#(you’re still missing. he’s worried—terrified of where you’ve gone and what might become of you before he can retrieve you—but…….

[petrichorium]

I know I’ve talked about capitano giving childe………. advice……… on how best to…………. court…………. his intended after noticing childe’s heavy hand w the matter but I would also like to discuss how childe makes capitano regress a little too

Capitano who sees how childe’s fiancé hisses and sneers and offers his own advice—a gentle hand, patience, those sweet words that always seemed to make your insults stick in your throat—but also finds himself feeling a bit nostalgic. To his own chagrin he misses the sting of your dull teeth against his hand when he once tried to caress you, the heat of your glare when he would venture too close and linger too long. You’ve become so easy to coax lately, so agreeable to his affections; you haven’t so much as turned away from a kiss in the past few months. It’s a feat he would never deny fills him with pride, but……… well. Perhaps when he returns to the manor (where you remain safely tucked away) he’ll ask if you’d be willing to let him chase you through the grounds…………

[wearywinchester]

Back To You

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When putting yourself in danger for the sake of saving Dean leaves you lost in the woods, Dean is less than thrilled until he finally finds you again.

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: angst, injury, mentions of blood, swearing, comfort, fluff

Dean was livid in that moment, and rightfully so. Any and every hunt has the potential to be dangerous no matter what it is, no matter how many times you’ve hunted that very same kind of monster. Each and every hunt is different and someone is always bound to get hurt, whether it be the hunter or the person you’re there to save.

That idea was something he could handle, something he could prepare himself for. But he was never ready when that person was you.

You’d gone and done it this time. You went and spiked his worry, his fear, sent it sky high all for the sake of saving him. To him, nothing was worth losing you, especially not himself. The fact that he was worth enough to someone to risk their own life just to keep him safe was laughable to him, especially when it was you who held him in such a high regard.

Of course you did. He didn’t give himself enough credit, he didn’t give himself any credit at all. There was no one who hated Dean Winchester more than he did himself, and that very feeling was something that boiled over that hunt.

Two werewolves. Three hunters against two werewolves seemed like something you could handle. Take that and add it to the fact that you’re in the woods in late fall and it becomes more difficult. Somehow, some way they got the upper hand on the three of you, targeting Dean. Maybe they knew he was a sweet spot to the two of you, maybe it was just dumb luck, but their efforts seemed to work out for them.

There was no way you’d let them do anything to Dean, not if you were there to do something about it and that’s exactly what you did. Against Dean’s wishes you shoved him out of the way before they could, the swipe of her claws grazing across your cheek instead of his. It wasn’t as deep as it probably would have been, but it stung nevertheless. But that was only the very start of Dean’s nightmare, because you’d gone and lured her away before he could stop you.

He knew you. He knew you were strong and he knew you could hold your own, but this isn’t some run of the mill vampire or a phony spirit. It was a werewolf with more than enough of an appetite and twice the strength.

Now here you were, stranded in the woods all by yourself with a dull and bloodied silver blade and a limp in your stride, your ankle strained from tripping in the midst of your fight with fangs and claws. You held your own, you took care of her yourself with more than enough of a struggle on her end. But you had no idea where you were and which direction was the right one, no clue at all just how far you were from Sam and Dean. You didn’t know if that other werewolf got away and came to finish you off.

All you had was yourself and a dead phone, and your own two fists.

It was getting darker out, the cold fall day turning colder now that nightfall was just around the corner. The drizzling rain didn’t help your cause, muddying the path you tried to follow as you navigated through tall trees and fallen leaves. They crunched every time you took a step, the sound near deafening in contrast to the quiet of the woods.

You were too afraid to call out for Dean, didn’t want to draw attention to yourself should it still be lurking. You were an easy target at this point—you were tired and you were weak.

Of all the hunts you’d been on, you can’t remember feeling quite so bad as this one. The scratches on your face burned and ached, the dirt that was surely smeared across it doing nothing to help as you tried your hardest not to touch your cheek. Your ankle throbbed with every step, the pressure placed upon it nearly pushing you to tears as you walked along as quickly as you could, hoping more than anything that you weren’t leading yourself further away from them, further away from Dean.

You knew he’d be mad, you knew he’d be absolutely livid when he finds you. If he finds you. That very thought weighed heavy on your mind and made your stomach twist in knots and swirl with nausea. There was a very real possibility that they wouldn’t, your battery was dead and it was getting all the more dark outside and you knew what your chances were but you tried not to think about it. You tried but it stayed in the back of your mind and tried desperately to push to the front of it.

He’d be pissed, he would and you knew it because putting your own life on the line for the sake of saving his was never something he’d want you of all people to do. You wouldn’t be surprised if he asked you to stop hunting with them, and the thought alone made a pang run through your heart.

You shook your head to rid yourself of the thought, brows furrowed as you took a deep breath. You’d hunted a myriad of different monsters, more than you can count and certainly a terrifying array of them. They were deadly and they were scary, they were dangerous and they were cruel but you couldn’t help the fear that settled within you now the sky was nearly completely dark. The lack of moonlight had worked against you, nearly impossible to see more than a few feet ahead of you amongst dozens and dozens of trees. Every gust of wind, every noise, everything.

You were scared.

You didn’t dare use your flashlight, too scared to cast attention upon yourself and you found it impossible for anything out there to not be able to spot you. You felt like you stuck out like a sore thumb with the way you heard your heartbeat in your ears louder than ever. Or the way your breaths were shaky and labored and unable to be controlled.

The rain that drizzled a little heavier over you was beginning to seep through your clothes, chilling any exposed skin and wetting your hair almost completely by this point. You were sure it’d be worse if there weren’t any trees, but then again you didn’t get so lucky.

You couldn’t help but remind yourself how utterly on your own you were, body stiff as you walked along in the mud. The mere sound of a stick snapping in the near distance had you on edge, tears welling in your eyes as you weighed over the options of your fate in your mind in a taunting loop of negativity and fear.

Your lip quivered and your hands shook, clutching tight to your bag as you looked all around you. Tears mixed with rain to the point where you couldn’t even tell if you’d been crying real tears if it weren’t for the pressure behind your eyes and the ache you felt from trying to suppress them. You weren’t going to bother trying to act tough in that moment, there was no need when it was just you.

It wasn’t until then that you heard that voice, the gruffness of that ever familiar voice in an echo of your name. Your heart flipped in your chest and at first you thought you might have just imagined it, might have just thought you heard it amongst the rain, but it sounds again.

“Dean?” You said softly, disbelief in your voice before you raised it. “Dean!”

You picked up your pace in his direction, glancing over your shoulder cautiously. The tears rolled faster and your heart rate spiked, that fear in your mind lessening a fraction at the sound of his voice even if it was still not as close as you’d like.

You overlooked the pain in your ankle no matter how much it hurt, too distracted with finding your way back to Sam and Dean. The sooner you found them the sooner you could get out of those woods, and the sooner you could get cleaned up in a place much kinder on the eyes than tree after tree in a rain-dampened and dark area.

It felt like something straight out of a movie and you were waiting for the antagonist to pop out in front of you, waiting to be preyed upon by some big scary monster and you knew that wasn’t so far out of the question for you. Not with the life you had.

The distinct sound of sticks snapping and leaves crunching behind you was unmissable, unmistakable as you tensed. You swallowed thickly at the slosh of the footfalls behind you, heart hammering nearly too loud to hear anything else. It wasn’t until you felt a hand grab your elbow that you screamed once more, expecting to hear Dean call out from farther away at the sound of it. You screamed and you turned around, eyes wide with fear.

“Sweetheart, it’s me. It’s Dean,” he rushed, voice calmer than you expected.

It took you a moment for you to realize, for your eyes to bounce over his face and for the fear to settle and your frown was inevitable as you fought your tears.

In a matter of seconds you wrapped your arms around him, face hidden against his chest and you didn’t care how much it hurt the scratches adorning your cheek. That tension you held loosened considerably in his embrace, and it’s something he didn’t fail to notice. You missed the way his brows furrowed as his chin rested atop your head or the purse in his lips, the way he squeezed his eyes shut or the look of relief he gave Sam with traces of worry and anger within it.

He found you now, and you were safe.

You were quiet as you stood at the small bathroom counter, leaned over the edge a little as you cleaned around the scratches on your cheek. You were proving to do an awful job and you could see it by the look on Dean’s face when he walked in the bathroom. He could see the way you winced even from where he stood by the bed of the motel room, he saw it and he knew you hated doing it.

“C’mon,” he said, patting the counter a couple times.

“I got it, Dean,” you say softly, the sharp gasp you take in immediately after doing nothing to help you.

You sigh as you drop the dampened cotton ball in his palm, hopping up on the counter. You saw the dimples by the corners of his mouth and you saw the crease between his brows, telling of just how discontent he truly was and it had you biting the inside of your other cheek.

He was quick to clean it up with a light hand, careful not to hurt you as his other hand settled on your cheek to hold you still. You could feel the tension in the small room, could cut it with a knife, and it wasn’t going to go away any time soon so long as none of you said anything.

You tried to think about the way his breath fanned over your face instead, soft and warm in the pattern of his breathing as he cleaned you up with all the gentleness in the world. Gentle and tender despite the frustration simmering in the pit of his stomach, threatening to spill.

Actually, it did.

“We gonna talk about what happened today?” He asked, voice quiet and tone angry as his brow raised a fraction.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” you mumble, averting your gaze as you turned your head, only for him to redirect it back as he finished what he was doing.

“‘Course not,” he said, breathing out a huff through his nose.

You roll your eyes and hop down from the counter, hearing his sigh as he tossed the dirtied cotton ball in the trash along with the others you’d gone through, his lips pressing together momentarily as he followed behind you into the room.

You still weren’t over it, you were still shaken despite this being your own fault. It was your fault and you knew that, you were the one playing hero and while you didn’t regret it for a second, you were still on the verge of tears. You were still cold and upset and still reaping the consequences of your decision by the pain on your face and in your ankle.

“Yeah, ‘course not,” you say, tightening his flannel around your shoulders before digging around in your duffel bag.

It didn’t last very long as he grabbed your hand and spun you around to face him, his displeasure more than evident.

“Please don’t try and save me, sweetheart, I’m not—”

“What, you’re not worth it?” You say, watching his lips purse deeper. “You might think that about yourself but I never will, and you’re just going to have to deal with it.”

“You nearly died, Y/n. Do you understand that?” He says, voice a little louder now. “You almost died out there all by yourself. How the hell am I supposed to live with that? How easy do you think it’d be for me to go on every damn day knowing you died just to save my ass?”

You were quiet for a moment as you looked up at him, brows knitted together. “Well, I’m not dead, Dean. So I guess you don’t have to.”

He scoffed as he threw his hands up, letting one fall back to his side as the other pinches the bridge of his freckled nose for a moment or two. He hates how you’re brushing this off, hates how you don’t know just how much of a wreck he was. Sam had never seen his brother so distraught, had never seen him so turned upside down the moment you were lost. It tore him to shreds, tore him apart from the inside out until he found you and that feeling still won’t stop. It won’t stop because he knows this won’t be the last time you do it.

“I’m not worth it, alright? I’m not worth layin’ six feet under, sweetheart. And not by the hands of some freakin’ werewolf either,” he says, frustrated as ever.

Your brows furrow deeper, frown tugs down deeper as you look at him.

“You think you’re the only one that gets to protect people? You think you’re the only one that gets to save someone? Is that what you think, Dean?”

“Y/n—”

“You might not give a damn about yourself, in fact, I know you don’t give a crap,” you say, your finger poking into his chest. “But I do. I care.”

You hated the way your voice faltered and the way your lip wobbled under the pressure of your tears, hated the way those very tears glossed over your eyes, ready to fall with a mere blink. He saw it, he saw it all and he pulled you close before you could crumble completely.

His hand ran over your head, hair still rain dampened and he could feel just how cold you still were. He could feel the way you shook, no matter how faint it was. You could act tough all you want, but he knew you were hurting and he knew when to shut up. You were stronger than he’d ever be, that’s how he always saw you and always will. But you fall apart sometimes and he’ll pick up the pieces without hesitation every single time. Every time.

“I’m here, sweetheart. I’m still here,” he murmured, words soft against your skin as he kissed your forehead.

You nod against him then, sniffling softly. You take a little while for your tears to die down, a little while of the soft sways of his embrace and it’s one that’s near bone crushing, of the way his thumb brushed back and forth against your shoulder blade, or the way his stubble felt brushing against your forehead.

It took a little while until you pulled back a bit, looking up at him with that look that turns his heart to mush every single time you give it. He sees those scratches on your face and he’s biting his tongue, fighting the anger that’s beginning to bubble up once more. Not at you, but at that werewolf that was two seconds from tearing his sweetheart to shreds. The thought made him furious but he pushed it down for your sake.

You lean on your toes and kiss him softly, one that lingered as his hand settled on your cheek. He kissed you once, twice, three times more as his nose bumps against your own, foreheads pressed against one another as your hand presses lightly around the back of his neck, your thumb brushing along his jaw. It set him at ease, you know it did.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere either,” you murmur, feeling his nod against you, felt his hum against your lips before he kisses you again. You knew he wouldn’t let it go that easily, knew it for a fact, but he’d bring it up some other day.

He’d always find you, you could count on it—he’d always find his way back to you.

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @campingmonkey @agalliasi @deandaydreaming @lanea-1 @akshi8278 @kidd3ath @taikawho

[seijorhi]

Can I request for Corrupt CEO Oikawa and female assistant? She finds out he’s involved in shady underground business and tries to quit. Non-con smut, pretty please 🥺 I love your fics! I enjoy reading dark content. Your smut is amazing I’m addicted💖

Let me preface this by saying there will probably be a part 2 to this fic

Oikawa Tooru x female reader

TW implied non-con, blood, violence (nothing too graphic I don’t think?)

The Lion’s Den

The invitation to dinner should have been the first red flag.

You’d left the letter on his desk next to his morning coffee, stacked neatly on top of the reports and documents he’d asked you to prepare the night before. Impossible to miss.

You weren’t exactly sure what kind of a response you were expecting - a call into his office, cool indifference, security guards showing up at your desk to promptly escort you out - but the innocuous calendar invite that flashes across your screen twenty minutes after he arrived wasn’t it.

8:30pm, Da Graziella. Don’t be late x

The name was familiar - upscale, Italian and one of Oikawa’s favourites. He knew the owner, or so he’d told you, always got treated like royalty whenever he set foot inside. You used to wonder about that, why certain people seemed to bow and simper and scrape whenever he was around. Initially, you’d assumed it was because he had money and with money came perceptions of power. Of course, now you know better. It’s the reason why you wrote that letter - the reason why you should decline the invitation as politely as you can.

But you don’t.

Not because you’re scared of him - you’re terrified - but you want this to go as smoothly as possible, and there is absolutely no reason for you to be scared of Oikawa Tooru.

Not unless you knew the truth, and knowing the truth would put you in a very precarious position. 

The cursor hovers over the invite for a long moment when you feel a prickle at the back of your neck. Sure enough, when you glance up, there’s a pair of dark brown eyes staring at you from behind the glass wall that separates his office and yours.

Swallowing tightly, you click accept.

Oikawa smiles.

***

It’s a prestigious role, being the personal assistant for the CEO of Seijoh Industries, but it wasn’t the one you’d signed onto the company to do. You were an intern, fresh out of university, eager to put the last four years of your education to good use. 

They’d put you in the marketing department with six other grads and told you that at the end of the year there would be one permanent position on the team you’d all get to compete for. The first three months had consisted of coffee runs, minute taking at meetings (so many meetings), excel spreadsheets and grunt work the actual team couldn’t be bothered with, and you were almost positive that things were going to continue that way until your team was picked to lead the campaign for the new launch. For a while it did - meetings, minutes and coffee, rinse and repeat. Except now your meetings included the senior VP’s and him - the CEO. Oikawa Tooru. 

Of course nobody joined Seijoh without knowing about its charismatic founder. He was filthy rich, naturally, but he’d built this company from the ground up with his own two hands, made it into the powerhouse that it is. The media adored him, not just for his devastatingly handsome looks, but because he gave back to the community - a philanthropist at heart. He was the perfect poster boy for success in business.

(If only they knew how their poster boy really made his money.)

And he smiled so warmly and thanked you when you passed him his coffee. It wasn’t long until you felt those dark brown eyes seeking you out when the meetings dragged on, the playful glimmer and subtle twitching of his lips saying more than he could get away with - even as the CEO.

Still, you hadn’t expected it when he called you up to his office only a few weeks later to offer you the role of his personal assistant. You can’t quite remember the exact reasons he gave as to why; something about dedication and the diligence you’d shown. You’d caught his attention, and he needed somebody like you since he’d unfortunately had to let his last assistant go.

It was flattering, but being a PA wasn’t the career path you’d wanted at Seijoh. When you’d bashfully tried explaining as much, Oikawa had just waved away your concerns with a pretty smile and a laugh. In marketing, you were a glorified worker drone, one of six. Even if you did get the coveted promotion at the end of it all, you’d still be at the very bottom of the food chain, working yourself to the bone trying to make a mark on a company far bigger than yourself. With him, yes you would still be doing coffee runs and scheduling meetings and all of those mundane tasks, but you’d be working with one of the most powerful men in the country. Oikawa could open doors for you, and he could do it while making sure you received a generous salary for your efforts.

Your parents told you once never to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

How could you possibly say no?

***

After handing in your letter of resignation, the rest of your day goes reasonably smoothly. Oikawa’s gone for most of it. His calendar says he’s in back to back meetings all day, meetings which for once you were exempt from attending. It might have been a cause for concern if it hadn’t been on the agenda for days - some disgruntled shareholder that needed to be pacified, or so he’d told you.

You’re secretly glad for the reprieve; you have four weeks left at Seijoh and you’re still not entirely sure how you’re supposed to meet your boss’s eye without quaking - and the last thing you want is for him to become suspicious. But without him hovering, interrupting your work every five minutes as he usually does, you’re left alone with your thoughts.

Why dinner? 

Why tonight?

You’re a good personal assistant, at least you think you are - Oikawa’s certainly never complained - but it’s not like you’re irreplaceable. You’ve heard of companies trying to negotiate with higher salaries and benefits to keep good employees, but even an excellent PA is just a PA, and the pay Oikawa has you on is more than generous. You’re good at handling his moods and eccentricities, you don’t mind that he gets irritable and petulant when he’s stressed and you know how his coffee order changes depending on what time of day it is, but that hardly makes you anything spectacular.

If it’s an impromptu thank you for the last year and a half or a farewell from your boss, why not wait until you’re actually finishing up? You’ve given him four weeks notice, even offered to train up your replacement if they manage to find somebody beforehand.

Which leaves you with the possibility that he knows the real reasons behind your sudden resignation - a thought that fills you with a biting unease.

But he has no reason to even suspect such a notion.

He couldn’t have known you’d come back to his house that night, or what you’d overheard - what you’d seen. One week later and you still can’t close your eyes without visions of blood and brain matter splattering across the walls, but-

It’s a popular restaurant. Respectable. You’re reading too much into it, Oikawa’s probably just curious about why you’re suddenly moving on from Seijoh. He’s always been a little blurry on the lines between personal and professional - at least where you’re concerned. And it’s not like the two of you haven’t gone out for meals together before, he’s often dragging out of the office for ‘work lunches’ or a celebratory dinner when a project goes well.

People quit their jobs every day. You have absolutely nothing to worry about.

Except when you arrive at Da Graziella and the maître d' takes your coat and leads you inside, you realise that the assumption you’d been clinging to was very, very wrong.

There’s not a soul inside of the restaurant save for Oikawa, watching you from the lone table set up in the centre of the room. Bathed in the warm, flickering light of the nearby candles, Oikawa smiles as you falter, your wide eyes darting around the empty restaurant before settling back on him.

There’s a pit in your stomach, an icy tendril of fear that creeps up your spine. It’s a familiar sensation - you’d felt it back at the mansion too, the moment you’d glanced through the crack in his office door and saw him eyeing the handguns in the open briefcase on his desk. You should have left then, before you’d seen anything incriminating, and you should definitely leave now - but it’s too late for that.

It was too late the moment you set foot inside. 

You’ve walked willingly into the lion’s den, all you can do now is smile and pray that it’s not in the mood to play with its food.

“Ah, wonderful, you’re early. Would you like some wine to start off with, darling?” Oikawa asks. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

The endearment is new, but you can’t seem to focus on that when your heart is hammering against your chest. Easing yourself into the seat pulled for you, you wet your lips, but even then you can’t quite seem to make the words come out. 

No matter, Oikawa chooses for you, murmuring the name of an italian vintage to the maître d' who nods approvingly and disappears, leaving the two of you alone.

“S-sir?” you finally manage to utter, though it comes out as more of a question than a greeting, “I- why is everyone…”

“Gone?” he supplies for you, taking a sip from his own glass. He shrugs leisurely, “I figured that it would be nicer if it were just us two, don’t you agree?”

No.

“Oh, um, yeah… I guess.”

He laughs, the sound like chiming bells and you know that he doesn’t believe you. It doesn’t matter, you’re here and alone and there is very little you can do to change either of those things. “So tense, Y/N. Really, you should relax. I would have thought after almost two years together, you’d know that I don’t bite.”

More images flash to the forefront of your mind; the sneer curling at his lips as he yanks out his pocket squares and uses it to wipe the splatter of blood from his face. One body on the floor, the other squirming away from his outstretched hand. The crunch of bones breaking, pleading whimpers and then-

No, Oikawa might not bite, but that doesn’t set you at ease.

But even now, doubt flickers. He can’t have known you were there, that you’d overheard the talk of shipments and bribes, a deal gone wrong. Nobody saw you come, you have your own set of keys. He can’t know.

He can’t know.

He can’t… 

Oikawa’s grin widens, twisting into a smirk. “Well, that, and I suppose that I don’t particularly think what’s about to be said makes for polite dinnertime conversation. At least not where most people are concerned.”

Fear strikes at your heart, constricting until it hurts to breathe, but you will your tense muscles to relax, force what you hope - pray - is a convincing expression of mild confusion and absolutely nothing else onto your face.

“I’m sorry, sir?”

It’s a wonder that he can’t hear the frantic pounding of your chest as he leans closer, dropping his chin onto a propped up arm, “Tell me something, darling. If I’d invited you back to my humble abode instead of this restaurant, would you have come?” 

You swallow tightly, the tiny hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. There’s a look in those pretty brown eyes, a glint of something darker, something amused - it reminds you of a cat toying with a mouse and it sets you on edge. “You did leave so quickly the last time you dropped by. You didn’t even stop to say hello.”

Ice douses your system as sheer panic spikes. You’re out of your seat before your brain even registers you’ve moved, knocking it clear from the table in your stumbling haste - but Oikawa’s faster. Long, pale fingers seize your wrist, keeping you in place with a deceptively strong grip.

Those fingers, trailing softly along the barrel of the gun. It’s more than cursory, there’s something almost loving and tender in the way he traces the smooth ridges of the weapon before he picks it up, testing its weight in his hand. Oikawa hums thoughtfully, eyeing the crying man kneeling before him. “Beautiful, don’t you think?”

“Sit back down.” His voice is pleasant, but even as adrenaline pumps through your veins urging you to run, to fight - you know better than to believe it’s anything less than an order. “Good girl,” he purrs as you fumble for your chair.

Back at the mansion, you’d been scared. Horrified at the cold brutality of what you’d witnessed, your entire world seemingly falling out from beneath you. But even with your thoughts a hysterical tangle and nausea threatening to overtake you, your only focus had been on getting out unseen.

This, sitting face to face with a mobster - a man you thought you knew - with all the cards laid bare before you… it’s a whole new kind of terror. He could kill you, with his hands wrapped around your throat or the gun he’s undoubtedly carrying, it doesn’t make a difference. You’re not strong enough to fight him off and the only other person you’ve seen since arriving is the maître d' - you might have wilfully walked into this trap, but you’re not so naive as to believe Oikawa doesn’t have him and any other employees working tonight firmly in his pockets. They won’t come if you scream. 

Tears prick at your eyes. 

You are utterly alone and entirely at his mercy, and all that you can do is beg.

“Please, please, sir, I… I swear I-I didn’t see anyth-”

A single raised finger stops you. Oikawa tuts, shaking his head. “I don’t appreciate being lied to, Y/N. I know exactly what you saw, and I can guess well enough what you overheard. Certainly enough for those irritating little cops to start sticking their noses where they don’t belong if you decided to talk. Do you really think I’d leave my home open for just anybody to waltz in without my knowledge? Please, darling. What kind of a man do you take me for?” he laughs, and you fight back a broken plea, desperately biting down on your lip in an effort to stop yourself from crying.

“But,” he continues, reaching across the table to take your hand once more, “I don’t want you to worry about that, sweetheart. It’s in the past - and not why I asked you here.”

His thumb strokes the back of your palm causing goosebumps to prickle along your arms. Your heart is sitting in your throat, your stomach twisting in knots at the casual, innocent touch. You’re trembling in your seat, on the verge of ears and it feels like he’s testing you, except you don’t have a clue what you’re supposed to say, and you’re terrified that if you get it wrong, he’ll hurt you. “… I-it isn’t?”

Oikawa smiles, “No. I suppose in a way, it’s a blessing in disguise that you saw me for all that I am. It’s forced me to do something I should have done a long time ago.”

After a beat of silence and a gentle squeeze of your cold, rigid hand, you realise that he’s waiting for you to play along. “O-oh, um. What’s that?” your voice shakes, betraying the rapidly rising fear and panic eating away at you, but Oikawa pays it no mind.

“I understand why you resigned after witnessing what you did… it scared you, didn’t it? I scare you.”

There’s no point in lying, not when the evidence is right in front of him, so you nod.

He sighs heavily, but the amused glint in his eyes doesn’t shift. Even now, he’s still toying with you. “You’re a terrible actress,” he declares absentmindedly before his gaze sharpens. “There was always going to be an expiration date on our little arrangement, as much as I might have wished it otherwise.” 

There’s something strangely wistful in his expression as he toys with your fingers, but the words, the gilded implications woven between them, fly right over your head. All you can focus on is the pounding of your heart and the sharp drag of every breath filling your lungs as you wait for the penny to drop. “We can’t go back to what we had before, but you understand, don’t you, darling, that I can’t just have you wandering around knowing what you do.”

Your stomach drops, eyes widening in abject horror, “Please - please, Oikawa sir-”

He continues as if you hadn’t spoken. “If I offered you a choice; come willingly with me back home without making a fuss or I blow your pretty brains across the restaurant here and now, which would you pick?” he muses.

Fear is a funny thing. It makes the logical illogical, turns rational thought to mush, pushes you into a state of instinct that overrides everything else. Common sense would tell you that the threat of torture and whatever other nastiness that might await you back at Oikawa’s mansion was still the preferable option to the certainty of death at his hands should you refuse, but common sense had long since abandoned you. 

As a fresh wave of adrenaline surges through your veins, you rip your hand from his and leap to your feet. This time you don’t give him a moment, kicking off your heels to sprint for the door. Distantly you register the hissed curse behind you. All you can think of is escape, running until Oikawa and the restaurant and everything you’d seen and learned was left in the dirt behind you. You don’t want to die, but you can’t bear the thought of what he’ll do to you if you submit. Will he drag it out, make your death slow and painful? Let you rot in the basement, forgotten by everyone? Will he make you beg and plead for mercy before he ends it?

Fear makes you clumsy - it slows you down. 

You make it five steps before a pair of arms constrict around you, one around your waist, hauling you up from the floor, the other around your mouth, muffling the hysterical scream that rips from your throat. Legs flailing, kicking uselessly at nothing, you’re wrestled back inside. Oikawa’s lips are at your ear, growling something but you can’t make sense of the words over your harsh, panicked sobs, the sound of your frenzied pulse pounding in your ears. 

It’s only when you’re tossed like a sack of potatoes back onto the table, knocking the air from your lungs that time seems to slow and clarity returns. Oikawa’s looming over you, panting, dark pupils swallowing the iris, yet instead of the fury you expect to see written across his face, Oikawa is grinning - wide and delighted. 

“Wrong choice, baby,” he sings, quickly shucking off his jacket before grabbing the top of your dress and ripping. 

Your eyes zero in on the handgun strapped to his chest, just within arms reach. 

“But it’s okay,” he kisses you, moaning as he forces your mouth open, nipping harshly at your lips when you try to squirm away. “I forgive you, always sweetheart, you just have to make it up to me.”

[smutsonian]

Hello love 😺 umm can u pls please please write dark!steve x reader, where he bully and verbally harrases the reader but somehow kind of love her but just treat her bad and degrade her but when someone else tryna make her fun of her then he shows who she belongs to kinda stuff (pls if u gonna write pls make it so it so dark🥺🥺)...... Feel free to ignore tho cause i'm sorry this seems so long 😬😬🧡

2/2 Hey it's me again 👋👋😬who just send u a request of a long one shot of dark steve rogers x reader where he bullys her but i just forget to tell u that can u pls make that a Highschool AU pls , i really forget to tell u 😬😬

bully

steve rogers x reader

summary: Steve bullies you after you rejected him and he soon regrets it.

warnings: dark, non-con, violence, bullying, blood, self hatred, insecurities, psychological trauma, they are of age, please don’t read if you’re not comfortable with any of these. Not proofread.

word count: 1.7k

a/n: just wanted to post something so this may or may not suck

masterlist

Steve wasn’t always a bully.

It’ll probably be because you hurt his ego.

Maybe he asked you out one time but you were new in school and wary of people so you politely declined his offer.

For Steve, he saw that as you humiliating him in front of the school. The new girl just rejected the Steve Rogers. 

Steve would be like ‘who do you think you are?’ and the cheeky flirty guy he was before becomes someone else.

He started spitting insults here and there, never missing a day to make you feel weird about yourself. 

The soft and beautiful blue eyes from before turned dark and hostile towards you.

Sweet words turned harsh.

Flaws that you didn’t see before started surfacing.

Suddenly your hair is too messy and all over the place. Your skin is too dead and it makes you look creepy. Your eyes are too dull and sad that you don’t seem friendly anymore. Your nose is weird, and so on. The list never ended and you started to change from the person you are before.

Steve made sure to make you feel the way you made him feel.

You suddenly became closed off and did everything to be unnoticed. It’s better to be a nobody than be the center of everyone’s torment.

Steve is a popular guy and it didn’t take long for everyone to follow his lead.

You’re just trying to finish your last year and finally leave the hell you created for yourself but Steve swore to make your life a living hell.

“If it isn’t my favorite dead girl!” Steve’s voice booms through the hallway, the chatters immediately stopped to witness the popular guy, and now, the loser of the whole school interact.

“Got somewhere else to be?” His voice was sweet as well as his eyes but you know, everyone knows that his intentions are far from being sweet.

“What? Your tongue isn’t working anymore? Bet it rot with your dead body and now everything is decaying with you, is that it?” He raised an eyebrow at you, waiting for his friends to back him up which they did. Steve smirked as the hallway started being filled with thunderous laughter and they’re all directed at you.

You did nothing but bite your lip in hopes of stopping yourself from crying in front of everyone. You can’t afford another round of teasing.

You fake a laugh before turning away from him and started heading to your last class.

Steve hated the way your eyes looked at his with nothing but sadness.

Your sadness wasn’t even directed at him but at yourself.

He just wanted to make you feel the way you made him feel so you can understand that the both of you belong to each other.

You’re fucking perfect and Steve is far from that. He might be the most popular guy in school but you were way out of his league so he had to bring you down just a little bit.

But it got out of hand.

He had no idea how to stop what he started but then something happened.

He was just on his way out of detention, the hallways are now empty, everyone has already gone home and Steve was used to that. What he wasn’t used to is the sound of whimpering. More importantly, it’s the sound of you whimpering.

He wasted no time and ran towards the direction of your voice and as he turned the corner, his blood turned red hot in seconds. He’s seeing nothing but red at the sight in front of him.

Mrs. Roberts asked you to come to her office before going home to discuss something and you didn’t know whether to cry because of sadness or cry because someone actually cares for you.

Mrs. Roberts shared her worries with you because your once impressive grades started pummeling down to the point where it can cause problems with your chances of graduating.

Mrs. Roberts gave you special assignments to do so you can pass her subject and you thanked her for that. You even hugged her so tightly and dwelled on the affection for too long which worried her.

“Is there something wrong, dear?” She asked, eyes glossing over yours with worry.

You decided against telling her and just shook your head at her. “Do you think I’m failing my other subjects? What if I don’t graduate in time?”

Mrs. Roberts was quick to calm you down, telling you how the meeting with the teachers went and even joked about you purposely failing only her subject which you laughed at.

You left her office with a smile, chuckling at the memories of her jokes when you suddenly felt an impact on your left side and then your right side when you hit the lockers with a loud bang, making you whimper in pain.

“The fuck are you laughing at, dead girl?” An unfamiliar voice says above you.

You look up to see a boy a year younger than you but before you could reply, his foot started meeting your abdomen, your sides, or whatever part of you that he could kick. At some point, he was able to kick your face which made your ears ring in pain so you decided to shield your head with your arms to block his kicks.

“I don’t know why Steve never did this before but I am doing it for him. He’ll be so proud of me! I can take over his place after he graduates.”

You didn’t even realize that you weren’t receiving his kicks anymore but the sound of kicks can still be heard.

You peak out of your arms to see the young boy’s body across from you on the floor, receiving hits from a large man above him.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, punk?!” Steve’s voice growls in anger and you didn’t know if you were thankful that you weren’t on the receiving end of his growl but it still terrified you.

“M-making you proud! I’m doing the thing you can’t seem to do!” The younger boy spits out red liquid before scrambling away after Steve pulls him up by his collar.

“If I fucking see you touch her again, you’ll never be able to see a day again, you understand?” Steve pushes the boy away before looking back at you, all the anger on his face turns into something softer.

He scrambles towards you, kneeling before you and helping you so gently until your leaning on the lockers, heaving at the pain that the boy caused you.

Steve continued to stare at you, eyes observing you before his hands gently prodded your face.

“You’re bleeding…” He murmurs before pulling out a cloth and dabbing it softly on the wound, apologizing when you flinched at his touch which surprised you.

“W-what are you doing?” Your voice trembles and Steve only sighed in response, shaking his head in disappointment.

“Why did you have to reject me?” He asked, carefully putting a band-aid over the scar and kissing it so gently with his pink lips. You stared at him in shock and confusion.

“Wh-What the f-fuck?!” You try to push him off but he only gripped both of your wrists with one hand while the other caress your face.

“We would’ve been so happy together. You would’ve had a great experience but you always manage to put yourself in danger… Why didn’t you just let me in?” The hand on your face goes to the back of your neck and your struggles were no use when he easily pulled you into a kiss, his tongue easily forcing itself into your mouth and coating and mixing your saliva with his.

“I should’ve not given up but you… you hurt me, ya know?” He pulls away before admiring your face.

“I lied though. You’ve always been so beautiful. I just wanted you to give me a chance but then you started avoiding me more.” His jaw clenches before his grip on your wrists tighten.

His other hand goes under your shirt before fondling your breasts through your bra. He leans in towards your neck before sniffing and moaning as he continues to massage your breasts while his hips started to grind against yours in need.

He growls against your neck as his grind started to get violently fast.

“Ahh fuck!” His hips stopped before he’s shaking against your body.

Your eyes widened at him as you looked down at the front of his pants which now had a stain on the crotch area.

“D-did you just—”

“See what you do to me?” He laughs before kissing your lips once more, the hand on your breasts trailing down before he forces it down your pants and under your panties to feel your core with his big hands.

His fingers make a quick swipe up your slit making you shiver at the feeling of him on your sensitive area.

“And I see what I do to you…” He inserts one finger, groaning at the way your walls are tightening around just one finger.

Steve swore he could cum again at the thought of his cock entering your very tight pussy.

“We didn’t start strong but we have all the time in the world now…” He places a kiss wet on your lips, continuing his assault on your core while his thumb finds its way to your clit.

Steve enjoys the way your hips jolted at the feeling and he smiled.

“I will help you graduate with honors and then after that,” he pulls back from the kiss before smiling at you.

“We’ll start over. I’m never leaving you again. I’m never going to give up on you. We’ll finally have what we both deserved.” He feels your walls fluttering around his one finger so he added another, thumb flicking your nub harder, forcing you to release.

“Mmm!” You bit your bottom lip as an orgasm was forced out of you, pleasure showering you as your eyes shut tightly.

“So fucking beautiful…” Steve pulls his hand out of your jeans before quickly placing his fingers inside his mouth to taste you.

“So fucking delicious as well.” He helps you up carefully before guiding you out of the school and into his car.

“I’ll drive you to school and from school from now on. There won’t be a time when I’m not watching over you. I’ll protect you from now on. I’m going to right every wrong thing I did to you, baby…” He leans down to kiss your lips then your head before fixing your seatbelt for you and starting the car.

“Everything will be better now.”

----

a/n: been trying to write but it’s just not working rn but im trying to come thru hehe

taglist

General: @readermia @unlikelygalaxygiver @xoxabs88xox @anncutamarica @chaoticfiretaconerd @i-love-superhero @caffiend-queen @coconutqueen21 @jtargaryen18 @jennmurawski13 @mushyjellybeans @ninjabucky @evnscvll @buckstaybucky @donutloverxo @rebloggingeverything @adriannajackson @la-cey @awaywithtime @gotnofucks @empath-bunny @belovedcherry @littlegasps

Anything Chris: @patzammit @princess-evans-addict @shadowcatsworld @notyourtypicalrose @onetwo3000 @bluemusickid @heyiamthatbitch @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @slytherinandoutasgard

Chris and seb: @harrysthiccthighss

Marvel: @jemzeraion

[darthkruge]

Okay :3

Could I ask for some quick little hc’s on the reader getting hurt on a mission?

I just need worried and protective Ani rn 🥺

Thank you Butterscotch 💞💝

Anakin x Reader Who Gets Hurt on a Mission Headcanons

Warnings: I mean talk of injuries but no in depth ones discussed. Mainly just protective and worried Anakin with some soft Ani thrown in there too because I physically think I’m incapable of not adding that. 

Words: 1.3k

A/N: Yes my love of course!! I love worried and protective Ani <3 I know you said quick little headcanons but I fucking love protective!Anakin and the getting hurt on a mission thing is one of my favorite tropes lmao so this kinda took on a life of its own. 

gif credit i really like this gif- like a lot- 

Okay first off Anakin is already so protective. He hates that you’re in dangerous situations when you go on missions and he hates it when he can’t go with you. That being said, he knows you’re powerful and competent and he would never doubt your abilities as a Jedi. 

Honestly, his protectiveness says far more about him than you. He’s not worried that you’re not strong enough; he’s worried he’s not strong enough. If you get hurt, he thinks he failed somehow. 

As soon as he sees you get hit, he’s there in an instant. If it happens in the middle of a battle, getting you to safety is his main priority. He’ll scoop you up in his arms and get you out of there immediately.

If it’s more like someone hurts you directly, like a one-on-one thing, he’s going insane. Picture someone stabbing or hitting you to the point where you’re unconscious and bleeding on the floor. Anakin immediately flashes back to losing his mother, to when he wasn’t able to save someone he loved. 

He will kill them if they’re still a threat to you. If not, it’s not like he’s letting them just walk away. He’s infuriated. He first steps in front of your body, shielding you from them. And he’s livid, he’s glaring at them and anyone could tell he’ll fight to the death for you.

His lightsaber ignites, illuminating his enraged expression and they just know they fucked up. 

Even so, you are his priority. Revenge never comes first when it’s between that and keeping you safe. His thought process is: deal with danger as quick as I can so I can go make sure they’re okay. 

He runs up to you and, if you’re unconscious, he’s gently trying to coax you awake. He’ll whisper softly, all “Can you hear me?” “Open your eyes for me, baby.” “Please, Y/N, please let me see your gorgeous eyes.” “Come on, angel, let me know you’re okay” 

His eyes are scanning your body, looking for any possible injuries that he needs to attend to. 

Regardless of what the injuries are, he’s picking you up. He’s not letting you walk or put any pressure on any parts of your body. 

He scoops you up as gently as he can and moves as evenly as he can while rushing you back to the ship, trying not to jostle you around too much.

If you whimper or hiss in pain from the movements, he looks at you so apologetically and whispers an “I’m so sorry, just a little longer, okay?” 

And you’ll nod at him with tears in your eyes and it just makes his heart ache. He hates knowing you’re in pain and that he wasn’t able to stop it or take it away. 

When he gets you back to the ship, he’ll lay you down and try to attend to your injuries as best he can. He’ll grab some gauze and bandages and wrap your wounds, desperate to stop the blood loss. If there aren’t any supplies, he’ll just rip parts of his shirt off to use as bandages. After he did that once you secretly hope they forget the supplies again because-

After he finishes that, you’re normally really cold and exhausted from the blood loss. He wraps you up in all the blankets they might have and pulls his Jedi robe off and puts it around you, too. He knows it brings you comfort and, honestly, it’s really fucking warm. 

He talks to you to try and keep you awake. He’ll tell you stories and although he tries to be strong for you, you can hear his voice shake and his words become faster, sure signs that he’s fucking terrified. 

That’s honestly what gets you to stay awake, more than anything else. You don’t want him to panic. You’ll try to hold his hands, if your injuries allow, and constantly move your thumb against the back of his hand as he does the same to you. The constant movement reminds him you’re alive and conscious and okay. 

As soon as you land on Coruscant, he immediately brings you to medbay. He doesn’t care, you can complain about how much you don’t want to and how you’re fine all you want, he won’t hear it. He got a little upset once because you were desperate and said “please, Ani, please don’t make me go. I just want to go back to our bed and have you hold me. That’s the only thing that could make me feel better right now.”

He was upset because he hates turning you down, especially when you ask like that. The only time he’ll turn you down is if he’s trying to keep you safe. 

He tries to force them to let him stay with you as they run diagnostics, literally yelling out and attempting every trick in the book. Even so, it doesn’t work. They calmly tell him to go sit in the waiting room and they’ll get him when the tests are finished.

He watches them take you away and he paces in the room, chewing on his fingernails and running his hands through his hair in worry. He normally somehow ends up finding his way into a chair and he ends up breaking down. He’ll have his head  in his hands, tears streaming down  his cheeks as he prays to the Maker that you’ll be alright. He’d do anything, so long as you’re alright. 

When they finally call him back, saying your tests are done he’ll run back into the room. You see his disheveled appearance and bloodshot eyes and you immediately reassure him that you’re going to be okay. 

As soon as he can take you home, back into his arms you go. Once again, you’re not walking, so don’t even try it. Further, he just wants to hold you. You normally  kind of turn your head into his chest, embarrassed that he has to carry you through the Temple where anyone can see you in this weakened state. 

Meanwhile, Anakin is staring daggers at anyone who even attempts to look in your direction. His arms tighten around you, keeping you close and you’ve honestly never felt safer.  

He gets you back to the apartment and gently places you on the bed. He looks you over again, just making sure they didn’t miss any of your injuries before he pulls the covers up and comes next to you.

He’ll get you some water and a bit of food, wanting you to get something in your system to help replenish your body. He stays with you the whole time, making sure you eat and drink at least a little bit. 

Even though the medical droids helped, you’re still in pain and he tries to help in whatever way he can. He can see your eyes screwing up as you try to move and get comfortable in bed and he’s just “I know it hurts, baby. I’m so sorry, here, let me help you, okay?” “What can I do to make it better” 

He helps you get settled, pulling you with him in his strong arms until you find a position that allows you to sleep. 

Sometimes you’re shaken up from getting hurt. You’ll tell him how afraid you are or, more frequently, he just knows. He tells you “You’re safe now, my love.” “No one’s going to hurt you ever again.” “It’s okay, I took care of them, it’s okay.” “Look at me, angel. They’re gone, alright? It’s just you and me, right here, safe.” 

As you drift off, he reminds you how much he loves you and you say it back. He’s always the big spoon on those nights. He puts himself closest to the door, shielding your body with his.

Nights after you get hurt are always very special. He holds you to him as tightly as he can, granted this is mostly dependent on your injuries. And you just love it. You feel safe and he feels like he can keep you like that. 

Basically, if you get hurt on a mission, Anakin’s got you. And an enemy has to be pretty stupid to try and hurt you. Not only are you exceptionally badass, but if they somehow get to you, Anakin will hunt them to the ends of the galaxy to ensure they never harm you  again.

----

the link to join my taglist is in my pinned! if you would like to be taken off/edit your response in any way please dm me or shoot me an ask <3

general tags:

@saltybreaddream @buckysbeloved @lolquarth @sodaoverstars @artiza-n

anakin tags:

@anakinswhore @kennedywxlsh @coldlilheart @adamgetawaydriver @chokemeanakin @gayidioot @starwars-whore @katelynnwrites @haydens-moles @serpntines @anakinlove @rowley-with-ackerman @dexthtoyounglings @babykinskywalker @cluelessgurl @april-showers-and-flowers @ungodiys @beiroviski @mystic-writings @thejediuniverse 

[dizzydancingdreamer]

You're My Home Too | Loki Laufeyson

Hey lovelies happy Saturday! I hope you all have had a lovely day! Here is the first Loki "drabble" of the event, please do enjoy and make sure to take care of yourselves today!

Appetizers (Tags): Angst, Fluff

Entres (Pairing): Loki x F!Reader (third person)

Sides (Prompts): 6: “You’re all I have.” “You’re all I have too, you know?”

Notes: None, Requested by Anon

Word Count: 2.2k

Dinner at Dizzy’s Master List

She watches as the black haired god tilts his head, eyes locked on his brother. It looks like he’s nodding along, agreeing to something Thor has said, but she can see it— the way his pupils dart across the blonde’s face, flitting over his shoulder before returning, latching on a different spot. It’s unnerving to watch him be so docile. So passive— not at all like the usual, fiery tempered, grinning god of mischief. She’s never seen him look so blank. Something’s definitely wrong.

She has a feeling she knows what it is, too. If she’s right then it’s the same reason she laid awake all night, curled on her side of Loki’s bed, listening to the sound of his steady breathing until the sun came up. She can practically hear the conversation— Thor’s been itching to go home for weeks now. Somehow they’ve always managed to get held up each time— saving the world and what not. Now, though, there’s nothing keeping them. No androids or aliens or wizards. Just her— the best friend— and that’s not going to cut it.

Loki’s eyes flick to hers, blue irises somehow vibrant even from across the room, and she forces the corners of her lips to turn up, an attempt at flaking off the frown that she’s sure has been plastered on her face all morning. If his frown is anything to go by, however, then she would say that it doesn’t work out. Oh well— she didn’t really expect it would.

He can sense lies and even if he couldn’t he would still be able to read her like a book. Half the time it feels like he’s more in her head then she is, always figuring out what she wants before she can think it let alone say it aloud. Usually that’s followed by him dropping whatever he’s doing to get it for her. Unless, of course, it’s a hug— then he’s dropping whatever he’s doing and pulling her into his arms.

Who’s going to hug her if he’s a galaxy away?

Is it even a galaxy? Surely it’s more. A dimension away. Her stomach tosses, the sting in her chest mixing with a wave of the nausea she’s been fighting all morning. A combination of not eating— not being hungry enough to eat— and sadness. No not sadness— grief. Sadness feels easier. It’s waving your best friend off to college— not to another fucking world. This isn’t sadness— this is losing everything she has come to need for an entire year. Warmth and protection and his sea-salt skin and elegant voice. Who else is going to speak so gently to her when he’s gone?

“Dove—” she blinks and he’s suddenly there, kneeling on the floor in front of the couch where she's been sitting for the past hour, legs curled under her and all the way numb— “what’s wrong?”

His dark brows crease together, his hand snaking from his side and reaching for hers. She offers him another pathetic half-smile, tangling her fingers with his long ones and shaking her head slightly. “Nothing, Loki. How’d your talk go?”

She doesn’t miss the way he winces. He tries to hide it, replicating her tilted lips with his own, but, like her, his eyes don’t follow suit. Instead they flash with something that looks too much like dread for her to keep her act up. When her mouth creases into a frown, so does his. It’s all she needs to know— he really is leaving her.

“My brother misses home.” The god reaches out his other hand and— like everything they seem to do— she copies him, meeting him halfway and lacing those fingers together as well. He runs his thumb over hers, his blue eyes intense— worried. “There are a few things we have to sort out. They’re getting impatient.”

They’re. That could mean so many things. It could mean his people— the asgardians. It could mean his family— it definitely means Thor, the god who she can hear pacing from the kitchen. Her eyes pool over the features of the man in front of her, landing on the circles under his eyes. Does it mean him too? Has she been keeping him from going home? The thought makes her throat sting— of course she has. She’s been so stupid, clinging to a literal god. Of course he would have to go home at some point. She was only fooling herself thinking he would stay with her. What’s upstate New York when you have a celestial castle or whatever the hell it is he has?

“Dove?”

She blinks again, zoning back into his even more concerned stare— shit.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, squeezing his hands if only to ground herself against slipping away again. “That sounds important. Your, uh, your kingdom needs you.”

I need you too, though.

It feels like her heart is lodged in her throat and that she’s speaking around it. When she swallows it doesn’t go away— if anything it grows, tears stinging at her eyes, threatening to fall. She hates how selfish she feels. He doesn’t belong to her— he doesn’t belong with her— and she should feel lucky to have called him her friend for this long. Still she can’t help but wonder what her days will look like without him. Empty. Boring. Terrifying. She has friends here but it isn’t the same. The connection isn’t the same— the warmth and smiles and laughter aren’t the same.

She isn’t just losing her best friend, she’s losing her home.

And she breaks.

And he notices.

God, he always notices.

She supposes with the tears now streaming down her face, though, that she can’t exactly blame him for that one. It’s a little noticeable. What she will blame him for is how he releases her hands, instead rising to his full height and settling on the couch, angling his lithe body towards her and wrapping his arms around her stomach. He waits— one beat, two beats— for her to turn as well, pushing up on her knees and throwing her arms around his shoulders. She holds him tight— tighter than she can confidently say she has ever held him before. She has to— it’ll very likely be the last chance she gets. She has to memorize it— him.

“I’m sorry,” she laughs bitterly. It’s more of a sob— the kind that catches in her throat, getting stuck between silent and booming. “I’m being silly.”

Loki shakes his head— she can’t see it but she can feel his jaw brushing her hair, his hands pushing her closer to his chest. She digs her fingers into his jumper, scrunching the green wool like somehow it’ll make this all okay. His hand runs up her back, curling it around the nape of her neck, hand cool and soft.

“No you aren’t.” He murmurs, face still pressed against her hair, and she fights back more tears— he’s too gentle with her.

She doesn’t say anything right away, she just sinks against him, biting her lip and forcing herself to just be in the moment. He smells like rain today. It’s always different— always changing— but today he smells like the summer pavement before a three day thunderstorm hits and it feels fitting.

After a few moments she finally pulls away, tugging against his hold and running the heel of her hand under her eyes. He doesn’t give her much leave, only a few inches to be able to look up at him, blinking away the blurriness of her glassy eyes and sniffling. His lips are pressed together, his head tilted again. Unlike with his brother, though, his eyes never stray from hers. As always, it makes her breath catch in her throat, her heart racing in the way only he can seem to do.

She finally brings herself to ask the hard question— the one that’s been hanging around them for weeks. “When are you leaving?”

His fingers on her spine tense— that can’t mean anything good.

“Today, dove.”

“Oh.”

She doesn’t know what else to say— that and if she says anything more she’s afraid she might start sobbing again. Sobbing or just stop breathing altogether. Today? She couldn’t have had one more night with him? You’ve already had ‘one more night’ for four weeks, the little voice in her head reminds her. It’s time to let him go. She slips her hands around his arms— easier said than done. She knows that once he leaves her life will change— and it might never go back to normal.

Loki’s eyes flash, the blue darkening, a crease forming between his brows. He opens his mouth but no words come out and soon he’s pressing his lips together again, the dejection in his eyes and aura tangible. She has to say something— she can’t leave it on this note. She just has no idea what to say. No idea how to say goodbye.

So she doesn’t.

“You should probably start packing then, yeah?” She pushes her lips into the tortured smile again, muttering the words.

She’s sure he would have forced himself to laugh—

“I want you to come with me.”

— were it not for him speaking at the same time.

Her heart stops when his words flit past her eardrums. “What?”

She must be dreaming— there’s no way he just said what she thinks he said. It has to be her imagination playing a cruel trick on her. Trying to protect her from the pain until the last second. But no, that’s not right, now when his cool hands move from her back to her cheeks, his thumbs running over her cheekbones and drawing her back to him. He leans down, pressing his forehead against hers and she gasps— she can’t help it. His skin is so soft that her eyes flutter close.

“I said I want you to come home with me, dove.” His nose brushes against hers, his words entirely soft.

She’s speechless— completely and utterly floored. “To Asgard?”

He chuckles, minty breath fanning her lips. “Yes, to Asgard.”

She pulls back, head so fuzzy she almost topples over from the motion, hands curling tighter to keep from falling. He really wants her to go home with him? Just like that her heart starts beating again, kicking starting her pulse which begins hammering as the notion of staying with him starts to become clear. He’s not leaving?

“But—” she stammers, blinking rapidly as she tries to form a coherent thought— “why me?”

For a moment he just looks at her, his brows knitting together once more, his eyes filling with something she can’t decipher. He kind of looks confused. Only she could confuse a god. She almost slaps herself, her pulse thrumming in her ears. Why the heck would you ask him that you idiot? Now he’s not gonna’ want to take you with—

“Because you’re all I have.”

He says it so nonchalantly— like it’s a fact and not a confession that makes her very essence roar. She supposes that to him it is just a fact. That when you’re all powerful speaking your mind is normal. It is just a fact and she is just a girl and he is just a god. Fact, fact, facts. Her head spins. This— he— cannot be real.

“I—” That’s as far as she gets before her sentence drops, mouth gaping but empty.

Thankfully he picks it up, continuing his unconcerned profession.

“It’s not home if you’re not with me, my little midgardian. Not anymore.” He shrugs and she almost chokes— how is he saying this so calmly when she feels like she’s going to combust? “I really think you’d like it, actually. It’s very pretty— lots of gardens. Oh, and the library! You would enjoy the library.” He tilts his head, his eyes fading out slightly as he thinks about his home. “I’m sure there will be a ball of some sort when we arrive home. I know, I know— you don’t like big events but—”

This time she’s the one who places her hands on his cheeks, shaking her head, letting the first euphoric giggle out. “Of course I’ll go, Loki.”

A grin spreads across his lips, his eyes widening like he just won the lottery as he leans forward, connecting them once again. It makes her heart jump in her chest. What did he think she was going to say? No? She giggles when his lips press against her cheek, her nose scrunching. He must notice because his mouth curves even more against her skin. Soon his lips aren’t just on her cheek but on her forehead and chin and nose as well.

“Even if we have to go to a ball?” He teases, his voice lighter than she’s heard it in weeks.

“Even then.” She confirms, fingers gliding into his hair and tangling them in the silky strands. She takes a deep breath, nerves thrumming as she adds softly. “You’re all I have too, you know? You’re my home too.”

Loki hums happily against her skin, taking her own confession the same way he had made his own— easily. It’s the best outcome she could have hoped for. She can’t wipe the wide smile from her lips as he wraps his arms properly around her once more. It’s not long before his lips find her ear, soft words echoing against her skin.

“You should probably start packing then, yeah?”

[marjansmarwani]

like I was already brave enough to let go

7.2k || Chapter 1/2 || ao3

Enzo understands that leaving New York in the wake of everything is what's best for TK, but that doesn't make it any easier. Watching his stepson pack up all his broken pieces and move across the country hurts him in ways he can't describe, mostly due to the knowledge that there will be a distance between them that has never existed before. So he takes the time to check-in, to keep track of TK. To be there for him, no matter what.

He's just starting to wish that he had picked somewhere other than Austin, because he is quickly discovering he is not built for this level of stress.

After reading @futures-tense’s Enzo fic (that everyone should read, it is phenomenal) I couldn’t get thoughts of him and his relationship with TK out of my head, so naturally I wrote this. It fits into canon evetns and this is only chapter 1 of 2, because while I so have an outline for season 2 events, this was getting long so I figured I’d at least post what I had. 

Massive thanks to @silvarafael and @justaswampdemon for all their help and support with this, you’re both the best!

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

He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting when TK opened his apartment door, but the sad shell of the boy Enzo had come to love as his own wasn’t it. 

Or maybe it was, but it hurt all the same. 

“Hey kid,” he said softly, stepping carefully around him and into the apartment. He looked around the small space, taking in all the boxes haphazardly labeled and partially packed. “So, it’s true. Your mom told me but I don’t think I believed her. Never thought I’d see the day TK Strand willingly left New York for Texas, of all places.” 

“Who says it’s willingly,” he said dully as he shut the door behind Enzo. 

Enzo turned and studied him more closely, taking in the downturned eyes and anxious fingers thumbing the seam of his hoodie pocket, “Do you not want to go? Because you can stay here. I’ll talk to your mom, you can stay with us if you…” 

But TK cut him off with a shake of his head, “No,” he said, “I think I need to do this. Dad’s right, I need a fresh start. I can’t...I don’t think I can be here anymore. When I think of staying here, I don’t see a way forward. I think if I stayed here I’d…” he trailed off, but Enzo felt a chill rush through him at the implication of what TK hadn’t said. He tried to meet his eyes but TK looked away, casting his gaze downward and away from Enzo’s sympathetic eyes. 

It hurt him more than he could say to see TK like this. For all his struggles he had always been a happy kid. He had always been someone who found the joy in life where he could and he had always worn his emotions on his sleeve, for better or worse. Seeing him like this and knowing what had happened hurt Enzo in ways he couldn’t fully describe because he didn’t know the right words. All he knew for sure is that this was not the TK he had known and loved for 16 years standing before him. This was a stranger; someone he had only seen once before during a time he had hoped to never revisit. 

He hadn’t asked what happened because he knew enough and he wasn’t about to make the kid revisit it just so he could fill in some blanks. He might not know everything but he knew enough to feel hot anger course through him at the thought of someone breaking that too big heart of his. TK had always been someone who loved fully and completely, and to see that thrown back in his face so spectacularly made Enzo—a typically steady and calm man — strongly consider homicide. 

He had every confidence that Gwyn could get him out of any charges too, but he pushed that thought aside to focus on the scene before him.  

“This isn’t your fault, TK.” 

TK turned away from him, absently picking up some books from the table and dropping them into one of the boxes. “I know I didn’t make Alex cheat,” he says eventually, “but the rest of it? That is completely on me Enzo, no one else.” 

He could sense that the kid had more to say so he let him go, watching from the doorway as he listlessly picked up other odds and ends from around his apartment, tossing them into boxes without any real care as to what the labels on the side said. He knew TK would speak up when he was ready and it was only a few more minutes before he did. 

“Eight years,” he finally said, his rough voice breaking the silence of the half-packed apartment. “Eight fucking years of sobriety, all gone. And that’s all on me. It doesn’t matter what Alex did, I’m the one who made the choice. I am the one who let him have that power over me and…” he broke off, meeting Enzo’s eyes for a moment before looking away and swallowing. “I do need to leave,” he said eventually. “I don’t trust myself to stay here anymore. I don’t know if I’d survive it.” 

Enzo could feel his heart breaking for the kid. He wasn’t a kid anymore — now 26 and an adult — but in Enzo’s eyes sometimes he was still the 10-year-old who met his eyes shyly when Gwyn first introduced them, the 14-year-old who had admitted to him in a terrified whisper that he thought he might like boys, the 19-year-old who had come to him because he wanted to enroll in the fire academy and didn’t know how his mother would take it. The feeling he had now was just like the feelings he had had then. This overwhelming love and desire to protect him from everything bad in the world; from anyone that ever told him he wasn’t enough. 

And just like he had then, he stepped forward, closing the space between them to pull him into a hug. He held him close, pressing his face into his chest and placing a kiss on the top of his head. “You’re making the smart choice then,” he said evenly. “And, as much as I’ll miss you, I’m proud of you for doing what you have to do. You’ve beat this once and you’ll beat it again, I have no doubt about that.” 

He knew he wasn’t imagining it when the body in his arms sagged in relief. It made him clutch him that much tighter as he spoke again, hoping what he was about to say was a given but needing to say it anyway:  “And I will always be here for you, no matter where you live. I’m always just a phone call away, you know that, right?”

TK’s voice was muffled by the material of Enzo’s sweater, but he could still hear the tears in it clear as day, “I do.” 

“Good,” Enzo replied firmly, releasing his grip on TK and stepping back so he could meet his eyes. “Because I will be calling to check-in, that is a promise.” 

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

Watching him leave was bittersweet, but he believed TK when he said it was something he needed to do. He took some solace in the fact that he wouldn’t be alone. Enzo and Owen Strand may have had their differences over the years (many, many differences) but if there was one thing Enzo had never doubted it was the other man’s love for his son. He knew that TK was in good hands, but that didn’t make it any easier. 

He got confirmation they had arrived in Austin in the form of a text that included a picture of a shop selling cowboy hats that simply said, “turns out people actually do where these here. Yes, it looks as ridiculous as it sounds.” It is followed by another two days later that noted the crimes Texas has committed against pizza and though Enzo was still filled with worry, he allowed himself to smile and take it as a sign that he was healing, be it ever so slightly. 

He gave it almost a week before he called. He wanted to hear TK’s voice; to have proof that he really was okay, but he also wanted to give him time. His patience was helped by the fact that Gwyn had spoken to her son but eventually, he decided that he needed to hear from him himself.  

TK answered by the third ring, sounding out of breath. He greeted him warmly, and Enzo could hear the commotion of construction in the background. He raised an eyebrow, “What, did you decide to leave the fire department and become a contractor when I wasn’t looking?” 

This pulled a laugh out of TK and Enzo took a moment to savor the familiar sound. It felt like far too long since he’s last heard it. 

“No. Dad decided we should re-do the firehouse, to give everyone a fresh start. I figured I might as well help out. Besides,” he added with a shrug Enzo could almost hear, “demolition is the far healthier method of coping with feelings, right?” 

“When done with permission,” Enzo quipped in response. “How are you doing kid, has the pizza chased you away yet?” 

TK scoffed, “No, but it was a close thing. Honestly, I really haven’t had that much time to dwell. I’ve been helping with the demo and construction, as well as the candidate interviews and paperwork. I haven’t really taken too much time to think about anything.” 

TK said it matter of factly and Enzo almost moved past it. But he knew TK better than most. “You don’t have to punish yourself, kid,” he told him gently. “All you need to do is heal.”

“I’m not punishing myself,” TK objected, “I’m just...trying to keep busy. To distract myself.” 

TK might very well think that, but Enzo was pretty sure it wasn’t true. But he was willing to move past it, for now. 

“Tell me about the new crew,” he said instead, and smiled as TK launched into stories about a daredevil from Miami and a possible psychic from Chicago. He seemed enthusiastic and Enzo didn’t realize how good it felt to hear that until he had. It was like there was a little bit of life back in his voice and though he knew TK still had a long way to go to make this better, he was relieved to see that he was at least on the way. 

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

For a while, everything seemed to be going great. TK called and texted him from time to time, sharing anecdotes from calls and his new crew, and each time Enzo thinks he can hear just a little bit more of his old self returning to his voice. Sure he complains about one of them, for a while, but that too seems to sort itself out. 

He could tell there is someone new in his life too, even if TK is hedgy about it at best. But Enzo was the first one to know that TK was gay at 14; he knew how to spot the signs. 

“Why won’t you tell me about him?” he asked him one day, voice light and teasing as he stuffed his papers into his bag. “Is there something horribly wrong with him?”

“No,” TK countered emphatically, “there is nothing wrong with him. Absolutely nothing,” he added, almost an unconscious mutter Enzo was not entirely sure he was supposed to hear. 

“So if there is ‘absolutely nothing’ wrong with him, why aren't you going for it?” 

There was silence on the other end as Enzo slid his bag onto his shoulder, patiently waiting the younger man out. 

“You know why,” he eventually said, voice low and sad. Enzo grimaced at how pained his voice sounded and he dropped back into his desk chair with a sigh.

“TK…” he began, but the younger man cut him off firmly. 

“No, Enzo. I...I thought I could. I thought we could have something casual and that I could handle it. But then he wanted more and I hurt him. I don’t want to do that, he doesn’t deserve it. He’s too good to get dragged into my shitshow.” 

“Have you asked him what he wants?” Enzo asked gently. 

The bark of laughter TK gave at that was sharp and harsh, “Yeah, that should go well. Definitely won’t lead to me having to explain to this guy I’ve hooked up with a handful of times all the ways I’m fucked up right now.”

Enzo sighed again, leaning back in his chair, “It won’t always be like this, T. Someday you will be ready to try again, but only if you let yourself consider the possibility. Can you at least promise me that?”

There was silence for a long stretch and Enzo was about to ask him again when TK’s voice finally responded quietly, “Yes.” 

“Good,” Enzo responded firmly, “because no matter what happened, you still deserve happiness. And someday you’ll be ready to let it in again — maybe sooner than you think.” 

The sound of acknowledgment TK made sounded skeptical at best, but Enzo would take it. He knew he was right and he knew that someday TK would realize it too. Maybe even sooner than he thought. 

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

It’s about a week later when Enzo’s phone rings, nearly making him jump as he is pulled abruptly from his stack of midterms. It took him a few moments of shuffling blue books to even locate his phone and when he did he frowned at both the time and the name displayed on the screen. 

“Hey kid,” he said lightly as he answered the phone, “what’s up?” 

He had hoped he was overreacting, that TK was just calling him late because he was on shift and had lost track of the time. He had hoped that maybe the universe was finally giving the kid a break. 

The despair and fear so clear in TK’s voice quickly prove him wrong.  

“Hey Enzo,” he said softly, “fuck, I know it’s late and I’m sorry to bother you, but I just really needed to talk to someone.” 

“You are never a bother,” Enzo told him firmly, capping his pen and setting it down on his desk. “What’s wrong?” 

“I…” TK began before stopping, taking a deep breath and trying again, “I don’t know for sure yet, but I know something is.”

And Enzo believed him. The fear in his voice is so raw Enzo could feel every ounce of it even from a timezone away. “I’m going to need more than that, kid,” he told him gently, leaning back in his chair as he waited TK out. 

“I found something,” TK said eventually, “that I definitely wasn’t supposed to find. And it means something awful. Something I don’t know if I can handle. But it also means he doesn’t trust me,” TK continued, “and somehow that almost feels worse.”

Enzo frowned, pondering all the non-specific details in his mind. He didn’t know all that much about his stepson’s life in Austin, but he knew enough to know that while he was close to his new crew, he wasn’t close enough to be this upset by an omission from one of them. That left him with two possibilities: the mysterious man he was not seeing, or Owen. 

And Enzo knew which option was more likely and it made his heart sink. TK might not be sharing but Ezno knew both the Strand men better than most. If there was something Owen felt strongly enough to keep from his son that TK was this upset about, it wasn’t good news.

“You don’t have to tell me what it is,” he said cautiously, “but is it something about your dad?” 

There was a deep, shuddering breath before TK responded, “Yeah.” 

And Enzo shut his eyes, the hurt and fear in TK’s voice telling him all he needed to know. 

“I don’t know what this is about,” he said eventually, “and you don’t have to tell me. But I do know you, and I know whatever it is you are going to want to be there for him, because that’s who you are. Let him know that, and the rest will follow from there.” 

There was silence again, but Enzo waited TK out. He was familiar with this rhythm; when something was bothering TK he often took his time to make sure he had the words right before he spoke. Over the years Enzo had learned to wait him out knowing that he would get to his point when he was ready.  

He did a few moments later, “I do want to be there for him,” TK agreed, “I just know why he didn’t tell me. He doesn’t think I can handle it — and he’s right,” TK confessed softly, “I don’t know if I can.” 

“You can,” Ezno assured him firmly, “you can do anything you set your mind to. You always have.” 

He let his words sink in for a moment before he added, “And I would talk to your dad before you make any assumptions. Let him know he can rely on you, let him know you want to be there.” 

“You make it sound so easy,” TK said dryly, and Enzo huffed a laugh. 

“In a way it is. It’s just words. It’s the actions behind them that are hard.” 

There was silence again before TK spoke, his voice so quiet Enzo almost missed his next words, “I’m scared.” 

“It’s okay to be scared,” Enzo reminded him, “sometimes fear is the appropriate response.” 

But even as he said it, he could feel his heart breaking. He didn’t know what was going on and while he was sure he would find out soon enough, he couldn’t help but hate whatever it was. TK deserved some time to find himself, to heal and simply exist. He didn’t understand why the universe kept throwing such curveballs at him, but he wished with every fiber of his being it would stop. 

“Sometimes it is,” TK agreed in a tone that made Enzo wonder even more what this was all about. But he didn’t ask; TK would tell him when he was ready. For now he would just be here for him. Sometimes that was all he could do. 

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

As much as Enzo couldn’t help but worry about the younger man, sometimes the updates were a sign that things were getting better for him, slowly but surely. 

One such time came as he and Gwyn were sitting on the couch together, Enzo making a case for watching Jeopardy with Gwyn adamantly refusing. 

“No,” she said again with a firm shake of her head, “it always ends the same way.” 

He shrugged, “I can’t help that you’re too competitive, or that I’m better at it then you are,” he added, giving her a sly grin. 

“We can’t all have PhDs in history,” she said wryly, “some of us need to work for a living.” 

He opened his mouth to fire back a retort but was interrupted by the ringing of his phone. “Saved by the bell,” he said instead with a shake of his head as he dug his phone out of his pocket. He frowned when he saw the familiar name on the screen and turned it so Gwyn could see. 

“Hey T,” he said cautiously as he answered, “everything good?” 

There was a lot of noise in the background but he could hear TK’s voice clearly as he answered, “Yeah, I just had a question for you. These people don’t believe me so I need your cred as a Columbia history professor to back me up.” 

Enzo raised an eyebrow at Gwyn, who had leaned closer to hear. She bit her lip against a laugh and he shook his head fondly, “I’ll do what I can. What’s the question?” 

“Hang on,” TK said, “I’m going to put you on speaker.” There was the sound of fumbling before the background noise grew louder and TK’s voice returned. “Okay guys,” he was saying, “this is my stepdad Enzo. He’s a history professor at Columbia and if you don’t believe me maybe you’ll believe him. You want to ask him the question, Paul?” 

“Man, you didn’t need to…” 

“No, this is a point of pride now.” TK objected indignantly and Enzo glanced at Gwyn to see that she had fully pressed a hand against her mouth to stop any laughter from slipping out and giving away her eavesdropping. “Ask him,” TK prompted and there was a sigh before a new voice joined the conversation. 

“Sir, we are so sorry to bother you. TK’s just being a sore loser.” 

“Paul, right?” Enzo asked and got a sound of confirmation in return, “You don’t have to tell me that, I helped raise him.” There was an indignant noise in the background, likely from TK, but Enzo ignored it. “What’s the question?” 

“Who invented the first movie camera?” 

“Louis Le Prince,” Enzo replied without hesitation, unable to suppress a chuckle at the sound of TK’s triumphant ha! In the background. “You guys thought it was Edison, didn’t you?”

“Well, yeah,” Paul admitted sheepishly and Enzo chuckled lightly.

“That’s understandable. Edison was the first person to mass market it and the first to get recognized for it, but Le Prince was actually the first. But he mysteriously disappeared in 1890, right before he was set to take a trip to the US to talk about his invention. So he never got a chance to market it.” 

There was silence for a moment before Paul spoke again, “So is there any proof Edison had him killed or…?” 

“No,” Enzo admitted, “but that is one of the theories for sure. Another is his brother did it over the family will. Either way, Edison was not the first.” 

“Huh,” Paul said thoughtfully, “that’s actually fascinating. Dude, I’m sorry for doubting you.” 

“It’s fine,” TK said evenly, “I am more than a pretty face you know.” 

There was a collective snort from the other end of the phone and Enzo glanced at Gwyn to roll his eyes. She shook her head fondly and he returned his attention to the call, “Any other burning history questions or was that it?” 

The background noise lessened as TK took the phone off speaker. “No, that’s it. Thanks, Enzo.” 

“Anytime kid,” he told him, “you know I love to flex my random history facts.” That got another laugh out of TK, but Enzo could still hear the background noise of a group in the background. The sounds of easy comradery set his mind at ease in a way not much else had since TK had left for Texas. “Why don’t you get back to your friends and I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Okay, thanks again.” 

“Don’t mention it. I love you kid.” 

“Love you too. Say hi to mom for me?” 

“You’ve got it.” 

With that the call was over and Enzo was left back in their silent living room, Gwyn looking at him with a soft smile. 

“He sounds happy,” she said after a moment, her voice warm but thick. He nodded. 

“He does. As much as I do hate to admit it, I think going to Austin may have the best thing for him.” 

“You just hate that Owen was right.” 

“And you don’t?” he asked her with a raised eyebrow. 

“Well that’s a given,” she quipped, leaning closer to him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed them as she rested her head on her shoulder. “I’m just glad he’s doing better,” she said softly after a moment, “I’ve been so worried about him.” 

“Me too,” he admitted, pressing a kiss to the top of her hair. That sat in silence for a few more moments, each lost in their own thoughts before he spoke again. 

“So is that still a no to Jeopardy or…?”

She swatted at him and he grinned, ducking away from the light hit. Things seemed to have returned to their equilibrium, and that was a relief. 

He just hoped it stayed that way. 

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

When he was wrested from sleep by the shrill sound of his phone ringing cutting through the late-night silence of his bedroom, Enzo groaned. He swore under his breath as he fumbled for the device, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as he did. But when he managed to grasp his phone and saw the name on the screen, all thoughts of annoyance fled his mind. Owen Strand calling him was rarely a good sign. Owen Strand calling him at 2 am promised nothing short of disaster. 

“Owen?” he said as he answered, skipping any and all attempts at pleasantries. “Is everything okay?”

He could afford to give the universe the benefit of the doubt, he decided; even if only for a moment. 

When Owen’s reply came it was in a voice Enzo didn’t recognize. It was shaky and uncertain in a way that the other man never was. 

“Enzo, hey. I’m sorry to bother you but Gwyn’s not answering her phone and…” he broke off with a shaky breath, “I really need to talk to her.” 

“She’s in Beijing,” Enzo replied, sitting up and switching on the lamp beside him. “And given the time difference, probably in a meeting.”

He heard Owen swear distantly before he felt fear rise up in him. Owen calling him at 2 in the morning looking for Gwyn and out of sorts only added up to one thing, but Enzo so hoped he was wrong. 

“Owen, did something happen to TK?” he forced himself to ask; the stress of not knowing was worse than anything else. 

He could hear Owen take another breath, deep and shaky and filled with something else Enzo couldn’t identify on a phone call from half a country away. 

“There was an...incident,” Owen said softly, voice still unsteady, “on our last call.”

Enzo’s mind was already spinning, stumbling from one horrible possibility from another. 

“There was a man with dementia who broke into his old house and a homeowner who had a cardiac event and TK broke down the door and….he was shot.” 

Enzo heard the words, he knew he did. But he couldn’t have. If he had heard them that would mean that TK had been shot and that was not something that could be true. His stepson was a firefighter. It was a profession that came with enough risks of its own. He had spent countless days worried and fearful at the thought of rescues gone wrong, of untamable flames and unstable buildings. Never once had he even entertained the thought of a bullet being a risk to watch out for. Bullets were supposed to be the problem of other people with other jobs — not his stepson, who already had so many dangers to face. 

But it was true. The fear and pain in Owen’s voice told him it was true. There was an edge of both hysteria and despair in his words and that more than anything scared Enzo more than he could say.

“Where?” was the first coherent thought he could form. 

“Just below his left shoulder” Owen repeated mechanically. “His...his lung collapsed before we were even out of the hallway. Enzo, he couldn’t breathe. He kept trying but he couldn’t and there was so much blood....” Owen trailed off and Enzo could hear the unmistakable sound of a sob in the background even as his own hands trembled and his eyes watered. 

“Is he…” he started, but he couldn’t make himself say the words. He couldn’t speak the awful possibility into existence. 

“He’s headed to surgery,” Owen replied. “I don’t know anything more than that, we only got here about 15 minutes ago. I just...I just hope it was fast enough.” 

There was silence then as the two men allowed the same fear to consume them from opposite ends of the country. Enzo felt a morbid camaraderie with the other man in that moment. In the 16 years they had known each other it was safe to say that they had never exactly gotten along. They had always been polite and cordial for the sake of Gwyn, TK, and family gatherings but they were too different in too many ways that mattered to ever truly be friends. They had only ever agreed on one thing, and now that was the thing that tied them together — loving TK.  

“You got him there as fast as you could Owen,” Enzo assured him without hesitation because there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that it wasn’t true. “You did everything you could. Any chance he has is because of you.” 

“I think the credit lays more with the paramedics,” Owen objected, “but I appreciate the effort all the same.” 

Enzo opened his mouth again, not quite sure what he was going to say but feeling the overwhelming need to say something, but he was interrupted before he got the chance to figure it out. 

There was a noise on the other end followed by the sound of shuffling as Owen attended to whatever it was. When his voice returned, it was tight. 

“That’s Gwyn on the other line, I’ve gotta take it. But listen, Enzo…”

But Enzo just shook his head, “Don’t worry about it Owen, talk to her. Just, keep me updated?” 

“Of course,” he replied without hesitation, “as soon as I know anything.” 

Then with another hurried goodbye, the call was over and Enzo was left in the dark and quiet bedroom, alone. It wasn’t long before the tears he had felt threatening began to fall in earnest as he wrapped his mind around this reality and allowed himself to dwell on it. There was a chance — a very real and terrifying chance — that they could lose TK. That Gwyn and Owen could lose the son they had brought into this world and loved for 26 years. That Enzo could lose one of the people he loved the most. The thought of TK not existing anymore was too horrible to dwell on. 

Enzo was a religious man. He had been raised by a small Jewish family in a large community and his faith had been something that he had always had. It had seen him through so much. But now, with this, he had to wonder. It didn’t make sense that TK — his wonderful, caring stepson who had dedicated his life to helping people — should have to suffer so much in such a short time on earth. It went against everything he had ever believed about putting good into the world. Why should TK — who had never done anything to hurt anyone — have to suffer so? Why should he? He didn’t want to know what life without TK looked like. 

More than anything, he hated that he might find out. 

When Gwyn called him a few minutes later he pushed his own tears aside. He murmured soft reassurances as she sobbed in a quiet corner of a Beijing office building, consumed with fear and grief a world away from her child who was slipping further and further from them with every passing moment. He gave her empty platitudes, reassured her the best he could. 

But all the while the fear was drilling a hole straight through his chest. This, he decided, was the worst fear he had ever felt. 

The worst part was there was nothing he could do but wait, and hope desperately for the best. 

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

The next several days were some of the longest of Enzo’s life. Each day he woke up and went about the day. Each day he kept his phone volume on, not wanting to miss any news either way. Each day an update came from Owen and each day it was the same: no change. 

He debated going out to Austin — he had been halfway through buying a ticket online half a dozen times — but each time he stopped himself. Logically he knew that being there wouldn’t change anything. He would still be waiting, he’d just be waiting there. He told himself he was needed here, that he couldn’t just pick up and go across the country with no warning. It was the end of the semester and he had students to help to finish the course or their dissertation. He told himself staying was the responsible option, but he knew that it was largely just a distraction. But he would take any distraction he could get and so he pushed the guilt of not being there to the side

He taught his classes, he went through the motions. He fielded calls from Gwyn, still stuck in China and frantic with worry. Each day he reassured her; reminded her that TK was strong, young, and healthy. Above all that, he reminded her, he was stubborn. No bullet or coma was going to take him from them before he was ready. 

Of course there was the private fear, the one he didn’t want to share, that he didn’t want to hang on anyone else. The one he was afraid to say out loud. 

It was the thought that maybe, after everything, that was exactly what he did want. That maybe this was an out and that maybe, he would take it. That maybe he didn’t want to be alive anymore. 

But that was a possibility too horrible to accept. Maybe it was selfish, but Enzo knew that even if that was the case, he wasn’t ready. He doubted he ever would be, but he certainly wasn’t now. He knew both Gwyn and Owen would agree. No time was a good time to lose your child — step or otherwise — but now, after this — after everything — was not the time. 

So he waited, and hoped. 

Time seemed to blend together and before he knew it one day had become two, which had stretched into four. Each moment passed the same way — tensely, with no news. 

He knew he had been distracted too — keeping his ringer on during class and checking in throughout his lectures and office hours. He had apologized to his classes after the second telemarketer had caused him to drop everything and lunge for his phone, citing a family emergency and word had slowly gotten around. Soon it wasn’t just him hoping for the best, but most of the Columbia history department as well. Their well wishes were touching, but nothing short of good news was going to make him feel any better. 

So when his phone did finally ring on a Thursday afternoon, 5 days after the fateful call, he picked it up with trepidation. The name on the screen sent his heart racing and he nearly dropped his phone in his haste to answer it. 

“Owen?” he asked tersely, “Any updates?”   

Because since that night they hadn’t spoken. All updates had come in the form of texts and the thought of Owen finally having something to tell him one way or the other simultaneously thrilled him and nearly froze him with fear. 

But it wasn’t Owen’s voice that answered. 

“Hey Enzo,” TK said, the sound of his voice rushing through Enzo’s body like a current of electricity. He sank back into his seat with a wobbly laugh, feeling nearly a week's worth of tension fall away as he listened to the miraculous sound of TK breathing on the other end of the phone. 

“Hey kid,” he said warmly. “You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice. How are you feeling?” 

“Okay,” he answered, “I really don’t feel too bad at all. A little sore, a little tired, but overall not bad.” 

“I hear getting shot will do that to you,” Enzo retorted drily before sighing and running a weary hand down his face. “You scared the shit out of me, TK,” he admitted. 

“Sorry,” TK replied softly, “I didn’t mean to worry anyone.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Enzo rushed to reassure him, “I know you didn’t ask for this to happen but...shit TK, I am not built for this. Do you think you could avoid getting shot in the future, for my sanity at the very least?” 

“I’ll try,” TK responded with a chuckle, “I don’t remember most of it but I don’t think it’s anything I want to revisit.”  

“No, I’d imagine not,” Enzo retorted wryly. They lapsed into a comfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts and taking comfort from the presence of the other even if it was only over a phone call from half a country away. “So,” he finally said, leaning into normal conversation for the sake of normalcy, “is your dad driving you nuts yet?” 

“Yes,” TK responded emphatically, “he has been hovering non-stop, and he brought a date.” 

Enzo could hear indignant sputtering in the background and Owen muttering something about him not bringing a date, that his date had simply come to visit him to see how he was doing and, maybe because of all the fear and stress of the past week, Enzo could only laugh. 

“That sounds like your dad,” he retorted once he caught his breath, “and I wouldn’t count on that changing anytime soon.” 

“She seemed cool at least,” TK allowed, voice teasing, “I don’t know why he was trying to keep her a secret.”

“Excuse you,” Owen’s voice objected from the background, “I am not the one who had a hot cop sitting by my bedside. You don’t get to talk about keeping secrets.”

“Dad,” TK groaned and Enzo’s eyebrows shot up. 

“Oh, so the mystery man is a cop,” he teased, “and the plot thickens.” 

Now it was TK’s turn to splutter, “Nope, we are not doing this. That is more than enough from both of you,” he declared and Enzo could hear Owen chuckling at his son’s indignation from the background. It was a slice of normal that he had feared he’d never get again. To be sitting here hearing TK’s voice, teasing him about something so simple as the guy he had a crush on seemed like a miracle and Enzo was grateful for it.

Everything was normal again, at long last. 

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

Sometimes he thinks that turning on news alerts for Austin was the worst decision he had ever made. 

It seemed practical, at the time. An easy way to stay in the know, to have an idea of what kind of calls TK may have seen on any given day. But now he was frozen in the middle of the hallway after one of his classes staring at a notification about a solar storm that had blasted through Austin, leaving devastation in its wake; regretting every decision that led him to this point. 

He knew TK was still on medical leave. He knew that he should be home and resting after only being released from the hospital two days before. But he also knew his stepson and knew that whenever there was trouble, TK was usually not too far behind. 

It was with that thought in his mind that he stepped out out the middle of the hallway and leaned against the wall as he waited anxiously for the call to connect. The sound of a pleasant robotic voice informing him that his call could not be completed filled him with dread, but he forced himself to take a breath. It didn’t mean anything. The grid was likely overloaded right now; Enzo couldn’t say he knew for sure what kind of damage a solar storm could do but he was willing to guess that it wasn’t great for the electronic infrastructure. 

Left with no other options he went on about his day, the familiar anxiety he had only recently shed slipping back over him like a worn winter coat. He tried calling a few more times, trying to ignore how the dread in his gut grew each and every time the call didn’t go through. He resisted the urge to ask one of his science colleagues to explain the specifics of a solar storm; reasoning that dealing with his own uncertainty would be far kinder than having confirmed facts. At least this way, he decided, he could tell himself he was overreacting. 

It was far too many hours before his phone rang; an unfamiliar number appearing on his lock screen. He frowned at it but swiped to answer. He did list his cell number on all of his course syllabi, but for the most part his students stuck to his campus email, or — in desperate times — text. 

“Dr. Cohen,” he answered, mentally placing bets as to whether it was actually a student or a robot trying to inform him about the extended warranty of the car he didn’t own.

To his immense relief, it was neither. Instead, a familiar voice answered, sending a rush of relief through him at the sound, “Hey, Enzo, it’s me.” 

“TK,” he breathed, setting down the paper he had been reading and closing his eyes as he took a deep breath. “Are you okay?” 

“More or less,” he answered sheepishly and Enzo was about to push for more than that when he caught the distinct sound of a hospital intercom in the background. 

“Tyler Kennedy Strand, are you in the hospital again?” he demanded and he heard a weary sigh from the other end before a quiet “yeah” was muttered. 

“It’s not a big deal though,” TK rushed to explain, “I’m fine. I just pulled my stitches.” 

There was another voice in the background that Enzo didn’t recognize and could barely hear, but what he could hear made it clear that the other voice was not impressed either. 

“Well, what was I supposed to do?” TK demanded, and Enzo was not entirely sure who he was speaking to, “Let her drown in a burning bus?” 

“You just got out of the hospital!” Enzo objected when he could form words again, “What were you doing somewhere where there was a burning bus?!” 

“We just went out for boba,” TK retorted, “I didn’t expect there to be a solar storm that caused a bus accident.” 

And Enzo forced himself to take a deep breath because that was fair, he supposed. There was no way anyone could control anything like that. Still…

“The next time you move we’re going to need to do some research,” he declared. “Because if it is anywhere as chaotic as Austin, I’m going to have to object.” 

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” TK assured him, “I think I’ll be in Austin for a while.” 

There was a smile in his voice and Enzo somehow had the feeling he was intruding on something, even though TK had been the one to call him. 

“What number are you calling me from?” he asked, testing his theory. 

“I borrowed Carlos’s phone,” TK answered in a voice that said he knew what was coming and he hoped it would at least be quick. 

“Oh,” Enzo replied, “and Carlos wouldn’t happen to be the name of a certain ‘hot cop’ your father mentioned, aka the mystery man I have been trying to get you to tell me about for months?”

“Yes.”

“And when you say ‘we’ were trying to get boba…” 

“Enzo…”  

“And he wouldn’t happen to be with you right now, would he?” 

“Are you done?” TK demanded, and Enzo only laughed. 

“Not nearly, kid; I’m just getting started.” 

And despite TK’s muttering, Enzo could tell that he sounded happier than he had heard him sound in ages. He marveled at the fact that somehow, despite everything, TK had managed to find the happiness and peace he had hoped for him ever since he left New York all those months ago. Between the disasters he had managed to take his broken pieces and fit them back together, maybe even stronger than they had been before. 

It was all he had ever wanted for him, and he was relieved beyond belief that he had found it. 

“You know, this means I’m going to have to come down there soon,” he said instead, “I’ve got to meet this mystery man for myself.” 

He could practically hear TK rolling his eyes, but his voice was impossibly warm when he assured him, “You’ll like him, Enzo.” 

“Do you like him?” he asked.

“Yeah,” TK responded without a moment’s hesitation, “I do.” 

“Then I already do,” he assured him. 

If this Carlos had anything to do with the happiness he could finally hear returned to his stepson’s voice, he couldn’t do anything but. 

[galactic-magick]

Family: Bruce Wayne/Batman x Reader

Request: Could I please get Bruce Wayne x Reader? Where he and reader have a daughter and are married. They’re currently fighting because readers feels that Bruce is caring too much about the League than his family, before they leave to fight Stephen Wolf, they get in a fight things were said that weren’t meant but he comes back and FLUFF

Summary: Being married to Bruce Wayne has always been hard, especially with a young daughter at home, but things get worse when Steppenwolf threatens the world.

Words: 1300+

Warnings: angst (happy ending though)

Author’s Notes: Had a little too much fun writing this angst hehe, hope you like it anon!

Taglist: @candid-confetti​

-

-

-

You always knew what you were getting into when you married a superhero. You knew there’d be a lot of late nights, a lot of wounds, a lot of time away. When you had your daughter, you knew balancing a family with fighting criminals would take its toll. You knew it wouldn’t be easy, but you’ve always tried to get through it together.

Lately though, it’s been harder than usual. Bruce has become consumed with Lex Luthor’s threat, constantly coming and going without warning in search of heroes to help in a fight you’re not even sure is actually coming. Both you and Alfred have tried telling him there’s been no signs of other-worldly catastrophes, to no avail. You know he’s doing it to keep you and the world safe, yet it doesn’t always feel that way.

“Bruce,” you grab his hand, hoping to stop him from leaving again. “When are you going to take a break?”

“I can’t, you know that,” he responds firmly. “The world won’t be safe until we have a solid defense. I may be able to protect one city, but I need more help to protect everyone else,”

“Protect everyone from what?” you sigh. “Luthor is locked up, everyone else you’ve taken down is locked up. What are you so afraid of?”

“It’s the fact that I don’t know that I’m afraid of,” he puts his hands on your shoulders. “Please, honey, just trust me,”

“We miss you at home. Your own daughter rarely sees you anymore,”

“I’ll spend time with her soon, I promise,” he kisses your forehead and heads out the door. “I love you,”

 -

 You desperately wish that was the end of it, and life would return to normal as soon as possible.

But that was far from the case.

Bruce was right about one thing: a threat was coming. A big one.

A giant alien called Steppenwolf has set foot on Earth, searching for three objects called “motherboxes” and planning to use them against humanity somehow. Bruce won’t tell you exactly what will happen if he gets all of them, but you’ve gotten Diana to tell you he is most likely working for an even worse enemy named Darkseid, who wants to control the entirety of the universe.

It’s terrifying to say the least, and part of you is relieved that Bruce saw this coming and is actively preparing against it. But even so, he’s still been struggling to keep his promises to his own family in the midst of it all. You’ve been trying your hardest to be understanding, to keep coming up with excuses to your daughter about why her dad isn’t around and manage on your own, but you’re starting to wonder if it’s worth it anymore.

What is this will be your reality for the rest of your lives? Who’s to say there won’t be more threats like this all the time, never catching a break and never getting back the man you love?

 -

 The stakes keep getting higher and higher, everything moving too fast for you to keep up. Bruce is running directly into danger left and right, trying things that could get him killed. His team has supposedly brought back Superman from the dead, and Steppenwolf has now found the last of the motherboxes. They’ve fought him head to head once, and they’re planning on doing it again to destroy him and the boxes.

“Please don’t go,” you beg him. Most of the team has already gone outside towards the ship, and if you hadn’t called him he probably would’ve left without a word.

He huffs, “For once can you just let me do what I have to do?”

“I have been,” your voice raises. “But can’t you see how reckless you’re being? And you refuse to even talk to me about it? You could at least pretend that you care,”

“Don’t you dare tell me that I don’t care,” he points a finger at you. “Everything I’m doing is for our family,”

“Well maybe you shouldn’t have a family left to come back to!”

His face falls, and you instantly regret what you said, but it’s too late. He leaves, and you slump into the nearest chair, tears held back only by the anger you had been holding onto until this moment.

“Hey,” Diana comes up to you as she heads for the door herself. “I didn’t mean to listen in, but I think there’s something you should know,”

“What?” you groan.

“He hasn’t told you what will actually happen if the motherboxes unite so he doesn’t worry you, but they’re not just weapons. They’ll turn this planet into a mirror of Darkseid’s and kill most of humanity, and if Darkseid also finds the Anti-Life equation he’ll control what’s left of us. Bruce has also been having vivid dreams of a future where Darkseid wins, me and Arthur are dead, and…” she exhales. “You and your daughter are dead too,”

“I…” you can’t find any words to reply.

“We could all die out there today, whether we win or lose,” she shakes her head. “But I know he loves you, and if we make it out alive he’ll make sure you know,”

She puts her sword and shield on her back, and races out the door.

 -

 You don’t sleep at all that night, waiting several hours before you hear anything.

What if he’s dead and that’s the last thing you ever said to him?

What if you have to explain to your daughter the next morning that she’ll never see her father again?

The tears finally come, streaming down your cheeks like a waterfall. It can’t end like this, can it?

Your daughter hears you, coming into the room and sitting next to you.

“Did you and daddy have another fight?” she asks.

You nod. You want to tell her it’s more than that, but you’re not sure how much her poor little heart can handle.

“You should stop doing that,” she says matter-of-factly. “You’re both so sad all the time now. People who love each other shouldn’t make each other sad,”

“You’re right, honey,” you sigh, pulling her close to you. “You’re right,”

 -

 You must’ve fallen asleep on the couch, because when you open your eyes it’s almost dark again.

“Hey,” you hear your husband’s voice behind you. “I didn’t want to wake you, but-“

You jump off the couch and run to him, falling into his arms and burying your face in his chest. The tears start falling again, and he holds you in silence until you get over the initial shock and relief.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I should’ve told you what was really going on. I never meant to keep secrets from you and neglect our family,”

You nod, allowing him to wipe the tears away with his thumbs and guide your gaze up to his.

“I’m just happy you’re alive,” you smile.

“Everyone’s okay,” he says. “We destroyed the boxes and killed Steppenwolf. We might not be safe forever, but we’re safe now,”

“Safe enough for you to come back to us?”

“Yes,” he holds you closer. “And I’ll never leave again,”

“Yay! You’re happy now!”

You turn your heads toward your daughter walking around the corner and up to you.

“I knew you would!” she giggles, hugging both of you. “No more fighting, okay? You should love each other instead,”

“Love each other, huh?” Bruce smirks, leaning in to kiss you.

“Ewww not like that!” she covers her eyes, getting a laugh out of both of you.

“Later then,” he says to you, and you nudge him playfully.

You follow her back to her room to tuck her into bed, something you always did together before all the chaos, something that brings back a sense of normal. She tries to get you let her stay up more, get you to tell her stories or answer her random questions, but eventually she falls asleep.

“I love you,” he kisses you once you’re alone again.

You wrap your arms around him, never wanting to let him go, “I love you too,”

[isabellitah]

Title : Our Wife

Pairing : Sakusa Kiyoomi x Female!Reader x Miya Atsumu

Warning : blood ig, curse words, attempted rape, torture, and mentions of death

Credits : to the artists regarding the drawings of Sakusa Kiyoomi and Miya Atsumu found on the banner- i saved them from pinterest I think.

Note : do not copy or repost this anywhere else. I do not write Haikyuu!! fics anywhere else.

Y/n Miya-Sakusa was scared. No- scratch that- you were terrified.

You wouldn’t show it to your captors though- your husbands taught you to never show fear- but Jesus Christ- you were terrified not only for yourself but more so for your unborn child- a child you didn’t even know existed until half an hour before you got kidnapped from your own room. For the past hour that you’ve been tied to a chair in the middle of the room, they haven’t touched your body. The same couldn’t be said for your face. Half of your face was covered in slightly dried blood; blood that came a wound you got when they slammed your head against the edge of your beside drawer to knock you unconscious, and a spilt lip that was still bleeding slightly from when they punched you when you spat at the face of the person who demanded your husbands’ locations and the locations of all your warehouses. The thought alone made you scoff- you’re no rat. Unlike whoever the hell gave your home’s location away. Your husbands were going to be so pissed when they find you gone and your shared room thrashed about.

Sitting on the wooden chair was become a pain in the ass. Literally. You couldn’t even escape because of the metal cuffs attached to your wrists, forearms, and ankles and they took your daggers away. You’re stuck and all you can do it wait. Wait for either your husbands to burst through the door or wait for your promised torture session and possible death.

Minutes- hours- who knows how long later, two men in black barged into the room, startling you from your daydream carrying knives with guns in their holsters. Well... looks like your Omi and Tsumu are too late huh...

“Ready, Princess?” thing 1 with an eyepatch said with a smile, showing his yellow teeth, “Boss said we gots to kill ye before yer husbands get here. Ye know, so they barge in ‘ere only to see yer bleeding body. Even better if they get to see yer naked corpse, doncha think?”

“Boss said not to rape her tho-” thing 1 interrupted thing 2, “what boss doesn’t know won’t hurt ‘im. And besides- I wanna leave Miya a surprise for stabbing my eye.”

And just as thing 1 started moving towards you, a scream was heard from outside the door and echoed into the room, sending shivers down things 1 and 2’s spines. You, on the hand, smiled. They’re here... fucking finally.

“What was that?” Thing 2 looked around nervously. Huh- he must be new to the business. Poor guy he won’t make it far at this point. Thing 1 shrugged, “eh who cares? There’s no one we can’t kill.” he boasted. Dumb overconfident pig.

Another scream rang through followed by a shout of terror, “THEY’RE HERE!” that was cut off as a loud gunshot echoed through the walls followed by a series of bangs and clangs. The familiar sound brought you off guard- they brought everyone? You were sure that that clang was from Michinari’s favorite weapon- his metal bat. Where were you and who took you that they felt it necessary to have everyone here? You were brought out of your train of thoughts when you realized that all of a sudden everything and everyone was silent. All you can hear was your own heartbeat.

“Ah fuck it-” thing 1 looked at your form with a crazed look in his eyes that sent shivers down your spine.

“Dude what are you-”

“Well it’s obvious we won’t make it out alive-”

“Wait what?”

“-might as well have fun before we die, ey?”

With that said he closed the gap between you two. You felt your mind blank as tears started forming in your eyes. The moment he ripped Atsumu’s shirt from your person, the tears fell along with the loudest scream you could muster, “OMI! ATS-” you were cut off as thing 1 smacked your cheek with the butt of his gun, “shut up ye lil bitch. Yer not leavin til I get my f-”

Thing 2 was suddenly down- a hole on the side of his head. None of you even heard the door open so that meant Shinsuke was here- well him or Rintarou since they’re the stealthiest in your family.

Thing 1 suddenly stood up straight and placed his hands up with his palms up and blocking your view from whoever was with you two in the room, “hey uhhh I was forced to do this, mates- it- it wasn’t anything personal, yea?” Sat on a wooden chair in just your undergarments and the remnants of one of your husbands’ shirt, you let a small smile appear on your face. They’re here. You and your little bean are safe now.

Rintarou stepped out of the shadows and from his voice you could tell he looked bored, “so... where is she?”

Thing 1 shook his head, having lost his voice the moment his eyes met the bored yet malicious ones of one Suna Rintarou- one of the deadliest assassins of the Inarizaki family, and prayed that the fox wouldn’t notice your bleeding form behind him.

The moment you let out a sob, he pushed thing 1 away and squatted in front of you. And he was not happy with what he saw was done to you-

He saw your bloody and bruised face. He saw your shaking hands and the tears you let flow from your eyes. But what angered him the most was the fact that someone he viewed as his little sister lost the brightness is her eyes.

Any chance the idiot had with reasoning with him was gone.

“Congratulations, idiot. You’ve secured a spot in our personal dungeon.” Rintarou smiled as he heard a sharp thump before the telltale sound of a body hitting the ground, “you didn’t hit him too hard, did you, Shinsuke-san?”

“Not hard enough.”

“Ok- let’s get these off of you before your hubbies come in here,” with that said both men started unlocking the cuffs trapping you onto the chair. After freeing you, you were immediately hit with the feeling of fatigue and let your body fall onto the person closest to you. Shinsuke caught your semi-limp body and immediately became worried but calmed down as he felt your breaths. He arranged your position so that you were laying across his lap, facing the roof of the cell. Rintarou settled himself beside Shinsuke after texting Kiyoomi your location- receiving an immediate reply that they’ll be there as soon as Atsumu is out of his blood haze. Shinsuke brushed his hand through your hair but immediately stopped when you whimpered, “hit- t-table- home.”

The two men exchanged worried glances when you stared up at them with your eyelids slowly closing. Rintarou tapped your cheek, “Y/n-chan, stay awake- how do you feel right now?”

“Aish of all the questions Rin-”

“B-baby...”

“Kiyoomi-san and Tsumu will be he-”

“M-my baby...” their eyes widened as you shakily placed your hand onto your tummy before falling limp in Shinsuke’s arms. He refrained from panicking when he saw your chest still rising and falling in patterns- you probably fainted from exhaustion.

“Holy shi-”

“Y/N!”

The moment the two saw your limp body they assumed the worst- but as Atsumu was about to yell out his rage and sorrow, Osamu appeared from the shadows and hit the back of his head, “she’s breathing, you moron.”

“I knew that, shitface.”

“Who ya callin’ shitface, ya pig?”

“Who ya callin’ a pi-”

“Aran,” Kiyoomi calmly spoke as he turned to face the hitman- ignoring his husband and brother-in-law, “lead the way out- make sure that there will be no delays. We must take Y/n to Motoya immediately- we don’t know the extent of her wounds- however they look... less than favorable as of the moment.”

At the reminder of your current condition, the twins shutted up, “Osamu,”

“Yeah, Omi-san?”

“Bring that thing with us.” was muttered with great disdain while his finger was pointed towards the unconscious thing 1.

And so they left the building covered in blood with neutral faces.

They may not show it but they were livid.

They didn’t miss your tear and blood stained face nor the the fact that your shirt was ripped right down the middle.

They knew what was going to happen to you had they been a second late.

“Hitoshi and Heisuke are already tracking the rats- we’ll have them in the basement by tonight,” informed Kiyoomi’s trustworthy gunsmith, Tsukasa Iizuna.

“They better- only question now is who gets first dibs on the assholes.”

As they settled into the car, Shinsuke told them the news of your latest surprise. He knew that they’d go even more ballistic were they to find out during the check-up from Motoya. But since they were in a closed and moving car with you on their laps, they couldn’t really do much except stiffen and let their rage grow stronger- and he looks forward to seeing what they’ll do to the bastards tonight. Shinsuke, above all things, is a man of honor- and what he hates above all things, are traitors.

“PLEASE! I’M SORRY! PLEA- AHHH” Thing 1 screamed as Kiyoomi dug his dagger deeper into the man’s shoulder- forming a hollow hole of sort.

“Just a little more... I want to see if your bones are clean or if they need to cleansed as well-”

“Omi-omi~ I want my turn !” whined Atsumu as he crossed his arms and pouted at his husband.

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes, “you had your turn five minutes ago when you spilled acid onto his legs- it’s my turn now.” with that said, Kiyoomi ripped his dagger from the man’s flesh without a warning and grabbing a bowl from the prisoner’s ‘meal’, poured the bowl of scalding hot soup into the hollow flesh.

And as the man wailed, the two traitors squirmed in fear as they awaited their turns.

“We don’t usually go to this extent but what can we say...”

“No one messes with our wife.”

please reblog if you liked it hehe 🥺🥰

[atlabeth]

eyes closed

summary: you know you should hate him. but you can’t stop thinking about him. 

pairing: zuko x reader and sokka x reader 

warnings: angst, betrayal, messy love triangle, y/n is a mess, this is all a mess  

a/n: i woke up in a cold sweat with this idea after this song came on while i was sleeping and wrote this in an hour. don’t ask me why i wrote in all lowercase because i dont know either. sorry this is so bad lmao i just had to get it out. also i didn’t use many pronouns here so i tried to make it gn! pls let me know if i missed anything

based on the song “eyes closed” by halsey 

wc: 1.3k 

after ba sing se, you felt lost. you felt empty. 

you thought that things might’ve been different, but one look in his eyes down in the catacombs proved to you that he had never changed. maybe he had started to become someone else while working at the tea shop, but he had never truly changed. he was just waiting for a chance like this to come along. a chance to regain his honor, a chance to go back to the man who did nothing but harm him, a chance to become a hero to the fire nation. 

a chance to betray you. 

you didn’t know how he could throw away years of friendship for years of abuse, give up someone he loved for a sister who manipulated him, but you realized your own feelings had blinded you. his actions proved he never loved you at all. 

i, i know where to lay i know what to say  it’s all the same 

all of your friends were worried for you. they knew the relationship you had had with zuko, but they had no idea how much it truly weighed on you. you hid your feelings, choosing to let your tears out at night and as silently as you could. whenever someone asked if you were alright, they got a simple “i’m fine” in return. for a while, you locked everyone out. you barely acknowledged katara when she tried to talk to you, and every time sokka asked you to train you just told him you weren’t feeling up to it. even hakoda questioned his children about you, but they could only tell him what you told everyone else. toph was the only one who knew to leave you alone. 

as time went on, you slowly became better. taking over the fire nation ship might have helped boost your morale and quench your desire for revenge against your home nation, because after that you began spending more time around others again. it was in that time that you and the water tribe boy started to develop a relationship.

after sokka got over his distrust of you because of your fire nation heritage, the two of you began training together. as the only two non benders in the group it gave you something to do while aang trained with katara and toph, and it was mutually beneficial. you got to teach sokka fire nation techniques and give him more advanced advice that you learned from being around generals, soldiers, and other sword fighting masters; he got to teach you water tribe styles of fighting and keep you sharp by sparring with you. 

you began training with him again, but something just felt different. you began hanging out more outside of sparring — it started with just sitting together in silence, usually at night after most of the crew had gone to sleep. eating together after training sessions or at mealtimes. then it became more. 

now if i keep my eyes closed he looks just like you but he’ll never stay, they never do 

sokka became a comfort to you. maybe it was because you had been around him for so long that he was like a desperately needed constant in your life, but you found yourself drifting towards him during the weeks at sea on the fire nation ship. water was the element of change, but it felt like he was the only thing for you that stayed the same.  

now if i keep my eyes closed, he feels just like you  but you’ve been replaced, i’m face to face with someone new 

you didn’t know when you started feeling that way towards him, but one thing led to another. under a moonless night sky, the two of you shared a kiss.

when you pulled away you were out of breath and flushed, and sokka just smiled at you. he thought it was because of nerves, or that maybe he was just that good of a kisser. but you were terrified, because you could only see, you could only feel zuko. 

sokka was usually naturally cool being from the water tribe, but tonight his lips were burning. it felt the same as the kiss you shared with zuko, your first and only kiss with him before he was banished from the fire nation. 

you returned the smile, hoping he couldn’t see the uneasiness behind it, and leaned back in. he met you in the middle and you kissed again, trying to push the feeling in your gut back down.

would’ve gave it all for you, cared for you  so tell me where i went wrong 

you felt horrible. you felt like you were playing with sokka’s heart, but you just didn’t know how else to cope. you didn’t know if you liked him or if you were just using him to make yourself feel better. you thought that if you leaned into how you felt about sokka, if you just went along with it, that you would be able to get over your feelings for the prince, that you would be able to leave it in the past.

you pivoted on your foot, just narrowly avoiding the blast of flames going by, and lunged forward with your momentum. you slashed at zuko’s feet causing him to jump out of the way, and you took advantage of the momentary loss of balance to knock into him with your shoulder. he fell to the ground with a grunt and you looked down at him, grinning and breathing heavily as you lowered your sword. 

“that wasn’t fair!” 

“just because you’re the prince doesn’t mean that every loss is unfair!” 

“yeah, but you caught me off guard.” 

“prince zuko, the whole point of sword fighting is to catch your opponent off guard. now come on, let’s go again.” 

you reached down your hand but he didn’t take it, instead staring at you for a few moments. 

“what?”

“just.. call me zuko. we’re friends, so you don’t have to use titles.” 

you paused for a moment, feeling your cheeks heating up, before nodding with a smile. “alright, pr— zuko.” 

he took your hand and you helped pull up back up, and you noticed the faintest blush coating his face as well. “thank you, y/n.” 

“thank you, y/n.”

“y/n”. 

“y/n!” 

you were jolted back to the present to see sokka waving his hand in front of your face. “hellooo? earth to y/n?” 

you gave a shaky smile and blew out a breath as you lifted your sword back up again. “yeah! sorry, i just spaced out for a second there.” 

sokka nodded slowly with a strange look on his face, one that disappeared as quickly as you noticed it. “okay. let’s go again.” 

would’ve traded all for you, there for you  so tell me how to move on 

your relationship with sokka grew stronger, but it felt like you were being torn in two. you loved sokka, you truly did, but you didn’t know if it was solely platonic love. a part of you knew that you were latching onto sokka because you were selfish. you felt so betrayed by zuko that you couldn’t help but wonder if something was wrong with you, and someone so good like sokka showing interest in you made you feel like maybe you were good too. 

but you weren’t. you were just a lost kid playing with an innocent boy’s heart because the boy they had loved as a child had left. so you kept telling yourself that you loved sokka. 

but it was a lie. 

he don’t realize that i’m thinking about you it’s nothing new, nothing new 

because even after all zuko had done, you still loved him. 

and you hated yourself for it.

[fallenrepublick]

June! I’m sick and I’m being a baby about it. How would the zabraks care for a sick partner? Feel free to throw the kids being cute and supportive in there too *hugs Cherry and Clementine*

Oh no!! Well never fear, I got you, and the babies have definitely got you

Maul, of course, is the attentive, slightly anxious caretaker. He has this issue where seeing you in any amount of discomfort makes him both terrified and perhaps a bit overbearing. While he wants to ensure you get enough rest to recover, he also can't get the thought out of his head that this could be some terrible, rare disease and he won't find out until it's too late. So... forget working. No one gets anything done. He hovers, brings you food and checks your temperature every five minutes. He eventually has to be carried out forcefully by Savage.

Still, he keeps the palace silent, and isn't afraid to crawl into the bed at your side, purring and feeling the unusual warmth of your body. You've always said his presence makes everything better... If that's the case, he dearly hopes this is enough.

Savage might as well be your nurse. He brings the food, the medicine to help with the symptoms, makes sure you're sleeping well. As the older sibling, he's formed a habit of taking extra care of his siblings, despite the fact that one is constantly angry and the other often pretends like he's not sick just to get out of having to take naps.

So he has his little schedule, bringing warm soups and lots of water to you, oftentimes feeding you if your strength isn't as good as it usually is. And if you need it, he'll lay his head on you, softly purring, wondering if the sound heals you the way you've talked about.

Feral checks in frequently, a sad little smile on his face as he whispers, "Hey..." into the dark room. He's the one that wants to make sure you know he's there, and that he loves you. He doesn't like making you feel alone, so he'll often offer to set up a cozy bed on the couch in case you want to be around with him.

But he has to give Cherry strict rules about being around you. Be quiet. No running. Don't run and leap onto you when you lay down (something that has happened before). She means well... it's just her attempt at cheering you up. But make no mistake, the little potato is incredible at cuddles, and will hoist herself onto your bed just to take a nap with you... Until she wakes back up and returns to terrorize her father.

Sunder thinks you're going to die. To be fair, your illness is a prominent one, and you're in no position to be doing anything, but it's not as bad as he seems to think. He watches you with his little puppy eyes, staring in concern and fear. He runs to fetch anything you ask for, and he's practically glued to the side of the bed until you're well... That is, unless he's got a kid to look after.

The thing is, Clementine doesn't really want to leave your side either. She stays in your bed, huddled against your side, feeling lonely if both you and Sunder aren't constantly with her in her little family unit. She asks about you and worries, missing when you were okay. And she tucks her plushie into bed with you when she can't be there, just so that you aren't lonely without her.

Riot, as he looks after you, tries to stay lighthearted in case you wanted to be cheered up. He makes jokes and tells funny stories as he holds cold washcloths against your forehead. And he sings songs as you take naps and rest with him. For much of it, he's got his elbows propped onto the edge of the bed, reminiscing about the past, just to give you something to listen to, pressing the back of his hand onto your forehead periodically just in case.

He's surprisingly well organized, knowing where medicine is if the symptoms become too unbearable, helping you change clothes if ever you become too uncomfortable, doing the dishes and cooking for you to bring back to bed. He's so happy to do it all, smiling for you the whole way through, telling himself you'll be fine in no time... Right?

Brutus grumbles about it, as per usual, muttering to himself, "Honestly, you've gone and gotten yourself sick? What the hell are you thinking, being so careless?"

And yet he does everything, every chore, every job around the house. He brings you a soup you've never seen, one he learned to make a long time ago. "It's good for you health, he says simply about it. It's enough to make you drink the whole portion immediately, causing a small, secret part of him to rise in pride.

And he rarely leaves you either. You don't know until you wake up one morning before him, finding him sitting on a chair by the window, head propped on his fist as it stays on the armrest. He's there, waiting for you to need something, to wake up hungry, or lonely, or anything in-between.

[sweatersstyles]

I am so excited to finally be posting this for y’all! Thank you so much for all the hype and support it is very much appreciated. :) this is my piece for @goldenbluesuit​‘s Christmas Fic Challenge! my prompt was the song “Do You Want to Build a Snowman?” from the movie Frozen and I hope you all enjoy how I’ve incorporated it into my Dad!Harry series. You don’t necessarily have to read the other parts to understand this one, but I’ll link them below in case you want to re-visit them. 

I Want Your Belly ❄ Wonderful and Warm ❄ Washed Away in You 

Thank you to @tbslenthusiast​ and @heartbreakweatherharry​ for reading over this for me and giving me such amazing feedback! 

Word count: 2.3k

You still couldn’t believe the little wonder that had been created by you and Harry existed to be yours. Things hadn’t been perfect, far from it, but it was definitely a new and fun adventure you were both eager and terrified of.

The first challenge presented was finding a name perfect enough to fit your son. He was alive for 24 hours before you discovered one you and Harry were absolutely sure of. Even seeing it written on his birth certificate made your heart swell with pride.

It’s your mother who asks first, “Well, are you two gonna make a formal announcement to the press before us grandparents get to know the name of our grandson?”

“Think we’ve made them wait long enough, Harry.”

He smiles at you from across the hospital room where he sits in a chair, the baby resting peacefully on his chest. You’re propped up in the bed, wrapped in the soft pink robe given to you by him just a few days ago. Anne sits nearby, a proud grin on her face at the sight of her baby with his.

His eyes dart from the baby to you, “You wanna tell them or shall I?”

“You tell them. You’re the one that found it, been bragging about it all day too.”

“Alright then,” He gently lifts the baby, turning him to where the whole room can see him, your son’s face now scrunched up by the light from the window shining on him, “Ladies, meet your grandson, Sterling Edward Styles.”

“Oh, you didn’t,” Anne giggles, reaching over to pat your leg, “You’ll never hear the end of it, love, letting him name the baby after himself.”

“Hey! S’her idea to give him my middle name. I picked the first,” His features switch from temporarily offended back to beaming, “Wanna tell ‘em what it means, darlin’?”

“Sterling means ‘starling’, or as Harry likes to call him..”

“Our little star.” 

5 weeks later, your son certainly lives up to his name, charming everyone he meets. Sweet smiles and coos at strangers from his carrier when you’re at the grocery store or falling asleep in Auntie Gemma’s arms when she comes to visit. You were not surprised he already had his father’s charismatic ability to make everyone fall for him so quickly.

With Harry’s schedule as busy as it had been, it hadn’t been easy to adjust to life together as new parents. As much as he had tried to push things back or reschedule to have more time off with you, there was only so much that he was in control of and he was away from you and Sterling more than he liked.

So it’s no surprise when he comes home one evening and the space you share is mostly already decorated for the winter holidays. He smiles warmly to himself when he hears you singing along to the movie playing from the tv, peeks around the corner to see Sterling tucked away in his swing, his eyes open and bright. Your back is turned so you don’t hear Harry approaching, continuing to sing aloud as you work.

“We only have each other, it’s just you and me, what are we gonna dooooooo?” You spin around, expecting to only see Sterling watching you, yelping when you find Harry, giggling at the shock on your face.

He bends to look out the window, “Could be wrong, but I think you have to have snow to build a snowman, yeah?”

“You’re early! I wanted to surprise you,” You weave your way around boxes to greet him, “Left the tree for the 3 of us to do together though.”

“S’nice of you.” His hands remain in his pockets as you move closer, tired eyes looking down at you, lazy smile as you work your arms around his waist. He doesn’t make you wait long, freeing his hands from his pockets to wrap around you. 

He buries his face in your neck, “Missed you today.”

“We missed you too, H.”

He pulls back, turning to look down at Sterling, his arm still holding you close to his side, “He’s growing too fast. Can’t believe he’s already 5 weeks.”

“5 weeks and 3 days,” You remind him, “All the mommy blogs say we have an infant now.”

“S’that s’pose to mean? ‘Course he’s an infant.”

“Just means he’s growing out of his tiny baby stage.”

He directs his attention back to the movie playing, laughing as he teases you, “Least y’could’ve done is found a proper Christmas movie t’play while you put up decorations.”

You shrug, “It’s close enough to count. Plus he LOVES it. Think Elsa might be his favorite.”

He can’t resist anymore. As comfortable as his son may be swaying back and forth in his swing, he bends to scoop him up, one hand cradling behind his head and the other behind his back to easily support him. Sterling clearly doesn’t mind, a grin developing when he realizes who it is disturbing him.

“Don’t care what anyone says, bub. Y’ll always be daddy’s baby.”

You never doubted Harry’s capacity to love his son, but you definitely questioned his expertise and knowledge of the basics of caring for a child. He had become somewhat experienced now, tackling late night diaper changes and early morning feedings or anything else in between without complaint when he could. 

Though he had done great, you were never too far away that you couldn’t offer assistance when he needed it. So when he gets a rare day off and suggests you let him stay home with the baby while you run errands, you’re hesitant.  

“Do ya not trust me?”

“Of course I do. You know I do. I just don’t want you to get overwhelmed.”

“S’just for a few hours, right? You can write out a list of his schedule if it makes y’feel better.”

Sterling’s stretched across your lap, dozing off while you try to finish the last of your breakfast. Harry stands at the counter, drinking coffee out of a bright pink mug. You look between your almost sleeping son and then back up to Harry, chewing a bite of toast as you contemplate the idea.

He doesn’t take offense to your hesitation, quite the opposite actually. He adores the sight of you, Sterling’s face squished against your chest; one of his hands tucked under his chin, the other wrapped around your side, his little fist holding tight to your t-shirt. It’s the purest form of love in his eyes, to see the bond between mother and son grow and deepen with each day. Makes him reminiscent of his connection with his own mother, fills his heart with so much joy knowing he had chosen someone that would give his son the same sweet upbringing he had.

He makes his way back around the counter to you, a hand resting on the top of Sterling’s head as he bends down to kiss the top of yours. He moves his hand, repeating the act of affection to the top of the baby’s head. 

“Really proud of you, y’know that right, baby? Been so amazing watching you take care of yourself and our little boy, never doubted for a second you were meant for this, but it’s been more incredible than I could’ve ever imagined.”

“Proud of you too, H. Know you’ve had a lot of guilt about being gone, but Sterling and I love you so much. He already lights up at the sound of your voice when you FaceTime us from set, and I see the way he grins at you before he falls asleep when you’re here to tuck him in at night.” 

His eyes meet yours, sees the moment you make your decision to say yes, deep exhale of warm breath trapped between the two of you, “You have to promise to call if anything happens, if you need anything at all. Don’t care how small it is.” He nods firmly, further setting your mind at ease, “He should sleep most of the time I’m gone, but I’ll prepare another bottle just in case I can’t get back in time.”

You feel silly for feeling so protective, and you were thankful to have Harry as your partner on this journey. His patience and support had been more than generous, covering you and Sterling in more love and adoration than you’d ever known could exist from one person. He kisses you again, on your lips this time, a hand cupping one side of your face before gently lifting Sterling from your arms, shushing and bouncing him a bit when he starts to whimper from the sudden change in his comfortable position.

“S’okay, bubs. Daddy’s got you, g’nna have us a lil’ boys day while mumma’s gone.” 

You rush through whatever tasks you had scheduled that seemed so important that morning. Suddenly the groceries you needed and last minute presents you were dropping off at the post office to mail to out of town family didn’t matter, nothing did but getting back home to your boys.

It’s quiet when you shut the door behind you, almost too quiet. As much as you always prayed he would, Sterling never slept through his morning nap, so you’re surprised at the possibility of him still sleeping peacefully. Not that he was old enough to make too much noise yet, but still the silence worries you enough that you don’t even take the time to put away the groceries. You set the bags on the kitchen counter, making your way through the house to the living room first.

All your concern fades at the sight of Harry on the couch, Sterling snuggled in his arms with his back pressed against Harry’s front, his little body covered in a red and white striped onesie with a reindeer on the front, matching pair of green socks on his tiny feet. It’s such a comforting image, you once again question why you had any doubt at the thought of leaving the two of them alone. Harry hasn’t noticed your presence yet, or if he has he hasn’t said anything, and you’re content to keep it that way for a few more minutes to observe the vision set before you.

You notice the movie that’s playing, it’s the same one from a few nights ago that Harry teased you for. You cross your arms, quirking one eyebrow upwards before you repeat Harry’s words from that night out loud, “Boys day, huh? Could’ve at least found a proper Christmas movie to watch while I was gone.”

“I’ve decided you’re right, it does count. I can see why he loves it so much.” He looks up at you from where you lean over back of the couch now, a soft “hi” falling from his lips, tilting his head up to accept the kiss you offer. Sterling coos, and when you look down, he’s looking up at you too. 

“Mommy missed you too, baby boy.”

“Come sit with us, lovie, watch the rest of the movie.”

“Gimme a minute to put the groceries away and I will.”

“I’ll pause it and come help.”

“No, stay,” You run your hand through his hair, pushing the curls away from his face, “There’s not that much, I got it.”

You work swiftly to put everything away, taking a minute to change back into your pajamas before you rejoin them, curling yourself against Harry’s side under his free arm. Sterling’s dozing again, most likely falling into a milk coma from the bottle he had just finished, but it doesn’t stop the two of you from continuing to watch the same movie together. You offer to take Sterling or put him in his swing, but he just shakes his head no, clinging tighter to him and you.

“S’my favorite part, this song.”

“What? It’s the saddest one. Elsa and Anna’s parents die in this one.” 

He shrugs, careful not to shuffle Sterling and disturb his sleep, “Maybe, but s’catchy, gets stuck in my head more than the others.” 

He begins humming along to the intro music, nudging you softly to persuade you to start singing along with the character on the screen. You sit up, dramatically clearing your throat before you do. Harry knows more of the words than he cares to admit, but would rather hear the lyrics sung by you. He giggles at you as you even change your voice to mimic the silly parts.

“It gets a little lonely. All these empty rooms. Just watching the hours tick by…”

Harry provides the tick-tock part, clicking his tongue off-tune to the ones playing in the song. That’s enough to make you laugh out loud, temporarily forgetting the sleeping baby now resting on Harry’s chest. He shushes you playfully, his body shaking through his own laughter thankfully soothing Sterling enough that he doesn’t wake up.

You compose yourself as the song turns slow and mournful, tucking yourself back to Harry’s side again. His hand works around to cup your waist, squeezing lightly to pull you closer, the vibrations of him humming along again a comforting rumble against your body. His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper as he sings the last notes of the song.

“We only have each other. It's just you and me. What are we gonna doooooo?”

Your eyes scan the whole of the room. Your boys nestled together next to you, the tree in the corner of the room the 3 of you had decorated together a few days before, the pile of presents that had already accumulated underneath it. You spot your favorite ornament, a silver star with Sterling’s full name engraved on the front, “Baby’s First Christmas” etched on the back. Sterling’s first present from your family sent from home. Well, what used to be your home for the holidays. A smile spreads across your face at the simple happiness and realization that this is your home now. 

Harry, Sterling, and you; sun, moon, and star, spending your first holiday together.

 //

Thank you all for reading! As always likes/rbs/and comments are more than welcome. Tell me what you think here!

tag list: @taintedwonder​, @cock-a-doodely-doo

[absinthe-and-abstinence]

An Unhealthy Obsession: Chapter 19

A Heart-to-Heart, and an Eye-to-Eye

TW: yelling, reckless driving, language, slight (?) non-consensual activity, partial nudity, and biting-ish?

Aw, man! You all have been amazing readers, and I'm so glad you're all enjoying the story so far. I didn't think I'd really get a pair of eyes on this; the fact it's getting as popular as it is getting is unbelievable to me. Thank you all. More content is coming your way, and that means more answers, and more questions. I'm always available on Tumblr or my Twitter as well. Thank you all, and enjoy. X

Previous Chapter | Master List | Next Chapter

You yelled as you raced down the highway, afraid that the interstate cameras might catch your plate and you.

“Why didn’t you leave with them? You had the chance!”

He hadn’t calmed down yet. “I know, I know…” he muttered as he wrestled his hands through his hair.

“Jesus Christ, Spence. I kidnapped you and even I know how stupid that is.”

His body trembling, he put up his hand to his face. “I-I…”

“You’re not anything. You’re just stupid.”

Your emotions were too intertwined and intense to untangle. Were you mad? Disappointed? Relieved? Confused? Scared? Perhaps, but you were so caught up in this moment that you couldn’t decipher anything. The only emotion you could define was the panic that was written all over the face of Spencer.

“You told me to get in the car,” he whispered.

“No, I didn’t,” you hissed, “I told you to make a decision. I had to leave and your team was right there. God, Spencer, why didn’t you go with them?”

“I-I don’t know. Maybe I wasn’t ready to go back, maybe I was just scared…I…”

You raced down the highway, going faster than any speed limit required.

“What do you mean you don’t know? You’re the one who made the decision, I’m just asking you why!”

He ran his hand up to his hair and pulled on it.

“It really doesn’t help when you yell at me, you know.”

You sat there, face flushed and red. Regardless of anything else you felt, you decided you were absolutely pissed off. You sat there, simmering and steaming as he tried to calm himself down.

“Please, Spence, just say something. Anything.”

His breathing was beginning to slow down again.

“Their faces looked so scared when they saw me. Like they saw a ghost.”

“Well,” you replied exasperated, “you have been technically missing for months. If you were looking for one of them who went missing; how’d you feel when you found them again? What if it was Derek that had gone missing?”

“You know,” he laughed, “how do you even know what Derek’s like? You’ve never met him.”

You kept your eyes on the road. “I think you’re forgetting I’m the crazy, obsessive villain here. Watching you meant watching the people around you too.”

“That is one of the scariest things someone has ever said to me.”

You chuckled, then remembered instantly your anger and frustration. You forced the smile off your face and turned onto your exit. How could he be so irritating, making you smile while seeing red?

“Anyway. They’ve only gotten one call from you, and the first time they see you again – you run? You don’t think that’s terrifying to them?”

“I-I, uh, I didn’t think about that.”

“Spence. Again; how would you react?”

He fidgeted with his hands, locking and interlocking his fingers. “Also scared. Confused. Shocked.”

The house began to become visible within the ghostly dark forest. It was still a far ways off, but you could start to make it out.

“So why did you run?”

“I don’t know…I guess I’m just afraid of losing you?”

You almost slammed on your brakes.

“…What?”

“I-I’m not sure. I’ve lost a lot of people in my life, I just don’t want that to happen to you.”

Something inside you snapped, and you shut down. At this point, you didn’t know if you were blushing or if you were reaching your boiling point. He seemed nervous, glancing back at you to see if you’d speak again. You remained silent, and kept your face emotionless. In the corner of your eye you could see his hands continue to fidget and flop around, but you didn’t care.

Finally, you arrived at the house. You marched out the car door and stomped up to the front door. Forcibly placing the key inside the lock, you slammed open the front door and turned on the hallway light before Spencer had even shut his passenger side door.

You waited for him behind the corner, listening to hear him come up the front steps and through the door. As soon as he shut the front door and turned around, you caught him off guard.

“Listen, Spence. I think you’ve forgotten who I am,” you growled.

“I, I know who you are, Y/N,” he stammered.

You led him up against a wall and pinned him there with your hands on each side of his body.

“I’m not someone you miss, Spencer. I’m someone who took you from your friends and family to a house in the middle of nowhere.”

He stared down at you, taking a gulp of air.

“You want to know how I got you here? I drugged your coffee with cough syrup; did you know that? I figured you should know that.”

The words escaped your lips on their own, unaware if this was a fear tactic or a confession.

“You had an electric collar around your neck, do you remember that? I tied you up downstairs in the basement here, to keep you. I remember that day clearly, do you?”

You kept your eyes on him, his eyes glancing anywhere but your own gaze. A bead of sweat appeared on his brow.

“I’m not someone you miss, Spencer. I’m someone you should be afraid of. More than the reaction of anyone on your team.”

You started to take off his jacket, then unraveled the scarf from around his head.

“What are you doing?” he whispered.

Your hands shaking, out of fear, frustration, and the amalgamation of emotions that kept flaming inside you.

“You, my good Spencer, ran away from me twice. You came back to me the first time, sick and scared. The second time I found you, you were so intoxicated you couldn’t tell one person’s face from another. It’s common for unsubs to punish their victims for escaping. So,” you trailed off, now revealing a devilish grin, “it’s time for me to play the role.”

As you began to undo the buttons on his shirt, he quivered.

“W-what role?”

Pop, pop, went the buttons as you worked your way down his white collared shirt.

“The role you seemed to forget I play. I’m the unsub in this little story.”

You rolled the sleeves down his arms, revealing his bare chest. Now that it was naked and available, you could see the waves of breathing; inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. You took your hands and pinned his wrists to the wall; making them eye-level up from you. You licked your lips and began to kiss his neck.

He moaned softly, but you pretended not to hear it. The idea of him getting any satisfaction right now made you angrier, and your kisses became harder and faster against his skin.

“When you ran away from me, you let other people mark your skin,” you said between kisses and breaths, “now it’s my turn to mark you as mine.”

Your kisses turned harsher as you began to use your teeth against his neck. They wouldn’t appear yet, but where you passionately put your lips would become dark, indigo bruises later against his skin. You took one hand off of his wrists, and used your fingernails to trail down his chest.

Slowly, you began to work your way across and down. You worked first towards the shoulder closest to you, dragging your nails across his chest as you left lovemarks tiled on him. As your fingers floated across his form, you could feel his breathing getting faster and his body getting warmer.

“Is it still punishment if I enjoy it?”

You didn’t stop your actions for a second. In fact, as he muttered those words and you could almost taste the panting from his mouth, it encouraged you to work faster, to work harder, and suddenly – that fire that you had had once; this raw, burning, sensation that tickled your bones the moment you saw him onscreen; that insatiable obsession that drew you deeper and deeper into the cesspool of Spencer Reid – had caught flame again.

“Shut the fuck up,” you hissed, as you smashed your lips against his.

You tried to force the kiss, but every time you went back to kiss him again, his lips met yours with a passion akin to yours. Unsure if it felt amazing to have this sensation, that he may want you the way you wanted him, or if it was more irritating than anything – that as much as you were trying to prove a point; you were a dangerous person who shouldn’t be trusted and would only hurt him, he was so excited by you that your lesson had flown right over his head. The more you tried to kiss him harder, he’d meet your mouth with the same unexpected fury.

The one hand you had remaining on his wrist you brought into his scalp, and began to play with his hair with your fingers. He whimpered softly into your breath, and he moved his lips away to make that sound.

“Ah,” was the only noise you could muster as you took a tucket of his hair and pulled gently on it. He took a sharp breath and tilted his head back. You used one hand to pull different spots of his hair, the other hand you guided towards his stomach to rack your nails slowly across, and moved your lips slowly off of his mouth, down his chin, and down his neck.

You two slowly, in one unison, unspoken, walked your way over to the couch. He toppled onto it, you quickly taking your position on top of him – dominating him.

“God, I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” you muttered as you worked your mouth down the base of his throat to his pectorals. “I’ve wanted to know what it’d be like to be with you, to touch your body.”

His eyes rolled back as he said, “Please, Y/N, then. Explore the all of me.”

You took your mouth off of his chest to meet his gaze. His expression wasn’t one of fear, worry, or apprehension. It was a calm, serene one, that even through a flushed complexion and wavering breathing, met your eyes with a sense of serenity.

You took one of his hands, and kissed his wrist. You kissed it gently, with the softest of intentions. He held it up higher for you, as you planted sweet kisses from his lower arm up towards his biceps. You worked your way up back to his shoulder, giving him the sweetest of touches where your marks had already started to become visible.

“Is this what your life is, just trauma after trauma?” you asked as you began to work on the other wrist. “Do you just wave from horrible thing to horrible thing?”

“You’re not a horrible thing. Not to me,” he whispered.

You kept going, not listening to his reply.

“Is that why you wake up and do your job, regardless of anything evil you had seem before? You’ve learned just to tuck that trauma away from another day?”

“It’s not trauma if I want you to do this.”

You took both your hands and wrapped it around the hand of the arm you had been loving.

“You know I’m not healthy. I’m not good for you in any way.”

“Well,” he answered, clapping his free hand against your own, “as a doctor, I must say your hypothesis needs a little work. You’re not healthy for me. I’m probably not very great for you either, giving into you like this. But,” he said, as he began to sit up, “you were wrong about one thing.

You’re the best thing I could ever want or need right now.”

And this time, the first time sober, he kissed you square on the lips.

He guided his hands out of yours, holding your head steady. He worked his own hand up into your hair, stroking it softly. You returned his kiss, and he used his other hand to cradle your cheek. The tension in your entire body melted, and you swooned into him.

“There we go,” he murmured, as he guided you down onto the couch, this time with him on top of you.

“You’re not scary,” he continued to move his lips from your lips onto your cheek. “Quite the opposite, really.”

This time, it was you who had grown soft and panted to his touch.

“You see, people,” he whispered, as he tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, and worked his way down your neck, “sometimes feel a need to deflect their thoughts and feelings. You want me to be scared of you, Y/N, because you’re afraid. Maybe you feel guilty. Maybe you’re scared I’d leave again. Or maybe,” he stopped, “you’re afraid that for the first time in a long time, someone has ever cared for you back in this way.”

Oh god.

He began to work the sweater off of you, past your chest, past your shoulders, over your head, and onto the floor. He continued to speak.

“I know what it likes to be scared of being with another person. Feeling that they may see you for this gross, unlovable person you truly are. You’re so worried that they may leave you for who you are, you push them away first. That way you get hurt, but its your own fault, and you’d think it’d hurt a little less that way.”

For the first time since the shower, Spencer saw your chest, your lingerie moving up and down with the movement of your respiratory system.

“I never called people back, no matter how much I cared about them. If they saw where I came from, what my mind was like, what I saw everyday…” he stopped speaking for a moment or two, taking time to place his lips onto your collarbone. His warmness sent a tingle up your spine, and he continued.

“I know my team is waiting for me, looking for me. I know that I shouldn’t be here, and certainly not on top of you. But you know what, Y/N?”

He looked up at you, a soft smile on his face.

“I really couldn’t care right now.”

“I…” you muttered, not even sure what to say.

As if he knew, he shushed you and place a finger up to your lips. You kissed it gently.

“May I?” he asked, tucking his thumb underneath your bra.

You nodded, and he slowly lifted your bra off your chest and over your head.

The way he played with you was gentle, and it made you feel safe, in a weird way. Comforted. The way he cupped your breast and slid his fingers around it – it didn’t feel risqué or sensual. It felt natural, as if he was exploring your body and not trying to slip into it.

He embraced one breast with one hand, and place his mouth around the other. It sent shivers all the way up you, and you hadn’t ever realize how sensitive that area was until now.

“Spence…”

He slowly stopped his activity, looking back up at you with puppy-dog eyes.

“I’m supposed to be teaching you a lesson. I’m supposed to be punishing you.”

He lifted you up gently as to see eye-to-eye.

“Even if I was stricken down from the gods above, you would not be a punishment to me. If you were my hamartia, I’d chose to the pain of an arrow in my heel if that meant I got to have you in my life.”

How gentle this felt. It almost didn’t feel real, like a blurry dream far-off. But as Spencer placed one arm underneath your back and slipped the other underneath the back of your knee to carry you off the couch to upstairs, you realized: this was real. Regardless if you came from another world or this one was made of fiction, it was real enough for you. Spencer was real enough for you. Even if you got arrested, you decided, and locked up for a million years, the way he smiled and looked at you now would be worth everything you had done up to this point.

He carried you up into your bedroom and let you fall tenderly onto the bed. He kissed your forehead and as he began to leave the room, you asked him if he might spend the night with you in this bed. He chuckled at that and replied,

“I think I get to decide that as my last birthday present of the night. It’s a good way to end a birthday.”

He climbed in and curled up next to you, and you two melted into one another. You wrapped your bodies around one another, one embracing the other.

“Sorry for, you know, running out of a bar and yelling at you on your birthday.”

He laughed.

“I’ve had a lot worse birthdays than that.”

As he drifted off into a slumber, you whispered good night to him, and fell asleep yourself, no longer worried about the possibility of a team of trained hunters coming to find you.

Which was great, since they had caught the last two numbers of your plate, and with the make and model of your car, and all the video footage of you driving hectic earlier, that was all they needed.

And they were coming.

Taglist:

@thatsonezesty13

[ibijau]

Xue Yang’s Master pt 2 / On AO3

Xue Yang and the wounded boy he rescued make a deal

By the time morning came, Xue Yang was exhausted, but he was alive.

So was the rich kid, sadly.

Not just alive, but his fever had fallen a little. He was also less pale, and seemed to be breathing a little less slowly. When Xue Yang knelt next to the bed and took his wrist to check his pulse, the rich kid opened his eyes and stared at him again.

“Thank you,” he said weakly, which made things rather awkward for Xue Yang who had just figured that he would really have to kill the older boy himself after all. “Thank you, I’ll… I’ll repay you.”

He certainly was going to repay Xue Yang. That sword and the gold guan were going to change his life for good. At the same time, Xue Yang was a little curious what the older boy thought he could offer, in these circumstances.

“Repay me how?” he asked. “Do you have money?”

The rich kid frowned. Through a great effort, he managed to check inside his sleeves, producing only a very small pouch and an elegant fan that would probably be enough for Xue Yang to buy another servant, when he had his farm, or at the very least a strong pair of oxen.

“Money,” the rich kid rasped. “I think… no, I think it’s empty. I spent it all… unreasonable again. But I can… Are you interested in cultivation? I can teach you.”

In spite of himself, Xue Yang perked up at the suggestion. He wasn’t stupid, he knew only very few people had the right disposition to really learn cultivation, and most of those were already born in sects that practiced it. It wasn’t for poor people, cultivation, unless those rich folks took pity of you… or unless they needed new servants for cheap. Everyone knew that Chang Ci’an treated the disciples that didn’t share his blood as little better than slaves, and he wasn’t the only one like that.

Still, Xue Yang had always dreamed that someday, he might make Chang Ci’an pay for his lost finger, and he knew that the only way something like that could happen was if he were to become a cultivator as well… or to have enough money and power to hire one to do the job for him. Sects might be righteous, but rogue cultivators were more bribable, everyone knew that. But if he could save himself the expense by eliminating the middleman…

“You don’t really look like a cultivator,” Xue Yang pointed out, mostly to tease. “And if you’re one, you’re a bad one, getting almost killed and all. Doesn’t sound like you’d make a very good teacher.”

Again, the rich kid frowned. This time, he put a hand on his stomach, a little under where his navel would be.

“Ah… I’m good enough for a golden core, at least,” he sighed. “I… I can’t make you an immortal, that’s certain. But… but if you have the basics down, then a real sect could take you on. They… most of them, they like when part of the job has been done for them.”

“Are you part of a sect?”

The rich kid pinched his lips, staring at Xue Yang for a moment before slowly nodding.

“Can you get me into your sect?” Xue Yang asked. “Then I’d get a proper shizun right away, it’d be better.”

“Not… Not an option. It’s… they’re gone. Everyone's gone, I think.”

“Killed by the Wen?” Xue Yang guessed. He didn’t know a lot about the details of that Sunshot Campaign, nor did anyone who wasn’t a cultivator, but he’d heard rumours that the Wen had slaughtered some of the other sects and that had started it all. But to his surprise, the rich kid shook his head, wincing at his own movement.

“I am a Wen,” he confessed in a low voice. “I… I’m Wen Chao. I have to be.”

Xue Yang looked at the rich kid with wide shocked eyes. Even he knew the name Wen Chao, the second son of Wen Ruohan. Some people said Wen Chao was the one who’d caused the war to start by attacking another sect that had had more allies than he’d realised. More importantly, some people, a lot of people, said that Wen Chao had died about halfway through the war, or even earlier than that.

“You don’t seem too sure of yourself,” Xue Yang remarked with what he thought was great tact.

The alleged Wen Chao blinked a few times, looking worried.

“I���m… I have to be… it makes sense, it’s the only thing that… Everything is so… I can’t make sense of things, but this, it makes sense, it’s the only thing… I have to be, I have to… my head hurts. Can, Can I have something to drink?”

There was a well behind the little house, from which Xue Yang was able to draw water. It didn't smell of anything, and he couldn't see any bugs in it, so it had to be clean enough. The rich kid eagerly drank some, and then passed out again, his fever having returned somewhat. 

Xue Yang hesitated. He looked at that sword he'd taken from the older boy, already stained with blood, then at the other boy's face, and sighed. It was a risk, trusting that rich kid, and one he probably shouldn't have taken, not when murder was such a clean and easy option, but… 

But even Xue Yang had dreams, and he just couldn’t pass this slim chance of becoming a cultivator. 

Although he had little experience taking care of others, Xue Yang did his best in the days that followed. He made sure the rich kid drank plenty, to compensate for what his fever made him sweat, and made him eat a little whenever he woke up, so he'd have strength to heal. For an ordinary person it probably wouldn't have been enough, but cultivators were different. After four days, the rich kid no longer had a fever and although he remained weak, he started being able to sit up and talk. 

"Thank you for taking care of me," he told Xue Yang when he was well enough to chat.

Xue Yang, sitting cross-legged next to the bed, shrugged. 

"I just did it because you said you'd teach me cultivation. You better not back down on that." 

The rich kid pinched his lips, his eyes glancing to the sword that never left Xue Yang now. He then smiled quite peacefully. 

"I'll teach you everything I know," the rich kid promised. "But if you're not made for it, it won't do you any good. Give me your hand a moment, so I can check." 

Without hesitation, Xue Yang gave his left hand, the right one firmly on the sword's hilt. The rich kid glanced over his missing finger without comment, and inspected his wrist a moment before gently sending some energy through Xue Yang's body. He then gasped in surprise. 

"Oh, you'll be good at this if you put in the effort! With a student like you, even I should manage to be a teacher."

He sounded relieved, sincerely so, as if he'd been worried about his capacity to keep his promise. Of course, it was probably just because he realised that Xue Yang, while younger and not a cultivator, wasn't above trying to kill him if he weren't useful enough. 

"What's your name?" the rich kid asked. 

"I'm Xue Yang. What's yours?" 

"I'm Wen Chao. But a disciple should call his master shizun, right? Not that I'm asking you to!" Wen Chao quickly added, glancing at the sword again. "Call me whatever you like, I guess." 

“Are you really Wen Chao?” Xue Yang asked. “I’d heard both of Wen Ruohan’s sons had died.”

Wen Chao frowned, his face darkening as he gave that question more consideration than anyone should have done upon being asked to confirm their identity. If he was merely lying, then he wasn’t very good at it.

“Everything is a little confused right now,” Wen Chao admitted, closing his eyes with a pained grimace. “I can’t… I can’t be sure. But I remember… it makes sense. I am from an affluent cultivation family, I know that, know it for sure. I’m a second son, and not… not very favoured by my family. They think… no, they know that my older brother is miles above me in terms of skills. He’s the one everyone likes, with good reasons. And there’s that sword… it’s a Wen sword, I know it is and I had it in hand after… after…”

He paused and licked his lips, closing his eyes tighter while hunching his shoulders.

“It’s the only weapon I had on me, after he attacked me,” he whispered. “That man… I don’t know who, but he hated me, wanted me dead. I know that. Almost did. Almost killed me. It was… I don’t know how I escaped. And I… I think it was about the war.”

Wen Chao reopened his eyes, gazing into the distance.

“Yes, it was about the war,” he said, shivering. “I just know that. I had to die, so the victory could be complete. He needed me gone. So I’m a rich second son of the Wen sect, whose survival could compromise the success of the Sunshot Campaign… who else could I be but Wen Chao?”

Feeling a reaction might be expected of him, Xue Yang shrugged. He didn’t know a lot about the sons of Wen Ruohan, aside from the sort of things that everyone knew. They were spoiled, and they were cruel, one had died at the hands of the terrifying Nie Mingjue who’d put his head on display, the other had… disappeared. Just vanished. There hadn’t even been a body to show off, apparently, because it had been too badly damaged.

All things considered, that was a very odd thing, wasn’t it?

Xue Yang looked carefully at his new teacher. He could well have been a Wen. He did have a northern look to him, so it wasn’t so far-fetched for him to be from that sect. And with all that gold on him… it made some amount of sense. Enough to give him the benefit of the doubt, at least until his memory returned.

“Fine then, shizun,” Xue Yang said. “I guess you’ve got to know better than me. Now, give me a lesson in cultivation. Or are you too tired?”

Wen Chao, who had opened his mouth to protest, quickly closed it again and shook his head with a thin smile.

“No, I’m sure I can handle at least a little.”

Xue Yang grinned, and prepared to listen attentively.

His teacher had better be good and his own progress had better be fast, because between the two of them, Xue Yang was the one with a sword now.

[ladynestaarcheron]

Fears All the Way Down - Chapter Two

ao3 - masterpost

here's chapter two! i had fun writing it, hope y'all enjoy!

---

Nesta might not enjoy it, but she knows how to give credit where credit is due, and there's no denying it: her sisters and their friends have thought this plan out thoroughly.

After they've calmed down enough, her sisters move on promptly to the next phase. Elain is off with those shadow wraiths of hers to pack up Nesta's meager belongings and Feyre is explaining to her what the upcoming week will look like.

"The important thing to remember whenever you feel overwhelmed is that the worst is already behind you and you've made it this far and you can continue on," Feyre says, clearly reciting something from memory. "And that we're always going to be there to help you."

She moves on to explain the detoxification process they're going to put her through. She dresses up the words in a healer's jargon and tries her best to be sensitive, but Nesta doesn't like to lie to herself and understands the crux of it: she's fucked up her body too much and can't even be trusted to just stop drinking so she has to be weaned off while under a few sets of eyes.

"So, who's going to be in the House with me?" Nesta asks when she's done.

"We know you don't need a keeper," Feyre says carefully. "If you'd prefer to be alone, you can be. We'll visit you every day, if you'd like. And the library's healer will be checking up on you, of course, as I said. But...do you need anyone in the House? Do you want anyone with you?"

"No," Nesta says, not entirely believing they're going to leave her to her own devices.

Feyre shrugs. "Then take the week to acclimate. We'll come by only as often as you want."

"Who's we?"

"Me and Elain," Feyre says firmly.

Perhaps there had been an argument about that. To her surprise, Nesta feels her throat burn at the thought of her sister standing up for her. No, she does not want any of the others coming to see her like this...she never wants to see them at all, actually.

"The staff has all been cleared out, too," Feyre continues. "The magic of the House should be enough...but of course, if anything's missing--anything at all. Just say so. Shops can't deliver up, but we'll bring anything you need the next day."

Nesta only nods.

"Well...we'll go up now, then, if that's all right with you. We'll have your things delivered later today. Elain will visit as soon as she can."

Elain does not want to visit, Nesta realizes. Not while Nesta's sick and seizing over the next few days.

"She doesn't have to come," Nesta says. "Neither do you," she adds.

"We'll...see how you feel."

Cassian and Rhysand are waiting for them in the dining room. She's not sure whom she wants to see less.

But Cassian's good enough that he isn't looking to humiliate her further and her sister's got her husband on a tight enough leash that mercifully, neither of them says anything. Feyre gives her an encouraging smile as she gently pushes her closer to Cassian and holds onto her shoulder.

The winnowing is instant, too quick to process, especially considering what comes after.

The drop is terrifying, even though it's only for a fraction of a second. Just as Nesta clenches her jaw to stop her instinctual scream, Cassian grabs her in his arms and holds her tightly against himself. The descent slows, and there's an undeniable calming effect of being pressed into something--someone--so warm and strong, but the fear doesn't leave her until she is out of the open air and standing with solid ground beneath her feet.

"All right," Feyre says, slipping out of Rhysand's embrace with approximately none of the urgency with which Nesta ripped herself away from Cassian. "Let me help you get settled."

What on earth that could possibly mean Nesta does not know, as she doesn't carry anything with her and it's not yet eleven in the morning. But it's becoming clear to her that there's another reason for Feyre's shifty eyes.

"Is the same room all right, then?" Feyre asks as they reach it. Two floors below the entrance, once with a door connecting her to Elain, but that's sealed off now. The only difference, as far as she can tell.

"It's fine," she says, peering out the window. She could not help but be taken by the view the first time she had stayed here, and now was no different. The sprawling city in the valley of these red mountains, the Sidra snaking through it, and the glittering sea beyond. It's beautiful. Nesta likes beautiful things.

"You didn't get to decorate it much last time, but if there's anything you'd like..." Feyre trails off.

Nesta doesn't answer. She doesn't feel like pretending to care about decor to help her stall.

Feyre understands, sighing and fiddling with her fingers. "All right, there's some more I have to tell you."

"Go on," Nesta says, not turning from the window.

"Well," she says. "As you know...your apartment...the whole building--subdivision, really--it's...it's..."

"Old," Nesta supplies. Which is not the word her sister was thinking of, she knows.

"Yes, old. Well. The council has decided that they want to...fix it up, so...they're...rebuilding it."

Nesta blinks. "Rebuilding it?"

"Yes."

"It's already built."

"Well. They're..."

"You're tearing it down," Nesta says flatly.

"No!" Feyre says, and Nesta can see her eyes widen in the faint reflection. "I mean...yes, it's being torn down, but they're building it right back up! And much nicer! Hot water and...it'll be right there waiting for you when you...we're keeping it for you. For if you want to stay there again. But you know..." Feyre allows herself a bit of hope in her voice. "You might not want to. Maybe you'd like a different house...if you want..."

What exactly the problem is with her staying in a newly refurbished apartment, Nesta doesn't know. But no matter. It's not as though she's attached to the old one, and if they're going to pay for her to stay there when she's done with this little experiment...fine. Hot water on demand would be nice, at any rate.

"All right," Nesta says.

Feyre waits a beat before saying, "There's more."

Nesta turns to face her.

Swallowing, Feyre says, "Now, I meant what I said about you not needing to be kept."

Here it is, then.

"But there are...two issues with that. Well...maybe three."

She crosses her arms. This should be good.

"Well, as I explained, the first week or so is going to be difficult. And since you don't want to stay in the library and the healer can't always be here and you might...need someone..."

"You're going to be staying the week?" Nesta says sharply, face heating. That--that's too much. She can't take that. The whole week--so Feyre will be able to hear her retching all night long--some of it won't even be because of the alcohol; Nesta often finds herself rushing to the toilet, she hasn't been able to keep a full meal down in over a year.

"No," Feyre says, red as she imagines she is now. "I'll visit if you want. But...no. I thought...no."

Good. That's--good.

"But you do need...someone...for the first week. To make sure...to call the healer, really, if something happens in the middle of the night. And..." Feyre pauses to take a deep breath. "You remember Briallyn." She's blunt, and doesn't phrase it like a question, so Nesta's too surprised to flinch. "Well," she says, taking her widened eyes as a yes, "she's...she remembers you. And she's..."

"She wants to kill me," Nesta says flatly.

"Yes," Feyre responds. "But you don't need to be scared. We're not going to let her get to you."

"You're still not telling me everything."

"No," Feyre says, sighing. "I'm sorry. It's...not easy for me to say. I'm easing into it. All right. She's...we have reason to believe she's formed an alliance within the Night Court."

At this Nesta blinks. "What, you mean..."

"Not any of us," Feyre says, startled. "Of course not! Of course--don't think that!"

She only gives a small shrug. The idea of Morrigan hating her enough to work with that wretched crone is not entirely unbelievable to her, but she doesn't say so to her sister. She can try to try, at least, with what all the pair of them are doing.

The left side of Nesta's lips tugs upwards slightly. Not even a half-smile, just a tic, but Nesta's actually pleased with herself. Not insulting her sister's friend aloud directly to spare Feyre's feelings isn't much, but for her, when she hasn't cared about anyone's feelings in so long...

Feyre isn't privy to all that has gone on in Nesta's mind and she is still trepidative. She takes another deep breath--always with the dramatics, this one, isn't she?--and says, "We have reason to believe Briallyn has formed an alliance with some rebel groups within Illyria. We think she's promised them a path to independence if they get you to her."

Whatever Nesta was expecting, it wasn't this. The Illyrians...she knows, of course, that they don't like her, don't trust her. But Rhysand--Cassian and Azriel--doesn't that mean anything?

"I didn't know they want independence," Nesta says, when she realizes Feyre is peering at her intently, expectantly.

"They want to be allowed to mutilate their females and take revenge on each other as they please," Feyre says. "They can't do that while we're in charge."

"I thought they...liked serving in the Night Court's army." Her cheeks flush the slightest bit--perhaps it's naïve, but leading the Illyrians for this court is the pride of Cassian's life. She had assumed they were the same way. That they didn't like answering to someone born at his low station, sure, but she hadn't known they resented being here.

"It's not everyone," she says. "There were some who sided with Amarantha, some who...listen, you don't need to worry about it. All you need to focus on is yourself right now."

"And," Nesta presses.

Feyre takes yet another deep breath. "Cassian's going to be staying here for a few days. Just a few days!" she hurries. "Just until you're through the worst of it! And just make sure the House is secure while you are here by yourself."

"Why couldn't the House be checked--"

"We didn't want to alert anyone of your presence," she explains. "It's a pretty fantastical theory, that Illyrians are colluding with citizens from Velaris to overthrow Rhys and me, but...stranger things have happened. And since Hybern managed to find you here before..."

She can appreciate that, at least.

"Just a few days."

"A week at most."

"You keep changing the rules."

Feyre raises her arms. "I know. But that's the last of it, I swear."

Nesta's expression does not falter. "I don't appreciate being manipulated."

"I'm not manipulating! I just...didn't want to overwhelm you all at once. I'm...easing you into things."

Nesta considers this for a beat. "Stop doing it right now."

"I will," she says immediately.

At this, Nesta softens, though perhaps imperceptibly.

"All right," Feyre says after Nesta does not bite back. "I'll...leave you to get settled. The healer's left you some tonics there--" she punctuates her words with an arm extended towards the table by Nesta's bedside--"for you to take before bed...and you know where the dining room is...I promise Cassian will stay out of your way. He just might check up on you before you go to sleep, and..."

"Lift me up out of my own sick in the middle of the night?"

Feyre flinches. "Help you. Just until the healer can come up."

Nesta turns back to the window. "So I suppose I'll see you in a week, then?"

"As soon as you'd like."

There's that. That's...something.

"Your things will be delivered tomorrow. If you need anything--"

"You said."

"I know." Feyre wrings her hands, her ring and bracelets clinking softly together. "And...while you're here...Rhys and the others won't just drop by unannounced. We won't--well--if a few weeks--I mean--"

"I've got it," she says.

"Right. Well. Good."

What to say to her sister? They've hardly ever embraced. The time they had started to grow closer is long gone now, both those bodies ashes of the past.

"I just want to say," Feyre starts softly, "that...I'm really proud of you for doing this. I know...trust that I know it isn't easy. But I promise you it will be worthwhile. You'll see."

By the time Nesta summons the nerve to turn around and ask about those innocents, how she had gotten through it, her sister is already gone.

Because Nesta had explored the House when she had been brought here by Rhysand so long ago, she does not feel the need to do so now. She knows where the library is, knows where her room and the dining room are, and those are all she intends to frequent.

She spends the rest of the morning in the library, but she is too restless to keep her focus on a book. After finding herself staring blankly at a wall for the fifth time, eyes refusing to fixate on the words in her lap, she shuts the book and tightly and places it on a table. She doesn't know what she expected. It's been months since she's managed to read. No romance novels for her. No romance, either--not that that had ever happened. But once, she would have thought that the amount of sex she's been having would be linked to...something.

Her life has become an endless stream of not this, not now. Anything to get her out of her own head. Bitter alcohol--the kind she actually likes, gin or white wine, never seems to wipe her mind clean--and sex with strangers. And it works perfectly, because those things befit a lady of her station. That's how the loveless, useless, dregs of society spend their days: drinking, fucking, gambling away someone else's money--

"Nothing to read?"

Nesta startles.

"Sorry," Cassian says, walking up to her and sitting in the big armchair opposite. "Thought you heard me."

It takes her a moment to find her voice. "Did I give any indication of the sort?"

He grins. "Just assumed you were ignoring me."

Would that I could, she thinks darkly. But who could ignore him? Too big, too loud, too...just too much. Too much person for one body.

"Been a while," he says casually.

She doesn't answer, reaching through the drink-stained memories to find the last time she had seen him, besides this morning. Must've been...summer solstice. They had barely spoken, like all their other interactions since the war. She can count them on one hand.

And she does. Far more frequently then she admits to herself.

"Just thought you'd like to know I've finished securing the House."

Nesta nods once, absently. Perhaps this was a mistake. After all, they had thought the House was secure last time, hadn't they? What if they're attacked again? These priestesses...because of her. If they know that Briallyn is going to try and snatch her, that she's formed an alliance with Illyrians who can fly into the veranda, is this really worth the risk?

"Don't," Cassian says, voice low. She tenses as he leans closer to her. "You have a right to be here as much as any of them. Maybe you should have been here all along."

She catches the guilt in his tone, in his eyes, and blinks. That's...not what she had been expecting. And not what she's prepared to deal with.

She stands. "I was informed that you'd stay out of my way."

Just like that, any tenderness snaps out of his posture. He's standing before her, too, wings slightly flared.

"Do forgive me, Lady Nesta," he says with a mocking bow. "I'll let you get back to your riveting activity of staring at the wall in a room by yourself."

She has to say something before he leaves; can't let him end this with her on the losing hand. But she's quick on her feet, even if she never knows where she stands with him.

"I wouldn't want to interrupt your perching on the window opposite," she answers, voice icy. A blind shot in the dark, as she hadn't heard him at all. But it appears as though it lands, as his eyes grow even darker and he reins in a snarl as he stalks out.

Nesta loosens a breath as he leaves.

Riling up Nesta like that is never smart, but it's particularly stupid today. Not the least of which being Feyre had specifically ordered him not to.

Cassian tries to force himself to focus on the knives he's throwing, but he's too worked up to even admire the shiny new blades Rhys had purchased especially for this new training center on the top of the House.

"So you have a place to blow off steam," he had explained to him. Away from Feyre, of course, who no longer tolerated any implication that spending time with Nesta could be...difficult.

"It's only a week," he had said. He trains every day, but the refurbished personal arena is unnecessary for that, considering he's supposed to be keeping the House secure for the duration of his stay.

Rhys had only shrugged casually. Cassian knew what he had thought. That it might be more. That he would want to stay...that she would want him to stay.

He catches his and Feyre's snagging glances and innocent suggestions, but he dutifully ignores them each time. Nothing he feels on the subject matters, after all, because Nesta doesn't want anything to do with him.

He knows he shouldn't have approached her. Especially not considering he's supposed to make sure she eats something for dinner and she's not going to want to talk to him twice in a day.

But he just--he can't stay away. Not when she's so close and so...lost. Alone. Sitting in the library, unable to disappear into one of those romances she likes so much--unable to enjoy herself! It's too much to ask of him. To just watch her like that and not say anything. Just go about his day, ignoring the fact that...she needs him.

He does his best to ignore the sneering voice in his mind as the thought crosses his mind. She does need him. Or, rather, she needs someone and he can be that person. He can be exactly what she needs.

If she'd just let him.

And he had intended to be kind and patient. He had started that way, hadn't he? Trying to soothe her obvious fears and insecurities.

She hadn't wanted that. He should have known she didn't want that. Of course it's too much for her, too smothering, so she had shut him out. He knows that. He knows why she does that. But...it still hurt. Every time she rejects him, it hurts.

Not about you, he reminds himself. Feyre hadn't said the words outright, but she had made herself clear. Not that Cassian would ever...he wants the best for her, too. Of course he does. He's not going to do anything to jeopardize her recovery.

Starting right now.

It should be easy, he tells himself. He's gone months without seeing her in the past. Not to mention more than five hundred years before she was born. He can do this. Just...she's in the library and she's safe and she'll eat lunch if she wants to and if not, fine. She doesn't have to. She's been getting so little food these days they don't want to throw her back into it, anyway. Soup at dinner will be enough.

But feeling her presence...knowing she's there, a few storeys below him...in the state she's in, no less....

He manages. What other choice does he have? So he fills his time on the top of the House, doing rounds every so often--not looking in the windows of the House trying to find her--until dinner time, where he paces the dining room like an idiot.

Until she comes in.

She hasn't changed clothes since earlier, and she looks, if possible, worse. Logically he knows that she can't have lost weight since this morning, and the less alcohol in her system must be better, but...her cheeks are definitely hollower. Eyes more sickly. Brilliant, daring, cunning, beautiful gray eyes...lifeless.

Don't screw this up, he tells himself sternly. She needs to eat dinner tonight because she needs to take a tonic along with it. If he upsets her, she won't eat.

But he can't--he can't play this game like she can. Not when she's this far gone. So he says something. Doesn't know what, just knows he has to fill the silence.

"Do you like soup?"

Wonderful. Perhaps the stupidest thing he could ask her.

She ignores him as she sits at the head of the table, making his blood boil. Would she just look at him?

But his anger melts as he watches her gear up to eat. All the strength she has left focused on forcing her arm to extend, her fingers clutching her spoon so tightly her knuckles are a white that scares him. She swallows tightly before she puts the spoon in her mouth, that elegant neck of hers tensing and her delicate, too-protruding collarbone rising with it.

She steels herself one final time as she moves the spoon into her mouth and winces as it goes down.

"Not particularly," she says softly.

It takes him a few moments to realize she's answered him.

He clears his throat. "Well--we could get you something else?" Surely none of the food the House has put out for him will settle right with her, but...toast, maybe? Even if it doesn't have the nutrients she so desperately needs...perhaps she'll take a vegetable spread. Or blended fruit.

"It's no matter."

You matter. The words are right on his tongue, and he has to shove a forkful of steak into his mouth to keep him from letting them out. That might be too much for her. He can't scare her off again.

"Strong flavors...don't sit well with me." She stifles a flinch as she takes another spoonful and downs half a glass of ice water.

That's something, at least. Rehydrating herself properly is important.

"We can dilute it." She'd have to have more of it, of course, but perhaps it'd be worth it.

"It's no matter," she says again.

Bullshit. Absolute bullshit, and he's certainly not going to let it continue. But...fine. Let her have this soup tonight. But he'll find something she likes to eat and can stomach soon enough.

They are silent for another few minutes. Cassian pretends not to stare at her and she pretends not to notice. He's well into his second helping before she gets close to finishing her bowl.

"Here," he says, when she only has a few spoonfuls left, and hands her the vial the healer had given him.

"What is this?"

He hesitates. "Mock liquor." To mimic the effects of alcohol without actually putting any in her system. To let her sleep easier.

"Oh. Feyre said. She left some for me next to my bed."

"No, that's an anti-toxin." To push her body in the right direction of purging itself without hurting too much. Lowers the risk of seizing.

"Oh."

He wants to punch himself at the blank look on her face. She has to go through this because they let it get this far. He let it get this far.

But at the very least, she is not going through it alone. Not if it kills him.

Nesta swallows the mock liquor quickly and then finishes off her second glass of water. Picking up her napkin and neatly setting it aside, she rises, and says, "I'm going to bed."

"Good night," he says, though they both know she won't have one and he'll be seeing her in a few hours.

How miserable it is to watch her leave. She's going to have a painful night, and she's probably also scared about Briallyn or the Illyrians attacking her, and she feels alone. He just knows she feels alone.

She's sick and it's his fault. He'd promised her and he'd failed her.

But no more. He's making it up to her. He'll do what he can tonight and this week and for all the rest of it...he's going to keep her safe. Going to weed out every single rebel if he has to go door to door in every camp in Illyria. Nesta has faced her last external battle. He's going to make sure of that.

When she opens the door to her bedroom, there are flames flickering in the fireplace. Flickering, burning...crackling, snapping.

She's not sure how long she stands there at the threshold, before she finds her voice, broken and small, and says, "Could you turn that off, please?"

She doesn't know who she's talking to, how the magic of the House works, but something must be listening, because it dies down. Nesta crosses the room to the windows and cracks one open, enough to stick her head out and breathe in the cold air, ridding the scent of death from her nostrils. She stays there until she's shivering.

"Don't light fires again," she says, voice not as weak as before. "Please," she tacks on.

Nesta's never put so much thought into preparing for bed before, but she knows she has to think about it tonight. The tonics and withdrawal will work hand in hand to make sure she'll wake up ill or seizing or any number of miserable things, and then Cassian will rush in and stay with her until some healer she doesn't know does. She can't decide which is worse.

That's not true. Cassian is worse.

So she picks out a more modest nightgown than she normally would. It's autumn, anyway, and with no extra warmth from a fire, and so high up...not so bad. She might've preferred a pant set, but she's certainly not going to wear those tonight. The shin-length dress and heavy socks will have to do.

Now there is the matter of her hair. Once, she had worn it loose or sometimes braided to sleep, but since Hybern's soldiers had ripped her out of her home by her unbound locks...no. She wears it up.

But they'll know. They'll know she put her hair up to go to bed, and they'll wonder why. And she can't stomach them wondering why.

There's a silk hair tie in the boudoir. Let Cassian think, at least, that there's some vain reason for tying her hair in a bun for bed. Let him not bring it up in mocking, or to her sisters. Let the healer be too professional to say anything.

She hates this. She's already subject to more scrutiny than she'd ever, ever wanted. As Feyre's sister, as a freak of nature. And now it'll be even worse.

What have they told people, she wonders, as she swallows the tonic Feyre's left for her (mostly tasteless, if a bit bitter). That she's been sent to the seaside for her health? That she's doing something for the Night Court in some other land? Or worst of all, the truth?

She wishes, not for the first time, that she could just get a grip on herself. Just get over everything as swiftly as Elain has, or even made her own happiness like Feyre. Goodness knows she was never really going to have it there, below the Wall. She was never made for that. And now she's been Made, and no one knows what for.

The thoughts are too miserable to wallow in for long, and luckily, she doesn't have to. One of the tonics sends her to a deep, claiming sleep, soon after climbing into bed.

Or so she thinks, until a few hours later, when she is up and sweating and gasping and doesn't even make it all the way to the bathroom before collapsing on the floor, and a bucket appears in front of her, and all the soup and tea and water from yesterday is being violently, violently, violently, squeezed out of her. Like it's someone else's doing, like she can't even control her own body.

She doesn't hear Cassian come in, just feels him lift her slightly.

"It's all right," he says, calm. He doesn't whisper, which feels almost obscene in the darkness. "You're all right. The healer's on her way, Nesta."

She doesn't answer. She wants to disappear. He's stroking her back...can he feel how thin she is? Of course he can. But can he feel how weak, how pathetic? She's not stopped shaking. She tries to tense to stop it, can he tell?

But then she throws herself forward as she's sick all over again, and it's not even worth it, she just wants to be left alone to die in peace, nothing is worth this, nothing, nothing, nothing.

"Stay with me," he says, one hand on her waist and another rubbing along the length of her arm. "Here she is, Nesta."

"Good night, Lady Nesta," says a soft, female voice. "My name is Daphne. I'm the healer for all the girls at the library. I'm a priestess, too."

She's one of the girls then, she means. Or she was. What had it been to send her to this place? Had she been a healer before?

But again, Nesta says nothing.

"I'm just going to do some quick checking," Daphne says, in her soft voice. "Just to make sure you're all right." She settles her fingertips on different points on Nesta's body, almost too fast to register with all her shaking. Temples, pulse points, abdomen. "All right," she says. "How do you feel?"

After a few seconds, it becomes clear Nesta has to answer. "Fine," she manages, voice barely a rasp.

"Brave girl," Daphne coos, not unkindly. Nesta wants to die all over again. "Do you feel very cold?"

Nesta thinks for a moment, trying to reach out to her whole body. It's an effort not to curl up into a dark spot in her mind and just let it all happen.

"Not very," she says. A little cool, maybe.

"Do you feel very hot?"

"No."

"Good," she says. "It looks as though you're reacting very well to the tonic. I think the symptoms we're seeing now will be the ones we see over the next few days."

Which is a polite way of saying that Nesta's going to keep vomiting and sweating and shaking, but at least it won't be any worse.

"Drink this. It'll help you settle to sleep again."

"Do you think she'll wake up again?" Cassian asks, his arms still around her.

"No, I think she'll sleep till morning. The tonics are good like that. Help to regulate the system and reactions. Do you need help with anything else, Lady Nesta?"

"I can help her," Cassian says, when it becomes clear she isn't going to reply.

"Just make sure she drinks another glass of water before falling asleep."

"I will. Good night. Thank you."

"Of course, General. Good night."

Cassian sits there, stroking her back, for another few minutes, before she summons the strength to shift slightly out of his hold. He doesn't hesitate, moving seamlessly to help her stand. He walks her to the bathroom so she can wash her mouth.

"You have to drink this," he says, handing her a glass of water.

"I know."

He opens his mouth again, but she cuts him off.

"I don't want to hear it."

She can hear his frown in his voice. "You don't know what I was going to say."

Raising her eyes, she catches his gaze in the mirror. "You want to assure me that I'm not pathetic."

He blinks. "I wasn't going to...do you want me to do that?"

Nesta sets down her toothbrush. "I just said I didn't." She can feel the tonic already starting to work as her head clears. She experimentally eases her weight off the counter. Yes, she can stand on her own now. She takes the glass from him and starts to drink slowly.

"I wasn't aware that I needed to assure you of that. Is...do you think that?"

She only sips her water.

His eyes widen. "Do you think I think that?"

Nesta says to no one, "Could I have more water, please?"

Cassian's eyebrows quirk slightly as he watches the House's magic respond, but then he says, taking her chin, "Nesta. Look at me."

Well, when he's given her no choice.

"I have never in my life thought you were pathetic."

How, she wonders as they stand there like that. How could he possibly be telling the truth? For he is strong and sturdy and commanding and she had to hang onto the bathroom counter for support as she washed the sick out of her mouth after beginning a withdrawal process from alcohol.

And yet, somehow, she knows he isn't lying.

"You can get back to bed yourself, then," he says, dropping his hand. "You know where I am if you need me. Good night."

He doesn't wait for her to reply, just turns and leaves, shutting the door quietly behind him.

His warmth lingers in the room far after he's gone, as does his touch on her face. She loses count of how many times she traces over it before she falls asleep again.

[morganaspendragonss]

if your looking for a bth prompt what about used in sacrificial ritual where tk gets abducted on a run and carlos is the lead detective on this case of people getting murdered as sacrifices and they arrive in time to save tk but the ritual involved cutting limbs off and tk ends up losing a leg? perhaps w lots of fluff at the end? <3<3

anon, i cannot tell you how excited this prompt got me. i’d been toying with a very similar idea for weeks and this was the push i needed to actually write it - with certain modifications to fit your idea. (i promise it has a happy ending!)

i’m super proud of how this came out, and i hope you like it as much as i do!

@911lonestarangstweek day 7:  Free choice!

Two months ago, TK vanished, snatched while out on his evening run. Carlos will do anything to get him back, even if that includes running himself into the ground.

ao3 | 4.9k | cw: kidnapping, depictions of violence, death and injury, forced amputation, career-ending injuries

It’s been two months.

Two whole months since TK left for his evening run with nothing but a shouted goodbye and a promise to be home soon.

Two months since Carlos hadn’t even turned around, because apparently the dishes were more important than his husband.

Two months since they found TK’s shattered phone and wallet, abandoned in the park next to a pool of blood.

Two months since Carlos’s world came crashing down around him.

He blames himself - how could he not? He’s been the lead detective on this case for months; he’s the one who’s so far failed to catch the guys who have mutilated and killed so many people, and now might do the same to his husband. More to the point, he’s the one who is supposed to protect TK, and it’s clear he’s resoundly failed in that department.

His captain had tried to take him off the case, once they’d found out that TK had become the latest victim. But Carlos had informed him in no uncertain terms that he was going to keep looking for his husband, even if he had to go above his head to do it. 

They’d allowed him to keep the case, but Carlos knows he’s being watched. They think he’s having a breakdown and, the thing is, Carlos isn’t entirely sure they’re wrong.

He hasn’t slept in their bed since the night it happened, when he got woken up at two am to the sound of his ringtone blaring through the room.

“Reyes,” Mitchell had said, tone heavy. “I… Shit, Reyes. You gotta get here. There’s another one and I… I really didn’t want to be telling you this over the phone, but…”

She’d paused, and Carlos had sat bolt upright in bed, suddenly all too aware of the empty space next to him. And, in that moment, he’d known; even so, he’d still choked out a quiet, “No.”

“I’m sorry, Carlos. I truly am.”

*

He’s been living in a daze ever since, work and TK the only two things on his mind. He eats when he has to, barely sleeps, and never hangs out with their friends anymore, which he almost feels guilty for. They’re suffering too, Carlos knows this, but he can’t afford any distractions right now. If he were to be out somewhere and ends up missing the one chance he has to get TK back, he’d never forgive himself.

He’s just about to leave for another shift when there’s a loud, insistent knock at the door. Carlos rolls his eyes and goes to yank it open, about to tell whoever it is to leave him alone.

Only to come face-to-face with a very determined looking Grace Ryder.

“Grace,” he sighs, irritation dissipating. “Can this wait? I’ve got a -”

“I know you don’t have an official shift today, Carlos,” she interrupts, folding her arms. “Just like I know you’re working yourself to death, and I’m not going to stand for it anymore. You’re coming out with me, no arguments.”

Carlos shakes his head. “Grace… I can’t.”

“Oh, yes, you can.” She clicks her tongue, levelling him with an unimpressed stare. "You should be thanking me; Judd was planning on bringing the entire crew down here to stage a full intervention. Now, I managed to talk him out of that one, convinced him the last thing you need right now is a house full of people, but I will not hesitate to go back on that. So you've got two options. Either you go back upstairs and get changed and I'll take you out for coffee, just the two of us, or I'm gonna unleash my husband and the full force of the 126 on you. Choice is yours, Reyes."

He sighs, wearily meeting her eyes. "I'm not getting out of this, am I?"

"No, sir, you are not."

Carlos closes his eyes and hangs his head, knowing just how stubborn Grace Ryder can be. “Alright,” he says, though his every nerve is screaming at him for it, “you win. Give me a minute.”

She smiles encouragingly at him. “I’ll be here.”

*

The coffee-shop Grace takes him to is mercifully empty, both of people and memories. He wonders if she did this on purpose, but figures it’s more a stroke of pure luck, his first in months. It’s a nice place; he’ll have to remember it for when - if - they get TK back.

Grace quickly returns with their drinks, placing a sandwich in front of Carlos, too. “Don’t even argue,” she warns. “I won’t hear it.”

Carlos forces a smile. “Thanks, Grace.”

They sit in silence for a while, Carlos keeping his gaze turned to the table, picking listlessly at the sandwich. He can feel Grace’s eyes on him, feel the tension in the air between them, and part of him wishes she’d just come out with it already.

The other part wants to run for the hills, but he’s pretty sure Grace would catch him before he got too far.

Eventually, she sighs, setting her mug down and leaning across the table. “Carlos, we miss you,” she says softly. “I know it’s tough, but you’ve barely spoken to any of us since it happened. We’re worried.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“No.” She shakes her head, voice still unbearably gentle. “You’ve been keeping yourself busy. There’s a difference. And that’s okay, up to a point, but you haven’t given yourself a break in two months and that is not okay. You know TK wouldn’t want you to be doing this.”

“You say that like he’s dead.”

Grace sucks in a sharp breath. “Sweetheart, you know that is not what I meant -”

“Maybe you’re right,” he cuts in, ignoring the pain in his chest as he finally looks up at Grace. “It’s been two months; you know as well as I do what survival rates are for missing persons, even in normal circumstances.” His breathing trembles and he squeezes his eyes shut, images of the bodies they’ve found so far flashing through his mind. His voice is barely a whisper when he speaks next. “You also know that the third month is usually when the bodies appear. We’re running out of time, Grace, and I don’t - I don’t know if I believe any more.”

“Carlos Strand-Reyes, I did not just hear you give up on that boy.”

He smiles humourlessly. “Not on him, Grace. On me.”

A long silence follows his words, though Carlos can feel the disappointment and worry rolling off Grace in waves. He should probably feel guilty for ruining a perfectly fine day, but he’s just so tired. He’ll do anything to have TK by his side again, but each day that passes is another day that TK slips further and further away from him, and it’s difficult to hold on to hope.

“I’m terrified,” Carlos admits quietly, tears pricking the back of his eyes. “Any day now they’re going to tell me they’ve found another body, and it’s going to be him, and I won’t be able to handle seeing him like that. You don’t know what they do to them, Grace, it’s - it’s -”

His breath hitches, and suddenly Grace is next to him, gathering him in her arms as he breaks down in sobs against her chest. She shushes him, running a gentle hand through his hair and, for a brief moment, she makes it easy to push away memories of sightless eyes and missing limbs and slit throats.

Grace holds him close, murmuring assurances Carlos doesn’t really hear, until he’s cried himself dry. Then, she pulls back, swiping her thumbs under his eyes, unshed tears shining in her own.

“You’ll get through this, Carlos,” she says, wobbly smile on her face. “No matter the outcome, we’ll all be here to help you get through this.”

Carlos nods, but, privately, he thinks she’s wrong. If TK dies, he’s not sure he’ll be able to find a way through that, no matter how many people are by his side. Because the only one he really, truly needs, won’t be there. 

*

Carlos rubs his eyes, his vision blurring as he stares at crime scene photos, as he has been doing for the past however many hours. He must have gone through these thousands of times over the past eight months, and yet he’s still drawing a complete blank as to clues that could help them find the killers.

They’re always too careful, never leaving any DNA on scene, never caught on camera, never seen by witnesses. There’s not even much of a common denominator between the victims, aside from the fact that they’re all young - the oldest being 38 - and they were all alone when they were taken.

The only consistency in this entire thing is the bodies. Official cause of death is always a deep cut to the throat, accompanied by at least one limb being cut off when the victim was still alive, sometimes more. They never find the missing body parts, which bothers Carlos more than it probably should.

He rubs his eyes again, blinking hard to try and stay awake. He didn’t sleep well last night, which is nothing new, but the past two weeks have been exhausting. After Grace’s coffee outing, the 126 have been stopping by regularly, one or two at a time, to check up on him and make sure he’s doing okay. Carlos appreciates it, he does, but he doesn’t have the energy for it these days. 

He’s so tired that he doesn’t notice Mitchell walking up to his desk before she’s standing right next to him, casting a shadow over his papers. Carlos looks up, and dread washes over him at the grim expression on her face, the tense set to her shoulders.

“We’ve got another one.”

Carlos makes a noise halfway between a choke and a sob. “A body?” he whispers, looking up at her fearfully.

“A disappearance,” Mitchell corrects, and Carlos doesn’t even feel guilty for the relief that floods him at that. “Industrial estate across town, one of the workers got nabbed when he went for a smoke. Same MO, no witnesses - it’s them.”

He nods, praying that Mitchell doesn’t notice the way his hands shake as he gathers up his papers. If she does, she doesn’t say anything, though he catches her exasperated head shake when he turns back to face her.

“Let’s go.”

*

The crime scene is, as always, pristine, and Carlos can’t help but be frustrated, even if this is what he’s come to expect. The case had been wearing on him even before TK was taken, but now it feels like every dead end is a spit in his face, like the universe is taunting him directly.

He’s about to wrap up the scene when a young officer comes barreling towards him.

“Detective!” he yells, panting. “Detective Reyes!”

Carlos stops, raising an eyebrow as the officer skids to a halt in front of him, hands on his knees as he catches his breath. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good,” he gasps. Straightening, he clears his throat, pointing across the street. “There’s a hidden speed camera over there.”

Carlos blinks. Of all the ground-breaking news he imagined might warrant such dramatics, speed cameras weren’t one of them. 

The officer heaves a long-suffering sigh, which, under any other circumstances, might be amusing. “We’re not sure yet, but, looking at the angle, we think it covers the place the guy got taken from,” he explains, and Carlos’s eyes widen. “If it does, we might be able to get some ID, maybe even a license plate. I know they’ve always been careful not to get caught on camera before, but they might not have known about this one. It’s a chance, Detective.”

Carlos breathes out shakily, mind reeling from the officer’s words. It’s a chance. An honest-to-god chance. “Have we pulled footage yet?”

“Doing that now.” The officer grins boyishly, and Carlos feels a small smile tugging at his own lips. He can’t let himself get too invested in this; there’s every chance that it’ll turn into yet another false lead. And yet.

Something like hope lights up Carlos’s chest, and he dares, just for a second, to believe in it.

*

It works.

It fucking works.

They don’t have an ID - the killers are at least smart enough to cover their faces - but they do have a plate, which they’ve managed to track to a warehouse on the outskirts of town. Carlos taps the steering wheel of his cruiser anxiously; they’re parked in some trees just out of sight of the building, and he itches with the desire to jump out and go.

Every second they wait here is one more second in which TK is still with them, suffering, dying. He chews on his lip, then turns to Mitchell.

“We clear on the plan?”

She raises an eyebrow. “I am. Are you?”

“What -”

“I know what this means for you, Reyes,” she interrupts, not unkindly. “I know what might be waiting for you in there. Now, if it were up to me, you would be benched. It’s too personal, and you’re way too close to it. But, since it’s not, you’ve gotta promise me that your head is screwed on tight, you hear me? We’ve got a good plan, and it’ll work, but it’s only good so long as we are all following it. So, you tell me. Are we clear on the plan?”

Carlos swallows thickly, glancing back in the direction of the warehouse. Mitchell is right - he is too close to it, and he’d be thinking the same thing if the situation were in reverse. He just… He can’t fathom being anywhere but here right now.

He can do this; he knows he can.

He has to, for TK. 

“Yes,” he says firmly, meeting her eyes. “We’ve got this.”

She nods. “Alright, then.” Her gaze shifts past him and she jerks her chin up. “There’s the signal. Let’s move out.”

*

It’s almost too easy, in the end. The suspects are woefully unprepared for an ambush, and Carlos doesn’t even need to fire his gun, which is always a good thing. They find the guy who was taken today in the same room as his kidnappers, a little worse for wear, but not too injured, all things considered.

Carlos wants to be happy about that, but he can’t. Not when TK is still nowhere in sight.

Mitchell takes over managing the scene and questioning the hostage. He’ll have to remember to buy something for her in thanks when this is all over; she’s been a rock over the past three months, often covering for Carlos with their supervisors when things became too much.

He glances around at the swarms of police and paramedics filling the warehouse, feeling oddly detached from it all. He’s itching to go looking for TK, but there’s only so far he can push things - though he’s being no help here, he has to maintain an appearance if he wants to not get fired.

That appearance being, the calm and collected detective, which is the furthest thing from what Carlos is right now.

His hands tap restlessly at his thighs, his senses dialled to eleven with anxiety, which only spikes when he sees an officer making her way towards him, a grim look on her face.

Please, god, no.

Carlos moves to meet her, but he’s not able to form the words for the question he needs to ask. Fortunately, she takes pity on him.

“We’ve found your husband, Detective,” she informs him.

Carlos swallows around the lump in his throat, trying to tamp down the fear. “Is he...?”

“Alive,” she says, and Carlos could cry with relief. “But he’s in bad shape. I’ve been told not to let you back there.”

He stares at her, dumbfounded. “I appreciate the concern, but my husband has been missing for nearly three months,” he says tightly. “It would not be a wise idea to keep me from him any longer.”

She hesitates, biting her lip uncertainly, but eventually relents under Carlos’s hard stare. “Alright. Follow me.”

Carlos is led down several corridors until they stop outside a door, guarded by two other officers. The woman who brought him has a whispered argument with them, but Carlos pushes past her to glare at them, his patience at an end now that he knows that TK is mere feet away from him.

“I told her to bring me here,” he says. “That man in there is my husband; I’m going in there one way or another.”

The two officers exchange a glance, then wearily sigh and nod, stepping to the side. Carlos doesn’t bother to thank them before rushing inside, coming up short at the sight of three paramedics crouched around a body on the ground. He can’t really see much of TK yet, but he feels frozen in place, his mind suddenly rebelling at the thought of having to witness what three months of captivity have done to him.

He shakes his head and wills his feet forward, feeling like he’s walking through treacle as he rounds to TK’s side. Bile rises in his throat and he can’t stop the gasp that escapes him when he finally catches sight of his husband - it’s worse than anything Carlos had imagined, and he’d imagined a lot.

TK’s completely naked; the paramedics have lain a sheet over his lower half, but it does little to hide his emaciated state, his entire body outlined with sharp corners where his skin seems almost shrink-wrapped to his bones. Carlos can count every one of TK’s ribs, and the hollow of his cheeks is deeply pronounced. His torso is discoloured from bruising and he’s horribly still and pale - Carlos would think he were dead if not for the barely there rise and fall of his chest.

That’s not the worst of it, though. Carlos’s eyes travel down TK’s body, cataloguing his injuries, before sticking on his left leg.

Or, rather, the space where his left leg used to be.

Carlos barely refrains from throwing up, his stomach turning at the bloody mess in front of him. This isn’t… In the back of his mind - in his nightmares - he’d known that this was a possibility, but he’d never prepared himself for actually seeing it. He doesn’t know if he could have prepared himself, even if he’d tried.

“Detective.”

He’s broken from his horrified staring by one of the paramedics, now standing in front of him. Strange - Carlos hadn’t noticed him moving.

He sighs, obviously disapproving of Carlos’s presence here, but his expression holds nothing but sympathy. “Your husband is lucky we got here when we did,” he says. “But I can’t make any promises, and he is nowhere near out of the woods yet. To be perfectly honest with you, Detective, it’s a miracle he’s still breathing right now. He’s severely dehydrated and suffering from starvation - it looks like his kidnappers were giving him just barely enough food and water for him to survive. I’m also worried about infection in his leg, plus there might be injuries we can’t see yet. We’ve done everything we can for him here, but we have to get him to the hospital as soon as possible. I’m assuming you’re going to ride with us?”

Carlos immediately nods. There’s no way he’s going to remain here, even if he knows he won’t be able to stay with TK when they get to the hospital. He trusts Mitchell to handle things, and he wouldn’t be of much use anyway, even more so than before. Not after everything he’s seen, everything he’s heard.

The paramedics get TK loaded on a gurney and Carlos follows them out, eyes locked on TK’s still form. He brushes a hand through TK’s limp hair, forcing back the tears burning in his eyes.

“Hold on, my love,” he whispers. “I’m here; you’re safe now.”

He hopes, somehow, that TK hears him.

*

“Oh my god.”

Carlos looks up from the bed at the sound of Owen’s voice. His father-in-law has a hand over his mouth, shock written all over his face at the sight of TK - what little that can be seen underneath all the bandages and machines he has hooked up to him. Carlos had done his best to prepare Owen for what he’d face when he arrived, but it had been an impossible task. He’d barely been able to get the words out, for one, but there was no explaining just how bad things are.

Nothing will ever be the same. Not that Carlos had ever expected that it would, but when (if, he reminds himself) TK wakes up, it will be to a completely different life than the one he had walked out of all those months ago. 

The physical injuries alone would be bad enough - and, god, he’ll have to do so much at home to make it safe for TK - but he’s more worried about how this will have affected him in other ways. Carlos can’t imagine the level of trauma his husband has suffered, and he just prays that they can find a way to get through it.

Owen’s face crumples as he makes his way across the room, collapsing heavily in the chair on the other side of the bed. He reaches out as though to touch TK, but snatches his hands back just as quickly, expression stricken. “Oh my god,” he repeats.

Carlos lets him be for a few moments, allowing Owen to process what he’s seeing at his own pace. He turns away so that he can have some semblance of privacy, though he can’t ignore the soft sobs he hears. It’s almost as though they’re mourning TK, even though they now have proof he’s alive, which is more than can be said for the last three months.

Eventually, Owen sniffs, and turns to address Carlos. “Have they… What did the doctors say?”

“Nothing concrete,” Carlos answers, focusing his gaze back on TK. “If he makes it through the next few days, then they think he’ll have a chance, but that’s a big if, Owen. There was so much damage. His organs weren’t functioning properly, he has a head wound from when he was first taken that never really healed right, and his leg… It had become infected where his kidnappers cut it; they had to take some more in surgery to stop it from spreading any further.”

He tears his eyes from TK to meet Owen’s gaze, almost wishing he hadn’t when he sees his own pain and grief reflected back at him. “It’s bad, Owen,” he chokes out. “I don’t know… I don’t know what I’ll do if…”

He shakes his head, the words sticking in his throat. Not that he really needs to say them; they’re both thinking the same thing.

“The doctors probably told you, but they’re restricting visitors to two until he’s more stable,” Carlos continues, eyes dropping back to the bed. “I know the team will want to see him, but do you think you can hold them off for a while? Just for a couple of days, until we know more. I don’t want to keep them from him, but I just…” He trails off, guilt welling up in him even though he knows this is what’s best. “I know it’s a selfish thing to ask, but I think it’s for the best, for everyone.”

“I understand,” Owen says gently. “I’ll let them know. And… I’ll do my best to prepare them, for when they do come and visit.”

Carlos nods his thanks and the two lapse into silence, broken only by the hiss of the ventilator and the beeping of the heart monitor. Proof that TK’s still with them, but each noise sends another bolt of pain through Carlos’s heart.

He squeezes his eyes shut, finally allowing the tears to fall down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Owen,” he sobs. “I’m so sorry.”

Owen gasps. “What for?”

“I was supposed to protect him! This was my case, I’m the reason he got taken, the reason he might not make it. He could still die, and it’s all my fault!”

Carlos drops his head into his hands, chest heaving from the force of his sobbing. Distantly, he hears the scrape of a chair on linoleum, then Owen’s hands are on his shoulders, turning him into an embrace. Carlos falls into him, not caring about the almost childlike way he clings to his father-in-law.

“You found him, Carlos,” Owen whispers, rubbing circles on Carlos’s back. “You found him. Any chance he has at making it through is because of you. That’s what matters now; it’s the only thing that matters.”

*

It’s several more weeks before Carlos’s prayers are finally answered.

TK was declared stable some time ago, the doctors saying that, barring any unexpected complications, they should expect him to wake up. They hadn’t said anything about what the damage might be once he did wake, but Carlos hadn’t wanted to ask; at this point, he can’t focus on more than one thing at a time, else he knows he’ll fall apart.

He’s practically lived at the hospital since they brought TK in. He’s pretty sure Owen, his parents, and the 126 came up with a rota for making sure he wasn’t starving himself, because it was always someone different who attempted to pull him away from TK’s room for food or sleep in an actual bed. Carlos resisted as much as he thought he could get away with, but he’s not stupid. He knows he needs to keep his strength up if he’s going to be of any use once TK wakes up.

It happens early one morning, when the sun is just beginning to filter through the blinds. Carlos is already awake, keeping a vigilant watch over his husband, though he doesn’t quite believe it when TK’s eyelid twitches.

He holds his breath, waiting, and, just when he’s given it up as a trick of exhaustion, it happens again, both of his eyes cracking open this time.

“TK?” he breathes, half-rising from his chair. He reaches out and grabs TK’s hand, which moves - actually moves - in his, and tears spring to his eyes.

It takes a few more minutes before something like awareness creeps into TK’s face, his eyes fully opening for the first time in weeks. Carlos just sobs at the sight, drawing TK’s attention to him, at which point his expression turns to shock and disbelief.

TK’s mouth moves, but he can’t force out any words, causing panic to flash over his face and his breathing picks up. Carlos leans forward, squeezing his hand and stroking his cheek.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he says softly, reassuring him. “You’re okay, I promise, everything’s going to be okay. You’re in the hospital. I’m here, and you’re safe. God, TK, I swear I’m never going to let anything happen to you ever again, I swear it.”

TK shakes his head, still not understanding, so Carlos reaches to press the call button. He forces a smile for TK’s sake, though his mind is crowded with worries about what their next steps will be. It’s going to be a long time before they can even think about going home, he knows this, but everything is so uncertain now.

Carlos wants to believe that there can be some sort of normality in their future, but, right now, it seems like a distant dream.

*

Time passes.

He brings TK home.

It’s hard, so much harder than he thought, but they have a whole team of people willing to help out as much as they can. Paul and Grace often bring food, usually stopping to talk for a while afterwards. The others - most often Marjan and Judd - sometimes come by and take TK out in his wheelchair for a while, giving Carlos time and space to relax or tidy. Letting TK out of his sight was difficult at first, and he still gets anxious watching him disappear out the door, but he knows that the 126 would do anything to keep him safe.

He just has to trust them, which he does, implicitly so. 

Owen’s also a frequent visitor to their house, staying overnight a time or two in the beginning. Carlos is grateful for it; he doesn’t know how he would have coped if not for Owen’s steady presence while they were still figuring out their new reality.

TK struggles a lot, even with simple things these days. The head wound caused brain damage, leading to migraines and he has problems with speech and carrying out tasks. It breaks Carlos’s heart to see him, but he forces himself to keep up a front, only letting the emotion out when he’s alone - or, rarely, with one of the 126.

He suspects TK knows anyway, but they don’t talk about it.

It’s a long few months of recovery, of pain and exhaustion and frustration. But it’s all worth it, because it means that TK is alive. It means that Carlos has him back, and they can work on getting better together.

It means that, one golden morning, Carlos wakes up to see TK’s beautiful green eyes already open, watching him intently. He reaches out to caress TK’s cheek, then leans in and presses a gentle kiss to his lips, lingering for a long moment.

And, when he pulls back, TK smiles.

And it feels like everything is going to be okay.