#' HURRICANE WARNING (misty)

[househrt]

househrt's Physically Hurt fic rec list

Fic recs where Wilson and/or House is physically hurt (obligatory: mind the content warnings/tags). I've tried to tag authors' tumblrs where they exist, but pls tell me if I've missed any!

hurt!House and hurt!Wilson

Hurricanes and Hushed Feelings by For Once Not Anime (Nikki_Sapphire) Creator's summary: A hurricane makes its way towards Princeton Plainsbourgh leaving House and Wilson trapped together during a shelter-in-place. For now, all they can do is wait for the next move. House’s breath caught in his throat. He swallowed heavily, staring down at the bright orange flame. He resisted the urge to stick his fingers into the hot wax. He didn’t know how to answer. For once, he felt any lie would knot and obstruct his throat. For once, Wilson was pushing. Rec notes: 5.5k. Gen/Hilson. Past sexual abuse, hurt!House and hurt!Wilson

Gaseous Nebula by TheFandomLesbian Creator's summary: After a hard day at work, House and Wilson intend to spend their evening watching the Princeton Philharmonic Orchestra. Instead, the building collapses, leaving one of them trapped in peril and the other desperate for answers. The chaos drives them to revelations about themselves and each other, but it may be too late. Rec notes: 77k. Hilson getting together. Hurt!Wilson being trapped under a building, hurt!House trying to rescue him, and both of them slowly recovering (getting a little better, getting worse, then getting better again). Like canon, House is the worst patient in the world (and so, so protective)

Your Own Worst Enemy by SupposedToBeWriting Creator's summary: A brain-eating amoeba has swept the halls of Princeton-Plainesboro, moving impossibly fast and striking seemingly at random. As House investigates, he realizes that this disease does not have a natural cause. There are two geniuses living in Princeton: one a cranky misanthrope with dubious morals in love with his best friend, and the other a mad genius who has developed an obsession with Gregory House. Wilson and House leap into action to find a cure, but the mysterious James always seems one step ahead... and he will stop at nothing to catch House's eye. Rec notes: 78k. Hilson getting together. House is drugged, Wilson gets hurt, and House goes absolutely off the rails about it

IN A DREAM YOU SAW A WAY TO SURVIVE AND YOU WERE FULL OF JOY by TheFandomLesbian Creator's summary: Their roles were reversed, holding Wilson like his life depended on it (it did), like he was something incredibly precious (he was). Wilson’s eyes were misty. “I don’t want to die.” House's lower jaw shivered. “I know.” Wilson weighed out the moment, conflict warring in his eyes. “You’ll be here, won’t you?” His voice cracked. “I—I need to know you’ll stay. I won’t be able to do it alone. I need you.” “I’ll stay.” Always, always, always. In which Wilson pursues treatment for his cancer, no matter the cost. Rec notes: 100k (incomplete). Hilson getting together. Whumpy for both Wilson and House. Includes a protective!House that gets so focused and worried that he doesn't sleep and becomes delirious and out of it :))))

hurt!House

TGIF by ORiley42 Creator's summary: House is stuck living the same Friday over and over and over and over again. A Groundhog Day AU with a medical mystery, the pursuit of true love, and egregious references to Bill Murray and Andie MacDowell. Rec notes: 143k. Hilson getting together. Time loop!! And all the lovely suffering!House that comes with that :)))

i may not be as honest as i ought to be by Talls Creator's summary: Wilson grimaces. “Try not to kill yourself finding an obscure diagnosis because food poisoning isn’t interesting enough for you.” In which House gets sick and Wilson reacts accordingly. Rec notes: 4.7k. Established Hilson. Sick!House, Wilson being caring, protective and possessive. Codependent old man yaoi :))))

The unrelenting nature of pain is in its constancy by asignleqingxin Creator's summary: It's a bad pain day to end all bad pain days. Logic dictates that one would stay at home and rest (perhaps even be looked after). House dicatates the opposite: business as usual. That's not going to last very long when the diagnostician can barely stand. Rec notes: 4.6k. Gen. Hurt!House has a bad chronic pain day and refuses to accept help

Detox: Alternative Methods by gracefultree Creator's summary: House asks Wilson for a reason to detox from the pills. Wilson has an interesting idea. Rec notes: 3.3k. Hilson getting together. Hurt!House and manipulative little shit Wilson (quote: “I’m going to seduce him,” Wilson explained. “Then I’ll tell him we can’t have sex again until he gets the pills under control.”)

Hands by peg22 Creator's summary: House injures his leg and is at the mercy of Wilson, Cuddy, and the ducklings. There are hands and shoes and post op nightmares. Fun, Fun, Fun. Set somewhere during Season 1, 2, or 3. Rec notes: 9.6k. Hilson getting together. Hurt!House monumentally fucking up his leg to the point of surgery, Wilson being manipulative in a possessive protective way

Ain't no Saviour by scribespirare Creator's summary: To fill the following prompt; basically Houses leg gets infected, and he’s in so much pain that he can’t leave his bed and is taking the limit of Vicodin (as much as possible without killing him self) - Wilson stays by his side the whole time and never leaves, holding him and doting on him even when House snaps at him. Rec notes: 5k. Hilson getting together. Sick and hurting House being cared for by endlessly patient Wilson

Unrelenting by l57371 Creator's summary: The pain is too much, Wilson tries to help. Rec notes: 7.3k. Hilson getting together. House is in intense pain from his leg, almost delirious with pain, and Wilson cares for him. Includes House high on (non-Vicodin) painkillers and being super out of it (quote: House picked up the fork and started eating slowly. He managed about four bites of spaghetti before he forgot what he was doing and just stared at the fork for a minute. Wilson chuckled softly and took the fork out of his hand.)

let it slip by zlicxn Creator's summary: “Would you put money on it, Foreman?” Chase asks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at both of them, “Come on. Fifty bucks each, bit of holiday fun.” Foreman leans back in his chair, crossing his arms, “Why are you so eager to make this a bet? Spend too much on Christmas presents?” Chase’s mouth twitches, “Can’t a guy just want to have a friendly wager with his colleagues?” After a slip on some ice lands House in the hospital with a concussion he accidentally reveals to his fellows that he was planning to propose to someone, but doesn't say to who. That's up to them to figure out. Rec notes: 4.9k. Established Hilson. Hurt!House has a concussion, very nosy ducklings, and a future husband (Wilson)

splish-splash by SupposedToBeWriting Creator's summary: House has been opting for sponge baths after being released from rehab for his leg, but one day, Wilson finds him and a gigantic bruise on his leg after trying to get in the shower. He settles on one question that cuts House more than he intends: why wouldn't the guy prefer to take a bath? Rec notes: 4.5k. Gen. Wilson taking care of House during his infarction recovery, feat. House's hatred of (cold) baths.

hooked (on feeling low) by jamesevanwilson (suhossineun) Creator's summary: There are things even House cannot control. Can Wilson continue picking up the pieces? Rec notes: 54k. Hilson geting together. Omegaverse fic. Alpha Wilson, omega House who's been hiding that by suppressing his heats forever with experimental drugs, which aren't working anymore. He's feverish and having a Bad Time. Wilson helps

First Day of My Life by housethemd (Whiskeyrose1) Creator's summary: Gregory House had the bad luck to present as omega in a country where omegas had little rights. After his first heat ended, he was chemically sterilized. This is over thirty years later. Rec notes: 13k. Hilson getting together. Omegaverse fic. House going through his first heat in decades, Wilson helping him through it

pulling thorns out of my palm by habkeineangst Creator's summary: Cameron’s trying to swindle House into taking an ER case when she notices it: His arm. It's bleeding. Rec notes: <1k. Gen. House & Cameron friendship. House self-harms, Cameron says the right things to help him

Do You Know Who I Am? by TheWiseOldCrow Creator's summary: House wakes up in a hospital bed with most of his memories gone. He doesn't know who the worried man by his bed is, but he's cute. AKA House has (temporary) amnesia and forgets he's married to Wilson. Rec notes: <1k. Established Hilson. Fluffy with mild hurt!House

It's All In Your Head by monday_munk Creator's summary: What if House hallucinated a night with Wilson instead of Cuddy in "Under My Skin?" Rec notes: 4.4k. Hilson getting together (kinda). House is hallucinating, detoxing, and kisses hallucination!Wilson about it

a stitch away from making it by wishbone Creator's summary: After his trial, House picks at the stitches from when he got shot. Rec notes: 1k. Pre-Hilson. House aggravates his stitches and passes out. Wilson picks him up :))))))

Simply Frozen by For Once Not Anime (Nikki_Sapphire) Creator's summary: “What?” Wilson muttered with as much annoyance and exasperation as House expected at that hour. Briefly, he wished he could twirl around his cane to give his hands something to do. Too bad it was a whole two parking spaces away from him.  “Come get me.”  Wilson sighed deeply. “Where are you? It better be a ditch or something. Are you drunk right now? You sound sober enough to drive yourself home.”  “I’m in the hospital parking lot.”  A long moment of silence passed. Well, it would have been silent, but House heard Wilson shuffling around. Hopefully getting his ass out of bed and getting back to work. “House, I’m tired.” Or: Sometimes, accidents happen. Rec notes: 4.3k. Gen/Pre-Hilson. Hurt!House falls in the carpark and almost freezes before calling Wilson to come pick him up, then they cuddle :)))))

this thing is supposed to be give-and-take by augustsattic (justabunchofdragons) Creator's summary: What did House want now? Already thinking through the steps he would take to get out the door, because House would only call him this late if he needed Wilson with him, he found his phone, answered it, and put it to his ear, glancing over the time: 1:52am. What was House doing? "House?" "Need you." House sounded strange. Drunk? High? In pain? Wilson tried to remember when he had last refilled his Vicodin. It was quiet wherever he was - not a bar. Unless he had been kicked out. He couldn't hear any cars. Hopefully not collapsed on the pavement then. "Where are you? I'm coming." a study in james wilson and depression and caring so much and feeling like (however incorrectly) it is not and has never been reciprocated Rec notes: 2.8k. Gen/Pre-Hilson. Depressed!Wilson and Hurt!House

In Sickness and In Health by ShutUpGwen Creator's summary: “House?” He calls groggily. House just grunts in response, scaring away whatever lethargy Wilson was still under. Wilson turns towards him, noticing that his boyfriend is rubbing his right thigh. “House,” he repeats, “you okay?” “Just peachy.” House grits out. “What happened?” He asks softly, running his hands over House’s leg and feeling for irregularities. He doesn’t find any. House glares at him for a moment before answering. “Woke up like this.” Presenting with acute leg pain, Wilson’s mind provides. or: My reimagining of House's infarction if he and Wilson had been in an established relationship. Rec notes: 16.4k. Established Hilson. Infarction!House and caring!Wilson (who cares in a canon-typical manipulative way)

Good days and bad days by sherlock05 Creator's summary: House has a particularly bad pain day and hasn’t been able to move for over twelve hours. But just as he thought, his day would go like this, with cramps tormenting his leg and him laying helplessly in bed in his own pee and puke, Wilson suddenly appears at his apartment and helps him to get through. Because even if Wilson doesn’t have to take care of House, he wants to. And sometimes a comforting hug can be more effective than a large dose of morphine… Rec notes: 2k. Pre-Hilson. House is having a monumentally bad time, caring!Wilson cares for him

Whumptober 2024 series by itooaminthisepisode Creator's summary: All my filled prompts from this year's Whumptober! Some are short, some are longer, all of them are emotionally damaging in one way or another :) Most are about House, Wilson or both, cause they're my favourite blorbos, but there's a few others thrown in for good measure. Also, most of these have minimal editing and were written in a day or less, so excuse any messy writing! Rec notes: Honestly Ash is one of my favourite writers, I'm gonna recommend everything he ever writes (putting all these fics in one rec so they don't take up 31 spots lol)

hurt!Wilson

Bedazzled by alternatealto Creator's summary: Wilson has somewhere to go, if he can just remember where it is. Rec notes: 1.4k Gen. Delirious Wilson (slowly) waking up from a coma

Fever Dreams by alternatealto Creator's summary: Wilson is sick. House manages to come through for him. Rec notes: 2.4k. Gen. Sick!Wilson, caring!House, somewhat vaguely speculative elements

fifteen minutes by eating_custardinbed Creator's summary: When James Wilson came to work this morning, he was expecting a normal day. That is, he has been expecting to tell a few people they were dying, getting bullied into buying his grumpy best friend lunch, maybe flirting with the new nurse in radiology to make him feel just a little better about his third divorce. What he has not been expecting is to be locked in his office with a madman, staring down the barrel of a gun. or, wilson gets shot and locked in his office. he and house have a conversation Rec notes: 11.9k. Hilson getting together. Wilson getting shot and having to patch himself up while House watches from outside the locked door

Is This the Real Life? by teyla Creator's summary: When House finds Wilson covered in blood and smiling like an idiot about it, he's more than a little freaked out. But he wouldn't be House if he couldn't figure out the obvious explanation. Rec notes: 3.4k. Established Hilson. Fluffy hurt fic. Wilson accidentally drugs himself and runs into a door

Hard Times by pumpkin2500 Creator's summary: Wilson overworks himself into a migraine. House takes care of him (but would never admit it, of course). “I sort of imagined you’d be banging pots and pans in here by now,” Wilson said as he finished eating. “Hey, I’ve had migraines. And despite what Cuddy and Foreman and Cameron and Chase and any patient I’ve ever had would tell you, I’m not a total asshole.” Wilson looked at House, already feeling a bit better from the food and drink. “Also, the mariachi band needed longer than a five minute notice.” Rec notes: 2.2k. Hilson getting together. Wilson has a migraine, and caring!House is soft (while pretending he isn't)

Wilson's Suicide by Feather Ice Creator's summary: There's something about House that tends to put the people he knows on the receiving end of a hospital bed. Wilson knew that and almost expected it but no one really expected what happened next-Wilson fell. Rec notes: 6k. Gen. NOT A DEATH FIC. Wilson falls down a flight of stairs, gets crushed under a crash cart and has a concussion while he's bleeding out. House panics, trying to find him

Aftershocks by black_cigarette Creator's summary: Aftershocks 1.1: How Wilson Got Away Rec notes: 114k. Gen. Part of a series but can stand alone. Wilson is extremely hurt and has a long, slow recovery. House feels guilty and cares for him (and has his own trauma to deal with)

Sight Unseen by yarroway Creator's summary: Wilson's been having eyestrain, or at least that's what he thinks. Set shortly after 8x02, Transplant. Rec notes: 2.6k. Gen. Hurt!Wilson ignoring his symptoms until it's almost too late. House refuses to leave his side :)))

Domestic Tranquility (Brought on by Drugs, Because It's Still House) by pasta_stuffed_possums Creator's summary: The aftermath of House dosing Wilson with amphetamines, in which Wilson feels wretched, and House is House. Rec notes: 2.1k. Gen/Hilson. Hurt!Wilson having a bad time while House secretly loves the domesticity of caring for him

Heart-Shaped Box by Flywoman Creator's summary: No one wants to acknowledge the true nature of Wilson’s heart trouble. Rec notes: 2.2k. Pre-Hilson. Wilson's heart is playing up, he passes out a bunch, House refuses to leave his side (except to go be soft and bring Wilson his cat)

Lemon Water, Chicken Water by littleguypi Creator's summary: “You weren’t home when I got there. I had to drive back.” House’s voice was uncharacteristically soft. Or was it? Wilson didn’t think House usually spoke to him in that tone. He felt panicked, like he was dying, maybe this was his last rush of adrenaline before eternity. Rec notes: 10k (incomplete). Established Hilson. Patient-of-the-week Wilson being feverish and passing out and being exhausted, concerned!House doing a DDX to try and fix him. Also Wilson's family trauma

More War Than Peace by prettyapathetic Creator's summary: Wilson attempts to have a relaxing day off with a book. It doesn't go well. Rec notes: <1k. Gen. Wilson bonks his head and subsequently hurts himself in silly clumsy ways

Together, in All Things by sebviathan Creator's summary: With death comes pain, just as well as truth and relief. So it's not ironic after all, that they both are happiest in their final days. Rec notes: 9.1k. Hilson getting together. Character death, post-canon. They canon-compliantly don't communicate about anything explicitly, but they're together. Made me cry

we're getting good at this by ad astra dean (bitterescape) Creator's summary: Wilson had a migraine. Rec notes: 1k. Established Hilson. Migraine!Wilson, caring!House

anywhere else is hollow by ohjustpeachy Creator's summary: Wilson comes home from a conference with a migraine and House is... House. Rec notes: 1.3k. Pre-Hilson. Migraine!Wilson, House is soft with him :)))

Pressure Points by 18thCenturyGirl Creator's summary: After weeks of stress and overwork, Wilson comes down with a migraine at work that he can’t just fight through. House is forced to confront how his actions affect those he cares about and that sometimes people are going through things they might not show on the surface. Set towards the end of season 1. Rec notes: 9.2k. Hilson. Migraine!Wilson trying to push through the pain until he can't anymore. House helps in a Housian way.

The Migraine by teyla Creator's summary: Wilson has a migraine. House tries to help. Mayhem ensues. Rec notes: 11k. Gen/Hilson. Migraine!Wilson, House trying to help (by drugging him with LSD)

i'll wait for your love by augustsattic (justabunchofdragons) Creator's summary: When Wilson gets sick with a fever and raging migraine, House ignores his protests to leave him alone and ends up spending the day taking care of his friend. The only issue is, Wilson is also nursing a huge crush on said friend, and in his delirious state, who knows what could be confessed? Rec notes: 3.4k. Pre-Hilson. Migraine!Wilson is all feverish and achey and vulnerable around House :)))))

let's not linger around another day by augustsattic (justabunchofdragons) Creator's summary: in which wilson loses focus and has a consensual workplace relationship :) canon divergence from s3e22 when wilson is on speed and in house's apartment: what if they kissed? Rec notes: 3k. Hilson getting together. Drugged!Wilson freaking out a little (but it's treated by kissing House about it), House panics because he doesn't want to do anything with an intoxicated Wilson

Rapidity by hawaii5063 Creator's summary: Wilson overdoses on caffeine and winds up on the ceiling. It is up to House to peel him off. Rec notes: 6k. Gen. During Christmas, Wilson accidentally works his way into an overdose to the point of being delirious

Sanguine by writerdot Creator's summary: Wilson has an unfortunate incident with a clinic patient. Rec notes: 2.1k. Established Hilson. Wilson gets shoved and bitten by a patient, House growls at everyone who isn't taking care of him good enough. Wilson has bad dreams

little glass vial by SupposedToBeWriting Creator's summary: House and Wilson have a peculiar friendship - though if you asked Wilson, sleeping together once while one man was reeling from a traumatic surgery slash breakup and the other was in a failing marriage isn't all that unusual between friends. They manage to make it work, mostly by never bringing it up again. While out, a patient's grieving brother approaches Wilson and injects him with an unknown compound. Wilson is rushed to the hospital. Though initially fine, he begins to exhibit strange and deadly symptoms. House is swept into a case that he cannot emotionally distance himself from, with a patient that he has exceptionally complex feelings for. Wilson clings to life as House hits brick wall after brick wall, desperate to save the one person he can't lose. Rec notes: 39k. Established Hilson (FWB), Hilson getting together (relationship). Wilson being mysteriously poisoned, House struggling to fix it. Whumpy whump :)))

bonk by OneLastTime (this is me. hi) Creator's summary: Wilson gets hit by a car as he's crossing the road to House's apartment and gets a concussion. He's confused and in pain, but House is taking care of him. Rec notes: 2.3k. Pre-Hilson. Hurt!Wilson

Brain Damage by fourteencandles (thingsbaker) Creator's summary: "You jerk," Wilson sighed when House walked in and set a mug on Wilson's desk. Wilson was stretched out on his own couch. The nausea had ebbed slightly during the morning, but then he'd tried to eat a little oatmeal, and now it seemed in danger of flowing again. "It's tea," House said. Wilson glanced up at him, and House looked away. "From Cameron." "Yes, God forbid I think you care," Wilson said. Rec notes: 8.1k. Gen/Hilson. Sick!Wilson and caring!House. Wilson passing out and being mysteriously sick while House panics trying to fix him

in your eyes by occamsplasmacutter Creator's summary: "Good mor-" House's sing-song, obnoxious greeting died in his throat when James turned to glare at him. James felt almost proud of his intimidating Houselike glower until House's unmasked disgust dawned on him. "I hate this," House announced, "we’ve gotta put a bag on your head. Hang on, I picked up McDonald’s.” He shuffled around and Wilson swatted his hand. Like Freaky Friday but with House and Wilson. Set between the end of Season 4 and the beginning of Season 5. Rec notes: 3.2k (incomplete). Pre-Hilson (so far). Hilson bodyswap!!! Wilson now has chronic pain and sensory issues and he's cranky about it!!!

[feel free to send me fics you think should be on this list and I may add them. The rest of my fic rec lists are here. Last updated 08 October 2024]

[life-at-hogwarts]

Crucio (Ominis x GN! reader) HURT/COMFORT

Pairing: Ominis x reader

Warnings: whump, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, alcohol

Word count: 3.7k

Summary: When you get trapped in Salazar Slytherin’s room of torture, Ominis is forced to relive past trauma. Not being able to bear hearing the sound of your screams he insists on taking your place. 

Authors note: This is the first fic I actually finished, hope you enjoy it. Might be a one shot, but I’m thinking about continuing the story.

Finally, Ominis turned around to face you. His expression softened, his mask melting away, revealing the hurricane of emotions he was struggling to hold back.

 “Please let me do it. I’d rather take the pain that hear you scream. Believe me, you’ll never forget these kinds of screams. I can’t take hearing you suffer. Please, „ he pleaded. It was an impossible choice, but when you looked at him you knew what to do.

“Are you sure about this?”

“I’m sure. Not my first time, remember?”

---

“This is where she died. This is where we’ll die! I shouldn’t have listened to either of you!”  Ominis cried out, his voice unusually shrill. While you were searching for comforting things to say, Sebastian, who had been studying the door finally broke his silence. “I’m sorry about your aunt, Ominis. But I know how to get us out of here. It’s going to be difficult,” he murmured absentmindedly. Unlike his friend, the tall brunette did not seem to be bothered by the situation at all, which could only mean he had already come up with a plan.

“What do you mean you know how to get us out of here?” you asked.

“Look around. Tortured faces on the door and ‘Crucio’ etched into the stone. My guess is if we cast the Cruciatus curse the door will open. That’s why Noctua died - she had no one to cast the curse on. Ominis has the most experience with this. He should cast it. You seem to be in Ominis’ favor. Will you ask him about this?”

Knowing how insensitive Sebastian could be, you agreed and carefully approached Ominis, who was still anxiously pacing on the other side of the room. Before you could say anything, he blurted out, “I overheard you and Sebastian, and I won’t do it. The Cruciatus curse is pure torture - I would know.”

“Sebastian told me a little of what happened when you were young. It sounded as if you had no choice,” you replied, hoping he wouldn’t mind his friend sharing this with you. You still vividly remembered how badly he reacted to finding out you knew about the Undercroft. To your surprise, this time he didn’t even mention it. If anything, he seemed glad that he didn’t have to explain it to you himself.  

“One always has a choice. I’m as guilty as the worst of my family. Unforgivable curses won’t work unless you really mean them. I had to want to cause pain and for that I shall never forgive myself. That spell is the reason I have no family left,” he exclaimed frantically.

“You’re not a bad person, Ominis. I know you. You are good. What happened was not your fault, do you hear me? You have to forgive yourself.”  

Ominis misty grey eyes filled with tears. “Please don’t make me do it. I can’t. I won’t,” he whimpered and covered his ears with his hands, as if to block out a noise only he could hear.  “I don’t want to. Please don’t make me.”

Shocked by his reaction you immediately started apologizing. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t even have asked. We will figure out another way, I promise,” you assured him, softly placing your hand on his arm. Seeing him this upset rattled you, and you wanted nothing more than give him a hug, but he pulled away and sat down on the floor, cradling his head and rocking back and forth. Unsure what to do you looked at Sebastian for help. He gestured with his head to come to him. You felt awful leaving Ominis like this but obeyed his bidding.

“I’m guessing that’s a ‘no’ from Ominis. It’s up to us then. I can teach you Crucio or I can cast it on you.”

“You know how to cast Crucio? Why did you have me ask Ominis in the first place? You know how badly that spell messed him up!” you snapped at him, pointing at his friend who clearly was not doing well.

“I’m not sure I do. But I think I can cast it if I have to. It sure is a better option than dying in here,” Sebastian replied calmly. His composure was truly remarkable, and you were glad that at least one of you was keeping a cool head. Now it was your turn to do your part. You had already made the decision.

“Alright. But you must cast it. I could never bring myself to hurt you. I’m sorry.”

Sebastian nodded and you took a deep breath and closed your eyes, trying to brace yourself for what was coming next. When you opened them again the two of you exchanged a solemn look, and he pulled out his wand. Before he could open his mouth, Ominis had crossed the room, moving with the stealth and swiftness of a cat and grabbed Sebastian’s arm, forcing him to lower his wand.

“Cast it on me,” he demanded, his face an impenetrable mask.

“Ominis, no. He’ll cast it on me,” you protested but the blonde ignored you, standing his ground.

“Didn’t know you’re all so eager to be tortured,” Sebastian remarked dryly.

Finally, Ominis turned around to face you. His expression softened, his mask melting away, revealing the hurricane of emotions he was struggling to hold back. “Please let me do it. I’d rather take the pain that hear you scream. Believe me, you’ll never forget these kinds of screams. I can’t take hearing you suffer. Please, „ he pleaded. It was an impossible choice, but when you looked at him you knew what to do.

“Are you sure about this?”

“I’m sure. Not my first time, remember?”

You recalled what Sebastian had told you earlier regarding Ominis’ experience with the curse. The thought of his family torturing him as a child, made your blood boil with anger, and now he had to go through it again.  Everything inside of you was screaming to take his place but you knew how stubborn he could be. You opened your mouth, ready to argue, but closed it again when you caught Sebastian quietly shaking his head to signal you that you should leave it alone. This way Ominis at least had some control over the situation. The tall brunette took the lead, by pointing his wand and preparing himself to cast the spell.

“Ready?” he asked, looking at Ominis grimly.

“I’m ready.”

Sebastian took a deep breath and his eyes darkened.

“Crucio.”

The second the spell hit him, Ominis groaned and doubled over in pain, his body twitching involuntarily as the curse shot through him in a bolt of cackling red light. The door seemed to feed off his pain, absorbing every single drop of it. You watched with tears in your eyes as he fell to his knees screaming out in agony. Ominis had been right. This was awful. The sounds he made vibrated through your entire body, making the hair on your neck stand up in terror.  Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Stop it, Sebastian.” you screamed hysterically, your voice breaking but he shook his head again. The door was not open yet. Not knowing what to do you threw yourself on the floor next to Ominis and took his hand, hoping it would give him some sort of comfort. His screaming had died down to a mere whimpering, which for some reason was even worse. You fought the urge to hold your ears to block out the awful sounds coming from the boy on the ground and held his hand even tighter. At last, the door started to melt away, giving way to the room behind it and Sebastian stopped the spell.

Ominis was on his side, his misty eyes staring into nothingness. “Ominis?” you asked carefully but he didn’t react. Sebastian joined you and kneeled next to his other side, checking on his friend. “I’m sorry. Are you alright?” When this too was met with silence you exchanged a worried look with Sebastian. You had both heard the horror stories of people being driven mad by the curse. “Ominis. Say something.” After another 30 seconds that felt like an eternity, he opened his mouth and whispered, “I’m fine.” Slowly, he sat up and a small sob escaped your lips. He was a mess. His face was wet with tears, his hair disheveled and robes covered in dirt. “Don’t scare us like that,” Sebastian grumbled and roughly patted his friend’s shoulder, before getting up and glancing through the doorway. “You have to see this! We made it. We found Salazar Slytherin’s scriptorium.”

Still in shock, you watched Sebastian disappear into the other room, leaving you alone with Ominis. For a moment, you sat in silence, both trying to process what just happened. “Are you really alright?” you asked, even though you could already guess the answer. He most definitely did not look okay. In fact, you had never seen him in such a state before. He was there but not really present. The confident, sassy Slytherin you had gotten to know and love was gone, his body an empty shell. It was like he was trapped in his own dimension of hell, having to relive the torture he went through as a child. He flinched when your question brought him back to reality, then slowly turned his head to face you, “Not really. You?” “Not really.”

You fell into each other’s arms, desperately holding on to each other, trying to find comfort in the warmth of the embrace. You felt his body relax against yours and leaned into him, even more. A stifled sob escaped his mouth, and he buried his head in your shoulder. Following his example, you let your tears flow freely. The sound of his screams still rang in your ears. The sheer agony in his voice was the worst thing you’ve ever heard, and you couldn’t stop replaying it in your head. You needed him as much as he needed you. His arms wrapped around you, holding on to you as if you were the only thing keeping him from drowning.

You let your fingers run through his hair and pressed your face into his neck, inhaling the sweet scent of his shampoo. Your touch seemed to have a calming effect on him, his breathing slowed down and his grip on you weakened. “You’re okay,” you murmured over and over again, like a mantra, unsure if you were saying this to soothe him or yourself. Slowly, the chaos in your head started to ebb down. It was impossible to tell if you stayed like this for minutes or hours but neither of you was ready to let go. Finally, Ominis tightened his grip on you once more before breaking away.

For a moment you looked at each other in awkward silence, both unsure what to say after the intimate moment you had just shared. “Ominis…” you started but he interrupted you. “I don’t want to talk about it. For now, let’s focus on getting out of here.”

With one swift movement he got up and elegantly offered you his hand. A gentleman as always. Glad, that he seemed to be back to his old self again, you let him help you up. After dusting himself off, he took the lead and walked towards the entrance of the scriptorium, with you following close behind. All of a sudden, your gaze fell on the pile of bones in the corner, and you froze. “What’s wrong?” Ominis asked, his voice full of concern. “Your aunt. Her…remains are right behind you.” “Oh.” You guided his hand towards the spot so that he could see it with his wand, watching his face closely for his reaction but he remained expressionless. Then he quietly asked, “Would you mind giving me a minute alone?” It broke your heart how much pain he had to endure in one single night, and you squeezed his arm reassuringly before stepping through the doorway.

When you entered the scriptorium, you were greeted by Sebastian, who seemed to be completely oblivious to what just happened. “What is taking you guys so long? Come take a look at what I found. Slytherin’s spell book. I have only browsed but it looks promising. I think this could be the key to curing Anne.” His eyes sparkled with excitement when he showed you the old dusty tome with Slytherin’s initials on the front.

“That’s great news Sebastian,” you replied, forcing yourself to give him a smile. Of course, you were happy that there was new hope for curing Anne, but the price for this book had been high and Ominis was the one who had had to pay it. Sebastian didn’t notice and enthusiastically continued talking while he showed you around the scriptorium.

“This room is amazing. I could spend hours and hours rummaging through all of these books.”

“Yeah.”

“What’s with the sour face? Ominis is fine, isn’t he?” he grumpily asked, as he turned around to look for his friend, who was nowhere to be seen.

“No. And neither am I. I want to leave. You got what you came here for.” It wasn’t your way to be so cross with him, but you were still on edge and desperately wanted to get away from this place, that was practically vibrating with dark magic.

Sebastian looked at you with a mixture of confusion and defiance. “You can’t be serious? There is still so much to explore.” You let out a deep sigh and prepared to argue, when Ominis appeared at the foot of the stairs, joining in on the conversation. “I agree. Let’s get out of here.” His voice was calm and authoritative, leaving no room for debate. In one hand, he held his wand, the other was clutching a gigantic vase. You furrowed your brows in confusion before you realized what he had been doing while you and Sebastian had been talking. “Is that…?”

“I am going to take her with me. Give her a proper burial.”

Finally, understanding dawned in Sebastian’s face and he gave in, waiting for you to take the vase from Ominis before gesturing to follow him. The exit was hidden in an eerie looking statue of Salazar Slytherin’s face with a snake coming out of its mouth. Sebastian stepped forward and tapped the snake’s head with his wand, causing the statue to rotate and reveal a platform of sorts. “After you.” A few minutes later, when all of you were back in the Slytherin dungeon, Sebastian spoke up. “About your aunt Ominis -”

“Please, Sebastian. All I want is for you to swear never to engage in anything to do with dark magic ever again. You almost got us all killed tonight, with your stupid obsession with the scriptorium.”

“We are so close to curing Anne. I found Slytherin’s spell book in the scriptorium, and I think I saw something that could be useful….”

Ominis face crumpled with pain and disappointment. His best friend truly did not care about anything other than his search for a cure. He turned away from Sebastian, who was still rambling on about some spell he had found. When he noticed that Ominis wasn’t listening he snapped at him, “Why are you not happy for me? I thought you cared about my sister.”

After a long, tiring night, you’d had enough of his selfish behavior and stepped in.

„I know how important finding a cure for Anne is to you, but right now this is about Ominis. We put him through hell tonight, do you understand that? He has every right to be angry at you. You keep putting yourself before everyone else and completely ignore the wreckage you leave in your path.”

Sebastian glared at you, ready to retaliate. “Why isn’t he angry at you then? After all, you convinced him to go in there.”

“I’m sure he is, and he is right to be. Tonight was a mistake. Now take this and find a place to hide it for tonight. It’s the least you can do. Tomorrow we will decide what to do with it. I’m taking Ominis home.” You handed him the vase with Noctua’s remains and held his angry gaze.

“He can find his own way back to the dorms you know. He’s not helpless.”

“Of course he can. I just don’t want him to be alone right now.”

With that you turned around and demonstratively took Ominis hand, interlocking your fingers with his. “Let’s go.” You felt his surprise, but he went along with it and didn’t pull away. Usually, he hated it when people tried to help him in any sort of way, and you almost expected him to snap at you but tonight he was tame as a kitten, letting you lead him down the corridor, away from a fuming Sebastian. He too seemed to be too tired to argue. The sound of your steps echoed through the empty corridors as you walked in silence. When you stopped in front of the entrance of the Slytherin dorms, you waited for him to take charge and decide whether or not he wanted to invite you into their common room. He didn’t let go of your hand when he spoke the password and the gigantic snake revealed the door. After a few seconds of hesitation, he stepped forward, gently pulling you with him and you followed.

You had been here quite a few times with Sebastian, still the elegance and grandeur of the Slytherin common room never ceased to amaze you. The room was filled with eerie greenish light leaking from the windows showing the depths of the black lake. The only sound was the gentle cackle of wood being devoured by the flames. You followed Ominis, or rather let him guide you, to a sofa right in front of the big windows that faced the water. Only then did he let go of your hand and slumped into the soft pillows. You awkwardly waited a few moments before sitting down yourself. Ominis rubbed his face and sighed wearily, “I don’t need you to stand up for me.”

“I know. I just wanted to make it clear to him how wrong his behavior was tonight. I’m so sorry I dragged you into this. I should have never asked you to show us the entrance. This is my fault.”

“I appreciate that. I have already forgiven you. Everybody makes mistakes.”

You raised an eyebrow, knowing full well that Ominis was usually not one to hold back his anger when someone screwed up. His tongue was as sharp as his wits and not something to be messed with, as you knew from firsthand experience. Tonight, he was oddly calm, it was almost unsettling.

“Yeah, but mine almost got us killed.”

“You know me. I’m a thrill seeker,” he replied dryly, making you snort with laughter. Amused by this, Ominis too started giggling and you laughed even harder. It probably was the adrenaline, but you could not stop laughing, both of you cackling hysterically like maniacs. It took you some time to calm down, but the laughter had helped dissolve some of the stress and you felt a little better.

“Glad you have your sense of humor back. Seriously though, are you going to be okay?” you asked solemnly.

“Don’t worry about me.”

“Of course I worry about you, silly. You have been through a lot tonight.”

“Please don’t. I can’t…I can’t talk about it,” he whispered, and his entire body stiffened. Trying to hide how much this affected him he dug his nails into the palms of his trembling hands and avoided your gaze.

“That’s alright. Just know, if you do need to talk, I’m here for you,” you replied softly and placed a hand on his outstretched leg. By now you understood that physical touch had a calming effect on him. It was odd, since he was a very withdrawn person, not like Sebastian, who was rather touchy and comfortable with physical proximity. Ominis was a proper gentleman, always keeping his distance, never intruding your personal space. Yet tonight he really seemed to need the intimacy of human touch.

“There should be some firewhiskey in the globe behind us, would you mind getting it?”

“Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“I’m inviting you to join me for a nightcap.”

“Well, if you put it like that, how could I resist?” you chuckled and got up.

As promised, when you opened the globe, you found an almost full bottle of firewhiskey. You waved the bottle in the air letting the liquid slosh loudly against the glass, to let him know about your find and returned to the sofa, but it was empty. Ominis had made himself comfortable on the floor in front of it, resting his arms on the seat. Following his example, you sat down next to him on the soft carpet and handed him the bottle. He took a deep swig of the bronze liquid and passed it on to you. You took a small sip and coughed, quickly handing it back to Ominis. After another few sips he broke the silence.

“Why are you so kind to me?”

“Because I care about you. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes.”

Too tired to talk, you reached for his hand, and he took it. The way his fingers wrapped around yours ever so gently felt like the most natural thing in the world and you felt the urge to never let go of his hand again. For a while you sat in silence, quietly passing the whiskey back and forth, then Ominis spoke up again.

“You know why I like to sit here so much?” He paused for a moment to look at you, waiting for you to meet his gaze. For a moment you got lost in the reflection of the lake in his milky grey eyes. “Because I like the way, the water breaks the light. I can see light and shadow, you know? When I watch the lake, the light is dancing.”

“That sounds beautiful. Tell me about it.”

“It dances with the rhythm of the waves. It’s so soothing it’s like listening to a lullaby. Sometimes, when it’s stormy it gets really fast and erratic, it’s like I can see the thunderstorm.”

Slowly but surely the alcohol was taking effect and he was struggling to stay awake. He rested his head on your shoulder and asked, “Can we just sit here and watch them for a while?" already starting to slur his words a little.

“Ominis?”

“Mhm?”

“Never scare me like that again.”

Instead of answering he nestled his face into your neck and sighed. You rested your head on his and listened to his breathing slow down as he started to fall asleep, still not letting go of your hand. You smiled at his cute little snores before you too drifted off to sleep.

[milliesfishes]

When The Tide Changes 𓇼 ⋆˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆𓇼

request by @stardustandseashells [fem reader] contains: storm, injury, prejudice pairing: merman billy the kid x fishergirl reader summary: you get caught in a storm and billy saves you author’s note: thank you anon for leaving this request!!! Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

The sea itself is not dangerous, but everything in it is.

As a child, when storm tossed nights when the rain beat at the windows and you hid under your covers in fear, that was what your father had always told you.

"She only acts as she should," he would say soothingly, bringing you over to the window to watch the waves lap at the shore. "But with time you learn to love and trust her just as intended."

Looking back, you were unsure the sentiment was entirely correct, having seen typhoons and hurricanes that didn't have anything to do with what laid beneath the waters. But your father had long since passed, and you weren't about to correct the dead.

He hadn't left you much in terms of wealth, but he had passed the knowledge of his craft to you. Fishing was a man's world, but you navigated it well, your compass your father's voice in your head.

Because it was so male dominated, you had to work twice as hard, bring in double the bounty, in order to even slightly be taken seriously. But it made a decent living, enough for you to keep shelter and food in your belly.

Maybe it was dangerous for you, a woman all by her lonesome milking what she could from the ocean. There were whisperings of the creatures who could cause you danger; krakens that had tentacles lined with teeth, men with tails and a vengeance for human blood.

It wasn't like you had a choice, though. You weren't about to marry one of the sunburnt fishermen who occupied the pubs late at night. And nobody respectable would possibly entertain the thought of someone like you.

No, this was what you had. The long, lonely nights by the fire, smelling the salt air.

As you untied your boat one day, you heard a group of men talking near you on the dock, their faces tight with fear.

"He barely made it t' shore," one said in hushed tones. "Had scratches 'n marks all over 'im. Was scared half to death, talkin' 'bout a creature that almost killed 'im."

"'Nother fella on the north shore said somethin' just 'bout the same," a different man said, tipping his hat up to block the sun. "There's somethin' in the water, t' be sure. Somethin' after us."

Fishermen were a superstitious bunch, and so you paid no mind to their worries. It was more than likely the men they spoke of had a little too much sun and salt and fell offboard, maybe hitting a few rocks or patches of coral. When you'd first started, you'd been afraid of the supposed creatures within, but survival instincts had overpowered it.

It would be silly to think that the waters only contained fish and sharks. You knew there was more down there, and your father had told tales of it. His favorite was of people with tails like a fish, who lived in underwater kingdoms. He claimed to have seen them once or twice, bobbing their heads above the water.

The underlying warning in his story, however, was that they were ruthless, terrible beings who would hurt you as quick as the tide changes. So, you stayed wary.

Dark clouds on the horizon told you there would be a storm, but you ignored it. Rain and creatures aside, you needed a good day on the water. It was sure to be a lovely day for the net.

Nature, as always, had other plans.

The waves were like mountains, threatening to swallow anything in its wake. You pulled at the sails, trying to bat down the hatches, but the wind was furious, the rain beating steadily against you. You cursed your choice in clothing, your skirt tangling around your legs. Usually you wore men's clothes, but today of all days you'd let the comments of nosy townspeople get to you.

Frantically rocking, your little boat threatened to tip, knocking you from side to side. You squeezed your eyes shut, clinging to the mast and sending a prayer to the gods of the sea, reciting an old sailor's verse to the sky and begging for mercy.

Opening your eyes, the first thing you saw was a never ending wall of water hurtling toward you. Nails digging into the mast, skirt soaked and sticking to your legs, hair in your eyes, your heart threatened to fly out of your chest.

Is this how it feels to die?

Sun.

That was the first thing you were aware of. The warmth.

Sand.

Your fingers twitched, the grainy substance scrubbing against you.

There was a light straining against your eyes, and you squined as you opened them, blinded by the hot ball in the sky. Turning your head to the side, you tried to sit up.

"Careful," a voice said gently. "Don't be movin' so much."

"What happened?" Your voice was like sandpaper, your memory hazy.

"You were sailin' in a storm," the voice soothed, and you felt a hand settle on your arm comfortingly. "Real nasty one. Got tossed overboard. I pulled ya out."

"Thank you," you murmured, blinking and opening your eyes blearily.

There was a bare-chested man sitting beside you. He looked concerned, but his head was blocking the sun at your angle, and it gave him a halo. It didn't hurt that he was terribly handsome as well, rugged and chiseled in all the right places. You tilted your head, sure you must be imagining him. "Is this real?"

"If anyone's dreamin', it's me," he reached out and tucked some of your salt-tangled hair behind your ear. "Ain't often I get to rescue someone so pretty."

The compliment made you smile, and you sat up more, wanting a better vantage point. His chest was tanned, no doubt from long hours on the water. Your eyes trailed downward, to his stomach and catching on his...tail.

Eyes snapping back up to his, you opened your mouth, and he blurted out, "Don't scream!"

You froze, and the panicked look on his face caused a laugh to bubble up inside you, escaping your mouth and causing your head to sink back to its sandy pillow. Oh, maybe you should have been horrified. And if yesterday someone had told you you'd meet a man with a fish tail one sunup later, you probably would have expected yourself to be.

But looking at him now, seeing his worry and realizing he must've waited hours for you to wake up instead of leaving you stranded on the beach, you felt anything but.

"I'm sorry," you smiled, sitting back up with a little giggle. "You just looked terrified."

He looked at you in disbelief, then a smile broke across his face as well. "You're a strange lass, ain'tcha?"

"That's what everyone says," you shrugged, leaning back on your hands. "Maybe you're not so different from them after all."

The man seemed surprised by how casually you were talking to him, but he didn't comment on it. "Maybe not."

Tilting your head, you asked, "Gotta name?"

"Billy," he answered, sitting up with you.

You told him your name too, and then looked down, realizing your dress was in rags. "Knew I should've chosen something sturdier."

"Brave of ya to venture out into a storm," he remarked, the ends of his tail swaying lazily.

"Or stupid," you shrugged.

"Brave," he insisted. Billy reached over and moved some of your long hair over your shoulder, so it was covering a spot on your chest, conserving your modesty. Your heart fluttered.

Something shifted in your mind as you looked at him, your eyes curious. "Why did you save me, Billy?"

There was a beat of silence. The squawking of seagulls hovering over the shore could be heard, and the wind whistled lightly, sending a few of your dry baby hairs into your eyes.

"I've seen ya 'round before," he said quietly, looking out at the horizon. "Watched ya workin'."

A hint of a smile found your lips. "You live around here?"

"Close," he nodded, his tail bending where his knees would be if he had any. "I hang around."

Frowning slightly in thought, you tilted your head, studying him. Then it dawned on you. "You're the creature they speak of. The one who's been hurting-"

Billy cut you off with a firm shake of his head. "Never hurt anybody."

"But the fishermen-" you brought your knees to your chest, suddenly aware of how little was covering your body. "-they came back with injuries. They described a ruthless creature, it...it couldn't have been you. You just saved me."

"I'm the only one 'f my kind 'round these parts," Billy nodded, his arms resting on the bent part of his tail. "'nd I have come across a few men. They were tryin' to capture me. Fell overboard 'nd caught against the rocks when I swam away. It was bad, sure, but they made it to shore alright. Wouldn'ta let 'em die."

"Oh," you breathed, eyes brightening with new realization. Honestly, you should have known the afflicted men had practically done it to themselves. But he still hadn't answered your question. Moving a little closer to him, you set your hand on his, causing him to turn his head.

"What made me different?" you asked softly. "You didn't just leave me at shore or watch me float and make sure my heart was beating. Why?"

Billy had a quiet look in his eyes. "You're different from the others."

"How so?" You were intrigued by him, by the moral code he seemed to possess.

Cautiously, Billy lifted a hand, lightly tracing your cheek with a singular finger. You let him, leaning ever so slightly into it. "Most men I see out here try and dredge the ocean for its contents. They demand things from 'er, and get hurt when she defends herself." His fingers were now in the hair at the nape of your neck. "You treat the sea like a sister, demanding nothin' and takin' what she decides to give to ya. And so she gives you more."

The sentiment made your heart beat faster, and you found yourself saying, "I didn't ever think of it that way."

Billy looked at you intently. "Someone like that doesn't deserve to die."

On the sandy banks next to the one they called a monster, you felt as if you were coming to life for the very first time. Because now you knew nothing was what anyone said it was, not entirely.And suddenly, your father's sentiment seemed wrong.

Not everything in the ocean was dangerous.

Once you were steadier, Billy insisted on swimming you back to your little home on the coast, pulling you into the water and instructing you to wrap yourself around him.

He swam gently but swiftly, and you felt as though you were gliding through the water. It felt so safe here in his arms, and you couldn't help but lean against him.

When he arrived at the sandy banks in front of your house, you shifted against him, not ready to be parted from him so soon. But you were also tired, battered from the storm with a dress torn to shreds.

So, with a soft smile, you muttered, "Thank you Billy. For everything."

His expression was light, his eyes not seeming to be able to leave your face. Billy's smile was a little bit crooked, and that only made it more endearing. "It was my pleasure, darlin'."

The little nickname made your heart jump. Billy pulled you up onto the shore, sitting on the surf and making sure you were steady on your feet. He grinned. "You'll be alright?"

"I'm sure of it," you said, kneeling beside him. He did it again, smoothed your hair so softly that it made you smile wider. It was almost like he was fascinated by it, even though it was a tangled mess.

He removed his hand. "I hope to see ya 'gain. Maybe under better circumstances."

"Me too," you smiled in a quiet way.

Then, you leaned in and kissed his cheek shyly, getting up afterward and walking toward your home, sparing one glance back at him. He was still sitting on the shore, a dazed, lazy smile on his face.

As you made your way inside, you were already looking forward to the next time you'd see him. Maybe while you were out fishing, or even right back here.

All through the night you dreamt of him. Of the once-thought monster who'd saved your life.

[cyberpawn]

@holyguardian from here

It was a strange day in the life of one Vale Entropy, that's for sure. Ever happy to help, they were still startled by a text that reached them in the middle of the night. Misty had caught a bug, some fever that had her feeling completely wiped out so she wouldn't be able to run her shop that day. And with this weather? Misty's immune system had picked a hell of a day to be stuck in bed rest.

The streets were starting to flood, the drainage grates blocked by trash and leaves knocked around by the high winds. Vale hadn't seen any warnings about hurricanes, but it felt like they were walking right out into one! They made their rounds, grabbing Misty's medicine from Vik and delivering it to her before accepting one of their greatest tasks of all time....watching over the esoterica.

Now, Vale had no experience with retail, but they hoped that the storms would keep most people off of the streets and inside. Even that assumption went straight out the window, as an unknown, soaked, windblown brunette barged right through the door and into the dry sanctuary offered to her. With her sudden appearance, Vale (who had been fiddling with a deck of tarot cards) yelped and dropped the deck, sending cards all over the floor behind the counter.

"H-Hey! I'm V--" The jovial greeting flew out while they ducked below the counter, hands blindly flopping cards back onto the counter so they wouldn't get in trouble for sullying the deck. When they popped back up, a grin from ear to ear spread over their face, only faltering once they saw how drenched the stranger was. "Oh shit! Uh...w-would you like a blanket? Or a towel? Or clothes? Or...something?"

Without even waiting for a response, Vale took their own flannel shirt and yanked it off of themself, handing the warm, dry shirt to the stranger. "Here! This should help!"

[theicarusconstellation]

jegulus microfic day 11 from @jegulus-microfic

prompt: ghost // words: 823 // content warnings: none

James sees the younger Black brother in the house sometimes.

He never tells a soul, and he never makes eye contact, but he sees him.

It started by accident. James had popped into Grimmauld Place to pick up an old book from the family library that Sirius asked for, only to stop dead in his tracks at the sight of a slim figure slipping into the kitchen. Intrigued and, he will admit, mildly bewitched, he returned the next night to catch a glimpse of that same boy.

He realized it was Regulus on night three.

The boy looks like a dream, with misty gray eyes and dark velvet curls and skin so pale James can see right through him to the other side of the room. Though that might be due to the undead nature of his spirit.

Regulus Black is supposed to be dead. Not alive, not halfway dead, just dead. All the way dead. He died in 1979. It’s 1982 now. He is supposed to be dead.

No one else sees him either. Only James, and only when Grimmauld Place is dark and silent aside from the creaking of the old floorboards settling in the wind.

Tonight, though, James is going to confront the boy. He is going to find out once and for all if this spectre is a figment of his imagination or if, somewhere between life and death, Regulus Black started wandering.

It could very well be his imagination. His house is lonely now with Sirius and Remus on their own and Harry living with Mary and Lily fifty-percent of the time. It wouldn’t surprise him if one day, James’ subconscious decided to make a ghost.

A ghost of Regulus Black, though…that seems less plausible.

He had planned to walk into Grimmauld Place and demand that Regulus Black show himself. He had. It’s just…James has never been one for confrontation.

So, when he reaches the old house, with its dark walls and beheaded House Elves lining the corridors, James freezes. He stands in the front entryway, and he freezes.

Am I really here to chase a ghost?

The last thing he is expecting is for Regulus Black to come down the stairs right in front of him.

It seems like the other man wasn’t expecting it either, for he goes stiller than a statue, and it could be just James’ eyes playing tricks on him, but he thinks he sees Regulus pale.

“Black?”

“Potter.”

“You’re — but you’re dead.”

The young Black brother, the dead Black brother, laughs at him.

“Don’t pretend you’ve just noticed me. You’ve been unnecessarily puttering around this place for months.”

James swallows a very large lump in his throat and forces himself to look the man in the eyes. It’s the first time he’s ever done so; he’s only caught the reflection of those eyes in mirrors around the house. Staring into them head-on is like trying to withstand a torrential rainstorm, like standing firm in the face of hurricane-force winds.

“You’re dead,” he mumbles again, feeling rather stupid.

“Do I look dead?” Regulus asks. He leans languidly up against the stairway railing. One of his perfectly sculpted eyebrows is raised in critical analysis of the man in front of him.

“Well…you don’t look real,” James whispers without thinking. Regulus’ shoulders shake as he releases a soft, amused scoff.

“Why are you here, Potter? Why have you continuously been here, invading my private residence? Does Sirius know you come here every night to stare at his dead brother?”

Instead of answering, James takes a step closer, and when Regulus doesn’t back away, he moves closer still.

“If you’re still alive, why have you let everyone believe you were dead for the past three years?” James asks, fighting the urge to reach out and touch Regulus, to really feel whether or not he is a hallucination.

Regulus’ lips curl up in a knowing smile.

“Don’t demand information you haven’t earned yet,” he snaps, though there is a distinct lack of malice in his tone. “Come back tomorrow night, and maybe I’ll tell you. If you earn it.”

James’ breath catches in odd excitement he has no explanation for.

“Tomorrow night?” The words are coated in hope.

“Show up. Or don’t. I don’t care. Now get the fuck out of my house, James Potter, or I’ll sic Kreacher on you.” Regulus glares at him so intensely that James knows he’s not joking. James’ entire body itches with restlessness as he backs up and leaves Grimmauld, already wishing that time would speed up and bring him to twenty-four hours from now.

He should tell Sirius. He really, really should.

But.

Shouldn’t he have all the information first? Telling Sirius, “Hey, your dead brother is back,” with no explanation might come off as a sick prank. No, James won’t tell. Not yet, anyway. First, he’ll gather the facts.

Which means meeting Regulus as many times as it takes.

[milesdocx]

A beacon of light in the dark, ever lasting

You were a lighthouse on the on the dark misty shore, and I boat trying to dock

Something so amazing I fell for you, hook line and sinker

You enamored me

The way you would call me dear and darling words I have never heard before before you affectionate "I love yous" and "I want yous" I was drawn to you

So much so I ignored the warning signs

How could a beacon be so dark mannered

A light house on a dark and stormy night turned into a hurricane

And suddenly I was trapped into anger

You engulfed me

Like a fly in a fly trap you tricked and used me

Absorbing the only part that was of use to you

Then you discarded me like I was nothing

Left to my own devices hurt and broken

Oh what a fool I was to think someone could love me like I thought you did

Left lifeless on the floor

A doll used up and broken

I scooped myself up off the floor

And placed me on the desk

I will be my own lighthouse to guide the ships to shore

I took a needle and stitched up my arm

Brushed my hair and gave me new clothes

You cling onto me like a stain on a brand new dress

But I release you

I will be my own beacon of light

I will enamor myself

A doll not completely perfect

I still have an eye loose and paint stained clothes

But I am perfect the way I am

A doll of my own creation

while I may have marker scuffs on my arms

and sun faded hair, with unraveled shoelaces

I am not broken

That's just the way I am

And I enamor me

[delicatenightfury]

Star of the Mountain Chapter 20

Warnings: fluff, angst, canon-level violence, spoilers for the Hobbit films

Pairing: OC x Thorin Oakenshield

Beta'd By: @mistys-blerbz

Author's Note: please do not steal my work! I do not own the Hobbit or the characters, but I do own my OCs and the parts of the plot that are not part of the movies. I have worked very hard on this fic. Please be respectful and do not steal.

Please comment, reblog, and like!

Masterlist - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Oreliell followed Vedis down the stairs. She kept a light but firm hand on her back to keep her moving. They had to go now or risk being killed. Smaug was flying overhead, seemingly circling the town. 

He’s taunting us, buying his time and letting them build false hope.

Oreliell helped Vedis into the boat and looked at Tauriel.

“{Get us out of here,}” she said.

Tauriel nodded.

“Quickly, now,” the red-head said to the children. “Hurry!”

Oreliell sat herself down beside Vedis and pulled her close. 

“We’re going to get out of here, muinthel.”

Once everyone was settled, Bofur and Fili took the oars and pushed the boat into the river canal. Oreliell glanced up as Smaug flew directly over their heads. She felt Vedis shudder, which caused Oreliell to pull her closer.

The panic… the fear… the chaos… it all felt familiar. While it had been well over two thousand years, fear like this was not something easily forgotten… no matter how young one might be.

The cold air was familiar. It was almost like being back home. But the smell of burning wood and flesh, the heat of fire roaring at every turn was also familiar. Overhead, a dragon flew. It was dark, but the dragon’s large shadow could be seen through the clouds and shadows.

Smaug swooped down, shooting a long strain of fire at the town.

People began screaming in fear and pain. Oreliell closed her eyes to try and block it out. She forced herself to take a deep breath, trying to calm herself down as they tried to escape. She could hear him in the air, his wings beating like a hurricane. The buildings around them shook on their foundations. He changed directions and circled around for another attack, this time striking nearby. She flinched slightly when she heard the screams behind her.

“Look out!”

Oreliell’s eyes shot open as the boat knocked into something. A much larger boat had collided with theirs. A fat, greasy looking man was shrieking about the gold that was falling off his boat and into the water.

As soon as he was past, Tauriel urged them forward again. Smaug continued to circle through the sky, raining fire on Lake-town.

Valar have mercy.

Buildings were on fire. People lay dead in the streets. Oreliell felt like she was tripping at every turn, despite being light on her feet. Arrows were flying, trying to pierce the dragon’s skin. But dragon’s had the strongest armor, nearly impenetrable.

“Da!”

“Da!”

Oreliell looked up again as the children screamed. She looked toward the bell tower, where a human man was shooting arrows at the dragon.

“He hit it!” Kili cried. “He hit the dragon!”

“No,” Tauriel said.

“He did! He hit his mark, I saw!”

“His arrows cannot pierce its hide. I fear nothing will.”

Not a minute later, Bain managed to lift himself out of the boat.

“What are you doing?” Bofur said.

“Come back, Bain!” Fili called. “Bain!”

But the boy had touched down on the dock. Oreliell stared in shock as he ran away, ducking through the crowd.

“Leave him,” Tauriel said. “We cannot go back.”

“Bain!” young Tilda cried, tears in her eyes.

Oreliell looked at the girls, taking in their tears and fear on their faces. It was painful, too familiar. Oreliell had to force herself to look away. She looked at her sister instead.

Vedis pulled Oreliell along quickly. They couldn’t stop. There was too much danger around them. And their parents had practically ordered them to run. Oreliell raised her arm over her head to try and protect herself as the flames rose higher. She felt like she was choking on smoke. She most likely was. Vedis tugged on her arm again. Oreliell looked at her sister. She could see the flames reflecting in her eyes.

“We are almost out, Oreliell,” she said. “Only a little further.”

Oreliell could see Vedis’s eyes darted around them, taking in the tragedy. Flames were reflecting in her eyes. She took Vedis’s hand, trying to get her attention away from the docks. 

“We’re almost out, Vedis. Only a little further.”

Smaug swooped down again and landed on top of the town, crushing several buildings.

The ground shook as a nearby building crumbled. Vedis pulled hard, causing Oreliell to stumble. They were almost to the bridge. However, when they got there, they found that it was destroyed. But they had no choice but to keep going. Vedis nodded to Oreliell, trying to reassure her little sister. Suddenly-

Smaug’s roar ripped through the air as he crashed through Lake-town. Oreliell looked over her shoulder. Smaug flew up into the air. He sounded like… he was in pain. She watched as he practically clawed at the sky, away from Lake-town. And then… he was falling.

Oreliell couldn’t decide what was worse: the attack or the aftermath. People were still screaming and crying, but this time… this time, they were searching and mourning for their loved ones. They were trying to figure out if their loved ones were still alive. They were attempting to salvage what they could from the water.

Tilda and Sigrid were among those looking. They called out for their father and brother, desperately searching through the water-logged crowd.

The dwarves found a boat that was in good condition and readied it for passage across the rest of the lake. They were going to try and get to the mountain. None of them had any idea if their friends and family were still alive.

Oreliell watched Kili step away from his kin to approach Tauriel. She looked away from the two of them to let them have their moment. Instead, she looked at Vedis. Her expression had barely changed since the attack, but her eyes remained trained on the people of Lake-town.

“Vedis?” Oreliell said, quietly.

“I will be staying with them.”

Oreliell nodded.

“You’re sure?”

“Winter is fast approaching. People are wounded. They need someone who can protect them.”

Oreliell touched Vedis’s shoulder, gaining her attention.

“Then stay well, muinthel. We shall see one another again.”

Vedis tried to smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Oreliell gently pressed her forehead to Vedis’s before she pulled away. Oreliell joined the dwarves and helped to push their boat into the water. She motioned for the dwarves to get in while she guided the boat further in. She noticed Fili kept looking behind them.

“Don’t worry, he’s coming, Fili,” she said. “Get in.”

Fili climbed into the boat and began helping Bofur and Oin rearrange their things to make room for them all. Oreliell waded into the water, keeping her hands on the boat to keep it steady. The water sent a chill through her. Her grip tightened on the wood, but she refused to let it show. When Kili did join them, she smiled gently at him. He nodded to her. She helped him in then climbed in herself, taking the oar that was handed to her. They began paddling the boat back onto the lake.

With their combined effort, they reached the shore before the mountain in no time. 

Oreliell looked up at the mountain as the dwarves gathered their few belongings. The journey up to the mountain wouldn’t take long. Once the dwarves were ready, Oreliell began leading them up the large hill.

She had to keep a slower pace, but she didn’t mind. She listened to the dwarves talk about the mountain and how spectacular Erebor looked just from the outside. They talked about their families, lightly wondering if they had survived the dragon. Oreliell tried to block those bits of conversation out, but the thought was weighing heavily on her mind.

Were they all alive? Had anyone been hurt? Where were they now?

She hadn’t realized that they had come to the entrance. She slowed to a stop, staring up at the grand stone, even though it had mostly been destroyed by Smaug. Around her, the dwarves exchanged looks before running inside. Before he crossed over the threshold, Oin turned to look at her.

“Well don’t just stand there, lass!” he called. “Come on!”

Oreliell smiled slightly at the older dwarf and followed.

“Hello!” Bofur shouted. “Bombur? Bifur? Anybody?”

The entrance had been almost completely destroyed. Rubble covered the ground, most covered in dust but there was definitely new debris. Fili took the lead, going deeper into the mountain. Oreliell couldn’t help but look around. Erebor was beautiful, despite its coldness and stillness. She wondered what it must have been like when there were dwarves actually living here.

Fili started down a flight of stairs, the others following close behind.

“Wait!” a voice said.

Oreliell looked around, trying to find the source.

“Someone’s coming,” she said.

“Wait! Wait!”

She spotted a figure running across one of the paths toward them.

“It’s Bilbo!” Oin said. “He’s alive!”

The hobbit came to a stop before them.

“Stop! Stop! Stop,” he said, breathing hard. “You need to leave. We all need to leave.”

“We only just got here,” Bofur said in protest and confusion.

“I have tried talking to him, but he won’t listen.”

“What do you mean, laddie?” Oin asked.

“Thorin.” His voice echoed with his outburst, making the dwarves flinch and Oreliell’s eyes widen. Bilbo quickly quieted down. “Thorin. Thorin. He’s been down there for days. He doesn’t sleep. He barely eats. He’s not been himself, not at all. It’s this… it’s this place. I think a sickness lies on it.”

“Sickness?” Kili asked. “What kind of sickness?”

Oreliell looked at Fili, who began moving around the group. His eyes were trained on something below them. 

“Fili?” Bilbo said. “Fili. Fili!” 

Bilbo was the first to go after him, followed by Oreliell, then the others. They moved quickly, trying to keep up with the blond prince. Oreliell’s mind raced with questions. What did Bilbo mean? Was Thorin all right? What had happened?

Oreliell paused on a platform, and her eyes widened. Below was a sea of gold. It seemed to glow in the darkness of the mountain, reflecting off the lit fires. There were mounds of it everywhere, towering over them in some places. Oreliell slowly joined the others on one of the lower platforms, but remained behind them. She could hear metal clinking together, like someone was walking through the gold. She feared what that could mean.

Thorin soon appeared, draped in grand robes.

“Gold,” he said. His voice was low but drew everyone’s attention to him. “Gold beyond measure. Beyond sorrow and grief.” Thorin finally looked up. Oreliell exhaled, feeling like she lost all breath in a single moment. He stared at them for a long moment before speaking again. “Behold the great treasure hoard of Thror.” He suddenly threw something toward them. Fili caught the item easily and looked at it: a large red jewel. “Welcome, my sister-sons, to the kingdom of Erebor.”

Oreliell stared down at Thorin. She barely registered that Bilbo was directing the dwarves away after Thorin turned his attention away. She took a step forward. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Thorin, no matter how much they teared up. She reached up to her collar and grasped at her necklace, holding it tight in her hand. She didn’t realize that she had made a sound until Thorin looked back in her direction.

They stared at one another for a long moment.

“Gimlelul,” he eventually said. “Welcome to Erebor.”

Oreliell felt tears fall down her face.

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

He doesn't beat around the bush, and that makes her even more nervous than before. She pulls strands of hair away, tucking them behind her ear as she tries to come up with exactly what to say that doesn't make her sound bland, dumb, childish, or all three.

The subject about Annie was always a rough one for her to face. It made her heart jump, body tingle. She assumes it's just uneasiness getting the best of her. But she brushes it aside with a forced smile.

"It's nothin' that serious! As you assumed, sir, it's just a silly rivalry." Firecracker starts and, though she thought to maybe leave it there, she wanted to at least show a more cohesive explanation. It would make her seem informative, right? She has to give a good impression.

"We used to participate in beauty pageants, she and I. Though those were pageants for kids, we'd get pretty heated up! I guess she hasn't gotten over that. I don't really like what she's been doin' against Vought, so here I am to set the records straight!" She says, as if Annie hadn't forgotten all about Misty... As if it hadn't been Misty who kept the grudge.

She sure hopes she can't be read like a book, because her memories pour right off, she drowns down a pout that wants to surface, the need to scream that it wasn't fair... That the girl she admired so much, she liked so much, just ran all over her. That she was part of the Seven before her, that she had always been better than her... Everything was just unfair.

She hides that, she hides it behind that bright smile of hers. "So, let me know what you'd like for me to do, sir, and I'd be more than happy to provide! I'll keep givin' my everythin' to Vought."

James tilted his head ever so slightly, his gaze locked on her every mannerism as Firecracker tried to brush off her rivalry with Annie. The way her voice tightened, the forced smile—he didn’t need his centuries of experience to see through it, but it certainly helped.

He leaned back in his chair, hands clasped in front of him, the bouquet now resting on a nearby table. "Mm… is it?" he murmured, his tone far from convinced. He had caught something deeper behind her words, something she wasn’t willing to admit.

There was a brief pause, one that hung in the air just long enough for her to squirm slightly under his scrutiny. James cleared his throat, his voice smooth as silk but edged with a sharpness that suggested he wasn’t one to let things slide easily.

"Tell me, Misty," he began, his voice low and deliberate, using her name not her moniker-- her mask. " Do you know much about… pirates? The kind who sailed the seas, breaking the law, living by their own rules and all that rot" James’ gaze remained steady, his voice taking on a distant quality as he continued.

" Well, there was once a man—a Commodore. He was a man of order, duty, and unshakable conviction. Loyal to a fault. Eager to serve his crown and company just well.. like you. " He smiles at her. " He was tasked with bringing a pirate to justice, a man who was his complete opposite in every way. A captain who was without doubt the worst pirate he had never heard of"

James paused, watching her reaction closely as he unfolded the tale, but never letting on that he was speaking of himself.

"The Commodore despised everything the pirate captain stood for—chaos, freedom, rebellion. Their rivalry was legendary. The Commodore’s pursuit of this man became an obsession. He wasn’t just trying to catch a criminal; he was trying to prove something—to himself, to the world." James’ voice grew quieter, his tone taking on a somber edge.

"Blinded by the thought of his rival escaping one more time, The commodore ignored the warnings of an incoming Hurricane. His ship, though a fine vessel—sturdy, strong— tried to sail through certain if his rival could so could he. Thus, he pressed on, driven by his rivalry, his need to capture the captain who had constantly eluded and made a mockery of him. As the storm grew in fervor, his crew begged him to turn back, but he refused, too blinded by his obsession to see the danger."

Perhaps she could see it in his vivid emerald eyes, the torrid seas, the deafening crack of thunder as lightening split her mast.

"The winds howled, the rain lashed down, and the sea churned beneath them. The mast splintered in two right before his eyes, and in the chaos, the ship was torn assunder. He watched as his crew, loyal men who trusted him, relied on his leadership, were lost to the waves—because of his pride, his need to win at any cost. By the time he realized the magnitude of his mistake, it was too late. The sea had claimed everything."

There was a sadness there, for something that was either fictitious or ancient history.

"The problem with rivalries, Firecracker, is that they can consume you and take away more than they can give back. This Commodore, in his quest to bring down the pirate, lost sight of everything else. His duty, his career, his very sense of who he was. It wasn’t the pirate that destroyed him in the end. It was the burden of his own grudges."

James let his words linger, watching as the weight of the story settled in the room. Then leaned forward slightly, his gaze never leaving hers. "Rivalries are dangerous things, Miss. They can drive us to be better, stronger… but they can also unravel everything we've worked for."

James leaned back, his expression softening, but his eyes still held that calculating edge. He could see the emotions brewing beneath the surface, the nervous energy she tried to mask with her bright smile and eager responses.

"Firecracker," he began, his voice now more gentle, "I want you to take a few days to get yourself together. You've been through a lot, and it's clear that this, whether you admit it or not, has taken a toll."

He watched her reaction carefully before continuing, choosing his words with precision. "When you come back, I want you to have a fresh perspective. Tone down the rhetoric, especially where Annie is concerned. We need to shift the narrative��not just for the public, but for yourself. Such a lovely young lady of the your heritage should not be so brash.. leave that to Starlight."

James stood, brushing an invisible wrinkle from his suit, his gaze never wavering. "I’ll arrange extra security for you, and in the meantime, I’ll handle the press. Smooth things over, ensure they focus on your strengths—your power, your loyalty to Vought."

While the authority in his voice was undeniable, but there was also an odd kind of care in his words—like he was offering her a lifeline, not just a command.

James watched with mild amusement Firecracker’s flustered demeanor. Her enthusiasm and energy, if a bit scattered, as she rushed to accommodate him. The blush on her face and the quickness in her movements reminded him of a young cadet eager to prove themselves, a comparison that made him consider her potential more seriously.

He accepted the bottle of water with a gracious nod, not at all intending to drink it but appreciating the gesture. As Firecracker settled into her seat, opposite him, James took a moment to observe her closely. She was raw, unpolished, and clearly trying to find her footing in all of this. But there was something in her—the spark of ambition, perhaps—that made him wonder if she could be molded into something more.

"Well, for starters.. Tell me more about the history between you and Miss January," he said gently, his voice still calm but now carrying a deeper curiosity. "Rivalries don’t form out of thin air. There’s usually something more—that lingers beneath the surface."

[thoughtsonhurtandcomfort]

The Cliff

Content Warnings: merman whump, storms, washed ashore, trouble breathing, injury, bruises, heat whump, exhaustion

Blue’s Tag List: @deluxewhump @midwinter-wump @briars7 @0idril0

Author’s Notes: I’ve been sitting on this one for a while...it was sitting 99% finished in a google doc that I forgot about. :’) Not my best but hey...I wrote, right?

It was loosely inspired by this image (CW - image contains gore and partial nudity) but changed a lot once I started writing.

----

Weak keens fill the misty morning air over the ocean.

They go unheard. Unanswered.

The water is fairly calm, waves lapping gently against the rocks that jut out here and there, starting small and growing larger the closer they get to the cliffside.

But the night before they were anything but calm. The hurricane had raged for hours, stirring the sea and whipping the trees on land about. By morning debris was strewn across pebbly beaches and floated on the water’s surface.

Some creatures did not make it, a handful of unlucky fish and birds. But most had seen it coming and sought shelter.

One unlucky creature, though, had neither found shelter in time nor been killed. Either one would have been more merciful than this.

Blue is strong, and a good swimmer. His confidence in this was his downfall; he stayed too close to the surface for too long, even when the skies above grew dark and every creature around had fled. By the time he started to head for home it was too late. The churning water picked up speed and force. He tried and tried to swim away but was no match. Soon he grew exhausted, until he had no choice left but to give in to the surging ocean.

The waves lifted and dropped, lifted and dropped, tossed his body mercilessly about, his tail a flash of blue against ominous gray. In their relentless course towards land, they brought the half-conscious merman towards the rocks.

The first violent slam of his back to hard stone knocked him out cold. This was at least a small mercy. He slid with a moan back into the grip of the waves only for them to lift and slam him again and again and again, battering his limp body.

As the storm picked up, the waves grew higher and higher until they crashed against the side of the cliff. They carried the merman with them, and with one roaring wave, threw his body into the hard, uneven surface.

When that wave subsided, Blue was not pulled back down with it. Instead he had been thrown into a crevice between large chunks of rock, wedged at his hips where his tail is thickest. The force of each new wave only served to keep him there until he was firmly stuck.

The storm raged on.

And then it slowed, and slowed some more…

And then dawn came.

And then Blue woke.

----

The first thing he registers is the harshness of daylight even through his shut eyes. He groans and tries to turn away from it, only to find himself unable to move. The attempted motion sends a sharp twinge up his back.

One by one each ache makes itself known; his back, his horribly bruised chest, ribs, one shoulder, one side of his face, his hips, all along his tail. The scrapes and cuts that sting in the open air...

Air...

He forces his eyes open, flinching with a sharp gasp as one swollen eye only opens partway. The throb in his eye and cheek spreads to his head, making it pound relentlessly, and the sunlight isn’t helping.

But why - why is he in the air, not water…

When his blurry vision clears he feels a terror he has never known. Not only is he out of the water, but he is high above the ocean.

The merman panics. His gills - barely damp by now - flare wide and retract, searching for something they will not find. After a moment of terror as he starts to suffocate, he remembers to breathe through his mouth and takes a ragged gasp.

His squirming and labored breathing set his injuries ablaze. Opening his mouth hurts his battered face; expanding his lungs sends sharp pangs across his bruised ribs and chest.

Stuck and scared and hurting, completely helpless in the open air, he keens. His cries are sorrow, regret, a call for help.

Of course no one hears him. No merfolk would be near the surface when they could be hunting in the aftermath of the storm. Even if someone came, what could they do for him? But it doesn’t stop him from wailing until his throat is raw.

Soon the sun is above the horizon and beating down on the merman. As if his bruised and broken skin hadn’t been through enough, the light and air dry away what little moisture the final waves had left him with. He draws shallow breaths no matter how they hurt, fighting to survive.

Blue gets a small reprieve in the form of clouds blocking the sun. He is still far too dry, his skin aching fiercely, but the absence of blinding light doesn’t go unnoticed. He opens his weary eyes and tries to look down, to see how badly he is stuck, and how far away the ocean is…

The first thing he sees is his own battered tail. Each slam against the rock scraped and tore at scales, leaving raw, bloody patches of skin here and there. He whimpers at the sight.

At the upper part of his tail, just below where skin ends and scales begin, he is pressed between the rocks - tight. The pressure is a pain all its own, breaking the scales and bruising the skin beneath them, throbbing dully and making him shudder.

He got in, so he should be able to get out...right?

But still there is the matter of the landscape below: slivers of ocean wrapped around jutting rocks. He can hear the sloshing waves, smell the salty air, it’s all so close and too far. His dry skin longs for the cool touch of water.

Exhaustion threatens to overwhelm Blue. He’s still worn from fighting to swim against the building storm the night before, and now on top of that are his injuries and the suffocating heat. His head lolls, his eyes drifting shut and popping open. The pull of unconsciousness, of an escape from constant pain, is so tempting...but the merman fears if he falls asleep he may never wake again.

Trying to free himself from the crevice is his only option. At the same time, moving is the last thing his sore body and weary mind want to do. And if he gets free, there is still the risk of falling onto one of the rocks below.

Blue takes a few wheezing breaths of dry air. His chest is tight with fear, but he has to try. He begins to squirm his hips and push against the rock with his elbows.

Immediately injuries that had numbed down to a dull ache flare up with a vengeance. His head spins; his body trembles and throbs.

He can’t give up.

It takes several more squirms and pushes and shifts of his weight. The pain threatens to overwhelm him. His breath nearly gives out. His movements become weak and desperate.

One final wriggle does it - his body is freed from where the rocks pinned him.

For a moment the only things holding him up are his wobbling arms. They quickly give in and the merman drops.

Blue passes out before his battered body crashes to the waves below. He’s tossed about before finally sinking down into the water.

New dangers might find him here, and he’s badly injured. But for now he drifts carelessly, rocked by the shifting currents, cradled by the ocean’s cool embrace.

[gottagobuycheese]

so THIS is what “calm before the storm” feels like

[write-orflight]

Like Real People Do. Chapter 9

*Gif not mine*

Masterlist

Rating: M

Words: 3.2k

Warnings: Kinda nsfw talk(not really tho) violence

Request: OPEN/CLOSED

A.N: Only an epilogue left guys! thanks for going on this journey with me and making me remember my love for writing. End of chapter based loosely on season 4, episode 3. and even then it’s what I remember. I didn’t feel like rewatching the episode so if you see any inaccuracies, you didn’t. Much love, Cia

Chapter 9: We should just kiss 

You and Spencer have been dating for almost a year now. Or as he would put it and 10 months 29 days and 4 hours. 

After your first night together, you woke up and headed directly to headquarters after a minor detour to shower together again per Spencer’s request. That ends  up making you a little more late than you wanted to be so you end up ignoring your coworkers, making a beeline for hotch’s office. 

“What’s that all about?” Derek asks as he watches the two of you enter Hotch’s office, shutting the door. 

“They’re probably going to tell Hotch they’re dating.” Emily says, not looking up from her file.  

“What?” Derek says at the same time as Garcia says “You knew?” He looks at Garcia incredulously, “Knew?” 

“Sorry, I was sworn to secrecy. But I only found out a month or so ago.” Garcia shrugs. “How did you know?” 

“Come on, I'd be bad at my job if I didn’t notice the immediate pining looks change to smiles.” She laughs, giving Derek a pointed look. “I had suspicions but they were confirmed when she snuck out of our hotel room in Arkansas last month.” 

“Plus did you see that football sized hickey on her neck just now?” JJ adds, inducing a laugh from the group. The two of you came back to the group then after a very awkward conversation with Hotch that he kept staring at your neck for. You thought you did a good job covering it but apparently not enough because as soon as you walked in he just reached into his desk drawer handing you both the office relationship form with a simple ‘Don’t let it get in the way of work.’ 

“What’s so funny?” You ask. 

“Nothing important.” Emily smiles. “Congratulations though.” She says, nodding towards your hands you didn’t realize were joined together. You both flush, immediately letting go of each other. 

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

You meet Diana around month 6. 

You end up with a case around Reno at the time and Spencer asks to stay an extra day to visit his Mom. Hotch approves the both of you to stay behind, assuming you are going with him. 

“You don’t have to, Y/N.” he says, nervously. “You can go back if you want.” 

“Well, what do you want, dear?” You ask, looking up from the book you were reading. “Because, I’d love to meet your mother but only if you’re ready.” you emphasize to him. You knew how protective Spencer was of his mother and you were aware of her diagnosis. You’d understand completely if he wanted to wait to introduce the two of you. 

“No, I want her to meet you. I just, never thought I’d be in this situation.”

“What do you mean?” You ask. 

“Being in a relationship.” He says. “Loving someone enough I want people important to me to also love them. I just never thought it was in the cards for me.” 

You look at Spencer with a soft expression. Despite how he was sometimes with you, you could tell Spencer wasn’t the most confident. You would never understand why, you loved him. You couldn’t even imagine not wanting Spencer in your life. 

You sit your book down and level him with a heavy look “Come here.” You say, from your position on the bed. Spencer, not needing much convincing immediately lays on top of you. You proceed to show him exactly how much you love him that night. 

The two of you walk into the care facility hand in hand. You’re immediately greeted by the front desk nurse. “Spencer!” She says, happily. She immediately takes note of the joined hands and smirks. “And who is this?” 

“This is Y/N, my girlfriend.” He says, smiling brightly. You instantly extend a hand to shake the woman's hand. “I was hoping to introduce her to my mom today. Is it a bad time?” He asks. 

“No, honey, she’s having a good day today. She’s reading in the common room if you’d like to head back.” Spencer nods his thanks before leading you back there. 

Spencer scans the room quickly before landing on his mom, she gives him a bright smile. Spencer immediately speed walks towards her, pulling you in tow, you practically have to jog to keep up. 

“Spencer.” She immediately holds her arms out, Spencer letting you go to hug her.

“Hey mom.” He says, he turns back to you, and you're standing awkwardly waiting for him to introduce you. “Mom this is--”  

“Dr. Y/N Y/L/N.” She cuts him off, smiling at you. 

You reach your arm out to shake her hand, which she mainly just holds for a second before releasing you. “It’s very nice to meet you, ma’am.” you add. 

“Diana.” She corrects before turning to Spencer. “Your letters were right, she’s very pretty.” She smiles at the flush that spreads across both of your faces. 

The three of you sit and make small talk, updating Diana about your lives separately and together. Eventually, Diana speaks up. “Spencer, why don’t you go talk to Dr. Callahan before you go. I’m sure Y/N doesn’t mind keeping me company.” 

Spencer looks at you hesitantly, you nod at him. “We’ll be fine. Go.” You smile, he smiles back at you before heading out the conference room. 

You and Diana sit in comfortable silence for a minute before she speaks “Your nails are such a pretty color.” 

“Thanks!” You say, before adding excitedly. “I keep the polish in my bag, I can paint your nails if you want.” You say before rummaging in your purse pulling out the aforementioned polish. She smiles and nods at you holding out her hand to you. You instantly got to work. 

“Do you always carry around polish?” She asks. 

You shrug. “When you’ve got a job like ours you have to. Guns aren’t really kind enough to not chip your polish.” You laugh, she joins you. 

“This is nice.” She says. You tilt your head, questioningly. “Girl talk, I never got it with Spencer. And frankly, I never thought I would.” 

You smile. “Well, I’m not going anywhere Diana, so you can get your girl talk from me whenever.” You chuckle, she laughs with you.

“He loves you, you know that.” 

“I love him.” You look her in the eyes so she’d know you were being genuine. “Spencer is the best thing to ever happen to me and you raised a wonderful son and partner.” 

She looks at you misty eyed, patting your hand affectionately, before letting you get back to work. You’re talking and laughing so much the two of you don’t even notice Spencer watching the both of you in the doorway of the common room with a smile on his face.      

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

Spencer accidentally meets Persephone at 9 months. 

You had gone to your college roommate’s baby shower which had taken longer than you thought so you asked Spencer to go to your apartment to feed Garbage. Upon entering he heard noise in the kitchen, he didn’t see your car out so he knew it wasn’t you. He pulled his gun out to investigate and well…

That’s the story of how Spencer almost shot your godmother.

When you came home, you walked into the sight of Spencer and your godmother sitting around your table having tea. 

“Persephone!” You say, surprised. She’s instantly up from her spot at the kitchen table, hugging you tightly. “I thought you were still in Tibet.” 

She smiles at you. “No, dear. I’ve decided to go to Puerto Rico and help with hurricane relief. I thought I’d take a brief detour to come see you but ended up running into Spencer here.” She turns and smiles at him before leveling you with narrowed eyes. “Who you failed to mention in your letters.” She says, with a pointed look. 

“I’m sorry, Phone.” You say, “Life’s been hectic, I just couldn’t find the words. But this is Spencer.” You say walking towards him, settling in the seat next to him. “My boyfriend.” You settle your hand on top of his, he squeezes you in return. 

Persephone was very much the opposite of your mother. She had long dreads fashioned with gold beads and shells tied back typically with a bandana. She believed in spirituality, often trying to read your palm or tarot most of your life and you always found her meditating or doing yoga when you would come home in your teenage year. She was a free spirit that didn’t match your mom’s strict demeanor and regime at all. 

Yet they were best friends. 

Having met in college and your mother being forced to tutor her in economics, the pair quickly became lifelong friends eventually making her Maid of Honor at her and Noah’s wedding and Y/N’s godmother. She had taught Alice how to loosen up and Alice taught her many things like caring for others before herself. After her passing, Persephone dedicated her life to helping others as well as raising Alice and Noah’s daughter. Not that much ‘raising’ went on, you were a very independent child. Just like your mother. 

Persephone sits and has tea with you guys for a while before announcing her flight is leaving soon. The two of you offer to take her to the airport but she refuses your offer so you opt to just walk her out. 

“It was nice to see you, Persephone.” You say, hugging her as she leaves. 

“You too, sweetheart.” she says, before leaning to whisper to you. “Hold on to that one, He seems to keep you balanced.” 

“Trust me, I am.” you smile. 

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

Fights happen. Just like with any other couple. 

When you first move in together at 10 months they happen a lot as you adjust to each other's habits. Like Spencer never hanging up his towel or you leaving your makeup on the bathroom sink. But you get used to it as you get used to each other. 

Sex is good, great even. You’d never been with a guy who was so intuitive of your body. He treated you like you were a puzzle he had to solve every night. Finding new ways to get you off, what you liked, didn’t like, what made you mad. Sometimes he’d just tease you for hours until you were begging for his cock. Sometimes you’d push his buttons all day just so as soon as you got home, he’d lay you on the nearest surface and fuck you until it was hard to walk the next morning. Sometimes he was brutal, leaving bruises you weren’t aware were forming at the time and most times, he was doting. Treating you like you were the most fragile yet most important thing in his life because, well, sometimes you were. 

The nightmares never stopped. You were foolish to think now that Spencer was in your bed every night they would. You’d wake up gasping most nights, thankfully not waking Spencer, then you’d make a cup of tea to calm yourself down before joining him back in bed. Some nights, you’d wake up screaming. For your parents, Spencer, anyone. He’d wake up then, instantly cradling you in his arms while you sobbed into his bare shoulder. 

Thankfully, it doesn’t affect your work like you thought being an open couple would. If anything it made you work better together which is why Hotch sent the both of you on this case today. You were to go undercover as social workers to investigate what you believed to be a cult. 

You were interviewing some of the children when the first shots rang out and you two and the social worker you had come with were ushered in a tunnel underground with the other women and children. You were trying to keep your cover and remain calm but you couldn’t help but look at Spencer in worry. The woman you had come in with had been shot and it was starting to look like Waco in here. Spencer was looking back at you with the same look, praying this wouldn’t be the last moment you had together because you couldn’t hold each other like you wanted to. 

The leader came in later with his goons storming up to you and Spencer. “You know, I just heard something real interesting on the news.” He said, casting a dark look to the both of you. “That there are two FBI agents being held hostage inside. Now, imagine my shock when I saw that because as i was told by the two of you, there was only one and that she was dead on the floor. So…” his goons leveled their guns at you. “Who is it?” 

Though you hadn’t necessarily shared your thoughts with Spencer, you’d hoped he came to the same conclusion you had regarding the man’s profile. He was a narcissist and charismatic sure, but he was violent and willing to do whatever it took to get his way. You also knew he wouldn’t kill a woman. Sure, he’d hurt and maim but you knew if he found out Spencer was an agent, he would kill him, no hesitation. 

You knew what you had to do. 

“Me.” you said instantly “It’s me.” Spencer tries to not blow the cover you just gave him but he looks at you with a shocked pained look. “I’m Agent Y/N Y/L/N.” 

The man’s goons look at him for instruction. He gestures for them to lower their guns and you think for a second you’ll be fine. But then the man is gripping you roughly by your hair dragging you out the room by your roots while Spencer watches in horror. 

The first hit takes you by surprise, it shouldn't have, you knew it was coming as soon as he dragged you into a room alone. It was best to not fight back so you just became his punching bag. You knew the team had to be listening to what was happening to you, you knew they’d risk the whole case if it meant getting you out of danger. You needed a way to let them know you were fine. 

“I can take it.” You say, to the air really. “I can take it.” 

“You can take it, huh?” The man grabs your hair roughly again before landing another punch.

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

You were now captive alone in a room. Of course you’d prefer not to be but if you were comparing rooms you’ve been captive in at least the digs here were sweeter. 

You’d found a way to get in communication with Derek, with you moving the blinds with your boot to speak and him using morse code. You were suddenly thankful for that weekend Spencer got bored and forced you to learn morse code because now you knew there was a bomb and they were planning on setting it off with everyone inside. 

You had to get out, but more importantly you had to get these women and children out first which made you try to break down the woman who was checking on you’s defenses. You knew she was the one who made the call to social services in the first place. You knew you could get her to do the right thing if it meant protecting the children. So you made her aware of your plan, get the women and children back into the tunnels and out of the compound before all hell could break loose.

You could really only hope Spencer was holding his own. 

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

Spencer had made it out just barely in time and not in the best of shape that didn’t stop him from immediately looking for you. He searched around frantically until his eyes landed on the woman he knew made the 911 call, corralling a bunch of children. He approached her hoping she knew something. 

“The agent he took earlier. Where is she?” he asked, panicked. 

“She came with us but we lost one of the toddlers she ran back inside to get him. I never saw her come back out.” She said sadly.

Spencer’s eyes leveled back to the burning building trying to keep his tears at bay. He was a scientist, he knew the odds if she had truly gone back inside considering where the blast was located she couldn’t have survived. He choked as heavy sobs racked through him, turning away from the building because he couldn’t watch the sight of something that had taken the love of his life. He was so distraught he almost didn’t catch the melodic voice behind him. 

“I’m sure we can find you a new stuffed lamb, honey.” You say to the 5 year old cradled in your arms. There’s a reason you're not a firefighter. You were not cut out for the running into burning buildings business, you felt fine but you were sure you’d be coughing up black for days. You approached the back of the ambulance. “Can you go with this nice man for me? He’s going to make you feel all better, alright?” The child nods shyly into your neck before you hand him off to the EMT. You look around before your eyes land instantly on Spencer, who looked like he’d been crying. You couldn’t help the stray tears they fell from your face as you jogged (well, limped) towards him. He instantly wrapped his arms around your waist letting you cling tightly to his shoulders. 

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“Am I okay?” He says, incredulously. “Yea, I’m fine Y/N. Are you ok?” He says, you nod. 

“A little sore but I’m fine.” You wipe the stray tears from his face. “What’s wrong?” 

“They said you ran back in. I- I thought--” 

“I’m not.” You assure him, knowing what he was about to say. “I’m alright, Spen.” 

“Marry me.” 

That makes you stop in your tracks. You look him in his eyes, they’re soft and genuine looking back at you. “What?” you say. 

He reaches into his jacket's upper pocket, producing a ring. “I was going to wait until our anniversary, I was going to take you back to the planetarium and rent it out so we could have it to ourselves. I had a whole idea but considering how you like to scare me every couple months with a near death experience.” You chuckle slightly at the annoyance in his voice. Before he looks back at you with so much love and admiration. “I can’t live another second without you knowing I want you to be my wife so…” He gets down on one knee. It’s not at all how you pictured your proposal, definitely not with cop lights flashing and ambulance sirens, and the smell of burning wood. But because it’s Spencer. Because it’s you. And because you’re both still breathing and alive. It’s perfect. Just like everything always seems to be when you’re together. “Will you marry me, please?” he asked again. 

“Yes.” You say. “Of course.” You add laughing. He slips the ring on your finger and doesn’t even feel like extra weight on your hand. In fact it feels like for the first time in your life, it’s right. He sweeps you into a bruising kiss. You don’t even notice the team watching and smiling, misty eyed. Only thing you notice is the comforting weight of Spencer near you and how in that exact moment the world feels still.

Taglist: @haylaansmi​     @yoruebeautiful​ @kianagilder-blog​ @l0ve-0f-my-life​ @bihoeofmanyfandoms @dreamer7black​ @baby-banana​ @drreidshands​ @blameitonthenight21​ @slyskyeey​ @liaabsurd​ @di-essere-amato​ @oliviamaerose​ @nightlygiggless​ @eevee0722​ @april-14-blog​ @dilaudidwinchester​

[classysassy9791]

When a job goes terribly wrong, the Fairy Tail guild is left to pick up the pieces. Mourning the deaths of their guildmates, Lucy can't seem to find the strength to move forward. But she comes to realize one person understands. His madness was her mercy, and she finally began to hope that maybe he could make her heart beat again.

Fandom: Fairy Tail Genre: Adventure/Tragedy Warning: Character Death(s) Ch. 1 l Ch. 2 l

Chapter 3 Word Count: 3,100 Can also be found here

I give up on editing this anymore so here it is

.

.

.

The first thing Juvia noticed upon entering the guildhall that morning was that Gray was nowhere to be found. More often than not, he arrived earlier than she, prompting a touch of concern as to where the ice-make mage could be. He had taken a job the day before, so there was a chance he could be sleeping in after arriving home late.

The second thing she noticed was the hum of electricity among her fellow guildmates. They gathered at the tables closest to the stage, everyone murmuring amidst themselves. Knitting her brows with worry, the bluenette weaved her way over to where Wendy sat.

“Good morning, Wendy,” she greeted the young girl with a small smile. “Why is everyone so lively?”

With a drained look she offered, “Hello, Juvia,” before dropping her gaze to the floor. “I-I guess you haven’t heard yet.”

Blue eyes glanced between her and Charle, who perched beside her with a hollow expression. “Hear what?”

“Well, Team Natsu went on a mission yesterday and-”

Her heart missed a beat, terrifying worst-case scenarios coming to her mind with Gray’s absence. “Where’s Gray?” Juvia demanded anxiously. “Has he returned?”

Wendy quickly nodded, setting her panic at ease. “Yeah, he came home. He’s in the infirmary right now. I’m not sure what happened, but he and Lucy were hurt pretty bad.”

Her eyes shifted distractedly over to the hallway leading to their clinic. “Maybe Juvia should go check on him.”

“Absolutely not,” a woman interrupted before she could scamper off to his side. Porlyusica suddenly appeared with her ever present scowl. “He needs to rest. Leave him be.”

“O-Oh… Ah… right,” Juvia stammered, feeling a blush come to her cheeks. She still felt anxious, but knew better than to question the elder woman’s words. “Will he be all right?”

“He’ll be fine. He’s a stubborn fool.”

The water mage breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness.”

“Hey, you guys!” Levy called as she bounced over, Team Shadowgear hot on her heels.

“Oh, good morning,” Wendy greeted.

“What happened last night?” the solid-script mage asked, concerned lines creasing her brow as she took note of their medicinal advisor. “Jet told me he had to fetch Porlyusica.”

“Gray and Lucy were badly injured,” Juvia explained. “What happened is still unclear.”

“Cana didn’t offer an explanation either when she came to get me,” Jet said, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve never seen her so sober.”

Levy fiddled with the hem of her dress nervously, giving Wendy a questioning glance. “Is Lu okay?”

“She’ll be fine,” she affirmed with a small nod. “They both just need some rest for now.”

“What’s everyone buzzin’ about?” Gajeel questioned as he sauntered over, keeping his eyes peeled on the rest of the guildhall. “Ain’t like them this early in the morning.”

Panther Lily hopped onto the table next to Charle. “We’re usually never here this early,” he pointed out.

“Master wants to make an announcement.” Cana strolled over, her customary barrel of alcohol propped against her hip and a soft warmth blooming upon her cheeks. “It’s not good.”

“Why do you say that?” Levy asked.

“I saw Lucy and Gray come in last night. It was pretty bad.”

“You don’t think something terrible happened, do you?” Wendy fiddled with her hands anxiously.

Gajeel folded his arms over his chest. “Didn’t they go on a mission with Salamander?”

“Yeah, along with Erza and Happy.” Levy’s hazel eyes quickly scanned their gathered guildmates. “But I haven’t seen either of them all morning.”

“The Thunder Legion was sent out, too,” Cana mumbled. “This doesn’t sit well with me.”

The guildhall suddenly hushed as Makarov entered the room, climbing up onto the stage in order to be better seen and heard. Mirajane stood beside him, but her usual cheerful smile had been replaced by a deep frown. Her eyes were rimmed red and her cheeks were flushed, making it apparent to everyone that she had been crying. Levy exchanged an anxious glance with those beside her.

Their master cleared his throat, his eyes noticeably misty. “My heart is heavy today,” he began, his voice thick with tears. “I come to you not as your guild master, but as a member of the family we hold dear. Unfortunately, in this world, not everything can be fixed, no matter how much we wish it could.”

Dread had Levy’s stomach locked up tight and her teeth clenched together.

The room fell eerily silent. “Yesterday, our strongest team went on a mission to capture bandits in Freesia. But demons from the books of Zeref blindsided them.”

Levy swallowed against the hard lump in her throat. It became hard to breathe. Where was Erza, Natsu, and Happy? Why weren’t they there?

“It is with a broken heart that I tell you some of our family did not make it home alive.”

“N-No,” Levy whispered, her hands muffling the gasp that escaped as tears welled in her eyes. Loud murmurs of disbelief rang out across the guild, fear building in a frenzy as everyone turned wide eyes to their master.

He paused for a moment to reel in his emotions as Mirajane quietly broke down sobbing beside him. “Natsu, Erza, and Happy all died in battle. They were our beloved family and fought bravely to instill the protection of those we hold dear.”

The news passed through the guild like a hurricane. Levy’s mind was laid waste by it, the desolation she felt all consuming. She suddenly felt weak in the knees, falling backwards onto a bench. Cana dropped her alcohol, causing the contents to spill onto the floor. The room filled with hysterical crying, the screaming sobs molding together to form one.

“T-Tom Cat…?” she heard Charle whisper from beside her, a choked sob escaping Wendy’s lips.

Gajeel clenched his hands into fists, wide eyes staring as he tried to comprehend the master’s words. “S-Salamander? No way…”

Levy cried as if her brain was being shredded from the inside. From her mouth came a cry so raw that Gajeel bent down to pull her to his chest, running shaky fingers through her hair. She curled her hands around his shirt so she could find some gravity with her violent shaking. The whole world vanished for her. Now there was only pain enough to break her - to break them - pain enough to change them all beyond recognition.

“My children!” Makarov cried out above the noises of desolation.

The screams quieted to soft, choked sobs, as they all turned blurry vision toward him. Each of their expressions begged him to have the answers as to how this had happened… as to how they were supposed to endure such a loss.

He looked over each and every one of them, his own tears falling down his cheeks. “Y-You’re going to think that the pain will never end, but it will. That I can promise. But first, you have to let it all in. You can’t fight it; it’s bigger than you. You have to let yourself drown in it, but then, eventually, you’ll start to swim. And every single breath that you fight for will make you stronger. And I promise you, you’ll beat this! We all will!”

“How the hell did this happen?!” Macao called out angrily. “How?!”

Makarov shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t have all the details. Thank Mavis that Gray and Lucy were both brought back home alive. They’re in the infirmary recovering thanks to Wendy and Porlyusica.”

Levy squeezed her eyes shut, listening as Gajeel mumbled incoherent phrases, as Juvia cried for a queen, and Wendy sobbed for a fellow dragon slayer. She took in everything, feeling as if a weight pressed on her chest, and she was drowning in her own tears.

Their master wiped his hand under his nose like a child. “I have postponed any job requests for the time being. With the jewels we received from the Games, I will cover all expenses until further notice. Do not break alone, my children. We are a family, and we will get through this together - as a family.”

Within the mess of emotions surrounding her, Levy repeated Makarov’s news over and over again in her mind.

Natsu… Erza… Happy… dead…

Lucy… Gray… alive…

And then her eyes opened wide.

Lucy…!

...

Lucy felt emotionally bankrupt. There was nothing left to feel, nothing left to say, nothing left but the void that enveloped her mind in swirling blackness. She peeked out from beneath her covers and looked at Gray with eyes filled with anguish. He was sitting up, his gaze trained on the window, as he had been for the past two hours.

Reluctantly, once he had woken up and questioned what had happened, she had given him the news of their friends’ deaths. He had yelled out in denial, refusing to believe her, but as she replayed their final moments out on the battlefield as Virgo and Loke appeared, reality started to set in.

Since then, he had clammed up. He had sobbed - she had never seen him so vulnerable - and then he went silent. He now stared vacantly out at the sunrise, as if searching for something.

About an hour ago, she had heard all the commotion coming from the main hall and knew the rest of the guild had been told the news. The door creaked open, catching Lucy’s attention. She glanced over her covers to see a petite young woman with blue hair peek her head in.

“Lu…?” she whispered hesitantly.

The blonde debated if she wanted to see her friend, or if she would rather pretend to be asleep so she could be left alone. Thinking better of it, she pulled the blanket off of her face. “Hey, Levy,” she replied softly.

Levy stepped over, her hands clenched in front of her as if to keep them from trembling. Her cheeks were red and blotchy from crying. “Oh, Lucy…”

Her words were so tender and full of sympathy, that Lucy felt tears welling in her eyes all over again. “He-He’s gone,” she said, her voice cracking. “They’re all gone.”

Lucy’s body began to shake with her sobs, the sound breaking free from her throat, savage and raw. Levy pushed away the covers and slid into the bed next to her. She wrapped her arms around her friend, running her fingers through her golden-spun hair, and whispered soothing words to help calm her shattered heart.

Sometime during it all, Juvia came to Gray’s bedside, reaching out a trembling hand around his own. “Gray…?” she whispered.

His only response was to pull away, ignoring her presence completely. The desolation he felt consumed him, his mind became an icy wasteland; the wind howled in his soul and wrapped icy tentacles around his heart so tightly, it almost stopped beating.

And faintly, he realized, it had begun to rain.

...

Sitting alone at the Fairy Tail guildhall, Cana took a swig from her glass and waited for the effects to kick in. She waited. And waited. But the numb feeling inside her didn’t wane.

The quiet of the guildhall made her blood run as cold as Fiore’s winters. It was as if nature conspired against her in the dark, not daring to whisper the reassurance she craved. Echoes of boisterous voices spun through her mind, of a lively guild filled with fistfights and magic.

Now, there was only silence.

It gnawed at her insides, hanging in the air like the suspended moment before falling glass shattered on the ground. Like a gaping void. It needed to be filled with sounds, words, anything.

The main door creaked open and she heard soft footsteps echo in the empty guildhall. Mirajane walked over to Cana, giving her a weak smile, barely noticeable in the dim lighting. “I thought I’d find you here.” Her blue eyes, which were usually so bright and kind, had dulled to an opaque grey. They were puffy, but her tears had finally dried up.

The card mage tilted her head in acknowledgement, taking another long gulp. “Where else is there to be?”

Humming her agreement, the eldest Strauss sibling slipped behind the bar for a glass to fill from the tap, and joined Cana in a drink. Once the news of what had happened had sunk in, everyone had dispersed to find their own way of grieving.

“I used to complain about how loud the guild was. All the fighting and the music and the people non-stop talking,” Cana said, her voice brittle as if she were about to cry. “Now, it’s too quiet. I’d give my right arm to hear Natsu start a fight or for Erza to end it, or for Happy to make another of his snarky comments.”

Blue eyes peered wistfully over the darkened guildhall, memories of their childhood revolving through her mind. Over a decade had passed since the first of them had stumbled into Fairy Tail. Even after all they had been through at such a young age, they had still been so innocent as to what lay ahead. “It’s a frightening thought, that in one fraction of a moment, everything you hold dear can be altered forever.”

Cana gripped her glass tighter. “It all just feels like a bad joke.”

“I don’t think the universe is kidding this time.” She didn’t need to voice aloud the circumstances regarding Lisanna’s death. Her body had disappeared in a glitter of golden light. This time, there was no mistake that Natsu, Erza, and Happy were gone. Mirajane took a sip of her drink thoughtfully, swirling the alcohol around in her mouth, relishing in the burn before swallowing.

Cana raised a brow suspiciously. “Since when do you drink?”

“Since I woke up yesterday and never imagined the day would end this badly.” The barmaid shrugged, silver hair a mess and her eyes sad. “I always thought there were bad days, but not in the way most people think, you know? I think… I think really bad days happen when everything seems to be going wrong, and you just want to throw your hands up in the air and give up. Because clearly, the world is out to get you.”

Tears welling in her eyes, Cana held up her glass. “To really, really bad days, then.”

They drank quietly as the shadows grew darker and it wasn’t until after nightfall that they realized something.

As it turned out, a person couldn’t drink away the silence.

...

Every breath was an implosion.

Lucy sat on the edge of the bed with no strength to move. Her shaky fingers finally came to a stop after running restlessly through her messy hair. She bit down on her lip trying not to burst into tears. It wasn’t going to help. It wouldn’t change anything.

Night had fallen, causing everyone to leave the guild. Juvia had fallen asleep in a chair, her head resting on Gray’s bed, but Lucy had persuaded Levy to go home. Brown eyes lifted to look at her teammate, lip quivering.

“Gray…?” Her voice came out in a choked whisper.

“Don’t.” The word was deliberate, and sharper than knives. He didn’t even bother to face her, instead lying on his side with his back toward her.

Lucy glanced away, feeling as if she had been slapped. She wrapped the blanket tighter around her shoulders, the events of the day leaving her feeling hollow. “You don’t get to do this,” she muttered, clenching her hands into fists.

“Don’t,” he repeated. “Just don’t. I don’t want to hear you say what I think you’re gonna say.”

Gray had woken up hours ago with the bitter taste of ash in his mouth and the grit of building caked into his skin. Somehow, before Lucy had replayed the events of the battle for him, he had known it was over. A part of him really knew. People always say they thought they would know if someone close to them had died. Maybe it was true. Because something inside him had broken on that day, and he knew it was over.

Grief felt like emptiness in his heart, a sheer of nothingness that somehow took over and held his soul, threatening to kill him entirely. It gave him this heavy feeling that was like the weight of the world sat on his chest.

He knew grief very well.

He felt it when Ur looked back at him, her body becoming the infamous iced-shell, as she gave her life for his. “I want Lyon to discover the world; Gray, you too, of course. You don’t have to be sad,” she had told him with a smile. “I’m alive. I’m eternally alive as ice. Step into the future. I’ll seal your darkness.”

He felt it when Ultear had given years of her life to give him one more minute of his, changing his fate entirely - her elderly face, tilted with lips pulled up, a shake of her head, wordlessly telling him it was okay.

And he felt it when Erza turned her back to him, scarlet hair shimmering in the fire’s glow; her armor cracked, her swords drawn. “I made a promise! I told Ultear I would look after you,” she had shouted back to him, facing the demon head-on as he lay bleeding. “And I never break a promise!” Even though by then she was already dying, she fought on. She was drenched to the core in blood and yet she fought on. She fought on until she collapsed and could fight no more. And then with the crack of bones, she was gone.

Why?!

Why did every woman he had ever learned to care for decide that his life was worth more than theirs? Why was he always the one left behind to mourn, to feel the guilt of their deaths?

It wasn’t fair, dammit!

“Please… Gray…”

Lucy’s voice drew him from his thoughts and he glanced down to see he had wrapped the sheets tight in his fist, turning his knuckles white. He closed his eyes, but she somehow knew he was listening.

“We-We have their blood on our hands… Tell me it’s going to be okay. Promise me it’s going to be alright,” she cried meekly. “Tell me we have a reason to be here when they aren’t.”

He was silent for a moment, turning his hardened gaze to the dark sky outside. “I can’t.”

She opened her mouth and then closed it again, unable to come up with any response.

[kaetastic]

BLUE EYES, RED HANDS

pairing: Thomas Shelby x Changretta!Reader

summary: Thomas Shelby grazes his eyes upon an unaccompanied figure on the bar, despite the exhausting, enjoyable night, he mistook the woman as innocent. She was not who he thought she was.

word count: 5.7k (why am i like this)

warning: language, mentions of violence, mentions of gun, smut, angst? maybe?? teeny bit?? liquor?

note: first of all, i want to address the timeline which is a confusing bunch. it is indeed set at season 4 episode 1?? tommy hadn’t called his brothers yet yeeyee (also, i’m very proud of this moodboard for some reason?) — with that, thank you for reading and have a nice day!

Red— Thomas Shelby hasn’t noticed the occasional (more like countless) appearance of the fiery colour in his life that popped up endlessly which seemed to only surround him. Despite being a gangster who had spilt litres of blood and drained people of the substance, he might as well declare red as his favourite colour. Blood. Fire. Coincidentally, it was also the colour of her silk dress that hugged her figure graciously, the devil-like heels, and the smeared paint over her lips. The woman who swirled a rock glass in her hand hadn’t craned up her neck from the cup, too enchanted by the twirling hurricane in the liquor. 

Although Thomas wasn’t attending the bar for business reasons or to analyze possible business partners, he refrained himself from creating more ties with other people; even though there was a temptation he had been trying so hard to suppress down underground ever since he had stepped into the bar. Well, despite the horror sitting in his house, he needed to step out of the arrow house for a quick sip of whiskey that was not in the walls of his home. Thomas had already dealt with several firebacks from knowing too many people for his own good. Could he be blamed though? Thomas Shelby was a businessman.

Thomas didn’t want to admit it, but seeing her figure alone and sole on the stool of the bar had flickered something in him. The gangster did not want to admit that he had been staring at her from the moment her heels sparkled under the hazy blur of the bar. No one approached her. Although it sounded saddening and pitiful since it could not be applied the same to Thomas, he had assumed it was the aura floating around her. Gypsy bullshit. There were lines of red and purple dancing on her counter, radiating from her. Guilt and power. Of course, glances were hurled onto the lonely woman who was on her third glass of whiskey; however, no one made a move. Until now. 

Midway pacing to the bar, polished shoes glistening under the hazy, dim light of the bar, Thomas wasn’t sure when he had even got up from the seat that he had claimed a second ago. The wooden table that cowered in a blurry corner was cast with a smear of shadow, darkness lurking from every angle, ready to engulf it once the night ends, and the door had been locked. Stranded alone, the shadow the Birmingham gangster had been accompanying had no other option but to defend itself against the misty black that lorded over. 

There were questions in a continuous reflection in the walls of his brain such as to how his legs even moved that fast. Maybe it was because of the excessive walking he had done in the bright morning, dashing from his room to room, and hallways to branching ones when he had received the mails from his maid. Although the previous day he was at a meeting (an added factor to his muscle exhaustion), which had been nothing but boring, the gangster had to state that he enjoyed some meetings because there was a goal he could achieve (or he had the upper hand of the situation). 

However, Thomas had to sit in a chair that was chewed on by a colony of starving bunnies who had been realized as soon as they were on the edge of delirious. It was on the brink of collapsing, its quivering, muscle-less legs were ready to give up. The man knew if he had rested his left leg properly and comfortably, Thomas would’ve met the floor with a crash. The Birmingham gangster had two things in mind, his pride and his accurate reading of the current in the air (a gypsy thing). Some men were just fucking sly.

Or, maybe it was due to his forever changing age that would never reverse back. Thomas could not ignore the surging aching of his muscles. Yanking the strings to his brain even though the main consultant of decisions barely had time to digest the request, his calf had been the gun to a starting indication of the race to begin. Just like that of an amateur horse, the top half of his body only comprehended the situation he could not back out once he was on the path. He could’ve stopped. He should’ve probably turned around to scream at whoever dared to take his seat he had just left vacant. Thomas Shelby didn’t stop. 

Despite the card with a prominent black hand resting on the desk of his lavish estate, the drinks in the building could not blur the mess of thoughts in his head. The mess he had created and now, he had to clean it all back up. After spilling more Italian blood who had managed to tiptoe into his house, he needed to get out of the building. All the bottle of liquor on the alcohol stand tasted the same; they all did not do their job as he was here, in a bar, still sober. Fucking Italians and the mafia behind his back but here he was, out in the open, approaching a woman. He nearly chuckled as the words vibrated in his head in his aunt’s scolding voice. Oh, to how she would react to him right now. If only she was there to restrain him. 

His icy blue eyes grazed over hers, strings gushing out of their pupils sprung onto one another in surges of shocks. Her gaze that met his electrifying blue eyes sent jolts of volts through his clenching tissues. As an approaching figure made way towards her way, Y/N turned her focus back towards her cup. A rush threaded through her veins; she could hear her thrumming heart in her ears. Was it intimidation? Had she hoped that he approached her? She had felt eyes blaring on her back while she enjoyed her drink, but never did she bring herself to hurl a glance despite her growing curiosity. Although his frigid blue iris was a work of art, a priceless sculpture planted on a mount, she somehow managed to pull away from it. There was no glass in his hands which could only mean that he needed a drink. It didn’t mean he was approaching her... right?

The brick walls of defence she started to build in a haste when their eyes met collapsed. Specks of dust swam in the air as his body leaned against the bar, only a few inches between their arms, not too scandalous; respectful, “Whiskey, neat.” With a sniff for air, Y/N knew she was no longer safe. There was a prominent smear of cigarette and a dying tone of whiskey plastered around him. The type of men she had been taught and warned not to dance with. The hoarseness of his voice sent shivers down her spine, spiking up her legs. Bopping his head, the bartender was quick to dash away to prepare the drink. Despite the freshly opened bottle of whiskey that was used to refill her glass, the bartender went to whisk out another one.

Furrowing her eyebrows in confusion, she sipped on the intoxicating liquid. Ticks cried out, seconds clicked to the next at an agonizing pace. There was something stirring up, something warm and tensed as if scorching on the sun. Power radiated around the man, circling around him in never-ending loops. The distance between their arms was only six inches, however, Y/N couldn’t deny the fact that whatever he gave off, it wasn’t good for her health. Fingers swiftly yet gingerly opening the metal cigarette case, Thomas pulled one stick out before shoving it in front of the woman.

Y/N glanced at the array of the white dresses on the cig that sat in between her and her drink, “I don’t smoke.” Straying for a second, his index finger flapped the casing shut before hurling it back into his coat. While she sipped on the drink, thoughts resounding of the walls of her head in clashes of metal crying, Thomas took a drag of the lit cigarette after he ran it over his lips.

“Why’s that?” Y/N’s eyes clicked onto his. Not a smooth path of guidance but a snap as if the opposite poles of a magnet. The dying act of attraction. A thread of ice plastered a strand in his eyes of a blue, cloudless sky. Though, the lazy dancing of the smoke hovered over his orbs, smeared a hazy blur of the puffy mists. Her eyes ran back to her whiskey.

“My brother thinks it’ll kill me early.” Despite Thomas’s reluctant decision on presenting himself to the bar (a good feeling because he just got the fucking black hand), he hated to admit it, but he was happy he had done the opposite of what his gut told him. The same gut that believed that Alfie Solomons had betrayed him; the same gut that knew his relation and ties to the Russian would’ve been the death of Grace. Might as well find the sparkling, hidden jewel of the night beneath the layers of obnoxious people.

With the glass of whiskey finally on the bar, he took a sip of a familiar liquid after chuckling, although, there was a twinge of bitterness to the liquor he wasn’t so familiar with, “So, you listen to what he says like a good dog?” Y/N’s eyes beamed to his, narrowing to read him. Where was the man going with this? He barely introduced himself and he had already wanted to strike up an argument. “I think your brother’s wrong. Go through a pack of these days by day meself. Here I am, still alive.”

The tone of his voice was swirled with whiskey, coated with a smear of sweetness yet the way it rolled of his tongue sounded as if he expected himself to be buried in the ground already, “I listen to him because, without him, I would be on the streets,” Y/N practically hissed, throwing a whip at the man. It was true. Despite the cold exterior of her older brother, Luca had been nothing but a gentle pillow when he’s with his family. However, a soft feather when anything involved with his baby sister. A true Italian. His never-ending love for his sister was something her own mother and father could barely compete with.

Even though Y/N could’ve been already married and possibly birth out children of her own just like her other cousins, Luca had been the one to shake his head. Y/N had no occupation, no sense of work. All because of her older brother who justified his disagreement to sending her off to a man or having her work, by saying that she was the youngest. Indeed, the youngest. She’s just a baby, mama. Without a second thought, they listened with their ears wide open to the oldest. If Luca was out the picture, she would’ve probably had a ring around her finger. “Plus, I’m sure your lungs have given up on your... routine.”

The corners of his lips curled up, finding her wiggling finger at his cig amusing, “Then tell me, what’s a woman like you sitting here alone?” Quirking up an eyebrow at the man, Y/N stared into his ocean-like eyes.

“A woman like me? When he nodded, a faint smirk straying on his lips, Y/N scoffed. “Is that how you approach women? Bash their choices and talk about the reasons to why they don’t smoke? Without having the decency to introduce yourself? What a gentleman.”

Thomas didn’t bat an eye when she rolled her eyes, clearly done with his interruption of her night. After a drag of his cigarette and a clear of his throat, he held out his palm, calloused fingertips ready to run over her velvety ones, “I’m Thomas.” Y/N tapped her fingers on her thighs, drumming with the beating seconds for him to continue for the last name. But the quirk of his eyebrow and shake of his empty hand, she knew that was all he would give her. Just Thomas. Fine then, that is how it is.

The warmth of his hand was a blanketed temperature of blistering, hot ammo that had been fired seconds ago. Though, it plunged down to the deepest of the frigid, ocean, where no light dared to enter, “Y/N.” Frigid lips pressed against her knuckles. All of the tissues and muscles packed around her rib bones limped, body failing to stabilize at the electrifying shocks from his touch. A thread of smoke smeared along the bump of her knuckles swirled in with the bitter whiskey.

Why had the gangster said a fragment of his nickname? Was he guilty of using an alias? Had he truly not bothered to create possible future business ties? Thomas Shelby’s eyes may be less weak with rotting age, but he could see something sizzling in the air. Another gypsy shit. Puffs of smoke danced in between them while chatters and a faint sound they called music trickled into their ears, “You from America?”

The woman nodded at his inquiry, the corners of her lips curling up from the brilliant idea in her head, “Just curious or you want to add an American to your list?”

“What list?” Thomas mumbled, stabbing the stick into an ashtray before showing off his pearly white teeth. “I don’t keep count.”

Y/N wasn’t sure why and how she still had her dress on. Or to why there was barely a prominent crease or wrinkle of the fabric. Despite the sizzling air in the closed vehicle, the only two people in the car had somehow managed to keep their hands to themselves. There were only a few words exchanged between the man who was driving the woman to his house, to which she would only reply back with a short word. Y/N feared that answering long sentences would reveal her quivering chords from the shameless thoughts in her head. The night was getting older, inching towards the cackling alarm birds. And it was no summer. It was a brutal winter of clouds evaporating from mouths, ready to pierce into the soil ground after it freezes into blade-like icicles.

Heat and warmth from a fireplace could ever do so much, but if it was to be placed on the battlefield of furious wind and gale, it would be an unfair fight. The silvery thread of moonlight sprinkled over the black hood of the car, painting an oil smears of a single grey tone. Yet, a priceless painting that one would only be able to see in a too late of a night and a too early of a morning. Fingernails furling into the fuzzy pouch, Y/N chewed on her bottom lip as she tried her best to not think too much about what the night had for her. However, with every creative idea, the heat between her legs was accompanied by a familiar wetness. 

There was no doubt that she knew the man driving would see the incessant shifting of her legs, pressing onto one another as if the seat had been prickling and uncomfortable. It didn’t take the gangster long to piece the information which was backed up by her staggering breathing. Even though the notorious Birmingham gangster was somewhat known for his icy face of a wall and his strong, unwavering stance on a stoic expression, he couldn’t help the curling of his lips.

That was when awestruck the woman. Fading through the mist of shadow was a grand house. No, a piece of art that resided in the middle of hairless trees. Warm yellow spheres stood straight, bright despite the late hours of the night. Even though Y/N’s upbringing had the mafia as a factor, she was never involved in any scene. With Luca as an older brother spoiling her, something Angel had barely given a point since he was too busy occupying himself (mostly meddling in things he shouldn’t have), she thought she had seen all of it. From marble museums, valuable coffee sets, dress worth a town, and natural landscapes that even a painting or a picture would not be able to capture its beauty. She thought.

The Italian had no idea why she spent her childhood in New York with her older brother even though she could’ve lived in England. Well, she gave a penny to the thought that it was most likely Luca who had given the idea to their parents. When Luca had been of age and she, too, he had requested his parents to let her live with him in New York even though they were making future plans for her in England. Somehow, the eldest crawled through their hearts. She wasn’t sure how different she would be if she was to grow up in England. 

Once the car twirled around a statue, and it halted in front of the archway that led to the front door, Thomas did not waste a second to turn the engine off. The furious breeze of the wind kissed him once he sauntered out of the vehicle, it slashed through his oversized coat and pierced into his skin mercilessly. But he did not care. He couldn’t give a fuck what stood against him, all he needed was this relief.

Still recovering from the freezing wind that managed to seep into the car when Thomas opened his door, Y/N shivered at the familiar numbing sensation she had been shielded from an hour ago. The frigid temperature embedded a blade into her skin, dragging the sharp weapon down her body to cut off any possible way for her to even feel the hand splayed behind her back. However, the warm puffs of air that smelt and tasted of cigarettes and liquor smeared against her tongue, a fire sparking to roar in the midst of the bedding of ice. 

It filled up her parched mouth, warming her throat even though her skin felt like it had been dipped in water of the coldest winter. Her fingers fiddled with his hair, weaving through the luscious locks before tugging on it when his hands descended. There was nothing else in her head as the scent of him coated her lungs, engraining his marking on the walls of her chest. Despite his body curving into hers for the desperate friction and caress of her skin, it wasn’t enough.

No words were exchanged as Thomas rummaged through his coat for the golden key to his house. He had already informed his maids that he would be heading out to clear his mind in case the night became old so they wouldn’t have to be frantic at who slammed the door shut. While his tongue was brushing over her innocent one, his fingers fumbled with the lock, key quivering to brush around the hole. 

Thomas wasn’t sure why his hands were wavering, maybe it was from the frigid breeze or it was the fact that her moans had caused his pants to yank tight around his legs; his knees wobbled, suddenly drenched clothing from a furious rainfall. It wasn’t prominent, but Thomas had a faint assumption that he might’ve been the first man she had been with who was tainted. Tainted as in the sense of sludge from crawling underground. Tainted as in the sense of the blood that had been spilt on his hands. Tainted as in he was the devil.

Sighing into his lips, the key was long forgotten onto the concrete floor as her back was met with the icy walls. A coat of ice smeared along the house; however, it was not as daring as the wind, “Thomas... fuck...” A staggering exhale trickled into the air when his lips met with the soft, sensitive skin under her ears. Legs wrapped around his waist, all Y/N wanted to do was tear off the barrier standing between the two.

Thomas felt piercing bites of her freezing fingers on his cheeks. However, after adapting and growing up with the familiar weather, his hands had been immune to the temperature. There was no concern that the two were visibly in front of his house, his hips in between hers while he prodded his hardening over her damp spot. Lips still moulded with hers, he couldn’t get enough of the magic radiating from her. Another string of curses fell off her lips, “Fuck, just get the fucking door.” Even though Y/N wouldn’t mind the outdoors, the heat between the two was not enough to combat with the windy air.

Thomas swept up the key that sat on the ground, lips swollen and chest heaving. Jabbing it in with precision once he was not focused on the woman, the click sound was then maimed from an engulfing one. The door slammed shut, echoing through the colossal house, followed by the ruffling of clothing, clattering of metal against the floor, and shoes slamming. Tongue caressing one another, Thomas tugged his coat, hurling it onto the wooden floor, not batting an eye to where it landed. The maids will surely place it at its designated place.

The ruckus halted when Y/N’s fingers brushed over the straps of the gun holster that rested on his shoulders comfortably, the gun fluttering its eyelashes innocently. Quirking an eyebrow at the object she didn’t expect to find, Thomas mumbled a reply, “Defence.” Y/N didn’t remember when her red dress was removed but in the corner of her eyes, she saw a glitter sparkling under the blurry light. Although the house was indeed warmer than whatever torture was set up outside, she could feel bumps bulge on her skin from the lack of clothing covering her. The woman was left only in her lace white brassiere, innocent garter, and stocking while the gangster had only stripped off his coat and jacket.

The pair trekked up the wooden stairs, her bare feet brushed over the carpet of that was smeared against the steps. Too enchanted by his hands that ran over her body, Y/N barely had time to admire the workings of art hung onto the rich green wall that had been glistened over by the hazy light from the small lamps residing in the corner of each wall. She could only see flashes of gold; however, she had time to smear the painting of a sole woman in her head. Despite the resounding and loud thoughts in her head, she didn’t bother to raise her voice as they had somehow managed to reach the top of the stairs without halting every minute at each wall. She didn’t know where they were going but Thomas’s arms were wrapped around her bare waist, guiding her while he walked backwards. 

The Italian was intoxicated with the man, not because of the mystery radiating off of him or the stingy smell coating him but his confidence. His confidence was practically glowing from him. A familiar noise of a door slamming even though it was already late at night echoed through the long hallway, Thomas nudged the woman onto the bed, causing her to spring on the mattress lightly. Elbows pierced into the bed, she watched as he tugged every article off his body. His eyes had not wavered from hers which darted to her top teeth peeking out to bite her bottom lips. 

There was no light, now that Y/N noticed, except the natural one blaring through the windows. However, she couldn’t help but note that the room was a spare, not the room he would usually sleep in. The man was anything but plain, the house was decorated at a balance which would only mean it would remain the same conclusion to his bedroom. Unfortunately, the room she assumed (she convinced herself not to jump to the bullet) was just an extra guest room (with a house like that, it would be no surprise for half a dozen of unused rooms), was as empty as it can be. Two windows plastered on one wall, displaying the surrounding forest trees through blurry panes of curtains. A bed without a crease or mark of inhabitants, a table and a chair on the opposite side of the room, and a sole golden-framed painting of a meandering river above the bed. 

It felt like forever before the man finally made way to hover over her body. The familiar heat grazed over her skin, caressing every hair on her. His icy eyes met hers after he had taken the sight ready for him, moonlight smeared over her body. Her skin radiated the grey rays, glowing in spells he didn’t even know existed, entrapping him to bewitching magic. So it did. Thomas ran his hands in a languid pace, thumb prodding into her skin from her shoulder to knead her covered breasts before hastily removing it. God knows where he threw it, but she heard a familiar clash nearby. Lips pressed against her neck, he could see her skin paint a faint red before he trailed down to make a path of it. He could smell the vanilla perfume as if it exasperated out of her skin. All he wanted to do was ruin her. 

There were no words or intention of a conversation whispered between the two, but there were only strings of curses, moans and groans singing in the night air, “Thomas...” His name dripped into his ears like viscous honey, sweet and addicting; the selfish gangster needed more. Finally making himself a place between her wide-opened legs, he pushed himself deeper into her slick folds without an issue. Wet for him. Once he was deep in her and his fingers brushed away the hairs on her forehead, Y/N hooked her legs around his hips, ready for him to move. 

It was all a blur. She couldn’t remember when he had thrust his hips but all she could recall at the starting point was her head thrown back into the pillow. Her words clogged in the middle of her throat while the prickling strands of Thomas’s hair pierced onto her collarbone. Groans fell off his lips, hips snapping onto hers. The sight of her lidded eyes and parted lips that only screamed his name was one he would not be able to forget. The bed creaked, rattling against the wall mercilessly, most likely punching an indent into the walls. It wasn’t long before Y/N saw stars. Time became non-existent as they lived in their own bubble, however, it was popped once the two chased after their own relief. 

“Fuck. That was a good one, eh?” Y/N giggled, hands smacking his chest before her eyes grazed over the tattoo. Her thumb caressed on the ink, following the path as if scribbling art. There was a wanton sound rippling through the air once Thomas pulled out. The empty feeling was poured with exhaustion and soreness. That night, Thomas fell asleep, ready to embark the journey to the shithole of Watery Lane. A safe place for his family.

The bed creaked as the sole body under the covers attempted to turn on his right. Thomas’s eyes shot open to the metal bars kissing his skin; the feeling of his muscles aching as if it had been suspended over his head for hours. Looped around his wrist was a silk cloth, tightly wrapped around his wrist to the bar. Despite his tries at tugging away to escape its hold, he failed. Miserably. The headboard rattled, creating a noisy commotion just like that of the previous night. The tightness of the cloth nearly cut off his circulation if he continued to incessantly yank back. His calloused fingers of his free hand ran around the fabric in hopes of finding the points where the starting and ending met. He failed.

“Good morning.” The silky voice trickled into his ears in a caress of the finest fabric. The tone of wine and fresh bouquet of flowers that sat in a ceramic vase. The same voice that panted and screamed his name the previous night (or early morning). All coated with lies. Hand still locked to the bar, the gangster pushed himself up, elbows piercing into the mattress while his eyes beamed at the glowing sight.

Resting under the colossal windows, a hazy blur of yellow smeared over the figure who sat on a chair. If Thomas wasn’t attached to the bed, and he inched closer towards her, he could’ve probably taken in the priceless morning view with more details. Thoughts and questions bounced off the walls of his head. How did he get into this situation? Where were his maids? That was thrown out of the window when his eyes shamelessly ran over the figure who sat crisscrossed.

The innocent white stocking grazed upon her skin to settle on her thighs, his markings he had indented prominently visible, accompanied by the garter. Even though his eyes caressed over the lace bra decorating her chest, his eyes darted to the lit cigarette, “Thought you didn’t smoke.”

Dancing swirls evaporated into the air from the stick that dangled between her fingers. Y/N’s eyes finally peeled away from the sheets of papers in her hands. Sheets of paper Luca wouldn’t allow her to hold or even thrown a glance at. Sheets of paper that would be buried deep underground because a glance at a letter meant she was in her older brother’s world. An organization of a different dimension.

“I don’t. But I needed more than whiskey,” Y/N mumbled, taking a drag of the cigarette as she shook the papers in her grasp, eyes still attached to the blotches of ink. Thomas’s eyes grazed over the papers before turning his gaze towards the mysterious woman. Any hints, any clues that gave away her character. No. None. All he got was her moans in his ears and the way her skin pressed against his. “Are you trying to read me?”

The corners of her lips curled up at the glorious sight, “Because I’ve read you, Thomas Shelby,” She mumbled, a wavering smirk quivered on her lips. “You took something of mine. Something you won’t be able to give me back. It’s finally nice to meet you despite my brother’s attempts, Mr Shelby. I’m Y/N, Y/N Changretta.”

Thomas had run his ears along many rumours said about him. Despite the people who have learnt to fear what laid beneath the stoic expression of the Birmingham gangster, it had only tainted his ego and pride. But now, an egg was cracked. Piercing fragments of glass shards covered the floor as whatever roared in his veins smeared over his face. His piercing glacier eyes gazed into hers. Y/N could see the patent plaster of teal in his orbs even though she was on the other side of the room.

“You haven’t heard of me,” Y/N stated, already knowing where this would go after she hurled the sheets of paper onto the table. Slices of paper flew in the air before splatting onto the wooden surface. Slightly slouching, she crossed her arms, eyes narrowing onto his figure. The Italian noted the furrow of his eyebrows when she revealed who she was. Thomas Shelby speculated her words, “Luca kept me away from the mafia. We came here after mother told us what happened. Although, I wasn’t there when she told me about the details. I came to England knowing only one name and nothing else, Thomas Shelby.”

The Birmingham gangster brushed over her features he had already ingrained into his head when her chest curved into his body. Thomas hummed, “So what? You’re going to kill me, eh? Is that why you’re here? Fucked me to finish the vendetta?” n

His veins protruded. Ropes of blue rose to the surface of his neck, blush of red creeping up to smear his jaw from rage. How did he end up in this situation? Fucked a Changretta? The same doubt from the previous night resounded off the walls of his head, if only Polly was here. The woman would’ve grabbed his cap and cut his eyes even though she was his aunt. Fucking slept with the enemy. The corners of Y/N’s lips curled up, slightly amused by his assumption, “No, Thomas,” His name rolled off her tongue as if entertained by the frustration he was displaying. “I fucked you because I snuck out of my room.” Y/N mumbled, standing up while she recalled the time she managed to tiptoe out of the room that had started to narrow onto her. Luca and his protectiveness. 

“Plus, you know how vendettas work. No blood on my hands,” While mumbling the words, she had already put on her dress back which she had to discreetly take. The maids who patrolled around was indeed just like that of a wandering guard. It sat on her figure just like the night before; however, it seemed to be dishevelled, crumpled from the desperate pulling of the gangster’s hands. Despite the coverage of her bare skin, Thomas had already painted a picture of the markings he had littered all over her. Some kisses of red peeked out of the neckline of the dress while blotches of him smeared alongside the side of her neck. Resting his hefty oversized coat on her shoulders, the scent of whiskey and heat from the night before warmed up her lungs, “Till we meet again, Thomas.” 

With the last quirk of her lips, she ambled out of the room. Y/N paced through the hallway knowing the path out of the door from her early awakening to explore the grand building. The skill of sneaking out from the peripherals of Luca’s men had been useful. While the gangster had fallen fast asleep, the woman managed to scurry around the house. It was not her intention to go through his stuff, but once she stumbled upon a cracked door during the adventure to find her articles of clothing that were thrown around haphazardly, she could not help herself. Questions blared in her head, if only she had not entered the office. She wouldn’t have known she slept with the murderer of her father and her older brother.

“Y/N! Fucking get back here and get this fucking shit off of me! Y/N!” 

[tae-cup]

Hobi Slice of life? And idk abt a scenario but calming? 🥺 Owo But also if u no wanna I get it. Ur inbox prolly flooded

lilliaaaaaaaaaa i love you <3 

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x Reader

Summary: A cutie that is jung hoseok

Genre: Fluff, Slice of Life, Non-idol au

Warnings: N/A

Rating: PG

Word Count: 521 

A/N: Here you go Lillia!!! I hope you likeyyyyyy and don’t worry! Flood my inbox as much as you want :D 

Other: Masterlist 

Drabble Requests

           You crept out of bed, to the unconscious protest of Hoseok. He lay, still twisted in the sheets, out like a light. You ran a hand through your hair as you padded along the cold wood floors. Your fingers caught on the knotted ends. 

           The sun had yet to rise, the morning still a cold gray as the world stayed sleeping. It was quiet at this time, even in the city. You pulled your favorite tea set from the cupboard and set the strainer. Then you measured out the leaves of you earl grey tea and put the kettle on to boil. You waited patiently, not ready to be fully awake. 

          It was moments like these when you could really think. Being around Hoseok was like being in the eye of a hurricane. You were loved it, you felt safe, protected, but there were a whirlwind of things happening around you that you could barely pay attention to. It wasn’t his fault at all, he was stunning, attentive, perfect. You just had trouble focusing when he was in the room. 

          The kettle began to whistle and you poured the boiling hot water over your tea steeper. Instantly, the aroma of herbs and nature filled your sense. You loved the city, but you did miss the greenery of more rural areas. You let the teapot steep. 

          The world was beginning to be painted in a soft orange hue. The misty morning had started to burn off to reveal the dripping red sun. You poured yourself a cup of tea and hurried to the window. You sat on the plush couch, pulling your knees up close to your chest and cradling the teacup in your hands. Your eyes simply took in the beauty as the city came to life for the day. 

          You stood, setting the cup down to the side, and pressed against the window. You wanted to be out there, but not...not on the ground. If only you could join the sky of pretty swirls of colors. 

“Ugh, why are you always awake so early....” Hoseok groaned, wrapping his arms around your waist. You squeaked in surprise, having not heard him come out. 

“Sorry, love, I just like watching the sun rise.” You explained softly. He nuzzled into the crook of your neck from behind. His warm breath cascade across your shoulder. 

“I know, I know. You’ve always had an eye for nature’s beauty, hm?” The man whispered. 

         You hummed in agreement, placing your hands over his around your waist. You both watched the sun rise higher. 

“I love you.” He spoke. 

“I love you too.” 

“Next time, wake me up too.” 

“You were sleeping so peacefully, I didn’t want to disturb you for my little fascination.” You said sheepishly. 

“Your fascination is my fascination, Y/N.” 

        One of his hands unwound from your side and lifted your chin to the side. He leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. Your eyes fluttered closed, the colors of the morning still pressed under your eyelids. 

“I want to see a thousand more sunrises with you.” He whispered against your lips. 

[egcdeath]

golden girl

summary: if only paradise could last forever. (read here on ao3!)

word count: 1.3k

pairing: steve rogers x reader

warnings: fluff, angst, sad ending

author’s note: this is my first fic ever, and it’s based off the song “golden girl” by frank ocean. just a heads up, this isn’t really in chronological order, so sorry if it’s hard to follow at times! enjoy :-)

She peels an orange

For us in the morning

She woke me up to give me half

You stood in the kitchen with a sharp paring knife in hand, delicately pulling back the skin of a fragrant orange as you prepared the last of a small breakfast. You set the skinned citrus on a platter next to a bagel, and a few lost pieces of bacon among eggs. You hoisted up the platter then shuffled into the room that you’d shared the night prior. Settling down next to him on the bed, you used your thumb to brush a stray hair of his tired face, and admired his worn, yet peaceful resting appearance. Drawing your thumb down to his lip, then to his chin, she rubbed his stubble. Sensing that he was beginning to wake, you pulled her hand away.

“Hey sleepyhead,” you playfully chided.

“Good morning to you too,” Steve chimed back, “this for me?” He asked, slurring together a few of the syllables. You responded contently with a nod, and he reached out to grab a slice of orange. “You’re too good to me.”

I can hear the children soccer ballin'

Like wildcats running on the grass, hey

You're a girl on this island

I'm a boy from America

The pair trudged through the busy street, hands brushing against each other every so often. Just a few hours prior, you’d picked him up from the local airport to be his guide while he stayed during his vacation. Now, she pointed out a few of her favorite sights on their way to the AirBNB he would be staying at. As they approached the rental, they passed some children prancing on a soccer field as they played.

“An island favorite,” she informed him. “You play any?”

“I mean… Not particularly.” Steve chuckled uncomfortably, trying to become a bit more aquatinted with someone he was going to be spending a decent amount of time with during his trip.

“I’ll show you!” You responded before outright grabbing his hand, and dragging him onto a patch of empty grass, picking up a makeshift ball on your way. Steve wondered to himself what he’d gotten into, while you simply hoped that you were making a good impression on someone who had saved the world countless times.

Making your way onto the grass, the two of you passed the ball back and forth, and surprisingly, he lost by a landslide. But it felt good. Natural. Steve was unwinding already, and that was exactly what he needed on this vacation. A good escape from such a fast-paced and stressful life.

My flight leaves tonight, but I don't think I'm going backwards

I won't be going backwards

Steve looked deep into your eyes, seemingly searching for something, anything. An answer to the inevitable dilemma he was facing. He needed to be back home. Work as an Avenger called him. He had missions and people who wanted to see him back in the tower. His flight was in 8 hours, but who was counting? He reached out a calloused hand to grip onto her soft arm.

“I’m changing my flight,” He said hesitantly, more of a question than statement.

“Really?” You responded quietly, receiving a nod in return. You pulled herself closer to him, and peppered his face in a shower of kisses. “Good. I don’t know what I would do without you.” You whispered before burying your face in his chest and breathing in the musky scent of your lover, and basking in the sense of relief, knowing that you would have at least a bit more time with the man you'd quickly fallen for.

You're my golden girl

You're the one I've chosen, girl

You're 24k

You make it bright when it's grey

You two were hiking through dense, misty forest in the early morning when something finally occurred to Steve. You were rambling on about some band you thought he might like, passion latching onto every word you uttered, and a twinkle in your eye. His first thought was fleeting. She was the one. What? He then thought to himself. You’d only spent a few days together, but there was undeniably something there. There was tension in the way you looked at each other, domesticity in the empty time you spent together, and comfort in the way they confided in each other. Every minute he spent with you just felt so good. It all seemed so… right.

Silent moments, meditative poses

You break my focus, you make me laugh

You met Steve at his rented home at the crack of dawn on the third day of his trip to do some yoga- he’d insisted after he found out that you occasionally taught a yoga class or two to groups of tourists. Walking out to his temporary backyard, you two set out on your stretchy adventure.

You'd both anticipated a more relaxing morning, but found yourselves giggling between crow and camel poses, and ultimately extended you morning routine to a time much later than necessary. You couldn’t believe just how much of an impact he’d had on her life already. At first, you'd expected Steve to be another boring, uptight, and plain (yet attractive) tourist, but you quickly realized that he was different. Steve's comforting presence, his sweet words, and the way he always seemed to know what you were thinking. But the thought of being together was crazy and farfetched, he lived in New York. He was an Avenger, for God's sake! How could you ever end up with that? If you weren’t careful, you might just end up falling for someone who you had no chance of ever being with.

I'm my best on this island

I'm a mess in America

The first official date you two went on began on the patio of a local restaurant on the beach, and ended up in the bed of the slightly lived-in bedroom of Steve. You weren't sure how things escalated so fast. One moment, you two were eating appetizers, and looking deep into each others eyes, and the next you were being frantically kissed against the wall of the rental home, both of your brains clouded with a haze of passion and lust.

As you laid in bed together, breathing in each others’ scent, you began to think of what the next week ensued for you, and specifically, how things would change once Steve had to leave once again, and protect a hurting world.

“You know, I’m at my best here,” he told you genuinely. You smiled wordlessly back at him, and gave him a soft kiss in return, now attempting to abandon those thoughts.

I'mma stay right here, with you

Til the hurricane comes, 'til the tsunami comes, I've found my gold

Steve's rescheduled flight was taking off in 16 hours, 43 minutes and 27 seconds. Yet every millisecond felt like a lifetime. Steve swore he couldn’t leave without you. You’d become his world in just two weeks. The two of you laid together in his soft bed nude, and an uncomfortable silence filled the room with thick tension. Neither of you wanted this, or even knew how to face the inevitable. Steve couldn’t avoid his life back home forever. There seemed to be one simple answer that seemed quite obvious to him.

“Come with me.” Steve whispered, breaking the silence, yet making the returning silence that you returned even more painful. Even in the dark, he swore he could see your doe eyes well up, then release a single tear.

As he stared out the airplane window, he slowly brought himself back to reality. Back to the soft hum of the plane, the twinkling sound of the machine reminding folks to put back on their seatbelt, the faint noise of a child crying and the forgotten audio of a movie playing quietly in his headphones. Soon he would have to face the bustling life of the city again. The stress of work was calling him back once more. He attempted to blink a way a hot tear as he allowed himself one final thought,

Nothing good lasts forever.

[marvels-agents100]

in the image of atlas

“we could have been happy. i know that, and it is perhaps the hardest thing to know.” ally condie

pairings: aaron hotchner x gender neutral ! reader

warnings: sad, deeply burdened aaron, unrequited love

word count: 1,954

author’s note: this started out one way, ended another... maybe a part two? also, to the anon that sent me a request- im working on it now !

You couldn’t quite recall how it had gotten to this point, your relationship with Aaron Hotchner.

You were a respite, someone outside of his job that was involved in his life. It began with a chance meeting at the grocery store, and a close friendship then blossomed quickly. You quickly learned the inner workings of him, how he operated, and how deeply he loved.

He always held the burden of the world on his shoulders. Furthermore, he would carry it without complaint, taking the weight as if it was light as air. It was admirable, of course, his self-sacrifice bringing comfort and ease to many people’s minds- most significantly, to his own team. 

It wasn’t until a crisp, October night that you saw his resolve crumble.

“I just can’t do it anymore,” his words were chopped and strained, his eyes pooling with retained emotion.

“Aaron,” you reached for his shoulder, but your palm hesitated before it was able to make contact, “tell me everything.”

“I don’t- I don’t even…” his hands ran through his air, head shaking as he talking, “where do I even start?”

“That’s okay,” you soothed, your restless hands clasping together. You wanted desperately to reach out and hold him, comfort him, but physical boundaries were still blurred between you, with only small brushes and light touches punctuating the tense, complicated moments you’ve shared.

“It’s so- everything is just… overwhelming, sometimes,” he choked on his voice, leaning forward on his elbows.

“I know,” you whispered, a worried pull in your brow, “you take on a lot, Aaron.”

And what a truth that was. Aaron Hotchner wasn’t a man that was quick to love, so when he cared, he cared deeply. If those he loved were haunted by any form of sadness or despair, he would roll his sleeves up and put the burden on his own back. It was natural, obligatory for him. There was never a time- that he could remember- where his shoulders were weightless. 

It had been a habit you chipped away at, trying in vain to break away his incessant need to hold up the world. With his determination and stubborn nature, attempting to convince him that the pain of others’ is not his responsibility, is an impossible task in and of itself. You could lament for hours about his lasting impact on so many lives, how his work changed the outcome of the world as a whole, how fighting battles for others was not a task he needed to complete, but all the words of reassurance never seemed to reach his ears. 

You tried to convince him that he did not have to set himself on fire to warm others, but he always kept matches in his pocket.

“Do you let yourself take a break, sometimes?” You asked quietly, gently, “You’re still human, you need rest, too.”

“Rest?” He laughed bitterly, tears streaming freely down his cheeks, “I’ve never heard of it.”

Maybe it was the way he looked so utterly exhausted, or maybe it was the way his shoulders slumped forward in defeat, but your once hesitant hand grew bold, resting on his shoulder lightly. The muscles below your touch relaxed immediately, your thumb tracing languidly along the white dress shirt he wore.

His eyes closed, his focus going to the warmth of your palm. The light touch traveled through him, deriving every ounce of comfort from the tips of your fingers. The relief that washed over him was almost euphoric, like reaching the surface after being submerged in deep water, or finding a light in a world of darkness. It wasn’t exactly surprising, the extremely visceral way he reacted to you.

As a self-aware man, he knew what the uncontrollable, undeniable parts of himself wanted from you. He craved attention from you in a primal sense, like the glances you spared him and the conversations you shared were the drug, and he was hopelessly addicted. He had noticed the tell tale signs of a tell tale heart when he had first met you, and the exponential growth of said signs were as anticipated as the setting sun.

You were an anchor in the stormy seas that occupied his mind-the mind that, currently, a hurricane was wreaking havoc upon.

“You have to find time for yourself,” you pleaded, “the team- hell, the world- needs you. And that means all of you, not just the part of you that’s still awake.”

“I know,” he sniffled, “I feel like I’m being pulled in every direction.”

 You sighed, knowing the truth behind his words. There was so, so much that was expected of him, you weren’t exactly sure how he was still standing upright. He was told to save lives, raise a son, and be a reliable friend and brother, all at the same time.

(Hell, why don’t you count the stars, while you’re at it?)

You wished more than anything that you could help relieve some of his stress, but other than being the occasional shoulder to cry on, he never delegated any of his tasks. It- meaning, the entirety of the pain he woke up to every day- was a battle he lead no army towards, just his lonely feet on the grassy uphill below his demons.

“What can I do, Aaron?” You sounded more desperate, pushing slightly to get some kind of solution from him, “Anything, absolutely anything you need.”

His reddened, slightly swollen gaze flickered to you, the sunlight seeping into the apartment catching them in a honey glow. It seemed to pull you in even further, his soft eyes being the first thing you had fallen for.

It was fascinating, how brown was just brown, until you loved somebody with brown eyes.

“You, being here,” he swallowed thickly, “that’s enough for me.”

And even though his words could have been interpreted in so many ways, your heart still swelled within your chest.

“Sometimes, I just feel so alone,” he began, “especially since Gideon left, then Haley passed. It seems like the people I confide in always seem to leave,” he though to himself for a moment, eyes scanning the carpet, “I have Dave, but that man can have so much on his mind, sometimes.” 

There was a pause before he continued, “And then I found you, and you were- you are- my sunlight.”

There was a twist somewhere deep inside your stomach, your pulse halting momentarily. Controlling your expression, you allowed a small smile to reach your lips. A content sigh escaped you, your hand squeezing on his shoulder slightly, encouraging him to continue, telling him you would listen. His large palm reached up to cover yours, holding onto it gently.

“You don’t realize how much it means to me,” he spoke softly, “the fact that you care.”

“Aaron,” his name was a whisper, words escaping you as overwhelming confessions and professions littered your mind, “you understand that having someone to talk to is the least you deserve, right?”

“Is it?”

“Yes,” you were breathless, in complete disbelief of his questioning of self worth, “God, you deserve so much more than I, or this world, will ever be able to give you. You sacrifice so much of yourself for the well-being of others, and even though karma has yet to recognize it, the people who care about you aren’t quite as blind.”

Self control seemed to escape you, your palms moving to rest against his cheeks, keeping his eyes locked on yours.

“You don’t have to save everyone,” your thumbs stroked his cheekbones, “sometimes, the person you save has to be yourself.”

“I just-“

“I know it’s hard,” you cut his self doubt off, “I know that all you’ve ever done is help others and it’s what you know, but Aaron, you are worth saving, too.”

His eyebrow twitted up, bottom lip quivering slightly. With your touch still on his cheek, he leaned into your hand, adverting his eyes from yours as they became misty once again.

You were right, and logically he knew that, but even as you preach his worth and importance in that soft, sweet, honey voice of yours, he still sat and wondered what he had done to deserve you. 

Another sigh left you, your hands trailing through his hair, landing on his shoulders. It sent another wave of comfort through him, and he knew then that he wouldn’t survive losing you, he couldn’t ever lose you.

“Can you promise me something?” Your question got his sight to shift back to you, “Promise me you’ll take some time for yourself, before it gets this overwhelming again?”

“Just-,” he hesitated, “just be here with me, and I’ll be okay.”

Your eyes looked over him, unable to decipher the way he was looking at you, unable to read his expression.

“I only need you,” and his words came out so soft, so incredibly tender, that you weren’t sure if you had the will to control yourself.

“Okay,” you whispered, not trusting your voice.

You pulled him to you, your back pressing into the couch cushions, his head coming to rest just below your chin. His arms found a home around your waist, hands splayed along your spine. You couldn’t see his eyes close- his dark eyelashes fluttering against your collarbone- or the small, content smile that graced his lips. With one hand tangled in his ebony hair and the other tracing patterns along his shoulder blades, you let your own eyes shut, just basking in the embrace of the man you quietly loved.

He couldn’t quite recall how it had gotten to this point, his complicated relationship with you.

He fell asleep to the sound of your heart beating, the monotonous reminder that you were truly real, not a dream he had imagined, despite his doubts. You were living, human, and you took your time and spent it with him, a man who viewed you as angel when compared to himself. It was a bittersweet thing, the absolute, uncontrollable love he held for you- a love he knew would never see the light of day. You were undeniably pure, comprised of nothing but sunshine and soft rain, and there would never be a time where he allowed the storm clouds that haunted him to cover the rays of your happiness.

So, he would take his moments when he could. He would fall asleep to your heartbeat and cherish your gentle touch, but his heart would remain his and your heart would remain yours. And maybe it was a cruel punishment, casting you into his life for you to remain out of his reach, but the mere thought of being in your presence was enough. It would have to be enough.

Your fingers carded through his hair, the soft strands brushing against your palm. The weight of him on top of you brought you a comfort you couldn’t fully explain- or comprehend, for that matter. Every thought and feeling you held for him was circling through your mind, erratic and loud. 

To you, he was everything. He was the stars in a dark sky, the sunlight after a rainstorm, the cool breeze on a summer afternoon. There was something so inviting, so safe about him, that you were entranced and pulled in within minutes of knowing him. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

You danced around your own heart when it came to him, avoiding and ignoring the way he absolutely completed you. His love was a privilege you couldn’t have, and it was a fact you had to accept and bury. In your own, silent way, you loved him endlessly. And, if fate decided you weren’t ever meant to be, then you would be content, for the mere thought of being in your presence was enough. It would have to be enough.

taglist:

@quillvine​ @winterscaptain​ @agenthotchner​ @davidrossi-ismydad​ @misskirkstark​ @good-heavens-chris-evans​ @vintagecaptainspidey​