#my ear has been a dull pain/pressure all day and not too bad

[suzukiblu]

Parasite WIP is so good and I desperately want more of it! I voted for it in the poll and I’m so sad it didn’t win

Friend, I appreciate you asking after it because it really is one of my fucked-up faves that I really need to work on more, so uh . . . have all 4500 words of the prose so far all together, hahaha. Yes, yes I DID reformat this whole thing into Tumblr-friendliness all for you. THAT IS HOW MUCH I APPRECIATE YOUR APPRECIATION, FRIEND. ( so definitely we are gonna need that read-more down there, lol. )

Clark wakes up. 

Clark didn't even know he wasn't awake. 

"Superman," Bruce says with absolute neutrality. He's wearing the cowl. Standing in rubble. Clark is . . . not standing in rubble. 

Laying in rubble. That's what Clark is doing. 

Bruce is looking down at him very, very carefully, and seems . . . reserved. 

Reserved for Bruce, even. 

"What happened?" Clark asks, trying not to concentrate on the little seed of dread that the sight of that reservation invokes in him. He can hear the heartbeats of other League members, here and there in the wreckage of the street around them. Hear civilians and city noise. Hear Lois and Jon, distantly, and Ma and Pa, even more distant. And . . . Kara–both of her–and . . . 

"We'll go with 'electrocution', but I think we can safely say just about anyone else would've been virtually incinerated," Bruce informs him, distracting Clark from his mental rundown of people he's currently worried about. "Or just exploded."

"Ah," Clark says with a grimace. Well, that explains why his head hurts so damn bad, he guesses.

At least it was him, then, and not any "anyone else"s. 

He pushes himself up. Looks around. He . . . isn't sure where they are, exactly, except that it's probably somewhere on Earth and within the continental United States, judging by the architecture and signs he's seeing and the accents and languages he's hearing. 

He has absolutely no idea how they got here, though. The last thing he remembers is . . . 

. . . he's not actually sure what the last thing he remembers is. 

Not a great sign, that.  

Bruce is watching him. Like he's . . . expecting something, almost. Clark would ask, but there's an odd feeling distracting him. Something's . . . off, somehow. 

Missing. 

Bruce's utility belt is a new design, he notes absently. J'onn is down the street a bit and his costume looks a little different too. And Diana . . . 

Diana is over across the way, and her hair is a couple inches longer than he remembers it being. 

Clark would assume he was mistaken, except for the eidetic memory and all. 

"Hm," Clark says. 

"Hm?" Bruce says. He still sounds faultlessly neutral. 

"Trying to figure out if I'm in the right reality. Things look a little off," Clark replies, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes in concentration. No unexpected sounds or scents. No particular feeling of disorientation that can't be accounted for by being apparently electrocuted. No additional pains past the dull pressure in his head or any immediately obvious peculiarities beyond the minor little scattered differences here and there in his teammates. 

But something is–

"I can't hear Kon," Clark realizes abruptly. He doesn't usually especially keep an ear out for the kid, at least not deliberately, but . . . 

Bruce . . . pauses. 

"You can't," he says, very carefully. It doesn't sound like a question. 

It sounds like something, though. 

"I can't," Clark confirms anyway, glancing around again. He still doesn't know where this is. "Where are we, exactly?" 

"What's the date, Kal?" Bruce asks, and Clark's heart sinks. 

He answers the question. 

Bruce's mouth thins. 

Hell, Clark thinks. 

"We're currently in Keystone City," Bruce says, very carefully expressionless. "We've been here for three days. The date you just provided me was a full fourteen months ago. And Kon-El has been MIA for roughly thirteen and a half of those months." 

Hell, Clark thinks, and doesn't let himself process anything past that. 

"We need to get a scan of your brain," Bruce says. "For starters." 

"For starters," Clark agrees tightly. 

Bruce tells Diana they're leaving, then abandons the rubble and takes Clark up to the Watchtower. Clark goes. He doesn't ask what electrocuted him or who's died in the past fourteen months or if there's anything immediately urgent that he should know. Bruce would've already told him, if there was. 

And he thinks he'd choke on the question if he tried, anyway. 

They go to the med bay. There's a total stranger standing in it who smiles at them when they step through the door. 

"Haven't seen you in here in quite a while, Superman," the stranger observes in amusement, tapping a pen against the clipboard in their hands. "You still haven't been in for that checkup I owe you, you know." 

"He doesn't know you," Bruce informs them evenly. The stranger blinks. 

"Sorry?" they say. 

"He was electrocuted," Bruce says. "Now he thinks it's fourteen months ago. We need a brain scan. Immediately." 

"Hell," the stranger says, their eyes widening in alarm. 

Clark gets the brain scan. 

He and Bruce wait in a convenient exam room for the results, which seem to be taking a while. Bruce seems a bit more guarded than usual, which means Clark is standing next to goddamn Fort Knox right now. He sighs to himself. 

"Suppose at this rate I should call and tell Lois and Jon I'll be late for dinner," he jokes wryly as he folds his arms, no real humor in the comment, and Bruce goes very, very still beside him. 

. . . hell. 

They're not dead. He knows they're not dead, he heard their heartbeats before they left for the watchtower, Bruce would've already told him if either of them were–

"They aren't expecting you," Bruce says with absolutely no intonation whatsoever in his voice. "You moved out eight months ago. The divorce is already finalized." 

"Ah," Clark says, very slowly. He doesn't let himself process, again. Not–just, not yet. "What happened?" 

"You left them," Bruce says, and Clark . . . blinks. 

"I left them?!" he demands incredulously. Leaving Lois is one thing, horrible and impossible a thought as it is, but– "Not just–I left them both?!"

"As you explained it to me, you were no longer interested in maintaining the . . . 'persona' of Clark Kent," Bruce replies carefully, looking just past him. "You said you couldn't stand the screaming anymore. That you appreciated us . . . humoring you for so long, but you couldn't just keep walking around making excuses and lying to everyone while people were suffering and dying just because you had to pretend to be human for a while. So yes. You left them. Haven't visited since Lois finally signed the divorce papers. Haven't spoken to your parents either. You've been . . . erratic. Since Kon-El's disappearance. When we couldn't find him . . . when we couldn't even find out what happened to him . . ." 

"Oh," Clark says, and his heart sinks again. 

He doesn't understand, though. Kon is–he cares about the kid, obviously. Cares very deeply about him. He's pretty sure he even loves him, at this point. But he's not . . . 

It feels terrible to think it, but Clark doesn't understand why Kon disappearing like that would affect him enough to stop being Clark. It's awful, and he still hasn't let himself actually think about it happening at all because he really can't process it right now, but that awful? Really? Awful enough to abandon being any semblance of a normal person? Abandon Lois and his parents entirely? 

Abandon Jon entirely? 

Apparently, yes. 

"Technically you're on unpaid sabbatical from the Planet," Bruce tells him. "We thought you might . . . reconsider, once you'd grieved properly, so Lois pulled some strings with Perry White. He thinks you're having an early mid-life crisis and your co-workers think you're off finding yourself in South America with a bad cell phone plan." 

"I guess I don't believe in satellite phones?" Clark says, trying for wry again. It doesn't work, but he tries all the same. 

"This is unfair of me, but I'm going to take advantage of your current mental state," Bruce says. He's looking at the wall, though there's nothing there to actually be looking at. Not even anything on the other side, at least not according to X-ray vision. "Try to remember how you feel right now, when your memories of the past year return. Try to remember who you are right now, when those memories return."

"Why?" Clark asks, watching him carefully as he does. The corners of Bruce's mouth tighten. Just barely, but undeniably. 

"You've been . . . gone, Clark," Bruce says slowly. "You won't even answer to 'Clark' anymore. You aren't the same man that I . . . that we all . . ." 

The stranger comes back before Bruce has to admit to too many personal feelings or Clark can figure out what to say to any of that, which might be a mercy but might also be–

The stranger looks . . . strange, Clark notices. Nauseated, almost. And definitely distressed. 

"I haven't done brain scans on Superman before," they say, their grip on their clipboard concerningly close to white-knuckled. "And my predecessor apparently hadn't done any in a while either. Last ones in the system are over two years old." 

"What's wrong?" Bruce says, narrowing his eyes. Honestly at this point Clark figures a kryptonite brain tumor would really just be the icing on the cake, and frankly would probably explain some of his apparent behavioral changes and current memory loss. That genuinely makes more sense than anything else, really, even with grief and guilt to contend with.

More sense than abandoning his own damn kid does, at least. 

Although a tumor's the worst-case scenario, obviously. And it can't be any worse than that, really, or any worse than anything he's apparently done to his family this past year, so at least he's braced for–

"There's an . . . organism," the stranger says, swallowing uncomfortably. "In your brain." 

"What?" Clark says. 

"A dead organism, now," the stranger clarifies. "But it looks like it's been there for a while. There are . . . roots. And . . . lesions, too." 

"An organism," Bruce repeats very, very slowly. "In Superman's brain." 

"Yes," the stranger says. 

"I don't . . ." Clark trails off. 

"We need more scans," Bruce says. 

"I ran it four times on two different machines," the stranger says. "It's organic. It's not giving off any recognizable life signs. It seems like it might've been . . . you mentioned electrocution, before?" 

"You think the electricity killed it," Bruce realizes. "And then Superman forgot fourteen months?" 

"I'm not sure Superman ever experienced those fourteen months to begin with," the stranger says tightly, gripping their clipboard even harder. 

Clark was in no way whatsoever braced for this. 

"Fuck," Bruce says. 

More scans happen after all. A lot more scans, a lot of specialists, and a lot of arguing. Everything's a bit of a blur, in a sense. Clark absorbs very little of it, and mostly leaves things to Bruce unless he's asked a direct question about his medical history. His judgment might be compromised right now, after all, whether the . . . organism is dead or not. 

The emergency OR gets prepped. The red sun lamps get set up inside it. 

"Should we contact Lois?" Bruce asks as Clark's shrugging into an ill-fitting hospital gown and preparing himself to possibly die in pursuit of getting a dead who-knows-what out of his brain before it can start to rot there and potentially kill him that way. "Or your parents?" 

"No," Clark says. "Just get this damn thing out of my head." 

If he doesn't survive the removal process . . . 

They don't know what's been going on. What he let happen to himself, somehow.

He isn't going to tell them he's back just to immediately take himself away again. 

He records something for Jon, just in case. It's not enough, but it's–something, he tells himself. It's something. 

It's all he can bring himself to do. 

He leaves the disk with the recording on it with Bruce and asks him to have Dick deliver it, if it's necessary. 

Things proceed from there, and Clark wakes up again a week later in a private room in the med bay, connected to half a dozen machines and needles and tubes and directly facing the sun. Diana is dozing in the chair next to his bed. Bruce is pacing at the foot of it. They're both in costume. Clark feels weak and groggy, but he can hear half a dozen other heartbeats lingering in the hall, so presumably they were expecting him to wake up around now. 

"Mm," he says. Diana snaps awake. Bruce stops mid-step. 

They both look at him. 

"The operation was a success," Bruce informs him. "Textbook. Or as textbook as removing a mind-controlling parasite of unknown origins from a Kryptonian brain can get for mostly-human surgeons, anyway." 

"Do you need anything?" Diana asks. "Would you like us to call your family yet?" 

Clark shakes his head, then closes his eyes and sleeps for another week. 

"Sleep", he supposes, counts as something that he needs right now. 

The next time he wakes up, he's alone in his room and disconnected from the machines and just feels . . . normal, really. Like nothing was ever wrong at all and he didn't just have major surgery that was, essentially, the equivalent of multiple traumatic brain injuries. His hair is already starting to grow back from where it was buzzed down for the surgery, and there's not even any bandages on his head. 

There's no noticeable scarring, Clark observes when he makes it to the little ensuite bathroom to take a look in the mirror. The surgeons told him there probably wouldn't be, given both the methods they'd been intending to use and the nature of his own physiology, but seeing the total lack of proof of what happened to him is just . . . strange, somehow. 

It feels almost like a cheat. Like it should be obvious, in some way. 

There was a parasite in his head. Something controlling him. Pretending to be him. Passing for him. It could've done anything it wanted. 

It did do things that Clark still has no idea about. 

So many things. 

He couldn't even fight it. Wasn't conscious or aware enough to, or just not strong enough to, or just . . . 

He couldn't even fight it. 

And he doesn't know what it did. 

The door opens. Diana walks in. 

"Would you like us to call your family now?" she asks. 

"Yes," Clark says roughly, curling his fingers around the sides of the sink in front of him. "Please." 

"Of course," Diana says with a terrible and merciless gentleness. 

Clark sits down on the lid of the toilet and just . . . cries. Just for a minute. 

Or twenty. 

Diana kneels in front of him and holds his hands in her own. 

Fourteen months, Clark thinks, all twisted up with grief and pain and so, so much regret. He missed so much. He wasn't there for Jon or Lois or his parents. He wasn't there for Bruce or Diana or the League, for either of Kara, for . . . 

For Kon. He wasn't there for Kon. 

Wasn't there for Kon when the kid needed him. 

Kon completely vanished, and who knows if the damn parasite even pretended to help look for him? If it did anything at all for him? Who knows if Clark could've found him, could've saved him, if he'd still been himself at the time? 

. . . who knows if the parasite isn't what made Kon disappear to begin with? 

It took fourteen months of Clark's life, and Kon . . . Kon disappeared two weeks into those fourteen months. 

If nothing else, the timing is a screaming red flag. 

Clark abandoned his son and might've murdered a kid who only ever looked up to him, a kid who he was never really able to fully understand but literally named, and he can't do anything to bring Kon back or to make up for the year that he wasn't there for the rest of his family. 

Their family. 

God, what has he done? What has Clark done, and did Kon die feeling afraid or shocked or terrified? Did he die feeling betrayed? Did he think it was Clark doing it, however it happened? 

Did he die thinking Clark wanted him to die? 

Clark doesn't even know what happened to his body. 

There won't be another resurrection.  

Clark chokes. Diana squeezes his hands. He grips hers like a lifeline and shudders through it. The grief is a terrible, ugly thing. It's one of the worst things Clark's ever felt. 

The guilt is worse. 

"Lois," he murmurs finally, feeling like the weakest man alive. "Could you call . . . Lois, please, and just . . . ask if she'll come. I'll explain it all to her, just–could you call her, please." 

"Yes," Diana says, squeezing his hands again. "Of course." 

"Thank you," Clark says. 

He pulls himself together, more or less, and Diana goes to make the call. She comes back a few minutes later and tells him Lois agreed, but needs to find a babysitter first. Clark in no way blames her for not bringing Jon along and frankly is surprised she's willing to come at all. 

He's not sure what he could even say to Jon right now. 

What can he? 

Diana makes sure he eats something, then leaves for monitor duty. Clark tries not to overthink things. Tries not to think too much at all. 

He spent fourteen months not thinking at all, though, all of it lost in one oblivious blink, so that doesn't work out all that well for him. 

An hour later, he hears the Zeta platform activate on the opposite side of the base, and hears Lois's heartbeat appear inside the watchtower. 

Clark exhales, very slowly. 

He waits. 

Lois comes to the med bay. She doesn't stop to talk to anyone on the way. Doesn't talk to anyone except that stranger Clark still doesn't actually know the name of, who tells her where to find him. 

And then a minute or a millennium later she's standing in the open doorway of his room, and Clark is looking at her. Her expression is neutral, and her hair is shorter than it was the last time he remembers seeing her–the last time he was the one actually seeing her. An inverse bob, not shoulder-length anymore. He recognizes the blazer and heels that she's wearing, but not the blouse or the pants. Not the earrings or the necklace, either. 

And there's no wedding ring to recognize either way. 

Clark wonders what happened to his. 

God, but she's still the most amazing woman he's ever seen, and he's still never once deserved a single part of her. Not even a fraction of a part. 

Especially not now. 

"Kal," she greets, tone just as neutral as her expression, and Clark aches. 

"Clark," he says, just a little too abrupt, and Lois–pauses. 

"Clark," she amends casually as she tucks her hands into the pockets of her blazer, and if he didn't know her quite so well he wouldn't have even heard the crack in her voice around his name, super-hearing or not. "Never seen your hair this short. I kinda miss the curl, not gonna lie. It has charm, you know? Very boy scout next door." 

"I had emergency brain surgery," Clark says. Lois pauses again. Tilts her head. He keeps talking. "Two weeks ago, now. Just woke up again fully today." 

"What?" she says, just staring at him. "You–what happened?" 

"It's . . . unclear, still," Clark replies slowly. "But as far as we can tell, roughly fourteen months back an unidentified alien parasite moved into my brain and . . . took me over, essentially. I don't actually–I don't remember any of that time. At all. Then two weeks ago I got electrocuted in Keystone and the parasite died. The surgery was to remove its body so my brain could heal from the damage it did without it rotting in there." 

Lois keeps staring at him. 

"Fourteen months," she echoes very, very carefully. 

"I'm so sorry," Clark says tightly. "Bruce told me I left you. Left you and Jon. That I stopped being . . . myself. I can't imagine how difficult that was, or how it must've felt." 

"I can't imagine how waking up and hearing that none of us even noticed you were gone felt," Lois says. 

"You never do pull a punch, do you," Clark says with a weak attempt at a smile. 

"I'm sorry," Lois says evenly. "I should've known." 

"No one did," Clark says, then . . . hesitates. "Or . . . we think no one did." 

"You think that's what happened to Kon," Lois says, because of course she's already done the math, and of course she's already had the thought herself. Obviously she would've. 

"The timing is . . . likely, at least," Clark says. "And really, if anyone was going to see my face and notice that a different person was wearing it . . ."

"You have a point," Lois murmurs. She steps into the room. Clark wants to hold her. He also wants to bury himself in the coldest, darkest place that he can find and never, ever let himself see the sun again. 

He doesn't deserve it anymore. 

"I'm so angry that I want to cry," Lois says, her voice very distant and her eyes locked on his. Clark can see her hands fisting in her pockets. "I'm so . . . god. I should've known. You never would've left Jon. Not like that." 

"Bruce made it sound like the parasite was . . . very convincing," Clark says. It convinced Bruce, who may just be the most paranoid mind on the planet, so . . .

"It was," Lois agrees, still without taking her eyes off his. "But I still should've known." 

Clark blinks a little too quickly. Lois tightens her jaw. Takes her hands out of her pockets and leaves them at her sides instead. Clark never thought he'd see them without her wedding ring again. 

"It's been–months, I know," he says, hating himself for thinking he even deserves to say this. "For you. But I still . . ." 

"I love you," Lois says. "Come home." 

There is no possible world in which he could tell her "no". 

Med bay makes him wait for another two hours of observation and runs some scans, but then they let him go. Lois waits with him the whole time. She doesn't call anyone or send any texts. Doesn't leave the room. Barely says a word. Hardly even takes her eyes off him, like she thinks if she blinks he's going to disappear. 

Clark can hardly keep her heartbeat out of his ears, so he doesn't blame her. 

He doesn't blame her at all. 

They go to Smallville. Bruce had said he'd send Dick to pick up Jon from the babysitter's and get him to the farm, and as much as Clark had wanted to go straight to him himself . . . 

Ma and Pa first, he reminds himself. This is going to be upsetting for Jon–most likely traumatic, once it all sinks in. And definitely disorienting. It'll be best if as many of the adults in his life as possible know what's going on in advance, so he can go to whoever he needs to go to; get whatever comfort they can prepare themselves to offer. 

Clark doesn't know how to do this. 

He doesn't . . . 

They don't take two steps onto the farm before a familiar blur is crashing into him head-on. 

"Oh," Clark manages, and Krypto barks excitedly and flies up to lick his face, tail wagging wildly as he jumps all over him. Like he's missed him. Like he's been waiting for him. 

Clark nearly cries again.

"Good boy, Krypto," he tells him, quiet and rough. "I missed you too, boy." 

He scratches Krypto's ears. Strokes his back. Krypto nearly bowls him over in delight. 

Clark buries his face in his neck and cries a bit after all. 

Lois watches. 

Waits. 

Clark spends . . . maybe a little bit too long crying on his dog, and then they all head up to the house. Ma and Pa are both standing on the porch; presumably they heard Krypto barking. They both look a little bit startled and a little bit confused and a lot more pained at the sight of him, and Clark swallows painfully and stops just before the porch steps. 

He looks at them, and he loves them so desperately. Everything they ever did for him, and everything they've ever been to him, and . . . 

"I'm sorry," he says. "I just . . . there was . . ."

God, the way this hurts. 

"It was mind control," he says. "The past fourteen months or so. I was . . . I wasn't. Wasn't here. Or . . . anywhere." 

"Oh," Ma says, and her eyes are instantly wet with tears. Pa blinks very quickly, his hand curling against the porch railing. 

"I'm so, so sorry," Clark repeats tightly, his own hands in useless fists. "But I'm–back now. I'm home." 

"Oh, Clark," Ma chokes, and then they both throw themselves at him. Clark's been hugged by people with strength far past superhuman, but it's never felt . . . 

No. It's never once felt the same way as when his parents do it. 

They cling to him. He clings back. Krypto barks again and swoops around the knot of them, wagging his tail hard enough to nearly knock Lois over with the force of wind it stirs up. Definitely some of the porch furniture gets displaced. 

Clark feels so much. 

They sit together on the porch, Krypto sprawled contentedly across Clark's lap and Lois on the steps beside him. Clark gives Ma and Pa what explanation he can–tells them everything he knows about Keystone and the electrocution and the watchtower and the surgery and waking up. They watch him just as intently as Lois does the entire time. 

He doesn't . . . he doesn't mention his suspicions about what might've happened to Kon. Not . . . not yet. 

He doesn't know how to. Not to Ma and Pa. Not after he brought the kid here and left him on their doorstep with no real direction and . . . 

Just–he'll tell them. He'll tell them soon. 

Just . . . not yet. 

It's not a very long talk, in the end. Ma and Pa take in everything he says and just take it all in stride, just like they always have. Baby in a spaceship? Kid with superpowers? Son who thinks he can save the whole damn world? 

Of course they take it in stride. 

Clark loves them too much to even define. Too much to even wrap his own head around. They're the best people he knows. The best people he's ever known. 

They don't even think there's anything for him to be sorry for. 

It's . . . painful, a little, when Clark realizes that. 

Or a lot. 

So, so damn painful. 

Clark hears the definitely-not-a-Batmobile coming, far down the road. Three heartbeats inside it. Dick, Damian, and . . . 

Jon. 

Obviously. 

Clark strokes Krypto's ears one last time, then gets up. No one asks him why, but he supposes the look on his face must be answer enough right now. 

He steps off the porch and goes to wait by the driveway. 

It's not that long a wait, but it feels like the better part of eternity.

#clark kent #lois lane #clois #superfamily #bruce wayne #diana of themyscira #rinfic #anonymous #wip: the parasite

[streamingcolors-gvf]

Skin Deep - Part 10.1

Pairing: Josh Kiszka x f!reader x Jake Kiszka, Josh Kiszka x f!reader x male OC

Word Count: 8.6k

A/N: This chapter is going to be broken into three separate parts for the sake of keeping it from being too long and to have consistent updates.

**While this part doesn’t have explicit queer sex scenes, it does set up for it for following parts. If this is something that does not interest you, this is your warning for the entirely of chapter 10. **

I’m quite anxious about this one you guys. I love this OC so much and I’m stoked to share and introduce him to this universe. It’s not perfectly edited so be gentle for that.

As always, I appreciate all the love, support and feedback yall give me ❤️

Warnings: cursing, alcohol consumption, tobacco use, LGBTQ dynamic between characters/themes

Masterpost, Part 9 2/2

It’s late evening — way past the regular business hours, so you have to use the spare key the boys made for you and enter through the back door of the shop. You clumsily shuffle through the hallway due to your hands being full from the bags of carry-out you picked up on the way over. 

Sam must’ve already cleaned up and headed out based on the strong odor of glass cleaner assaulting your nose as soon as you walk through the curtains. Music is playing upstairs, which is something you’ve come to expect whenever there’s a human presence in this place. What takes you by surprise is the amount of boisterous laughter cutting through it.  

You wrestle, adjust your loot, and begin making your ascent on the staircase. Jake is in his usual spot when he’s not with a client, hunched over at his desk working on a design, leaving Josh and the man he is tattooing as the culprits for all the noise. Normally, you wouldn’t bat an eye at whoever happens to be in the chair after the last incident, but something about him seems different.

What you can pick up on during the short walk from the stairs toward Jake’s desk is Josh’s comfort with him.  He’s not putting on the customer service mask, laughing at bad jokes, and pretending to be interested in dull stories. He’s engaging in everything the man has to say, maybe borderline flirtatious from what you can already see. 

You step behind Jake, but he doesn’t hear you approach. You lean over and spot the white wireless earbuds he’s wearing and gently tap him on the shoulder, making him jolt a little. He stops drawing to pluck the left one from his ear and turns to face you.

“Hey,” he mumbles softly with a detectable exhaustion weighing on his voice. 

“Hey,” you greet back, hoping that your upbeat tone will help spark some energy in him. After setting the heavy bags of carry-out on the empty space on his desk to free your hands, you begin to massage his shoulders. He doesn’t put up a fight, and instantly drops his pen on the table to lean back into your touch.

“Fuck that feels good,” he groans and rolls his head as you knead the tight knots tangled within his sore muscles. 

“Long day?”

He releases a heavy sigh as you work out the tension in his upper back. “Yeah, and of course my last appointment was a fucking nightmare.”

He sucks in a sharp breath of pain as your thumbs roll over him. He’s stiff from his bad posture, but you don’t mean to cause him more discomfort. You relax your pressure and start rubbing the nape of his neck while you ask, “What happened?”

“Just the typical asshole that wants to micromanage the entire thing gets pissy about the price claiming he can get it cheaper somewhere else, and then whines and cries during the entire thing.”

You slip your hands down his chest as you lower yourself into an embrace and bring your lips to his cheek. “I’m sorry, babe. Sounds like you could use a drink and a hot shower.”

He huffs a dry laugh but leans into you while rubbing his fingers along your forearm. “I’m okay.” He gestures to Josh and his client as he continues, “Been trying to unwind for the past hour but with these fucking dickheads it’s almost impossible.”

“Who is that by the way?”

“Oh, that’s Kai, one of Josh’s friends with ben—“ He quickly catches himself and clears his throat,  “Uhh… I mean he’s a good friend of Josh.”

You try to not take anything he says seriously given the source, but what he’s blurted out takes you by surprise. Your mind isn’t playing tricks because you know you heard him correctly, but you ask anyway, “A friend with what?”

He breaks from your hold and pushes away from the desk while turning to face you in his chair. You’ve caught him and now all he can do is deflect. He shakes his head and waves a hand at you. “No, no, no. Just because you bring me food doesn’t mean you get to pull gossip from me.” Your smile and crossed arms threaten him but he stands his ground. “Go find shit out for yourself. Go on. Shoo!”

You scoff, “Are you fucking serious?”

He takes his food from the bag and starts to set up a spot to open it. “Yes. Now leave me to eat in peace, woman.”

You give him a heavy roll of your eyes even though he’s no longer looking at you and take Josh’s food with you on your short walk over to his area of the shop. He immediately senses your presence and finishes the line before lifting his head in your direction. 

“Hey, baby.” He breaks away from his conversation and looks at you with an infectious smile, and without control, you can’t help but smile back. 

As you step closer, you’re able to get a better look at his friend stretched out along the table. When you first walked in, you could see from a distance that he was covered in tattoos, but now you’re even more surprised that Josh was able to find a free space for another one.

“She gets to be called baby and I don’t?” The suspected Kai scoffs as he combs his inked fingers through his loose, raven-black curls that sit right at the nape of his neck. The calm cadence paired with the crackle of his raspy voice puts off an energy you can’t place. 

Josh giggles as he pulls another line across Kai’s stomach. “Well, for one, when you do the things she does with me, you earn being called baby.” 

He chuckles as if completely unphased by the needle penetrating his skin. “Where can I sign up for that?”

So they are flirting. 

You set Josh’s food down on a table and look over his shoulder to see the piece he’s working on. It’s a hand-sized pair of traditional-style, black, and gray scorpions on each side of Kai’s lower stomach between his hips. With the left side finished and wiped down, the right side is nearly complete. You note the bald spot on Kai’s stomach and imagine the process of Josh having to shave him with a careful hand. 

“How much does something like this cost? With all the detail and everything?” 

Josh answers without a second thought, “For him? No charge.”

“Really?” You hum. 

You flick your eyes up from Josh’s moving hand to catch Kai staring directly at you. His are unwavering, holding a rare intensity from the striking shade of green of his irises —  like polished stones of jade framed by dark lashes. They draw you in, locking you away in their gaze. A part of you feels compelled to break away, as if suddenly too embarrassed to look at him. You don’t, however. You allow your eyes to wander across the many body modifications of his face; the little tattoo on his right cheek, the silver septum ring beneath his nose, the pair of dimple piercings, and the two rings through each side of his bottom lip. 

As he studies you, his lips begin to slowly curl up over his teeth, revealing a perfectly devious smile that does nothing but make you weak and flustered. It’s emphasized but the barbells in his cheeks. Charming in the same way as Josh’s, although, with a certain feral quality that causes your thoughts to wander. With eyes staying focused on you, he directs his words to Josh, “How many times do I have to keep telling you that I don’t need free work? Let me pay you this time.”

It gives you enough of a chance to break your focus from him to finally look away. Josh mutters under his breath as he stretches to dip the needle into the ink, “No chance.”

“I’m Kai, by the way,” he introduces himself with an outstretched hand, ignoring Josh’s remark completely. You stumble forward to take it, feeling his soft, yet chilled fingers wrap around yours. You give your name, making his smile grow even larger.  “How do you know Josh?”

You try to convince yourself that he’s simply making light conversation and being polite. That the burning look in his eyes, the tight hold he has on your hand, even down to the drawl of his voice doesn’t mean that there are deeper intentions behind his interest in you. 

You’re the one to make the first move in pulling a hand away, breaking free from his grasp. You shift, straightening to stand with heat prickling the back of your neck and forehead. “Oh…well, I met Josh when I came here to get my thigh piece done by Jake.”

Kai pries his eyes away from you to shoot Josh a judgemental stare. Josh returns the glare and huffs with a defensive raise of his hands, “What?!”

He chuckles as he slips his hand beneath his head to prop himself up on the table.“So that’s why I haven’t heard from you.” He teases with a lilt in his voice and winks at you before adding, “Josh, you sly dog.”

Josh responds by smacking Kai across the arm and you have to hold back the laugh that tries to escape your mouth. 

“Ouch! What did I say?!” He cries out while rubbing his arm dramatically despite the cheeky smile plastered across his face. 

You jump in intending to change the subject, even if your curiosity serves as the driving force to your question. “So how do you guys know each other?”

“Oh, Josh and I go way back,” Kai answers with an exaggerated sigh. “I ‘ve been getting work done for years now…just can’t stay away from all the great prices and wonderful customer service.”

As they stare at each other for a few beats of time, you watch the blush pinken Josh’s cheeks before he forces himself to refocus on his work. “He just keeps coming back no matter how many times we kick him out.”

Kai quips back, “I’m a stray. I’ll hang around if you keep feeding me.” Josh laughs as he works, wiping away the excess ink from his skin after each skillfully placed line. It’s starting to feel like you're interrupting their moment at this point, so you turn to leave until he stops you. “So what’s your Twitter handle?”

Before you have a chance to respond, Josh cuts in with an aggressive shake of his head, “Oh no, she doesn’t do that, Kai.”

Confusion twists the features of his face, matching the expression you’re wearing. “Do what?” 

While a mischievous glimmer flashes in Kai’s eyes, Josh slowly lifts his head to you, showing a look of worry.

Kai adjusts as if he’s preparing to tell you the biggest piece of gossip, answering in a demeanor that borders on too relaxed, “Create content.”

While the words process in your brain, Josh’s face drops in disappointment. If his hands weren’t gloved, he would’ve smacked his hand to his face for added effect. 

Josh’s reaction causes everything to click into place, making you understand the implication. He means adult content. Your face prickles with heat from your mind running with the thought of it. “Oh...oh.”

Josh braces for your discomfort while Kai continues the small talk as if nothing happened. “So what do you do?”

The question is innocent enough, but the look behind it says otherwise. You laugh nervously, glancing down at Josh to save you.“Nothing that interesting I’m afraid. I’m a barista down at the coffee shop.”

“Good money there?”

“Kai…” Josh scolds softly. “Don’t listen to him, baby.”

He glances up, giving you an expression as if to communicate with you telepathically. Despite the warning, you decide to answer anyway, “Enough to pay my bills I guess. Why?”

Kai flashes another smile and shrugs. “Just curious.”

Before the conversation has a chance of taking another turn,  Josh butts in, “Oh would you look at that! You’re all done.”

Disappointment flashes across his face before he looks down at the new additions on his stomach. “Already?” 

Taking the cue, you grab your food and get comfortable on the couch while Josh starts the cleanup process and takes pictures of his work. You do your best to mind your business, keeping your focus on the takeout container balanced on your lap, but you see Kai carefully stand to his feet and walk past you in your periphery. He stops in front of the full-length mirror where you have stood many times before. He’s kept his shirt lifted away from the fresh tattoo with his pants riding so low you can faintly see the patch of his pubic hair peeking above the band of pants. You’re gawking now, staring at how he twists his body and flexes his toned stomach in the mirror. You’re quick to note how his build is similar to Josh’s. He’s lean but with a bit more muscle and a few inches added to his height. 

“These look fucking sick, Josh,” Kai calls over his shoulder as he admires the finished pair of scorpions. “Good choice on the placement.”

Josh chuckles, tearing the cling wrap away from the table. “I’m glad you like it.”

You check on Jake to see that he’s still at his desk, munching away on his food with his earpods nestled inside his ears. He glances up and shoots Kai an annoyed look, followed by a heavy roll of his eyes before taking another bite of his food. 

Josh pulls your attention away with a dramatic huff, “Are you done staring at yourself or can I bandage you up already?”

Kai turns, revealing an exceptionally cocky grin, “Why? Do you wanna stare instead?” 

“No, you idiot. I’m fucking starving and my food is getting cold.”

Amused, he takes his time making his way back to Josh, but you forget to look away, letting him catch you red-handed. He smiles, biting into his bottom lip with a wink sent only to you. You���d normally be irritated by a man with an ego too big for this room. But this one feels different. With a level of confidence that borders on arrogance, you believe it suits him — sex appeal radiating from every part of him. And with a single look, you find your heart racing. 

Standing behind Josh while he preps the bandages, Kai ruffles his hair, teasing him, “You’re so cute when you’re mad.”    

“Cut it out,” Josh grumbles, but you can see the smile spreading as he half-spins in his chair, reaching back for him. “Get over here.”

Kai steps around to face him, placing a leg between Josh’s open ones. A position where if he were to sit, he would be balanced right on his thigh. He looks down, watching as Josh peels the backing of the Saniderm and carefully places it on his skin. You recognize the gentle touch he’s using — the same one he’s used on you. His focus on Kai’s lower stomach is locked, brows furrowed in concentration while being mindful of his soreness as he presses the clear bandage down, even having to pull Kai’s waistband slightly to get the bottom edge to stick properly. Their proximity makes you blush — a closeness blurring the line of professionalism.

Kai extends a hand to slip his fingers through Josh’s curls again, but it’s far from taunting. He rests it there on the crown of his head, tugging his attention upward by the roots of his hair. You’ve seen that look in his eyes before — you know that look. You just can’t be sure who you’re more envious of, him or Kai. But seeing Josh cast under the same spell excites you, and makes that aching feeling throb between your legs. 

You see the harsh swallow in Josh’s throat before Kai lets his hand fall to his side. Josh's eyes quickly dart away and find yours. Realizing you caught the moment, guilt twists his features until you give him a raised wiggle of your brows. 

He tries his best to bite back the bashful smile, but you can see that he’s visibly flustered. After clearing his throat, he rushes to clean up the leftover trash from the bandages to keep busy. The tension between them is palpable, thicker than the humid mid-summer air outside. Satisfied with himself, Kai drops his shirt and pulls his phone out of his pocket. 

Josh rambles about the aftercare, telling him when he can remove his bandages and how to properly wash as if this was the man’s first tattoo. Kai nods along anyway, walking in your direction toward the center of the room. Josh stands from his chair to follow but quickly pulls at his pants to readjust himself. At first, you think your eyes are deceiving you, but there’s no mistaking the significant bulge he’s desperately trying to hide. 

 “Oh shit!” Josh calls out, tossing the gloves that he’s peeled off his hands into the trash can. “Before I forget again, would you guys like to come out and see us next weekend?”

Kai answers immediately, “Absolutely.”

However, you don’t answer with nearly the same amount of certainty, asking a question of your own, “Both of us?” 

You can feel Kai’s eyes on you in an instant. He’s observant of you —  you’ll give him that. It makes you highly aware of yourself, mindful to not give away too much. It’s not that you don’t want to see Josh, it’s the thought of seeing Kai again. The dynamic between them has been a massive curveball, and you’re scrambling to catch up on processing it all. 

“Yeah of course!” Josh doesn’t seem to catch it, sliding onto the arm of the leather couch. He’s distracted, beaming with excitement while trying to act casual. “We finally booked another gig. You’ll come, right?”

There’s that smile of his that you sell you on anything. He’s put you right on the spot. He could’ve just asked you directly if you wanted to come, or even waited until the day knowing full well that you’d show up that evening regardless. “Yeah, I can make it.”

Kai walks around the other side of the couch and picks up a tote you didn’t realize was sitting there. “Same place?”

Josh’s smile grows even bigger. “Hell yeah.”

“Perfect. Just text me the details. Unfortunately, I gotta run. I’m already late for a meeting.” You sense him step behind you to get to Josh and reach in for a hug. As he wraps his arms around him, he kisses him on the cheek. “Thanks for the awesome tat. Always a pleasure.”

“Of course, anytime,” Josh sighs from the praise, holding onto the embrace until Kai pulls away. 

The weight of his hand on your shoulder surprises you, making you jump slightly. He squeezes you through your shirt as he leans down over the back of the couch. Your consciousness dives, swimming in his cologne that must be placed perfectly on his pulse points. It’s crisp, cool to the nose with its fresh floral notes that finish off with a comforting woodsy scent — like the summer rainstorms you’ve been romanticizing lately. 

He keeps his voice low, so close to your ear that you swear you can feel his lips move against it, “It was definitely a pleasure meeting you.” His chilled touch sends a shiver down your spine as his fingers slide up the soft curve of your neck. “Can’t wait to see you again.”

Your body reacts before your mind can, making your breath feel heavy in your chest. The distant sound of a throat clearing disrupts him, making you both look up to see Jake staring directly at you. 

Kai gives you a final squeeze before pushing away from you. “Jake! How could I forget you?”

The ghost of his fingers on your neck haunts you as he crosses the room. You replay the touch, and the words spoken in your ear while your eyes follow him and the unbothered swagger of his stride. Jake is just finishing the last of his meal, keeping his head down like a dog guarding a prized bone. “Leaving so soon?”

Josh, still sitting beside you on the arm of the couch, gives you a worried look, but you both watch as the interaction unfolds together. Kai continues his stroll behind him, daring to walk right into the cage of the beast. Metaphorically poking as if the blatant sarcasm was fuel to his antics. “Aww. You don’t have to put on such a brave face. It’s okay to miss me.”

Jake grumbles, letting his distaste coat the words between his teeth as he gives him a second warning, “The day I never see you again can’t come soon enough.”

Kai stops behind him and sticks out a dramatic bottom lip while slapping his hands to his heart. With Jake’s back to him, it’s a theatrical display meant for Josh and you to see. “Such sweet words coming from you.” The fake pout forms into a mischievous grin as he wraps his arms around Jake’s rigid shoulders. “Bring it in, big guy.”

You watch him take in a heavy breath through flared nostrils to calm himself. “Kai…I swear to god, if you don’t get your fucking hands off me I’ll drag you out of here myself.”

Kai takes the threat as a challenge, nestling his cheek against Jake’s even tighter in an effort to taunt him. “Now you’re getting me excited.” Without a word, Jake’s lip hooks into a snarl just as he tries to grab him, making him jump back out of reach. “I’m going! I’m going!”

Kai, successful at annoying him, skips back with his hands raised in defense, filling the room with a ringing cackle. Once he reaches the top of the stairs, he spins, giving a final goodbye wave before leaving. “It was lovely seeing you again.”

You both give him a nod and wave in return, listening as the echoes of footsteps fade out down the steps, leaving you to sit in the hushed silence between the three of you. Jake’s foul mood becomes more evident than ever as he angrily shoves his earbuds back in without saying a word to either of you. 

“Alright, I gotta finish cleaning up and then we can head out of here,” Josh groans as he slides off the couch, paying no mind to his twin. His back must be aching from being hunched over for hours but you swear you can see the lively skip in his step as he makes his way back to his station. 

If that fluttery, “butterflies in your stomach” feeling was written in the dictionary, Josh’s picture would be right next to it. He can barely control the smile on his face wanting to break free or the blush pinkening the apples of his cheeks. Wanting to feel the energy up close, you lean down and wrap your arms around his shoulders, interrupting his cleaning. He welcomes it, holding you close with his hands on your arms while he melts into the embrace. You kiss him, feeling the warmth of his flushed skin against your lips. “I can see why you like him.”

Like a hormonal teenager confessing who they’ve been secretly pining over, a bashful smile spreads on his face. “I do not. He’s just a friend,” he defends weakly before the words break apart into laughter.

“Oh please!” you huff, letting your own smile show. You break away, allowing him to spin on his chair so he can face you. “That’s the biggest crush I’ve ever seen with my own eyeballs, Josh.”

Your eyes finally meet as you sit on the cleared-off tattoo table. There’s a glimmer in them as they search the thoughts behind yours. You can’t deny that this is new for both of you, but he’s still cautious about how to approach it. He scooches toward you, bringing himself between your bent knees. He rubs his thumb across your kneecap and starts to trace patterns across the denim.“Yeah…well, a crush that doesn’t really mean anything.”

You don’t need to ask to know what his apprehension is about. He doesn’t want to spark the same jealousy in you again after what happened that one day with the blonde. As much as you can admittedly say it wasn’t your proudest moment, there’s more security in whatever this is between you now than there was at that time. The attraction between them seems genuine, and you’d be lying if you didn’t feel it with Kai yourself. 

He settles in closer, sliding your ass to the edge so he can fold his arms around your waist. It’s the reassurance you both need. He buries his face into your chest, giving you the attention you’ve been craving all day. If you didn’t have the audience, you’d fall off the table onto his lap and fuck him senseless. 

That was another thing. 

Jake. 

Regardless of the fact he never explicitly had a conversation about being exclusive with only you in a non-hypothetical sense, he is far from approachable about it now. You haven’t been completely oblivious the past few weeks. Women’s names have come across his phone screen and interactions on his social media would hint that he had other situations going on. You didn’t dig, and for good reason. 

With your fingers weaved into Josh’s curls, you tip his head back for a kiss. It feels good, sweet, and vulnerable with the bite of his mint hitting your tongue. As soon as you pull away, he lets out a dreamy sigh, “Besides, I’m perfectly happy with you.’

“Is that so?” You hum. His response only comes out as a groan from you lightly scratching his scalp, causing him to practically purr in your hands. “I dunno…He is pretty cute.”

His eyes flutter open from your words, and he bites into the flesh of his bottom lip. “Sounds like you’re the one with a crush, baby.” 

The Twisted Cherry is everything one could expect from a local dive bar. Tucked away at a corner on the east side of downtown, the popular spot is unrecognizable in the daylight hours. Hidden in plain sight until the sun starts to set and its neon lights buzz to life. Tonight, it’s bustling with activity — humming with drunken chatter and young adults pouring in and weaving their way through the tiny entrance. After paying a small cover fee to the doorman, you meander your way through the small crowd that’s starting to form. A combination of sweat, a hundred different perfumes, and the mustiness of the historic building hangs in the dense air. 

It’s difficult to see clearly in the dark with the hazy red bulbs acting as the only lighting throughout the place, but you’re able to find the bar easily. The music playing over the speakers is a relief knowing that the live show hasn’t started yet. You glance at your phone to check the time and slide it back into your purse while you wait for a bartender to notice you. With a secured hand on the waxed, wooden surface grounding you, you scan over the heads and spot the small stage near the back. You keep an eye out for Josh but quickly recognize Danny checking the equipment on stage.

You feel a set of fingers brush against the back of your arm, and before you can scold the stranger grabbing you from behind, a voice greets you, “Hey there. It’s nice to see you again.”

Kai steps into your view and stands before you. It’s not that you’re surprised that he’s here because he was also invited, it’s that you’re not sure how to feel about him being here. You’re attracted to him, thinking about him more than you ever should. An attraction that had you searching for his content on the internet one lonely night this past week. 

That smile of his — a perfectly white set of teeth with a pair of canines just a bit sharper than the average person. You imagine how it would feel to have them sink into your skin before a sloppy kiss. That fluttery feeling of excitement and throbbing need for more comes with a wash of guilt.  You’re here for Josh, not him. 

“Oh, hi,” you respond in a much softer voice than you intend, and it gets drowned out by the music so much you wonder if he heard you at all. Your movements are stiff and awkward while that nagging bead of sweat drips lower down your back. 

You feel his looming eyes on you as he leans an elbow into the bar and takes a sip of his drink. He’s reading you, studying every little mannerism and nervous glance of your eyes trying to look at anything else but him. 

From what you noticed so far, he looks good. He’s swapped the t-shirt he wore the last time you saw him for a solid black, long-sleeve button-down that’s rolled just below the elbows. It’s oversized, with linen-like fabric draping loosely from his slender frame that’s tucked into his dark-wash baggy jeans. Since you can’t hold eye contact to save your life, your gaze has drifted down to the massive rips in the denim on both of his knees. 

“What are you doing here?” The question comes out cold, dry, and sharp. It’s accusatory, and you’re not exactly why it came out that way. 

He forces out a dry laugh, and stands a step closer into your personal space, pulling your line of sight that has been fused to black leather boots up to the layered necklaces wrapped around his throat. One has a thin silver chain with a small heart-shaped locket. The other is a thicker chain of the same metal with prongs to resemble barbs on a wire fence. He pulls in a breath and releases a deep sigh, “Well, I’m here to see Josh. But what about you? Why are you here?”

He knows why. He’s playing — dangling that little toy mouse in front of you until you finally decide to snatch it. He’s done a wonderful job at leaving that trail of breadcrumbs to see if you’re curious enough about his intentions to follow them. Deep down you know if you were to take him by the hand and lead him to the bathroom, he’d be more than happy to fuck your brains out in one of the filthy stalls. 

If not— if he was truly here for Josh only — he’s the biggest tease you’ve ever met. You’re smart enough to know that if he wanted Josh for himself, he wouldn’t have bothered approaching you at all.

You still shift on your feet to balance the uneasiness as the conflicting feelings stir inside you. It’s like he’s ripped the wires out of your brain and crossed them. “Yeah, me too.”

He reaches out and pops the bubble you’ve tried to form around yourself by touching your arm once more — another gentle graze of his cool fingers. “You okay? You’re kind of making me anxious.”

The touch is innocent enough, meant purely as a physical check-in, but it doesn’t fail to send a shock of electricity through you. You try to hold back your body’s physical reaction, but there’s no doubt he caught it. It’s enough to make you look up and meet his gaze. “Yeah, I’m okay. Sorry.”

Even in the crowded, dark bar, his smile reaches his light eyes, stealing every bit of your attention. “Don’t be. Want a drink?”

“Sure, but I can get—” He interrupts you with a raise of his hand to the bartender, gesturing that he’d like two more of the same drink that’s currently in his hand. 

“You didn’t have to…” you trail off. 

He lifts his dark brow at you. “Would you like someone else to buy you drinks tonight? Josh seems a little busy.”

You stare at him, shooting him a stubborn glare. “…No.”

He huffs a laugh, stirring the ice melting away in the bottom of his glass. “Okay, then don’t be like that.”

“Like what?”

A smirk plays on his lips before he says, “A people pleaser.”

“I am not,” you scoff, offended by his attempt to psychoanalyze you. You could lay into him, give him an ear-full, and storm your way out of here — maybe even throw what’s left of his drink in his face for dramatic effect. But you both know that’s not what you want. 

He props an elbow back on the bar again and tongues the silver rings pierced through each side of his bottom lip — a similar oral fixation to Josh’s tongue piercing. “You’re too worried about what I think.”

“What if I didn’t want you to assume anything?” You’re quick to fire back, but your confidence is shaky at best, and he can see right through your stubbornness. 

Those intense green eyes scan down the length of you while the chewed cocktail straw dances across his bottom lip. If you really were a dove — a helpless bird with fluttering wings upon the ground — he was the black cat lurking in the brush ready to pounce. 

The bartender comes up from behind him and slides two cocktails across the bar between you. He takes one and offers it to you. “So you’re accusing me of being presumptuous?”

You take the drink from his hand, watching as he grabs the lone cherry half-buried in the ice from his glass and pops it into his mouth before taking the new drink waiting for him. 

You let his question hang in the air by taking a sip of your drink. Based on the distinct, nutty almond flavor and tartness of lemon, you guess it’s the bar’s spin on an amaretto sour. A thought crosses your mind, making you laugh, “Why do I feel like you’re the type that can tie a knot in a cherry stem?”

He chuckles, amused by your sudden change of subject, “Isn’t that a bit cliche?”

“If you can’t do it, just say that,” you challenge, sucking down another large sip of your drink. 

He plays along, taking the bright maraschino cherry sitting pretty next to the orange slice garnish on the rim. He plucks the syrup-marinated fruit, savoring the saccharine juice before laying the bare stem across his outstretched tongue. For a moment, you forget the fact you’re not alone, while also realizing that he’s showing off now. Keeping his eyes fixed on yours, he rolls it around in his closed mouth for about thirty seconds until the end of the stem pops out from his lips. They spread into that same cocky grin you’ve seen from him before. With it wedged between his teeth, he reaches up and tightens the loose knot with a pull of his inked fingers. 

Checkmate. 

You’re stunned into silence — no other moves left in your arsenal. He seals your fate, kicking your queen off the board with the gift of the perfect knot as he leans in close. Drunk off the victory, he croons softly against your ear, “Any more tests for me?”

If you had more alcohol in your system, you might’ve thrown yourself at him, but he steps away from you, disappearing into the crowd centered around the tiny stage. The preset music that’s been fades out, signaling the round of cheers and clapping from everyone around you. You look around to find the reason for the commotion and see Josh, Jake, and Sam step out onto the platform. 

You shuffle through to get closer, eventually spotting Kai standing by himself. He gives you a smile when you approach, but Josh’s muffled voice coming through the microphone cuts in before either of you has the chance to say anything.

“Hello, hello,” he mumbles, tapping the top of the microphone as he paces the front of the stage. You’re not sure what you expected from him, but the last thing on your mind was the pair of black leather pants he’s wearing, riding so low on his hips that you can see the tip of the leaf of his tattooed cherries poking above the waistband. They’re incredibly tight to his body in all the right places — leaving nothing to the collective imagination. The black, short-sleeved blouse is not any more conservative, left completely unbuttoned to reveal the collection of tattoos covering his torso. You can’t lie that seeing him up there, being the focus of everyone’s attention feels surreal.  

He downs the rest of his drink to shake off the remaining nerves and places it somewhere out of sight. “Hope everyone is having a lovely night.”

It earns a few shouts and whistles, but your gaze follows Jake, dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a t-shirt. He’s busy fiddling with the guitar hanging from his shoulders. You’ve noticed the cherry-finish SG propped up in the corner of his room but had yet to see him with it until now. He plays a few notes, doing any last-minute tuning while the rest of the guys get into position.  

While Danny gets ready behind the drum kit, Josh continues, whipping the microphone cord in his hand as goes, “Make sure to get your necessary refreshments. You all know the drill by now. Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em…and uh…get ready for some rock n’ roll.”

Josh’s face lights up the second he spots you standing next to Kai, smiling so wide it stretches from ear to ear. You wave at him, getting a wink in return. Jake on the other hand, only gives you a single nod before dropping his line of sight back to the guitar in his hands. Sam, with a bass hanging from the thick strap around his back, has been busy chatting with a few girls in the front row. Danny sets the count, and within seconds, the cramped space erupts on his mark. 

Josh’s vocals rip through the dense air of the dive bar. You know your mouth has dropped open and your eyes have widened in shock. It takes far longer than you’d like to admit, but you’re able to recognize the cover as “White Room” by Cream. 

In the white room with black curtains near the station

Black roof country, no gold pavements, tired sterlings

His voice is gritty, raw and powerful. There’s a certain whine to it that lives in your chest with every breath you take — so loud it rings in your ears and makes the hairs on your arms stand on end. He possesses the modest stage with a charisma that’s completely new to you. He’s far more confident than you’ll ever be, existing through the music and letting it course through his body with the sways of his head to the rhythmic bounce of his foot. Within minutes, his body starts to glisten with a sheen of sweat, causing your eye to catch the exposed golden bar pierced through his navel. 

For a moment, you forget that you’re sleeping with him, that every part of his gyrating body has been explored by you — by your tongue. He seems like an entirely new man, dripping with unadulterated eroticism and ego. 

Never wanting his brother to take all the attention, Jake steps in to deliver his solo. His nimble fingers move across the frets with lightning speed, showcasing another level of talent and dexterity that you didn’t know he had. Josh is more than happy to let him take the limelight, moving aside to gladly accept a shot of clear liquor being offered to him by someone in the crowd. 

When you pictured what this might be in your head, you imagined something akin to a local karaoke night. You hadn’t expected them to actually be this good.

 As the first song fades out, they roll into the next one without stopping. Some songs you can pick out, some you don’t. You’re simply captivated by the performance, absorbing all of their forty-five-minute set without moving from your spot once. 

One thing you couldn’t help but notice was Jake actively trying to ignore you. Other than a few fleeting glances in your direction, his attention stayed on his guitar or the women shouting at him in the first row. Instead of giving you those smiles, he gave them away, even stripping from his drenched t-shirt to show off the tattoos on his chest and back. If you were here alone, his behavior might’ve bothered you more than it does. Kai’s presence smothers it, even if it might be the reason it sparked it in the first place. 

After the guys finish up their last song, Kai nudges you with an elbow and leads the way, clearing a path through the crowd back to the bar with you in tow. The short walk feels like a blur like you’re the one running on adrenaline. Your body buzzes with so much excitement that you hardly notice the fact he’s already ordered another round. 

“Wow,” you breathe.

He reaches out and holds your wrist, grounding you to him as he leans back against the bar. “First time seeing them play?”

“Yeah.” You nod, setting your empty glass on the polished bar top. 

He’s looking past you, right at Josh still talking to a few people near the stage. “It’s definitely an experience.”

You note the way he looks at him, studying all the same things you did minutes ago. Since it's been eating away at you for almost two weeks, you feel compelled to ask yourself, “So are you and Josh friends with benefits?”

He shakes his head and smirks in response to the question, making you feel as though it was a stupid one to ask. “Who told you that?”

“Jake,” you confess. 

“Hmm…and do you always take Jake’s word on everything?” His striking eyes pierce right through you. Now inches away, you’re able to see all the details up close. The tattoo on his right cheek that says “lover”, the faint freckles that paint his nose, and the little scar that goes through his left brow. 

“Do I have a reason not to?”

His stare softens and shifts to Josh before flicking his eyes back over to you. “I guess that’s for you to find out. But no, Josh and I aren’t friends with benefits.”

You wonder how Jake would get the idea because you don’t think of him as the type to lie about something like that. “You haven’t done anything at all?”

His fingers skate across your forearms resting on the edge of the bar. “You’re a curious one,” he laughs, meeting your gaze, searching both of your eyes until he drops his own to your lips, letting them linger there. You’re hypnotized by his eyes, caught up in the lustful thoughts that have invaded your mind. “Aside from a few drunken makeouts that I’m sure he doesn’t even remember now, no.”

You try to bring his words to life in your head, imagining what that might have looked like — what it would be like to kiss him yourself. “Oh…okay.”

“Look.” He squeezes your hand before letting go to grab the drinks sitting on the bar. “I hope you know that you have him so tightly wrapped around your finger, and from what I see, he’d do anything to make you happy.” He lifts a shot you didn’t order, gesturing for you to take it. “You’re the one calling the shots here, so start acting like it.”

Before you can even think about what he said, he clinks his shot glass against yours, pressuring you to throw back the clear liquor into your mouth. You can tell its vodka right away by how it burns all the way down your throat. 

You cough through that pain, “What, are you trying to get drunk?” 

He laughs at your expense, chasing his shot with another sip of his new drink. Your judgment is becoming clouded, all inhibitions dissolving away by the second in his presence. You look over to Josh to see him slowly making his way over to you with each conversation he’s getting pulled into.  

“What are you so worried about, kitten?” The added feline quality of his voice rasps against your ear, making you tremble in his loose hold. “How badly you want to fuck me or is it how much he wants to?”

You’re fully pressed against him now, smelling the scent of his aftershave and feeling the warmth of his skin through his shirt.  He’s good at leaving you speechless, as a suitable answer for him evades you. The temptation to touch him, to kiss him becomes unbearable — your self-control reduced to a mere thread. Something makes his body tense up for the first time, and he pulls away enough to look down at you. “Is there a reason why Jake is looking at me like he wants to murder me?”

You turn, breaking away from him to look behind you. You search the groups, spotting Jake standing next to Danny and Sam as he nurses a glass of amber liquid, presumably whiskey. The set brows and jaw clench are visible even at this distance. He’s avoiding eye-contact with you, giving away that he’s angry with you. “Oh…uhm,” you stammer over yourself, struggling to find a place to start. “Well…”

Kai’s brows shoot up but his shoulders fall in disbelief now that the pieces start to fit together. “You’re fucking kidding me,” he breathes, taking another sip of his drink. Something shifts as the gears turn in his head, and a devilish grin reveals itself over the lip of his glass. What would scare away more people only seems to make him double down, as if he thrives off the pure chaos. “Let’s get messy then.”

“Fucking finally.” You hear Josh heavy groan beside you. “I never thought I would escape.” He takes a second to collect himself now that he’s made it to the bar. “Fuck, I’m so glad you both could come.” 

“You didn’t tell me you could sing like that,” you gush, giving him a playful shove to his shoulder, which only makes him propel himself closer to you.

“Maybe I wanted it to be a surprise.” He kisses you — heavy, hot and brimming with lust. He’s impatient, beyond pent up, licking into your mouth while he ruts his hardening length against your hip. “Being on that stage gets me so fucking horny, baby. I don’t think I can wait to fuck you later.” His sinful confessions being mumbled into your skin is enough to drive you feral. 

If the state of your underwear was any indication of how you’re feeling — you need him more than anything you’ve needed before. 

He shows enough restraint to acknowledge Kai standing beside you. “Looks like you’re making a new friend though.” 

You glance up at him to see that he’s more than content sipping away at his cocktail while the two of you go at it, giving you a side-eye peek. A heat radiates in your chest and blooms up to your face thinking about the things he had said to you minutes ago, making you admit, “We’ve gotten to know each other a little.” 

Josh’s curious eyes bounce between you before landing on Kai. “You’re not making me a stranger, are you?”

Kai sets his glass down and signals for another round. Those siren eyes of his find Josh’s while he lures him in with a silken voice, “I don’t think it would take much to get reacquainted.”

The sexual tension between them reaches its threshold, breaking apart from a single look. Acting on a surge of bravery, Josh takes the leap of faith you’ve yet to make. He leans forward and crashes his lips into Kai’s before he’s given the chance to react. It takes him a second to catch up with Josh’s unrestricted fervor, but quickly regains his footing. After bringing a hand to cradle the side of his face, Kai successfully suppresses that hunger enough to slow him down to be present. You watch as their lips part, seeing the glint of Josh’s piercing as his tongue slips into Kai’s mouth. 

His ringed fingers dive into Josh’s sweaty hair, tugging him by the roots to make him whimper. To witness him being turned into a moaning mess makes you ache terribly. He’s teasing Josh with a taste to remember, and is now pulling away to keep him chasing for it. 

Josh licks at his swelling bottom lip to savor what was left there. He suddenly plummets back to Earth, remembering where he is and that you’re still standing here beside him. “Oh shit… I’m sorry—“ 

“Don’t be,” you giggle, interrupting his frantic apology. “I’ve been wanting to do that all night.”

It was supposed to be a light-hearted joke to add levity to the moment. But the next thing you feel is Kai’s hand wrapping around your neck. “Let’s make it even, then.” 

You have thought about this very moment over and over again after that night at the shop. The way his lips would feel, how they would taste, how he would touch you. It’s a forbidden desire, more so than Jake has ever felt. You’re not supposed to have another man make you feel like this. 

His lips connect with a controlled grace, the pad of his thumb grazing along your jawline to ease you in. You relinquish control, clutching onto the fabric of his shirt while you memorize the cold sensation of the silver rings slipping across your lip as the kiss deepens. He baits you with a teasing flick of his tongue, making you chase it back into the sweetness of his mouth. 

Before you know it, it’s all over. 

“Oh my fucking god, that was so hot,” Josh groans. His restlessness breaks the moment for you to see him tossing back one of the shots that was ordered. 

You’ve been blushing so hard that your face has started  to break out in a sweat, but Kai is still holding you by the chin, peering down at you through obsidian lashes. He bites down on his bottom lip, creating little impressions in the wet flesh. “What do you think? Should we get outta here, kitten?”

All three of you stumble out of the bar onto the sidewalk after paying the tap, realizing you’ve had a bit more to drink than you expected to. Your chest feels tight, but in that way when you know something is about to happen. Josh, on the other hand, is vibrating with nervous energy so much his hands have started to shake as he pulls out the pack of cigarettes from his pocket. 

“Uber will be here in 5 minutes,” Kai announces, noticing Josh drunkenly struggle to light the end of his cigarette. You try to find another lighter from the depths of your purse, but Kai digs his own from his pocket to help him. It’s sensual — the way he watches him pull in a slow drag so he can pluck the burning cigarette from between his fingers. 

Before Josh can exhale, Kai captures his lips in a smokey kiss. He nips at his bottom lip, thriving on the way he’s left Josh breathless and confused as he takes in a drag of his own. He then looks at you with a raised brow, silently asking you if you want one as well. You nod, eagerly closing the distance, stepping into his arms so he can hold your chin steady. You open your lips for him, allowing him to blow a gentle stream of smoke past them before sealing it with a kiss. 

You hear Josh giggle in the background, humming with energy he can no longer contain, “You two are trying to fucking kill me.”

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[jifanjiang0710]

Why we celebrate - Yan Zhongli x f! Reader

Written by: Leo

A/N: Wishing everyone a prosperous and healthy new year!

"Happy Lantern Rite, my dear."

…

"[Name]?"

"Good morning, Zhongli."

He exhales, setting down the tea cup on the stone table with unfailing gentleness. The balcony overlooking the harbour is illuminated by the morning glow, though the sight is far overshadowed by the sunrise in Minlin.

The buzz of morning begins when the first of the citizens swing open their doors in festive mood. Mortal traditions are so extravagant, borne from passed on customs preserved through many generations, ever changing, adapting. Nothing like the rituals performed by the adepti, with stringent guidelines and unswerving adherence to the scrolls. 

The Lantern Rite isn't what it used to be.

Zhongli is sure that is what you are thinking. With that subtle frown and furrowed eyebrows (he hasn't seen you smile in many weeks) as you gaze at the people going about this very special day. He's been on the receiving end of your glares much more often.

"Darling, it would not be auspicious to scowl today."

*

The night is clear, as are the waters of the spring. Liyue harbour is alight with what was once well wishes carried by mothers and sisters of warring men.

You frolic over the waters, to the stone table. "Happy Lantern Rite, Morax!" You clasp your hands in greeting. "Prosperity and longevity to all!"

Someone groans. "One hopes not. One has lived long enough."

"Moon Shaper! You shouldn't say stuff like that! It brings bad luck for the rest of the year." Guizhong says, astounded. "[Name]! Happy Lantern Rite! Is Morax being stubborn again?"

"I have no regard for mortal festivities, nor mortal affairs tied to it."

"Hm…" You place two fingers on his unflinching face and turn the corners of his mouth upwards.

"[Name]."

"Smile more, Rex Lapis."

*

Zhongli smiles. How endearing you were back then.

"What amuses you? Finally gotten senile?"

No stranger to disagreeable remarks from you, with utmost decorum, he reminds you of the annual gathering with the Minlin adepti.

"Must I go?"

"You sound like a child," he chides. "As per the contract-"

"I understand," you say, eyes fixed at the spring couplets on the door of Third Round Knockout. The words are carefully penned, and speak well-wishes of business and wealth. "Please do not bring up the contract again."

Almost sheepishly, he resumes his activities. For once, the distinguished, all-knowing gentleman has nothing to say. Zhongli could understand your distaste for the season. He would be lying if he said the Lantern Rite only brought back painful memories. He just wished that you'd-

Zhongli places a gloved hand on yours for reassurance. You would pull away, repulsed, but 'as per the contract'...

A little green girl and the sound of bells alerts you.

"Aunty [Name]!" She seems ecstatic, toes barely touching the floor as she struggles to see over the table, before giving up and settling for placing the basket of fruits on your lap. "Mr Zhongli, too. Happy Lantern Rite!" Cloud Retainer said that you would- you felt like- she said-"

"Calm down, little one. Happy Lantern Rite. What did she say?"

"She said that you promised to join our reunion dinner tonight, with eeeveryone! Are you really? I've never spent a Lantern Rite with you before. Will you really?" Her eyes light up with fervour, and dull almost instantly. "Oh…but if you don't want to, then don't push yourself. Master also says that I shouldn't pressure you."

You pat her on the head. "Of course I'll go. Anything for my favourite disciple." She giggles and runs, backtracking to whisper in your ear.

"Don't tell anyone, but you're my favorite adeptus too. One last thing…Cloud Retainer and Master and the others all care for you very much! I'm sure Mr Zhongli does too, so take care of yourself, alright?"

You watch her until the jingle of bells fade away into the distance.

Within minutes of that interaction, Zhongli decides to cease feigning disinterest and speak up.

"Do you still express reservations? If it pleases you, we may cancel."

"Ah, why don't you shut up."

"As you wish, dear."

*

She places a glaze lily onto your lap. Its petals droop and its stem wilts. Without a doubt it is on the verge of death, but Guizhong insists that you fix it onto her hair.

'Why?' You wanted to ask. Your fingers were clumsy and rough, far from her own, so deft and dexterous, perfect for tinkering with the mechanisms she loved as much as this dying glaze lily.

You fumble, but successfully weave it into strands of her hair.

She is ethereal in the moonlight, illuminated by stars and lanterns alike.

"Will you do one thing for me?" Guizhong whispers, taking your hands, giving the lightest of kisses on your wrists. You pick up on faraway sounds of slashing blades, shrieks into the night. Somewhere, there is fresh blood being spilt. Somewhere, your fellow adepti are fighting to the very ends of their lives.

"[Name]. I want you to live. Can you do that?"

"I will, if you do the same."

"Please promise me. Live, along with everyone else. You are important to me."

"I promise." As long as you are here with me to see it through. You decide not to voice it.

Her eyes crinkle. There is a dimple on her left cheek. "Happy Lantern Rite, [Name]."

Very soon after, you had come to wish that she had never asked that of you.

*

"Greetings, Traveler. What brings you?"

"We're here to deliver Zhongli some bamboo shoots. It's good to see you, [Name]!"

"The pleasure is mine, Paimon."

Clouds roll past mountain peaks, a sight you had become infinitely familiar with over the course of several millennia. The Traveler's presence is not unwelcome.

"Why're you here all alone? Everyone's gathered over there."

Their companions incessant questions, however…

"I enjoy solitude sometimes."

"But the Lantern Rite is all about spending time with family and friends. Isn't that right, Traveler?"

Paimon's words seem to resonate with them. "...that's right."

…

"Say, Traveler. You are looking for your lost sibling. Losing your own flesh and blood must be unimaginably difficult to handle, yet you carry yourself with such radiance and passion. How do you do it? How do you manage to shine even amongst the darkest times?" They take a while to answer.

"I think…it's because of Paimon."

"Uuahhhh! Do you really mean it, Traveler?"

They nod. "Without you by my side, this journey wouldn't be half as meaningful."

"Awww…that was unexpectedly sweet of you. Paimon would say that her goal is to follow the Traveler all the way! And eat lots of delicious food, hehe. What about you, [Name]?"

"Heh. Me? What do you think, Paimon?c

"Paimon thinks…your motivation is the people around you. The adepti, Yaoyao, the people of Liyue…and Zhongli, of course."

"Zhongli?"

"Uh huh! It's obvious that he really really likes you-" she falters at the Traveler's glare.

"Does he?" Something in your tone makes them hesitate. "Do you agree, Traveler?"

*

"What has gotten into you, Morax?"

He is fixated on his thoughts, only the back of his hood faces you. 

"I meant what I said. Henceforth you are exempt from battle. No, it is better to say that you are forbidden from it."

"I cannot accept these terms! This new contract is absurd! You are chaining me to you for what is essentially forever."

"I am protecting you. The enemy is cruel. You are much better off away from war," the next words are spoken under his breath," and closer to me."

"Guizhong's passing has changed you. You- you failed to protect her. Do not project your insecurities and failures onto me!"

The very ground trembles beneath your feet, shaking even its rocky foundations. "Do not," he growls, "speak of her again." The singular glaze lily in his hand crumbles to dust.

"From now on, you are not to cross Liyue's borders, not to leave Guili plains without my presence, and not to interact with other adepti without my explicit permission. I trust you will do your utmost to adhere."

"And if I should fail?"

"Then we send forces to quell the rebellion arising in the north. What was your domain? Qingce? We cannot guarantee they will not get caught in the crossfire."

No. This was not Morax. This was a monster. "You would sacrifice a hundred innocents, let them perish…for this?" Hardened with war and loss, he tells a sickening story.

"Do you accept the terms of the contract?" Finally he turns, and for a fraction of a second, you see his eyes glisten.

*

"[Name]." The voice of the last person you wished to see snaps you out of the reverie.

"What?"

"..." Zhongli had not planned this far. He did not expect you to acknowledge him immediately. He settles for small talk. "Cloud Retainer's culinary mechanism. Have you seen its inner workings? Undoubtedly fascinating."

"I know."

The sun casts a golden edge to the clouds in an ephemeral sunset over the peaks. Very far away, you can hear the celebrations in the harbour. The only thing that remains the same throughout the years is the mortals' love for festive proceedings.

"It serves in the interests of no one to dwell in the past. We can only live on and honour the memories of those who cannot be here today, for their sake if not ours."

You scoff. "You hypocrite. You have seen a millennia worth of history more than I, experienced suffering far more potent than mine, and you still strive. Pray tell, what is your motivation?"

"That would be the people whose company I regard with fondness. Whether it be gods, adepti, or mortals. And you."

This man is shameless. "Is that an excuse to justify the atrocities committed in my name?"

"No. It is simply the truth." Silence. "Would you like to hear about the Lantern Rite's origins?"

You huff but don't object.

"In ancient times, the people of Liyue faced many centuries of war. They sent lanterns into the sky to remind their soldiers of the way home. Over time it became tradition, and after the era of war, citizens commemorated this symbolic custom by celebrating with friends and family. Many years later, the history behind it has long been forgotten, but the meaning is not lost on us. The essence of the Lantern Rite is still to appreciate our loved ones and those who are here now, for they are invaluable in our lives. With that said, may I have the pleasure of spending this occasion in your presence?"

"Either way, I still have the rest of my life with you, so there is no difference."

"Aunty [Nameeee]! Mr Zhongliii! The fireworks are about to start!" Yaoyao drags you away by the sleeve before you can protest.

"Greetings, [Name]. Rarely do you join us. One hopes you will endeavour to do so more often."

"Retainer, what is this frightful mechanism of yours?"

"One implores that you do not touch it! It is most fragile."

Yaoyao inspects it closer. "Isn't this the fireworks launcher the Millelith use?"

"One takes offense at that statement. Though it is inspired by mortal creations, one has made significant refinements and improvements to ensure it far surpasses the original. One thinks you will find it an unparalleled gadget."

The first of the fireworks are launched, setting the canvas of black ablaze with irradiant colours.

"What do you think? Would you find it in yourself to partake in festivities together next year?"

"Happy Lantern Rite, and shut up, Zhongli."

"Happy Lantern Rite, dear."

A glaze lily blossoms by your feet, swaying to the wind.

#yandere x reader #yandere genshin impact #leos works #yandere genshin #yandere genshin x reader #yandere zhongli

[somewherebetweendisorder]

We'll Do It Together

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Warnings: angst, angst, angst. talk of self harm and depression

A/N: originally posted to my old blog (basicallybats). this is a heavy fic, so please pay attention to the warnings. if this isn't for you, just skip it. thank you for reading <3

~

Everyone has bad days. It's a small fact, one that borders on myth in a broken mind, but you repeat it as if nothing else could ever be true. Everyone has bad days, and some people have good days. Some people have enough of both that they blend together into a halfway decent life, void of some constant edge of panic. You are not one of those people. 

When it rains it pours, the juxtaposition has never been lost on you and follows you like a dark cloud born from its literal verbiage, disheartening, suffocating. The heat of a storm brewing thick around you, promising only bad bad things. 

The walls close in, floor cold and barren beneath your naked feet, the bathroom too small, and too large all at once. Moments ago you were sure you were cracking right in front of Steve. Now, behind the locked door, the tears are dissipating, calming like the ocean, deceptive and wild. Untameable. Like the emotions warring within, bloody and hardened by the years spent compressing it all down, refusing to let it show. 

The bitter gnawing grows, teeth worn and dull, chewing painful, uneven holes through your nerves, craggy and prone to infection. A cursory glance around the tiny bathroom leaves nothing to relieve the itch. You're at work, you really couldn't help anything now anyway, but you'll look. You'll look and wish, taking note of every possible solution. You shake your head, failing to dislodge the thoughts, failing to do anything but rattle your aching head more than it already was. 

You flush the toilet to make this absence believable, just in case anyone, namely Steve, is close enough to hear. Crank the lever on the paper towel dispenser loudly, once twice three times, tearing off the sheet and wadding it up. Guilt pricks your skin at the waste, at the act, at the lies. 

The door opens with a loud squeal, hinges protesting your exit, a loud argument, alerting anyone nearby that you've reemerged. You walk down the main aisle, scanning the store for Steve. He's on his knees, putting the well-loved copy of Back to the Future on the shelf, scooting his bin of movies along the floor as he moves further down to replace the next VHS. He looks up as you hover at the end of the row, eyebrows raised in a silent question, head tilted back to meet your eyes. 

"Everything okay?"

You open your mouth, close it, chew on your lip, enjoying the slight bite of pain, the way the flesh gives beneath the pressure of your teeth. If you bit just a little harder, blood would tease your tongue, copper flooding your senses. It's what you want. Why not give yourself satisfaction? 

Steve waits, concern taking hold of his face with each passing second. He's rising to his feet and stepping closer to you before you know what's happening, hand extended, intent on grasping your own. It would at least, if you didn't jerk back, shocked; aghast. 

"Baby?" He pulls his hand back, fingers limp, rejected, hazel eyes a bit more green in this light. "Y/N?"

"What?"

You can't remember what he asked, eyes stuck on his pocket knife, fixated, wishing it was in your hands. You've done so well today. Woke when your alarm went off, got dressed, made yourself presentable, smiled at every patron who came through the doors today. How delicious your reward would be, sweet little ribbons of pain, earned by your careful performance. You deserve it. Some wild spell falls over you, whispers in your ear to take his knife, use it right here, right now. 

It's that voice that pushes you into his arms. There is no grace, no poise, no tenderness in the way you fall into him. It is all raw emotion, mixed-up thoughts, and tattered nerves, as you run from the darkness propagating in your blood. 

"You're scaring me, baby. What is going on?"

"I am-" You can't finish, words thick and rough, dying on your vocal cords, soundless, a plea to be saved. Like a splinter in your throat, shards of emotion making it impossible to speak, fragments of thought stealing away your breath. "I am unwell, Steve. I'm sick."

"Okay, okay Y/N. What- uh, what hurts? Your head, your stomach?"

You crane your head back, hands firm on his cheeks, demanding as you move his head down so his eyes meet yours with little care. When he takes in your gaze, nearly lifeless, dead, and walking he feels his heart speed up. It's an unnatural pace, beating with the threat of something akin to cardiac arrest. The look in your eyes... He's seen it before. Empty, vacant. It's like you said, you're sick, he can see it now clearly, bleeding into the air around you. 

"No Steve. My brain, it's- I want to hurt myself. Badly. Like I have, like I used to. It's just- Just too much right now. I can't-"

You suck in a breath, winded from that explanation. Tired, like your bones are liquifying, muscles atrophying at an unprecedented rate. You're withering away right before his eyes. And how could he not have noticed sooner? He thinks back as his arms tighten around you, recalling the smiles that he swears reached your eyes, the laughs that bubbled out of you at his shitty jokes, the friendly tone you took with the kids. Where were the signs?

"Okay, baby. It'll be okay. I-"

Steve doesn't know what to say. Who really helped him fight back the unending dark of depression? He still feels it on a bad day, but never like this, never like you. He wants you as close as possible, wishes he could crawl inside your mind and kill all the nasty thoughts, voices that whisper you deserve to hurt, whatever demon makes you crave pain. You're too fucking good for that. 

"I'm sorry."

It's a broken whisper, drawing him fully back to the moment, aware of your tears seeping through his shirt, warm and rapid. "No. No, don't ever apologize. It's nothing I could ever hold against you. It's... We'll face it together."

He wants to hold you gently, tenderly, but his heart won't let him. His arms are tight around you, too tight, but maybe that's okay. Maybe sometimes the most tender thing a person can do is hold you so tight you might break under their grip. 

It seems to work, it keeps you here; how could you run anyway? How could you run when your body is so wracked by sobs, so consumed by deep-seated grief? One you can't explain, you've never known where it came from. It works, Steve's embrace, it keeps you grounded, threatens to bruise in the best way, a hot sort of love seeping into your chilled flesh, thawing something you worried was dead. 

"I don't want you to hurt. I- I get it, I do. But if you can, I would rather you tell me. Talk to me about what is hurting before you-"

"Try to cut it out?"

The words you offer so simply make his chest hurt, ache like there's no air in his lungs and he can't catch his breath. "Yes, before you do that. Please?"

He feels you squeeze him, trying to get closer, trying to explain it all. Words fail you. "I can't promise. But I- I'll try."

"That's all I want, Y/N. Just try. Let me in, let me help if I can. You don't have to do this alone."

Neither one of you is sure who initiates it, but you're both moving to the floor, Steve kneeling, you scrambling messily into his lap, face pressed into his neck, tears slowing but not stopping, right in the middle of Family Video. No one else is here, the day oddly slow, as if time has stopped for this moment. 

Steve doesn't want to let you go. It's a hard sort of love, rough, ragged, nearly ugly in its rawness. But this moment of weakness, this vulnerability, this battle shared between partners is the most tender image he could ever conjure. He wouldn't change it for the world. And he'll be here with you no matter what. 

#steve harrington/reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington angst

[gingersnaaps]

too much of a good thing

he's so sweet, so kind, so dumb - is bokuto really capable of anything besides the best intentions?

wc: ~2.7k

tags/tw's(PLEASE READ): explicit n*fw, dubcon sex to noncon creampie, manipulation, lovebombing and then neglect, overstimulation, cunnilingus, fingering, penetration, a lil angst, timeskip!bokuto, fem!reader with inner genitals

i don’t want minors interacting with my content

Being subtle was never really Bokuto’s thing, not even in the beginning.

In some ways, you suppose that you’re lucky - that you’re better off than your friends who you would always hear complaining, muttering about boys who didn't like to commit, didn’t like labels, who didn’t like texting first or buying gifts or putting in any effort at all.

Barely a week into your relationship, you come home from work with your head dizzy and feet aching from exhaustion, and discover a dozen bouquets of roses on your doorstep. Crimson petals are littered everywhere, strewn against the grey concrete of the steps, and although you feel your neck and face heating up with embarrassment at the grand gesture, you can’t suppress the smile that tugs at the corner of your lips.

He really was so sweet. Who cares if he wasn’t exactly shy about expressing it?

None of the other guys you’ve dated before had sent you good morning texts quite like his, filled with exclamation points and emojis, and none of them had tried nearly as hard as Bokuto does with his breathy, eager i love you’s, his frequent hugs whenever he gets the chance to see you, or even his phone calls that come twice, three times, even four times in the middle of the day.

But the more days that pass by, the more intense it gets.

He picks you up after work all the time, cupping your face in his hands, eyes gleaming almost unnaturally bright. “I love you,” he’ll whisper. “You’re so wonderful, baby. You’re perfect. I wanna spend the rest of my life with you.”

You can’t help but think that these are the sort of words that come months into a relationship, if not years, but… there’s nothing really wrong with what he’s doing, is there? There’s no reason you should be uneasy, no indication of even the slightest hint of trouble on his part.

You’re probably just paranoid.

Bokuto doesn’t stop at words, though - he earns a good sum of money from his job playing professional volleyball, and he’s never hesitant to use it on you. A week after he leaves you the roses, he asks you out on a date to a restaurant you know is ridiculously expensive, and the uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach grows as you scroll through pictures of the establishment on Google Images.

“I don’t think I can afford it, Bo,” you tell him, voice hesitant and crackly over the phone. “If we go, I won’t be able to pay my share.”

“So?”

It’s just a word, but the implication isn’t lost on you. And if he’s fine with paying for you, if he’s okay with the hundreds of dollars you’ll be owing him, well - there’s no good reason to turn him down, right?

During the date, you talk with him as you spoon bites of delicate food into your mouth. The restaurant is too lavish, the plush velvet carpeting and crystal chandeliers almost a parody of luxury. You’re pretty sure the utensils are half the price of your rent.

He leans over in the middle of the meal, expression suddenly serious. “You’re enjoying this, right?” he asks.

“I am. I’m kinda lucky, aren’t I? Being spoiled like this.”

“Yeah,” he replies, his grin so bright it could rival the sun. “You really are.”

And suddenly - just for a moment - you catch a glimpse of something slightly off about his whole expression, as if it was a mask waiting to be ripped off to reveal something much, much different underneath, but the fleeting moment is gone so quickly you convince yourself that it’s just your eyes playing tricks on you.

Bokuto has been nothing if not perfect, after all. If you’re uneasy, it’s probably just because you aren’t used to being treated like this, aren’t used to someone that lavishes you with constant gifts and praise and displays of affection like he does. On the way back in the taxi, he whispers everything he loves about you softly in your ear, his arm snaking around your waist as his thumb rubs tender circles into your skin. His body is pressed so close to yours, his breath gently tickling your ear, warmth radiating out from his firm, muscled body.

He’s so good to you.

-

It doesn’t last forever.

Bokuto’s affection dries up slowly, but his presence has been such a constant in your life that it’s impossible for you not to notice.

Some mornings, you find yourself waking up to a hollow feeling in your chest as you check your message notifications and find nothing - no late night rants, no funny pictures, no enthusiastic, joyful good morning texts. During the day, the silence now stretches on for hours too long, uncomfortably empty and devoid of the persistent calls that you used to get every single hour.

When he does see you, he’s remarkably reserved - eyes always downcast, fingers fidgeting incessantly, clearly disinterested in what you’re doing, what you’re saying - in fact, disinterested in all of you.

Maybe he’s just busy with volleyball, you rationalize, but your stomach churns with anxiety and deep down, you know that something’s changed.

You try and ignore the dull ache inside of you that seems to follow you around wherever you go, a little voice inside your head constantly reminding you of what Bokuto used to do. Two months ago, he would’ve picked you up. He would’ve sent you flowers today. He would’ve taken you out to eat.

It builds up slowly and steadily, a crescendo of pain that grows in volume the longer he’s gone, like a tidal wave of confusion and hurt that swirls around inside you - until one day, you’re sitting by yourself in the car, sobbing quietly in the cramped darkness.

At least he doesn’t turn you away when you show up on his doorstep.

Your eyes are rimmed with red, streaks of eye makeup running down your face as a frown twists at his features. “Please, Bo,” you whisper. “Let me make it up to you.”

And you’re not exactly sure what you did, but you want to fix it, want him back in your life, want to wake up to his smiles and his laughter and his incessant, boundless energy, and you know you’re willing to do anything to get that back.

“Really?” he asks, eyes glimmering faintly with hope.

You nod almost imperceptibly, about to reply yes, yes, want you back so bad, when he grabs your waist with his hands and pulls you in for a kiss so passionate it borders on harsh. It’s a whirlwind of teeth and tongue, a mix of sucking and licking and biting that leaves you gasping for breath, your red lips swollen and slick with spit.

He pulls you inside, his hands roaming all over your body, groping and squeezing at your supple flesh, goosebumps running down your spine as he brings a hand up to brush against your nipple. For the first time in weeks, you see excitement on his face, and his voice trembles as he leans close in. “Let me take care of you,” he says. “Wanna make you feel good.”

And even though there’s apprehension crawling under your skin at his sudden mood swing, you’re so, so glad this version of Bokuto is back that you brush off that hesitation, the mixture of happiness and anticipation overwhelming every single thought in your mind.

As his fingertips graze the soft skin of your torso, his hands - so much larger than yours - maneuver your body around with such ease and grace that you barely notice when you end up on his couch, legs spread wide open as he looks up from between your thighs hungrily. “I - fuck, I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he says, out of breath, eyes running over the swollen outline of your cunt.

You whimper softly as his nose brushes up against your clit, his piercing, golden eyes still gazing intently up at you.

He doesn’t waste any of his time teasing you, his flat of his tongue sliding up along your slit with the perfect amount of pressure to leave you squirming. It’s almost as if he knows exactly where to lick and suck, eagerly pressing his tongue up against your clit in insistent circles, lapping at your dripping pussy until your juices are running down his chin. He’s so eager in between your legs, and everytime he finds a spot that makes your legs tremble needily, he gives it so much attention that you already start to feel that wave of pleasure building in your core.

“Don’t stop,” you pant, your hands sliding into his hair as your hips thrust upwards. “Please.”

Bokuto doesn’t need you to tell him that. Shouldn’t have wasted your breath, he thinks idly, diving in and eating you out with renewed vigor.

When his tongue glides around your spasming cunt and dips in briefly, you can’t stop the moan that tumbles from your lips. His tongue is so stupidly long and flexible, sliding inside and licking at your sensitive walls, curling up and brushing against your g-spot until you start to shudder and tremble under him.

You cum embarrassingly quick, your hips jerking and stuttering wildly as he finishes you off. He fucks you through your orgasm, sucking gently at your clit until the border between pain and pleasure starts to blur and you’re moaning so loudly he thinks the neighbors will have complaints for him the next morning.

“Feel good, baby?” he asks, voice sending vibrations through your pussy.

“Yeah,” you mumble.

“How about another?”

Your eyes widen. “W-what?”

“I think you can handle it, right?” a huge grin splits his face as he spreads your pussy apart with two fingers, looking at your swollen, spent cunt. He barely gives your chance to respond before he trails his fingers against your lips, fingers teasing in and out of your slick entrance.

This time, Bokuto uses his hands to stretch you out, inserting his digits one by one until three of his thick, long fingers are nestled inside of your pussy. He thrusts them languidly in and out, his fingertips caressing your nerves until you’re tense and wound up for him again.

“Come on,” he encourages. “You can take it.”

Your brain is hazy from the stimulation, barely registering anything but pleasure as his fingers search and probe like they have some sort of job to do. You feel damp with heat and moisture, the pulsing, burning need in between your legs insistent and demanding.

“Almost there,” he breathes, voice raspy with arousal. A fourth finger brushes up against your lips, and the thought of more stretch, more stimulation, more pleasure, has you clenching desperately against the ones that your cunt is already spread out on.

You sob, your body strung out and wrecked, suspended on the tipping point of another orgasm.

As you cum again, the feeling of relief - white-hot and blinding - rips along your core. You’re not sure you’ve experienced anything quite so intense before, and as you look down at him, hands still manipulating your cunt so expertly, you don’t know if he has the intention of stopping anytime soon.

He stands up and your eyes drift to his cock, flushed purple and almost painfully hard, dripping with precum. His hand strokes along his shaft, soft curses muttered under his breath, but he opens them wide again and looks down at you sadly. “I’m so sorry,” he says, voice pleading. “I don’t have any condoms.”

Bokuto sounds so genuine, his tone kind and filled with regret, and guilt begins to sting at your conscience. He’s made you feel so fucking good, given you the best orgasms of your life - is it really fair if you leave him wanting and unsatisfied?

You’re fucked halfway out of your mind when you answer, eyes still fixated on his cock, head swimming with thoughts of how much you want to please him.

“It’s fine,” you say, your words slurred and hesitant. “You can.. you can use me. Use my pussy to get you off. Jus’ pull out at the end.”

Ecstasy flashes across his face, and he looks down eagerly. “Fuck, babe. You’re so perfect. I love you.”

You hadn’t heard those words for weeks.

His strong arms pick you up easily, maneuvering you around until he’s the one sitting on the couch and your cunt is positioned right over his dick. His hands grip tightly at your waist, fingertips pressing so insistently that you’re sure you’ll wake up the next morning with bruises dotting your skin. He lowers you down slowly, carefully, groaning as he fills you up and the warmth of your cunt envelopes him whole.

He already looked big, just from the cursory glance you’d taken earlier, but as you feel the tip of his cock shove against your cervix, your breath almost catches at how you feel your walls expanding to accommodate all of him.

The drag of his curved cock up against your sensitive walls leaves your legs trembling and squirming, but he holds you firmly down as he thrusts up inside over and over. “Stay still,” he coos. “Let me take care of you.”

Bokuto starts off gently, fucking you with shallow little thrusts that have you panting with desperation. He can tell by the way your cunt is fluttering that you're craving more, that the two orgasms he gave you earlier just wasn’t enough for a greedy girl like you, and he relishes the way your small hands grip desperately at his shirt.

He raises you up off his cock, running the tip up and down your slit until your pussy throbs, and slams you back down again. The rhythm he maintains is steady and even, bouncing you up and down on his cock like a ragdoll, whispering stuttered curses and phrases of endearment against your ear, making you shiver from the overload of stimuli.

“Feels so amazing,” he moans. “Gonna.. Gonna cum soon.”

The heat in your core grows intense at the thought of his orgasm, involuntarily whining, and you start to rock your hips back and forth in an attempt to search out more friction.

Bokuto knows he promised to pull out. He knows that it wouldn’t be right if he stayed buried inside your cunt. But how is he supposed to stop himself when you feel this good, wrapped so obediently around him like a perfect little fuck doll? And the heat of your cunt is gripping incredibly tight all around his length, your little squirms and shivers so adorable as he uses you to get himself off.

He can’t help himself.

With one last, desperate thrust, he lets go, thick spurts of cum filling you up until he’s sure your insides are dripping white, and he caresses your stomach where your womb would be in satisfaction. It feels so good to cum inside of a tight cunt, much better than it would’ve if he’d forced himself to pull out, he thinks. And you look so pretty all full and leaking with his seed.

It takes you a moment to fully register the warm, wet feeling pooling inside you, your brain too fucked out, too stupid from the constant stimulation to truly understand what exactly dripping from your slit is.

When you do realize - oh god, he came inside me - panic starts to grip at the edges of your frayed nerves, your vision tunneling as the magnitude of what had just happened hits you. Tears start to blur the world around you, the dim lighting of his living room merging the furniture and warping the walls, and you faintly register the feeling of arms wrapped tight around you, a hand reaching up to caress soothingly at your cheek.

“You know,” Bokuto whispers, face lit up in wonder. “I think we’re soulmates.”

#haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #bokuto x reader #haikyuu #hq smut #yandere haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fanfiction #yandere bokuto #haikyuu imagines #yandere bokuto x reader #yandere #dark haikyuu #bokuto smut #fem!reader #tw.dubcon #tw.noncon #tw.dc #tw.manipulation #hq yandere #tw.toxic

[scuttle-buttle]

WC: 2261

Rated: M

Tags: angst, medical issues, pregnancy complications, hurt/comfort, anxiety, brief mentions of medical procedures but no gore, nothing is technically sad, fluff, papa laszloooo

A/N: honestly tho I am sorry. also i maybe cried a little writing this, which is a first. also also everybody is fine in this it's just emotional

Blame @hardlyinteresting

🧠

"Three weeks…. Three weeks little bean…" you mumble as you rub your protruding stomach after a particularly harsh kick to your ribs. The chair was a sweet relief to your ankles after a long day at work and doing some light chores around the house all afternoon. You had three weeks until you hit 39 weeks into your pregnancy. As much as you were anxious you were ready. Ready to not feel like a bloated whale. Ready to not have sore feet. But most of all, ready to hold your baby girl.

Laszlo had been trying to convince you to take it easy and start maternity leave early, but you resisted. The last thing you were about to do is nothing. Most first pregnancies went late anyway, you'd argued, so you didn't worry about it yet. I’m pregnant, not dying - give me another week, you'd told him.

What you didn't tell him was about the headaches. Or how sore your legs were. Or how absolutely exhausted you'd been feeling the last couple weeks. Whenever he would ask if you were alright or offer a foot rub you would just brush it off as third trimester woes. You didn't want to worry him.

You were sat in an armchair in the parlor, feet propped up, damp rag over your eyes. The droning from the tv had your nerves on edge. All you wanted to do was take some tylenol and feel better, but you had been knocking back more than was probably safe the last few days so you went without.

A sudden pain shoots through you causing the rag to fall onto your chest. “Ohh...ow? OW!” You sit up straighter as the ache persists; the dull throbbing in your upper abdomen unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. Were you in labor early? Did she just kick in a bad spot? No no - surely the pain would’ve died down by now had that been the case. Unless? Can babies kick so hard they rupture something? Did my kid just bust my liver? Your thoughts run rampant as you wait, in vain, for the pain to go away. The pricking behind your eyes and in your temples only made it more hellish. Pressing your palm to the spot does nothing, nor do the breathing exercises you had been taught.

When five minutes have passed by without relief you make the choice to call out for your husband. “Laz?” No response. “Laszlo!” A beat passes; nothing. You swallow through your building nausea.

“I swear to fucking-” you growl as you snatch your phone from the end table to your left. You use all your concentration to dial his number.

It rings four times.

“Bärchen, why are you call-”

You don’t let him finish. “Something’s wrong.”

______

Head thrown back into the flat, starchy hospital pillow you groan in frustration. “permanent bedrest?” You scrub the hand not clutching your belly down your face.

The emergency room Obstetrician gives you a pitying look. “I’m afraid so - your blood pressure is high and we want to keep it under control to prevent outcomes such as pre-eclampsia. I recommend doing as little as absolutely possible; get rid of as many stressors as you can.” He flips through your chart. “You said you’ve been having headaches and fatigue for nearly two weeks? Why didn’t you come in sooner?”

Huffing, you tell him “I thought it was just part of the third trimester. Everyone always complains about how bad it is.” He hums in response.

“Well. I’m going to go take a final look at your labs, make sure everything else is fine before we discharge you. I’ll send in my Nurse Practitioner to give you the run down and anything else you’ll need to know. And should anything else like this happen again - get in here immediately.” He pats you awkwardly on the hand before nodding at Laszlo and leaving the room.

Laszlo.

Sparing a glance from the corner of your eye you see him looking towards his lap, his weaker hand cradled in the other. He’d been quiet since you admitted when your symptoms had first begun. Every single time he’d asked you how you were feeling you had lied to him. Granted, you didn’t technically know you were lying. But it makes little difference when you’re sitting in the ER. He had every reason to be upset.

“Laszlo honey,” you reach over to him. Slowly he takes your proferred hand and stands, coming to stop beside the bulky bed frame. His thumb caresses your wrist.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve examined the signs, kept a better eye on you.”

“Laz-”

“-No-”

“-I didn’t want to worry you, okay?-” Your voice breaks as you defend yourself.

“-I could’ve done something, maybe- I don't know!” His slightly raised voice startles you quiet. The pain in his eyes only makes you feel guiltier. He licks his lips. “I took the liberty of calling your mother. She will be here tomorrow afternoon and will be staying in the guest room as long as we need her.”

Now you look away, indignant. “I don’t need to be watched like I’m a child.” The tears behind your eyelids rush in; a lone drop trailing down your cheek as the embarrassment settles within your gut. You knew that at some point it was likely you would need her here. However you imagined it to be under happier circumstances. A deep inhale fails to calm your sobs. “I just- I don’t want to be a burden with all this.” Your tears flow freely now.

“My dear you could never be.” Laszlo sits on the edge of the bed. He rests his right palm above the swell of your child, his left cupping along the curve of your jaw. He tilts you to face him. “But the health of you and our girl is what is most crucial now. Let us take care of you. Please.”

A gentle kick underneath his palm from your daughter is answer enough.

__________

Two weeks. 14 days.

Lying in bed, sitting in the same spot for hours on end was actually going to be the death of you. You were sure of it.

Your mother truly has been a huge help since arriving. Laszlo wanted to start his paternity leave, but you insisted that he stay until you were closer to your due date. Which couldn’t come fast enough, you might add. Both Laszlo and your mother were prone to pestering you about some things, but at other times if you truly wanted to be alone they gave you your space. Now was one of those times. Laptop to your side, you watch another episode of Grey’s Anatomy. A knock sounds. You turn to see your husband standing in the doorway, the blood pressure monitor in arm.

He gives you a bright smile. “How are you two on this fine afternoon?”

“Cut it with the attitude, bucko. Let’s get this over with.” The words, while harsh, had little bite to them. His brow raises but he says nothing. You honestly felt bad that you’d been in a pretty foul mood since being discharged. On more than one occasion you’d said as much to Laszlo and your mother - they didn’t deserve your ire. Thankfully they understood why you were so frustrated.

You held the strap in place as he secured the velcro and started the machine. Buzzing filled the overall quiet room. Closed eyes you wait. Some days your results were higher than others. Unless you became higher than a certain threshold the doctor said you were safe to be home. At the sound of a beep Laszlo unhooks the cuff, reporting that your levels are within the acceptable range. When he goes to leave you alone you clutch at his sleeve. He waits as you peer up at him. “Stay?”

He never could say no to you.

______

Little bean’s ruthless treatment of your bladder had you up for the second time that night. You waddled to the bathroom to attend to your business and wash your hands. Glancing at the circles under your eyes in the mirror you sigh. “I love you baby bean but you’re giving me a run for my money here, kid,” you whisper as you rub your stomach. Three days, you remind yourself.

The floor creaks as you shuffle back to bed. Suddenly, an odd warm trickling sensation travels down your legs. “What the fuck?” Looking down around your bulging bump you find yourself standing in a small puddle, the glint of the bathroom night light reflecting off the surface. “Shit okay…ah Laszlo? Hey, I need you to wake up.”

He grumbles. With a roll of your eyes you walk over and shake him awake. “Hey- what-” he sits up instantly and blinks at you. “Is everything alright?”

“My water broke.”

He hops into action right away. Moving you to sit on the bed, he pulls out his cell phone to call your doctor. As he talks you watch him move around the room, the phone wedged between his ear and shoulder, as he collects your hospital supplies. You feel useless as you sit. Yet, you know that your priority needs to be keeping yourself calm and that moving around could exacerbate your condition.

He hangs up. Coming to stand in front of you he presses a kiss to your forehead; “I’ll go wake your mother. Don’t move, Liebling.”

As you sit you blow out a long breath. You look down at your bump. “Guess you decided you’re ready to go, huh kid?” The tip of your fingers brush along the side of your stomach. “I know we’re ready for you too. We’re going to love you so much, and your daddy? He’s gonna be the best, you’ll see.” Placing your palms flat she nudges you from within.

_____

The doctors decided that a c-section was the safest route. You both knew it was a possibility, but you had hoped that after weeks of bedrest that your blood pressure would balance out enough for a natural delivery. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. They monitored you for an hour before your contractions began, officially confirming you were in fact in active labor and dilating. After the fourth hour your blood pressure began to spike again. That’s when they decided to prep you for the procedure.

The operation went smoothly. The atmosphere of the surgical suite was tense with your nerves, but Laszlo’s calming words and his hand squeezing yours kept the anxiety from spilling over. You even found it in you to poke fun at how ridiculous he looked in the puffy blue elastic hair cap he wore.

When the first cries rang out you nearly tried to hop off the table to see your baby. The doctors worked quickly to ensure you were in proper condition while the infant was cleaned.

“Dad? Would you like to come and cut the cord?” one of the nurses calls out.

Laszlo looks back at them before turning to face you. He searches your eyes for a moment; “go,” you nod with a smile. You watch as he did what the nurses instructed as best you could, her soft wails echoing in the small room. He returns to you right after while they finish wrapping her up in a blanket.

“She’s beautiful my dear,” your professor confesses. He leans to give you a lingering kiss. “I’m so unbelievably proud of you.”

“I love you so much.”

“As I love you.”

The doctor interrupts your moment. “Would you like to hold your baby girl?” The question is directed at you, but you look over to your husband. The man you love more than life itself. He stares at the little bundle as if she’s the most incredible sight he’s ever laid eyes on. He can’t take his gaze off her. His irises sparkle with unshed tears as he looks on with wonder.

“Laz?” Finally he breaks away. “Hold your little girl - she’s been waiting to meet her Papa.”

Carefully the doctor shifts his hold on the babe to slide her into Laszlo’s waiting arm. He swallows as he pulls her to his chest. Something caught between a sob and a laugh leaves him. You blink through your own tears at the sight of your husband and daughter, a sight so far beyond perfect there could be no words. Laszlo held her with such delicacy, such reverence. It was as if any moment she could slip away as though a dream.

“Hello there my little dove, I’ve been waiting a very long time to meet you.” He doesn’t bother to wipe away the streams that fall from his eyes. “I’m your Papa and I-” he sniffs, looking towards the ceiling and blinking rapidly to clear his eyes. You rest your hand on his bicep. “I love you so very much. I would give you the world if I could. Your grandfather didn’t...he was not....” he pauses to gather himself. “To me you are the greatest gift I could ever receive. I will be the best father I can for you. A father worthy of you. Mein Gott, Ich liebe dich my darling dove.”

He continued to hold her in his arms until it was time to take you into the recovery room. When he had asked if you wanted her you simply shook your head. You would get your chance, you had a lifetime to do so. But your Laszlo needed this. He needed his little dove.

Tag list

@hardlyinteresting @lorna-d-m @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles @greeneyedblondie44 @unbeatablecurlgirl @apparrio @marchingicenotes7 @anteroom-of-death @bruhidaniel @lemairepstuff @thehuiabird @zemosimp05 @alindeluce @iamnotthecatladynextdoor @laura-naruto-fan1998 @trelaney @boneheadduluc @i-am-dead-inside-666 @fictionlandslanddreams @that-one-fandom-kid @hb8301 @fandom-princess-forevermore @foggycandywitch @creme-bruhlee @andy-rocks @nonamec0s @everythingbeginsineternity-blog @uncomfortablebagel @rachelicouss @wisia02

#peri psyches #the interpretation of dreams #psychopathia sexualis #laszlo kreizler x reader #papa laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler fanfic #laszlo x reader #laszlo kreizler #the alienist #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #daniel bruhl laszlo kreizler #daniel bruhl x reader #daniel brühl x reader #daniel bruhl fanfiction #pregnancy #pregnancy complications #medical procedure #anxiety #childbirth #scuttle-buttle

[saphirered]

We've all seen fics where Caleb's SO dies and gets resurrected, and we seen Caleb accidentally hurting his SO, but what about Caleb accidentially killing his SO? Maybe Reader got burned by one of his fire attacks? The revival's successful, but damn, the angst.

Angst was requested and angst you shall receive. I hope this is to your liking. 😘

Trigger warning for death and grief themes.

Caleb sits on his knees, head bowed, whispering pleas in Zemnian to the gods, the world, to you, your cold hand encased between his own, occasionally pressing a kiss to it in the hopes you’d just wake up. But you’re not going to wake up. Not in the way you would in the morning when you’ve had a particularly late night and Caleb has to drag you out of bed, you being stubborn or pretending to still be asleep so you maybe could convince him to join you for a little more. Not in the way after you got knocked out in a fight, when you sit up and rub your eyes with a grunt like usual. Nothing within his capabilities will wake you up.

So here Caleb sits, begging for it to be a nightmare, some sick and twisted tricks played on his mind but there’s no denying this is real and this is the truth. You’re dead. You’re dead and it’s his fault. You ended up as collateral damage in his reckless attempt to kill the creature. You got stuck in the crossfire of that. He hadn’t realised you were doing so bad already, you even sent him a wink right before when he asked if you were okay. Why did you? Why didn’t you just tell him you weren’t? Why did you lie? Not lie, omitted the truth.

He knew exactly why you did it but that doesn’t make it any easier. You’d known the other’s weren’t doing great and barely holding on already. You were severely outmatched and couldn’t get away from the creature. Not without it chasing after you and running you in an even more perilous situation. Anything Caleb could do would affect anyone close to the creature. With Yasha having dragged Beau out of the fray you were the only one left to hold it at bay while the clerics worked on patching them up, Fjord and Veth offering them cover. You were the final line of defence. At the end of the day you had to keep the clerics alive.

Caleb took a calculated risk. A fireball to send the creature dropping into the ruined depths of Aeor. He had tried to keep you out of the range but wouldn’t have been able to strike the creature without putting you at risk. The spell worked and the creature got hit with full force. It was your attack right before the fireball struck that had send it stumbling, then with the blast, it lost its footing and stumbled off the edge.

But you too, dropped. and when you did, the creature’s tail lashed out, grabbing onto your body, dragging you with it. The creature had hit the platform below in its fall and the impact had made it release you, saving you from the full drop. Caleb had rushed to the edge, fear, pain, anger and guilt riddling his mind thinking he had truly lost you but there you were, bloodied, bruised, broken and burned. Because of him. All because of him. How could he have been so stupid and reckless. When he brought your body back to the others, he wasn’t quick enough. You’d already faded into the cold embrace of the Raven Queen and the clerics had expended their last resources.

So that leaves Caleb here, sitting at your side a day after you died, body preserved by the graces of Caduceus and the Wildmother. The clerics set up their ritual, working around him and you as the others help where they can. Beau and Veth had tried to console him, tell him it wasn’t his fault and if he hadn’t they might all have been dead right now. He appreciates his friends trying but it’s of no use. He already made up his mind and it’s not going to change anything. You died because of him. He murdered you and how is that any different than his actions in the past? How does that make him any different than the lives he’s taken in the clutches of his former mentor? Is there truly no redemption for him? You’d slap him for even thinking that way.

“Mr. Caleb? Why don’t you try talking to them? Persuasion has worked in the past to coax someone back.” Caduceus places a hand on the wizard’s shoulder but it barely registers. Yet the firbolg knows they did not fall upon deaf ears when the whispers stop for just a moment.

“I-. I do not think they’d want to hear from their murderer.” Speaking the words make them so much more painful. By the looks of it, Beau is ready to unleash in a degrading rant about how wrong Caleb is, breaking him apart only build him back up but she’s held at bay by Yasha. This is not the time and place. Caduceus doesn’t claim to know what Caleb’s going through, nor may he be the brightest mind here but he understands and can empathise.

“I know no matter what I say it won’t change your feelings so instead I will offer you this. You owe it to them to try. Not for what happened here but for the countless times they’ve been there for you, have had your back, and for the unconditional love they’ve given you. You owe them to try.” The wizard looks up over his shoulder to the firbolg, pain in his eyes, and the trails of silent tears that have long since run out. Caduceus is right. He owes it to you to save you and right now it is within his power to try. If he doesn’t, if he fails he’ll have condemned you to this fate. If he succeeds with this part, he’ll be able to look into your eyes again. You may never forgive him but he hopes to see you smile, hear your voice even if just once more.

Caleb nods looking back at you, bringing your limp fingers up to his lips and pressing them against your knuckles. He takes in a deep breath and tries to find the right words as Caduceus steps back. What are the right words? He cannot afford to fuck this up. He cannot afford to fail. He must succeed. He must.

“I know I might be the last person you want to hear right now. I want you to know I’m sorry-“ Caleb’s voice cracks as he feels the eyes of the others on him. He brushes some of your hair away from your forehead, running his thumb across your cheek.

“I don’t-uh. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if I can do this. You’re always here for me during difficult times. You’d put your hand on my cheek and tell me ‘If anyone can do it it’s you, Caleb Widogast. You could move mountains if you set your will to it. Now stop being stubborn before I slap some sense in you.’ but now you’re not here to tell me that. You’ve shown me there’s a world beyond the walls I put up, that there is a light at the end of that tunnel, but now I cannot help but feel the world has grown dull, the walls are caving in, and that light is fading.”

“I have no right, no right to ask you this, but I need you to save my world one more time. So please, I beg of you. Do not leave me to brave this world without you.” The weight of his heart heavy on his conscious. Caleb feels a pressure causing a ringing in his ears. He’s so focussed on you, he cannot take his eyes off you. Not even when the others do their part in the ritual. He realises this pressure is coming from the effects of the spell to bring you back. He holds his breath, not daring to take in oxygen if only to savour the moment, hoping it will not pass, that for just a little longer he can hold on to the hope you’re coming back instead of having that hope crushed by a potential failure.

The pressure fades but nothing happens. Nothing changes. It’s silent as everyone waits for something, anything to happen. That moment alone feels like an eternity of suspense. Caleb finds himself whispering prayers and pleas in Zemnian again, your hand clasped between his own as he squeezes his eyes shut tightly to live through the memories of you, preserve them for the rest of his life just in case because he refuses to forget even a single one of them. He’s so consumed in his own mind he doesn’t notice warmth returning to your fingers. He doesn’t notice your chest beginning to rise and fall. Caleb’s pleas continue.

“Would you mind translating that? I think my brain got a bit scrambled.” Caleb freezes and his eyes open. Your eyes are closed but your brow is furrowed. Furrowed in discomfort. Not sleeping and not void of your usual expressions. Colour has returned to your limbs and face and no longer dulled. Caleb falls silent in disbelief, frozen in place and mind blank.

“Caleb?” You speak his name, peaking through one eye to see the wizard in his disheveled state. You sit up, grunting in pain. Apparently being brought back from the dead isn’t kind on your physical form, not even mentioning the exhaustion weighing on your mind. You could sleep for a couple of hours… or days… or weeks… You could do with a break really. All of you could. You nudge Caleb’s head up by his chin allowing your fingers to slide onto his cheek.

“Blink twice if you need me to get Beauregard to slap you back into reality.” You muster a smile as you brush your thumb over his cheekbone. Caleb doesn’t understand how you’re not recoiling in disgust or lashing back in anger. He doesn’t understand how you can look at him with love and kindness.

“I’m so sorry. Please-“ Caleb goes off in a spur of apologies, begging for your forgiveness.

“Caleb, I love you but you really need to stop. This is a problem for another day.”

“You died. I killed you. How can you even look at me like you do?”

“So what? I died. I’m here now. I got better. Now preferably I’d like to not die again, some things are beyond our control. And if you need some kind of reassurance; Veth killed Cad that one time and he doesn’t hate her.” Veth yells a ‘hey’ in defence while you earn a chuckle from the firbolg. You know Caleb isn’t just going to take your word for it and you’re also not going to make anyone buy you’re totally okay with just dying and being brought back to life because you’re not but you also know that you can’t blame Caleb for being a factor in what happened when you yourself were aware of the risks of the situation you were in. You made your own bet and it didn’t pay off but all your friends are still alive and well, Caleb’s still alive and well and that alone makes it worth the risk you took.

“You have no idea how much I love you.” Caleb breathes as he pulls you into his arms with a gentleness as if you’re made of porcelain, or will fade out of existence if he holds on too tightly.

“I think I have a pretty good estimate but we can compare notes later if you’d prefer.” You pull back enough to look at Caleb’s face, brush aside some of the red strands and softly place your lips on his. It’s not a heated kiss but one filled with emotion and a desperation no less. Neither of you thought you’d get to be in each other’s arms again but here you are despite everything. Maybe your work here isn’t done yet. You still got some asses to kick.

#critical role x reader #critrole x reader #mighty nein x reader #caleb x reader #caleb widogast x reader #critical role #mighty nein

[angelicyoongie]

Out of the Woods (II)

— pairing: wolf hybrid namjoon x human f!reader — genre: fluff, angst, slight smut — word count: 5.5K — warnings: injury, blood, mentions of past abuse — summary: Promising Jihyo that you were going to stay away from your writing for one weekend had been easy in theory, but much harder to actually do once you reached the little cabin the woods. To make matters worse, the only thing that rivals your inability to keep promises is your terrible luck – and after a particularly bad choice leads you to get lost in the mountains, you suppose that it's only karma that you end up face to face with a wolf that looks ready to rip your throat out.

Part I / II / III

You stare at the hand wrapped tightly around yours as the wolf hybrid leads you down the rest of the slope. You can still feel the imprint of his chest against your back, the lingering heat from his body still wrapped around yours. The ghost of his raspy, smooth voice brushing over your ear, his words branded into your chest.

Please don’t leave me.

You wince with each step, the dull pain in your ankle growing harder to ignore. You can see the muscles in his golden arms tense as your step falters, the wolf hybrid’s grip tightening before you can stumble down the last stretch of the incline. He’s keeping your hand almost at height with his shoulders, making it easier for you to borrow some support as you hobble forward.

You keep yourself focused on his hand, on how his long and slender fingers are enveloping yours. They’re a little rough against your skin, but they’re still pretty. Your cheeks are flushed red as you limp forward, but you blame that on the near death experience you just had – and certainly not on the hybrid’s thumb absentmindedly running over your knuckles every few steps. And it’s definitely not because the man in front of you is completely naked. The close proximity means that the expanse of the hybrid’s broad back fills most of your vision, but you’re not willing to take any chances. His body isn’t there for you to ogle at. So, his hand is a good, safe, place for you eyes to latch on to. The hybrid clearly doesn’t have any qualms about his lack of clothes, and it makes you wonder just how long he’s been out here on his own – how long he’s been alone.

You swallow thickly as the ground underneath your feet begins to flatten out, the strain on your ankle becoming a little less painful. You can probably walk on your own now, but it doesn’t seem like the wolf hybrid has any plans of letting you do that, his fingers wrapping even more firmly around yours as you try to let go of his hand. You see a few faint marks on the inside of his wrist, but the angle his hold your hand makes it too difficult to make anything out. If anything, it’s likely just some scratches from the wilderness. You can’t help but notice that one of his gray ears seem to be permanently turned in your direction, only twitching when you let out little huffs of air.

He hasn’t spoken since he uttered those four words – not since he begged you to stay, and the only thing you could think to do was shakily step out of his embrace and ask him to bring you back down. You can’t stay. You're not quite sure why the realization makes you feel so torn. Sure, the hybrid has taken care of you, but you don’t really know him. Hell, you don’t even know his name. But still, your heart stutters painfully as you remember the desperation in his voice, the subdued whine that escaped his lips as you pulled away. The hybrid had only given you a curt nod in response to your request, his back turned to you and hand outstretched before you could even get a good look on his face.

You sneak a quick peek at his profile as he helps you along the path, your breath getting caught in your throat as you catch a glimpse of his strong jaw and oh no, is that a dimple? The wolf hybrid’s silver ears and messy hair compliments his sunkissed skin beautifully, and there is no doubt in your mind that this man must be stunning. Maybe it’s a good thing you haven’t gotten a good look at his face yet, getting weak in the knees sounds like bad plan when you’re already one foot down. You quickly push the thoughts away, turning your attention back to the forest in front of you. You swear something about it looks a little more familiar than before. You only need to hobble through the forest for another few minutes before you realize why.

The wolf hybrid has lead you straight to the lake you and Jihyo passed two days ago, the exact one you were trying to find when you managed to get lost. The weather might be slightly gloomier today, but it still looks absolutely breathtaking as you draw closer. The tension in your shoulders ease up as you realize just how close you are to the cabin, it probably won’t take much longer than an hour to get back even with your throbbing foot. Which is great, but the release of tension also makes you acutely aware of just how irritated your ankle truly is, and it feels like it might break clean off if you don’t get a break soon.

“Can we, uh, rest for a little while? My foot ..” You trail off uncertainly, watching as the hybrid’s head cocks in your direction. He stops in his tracks, ears swivelling around rapidly as he listens to the forest, his grip still tight around yours. He gives you another nod after a few seconds of silence, steering you carefully over to a fallen log. You close your eyes in relief as you sit down, a groan falling from your lips as you finally get the chance to alleviate the pressure on your ankle.

“Thank you,” You murmur, glancing down at your foot as you try to best position to rest it in. You freeze as you see the wolf hybrid’s bare feet out of the corner of your eye, heat creeping up your neck as you realize the position you’ve put yourself in. You’re at eye-level with his dick. There’s no way to look up at him without seeing it, and that’s not something you want to deal with right now.

“Here," You hastily shrug off your windbreaker, offering it out for the hybrid with a grimace, “you can use it to cover up.” Rough fingers brush over your own as the wolf hybrid grabs your jacket, presumably–hopefully–wrapping it around his waist as you keep your eyes firmly on the ground. You don’t dare lift your gaze until the hybrid sinks down on the log next to you with a huff, your heart nearly leaping out of your chest as you find his eyes already locked onto your face. 

The wolf hybrid is beautiful. Your lips part open in surprise as you take in his face, the slight pout to his lips and the gentleness in his expression leaving you a little breathless. He looks kind. Sweet. You don’t understand how someone like him could be left out here all alone.

“I-I'm sorry,” The wolf hybrid cowers under your stunned gaze, his ears falling flat against his head. “Should I stay .. wolf? You upset,” His voice is hoarse and pained as he stutters out his words, his lips forming awkwardly around the syllables. The intention behind his words hits you like a slap to the face. He thinks you don’t like his human form, and he’s willing to turn back to not make you upset.

“No!” You blurt, “I mean, I’m uh, not upset. If you want to, please stay in your human form. It’s nice to be able to talk to you.” The wolf hybrid doesn’t quite seem to believe you, his ears pressing even flatter against his head as he shakes his head.

“What’s your name?” 

The hybrid's mouth is pressed into a thin line, and for a second you think he might not answer, but then he mutters out a soft, “Namjoon.”

“Namjoon?” You echo, finding you like the way his name rolls off your tongue. The wolf hybrid’s ears perk up at the sound of his name, the bushy tail behind his back doing a startled wag as Namjoon’s eyes find yours. You give him a soft smile, rubbing your hands nervously at your thighs as you finally ask the question that has been burning away at your curiosity for the past few hours.

“Why are you out here all alone?” The muscles in Namjoon's shoulders tense at your question, the warmth in his golden brown eyes hardening into something you can’t quite decipher. The wolf hybrid looks ready to bolt any second, his eyes flickering around the forest as he says, “Ran way .. bad place. No going back.”

You detest that you’re not even surprised, that the mistreatment of hybrids is so common that it has become almost more normal than treating them like actual human beings. The wolf hybrid looks to be your age, maybe even a little older, and it makes your stomach drop to think about just how many years he must’ve spent out here in his animal form for speech to become this hard – for it to become a struggle.

“I’m so sorry Namjoon, it must’ve been hard being all alone up here,” Your fingers twitch against your thigh, resisting the urge to reach out for him.

“Not alone now, have you,” Namjoon’s raspy voice sends a shiver down your spine, the certainty laced with his next word making your heart skip a beat. “Pack.” The wolf hybrid carefully reaches out for your hand, slowly wrapping his fingers around yours as he watches your mind trying to process his words.

You know it normally takes a long time for a hybrid to consider someone, especially humans, to be a part of their pack, so the fact that Namjoon refers to you as his after only a few days leaves you stunned – and a little bit out of your depth. Then again, Namjoon’s situation isn’t exactly normal. Usually hybrids are much more in-tune with both their human and animal side, but from what you can gather, it doesn’t seem like Namjoon has tapped into his humanity in years. It would make sense for his animal instincts to be more dominant, for doubt and hesitation to take a backseat. But still, his pack?

You catch the slight motion as the wolf hybrid’s eyes stray to your neck, the memory hitting you at full force now that you realize the implications behind your actions. In the midst of your panic when you thought Namjoon was going to tear you limb from limb, you had bared you neck. You had submitted. And Namjoon had accepted you. You wince, sucking in a deep breath as unease swirls in your stomach. Even if you weren’t aware of what you were doing at the time, this is still your fault. You really want to fix this whole mess, but you fear that the one thing you can’t do for him, is the only thing the hybrid wants.

“Namjoon,” You hesitate as you feel his tail wag happily against the log, the words feeling heavy on your tongue as you say, “I can’t stay.” A lull falls over the forest as the rhythmic thumping stops, the grip around your hand slackening as the wolf hybrid hangs his head.

He keeps his eyes on the ground as he whispers out a broken, “Don’t go.” You feel your heart ache as you watch him open and close his mouth, the furrow between his brows deepening as he can’t seem to find the words he needs. “Take care of you. Please.” You think it might hurt less if you just let the wolf hybrid rip you to shreds instead, the pained desperation in his voice making you eyes sting.

“I’m sorry,” You mutter, “I need to go home.” The word leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. Home. At the start of your trip you couldn’t wait to return to your apartment, but when you really think about it, have you ever truly considered it home? Sure, you've managed to make it nice and cozy over the last years, but there’s no warmth there, no sense of belonging. Still – you can’t stay here in the mountains.

Namjoon’s ears are pressed flat against his head, his expression turning blank as he withdraws his hand. “Okay,” The wolf hybrid’s jaw is tense as he stares out at the lake, his gaze empty and distant. You ignore the throbbing in your foot as you clamber back up to your feet, taking a few steps forward as you take in the sight of the lake for the last time. The scattered wildflowers don’t seem as charming anymore, and the large body of water suddenly feels more imposing than welcoming. You freeze as Namjoon lets out a low groan, the sound suddenly transforming into a whimper behind your back. You nearly jolt out of your skin as something wet touches your hand, a warm breath spilling across your fingers as you look down. You meet Namjoon’s golden eyes, the wolf letting out a small huff before he nudges your windbreaker closer to your feet. You don’t know why it feels like a defeat that he transformed back, but you can’t shake the hollow feeling in your chest as you thread your fingers into his fur, jacket wrapped around your waist as he leads you back to the cabin.

The wolf’s ears starts to flicker a few minutes before you can pick up Jihyo’s frantic speech in the distance, the dark roof of the cabin coming into view. You’re a little off the trail, the forest much denser around this side of the clearing. Namjoon suddenly halts as he reaches the edge, and you wince from the extra force on your foot as you stumble to catch yourself. The wolf’s tail is tucked between his legs, a pitiful whimper filling the silence as you gently untangle your hand from his fur. You brush it down carefully, already missing the coarse yet soft hairs tickling against your skin as you take a step back.

“Thank you Namjoon,” You swallow around the lump in your throat, forcing your lips into a soft smile as you gaze down at him. The wolf turns his head back to the forest, golden eyes scanning the area before he quickly pushes his head against your hand, guiding your palm over the fur between his ears. Your knees go weak with fondness as you pat his head, the wolf swiping his tongue over the exposed skin of your wrist as you scratch behind his ears. It’s Namjoon that reluctantly pulls away first, his golden eyes soft yet sad as he pushes his snout one last time against your palm. He sits down with a huff, turning his head in the direction of the cabin. The message is clear; he’s not leaving until you are. The goodbye grows and dies in your mouth, your lips refusing to let it slip past as you look down at him. You spare him one last glance, trying to commit as much of him to memory as you can, before you stumble out of the tree line.

It only takes a few steps before you hear Jihyo’s shrill, “Y/n!” and you watch as your friend sprints across the field to meet you. Jihyo knocks into you so hard you nearly topple over, her arms wrapped around your body so tightly you almost fear she’ll squeeze you to death.

“Where were you? What happened? Oh my god, you’re hurt!–” You let Jihyo’s concerned rambling distract you from the empty feeling in your stomach, each step feeling heavier than the last as she helps you walk back to the cabin. You spare one last glance over your shoulder, hoping to maybe see a flash of silver through the trees, but there’s nothing.

Namjoon is gone.

And you’re both alone again.

It was all a rush after you returned. Jihyo had been searching for you night and day, a few of her father’s best employees helping out. The road up to the cabin had been cleared, so instead of having to trek down on your sprained ankle, Jihyo had whisked you away in a car with the destination set for the closest hospital. It took a while before you could collect your thoughts enough to tell her what happened, the words sounding ridiculous even to your own ears as you retold the story.

Jihyo had a deep frown on her face from the hospital to your apartment, uncharacteristically silent as she helped you to your couch. Sinking down on the mountain of plush pillows felt like heaven after sleeping on the ground for two nights, your limbs tired and aching. You really need a shower, but the temptation to rest your foot for an hour is frankly too strong. You watch as Jihyo raids your fridge for drinks and food, the frown not leaving her lips until you’ve stuffed your face with a sandwich.

“Why didn’t you just ask him to come with you?” You nearly choke on a piece of bread at her sudden question, quickly taking a sip of water to chase it down.

“What do you mean?” You croak.

“Well, it’s not like he specifically asked you to stay up in the mountains right? He only asked that you would stay with him. I’m not sure how much I like this, but he did take care of you, and he brought you back safely. If he wanted to hurt you he had many opportunities to do so,” Jihyo purses her lips, her eyes flickering around the room. 

"You seem .. smitten. I can remember the last time you looked so fond talking about someone else. It seems like he already considers you to be his pack, so if you want to, I don’t see any harm in asking him to come home with you,” You feel a steady blush rise in your cheeks as Jihyo talks, your heart skipping a beat at the thought of having Namjoon here in your apartment. You couldn’t ..

"It’s not natural or healthy for hybrids to be alone and shifted for such a long time, so you would honestly be doing him a favour. Even if he doesn’t stay with you, he needs to get checked-up.” You find yourself nodding along to Jihyo’s words before you can stop yourself, her eyebrows rising in amusement. She is right, after all. Even if Namjoon doesn’t want to stay, it’s important to make sure he’s healthy. Even you go in for yearly check-ups, and you’re sure it’s been far too long since Namjoon did the same. You have to go back and find him.

“But–” Jihyo presses a finger to your chest, “you’re not going anywhere yet. The doctor said full rest for a week, so that’s what you’re going to do.” She shakes her head before you can protest, giving you a stern look as she says, “You’re in no condition to go after him now, you need to heal up if you want to find him again. I’ve seen enough animal planet to know that wolves have pretty big territories, and you won’t be able to cover that much ground with a sprained ankle.” You sink back down in the couch with a disgruntled sound, hating the fact that she’s completely right. You’ll have to wait until you’ve healed. You just hope it won’t be too late.

“Namjoon?” You wince at the rawness in your throat, your voice ringing through the silent forest. You’ve been out here for hours, but no matter where you go, there’s no sign of the wolf hybrid. You even managed to get back to the little cave Namjoon had brought you to, but that too was completely untouched. The only trail you had is dead. The area you’ve ventured into is much denser and harder to navigate, but you refuse to leave until you find him.

You grumble under your breath as a branch almost whacks you straight in the face, and you push it away with a little more force than necessary as you trek on deeper into the woods. Your ankle has healed up nicely, but there’s still a dull ache from the amount of walking you’re putting yourself through. The sprain wasn’t all that bad; it was mostly just the fact that you kept aggravating it that made it so painful. A week of rest did you wonders, and a little bit of discomfort is a price you’re more than willing to pay if it means you’ll find Namjoon again.

“Namjoon?” You call out again, halting in your tracks as you strain to listen for any sounds out of the ordinary. You let out a sigh at the silence that greets you, shaking your head lightly as you take a step forward. You freeze as your foot connect with the ground, a distant howl echoing through the forest. Namjoon.

You can barely even hear the second howl over the frantic beat of your own heart as you take off, stumbling and tripping over roots and twigs as you run in what you hope is the right direction. The mountain is disorienting at best, but you have no fear of getting lost this time. Jihyo made sure you would be properly prepared. 

It’s not until the fourth howl that you realize two things – one, the sound is much closer than you anticipated, and two, it sounds pained. You urge your legs to move faster, your gaze shifting wildly over your surroundings as you call out for him again. You swear you see a flash of silver behind a cluster of trees, and you quickly switch your direction, running straight for what you hope is the wolf hybrid.

“Namjo–” You choke as you skid to a stop, your stomach dropping so fast it leaves you feeling dizzy.

Blood. There’s so much blood. Namjoon’s gray fur is stained with it, the hairs matted and red. You can see the rusted metal of an old bear trap clamped tightly around one of his hind legs, the bone snapped in an awkward angle. Oh god. A pained whine rips you out of your building panic, and the sight of the wolf hybrid attempting to drag himself closer to you despite the trap on his leg finally jolts you back into action.

“No no no, stay still!” You cry as you scramble forward, your stomach doing a dangerous flip as the metallic scent of Namjoon’s blood washes over you. The wolf hybrid is panting as you drop to your knees in front of him, his ears plastered against his skull as he lets out low whimper.

“It-it’s going to be okay,” You hear your voice tremble as you reach out for his head, gently cupping his cheeks between your hands. Namjoon lets the tension in his neck drop the moment you get your hands on him, his head heavy in your hold as you run your fingers over his fur. The wolf hybrid’s body is shaking, his golden eyes barely open as he lets out another whine. You have no idea how many hours he’s been like this, but it’s been too long. He's lost way too much blood.

“You’re going to be fine Namjoon,” You swallow down the bile in your throat as you shuffle around, shifting your hold to gently place his head in your lap. He immediately tries to shuffle closer, not giving up until he’s plastered against your stomach.

“Just, don’t shift, okay? Please don’t shift,” You hastily dig your burrowed phone out of your pocket, vision blurry as you type in Jihyo’s number. Seeing Namjoon’s human form might make it easier to gauge his injuries, but if he shifts while he’s still trapped, you have no doubt it’s just going to tear his leg up even more. 

He lets out a whine as you hands leave his fur, his eyes almost rolled back into his head from the pain. The leg that’s trapped doesn’t even twitch, and Namjoon’s body feels horribly cold as you hurry to run your hands over his fur.

“Y/n? Did you find him?” Jihyo’s voice has never sounded more angelic than when she picks up the phone, you body sagging with relief.

“You can track my location, right? It’s Namjoon–” You force down the sob bubbling in your throat as the wolf hybrid whimpers at the sound of his name, the sound soft and weak. “–he’s hurt.”

“Excuse me,” You whip your head up at the sound of someone clearing their throat, a rather frazzled nurse standing in front you. “Are you here with the wolf hybrid? Kim Namjoon?”

“I am. Is something wrong?” You push out of the plastic chair with a wince, ignoring the queasy feeling in your stomach. It’s been hours since you arrived at the hospital, but the image of Namjoon’s blood pooling around his body doesn’t seem to want to let go of you just yet.

“He’s–" The nurse let out a deep sigh, “I think you need to come with me.” She turns on her heel, motioning for you to follow without another word. Oh god, what if he’s dead? The wolf hybrid had been rushed into an emergency operation immediately upon arrival, so there wasn’t much else that you could do than wait. Hope that he would be okay. 

You hurry after the nurse, nearly tripping over your own feet at quick speed she keeps as she marches down the hall. You’ve barely managed to catch up when she halts outside a door, an exasperated expression on her face as she says, “We’re keeping him under observation for now and he’s not really supposed to have any visitors yet, but he’s being … difficult.” You jump as something clatters to the ground inside the room, the deep growl hardly even muffled by the closed door.

“He’s a still a little out of it, but not dangerous. You’ll see what I mean,” With that, the nurse pushes the door open, stepping aside to allow you entry into Namjoon’s room. You suck in a breath as you step inside, the floor littered with scattered papers and trays. Namjoon is perched up in bed, a heavy cast around his leg. Whatever they were trying to do, the wolf hybrid obviously wasn’t having it. He’s twisted towards the doctor by his side, the man keeping a good distance from the injured hybrid as he let out another harsh growl. You stare in shock as Namjoon bares his teeth, his posture rigid and tense as he eyes the doctor distrustfully. The doctor notices you before Namjoon does, a soft 'thank god' muttered under his breath as he waves for you to come closer.

“Hey Namjoon,” The wolf hybrids nose wrinkles just as your soft voice carries across the room, his ears springing up on his head as he shifts his attention to you.

“Y/n,” Namjoon’s eyes light up as he catches sight of you, his hands practically tearing up the bed sheets as he tries to untangle himself. The action feels awfully familiar to when he tried to drag himself closer despite the bear trap, and you have no intention of watching him trying to walk on his broken leg.

“I thought I told you to stop moving,” You rush forward before he can get himself fully out of bed, pushing him back with a firm shove to his chest. Namjoon falls back without protest, his wide eyes scanning over your face as a loopy smile blooms on his lips.

“Sorry,” He rasps as he engulfs your hand with his, keeping it tucked securely against his body. You can feel the steady thrum of his heart against your palm, beating in rhythm with the soft beeps from the monitor he’s hooked up to.

“We were trying to explain to Mr. Kim that we need to do some tests, but he doesn’t quite seem to share the same sentiment,” The doctor glances back towards the door as a the nurse brings in a new tray of equipment, a weary frown on his face as he picks up a shot. The growl builds in Namjoon’s throat so fast you nearly jump out of your skin, the hold he has around your hand feels like he’s two seconds away from snapping it in half.

“It’s okay, it’s just some standard shots,” You hesitantly bring your hand up to his face, slowly turning his head back in your direction.

“You haven’t had check-ups in a while right?” The wolf hybrid shakes his head, his ears twitching as his attention flickers back and fourth between you and the doctor. “It’s just to make sure you stay healthy.” Namjoon nuzzles against your hand with a soft whimper as you run your thumb along his cheek.

“Makes me feel .. bad. Sleepy,” Namjoon’s speech seems to flow a little easier than it did a week ago, but the struggle to find the right words is still there, his brows furrowing in concentration as he whispers, "Don’t like it.”

You swallow thickly, your stomach in knots as you ask, “Did your owner give you those? The shots that made you sleepy?” The wolf hybrid makes a low sound of agreement, his ears turning back. The marks on his wrist you couldn’t figure out, they’re needle marks. You’ve heard of it before, how some owners would drug their more exotic hybrids to keep them calm and docile – to silence the part of their genetics that make them so unique. You glance down at Namjoon, the wolf hybrid staring up at you with so much vulnerability and trust that the thought of someone taking advantage of that it makes you feel ill.

“These won’t make you feel that way, I promise.” You muster up the warmest smile you can manage as you peek over at the doctor, a silent plea in your eyes.

“Oh! Don’t worry Mr. Kim, there are no side effects to these shots. You’ll hardly even notice it,” The doctor quickly adds as he takes a careful step forward. Namjoon lets out a slow breath, golden eyes finding yours and his tail draping across his lap as he grumbles out a hesitant “Okay.”

“–All done!” You can see the doctor’s shoulders visibly drop as he finally gets the chance to move back, obviously relieved to put some distance between himself and Namjoon. “I’ll be back later to check on your leg and make sure everything is okay.” The sour expression on Namjoon’s face softens as the doctor hurries out the door, the grip around your hand loosening slightly as it clicks shut behind him.

“May I speak with you outside alone for a minute, miss?” You look up at the nurse as she finishes placing a band-aid on Namjoon’s arm, the empty shots rolling around in the tray as she picks it up.

“Oh, sure,” Namjoon lets out a whine as you try to step away, lips formed into a soft pout as you gently extract your hand from his grip. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right back,” You give his shoulder a squeeze before you follow the nurse out, shooting Namjoon what you hope is a comforting smile over your shoulder. The wolf hybrid keeps his eyes trained on you as you leave, his distressed gaze still burning into your back as you close the door behind you. You only take a few steps down the hall before the nurse turns to face you, her expression troubled as she looks you up and down, “I take it he’s not your hybrid?”

“No, he’s not,” You quickly shake your head. “I came across him up in the mountains. He said he ran away from his old owner, and that it was a ‘bad place’. I’m pretty sure it must’ve been a couple of years at least,” You wince. The nurse nods, her gaze shifting around the busy hallway as she thinks.

“I’ll have someone look into it. We need to settle his hospital bills, and only his legal owner can do that.” She must see the way your face drops, because she quickly adds, “I could tell from his old scars that he’s likely been abused. Even if we find his owner, they’re not going to be allowed to take him home. It’ll be looked into.”

“Right, thanks.” You muster up a weak smile. You know how these things go. Even if there’s an investigation, the police are too easy to buy off. There are frankly too many cases like Namjoon’s, and too few cops that actually treat their abuse seriously.

“Can I stay with him until his owner shows up?”

“It’s a little unorthodox, but yes, you can. I don’t think he’ll actually stay inside his room if you don’t.” The nurse lets out a huff, a flash of amusement in her eyes as she waves for you to go back inside. “I’ll let you know once we figure it out, it shouldn’t take too long.”

“Thank you.”

Turning to face Namjoon’s door, you try to shake off the anxious feeling festering in your stomach. You’re not going to let him go back to his old owner. You’re honestly not even sure how you’ve managed to grow attached so quickly, but there’s just something about the wolf hybrid that makes you ready to fight tooth and nail for his safety and happiness – even if it means he won’t find it with you.

a/n: ahah heyy ... let's just ignore that it took me two months to update this, okay? thank you aksjsk. i decided to split the last part into two, to give myself more time to write a little bit of extra fluff (and smut)! so the third and final part is hopefully coming next week, but if not, it will at least be posted by the end of november. namjoon's speech will get better in the next part and we will learn more about him + his and y/n's relationship will grow! if you like the story then please drop me a reblog/comment, that would mean the world to me! (ps. this story has no tag list!)

as always, see you all soon and stay safe! <3 and in case you enjoy my stories and want to buy me a coffee, you can do so here! 💖

#hybrid bts #hybrid au #namjoon x reader #hybrid namjoon #wolf hybrid namjoon #hybrid!bts #bts au #bts fluff #bts angst #hybridbtsnetwork #bts x reader #out of the woods

[hyunnows]

love, [Y/N] | jjk

► PAIRING: Jungkook x reader

► CONTENT/WARNINGS: angst, mentions of fluffy memories, mc death, lots of Jungkook tears, best friends!au, mentions of unrequited love

► WORD COUNT: 2k+

► RATING: pg13

► SUMMARY: "It’s not fair that he was holding the last of you in his hands, unable to focus on anything other than the last words he’ll ever receive from you."

↳ A/N: I got this idea at 2:36 am and I don't know where it came from but oh well. This was meant to be a 300-word blurb and we ended up at 2k lol. I haven't written anything for Jungkook compared to Tae, and honestly, this maknae has been climbing my bias list so here's a semi-self-indulgent fic filled with angst and crying! I hope you enjoy it, please feel free to leave feedback and reblog! Also, STREAM BUTTER!

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Shaking with fear, Jungkook gripped your hand tightly, tears pouring out his red eyes as your patient monitor fluctuated slightly. With a quivering lip, he croaks, “C'mon [Y/N], wake up. For me? Please…”

He feels your small fingers squeeze his own gently, weakly, and hope beams across his face. But just as soon as the hope had come, it vanished, your paling fingers going stiff in his palm. The once steady beeping now a quickly accelerating sequence, the sound ringing in the brunet boy's ears as his eyes go wide and breath cuts short.

He feels the nurses pull at him, trying to drag him out the room and he thrashes against them, his nails digging into your hospital bed with all their might until his knuckles turn white and his vision blurs. Loud sobs rack through his body as he slumps in the nurses’ arms, pressing the balls of his palms into his eyes, trying to stop the tears and the burning. His cries almost choke him, the occasional cough jerking his body harshly.

When he sees the familiar face of the doctor, he prays that the downcast gaze and frown don't mean what he thinks.

“[L/N] [Y/N],” Seokjin takes a breath, his own eyes beginning to water at the words he's about to utter, “time of death: 2 am… I'm sorry Jungkook. I did everything, I-I tried every voltage and pumped her with liquids a-and everything I could d-do—I couldn't save her. I'm so—so sorry.”

It's like his entire world has crumbled in a second. His arms and chest are suddenly heavy, his lips, throat, and face feel dry and dehydrated, and his eyes can't decide if they want to be open or closed because of the stinging sensation they feel when he tries either. Sitting on the floor in front of your room, he takes the hand Jin outstretched and wobbles inside, only to fall back down the moment he sees your dull figure.

He doesn't care that a small crowd can see him babbling incoherently as he tries to apologize to you through his sniffles and whimper, crawling to your hand and lacing his fingers through yours.

Eventually, Taehyung and Jimin pick him up and drag him out of the building you took your last breath in. Jungkook didn't try to resist, knowing he was in no shape to put up a fight or drive himself home. He needed to get out of there anyway, the smell of death only he could detect suffocating him slowly.

On his way upstairs, Taehyung holds him back, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a short stack of envelopes—maybe two or three—rubber-banded together and hands them to the younger. “Her first day in the ER, she m-made me promise to give you these if she—if she… You know…”

Hearing they were yours, he takes them gently and swiftly, immediately holding them close as if they were his lifeline. He gives Taehyung a silent, stiff nod before turning and dragging himself to his room.

He doesn't open them right away, taking his time to admire your adorable calligraphy and observing every smudge or erased pencil mark you'd left on their light material.

He's not surprised to find every letter addressed to him, because it wouldn't be the first time you two had given each other messages the old-fashioned way, and he smiled softly at the “before you read” attached to the first envelope.

If you're not Jeon Jungkook, please don't read these. If you are, know that I'm still with you, in these letters, in your heart, our memories and that I will always be here, even though I'm sorry I can't physically be here with you right now. These are letters I've written to you, but never sent. They're from the bottom of my heart and they say everything I've ever wanted to tell you.

—[Y/N]

His heart beats harder as he opens the first letter, doing his best not to tear the envelope and keep it perfectly intact for him to save.

There are two Polaroids safety-pinned to the letter, both with his face and yours smiling brightly at each other. He gently unclips them, tucking them safely into the [Y/N]-specially decorated sleeve. He breathes in deeply and unfolds the letter, immediately tearing up at your handwriting on the wilting paper.

Dear Jungkook,

I know you don't think it's cool or modern to send letters, so I won't send this.

Anyway, I want to thank you for always being there for me, my big, strong, human-shoulder-tissue. I couldn't be luckier than I am to have you as my best friend.

And I know this is going to sound cheesy, but I love you more than anyone or anything in this world. You're the diamond to my sky, the sun to my earth, and the person I would choose to spend the rest of my life with.

In other words, I'm in love with you, Jeon. I wish you were in love with me, but I'm already the happiest girl in the world being by your side every day.

Your Best Freind,

[Y/N]

His heart pounds against his ribs, because you had been in love with him. You had wanted him to be the last face you'd ever see. You were right in front of him, your heart on your sleeve for who knows how long, and he hadn't known until you were dead. His face contorted into one of pain at the reality, and he squeezed his eyes shut to stop the tears, taking long, shaky breaths before opening the second letter.

This note is considerably newer than the first, its edges still white and crisp, but the deepness of the creases tells him it's at least a few months old.

Dear Jungkookie,

Lately, I've been sick—which you know because I've told you. I haven't told you about my feelings yet because I don't want to scare you or pressure you, but I'm probably going to die before I ever get to tell you these things.

Since I told you how I felt in the last letter, I'm going to try and describe why in this letter. Reason number one, your presence. You always manage to just enter a dark, tense room and make it so much brighter and more comfortable. I don't know if it’s your smile or your laugh or the way you don't care if you're embarrassed or not, but you just manage to make everyone feel comfortable in themselves.

Reason number two, your kindness. I had never seen someone run back inside, get an entire table's worth of food, and give it away before. You're always so willing to give, despite the cost. I hope you never change.

Reason number three, it's kind of odd but I fell in love with your voice. Not just the way it sounds pretty when you sing, but the way it has the power to comfort whoever you’re singing to. I’ve always been able to come to you for support and comfort.

Reason number four is you know how to turn a bad day into a good one. You can talk to anyone who’s down for five minutes and you’ll turn them into a giggling, grinning mess.

Reason number five, you’ve always made me feel loved. Even though our entire relationship has been platonic—at least on your side—you’ve always checked up on me, held me, and made sure I knew I was enough and I can’t thank you enough for that.

Number six is your passion. You always put your all into everything you do. Be it making breakfast for the boys or helping me with a project I put off until the last minute, you make sure it’s all or nothing.

Seven is that you taught me how to love unconditionally. I always believed in falling in love and finding the one, but I never knew how intense it felt to be able to give your all to someone and not expect a single thing in return—until I met you. From the way your nose scrunches when you smile, to how you tilt your head when you’re confused, I love it all. From the best thing about you to the worst, it’s all you, and I wouldn’t want you to ever change. Every scar and blemish, each pore and lash, I’ve fallen in love with all of them because they make you, you.

I know you don’t feel the same, and in complete honesty, I love you so much I don’t even care. As long as you’re happy and I’m able to spend as much of my time by your side I’m happy.

He chokes on a sob when he finishes the second letter, tears dampening the card stock as he shivers. His heart clenches harder as he folds it back up, giving both pictures a once over before pinning them back on the letter.

Opening up the last envelope, a cry racks through his body, and he’s ugly crying now. The necklace he’d given you perfectly washi-taped against the letter. He pulls it off, tucking it tightly into his palm, and holds his breath. This time, the letter is a small, short piece of paper folded in half once.

He almost can’t read your small, dainty handwriting through his bubbling tears, but manages.

Hi Jungkook. Did you see the necklace?

It’s the one you bought me for my fifteenth birthday, that I told you I had lost. For a while, I had, and I remember I was too scared to tell you, but you noticed before I could anyway. I was so relieved you weren’t mad at me because I didn’t know what I would do if you were. I still don’t.

Anyway, the point of this short, last letter is to tell you how I want you to remember me. I don’t want you guys to think of me as your sickly friend who died when you were in your twenties… but I want you to remember the good memories we made together. I want you to remember the day we met, when I accidentally broke your bike and when we were both grounded for four months for sneaking out of our houses for our first party. I want you to remember how we got sick together because you couldn’t let me walk home alone in the rain, but you couldn’t drive and we both forgot jackets and umbrellas. I want you to remember the day you forgave me for losing the most precious thing anyone has ever given me, because that’s the day I fell in love with you.

This paper’s running out of space so I’m going to wrap this up. I want you to remember everything good about our time together, and not what ended it. Don’t think about how I’m gone, because I’m still with you, after death. These letters, the photos, and this necklace are what I’m leaving behind for you to keep. Don’t cry when you think of me, don’t think of the fact that we’ve been making our last memories, just don’t forget me.

Jungkook clutches the necklace tighter, afraid to drop it. Not only had he lost you, but he’d also missed out on the opportunity to be with you because he’d been too scared to ask you out while you were alive. He’d been in love with you since you two were eleven, tried to confess to you when you were fifteen, and lost you at twenty-three.

It’s not fair, he decides, it’s not fair that your love never got a real chance and it never would. It’s not fair that all these years you thought your feelings were one-sided when he reciprocated them ten-fold. It’s not fair that he was holding the last of you in his hands, unable to focus on anything other than the last words he’ll ever receive from you.

He sucks in a deep breath, barely croaking out your sign-off, “Love, [Y/N].”

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#btscreatorscorner #bangtanuniversity #bangtaninn #jungkook #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook oneshot #BTS angst #bts x reader #bts fluff #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #kim namjoon #park jimim #kim taehyung #bangtan #bangtan x reader #bangtan x you #bangtan angst #bangta boys #bangtan sonyeondan #bts x you #bts seokjin #suga fanfic #bts jeon jungkook #bts x y/n

[hnychn]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐄 [𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐈]

summary : levi wanted to believe the Fates were kind, but he should have known better

warnings : character death, heavy loss, a single mention of suicide, more greek myth allusions, fem! reader

word count : 3000+

a/n : omgomgomg tysm @yeehawslap for giving me permission to write this, i swear when i read their post i was immediately inspired to write this and i'm so sorry to your feelings :') also i swear i changed the title of this like, ten times

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The Fates had dealt Levi a rough life. 

When the goddess Clotho had spun the thread of his life, she must have incorporated thorns into every string; even now Levi could feel the pricks of guilt that chipped away at his soul each time he opened the bottom drawer of his desk and faced the bloodied scout patches of the lives lost.. 

Lachesis had enforced his life; she had been the one to use his thread to create. Although, Levi must admit, the fates must have favored him a tiny bit if they had sent you to him. You, his lovely wife whom he met one late evening under the stars, a gash on his head and gauze in your hand ready for you to patch up. 

You had been there to take out every thorn in his thread Clotho had stuck in his life; every ounce of guilt, every second of regret had been a burden on his shoulders you relieved by simply being there. 

Perhaps the Fates weren't all that bad. 

They must have been even just an ounce of virtuous if they had allowed him to call you his forever. The fates had strung together a love story into his thread of life and allowed him to invite someone into the most intimate parts of him, allow him to find peace within someone; to create a life together. 

Levi could remember the day when you burst into his office, a smile so bright he was sure even the sun was envious of the warmth you radiated. No words were spoken as you pulled him into your arms and cried. 

It was only through hiccups and sobs did he hear your soft voice tell him he had created a life. And while your stomach was still as flat as it had been the night before and many nights before that, he pressed his hand against it nonetheless and promised to protect the life within you until his very last breath. 

Perhaps the Fates weren't all that bad. 

Isabel, as the two of you named your daughter, had become a nearly carbon copy of her father. not only did she share many features in common with him, she also inherited his strength. 

She was able to hold her head up on her own only a mere months after birth, and she often gave you a terrible fright when she climbed out of her crib at night with a strength a toddler shouldn't have. Though, it was of no real surprise to either of you; you were sure your womb must have taken a terrible beating with the strength of her kicks while she was still growing inside of you. 

And, with her strength and many similarities with her father, came her desire to join the scouts. 

It was the first time in her life Levi had denied her something. 

Admittedly, little Isabel had her cold, ruthless captain of a father wrapped around her stubby little finger since the moment you pushed her out of your womb. You could hear the way he promised to give her anything her little heart desired and often you found yourself being more strict with her. 

Though, this had been Levi's one fear. 

Levi has seen countless people fall beyond the walls. He's witnessed Farlan and Isabel (his daughter's namesake) tragically torn to pieces by those wandering monsters. He’s seen countless bodies piled up in wagons to return to the walls for burning. 

You’ve seen your fair share of horrors, too. You’ve seen the injuries people walk into your clinic with, the blood gushing through gaping wounds, their bones snapped in angles they shouldn't, the limbs you've had to amputate; and the sheer image of your daughter being one of them was enough for you to turn green with sickness. 

There were countless arguments between Levi and Isabel (you often found yourself the mediator of these fights and cursing the fates for making both father and daughter stubborn as mules). But ultimately, Levi had caved as he always did, and promised to train her harder than anyone else in the training corps.

True to his word, Isabel often returned home with bruises and collapsed next to you on the couch, her head falling into your lap with fatigue. You smiled as you ran your fingers through her hair as she tiredly recounted her training with her father and other members of the Training Corps. 

She had recounted many stories of the friends she’s made there; an arrogant boy named Jean who she loved to tease and roughhouse with, a boy with a buzzcut named Connie she liked to mess around with and prank occasionally, and a girl named Sasha. 

The dusty pink on her cheeks when she told you stories about her sprouted an inkling inside of you that made you think she was more than just a friend to your daughter. You only smiled as she went on. 

Though, late at night, when your husband had long ago fallen asleep and your daughter was tucked safely away in her room, did you find yourself praying to the Fates. You prayed no arm would come to your daughter and she would lead the happy life she deserved. You prayed the Fates were kind.  

Perhaps . . . the Fates weren't kind . . .  

Levi should have known the fates hadn't meant to give him a life as peaceful as his (or as peaceful as it could be with you and Isabel by his side). He should have known better than to think the Fates were righteous.  

Afterall, the goddess Atropos always came to collect what was due. Atropos was the third and final Fate, the goddess who cut the threads her sisters weaved and toyed with. She was the one who claimed souls. Atropos watched time and time again as Levi avoided her attempts to collect his thread and grew frustrated the more he slipped through her fingers like sand. So, Atropos did the next best thing. 

She stole a life close to him. 

Levi could feel his blood run cold when Jean walked in, his hands fisting the shirts of two children and his eyes wild with shock. His words were shaky and his eyes were covered in a daze of denial, as if his mind was trying to protect him from the inevitable heartbreak he would experience. 

Levi waited with a bated breath for Jean to crack a smile and admit this was all some sick joke he could punish him later for. That his whole thing was nothing but a nightmare and he was bak at home, cuddled in bed with you and your daughter was sleeping soundly in her room just down the hall. 

But he knew it wasn't a dream, not when you gasped as you did, when he could practically see your heart shattering in your eyes and the way you nearly pushed him to the floor as you ran to the back of the airship. Levi followed close. 

"ISABEL!" 

You had practically thrown Connie to the side to get to your daughter. Her eyes were hazy with the same veil of death you had seen time and time again with your patients and friends. Sasha stood still to the side, her eyes wide and her hands shaking, “should have been me, it should have been me.” She chanted the words like a spell that would somehow transfer the wound to her, a spell that would miraculously heal your daughter who lay on the cold hard floor of the airship, blood slowly seeping out of her. 

The logical medic in your brain delivered you the harsh truth as you assessed your daughter and her wounds. The unforgiving voice hissed in your ear about her inevitable death, the wound is too fatal, there’s no way she’ll make it back to the island. You hushed the voice as quick as it spoke, your heart denying the severity of the situation. 

"oh," Levi could only watch as you clutched onto Isabel, your hands working like clockwork as they put pressure on her wound despite the violent shake in them, "oh, my baby..." 

Levi took a hesitant step closer. It was haunting, watching his daughter who held so many of his qualities lay on the floor, bleeding to death. He had remembered the many times she pulled his hair as a child, giggling loudly as she pointed out the obvious, ‘I’m just like you, daddy!’ 

Oh, how he wished he could go back to those moments. When his daughter was nothing but a small child he cradled in his arms, tucking her safely under his chin as he gently rocked her side to side to lully her back into a deep sleep. He wished to go back to the nights he held your hair back as your stomach churned with nausea and your daughter was but a growing fetus, protected within the walls of your womb. 

"M . . . mommy . . .” Isabel breathed. 

You sobbed harder, "it's okay baby, i'm here, mommy's here." 

You ran your fingers through her hair, hushed her and soothing her as you once did many years ago when she was nothing but a small baby clutching onto the material of your dress. 

She had been so tiny then, so fragile and sweet and innocent. But she had long since grown out of her baby face and matured into a strong woman you were proud to have nurtured. But in this moment, it was as if she returned to the same fragile baby as she was years ago as she clutched onto the straps of your gear like a lifeline, her eyes dull but full of fear and hesitance.

"Mommy please, i'm- s' scared . . ." her voice was breathy and you could see the energy drain from her eyes the harder she tried to keep them open.

You wanted to be selfish, to tell her to keep her eyes open, to keep breathing and push through the pain. But you could see the pain flash in her eyes each time she took a breath, you could hear her breathy wince with every movement she made, and you knew you couldn’t be selfish. 

Levi could see your resolve slowly crumble, the way the shake in your hands grew more and more violent and he could practically see the screams bubble in your throat as you tried to swallow them down to comfort your daughter. Levi knew if he didn't step in now, there would be no salvaging the broken pieces of you after this. 

"It’s okay, princess." Levi crouched down on the other side of his daughter, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he tried to keep his composure. 

Her head slowly turned to him, "d-daddy . . . ?" 

Levi hummed, "Yeah, it's me princess. It’s okay, you did so well, you were so brave." 

"I was?" her words were breathy and rushed as she tried to cling on to the last threads of her life. You could feel her grip in your gear lose its strength and you nearly let the screams clawing at your throat escape. 

pleasepleasepleaseplease, you begged, not her please not my baby. 

"So brave." 

Levi had never felt so helpless watching his daughter's eyes lose their life, he could only sit there and reassure her that everything would be fine and she had done good as she took her last breaths. Images of the other Isabel laying dead on the floor flashed through his mind and Levi nearly vomited. 

"I love you" 

Levi nodded, "I know. I love you too, princess. Now rest." 

The winds howled loudly outside, but there was nothing loud enough to drown out the screams that had finally escaped from you as you gripped your daughter’s hand so tight your knuckles turned white. Levi held you close as tears of his own dripped down his face and an indescribable weight placed itself in his heart.  

The Fates were not kind. 

Life after that seemed to lose its shine. 

Your home was hauntinly quiet. Every inch of the home had memories of your daughter carved into the wooden frame. Her first words, her first steps, her first breath. You had given birth to your daughter in the living room, and where the walls once gave you comfort and warmed your heart with reminders of the first life you had brought into the world, it now made you sick with grief and added to the weight in your heart. She had taken her first steps in the hallways, clutching your fingers tight as you guided her down the hall to Levi who waited for her with a proud smile. Her first words had been in the kitchen, where you and Levi cooked dinner for your quaint little family and she called out to the two of you, begging for attention. And who was Levi to deny his princess? 

You and Levi struggled to find your places in the world after that. Late at night, the two of you often clung to each other for comfort. Though, you knew Isabel’s death was hitting Levi harder than you. You could see it in the way he tucked her Scout badge into the left breast pocket of his shirts, hoping to keep the memory of her close to his heart; the way he avoided every mirror like it was the plague. You could see it in the way he flinched whenever he caught sight of his reflection, his own steel grey eyes and matted black hair staring hauntingly back at him. 

Isabel had taken after her father the most, afterall. 

You also found Levi’s features a bit hard to look at after that. It was hard to look into his eyes and see your daughter staring right back at you with a pleading look to not leave. There had been late night conversations where Levi assured you he knew of his similarities to Isabel and promised to not be mad if you wanted to leave him, 'I find it hard to look at myself sometimes.'

But you only held him tighter and stuck closer to his side, washing away any thoughts he had of you leaving him. You married him because you loved him, and nothing could change that. Even if he looked so similar to your lost daughter. 

The Fates also decided to make your lives a bit harder, as if taking away your first born hadn’t been enough suffering to put you both through. Levi had been sent away with Zeke into hiding. Initially, you wanted to go with him, to stick by his side and cling to your life support, but the others hadn’t allowed it. 

Hango could only grip your wrist tight as you watched Levi climb into the carriage and ride away. 

You begged Hange not to leave you alone after that; because you knew if you were left alone for long enough, there would be nothing stopping you from joining your daughter in the afterlife. 

Hange stayed by your side. 

You wanted to vomit. 

You could feel the sickening churn in your stomach as you stared down at the very girl who had stolen the life from your daughter. The images of your daughter clutching on to you tightly and her scared voice begging you to comfort her rang loud in your ears. Your mouth had dried instantly, any one of the thousand of words rattling in your head stopped by the numbness in your mouth. There were so many things you wanted to say, so many words you wanted to exchange with the girl who had taken your child from you. 

You could see Nicolo’s mouth move and his adam's apple bob with every sound he made, but it was all muffled whitenoise as your eyes trained onto the little girl who stared up at you with a look of horror and fear. 

“ . . . kill her,” Nicolo’s voice buzzed in your ears. 

You hadn’t even realised you took the knife from his hands until you heard Hange speak up from behind you. She begged you to put the knife down, to think rationally. 

But how could you? How could your mind think of anything other than harming the girl who was the cause of all your pain? When the girl who murdered your daughter was right in front of you, sitting on her knees, vulnerable. Your heart screamed and thrashed against the veins that held it in place for you to stab her, to make her feel the same pain your baby had to go through. 

But then she looked up at you. Her eyes were wide with the same fear and pleading look your daughter had in her final moments. You dropped the knife, your shoulders shaking as your eyes lined with unshed tears. 

“Kill a child. . . you- you want me to kill a child. . .” Armin stared at you from the side as your shoulders sagged and a few tears escaped your eyes, and he couldn’t help but realize how tired you looked. As if the weight the world had placed on your shoulders was finally catching up to you and your body struggled to carry it any longer. 

“I can’t do that. She’s a child. Someone’s daughter.” You collapsed to the floor, your hands digging to the carpet underneath you, “I can’t kill a child, not while I know what it feels like to lose your own. I can’t put another mother through the same pain I’m in. I just- can’t.” 

Hange kneeled next to you and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, her lips pressed into a thin line and sympathy swimming in her eyes for her friend who had lost her world. You looked back up to Gabi and she nearly flinched with how broken and tired your eyes looked, “I can only hope she’s found peace in the afterlife. . . 

“I can only hope the Goddesses of Fate are kind to her soul.”  

#attack on titan x reader #attack on titan #shingenki no kyoujin x reader #shingeki no kyoujin #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman #levi #attack on titan levi #attack on titan levi x reader #angst #mom! reader #parent! reader #husband! levi

[toosicktoocare]

Jason knows the second he’s pulled from sleep by a low vibration close to his head that today’s going to go down in the books as, to put it simply, a bad day. There’s a dull sense of pressure in his head, pushing lightly against the base of his skull, and his phone buzzing insistently beside his head is only heightning his overall awareness that he’s got one hell of a mirgaine trying to grow against his brain. 

He slaps his hand around blindly for his phone, squeezing his eyes shut against the drum of pressure as he clumsily presses answer on his phone with a groan. 

“Look, Dick Brain, I’ve already told you that I’m not teaming up with you lot of dumb birds tonight. I have my own shit, so you you all need to keep your shit to yourselves.” 

“Master Jason?”

Jason isn’t prepared for the polite accent on the other line, one that’s distinctly laced with an air of disappointment. He shoots up in bed, his free hand flying to push against the alarming wave of pressure that’s blooming across is forehead. “Shit, Alfred. Sorry. I didn’t realize it was you.” 

“I assumed as much. Did I wake you?”

Jason clears his throat to rid the lingering dryness from sleep that’s coating his throat. He blinks slowly at the digital clock on his bedside table until his mind finally makes sense of the numbers and orders: 10:22 AM. 

He contemplates lying for a breath of a moment only to chase the thought away with a shake of the head. Alfred will know; he always does. 

“Yeah,” he laughs quietly. “Guess I slept in a little.” 

“Are you quite alright, Master Jason? It’s unlike you to sleep past 7 AM.” 

Jason mentally supplies the words that go unsaid: ‘because of your nightmares.’ Sighing, he digs his fingers into his forehead, massaging around the blossoming pressure. “Yeah, just a headache.” 

“Not one of your migraines, I hope.”

“Nah,” Jason tries for an airy attitude, one void of any concern, and to his legitimate surprise, Alfred seems to accept his answer, though hesitantly. 

“If you’re absolutely sure...”

Deflect, Jason supplies to himself. “I assume Dick’s got you calling to do his dirty work?”

“Not quite. Master Bruce asked me to call when Dick informed him that you’ve been dodging his calls all week.”

“That’s new,” Jason mutters, swinging his legs over the bed and sliding to his feet. The sudden change in weight distribution elevates the pressure in his head. He swallows back a gasp, free hand finding the wall for support as he shuffles from his bedroom to his bathroom in search for pain killers. “What’s so important about tonight? Sounds like a standard drug bust that Dick can more than handle on his own.” 

“Master Bruce would feel better if all of his sons were present tonight.” 

Jason doesn’t understand Bruce’s mind, his logic and reasoning for his choices. He never has, and he gathers that he never will. He snags a bottle of pain killers and balances his phone between his ear and shoulder, ignoring to sudden shift of pain in his head. 

“I have my own patrol, Alfred.” 

“We’ll have all patrols covered, Master Jason. Your territory will be well looked after tonight.” 

Damn, Jason thinks. If there’s one thing Alfred is good at, it’s his verbal reassurance, something so frighteningly powerful. He dry swallows a few pills and drops against the edge of his tub with a sigh, fingers raking through his hair. 

“Fine. Will you send me the details?” He drags out each word slowly, making sure that Alfred knows he’s only agreeing because it’s Alfred asking. 

“Of course.”

***

Jason’s head feels far too heavy on his neck, the added pressure weighing it down. The pain killers chased off the edge of the migraine for a few hours, but per usual, the pain came back stronger as the pills wore off, and he’s opted not to take more, not wishing to risk being slightly sluggish. 

He walks up to see Dick, Tim, and Damian occupying a small corner down an alleyway, their odd meetup point. Tim’s seated, his back against a wall, and he’s yawning. Dick’s stood with his back against a wall across from Tim, his arms crossed, as he muffles a few light coughs into his fist. And, Damian’s standing closer to Dick with his right arm cradled close to his chest. 

Tension trickles down to Jason’s limbs, and he grips his helmet a little tighter in his hand as he approaches. “The fuck’s wrong with you all?” His own voice is a drill in his head, piercing through the pressure and re-distributing it unevenly.

It’s Tim who opts to speak around a second yawn. 

“Dick’s still recovering from the flu, and the Demon Brat hurt his wrist on patrol yesterday.” 

“My wrist is fine, Drake,” Damian spits out, drawing out words deliberately.

“I assume you haven’t slept,” Jason mutters, nodding toward Tim, who’s slow to get to his feet. 

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” Dick cuts in sharply, and Jason arches a single brow to the oldest, faintly curious. “You need sleep, Tim, or you’ll wind up sick.” 

“Funny since you’re the one who’s running a low grade fever.” 

“Grayson is competent, Drake, even while recovering from illness. He’s not so easily taken down by the flu.” 

“And what are you planning on doing tonight, Damian,” Tim drags out lowly, and Jason shifts his faint curiosity from one idiot to the other. 

“You can barely move your wrist.” 

“I’ve been trained to be ambidextrous, Drake-”

“-Okay,” Jason calls out, the curiosity from before replaced with dull, familair annoyance that’s now mixed in with a hot pain swirling in his skull. “Let’s just get this the fuck over with, yeah?” He looks to Dick, a silent question to take charge, and Dick nods and turns on his heel, leading everyone to the hinted base for the drug ring. 

“Father would tell you to watch your language,” Damian mutters at Jason’s side before he quickens his step to match Dick’s steady pace. 

Jason flips him off and shoves his helmet over his head, swallowing back a groan when the added weight pushes the pressure in different directions. Nausea starts to tumble in his stomach, and he tries his best to steady his breathing, pushing his concentration away from himself. 

“So, Timmy, what are the deets? Alfred didn’t say much.”

***

Turns out, Bruce’s hunch was correct, and all four were forced to hold their own against multiple, burly men, all of which got in numerous, painful hits before being taken down. The fight ended at the top of an apartment building across the street from the warehouse that was doubling as the drug storage, and Jason’s not sure he’s ever felt this much pain in his head, knowing that it didn’t help he let a few men get some solid hits to his face and temples. 

The others appear to be, more or less, in similar conditions. Dick’s down on one knee, panting heavily. Damian’s paler than usual, and he’s got his wrist held tightly to his chest, and Tim’s swaying on his feet, looking about ready to drop any second. 

Jason pulls a slow gaze around them, swallowing thickly around the bursting pressure that’s pushing hard against every inch of his skull now, swelling against his brain, leaving his vision fraying at the edges. He’s faintly aware that the others are talking amongst each other, but he can’t keep up with the conversation, not with the sudden roar in his ears that drowns out the voices around him. 

The pain’s... intense. It’s all he’s able to supply, most thoughts breaking against the pressure. He takes a step back, fingers clumsily slipping under his helmet. His vision is graying now, blurring, and he tries to blink around it. He can see Dick get to his feet, see the older boy frowning at him. He’s saying something to him, but Jason can’t work his mind around reading lips. No, all he wants is to get the damn helmet off his head, but his hands are shaking too hard to be of any use. 

He starts to feel hot all over despite the crisp fall air. He takes another, staggering step back, his legs struggling to hold his balance, to support the weight of his abdomen and head, and the back of his foot knocks hard into something. He only realizes that he’s bumped into the edge of the roof when he’s falling backward into open, empty space. 

His stomach plummets in time with his body, bringing back his vision, sounds, his surroundings. 

“Jason!”

He pulls his gaze from the tilting sky to see the others coming into view, and he wonders, briefly, if it’s the last thing he’ll ever see, but the thought gets josteled from his head when something small yet strong latches onto his ankle, followed by a loud, gasping cry. 

His back slams against the side of the apartment building, bringing with it bursting, white hot pain across his head, but he manages to stay present, craning his neck up to see Damian crying and holding onto his ankle with his injured hand. Dick stumbles toward them, wrapping one arm tightly around Damin to keep him up on the roof. 

“Jason! Do you think you can lean upward?”

Nodding, Jason breathes deeply around the pain and nausea, and he swings himself upward, arms flying forward until he’s grasping at the hands reaching out to him. Dick and Tim pull him up, and the second he’s upright, his vision grays until he blacks out entirely. 

***

“Come on, Jay, open your eyes for me.” 

Jason wants to be annoyed that the voice is waking him, but there’s something so soft and desperate in the tone, in the gentle touches at his face, so he decides to try and chase it. 

“Bruce is on his way.” 

That brings Jason back all at once, his mind reeling against pain, and nausea twisting so hard in his stomach. He leans to the side and vomits, mutely thankful that someone removed his helmet. 

“Shit, Jason!” 

He can feel a hand at his back, rubbing small circles, and when his stomach settles, he flops back onto his back with a groan, only faintly aware that his head is pillowed on Dick’s thigh. 

“Jay? You with us?” 

“Bruce says he’s two minutes out. He wants to know if we can make it off the roof.” 

Jason realizes slowly that there’s a voice missing, and then memories flood agaisnt the pressure in his head until he’s jerking forward to see Damian sitting across from his, tear trackes evident against his cheeks. 

“Fuck, Damian, your wrist-”

“It’s okay.” Damain’s voice is shaking, and Jason leans forward to pat Damian’s knee, unsure of what else he could do or say to properly express the heavy weight of appreciation for Damian saving his life. 

“Jason, what happened? Are you sick?” Dick’s voice is laced deep with worry at Jason’s back, two hands planted firmly to Jason’s shoulders.

Before Jason can answer, Bruce is swinging himself over the ledge of the roof, fully suited, dark eyes shifting between each son, falling on Jason. 

“Migraine,” he answers deeply for Jason. “Alfred suspected as much.” Bruce stops before him. “Can you walk?” 

Jason nods and allows Bruce to pull him to his feet. He sways for a moment, swallows back the need to dry heave, and grounds himself, faintly aware that Bruce’s hand is just inches from his elbow. He doesn’t meet Bruce’s studying gaze, doesn’t fully breathe until Bruce breaks away to assess the others. 

He watches, exhausted, as Damian argues with Bruce that he doesn’t need to be carried. He frowns when Tim stumbles into Dick, and Dick crouches down and instructs Tim to climb atop his back. He follows behind the others, listening in briefly to hear Tim grumble how Dick’s fever feels like it’s spiking, or how Bruce’s is tugging Damian tightly to his side and muttering reassurances under his breath. 

When they reach the ground floor, his knees begin to shake, but then Alfred’s at his side, worried, arm tight around his shoulders, and he’s guided into one of Bruce’s many cars, squeezing in the back beside the others. Tim’s directly to his left, and he drops his head to Jason’s shoulder almost immediately. Jason nudges him forward just enough to slip his arm around his back, and Tim curls closer into him. 

Jason decides that just for tonight, he’ll let him. He cranes his neck to see Damian similarly clinging to Dick, and he locks eyes with Dick, the two sharing a mutual, tired nod. 

Dragging his gaze slowly forward, Jason squeezes his eyes shut, focusing on the lull of the engine and not on the drum pounding in his head. 

“Shall I drop Master Jason off at his apartment?” 

“No, I want all of my sons at the manor tonight.” 

#batfam #batman #batbros #sickfic #whump #whumpfic #dcu #jason todd #dick grayson #tim drake #damian wayne #bruce wayne #red hood #nightwing #red robin #robin #hurt/comfort #hi dysfunctional family

[l4verq]

remnants (3) | r.d

ransom drysdale x reader

in which you have to protect ransom drysdale because he has the same face as steve rogers, your ex who’s gone back to peggy.

warnings : mentions of panic attacks

lmk if you wanna be added to the taglist 💗

ʀᴇᴍɴᴀɴᴛꜱ

*not my gif*

-

“rock, paper, scissors, shoot!”

your eyes frantically looks around the outstretched hands, each holding up a rock.

bucky yells a cry of victory while you groan, glaring at your hands holding up ‘scissors’.

ransom rolls his eyes, “you guys hate me that bad?”

upon arriving to the hydra base after a long, long road trip, ransom grumbling about the music, sam screaming about how marvin gaye remains superior, you just couldn’t seem to catch a break.

because of course, you’d lose in this stupid game of rock, paper and scissors and of course, be forced to stay back with ransom in the car while sam and bucky scoped out the base for “any traps”.

“alright, we’ll be back in a few,” sam puts on his goggles, “but if we’re not-.”

“then we run.” ransom interrupts, pointing at you and him.

you have to bite back a smile seeing sam’s unamused face.

“then we go see if anything’s wrong.” you correct ransom, giving him a look.

“actually, no. he’s right, just run.” bucky ponders over it.

ransom scoffs under his breath and looks at you.

you’re smiling sof-

wait, were you actually smiling? at what that shaggy dude just said or more precisely, repeated?

“we’re obviously not running. it was a joke.” ransom clarifies, glancing over at bucky.

bucky’s vibranium arm locks in place, returning ransom’s stare, air getting unnecessarily tense.

they just look dumb, atleast to you.

sam claps his hand, “ok, so no one’s running. let’s go.”

he deploys red wing, the scarlet gadget humming off into the sky.

bucky gives you a nod, trailing behind sam, headed towards the entry door.

an awkward silence ensues, crickets violently chirping in the moonlit night.

“how’s your hand?” ransom clears his throat, adjusting his stance.

he’d been meaning to ask since yesterday but he just.. couldn’t.

“been better.” you flare your sore hands in front of you, tilting your head.

even though there weren’t any external wounds, you knew all of the damage was inside, lurking behind layers of flesh.

“so, you really did break your hands to get out of the chains?” he questions, eyebrow quirked.

“if you put it like that, i sound crazy.” you cross your arms, leaning against the car next to him.

he chuckles, a loud - almost obnoxious - sound that startles you a little.

steve never laughed like that, even when he did, it always felt like he was holding back, had his guard up.

“y/n, do you copy?” sam’s voice crackles in your ear, courtesy of the ear comm.

ransom springs to his feet, hand on his ear.

he’d asked for an ear comm as well to which everyone respectfully declined.

but after two hours of whines and grumbles about why he wants one, bucky practically flung that flesh coloured, pea sized gadget at him.

“we’re here.” he barks a little too loud.

“yea, we can hear you.” bucky mutters, annoyance laced in every word.

“you can speak normally.” you inform ransom, who flashes a thumbs up with a “got it.”

“there doesn’t seem to be mu-.”

static takes over, cutting sam off, you and ransom both flinching at the sudden blare in your ears.

you immediately cock your gun, reach into the car to pull out a flashlight and hand it to ransom.

“stay behind me.” you order, “we’re going through the back.”

“is there even one?”

“let’s find out.” you grab a flashlight as well.

you’re light on your feet, with careful, calculated steps.

ransom.. you couldn’t exactly blame him, he’s just a normal guy.

a normal guy who’s made it his goal to step on every single fallen leaf, producing this god awful crunching sound in the dead of the night.

“a little quieter?”

he starts tip-toeing, stumbling around.

you walk round the building, well what’s left of it.

it’s in bad shape, the entire building, hanging on by decaying bricks covered in mold.

it looks like it might’ve been around 3-4 stories high but it’s impossible to know now.

“there it is.” you whisper, flashlight pointed towards a door labelled EXIT.

on closer inspection, the knob is broken, only a hole where it used to be.

the hinges creak as you push the door open with ease, uncertain how the door didn’t fall right off because it was barely holding on.

gun in hand, flashlight on top, left foot forward, supporting your dominant one, just like you’ve been trained.

“this is how people die in movies.” ransom whispers, peeking inside the dark room.

you glare back at him, shushing him.

he clamps his forefinger and thumb together, dragging it along his lips, pretends to lock it and hands you the key.

“just search for a switch.” you mutter, looking straight infront again.

you aim your flashlight around, taking small steps inside.

clang.

you damn near jump out of your skin, finger already curled around the trigger, ready to pull when you whip around.

“sorry.” ransom mumbles, hands trailing around the wall, looking for a switch.

“i nearly shot you!” you whisper yell, lowering your gun.

the light flickers on, your eyes nearly blinded by it.

you look around, vision slowly adapting to the lit up room.

it’s a workstation with sewing machines?

the red, white and blue bits of cloth catch your eyes as you inch neare-

thud.

“y/n!” ransom shouts, but it’s distant.

too distant.

“yea, i’m here! i fell.,” you groan in pain, “somewhere. be car-.”

thud.

“fucking hell.” ransom curses, rubbing his shoulder, writhing in pain on the ground.

you’d be screaming at his stupid ass if only you weren’t doing the same, all feelings in your left leg lost.

“didn’t you see me fall?” you grit your teeth, clutching your leg.

he moans, slowly rolling over to his face.

“great! we’re both stuck here.”

you crane your neck to look up at the crack of light at the top, maybe a good four stories from where you’re sitting?

it was a miracle neither of you plunged to your death.

your hands fumble around the cold ground, feeling for your gun when you hear it.

a low, gentle whirring but it’s definitely not red wing this time.

you frantically scramble to your feet, left leg screaming in anguish even at the slightest pressure.

your hands reach out and this time they land on something hard.

something cold, much like the ground itself with ridged lines and creases.

it’s the wall.

but you could’ve sworn it wasn’t there before...

“the walls, they’re caving in.” you breathe out, instinctively backing away.

the familiar dread building up in your heart seemed to dull whatever pain resided in your leg.

“hey! get up.” you hop towards him but he brushes you off with a wave of his hand, still squirming in pain.

the whirring stops abruptly, along with the walls.

“bucky? sam? can you hear me?!” you yell into the ear comm, only to hear distorted sounds.

your eyes are adjusted enough to see the space between the two walls has decreased significantly.

ransom pushes his body off the ground with his shaky arms, slowly getting on his feet.

“am i crazy or did the wall move?” he breathes out, touching it.

“yea,” you exhale, closing your eyes shut, “yea, it did.”

“y/n!”

your ears perk up at the familiar voice.

“down here!” you yell, not sure if your voice can even be heard from where you are.

then like music to your ears, a familiar scarlet buzzes towards you two.

“sam!” you wave your hands at red wing hovering over you two.

his voice crackles “we’re trying to shut the whole place down, we’ll get you out.”

“the walls-.”

the whirring starts again as if reminded about what it needs to do.

red wing bumps against the contracting walls, falling into a heap of metal next to your feet.

you limp closer and closer to ransom, the wall centimetres away from your back, both of you realising the only way to have more space.

he pulls you into his chest, his good shoulder around you.

tears well up at your eyes, the crippling feeling sneaking in again.

these endurance tests are meant to help you get over your fears and phobias.

steve’d lied.

the endurance tests didn’t work.

because you were struggling to breathe, air hitched in your throat.

“it stopped, the walls.” ransom can barely move his body around, back hitting a hard boundary whenever he tries to.

balled up fists hanging desperately onto his clothes, you’re sobbing now, a hysterical mess.

the air only seemed to thin out more and more, your lungs straining for oxygen.

he watches in horror, the tiny space filled with your desperate gasps and whimpers.

you’re having a panic atta-

think, ransom.

what calms you down?

“you know, sometimes i look up at the stars at night when i can’t sleep.” he blubbers out, heart racing.

anything to just get you to stop trembling like that.

“i just lay in my bed - i have this window on my ceiling - and i look up at it.”

he’s unsure as he continues.

“reminds me of the glow in the dark stickers i had back in fourth grade.”

and of his fleeting childhood.

“did you have those? the $1 a pack with all the crazy fonts?” he whispers in your ear, tapping your back for an answer.

you manage a small nod, biting down your quivering lip.

who didn’t have those ugly stickers that seemed to fall off the very day you put them up.

“take a deep breath, can you do that for me?” he cooes, wincing when he brings his other shoulder around you.

he’s pretty sure it’s broken.

“c'mon, i’ll do it with you,” he pats your back, signalling you to inhale.

so you do.

you focus on the pace of his chest rising up and down steadily, willing yourself to do the same.

it was kind of working? whatever he was doing.

with those arms around you, whispers of sweet nothings in your ears, mediating your breathing.

until the whirring started again.

-

a/n : ohshsjsnssjsteysys pt 3 finally uppp :)))

tags : @readermia @inmate-marmalade @randomsevans @xoxabs88xox @thebadassbitchqueen @mypalbuck @natrushman3000 @townwitchbitch

#ransom drysdale #ransom x y/n #ransom x you #ransom x reader #ransom thrombey #ransom thrombey x reader #knives out #mcu #sam wilson #bucky barnes #ransom fanfiction #ransom thrombey imagine #remnants

[iliveiloveiwrite]

The Power of Touch

Request: Hi! I'd like to request a oneshot for Harry (I just love him so much) where him and the reader have this soulmate bond that makes the pain on Harry's scar go away with the reader's touch, please I love your writing and I'm sure you'll do this concept justice!❤️❤️❤️

A/N: I love Harry too, nonnie. He’s one of my favourites to write for so request him as much as you want!! Thank you for sending me your request and trusting me with it! I hope you like it! I hope I've done your request justice! I do enjoy writing Soulmate AUs and finding new ways to approach them. I hope you all enjoy!

Warnings: mentions of pain and food, some swearing, passing out - but there's some really cute fluff at the end I promise!! I don’t just write angst!!!

Word count: 2.1k

In the muggle world, the idea of soulmates is very much a fairy tale whispered to little girls and boys before promises of sweet dreams. The idea, though, follows muggles to adulthood; always wondering whether there was someone out there perfectly made for them.

In the wizarding world, the magic of soulmates is very real. Young witches and wizards hang onto the tales of their parents, of their grandparents who had found their soulmate in the other.

When asked repeatedly by curious minds – how did you know? How will I know? The response was always the same: “They took away my pain.”

The sign of the soulmate bond between witches and wizards manifested itself through pain. They would feel their soulmate’s pain but could also relieve pain too. Feeling the pain of your soulmate was a marker of being ready to meet your soulmate.

But here’s the catch: to find relief from their pain, you have to be touching your soulmate.

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

Harry Potter was famously known across the wizarding community as The Boy Who Lived. He had come out his parent’s cold-blooded murder relatively unscathed. His only injury being a scar marring the right side of his forehead, perfectly shaped like a lightning bolt – or for the more morbid, the wand movement of the Killing Curse.

The scar marking his forehead was the remnants of the use of a forbidden curse.

The pain of the scar was always there; simmering under the surface of his skin like a deep ache. It only flared to a white-hot pain when the Dark Lord was nearby.

Harry was experiencing the increasing pain more often now.

Harry felt awful for his soulmate; not only would they have to live a target on their back the moment the connection was made, and the bond accepted, but they’re having to cope with the pain from his scar as well as numerous other injuries he’s received over the years.

In comparison to him, his soulmate isn’t hurt often. Which in the beginning had Harry panicking, thinking he wasn’t ready to meet his soulmate or worse, he didn’t have one. It was rare for a witch or a wizard not to have a soulmate, but it happened, and it would be Harry’s luck for him not to have one.

Then he felt it; a sharp pain in right hip as if his soulmate had walked into the edge of a table. The ache lasted for an hour and a bruise bloomed overnight. Harry didn’t like to admit it but he poked the bruise in disbelief at the very fact of his soulmate existing.

His first priority for when he met was to apologise for all the pain you had suffered so far. His second priority was to take you out to Hogsmeade, to get to know you better.

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

Your soulmate suffered with migraines.

They had to. Nothing else could explain the blinding pain you felt in the right side of your forehead that most of time had you curled up in your dorm room with the curtains to your bed closed tightly to keep the light out.

You had been experiencing your soulmate’s pain for over a year now. You were more than ready to meet them, if only to rant at them over the pain they caused you. The migraines were the start of it but then there were the dull aches of bruises and sharp pains of cuts.

A lesson on safety was your second priority if and when you met your soulmate.

Your first priority was to ensure that they wouldn’t be this hurt again.

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

Your head had felt fuzzy all day. As if it wasn’t quite working to its full potential; that there was something going on.

It had been a challenge at breakfast to eat anything; the increasing pain in your head making you too nauseous to eat a single bite. Your friend, Jenny, urged you to go back to bed – to spend the day resting. You wave off her protests, stating that you felt fine enough to go to class – you would feel better by lunch, you promise.

You steadily feel worse throughout the morning, but you put on a brave face; trying not to wince too much at loud sounds and bright lights. Jenny becomes increasingly concerned through each lesson and tells you multiple times to go back to bed, that she would grab any work you miss. You decline each time; you could make it to lunch. You wouldn’t feel this bad by lunch.

Transfiguration, luckily, is a study lesson in preparation for your upcoming OWLs. You sigh in relief at the calming environment in the classroom but despite that, the pain doesn’t lessen. Instead it increases to a steady pulse that travels from the right side of your forehead to the centre. You fight the wave of dizziness washing over you, but you know one thing.

You aren’t going to make it to lunch.

The ringing in your ears is the first sign that you’re about to collapse; the black spots dancing across your vision is the second sign. You weakly raise your hand; an attempt to tell Professor McGonagall that you didn’t feel too good and could you please go see Madame Pomfrey.

All you hear before you collapse is Professor McGonagall’s shout.

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

Across the school, in a different study session, Harry grabs at his forehead hissing at the pain running through his head like a white-hot poker.

The pain had been there all day; making his mind fuzzy and distracting him from lessons and conversations but he was used to it. His scar always hurt but it was always manageable; always able to distract himself from its pain.

He knew what the pain meant; that the Dark Lord was trying to find him, trying to infiltrate his mind. It had never hurt this much though. He bites his lip as he thinks of his soulmate, distantly wondering what you would be feeling in this very moment.

The last thing he hears before he collapses are the shouts from Ron and Hermione.

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

You come too as Jenny lays you on the hospital bed. “Madame Pomfrey,” She calls, grabbing her attention, “(Y/N) collapsed in Transfiguration.”

Madame Pomfrey rushes over to your bed, checking your forehead for a temperature and shining her wand in your eyes. She tuts as you flinch away from the light. She dismisses Jenny before bustling to one of her cupboards for a pain potion for you, muttering something about this being her second case of students passing out today and she hoped it was her last. The last thing Madame Pomfrey wanted for mass fainting to spread through the school.

Hermione and Ron both watched you be carried in; not fully conscious but moaning in pain. Hermione’s eyes flicker between your bed and Harrys’ bed where you both holds hands to your forehead. Harry for his scar. You seemingly for a headache.

Hermione gasps as she makes the connection; they don’t call her the brightest witch of her age for nothing. She runs her eyes over Harry, checking over him and deciding that he’s well enough with Ron for her to step away for a minute.

She walks over to your bed, asking quietly, “Where exactly is your pain, (Y/N)?”

You point to the right side of your forehead; right where Harry’s scar placement is. “Ron,” Hermione calls, voice wavering somewhat, “I need to talk to you for a minute.”

Ron frowns, not wanting to leave Harry in this much pain but something in Hermione’s face has him going to her side without much of a second thought. They talk in whispers; Hermione gestures between the beds, Ron’s face turns incredulous as he looks you over – at the hand held to your forehead as if the pressure will stop the pain.

It clicks with you a moment later. Their expressions; the placement of your pain.

It was him.

He was your soulmate.

Harry Potter was your soulmate.

You pull yourself into sitting position, ignoring the wave of dizziness and nausea washing over you. Throwing your legs over the side of the hospital bed, you grit your teeth as you push yourself, so you’re stood up.

Ron comes to your side, asking if you need any help. You manage a small nod before gripping his arm for dear life. Ron leads you to Harry’s bed where he’s almost whimpering with the pain in his head.

Your heart breaks slightly at the sight of him tensed up, eyes screwed up in pain.

You flex your fingers before gently placing them on Harry’s head.

You sag at the immediate relief from the pain in your head, propping yourself up against Harry’s bed. His body relaxes into the bed, his breathing becoming more even.

“You’re-” Harry starts, blinking rapidly, swallowing, “You’re my soulmate.”

You smile down at him, enjoying the lack of pain for the moment, “I guess I am.”

Harry hums, “You’re hand feels nice.”

“I’m glad it does,” You drawl, “It’s nice not to be in pain.”

Harry frowns, sorrow reflected in his eyes, “I’m sorry about that. It’s my scar.”

“I know,” You say softly, running your hand through his messy hair in comfort, “At least we know how to stop it now.”

Harry nods, “I wonder why it works though; I didn’t think anything worked on curse scars.”

You frown, thinking back to your lesson on curses and their scars in Defence Against the Dark Arts, “Neither did I actually.”

“I have a theory,” Hermione pipes from her spot at the bottom of the bed where she’s watching the scene unfold in front of her, “Your scar comes from a place of hate. He isn’t able to feel love. The magic of the soulmate bond is larger than the dark magic that made your scar.”

“That makes a lot of sense.” You state, smiling at the brunette, “Thank you, Hermione.”

She shrugs, “It’ll be nice to have another girl in the group. As much as I like Quidditch, there’s only so much of it I can take.”

You smile at her, “I look forward to it.”

Hermione nods, turning to Ron whispering that they should leave now to let Harry and his soulmate have some peace. Harry’s in safe hands now. They both smile at you as they leave the hospital wing; happy that Harry’s found his soulmate.

Your attention falls back to Harry as he shuffles along the bed, making room for you. “If you think you’re going far, think again.”

You laugh softly, hopping onto the bed next to him, moving your hand from his forehead to hold his hand in yours. “How’s the pain now?” You quietly ask him.

Harry hums, knocking his foot against yours, “A lot better now. How’s yours?”

“Good. I’m feeling a lot better too.” You reply, knocking his foot with yours in retaliation.

You’re both quiet for a moment; enjoying the new painless existence. You bite your lip in response to the feeling of elation growing inside you; you had a soulmate and it was Harry Potter. You remember the promise you made to yourself when you first started to feel his pain over a year ago: you were going to try your very best that he would never feel this pain again, and if he did, you would always be there to lessen it.

Harry’s thumb rubs comforting circles over the back of your hand. You hum at the feeling of it; not knowing something could feel so good.

“I’m sorry,” He whispers, repeating his words from earlier, as if one apology was not nearly enough.

“What for?” You ask, puzzled.

“All the pain. I knew my soulmate would have to deal with a lot, so I want to apologise.”

You grip his hand tighter as if trying to covey your emotions through your touch, “It’s okay. At least we know we can stop the pain now.”

Harry smiles, “I don’t think I’ll be letting you out my sight now that I know who you are and that we don’t need to be in pain.”

You shuffle closer to him, if that’s at all possible on the small hospital bed. “I like the sound of that.” You murmur, “I don’t think I’ll be letting you out of my sight either; you have a knack for landing yourself in trouble.”

He laughs, “You’re right, I do.” He pauses, “I know that we’re soulmates, but I’d like to do this properly. Would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?” He asks, a light blush dusting his cheeks.

“I’d love to.” You answer; savouring the smile that breaks across his face.

You let your head fall to his shoulder, shuffling into a comfier position. Harry becomes slightly brazen as he kisses the side of your head before putting his head on top of yours. For now, it was pure bliss to enjoy a painless moment.

The power of a simple touch could heal so much.

*************

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#harry potter x reader #harry potter fanfiction #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfic #harry james potter #harry potter drabble #harry potter masterlist #soulmate au #soulmate alternate universe #soulmates #harry potter x you #harry potter x y/n #hp fandom #hp fanfiction #hp fanfic #hp imagine #harry potter x female reader #harry potter fluff #fluff #cute #harry potter oneshot #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines

[whimsicallyreading]

The Answer is Love

“You rescued me when my mind was a prison. You set me free when no one else would listen. Now I finally feel complete, and I will follow you into the sea of eternity-” Broadside

-Crescent City AHOEAB dribbles because I love these two idiots <3 Prompts are currently open.

CW- Pure fluff only

Ear Ache-

Bryce woke up knowing the day would be terrible.

Pain stabbed through her skull like shards of glass through the soft flesh of her brain. She felt cold but knew her skin would be hot to the touch. Every little noise sent lashes of pain through her ears that ripped and tore until all she wanted to do was curl into a ball on her bed and cry.

She had an ear infection.

A common condition that put could put most fae out for days. Even a half-breed like her. Their ears were sensitive on an average day, like delicate instruments, they picked up the slightest sounds and caught the faintest melodies. They also required a lot of care. Tiny pains that would only pose a sight nuisance to most creatures could send a fae soldier to their knees.

Bryce had only suffered through this a couple of times in her life. Once when she was a toddler and her mother had just met Randall. When Ember couldn't console her crying child and was on the brink of an exhausted mother meltdown, Randall swooped in and saved the day. He'd laid her over his shoulder and massaged the insides of her ears. A trick he'd learned in Pangera to soothe fae children whose sensitive hearing became shot from the explosives.

It could put Bryce to sleep in minutes, and Randall still bragged to the present day. Not that she complained. Even as a teenager with school-induced migraines, she would lay her head in his lap, and just the comfort of it could ease the ache in her head...and her heart.

Bryce wished he was here now as she smothered her head under a pillow to block out the hum of the firstlights. Pain. Shattering, consuming pain.

"Bryce, are you awake?" Hunt knocked on her door.

Damn his knocking. Bang. Bang. Bang. Her eyes watered, and tears poured down her face. Bryce would holler for him to please shut up if the sound of her blood rushing through her head wasn't bothering her.

"Bryce?" The door creaked open. She'd put off oiling the hinges. Squeel, Squeak, Scratch.

She sobs quietly.

A feather-soft touch brushes against her cheek. "Tell me what's wrong, Sweetheart."

His warm voice that would typically send chills down her spine makes her body quake in a not so pleasurable way. Bryce doesn't dare reach up to touch the source of her pain for fear they may suddenly erupt. Thankfully, Hunt notices her flinch. His eyes crawl up her figure, scouring her for illness or injury.

"My ears," she mouthes to him.

Hunt's eyes shine with sympathy. He picks up Bryce's phone from her bedside table and shines the light on bright down into them. His eyes squint, and he examines them with as much care as a medwitch.

Frowning at whatever he discovers, Hunt makes his way out of the room with all the quietness of the Umbra Mortis. When he comes back, he has a long, heating compress in his hands. One that Bryce used to wrap around her thigh on bad days when she still had the venom from the kristallos clinging to the bone.

Gently guiding her into a sitting position, Hunt squeezes himself behind her so that her back is flush to his chest. He takes the heating compress, lays it across his front, and then carefully positions Bryce's head, so one ear lays against the warmth.

A large, scarred hand appears at her mouth and slips a tablet between her lips, followed by an icy drink of water. A softly hummed melody vibrates the side of her face, soft enough not to disturb her ears. The rhythm is low and soothing, making Bryce's eyes droop in content.

A warm finger massages the ear that faces away from him, helping release the pressure building up inside it. Relief wells up in Bryce so strongly that a breathy sigh escapes her lips.

Soon, she is blissfully asleep in a cocoon of soft velvet feathers.

When she wakes, it's late in the afternoon. The fading sunlight forms a warm pool on the floor where Syrinx is curled up happily. Bryce nestles her head against the hard pillow of Hunt's impressive pecs. Cracking her eyes, she sees a pair of shoes that are not his at the bedside.

"Ruhn?" Bryce's voice is barely a whisper to keep from agitating her own ears.

He looks a little too smug at their position and waves a small dropper and bottle in her face. "Hunt texted me that you would need this," Rhun said, matching her volume, keeping his voice soft. "Also, I fed Syrinx. You're welcome. He was nearly about to break in here and bite your ass."

Bryce laughed, then winced at the spike of pressure throbbing in her ears. The motion of which causes Hunt to stir beneath her.

Rhun looks at her in sympathy. "Come on. I'll help you put the drops in."

Careful not to wake Hunt, Rhun grabs her under the arms and moves her to the foot of the bed. Tilting her head, Bryce allows him to drip the correct number of droplets in each ear.

The relief is swift as the throbbing subsides to a dull ache. "That's some powerful stuff."

A shift of the bed, Hunt's eyes open, and he quickly takes in her state and the number of people in the room. Of course, he wouldn't be able to sleep through the invasion of their shared space, even if it was just her brother—insufferable males. "I'm sorry, Sweetheart. I meant to wake you before Ruhn got here, but I dozed off."

He sits up and gathers her in his arms once more. Bryce is more than content to comply, his warm body like a drug to her too-cold skin.

Hunt lets her nuzzle her face into his neck as he gives Ruhn a predatory look over the top of her head. "You can go now."

"I literally just got here," her brother complains, brows furrowed in annoyance.

Hunt leans back with Bryce in his arms, combing a hand through her wine-dark hair. "You could have just called up and given me the drops downstairs, but you showed yourself inside. "You've brought me the medicine, and now you've overstayed your welcome. Your sister is very sick. Not fit for company."

Bryce could swear the testosterone was flying in the air like sparks as they got into a silent pissing contest with one another.f

Grumbling, Ruhn finally concedes and bids her goodbye. Cursing out Hunt for his lack of appreciation as he shows himself out the door.

"There. All better. Now we can watch Lunathion Lover's Lockdown without judgment. It's a new episode." She looks up at Hunt to find him mischievously grinning down at her. "We can make popcorn."

"Popcorn and Trash TV?" Bryce murmurs. "You really know the way to my heart, Athalar."

Hunt moves her to the couch and buries her in a mound of blankets. After coffee, popcorn, and several hours of mind-numbing reality shows- albeit at a barely audible volume- Bryce felt leagues better.

Later on, after Hunt had gone to take a shower, she opens her messages to see Ruhn had texted to check on her. Juniper had dm-ed her and offered to bring food by for both of them. And she had missed calls from her mother that Bryce decided she would get back to later.

Bryce's heart swelled. It had been a long time since she felt so loved. Many things had changed, and just maybe, they were finally for the better.

Lemme know if you would like to be added to a tag list! 

Prompts for this fic are OPEN :) DM them or feel free to send them through the ask feature. I love hearing from everybody! 

#crescent city #bryce quinlan #hunt athalar #hunt and bryce #fluff #drabble

[justanother-unluckysoul]

CS Fic: You Are My Shelter

Rating: T

Word count: 5k

Summary: An unexpected blizzard hits while Emma and Killian are enjoying a quiet vacation in their forest cabin, forcing them to shelter in place until it passes. The temporary isolation probably wouldn’t have been so bad if Killian hadn’t also gotten injured.

A completely self-indulgent story that hopefully some of you will enjoy.

A/N: Bet you weren’t expecting another story from me so soon but this one kind of appeared out of nowhere, built from one sentence and a vague vibe. It was basically just an excuse to whump Killian a bit, but also to write snuggly cosy CS scenes when real life weather was cold and gross.

Read on AO3

You Are My Shelter

“I’ll be back soon,” Emma had said with a quick kiss to his lips, “Just be careful up there, okay?”

Killian had told her not to worry, that he’d spent centuries climbing the rigging on the Jolly Roger and that clearing the chimney of their holiday cabin would be easy. She had been worried, but he’d placated her, and she’d cautioned him one last time before reluctantly leaving for town. There was a storm brewing, carrying a threat of heavy rain and early-season snow, and both of them wanted to be prepared in case it turned out worse than predicted. But either way, the fireplace was certainly going to get some use, hence why Killian was clearing bird nests from the chimney. It was overdue really, but they hadn’t been out here for a few months, their little cabin nestled in a forest about an hour’s drive away from Storybrooke. The sun was getting low, but the work warms him up quickly, enough to be quite comfortable in just the shirt and trousers he’d stripped to before he’d started. He hadn’t been lying when he said he was used to heights and climbing. Even the slipperiness of the shingles wasn’t unexpected, and he was carefully bracing himself and planting his feet firmly. So Killian isn’t sure what happened. The wind was getting stronger; he could see rain on the horizon, creeping closer and maybe he tried to rush a little bit, wanting to get the job done and get off the roof before the weather turned. Whatever the cause, his foot slips, he scrambles for a handhold and there’s none, Killian is sliding and falling and he really should have had some sort of rope to hold him. The benefit of hindsight. There’s a moment of weightless terror as he goes off the edge of the roof and plunges unchecked towards the ground. He doesn’t remember landing.

Wake up, Killian, please. I can't carry you. 

Emma is panicked, almost in tears, the urgency with which she pulls at his shirt and pats his cheeks drawing him back to a groggy awareness. He is so tired. He's not certain he's even awake now, his surroundings taking on a surreal, distant quality as he tries to blink Emma's frightened face into focus. He thinks he’s lying on the ground, though he’s so numb and tired he’s not certain of that either. What happened? he tries to ask, but the sound he actually makes is more like a weak groan than anything comprehensible.

Killian, please wake up. I need you to help me. 

Somehow he’s on his feet. His body doesn't feel like his own, slow and so, so heavy. Emma dragging him forwards, the world blurring around them, just a little further, Killian, we're almost there. He stumbles through the cabin doorway into the dark room beyond, only Emma's hold on him keeping him from collapsing right there. When he does fall, it's onto something soft - a bed, perhaps. He thinks Emma is trying to get his damp clothes off; that's a good idea, he'll surely catch his death from cold if he stays in them. He should help her. But his strength is depleted, the world is going dark once more, and he knows nothing after that.

 He comes to with a scorching pressure against his back, and when he tries to squirm away, he notices the arm wrapped around his middle, searing and restrictive.

"Lie still, Killian," Emma murmurs and he feels as though his skin blisters under her breath on his neck. 

Emma, stop, it hurts, he tries but he is weak and trembling and the words are too quiet, slurred between his numb lips and dry tongue.

"Lie still. It's okay." 

He groans, giving up. He is too bloody tired to fight anymore. His fingers and toes have started to prickle with sensations, as though they are just coming back to life. And now the shivers begin to roll through him in earnest, relentless and uncomfortable, rattling his teeth.

"Shhh. You’re okay. Come back to me, Killian."

He whimpers and groans and keeps shaking, while Emma maintains her tight hold on him and coaches him gently as his breath drags roughly against his parched throat, relax, Killian, it's okay, everything's going to be okay, I promise. As his body slowly crawls back from the brink of frozen death, Killian can hear the howl of wind against the cabin walls, the storm shaking the window panes while something in the roof rattles threateningly with each gust. He’s wrapped in Emma’s arms, her body pressed against his naked back, blankets piled atop them both.

“Are you with me, Killian?” Emma asks softly, and her breath doesn’t burn him this time, his skin slowly warming.

“S-swan,” he whispers; all he can manage right now.

“Oh, thank god.” Her voice is a damp sob against his neck.

She shifts now, sliding away and rolling him onto his back, the warm blankets pulled away. He wants them back. He wants Emma back.

“I have to… I have to stitch this. Shit, Killian, it’s-”

Her breath shudders, and Killian wants - needs - to see what’s happened, what’s upsetting Emma. He needs to reassure her that he’s okay. But he hasn’t the strength to move; with his blood warming, awareness trickling back in, his head has begun to throb and spin woozily, and there’s a growing cognition of the deep pain in his thigh. He can do nothing but lie there helplessly, teeth gritted against the discomfort as Emma pokes at what he supposes is a nasty wound on his leg. He misses the blankets. He’s still shivering miserably, though he can no longer tell if it’s from cold or heat or simply the pain. There are too many sensations, the agony in his thigh increasing exponentially under Emma’s hesitant ministrations and despite his best efforts to stay conscious, Killian is soon floating away in a daze. The wind roars - or perhaps that is him, he can’t tell. His mind is entirely lost to the pain and the misery; no amount of soothing words will be able to reach it now, though he can hear Emma trying anyway. The wind is going to tear this cabin apart, as surely as the pain is tearing him apart, his agonized cries lost beneath the scream of the storm.

***

The world is muted, soft sounds filtering into Kllian’s ears as though from a great distance. He's more exhausted than he's ever been in his life, yet at the same time it feels as though he's been lying in this bed for days, drifting in a haze of restless sleep amid the pain that's still twinging in his leg. His leg twitches without conscious thought, and the twinge becomes a vicious bolt of pain, his teeth gritted against it and the encroaching darkness as his back arches, hand clawing at the blanket to steady himself. Staying as still as he can, taking deep lungfuls of precious air, vowing to never move again if that is the result, waiting for the pain to ease. Killian remembers Emma being with him before - remembers a soft touch and gentle words - but there had also been a searing, deep agony in his thigh and a terrible pounding in his head, and he had been cold and confused and so weak, desperate for Emma just to hold him. For her soothing embrace to allow him to find some measure of peace amongst the torment, to ground him in reality as the pain and exhaustion twisted the world around him. But she hadn't held him the way he wished, too busy trying to piece him back together, her voice distant as she worked. And peace had come for Killian, eventually, in the form of blissful unconsciousness, ignoring Emma's increasingly desperate pleas for him to keep fighting the lure of the dark; she should know by now that Killian had never been good at resisting darkness. But he is awake now, the room bathed in weak daylight that doesn’t hurt his head, a roaring fire lit in the hearth casting a warmth through the room. The blankets are thick and heavy and soft, and Killian is in no hurry to move from this position of relative comfort, the ice finally gone from his veins, the pain ebbing away. Emma creeps into the room holding a cup of something steaming and sweet, her thick socks barely making a sound on the floorboards, smiling in relief when she sees him awake.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, setting the cup on the bedside drawers and easing herself onto the mattress beside him.

“Tired,” he admits, “Hurts to move.”

Emma presses her hand against his forehead briefly before tugging the blankets down so she can check his wound. He tries not to flinch as she carefully peels the bandage away and prods gently at the sensitive skin around the injury.

“No sign of infection,” she muses, “It’s just going to take time to heal. It was very deep.”

She covers him back up.

“You should drink something. I know you’re hurting, but can you sit up for me?”

Sitting up is agony, but with Emma’s help he manages to get upright, propped against the pillows, his arm wrapped around his middle as he sucks in sharp, shaky breaths. The room tilts away from him and he grabs clumsily for Emma’s arm, his head pounding.

“You okay?” she murmurs, and he shakes his head, swallowing thickly, “Shh, I’ve got you. Take some slow breaths, that’s it.” 

She has procured a wet washcloth from somewhere, and she uses it to wipe the cold sweat from his face as he struggles against the urge to vomit, the combination of pain and dizziness rising to an unbearable level. It feels like hours before his body calms, before the pain eases back to a dull ache and the room settles, and he can take the offered cup of tea. Though it must not have really been hours because the tea is still quite warm. The gentle spice of it soothes his churning stomach and calms the trembling of his hands as he sips at it, watching Emma stack more wood onto the dwindling fire.

“The storm…?”

“Still here,” she replies, “But it’s snowing now.” 

Killian can’t see out the window well from this angle; there’s only white nothingness beyond the glass, but he doesn’t dare move again so he simply takes Emma’s word for it. He’s content to stay where he is now, leant against the pillows with tea in hand and the blankets pooled around his waist as the fire begins to roar in its box once more.

“Do you need anything else?” Emma asks, when she’s satisfied with the state of the fire. 

“Just you, love.”

Emma smiles and ducks her head, a slight blush rising on her cheeks at his statement. She is still not quite sure how to respond to Killian’s casual affection, the openness with which he loves her, and so he’s made a vow to himself to say such things to her as often as possible until she accepts it without this uncomfortable hesitation. He pats the space next to him. 

“Come sit with me, Emma. It’s too miserable a day not to spend it in bed.”

It doesn’t take much to convince her. She tucks herself close to Killian’s side, pulling the blanket over herself as well, her socked toes pressed against his legs as she rests her head on his shoulder.

“Like this?” Emma asks.

“Perfect,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

He drinks the rest of his tea in silence, letting the crackle of the fire fill the room instead, the soft warmth of Emma’s body curling into him lulling him into a contented doze by the time he’s finished the drink.

 Killian wakes lying on his back once again, his eyes sticky and his mouth dry. The room is darker now but no less warm, the fire still crackling away, the outside chill barred by the heavy curtains now drawn across the windows. Killian’s hand flexes towards the thick bandages around his thigh. The pain is a deep, relentless ache, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. Tentatively, Killian takes a deeper breath, shifts his legs a little, relieved when it doesn’t hurt too much more than lying still does. He’s not brave enough to try sitting up yet, not without assistance, though it would be nice to soothe his parched throat with the glass of water he can see sitting on the cabinet beside the bed. After a moment, his thirst overrides his reluctance to move.

“Emma,” he rasps, and it’s a bloody miracle she actually hears him from the main room. 

“Hey.” She’s at his side in a moment, checking his forehead again, fussing over him anxiously. “What is it?”

“Thirsty,” Killian whispers.

“Okay. Did you want to try sitting up again?”

He nods, and she gently assists him upright, stuffing pillows behind his back, brushing her fingers slowly through his hair until the spinning in his head settles and he can take the glass. The water is delicious, fresh and cool, and he has to resist the urge to gulp it all down as fast as possible, taking slow, small sips instead until the glass is empty.

“I’ve got some soup on the stove if you want to eat.” Emma tucks the blanket higher around his waist. “You should eat.”

The smell wafting into the bedroom is actually making him salivate a little; he hadn’t realized how hungry he was until now. He wonders how long it’s been since he last ate. Once he’s eating a bowl of steaming soup, Emma stokes up the fire and then settles cross legged at the end of the bed, tucking into her own meal. 

“How long has it been?” Killian asks, “Since… since you found me.”

Emma glances at her watch.

“Uh, that was yesterday evening. So, about a day, I guess?”

“Bloody hell.” He’s stunned to know he’s been barely conscious for such a long time. No wonder Emma was worried. “It’s not still snowing, is it?”

Emma bites at her lip anxiously. “It is. The rain had turned to snow by the time I got home, and you were just… just lying there, soaked through. God, Killian, I thought you were…” She can’t bring herself to say it.

“I’m going to be alright, love,” Killian assures her, wishing Emma wasn’t sitting quite so far away that he can’t reach out and comfort her.

“I’ve phoned for help last night, but nobody can get in because the snow is too thick already. We… could be stuck here for a while.” She picks at a loose thread on the blanket, her dinner forgotten.

Her fear is palpable, and not unwarranted. Killian hasn’t gotten a look at his leg yet, but he knows Emma had to sew it closed, and knows it must have been a vicious gash. He must have caught it on something on the roof as he’d slid. Whatever the cause, it’s a nasty injury; he can feel that much. 

“There’s no one I’d rather be stuck with,” he says, with far more cheerfulness than he feels.

Emma smiles at that, but her eyes are still troubled. Killian gestures at her half finished bowl, you need to eat too, my love. She does, but slowly, and he can tell she’s struggling to get it down, her worry ruining her appetite. His heart aches. He’s annoyed that he didn’t have the foresight to use a rope, because he should have known better. More than anything, he hates being the cause of Emma’s stress. She’s been through enough without having to worry about him over a stupid mistake.

 After dinner, Emma helps Killian limp to the bathroom. It feels good to be out of bed, although Emma is quick to coax him back when he’s done.

“I’m okay, Emma,” he says, feeling like he’s said it so many times already, “I’m not going to break.”

Truthfully, walking around is hurting his leg and the dizziness has returned now that he’s standing up, but it’s a small price to pay for the freedom of being on his feet again. Emma observes him with a furrowed brow, her lips pursed, but Killian gently kisses that expression off her face.

“I’m sorry I scared you, love. But I promise I’m feeling better. You’ve done a good job here.” He gestures to his thigh, where the neat line of stitches are pinching at him if he’s not careful enough. “But just for you, sweetheart, I’ll go back to bed for a while. Okay?”

“Okay. And I… I should check your leg again. We can’t risk infection.”

It hasn’t been long since she last looked at it, but Killian asquieces, shimmying his trousers off and settling back on the bed, knowing she needs this to allay her fears. Her hands are steady as she presses her fingers lightly beside the line of stitches, and Killian can’t help the tensing of his stomach muscles as she does, fighting with his body’s instinct to pull away from the touch so close to his wound. A soft grunt is all that escapes him, but it’s enough to make Emma’s face crumple in guilt as she pauses.

“Sorry,” she whispers, and Killian quickly shakes his head.

“It’s alright.”

She watches him for a moment longer and he is careful to keep any sign of pain from his expression, before she returns to her task. Emma’s brow furrows in concentration as she tends his injury, the corner of her mouth pulling in a small grimace, before her eyes dart back up to meet Killian's. He tries to give her a reassuring smile.

“How does it look?” he asks.

“It’s… it’s okay. I think.” Emma sighs, looking tired and stressed. “I’m not good at this, Killian. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You’re doing fine, love,” he tells her sincerely, “And as soon as we get back to Storybrooke, you can use your magic to heal it completely.”

He tugs her closer so he can kiss her again.

“I know,” she says, “I just worry. Between the concussion, and the hypothermia, and the nearly bleeding to death…” She presses her fingers against his lips, halting the words that he’d been about to speak. “And don’t just tell me you’re a survivor.” 

Killian chuckles softly as she moves her fingers, stroking along his jawline. Emma knew him too well; that had been exactly the line he was about to say. 

“Alright, I won’t. But I will be alright, Swan, in your care. And I’m sure we’ll be out of here soon.”

 ***

The following day had started a bit brighter, the snowfall easing, and Killian had spent the morning on the couch, trying to read but his eyes refused to focus, and stubbornly trying anyway had only brought his headache back. So he set the book aside and watched Emma potter about the cabin instead, fetching firewood and melting snow for drinking water. The frigid nights had frozen the water pipes solid, and with no sun to warm them during the day, there was no running water. It didn't bother Killian much - he still considered such modern conveniences to be a luxury. And though he would have appreciated a warm bath or something today, he's not about to ask Emma to fill one for him. He feels useless enough, frustrated and bored, stuck sitting on the couch while Emma does all the work, without adding to her list of chores. 

“Hey, are you doing okay?” He’s pulled out of his self-pity by Emma sitting beside him, taking the book from his loose fingers. 

“I’m fine,” he says automatically, his voice distant and hollow in his own ears. 

Emma doesn’t believe him, he can tell. She reaches out to smooth the furrow between his brows, fingers carding through his hair as he leans into the touch. The gentle pressure against his scalp feels so good, easing the tightness his attempt at reading had caused.

“You can be honest with me,” she whispers, “Please. I want to help.”

“No, it’s okay. You’ve already done so much, Emma, I can’t...” I can’t ask for more, it wouldn’t be right.

“But you’re hurting, aren’t you? Is it your head?”

He nods, eyes falling closed as he accepts the comfort she offers him. 

“Maybe reading wasn’t the best idea.” Killian hums in agreement. “Do you want to go back to bed? Maybe lying down will help.”

“I’m tired of lying down,” he complains, sharper than he intended, his head lolling against the back of the couch miserably. 

“Okay.” Emma’s quiet, patient tone only makes him feel worse, angry with himself for lashing out. 

Instead of saying anything else, Emma simply picks up the discarded book, tucks her knees up and cuddles closer to him, and begins to read the story aloud. Killian’s protest is instinctive.

“Swan, you don’t n-” 

“Shh, I’m reading,” Emma says firmly, and continues.

An amused, affectionate chuckle escapes Killian. Gods above, he is so lucky to have this woman in his life. 

 Emma has hardly stopped pacing all evening, stealing fretful glances out the window, where the snow is falling thick and fast once more. The power had gone out around midday but they were prepared for it, candles for lighting and the fireplace for cooking. It was cosy like this, in the warmth and dimness. After dinner, Killian had moved from the couch to the rug by the fire, much to Emma’s concern, but here he can be useful, stoking the fire when it gets low, and with the blanket wrapped around his shoulders at Emma’s insistence, he’s really quite comfortable. He’d fallen asleep while she read to him earlier, like a child which was rather embarrassing, but when he woke his headache had gone and he’d felt quite a bit better. But Emma had been anxious again by then, the calm softness she’d exuded as she read to him now entirely gone from her demeanor as she walked the length of the cabin. Back and forth, over and over. 

“If you keep that up, you’ll wear a track into the floorboards,” Killian teases.

Emma doesn’t seem to appreciate, or even notice, his attempt at lightening the mood.

“It’s still snowing,” she notes worriedly.

He pushes himself up from the floor, wincing at the pull of healing skin and the ache in his knees from too long spent folded. Emma reaches for him quickly, in that fussing way she has whenever his face twists in pain, but he takes her into his arms before she can do anything.

“We’ll be alright, love.”

A slight shiver passes through her as she returns his embrace.

“I’m just… I’m scared, Killian.”

“Nothing is going to happen to you, Emma. I won’t let it.”

She pushes her hand against his chest, creating just enough distance so she can look at his face.

“I’m not scared for myself,” she whispers, her eyes shining bright with unshed tears, “Killian, I’m scared for you.”

It hits him hard, hearing her fears spoken aloud, and guilt wracks him at the expression on her face.

“I’m sorry,” he says, pulling her close once more, “I’m so sorry, love. But we’re going to be fine, I promise you.”

She hiccups a sob into Killian's chest and he shushes her, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back as he holds her tight.

“You can’t promise that," Emma whimpers, and his heart shatters because he knows it's true.

They are going to be trapped in this place for gods know how long, and Killian’s utterly helpless to do anything about it. Even if he wasn’t injured, the unpredictable and freezing conditions outside makes any attempt to leave ill advised, if not impossible. And he knows his wound worries Emma, bringing her fears of infection and complications, though her medical prowess had so far proved commendable. 

“We’ve faced worse odds than a little snow, darling,” Killian says, with far more conviction than he feels, “We will be alright.”

“It’s more than a little snow,” she argues, but her voice is steadier now, Killian’s strong front doing as intended to unleash a little more strength of her own.

He holds her a little longer, his hand moving to smooth her hair until Emma takes a deep breath and pulls away.

“Sorry.” She wipes her eyes and sniffs a few times. “Sorry. I’m okay.”

“It’s alright, love,” he says, “It’s been a rough couple of days.” Killian palms her cheek gently, his thumb brushing an errant tear from her face. “Do you want to come to bed now?”

She nods, taking another deep, shaky breath.

“Let me just put some more wood on the fire first.”

“Okay.”

Killian’s already settled into bed by the time Emma returns, stomping the snow off her boots as she enters the cabin, a blast of frigid air following her before she can slam the door shut. In a few minutes, the firebox is filled with extra logs and Emma slips under the blankets beside him, tucking herself close, her toes like ice against his legs.

“Bloody hell, Swan,” he yelps, flinching away, “Where are your socks? Put your socks back on.”

Emma giggles, having entirely too much fun poking him with her freezing feet, making him squirm and curse until he flips over, pinning her solidly beneath his body. She’s grinning up at him, more relaxed than Killian’s seen her in days. The movements have caused his injury to throb again, but he carefully hides any sign of pain in his expression. He doesn’t want to bring down the mood.

“That was bad form,” he tells her in mock-irritation.

“Yeah?” Emma breathes, and she’s clearly flirting with him, trying to goad him into something more.

Killian leans down slowly, until his lips are nearly brushing her ear, feeling her body shiver with anticipation before he growls-

“Where did you leave your socks, Emma?”

And she dissolves into giggles again, as expected, and Killian can’t help laughing with her as he rolls back over onto the mattress. They’re terribly tangled in the covers now but neither of them care. 

“Seriously though, my love, please put your socks back on.”

She goes quiet, suddenly, a morose mood falling back over the room and Killian turns to look at her.

“What’s wrong?”

“The snow has gotten too deep,” she says, quiet and shameful and anxious, “It went over the top of my boots tonight and… my socks got wet.”

“They’ll dry, love.” He doesn’t understand why she’s so upset about this. Surely she’s dealt with damp socks before? “Have you put them by the fire?”

“Yes, but I’m not worried about that, Killian,” she snaps, frustrated, and Killian rubs her arm soothingly, “My socks might dry tonight, but the same thing will just happen again when I go out in the morning. Because it’s still snowing. We’re trapped, Killian, and you- What if- How much longer-”

Killian gathers her into his arms and kisses her forehead, silencing her panicked rambling as her mind jumps from one horrible thought to another. 

“Shh, my darling, don’t fret,” he murmurs, “My wound is healing well, you know that. And we still have enough food and firewood for an entire week. Perhaps even longer, if we rationed it out. We’ll figure a way around the sock thing, okay?”

Emma sighs, relaxing into his embrace.

“Okay.” She nuzzles the tip of her nose against his chest. “I’m sorry. It’s just… I just worry. I hate being…”

“Trapped?”

“Helpless.”

“You aren’t helpless, Emma. Trapped, yes, but only for now. This foul weather won’t last, and we’ll be home soon enough.”

She hums softly. Killian can’t tell if it’s in agreement or dismissal, but either way, Emma burrows tighter into his hold and not long afterwards, her breathing has deepened in sleep. Killian lies awake much longer, his own mind racing with possibilities and plans that could get them out of here, before he finally succumbs to his own tiredness as well.

***

Dawn finds the fire all but burned out, but weak sunlight is creeping between the curtains for the first time since the storm. There’s a steady dripping sound from somewhere; snow melting off the roof, perhaps - he hopes. Killian slips out of bed, careful not to wake Emma, and pads quietly to the window, peering out at the white surroundings. The sky is clear, brilliantly blue in contrast to the snow. He calls out to Emma, jubilant and more relieved than he can remember feeling in a long time.

“What is it?” Emma mumbles groggily, sitting up with the blanket pulled up to her chest to ward off the chill in the room.

“See for yourself,” he says, pulling the curtains open and allowing the sunshine to fill the room.

Emma gasps in delight, her sleepiness forgotten as she throws the blankets aside and quickly joins him at the window.

“It’s stopped snowing. Killian, we… we can leave.”

Giddy with relief, Emma spins around to hug him tightly.

“I told you we’d be alright, didn’t I?” he says, and before he knows what’s happening Emma is kissing him hard, her body pressed impossibly close to his, a hand sliding down the bare skin of his back to bring him even closer as the days of stress and worry pour out of her in one deliriously hot kiss.

“Just one more thing before we go,” she mumbles against his lips.

Killian groans into her mouth, his body immediately responding to her actions, to the need and urgency with which she’s kissing him and he’s kissing her, his hand in her hair and his hook at her hip. Hardly breaking for air, he manuevours them smoothly back to the bed, falling onto the rumpled blankets, hissing in pain as his wound makes itself known again. Emma grimaces.

“Sorry, I-”

“I’m okay, love,” Killian assures her, “We can keep going.”

He kisses her again, slow and sensual this time, the mood changing from the frantic urgency to something gentle and easy, but no less passionate. Perhaps they won’t go further than tasting each other’s lips, enjoying the reassurance of a loving embrace - though with Emma gasping his name, whispering I love you as Killian’s hand and mouth trace teasing patterns across her soft skin, the allure is almost too strong for Killian to hold himself back. He’s so focused on Emma, on their closeness and how good it feels, that he doesn’t register the sound of an engine until there’s a knock at the door and someone calling out to anyone home? Of course. Now that the storm has passed, they are being ‘rescued’.

“Bloody hell,” Killian gasps, the realization like a wave of cold water thrown against his face.

Way to ruin the mood. Emma is soft and warm and needy beneath him and he is sorely tempted to yell out give us a few more minutes, mate! but he knows he shouldn’t. Emma laughs breathlessly.

“Damn it,” she says.

“My sentiments exactly.”

He rolls off her to flop onto his back, running his hand over his face in annoyance.

“Aren’t you going to go see who it is?” Emma giggles, sitting up and raising an eyebrow at the state of him, and Killian frowns at her, not nearly so amused by this situation as she seems to be.

“I think I need a minute,” he mutters, his voice ragged.

Emma jumps off the bed and tries to smooth down her tangled hair, pulling her clothes on in a rush as the knock sounds again.

“I’m coming!” she calls out, and shoots Killian a glare, hissing, “Don’t even say it.”

He quickly shuts his mouth against the dirty innuendo he was about to say, smirking instead and Emma rolls her eyes at him, but she’s smiling as she leaves the room.

 Once Killian has calmed down enough he thinks it won’t be too obvious what they’d been up to, he slips his own clothes back on and limps to the door. The rescue team is determined to take them both straight to the hospital, although Killian insists he’s fine, that Emma had tended his wound already. Besides that - though he doesn’t give this information to the strangers - as soon as they’re over the town line again she can simply use her magic to heal it completely. But they won’t be swayed. Killian clenches his jaw and glares fiercely at their rescuers, his annoyance only tempered by Emma’s gentle hand on his arm.

“It won’t take long,” Emma murmurs, “And then we can go home and finish what we started.” Her quiet, sultry tone is only for Killian to hear as her hand slips into his.

It takes the anger right out of him, her voice and the expression on her face. And Killian thinks she’s never looked more beautiful than right now, her face lit by the sun for the first time in several days, cheeks still flushed with the heat of their almost earlier, her eyes bright and her smile wide.

“Aye, love. I look forward to it.”

The End

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#cs ff #cs fic #whump #hurt/comfort #angst #but not too much of the angst lol #snuggly snowstorm fic #yams #my fanfics

[izzabeean]

Chapter 18 : Awakening

SUMMARY

There's a lot to unpack.

pairing : ushjima x f!reader / oikawa x f!reader / iwaizumi x f!reader

genre : angst + fluff

word count : 3,446

content : profanity

tags :  alternate universe - college/university, post-break up, friends to lovers, pining, slow burn

a/n : a/n: I'm sorry this took too long, I've been needing a mental health break with how busy life has become. This chapter is a bit rushed just because I wanted to post it before next week since I've been MIA for so long.

masterlist

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Slowly turning the key, your head starts to spin as you push the front door open to an empty apartment and a mixture of emotions surge through you. Relief that the repairs for your apartment are finally complete and you can move back to the comfort of your own home. Yet sadness swells in your chest at the realization you’ll be alone.

It’s weird. The natural response would be to get out of Oikawa’s apartment as soon as possible, sick of his antics and constant harassment. But for some incoherent reason, a part of you feels hesitant.

This heavy sensation in your chest drags you down as you walk into your apartment -- it seems so much more burdensome than when you left. Everything still feels fresh.

An agonizing pain mixed with confusion emanates off the walls flashing you back to the night Ushijima ending things. Your anxiety grows stronger as you picture his piercing hazel eyes glowering down at you after asking for you back. It's seemingly getting more and more difficult to make a decision as each moment passes and you're feeling inexplicably hopeless.  It's a terrible idea to get back together with him -- just remembering that night makes you sick. We need to talk still haunts you accompanied with his unbothered, stoic expression... Your heart starts to race trying to make sense of what you’re feeling.

Why is everything suddenly so difficult?

You clench your fists so tightly your knuckles turn white. Why does he even want you back? This isn’t something that he should take so lightly, he hurt you. Though you strongly feel anger festering within, a voice keeps whispering in your ear to take him back. You can’t tell if it’s what you truly want or it’s just the fear of disappointing your parents even more.

“How’s it looking?”

Your manic thoughts are pushed away with Oikawa as he walks further into the apartment to take a look around.

The flood -- you’d forgotten about that morning until this moment. Your heart starts beating faster as the memory rushes to the forefront, not just from the panic and frustration of waking up to a submerged apartment, but to the moment of the warmth under the covers with Oikawa’s firm body pressed up behind you. Had Oikawa been holding back the entire night you spent together? Of course, you didn’t know how long he’s had feelings for you, so surely if he did at the time, it must have been absolutely tempting to make a move on you. But why didn’t he? Truthfully, if the situation was switched then you would’ve taken the opportunity to…

“Not bad,” you answer, trying to force an honest smile, but Oikawa sees right through you.

“Why do you do that?” Oikawa says, his voice is tight on the cusp of irritation.

“Do what?” you respond quickly, hoping that he will just let this one go. But he doesn’t.

“Force yourself to smile like that,” he grunts. “You’re not good at hiding when you’re upset.”

“I’m not--”

“Bullshit,” he retorts with a harsh tone.

You bite your tongue, even more conflicted on what to say.

Oikawa sees that as he analyzes you, he knows it’s not easy for you to talk to him about stuff.  “Is something on your mind?” he asks softly, drawing his frustration back.

It’s hard to process, you’ve felt this heavy feeling for so long, you thought it was normal. The only time you’ve felt any reassurance is in Oikawa’s presence, yet for some reason, today the aching is much more prominent.  Everything feels so nerve wracking. You know he likes you and yet, it makes your heart throb.

“My parents,” you start with your voice a little shaky. “They think they know what’s best for me...”

“For the internship?”

“Yeah,” you reply quietly, eyes fixed on the ground. They also think they know it’s best for you to be with Ushijima, but you couldn’t tell Oikawa that. “Everything’s all set up and it could make me successful but…”

You turn away from him so your face is out of his view. The silence stretches between you for a moment. You feel oddly vulnerable, like the slightest touch will shatter you into pieces. If only it was easier to explain the constant pressure you receive from them, you might've tried to laugh about it upon telling him, just to make things a bit lighter. But, it wasn’t something you were ready to dig into.

“Then what do you want?” Oikawa asks, breaking the quietness.

The age old question that’s been going through your head this entire time. Truthfully, some answers seem so vivid now. You don’t want that internship… It’s not something that will excite you in any form. You want to work to achieve something and this feels like it’s just being handed to you because of your parents. There’s no drive for it.

But as for Ushijima, well...

“I don’t know,” you utter, shaking your head. “I don’t know if I ever will.”

“You’ll figure it out, I know you will,” Oikawa hums, before walking up to ruffle your hair.

Even as he pulls his hand away, his touch is still lingering, forcing you to catch your breath at the sudden surprise. His words are warm and caring as if he truly believes everything will fall into place. You want to believe him. Even the warmth in his eyes almost sways your skepticism, you can feel affection in them, but you can’t seem to grasp onto the hope he has. At this point you’re too stunned to even say a word as you allow your emotions to control you.

“When are you moving back in?” he asks, bringing you back to reality.

“Probably in the next couple days,” you breathe then pause staring at him for a bit while feeling your entire face burn up. An undeniable tension floats in the air and you're struggling to understand if it’s just your mind racing or it’s actually there. The way he manages to get your heart racing out of nowhere, the look he gives you when his chocolate eyes gaze at you, makes you want to melt… “Can you help?”

“Of course.”

------

Now that Iwaizumi is gone, it’s only standard for you to sleep in the guest bedroom. You’re not sure why a room down the hallway was more uncomfortable, but here you were tossing and turning unable to fall asleep. Of course you have other causes to your insomnia, like the pressure of deciding whether or not you should move forward with the internship and whether or not you should get back together with Ushijima. But at the very moment, your head can’t seem to wrap around the idea that Oikawa is just down the hall.

You’ve been living with him for awhile and now you decide to be nervous about it, you think.

Tucking your head under the covers, you take a deep breath inhaling the soft scents of softener and linen, a deep contrast to the sweet scent of citrus mixed with a tinge of oak in Oikawa’s room -- which you’d noticed shortly after is the essence of Oikawa. You clench your jaw, y our brain is all messed up from everything going on. Not to mention it's strange, the way Oikawa’s been so generous lately -- sweet without being boastful or bothersome, completely unlike himself. You’re not sure what you were expecting after your “fight”, but it probably wasn’t this.

You won't be sleeping anytime soon, so you get up and grab your coat, hoping an evening walk will put your mind at ease.

The night is dark and calm as you walk down the street, sidewalk lit by a streetlamp every few steps. Though quiet, your thoughts are louder than ever, pounding at your head hounding you to make a decision. As the cool air picks up and nips at your face, you quickly shove your hands in your pockets full of tissues and a cartridge. Pulling it out, you’re reminded of the evening you first bought the pack of smokes, how your agony ripped you apart to the point you had to turn to a bad habit. The recollection of relief pulsing through your body after inhaling the rich smoke tempted you as you open the pack and take out a stale cigarette that’s a bit crumpled.

The emptiness sets in and your eyes begin to gloss over as you think of what you should do next. For a moment the stress of your future can temporarily disappear with one breath, but how disappointed would Oikawa be if you did so.

That evening, when he called you in the midst of your smoke, he didn’t even know what had happened, but he was still there in a way. His voice echoes your head as he slurs that he hopes Ushijima makes you happy… It makes you hot and flustered. Oikawa always just wants what is best for you. Even if it didn’t benefit him…

You crush the cigarette into your palm and with that a shiver went down your spine. The heavy feeling in your chest seemed to lift itself a little and you almost thought you were standing a bit taller.

------

Fiddling with your pen, you look up once again at the time; class is almost over. Oikawa sits beside you, seemingly locked in on the professor's lecture. It feels unfamiliar to see him taking notes, attentively listening -- his concentration is normally as lacking as yours. Today your attention span is the worst it’s ever been trying to hone in on the dull monotone voice that booms across the class.

Then an idea sparks.

Quickly you try to grab the pen that Oikawa is writing with, but his reflexes are too swift for you as he jerks it away from your reach. A loud obnoxious screech from your chair lurching forward interrupts your professor in the middle of his lesson.

“Y/N, is everything alright?” the professor asks, while everyone’s eyes turn to you.

It’s awkward as you scoff under your breath, but sit up and readjust your seat.

“Y--yes, everything is good,” you say before having the professor return back to his stale lecture.

You let out a sigh while your face gets all flushed. The taste of desperation coats your mouth and it’s so overwhelming that you had to go to uncomfortable lengths just to feel the slightest bit of normalcy between the two of you. There’s just something about the way his irritation spikes through his tight-lipped smile and balling of fists while his eyes glare at you. You missed it.

Suddenly, a quiet snicker sounds beside you. In the corner of your eye, you can see a softness in Oikawa’s appearance and he's slightly smirking. You try not to make it obvious that you notice, but it makes your heart melt a little.

The remainder of the lesson, you continue to replay the way Oikawa’s lips almost turned up to a smile. You wish you got more of a reaction out of him, but it was enough to reassure things.  When the professor gives his final dismissal, Oikawa pops up to pack up his belongings. There’s this longing of wishing you could sit beside him longer as you slowly collect your things.

“Ushiwaka is here,”  Oikawa says, gesturing to the doorway.

You glance at the doorway noticing a familiar figure poking his head in. His eyes survey the classroom and before meeting yours, you quickly dart them away.

“Are you kidding?” you say under your breath, quickly zipping up your bag, feeling a flash of irritation course through your veins. “I’ll be right back.”

Oikawa raises his brow as he watches you speed towards Ushijima. He knew something like this was going to happen. It was only a matter of time.

But you weren’t pleased with Ushijima’s appearance.

"What are you doing?” you fume, you were quite pissed off as you pout your lips in petulant annoyance.

“I wanted to walk you to your next class,” Ushijima admits so nonchalantly it grinds your teeth.

"N--no," you reply, losing your focus to Oikawa walking by. “No, I don’t need--”

“I need to make up for the time we’ve lost together,” Ushijima adds, eyes locked on to yours that are wandering past him looking at Oikawa who’s getting further and further away.

"I-- I can’t. Please just… I need more space,” you sputter before swallowing hard your body leading to Oikawa’s direction.

"Take whatever time you need, I'll be waiting,” is what you think you heard from him as you catch up to Oikawa, but you don’t really care because your heart feels like everything you did in the moment was unlawful. You didn’t want Oikawa to get the wrong idea, and you feel like he might have, it makes you sick. Just when things started to repair with him, Ushijima just had to sweep in.

“What did he want?” Oikawa asks, his gaze ahead. “Did you finally accept his proposal?”

“What? No," you answer, trying to catch your breath.

“You’re really taking your time with this aren’t you,” he mumbles. “You better figure it out quick, he’s not going to wait for you forever.”

“He can wait,” you say to which Oikawa glances at you.

You get to a fork in the hallway that branches off to your next class or leads to outside the building. Oikawa raises his hand to bid farewell, but you stop planting your feet and take a deep breath.

“Toru.”

He stops and looks over at you…

“Can you come with me…. to my parents?” you breathe. “I don’t want to do the internship. I just don’t want to go alone to tell them.”

Hesitant of his answer, you wait for his response.

“I’d be happy to.”

----

“I don’t know if I’m ready,” you whine, abruptly stopping on the sidewalk in front of your parents house. The sun hides behind the dark clouds, almost seeming like a sigh that you shouldn’t move forward with your plan, but gently touches your back.

“It will be alright,” Oikawa says softly as you try to push away the heat of his touch.

You’re sure that because Oikawa is here with you, you can go through with it. Even if you’re on the verge of retreating, it’s in fact, much more relieving to have him support you on the sidelines.

Every ounce of you pushes your body forward towards the front door. The ominous illusion of a stone cold castle looms over you as you press your finger to the doorbell.  The anxiety starts to build up as you look back to Oikawa. He gives you a smile and your face is hot, worried about what's to come from this conversation.

The door unlatches and slowly opens.

“Oh, hello,” your mom says, eyes wide yet narrow glaring down at you. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Hi,” you respond shyly. You wanted to grab Oikawa’s body to shield you from your mom’s unpleasant aura, but of course you plant your feet. “This is Toru Oikawa.”

Looking back at him to check in and see if he too is incapacitated from her energy. But he isn’t.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says with a bow.

“How charming, come in!” she greets.

Oikawa straightens up, smoothing out his shirt before fixing his hair. Your eyes widen in awe - his calm confidence is visionary. You didn’t remotely feel comfortable around your mother and Oikawa is smooth and endearing. You're definitely always bringing him with you when you have to see your parents.

Your poorly hidden anxiety is noted on Oikawa’s behalf as he raises an eyebrow and flicks you on the forehead.

“Don’t stress!” Oikawa smiles.

Entering into the house, you two take off your shoes and make your way into the dining area where your mom awaits you. The rooms feel remarkably lifeless and empty.

“Where’s dad?” you ask, taking a seat at the dining table as Oikawa follows suit, sitting next to you.

“Oh working again, doesn’t know when to stop,” your mom sighs. Her eyes trail to Oikawa and her gaze feels so much softer compared to the daggers she throws at you. “Would you like some tea? Water?”

Her gaze lingers as she patiently waits for an answer.

“Thank you, but I’m alright,” he replies.

She turns to you and your heart leaps out of your chest, her stare feels like it could drag your soul out of your body.

“No, I’m fine,” you say, voice shaky as you swallow hard, forcing the next couple words out of your mouth. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about the internship.”

Your mom’s intimidating demeanor drops immediately, her eyes twinkling with excitement while taking a seat across from you.

“Oh they’re so delighted to have you,” she croons. “They’ve even made you a care package in anticipation of your arrival!”

“See, the thing is…”

Your mom’s blissful face cuts.

“What’s wrong,” she says, making the question more of a blank statement.

“Nothing’s wrong, I just--”

“You think a mother wouldn’t know her own daughter.”

“It’s just--”

“Spit it out.”

You hold your breath, not sure how to present it. Looking at Oikawa, his eyes are full of affection and reassurance, you’ve come this far and you can’t back out of it now.

“Are you quitting?” she murmurs, gazing at you with a stern, cold look on her face.

“I’m sorry,” you say, trying to cushion the blow. But her eyes grow with more displeasure.

“Excuse me,” she hisses.

The air cuts thin. You’re quiet upon hearing the disappointment in her voice, and can understand why she’d be absolutely mortified.

“All that your father and I have done for you,” she barks. “This is how you repay us?”

I knew this was going to happen, you think to yourself as the worst case scenario seems to be on track with her reaction.

“I want to find somewhere else to intern,” you breathe, scared your words are just going to start a war. Her eyes have blaze in them won’t go out. There’s so much passion to make you like her, but even more successful, despite you going against her wishes. Something in her aura makes you want to run, but running is all you’ve ever done. It’s time to face your fears. “Please, let me explain.”

She doesn’t speak, her scowl says everything as she leans back in her chair, arms crossed against her chest.

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot, ever since I first went in for the interview,” you begin trembling. “Everyone was so welcoming and so excited to have me, but something just doesn’t feel right.”

“So you’re going to be selfish and only think about yourself?” she argues.

You recognize your anxiety from earlier stirring in your stomach. Your mom isn’t the easiest person to speak to, especially when her face radiates failure and suffering, this is quite possibly the most horrified you’ve seen her.

“It’s not what I want to do with my degree. I want to look somewhere else that will make me feel more fulfilled.”

“What you want is a mistake,” she thunders.

Her words are like knives digging into your heart. She just seems so distraught, and obviously cares about your future, but you can’t do this anymore.

You stand up from the table and bow deeply. “Will you please trust me? That’s all I ask.”

The room is silent as tension fills the air, you don’t really know what to expect as you shut your eyes tight waiting for a reaction. You’re expecting to be yelled at-- not to mention a shock wave of embarrassment protruding through you in front of Oikawa. The moment is painful and you don’t know what to do. You remain in the deep bow waiting.

“Alright. You don’t need to be so ridiculous, bowing...” she mumbles. You stand up and she has her hand clasp to her forehead. “You’re father’s going to kill me, but alright.”

Your heart rate increases, uncertain what she means by that, because you thought you’d misheard her.

“I guess it’s about time you’ve made your own decisions,” she says. “I was beginning to believe you’d continue to go along with it, but you’re your own person now.”

Shock and confusion washes over you, mixed with hope and excitement. You press your palm to your heart wondering if it’s about to beat out of your chest.

“Just don’t come crying when nothing goes your way,” she adds.

Letting out a huge breath, your lips upturn to a smile.

“Thank you,” you say. And it’s genuine.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fluff #haikyu x reader #oikawa tooru #oikawa x reader #oikawa x y/n #Ushijima Wakatoshi #ushijima x reader #ushijima x y/n