm for sending them and for the tag <3 Let's start with 20 sentences of Little Blobs for you:

“Hen, you don’t think I’m…” Buck can’t even say it; the possibility had never crossed his mind, and yet… It feels like his brain is short-circuiting as he revisits his latest symptoms in his mind. 

“Well, why not? You are a carrier, aren’t you? You told me that when you were debating if you could be a surrogate to your friends” She says, and Buck nods dumbly. “And, well, I know you and Tommy get… busy with each other very often.” “We…Well, yeah, but I take birth control” Buck says, frantically recalling the last few weeks in his mind and wondering if he could’ve forgotten to take the pill at some point. And then it dawns on him how frantic their wedding day had been, and yeah, he doesn’t remember taking it on that day. Or the day after. Or during their weekend honeymoon in San Diego (they had been… busy, as Hen would put it). “Oh, fuck, Hen, what if I’m pregnant?! I can’t be pregnant right now, it’s not the plan!” “Buckaroo, I don’t know what the plan is, but life doesn’t tend to care for it. Maybe you’re not; I’m just saying it’s a possibility and you should check it” Hen says placatingly. “If it’s positive, you and Tommy will figure it out; if it’s negative, you owe me 30 bucks for the tests”

--- And now for 20 sentences of CRASH!THAT!HELICOPTER! angst:

“You found your present” He says dumbly, his eyes not leaving the burgundy hoodie that’s so beautifully wrapped around Evan’s frame, making him look as cozy and adorable as Tommy expected. And, well. It might not have been the smartest thing to say, but he supposes there’s a lot of morphine going through his body right now. 

“Well, yeah, after you told my sister where it was as your helicopter crashed? After you wished me Merry Christmas and Happy New Year as your parting words?! It wasn’t so difficult” He answers with a somewhat hysterical chuckle. “What the hell, Tommy?! You’re too much of a coward to actually let yourself be loved and see a future with me, but not to send a farewell message to me through dispatch?! You’re unbelievable!”

“Buck…” He starts, but it’s clear he won’t get to say anything this time. For one, his brain is still working a little too slow to translate thoughts into words. Evan seems to notice it, and lets out a defeated sigh. 

“We… We’ll talk later, ok? Let’s get a doctor to check on you first. Sorry, that should have been the first thing I did” He says grumpily, and presses the button by Tommy’s bed. 

From them on, it’s a flutter of doctors and nurses, and Tommy learns the extent of the damage: a broken femur, at least five crushed ribs and a small concussion, not to mention the thousand bruises that turned his whole left side black and blue; he hasn’t looked at a mirror yet, but it can’t be pretty.  --- I hope you like it and have a wonderful week, my dear <3

[otomehonyaku]

DIABOLIK LOVERS More,Blood Stellaworth Complete Set Tokuten Short Stories ☽ Kanato ver.

Original title: DIABOLIK LOVERS MORE,BLOOD ステラワース全巻連動購入特典ショートストーリ English translation by @otomehonyaku Scans can be found here (courtesy of @karleksmumskladdkaka!)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

SUMMARY | This short story provides a slice of Kanato's and Yui's daily life after the events of More,Blood. Kanato suffers from a bout of nausea, but Yui knows exactly how to make him feel better.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Please do not reuse or repost my translations elsewhere or translate my work into other languages without my permission.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A vampire feeling under the weather, just like a lowly human? I had never heard of such a thing, and yet here I was, laying in bed while waves of nausea rolled over me.

“Ugh… It hurts, Teddy… What on Earth is happening to me…?!” The low groans of pain that left my mouth sounded as if I were chanting curses.

A carefree voice suddenly carried through the air. “Kanato, are you okay?!”

“Does it… look like I’m okay?!” I yelled, agitated, but my throat soon started hurting and I nearly choked on my breath.

The girl anxiously rushed to my side and rubbed my back.

“Ugh… Where is… Where is Reiji…?!”

“About that… I think he’s gone to the castle…”

I clicked my tongue at her bewildered expression.

When it comes to vampires feeling under the weather, only a vampire could know how to make it better. Because vampire doctors do not exist, though, I had no choice but to rely on Reiji.

“Go… fetch Reiji already! If you don’t… you must do something about this immediately…!”

A defeated expression appeared on her face as she shrunk in on herself at the shrillness of my voice. I knew full well that it was no use asking such a thing of her, but I had never felt this unwell before. My irritation only grew.

“Ugh…” I buried my face in my pillow, trying desperately to fight off the nausea.

“U-um, Kanato…! You’re only making it worse by acting this way…” Even as restless as she seemed, she gently took out a plate from behind her back and held it out to me.

When I saw what was on the plate, I clicked my tongue again.

What on Earth was she even thinking, offering me pudding of all things in a situation like this?

“You’ve turned into a full-fledged idiot, haven’t you…?!”

“I… suppose so…? I’m sorry. Kanato, I know you love sweets, so I figured… maybe if you eat this…”

Though I appreciated that she had truly racked her brain for a solution, it would be better if she thought nothing at all if she came up with foolish ideas like this.

“I’m sorry—I’ll eat it myself, then.”

“What?!” I retorted, watching as she started to raise the pudding to her mouth. Before I realised it, I had jumped upright. “Hold on a second! Why would you eat it?!”

”Huh? B-but…”

“I never said I wouldn’t eat it,” I spat. Truthfully, while I was in no shape to be eating pudding, I could not restrain myself when someone was eating it right in front of me.

“Will you eat some, then?”

“I shall. Come… hurry up and feed it to me,” I grumbled.

In response, she timidly scooped up a spoonful of pudding and held it out to me. I decided to put up with it and opened my mouth. I had no idea if I was going to be able to keep it down, but I simply could not bear to watch her eat it, either.

Gingerly, I beckoned for her to put the spoon in my mouth. “Ugh…”

“T-this is not going to work, is it?” she said, fidgeting.

I ignored her and swallowed the pudding in my mouth in one big gulp.

“Mm.. it’s delicious…” It actually took me off-guard how smoothly the pudding went down. It was as though it instantly alleviated the nausea in doing so. I found myself thinking sweets might have been the cure to my condition all along…

“So it’s just like Reiji said…” she whispered.

“What?” I blurted out.

A look that screamed oops! passed over her features for a brief moment, but she swiftly regained her composure. “Well, Reiji said…”

“What? What about Reiji?” I thought she had said that Reiji was away earlier.

“Um… actually, Reiji told me that you would instantly feel better if I fed you something sweet…”

“What?!” I called out brazenly, unthinking. “I knew I’d be healed if I ate something sweet, but… what does feeding me have to do with that?!” Maybe Reiji had only pretended to leave the house. So be it, then, I thought as I got up and drew closer to her.

”Yeah, I suppose it might have nothing to do with it… If you understand, won’t you please eat this pudding? Keep your head up, alright?”

After I hurried to take the bite of pudding she held out to me, she offered me another spoonful.

“I understand… If that’s what you want me to do, then keep feeding me until there’s nothing left!” I finally declared.

[nightmare--void]

Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind AU where Suguru erases Satoru from his memory and then Satoru does the same out of spite

But unlike in the movie they’re not meeting each other for the next ten years after that. Till one day someone leaks the files that were kept in the archive by the company that provides the service.

It’s been ten years already. Satoru touches an old ink on paper that forms a date like it's supposed to make everything feel more real. These memories are older than some of his students. He barely even remembers what kind of a person he was back then. All that’s left from his early twenties is a faint feeling of absence — as if he was missing a place that never existed.

Turns out it was a person.

«Do I just tell you everything I think about?» his own voice on the tape asks. «Anything? That’ll help to perform the procedure, right?»

He doesn’t remember this conversation.

He doesn't remember going to that clinic at all.

He goes through the tapes listening to himself — funnily familiar, — his words are almost petty sometimes.

«Suguru never wants to watch the movies I want,» the voice on the tape says. «He complains that I’m being repetitive. I’ve been watching a lot of new stuff lately, you know. I’ve watched ten new movies for the pas…»

His finger skips to another timestamp marked on the list.

«A Chinese restaurant».

«I asked him out that day. I wanted to go to that new Chinese place because I wanted us to feel like a couple again,» the voice says. «It's been a while since we went out together. Yeah, I've been busy, but he’s always in the wrong mood when it comes to anything I suggest. How is that my fault now?»

Does it still matter? That Chinese place he was talking about was closed eight years ago — redesigned to be a convenience store or something like that — now it probably belongs to some retail chain with all doors indistinguishable from one another. He’s moved two times since then.

And another one.

«He’s always sulky, you see. Even after sex lately. I can picture that… Ugh, I can picture that face he does. Right now, I can do it. And he always says he’s fine like I'm supposed to guess what might make him happy. And I never can. Can you get it erased first so that I don’t have to think about it anytime I close my eyes? Can you do it first?»

«This procedure is done in one go,» the doctor answers. «No particular order. Please, continue».

He does.

«He said I can’t change and he doesn’t want to force me. Well, I’m sorry I don’t like to let go of the things that I love. Is that worse than not being able to commit to anything even when it’s hard?»

«I hope he’d be happy if he knew I'm doing this. That's certainly a change, right?»

And another one.

«He never tells me anything», the voice on the tape says. «Not even when I ask. It’s like I know something’s not right but I can’t get an answer out of him. Or I can't formulate the right question, he'd like to answer. It fries my brain.»

«The other day he said we don’t see eye to eye anymore. Why can’t he just talk to me? Why couldn’t he talk to me till it was too late?»

And another.

«Is he punishing me for something I can’t understand?»

The room falls silent. Dead — haunted by the memories. Do they still belong to him or have they turned into ghosts by now? Separate beings with their own mind and will.

He caresses a postcard from Okinawa — unfamiliar handwriting and a ripped edge, he almost feels a salty wind on his tongue, — an old monster figurine, a plain white t-shirt that belonged to Suguru. And the pictures.

They’re so happy in all of them. But the voice on the tape keeps repeating.

«He got me eased. He got me fucking erased. He got me erased.»

Why the fuck did he do that?

Mad at the person he doesn’t even know. Like it’s the only thing that matters in the world right now. Like nothing's happened after that in his life. No new apartments, no new jobs, no new vacations, no new boyfriends.

He’s been through a few relationships in the past ten years but none hurt enough to even consider anything like that.

Because he never loved them.

Because he still loved someone else.

At least now he knows why his life felt empty when he woke up alone in that crammed apartment that somehow felt too big. And why it felt so lonely ever since.

He goes through the files — none of the records contain an address or a phone number. Or an answer to the question on his mind.

What if Suguru is happy with the procedure? What if the words — falling out of his own mouth out of spite — were true.

A call wakes him up on a Saturday morning.

«Hello, Satoru-u,» there’s a smile in that man’s voice he can hear. «I mean… Sorry if it’s too… Sorry. I don’t know if you’re a morning person or a night person.»

He gulps.

That’s him that’s him that is

thatisSuguruthatisSuguruthatisSuguruSuguru from the postcards who bought him figurines as a gift

Suguru who didn’t want to go to a place that doesn’t exist anymore

Suguru who didn’t want to tell him anything

who thought he can’t change or adjust to the changes — yet they’re both still caught

shit

SuguruSuguruSuguruSuguruSuguruSuguruSuguruSuguruSuguruSuguruSuguruSuguruSuguruSuguru

it's him

«Uh, I got…» he coughs. «I went to bed late last night.»

«Did you get the files?»

«Yes, I…» he laughs. «We were a shitty couple, weren’t we?»

And then Suguru laughs too.

A laughs that feels like a first sound of thunder after the drought — like those memories are dried flowers everyone thought were dead till the rain came.

«You’re with anyone right now?» Suguru asks.

«No,» answer’s too fast but he takes a pause before he says: «What about you?»

«No, not really. It’s not serious I guess.»

Satoru smirks.

«Not enough to get them erased from your memory, right?»

A joke doesn’t land as well as he expected. For a moment he almost believes Suguru’s going to hang up on him.

But still he continues.

«I don’t know…» he says. «I don’t know if I should apologise for something I can’t remember but I feel really sorry.»

«I don’t know if I can forgive something I can’t remember.»

Another pause.

Should he — if there’s nothing that holds these memories anymore. It’s like someone dug out a time capsule you hid under an oak tree when you were a child. All those names and events in your notes that were so important. Yet you don’t even remember half of the names.

It still hurts though.

«Yeah, I guess,» Suguru sighs. «I think there’s a bright side to it. We’re older now so we won’t repeat the same mistakes.»

«You think?»

«That's how it's supposed to be when you're getting mature.»

«Hm-m,» Satoru smiles. «I don't know about that actually. We're more experienced now. So we can always use that knowledge to make things worse.»

Sharing another laugh that’s warmer and more familiar like his brain is riddled with the scars that started itching all at once.

They used to laugh a lot, it strikes him.

They used to tease each other, they used to kiss and make love. He used to remember that person’s voice and face better than his own.

Why did he let go of that?

Why didn’t he let it heal and warm him? Because somehow he still knows that guy — he knows what'll make him laugh and he's sure they even talk similarly sometimes, using the same words and phrases.

Why did he let it go?

«Wanna meet?» Suguru asks.

«Do you?»

«Yeah. At least we’ll find out if we're the biggest idiots in the whole world or not.»

«I know I am,» Satoru nods as if they're in the same room and all of a sudden he realises that he doesn't want this conversation to end. «Besides, I think the company’s going to get sued after the incident. There're plenty of other idiots who would want some compensation from them. Which means we’re not getting another chance to chop our brains again. Do you think we can get some money though? I could use a new car. Or a fridge. Probably a vacuum cleaner would do. That's the mature stuff, right?»

A laugh that could belong to a couple of teens — head over heels in love — something he thought he never experienced.

Turns out he did.

And there’s still time.

[peachhcs]

https://www.tumblr.com/peachhcs/767959888939941888/httpswwwtumblrcompeachhcs767185748593164288

don’t apologize love writing takes time!

i love them and so glad they are communicating well ! i see will just taking more time to reassure making sure she feels a bit better more and maybe he starts calling her first more just to talk more and it helps a lot

maybe because she is hurt and cant play she comes to visit will for while doing some of her school online and it helps them a lot

part 10!! wow i can’t believe this accumulated so many parts. i think i’m gonna split this into two and make samy visiting will in california it’s own post if that’s ok and that’s what y’all want :) so sorry this one is a bit shorter than the others 😖

au masterlist

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9

it’d been almost three weeks since samy’s shoulder injury. she was getting a lot better every week and pt was for sure helping, but she still couldn’t play. the doctors hadn’t cleared her yet, so instead, the brunette was stuck doing what little she could at practice like legs or any footwork the coach had the girls work on.

she was bit discouraged because it was the first time since she started soccer that she couldn’t play every single day. it wasn’t something samy was used to, especially being so stationary all the time.

she left practice early wednesday night after not having anything to do. hannah was still in class when samy got into their apartment and that’s when her phone started loudly vibrating in her backpack.

“what the hell,” the soccer player cursed to herself as she dropped her backpack onto the ground and began rummaging through it.

she got her hands on her phone in the second pocket, her slight frustration turning to happiness when she saw will’s name on the screen.

“hi, will,” samy smiled when his face appeared.

“hey, pretty. what are you doing?” the blonde wondered while samy shuffled into her room to talk.

“came back from practice early today. there wasn’t a lot i could do today, so i just left,” the brunette shrugged, falling back onto her bed.

“i’m sorry. how’s the shoulder?”

“it’s fine. i guess i’m just bored and wish i could be playing instead of sitting around all day,” the two shared a frown at her words.

“have you tried doing other things that don’t involve using your arms? walking? running?” will suggested.

“yeah, but it bores me really quickly. i think i need things that are high intensity and quick moving. walking is a bit too slow for me,” samy chuckled to herself.

“figures. you did grow up doing the most contact, quick moving sports.”

“how are you though? how’s everything?” samy changed the subject. she didn’t really like talking about herself that much so she always made it a point to ask will about his day.

“i’m good. practice has been long, but it’s been fine. i miss you,” will hummed and that made the girl smile. even though they did just see each other about two and a half weeks ago, they’ll always miss one another no matter how much time passed since last time.

“i’m glad everything’s going well. coach didn’t kill you too hard for just leaving without a word?”

“no..not really. i do have to, uh, clean the rink after every practice for the next like month, but hey i’ll take it,” the blonde shrugged and it always amazed samy how nonchalant will could be about hockey sometimes because if that were her, she’d probably be freaking out more.

“well, i admire your coolness about it. thanks for coming to visit again, by the way. i liked seeing you and hopefully we can see one another again soon,” the brunette grinned.

“you know, i’ve actually been kind of thinking about that. since you aren’t really playing because of your shoulder..i was wondering if you..wanted to take that opportunity to come to san jose for the first time since you and my mom and sister dropped me off here?” will asked like he was asking his mom to let him spend the night at someone’s house when he was younger.

a flush rose to samy’s cheeks, “like..come to san jose? i-i don’t really have money or anything..”

“i’ll buy your ticket,” the boy immediately cut in.

“i can’t ask you to do that. we’ve talked about this, will,” samy flushed some more.

“i know, i know, but i figured it could take your mind off of things for a weekend? i can show you around san jose some more, we can do whatever you want really. plus, i have the money. i don’t mind. i wanna see you,” will explained his reasoning making samy’s flush turn into a pink blush on her cheeks.

“i wanna see you too. you really don’t mind buying my ticket? i..i don’t wanna make you think i’m like relying on you to do that..”

“baby, i promise you’re not. i want to. let me buy it for you and anything else you want when you come visit?” will cheered and samy rolled her eyes.

“maybe not that far, but i guess a trip to san jose won’t hurt. i have been trying to figure out when i can come visit you,” a smile crept its way onto will’s lips the more samy’s decision leaned to yes.

“exactly. let me at least take some of the burden off of you by buying your plane ticket.”

it seemed to be decided as the brunette slowly gave in. her smile turned into a grin and so did will’s seeing her pretty face. “okay, okay, i’ll come visit. next weekend i have no tests or anything to worry about,” the hughes decided.

“yes! i knew i could convince you. i’ll buy them right now,” will exclaimed and the girl giggled as she watched her boyfriend open up his laptop.

“i love you,” samy hummed.

“i love you, too,” will blew her a kiss through the phone which samy caught. she held her hand to her heart and giggled when will spun his computer around to show her the tickets he was thinking about buying.

[camillomea]

Child of crime alley episode 7:camera records

helluuuu. here is the new episode. thank you for your support with comments. please state your thoughts in the comments. enjoy reading -cami

Jason had returned to the cave after dropping Tim off at the cafe. There was no one there at this hour. He went to the main computer. He sent a message to Barbara

j- Hey Barbara, I have a favor to ask you. Of course, if you are not awake, I will write to you tomorrow

I-I am awake. But I will sleep. What happened at this hour?

j- About Tim

There was no answer but his phone started to ring. It was Barbara. She answered. Jason said “Hey I can ask you later”. He said to Barbara “I am awake, talk”. Jason asked “Do you know where he lives?” Barbara asked “I have no idea. Why are you trying to find him?” Jason said “I am not trying to find him, I already found the area where he lives. He lives in the Alley”. Barbara said “WHAT” in shock. Jason said “Yes. I met him in the evening”. Barbara asked “Did you find out exactly where he lives?” Jason remained silent. Barbara said “Jason”. Jason said “I don’t think he lives anywhere”. He asked Barbara “What”. Jason said “I’m having one of my men investigate but I think he’s homeless.” There was a boom from the other end. Jason said “Barbara.” Barbara said “Please tell me you’re exaggerating or lying.” Jason said “I’m sorry Babs but I don’t think it’s an exaggeration.” He cursed Barbara “Okay what can I do for you?” he said after taking deep breaths to calm himself down for a while. Jason said “I want to access the old camera footage of the cave. I want to know what the hell is going on.” Barbara said “Okay I’ll give you access.” Jason said “Thanks” and turned on the computer. Barbara said “But I want to know every detail.” Jason said “Okay.” They started investigating. The two of them spent the next hours looking at the security footage. They went all the way back to the first footage, they had seen Bruce’s handling of Jason’s death, how crazy he was, how suicidal he was. Then they saw how Tim had dragged himself into this incident, how he became Robin. Jason had stopped the recordings when he first saw Tim. “It’s too small,” he said in a low voice. Barbara remained silent. Jason said, “Babs, how did you not notice this, he is so young,” in hushed tones. His eyes were glowing green. Barbara remained silent. Jason cursed angrily. He took a deep breath to calm himself, then continued to watch. Then, when he saw Tim training with Bruce, Jason was going crazy, he was going crazy. When it was finally over, Jason had to work really hard to calm himself. Every time Tim got hurt, he used the infirmary after every training session to take care of his own wounds, and he had to dress his own wounds, over and over again. Barbara couldn’t say a word either. Jason tried to calm himself for a while, and then he calmed down and said, “Babs, do me a favor and reach Cass, she’s been in town for a while, hasn’t she? Send these to her.” Barbara asked, “Okay, what are you going to do?” His tone was full of anger. Jason said, “I’m going to find Bird and take him to Dr. Leslie. I don’t think he’s even been to a doctor in years. I’m going to make sure everything is okay. Even though I want to beat Bruce to death right now, my priority is Bird,” he said. Barbara said, “Okay, let me know what the doctor says,” and hung up. Jasom got up and took out his phone

J-hey bird. Did you get off work, are you awake?

T- my shift just finished, I’m going to eat something and go to sleep. Why?

J- oh well

He wrote and paused. *How will I convince you? How will I convince you* he thought. Then *I’d better get straight to the point* he thought.

J- hey Timmy well… I’m going to see Dr. Leslie for a check-up. Would you like to come with me? You know Dr. Leslie likes to check all the bats regularly

T- I’ve never been there before

Jason slammed his fist on the table. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself down. then

J: but you should go, it’s very important for your health, Bird. How about I come get Semi. Then we'll go to Dr. Leslie's and have a nice meal when we get out of there

T-…

t- okay

Jason was relieved

J – okay then I'm coming there bird. See you

He wrote. There was a message from Barbara.

B- I told Dr. Leslie that you were coming. He'll pick you up right away

J- thank you Babs.

He wrote. He closed the screen, got on his motorcycle and left the cave

Notes:

rip bruce. he completly deserve it

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

cry tears of puddles on ground here some incoherent snippets of what text partner about silco jinx father daughter dynamic that am going insane over rn hands n knees on ground begging sobbing n too busy do that to clean up or be coherent - n idk how much actual media analysis support by show evidence n how much it just me imagine things self insert wishful thinking - n there also may be from a few to many undescribed screenshots of season 1 because god have 100+ in camera roll

.

weak for father child esp found father child trope imperfect father but i will love you unconditionally i will try to be the best father can be for you even if i am irreparably messed up and so are you & imperfect child traumatized act out slowly losing grip with reality n will lash out will be rebellious ruin us all but you’ll be the best father i’ve ever had

(no diss on vanco tho)

him clumsily lift arm n hesitate n not know what to do not know if he should do not know how to do

subtle facial expression from “what’s going on what do i do” -> sadness (for powder n for his younger self) -> anger n determined n vengeful (for power n for his younger self) in span of seconds

“you’re my daughter. i’ll never forsake you.”

“don’t cry. you’re perfect.” AS HIS LAST WORDS

“show them. we’ll show them all” his voice echo after his death as she shoot missile. n she did. she did!!!!! to have so many people growing up not believe in her think her useless say that to her face - n her figure out how to use gemstone BY SELF with no previous guide!!! with no upside tech with only what she can get there!! build bombs now even viktor n jace n those people say near impossible disassemble without explode in face. n entire time silco believe in her BELIEVE IN HER SUPPORT HER. WE’ll show them. WE. n THEY DID!!!! they did!!! together!!!! he’s dead by time she fire missile but they really did. the fact his voice echo with her as she do it, fact that animation flash to his body as she do it— also fact that. every step of way they did. she top most demanded by name person, most threatening person.

doctor scene “are you ready to lose her” “she can take it.” FATHER

believing in her bc she can because she HIS daughter n HIS daughter can take it n also believing in her because he needs to he needs her so she will take it she make it she HAS TO because he can’t lose her he can’t be without her

a father who did objectively HORRIBLE things. with SHITTY morals but also REALLY HOPEFUL (word choice) ones in twisted way.

be complicated character who is shitty for flooding undercity with drugs be drug lord but in same time doing that because he truly want zaun freedom - like think it important emphasize its. not HIM be ruler of zaun at least not directly phrased that way but fact that zaun freedom. like he very much could just directly say “one day zaun be free n am rule over” but he didn’t say second part. he not altruistic by any means but also!!!! he is???

all that complicated cruel will-do-anything-to-achieve-his-goal-beyond-himself villain-ness in direct contract with having the ONE SOFT SPOT of his daughter who FUCKS SHIT UP who is DIFFICULT who UNCONTROLLABLE UNPREDICTABLE n he loves her UNCONDITIONALLY he spoils her gives her so many lee way

the fact that someone so fucked up someone so actively make things difficult for him. can be loved

no am don’t have issues at all

also calling jinx difficult n fucked up n ruin things with all love in world not in derogatory way. because. it’s like. am fucked up. am difficult. am severely traumatized. am want burn whole world down for leaving me behind for betray me. in many people eye am more trouble me than am worth. n idea of. a father who love me just the way that am call me perfect. even if. [ ].

n to call someone like that. perfect

n to. mean it.

to genuinely see n treat her as perfect

even after she mistakenly shoot you killing you - to be constantly put in jeopardy by her fucked up ness to be harmed n killed by her fucked up ness. to see mistake as just that - mistake. n to forgive you for that no questions asked to love you unconditionally despite that or even because of that. for her mistake cost you your life n for your last word be tell her don’t cry, that she perfect.

down to willing give up his whole dream whole goal whole purpose he fought for all these fucking years - thing he gave his entire life towards.

because he refuse give her up he refuse leave her abandon her use her as pawn

“you’re my daughter. i’ll never forsake you.” like genuinely truly believe he mean this he truly won’t take the deal with upside even if that mean zaun freedom because he refuse abandon jinx. he not just saying it to be manipulative or just saying be lying because he’s tied up with her have gun beside her he know she very much may fire

his “everyone betrayed you/us but i’ll never. am gave you everything” may be see as “you have no one but me” manipulative n maybe is but more importantly think that like. he genuinely believe that. like that his entire character origin. his entire motive.

the fact that she killed him n he don’t blame her one bit.

the fact the villain character clumsily learning how to take care of a child

he truly see her n treat her like her daughter not a pawn not a subject. more times than not instead of have her on leash as his subject he is leashed by her

to be so utterly broken n love someone

to be so utterly broken n be loved unconditionally by someone

two character who betrayed by entire world by people who once closest to them

n him swearing that he will never ever fucking do that to her. that they may not have other people they may have entire world against them but they have each other

n him FOLLOWING THAT down to his last breath

him not following that would have make his life n make more than his life so much easier

BUT HE REFUSE TO

also he didn’t betray her by lying to her that her sister is dead he genuinely believed her sister dead. leading to the funniest frame n line ever

“FROM THE DEAD???????”