#she did lose her innocence. she did grow up quickly in some ways. but living with zhi and ikiaq and healing from all that

[bradshawsbaby]

baby mine

pairing: rhett abbott x wife!reader

author’s note: been feeling very inspired by lewis rhett lately, and also in the mood for some angst, so here is where we ended up!

warnings: angst with a happy ending, pregnancy, blood, fear of miscarriage, medical crisis, rhett attempting to pray, and a little smattering of fluff

If anyone had asked you to describe your experience of pregnancy, you would have summed it up as follows:

It was easy until it wasn’t.

Your first trimester had been a breeze. Beyond a couple of queasy mornings, quickly remedied by dry toast and some fresh air, you didn’t experience morning sickness at all. In fact, you woke up every morning more chipper than usual, to the point that Rhett often checked that you didn’t have some sort of fever. He even wondered aloud over breakfast one day if you’d been getting sick in secret, so surprised was he at your perfect health.

“Not every woman gets morning sickness, baby,” you’d laughed, running your fingers through his hair as you stood over him to refill his coffee cup.

“Well aren’t you a lucky one?” he chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to your still-flat stomach.

You were. For a while.

As the weeks, and then months slipped by, your belly grew rounder and rounder as your pregnancy progressed, all the ultrasounds and tests coming back to show that you were carrying a perfectly healthy baby girl.

“She’s glowing, Rhett,” Cecilia often commented whenever you and your husband visited the Abbott ranch for dinner.

“I didn’t even know a pregnant lady could be that happy,” Perry added one night, chuckling as he watched you and Amy playing in the living room, Amy showing you a project she’d been working on in school. “Rebecca was miserable the entire time she was carrying Amy, I swear.”

Rhett just smiled in response, like he always did. “That’s my honeybee,” he murmured proudly, catching your eye and winking at you.

No morning sickness. No weird cravings or aversions to any of your favorite foods. No major mood swings beyond what you were already used to. No massive weight gain. It was like you were walking on a cloud.

“Better watch out, honeybee,” Rhett teased one day when the two of you drove to town to grab lunch, his arm wrapped around your shoulders as he bent his head to whisper in your ear. “I think Katie Hamilton’s gonna make a voodoo doll of you and poke it with pins every night before bed,” he chuckled, subtly nodding his head in the direction of one of your childhood classmates. Nemesis probably would have been a more apt description.

Lifting your eyes, you glanced across the diner, where you were standing in wait for a table, and caught sight of Katie, who was glaring daggers at you. The two of you had never really gotten along, but her look was particularly venomous today.

“What’s her problem?” you muttered, raising your eyebrows as you turned to look back at Rhett. “I haven’t done anything to her. Lately.”

Your husband just laughed, shaking his head as he smoothed one hand over your swollen belly. “That’s pure jealousy, honeybee. Because you look like a damn goddess right now, and she got fat,” he smirked. Rhett had never forgiven Katie Hamilton for all the times she’d made you cry back when you were growing up.

“Rhett,” you scolded, poking him in the side and trying to hide the way your lips were twitching in amusement.

There was a strange sense of justice in Miss Queen Bee, who’d made all the girls feel miserable about their looks throughout middle school and high school, losing some of her shine during her pregnancy.

“What?” Rhett demanded, his eyes widening innocently. He laughed at your pointed look, ducking his head to kiss you. “Sorry, baby, but it’s true. Pregnancy looks much better on you.”

Truth be told, pregnancy did suit you. And you assumed it would keep on suiting you until the time came for you to deliver your little bundle of joy.

But then your third trimester hit.

It started out innocuously enough. You tired out more easily and needed to sit down more often. Your back started to ache when you went grocery shopping with Cecilia or your mama. You found yourself getting winded when cooking and setting the table for dinner.

All of it just seemed part and parcel of growing a little human inside you.

“Honeybee, sit down,” Rhett would tell you whenever he caught you rubbing at your lower back, trying to ease the tension that seemed to be lodging itself there with increasing frequency. “I can do the dishes.”

“I can do the laundry.”

“I can run to the store.”

There was nothing your husband wasn’t willing to do for you.

But you turned him down every time.

“I’m fine, baby,” you always told him, even when you had to say it through gritted teeth to mask the discomfort. “I can do it.”

“You need to rest,” he was constantly reminding you, forcing you to take a break whenever he was able to.

“There won’t be any rest once the baby comes along. This is good practice,” you usually responded, grinning as you rested a hand atop your growing bump. At seven and a half months along, it was rather unwieldy at this point.

“You are one stubborn woman, honeybee,” Rhett sighed with a shake of his head, eyeing you carefully as you carried on with your household chores.

You were determined to continue doing just as much around the house and the ranch as you’d done before you’d gotten pregnant. You could do it. You could continue to make Rhett proud, just as you’d done in your first two trimesters.

But it was starting to seem that all your good fortune was drying up and that all the discomfort you’d avoided at the start of your pregnancy was now catching up with you in full force. Maybe Katie Hamilton really had made a voodoo doll of you, like Rhett had joked that day at the diner.

The tiredness was quickly turning to exhaustion, and the slight aches were evolving into an incessant discomfort that bordered on pain. You found yourself catching your breath all the time now, clutching your belly as cramps passed through you on a regular basis.

Every time Rhett asked if you were doing alright, however, you forced yourself to smile and told him, “Just fine, baby.”

It wasn’t that you were trying to lie to him. But you knew that he was always carrying so much. It seemed as if your husband was constantly trying to balance the weight of the world on his shoulders. Since you’d gotten pregnant, your health and the health of the baby had been at the top of his priority list. He worried all the time, even when you assured him he had no reason to. That was just Rhett, and you loved him for it. You loved him so much, in fact, that you didn’t want him worrying himself sick over something that was beyond his control—something that you were assuming was common in this stage of pregnancy, from everything you’d read and heard from others.

Today, however, didn’t feel very common. You’d been experiencing shooting pain down your back all day, to the point that you had to spend most of the afternoon curled up on the couch, whimpering miserably to yourself in an attempt just to get some of the tension out of your body. You also felt a bit nauseous and could sense a headache forming in the back of your skull.

At this point, you knew you were just being the stubborn woman Rhett affectionately accused you of being. You needed to ask for help. You needed to tell your husband how you were feeling.

By the time Rhett arrived home, however, the sun had long set and he was so exhausted that all he wanted to do was take a quick shower and fall into bed.

“Never been so damn tired before,” he mumbled, pecking you softly on the lips before tugging his shirt over his head and trudging towards the bathroom.

You would just talk to him tomorrow, you resolved, chewing on your bottom lip as you changed into a pair of pajamas and turned the covers down. That was probably a better idea anyway. In the light of day, you’d both be more well-rested and you’d be able to get in touch with your doctor.

Yeah. Tomorrow.

Rhett was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, his hair still damp from his shower, and you quickly followed suit, shifting until you managed to find a semi-comfortable position. Closing your eyes, you found yourself drifting off sooner than expected.

When you woke a few hours later, startled out of a dreamless sleep, you could feel the hair standing up on your arms and the back of your neck, a cold, uneasy feeling gnawing at your insides.

Something was wrong.

Sitting up gingerly, you sucked in a sharp breath as a fierce pain tore across your abdomen. You had to close your eyes for a moment to steady yourself, one hand resting on your belly as you attempted to swing your legs over the side of the bed.

“What is it, honeybee?” Rhett croaked from the darkness beside you, sounding only half conscious.

“Nothing,” you lied, biting down on your hand to keep from crying out as you slid off the bed. “Just have to go to the bathroom.”

Your husband simply hummed in response, already back to sleep.

Trying to quell the panic that was quickly rising up inside you, you carefully wobbled towards the bathroom, breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth all the while. Maybe this was Braxton Hicks? You’d heard plenty about the “false alarm” contractions that many women faced during their pregnancies. But this didn’t feel like contractions. This felt like something much more serious.

Flicking the lights on in the bathroom, you stumbled to the counter and took in your bleary-eyed, exhausted appearance. Your face looked almost ghostly, matching the ominous shiver that suddenly passed through your body.

You clutched your stomach as another sharp pain knocked the breath out of your lungs, which sent you tottering over to the toilet. Yanking your shorts down, you took a seat and then let out a horrified gasp at the sight you were met with.

Blood.

Your underwear was soaked with bright red blood, the metallic scent of iron assaulting your nose and making you gag.

“Rhett!” you cried out, your voice tearing from your throat so violently that you were almost worried you’d damaged your vocal chords. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the awful reality staring you in the face.

Something about the tone of your voice evidently broke through the exhausted haze in which your husband had been ensnared because seconds later he was barging his way into the bathroom, looking more awake and alert than you’d ever seen him.

“Baby, what is it? What’s wrong?” he demanded to know, flying to your side in an instant and crouching down beside you.

“I—I—” You couldn’t even get the words out, couldn’t bear to say them out loud. So instead, you pointed with a trembling finger, squeezing your eyes shut as tears began to roll down your cheeks. You didn’t want to look anymore.

Rhett followed the direction of your finger, gazing downward at the mess of blood coating your underwear and staining your inner thighs. His blue eyes widened and his face paled considerably, but he didn’t freak out. He didn’t jump up or start flailing or demand you tell him what to do. Instead, he reached up and cupped your face between his hands, his touch gentle yet insistent.

“Honeybee,” he said, his calm voice belying the anxiety that was currently making his heart race a million miles an hour. “Baby, look at me. Open your eyes and look at me.”

You did as he said, slowly opening your watery eyes and meeting his direct gaze. “Rhett, the baby…” you whimpered, a fresh wave of terror crashing over you as you caught sight of the blood once more. You could feel that it was still leaking out of you as you sat there, staining the water in the toilet a dark, violent red.

“Sh, honeybee, sh,” Rhett murmured, his voice as gentle and as soothing as it was when he was talking to a skittish horse. “Talk to me. Keep your eyes on me and talk to me. It’s gonna be alright. What happened?”

You were grateful that he was somehow managing to remain so collected and rational, considering you felt anything but. But that was Rhett. He’d experienced his own fair share of brutal injuries and had seen plenty of blood and gore between the rodeo circuit and his time on the ranch, so these sorts of things didn’t faze him the way they did other people. Your husband was the perfect person to have around in a crisis because he knew how to handle it.

You, on the other hand, did not.

“P-pain,” you sobbed out, able to keep your eyes trained on Rhett only because he was still holding your face in his grasp, his calloused thumbs brushing against your cheeks. “There was this p-pain—in my back a-and my stomach—woke me up—and when I-I got to the b-bathroom—so much b-b-blood,” you wailed, terror gripping you in its iron grasp.

The baby! What was going to happen to the baby?!

“Okay, okay, honeybee. I’ve got you, baby. I’m right here,” Rhett assured you. His voice was still calm, but you noticed a flash of raw fear in his eyes as he looked down once more. “We’re gonna get you to the hospital, alright? It’s gonna be alright.” You weren’t sure at this point if he was trying to reassure you or himself.

“Rhett! I need—I can’t—the blood!” you gasped out, clutching onto his arms.

“I know,” Rhett nodded, pressing a tender kiss to your knee. “I know. I’ll take care of it, baby. Just stay right here.” He carefully pulled your bloodied shorts and underwear down your legs, standing up and throwing them into the sink. “I’ll be right back, honeybee,” he promised, turning and hurrying out of the bathroom.

He was back in a flash, a clean pair of underwear and your favorite pair of sweatpants in hand.

“Alright, baby, where’d you put your pads?” Rhett asked, his eyes quickly scanning every available surface in the bathroom.

It had been so long since you’d needed them.

“In the closet, on the top shelf,” you told him hoarsely, your throat still clogged with tears.

If you weren’t so overwhelmed with fear, you might have been impressed by how quickly Rhett pulled down your pack of pads, tearing a couple of them open and lining your underwear with them before walking back over to you, kneeling down on the cold bathroom floor.

“Okay, baby, we’ll get these on and get you dressed and then we’ll get in the car and get you to the hospital,” Rhett told you, grasping your ankles gently as he slipped them through the openings in the fabric of your underwear.

As tender as your husband was being, you felt like you were going to be sick. “Rhett!” you cried, gripping his bare shoulders roughly. “Rhett, the baby! What if the baby—”

“Sh,” Rhett soothed, brushing your hair back from your face. “We’re not gonna think like that, baby. Let me help you up.”

It all felt like a blur. Like a terrible, horrifying blur. Rhett helped you get dressed before throwing on a T-shirt and a pair of jeans himself. You were vaguely conscious of the fact that he was grabbing towels and a blanket, murmuring softly to you, though you weren’t even registering his words.

Were you going to lose your baby? Were you miscarrying at that very moment, the blood that was seeping out of your body robbing you of the precious baby girl that you and Rhett had been so eagerly anticipating the arrival of? Your daughter? The one you had loved from the moment you knew she existed?

If you lost her, it would be your fault.

Your stubbornness. Your pride. Your refusal to admit when something was wrong.

And now something was really wrong.

If you lost her, it would be all your fault.

“Honeybee, c‘mon, I’ve got you.” Rhett’s voice cut through the misery of your thoughts as he draped a jacket around your shoulders, one hand around your waist as he led you out of the house and towards the truck. It was already running, and you could see as you approached that Rhett had laid down a few towels on the bench. “There you go,” he murmured, helping to lift you up into the bed. Once you were seated, he reached over to settle a blanket over your lap. “There you go, baby.” Closing the door, he raced over to the driver’s side and hopped into the truck, peeling off down the drive almost before he’d even pulled his seatbelt on.

You moaned softly as another wave of pain washed over you, clutching your belly and weeping softly.

“Just rest now, honeybee. Please,” Rhett begged plaintively, reaching over to rest one hand on your stomach.

“It’s my fault,” you told him, nearly incoherent with anxiety and worry. “It’s my fault. If anything happens, it’s—”

“Hey now, no talking like that,” he told you sternly, keeping his eyes fixed ahead on the road despite the fact that he wanted to pull you into his arms and hold you. “Everything’s going to be fine. It will. You and the baby are going to be fine.”

Maybe if he kept saying it enough, one of you would start to believe it.

“I should have told you,” you whimpered, tears streaming down your cheeks as you gathered the blanket more tightly around you. “I should have told you.”

Rhett glanced over at you, his brow furrowed in concern. “Lay your head back and rest, honeybee. I’m gonna get you to the hospital real soon.”

The nearest hospital was well over an hour away, but with the way Rhett was driving, he managed to get you there in under forty-five minutes. You were feeling weak and exhausted by the time you arrived, so your husband lifted you into his arms, holding on tightly as he ran you inside.

“Please,” he called out, some of his calm facade cracking as he hurried to the front desk. “Please, my wife. Help my wife. She’s pregnant and she’s bleeding and she—”

Before he could even finish his jumbled explanation, a couple nurses were hurrying forward with a wheelchair, firing out directives and guiding the two of you to a room down a long hallway.

Suddenly there were doctors and nurses surrounding you, stripping you out of your clothes and laying you down in bed and poking and prodding and asking too many questions and telling you to remain calm, but all you really wanted was—

“Rhett!” you sobbed, reaching out and trying to find your husband’s hand. “Rhett!”

“I’m here, baby, I’m here!” Rhett called back. But he sounded so far away. And you couldn’t feel his hand in yours, no matter how hard you reached for him.

“Rhett!” You were hysterical now, you could feel it. Your voice felt harsh and raw as you continued to cry out, the salty tears burning your eyes and cheeks. “The baby! My baby!”

In the back of your mind, you thought you heard one of the doctors say something about sedation, but all you could think about were Rhett and the baby. They were all that mattered. They were the only ones who mattered.

Within seconds, your mind grew hazy and your eyes felt heavy, your aching body sinking into the hospital bed as your consciousness slowly floated away. Before darkness engulfed you completely, you could have sworn you heard Rhett whispering your name.

You couldn’t say with any certainty how long you were out for, but as you slowly started to come to, you could feel the early morning sunlight pressing against your eyelids, so you knew a couple hours at least must have passed. Not quite ready to open your eyes and face whatever news the doctors had to give you, you just lay there quietly, the sound of your own heartbeat rushing in your eyes.

It took a couple moments before you realized that there was a weight pressed against your side, pinning your hand to the bed. Cracking your eyes open just the tiniest fraction, you glanced down and saw that it was Rhett. He had pulled a chair up beside your bed and his head was bowed low, covering your hand and pressing against your thigh. You thought for a second that he might be asleep, but then you saw the slight shudder pass through his shoulders and heard the soft sniffle and you realized the truth.

He was crying.

Your big, strong cowboy of a husband hardly ever cried. Whenever he did, it broke your heart. You wanted nothing more than to reach down and gently stroke his hair, to offer him some comfort, but it was rather difficult to do so with your hand still caught beneath him.

And then he started talking. But you quickly realized he wasn’t talking to you, so you shut your eyes once more to give him some privacy.

“Please, God,” he rasped, lifting his head just enough so that he could take your hand between both of his own. “I know I ain’t never been much of a praying man. Not much a church-going man either. And I guess You’d be right for not listening to me now. But I’m begging You, God. Please. Please protect our baby. Please let her be okay. And please protect my wife. I love her so much, God, and if I ever lost her—my life wouldn’t mean anything if I—oh, please. Please,” he softly prayed, his head falling forward against the bed once again as he quietly sobbed.

You felt your heart splinter into a million tiny pieces as you listened to your husband’s earnest pleas and felt his tears soak into your blanket. He’d been so strong for you this whole time, but the truth was that he was just as terrified. Listening to him now, you felt yourself falling even more in love with him than ever before.

“Sh,” you murmured tenderly, squeezing his hand lightly as you slowly opened your eyes. “I’m right here. It’s okay,” you whispered.

Rhett’s head snapped up at the sound of your voice and he turned to look at you, his beautiful blue eyes bloodshot and heavy laden with the weight of his sorrow.

“Honeybee,” he breathed out, rising from his chair so that he could lean over you and press a soft kiss to your lips. “Oh, baby, there you are. There you are,” he whispered, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

“What happened?” you asked him in a small voice, terrified to actually know the answer.

“They had to sedate you a little bit, baby,” Rhett explained, smoothing your hair back with one hand. “You were getting real upset and they figured it would make it easier to do their exams. They ran a few tests and they’ve been monitoring you this whole time.”

“But the baby,” you said, gazing up at him with worried eyes. “What did they say about the baby?”

Was your baby going to make it?

Rhett’s expression fell slightly, which made your heart jump into your throat. “They haven’t said anything yet, honeybee. I think they’ve been waiting for you to wake up.”

You could feel the tears pricking your eyes again. “I’m scared, Rhett,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” Rhett nodded solemnly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “So am I.” He ran a hand over your belly, bending his head to kiss it and then rest his cheek atop it. “Mommy and Daddy are right here, baby girl,” he whispered, his voice thick with feeling.

Swallowing the emotion that was threatening to drown you, you reached down and carded your fingers through Rhett’s hair, holding him close to you.

At that moment, the door to your room popped open and a nurse stuck her head inside. “Oh! Mrs. Abbott, you’re awake! I’ll go get the doctor,” she said, scurrying off before you could even open your mouth.

Turning to look at Rhett, you saw the fear that you had been battling all night reflected in his eyes as he lifted your hand and pressed it to his lips. He opened his mouth, as if to reassure you that it was going to be okay, but then he seemed to think better of it.

Was it going to be okay?

You didn’t think minutes had ever ticked by slower. By the time the door finally opened again, an older doctor in a white lab coat stepping into the room, you thought you were going to jump out of your skin. You must have startled slightly because Rhett rested his hand on your arm, stroking it softly in comfort.

“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Abbott,” the doctor said with a kind smile. He had lines around his eyes that told you he had spent a lot of time laughing and smiling. It was a strange detail to notice at that moment, given the circumstances, but you found it oddly comforting. His smile was focused on you as he pulled up a stool and sat beside your bed, across from Rhett. “My name is Dr. Cunningham. I’m the obstetrician on call, and I’m the one who examined you when you came in.”

“I don’t really remember,” you admitted, a bit embarrassed as you shook your head slowly.

“That’s quite alright. You had quite a shock, and things were a bit hectic when you came in,” Dr. Cunningham replied gently, his voice and demeanor putting you at ease. “We felt it was best to put you under a light sedation so that we could examine you without causing any more distress,” he explained.

You felt Rhett’s fingers wrapping around yours, squeezing gently. Your free hand moved to rest atop your rounded belly, as if trying to shield your child from the doctor’s words.

“Dr. Cunningham, please tell us. Is our baby okay?” you asked, your voice cracking towards the end. Fat, hot tears began to spill forth once more, dribbling down your cheeks and spilling off your chin.

The gray-haired doctor reached out to rest a consoling hand on your arm. “Your baby is just fine. In fact, she’s perfect.”

More precious words had never been spoken. Letting out a loud sob of relief, you turned to look at Rhett, who was already up out of his seat, reaching for you. Burying your face in his neck, you wept for joy, his tears spilling into your hair as he rubbed your back with his large hands.

Dr. Cunningham tactfully sat back and allowed the two of you to take a private moment to rest in the solace of his news.

“She’s okay,” you whispered, your lips ghosting across your husband’s skin. “She’s okay.” You said it over and over again until the words took root under your skin, in your brain, in your heart.

Rhett nodded, pressing kisses to the top of your head. “She’s okay, honeybee,” he murmured in response, reaching down to rest his hand over yours, where it was still clutching your belly.

After a couple more moments, Rhett shifted and sat back in his chair, his fingers still tightly intertwined with yours. “So what happened, Dr. Cunningham? Why was she bleeding?”

Taking on a look of deep professionalism, Dr. Cunningham leaned forward and flipped open your medical chart. “It seems, Mrs. Abbott, that you were experiencing something known as placenta previa. It’s fairly rare, but women have been known to experience it in the third trimester of their pregnancies.” At yours and Rhett’s concerned looks, he hastened to explain. “Basically, the placenta was partially covering the opening in your cervix. That’s what caused the bleeding, and the pain I’m sure you were experiencing.”

“But the baby’s okay?” you questioned, suddenly doubting the validity of that statement. “I mean, there was so much blood and—”

“Your baby is fine, I promise you,” Dr. Cunningham interjected, patting your arm in a fatherly gesture. “I ran the tests myself. Fetal heartbeat is strong and vitals look good—for both of you. I know this must have been traumatic, but we’ve stopped the bleeding. That’s what’s most important. And thankfully, your case was fairly mild as far as placenta previa goes.”

“Is it life threatening?” you asked, sensing without having to look at him the way Rhett tensed up beside you.

Dr. Cunningham hesitated a moment before answering truthfully. “It can be. But like I said, your case was thankfully on the milder side. And it’s good your husband got you here as fast as he did.”

Gazing at Rhett, you reached out to cup his cheek, caressing his skin lightly with your thumb. His blue eyes were focused on you as he turned his head to brush a kiss against the palm of your hand.

“What do we need to do?” he asked, tearing his gaze away from your face to look at the doctor. “Whatever she needs. I want to make sure that the both of them stay safe,” he said, his eyes flicking down to your stomach.

“Bed rest is key,” Dr. Cunningham emphasized firmly. “I suspect pushing your body a bit too hard may have had something to do with this. So limiting all physical activity is crucial.”

“Done,” Rhett nodded, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. “She’s not gonna lift a finger, I promise.”

“That also means no sex,” Dr. Cunningham said bluntly, looking between the two of you. “From here on out, you’re going to have to refrain from any sexual activity. We don’t want to risk a placental abruption.”

Rhett nodded again, despite that bit of news being less than enthusing. “Understood,” he said firmly. “Anything to keep the baby safe.”

“I’m also going to write you a prescription for a medication to prevent early labor,” the doctor said, looking at you. At your alarmed expression, he held up his hands. “A precautionary measure, that’s all. Everything is going to be fine. So long as you take your bed rest seriously, you should be able to have a very healthy labor and delivery—at the appropriate time.”

“Thank you, Dr. Cunningham,” you murmured, your head swimming as you tried to take in all this information.

As if reading your mind, Dr. Cunningham smiled and rose from his stool. “I know that was a lot that I threw at you. I’ll give the two of you some time to talk and decompress. We’d like to keep you overnight, Mrs. Abbott, just to monitor things, but you should be good to go tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you,” Rhett said, rising as well and holding out his hand for a sturdy handshake.

“Of course,” Dr. Cunningham nodded, smiling as he stepped towards the door. “If you need anything, don’t be afraid to call.”

As soon as he was gone, Rhett collapsed back into his chair, running his hands down his face and letting out a deep sigh. “Thank God,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “Thank You, God.”

Running your hands over your belly, you were startled when you suddenly felt a swift kick to your lower abdomen.

There she was. There was your baby girl.

Lowering your head, you began to sob all over again, relief coursing through your veins.

“Aw, hey, baby,” Rhett murmured, standing up and leaning over you, brushing your tears away with the tips of his fingers. “Don’t cry. It’s all going to be okay. You heard the doctor. You and baby girl are going to be okay.”

“I know,” you nodded, sniffling. “I can feel her,” you explained, grabbing his hand and pressing it tightly across your stomach.

It took a minute, but you knew Rhett had felt her moving the second his eyes lit up and his face split into the hugest grin you’d ever seen.

“There she is,” he mumbled in awe, crouching down to kiss the spot where he’d felt her kick. “There you are, baby girl,” he said, speaking directly to her. “You gave us a quite a scare. But you’re alright. You and your mama are both alright. I love you both so much, you know that? You’re my whole world,” he told her, massaging your belly with shockingly gentle fingers.

“And you’re ours,” you murmured, running your fingers through his hair.

Rhett lifted his eyes and captured your hand between both of his, peppering it with soft kisses.

“God, you had me so scared, honeybee,” he admitted, stroking your wrist with his calloused fingers.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my whole life,” you confessed in return, biting down roughly on your lower lip to keep from crying again.

Rhett was quiet for a moment, just gazing at you. “Baby?” he prompted, pulling his chair closer to the head of the bed and sitting back down. “Can I ask you something?”

You nodded, resting your head back against your pillows.

“On the drive here—well, I know you were upset and barely thinking straight. But you kept saying you should have told me something,” Rhett explained slowly, looking into your eyes. “What was it, honeybee? What should you have told me?”

You lowered your head at his words, shame blazing through you. Dr. Cunningham had said you’d been pushing yourself too hard, which had probably contributed to this condition. Why hadn’t you just been honest with your husband? Why had you tried to keep your troubles from him?

“Baby, please. Talk to me,” Rhett begged, stroking your hand gently.

“I—I should have told you that—that I’ve been struggling these past few weeks,” you confessed, your voice tinged with guilt and regret. “I felt like everything was going so smoothly, and then as soon as my third trimester hit, everything caught up to me all at once. I was tired all the time, and sometimes I would get this terrible pain in my back. And it was hard to do all the things I normally do around the house.”

“Honeybee, why didn’t you tell me?” Rhett demanded, looking hurt that you’d kept this from him.

“I—I’m sorry that I didn’t,” you apologized in a small voice, chin trembling. “You asked so many times if I was okay and I should have just been honest with you. But…I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want you to know.”

“Why?” Rhett pressed, lifting your hand to his cheek. “Don’t you know you can tell me anything?”

You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment as you nodded, a few salty tears streaming out of your closed lids. “I know. I do know that. But I didn’t want to worry you. And you just—you seemed so happy, you know? So proud of the fact that everything was going so smoothly with my pregnancy. That it was so easy.” You shrugged your shoulders sadly, voicing out loud the truth that you hadn’t wanted to admit. “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

Rhett sucked in a breath, his eyes widening as he looked up at you. “Oh, baby,” he breathed out, practically knocking his chair backward in his haste to stand up and take your face in his hands. “Baby,” he said again, kissing you softly. “You could never disappoint me. Never. I’m so proud of you always. Did you really think I would be disappointed that you were having a hard time?”

“I don’t know,” you sniffled, wiping at your nose with the back of your hand. “I just—I wanted you to be happy.”

“Honeybee,” he said gently, stroking your cheek. “I’m happy when you’re happy. The only reason I was so happy that your pregnancy was so easy is because I hate watching you suffer. It had nothing to do with me being proud of you or not,” he said firmly, brushing your hair behind your ear. “I’m so proud of you. So, so proud. Especially after all this.”

You started crying in earnest at his words, the floodgates of your heart opening as you let loose all the worry and anxiety and stress you’d been feeling lately. Rhett just held you and let you cry, rubbing small, soothing circles on your back.

“I love you so much, honeybee,” he whispered, resting his cheek atop your head.

“I love you, too,” you told him, burying your face in his chest.

The two of you sat together in peaceful silence for a while, the soft hum and beeps of monitors the only sounds in the room.

“I’m sorry, Rhett,” you finally said, your voice a little hoarse from all your tears. “I should have been honest with you. I put our daughter’s life at risk because of it.”

“Hey,” he murmured, shaking his head as he cupped your face in his hands. “No blaming yourself. She’s okay, and you’re okay, and that’s all that matters,” he insisted, kissing your forehead.

“I promise I won’t keep anything from you again,” you vowed, resting a hand over one of his and stroking the back of it with your thumb.

“You can always tell me everything, honeybee. Always,” Rhett promised you, lowering his forehead until it was pressed against yours.

“Everything?” you asked, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Everything,” he nodded.

“Okay, well in that case—I’m a little bummed that we can’t have anymore sex until after the baby comes,” you said, your eyes twinkling as your mouth curved up in amusement.

Rhett blinked a couple times in surprise, then threw his head back laughing. “There’s my honeybee,” he teased, kissing the tip of your nose. “Truth be told, I’m a little bummed, too,” he grinned.

“You really going to hold me to that bed rest rule like you told Dr. Cunningham?” you chuckled, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“You bet your ass I am, you stubborn woman,” Rhett shot back, arching his eyebrows pointedly.

You laughed aloud at that, poking him affectionately. “But I’m your stubborn woman.”

“That you are, honeybee,” Rhett smiled, running a finger along your wedding band as he took his seat beside you once more. “That you are.”

#rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #rhett x reader #x reader #x female reader #outer range #lewis pullman

[inverswayart]

My FNV brainrot is slowly receding so I'm gonna put out some headcanons and stuff so it would be somewhere other than my brain

First of all is my girl Carla, let's go:

- she has at least one younger sibling

- she was among the first settlers to move in after Mr. House started renovating New Vegas. Her family hoped to start anew here, but Carla was the only one who managed to get and keep her job. Her family had to move out pretty soon and so Carla stayed and sent them part of money she made

- she worked as a waitress in the Tops restaurant, and grew to resent the place

- met Innocence once, almost accidentally - Carla and some of her coworkers got out to party at their day off and stumbled into Ino celebrating getting new job and making first successful delivery. They didn't talk much, but Ino bought them a round of drinks and dragged them to the dancefloor. Carla remembers it fondly afterwards

- despite her dislike of the Strip and the way it operated Carla had to stay there because the credit check just kept growing and growing and if she tried to even visit her family she wouldn't be able to return and would lose her job

- She had to settle for letters to keep up the connection, but in the end it didn't help - she wasn't ready to give up the comforts of the Strip just yet and so refused to move in with them on the small farm they settled in. Her family grew to resent her for that, seeing her refusal as a sign of vanity and her thinking she is too good for them now. Eventually, misunderstandings turned into animosity and letters stopped. Carla was left completely alone in a city she now hated

- Ironically it's her growing depressive tendencies that made her connect with Boone that quickly - they recognised that note of quiet despair in each other

- The other things Carla liked in Boone were that he didn't waste words and got straight to the point, was the most honest guy she's met since quite some time, didn't mind her talking his ears off about anything. And also that he's built like a giant teddy bear - perfect for hugging with her height

- After moving to Novac Carla took up the room service in motel cause there was literally nothing else she could do in Novac and doing nothing would kill her with boredom

- After years in Vegas Carla was so fed up with smiling and hiding what she thinks that she vowed to herself to speak her mind from now on (the fact that Jeannie May wasn't an entire crime family helped with that too)

- Carla mostly took care of rooms for traveling merchants. The only constant resident she did room service for was Ranger Andy, since his injuries made it really hard for him too keep his bungalow in order. Eventually Carla warmed up to him and they became friends

- Most of the time Carla clashed with Jeannie May on the ground of her motel not living up to it's price tag, especially in comparison with the Strip and Freeside

- In New Vegas Carla picked up smoking habit, and it became even worse after moving to Novac - she really smoked like chimney. The only time she tried to quit was when she learned she was pregnant, but it was a partial success - while way less than before, but she still smoked

Btw at least 70% of those came to be thanks to lovely @vaguely-concerned

#tag for words #carla boone #craig boone #fallout new vegas #fallout #fnv #novac #headcanons

[okiroash]

I need to ramble about Yomiel real quick (he's been living in my head rent free 💥)

usually I don't like villains who do bad things just because their backstory is tragic but Yomiel is different, he's.. very balanced in both sides? I'm not sure how to describe it

He was literally just some guy, did nothing wrong in his life (except, maybe that hair of his- which I am quickly growing fond of)

It all spiraled when he accepted a job to help them organize the nation's secrets

But then he got accused of being spy and was threatened to ruin his life for a statement (it drove him into hopelesness.

he shouldn't have taken the gun, but it was his only 'light' at that time..

Now- from an outsider perspective one would think "oh what the fuck, why did you take her hostage" ..and hm. I still think like this LOL

but desperation and panic can influence one's behaviour, how it becomes hard to think reasonably.. especially when time is running out FAST. doesn't excuse what he did but I think it's important to know what led him to do this

And then.. oh god, him having to see his fiancee die because she wants to be with him. His cruel fate didn't let him into the afterlife (Yomiel mentioned this which either means:

1. When he didn't exactly die from the meteor shard, he knew he couldn't

Or 2. It might be that he has tried....to be with his fiancee (it didn't work))

(The fact it was mentioned that she had just died recently, knowing that if he had arrived sooner she would still be alive. That shit hurts)

yomiel only has his cat for support, a recently dead man can't have human friends. It would only lead to trouble (I mean, a guy who died from a meteor is unnatural, the news is probably in everyone's newspaper)

And it keeps. getting. WORSE. He lost his human functions! (Yomiel says this but I can't remember when) he cannot feel touch (in chapter 15 we can see him uneffected by pain) and we can guess to an extend: smell, taste, and everything else

Just numbness and loneliness, his last few moments of life was hopeless and pain.. his "unlife" is even more awful (this man can't catch a break huh?)

Imagine living like that for such a long time.. and knowing nothing will change. that he will forever spent an eternity like this.. that's bound to make anyone lose their sanity (and he most likely had lost a lot of them)

It makes sense why he was so.. angry and vengeful, he was an innocent man dragged into this. He loaths his unlife so much that he despises everything that had led him to this fate, he ends up hating the girl too (because she was there, giving him an option to take her as hostage) [<- trying to understand his perspective.. it sounds a little less selfish now, but still! not cool yomiel!]

But most importantly of why he's reaaaally angry, is because he thinks the death of his fiancee was caused by them

(Dialogues where he mentions her)

1. In the submarine with lynne

The way he tried to ignore it.. T_T

2. Coversation with jowd

Again, he avoided it.. only responding with silence

yomiel is wrong hurting many people and blaming lynne too, but when you've spent years (10 YEARS. 120 months. 3652 days. 87660 hours) without human connection.. soul welling up with negative emotions.. do you think you can still feel empathy towards other human beings? after all the things that happened as well?

(Maybe- but if it was me I'd be too blinded by hate, and that's probably what yomiel feels too.. ah of course his dwindling sanity only made it worse)

So when Lynne sympathize with him, cried for him, he DECIDED his revenge was over

One of the reasons of his revenge, He wanted them to feel the same pain as him ..and they did, he finally felt understood

but also. I'd like to think it's because she gave him a human connection, a connection to the living, something he hadn't felt for a long time and it came from the person he sees as an enemy

he wasn't really a bad guy, he's a man messed up in the head because of all his upbringings, lynne gave him a reminder of what it's like to have someone (and it must have been so lonely, after losing his only friend at that night)

Again- Yomiel is still accountable for the crimes he committed, it's just the events that made him become like this is so.. understandable

In the end we can't really fault any of them, I guess you can say cabanela (because he was the one who interrogated him and left the gun there)

But who would've thought that there will be a meteor crashing into the park? It's all is just really. Really. Unfortunate

It genuinely delights me so much that this man is actually getting mentally better

He most likely have guilt complex but I'm sure he'll be able to let go of it since most of his actions were undone in the new timeline

#💭... #wow! another character I'm hyperfixating on who had done bad. feel guilty over it. and now doing good! #there are probably some grammar errors here and there but whatever #yomiel

[silverwings-stories]

🌼DaisyClan Bio: Lakespark🌼

Like many of the Clan founders, Lakespark was born not in the forest, but in the stifling streets of the Big Twolegplace. Lake and her two brothers, River and Puddle, started their lives as loners, living in a cardboard box under a bridge. Their mother, Patches, quickly realised she could not take care of her family alone in this unforgiving place. So she gathered up her kits and took them deeper into the Twolegplace, where a group of cats called the Colony was said to live.

The area of the city that the Colony called home was the more industrial part of town, with heavy machinery patrolling the streets and smog blocking out the sun. But the Colony made the best of their situation. They made their camp in an area known as the Junkyard, hunting the rats and mice that were lured there by the smell of twoleg rubbish. The Colony welcomed Patches and her kits, and over the next few moons, Lake, River and Puddle began to flourish in their new home.

Lake grew up to be a fierce fighter, defending the Colony’s home from all manner of trespassers: rogues, dogs, and even twolegs. The cats’ leader admired Lake’s bravery and resolve. The Colony knew she would probably be chosen to guide them once the old leader passed.

But before that time came, Lake started a family. She fell in love with a shy but sweet former kittypet named Henry, and soon they were expecting kits. Sadly, though, only one of the four kits survived their first week. Lake and Henry took the loss hard, but they vowed to be the best parents they could for their remaining kit, a little black she-cat named Shadow, who would grow up to be the group’s healer.

Time went on, and the Colony’s leader grew weaker and weaker. With his dying breath, he proclaimed that Lake would succeed him. Although this didn’t come as a surprise, the Colony celebrated their new leader, and Lake proudly took up the mantle.

As leader of the Colony, Lake helped her cats thrive. She waged war on a group of rogues that had lived on the edge of their territory for moons, eventually driving them out. She sent regular patrols throughout the twolegplace, looking for lone cats who needed the support of the Colony to survive, just as her mother had. But the most notable thing Lake did as leader was introduce a naming system. All cats would be granted a second name when they came of age, to honour their skills or an important part of their life. Lake took the name Lakespark, to honour her ferocity and loyalty to the Colony.

Years went by, and this golden era continued for some time. But it could not last, and when the Long Cold came, everything started to fall apart. Lakespark was an old cat by this time, but she had lost none of her spunk. For a time, she held the Colony together even as cats began to die. But when some members started leaving the Colony in search of a safer life, even Lakespark began to lose hope, especially when Henry decided to leave too. The most painful blow was struck when her daughter Shadowspots died. Lakespark felt as though she could never be happy again.

A tiny bit of hope returned to her the day after her daughter’s death, when Woodpelt, Shadowspots’s apprentice, announced that she had been given a message from their ancestors. Lakespark wasn’t sure that going on a dangerous journey through unfamiliar territory was the answer to their problems, but she was out of options. Lakespark stepped down, and let the cat the message had spoken of take over: Daisyrunner.

The trek to their new home was long and treacherous, and Lakespark lost many more friends along the way. But as lives were lost, one new life was born, a tiny orange tom named Wood, after the healer who saved him. Lakespark realised that this one name didn’t represent everything that this kit meant to the broken Colony. She decided that a cat’s name should grow with them. “A kit is small and innocent, but full of hope. As they grow, their paws will guide them to their destiny.” Lakespark proclaimed. And so Wood began his life as Woodkit. One day, he would become Woodpaw, and then, when the leader decided the time was right, he would earn his second name.

After many moons of travelling, the Colony finally found their new home, and became DasiyClan, with Daisystar as their leader. Lakespark gave the young leader all the guidance she could, helping them find their way. But Lakespark’s time in the Clan’s new home was short. One night, a snake slipped into her den and bit her. But, strangely, as Lakespark felt the venom coursing through her body, she didn’t feel scared. She had done her duty to the Colony, and now, as the first DaisyClan cat to join StarClan, she could watch over them forever more.

>>>

I'm going to start posting a detailed biography of every cat who dies . . . so here's a bit more about DaisyClan's oldest founder, Lakespark!

If you want to see more of my work, I also have an alt account where I post non-clangen art and a YouTube channel.

Thanks for reading, and have a wonderful day!

#daisyclan #clan generator #clangen #original character #warrior cats #warriors #warriors oc #lakespark #art #digital art

[ikeromantic]

Silk and Steel

A Chevalier Michel fanfiction. Approx. 2200 words. This scene takes place in Chapter 2-3 of the main route and is told from Chevalier's POV. Part 4 of a series.

First: Bravery Becomes Her

Previous: Blood and Roses

Persistence was a trait Chevalier could admire, at least, when it wasn’t directed at him. When it was, that trait seemed far less admirable. 

The Belle stood in front of his desk, lips pressed into a tight, bloodless line. Her hands gripped her skirts as if she thought the fabric a shield. “Prince Chevalier. I - I . . .”

He lets his lips slide into a frown, and placed his full attention on her. After the incident in the garden, he’d expected she would keep her distance. That had been part of Clavis’ gambit, he thought. Though he had more than one theory on Clavis’ end goals. Trust, he thought, but not too much. Regardless of his brother’s intent, here she was. Still watching him with her wide, innocent eyes. He felt something odd in his chest, a bit like a cough. A constriction of breath.

She ducked her head, swallowed nervously.

Chevalier’s gaze grew colder. “You’re a disruption to my work. Leave.” 

“But . . .”

“Do you want me to lose my temper as I did yesterday? Then by all means, continue.” His words made her flinch. 

The Belle wavered for a moment, clearly fighting herself. Her fear was obvious under the thin veneer of courtesy, as was this odd sense of duty she clung to. She slipped into a graceful curtsy. “Then . . . another time, Prince Chevalier.” 

Chev watched her hurry away. He could not understand why she insisted on forcing herself into his presence again. His reputation alone kept most gentle folk away. And that was good, he reminded himself. A king had no time to waste on wilting violets. 

He sat back down and reached for the report on Obsidianite border incursions. They were growing bolder, it seemed. That heralded a change. He picked up a bulging, leatherbound document carrier. Notes from spies and other sources.

It would be a long day, he thought. And he had yet to read up on the changes to the Jadeite court this past month. Somewhere, he had intelligence on Benitoite’s arrangements with Obsidian too. With all of this to consider, his mind should be firmly on his duties. Yet he couldn’t help the way his thoughts drifted back to the Belle. Emma. 

Why was she so persistent? Did she see some gain in this for herself? She didn’t strike him as a social climber or a schemer. Just a frightened young woman, thrust into a position she neither expected nor wanted. He wondered if she knew how much of a target she would become, should her duty become common knowledge. And even if no one suspected she was the Belle, there was risk. One did not become close to the royal family without gaining the notice of its enemies.

He did not see the Belle again that day, and eventually he was able to banish her from his thoughts as he considered weightier things. 

The next day, Chevalier set off to meet with some of the nobles that had their lands on the borders. Most supported his aggressive stance. They understood the danger Obsidian posed. They suffered the losses from raids, lost loved ones, lived with the threat of more violence. 

Clavis, Luke, and Nokto accompanied him to the meeting, though Nokto quickly disappeared with some lively widow. Luke grew bored and wandered off down another garden path. Probably for a nap.

Chevalier didn’t need his brothers to assist, but presenting a united front for his faction lent an image of strength. He could appreciate that. 

The meeting didn’t take long. Enough time to learn the latest reports were accurate, so far as these men and women knew. Chev let Clavis handle the questioning, for the most part, as well as the courtesies. It seemed to set them at ease.

When the nobles finally took their leave, Chevalier let himself relax a fraction. He settled himself on the grass as he had when he was a boy. Laying back on the soft, springy turf. He closed his eyes and let his mind drift. It helped him draw in the bits of information he had to create a full picture. 

Clavis snorted, used to this behavior. “I’ll just walk a bit,” he called over to his brother. “Don’t get assassinated, hm?”

Chev didn’t waste time with a reply. In the warm afternoon sun, with the smell of flowers and the music of flowing water, he was able to submerge himself in his thoughts. The world faded and there was only the narrative - aggression, submission, resources, troops, allies, weapons - a tumult of thinly connected ideas. A girlish shriek pulled him out of his meditation. Then - 

“Ahahaha! That was a perfect reaction!” Clavis’ laughter. 

The rustle of a lady’s gown. “Clavis!”

“Relax! I was just checking to see that you’re doing alright. Yesterday it looked as if all the blood drained from your face, but as red as you look now, I’ve no need to worry!”

Chevalier’s frown deepened. What had his brother done just now? 

The Belle cleared her throat. “So. You came here to pick on me then?”

“Oh no. I just had something to give to Chev.”

The second prince felt his eye twitch. What was Clavis up to now? And why did his brother feel it necessary to pull him into his games?

“Okay. But Prince Chevalier isn’t here.” 

Chev realized then that she couldn’t see him from where she stood. He opened his eyes and turned his head. He could just make out her profile through the branches of a nearby rose bush. If he sat up, she’d be able to see him easily, but from here, he was hidden.

Clavis laughed again. “Oh ho, you haven’t noticed. My goodness! Well, this is a great opportunity. Why don’t you come along with me and have a chat with Chev too?”

“No! I mean, no thank you.”

“Awww what’s with that sour face? Does he really frighten you so much?”

Chevalier could see the way she flinched at his mention, and her look now was one of great reluctance. He supposed that was normal after watching him kill a man in cold blood. Such innocents could not bear the burden of their own defense. He realized as he watched her tense expression that he wished she hadn’t seen that. Before, she’d looked intimidated by him - but most people did - now, she was actually frightened. As if Chev were a true beast that could not be trusted around gentle folk.

Belle nodded agreement. 

“My goodness! You are such a cute little rabbit.” Clavis reached out to touch a gloved thumb to her chin.

It bothered Chevalier to see his brother touch her. It was . . . inappropriate. 

She pulled back from his touch. “What?”

“Oh yes,” Clavis’ smile widened. “You’re so awkward and adorable right now that it makes me want to pounce on you.”

The Belle’s fist clenched. “Even if I was a rabbit, rabbits still have teeth - ah!” She shrieked as Clavis grabbed her hand and pulled her against his chest. She barely held him back with the palm of her hand.

Chevalier nearly sat up but he knew this was all theater for his benefit. Part of some scheme or running joke. He could not give his brother the satisfaction of a reaction, even anger. 

Clavis took her chin between his fingers and tilted her face towards his. He examined her as one might an item at market. “Hm. Maybe there is some truth to what Chev said about you.”

“What are you talking about,” she asked breathlessly.

“No one is more a fool than one who freezes in every confrontation, as you are now.” Clavis shook his head and sighed. “At any rate, it would be out of the question for a noble beast to want to talk to a quivering rabbit like an equal.”

“I -” She swallowed, searching for what she ought to say.

Clavis let her go and she stumbled back from him. “You’ll never be a Belle if you act like this. At the most, you are just an insignificant little bunny to Chev right now. Is that what you want?”

Chevalier sighed. His brother wasn’t wrong, precisely, but it was a waste of time to explain it. The Belle was a fragile thing and he had no interest or need in breaking her. Let her have her month in the palace. When it ended, Chev would be king and she could return to wherever she came from. She didn’t need to do more than stay out of his way.

The Belle was quiet for a moment but her shoulders squared after a deep breath. “Of course not! I am the Belle and I will do my duty!” 

“Then be bold. Be brash. Like the tamer of a wild animal! Do you understand?” Clavis clapped his hands gleefully. “Don’t fear the beast, Emma. Even the Bloody Tiger will become a pet cat if you can tame him.” Clavis’ gaze darted to where he knew his brother lay. “If you truly want to choose the next king, you must be prepared to venture into the beast’s lair. Are you prepared to tame the wild beast?”

It was so melodramatic that Chevalier almost snorted. A pile of complete -

“Yes! I’ll give it everything I have. I will make him accept me as Belle!”

Complete nonsense. Chevalier couldn’t help the way his lips curved into a small smile. She sounded so determined. He heard notes of steel in her voice and an undercurrent of excitement.

“Hear that, Chev?” Clavis cackled. “Belle is going to tame you.”

Chevalier pushed himself up onto a nearby bench, eyes narrowed at the pair. What kind of mad woman would claim she could tame him? “Don’t drag me into your ridiculous conversations.”

“Oh . . . oh no . . .” The Belle turned to look at him, her expression one of abject horror. Her cheeks flushed with the heat of embarrassment now. She bit at her lower lip as if she might hold back more foolish pronouncements. As she met his gaze, a hint of defiance entered her expression. A determination that overtook her fear.

Chev felt a smile curl the edges of his lips. So she had some steel left in her afterall. “I don’t believe you have what it takes to tame a beast.” 

At his challenge, her chin firmed and her shoulders drew back. She lifted her head a fraction as if to reply that she would prove him wrong. 

Before she could say more, Chevalier stood. He forced the smile from his lips. He had wasted enough time already, he thought. Lying in the grass like a boy without a care in the world. Listening in on this, this ridiculous girl. He regarded her a moment longer before moving his attention to Clavis. “Summon the clown to the office later.”

His brother shrugged. “Sure. I can. But why don’t you speak with the Belle a little longer, since you’re both here?”

“I have no interest in this simpleton.” Chevalier wasn’t sure himself if he intended the insult as a challenge or if he truly wished to dismiss her. Both, perhaps. He disliked the sudden uncertainty he felt, a sensation he was not accustomed to. He adjusted his cloak and turned to leave before his brother could needle him again.

The Belle reached for him. “Wait!” Her fingers caught the edge of his cloak.

Chevalier responded to the tone of command in her voice, not because he must, but rather that it surprised him. Only moments ago, she’d been ready to flee the mention of him and now she thought to make demands. She was a strange girl, fascinating in her contradictions. He turned to face her. “What do you want?”

She let go of his cloak. Her hands smoothed her gown as she tilted her head to regard him. Then she gave a slight nod. “Yes. You’re right. When it comes to evaluating the future king, I may be out of my element right now. But I refuse to abandon this task just because some might think I’ll never be capable of fulfilling my role.”

The Belle paused, searching his face for something. Chevalier wasn’t sure what. Surely she knew better than to look to him for some confirmation or approval. He kept his lips pressed tight, resisting the urge to curl up at the corners. 

“As the newly appointed Belle, I’d like to formally introduce myself -”

“Unnecessary.”

 Her eyes widened slightly at his interruption. “What do you mean?”

Chevalier almost smiled again. “Instead of giving me your name, show me your worth. Show me why you deserve to have me listen to what you say.”

A hint of confusion clouded her brow. 

“This is going nowhere.” He poked her just below the collarbone to emphasize the point. A gentle, physical reinforcement as he’d done with his brothers when they were younger. But touching her was different. The contact sent a slight prickling up his arm and down his back, though he showed no visible reaction. Soft to the touch, delicate. He could feel how fragile she was under even that light pressure. And how strong. A creature of spun silk and hidden steel. He pulled his hand back quickly.

“What was that for?”

“For wasting my time.” Chevalier turned and this time kept walking. He didn’t like leaving her alone with Clavis but staying was worse. His own thoughts were a bit disordered as he retreated. He couldn’t say why it pleased him that the Belle had not backed down. That she met his words with defiance and determination. 

He didn’t realize as he walked back to the palace that he was smiling again.

Next: A Good Morning

#ikemen prince #chevalier michel #ikeprince chevalier #fanfiction #fanfic #otome #otome guys #fluff

[thatbrightblueshine]

reality starts settling in. it feels like that "real world" thing has its downsides.

they met at city, they played together. for their boyhood club, they represented their country together, hell, they even won the euros together. it felt like it would never end, like a never ending dream, such a beautiful dream. two friends doing what they loved the most, together. they never thought the day would come they'd lose each other, not because they thought they'd play together at city forever, but just because neither of them thought it would over so quick. how did time pass so quickly? oh how?

spring. the time everything starts blossoming, when the world seems to unfreeze, when the sun shines again and the snow melts. that's when they'd first met. shy smiles, two pairs of eyes trying to avoid contact, two stuffy noses, both plagued by hay fever. two hearts, both like plain sheets of paper. no one had written their initials on them yet, no one had creased the paper, not yet dared to crumple them up and discard them. clean. innocent, jumping happily within their chests. but time should change this, time will change everything. cole would have a few flings with girls from school, never serious. james was the shy one of the pair, whenever cole would brag with shagging a new girl, james would either lie or just let him talk. it's just talking. they're just girls. he's just having fun. despite them both being so young, spots on their faces, beard stubbles that won't quite grow in just yet, it felt like their lives were going into separate directions. but maybe it was just james who had felt this way, his heart wounded by cole growing up faster than him. it bled, not quite enough to leak through his shirt, not enough to make cole notice.

james didn't think he was jealous. and if he was, he didn't know if he was jealous of cole being ahead of him, having more experience in both life and football, or if he was jealous of the girls he'd take out for cheap chinese food before bringing them home whenever his parents were out. that's what they used to do, cheap chinese food and video games. now it's cheap chinese food and teresa, jessica, whatever all of their names were. the times they'd hang out after training became less, some days they wouldn't talk past greetings. james would patiently wait for cole to drop the girl he currently saw, because usually that meant they'd hang out again, but this time it had been half a year. cole's heart had been consumed by her entirely, her name written all over it, the writing dirty, unclean. cole kept telling james and the others how much he loved her, how beautiful it felt. but she wasn't a good person, cole too young to see it, the ink in his heart sunken in too deeply. can you rub out ink from a wound? you can, as long as it's still fresh. but once it heals, it's stuck in it forever.

james feared this time, the time the ink in cole's heart would grow in. many young players would be advised to keep their girls, marry young, start a family young, keeping them away from partying and drinking. why did he worry so much? oh why? why would the blood stain on his shirt leak more? so much that he was worried cole would start seeing the it. he could lie about why it was there, that someone had written on his heart, rubbing out the ink before it would heal.

"you alright mate? you've been so quite lately" cole looked up from his chips, pointing to james' shirt. "you got some on it" james looked down. a ketchup stain right where his heart was. cole took a napkin to rub the ketchup off his shirt, james fearing he'd reveal the blood stain underneath it. the sun is setting, the wind cool on their skin. james talks about burnley, leaving city behind. cole is ready to start a career at chelsea, having received an offer he cannot resist. hasn't told james about it, hasn't made up his mind yet. isn't sure. their ways are bound to part one way or another, both boys not wanting to see it. it feels so unreal, they have grown up so fast. grown up together, grown apart in ways they don't want to admit. it doesn't feel the same anymore, conversations about adult topics. what once was video games is now the girls they're seeing, what once was muddy pitches on saturday afternoons is now lifting trophies for their country on sunday nights.

their drinks are drunk, their food is eaten. a few laughs are shared, a few memories are told. neither of them knew that this would be the last night they'd share together at city.

and so it was saturday, again. but not like the saturdays they have in memory, james in goal on the muddy pitch, cole trying to score an important goal, their parents in the stands cheering. them together, one team. it's the first day they're seeing each other again on the pitch ever since winning the euros. but they play for different clubs, their first days as rivals. it feels weird, feels wrong. cole smiles at him in the tunnel, wishes him and his new club good luck.

and so a penalty is rewarded. cole looks at james, so much fear in his eyes, so scared of failure. guilt in his heart, shaky legs. james recognises the eyes looking at him, the same eyes of the boy who couldn't score a goal against him on the first day of training. now taking a penalty for one of the biggest clubs in the country, and james has to try and stop it. it doesn't feel right, but it's what it's like now. just a couple of months ago james would cheer on every goal cole scored, together as a team. now a goal scored by cole means his club losing. the referee blows the whistle, one last look at each other is shared. now it's james with the fear in his heart, the stain beginning to leak blood again, the wound he once thought to have healed. he believes cole finally sees it now, one last deep breath, a memory playing in front of james' inner eye.

"did you let me score earlier in training, be honest." he asks james. "because i can never get the ball past you! you always stop me." james laughed. "no i didn't, it just means you're getting better." cole's eyes light up. "really?" james nods again. "told you, you've got it in you."

the same smile on james lips, small, anyone but cole would miss it. cole takes the penalty, scores. the travelling fans cheer, cole's new teammates come to congratulate him. james has failed his club, again. but he hasn't failed his friend. cole comes back to james at full time. "did you let me have the goal, be honest." he asks, his voice so much deeper, his kit now in a darker shade of blue. now his rival, no longer his teammate. "no i didn't, you have just gotten better." james says. cole smiles. "really?" james nods. "told you, you've always had it in you."

#rambles #fic

[izzet-league-mad-scientist]

Classpecting characters series: Clone Wars Girlfriends Ahsoka Tano and Barriss Offee!

I got really invested in potential storylines around these two from reading some fanfics a little while back, and in the process of figuring out their characterization for my own take on that I ended up with Classpects I really like for both of them! Enjoy.

All Barriss ever wanted was to help people, to enjoy peace and see people living happy lives. Thrown into the darkness of a war, she was torn from the world she wanted to live in and quickly began losing faith in the structures around her, as more and more people were hurting and dying around her at every turn, no matter her efforts to heal them. She couldn't handle the weight of it all, and began thinking in terms of the Greater Good: what was a few innocents dying, if it helped end the greater war? Based on her constant visions of a better, more peaceful life for the citizens of the galaxy, her dissatisfaction with authority and inward-turning mindset, and her self-destruction through the sacrifice emblematic of Doom, I deem Barriss Offee the Derse-Dreaming Seer of Life!

Ahsoka has always been the underdog, the trainee, learning and growing under the tutelage of master after master. The Jedi as a whole, then Anakin & Obi-Wan as individuals, and everywhere she goes she picks up more and more things to learn and incorporate into her own being. Guided along the paths laid out by her teachers, it took Ahsoka a long time to break away, to try her hand at picking and choosing what she wanted to learn and where she wanted to take it, but she got there in the end, turning the great power of her own person to the ends she wanted, and guiding others along to their own paths as well. Based on her life being defined by tutelage and guidance, inheriting her views and her goals, her adaptability to outside change and being content in greater systems, and how a major step in her progression involved learning to turn her identity and passion to her own decisions and morals, I deem Ahsoka Tano the Prospit-Dreaming Heir of Heart!

[Barris's classpect came easily to me, it seemed so obvious once I got into her mindset as told by the various fics that explore it more than the show did, although it fits her canon characterization as well. Plus, you can't tell me the Seer robes don't fit her aesthetic. Ahsoka's took a lot longer, as for all she's one of the main characters her ideals are remarkably fluid at first glance, which ended up actually being the key to it: her ideals *are* fluid, because her identity and what she does with it are all guided by others at first, the way Heirs tend to be. Also, this means she matches everything but dreaming moon with our lovely Hal Strider, or at least the classpect I will die on a hill for him :p. It seems strangely fitting.]

[This shit is so helpful for writing these characters I swear to god. It's the Key to Characterization. Well not really but it gives really good ideas. You can tell when you're satisfied with something when it just *clicks* and I finally got there with Ahsoka a month after I first thought of Barris's]

#classpecting characters #classpect theory #tumblrs search system is so broken it took me so long to find the other posts in the series from my blog aaaaaaaa

[notbigondoors]

are there any aus you have for your muse? what are they like, and how is your muse different in them? is there anything in life your muse has changed their mind about over time (due to becoming more educated on the topic , certain experiences, etc .) , or that they would change their mind about under certain circumstances? Is your muse more likely to remove a problem/threat, or remove themselves from a problem/threat?

{out of equations} I actually have more AUs for White Vision, I think, than Red Vision, only because... since mine is MCU-based, there isn’t a lot of deviation from his initial situation and personality because he died so young. Vision never really had time to grow as a person or to maybe have his idealism and his heroic values challenged in the way a person who has lived much longer likely would. After WandaVision, however, Vision has a huge personality change (I mean where I take him afterward, not just that he was an emotionless weapon on the actual show) born of his disillusionment, anger, and feelings of betrayal over what happened to him. Before that, though, there were not a lot of turning points for Vision. There just wasn’t time. He wasn’t with us for that long.

But I do have a couple decisions or I guess moments where Vision chose a less ideal path or maybe a more difficult one emotionally based on new information or processing of information he didn’t like. So... the first one I can think of is at the end of CA:CW, when Wanda is sent to the Raft. Then in IW, we see them dating, heh. Well how did they get to that point? It was really freaking rocky. To explain why Vision didn’t immediately help Wanda, I have a little ball of headcanons that explains his absence from the rescue mission led by Steve, and it illustrates just how naïve Vision is/was and maybe him losing a little part of that innocence.

Basically, Vision trusted Tony. He trusted him to do the right thing, and he trusted his word. Tony told Vision that legally, everything would be cleared up quickly. he said Wanda would be fine and that she’d be home soon. He also didn’t tell Vision where she was being held or in what conditions. Vision... believed him. So he sat and waited. But the longer things dragged on, and the more he pressed Tony and received lackluster responses, Vision began to realize that Tony was bullshitting him. He was telling him things to placate him so he didn’t get involved and complicate things more. Once Vision realized that, from that moment on he was a lot less likely to take people at their words, especially about very important issues, without some kind of objective verification to go along with it. He decided to go find Wanda on his own, turning off his trackers so that Tony couldn’t follow. Upon finding Wanda and the others, Vision had to work hard over a long time to earn their trust again.

The other major deviation or AU I have is comic-based. Anon rpers have gotten me to delve a bit into the comic version of Vision where he and Wanda split up and he makes his own family of synthezoids. Because my Vision is MCU-based and I have the MCU background for him to contend with, I’ve kindof blended things together a bit. Vision’s reason for creating “The Visions” is because he and Wanda parted ways when she wasn’t interested in committing to him. My version of Wanda is very afraid to put labels on her relationships and is afraid of marriage and commitment past the point of IW because she’s lost a lot of people she loves. She feels like she’s a bit of a walking disaster who leads people she loves down paths of death and suffering. Her hesitation to move towards marriage and settling down with Vision wasn’t because she didn’t love him, but rather because she was afraid that something bad would happen to him, something would ruin the happiness, etc. Vision wanted to settle down with a family, so they went their separate ways. That doesn’t mean they can’t get back together later, especially if something unfortunate happened to Vision’s synthezoid wife, but that’s the gist of the AU. So that’s definitely a point at which Vision chooses something for himself and makes a difficult decision to leave someone he loves because it’s just not working.

As for the questions about threats, it really depends on what the threat is and who/what it’s threatening. If it’s a threat to innocent lives, Vision will stand and confront it. He knows he’s as close to indestructible as most people get, so he’d rather be the one to confront a great threat than having innocent people be directly in its path. If, however, the “threat” is just someone talking a lot of trash, heh, or it’s otherwise just something annoying or not overly urgent, Vision is more likely to try and talk it out or to take the high road and walk away.

#{ out of equations } ᵒᵒᶜ

[byronsmuse]

The strange thing is that other than his abduction of Persephone, Hades has a pretty immaculate record. He stays in the Underworld where he was sent, ruling over the dead with a strict but fair hand. Unlike his brothers who rape, murder, and beat their way through the countryside, Hades engages in virtually no forceful activities. So the question is: did Persephone want to go with Hades? If she was kidnapped, did she want to stay once she fell in love with him? Does Persephone love Hades, or is she a perpetual prisoner?

I have debated these questions for some time. It wasn’t until I started working with the goddess Persephone that I really got some answers, but it’s important that you remain skeptical so you can get your own.

Ultimately, I feel that Hades and Persephone do have a strong sense of love between them, albeit a strange relationship. After all, this is one of the only relationships where they are equals.

Persephone is made Queen of the Dead with equal domain and rules alongside Hades. She is much more than just a trinket that he collected. Even in the oldest myths, Persephone is shown to make massive decisions without any interference from Hades.

Hades is also one of the only faithful husbands in Greek mythology, though Persephone was supposedly enraged by his former lovers from before their marriage. To me, that says that there’s at least something there. Plus, I love the idea of them ruling as equals. The fidelity and equality in their relationship is truly unmatched in Greek myth.

So, How Does Persephone’s Myth Apply To You?

The goddess Persephone is relevant in so many ways, even today when the world looks quite different.

First of all, the duality that resides within the myth of Persephone is extremely important. In so many ways, Persephone struggles to balance herself.

She is perpetually torn between her mother and her husband, her decisions made for her by other people. That isn’t to say that Persephone doesn’t stick up for herself, but I imagine that she struggled in the beginning of her story. After all, she hadn’t found her voice.

The story of the goddess Persephone can remind us not to lose ourselves, even if we’re trying to please others or are being controlled by people in our lives.

Both Hades and Demeter truly love Persephone in most versions of the myth, but that doesn’t mean that she wasn’t stifled.

Persephone had to learn how to stand up for herself within the boundaries constructed for her. While she never breaks free from her 6 month rotations, perhaps she doesn’t want to. Maybe she instead finds a way to retain her contact with her family and keep her marriage, all while asserting herself as she comes to do over time.

It’s clear that the goddess Persephone quickly grows from a child to an adult. Though she is lovely as a teenager, she turns into a truly beautiful woman who knows how to wield her power in many different ways.

Yet Persephone doesn’t lose her childlike innocence, either. It’s easy to imagine that, come springtime, she will be back in the meadow, singing and picking flowers.

Persephone learns how to embrace her shadow side (the part of herself who sternly rules over the spirits of the dead) without rejecting her innocent, childlike self. Clearly, her myth is a wonderful lesson about how to integrate your shadow self without overhauling your life.

Overall, Persephone is a goddess of transition. She shows you how to find your truest inner self even when things are changing at a rapid pace, but never expects you to leave your old self behind.

Persephone also show you that power comes from within. Even if you feel like outside forces are controlling you, the thoughts in your head are always your own. She manages to retain her power through her kidnapping and in fact becomes incredibly influential in Greek myth.

Persephone’s Appearance:

The goddess Persephone is usually depicted as a young woman, but she appears in many forms.

Persephone is often shown as a beautiful young maiden with fair skin. Her face epitomizes youthful beauty and she is seen in long flowing clothing. Usually, her head is adorned by flowers or waist-length tresses that flow behind it like some sort of crown.

However, the goddess Persephone also has her darker appearance when she is ruling as Queen of the Underworld. This appearance is harder to come by, since the idea is that the Greeks rarely saw the Queen of the Dead until they actually passed. Typically, she is wearing a role and a crown (of darker coloring) and is seated at Hades side, a gorgeous yet stern Queen.

Persephone can be found in the Underworld during winter months or on Earth during spring and summer. She’s also sometimes shown traveling between Hades’ kingdom of the dead and her mother Demeter’s home on Olympus.

(about Persephone)

[cynettic]

I just read Kitsune reader x yan Scaramouche's fic, may I have gotten hooked on it? and of course, it's just perfect and that's why I'm here to lose a part two with nsfw, thank you in advance and understand if you refuse:3

Link to Part 1

Summary - Taking you captive, Scaramouche continues to see you as a pillar of support. Coming back home to have you there, always. Even if it meant chaining you up.

Pairings - F!Kitsune!Reader x Yan!Scaramouche

Warnings - Smut, slight noncon ( I tried to make it as consensual as possible but its difficult with yandere themes ), fingering, electricity play

Rating - NSFW

Penpal - Ahhh I'm actually beginning to get attached to this series, might end up writing a couple more posts with different hc and stuff. I hope you liked the post though, have a great day <3

A/N - The literal definition of the ‘stoic cruel boy who’s mean to everyone but you.’ Oh well, Scaramouche is ooc af, but I did change a few things in his backstory so its supposed to make sense for this story ;) Also- since we dont know Scaramouche’s actual name, I have the reader still… yknow, call him Scaramouche. Which is kinda weird cause its his harbinger name but oh well. Also, credit to @cycletr4in for proofreading it ;3

Taglist - @cursedraiden

Stay with Me pt.2

Scaramouche was a gentle captor.

In contrast to piercing eyes and harsh stares when it came to others, he had a soft spot for you. Like the ice that encased him whole melted at your touch, craving for the warmth only you could give him. For your arms around him, to play pretend and imagine he were a child, free, fearless, unbound. A child in your arms, safe and protected.

But you were held hostage, which meant that the chains around your wrists and legs held you down and secured you. Like you were bound to one spot like you’d always been, except this time you didn't have a choice.

You weren't waiting for the Kitsune Saiguu.

Hell, you didn't even have your vision.

This brought on resentment for the dark haired boy. You hated him, you despised him for holding you down under his own judgment. But at the same time, all you saw in him was a child, a little kid who hadn't had the time to grow up. The one who refused to do so because it was his only way to survive in the type of world he lived in. Hide behind that same facade he developed as a kid, snide remarks and unrelenting cruelty.

Just to come back to your arms, sobbing because he was still that child. Sobbing because he was still hurt. Sobbing because you were still his beacon of light, of hope.

He depended on you.

And as much as you built up harsh words to use against him, they dissolved in your mouth when you saw him. His vulnerability that he saved for you and you only. A deep part of you cared for him, a little too much.

Gentle fingers brushed through the locks of Scaramouche’s hair, twirling it around and playing with the strands. It was smooth, a small detail no one would have the chance to notice from the distance he put around himself and others. A quiet hum left his lips as he leaned against your chest, eyes fluttering closed against the soothing feeling of you against him.

The lavish silk sheets were soft against your skin, pillow pushing your form to sit up. Just enough to have Scaramouche in your arms, knees on either side of his body as his head rested under your chin. His chest rose and descended, almost on beat with yours, if not just a tad slower.

You hoped he wouldn't hear the way your heart thrummed against your chest.

Warmth, his body flushed against yours, the luxury of a bed and the small candlelight on your bedside. Different from what you’d grown into just on the side of the trail, sitting for decades. Or with your time with the Kitsune Saiguu, it was never this warm, never this gentle.

But this warmth ended at your beating heart, furiously blazing. Sending an urge of adrenaline through your body, whispering ‘run’ through your veins. A primal urge that would've had your hands around Scaramouche’s neck, till he was wrangling and dead.

Till you could escape.

Hand slowly sliding down his jawline, you let your gentle fingers ghost along the soft skin of his neck. Claws outstretched and ready, sharp and pointed with a deadly intent to kill. You could end him so quickly, overturn his trust and make an escape. You deserved it, you deserved freedom. Not a delusional boy who thought himself protector against someone who’s lived decades more than him.

Jolting at the sensation of a soft grip on your wrist, you watched with idle fascination as he simply cupped your wrist in his hold. Not stopping you, not restraining you, he simply brought your hand to his face. To his lips where he pressed the softest of kisses into your palm. So heartfelt and genuine that all you could do was freeze, not even considering clawing his face.

“I love you.”

You both stayed in that position for a few moments more, silence cradling the tension that slowly dissipated from your body. Forlorn eyes watching as he shift the angle of your wrist to kiss your fingertips. He wasn't waiting for an answer, basking in these soft moments where he could hide in your hold. Like a child, forced to grow up too quickly, yearning back for his foolish naivety, yearning for the childhood he missed.

You were that childhood.

Which is why he clung to you so dearly, showed expressions he didnt know he could make, hold you captive under the impression that it was ‘right.’ What he was doing was okay.

Claws retracted, you pursued your lips, holding back the tears of frustration that burned at your eyes. You hated him, hated him for the chains on your wrists, for the disappearance of your vision that you’d given so much value to. Hated him for the warmth he still made you feel.

You hated him.

You felt like a housewife in some respects. Not with the cleaning and cooking part, and of course no children were part of the equation. But in terms of support, you stayed rooted to that room, loose chains too strong for you to break or tug holding you down. Window was too far, and you were stuck moving around the bed and the desk that sat just a little farther away.

Attempts at having your vision back or more freedom in movement had been discussed with Scaramouche, but as childlike and free as he acted with you, he was not an idiot.

“I don’t plan on underestimating you,” was his answer, head resting on the plush of your chest. “You’re strong, always were. But I have to take extremes to make sure you don’t get hurt, some people out there are stronger than you.”

You wanted to point out that there were a ton of people stronger than him as well, but you kept your mouth shut. “Can I at least see the house? I’ve been cooped up here for so long…”

And he cant say no to such an innocent request as that right?

So he unlocks the chains, the vision at his side reminding you that he was strong. You solely knew that he’d been tough as a kid, and under the intensive training he’d seemed to endure, he was much much stronger. You werent willing to give it a go and lose his trust just yet.

Not like he really trusted you anyways-

At the very least, you’d hoped to get some sort of blueprint of the house, and all you’d received was confusion and your mind making up that the house itself was a maze.

“Didnt we… just pass through here?”

Glancing at the obvious frustration on your face, Scaramouche chuckled, pulling your arm through the hallways you swear you’d seen three times prior. “Nope, most of the hallways look pretty similar. The house wasn't built for dumbasses.”

You flashed him a look and were about to make some snideish rebuttal before you saw the smirk. You knew what he was doing, trying to comfort you with casual arguments you both used to have. Consisting of you telling him to work on his people skills, and him calling you a lazy ass. Of course you missed it, but you also knew you couldn't go back to it.

And then there was the issue when you learned that he was a harbinger.

A scene you didnt want to replay in your head, when a maid burst into your room, Scaramouche acting a tad more intimate. He had an awful tendency to do that, hug your waist and press his face against the crook of your neck. Press gentle kisses down the length of your shoulder that had you shuddering. You weren't used to intimacy, and considering you’d watched him grow up, it was just weird.

Stuttering, the maid had demanded that he was requested by the Tsarista. You’d seen the fear in her eyes when Scaramouche slowly turned to her, seen the unshakable immobility of standing under his gaze.

“Do not enter.” He said, “It’s on the door.”

That was the first time you’d seen Scaramouche kill.

You hoped it’d be the last.

But you’d seen death before, so much death in the time of the Kitsune Saiguu. And for a few seconds, you found yourself fearless as you yanked against the chains, yelling at his figure at the doorway.

“Tsarista?” You snarled, standing just a few feet away from him. His hand on the girls neck, clenching around the pretty skin of hers. Disgusted, the chains that held you back from closing the gap and throwing the girl away from him were impossible to overcome. “Why the hell does she need you?!”

‘Let go,’ you wanted to say. ‘Let her go, she’s going to die.’

It worked, because the ironclad grip was gone, the maid tumbling to the ground lifelessly. You’d been too late, and now her blood was on his hands, your hands. This was your fault and you had half the self control not to thrash against the chains with sharp claws, hands on his neck.

The hard steel gaze vanished in an instant, and like he’d regained his senses, he took a few steps to you. Hands clenching to fists before loosening to fingertips brushing against his palms. Confusion, regret and guilt clouded his features like a child waiting to be reprimanded. You didn't back away, stood firm and fierce when standing and keeping a tough front.

You wanted to cry.

“Its… its a long story.” He finally stated to your question, and when you didnt budge, he took a deep breath. In control again, he closed the distance between the two of you, “I’m sorry.” And that same thrum of electricity jolted through your body, sending you into a spiral of the girls lifeless eyes and Scaramouche’s childlike eyes. Till everything went black.

You woke up with the body gone. Scaramouche was gone as well.

You learned that Scaramouche liked to have things his way. Which meant that he was always in control, always had control of every situation.

Even in those short stretches of vulnerability when he rested in your arms, he still held something over you. And you had to adapt, shift for his wishes, coddle him and stay as his beacon. Because he was stronger, and even if you’d find some way to escape, he would find you.

It was odd, and you slowly let go of the image of him as a child, you knew he was a lot older. He’d probably reached the age your body was stuck in, and with every sweet kiss he pressed to your lips, you knew he saw you as some sort of lover. But as someone who wasn't in control, you simply had to play along, just until you found some way to make your escape.

Without killing him.

_-_-_-_-_

“Strip.”

Laying on one side of the bed, your eyes jolted open at the commanding voice. Slowly, you sat up, eyeing the dim figure at the doorway. Without the help of a candle or the moonlight at the window, you could distinguish Scaramouche at the doorway, taking off the large headpiece as he flung it to the ground.

“Excuse me…?” Your voice was soft, rusty after an evening nap.

“I’ll make you feel good,” was his only answer. Slowly making his way to the bedside till he could properly face you. His eyes were soft, but there was an odd sort of determination that you hadnt seen before. You held back his stare, confusion lacing your features when he suddenly started pulling off loose decorations that hung on his clothes. Just till he unlaced the vest and slid off his shirt. “Don’t worry.” But you didnt know quite what he meant until he leaned further to you, catching you off guard.

So you yelped when his hands suddenly slammed down on your shoulders, shifting you to have access to the buttons of your top layer. He was quick when undoing them, simply swatting away at your hands when you protested and tried to pull him away. Throwing it to the edge of the room when he was done, you could only thrash in horror when he undid your trousers just as quickly, pulling them down before you could grab them back up.

“Scaramouche? Hey-”

And then he threw you down on the bed, exposing you in your undergarments in the cool air of the room. Shivers crept up your spine and bristled across your skin, and before you could curl up to at the very least hide away, you felt a tug at your chains. Fear finally settled in when you saw Scaramouche attach the chain to the bedpost, until your hand was lifted up and he began to do the same to the other.

“Wait wait wait, stop and explain what you’re-”

Only then did he pause from what he was doing, slowly looking down to properly face you. His eyes slid up and down your body, and he took a step towards you. “I’ll make you feel good,” were his only words, and you were forced to take them as all he was planning on giving you. Only when he sat on the bed next to you did you realize what he meant, hand settling on your shoulder, waiting.

“Alright,” you said slowly. Painfully, the words bit your tongue, but you were merciless against someone who had control against the situation. You could say no and you knew Scaramouche would stop, he was gentle to you and you only. And even if he’d been firm just before, you knew that he’d still stop if you asked him to.

A part of you felt thrilled to have that power over him.

Another part of you just wanted to escape.

But you didnt have any hope to do so unless you were willing too give him everything. Because he expected everything and would do anything in his power to obtain it. You’d let him fiddle around with this delusion, thinking that he had control. Until he didnt.

Which is why you didnt flinch when his hand gently slid up your stomach, cold against the warmth you’d had under the blankets. Rubbing gingerly against your skin and drawing smooth shapes over before he slowly slid over your body. His eyes seemed to glint under the darkness of the room, lust filled and wanting.

You didnt shift uncomfortably, you pretended to be that doll he expected you to be.

Just staring up at him as he slowly leaned down to kiss you. His lips felt like snowflakes on a winters day, idly swaying side to side to catch one in your mouth. Jolting like electricity when they melted into your touch, red and swollen when he pulled back. You now vividly felt every touch, as if a current flowed and static jittered in the places he briefly brushed his fingertips.

“You always take such good care of me,” he breathed, lips slowly drifting down your chin. Just past your jawline and right on your neck. The space between your head and shoulder, a soft vulnerable spot that had your lips humming at the affectionate pressure. “Its my turn to take care of you.”

And then his lips were everywhere, collarbone, shoulders, cleavage. Just until his teeth were tugging off your bra, face nuzzled in between both breasts. Both of his hands now resided on your hips, grabbing both thighs to hold them up and against him. You could feel him hard, pressing so close to your heated core.

You managed to keep your reactions in check.

Just until he slowly grinded against you, mouth on your breasts as he again pecked the soft mounds, molding his lips against them as if he could remember the texture, memorize the feel. It was just to that point that mindless sounds slipped past your lips, turning to gasps when his hands on your thighs suddenly buzzed, and static rushed in. Your legs felt weak, entire body thrumming in response to the electricity he sent jolting.

He was using his vision.

The realization was numb against his lips on your breasts, hands slowly stroking the skin of your sides, travelling up. He hovered over you for mere seconds before mashing his lips against you once more, different. He was no longer gentle, and it was with the contact on your tail that you lost all control. When he gently moved it out of the way, backing up.

You were a mess.

Not that you tried to be, you’d been doing your best not to enjoy his touch. But it was hard when your core heated up so fast, mashing both legs together in hopes he wouldn't notice. You knew he would, any action beyond that was just you trying to save your dignity.

He sat there like he was enjoying the sight, the first time you’d seen him actually portray any visual confirmation of satisfaction towards the chains. He’d drink dry any ounce of control you gave him, and it was impossible not to give him it all when you were visionless and vulnerable.

But the dignity you struggled so hard to keep shattered when his hands brushed against your inner thigh.

Fingers slowly made their way to the padded fabric of your undergarments, two digits rubbing the area slowly with expertise. You bit your lip, muffling any groan of anticipation, hiding the way your hips tried to rock back into the gesture. Desperate, oh so desperate. Hiding back the whimpers as he slowly quickened the pace of his fingers against your garments. “Archons Y/n,” he murmured. “I haven't even put anything in and you’re already a squirming mess.”

“Shut u-up,” was all you managed, trying to shift away from the pressure against your clit. But his other hand was on your hip, holding in place. You could only watch and press your thighs tightly together as he slowly slid down your panties, resuming hovering over you. Distracting you with kisses, his fingers gently stroked your core, two fingers slowly sliding into your cunt using your juices.

He was gentle when pumping both fingers in and out, too slow when you thrust your hips to meet his fingers, pleading for him to go faster. But he liked hearing your cries, slowing down when you begged, quickening when you whined and just lay there, taking it.

You shuddered the first time electricity jolted from his digits.

It was when he had three fingers that he sent the static up your body, back arching with such intensity that it even had him chuckling. “Oh? You like it that much?” And then it is like something buzzed against your body, fingers vibrating against your clit as your thighs tightened around his hand. So much that you thought you’d crush it, but it didn't matter, not with the electrifying feeling against your body. It felt so odd, so overwhelmingly good that it had your legs sliding up and down the bedside, toes curling as the static grew and you fell paralyzed to his touch.

It didn't take long with his fingers thrusting in and out of you to cum. Moaning mess when he gave you the time to breathe, teeth biting your bottom lip and then mashing against yours. Your eyes grew fuzzy and most happened in a haze, and all you knew the entire time was that you’d given yourself to him, and that it felt good. You couldn't see the childlike wonder in his eyes anymore, not the need of a beacon or of support. No, the look he shared was feral, the smile tinting his lips almost scary. But it felt too good to care, and you let yourself enjoy his ministrations.

He pulled out and suddenly his own shorts were undone, boxers thrown to the side of the room just like all your other clothing. You didn't see how big he was, just felt his hard shaft against your throbbing cunt, pussy dripping and legs open wide and tired after your first go at it.

You expected him to be gentle like he’d been with his fingers. But he pressed the tip against your core, and in one full motion he was in. Teeth grinding against each other, you held back a scream, shock coursing through your body, overwhelmed with pain and discomfort. It hurt. But it was quickly overshadowed by his movements as he slid in and out of you, slow when pulling his hips back, and rocking himself completely inside you each time. A pattern that let you catch your breath and lose it all the same. Like he was continuously having a go at hitting the deepest parts of you, pulling back before fully thrusting into you and sending waves of pleasure and pain alike.

It was expected, but you couldnt hear yourself.

Not with your mind trapped in a haze of how he felt, body still buzzing after how he’d pulsed his vision through you. And now you were at the mercy of his member, hips swaying along with his, no energy for you to rock with him and try to push him deeper.

Archons, you didn't even think he could go deeper.

But you were proven wrong again and again as he kept the steady pace, hands clawing at your ass and hips. Stabilizing himself and trying to press himself against you, as far as he could go. Slowly, his hands drifted up to your hair, playing with the soft sensation of your furry ears. Pinching and rubbing, fingers coaxing the back of them like a massage. So gentle, but it paled in comparison to the harsh treatment of his dick.

You came first, gripping the chain with your hands in an attempt to stay stable. Walls clenching around him one last time before you got your release, your moans turning into cries when he continued to thrust into you. Your body felt numb, all nerves centred on the way he pounded into you, chasing his own release.

When he did, he pressed his head into your chest, his own breaths heavy with pleasure. Not pulling out, you could only lay there helplessly as his seed filled you, warm in contrast to the electricity he’d shot up your body just earlier. He didnt pull out, and laying in your chest, your heavy breathing didnt stop until he was asleep, collapsing on you and using you as support yet again.

Taking only a minute later to regain control of your senses, you shifted uncontrollably at his member inside of you, sending waves of pleasure every time you moved. Your wrists were restrained and you were stuck in this position till morning.

Achingly, you looked down at the boy, wondering how you would ever manage to escape.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact hc #genshin impact oneshots #genshin headcanons #genshin impact scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #genshin smut #scaramouche smut #genshin fluff #smut #writing

[i-cant-sing]

I’ve seen child/baby reader for the Todoroki clan but what about Erasermic? They just adore the chubby little girl that could barely say their names right or their hearts just burst at her cute smol hand gripping their finger as she smiles to them! Watch em lose it when she calls them “Papa” or “Daddy” 😭💕💖

Yandere Platonic Erasermic x child reader

Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

Yandere Erasermic:

Aizawa looked intimidating. Unapproachable. Distant. Unwelcoming.

It was clear from how all the parents looked at him, quickly ushering their kids away from him as if he was a villian. This was the reason he never really liked going out in public all that much.

"Daddy!"

But for you he will walk though hell barefoot if has to.

At the sound of your voice, a warm smile immediately appeared on his face. Crouching down, Aizawa caught your little body that jumped at him.

You giggled as he picked up and nuzzled his nose with yours.

"Hey, princess."

Pulling you away from him, he took in your appearance.

Your pony tails were lop sided, your face was flush and sweaty, your uniform was all dirty. Your shirt was tucked out of your skirt, your once shiny black shoes were now muddy.

"Why do you look so messy? Did you get in a fight?" Aizawa asked you, but he already knew his sweet little angel wouldn't hurt a fly.

"No! We were playing!" You giggled.

"Okay, okay. Let's go." With that, Aizawa took your hand and began walking home.

Every single day for the last week since kindergarten started, you always returned looking like you had rolled around in mud.

"I missed you today! Did you miss me?" You said as you skipped. Your father nodded. "I did. What happened at school today?"

"Great! I went to class and said hi to my friends, and then miss Hita came and then we did numbers and then-" And you continued to ramble on about every single detail about your day. Aizawa loved hearing you talk, even if you did become repetitive, it was the gleam in your eyes and the awe in your voice and your oh so real expressions.

"Is Papa home?" You asked him mid rambling.

He nodded. "Yes. And he has a surprise for you."

Your eyes sparkled. "Surprise?! What is it?" You jumped up and down. Honestly, he was amazed with how energetic you were. Even after a tiring day at school, you would always have to be wrestled or bribed for an afternoon nap, as you always claimed you weren't sleepy.

You're going to wish you took more naps now when you grow up.

Aizawa smiled. "No point of a surprise if I tell you." He liked teasing you, and he knew you were about to play your guessing game now.

"Is it a balloon?"

"No."

"Is it 2 balloons?"

"No."

"Is it a an elephant?"

"No."

"Is it an aeroplane?"

"What? No."

You'll never figure it out at this rate-

"Is it... something to eat?"

"..."

"It is something to eat! What is it? Tell me please." You whined.

"You've guessed it right so far, you can figure out the-"

"Is it Katsudon?"

"..."

"Dad... Is. It. Katsudon?" You asked him, mustering up your utmost serious face, but you just ended up looking even more adorable than before.

"...yes."

Aizawa closed his eyes as you screamed in glee.

And then the rest of the way home, you skipped and chanted "katsudon".

Hizashi heard the front door open and as he walked over to welcome his darlings, his knees was tackled by a very small body that screeched "KATSUDON!"

The blonde shot a mean glare to Aizawa for ruining the surprise, but that was interrupted by you jumping up and down. Hizashi picked you up and gasped at your appearance.

"Why do you look like you came out of a war?!"

"Katsudon!" You kicked your feet excitedly and wriggled in his arms.

Hizashi chuckled. "Okay okay. But first, you need a bath. Daddy will clean you up while I will go prepare your-" "KATSUDON!" Both men erupted in chuckles.

During lunch, you swung your feet back and forth as Hizashi fed you. You could feed yourself, but you're busy telling them about your day.

"And then we began playing in recess. And then Tabiko was the Prince and I was the Princess and then Tabiko saves me from the dragon and we were going to kiss and live happily ever after! And then Hirio fell, and then-"

What?

Did they- did they hear you right?

Your fathers looked at each other as if to confirm they both heard the same thing.

Kiss?

"Honey... what- what do you mean kiss?" The blonde asked, his tone full of worry.

You gulped down the delicious piece of meat before speaking. "I was the Princess and Tabiko was the Prince, and when he saved me, we would kiss!"

"You kissed Tabiko?" Aizawa asked, his eyes turning a bit dark at the thought of this boy.

You shook your head giggling. "Noo, recess was over so we had to go back to class." You smiled. "But Tabiko said that we can kiss tomorrow!"

No fucking way.

"No. You won't do that." Your dad said, eyebrows furrowing slightly.

"Yes, I wiIl. Tabiko promised me!" You smiled.

Aizawa got up from his seat and moved to crouch in front of you, making him at eye level with you.

"Princess, you're not going to kiss Tabiko." Your dad took that serious tone, the one that left no room for argument but you didn't pick up on that.

"Why?" You pouted.

"Because I'm telling you. And you're not going to kiss anyone else either." Aizawa said as he held your hands.

"No one?"

"No one."

"But what if I love them?"

"You only love us, honey!" Hizashi pitched in.

"But I get to kiss my boyfriend, right?"

Aizawa lightly squeezed your hands. "No. And no boyfriends or girlfriends either."

Your eyes became teary and they could see your lip wobbling too. "Not even when I'm old?"

No. Not even then.

Is what they wanted to say, but Hizashi tried to pacify you. "Yeah. Sure, you can be in a relationship when you're old, like... 70?"

You immediately began counting on your fingers. I'm 4, so 5, 6, 7... that is 1,2, 3 years?

"So...like in 3 years?"

"70. Not 7" The blonde chuckled.

You began counting again but then got tired at 18, so you stopped.

"But... I will get kisses when I'm 70?" You asked worriedly, still confused why your dads weren't letting you kiss people.

Aizawa scooped you up in his arms. "You don't have to wait that long. You can have kisses now." And then your dad began attacking your face in kisses, making you laugh. "And you can get more but only if you promise not to kiss anyone else!" Hizashi said. You nodded and then both your dads tickled your face with kisses.

You're so naive, so innocent. Their sweet little angel.

They'll be damned if they let some scum take you away from them.

#yandere bnha #yandere erasermic x reader #yandere Platonic Erasermic #yandere erasermic #yandere aizawa #yandere eraserhead #yandere hizashi #yandere hizashi yamada #yandere present mic #yandere aizawa shouta #platonic erasermic #erasermic x reader

[lily-drake]

Fantasy/Twin AU

Sorry for being late and not posting for a bit. Was a bit burnt out and had writer block. I will go back to write the other days soon though. Also, sorry, I suck at writing wing aus, this is my first time doing it.

Earth J-236, an earth full of mystical life.  An earth where everyone is born with wings.  Your wings represented who you are; well not really, but that’s what people believed.  If your wings were bright and colorful then you were obviously an amazing person, but if your wings were darker or had little color, then you have great evil in your soul.  Marinette was born seconds after her twin, Damian.  It takes a few years before your wings fully grow in, usually to about 6.  But with the accelerated growth serums used in their artificial wombs, it took them till they were three for their feathers to sprout.  Damian’s were black like their father’s with subtle hints of red like their mothers.  Marinette’s were pure black, devoid of any color, and her mother was so proud of that.  She was the League’s charm, for it’s believed that anyone with pure black wings was pure evil.  Her only purpose being to protect her brother, nothing else was more important than her brother’s safety.  She would die for him, because if he died she might as well have died as well as her only purpose for living would be gone.

Damian glared at his sister, his wings ruffling in annoyance.  She was hovering close to him again, and she never said anything to him ever unless she was completely sure they were alone.  He did not believe that his sister was or could ever be, “pure evil” just because of her wings.  In fact, her mannerisms are the exact opposite of what people believed.  She, in her own ways, is caring, sweet, and protective.  He had seen, and helped, her nurse a baby bird that had fallen from its nest back to health.  She would often place little things around the base for only him to find such as some extra baklava, a throwing knife, a drawing of someone, beads, or other random objects.  Grandfather had always been extra hard on her, making sure she wouldn’t betray them, she wouldn’t become “evil enough to lose herself”.  Sometimes she would sneak into his room at night, and it tore him apart to see silent tears run down his little sister's face as small black raven feathers fell onto the floor from her days worth of training.  He had been learning how to fly, her wings had been clipped every two or three months so she could not leave the base.  She had learned long ago to control her facial and wing expressions, but he could always see the droop in them and the sad shine in her eyes as she stood on the ground while he was in the air.

________

Marinette looked up and watched as the fiery Phoenix flew through the air setting Nada Parabat aflame.  She didn’t feel much as she watched her grandfather get blown up.  She only felt great anxiety and fear as she could not find her brother.  She loved her brother, and if her job was to cause chaos, she would make sure she could prevent it from hurting him.  Grandfather had told her about how cursed she was, it’s why they had to be extra tough on her, and she understood that.  They couldn’t have her hurting anyone they needed, only the people they wanted gone.  She was angry at grandfather yesterday for taking some of her feathers for failing a task, this must have been her fault.  She didn’t want to hurt her brother, her wings had only proven nothing but destruction.  She had to leave now, then she could go where no one else was, and she wouldn’t have to hurt anyone else.  So like a coward, like the disgrace she was, she ran.  She kept her wings tight against her back making sure that no one could grab them as she ran.  An arrow hit one of them, but she didn’t have time to think about the burning pain as she ran and ran and ran farther and farther and farther away.  Tears ran down her cheeks as she silently prayed that her brother would be okay.

She didn’t know how long she ran, but she knew it must have been a really long time as she had just collapsed from exhaustion in the woods.  She looked back at her wings and slowly and carefully spread them out and hissed in pain from where the arrow had pierced her left wing.  Drops of red slowly dripped down her feathers and dropped on the ground.  She quickly closed them and made sure they were as small and put away as possible.  She looked up at the trees made of brass with different colored jade leaves.  Pearl-like apples growing on a few.  She watched a baby griffon follow it’s mother in the distance, turtle ducks waddling to a pond somewhere nearby, deer nibbling on plants, she could hear the rustling of leaves and branches from unseen creatures and everything was getting more blurry and dark.  She was cold, it felt very cold.  She slowly unwound her wings from around herself and closed them tightly around her, but that didn’t stop the chill that went deep down to her bones.  She was a failure, a mistake, she would only cause harm.  Here she wouldn’t be able to do that, and if she died here, then no one would be hurt by her again, and wasn’t that such a nice thought.

________

Tom and Sabine had finally been able to hire some trusted employees and explore places in Tibet.  They had made lots of money over the years with their successful bakery, and they thought now was a better time than ever to go on a real honeymoon as they hadn’t been able to afford it before when the bakery had first started.  It was during one of these forest explorations when they saw a trail of little drops of blood and felt they needed to follow it.  What they discovered broke their hearts.  There lying on the cold forest floor was what appeared to be a child hugging their very black wings around them.  They knew of the rumors and myths of black winged people, but they did not care.  They believed that their wings were not what made them evil, but rather situations put into their lives.  Sabine quickly checked for a pulse, and though it was slow she sighed in relief when she felt it.  She quickly handed the small unconscious girl to Tom and they both quickly went to the nearest hospital.  How could someone leave such a small child all alone to die like that?  It looked as if she had been injured if the dried blood on the small fragile wings said anything.  And worst of all, upon closer examination, they had been clipped, recently too.

As soon as they arrived they carried the small girl to the front and demanded that they take her in.  They waited until the doctors were done and gave them permission to visit claiming to be the girl’s adopted parents.  It wasn’t technically a lie, they would be soon even if Sabine had to force it to happen.

When Marinette woke up she knew something was off.  She was under a blanket, she’s never been given a blanket before.  The sent of bleach and chemicals were everywhere and it hurt her nose.  There was a beeping noise next to her that was giving her a headache.  She didn’t know where she was, and that was bad.  She opened her eyes a small fraction so nobody could see she was awake and looked around as much as she could.  The entire room was white and there were bright lights.  There were two strange people waiting in chairs near where she was laying.  She wondered if they were the ones who brought her here.  Slowly she opened them up all the way and silently sat up.  It’s best to make no noise, then she wouldn’t disturb anyone.

“Oh sweety, I’m so glad you’re awake.”

The woman said in a cheery and relieved manner, but she just continued to watch and study them silently.  Her wings felt stiff against her back, though she made sure they didn’t move or give anything away.

“How are you feeling dear?”

Silence greeted them, and her face remained as impassive as ever.  They wanted something, why else would they save a freak like her?  What were they aiming for here?

“Did your parents hurt you?  If so, we can take you away from them.”

Marinette’s eyes widened only a fraction.  These were randoms, innocents if you will.  They obviously had no idea who she was, and they seemed unafraid of her and her wings.  Did they not know how dangerous she was, didn’t they know that black wings meant she was cursed?  The man and the woman looked at eachother and spread their wings.  Marinette was shocked, but she wouldn’t show it.

The large man had light brown eagle wings while the small woman had white and black woodpecker wings.  She wanted to reach out and touch the feathers, but then something bad would happen to them, so she held her hands together.

“We don’t care what your wing color is.  Your wings don’t define who you are, it’s what you do with your life that does.  Can we please help you?”

The woman said sincerely as she gripped the man’s hand in hers.  She felt a pull to them, something telling her to accept.  She didn’t want to hurt them though.  But maybe she could protect them?  Maybe she could find a way around her curse and make sure they don’t get hurt?  Slowly she nodded and they both looked so happy when she did.  She hoped that she wouldn’t hurt them, they didn’t deserve to be cursed.  Maybe if she didn’t touch them things would be ok.  If she didn’t let them touch her then it wouldn’t spread.  She could do this!

________

Apparently she couldn’t do it because this is a very affectionate family, and the first thing that happened before they let her sleep on their —super fluffy, pure Heaven— bed was give her a hug.  She had made sure that her wings were tucked under her clothes and tight against her back the entire time though.  So they didn’t touch her wings, so maybe that meant they wouldn’t be cursed.

It was strange, because the next morning they went to a courthouse, and she was adopted.  She hadn’t said anything throughout the entire event, she just watched and observed what people did.  They stayed in Tibet for another few days before they flew to Paris, France.  This was supposed to be her new home.  The city of light and love.  Maybe here, it would stop her curse.  It was so bright that it had to block out her darkness.  She still always carried one of her knives with her, she felt naked without one.  Tom and Sabine seemed to understand somehow, and said that it was her business and that was enough for them till she was ready to talk about it.  It was strange not to be interrogated for now wanting to tell someone something.

Marinette had lived with the Dupain-Chengs for about a year now.  It was strange really, they were honest business people and their joy was always sincere.  They didn’t question much of what she did even though it was probably weird to them.  They didn’t punish her for messing up like the league did, and they never went near her wings without permission.  They never plucked her feathers, and they would often ask if they could preen her wings.  She would refuse every time, but she would often wonder what it would be like to have someone else touch them.  Think of what it would be like if she weren’t cursed.  When it was time for school she would always wrap them around herself then tape them so no one would see or be able to touch them.  Things were finally going well, she couldn’t risk it now!

There was a blonde brat that liked to act like she was above her, and because her wings were always hidden with no explanation she made sure everyone knew that she was “wingless”.  She didn’t care though, being wingless was better than being evil winged.  She never really said anything in class or to other students, she never gave much reaction keeping her stoic face up.  The brat left her alone soon after for being a, “ridiculous!  Utterly ridiculous freak.”  And nobody was the wiser.

Being Lady Chaos was….the best thing that ever happened to her if she was being honest.  Even with pure black wings, people still thought she was a hero.  She never flew, she was scared she’d fall and die.  She was never allowed to fly before, and even if she technically can do so now, it’s not worth the risk.  Her partner though, Mr. Bug has gold, red, and black wings.  He can fly through the air with ease she wished she desperately had.  Sometimes after patrol she would go to the very top of the Eiffel Tower and just stretch her wings out as far out as she could.  She would close her eyes as the wind blew past her and ruffled her feathers and pretend that she was soaring through the air.

________

Year three of living with Tom and Sabine she was comfortable talking to them more, and with Plagg there to control her chaos she finally let them touch her wings.  It was strange really, she never took care of her wings, never cared enough to.  When she first felt the hands on her feathers she had to will herself not to draw them back for fear of them plucking or ripped out.  But Sabine’s hands were so gentle and smooth that they seemed to move on their own and go closer to her touch.  Sabine would smile and hum as she gently preened the dark raven feathers that were soft and smooth.  Maybe she could finally tell the class that she wasn’t wingless soon, and maybe they would be okay with it.

No, they would not as she learned from listening to her classmates talk to the new student, Lila Rossi.  To them Lady Chaos was the only good black winged person because she was chasing after Mr. Bug to earn his affections.  Lady Chaos was obviously evil before she met Mr. Bug and she would always be evil no matter what she did.  Marinette felt nauseous that she ever thought about telling them the truth.  She had never felt more betrayed than she felt now, because she had given them her trust, and they broke it without even knowing it.  After that day, she made extra sure that her wings were hidden and wore a bit thicker clothing just in case.  Tom and Sabine are a little worried about it, but she calmed them pretty quickly.  She was fine, it wasn’t like they were all great friends to begin with.  That’s probably why everyone sides with Lila and decides that she’s a terrible person.

She had tried leaving her past behind, pretending that she didn’t hurt and kill people.  Pretend that she wasn’t a weapon.  She tried to push it far away, but it wasn’t enough.  It was never enough.  She had abandoned her brother.  She betrayed the league.  She did unspeakable things to please someone who would never care about her, just her use.  The city of lights seems duller than usual, it was probably her fault Hawkmoth came to be in the first place, afterall she was cursed to bring ruin everywhere she went.

________

Lila and Chloe thought it would be a great idea to bring everybody to the Crime Capital of the World for their senior trip.  Probably to watch people flounder and worry when things go wrong, which they definitely would.  She had stopped Hawkmoth a month before the trip, but Mr. Bug took all the credit for it. The arrogant self centered bas*.  Adrien kept giving her side glances that always made her feel uncomfortable and slightly disgusted.  During school he would try to touch her with every chance he’d get.  He almost discovered her wings at one point.  She couldn’t do anything about it before because of the stupid your-rich-so-do-whatever-the-heck-you-want treatment.  Now that Adrien’s family fortune is gone, and people don’t trust him because of what his dad did, so he has to be more careful.  He now kept some distance, which she was extremely grateful for.

She would have broken his hand, she had imagined it plus other things more than once.  But then Tom and Sabine would get in trouble by Gabriel for her actions.  They didn’t deserve that, they had been nothing but good to her since they found her abandoned in that forest.

She would be fine though, as long as Lila had a grip on his arm and she was in the back, away from him.  She listened to their tour guide, Richard Grayson, talk about the history and importance of WE.  The architecture was brilliant really, and you couldn’t blame her for having to draw and sketch it.  She often thought of Damian when she sketched.  She used to leave drawings for him around the base, little things that expressed her adoration for him without getting too close.  She wondered if he was still with the league, had he escaped, did he die?  She hoped that wasn’t the case, she hoped that he would be alive and well.  Bright orange and white wings nearly slapped her in the face if she hadn’t stopped right before the movement had occurred.

“Oh my gosh!  I’m so sorry Marinette!  Sometimes my wings just spasm out of control like that!  I didn’t hurt you did I?”

Marinette just silently rolled her eyes and took a few steps backward and watched the class glare at her waiting for her to comfort the liar.  She would never lower herself to do that.  She was still an Al Ghul afterall, even if she did leave it behind when she fled.  She was thankful when lunch came, she waited far away from the line and watched silently from a dark corner to make sure no one would hurt her.  Then she felt it, a hand touching her back feeling for something.  She quickly and instinctively grabbed the arm and twisted it behind them pinning it behind their back at a painful angle.

“Ukhti, let go.”

Marinette knew that voice.  She remembered that name and she could feel her heart stop.  The lunchroom was silent as they watched the small bluenette silently and quickly release the “Ice Prince”. Everyone watched with bated breaths to see what would happen next.  The boy’s wings were ruffled in agitation and fear.

“Where are they?”

He demanded.  Marinette knew what he was talking about, she simply wrapped her arms around herself and turned her head away definitely.

“Why are you hiding them, Malak?  Please.”

Marinette could feel her wings moving in defiance to what her brain was saying.  They wanted to be shown, they wanted to be touched by her brother again.  She looked down and slowly uncrossed her arms from her body.  Damian gently took her hands in his and looked directly into her eyes.

“Everything will be ok, Taw'ami.”

She slowly nodded and with shaky fingers reached under her hoodie and began to slowly unwrap the tape that kept her wings confined.  When all the tape was in her hands she hesitantly removed her hoodie and let her wings unfold from around herself and into the open.  She had made shirts that let her wings slip through slits in the back that were tailored to her wings specifically and were most comfortable.  Damian marveled at how big her raven wings had grown and how shiny they were.  He reached out a hand slowly and gently ran his fingers down the inky black that was her wings.

Shouts of fear and accusations were thrown at her, mostly from her class.  She didn’t listen though, she just observed.  The tour guide was coming over now, probably to kick her out.  He had such lovely wings though,  they were a deep navy blue that looked similar to black with dark red and light blue running through them.  They looked so well kept and soft.

“Damian, what’s happening?  Who is this?”

“Grayson, meet my twin sister, Marinette.”

“You have a twin?!”

Richard exclaimed loudly, drawing even more attention.  The insults and jeers stopped after that.  She looked over at the class and smirked when she saw their shock and confusion.

“Yes, keep up.”

Damian said brusquely.  They must know each other well then.

“Come, we must take her away from these imbeciles and take her to father.”

Damian grabbed her wrist and tugged, her quickly falling into line like she used to when he did this.

“Now tell me Ukhti, have you been taking care of yourself?”

She nodded as they came to an elevator and walked into it with Richard right behind them.  Marinette felt her feathers fluff up nervously.  She wasn’t in control of them right now, and she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. Damian ran a hand gently down her right wing trying to smooth it down.

“Things will be fine Marinette.  Just watch, father will be glad to meet you.”

She looked him in the eyes and squeezed her hands together.

“No, I have not told him about you.  Things will be fine though.”

He seemed to understand her weird way of communicating, she still didn’t understand how he did.  Richard cleared his throat and both turned to look at him.

“Sorry to interrupt, but um…I’m Dick, I’m Damian’s, and yours I guess, oldest brother.  It’s nice to meet you.”

He spread his wings in a welcoming way that meant and showed safety and peace. Her wings involuntarily rose up as well to reciprocate his greeting.  When the door to the elevator opened again she quickly forced her wings to hide on her back trying desperately to keep them from sight.  Damian didn’t seem to like it, but he just grabbed her wrist and dragged her to a large office room.  The plaque on the door read “CEO Bruce Wayne”.  Their father was Bruce Wayne?!  She couldn’t go in there, she couldn’t curse him and ruin his life.  No, she had already messed up at the league, and she was just barely not messing up with Tom and Sabine, she would definitely ruin Bruce Wayne’s life, and she would not allow that to happen.  She tugged at his grip desperately trying to get away.

“Marinette, stop.  Your wings are not cursed, that was a lie.”

Marinette shook her head and kept trying to escape the iron-like grip.

“Do you not trust me anymore?”

She froze at that and quickly shook her head.  Of course she trusted him, it was her that shouldn’t be trusted.

“Good, because we’re going in now.”

And that was that, because the door was now open and she was being dragged into the office room where their father and another boy with large bags under his eyes stared at them.  Damian puffed up his chest and feathers letting his strong, big, and brilliant wings rise into the air.

“Father, this is your daughter, my twin, Marinette Erebus Al Ghul-Wayne.”

They both stared at her in shock and Marinette slowly and cautiously raised her despicable black wings into the air.  Both stared at them in awe before looking back at her, but she didn’t meet their eyes.  She didn’t want to see the disgust and hatred in their eyes.

After a few moments she looked up and saw their wings greeting hers like Dick’s had.  Their father’s wings were a mix of black and dark grey alternating the color in each row of feathers.  The other boy’s were black at the top and slowly turned to red at the bottom.  But they were welcoming her openly, so that must mean something!  Well, it was time to get to know her father, she guessed.

#maribat #BDBWM2021 #bio!dad bruce wayne #marinette dupain cheng #marinette wayne #marinette al ghul wayne #twin au #fantasy au #sibling au #sibling daminette #sibling timinette #sibling dickinette #days 10 & 12 #angst #salt #marinette needs a hug #class trip #class slat #adrien salt #marinette uses the black cat #wings au #mlb x batman #dc x mlb #mlb x dc

[thefanficmonster]

Innocent Life

Ethan Winters (Resident Evil Biohazard) & Child!Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of Death, Grief, Spoilers for RE8:Village, Swearing

Genre: Angst

Summary: As Ethan stands outside the ruins of Luiza’s house, looking the aftermath of the death he barely escaped in the eye, he cannot get the wails and cries of a child out of his head. Takes him a bit to realize they’re not a product of his trauma.

Requested by Anon. Hi dear! Thank you so much for the wonderful request, I had a blast writing it - what can I say, angst is my specialty hehe. Hope you enjoy the read! Love, Vy ❤

How the hell is this happening? Why is this happening? Why to me? Why my family? Why were we the ones chosen for this suffering to be thrown upon? What did my daughter do to deserve this, for fuck’s sake?!

Why does everyone around me die? Why do I always loose everyone?

I’m the problem....

His knees are weak, his head’s spinning. His lungs have filled with smoke and ash so much he can barely breathe. His eyes sting, reddened around the edges, his vision blurry. However, what bothers him most is the mess that is currently his mind - swimming with the feeling of betrayal, sorrow and dread.

He lost so much so suddenly and in such a short amount of time. He lost Chris - someone he thought of as a friend but has now been replaced by a coldblooded killer and backstabber. He refuses to believe that’s still the Chris who saved him and Mia from Louisiana, he has to be dead.

Mia....

He lost Mia. He’s lost her before countless times - he lost her when he though she was dead, he kept losing her and getting her back at the Bakers’ residence as she switched between her monstrous form and being herself. He lost her again when they made it back, when her mind was clouded and darkened, when all she needed was solitude and when he wasn’t allowed anywhere near her as doctors upon doctors used her as a research object. And now he’s lost her again, this time for good. It’s just him and Rose now.

Or it would be if she too wasn’t taken from him, leaving him in the pit of grief and loss, both emotions at an intensity he’s never experienced before. Like a drill going through his heart, or a sledgehammer breaking it down to shards. Or as though his heart’s completely vanished, unable to take the anguish Ethan’s existence has become. The anguish that will live on for as long as he will.

Those three years of Mia being gone.

That nightmarish night back in Louisiana.

The horrific sight of dozens of bullets entering his wife’s body in front of his very eyes as he remained helpless.

The sound of Rose’s wailing cries.

God, he can still hear them. And oh so vividly. Like a cursed, haunting loop in his brain. If he closes his eyes he can almost imagine her being a few feet from him, near him, giving him the opportunity to soothe her, calm her down, tell her it’s all gonna be ok even if it seems like hell at the moment. Promising he’d make it all alright and make the right people pay for what’s happened.

But then finally, he picks up on it - the oddity in the cries he’s hearing.

They’re too realistic for a mind to be able to produce. They’re too loud and too close and are external. And, most importantly, they sound like the cries of an older child.

Ethan quickly snaps himself back to reality, coming to terms with the knowledge that the sounds he’s hearing are a part of it and not some dark corner of his mind. Despite the horror he feels and creep up, taking over his whole body in the form of cold sweat, he still takes a step towards the source of the ear-splitting and heart-sinking noise. It’s instinctively human to feel a sickening feeling of sympathy combined with the need to shield something so powerless from any harm.

To save an innocent life.

Heading towards the side of what used to be Luiza’s house he spots it - a crib on top of which there’s a pile of rubble and wooden planks. The thing seems to barely be standing and yet it’s harboring the child whose cries have now grown louder. Ethan’s frozen for a few moments, frozen with fear. Frozen with the overwhelming thought that there’s no way he can save that child. Frozen and powerless, just like he was on the floor of his own home as life left Mia’s body.

You didn’t do anything for her....

The sound of a crack in the already weak wood, seemingly coming from the child’s crib, sends all his senses on edge, his adrenaline once again starting to rush through his veins.

But you can do something for that child, Ethan! Do something before it’s too late!

Within the blink of an eye, Ethan finds himself standing above the unsteady wooden structure, putting all his strength into removing the rubble that has thankfully piled atop the wooden planks, preventing anything from landing on the baby and harming it. Hell, it’s a miracle it didn’t suffocate from the smoke in the first place. Its cries are put to a halt when its wide eyes land on Ethan, who’s looking back at the toddler with the same amount of distress.

“Hi there. It’s ok, you’re safe now.“ He finds himself breathing out shakily as his trembling hands reach down, picking up the now silent toddler. “It’s ok, little one. You’re a literal miracle, you know that?“ His gaze travels over the ruin the house has become, the house that was this child’s home. Its family’s home. This toddler knows loss much like Ethan does, or it will when it grows up. But as of now, it’s secured in the bubble of blissful ignorance due to infancy.

And Ethan has come across yet another bump in the road: making his way in the castle was already gonna be a difficult and possibly lethal venture, but doing it with a child in his arms, that’s a death sentence for both him and the kid.

“You and I have a thing for surviving hell, but not even I am willing to take the risk of taking you with me, kid.“ He gently caresses the toddlers head as its big awed eyes blink up at him with curiosity.

One one hand, a castle with horrors he’s yet to be familiar with; on the other, a village which’s horrors he’s already seen and experienced and would rather die right in this very spot than subject this innocent kid to them.

Ethan’s once again stranded.

“What do I do with you, kid? Being with me won’t bring you any good. I’m like a death sentence to everyone around me.“ His heart breaks as he says that because - in his mind and by his logic - it’s the truth. It’s the only thing that makes sense in such a nonsensical situation.

Then suddenly, an idea sparks, fueling what little hope and courage he has left and getting his legs to move from the spot they’ve been stuck in for the past God knows how long. That’s not important right now. What matters is that, for the first time since this nightmare started, Ethan Winters has a clue of what he’s doing. He’s got a plan.

                                                                *  *  *

“I see you have returned!“ The Duke greets him with his signature lazy smile before his gaze lands on the child in Ethan’s arms, his eyes widening in surprise, “Oh, and you’ve got company!“

“Actually...“ Ethan stops in front of the shop, adjusting his grip on the kid, “They’ll be keeping you company from now until....well, until I come back.“

“And where is it you’re planning on going?“ The Duke asks, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion and concern, “Perhaps you don’t suppose I know how to take care of a child.“

Ethan grows irritated, “Perhaps you don’t suppose I’m gonna take a kid into that castle you called me insane for wanting to go in myself. Trust me, I wouldn’t be leaving them with you if it wasn’t my only choice.” When he doesn’t receive a verbal response from the Duke, more of an expression change that suggested he’s accepting of this, Ethan grow relieved, turning to the toddler that hasn’t taken its eyes off him even for a second. “Hey, you’re gonna be just alright with the big guy, ok? He’s gonna keep you safe until I come back.” His initial intention was to say ‘even if I don’t come back’ but he just couldn’t bring himself to say it, not to the kid at least, “Until then...” He pauses when a name automatically pops up in his head, “Until then, Y/N, you’ll stay here with the Duke.”

After that heavy-hearted goodbye, Ethan reluctantly hands the kid - Y/N - over to the Duke, a shift they are not very happy about seeing as how they start wailing immediately.

“You owe me plenty, Mr. Winters.“ The Duke says with a frown on his face, displeased and already developing a headache from the child’s cries.

“I owe you nothing. What you’re doing is basic human decency.“ Ethan glares at him before turning his attention to Y/N, “Hey, it’s alright. I know you two aren’t big fans of one another, but I promise I won’t take long. I’ll be back before you know it.“ Planting a quick reassuring kiss on top of the child’s head, he steps away, relieved to find they don’t break out in a crying fit again.

With that peace of mind, he takes off on the path that’ll lead him to the castle. A part of him has found some peace, knowing that one innocent life has been saved.  However, there’s still one awaiting rescue. And he’ll be damned if he’s not the rescuer.

#resident evil 8 #resident evil #resident evil heisenberg #resident evil village #resident evil 7 #re village #re8 #re8 village #resident evil ethan winters #re ethan winters #ethan winters x reader #ethan winters #rose winters #mia winters #chris redfield #karl heisenberg #lady dimitrescu #video game #video games #video game fanfic #father #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #parent #angst #request #requests open #x reader #reader

[nctsjiho]

Your Fault

warnings: strong language, consumption of alchol, mention of death without actual death, very much angst

era: July 7th 2021

❀ NCT 127's 5th anniversary isn't a day to celebrate and be happy for everyone

To Doyoung:

“Happy 5th anniversary oppa!”

“I hope you and the boys are having a great time <3”

JiHo stared at her phone intently waiting for the “sent” at the bottom of her screen to turn into “read”. She had been staring at her phone like that for nearly an hour, yet nothing changed. The girl knew that the boys were busy, but somewhere she hoped that she’d hear from them. Besides the short “wished you could be with us” message she had received the evening before from Taeyong she hadn’t heard from anyone else. Of course JiHo was aware that the boys were busy, but was it a crime to feel left out and maybe want a phone call or something more than a “wished you could be with us” from anyone?

And so JiHo continued to stare at her phone, everything on the small screen getting progressively more blurry as time went on. Her eyes were straining, one almost pressed shut, the other slowly going cross-side. Her right hand, which wasn’t holding the phone, reached out to the glass bottle on her desk. A quick shake letting her know it was empty. So she reached for the other one, opening it skilfully with one hand – like she did with the other two bottles now empty on her desk – and bringing it up to her lips. “Must be nice hm~ Being an idol or whatever…”

“I’m glad you came over.” Sihyun, JiHo’s Esteem manager that lives with her, said as she grabbed the boy’s coat off his shoulders. The piece of clothing, along with his hair, slightly damp caused by the light drizzle outside. “JiHo’s been a bit sensitive and doesn’t let me in her room. She doesn’t want to talk to me at all.” Jaemin watched the woman’s face full of worry. He gave her a small reassuring smile and then glanced at the door leading to JiHo’s room. “I’ll try to talk to her.” Thanking Jaemin, Sihyun then excused herself, telling him she had to run some late night errands.

Not knowing what was happening behind the closed door of the bedroom, Jaemin knocked a few times. “Unnie~ Just leave me- leave me alone.” JiHo hiccupped between her words, her speech sounding a bit slurred. She had been drinking? JiHo?

Without a second thought Jaemin pushed the door open. A jumbled mess of protests escaped JiHo’s lips, but she froze in her chair as soon as her eyes locked with Jaemin. “What… are you doing here?” She muttered to the best of her abilities. “Coming to check up on you.” He neared the girl and poked at the bottles and the mess on her desk. “Clearly you need it.” His tone sounded very much disappointed and for a split second JiHo felt her heart ache, but she quickly turned defensive. “I do not!”

A sigh escaped deep from Jaemin’s chest and he pulled JiHo to sit on the edge of her bed next to him. “Since when do you drink?” It was quiet for a bit. JiHo looked at the bottle of the alcoholic beverage in her hand, swirling it around by circling her wrist and then started to giggle to herself. “A new hobby?” She turned to Jaemin, a big smile on her lips – however Jaemin could see the sadness behind it easily. “It’s fun. Feeling… Nothing! I can barely feel my… my lips.” Her body swayed from side to side prompting Jaemin to grab her by her shoulders and hold her in place. “It’s fun until you wake up with a hangover tomorrow.” He scoffed. “Can’t get a hangover if I don’t sleep.” She said, before turning to her desk. She then pointed at the box of another 9 bottles of alcohol next to it on the floor. “Or if I don’t stop drinking.” She grinned.

“Yah! What’s wrong with you?” Jaemin’s patience ran dry quickly. He just felt so furious seeing how badly JiHo was treating her own body. She never drank and now she was planning to drink 12 bottles of alcohol? Drinking herself straight into the hospital, and if it weren’t for Jaemin being here, maybe straight into her own grave. “This is strong alcohol! For all I know you can’t even handle it, so what made you decide to drink now huh?” He yelled, anger only rising watching the girl just stare at him with wide, innocent eyes.

Those same eyes turned to look at her laptop, located on the desk she sat at earlier. The NCT 127 online fanmeeting being streamed, muted.

Of course Jaemin knew it was NCT 127’s 5th anniversary, he knew it must’ve affected JiHo in some way, even if she kept insisting she was going to be fine and was happy for the boys. She even said that she wasn’t “part of the group since debut, so it wouldn’t even be my 5th anniversary” and everyone just had to nod and smile.

“Is that a reason to potentially drink yourself to death?” Jaemin poked her side – maybe a bit too harsh – to gain her attention again; she seemed to be zoning out every few seconds. “What else was I supposed to do? I’m tired of keeping things in.” She sneered at him and it was almost as if she didn’t drink anything. She sounded much more coherent than just a minute earlier. “Aren’t you doing just that though? Drinking on your own. Not letting Sihyun noona in? We keep telling you to talk to us, yet all you do is keep things in. The hyungs even took you out to do stuff and get your mind off things yet you get home and do the thing you always do.”

JiHo felt every drop of alcohol leave her system as she heard the somewhat condescending tone in her friend’s voice. “What the fuck? So this is my fault-“ “Kinda, yes! You just sit here feeling sorry for yourself while everyone is worried over you! We’re your friends for a reason JiHo. There are so many people who care for you, just start fucking talking when you feel down like this.”

The blood inside of JiHo’s veins started to boil and at the same time she felt tears pricking behind her eyes. “You think it’s that easy? What am I supposed to say? That I feel upset that I can’t be with 127 now? Okay. Then what about it? Me telling you this won’t change shit!” “At least you should stop lying and stop telling everyone you’re fine when you’re not! Why do you continue keeping things a secret from everyone?” Both JiHo and Jaemin’s chest rose and fell at a rapid pace. “But I guess you’re good at that anyway.” He added in a mumble.

Once the words registered in JiHo’s mind, the bottle that started to hover towards her lips was quickly forgotten. “What do you mean by that?” Jaemin just shrugged his shoulders and turned his gaze away from JiHo. “Jaemin? What do-“ “You were supposed to debut in 2016 with NCT U?” JiHo’s eyes widened and she pushed herself to stand up. “How’d you know-“ “Then they asked you to debut in 127? Also with us… In Dream?” “How do you know?” Was the only thing JiHo could say.

“Does it matter?” Jaemin yelled, standing up as well. “Why do you continue to keep secrets from us? Do you not trust us? Is that why you sit here alone? Drinking and crying alone.” The boy watched as JiHo stood in front of him wordlessly. He could see how his words were affecting her, but he wanted to be selfish for once. He wanted to let JiHo know how frustrating things were for him and his friends. He was well aware of how JiHo had her own worries and hardships, but if she never wanted to confide in anyone, then he was allowed to be mad right?

The only sound filling the room was both of their ragged breathing and the occasional shift from one foot to the other. The silence was almost deafening, a ringing shooting up JiHo’s clouded mind making her feel like she was going to lose it any second now. Her friend sending hurtful glares her way didn’t help ease the growing pain either.

“You’re right. I could’ve debuted in 2016, what about it?” JiHo whispered, afraid that her talking too loud would send surges of pain into her brain. “Why did you hide it from us? Why didn’t you say yes back then?” Jaemin interrogated her. “There was no reason to tell you if it didn’t happen. I didn’t debut so telling you I could’ve wouldn’t change a thing. I’m not in Dream, I didn’t debut in U and clearly now, I’m not in 127 either. Jaemin… It doesn’t matter anymore…” JiHo’s voice stayed as calm as possible.

“How long have you known Jaemin?” JiHo spoke up again as Jaemin didn’t say anything. She felt the tension grow exponentially, the pressure on her body and more noticeably her head increasing and bothering her more as well. “I heard it during that last meeting you had with Yebin noona and Mister Lee Soo Man…” JiHo let out a small chuckle, shaking her head in disbelief. “I guess we’re eavesdropping and keeping secrets from me as well.”

She brought the glass bottle still in her hands to her lips, throwing her head back, to down as much of the liquid as possible. Before she could finish it all in one go, Jaemin gripped the bottle and pulled it away from her. “It’s not the same, JiHo!”

The liquid rushed from between JiHo’s lips, making a wet patch on her grey sweatpants. She could feel her throat and lungs burning as she coughed, caused by the alcohol going down her windpipe instead.

Jaemin watched her with concern painting his features, his hand slowly caressing her back hoping it would ease her violent coughs. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?” He whispered and JiHo gave him a small nod as her body calmed down.

The two 00 liners stayed like that for a while, with Jaemin’s eyes burning at the back of JiHo’s downturned head. Even after JiHo’s body stopped shaking violently, Jaemin’s concern continued to grow. It was only when he noticed the drops, which only could be tears, fall onto her sweatpants and create even more wet spots, that he decided to step in.

Jaemin’s hand securely gripped JiHo’s shoulder and he pulled her up to face him. A gasp left the boy’s mouth as he watched large tears spill from his friend’s eyes. “Ji…” It proved incredibly difficult to speak when he was faced with a situation he wasn’t ready to deal with. Maybe Jaemin shouldn’t have confronted her the way he did. Maybe acting like everything was fine wouldn’t have caused him to witness JiHo at possibly the worst she has felt.

It became a full minute of Jaemin staring into JiHo’s pain- and tear-filled eyes, feeling like he could drown in them himself, before a loud pained sob brought him to reality. The sudden jolt of JiHo’s body forward made Jaemin act quickly and pulled the girl into his chest. His hand, just as quickly, found its way into JiHo’s slightly tangled hair.

“I’m… sor- so sorry.” JiHo sobbed into his chest, tears soaking through even the thicker material of the boy’s jumper. Jaemin could feel his sweater start to stick against his chest, yet what felt more uncomfortable than the damp piece of clothing was the feeling of JiHo’s body shaking in his hold.

As best as he could, Jaemin tried to soothe JiHo. Almost like taking care of a crying toddler, he swayed the girl from side to side. His lips were pressed against the shell of JiHo’s ear as Jaemin whispered affirmations into her skin. “Don’t apologise... Stop apologising.”

“I’m only bringing the team down-” “Shh JiHo. Stop that.” He told her, as his fingers continued to comb through her hair, slowly and carefully detangling it along the way. JiHo pressed her eyes tighter as even more tears spilled from her cheeks and pushed herself closer into Jaemin’s grasp.

Mouth agape, a sob that was building up in his own chest was threatening to fall from Jaemin’s own lips. “You don’t deserve any of this JiHo, you only deserve the best.” JiHo only shook her head, but didn’t dare to speak again. “You do... You really do.”

The night in the capital of South-Korea was never really that dark. Lights always seemed to find their way past the pulled back blinds of any building that wasn’t directly blocked by another one due to bad city planning. So even during the darkest time of day, even when all the lights inside have been dimmed, somehow, it was still light enough to see inside.

So when Jaemin pulled back to look at JiHo’s face, her eyes still tightly pressed shut - which pained him immensely - Jaemin could see the light reflecting off of her wet cheeks.

Feeling two hands being placed on her burning cheeks, JiHo finally decided to open her eyes again. A few more tears rolled over her cheeks onto Jaemin’s thumbs, but luckily no new ones seemed to form. “I’m sorry for everything, all this drama. It’s my fault.” Jaemin shook his head and pulled the girl back, this time to hide his own tears that were starting to form. “Please stop apologising, it’s not your fault.”

“But-” JiHo sighed, her arms found their way around Jaemin’s small waist. “I hate that it’s always about me. I don’t want to be this cliche ‘emotional girl with so many problems and everyone has to pay attention to her problems’. I don’t want that. I don’t want to burden you guys with that, but I also don’t want that kind of attention. I know people already hate me for being in a boy’s group. I don’t want my stupid problems to be the only thing that people assiociate me with NCT.”

“Your problems are not stupid JiHo. And though I understand what you’re saying, I think it’s worse to keep it in. If anything, keeping it in just makes us worry about you more and may get you more attention. JiHo I know things suck right now, and I can’t imagine how you’re feeling with everything going on right now, but… Please just talk to us when things are bothering you. We all love you.”

At those last words JiHo loudly sniffled back some stray tears. She pressed herself into Jaemin’s warm embrace and softly nodded her head. “From now on I will. I promise. And…” JiHo looked up at Jaemin, sending him a small smile that he gratefully reciprocated. “I love you guys too. You’re all I have here and that’s enough to make me stay.”

Jaemin’s hand resumed with his previous ministrations. A deep sigh left his lips as he rested his head atop of JiHo’s. “Everything will be just fine.” Jaemin pressed a kiss against JiHo’s hair. “As long as we stay together everything will be just fine.”

#jiho.writings #nct 24th member #nct addition #nct female member #nct imagines #nct angst #nct jaemin angst #nct extra member #nct additional member #nct female addition #kpop!addition #kpop!oc

[britishboystm]

Yoga Antics | Fred Weasley 18+

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: smut 18+ (minors dni!), unprotected vaginal penetration, male masturbation, kissing, swearing, fluff

WC: 2.9k

Summary: Y/N gets into yoga. Now Fred wants to get into Y/N...

A/N: A little something something while y’all wait for the next chapter of TDWM. Enjoy ya horny bastard!

•••

Stress management was something that you had grown to value a great deal in your free time. Even more so when you wound up marrying a Weasley twin.

It wasn’t that you didn’t absolutely adore your husband. You loved him with every fibre of your being. It was true however that sometimes you just needed a moment to yourself to unwind and recuperate, especially when living with such a hectic personality like Fred.

On the hunt for new tactics to tend to your mental health, you came across yoga, a muggle activity that Hermione had been raving about once her and Ron came back from her hometown during the Christmas break. She had said that her mom got her into it and how it made her stress levels drop drastically.

Admitly, you were skeptical at first. The idea of twisting and contorting your limbs to relax your racing mind seemed ridiculous. A simple spell should have been able to do the trick just fine, but alas one did not exist for such a thing, so you were left with not much to work with.

Hoping to persuade you, Hermione handed you a book from across the kitchen table while Ron and the twins laughed about some absolute nonsense in the living room of your home.

“Trust me Y/N. I’m usually a cynic myself about these things, but when I tell you yoga changed my life,”

She quickly glanced over at the boys to make sure their attention was averted elsewhere before leaning in so only you could hear.

“You would not believe the sex I’ve been having. Ever since I started doing yoga, I’ve been able to do things with my body that I could never imagine even in my wildest dreams.” Your eyes expanded instantly upon hearing her saucy confession. It was very unlike Hermione Granger to be so flippant about something as personal as what her and her husband did behind closed doors.

“Hermione!” You squeaked out as you shot your hands up to your flushed cheeks, embarrassed at the thought of your brother in law and best friend/sister in law in any kind of compromising situation. The image was now ingrained into your brain, an image you could easily do without no less.

Hermione lightly giggled but quickly covered it up with a cough when she noticed Ron and the twins look over at the two of you with interest.

“Everything alright ‘mione?” Ron asked, clearly oblivious to the raunchy conversation taking place between the whispering women.

“Nothing, go back to whatever you were doing.” She spoke, pursing her lips to hide a smirk. He gave her a look that read what are you up to over there? but quickly dropped it when he turned back around to continue the conversation he was having with his older brothers.

“I’m serious though, it has been an absolute godsend. I’m sure you and Fred can both get something out of it.” Your cheeks grew an even deeper red at the thought of what all of that might entail.

“Thank you for the advice Hermione. I’ll keep it in mind.” Maybe you would give the book a quick look through, if you were able to find any time during your insanely busy schedule.

“Love, time to head out?” Ron spoke as he stood up from the couch and brought over his finished cup of tea to the sink for washing later.

“Yes, we best be going. Remember what I said Y/N.” She nudged the book further towards you and got up to pull you in for a warm embrace.

“I’ll see you soon.” You spoke, giving her a warm friendly rub on the back before she went over to the door to get her ballet flats on.

“Y/N, always a pleasure.” Ron came over with a dopey smile, opening his arms to give you a big bear hug.

“Bye Ron.” He then headed over to Hermione, giving her his arm to hold on to as she struggled to get on one of her shoes.

“Only thing I’m good for, it seems.” Everyone laughed as Hermione rolled her eyes and smacked him the chest playfully.

“Oh shut it Ronald,” She jeers before opening the door.

“Bye!” The couple speak in unison as they head out the door, Fred closing it behind them.

“Well, I best be off too. I think I’ve left poor Angelina with the kids long enough.” George let out a sigh, bracing himself for what he knew he would be coming home to.

“Good luck with that mate.” Fred chuckles as he pats his brother on the shoulder.

“Bye love,” George speaks as he comes in for the usual kiss on each cheek with you.

“Bye George. Tell Angie we say hi.”

“Will do.” And then he makes his way out the door, Fred once again closing it behind him. He then turns around and looks down at you, a sly smirk dancing along his lips.

“Alone at last.” He groans before picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder.

“Gah! You big idiot, if you drop me I swear to Godric!” You screech out. Fred let’s out a laugh before abruptly bending his knees, pretending to lose his grip on you. Your hand comes in contact with his back with a loud smack.

“I’m serious Fred, don’t do it!” He chuckles again before plopping you down on one of the couches in the living room. He shifts about so he was now straddling your waist. His hair, which he had been growing out, covered his face slightly. You brought your hand up to caress his light stubble ridden cheek.

He sighs out in contentment and flutters his eyes shut, leaning into your touch and kissing the knuckle of your thumb.

“Hi.” You say sweetly with bright sparkling eyes as you begin to twirl his fiery red locks between your delicate fingers.

“Hi.” His soft voice makes your stomach flutter. To this day you still experienced the same excitement you would get when you first started dating Fred back in school.

“Can we have sex?” He asks out of the blue.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his request. Ever since you tied the knot, the mystery and suspense your sex life once had began to simmer. Being upfront about both of your wants and needs became a part of the beauty of your marriage. No secrets were kept and no childish games were played. If one of you wanted it, all you had to do was ask.

“Only if you carry me, ‘m tired.” You spoke, going back to playing with his hair.

“Works for me.” His face lit up as he lifts you up off of the couch and carries you bridal style up to your shared bedroom.

You had to admit, Hermione was right.

The morning after that visit, you began to read tidbits of the book she gave you.

Not wanting to answer a billion questions, you kept the material out of your husband's sight. You knew he would become super curious and make you explain everything to him, and having just begun learning yourself, you decided it was best to keep it hidden away. Again, this concept was feorgein to the wizarding world so you couldn’t blame him.

It really did work out perfectly. Once you felt that you had gotten the hang of it, every morning after Fred left for the shop, you would set up in the living room and practice your yoga.

It honestly felt awful at first. Your body was so tight and tense that you had almost given up completely after your first time doing it.

But not wanting to throw in the towel so early, you kept it up until you began noticing a slight change in your body. Little things like being able to touch your toes or go into a deep lunge were gratifying and it almost became a bit of a drug to you. Not to mention it helped you sleep like a baby.

Fred was also starting to notice a difference. Knowing you were tight all over, sex usually consisted of fairly mild positions that didn’t put to much of a strain on your body. But that one random night in which you were suddenly able to bring your legs up to wrap around his neck as he pounded into you set off alarms in his head.

You had done something and he was going to get to the bottom of it.

That was a while ago.

Since then, you had fully converted to a life of zen, and yoga was your remedy to all of the worries that plagued your mind. Mornings were becoming easier and easier to face as Fred would shut the door behind him and you would pull out your yoga blocks and mat.

And this morning began like any other. The sun seeped through your white translucent curtains which made Fred groan in irritation. He hated getting up in the morning.

He turned over to face you and slowly opened his eyes, watching you shift about and slowly begin to wake up yourself.

“What time is it?” You spoke, nuzzling your face into his bare chest.

“7:15.” He was able to croak out in his scruffy morning voice.

“Off to work then?” You asked, finally looking up at him with this innocent and soft look that never failed to make him turn into a puddle of emotions.

“Off to work indeed.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair, flopping on to his back to allow himself to wake up more.

“You're going to be late if you don’t get a move on.” He smiled at this before deciding to scoop you up into his arms so you were now laying on your stomach on top of him.

“George can manage for a bit can’t he?” He asked as he moved your crazy morning hair out of your eyes so he could get a better look at you. Your chin rested against his sternum as you rolled your eyes.

“Remember last time you tried to pull that stunt? He threatened to hex you.” Fred winced at the memory.

“Better not then huh?” He grimaces slightly, already knowing the answer to his question.

“Well unless you are willing to have your hair be green for the next year, then yeah I wouldn’t. Now stop stalling and get your arse up!” You say, pinching his hip which makes him arch up slightly underneath your touch.

“If you do that again I may never get out of bed.” His smirk would usually get to you but no one could ever get between you and your yoga sessions. Even Fred Gideon Weasley.

“Nice try Casanova, that isn’t going to work this time,” You lifted the sheets off of both of you and got out of bed to take a shower.

Later that morning, Fred ran over to you, pressing a kiss to your temple before grabbing a orange from the fruit bowl and rushing out the door for work.

You smiled knowingly, waiting for at least a minute before jumping up from your spot on the couch and ran back into your bedroom. Never in your life had you been so excited to wear spandex.

Once your setup was organized, you quickly got into child’s pose, hoping to give your begging joints and muscles a gentle wake up. It felt so good that the groan you emitted covered up the sound of the front door opening and closing.

Fred was back.

He had come from downstairs, having forgotten important paperwork he had to fill out for some possible investors. But the heavy package of documents seemed to have slipped his mind for a second time when he came across your arse stretched out in the bent over position.

His trousers tightened almost instantly and his finger had to come up and tug at his shirt collar that had suddenly become too tight.

Unaware of his presence, you continued your late morning with no care in the world. Feeling satisfied, your body moved up into a downward dog. Your lower legs and ankles gasped out in gratitude as you slowly leaned deeper and deeper into the upside pose.

That’s when you saw him.

Between your legs, you were able to notice a pair of brown dress shoes, one tapping away impatiently. Your eyes went wide and your throat let out a squeak, making you collapse to the floor and quickly turn to look up at your amused and very turned on husband.

“So this is what you’ve been doing when I’m away?” Your cheeks were all flushed, partly from the blood rushing to your face when you were upside down and partly due to Fred looming over you in a dominating stance.

“Fred I-.” You quickly tried to cover your tracks. Explain that it was a stupid thing Hermione told you about and that it didn’t matter.

“Hush love, I’m not mad.” He said through a relaxed chuckle.

“You’re not?”

“How could I? You are so fucking fit babes.” Your cheeks burned stronger and your eyes flitted down to the mat beneath you.

“Hey dove, no need to be shy. I liked what you were doing there. What was it anyway?” He was now crouched in front of you, lightly tracing his thumb against your cheek.

“Yoga, supposed to make you feel less stressed and more flexible.” You could see the gears turning in his head.

“Oh so I have yoga to thank for the amazing shagging we have been having recently then?” His comment made you giggle, making him swoon in return.

“Show me more. I want to watch.” God he knew how to make your stomach twirl. His face was no longer soft, but rather dark and naughty. The lust that was connecting the two of you caused your leggings to dampen. You shifted, now feeling slightly uncomfortable with sitting in your own wetness.

“What, you feeling uncomfy? Here I’ll help.” Before you could respond, he laid you on your back and dragged you towards him along the mat, his hands gripping the back of your thighs.

“Shall I take these off then?” He asked, an eyebrow raised in question. He was playing a game and he knew he had already won.

“Yes please.” Your voice was breathy and soft. He aggressively grabbed the waistband of your legging and tugged them down your legs.

Once they were in a wet mess somewhere in a corner of the living room, he bent down between your legs to pull you in for a kiss. Your hands went up to his hair and your legs wrapped around his torso, slightly grinding up into him.

His lips detached from yours and he looked down to notice your desperate actions.

“Awe love, you all worked up now?” He was obviously teasing you. Hell if anything, he was more bothered then you were, but he was always better at keeping his emotions below the surface.

“Want you to show me what you were doing again. This time in your undies babes.” You nodded urgently and turned yourself around, going into a cow position.

His heavy breathing and warm palms on your arse cheeks made his presence very much known.

You pushed back slightly, hoping he would get the hint.

“Patient, I’ll deal with you in a minute. Want to see more first.” Gaining some power, you got up and pushed him back, indicating for him to move onto the couch, giving him a front row seat to what would become his favourite show.

You pulled out every suggestive pose in the book. At one point, when you were able to look over at his reaction, his tie had come undone along with some buttons and his hand was fisted around his cock.

He looked heavenly sitting there, one arm draped along the top of the couch and his head thrown back in pure pleasure. He should have been back to work by now but neither one of you cared.

“Fuck, keep it up love.” You wanted his finish, not his hand so you stopped your performance and crawled over to him, kneeling between his spread open legs.

Without speaking a single word, your mouth opened wide, your tounge stretched out in a plea for his cum.

“You want me down your throat darling?” You nodded, eyes shut in patience. His groans increased and your palms began to sweat as anticipation grew all through your body.

But nothing came.

One of your eyes opened in confusion only for you to be met with him coming off of the couch and pushing you back into the mat once more. He stretched your legs open wide and moved your thong to the side. There was no time to adjust as his length rammed into you. Instantly gripping his biceps you let out a cry of submission and pleasure.

“Feel so nice and warm. Want you nice and wide for me when I finish yeah? Are you going to finish with me little dove?” You could only let out a wail of acceptance as you sobbed.

His drilling quickened and quickened until you both finally were able to come as one, something you had yet to achieve in your relationship. He let out a surprised laugh at the accomplishment before collapsing on top of you in exhaustion.

“Thank Merlin for yoga.” He spoke through heavy breaths.

#fanfiction #fanfic #fred weasley #smut #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley smut #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley imagines #fred weasley fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fandom #harry potter #harry potter smut

[bibbykins]

Insufferable

A/N: The long-awaited flashback is here! It's short, but it is here! I hope this can really show the turning point in Jungkook's and MC's relationship and I would love to hear everyone's thoughts. As usual, tips are not required but greatly appreciate. Hope you all enjoy and have a wonderful day/night!

Note: This is a part (specifically a flashback) of The Household's Bunny series, so I recommend reading at least the Prologue before this one

Word count: 3.6k

Pairing: Soft Yandere! Jungkook x Chubby! Reader

Summary: Roommates are bound to have arguments, especially when one of them is as temperamental as Jungkook, but you didn't expect the first argument to get so unbelievably personal.

Warnings: abandonment issues, mommy issues, allusions to past abuse, family issues, crying, yelling, vomiting, panic attack, exhaustion, some soft yandere thoughts, some possessiveness, jungkook is mean and the MC gets a little mean too

There was something so constricting about memories of a shitty childhood. There were times when looking in the mirror felt like searching for the child in you so you could give her the hug she desperately needed. There were times when waking up felt like a check to make sure you were no longer in the home you had to grow up in far too quickly. However, the comfort of being in a different home only came so far when you didn't have anyone beside you or even emotionally available enough to talk to.

You stayed in bed for hours before it felt like a good idea to move, almost waiting for the mirage of change to fade before it brought you back to the gym with your mom or your uncle's apartment littered with whiskey bottles and leaky tear ducts.

Sometimes putting your best foot forward each day felt so hard with all-consuming loneliness clinging to your heels.

You had started your day going through your memory box. Hindsight said that was a poor idea. The box was a sure way to get you into a bad mood. You liked to think you breezed past all the stages of grief, but just because you accepted reality didn't make it hurt any less. The box was a strong reminder of that much as it sat with a melancholic aura. The creme color faded and the thorned vines connected to roses only added to the malicious undertones of its existence to your mental health. It was full of childhood photos, your birth certificate, school achievements, and the last known address your mom had.

Ah, your mom. What a way to bring clouds to your sunny day. You don’t know why you put yourself through the turmoil of the memory box. Maybe you were hoping it would be easier by now. You were always wrong. Looking through childhood photos and finding no love in the eyes of your mother when she looked at you and watching the love in your uncle’s eyes fade with your mother’s presence. You got to the fated birthday card, thumb rubbing over the defunct address longingly. You held the envelope in your hand, inspecting the birthday card she sent you. Three words in the repetitive note written on the inside caught your eye, and not the ones you so desperately wanted from her.

Feeling a familiar pressure behind your eyes, you tossed the card aside and stood. It was time to eat, go on a walk, do anything other than this. You found your way to the kitchen and came across a silent and solemn Jungkook. His jaw was clenched, but it felt like it always was around you.

Your relationship with Jungkook so far was not very complicated, in the way it was nonexistent. He either didn’t care about talking to you or he actively didn’t want to, you really couldn’t tell. This didn’t stop you from trying, though. Like an idiot.

“I’m making food, did you want any?” You asked from your place seated on the couch, and the silence that was his response for deafening, “Okaaaay.” You sang awkwardly, “I just know that you usually don’t eat throughout the day and-”

“And what do you know?!” He snapped, blinded by his pure and unbridled, but most important unprovoked, rage of you. Your eyes widened and your body jumped. Holy shit, you had never heard him yell like this, “You don’t know anything about me, or in general, so just stop trying so fucking hard!” He was harsh in his tone and it lit your whole nervous system on fire. What the hell did you do to him?

You shook your head, not sure why he was yelling about, but it made your throat feel like it was going to close, “Look, I was just trying to be polite, but you don’t need to talk about me like you understand-”

“Understand?! What’s there to understand?” He challenged, eyes wide like he was expecting you to say something but he continued, “You’re some spoiled girl living here rent-free because your precious dad doesn’t want to take care of you.”

Your heart caught in your throat as it shattered. He was right, your dad didn't want to take care of you, but not in the way he thought. Why was he doing this? Has he genuinely felt this way all along? Was he just holding in his anger until you poked the bear a little too hard? “You don’t need to yell at me.” You stated firmly and it seemed to only make things worse.

“And you don’t need to fucking be here in the first place!” He spoke, temper long lost and you could hear his voice mix in with Jungyoon’s, all he needed was a bottle of whisky and a set of calloused hands, “You didn’t need to fucking live here-”

“You don’t know anything about me.” You spat out. Now, you were losing your temper. You could take a beating, but for only so long, especially as an adult, "And it's not like you're paying rent either, so what do you know about me or my living arrangements?" You hissed and you watched his eyes flare, making you nearly regret your provocation.

“No, but I know how you look naked-”

“Fuck you.” You spit the word out at him, something you haven’t done to another person for a while “Don’t weaponize my work or play a game that you absolutely will lose.” You warned, “I know all about you, and I can use that, because you’ve been a star since you were 15, and that sucks, that makes you mad, doesn’t it?” Your temper effectively lost as you ripped into the rage-filled man before you, “Yet you don’t know anything about me, and that must piss you the fuck off, huh?” You stood from the couch, tears building in your eyes before you could stop it.

“I know enough, spoiled rich girl.” He seethed and you laughed humorlessly at this worldwide pop star calling you spoiled and rich.

“Not only are you wrong, but you’re also a poor listener.” You shot back, “I’ve told you all before Jungyoon isn’t my fucking dad, he’s my uncle.” His mouth opened but you cut him off before he could start, “He can’t stand the sight of me so he travels for work.” Your tears are undoubtedly falling, but you can’t stop, “And you’re talking to me like this because what? You had a scandal or something?” You gave him his chance to talk and boy, he took it.

“Mona told me you know your mom.” His voice was like venom, “So, why the fuck are you here? You have your blood relatives.” He exaggerated the word like it meant anything to you, “Why are you here, disrupting our lives, acting like an innocent orphan girl around actual fucking orphans-”

“I never said I was or acted like an orphan!” You exclaimed incredulously before scoffing, “That’s why you’re mad? Because you never knew your mom and I did? Because I know who my blood family is?” You could laugh at how ridiculous that was, “I know them, so what? Where does that get me?” You looked at him expectantly but he didn’t talk, “I knew my mom, and guess what? She just didn’t fucking want me.” He was silent, but you still couldn’t stop, “I’m sure if your mom could’ve got to know you, she would’ve kept you, because you’re not insufferable to be around, you’re just a fucking asshole.” You wiped at your cheeks furiously, “But me? I had 15 years to prove myself and it still wasn’t enough. I still wasn’t enough. Jungyoon never wanted me either, he got stuck with me and had to cope.” Your voice began to break and you had to take a breath, “I was the insufferable one, so-” You stopped, finally as you regained your sense of reality and watched Jungkook who had an unreadable expression and the realization of the word vomit you spilled out to him hit you like a train as you exhaled quickly, rage in your voice quickly replaced with soft melancholy “I am the insufferable one here, so there.” You shrugged, face a wet mess, “Hope that brings you peace.” Your stomach was churning as you turned on your heel, unable to hold in your sobs. You couldn’t bear the awkwardness of waiting for the elevator so you opted to take the stairs.

You sobbed louder as the door slammed shut behind you, but you didn’t want to linger so you bolted down the stairs, the bile in your stomach signaling that you needed to find the nearest trashcan and quickly. You made it to the ground floor and spilled your guts into the small trashcan. Yelling always made you unbelievably ill, whether it was getting yelled at or yelling, the sickness it made you feel overflowed. The yelling only reminded you of-

You vomited again at the mere thought. You cried harder when you finally finished, breathing becoming staggered as you began to panic.

Fuck, they’re gonna kick you out, and then you’ll be alone again. You lost your temper, people don’t like other people who lose their temper. Why couldn’t you just mind your own fucking business and leave him be? You’re stupid. Why do you think you’ve been alone all your life? It’s because people don’t want to be near you. You’re-

“Insufferable.” You mumbled, numb, even if for only a moment.

Sure, Jungkook provoked you, but you knew better. You didn't go to therapist after therapist throughout your adolescence for nothing. You felt as if you set yourself back eons after that outburst. He didn't need to know all that about you, ever. He probably didn't even care to know, and you said it anyway, like you were gunning for gold in the trauma Olympics. You didn't want to minimize his struggles, you just wanted him to shut up and stop yelling at you. You let your eyes flutter closed as you cried. How can you complain about being alone when you're like this?

You don’t know how long you stayed there, sitting next to a trash can full of your vomit as you wallowed in your self-hatred. The all-consuming loneliness the boisterous house subdued returning with full force. Jungkook was right. You didn’t need to be here. You were only disrupting their routine.

You blew out a sigh as you staggered to the elevator, fully set on going up to your room and crying yourself to sleep after you clean up. You brought the trashcan with you, not having the heart to just leave your puke down there. You thanked your lucky stars when Jungkook was no longer on the second floor as you went to the kitchen and rinsed your mouth before going to take out the trash and take out your burnt oven pizza. Finally, you were headed back up to your floor. You watched the numbers tick by with tired eyes. You glared at the empty trashcan, electing to take it with you instead of making the trip back down to put it back. Surely, they wouldn’t need it for a few hours.

The elevator dinged as you grabbed the black plastic bin and then you were met with Jungkook. Relief flashed across his face before irritation settled on it, “Where the fuck were you?!” He asked hurriedly as you trudged past him, too exhausted to fight. You were running on autopilot the whole way up here, and you couldn’t bear another spat.

“I was on the first floor.” Your voice was low, trying to communicate you were done arguing as you lifted the bin as proof. You then set it down and went to your bathroom and began brushing your teeth.

He scoffed, “You were on the first floor for 30 minutes?” He asked as if he caught you in a lie but you nodded as you rinsed your mouth.

You were down there for thirty minutes? No wonder you felt so tired.

“Yep.” You popped the last letter before correcting yourself, “Well, I spent like 10 minutes cleaning up that bin, so not exactly.”

“Why?” He asked as if you were being ridiculous, as if he wasn’t the one on your floor demanding answers.

“I vomited.” You spoke simply and before he could ask, “Yelling makes me puke.” You were so blase about it he sighed in frustration.

You walked to your room and froze when you saw your memory box strewn about, and it was like a dam broke all over again. You looked at the photos, at the eager little girl looking for love in places she would never find it.

Old habits die hard.

Before you could even stop yourself, you sunk to your knees in garbled sobs and broken cries, “Hey, hey, wait.” Jungkook’s shaky voice did nothing to bring you back to reality as you cried. His hands placed themselves on your shoulder, making you flinch violently, much to his horror.

Fuck, he didn’t know how to do this. He didn’t know why you were crying, but he knew it was his fault, at least in part. Even if at this moment it wasn’t, his outburst surely didn’t help. Fuck, he’s so dumb. Fuck, he shouldn’t have talked to Mona just moments before seeing you.

The envy of even seeing your own mother’s face ate up at him and he took it out on you. Not to mention that he made you vomit from the yelling. He suddenly felt more like an arrogant asshole than he did before as his hands now hovered over your form and he took a moment to look at your room.

Scattered on the floor were childhood photos and ribbons from competitions. Things Mona kept in her own house, having a whole wall filled with every one of their achievements. Even Jin had a photo album of their things. And you, you kept all these for yourself. You were the only one who cared enough to save these things and he wondered how much you threw away to maintain space in the small empty box. Fuck, he didn’t know how to do this.

You sighed shakily, “You can just go.” You cried, “You don’t have to be here.” You don’t know what he could possibly gain from watching you cry.

“I know.” His voice was calm, even, “Can I help you up?” He asked and you wanted to look up at him in confusion but you didn't want him to see your tears.

You both had just ripped into each other, and here he was, wanting to help you. Why would he do that? Why would he stay when he doesn't have to? Why would he want to help you up after a fight?

Too tired to even think about questioning him and no longer angry at him, you simply scoffed, “Can you?” You sighed, not having the energy to stroke his ego and stand up without his help.

You never let people bear your dead weight, not wanting the awkwardness if they couldn’t carry you, but right now, you just wanted to lay down.

He snorted lightly, happy to hear anything other than a sob for you, “Don’t worry about me, you just cry and mind your business.” He spoke lightly, and the comment made you fight a smile. Then, he lifted you with so much ease, you figured he was trying to show off as he placed you on the bed. He looked at you after he sat on the floor before his eyes caught onto the gold foil of a 16th birthday card. You were wiping at your face as he read the card against his better judgment.

I know you must be confused, and I can’t help that. I wish I could pretend to be a mom, but I can’t. I can’t be your mom, and I never should have tried. It would be best if we forgot each other. I just can’t keep pretending, and I know you can see it, even if you don’t want to.

I’m so tired.

-Mom

Now, he felt even more like an asshole. He also felt a little bit angry that your mother could just leave you behind without so much as saying sorry. She wrote like she was a teenager and you were her mother. She obviously didn't put much thought into the seemingly last message to her daughter and it made his heartbreak for you, “That was the last I heard of her.” You snapped him from his thoughts and he looked at your puffy face, “She had left months earlier, and then I got that, but she moved before I could try to see her one more time.” There was a distant ache in your words as you looked at Jungkook sitting amongst your memories.

“Is she… still alive?” He asked, not sure why he felt the need to know.

“Not sure, but it doesn’t make much of a difference, I guess.” You blew out a sigh, before looking at your papers and folded posterboards, “I was cleaning out my memory box, and I’m not sure why I do it when I know it just upsets me.” You could still feel tears leaking from your eyes as Jungkook picked up a photo of you on your 14th birthday, posed between Jungyoon and your mom. You had a bright smile on your face and they looked at the camera with a tight expression, “You can really see how much they didn’t want to be there, but that's the happiest they look in all of the photos.”

He wanted to say you were wrong, but he could see it. He could see the happy little girl trying to make up for the unhappy adults around her. He knew he should’ve asked Mona why Jungyoon didn’t try to call or visit or why she was so eager to take you in if you knew your family. He should’ve just known better. Yeah, he understood how it felt to be alone growing up, they all did, but by the time they were all 17 they had a home that wanted them. You were going to graduate from college soon and you still felt unwanted.

No thanks to him.

“I’m sorry.” He blurted and you looked at him with wide eyes, “For being an asshole, I’m sorry- and for making you cry. I just…” He shrugged, “You’re right. I was jealous you knew your mom and I already was suspicious of you and I- I’m dumb, and I’m sorry.” He looked at you, eyes a bit glossy and you wondered when was the last time someone apologized for making you cry.

“It’s okay.” You smiled weakly, “You are dumb, but that’s okay.” You chuckled when he frowned, but eventually, he also broke into a short laugh, “I think… we’ve felt a lot of the same things in different ways, so I can’t blame you.” He wondered how you could be so forgiving, and he was scared of how many times that has gotten you hurt, “I like living here and I like all of you, so I hope I can get you all to like me too, even if just a little.”

“Don’t accept less than you deserve.” He spoke firmly before he started picking up your memory box, putting things neatly back in.

“Wh-”

He waved his hands nonchalantly, “You, sleep, I’ll clean this up and order some food.” He didn’t look at you as he said this, mostly to hide his blush, "If...If you want, I can give this to Jin. He has a whole place he keeps our stuff like this… he's really sentimental." He stumbled, still refusing to look at you.

However, he jumped when he heard you hiccup a cry. Ready to apologize, Jungkook was just about to turn to look at you until he heard you speak, "That… That sounds very sweet of you to do." You wiped a sentimental tear away as the blushing boy remained frozen.

"It's Jin's hobby, not mine." He deflected before waving his hand at you, "Sleep, I said." He frantically demanded.

You could see his ears getting red and you smiled, “Yes, sir.” You mocked in your work voice and made him freeze for a moment as you erupted into giggles while he whined, “Okay, okay, I’ll sleep.”

Eventually, you surrendered to your exhaustion as he delicately put away your papers and photos. He hummed lightly, smiling as he came across your debate team awards. No wonder he lost the fight before it even started. He turned around after lifting the box and sighed almost dreamily as he watched your sleeping face. You were beautiful, delicate, and puffy from the tears. He had the urge to keep apologizing for being such an asshole, but after looking through your achievements and your photos, he resolved to just keep proving it.

He wouldn’t let you get hurt again. Not by him or anyone, especially your mother, even Jungyoon was on thin ice.

His blood boiled at the thought of your mother for a reason he couldn’t understand. His hand extended shakily as he pulled the covers up to your shoulder and you hummed contently, making his heart melt a bit at the little smile you had. He wouldn’t fuck up with you again, not like this. He would be nice, at least a little, and first and foremost, he would order food you liked.

He froze.

Fuck, what food do you like?

He relaxed. Well, he could just ask the guys.

Fuck, they’re gonna ask questions.

Fuck, they’re gonna kill him when they found out he made you cry.

He looked back at your sleeping form, not having the heart to wake you up. He sighed, looks like he’ll just have to bite the bullet. He dreaded each moment as he quickly made an untitled group chat with the guys since you were added to their original one. He could only hope Taehyung wouldn’t change the group chat name to something stupid.

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