#Before The Rain is filled with so much searing hope-

[chubs-deuce]

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^vibrating with joy because VNV's new album is so fucking good I'm gonna YELL

[guess-my-next-obsession]

When We Were Young

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

rating: M (breakups, seeing your ex, a lil angsty with a happy ending, a douchey/aggressive male interaction, alcohol consumption, language)

wc: 2.5k

frankie masterlist

Time froze. As cliche as it sounded, it was also accurate. You sat there gawking like a deer caught in headlights, your blood rushing from your head to pour into the crater-sized hole in your heart in the shape of him. It was like seeing the ghost of a loved one, desperate for it to make contact and fearful of it all at once. To see him, the man you’d loved and lost five years ago, here in the flesh, laughing with a group of people you didn’t recognize, reminded you that whatever life you had shared with him in the past was just that—the past. But even still, you couldn’t help but hope there was a moment for the two of you here in the present, and perhaps if the fates were kind enough, in the future.

“Everything okay?” Your eyes wandered back to the man in front of you—your date, you had to remind yourself.

“Yeah,” you managed, nodding your head as if it helped make your lie believable. “Just saw someone I used to know.”

“Oh, why don’t you go say hi?” he asked, taking a sip of his beer.

If only it were that simple.

“I’d rather stay here,” you replied, lying again. Is that what you were forced to become? Nothing but a liar? A half-lover? Someone frozen in the past?

Across the bar he spots you, smiling at some dark haired man that looks too old for you, or perhaps that’s just his jealousy talking.

You look good, healthier than he last saw you. You’d gained some weight, filling out your sunken cheeks that remained seared in his memory from the night he left you. The night that haunted him, a dark cloud of regret and shame that rained the taste of your tears over him to remind him of the hurt he caused you.

You only ever asked him to love you, but like the immature child he was—the child he still feared lived deep within—he made you feel like you were asking for too much.

As he sat there watching you giggle, your fingers stirring the black straw in your glass—a gin and tonic like always, no doubt—he wondered if you spotted him as well. He figured it didn’t matter even if you did. He couldn’t imagine a universe in which you could forgive him for what he did—or for what he couldn’t do.

“Frankie!” A whine coming from the girl he’d been seeing casually the last few weeks pulled his eyes from watching you, his head turning in the direction of the woman who didn’t know him well enough to know what darkness lied within him. “I want another drink.”

“Okay,” he replied, awaiting an explanation for how this concerned him.

“Can you go get me one?” she snapped, drunken and slurred. Frankie exhaled softly and nodded, the bottle of beer in his hand empty and needing replacing anyways.

He stood to walk to the bar, his eyes finding you no matter how hard he tried to keep them occupied. As he passed your table, he overheard the man you were with talking about his job—finance, it seemed. Was that really the kind of man you were into these days? Back in the day the two of you would’ve made fun of a guy like him. What could you possibly have in common with such a…stiff? He supposed it didn’t matter—shouldn’t matter.

How could you listen to anything this man was saying when you could feel Frankie’s eyes on you, when you could smell him walking by? He still wore that same cologne, still donned that same red flannel you gifted him for Christmas. So much had stayed the same about him on the outside, it seemed. Could the same be said for the inside? Did you want it to?

“Hey, I’m gonna go use the restroom,” your date announced and you nodded, watching him as he walked off through the crowded pub.

You weren’t sure what compelled you to stand, but before you could talk yourself out of it, you were already standing beside your ex at the bar, his head turned in the opposite direction as he waited for the bartender to make his way to him.

“You look the same,” you spoke over the chatter and music filling the room, causing his head to whip over in your direction. He looked wide eyed, the color draining from his face. For a minute, you worried you’d offended him by simply speaking, but the soft curl of his lips quickly soothed that fear.

“You look…good,” he managed, his eyes frantic as they studied your face, seemingly taking in all the changes you cursed your body for making. “I, uh, I saw you, but…I don’t know. Didn’t want to interrupt your date.”

“Not much of a date,” you shrugged. “Not anymore at least.”

Frankie smiled more genuinely and it was as if you were thrown back in time, seeing that dimple come out for the first time. You longed to reach out for him, to touch him to make sure he was actually there, but refrained.

“You here with anyone?” you asked, unsure of what overcame you. You had no right to pry that way, but couldn’t help yourself. Had he moved on? Was it better that way? The sinking feeling in your gut as his eyes flickered over to the singular woman sitting at his table told you no, it wasn’t.

“It’s…casual,” he shrugged, pursing his lips. “Haven’t really been able to jump into anything after…after us.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, batting away the childish tears born of jealousy. You felt the immature little girl you used to be clawing at the back of your throat begging to scream “he’s mine, he’s mine, don’t touch what’s mine!”. You lifted your drink to wash down the burn.

“Yeah, it’s been hard for me too,” you admitted, though the word “hard” felt like nothing more than a watered-down truth.

“God, sorry about that. The line was so long.” Your date appeared with a smile, his eyes flickering to the man beside you at the bar. “Hey.”

Frankie nodded at him but remained silent.

“Well,” your date exhaled as he turned back to you. “You wanna get out of here? Maybe go back to my place?”

Your eyes flickered to Frankie, watching his profile as he tried not to appear like he was eavesdropping on the conversation, but the clench of his jaw gave him away.

“I think I’m just gonna go home for the night,” you finally answered, turning to your date to give him an apologetic frown. He chuckled and looked towards Frankie, pointing his finger at him.

“You mean you’re going to go home with this fucker?”

Frankie’s body turned fully to your date, his brows laced as he looked down at the man at least five inches shorter than him.

“What was that?” Frankie asked, the dominance in his voice foreign and familiar at the same time.

“How’s it fair that I have to pair for all her fucking drinks and you’re the one who gets to take her home?” he replied, crossing his arms over his chest. “I got her drunk, so I get the reward.”

Frankie scoffed in disbelief and looked to you, the look of fear in your eyes igniting a protective streak in him that only seemed to light for you.

“Go home, man,” he ordered, turning back to your “date”.

“Fuck that—“ He made to grab at your arm but Frankie shoved him back before he could make contact.

“Go home.” Frankie ordered again, giving the man one last chance before he’d have to walk home with only one working eye. The man sized Frankie up for a beat before turning to you.

“You’re paying for your own fucking drinks then,” he said, as though it was a punishment. Truthfully, you were thankful not to “owe” this man—the word used loosely—anything. You watched him walk off down the bar to pay off his half of the tab, keeping your eyes glued to him to assure he didn’t come back and try something again. It seemed Frankie was doing the same.

“What a fucking prick,” he mumbled under his breath as the two of you watched him leave the bar. You turned back to Frankie and felt your lips part to speak, to apologize for your choice in man, but couldn’t manage a sound. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that,” he offered sincerely, his gentle brown eyes landing on yours. “You didn’t deserve any of his bullshit.”

“Yeah, well…when they tell you there’s tons of fish in the sea they don’t mention that those fish fucking suck.” Frankie laughed and nodded, that dimple coming out again. The bartender finally made his way over, looking at Frankie anticipatorily, but Frankie seemed hesitant. “Well, I’m gonna go pay my bill—“

“No, let me,” he intervened with his hand on your arm. “I’m honestly ready to leave, too.”

“You gonna order anything?” the bartender asked, annoyed by the delay. Frankie leaned over the bar and ordered a vodka-cranberry and then pointed over at the table his group was sitting at, the bartender nodding before walking off to prepare the drink.

“Alright, let’s go take care of the tab.” He turned back to you with a friendly but soft smile, his hand resting on your upper back as he guided you through the crowded room to the bartender set up by the till. Frankie paid for both of your bills as if it was nothing, as if anyone would have done the same thing. You couldn’t help but glance over at the girl he was with, comparing yourself to her. She was thinner, not by much but enough for you to realize it. Her hair was freshly styled, her nails polished and manicured. She seemed to be a newer and improved version of yourself, the image of someone untainted by heartbreak. Soon a pit of guilt formed in your stomach as you considered the fact that your interacting with Frankie tonight would be the first blow to her heart. Did she love him? Would that be enough to stop you?

“So…do you live at the same place you used to?” Frankie asked at the counter while he waited for change.

“I do,” you turned back to him and admitted.

“I could walk you home,” he offered with a shrug. “No funny business. I just…I guess I want a chance to talk.”

“What about your date?” you asked, a nervous chuckle slipping from your lips to cover your guilt.

“She’s with her friends, and truthfully…I think our friendship has run its course.” Perhaps in another reality you’d be strong enough to turn him down, but in this reality your heart still belonged to him. It would always belong to him.

With a nod, you accepted his offer and headed outside to wait for him as he grabbed his coat and bid his group goodbye.

You watched from the window as your replacement scolded him, her voice loud enough to cut over the music and through the glass separating the two of you. Frankie never did well with loudness, with screaming and fighting. You wondered what drew him to her in the first place.

When he finally made it outside, he let out a sigh and shook his head.

“Well,” he said, giving you a laugh. “That went well.”

“Yeah, I could see,” you pointed at the window. “I feel bad.”

“Don’t,” he commanded, shaking his head. “I’d leave anyone to have a chance at talking to you again.”

You tried not to melt at his words, tried not to put stock into them, but was it possible that five years could have changed him? Could have made him realize that you truly loved him, and that it was all you ever wanted to do?

“So,” he began as the two of you made your way through the downtown neighborhood towards your apartment complex about a mile away. “I guess I want to say sorry first and foremost.”

You turned your head to watch him, his eyes fixed forward while his hands twitched in his pocket.

“I…I was scared,” he confessed, his voice softer, more vulnerable as he glanced at you. “You loved me in a way that I’ve never been loved before, and that was scary. I never thought—I don’t know. Never thought I deserved it, so I turned myself into someone who didn’t. But, I really need you to know that I loved you, too. I just didn’t know what to do with it. Didn’t trust myself with it, I guess.”

“I did,” you replied, bumping your shoulder against his. “I trusted you with it. But I could see the fight going on inside, and I could see that I was losing. I didn’t know why I was losing. It seemed so simple to me—I love you and you love me so why can’t we just be together? Be more than these two friends who fuck?”

“Yeah—“ He swallowed, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I was…young and stupid. I wish that was a better excuse.”

At your doorstep, you turned to him with a twisted smile, unsure of what to do next. You’d talked through the wounds you left on each other as best as you could with a few drinks in your system, but what came next?

“So…” you started, swaying a bit as you looked up at him. Frankie’s smile turned boyish as he looked down at you, a chuckle escaping his lips as he tucked his hands into his pockets.

“Would, uh…” He bit his lip as he paused to reconsider his proposition. “Would you maybe want to grab breakfast tomorrow? There’s this new diner on 32nd street—“

“Oh my god, Brownies?”

“Yeah!” He laughed, your eyes locking as the two of you wondered how many times you must’ve missed each other in this small town. “I go there every Sunday with Caro.”

Oh, how you missed his baby girl. She was only three when you’d last seen her, making her eight years old now. How time flies.

“I go every Saturday,” you admitted with a chuckle. “Would I be throwing off your schedule by making you go two days in a row?”

“No,” he assured. “Any excuse for chocolate chip waffles, I’ll take.”

You laughed and nodded, looking down at your feet.

“Well, in that case, yes. I’d love to.”

“One more thing, and feel free to say no—“

“Can you kiss me?” you interrupted, watching as his smile grew into a grin.

“You beat me to it,” he laughed.

“Is that a yes?” you asked with a girlish and flirty smile. Frankie’s hand found your jaw, cradling it gently as he leaned in slowly, the anticipation burning in your belly. When his lips met yours, you swore you’d died and gone to heaven. It was as if nothing had ever changed between the two of you, that spark that only he could light inside of you quickly turning into a flame as you melted against him, clutching at his flannel. When he pulled away, you almost whined. Frankie smiled and rested his forehead against yours.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For all this lost time.”

“We can make it up,” you assured with a smile of your own. “Starting tomorrow.”

“See you then, baby.”

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[ask-lute]

Ouroboros

Part 1. Another Halo to Grieve

*TW: Mentions of Sui and SH*

Lute stands bleeding from the wound left in her back by Phil the egg. She finds it hard to stand, she was prepared for a fight but not to lose the element of surprise much less have it reversed on her. From the edge of Samson's Glade she sees a light, the light of the Seraphim. Her heart drops. *He even tipped off Sera? Fuck...fuck fuck fuck!* Using what little strength she has, she takes off flying low to avoid the sight of the Seraphim. Her heart is pounding, her back is in searing pain and unable to heal quickly from the angelic steel.

“Fuck! I...I've got to get to V...” She says frantically, knowing that Vienna has some medical knowledge.

As she touches down at Vienna's she notices the door ajar, much as she left it when she fought with her. A sinking feeling falls over her as she remembers Vienna's state the day she left in an angry melancholic rush.

“V? A-Are you here?” Lute's breathing is labored by the stab wound and her voice is just a squeak compared to her normal commanding tone.

She looks back at the golden blood spots she's tracked into V's house. *I'll have to clean that later, I can't let V. do that, she's been through so much. *She staggers to the kitchen hoping to see Vienna as she rounds the corner, but again it's empty, just like her own home had been over the last months until Sadie and Vienna came into her life. Her mind fills with shame at how she treated V the last time they saw one another. Calling her a sinner, telling her she should have stayed in hell? She wonders why she had such an emotional reaction to Vienna's words. *Do...I still love her? No...that's not...I mean not like that. *

“Vienna? I n-need your help! I'm hurt! Are you u-upstairs?” She says, her voice a pained whimper almost. “I'm c-coming up, l-listen I know you're probably m-fuck-mad at me, but I need your help!”

The creak of the stairs sound like thunder in the quiet house, her blood trail staining every stair along the way.

“V, please! I'-I'm sorry okay?! Just help me, and I'll get out of your life forever if that makes you happy!” She summons her all of her strength to yell up the stairs.

It becomes increasingly harder to keep her balance. She places her hand on her wound to put some pressure on it. As she reaches the top of the stairs she sees Vienna's door wide open, Her hand braces against the wall as she makes her way to the door. The blood left on her hand from touching her wound makes the empty hall shine with a dim morose yellow from the golden blood.

“V, please I-” Lute says as she rounds the corner to V's room where she's met with Vienna's limp body and a puddle of blood surrounding her. Her eyes widen and she rushes to V's side but as she touches her former friend's cheek the stone cold feeling of V's normally warm flesh induces instant panic.

“No. No. No...you didn't, no no no no, you were in Heaven, paradise, you wouldn't have, please no, not you...”

Lute looks at the body of her friend,

she treated her so poorly and didn't even get the chance to plead for her forgiveness. Her eyes drift to Vienna's bloodstained halo. *How many halos will I have to mourn?* The pain of her stab wound brings her back to reality. There's only one person to turn to now. Sadie. She doesn't want to get her involved in this but where else can she turn? There's only one person she trusts so completely.

“V...I'm sorry...so sorry.” Lute says as she grips Vienna's halo and tears form in her eyes. She tries to focus on the moment at hand. Lute grabs Vienna's sheet from her bed and rips enough off to wrap around her back to attempt to stop her bleeding. As she opens the window to fly off she glances back at V.

“I... I'm sorry I was such a shitty friend.” She says before taking off towards Sadie's apartment still watching out for the Seraphim as tears fall like rain from her eyes.

Art courtesy of @your-favorite-therapist

[eos-aurora-rise]

“It’s not so bad.”

And it wasn’t. It had all the clinical neatness of Percy’s room back home, just with less furniture. What Percy lacked in bed frames and side tables, he made up for in stuff; there was no other word for it.  

Ginny stepped over a stack of books which were balanced bizarrely a foot in front of the door. The top book was titled ‘Laws and Regulations of Quidditch’ - Ginny had read that one before. She trailed her fingers over the words as she made her way further in, kicking her shoes off before stepping onto the thick shag rug that she happened to know he’d filched from his room at Hogwarts.  

“Yes, well. I’m working on it.” 

He sounded particularly flat these days. Ginny glanced up at him over her book. He sat cross-legged on the sofa, a laptop balanced on bony knees as he tapped away at it halfheartedly, even as his eyes darted critically around the living room.  

Things were different after the war. The ministry was still in crisis mode, all cylinders firing while they attempted desperately to clear out all of the death eater-flavoured corruption that had been festering for decades. It meant holding trials for convicted criminals, while unconvicted criminals sat in the stands judging them. It was an utter mess.  

Harry had spent the last year sitting in on nearly every single one. He wasn’t a man suited to politics in any way, but he fought diligently to protect the people who didn’t deserve to be there, and name everyone he knew who did.  

He’d gotten Draco Malfoy out of a sentence in Azkaban, and had dropped his mother’s sentence down to a few years of house arrest. Ginny personally thought that Azkaban was a waste anyway, on account of them having no soul to be sucked out, but upon voicing that she’d gotten a chastising look and much good-hearted explanation about difficult situations.  

Ginny knew difficult situations. She’d raised and led a rebellion among children who were tortured for failing to be soldiers. Draco Malfoy had kissed the shoes of Voldemort and left them to die.  

Whatever. There was a reason that the ministry let Harry sit in on their trials, and not Ginny.  

“Working?” 

“Trying to. Drinks are in the fridge.” 

“Muggle.” 

Percy sent her a scathing look. She grinned, stepping over even more plastic files and loose leaves of paper as she stepped into the small kitchen.  

While the ministry busied itself with self-destructing under the watchful eye of the Chosen One, Percy had quit. It was about the closest he’d come to having a spine in his entire life, as far as Ginny could remember. She wished he’d done it a bit earlier, but going by the haunted look in his eyes that had seared itself into her brain some time around them wrapping Fred’s body in blankets to carry it out of the great hall, so did he.  

“What shit is this?” Ginny groaned, popping the fridge door open.  

Percy didn’t do well with boredom. He needed to have his time effectively filled or he went mad. In the immediate aftermath of the war, he’d disappeared. He’d cut himself off, vanished into nothing. Mum had torn herself to pieces over it. Losing two sons at once was… well, more than any of them could handle.  

When he’d finally turned up on their doorstep with the general air of a cat who’d gotten caught in the rain, it had been with an offer from a muggle university and the hope that he could work in the muggle government. After the screaming and crying and fighting, Ginny had settled herself on the edge of the bed and asked him what had changed.  

He’d said ‘everything’, and they’d left it at that.  

“It’s effective. I’m poor.” 

He’d picked up all sorts of muggle quirks. Ginny was getting used to it.  

“‘Vodka’? What the fuck even is that?” 

“Take a shot of it. It tastes like shit and it burns the whole way down, but you’ll be drunk in 10 minutes.” 

Ginny studied the bottle curiously. Sounded good to her. She reached into the cabinet above the sink, plucking out a couple of shot glasses before picking her way back to the sofa.  

It took a little skill balancing them all in one hand, but she eventually managed to effectively free the other hand long enough to slam Percy’s laptop closed on his fingers. He hissed a few nasty insults, but took the hint and slid it onto the floor, grabbing his glass from Ginny with no small amount of irritation.  

“Alright.” Ginny began, topping their glasses off with the clear liquid. It smelled foul, harsh and chemical, but she didn’t complain. “What is it.” 

It wasn’t really a question anymore. They often talked about the same thing. Percy wrinkled his lip, though whether it was at the ‘vodka’ or the memory, Ginny wasn’t sure.  

He knocked it back with practised skill, coughed a little, and sighed. “He bought me dinner.” 

Ginny closed her eyes. Of course he did. She could just about picture Oliver Wood’s face in her mind's eye. He was usually windswept, sweaty, bright red in the face, and grinning like a madman. She didn’t see him off the court often, considering they were so far apart in years, so that had always been the image that stuck with her. Passably handsome, but not her type.  

She pressed the shot glass to her lips, braced herself, and tossed it back as quickly as she could. Percy was right. It did burn.  

“God, that’s fucking awful.” She choked, but Percy, who had been staring unseeingly at the wall the whole time nodded solemnly.  

“Isn’t it? I don’t know what to make of it. It feels important.” 

Ginny swallowed against the urge to keep coughing and blinked at her brother through teary eyes.  

He looked horrid. Pallid and gaunt, half-dead in his seat. He was working himself to the bone, trying to make up for all of the things that he did, the people he let down. Like the rest of them, he carried Fred’s weight on his shoulders, the feeling that he could have done something but didn’t just as heavy in his heart.  

He wanted to believe that he was helping in whatever way he could, and if it took the very life from inside of him to do it, then that’s what he would give. It was a big part of the reason that Ginny was even bothering to drag herself around muggle transportation to visit him so often. Nobody else would.  

He hadn’t been cut off, per se, but no one was going out of their way to see him. He visited home for Sunday dinner, just like the rest of them did. The only difference was that Ginny went out drinking with Ron often, and went to the muggle movies just a few weeks ago with George, and even travelled to Romania to spend the week with Charlie at the dragon centre. She babysat for Bill and Fleur every other week on Thursday.  

And Percy sat in his flat, on his own, drinking and working. Unless he went out for food with Oliver Wood.  

“Well, it doesn’t sound like ‘nothing’.” 

That’s what Wood had called it last time Ginny had been over. The flirting, and the pining, and the endless drunken complaining. All nothing. Within a few days, Percy had gone from nervously pink, even managing a bit of a smile when Ginny got him drunk enough to admit how handsome he found Wood, to this. Grey, tired, monotone.  

“Merlin.” Percy sighed. “I feel foolish every time. He hurt me, and I still leapt at the chance to go out with him again.” He held his shot up, and Ginny dutifully refilled it. “But I can’t quite tell him to bugger off either.” 

“You need to be clearer, Perce. About what you want from him.” 

He looked desolate. Ginny hated Oliver Wood.  

She hadn’t always gotten on with Percy. She was more like the twins, fiery and angry and mischievous. Her accidental magic manifested as pranks so often that they’d called her the triplet. Percy had begged on his knees for a week before mum agreed to put a charm on his bedroom door that stopped Ginny from sneaking in to set his socks on fire, or make his duvet wrap him up and drag him down the stairs.  

She’d thought he was a boring, stuck up, bastard of a brother. And then she’d thought him a foul coward.  

Now, he was barely a smudge on the sofa of his new apartment, 20 minutes away from a muggle university campus, drinking disgusting ‘vodka’ and mourning his fragile, fractured relationship with Oliver fucking Wood.  

Ginny had worshipped him once, the picture of the athlete she wanted to be. Now, in the burnt-out wreckage of the wizarding world, her priorities had shifted. She had learned to love her brother again, and she hurt to see him suffer like this.  

“What if I don’t know what I want?” 

“You have to figure it out eventually.” 

“What if I decide I want nothing to do with him?” Percy asked, finishing another shot as Ginny prepared her own. “If I just make him stop tugging me around.” 

“Is there much tugging going on?” Ginny asked, voice innocent as though she wasn’t hiding a smirk behind her shot. Percy went a little pink, lips pursed in distaste.  

“Absolutely not. Not since… well.” 

Ginny hummed in understanding. Percy had been utterly pissed when he divulged that particular piece of information.  

They hadn’t gotten close quickly. It had started awkward and stilted. Percy wasn’t interested in fixing things in the family. He wanted to slip away unnoticed and forget any of it had ever happened, to ignore the wounds until they finally killed him. Ginny had been absolutely determined to make him remember, no matter how painful it had happened to be.  

One of them had managed to convince the other that it would be easier if they were drunk, though Ginny couldn’t remember which of them it was, exactly. They’d barely been upright when Percy managed to slur out a small truth - Oliver Wood of all people had pressed him into castle walls and kissed him senseless in their sixth year. They’d been on and off, close and distant, ever since.  

On a particularly low night, Percy had invited him over to spend the night. Things had gone cold for months after. Ginny listened patiently, stomach turning dangerously as she’d stared into her beer, the frightened, scarred words of her least favourite brother ringing painfully in her ears.  

He’d kept it short, constantly cutting himself off. The more intimate it got, the more professionally he spoke. He described his relationship to Penelope Clearwater clinically, voice flat. I never loved her. I knew I never could.  

Ginny thought of Harry. He was bigger than the world sometimes, too bright to look at. He had big ideals. He’d walked out of the war with this deep desire to change things, to protect the people who’d survived it all, to make the world better. He’d dropped out of Auror training to get a teaching degree. He’d run a couple of speeches through newspapers before deciding he hated the attention.  

He was a mess, essentially, but a beautiful one. Nothing could slow him down. Meanwhile, Ginny was stumbling to keep up with him. She’d taken a year off her Quidditch training to mourn Fred. She spent long days cradling her mother’s tear-stained face, and burned through her clothes when she forgot she was ironing them. The world had slowed to a crawl. She couldn’t keep up.  

She thought about how she admired Harry, in all his fierce determination to save the world. It had made her want to keep fighting for it. When the Carricks flicked a curse at her, she thought of him. If Harry could, she could.  

“Well, what about you? Any- tugging?” 

Percy made a face when he said it, like he was sucking on a lemon. Ginny laughed, knocking back another shot. It was still harsh, but the faint haze across her eyes softened it. Percy had been right - it worked quickly. She sighed.  

“None. I haven’t the faintest of how to ask her.” 

Percy huffed, leaning his shoulder into the back of the sofa. Ginny had thought about it a lot. Maybe she’d mistaken admiration for love. Maybe she’d mistaken friendship for something more. Maybe the quiet fascination at Luna’s stories, and the way the light filtered through her pale hair, and the little crease at the corner of her mouth when she smiled in satisfaction - one which didn’t appear when she smiled in excitement - maybe all of that wasn’t platonic observation.  

So no, Ginny and Percy hadn’t gotten close quickly. But there was something about being the only gay siblings among 7 that helped the process along quite a bit.  

“Buy her something. Something pretty.” 

“She’s not very material, Perce.” 

“For Merlin’s sake.” He hissed, flicking Ginny’s knee. “That isn’t the point. It’s not about the thing, it’s about the thought behind it.” 

“Surely it’s more thoughtful of me to not buy something she won’t want? And besides, I don’t see you buying Wood anything.” 

Percy sighed shortly, studying the empty shot glass in his hand with enough intensity to smash it to pieces. “I’m not spending money on that bastard.” 

“He spent money on you.” Ginny pointed out, immediately receiving a nasty glare in response. After a moment, it faded.  

“I suppose.” 

“That’s your in. You can tell him you owe him a meal or something. Find a way to spend the day with him.” 

Ginny didn’t have any trouble inviting Luna out for the day. She was happy to go wherever Ginny pleased, smiling all soft and pretty as she always did. She had a story to tell about every stone, every flower, every new face they passed. The problem lay with drawing the line between friendship and romance.  

Percy was almost the opposite. It seemed that the only interactions he managed to have with Wood were flirty and charged. Actually getting to know each other was the only hurdle they had.  

“Maybe. But I’m busy.” 

“Percy.” 

“I said maybe, didn’t I? Merlin.” He grabbed the vodka from Ginny’s hand, filling his glass quickly. “It’s so bloody difficult.” 

“Welcome to homosexuality.” Ginny offered, ignoring the nervous flash of Percy’s eyes when she said it. She was working carefully on making him a little less afraid of words like that. His own insecurities were just as much of a hurdle as Wood’s apparent inability to commit to anything. Well, they were all recovering.  

If Ginny was braver, and Luna less agreeable, and Percy more self-actualised, and Wood more confident, maybe they’d all be happy. But war did funny things to people.  

Silently, Percy topped off Ginny’s shot and clinked their glasses together.  

“Cheers to that.”  

[letthewhumpbegin]

Spark, chapter 1 - Shadow & Bone / Six of Crows

Fandom: Shadow & Bone, Six of Crows Characters: Wylan van Eck, Jesper Fahey, Kaz Brekker, Inej Ghafa Prompt: this was written for the prompt "Caught in an Explosion" off my @badthingshappenbingo card. (Card at the bottom of this post). Word count: 3877 Warnings: mentions of burns, blood, painful wound treatment.

A/N: this is chapter 1 of 2. Second chapter will be posted asap!

My Writing masterlist

He smelt it the moment he set foot into his lab. Fire. It was a scorching smell, combined with the scent of two chemicals that could not be safely mixed together, let alone be exposed to an open flame. 

Wylan immediately knew he had walked into a trap. A death trap more like it, because he was sure the entire place would blow up soon. And he doubted he would still have enough time to get out of there. 

In the end, Wylan didn’t even get the chance to properly turn around. He had maybe moved a toe when his ears caught the distinct sounds of ignition, and Wylan instantly knew he was going to get caught in the inevitable blast. 

The explosion went off with such a force that it blew Wylan clean off his feet, slamming him onto the floor a few meters back. He instinctively curled up into a ball, making himself as small as possible, but still felt the flames from the explosion lick at his arms and sides. Shattered glass and wood splinters from items destroyed by the blast rained down on him, and he felt at least two larger shards of debris embed themselves into his back. 

Wylan couldn’t help but scream out in agony and fear. The pain was like nothing he had ever felt before. So intense, so all-consuming, so… very possibly lethal.  His scream was followed by a coughing fit as he inhaled a lungful of ash and smoke, hurting his already battered body even more. 

After the deafening roar of the explosion, there now was near silence. Apart from a few small, crackling fires across the room, nothing made a sound.  Wylan slowly, excruciatingly unfurled himself a little. He was covered in cuts, and despite the jacket he wore, his right arm, shoulder and side were quite heavily burned, the flames having seared through the fabric. 

“O-ow…” Wylan whimpered, tears of pain welling up in his eyes. He realized that he couldn’t move, the pain was simply too much. He was utterly helpless. If whoever set this trap came looking at the results now, Wylan would have absolutely no way to flee or defend himself. No, his only hope was that one of the other Crows had heard the explosion and would come looking first. 

Even though his ears were still ringing from the blast and his consciousness fleeting, Wylan still caught the sound that instilled even more fear in him: the creaking and groaning of wood.  He managed to slightly turn his head and stare glassily up at the roof above him. The wooden support beams were severely damaged in the blast, and at least one of them looked like it would give out soon. For the first time, Wylan fully realised he might actually die here.  The wood creaked ominously again, and the beam right above Wylan was already starting to bend through. Wylan’s breath caught high in his chest, letting out a strangled whimper, as he knew what inevitably would happen. 

Again, the groaning and creaking sound of the beam losing its strength filled the room, but this time the thunderous sound of part of the roof collapsing followed.  Wylan just managed, with great effort, to curl himself up again and raise his arms protectively over his head, but he was painfully aware of the roof collapsing on top of him.  Yet more excruciating pain filled Wylan’s body, until he was absorbed by the infinite darkness of unconsciousness, and Wylan knew no more…

---

“Did you hear that?” Inej hurried into Jesper’s room at the Slat without even knocking or waiting for him to invite her in.  “Bit hard to miss, isn’t it?” Jesper stood in front of the window, looking at the big plume of black smoke rising up from somewhere a few streets away. Shortly before a loud explosion had rocked half of Ketterdam on its foundations.  Inej came to stand next to Jesper, watching the smoke rise up with a frown on her face.  “Isn’t Wylan’s lab in that direction?” She finally mumbled.

Jesper went rigid beside her. She was right… Why hadn’t he realized that? Wylan’s lab wasn’t just in that direction, Jesper concluded with a shock, that was Wylan’s lab.  “Oh, Saints!” Fear gripped at Jesper’s throat. If anything had happened to Wylan, Jesper needed to be there. Help him, protect him, hold him. 

Jesper ran out of his room and dashed down the stairs as fast as he could.  “Jesper, wait!” Inej ran after him. “You can’t just go over there. Who knows what happened! You, too, have heard of all the threats against us, you could be walking into a trap!” Jesper came to a halt halfway down the second flight of stairs, whipping around to face Inej.  “I can go there, and I will.” His voice was choked with emotion. “This is Wylan we’re talking about. If that explosion has anything to do with him, I’m going over there.”

Inej had never before seen this much fear in Jesper’s eyes. She knew of Jesper and Wylan’s relationship, but for the first time she fully realized how much the two meant to each other.  Inej took a deep breath. “At least let me go with you.” Jesper nodded quickly. “Only if you hurry up.”

---

All the while they ran through the streets of Ketterdam, Jesper held the faint hope that they had misjudged the location of the explosion, and they would find Wylan’s lab intact and Wylan himself in the crowd of spectators of the blast elsewhere.  But, alas. As soon as they turned into the street, all of Jesper’s hopes were crushed. The building where Wylan’s lab used to be was emanating smoke, and parts of the roof and walls had collapsed. 

“Wylan!”  Without any regard to his own safety, Jesper scrambled over the debris and into what was left of the building. Inej followed closely after him. 

They both came to a halt in the middle of the smoldering mess.  “Do we even know for sure he was here?” Inej tried to sound hopeful.  Jesper nodded determinedly. “He left my room not even an hour ago to go here.”

All hope either of them might have had, dropped to the bottom of their shoes. How could anyone survive a blast like this? And even if Wylan managed to somehow survive the explosion, there still were fires everywhere and collapsed parts of the walls and roof.  “We’ll find him.” Inej assured, although she wished she’d sounded more confident. 

Both Jesper and Inej searched frantically through the rubble, overturning every piece of debris that wasn’t too big or on fire.  Jesper was about to think of the possibility that Wylan hadn’t been here after all, when he saw it. A hand, just visible under the pieces of stone and one of the large wooden support beams from the roof. 

“No…” The word was a sob off his lips. “Inej, over here! Help me move this.” “Saints.” Inej gasped when she saw what Jesper had found. “Is he alive?” “I don’t know,” Jesper’s voice was small and he sounded oh so scared. 

It took a lot of effort, but finally Inej and Jesper managed to move the heavy support beam and finally reveal Wylan.  Being amidst the rubble seemed to have saved Wylan at least somewhat, since the beam had landed mostly on pieces of collapsed walls on either side of him, instead of fully crushing Wylan. 

Jesper earned himself a few bruises as he fell to his knees beside Wylan. He needed only a second to see the demolition man’s injuries and how severe they were. Behind him, Inej gasped audibly. She had seen it, too.  “Wylan?” Jesper’s voice broke. He gently reached for the pulse point of Wylan’s neck. A sobbed sigh of relief escaped Jesper as he felt the vein thumping against his fingers. It was only weak, but at least it was still there. Wylan didn’t respond in any way. 

“We need to get him out of here.” Inej’s voice sounded equally small at the sight of the severely injured Wylan. “It’s not safe to stay here.” Jesper knew Inej was right, but he didn’t know exactly how he was supposed to do that. His gaze roamed over the burns to Wylan’s arm, shoulder and side, the shards of glass and wood splinters embedded in his back, and the many cuts littering Wylan’s face and hands. “Okay…” Jesper had to swallow away a lump in his throat. He had to man up now, for Wylan.  Inej shortly rested a hand on Jesper’s shoulder. “Take him back to the Slat, I’ll find Kaz.” Without another sound Inej disappeared. 

Jesper’s hands hovered over Wylan’s unconscious form. How was he going to move Wylan without hurting him? Jesper soon reached the conclusion that there simply was no pain-free way to do this. All he could hope for was that Wylan would remain unconscious for it. 

Jesper carefully hooked his arms under Wylan’s knees and shoulders, and lifted him into a bridal carry. Oh, Saints, the kid was a lightweight! Even though Wylan was bleeding and desperately clinging onto life, it somehow comforted Jesper to hold Wylan’s body close to his. Blood stained his hands, but at least he felt the rapid rise and fall of Wylan’s chest against his own chest, confirming Wylan was still hanging in there for now. 

Suddenly, Wylan groaned and stirred minutely in Jesper’s arms.  “No, no, please.” This was exactly what Jesper feared would happen. Wylan slowly nuzzled his head against Jesper’s shoulder, his unruly mob of hair tickling Jesper’s neck. Normally, Jesper loved that feeling, but right now it was accompanied by Wylan’s ragged breaths and whimpers in pain, and it sent chills down Jesper’s spine instead. 

“Jesper…” Wylan breathed out, barely audible. He sounded so weak, so fragile, so broken.  “I’m here,” Jesper whispered back. “P–pain…” Wylan whimpered. Even barely conscious, this was the worst pain he had ever felt. He curled his hand around the fabric of Jesper’s coat for as much as he found strength for, seeking the comfort, the warmth, and hoping beyond hope it would bring some kind of relief from his misery.  “I know, I know.” Jesper tried to sooth. “I’m gonna make sure it goes away.” Wylan produced another fearful, agonised whimper, and Jesper felt him tremble in his arms once more.  “Give into it, Wylan, please.” Jesper almost couldn’t keep his tears in anymore at seeing Wylan like this. “Give into unconsciousness. Please… it will make the pain go away for now.”

Wylan pressed his head ever so slightly tighter against Jesper’s shoulder, before he went completely limp and sank away into unconsciousness again. 

---

Back at the Slat, Jesper immediately took Wylan up to his room. He was glad Wylan hadn’t been awake for any of the walk back, because it would have been anything but pleasant for him. Jesper had done his best to walk slowly, but the feeling of Wylan’s limp body in his arms scared him and made him break into an awkward run after all. 

Jesper kicked the door closed behind him as he stepped inside his room, Wylan still in his arms. The last thing he needed was looky-loos. Apart from Kaz and Inej, and the Healer they would undoubtedly bring with them, no one needed to know Wylan had made it out of the explosion alive. Or, at least, for now…

Jesper carefully lay Wylan down on the bed, with his back close to the edge of the bed and the injured side of his body facing up. Jesper swallowed away a wave of nausea as he was reminded of how cosily he and Wylan had shared this bed only hours ago, and how close to losing all of that he suddenly found himself. 

Wylan’s entire body trembled now with the shock of his injuries.  “It’s okay, calm down, I’m here.” Jesper ran an equally trembling hand through Wylan’s hair. “I’ll make sure you’re alright.” Jesper silently prayed to every saint he could think of for Kaz and Inej to hurry up, because he honestly wasn’t sure how much longer Wylan would be able to hold on. The younger man’s breaths were coming in short, rapid hitches, and in Jesper’s bright bedroom the burns to Wylan’s side, chest and shoulder looked even more severe. The heavy burns were melted together with the remnants of his clothing, and at least three large shards of glass had deeply embedded themselves into Wylan’s back. 

Jesper knew they needed to get Wylan’s jacket and shirt off for the Healer to get to work, and somehow Jesper felt obligated to be the one to do that.  He slowly reached under the pillow beneath Wylan’s head, and carefully pulled out the knife he knew Wylan kept under there. It wasn’t anything big, just a simple knife, but surely sharp enough to cut through clothing. 

Swallowing back another wave of nausea, Jesper slid the knife under the collar of what was left of Wylan’s jacket, and forced the blade to cut through the fabric. He allowed the pieces he cut to fall away, and where the fabric stuck to Wylan’s skin, Jesper very gently pulled it loose. 

When he had all of the jacket off and started on the shirt underneath it, Jesper could feel Wylan’s clammy skin against his fingers. Every tremble of the demolition man’s muscles reverberated into Jesper through his hands, almost as if he were trying to absorb all of Wylan’s pain and shock. 

Jesper was just prying the last piece of shirt free from Wylan’s back, when suddenly the door of the room flew open. Without even knocking, Kaz barged in, followed closely by Inej and a man in his late thirties Jesper recognized as one of Ketterdam’s most renowned Healers.  Kaz must have gone to great lengths to get this man to take on a job like this ánd secure his silence afterwards, but if anyone could save Wylan this Healer would be the one. Jesper felt a spark of hope again, and at the same time he felt grateful for Kaz’s effort. 

The Healer shook off his coat and rolled up his shirt sleeves.  Jesper scrambled to his feet to give the Healer space to start working on Wylan. He took a few steps back, folding his arms tightly across his chest as he watched. Fear still coursed through his body, which Jesper wasn’t even trying to hide anymore now. 

Jesper only vaguely registered the sound of a cane on the wooden floor as Kaz moved to stand next to him.  “What happened?” Kaz’s voice was laced with anger. Jesper knew that anger wasn’t directed at him, but it still sent a shiver down his spine anyway. Whoever was responsible for blowing up the lab and injuring Wylan would surely come to feel the full wrath of Kaz Brekker.  “I don’t know.” Jesper slowly shook his head. “I know of the threats against us, but this? Who would do something like this to him?” Kaz slightly cocked his head to one side. “I have my suspicions.”

For the first time, Jesper tore his gaze off Wylan and the Healer, and looked beside him at Kaz. All of Kaz’s features were set into hard lines, and the cold, vengeful look in the thief’s eyes was downright terrifying.  This was Kaz at his most dangerous, most ruthless, and Jesper was sure Kaz would single-handedly kill a few people over this tonight. And Jesper didn’t even mind that. This was Wylan they were talking about, and when it came to him, everything was justified. 

“I’ll find them.” Kaz stated curtly, yet confidently.  Jesper slowly turned back to watch the Healer work. “I know you will,” he mumbled softly, but he was sure Kaz caught it, “and I wish them a slow and painful death.” An evil smirk spread across Kaz’s face. “My specialty.”

Before either Jesper or Kaz could say anything else, they were interrupted by Wylan suddenly crying out in pain. Apparently he had regained consciousness and felt the pain again in all its intensity.  “A little help, please.” The Healer called over his shoulder.  “What’s going on?” Jesper leapt forward. “Contrary to what most people think, healing isn’t always a painless process,” the Healer explained, “I need someone to keep him still, so he doesn’t move too much while I work.”

Jesper didn’t even consider for someone else in the room to take this task, and immediately hurried around the bed. He sat down in the spot where he usually slept beside Wylan.  Wylan lay facing him, but had his face half pressed into the pillow. All his features were contorted in pain and one hand was balled into a fist around the bedspread. His entire body rocked back and forth as he desperately sought a way to escape the pain. 

“Hey, hey.” Jesper softly placed his hand over Wylan’s fist balled into the bedspread. “Calm down. I know it’s a lot to ask, but try to lie still.” Wylan shifted his head, opening his eyes to glance up fearfully at Jesper.  “It hurts,” he whimpered in between gasped, wheezing breaths.  “I know.” Jesper swallowed back the lump in his throat. “But it will only hurt for a little while longer. This man is a Healer and he’s here to help you.” Wylan released his grip on the bedspread and instead clenched his fingers around Jesper’s hand. “I c-can’t take it.” “Yes, you can.” Jesper soothed, giving Wylan’s hand a gentle squeeze in return. “You’re strong. It will only be a little longer.” Wylan’s eyes shone with fear and pain. “Don’t leave me alone.” “I won’t,” Jesper assured, “I would never do that.”

Jesper locked eyes with the Healer and shortly nodded his head for him to continue.  Immediately, all Wylan’s muscles tensed yet further and he whimpered in pain.  “It’s alright, squeeze my hand.” Jesper soothingly ran his fingers through Wylan’s hair, and allowed him to squeeze his hand half to mush. For the second time that day, Jesper found himself wishing for Wylan to pass out. But where Wylan had quickly lost consciousness earlier today, he didn’t now. Instead he was awake enough to experience every excruciating second of the Healer’s treatment. His pained whimpers and moans continuously filled the room, and his tremors almost shook the entire bed. 

Finally, after what felt like hours, the Healer pulled his hands away and stepped back. “All done.” Wylan was still breathing rather erratically, but at least he lay still now. He looked utterly spent and worn out, yet he seemed calmer. Where his wounds had been, the skin was now intact again, but looked red, like a severe sunburn. 

Jesper felt Wylan’s fingers around his hand slacken. He knew Wylan was still awake, even though he must be on the edge of unconsciousness. 

“What now?” Kaz, who had silently been watching from the other side of the room, asked the question everyone wanted to know the answer to.  “He’s no longer in life’s danger.” The Healer seemed slightly unsettled when speaking to Kaz, making one wonder exactly what Kaz had done to secure this man’s services. “But his body took a heavy hit. Where the wounds have been, it will feel to him like it’s severely bruised. The redness of the skin should subside overnight. And he needs complete rest for at least the next few days.” Kaz curtly dipped his head once. The Healer probably didn’t know it, but this was a generous sign of gratitude from the thief. 

Without another word, Kaz limped to the door and held it open as Inej accompanied the Healer out of the room. He closed the door behind the two of them before turning to Jesper.  “I’ll give you one chance to pull the trigger yourself.” Kaz’s intense glare left no room for interpretation: whoever had blown Wylan half to smithereens would be paying for it today, and not a minute later. 

Jesper slowly shook his head. No matter how tempting it was to have the opportunity to get his own revenge, he just couldn’t leave Wylan alone.  “I can’t leave him here by himself,” Jesper answered softly, “you go do what you do best… and give me all the juicy details later.” Kaz grinned devilishly. “All the details.” His voice was a low growl, yet full of a morbid excitement. Jesper watched after Kaz as he left the room, and almost felt a pity for whoever ended up on the wrong side of Kaz Brekker today. 

---

Wylan only vaguely registered people talking, before it seemed most of them left the room. But he was continuously aware of Jesper being close, and that soothed him.  The pain he had felt earlier was a lot less now, reduced to only a nagging uncomfortableness throughout his body. He could finally relax somewhat, although he felt absolutely exhausted. 

Wylan slowly opened his eyes just a crack when he felt a finger run lovingly across his cheek.  “How’re we doing?” Jesper’s voice was soft, full of concern and genuine care.  “So tired…” Wylan breathed out weakly.  “Any pain?” Jesper’s hand moved to run through Wylan’s hair.  “Not too much.” Wylan tried to lean into Jesper’s hand and soak up the love and comfort the gesture held.  Jesper smiled softly. “You and I are going to stay right here until you feel all better.” Wylan nodded minutely. “Sounds perfect.”

Jesper slouched down until he half lay, leaning his back against his pillows. He made sure to keep some space between himself and Wylan, because he was afraid that even the slightest touching of their bodies would cause Wylan pain.  But where Jesper did his best to not come into contact, Wylan was the one to seek it. His hand snaked over the bedspread, before coming to rest on Jesper’s stomach.  Jesper looked beside him, and found Wylan glancing up at him with those big eyes of his. The exhaustion was written into all his features, and so was the unspoken question for comfort and protection. 

“Are you sure?” Jesper asked softly.  Wylan nodded feebly. “Yes.” Jesper slowly moved himself closer to Wylan, allowing Wylan to carefully snuggle against him. Wylan whimpered softly as he rearranged his battered body, but blew out a satisfied breath when he could finally lay his head on Jesper’s chest.  Jesper once again ran his fingers through Wylan’s tousled hair. “Better?” Wylan hummed almost inaudibly, but Jesper heard it anyway. 

Wylan closed his eyes, his head resting on Jesper’s chest as if it were his pillow. The nagging pain throughout his body slowly moved to the background, and Wylan felt the pull of deep sleep, but somehow he couldn’t give into it yet. 

“Sleep.” Jesper’s comforting voice sounded lovingly, close to his ear. “I’ll keep you safe.” It was followed by a soft kiss pressed into Wylan’s hair.  Wylan hummed softly, satisfied. This time he gave in and let himself drift off to a peaceful, healing sleep. Because in Jesper’s arms, with his head resting on Jesper’s chest, he was safe. And no matter how scared he had been today, Jesper would always be his safe place.

[universalcollisionleaks00]

Universal Collision: Meet the Adventurer Support Assists!

Name: Framton

Class: 5★ (Secret)

Summoner/Duo: No

🎂Birthday🎂: No

Weapon Type: Fists (EX Weapon: Blaze Vambraces)

Current character status: Released

Info (From AFK Arena wiki)

Fire; the first light mortals had to counter the darkness. Upon mastering fire, mortals no longer feared the darkness. Illuminating darkness. Dispelling cold. Expelling monsters. As long as they had fire outside their homes, the mortals of Esperia believed the evil demons would be kept at bay.

Unfortunately for them, not all demons fear fire.

Since the day of his birth, Framton craved fire. He embodies the longing for flame possessed by all Esperia's living beings, a manifestion of their lust for fire. Lutos pooled the inborn desire of all living things for flame, their geed projected into a single being. Thus, a Hypogean fueled by a morbid fascination with fire was born into the Esperia.

In Framton's eyes, the flames were an ever-changing engima. Flickering, waning and blazing, he was fascinated by them, his urge to reach out and touch the burning brightness sometimes too much to contain. He was mesmerized. The burning of the fire was such sweet suffering, it stirred within him a frightful and deadly elation. Instinctively, he inhaled the flame before him, fizzling, he followedthe searing sensations as it coursed his being.

Driven by insatiable lust, he searched high and low for more fire, any fire. Natural fire, mortal fire, magical fire... all were inhaled, drawn into his being to become a part of him. As he grew stronger, his tastes became more refined. He came to sample the quality of the flame by burning himself. Only flames capable of burning his body were fit to be devoured.

Framton's standards became ever higher, so much so that little satisified his tastes. He came to roam the world, seeking the purest, uniquest of flames, desperate to sate his hunger. After prolonged research and experiments on flame, Framton realized that only a certain few very rare and special fires were capable of producing such pure flame, and that such pure flames could not be obtained through any kind of synthesis. Thus, he turned his attention to fire-born species... Phoenixes.

It is said the Phoenix folk possess the purest of flames, a legendary fire inherent exclusively to their species - the Solaris Flare. It was only natural that Framton became obsessed with finding and devouring this legendary flame. Through years of devoted searching, his perseverance paid off. Framton found the home of Phoenix folk, and one by one, massacred them all, with Talene's mother amongst them. However, having consumed these supposed-legendary flames, he now realized these were not the flames he hoped they would be.

Framton's hopes were crushed, he immediately descended into an ebittered restlessness. He wanted that Solaris Flare, but not a single crumb could be found. Enraged and dismayed, he incinerated all that surrounded him, bathing the land in a sea of flames.

One night, Framton rained down destrution on a village at the edge of the Dark Forest. The buildings collapsed amidst the all-consuming flames, the sky glowing an eerie purple hue. Everything was reduced to ash. Satisfied, Framton prepared to leave, when suddenly something at the edge of the flames caught his attention. A Phoenix Flower. A hint of residual magical power emanated from it, protecting it from the destruction of the blazing fire.

Plucking the bloom, Framton put it in his mouth, carefully discerning and assessing the residual magic essence on the bloom's petals. A rush of excitement filled him, the simultaneously familar and unfamilar taste of the bloom making him shake. This was it, the Solaris Flare. ertain of its extinction, he had all but given up on ever discovering it. But now, this changed everything! His flame of desire was rekindled, he wanted that Solaris Flare. He turned towards the Dark Forest, birth place of Phoenix Flowers, home of the final Solaris Flare.

"All I ever wanted is to see the purest fire with my own eyes. How beautiful would that be?"

(AFK Arena moment)

VC

Is there ought more beautiful than dancing flames? - Fire and Shadow type attack of user +500% (2 Turns) + Deploy Insatiable Gulfing Flame Zone

Skills / Abilities

Blazing Meteor - Combined Fire/Shadow type blunt attack on all enemies x2 (XL) + Shadow and Fire type resistance -10% (Max: -100%; 3 Turns) + Inflict Burn (3 Turns)

Burning Vengeance - Combined Shadow/Fire type blunt attack on all enemies x6 (XL) + inflict confusion (3 Turns)

(Passive) Flaming Feast - Power of user +50% (Max: +2000%) for every Fire/Shadow attack made permanently

Awaken Zone Effect:

Flame Engulfed - Shadow/Fire type attacks of all allies +1000% + Speed of user +500%

[satorisa]

Ozone and Petrichor

Rating: T

Summary: In which Throné and Hikari get caught in the rain after a late night at the tavern. Part of an art trade with @elementalsoup

Alternate Reading: AO3

*sighs wistfully*

鳴神の 少し響みて さし曇り 雨も降らぬか 君を留めむ [A faint clap of thunder Clouded skies Perhaps rain comes If so, will you stay here with me?]

- Man'yōshū, Book 11, verse 2,513

…

The stench of petrichor seared the back of Throné’s throat before she could even hear the storm outside.

She covered her nose as she left the tavern, hoping the lingering scent of her perfume would mask the foul odor of New Delsta in the rain.

Unfortunately, the base notes had long faded away.

“What’s wrong, Throné?” Hikari asked.

When the door shut behind them, the downpour boomed in Throné’s ears, and nausea began to well up inside her. She mostly blamed the smell, mentally cursing her sensitive nose, to avoid the bubbles of memories that resurfaced with each stifled inhale she took.

“The smell…” she mumbled.

“Is it too strong for you?”

She nodded.

Hikari fished a pouch from his pocket and tossed it to her. Its fragrance cut through the fetor of the rain as it traveled through the air. And when it landed, softly, in her cupped palms, all she could smell was the mixture of herbs inside it.

And all she could feel were the remnants of his warmth cradled in her hands.

“I didn’t pin you as a potpourri kind of guy,” she said, bringing the pouch to her nose.

“I’m not,” he replied, “but Castti made it for me. To calm my nerves.”

“Hm…”

Sleet began to pelt the ground. Throné nearly smothered herself with the pouch while Hikari turned away from her to watch the deluge.  In the meager lighting outside the tavern, she could see the awe in his usually stern profile, captivated by mere water falling from the sky.

“D’you like rain that much?”

“I suppose I do,” he answered. “It rarely rains in Ku and, when it does, it’s a light drizzle at most. So storms like this are always a sight to behold.”

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

Hikari chuckled. “You don’t seem to like rain all that much.”

“Rain’s fine. It’s just water at the end of the day.”

Throné met Hikari’s eyes. He could tell, despite her nonchalance, that there was something else there: another feeling stewing inside, curbed only by the fragrant herbs grounding her to that very moment.

She looked away from him, focusing on the hail bouncing at their feet. And when they finally came to a stop, they disappeared under the unrelenting torrent, leaving no trace of their existence.

Ah, how she wished that memories were just as transient.

She knew that, no matter how terribly she stumbled over her words were she to open up, Hikari would understand. Despite the difference in their upbringings, they could read the space between each other’s words with the same ease as walking. And, while, such a thought would assure most people, her closeness with Hikari specifically terrified her.

It was different from the intimacy she shared with Castti and infinitely more so than the kindred bond she shared with Temenos; she felt at home in her relationships with them. However, while she felt just as comfortable with Hikari, his earnestness effortlessly dredged up thoughts and feelings she would rather keep tucked away.

“Don’t force yourself to share if you’re not comfortable,” Hikari reassured with a smile. “But if you do want to tell me, take all the time you need. I don’t think the storm is letting up anytime soon.

The sleet stopped, and the sound of rain filled the silence between them. Hikari looked out beyond the awning. Throné looked inwards.

“It…kind of smells like blood, doesn’t it?”

Hikari sniffed the air before nodding. She had only mentioned her aversion to the smell briefly, yet Hikari sensed the weight of her feelings beyond that sentiment and knew that such a topic shouldn’t linger any longer in their conversation.

“It’s a good thing I had that pouch on me, then,” he said.

“Even when Castti’s not here, she’s still a godsend.”

Hikari laughed. Throné cracked a smile. And, in that moment, she forgot about the melancholy the rain had brought her. Before their mirth dissipated, thankfully, Hikari had recalled something.

“Were you there when Ochette said that the rain smells different from place to place?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell. What about it?”

“Osvald said that the smell of the rain depends on the environment you’re in. So the rain smells like that here because of all the development. Whatever he said after that was beyond me, though.”

Throné thought about the terrible squall on their way to Wellgrove and, only when Hikari mentioned it, did she realize how different the rain smelled there when its fresh scent returned to her. The cave they were stranded in that night had an earthy and musty bouquet, but it was so much more natural than the stench the herbs were warding off.

Compared to the verdant forest surrounding the cave, New Delsta had little greenery. The damned city was mostly cobblestone streets snaking through brick-and-mortar buildings so close together that it was suffocating; she would never return to this accursed place of her own accord. However, her journey had led her and her companions back here to investigate what laid beyond the locked door in the sewers. Her freedom was within her grasp, yet she continued to feel trapped by this artificial jungle forcibly imprinted onto her very being.

“Would you like a hug?”

She nearly dropped the pouch in her hands. Unable to string an appropriate response from the fractured thoughts in her mind, she automatically answered his question with a bewildered look.

Before traveling with the group, Throné was wary of physical contact. Every touch she shared with someone else, whether to seduce them for information or take their very life, was fueled by the intent to cause harm.

However, after all the time she spent traveling with her companions, she adapted to their physical idiosyncrasies: she linked elbows with Ochette, high-fived Agnea, drunkenly embraced Castti, received awkward side-hugs from Osvald, fist-bumped Partitio, and nudged Temenos. Each small gesture carried the trust they built up over the course of their adventure, showing how much these disparate lives had come to care about each other.

The only person in their group that still kept to himself was Hikari, but his amicable demeanor outside of meticulously maintaining his personal bubble made Throné think little of it. She chalked it up to him being royalty and filed it away as one of Hikari’s many quirks.

“Never thought you’d ever offer.”

“It’s just—it looks like you need one.”

Throné returned his scrutiny from earlier. Hikari met her gaze. His eyes were steadfast.

“Physical contact doesn’t come easy to me. Every time I touch someone, I’m scared that I’m going to hurt them. That I’m going to blink and, when I open my eyes again, someone I care about will be bleeding to death in front of me.” Hikari smiled. “And I have a feeling that, this time, words weren’t going to be enough to comfort you.”

“Like you said earlier, there’s no need to push yourself.”

“I know, but I won’t be able to move forward if I don’t try, right?”

Throné tucked the bag of herbs into the pouch hanging from her waist before pulling Hikari into an embrace. And he reciprocated, wrapping his arms around her surprisingly delicate frame.

This did not feel like the drunken hugs she shared with Castti: their similar heights and build made each hug feel just right. And every time Throné snuggled with the apothecary, she always smelled strongly of herbs that masked the faint, acrid smell of antiseptic that laced the threads of her clothes.

Hikari, on the other hand, was slightly taller with a lean frame that masked his muscular build, but his body melded with Throné’s perfectly. He smelled like the sun and sweat from their trek earlier, but he also smelled distinctly like Hikari, a scent reminiscent of the fresher notes of petrichor, that complimented the lingering aroma of the sachet of herbs.

He was right. This was more comforting than anything he could’ve told her.

Throné relished this moment, bracing herself for the moment Hikari would soon pull away.

He didn’t.

Hikari deepened the embrace, nuzzling his face into her hair. His unexpected boldness surprised her, and she stiffened in response.

“I guess, despite it all, I still am a man,” Hikari joked as his voice rumbled through Throné. “I know I should let go, but I can’t seem to want to.”

“It’s because you’re deprived.”

Hikari laughed. “I guess so, but—“ His hands traveled up to cradle her head, terrified and apologetic for something Throné couldn’t discern. “—it hurts seeing you like that. Somehow more so than anyone else. And, if I could, I wish I could take away all the pain you’re shouldering.”

“You’re only saying that because we’re friends.”

“Even if we weren’t, everyone deserves to be happy. Even you. Especially you.”

Tears began to pool at the edge of Throné’s eyes. The shockwave of his words alleviated the tension in her body as her arms tightened around Hikari, and she dug her face into his chest. When her tears finally escaped, Hikari’s robe soaked them up.

“…same to you.”

There was something extremely romantic about a prince and an assassin, after a moment of emotional intimacy, sharing a comforting embrace under the guise of the night. They stood in their dry haven, sheltered from the rain, as they continued to melt into each other.

But the romance of their moment ended when Throné began to yearn for something beyond a hug. It sometimes happened during jobs with marks she found aesthetically attractive, but such feelings were ephemeral. This was stronger, more dangerous than those transient spikes of adrenaline, and she didn’t know if she would’ve been able to restrain herself were they not in public.

They both pulled away, faces flushed despite the cool weather. Hikari cleared his throat while Throné grabbed the pouch of herbs, drowning herself in its scent to calm herself. This lapse of control had to be caused by the influence of alcohol, compounded by the fact that they were the last two from their party at the bar (again), laughing away and chatting into absurd hours of the night (yet again).

Throné could willingly admit to herself that she was falling for the prince. But this moment confirming that Hikari, to some degree, reciprocated her feelings made her instinctively reject them all the more.

A romance between a prince and an assassin? How could something so ridiculous ever come to be?

After they had both calmed down, and Throné shelved such an absurd thought, did they notice that the rain had let up.

Hikari stepped out from under the awning, enjoying the spray of water, before offering his hand to Throné.

“May I?”

This was a gesture of pure chivalry, spurred only by how late it was and how their conversation devolved. Nothing more, nothing less.

But, while still under the night’s domain, Throné would allow herself to indulge, sampling a taste of the freedom awaiting her by succumbing to her feelings.

“You may.”

She took his hand and, after intertwining their fingers, she stepped towards him. And so, huddled next to each other, they walked back to the inn, savoring their whims of fancy before they had to return to reality.

…

鳴神の 少し響みて 降らずとも 吾は留まらむ 妹し留めば [A faint clap of thunder Even if rain comes not I will stay here Together with you]

- Man'yōshū, Book 11, verse 2,514

[chronicparagon]

Why were you named the way you were? Is there a special meaning behind your name (or middle name if applicable)? Are there any certain scents, sounds, or textures that you like? What about ones that you dislike?

Tell us about something that's happened recently (asker can request a specific "vibe" to the story--happy, sad, annoying, funny, etc. if they wish).

A pop followed by a soft hiss of carbonation fills a moment of silence when Envy pauses with his questions. The metallic tab rises when a finger pulls it up and opens the chilled can in the woman's hand. Harmony is surprised, really. Envy doesn't speak much, but he is asking questions about her. Though his voice is soft and he pauses after every few brief moments. She doesn't answer right away, choosing to let him finish asking before she speaks.

Silver eyes watch him while she holds the freshly opened can of cola to her lips. Harmony sips her drink in silence, taking in those questions. The can return to the little side table placed by the window seat where she sits by the Little Killer's side. She lowers her head, deep in thought about those questions. The pitter-patter of rain tapping on cold glass follows the air of silence, but that will be fleeting when Harmony answers them.

"I have a few names, my given name, and the names my grandfather and great-uncle gave me when I was a child and as an adult. Mama and Dad gave me the name Harmony because it was a name meaning peace...Peace in our past and hoping for a brighter future. It also matches my last name." She scoots across the window seat closer to Envy. "I also have another name. When I was born, Grandpa gave me my first Lakota name. It's Ciqana Mato, which means Little Bear. I had that name until a few years ago when I graduated from high school. Traditionally, we may have our names changed from our actions, merits, or through ceremonies. My great-uncle, his name is Joseph...He gave me the name Mato Winyan to mark adulthood. That means Bear Woman in the Lakota language. I don't know if it fits me, but I like to think so...Bears are pretty cool." Harmony adds,

"My middle name...Mama gave me that one. Celestine is like this pretty crystal. Some people think it's fragile, but it's a strong rock. I guess she picked that because it sounds pretty, but maybe it also describes how I'm strong, too. Like bears..."

Harmony adjusts her position. She settles in between Envy's legs and slowly leans back until her back rests against his chest. The taut muscles beneath the clothing reminds her once more of what his loose clothes hide.

"I like the smell of the rain...The sound of it too. I love to listen to rain while I'm in bed under the covers. I like petting cats because their fur is so soft and hearing their sweet purrs. I enjoy petting animals in general, really. I like birds singing, the aroma of apples and cinnamon...And..." A nervous giggle follows her answer.

"I'm sorry if it sounds weird, but I like the smell of your jacket and hair. I like how soft your hair is too. It's feels almost like silk...And I like the feeling of your kisses and your hands." Harmony adds and lifts Envy's hand. She holds it in a warm, gentle grip. Her touch is a sharp contrast to the cold touch of his ghostly skin. Fingers stroke the back of his hand while she continues. "Let's see...What else...I like the smell of roasted marshmallows, like for s'mores. Those were one of my favorite snacks growing up. I miss eating campfire s'mores, but...I don't like how fire feels."

She remembers the hellish flames. They dug into her flesh like razor-sharp claws. The burns dove deeper and deeper to the bone. Searing, blistering, tearing her skin and feasting on it.

"It hurts...It hurts terribly...Sometimes, the pain returns. I don't think it ever leaves..."

Harmony remembers that fateful day...The day where she would survive, but with scars marring her tan skin. She isn't sure what Envy thinks of those burns. He has seen them before, but he never turned Harmony away. In fact, he seems to want her regardless of her imperfections. She certainly loves Envy, even with the slipknot marks around his slender wrists, ankles, and neck.

Harmony lifts Envy's hand close to her face. She lowers her head until her lips press a gentle kiss on his wrist covered by his sleeve. Then, she press the back of his hand to her cheek. The grip is tight enough to keep him there, but also gentle enough to let him go if the Little Killer chooses.

The woman doesn't want to focus on those ugly memories. It would be best to move on from it! That is exactly what Harmony does by answering his last question.

"Did I tell you what I saw yesterday? I went outside for a bit for fresh air. The sun was about to set, but it was still kind of hot and humid out. So, I didn't stay out for long. I looked out and noticed something blink. Then, there was another and another. I got so excited! They were fireflies! They are coming out now! They were flying about and glow now and then. That's one of the cool things about southern states like Mississippi. You get to see fireflies." Gray eyes light up as she tells Envy that story. A sigh follows that story and she tilts her head back until her gaze meets Envy's face. "But I don't think they will come out tonight. It's still raining...Not that I'm complaining. Rain is neat to watch, too."

@s-talking

[boudicastar]

Tony

The colors of my soul, once bold and vibrant

Began to fade and lose their brightness.

Shades of past, once well-defined, lost their light when I learned life is timed.

Memories cut too deeply, blurring good moments and bad,

Running them together,

Like watered-down paint on canvas, too thin to matter.

A caged horse was I until the gate fell down and I broke loose,

Slamming hooves into the track,

Running, running,

from the old haunts chasing my back.

I sought nothing but lighthearted means, acing the social climb but failing to be clean.

Nothing to fear but fear itself, I was numbed out and put reason on a shelf.

Giving nothing that was truly me, but taking and taking all I could see. What about me?

The faster I ran, the emptier I became, hollowed out, incapable of shame.

Getting higher and higher for long bouts of time, chasing that feeling akin to sublime.

Nothing made sense, so why stew? Stop thinking, no feeling, just do.

Run, run, faster than wind, chasing the rain and seeking a friend.

Someone to understand my soul on fire, just one person to pull me from the mire.

In my lost and crazy ritual of swirling through life,

A spinning jack on the blade of a knife.

Too fast to slow down and too quick to hear the sound,

The sound of warning in my ear, ears that were shut, shut out the fear.

Keep going! Don’t stop! I ran and raged until I saw

There was one thing that could kill me, my one great fall.

My wild heart pumping to the rhythm of stormy wind,

Stopped beating in that instant and shrank from within.

I fought to grasp my anchor, but my hand swept through a cloud.

“She’s gone,” they whispered. “My mom? NO!” I screamed out loud.

The angel of my existence, my only friend, my mother. Gone. Her time had reached the end.

A cruel shattering of bones and heart…gave birth to my rage and broke me apart.

Her lifeless body was my doom. Another gate broke loose, a flooding gate that hung my noose.

My numbed-out shell filled with wet rain, sloshing through the soaked out surges of pain. They were Unbearable and drove me to seek the blank and hollow through the swallow, through the drink.

Taste was at first the distraction for a false satisfaction, no power to cure the deeper darkness than Before.

My senses were dulling and sending me crawling, headlong down into a panicked falling.

I thought I’d overcome before, but now I could take no more, slamming them down, two by three, Attacking the hurt never helped so instead, I flee.

From the table and drinks, I pass through the door, run away as if there’s nothing left to say. Words Balanced on my tongue now slipped away, long gone. I’m drunk and matter to no one.

The one who saw me, the heart who knew, all I was and what I should do - she was gone, my anchor Detached, holding me to nothing, no tether to keep me from drowning.

One final drink had washed me away, one unstable step caused me to sway.

Then beyond expectation or realm of foresight, my life was blinded by a searing light.

Massive impact of stunning pain, I couldn’t run nor feel the rain.  

Darkness snatched me like a thief in the night, pulled me from life and out of sight.

It swallowed my body, the blood from my veins. No more running. God grabbed my reins.

Realization slammed into my chest, face down and crushed into less.

Less than who I dreamt I’d be, less than what she saw in me.

But then I looked up at the outstretched hand, a beacon in the dark to help me stand.

If I took it, would I still have regrets? Or would I move forward to heal and reset?

The one path seemed easier but it was much the same, with constant repetition and no growth to gain.

The other path looked difficult with unseen twists and climbs, but hope takes you higher when faith is Blind.

[exiled-eyes]

Never Task : 0 0 2        Nightmares

{ TW: Body horror, eye gore, mouth horror }

it isn't uncommon for Cecco to suffer from nightmares. Regardless of what they do before laying down, nothing prevents the nightmare from creeping into their skull. Warm tea? Nothing, but it is nice for their throat when they can get their hands on it.

The smell of burning oak and ignited ale fills their lungs, as though they were back on the cursed ship that they had lost so many loved ones to, are the first things to greet them. When their eyes open, the skies, which should be decorated with the silver glisten of the stars against the otherwise blackness of the night, was instead flickering with a radiant orange hue. Their stomach drops, faster than a corpse with cannonballs tied to their ankles. No. Not here. Not again. A tightness forms in their throat as the hand of fear crawls up their spine before firmly grasping the back of their neck. Just like that, it is in control, once again. In their nightmares, no matter how hard they try or how much they desperately attempts to sober up their comrades, even just a little bit, the drunken hold is never loosened.

Shaking, slapping and doing everything short of physically harming their comrades, the same response greets them. Cecco is either ignored, or scorched by the flaming mugs of grog that are raised towards them. Their throat tightens, stinging as the fumes of burning leather and paper begin to rise from below decks. Like a fireplace, cracking in a pub, inviting those from the outside to step in, the sound of splintering and cracking wood grows ever louder as more and more of the deck is engulfed in flames. Unable to get their comrades to acknowledge the danger surrounding them, Cecco pushes past the crew in hopes of finding something to use, anything that would help save their lives. They call out to those who are nearby, to any who can hear their voice, their call to arms, praying, damn near begging for someone to join them in their attempts to extinguish the fire that threatened to consume the ship. Bucket after bucket, they rush around the burning deck in an attempt to douse the hungry flames.

A hiss dissipates in to the air as they dump the water on to a trail that is leading to a barrel of grog.  It is a fruitless task as the water simply evaporates as soon as it leaves the pail. A plume of smoke that disappears in to the air, not even a drop will ever reach the ground. No matter how much they try, there is nothing they can do to even dim a small fire. Trying to spit on it only shows that they cannot produce any saliva from their dried mouth. No one seems to even notice them, or their efforts, for the crew is too caught up in the moment, cheering and drinking from mugs that burn no sooner than the grog leaves the charred cask. To watch their friends drinking from burning mugs, seeing the skin of their lips boil and melt, dripping into the fiery drinks, it is enough to make their stomach twist. Brothers and sisters in arms, attempting to then smile at them, with chunks of their noses caved in, entirely hanging off, or missing.  Their words turning in to garbled murmurs of what cannot be deciphered, what should not be heard by mortal ears.

As they search for any sane person, praying to Neptune that someone is capable of helping, they discover that Anna is plagued by the same affliction. Cecco's heart stops for a moment. She sways alongside their Captain, Bowen the Bloody, as the sails overhead begin to rain down blackened ash. What was once a symbol of their joy, now aglow with hellfire. They celebrate their bounty, oblivious to the searing heat that begins to surround them. It is always them, that go first. To watch the flames take hold of both Anna and the Captains pants before they are engulfed by the blaze that rapidly crawls up their bodies. Their silhouettes revealing through the bright fire, how quickly it will consume them all. For it takes very few moments before the two are nothing more than skeletal remains, the skin that is home to their numerous scars, each one a thrilling tale, melts away. Falling in thick clumps that mix with hair, and the smell . . god the smell. Bowen's face begins to slide, as though he were made of nothing more than pig fat. Anna is disfigured by the intense heat. It leaves unnatural dips in her arms and figure, as though something had taken large bites out of her.  In their last moments, they are waving their arms in glee before collapsing onto the deck. The two turn to look directly at Cecco. It is the first time anyone really notices them, the only moment where it not longer feels like a nightmare, but as though life before this had been a dream they were just awaking from.

Cecco's tortured screams are drowned out by the rest of the crew beginning to sing or laugh jauntily. The quartermaster falls to their knees, surrounded by their peers as tears attempt to fall from their features. Nothing comes, however. The  heat that is circling them immediately dries out their eyes, forcing them to hold their eyes tightly shut. The sounds that fill their head however, are much different than what they have seen. They can hear desperate calls for help, pleas, crying from their brothers in arms. A horrific reality where the illusion before them holds no power. Bartering with what possessions they had, crew members begged for the gods to spare their lives. People called out for Cecco, and yet, when they open their eyes, returning to their feet . . . the noise is replaced by the facade of singing and cheers. A reminder of how little, how insignificant, they really were, no matter how hard they tried. In this hellscape, they are the only one who can see the destruction of the ship.

A snow storm of ash and soot falls down from above. Burning pieces of the crows nest begin to fall towards the deck. Some pieces will fall on top of oblivious crew. If they are lucky, it will knock them out, otherwise, it will lodge itself in to their melting scalps. Shielding their face, Cecco listens to the laughs of the crew and clanking of metal mugs. For those who are drinking, their mugs are char, faintly glowing red as they embed into the palms that should only know the feeling of swords and pistols. They are rendered helpless to watch the skin of their crewmates slosh off, chunks landing on the caving deck with a sickening wet sound followed by harsh crackling. Stairs collapse, causing those who were leaned against the rails, to fall below deck, some pieces of them remaining on the upper deck or on the railing. A loud creaking grabs Ceccos attention, causing them to look up, only to discover that one of the mast has snapped, weakened by the raging inferno.  As it falls, towards them, a slightly familiar figure steps in front of them. Someone who once brought them such delight, made them feel as though they were able to have a home regardless of where they were, now brought nothing but fear and a desperate desire to flee. The sight is grotesque. Danik attempts to smile at his friend. Heat radiates off of his burning body, causing Cecco’s nostrils to flare as they struggled to breathe. Their friends hair has become tattered, singed and choppy. Pieces of his scalp having melted in to his neck, the long hair now decorates various parts of his body, like a monster. The brown eyes Cecco had always found warmth in were deflated, for they had burst and left mangled shreds of the vitreous body, dangling from the sockets. His jaw was hanging loosely, as though it were barely holding on.

No matter how hard Cecco tries, they cannot form a word. Each attempt to speak just fills their lungs with more smoke, and the desire to cough in an attempt to expunge it arises. Flames lick at Cecco's legs, the pain ricocheting up through their gut as Danik steps closer. The heat radiating off of their friend burns, causing their body to beg them to step back, to retreat in hopes of finding a cool breeze. But their body won't move. For they are paralyzed. Danik places a burning, mangled hand on the quartermasters shoulder. Warmth grazes Cecco's cheek as their friends hand melds with their own skin. As the burning mast prepares to collapse on top of them, a woman's voice calls their name. It is barely above a whisper, but it echoes as though the owner was surrounding Cecco on all sides. When they turn to look, piercing eyes are gazing from just over the railing of the ship. It is the blonde woman from the shores water. Locking with her gaze, their chest tightens, breathing becomes harder. Between wheezes for air, Cecco watches the woman disappear from sight, sinking back down in to the glowing waters below. The feeling of heat grows intensely, their eyes shut tightly, preparing for the crushing impact, and then-  and then, nothing. Shortly after, they will awake in a cold sweat, breathing hard and gripping at their pained shoulder.

[rubrumcalamumstyloscripto]

-It's late.I need to go to sleep.I have to wake up early tomorrow...

-I've never hated like this in my life.My blood sears through my veins my heart burns and my gut twists.I feel as though my neck is heating like a kettle and steam is blowing through my ears.To the point my head pounds and my body aches in pain.

-And as I write this the object of my distress moves around our shared room with arrogance I had not seen until I started despising them.

-It's maddening I moved the clock so if only I could give my body a few hours of rest.

-I feel myself decaying,and despite that everyday I wait and pray that the wrench that grants me no peace dies in a fire!

-No I have never hated like this,...I was filled with hope once,excitement!I spoke to strangers curtly and politely.I made friends and shared stories,thoughts,emotions,philosophies over a cup of coffee.I showened in both lectures and seminars and never missed a day!

-I dressed well even!Wore Mary Jane's and red lipstick.Colourful jewls ,rings,earrings,necklaces and an even more colourful perfume.Which always left a scent behind.

-Now I am lucky to have even brushed my hair,after all how far can a messy bun go?I don't even wear my birth earrings,in fear of being stolen.Rriped out of my very ears...I can't even get myself to wash my teeth.

Let alone perfume!

...

-When I first got here I was buying my books,fixing my things,going to the bank,grocery shopping.I felt...good.

-Yet it has only been a month and I've grown just as bitter as the old crones whom never had sons.

-The weather is harsh and unpredictable and so are the people.Some days I need only step outside for a moment and the rain has drenched me to the bone and others not even a light breeze to sooth the heat of a hot day without sun.

-The sun doesn't shine,whether stormy or bright there are only gray clouds above the city sky.

-Some days people speak to me with praise or awe at my abilities,not as a competent student but as an artist.And other days I'm just in the corner,because I feel alone even when people are around,they speak to me,but not with me.

-It gets pretty isolating.

-Travelling from city to city every weekend back and forth on a cheap taxi on an tedious road has taken toll.

-My hair has fallen,my joints crack in pain and I feel blood on my teeth.

-I am so tired...

-I am too anxious and I miss my family,my parents.I never thought I would be hitting rock bottom like this.I feel pathetic.

-God give me strength there is only so much I can take before I come see you.

[the-traveling-poet]

I love your writing style very much <3 , and this prompts me to ask you for something special in your format, after the battle is over. Levi confesses his love among the wreckage to y/n Showing their lives together afterwards .

At Long Last

As the rumbling comes to an end, emotions begin to run rampant as everyone takes in their newfound freedom.

The worldwide war was over now, leaving Humanity’s Strongest Soldier a lot to reflect on. But above every achievement they’d all fought so hard to obtain, Levi takes the most pride in seeing you still alive through it all and at his side.

Much has already been said in the past five years leading up to and during the war, but Levi still has one last thing to say.

And finally, after all this time of hiding and fighting, he can live out the truth in his heart and speak his mind.

Pairings: Levi x Reader

Warnings: Language, AOT spoilers!, character death, angst-to-fluff, SFW, Angst-to-fluff, cannon AU

Taglist: @21aurora @deepzombieyouth @braunsbabe

A/N: ofc annon! Ever since Saturday I’ve had a deep desire to write something like this, so thank YOU~ Pls the finale broke me mentally and I’ll never recover EVER. As always if what was written doesn’t meet your expectations, I’ll happily rewrite!

🤎Enjoy~

Thick dust rained down from the desolate sky like a heavy fog, settling upon the land and filling every creator marring the ground formed by the rumbling. Chunks of bone and rock littered nearly every inch of land for miles around, a bloody testament of the war now behind them.

For a moment, all was silent as the air began to clear. Slowly but surely, you could make out other forms lining the battlefield near you. Comrade, foe, titan carcass…You couldn’t be sure which was which.

You gripped the handles of your odmg tightly, ready to jolt back into action should the need arise. But as your vision cleared, and you noticed everyone present appeared just as dazed as you felt, you began to loosen your grip.

Doing a quick headcount, you were relieved to see Reiner and Gabi not far from you. Just behind you, you caught sight of Armin slowly standing from the rubble of his titan, dusting the debris from his hair and clothing.

You sheathed the handles of your gear back into your belt and attempted to become oriented once more with your surroundings.

Your hands and face were coated with a fine lair of dirt, and you suddenly remembered hitting the ground rather harshly as the colossal titan’s forms collapsed in front of you. How long you had lost consciousness for, you couldn’t be certain. But regardless, you thanked whoever may be listening in for your survival.

The ringing in your ears started to subside enough to hear a sudden groan off to your right by several yards. Spinning in that direction, a gasp caught in your throat and tears stung your eyes at the new sight before you.

There just before you laid Connie and Jean; fully human and fully alive.

Barely able to contain your relief, you nearly fell to your knees then and there, had a sudden thought not stopped you from moving.

They’re alive…My friends…Levi…

Panic closed off your airway, causing your mind to race frantically. Searing your immediate surroundings, you came up empty handed. He wasn’t here with the others…

You choked down a sob and forced your legs to move. One step at a time, you began your search in a hazy panic. Every heap upon the ground could be him, you reasoned grievously, so you checked every boulder and every heap of bones for any sign of your Captain. Though your legs aches and your chest burned, you couldn’t give up now. Not after everything.

Even around five minuets, when you were on the verge of a breakdown, your head spun with possibilities of Levi’s fate. Thinking the worst, your heart raced faster than it even had beat during the battle you fought only minuets before. And it wasn’t until a shuffle of movement caught the corner of your eye a moment later did you dare hope against all odds.

Rushing hastily towards the movement, you attempted to wipe away the tears now running down your face. Seeing the familiar straps of odmg, you finally loosed the sob building up in the back of your throat and raced forward. For there he sat; back rested against a pile rubble and staring off into the distance.

Hearing your cry, Levi’s gaze shot over to your quickly approaching form, recognition and relief immediately flooding his eyes.

“Y/N,” he rasped out, trying to turn towards you. But with the state he was in, he could hardly manage the motion.

Sliding to your knees before him, you cried out in relieved anguish. “Levi!”

His arms accepted your embrace before you even had time to register you’d thrown yourself into them. You gripped onto his shoulders as though your life depended on it and wept ugly tears against his chest, and he held you back just as tightly.

Minding his leg, you sat back onto your heels in front of him and attempted to clear your vision to fully take him in. He looked awful; battle worn and exhausted. But even still, seeing him now, you’d never seen a more beautiful sight.

“Oh, Levi…I found you…” You sniffled, a watery smile on your face. You leaned forward onto your knees to reach forward and move the stray hairs from his forehead. Levi leaned into your feather light touch, closing his eyes for a moment and sighing deeply.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he whispered, peering up at you with half lidded eyes after a moment. “You have no idea….I couldn’t….I can’t….”

“Shh,” you shushed him, wrapping your arms back around him tightly. “I’m here. You’re here. We survived.”

Content with your reassurance, he rested his forehead against your shoulder and allowed his arms to wrap back around you. You’d never seen him so vulnerable and open before; even after the thunder spear explosion incident. But right now, you’d happily accept it and enjoy the way he held you so tightly against him.

“It’s over now. We don’t have to fight anymore. We can live, and be free,” you whispered soothingly to him, your voice still shaking with emotions barely contained. You felt him prepare to reply to your statement, but his voice never reached your ears. Confused, you pulled back slightly to see his face, only to feel him tense up and pull you closer to his chest. You couldn’t see his face from this position, so instead of observing what he might be thinking, you decided to just ask.

“What is it?” You whispered against his shoulder.

“You’re right…We can.” He murmured, his voice muffled by your messy hair falling out of its band.

“We can be free. I can be free…with you.”

Again you tried to pull back to see his face, but he held you still against his chest.

“Y/N…I’ve done what I set out to do. I saw through the last command I was given. I…I don’t have to push everything else aside anymore.”

Hearing him mutter on under his breath, you were starting to wonder if he had a concussion. But when he suddenly pulled you back to look at him, the tears shining in his eyes were unmistakable.

“Levi…What do you mean?” you asked slowly, searching his face for any indication as to where he was leading this.

“Come on, L/N; you’ve always been one of my smartest cadets. You know what I’m talking about; you can’t have been blind all these years.” He scoffed, turning his gaze away momentarily. “Even if I did try to hide it.”

Memories of soft glances and suppressed emotions flooded your mind, causing an unbidden grin to fight for control over your face. Nestling your forehead against his collar bone, you couldn’t help but for a soft chuckle to escape you.

“Took you long enough. It took the near ending of the world for you to hint at your emotions to me.”

Pulling back, you gave him a loving smile. “Of course I knew. You did, too. And even if right now you won’t ask it, I think you already know my answer to your question.”

For the first time in months, you watched as his gaze softened as he looked down at you. His scared hand came up to cup the side of your face, his lips curling up ever so slightly into a smile.

“Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t ask. But given my reputation, that’s fair. I’ve waited long enough now. I’ve made you wait long enough now.”

You felt your heart pounding in your chest once more; this time from the adrenaline of joy rather than fear. What you’d secretly longed for, all these years later coming to fruition. Glancing down at the bandages covering half of his face, you brought a hand up and brushed them aside along his chin.

“That you have, Captain. Are you going to make me wait for you to ask?”

“I couldn’t be so cruel to you.” He huffed, yet a more prominent smile adorned his scarred lips. “So I won’t; will you stay with me, Y/N? Will you figure out this new life of freedom with me at my side?”

Tears stung your eyes and you found yourself at a loss for words, despite all the things you longed to say in reply. Instead, you merely nodded, biting back a teary grin.

“I will. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. I never have.”

Now, for the first time ever, you saw Levi smile. Actually, fully smile. And oh, how you’d longed to see such a sight. “Good, you’re the only one I’d want to tolerate after all this, anyways.”

You started to snicker at his typical Levi style reply, but the way he leaned in towards you ever so slightly made the humor die off immediately. You watched as his gaze flickered between your parted lips to your eyes; a silent ask of consent. But after all this time, how could you satisfy him with a verbal response?

Before he could close the gap between the two of you, you leaned in and beat him to it. He stiffened in surprise, but that hardly lasted a moment as his eyes closed and his arms tightened around your shoulders to bring you even closer.

The jolt of pleasant electricity sparking through your heart the moment his lips finally touched yours, you knew he felt it too. The briefest of contact from his gentle kiss was enough to send your heart into a flurry, and you couldn’t help but smile softly against his lips.

Finally. After so long.

Breaking apart, he drew in a deep a sigh. Giving you a loving smile, he gestured with a jut of his chin to a sight behind just behind you. Turning, your eyes clouded over once more with tears.

“Even after death, they can’t give us any privacy.” Levi chuckled.

There before the two of you stood the mirage of your fallen comrades, all smiling and saluting the two of you fondly. You both returned the salute, tears falling down both of your cheeks.

“They can rest now. And so can we.” Levi whispered, breaking his salute to pull you in once more.

═════════════════

Three years.

It had taken three years to afford the house you now resided in, and for the peace of the new normal your life had taken on to finally sink in.

Wrapped in a thin blanket, you hugged the cloth tighter to your figure and took a seat on your porch with a relieved sigh. Crisp autumn breezes blew piles of colorful leaves across your yard, causing a slight shiver to run through you.

At one time or another, it might have chilled you slightly. But now, you had much more than a simple fabric to warm you up.

A strong arm wrapped around your shoulder, bringing your head into contact with the person’s chest. Such contact from your lover was second nature for you to lean into, closing your eyes in bliss.

Levi relaxed back into his wheelchair, keeping a steady grip on your shoulders as he leaned you in.

“Just how long have you been out here, Levi?” you asked softly against the fabric of his coat.

“Long enough to miss you,” he replied softly, and you could hear the small smile on his tone.

“So cheesy,” you chuckled, nuzzling against his collarbone. But really, you never minded. His words and soft touches would always warm you faster than any blanket ever could.

“Took you long enough to join me. I’d started to wonder if you’d forget me out here,” Levi mused on in absentminded amusement.

“How could I? If you truly thought I’d forget your presence, you wouldn’t have slipped this beautiful ring onto my finger,” you replied, playfully nudging his chin with the top of your head. You looked down to your hand clutching one corner of the blanket; admiring the band of metal laying neatly against your skin.

Levi took your hand in his disheveled one, first rubbing his thumb across the band before lifting your knuckles to his face and planing a soft kiss there.

“I suppose you’re right. How could I question the best thing that’s ever happened to me?”

Smiling fondly up at him, you placed a loving kiss upon his slightly parted lips, prolonging the contact a moment longer than necessary to enjoy the way he so eagerly returned your affection.

“I love you,” you whispered against his still parted lips.

“And I love you more, Y/N.”

[write-ur-wrongs]

The Death of Me

Pairing: Geralt x reader

Word count: almost 4K - big whoops!

A/N: This was totally meant to be a drabble / blurb, but the story got away from me! A huge thanks to the sweet anon who submitted this prompt - I was beyond inspired and chuckled warmly throughout the entire writing process. This baby isn’t proofread so thread lightly!! I sincerely hope y’all enjoy this one :’) 

Prompt:  Heya! I saw your post about wanting to practice writing short stories so I have a small prompt for Geralt! What about: the reader and Geralt have always had a difficult relationship, always running into each other at the most inconvenient moments and hence disliking each other. However, while Geralt is passing through a village the reader comes barging into his room bloody and near death, only getting a chance to say “I didn’t know where else to go” before collapsing. I would be honoured if the idea inspired you :3

____________________________________________________

You’d never considered yourself unlucky but lately life had a funny way of throwing you for a loop, or rather, throwing you to the wolves. One wolf, actually. A damn, irritating, and arrogant white wolf.

At first, it was all business. You’d arrive in a village itching for a contract, only to find that a “legendary witcher” had already come through and taken care of every monster within a two-days ride. Furious, hungry, and broke, you set out determined to get as far as you could and as quickly as possible. Your determination got you far enough that you’d managed a full three months of contract work, but not far enough it seemed.

You’d been on your way to collect payment from your latest contractor when you’d heard the buzz on the street; a witcher had come through asking about work, and had been told to wait and see as someone else (a woman! A human woman!) had already committed to the case. Apparently, he was either incensed or bemused at the idea – the brute was very hard to read, so say the town gossips – but it didn’t matter to you. You beat him to it and now you get to eat. When you finally met with the contractor to collect your coin, you couldn’t help but swell with pride as they thanked you, eyes wide, for taking care of a monster no human ought to be able to handle. You could have sworn your pride had given you wings as you floated out of the inn.

That is, until you heard them mumble under their breath, “Thank Gods that lass was able to handle it! Had it been the witcher, I would have had to pay triple!”

“Thank heavens for cheap labour!” whispered their partner, raising their glass to cheers their big victory.

Suddenly whatever weightlessness you felt transferred onto your coin purse. Biting hard on your cheek you pushed up your chin, determined to remain dignified. But then you saw him.

Impossibly broad chested, rippling muscles evident beneath his leather armour, with golden eyes that reflected back to you with a cruel playful nature that made bile rise in the back of your throat. He held your gaze and raised his own tankard to you as you walked past him. His deep voice rumbled through you as you pushed the door open.

“Cheers to cheap labour,” you heard him say, and swore you could hear the smirk on his full lips.

Groaning furiously, you pushed the door so hard it swung back and slammed shut behind you with such force a flock of birds took off somewhere in town. Undeterred, you stomped off towards your horse and set off at a gallop.

I’m going to make sure I never cross his fucking path ever again, you thought searingly.

You were wrong it turned out, but how were you supposed to know that?

You’d gone years without actually seeing him again, but that didn’t mean you were free of him. You’d alternated winning and losing contracts to each other, and the pressure of beating him to the next one stressed you so fiercely you developed ulcers. That alone would have been enough to push you to murder had you not heard from another witcher that their brother, the great white wolf, was losing sleep trying to keep up with you. Knowledge of this fact spurred you on; after all, if you couldn’t beat him, it’s best to be even, no?

The next time fate brought you two together, though, you could not have been farther from on top. What made matters worse, is that you weren’t even in battle when your paths crossed. Your literal paths just simply… crossed.

You’d been riding east for many days and just as many nights. You were tired, sore, and somehow still soaked to the bone despite the fact that the rain had stopped at least a day ago. You were so tired, your muscles seemed heavy in your limbs, and you had to keep blinking hard to bring the spinning world around you back to its axis. As you rode through an intersection on the trail, the sun peaked out from behind the thick curtain of clouds just long enough to pull you fully into sleep, and right off your still-moving-horse’s saddle.  

You honestly didn’t remember falling asleep, or off the saddle. You also had no memory of the moment another traveler, who was riding towards the intersection on the other trail, leapt off his mare just as you started your descent and caught you before you could split your skull open on one of the many rocks sprinkled throughout the street. You had no memory of the way he’d pulled you off the path, leading both horses behind him as he’d carried you over his shoulder. Zero recollection of him laying you down on a bed grass, tying your horse to a nearby tree, lighting you a campfire, or filling your pack with some bread and meat.

What you did remember, was the arrogant look on his face when you finally woke up. The condescending tone he took as he reminded you that you were ‘only human’ and had to take care of yourself accordingly was also seared into the annals of your memory.

You hated that he’d saved you almost as much as you hated the fact that you’d been asleep around him. Completely vulnerable for God knows how long and he’d been there to witness it all. Whenever the memory of the look on his face or the way he’d crossed his arms and tilted his stupid head as he condescended your humanity came to you, you couldn’t help but cringe even months after the fact.

***

Your saving grace came a full six months after your damned damsel in distress moment on the trail.

Well fed, well worked, and well travelled, you were taking your time enjoying the market in your town of the week. The work you did wasn’t glamourous, but it did allow you the means to afford a few luxuries every now and then. This time, it just so happened that your coin could buy you the sweetest gift of all: revenge.

The market was busy as ever, you could barely hear yourself think over the cacophony of voices and animal bleats bouncing around the square. Had it been anyone else, the conversation would have been lost among the noise around you, but when that voice came rumbling through the mess of shrieks and shouts, you couldn’t help but seek out the source. You didn’t know why you cared or why you were so surprised to find that the voice’s owner was none other than the White Wolf himself.

“You good?” you asked, making sure to tilt your head, hands on your hips, the same way he’d done the last time you’d met.

“Fine.” He practically barked, not even turning his head fully to address you directly.

The merchant, none-too-concerned with your arrival on the scene, continued as if uninterrupted. “I’m sorry Mr. Witcher, sir, but I can’t go any lower. This is the best I can offer.”

“I can’t pay that much,” he grumbled, hands closed into tight fists.

“I’m sorry-”

“Is this enough?” you interjected, knowingly offering forward far too many ducats.

“Y-yes!” breathed the merchant, looking quizzically at Geralt before picking three coins from your open palm, “thank you, madam...”

“Y/N,” you introduced yourself with a warm smile and a nod.

“Y/N!” Geralt hissed, at the same time, reaching out to push away your hand a fraction too late; the vendor was paid, and you’d won this round.

“What is it, Witcher?” you teased, as the vendor took his sword back for repairs, “been on vacation? Why so skint?”

“Been low on work lately,” he replied coolly, cat-like eyes boring into yours, “not as many contracts as there use to be.”

“Well, I’ll be,” you said, cocking your head to the side and pursing your lips in mock contemplation, “I can’t imagine why that’d be the case! Seems I keep running into monsters to kill.”

“Mmhm.” He hummed, narrowing his eyes at you.

Refusing to let him have the last word, you quickly turned on your heels and high-tailed it out of the market, shouting over your shoulder to the blacksmith to give any change back to Geralt before disappearing back into the crowd.

***

Being even should have brought peace between the two of you but it seemed to have the opposite effect. Your last interaction only fanned the flames of your rivalry. As the months turned to years without coming upon each other again, you still found yourself filled with unreasonable anger whenever you saw a mop of white hair cross you on your travels.

And not that you’d know it, but it turned out that Geralt wasn’t faring any better; finding himself frustrated and acting recklessly whenever he’d come upon anything that reminded him of you.

You were both completely obsessed with one another. Thoughts of the other constantly on the mind. Whether in waking or in dreams, you were both equally afflicted by an intense need to outperform, out run, and also, inexplicably, to impress the other.  

*

It was that need to impress each other that led you to accept a contract you should have never even considered taking. You honestly wouldn’t have even considered it had the circumstances been any different but you’d been hearing about this monster for weeks on your travels. Tales of the mighty griffin tearing people to shreds had been circulating far and wide on this side of the Yaruga, and honestly, with every retelling you’d expected to hear that a witcher had handled it, but that never happened. You’d somehow managed to arrive at the village at the source of these stories before him and had an opportunity to literally rob him of this victory.

Granted, you were the only one who’d been attributing him with this win, but that didn’t matter, not to you. The only thing you cared about when accepting this particular contract was the knowledge that by taking it, you were preventing him from having it, and that was more than enough.

The shock on the villagers faces when they saw you accept the contract only added to your already inflated confidence. The sheer size of the griffin’s wingspan humbled you a little, though, and whatever grand illusions of an easy victory you’d carried into the forest were squashed along with a couple rib bones only moments after engaging the beast. In short, you were fucked.

Some might say that coming out of it alive was enough of a win. Those people would be morons, you thought as you stumbled clumsily back towards the lights of the village, clutching your split abdomen with both hands and blinking back blood dripping from your forehead. Every step you took came with the stabbing pain of additional tearing around your wound. You could barely think, your ears were blocked and caked with dried blood and dirt, your tears stung as they fell across the gashes on your cheeks, and every breath in felt like it could be your last. You’d never admit this out loud, but a part of you wished the creature had finished the job.

Perhaps the only saving grace here was that in your condition, you couldn’t hear the villagers as they pointed and gossiped. You didn’t hear the “told you so’s” or the lewd shouts coming from the drunk men as you stumbled into the tavern. You could barely hear the disappointment in the inn owner’s voice as they reprimanded you for accepting a contract, they knew you couldn’t complete. Rolling your eyes, you pushed your way towards the stairs as quickly as possible – which, as it turned out, was not so quick, praying that someone would call you a healer.

“… and to think a witcher arrived only hours after she went off to kill herself! Tsk-tsk!”

You stopped dead in your tracks, drops of blood falling across your brow as you interrupted the momentum you’d been building. “W-what?” you croaked, turning towards them as much as possible to make sure you’d hear them correctly.

“Yeah! And not just any witcher, lass, the Butcher of Blaviken no less! Checked in with us just as you head out. Had you waited half a day you could have saved yourself a world of – ‘ey! Now where’s she off to?”

As you registered this news, something inside you snapped. Before you knew what was happening, you’d made your way upstairs and started pushing your full weight onto every door you passed. The great White Wolf, the Butcher of Blaviken, was certainly arrogant enough to leave his door unlocked. You might have been wrong about the griffin, but you’d be damned if you were wrong about this.

Fortunate or not, you weren’t wrong about this. As you pushed your shoulder against the last door with whatever strength you had left, the door swung open with very little resistance. The heavy wooden door slammed loudly against the wall at the exact moment that your limp body crashed onto the floor.

“WHAT the fuck!” Geralt howled, leaping off the bed and onto his feet. His wild eyes assessed the situation in an instant, and he bound to you in barely two strides. “What the fuck did you do? What happened?” he asked as he flipped you over, so gently you were sure you’d already passed out and were now dreaming. Or maybe the blood loss was finally catching up to you and you were full-on hallucinating.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” you breathed, barely above a whisper, before losing consciousness in his arms.

*

Regaining consciousness was a slow, painful process. You’d come in and out of it a handful of times throughout the night, and flashes of what you’d seen before you lost it were coming to you in an almost dreamlike haze; terrifying images of the furious griffin, its blood-soaked talon shining in the setting sun as it reared back to strike you again, and warmer visions of Geralt, shirtless, running towards you with – could it be? – genuine concern in his eyes.

Now as the rising sun cast its glow across the room, you squinted painfully against the light. Your head felt as though it was full of cotton; heavy, and scratchy, and unnatural on top of your shoulders. Hesitantly, you ran your tongue over your teeth and were equal parts relieved to find them all there and disgusted at the acrid, mineral taste the blood left behind. Blinking slowly, you tried to bring up your hand to rub at your eyes, but stopped short as you felt the large bandage draped across your forehead.

Slowly, you started to register the other bandages, on your arms, your cheek, across your abdomen. Your eyes grew wide as you finally registered the man facing away from you in the far corner of the room. Geralt’s broad strong back was hunched away from you as he rifled through herbs and small glass vials looking for something. Inexplicably, you found yourself disappointed to see he’d put his thick black tunic back on. Horrified by that realization, you literally gagged, startling Geralt and pulling his attention squarely onto you.

His big dumb beautiful face was all hard lines as he looked you over, stern eyes flashing to meet yours before dropping back down to the vial in his hands. You couldn’t help be notice the way the muscles in in jaw rippled and tensed as he sighed. He was oozing disappointment and anger, and that infuriated you.

“Am I dead?” you ask, squinting at him a little theatrically as you squirmed and winced in your bed.

“No.” he practically growled, his body tense as he made his way towards you slowly.

“Oh,” you breathed, bringing your eyes up to his before adding, “this isn’t hell?”

To your immense satisfaction, his stern eyes widened into shock, but then something unrecognizable flashed across his features – wait, was he hurt?

“Why, because I’m here?” he shouted, as if in confirmation of your hunch, and slammed the damp cloth he’d been holding back into the basin.

“No, jackass,” you retorted, pleased that despite the position you were in, you still had some semblance of an upper-hand, “because a griffin fucking fileted me like a fish and some poor drunk is probably downstairs slipping in a pool of my blood right now.”

You’d kind of hoped that he’d laugh, or at least have a comeback geared up for you, but Geralt just stood there staring at you, his mouth in a tight line, nostrils flaring.

Uncomfortable by the intensity of his stare and the silence accompanying it, you decide to continue to poke the bear.

“Come on, what’s with the face, Geralt? Pissed I’m still alive? You know you could have just closed the door over my body, let nature finish the bloody job.”

“Fuck, no! Y/n!” he screamed, startling you out of the attitude you’d put on, “I’m pissed because you’re an impossibly difficult woman hellbent on killing herself! I’m pissed because you don’t seem to fucking care about what happens to you! You can’t keep doing this Y/N! Because one of these days you’re going to get hurt and you’ll be too far away from me and I won’t be able to fucking save you, again! I am pissed because I am losing my mind spending every god-awful day wondering if you’ve gone and gotten yourself killed! Fucking hell, woman! If you didn’t find me – I-if I wasn’t here, with these herbs – Damnit Y/N!”

You just sat there, mouth opening and closing like a fish. You couldn’t believe it. You didn’t know what to say. This man, your nemesis, was in front of you pacing back and forth, breathing heavily, looking like a maniac. His nostrils were flaring more than the monster that almost killed you just yesterday. Part of you wanted to correct him and demand he never address you as ‘woman’ again, but his wild earnest eyes kept you quiet. My god… was he crying?

Before you could say anything, Geralt sighed gruffly, ran his large hand over his face and stormed out, mumbling something about needing to get you more water.

Left alone with your thoughts, you couldn’t stop yourself from spiralling. You’d expected him to be angry – hell, you wanted him to be angry! You’d humiliated yourself twice over, enraging him would ease the blow – but this was… different. He seemed genuinely concerned about you. And what was with his whole speech? He spent every day thinking about you? Worrying about you? There’s no way.

Sure, you thought about him daily, but that was out of spite! You hated the man! Why else would your heart race whenever you thought you spotted him in a crowd? Why else would you actively seek out the most dangerous contracts? What, like you were hoping these contracts would draw him out, and therefore, closer to you? As if!

Your ridiculous inner monologue was interrupted by Geralt’s return. The horrible brute knocked gently on the door before stepping inside, and your heart had the audacity to skip a beat.

Oh, you thought, fuck.

“I need to change the dressing on your wounds,” he grumbled, not meeting your eyes. You nodded wordlessly as he settled onto the chair next to you. You watched him work in silence, praying he would attribute your insane heartrate and flushed skin to a pain response from his work.

“Geralt?” you tried, chewing nervously on your cheek, as was just finished up with the last of your dressing.

“Hm?” he hummed, keeping his eyes cast down as he fussed with the bandage on the gash across your abdomen.

“Thank you… for saving me.”

He finally brought his gaze up to meet yours, but said nothing in return. He merely grunted in acknowledgment. You didn’t know why, but his silence in combination with his inscrutable gaze encouraged you to keep talking.

“I honestly only took this contract because I didn’t want you to have it,” you admitted bashfully.

“What the fuck? No one was taking it because they weren’t paying nearly enough! Hell, and you’re just a human,” he fumed, throwing up air-quotes as he said it, “so what – they offered you a third of nothing?”

Laughing lightly, you shoved him with your elbow, “they offered me three whole ducats!”

“Oh, wow,” he laughed, low and rumbling, “so a big pay day for you, eh?”

“Shut up,” you gasped as pain rippled through you with each peal of laughter, “knowing I could screw you over was payment enough!”

“Well congratulations are in order, you did manage to screw someone over,” he chided.

“Me,” you stated dryly, gesturing widely at your busted up body.

“You,” he echoed with a sigh that seemed to deflate him.

He suddenly looked so small, sitting there next to you. You watched him as clenched and unclenched his jaw, rubbing his large hands up and down his thighs – was he anxious? You mind raced as you felt his eyes travel slowly up your body. You held your breath as he worked up the nerve to finally bring his eyes up to yours.

The moment his eyes landed on yours, something shifted. Whatever had been lodged uncomfortably between the two of you all these years had finally clicked into place. This change, albeit small, was palpable. His eyes dropped to your lips and lingered there. He was looking at you like he’d never seen you before. Like he was afraid he might never see you again.

Without speaking, Geralt inched himself closer to you and reached a tender hand to tuck your hair behind your ears before cradling your face.

“You’re not allowed to die, do you hear me?” he whispered, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb.

You gave him a quick nod and brought your hand up to his, nuzzling into the warmth of his palm before giving his hand a quick kiss.

“I need to hear you say it,” he begged, bringing himself even closer to you.

“I do,” you breathed, trying to sit up to bring your face closer to his. “I’m not going to die, not on your watch, but I’m also not quitting.”

“Y/N –”

“No! If I quit, you’d get lazy. Who’d push you? What would be your driving force?”

“Wow,” he scoffed, looking at you incredulously but fondly, “you’re so fucking arrogant.”

“And yet…” you said, quirking a brow flirtatiously as you pulled him closer by the collar.

“… and yet?” he murmured, letting himself be pulled closer to you. His eyes half-closed and his lips slightly parted.

“You love me.”

“I love you.”

And then he kissed you. His mouth claimed yours urgently but his hands were ever gentle, ghosting over your bandages and caressing your skin with a feather-light tenderness that would have brought you to your knees had you not already been bedridden. Any hesitation or doubt melted away under the heat of his touch as all those years of tension sprung apart catastrophically. The knot you had carried in your stomach unfurled into flittering fireflies, their heat traveling up your stomach to your chest as his hands worked their way into your hair.

You didn’t know when they’d fallen, but you let out a shaky laugh as Geralt kissed away the tears on your cheeks, his thumb swiping at the tears his soft lips failed to catch. Breathing heavily, he rested his forehead against yours; his hands cupping your face as yours captured his.

Gods – this man was going to be the death of you.  

[alwaysmarveling]

Balloons

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x reader

Warnings: cursing, arguing, and Clint (since he seems to be a sensitive topic for some of you)

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: Natasha surprises you with balloons. What do you get for her in return?

A/N: It can get a little confusing, so just for clarification, a single dash (-) indicates a flashback, and three dashes (---) means a skip forward in time. Also, this takes place during the Snap.

“Hey, I’ll be back in a couple of days, okay?” Natasha barely looked up from her computer screen, but she heard your murmurs, going so far as to lean into your touch as you pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

If you didn’t love her, you would’ve scrunched your nose, judged her for what must’ve been days without taking a shower. Instead, your brow furrowed slightly as you leaned over her, allowing your arms to drape over her torso, your hands clasping together at the center of her chest.

“Take care of yourself, okay? No more peanut butter sandwiches.” That elicited a groan from your wife. Her eyes remained on the monitor in front of her, but she still sunk into your embrace, her body almost on autopilot once she felt the familiar contact. “Promise me, Nat. I’ve left enough meals for the next two weeks in the fridge. All you have to do is microwave them.” A low sound left her mouth—maybe it was an “okay” or an “alright,” you really couldn’t tell—but you knew that was all you were getting from her at the moment. So, with a sigh, you brushed a quick kiss to her cheek and pushed yourself to stand straight.

“I love you, Nat.” It was only then that she turned around, finally allowing you to see the sparkle in her eyes that, more so now than ever, she reserved only for you.

“I love you too, malysh. Be safe. And call me if you need anything.”

“So you’re saying I can call and ask for you?” The redhead chuckled, leaning out of her chair to grab you by the hands. Once you were standing in between her legs, one of her hands trailed up to your cheek before pulling you down to kiss her.

“Anytime, malyshka, anytime,” she murmured, her lips brushing against yours as she spoke.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, yeah?” Natasha nodded at you. The last thing you saw as you walked out the door was her characteristic smirk, the sly wave of her slender fingers, and the way her body was slumped against the chair, another sign that betrayed just how long she had gone without sleep. You had to succeed at this, for her.

---

It was pouring when you found him. You don’t think you would’ve seen him if it weren’t for the neon signs, their reflections against the growing number of puddles lighting up the street. But you didn’t need to see him to find him; the yelling and clashing of swords were enough to tell you where he was.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was gruff. It was clear he didn’t want to see you.

“I’m here to bring someone back.” He had yet to turn around, and yet you could still hear him scoff despite his turned back and the patter of rain.

“Then keep looking.” You rolled your eyes before clearing your throat and straightening up. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to see your growing assertion, but you’d make sure he heard it.

“I’m here to bring you back.”

“Don’t you have a wife to be getting back to?” You almost flinched at his words.

“How funny, I wasn’t sure if you even knew we got married.” Yes, Clint was your friend, but you didn’t forget the way Nat’s eyes shined with hurt when she looked in the crowd at her wedding and noticed that her best friend wasn’t there. It was just another thing that made her doubt what she was doing, wonder if she was a monster for moving on while everyone else suffered. You almost lost her that day, having to get Steve to pause the ceremony as you took her off to the side, desperate to make her stay.

-

“Nat, every day I wake up I think of all the people that we lost, just like that. But you’re still here, and I can’t lose you too. And if wanting to hold onto the one good thing I have left in the world makes me a monster, then-” She had pulled you close, kissed you through the tears that ran down her cheeks.

“You could never be a monster, my love.” Your foreheads pressed together as she whispered, allowing you to see the crystal droplets, physical evidence of the internal struggle she felt every day.

“And neither can you. Marry me?” She simply nodded, and you thought you couldn’t have been happier, more relieved.

But she proved you wrong only minutes later when she read her vows out to you, her eyes only leaving the crumpled paper to look at you, to make sure you were still there, as she tried to make her true feelings known. Her voice was nothing more than a whisper—you were sure you were the only one who could hear her, but that was more than okay with you—as she told you, “You told me I’m the only good thing you have left in the world, but you are my world. If I lose you, I’ve lost the world. It doesn’t matter how many other planets there are, how many galaxies exist outside of our own. There’s nothing after you.”

You pulled her into a searing kiss, not caring that Steve had yet to tell you to kiss your bride.

You were married. You were hers, and she was yours.

-

And he missed it. Clint missed one of the most important days in his best friend’s life. He still hadn’t responded when you spoke up again. You were bringing him back no matter what. Because she needed you to.

You got him to come back with you. You honestly weren’t too sure how you’d done it; maybe he was just too tired to argue anymore. But it didn’t matter because the two of you were getting in a Quinjet and going back to Natasha.

It took less than twenty minutes for you guys to be off in the air. You set the aircraft on autopilot and left the seat, heading back to put away your things.

“I will admit, I thought we’d be moving a little faster.” Your head cocked to the side at Clint’s words, not quite understanding what he meant.

“Trust me, we’re going as fast as we can. We should be there in a couple of hours.” You were almost out of earshot when he spoke again, but his words caught your attention as if he had screamed them at you.

“What’d you get her for the anniversary?”

“Wha- what do you mean? What’s today’s date?” And as Clint sighed with a shake of his head, you felt your heart sinking in your chest. He didn’t need to answer. You thought back to yesterday’s phone call and you knew exactly where you’d messed up.

-

“Hello? Nat? What are you doing awake? It’s late, you should be asleep.” There was a pause over the phone, and at first, you thought she’d hung up.

“I, um, I just wanted to check in on you.” It wasn’t so much the fact that she called or her words as it was her dejected tone that grabbed your attention, immediately made you concerned.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong? Do you need me to come back?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” she quickly reassured you. “Just… you sure you’re not forgetting anything?” You scanned the supplies you’d laid out on the dresser. A weapon or two, a couple of toiletries, only the necessities. But nothing was missing.

“No, I think I have everything. Why? Did you see something at home?” Another pause. And, still, you chalked it up to bad connection, or maybe the fact that it was late for her, she must’ve been tired.

“No, you didn’t leave anything at home.” You took one last glance at your things before nodding and launching into your plan for how you were going to get Clint back. She wasn’t as excited as you thought she would’ve been, but you never caught it. Even when you ended the call and all she gave you was a quiet goodbye, you never caught it.

-

You entered the compound with a crash, scrambling to find Natasha. It was nighttime when you got back, the lights automatically turning on one by one as you ran through each of the rooms, each of them full of furniture but devoid of life.

First, you reached the kitchen. Natasha hadn’t put away the candles, the wicks drowning in wax as if nobody had bothered to blow them out. One plate of food—which was much fancier than any of the meals you had left for Nat in the fridge—lay untouched on the counter, and you knew that, if you dared to open the fridge, there’d be another plate waiting for you.

Next, you made your way into the living room. A vase of roses sat on the coffee table, but one of them was already wilted, a petal threatening to fall off if you so much as looked at it for too long. A small bunch of heart balloons hovered in the corner. The shadows fell on them in just the right way it seemed, with them looking more like they were threatening to chase after you rather than welcome you home.

You went to your bedroom next. You doubted she would’ve been in there, but some small part of you hoped that you and Clint were wrong; you hadn’t actually missed anything, and Natasha somehow pulled herself away from her work to grab a few hours of sleep. But it wasn’t your wife on the bed. Instead, an unfamiliar yet friendly-looking teddy bear sat on the comforter, the card next to it standing upright. And though every part of you yelled at you not to open it, you did.

It was storebought, but that wasn’t what affected you. What finally broke the dam, made the tears stream down your cheeks, was the brief message she’d written on the inside.

“I know I haven’t been the best wife lately, but you are still my world. The sun, moon, stars, it’s all you, malyshka. It always will be. Happy anniversary.”

It was only then that you set off for the one place you were sure Natasha would be.

---

The smell hit you before you even entered her office. Then, you heard the somewhat incoherent grumbles, each word charged with more anger and sorrow than the last. And so it was more to your horror than surprise when you found her still at her desk, her head in one hand and a bottle of vodka in the other.

“Natty…” A flash of red filled your vision as her head whipped up to see you, but you weren’t sure if the color came from her cheeks or her hair.

“Oh, so you still remember my name?”

“Natty, please, I’m so sorry. I was so hun-” At first, your wife seemed slightly surprised, as if she wasn’t expecting you to apologize. Or maybe she wasn’t expecting you to know what you were apologizing for.

“Don’t you dare call me that right now, Y/N.” If her order didn’t sting, her use of your actual name definitely did. But you pushed away those feelings; right now, it was about her, the way it should’ve been about her yesterday.

“Natasha, let me explain. I was so focused on Clint, on the things we had to get done here. The dates really meant nothing to me.” Her flinches were delayed, slightly sluggish, but they nevertheless hurt to see.

“So the date of our wedding means nothing to you? I got you balloons, Y/N, I got you fucking balloons.” You flinched, but it wasn’t at the sound of the vodka bottle slamming down on the desk or at her words. It was at the words she’d told you on your six month anniversary of dating, the day she’d surprised you with a dinner at a three Michelin star restaurant and a night in a five-star hotel, a luxury you’d never experienced before and never thought you’d have in your life, let alone while you were on the run from the US federal government. But, you’d had to remind yourself as Natasha pulled you into the hotel room with a giggle, this was the world’s best spy you were dating. Of course, if anyone was capable of pulling this off, it was her. 

-

“What are those?” you’d gasped, the glint of the dim lamplight on the mylar catching your attention.

“I got you balloons,” she’d chuckled as she pulled you into her embrace. “I love you so fucking much that I got you balloons. God, I’m such a sap.” You met her lips in a sweet kiss before pulling her closer, if that was even possible.

“You’re my sap.” Nat pressed another kiss to the corner of your mouth, loving the way it curved upwards in a grin. Loving the fact that she made it do that.

“Well, duh, you think I’m going to go out and get balloons for Tony?” You simply giggled, the champagne the two of you had enjoyed earlier that evening only strengthening the joy that bubbled in you. “No. Never. Only for you, detka.” She had punctuated each sentence with a kiss, each one being on a different spot on your face.

“You got me balloons,” you finally whispered, meeting her eyes.

“I got you balloons,” the blonde agreed. You loved the way the green orbs captured your own gaze; you could bathe in the love they held for you.

-

But at this moment, you felt yourself drowning in the sorrow filling her eyes, the fact that she wasn’t crying being one piece of dignity you couldn’t maintain no matter how hard you tried.

“Nat,” you slowly stepped closer to her, your footsteps being the only sound filling the room during the pause. “That’s not what I meant. I just meant I barely processed what day it was at all. The only thing I was focusing on was getting Clint back.” A small part of you knew that Natasha was far too hurt and drunk to be reasoned with at the moment, but you still tried. And the rejection hurt just as much as if you hadn’t been expecting it.

“You don’t love me.” You were by her side in an instant, quick to refute her point.

“That’s not true at a-”

“You don’t love me! Just admit it, Y/N. You don’t love me.”

“Natasha, please-” Your vision was so clouded by tears you could barely make out your surroundings, but the anguish on your wife’s face was somehow clearer than it had been all night.

“You only love me when it benefits you! God, how was I so foolish to believe you could ever love me back in the same way I love you?” And though you tried to stop her, pleaded with her to just listen to you for a second, she never even hesitated for a second, the remaining vodka threatening to spill out out of the bottle with how she swung it in the air. Her insecurities from your relationship, the ones you had spent night after night reassuring her of, were coming out in full force, each word thrown out of her mouth being another punch to your gut.

But it was her last sentence that made you almost double over in pain; the way she looked at you, eyes glassy and her lower lip wobbling, the way she spoke, her voice airy and broken, the way her face was contorted, as if something had broken inside of her. Maybe something had.

“Did I really make you feel safe, or did I just help you not to feel alone?”

-

You knew she was standing outside of your room well before she knocked. Well, you knew someone was standing outside of your room.

Sure, you weren’t expecting the normally-closed off assassin to be the one who entered when you let out a measly “come in,” but you were too wrapped up in your grief to care.

“Wanda made dinner.”

“I don’t want it.” You didn’t have to turn your head to know how she was standing, feet shoulder-width apart and arms crossed over her chest. And maybe, if you cared, you would’ve been scared, but for all you were concerned she could come running full speed at you with widow’s bites in her hand and you wouldn’t even flinch. Maybe you’d welcome it.

“It’s not a negotiation. You’re coming to dinner. You haven’t eaten all day.”

“I’m not hungry.” At first, Natasha didn’t respond. You thought you were safe. She’d turn around, close the door behind her, and you’d be alone once again, the way you should’ve been. The way you always should be. But instead, you heard her approaching footsteps and felt the mattress sink as she perched herself on the edge of your bed.

“You deserve to eat, Y/N. Just because you made a mistake-”

“A mistake is forgetting your phone at home, Nat. I got people killed. I deserve to die.” Natasha paused for a moment, and you felt the weight of her hand as she rested it on your ankle.

“You’re not the first of us to do that. Do you think we deserve to die too?” Anger and frustration swelled in your chest at her words. Of course they didn’t deserve to die; how could you agree to that? But she didn’t understand, you were different because you were you.

You hated the way she trapped you with simple logic, wanting to scream and yell for her to get out. But she was the woman of your dreams, so you stayed silent. She’d leave eventually. They all did. Or maybe you just made them leave, who knows?

But she was there 5 minutes later, 10 minutes later, 15. Half an hour passed and she was still sitting there, her posture just as perfect as when she first sat down.

Another half an hour passed before Natasha sighed, the corner of the mattress lifting. But she didn’t leave the room. Instead, she rounded the bed and sat down next to you, hands folded in her lap and her back against the headboard.

“You’re not going to leave?” you finally asked.

“No.”

“Why?” You hated the way it came out cracked and broken. You were the one who messed up; why were you also the one falling apart?

“Because you deserve to be forgiven. And you don’t deserve to be alone. I’ll stay until you realize that.” It amazed you how she said it so matter-of-factly, how she said it as if it was painfully obvious.

“Then it looks like you’re going to be staying the night.”

“Good thing I wore my pajamas.” It wasn’t until she said that that you finally turned around to look at her. Why was she wearing her pajamas?

“You knew I wasn’t coming out.”

“I had a feeling.” Her shrug was nonchalant, but the way she picked at her fingers suggested she was more nervous than she was trying to let on.

“Why are you here, Tasha?”

“Because I care,” was her answer, spoken softly yet firmly, as if she was challenging you to oppose her. But you let her.

You let her slide down, lay her arm over you. You let her lay a kiss on your forehead, hold you while you slept, fend off the screams of the departed so your dreams didn’t turn into nightmares. And just before you finally dozed off, getting the rest you’d been deprived of for days, you murmured something so quiet she could barely hear it. She’d never forget it.

“Ever since I joined the Avengers, I’m always waiting for someone to leave. Someone getting hurt, getting killed. They’ll leave one way or another and I won’t be able to get them back. I’m always on edge. But you make me feel safe, I think.”

-

“Tasha, you know that’s not true at all. Please,” you tried walking towards her again with one trembling hand outstretched, just to get her to put down the bottle, just to pull her into your arms as you tried to physically show her just how much you really did love her, just to do anything.

She backed away.

It hit you then; you weren’t going to get her back. Not now, at least. Nothing you could say, nothing you could do, could get her to listen to you at this moment.

“Just leave me alone,” she whispered, as if she could read your mind. You always thought the two of you were connected in some way. Maybe she could tell what you were thinking.

But it seemed the connection stopped there. She couldn’t understand how your feet were glued to the floor, how your heart stopped for the umpteenth time that hour, how your eyes scoured any and every part of her for want of some sign that things would be okay. She gave you nothing but a renewed hardening of her gaze, as if she had just remembered her days as one of the world’s most formidable assassins.

“Fine. I’ll leave.” And just like that, she was gone. It didn’t matter that she almost stumbled over the leg of a chair, or how you got an extra strong whiff of vodka as she passed by. What mattered was that she was gone.

---

Natasha got you balloons, filled you with joy and love as if you were a child at the center of attention during their birthday party. And you, distracted by all the other decorations that surrounded you, had let them go, the strings slipping out of your grip and floating to unreachable heights.

You had let her go.

-----

🏷 : @vancityfire13 @007giu

[mbluee]

Chords & Confessions (Twelfth Doctor x Reader)

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: none! super fluffy and calm, aside from the layers of tension between them lol

Summary: a cute little poetic-type and metaphor-filled drabble about the doctor, his companion, and how playing his guitar will reveal some hidden feelings and confession coded words. (pairing is Twelfth Doctor x Reader (no specified gender or pronouns))

A/N: hi hi! so excited to post my first fic on tumblr (posted a few on ao3, but i rarely post my writing because i’m bad at completing things lol) and even more excited to be leading off with twelve :) very much hope you enjoy, or at least appreciate being bombarded with metaphors!!

✩✩✩✩

It was moments like these that you wanted to stretch into eons, to sear into the back of your eyelids and relive each time you blinked.

The moments between the excitement and the grandeur of traveling across the cosmos that went almost entirely unspoken, barely acknowledged, even if you treasured them as heavily as you would with any other fantastical adventure; The pieces of this existence with the Doctor where if you blinked too hard, it would have passed. Your own slice of paradise tucked away in the seemingly innocent instances of rare serenity.

So when the rain falls in patterns on the windows of your tiny, winsome home, and you set a perfectly brewed cup of tea before The Doctor’s propped up feet on the aged coffee table, you make sure to blink quickly and not waste a second behind closed eyelids. 

He hums an appreciative thank you, head tilting towards the tiny cup with a tinier smile playing at his lips. You reflect him like a mirror, youthful smile gracing your face with a twinkle. It’s the smile you save only for him, usually set aside for these memories to make them all the more fond.

The storm outside rears it’s head with a grumbling roll of thunder. You jump slightly, forced out of the trance of staring at the so-much-more-than-a-man resting on your quaint loveseat. He laughs, and you’d like to listen to that forever - if forever was even enough. His cool eyes are warm when he looks at you.

“What’s on your mind?” He asks, and you watch his practiced hands pluck at the strings of his guitar in the same way he plays you. With kindness, with comfort. An elegancy about it.

He must have noticed you staring, but he says nothing of it. You’re grateful for that; You’re grateful for him and everything that comes with him - and when you take a few steps closer and slide into the spot beside him, he plays a beautiful melody that must mirror the adoration of your heart. It’s sweet and slow, and it picks up pace only to return back to its original serenity. When you breathe, it is with the rhythm of his song. There must be a handful of meaningful metaphors hanging between the two of you in that moment as much as every other moment. You’d piece it together later, and for now, you shift closer to his focused figure. He leans towards you without thought.

“Everything,” You say to him. Out comes a contemplative hum, an agreed smile. A lightly strummed chord that you can breathe in and hold.

“That’s quite a lot to think about,” He responds. You laugh, though nothing is funny - you let the air escape you and allow a smile to curl onto your lips. You wonder why you laugh around him so often, even without reason to - but you already know the answer. So does he.

The guitar strums quietly, and the sound matches your smile.

“Will you teach me?” Comes your question. The strings vibrate with each touch, sending out a message of light and serenity. You want to learn that, to know that - you want him to show you this and everything else. He lifts the guitar from his lap and carefully passes it to you, disrupting the melody but about to make it entirely new.

It is breakable in your hands, but he holds you still.

“Of course,” Is his reply.

Always, is what he means.

His hands are soft when they wrap around your own; he adjusts the guitar to fit across your thigh. You take a nervous breath when he chuckles. It sounds like peace, you think, like a good surprise - like the memory of a friend you haven’t seen in a long time, or church bells on a wedding day.

The leaves of autumn as they fall to the ground, the crunch of them beneath a passerby’s boots; The rebirth of Spring, the leaves sprouting green once more; The sound of the breeze that shakes the trees they decorate. Life. The immortality of it all.

These are your reflections of him. And yet, when you drag the backs of your nails across the open strings, it is wrong; You fail to show him everything you just thought in one beautifully chorded confession. How does he do it, you wonder? If you asked, would he know what you meant; Do you know what it is meant to mean?

How does he play this instrument as though it is an extension of his mind, his being, his fortitude?

Or, perhaps, how does he do everything that he does?

He plays the strings with experience and ecstasy, songs of ancient times and tunes of his past, seeping into the very soul of the instrument and flowing into you. When he constructs chords of these melodies it is as if he's speaking through them, as if he tells the stories without need for words - you listen to each and hope that someday you’d begin to understand. His eyes hold every piece of what he plays for you, his fingers in time with the beat of your heart and the rhythm of your constricting breaths. You wonder if it gets heavy, the weight of the universe, the knowledge of so much that has since been forgotten. But he is so light. In every sense of the word.

Light; In a gentle, comforting way - a knitted blanket that lays thinly across your legs in the fall, between the briskness of the coming winter and the heat of the passing summer. A grey shawl pulled over your shoulders to stave off the sharp wind and hold in the warmth.

Light; In a colorful, visible way - in the creases of his frown lines, in the iris of his eyes. He is a bundle of Christmas lights strung across a Christmas tree, or a faithful bedside lamp to read a well-worn book under. 

Light; In a single breath, released into the night - when you feel very much alone, and very, very small, but you look up to the darkness of the sky and see the billions of stars that aim to keep you company. He is the place you feel yourself drawn to, he is the piece that fills the loneliness. He is the one to listen when you don’t feel you are being heard - he is a peaceful quiet, not a stifling silence. 

He is completely light.

The notes you play next are foolish, they do not convey all you mean to say. You want them to. You yearn for them to. If it was him, he’d write a novel with the simple strings of his guitar and the vibrating hums of his voice.

“I’m not very good,” you say. The guitar feels foreign, but the hand that wraps around your back and reaches for your farthest hand is the most familiar thing in the world. Yet your heartbeat pounds against your chest with the contact. He brushes his knuckles across your shoulder blades when he passes them by, and he doesn’t need to do that, but he did - and you wish he’d do it again. He hums lowly, it passes through him and into you.

“That’s okay,” he says. “It takes time.”

His voice is laced with a smile, with a million other things. With sadness, you think. However slight. You look up to him. 

The lines in his face remind you of the creased corners in the pages of a book - where somebody’s favorite quote lies, or where leftover tears stick in droplets on the inked words.

It takes time, he says; He is time. Time itself, wrapped in a black coat and red velvet lining, with grey curls and thick brows - holding stories, myths, fairy tales, songs. The hands on a clock so incapable compared to his own, the face of a clock so minuscule compared to the portrait sat before you. He surpasses the simple rules of seconds, of minutes, of moments; They bend to his will - rather - he bends them himself. He untangles timelines and wraps himself in others.

“I don’t think I’ll ever play as well as you do,” comes your complimentary confession.

The dull patter of rain taps against your windows and slides down the foggy glass. You hope he finds these quiet moments of contemplation as precious as you do - hidden behind storms and accompanied by the low roll of thunder - even if he transcends the need for the calm breaks of a domestic life.

At least, that’s sometimes how it seems. Until he looks at you like that, and treats the circumstance with such elegance and delicacy - then, it’s hard to imagine him living in any other way. Maybe, then, that is what makes it all the more special. 

To sit with a companion, to lend over your guitar and your wisdom, to enjoy the tea turned grey from the dark tint of the storm outside - pretending that this is how it always is. Pretending that the touches and the glances you share are more than unspoken.

He takes your hand in his, palm to the hills of your knuckles. A single strum with your back against his chest, with his fingers guiding yours. It sounds melded, molten - better than your impatient fingers now that they are entwined with proficient ones.

“You have time,” He says. Your eyes lift to his, because you feel the tug of his consequential gaze, or just because you want to look at him. The words sit within you in the same way one would sit beside the ocean; Watching the seas lap up to your toes and recede before they can completely envelop you, even when you’d wish them to. Even when you’d wish him to.

You have time.

He is time, you think, for the second time on this rainy afternoon. His eyes gleam - no - they spark, and you barely catch the subtle flicker of his eyes when they trail down your face; Like catching a firefly in an open field, or catching a cold in the damp rain. 

His voice is soft when he speaks, or maybe it’s rough - you don’t know; Your mind is wrapped around the meaning of the words he says, left contemplating what that tiny lift at the corner of his mouth could mean when he does say them.

“You have all the time in the world.”

The rain against your windows has calmed, there is no longer a constant drum, but instead - a moment of quiet, a pause in the afternoon when the clock stops ticking and your breaths stop coming. Paused - but not permanently - like a lake frozen over, waiting to be stepped upon and cracked open with the first touch. Dwelling. Slowing. Waiting.

“Do I?” You ask, though you don’t remember deciding to speak, you don’t recognize your own voice with it’s lilted and airy release. The frozen lake splits; It shatters.

And when his eyes do that flicker again, when they drop down to what is most pointedly your lips and right back up to meet your eyes as if telling you exactly what his most secret intentions are, practically swaying on the edge of a cliff that drops off into an indescribable oblivion - you can’t find it anywhere in your heart to tell him that you’ve played the guitar ever since you were old enough to remember, since your fingers could first wrap around the neck of it, since you first learned your ABC’s; You’d never tell him that you know exactly how to play it, that you don’t need all the time that he is offering you, that you lied just so he would be close to you. 

Just so he would reveal to you something that went completely beyond the simplistic demands of the guitar.

The rain has stopped, the drum of three heartbeats filling the silence before he speaks. It’s like dusk, you think. Like the gentlest breeze that sets upon a field of the yellowest, kindest flowers; Like the feeling of being reunited with something you’d lost. Like a chord, strung out across the six wondrous strings of a guitar, played only by impossibly perfect fingers accompanied by the sacred smile of time itself.

“You always will.”

[egcdeath]

second chances

pairing: softdark!steve rogers x reader 

summary: you wake up on the side of the road with no memories, no possessions, and no place to go. luckily, an attractive stranger arrives just in time to help you out. 

word count: 4.6k

warnings: there are some soft moments, but this is ultimately a dark fic!!! alluding to kidnapping, deceit, mention of knife, drugging, abuse (mostly mental/emotional, but implied physical), amnesia, brief alcohol mention, nightmares, mention of bodily harm, bed sharing **if i’m missing any warnings, let me know

author’s note: this is my first dark fic without a dark reader, so please be nice! it took me nearly a whole month to get it where i want it to be (i’m a slow writer, i know) but i’m actually pretty proud of this. 

you can find my masterlist and taglist here

After what seemed like years of waiting, the opportunity finally lent itself, a small pocket knife sat right in your peripheral view. A dangerous mixture of adrenaline and impulse filled you, not even granting you the time to think before you were clumsily extending your arm, and wielding the knife. 

The blade popped out, and you held it with a shaky hand in front of your captor.

“Really?” he scoffed, “you’re gonna kill me.”

There was no attempt on his part to stop you, in fact, he smiled and leaned back slightly.

Your whole body trembled at this point, you could barely form words, let alone move. But this was your chance.

“So do it, Y/N. Kill me,” his voice steadily rose as he approached you, long legs making their way across the room.

Before you knew it, he was standing in front of you, hand approaching your own. He wrapped it around your wrist and gripped down on you like a snake, causing you to emit a tiny yelp.

“What are you waiting for?” he asked, voice steady as your hands trembled around the grip.

“Exactly. You’re still as fucking pathetic as you were the day I met you,” a slap stung your left cheek, a mark that was sure to be there for the days following. 

The knife clattered as it hit the linoleum floor, and you followed its path, crumbling on the floor and breaking into tear-less sobs. 

“Remember this moment, sweetheart. You’ll never get a chance like this again,” he swooped up the knife before walking away from you, leaving a broken woman in his wake.

——

You went from experiencing nothing to everything all at once. Your brain seemed to be attempting to escape your head as it pressed against your eyes, and you struggled to open them, lashes feeling like they were glued together. Rain poured down on your head, and you concluded that it had been pouring on you for a while, as you were completely soaked to the bone. 

As you looked at yourself and your body, a curled up and bruised mess on the side of the road, you couldn’t help but wonder what exactly happened to you, or at all. You weren’t even sure that you had memories apart from the ones that were processing in that exact moment. It was as if you’d exited the womb for a second time, clueless to where you were, who you are, or how you got there. 

You shivered as you pulled yourself to your feet, weak ankles shaking in glittery heels and body trembling in a half-torn dress. Wherever you came from couldn’t have been good.

You slipped off the shoes and held them in your hands as you walked down the side of the deserted road, bare feet sloshing in mud as you did so. You didn’t have an idea where you were, or where the nearest sign of life was. You were tempted to walk on the soaked, petrichor scented road, but you knew that that wasn’t your best idea.

You truly had no good options. Nothing to do. Nowhere to go. No one to save you. You wanted to collapse back onto the ground, give into your screaming body that was becoming more and more tired by the moment. Hot tears began to slip down your face, contrasting the cold of the raindrops falling onto your body. 

All hope was lost, you’d die any time now, and that would just be it. You looked up at the overcast sky and screamed at it, mentally begging for someone, anyone, to help. That you’d forever be grateful to god, or the universe, or whatever it was that was out there that put you in the situation you were in. 

You screamed and sobbed until your throat was raw, and you weren’t sure you’d be able to produce any more sound, sitting down onto the damp ground and wishing for your inevitable death to be a swift and painless one. 

Yet, your pity party was crashed just moments later by a beaming red light and the soft hum of a motor coming down the road. This was your one chance. Who knew when the next time you’d see a sign of human life was?

You jumped to your feet and waved your hands like a madwoman, trying to catch the attention of the male behind the driver's seat. He began to come to a stop, pulling over a bit to see you better.

His face was angelic, a strong jaw and soft eyes that looked like they had seen more than the average person. When he spoke, you felt heaven become drowsy with harmony. Or maybe you were just really tired. Regardless, your pleas to a higher power had proved fruitful, as your knight and shining armor had just pulled up beside you to save the day.

He rolled a window down, and you got closer to the door.

“Need a ride, ma’am?” he called.

You simply nodded and approached the vehicle, opening the door hesitantly. You sat down on the seat, and jumped a bit when you felt heat radiating onto the back of your thighs.

“I’m Steve. You?” 

You chuckled awkwardly, “that’s a great question that I wish I could answer. It’s actually kind of a long story. Well, I assume it’s long since I can’t remember any of it. But maybe I will later. Nice to meet you anyway, Steve.”

He nodded understandingly, completely unfazed by your lack of name. Maybe he had prior experience with hitchhikers, as he was approaching this situation with a nearly suspicious calmness. “Well… where’re you heading?” the man asked, looking over at you.

“I, uh, I have no idea,” you said raspily, throat still sore from your previous screaming.

The blonde’s lip quirked at this, as if he were holding back a much bigger smile, “that’s fine. I’m heading a few towns away, but I was thinking of stopping and getting some breakfast. You interested in that?”

You shrugged, becoming slightly uncomfortable in the quickly dampening seat. Steve glanced over at you after putting the car in drive, and noticed your discomfort from your prior stay in the rain.

“We can stop by a bathroom first. I’ve got some extra clothes with me in the back,” he suggested. You nodded quietly, looking at the vast, and empty road ahead. 

----

You sat in a diner booth dressed in a thick jacket and comfortable sweatpants that oddly enough, seemed to be exactly your size. Steve approached the table with an extra plate of fries, and set it gently in front of you. 

“So you don’t remember anything?” he asked, stealing a fry before sitting down across from you. 

You shook your head, bringing a salty fry to your mouth, “I swear I just woke up there. No memories, no nothing, no place to go. I mean, I was gonna die out there if you didn’t get me.”

Steve scoffed a bit at this, “that’s not true. I’m sure someone would’ve helped eventually.”

“Maybe. But I’m glad that it was you,” you looked up at him, and the fondness he was looking at you with was nearly suffocating. 

Steve paused for a moment, mulling over his next words as if he was looking for the exact right thing to say.

“Would you like to stay with me? I mean, I know we just met each other, but I just have this feeling. Like I was meant to find you. Besides, it doesn’t seem like you have anywhere else to go.”

“I have to go to the bathroom,” you excused after a moment, popping out of the both and heading towards the ladies room.

You handled your business, and stared at yourself in the mirror as you washed your hands. Makeup ran down your face, and it almost appeared that you were melting. Who would pick someone up in such a state? You had to question this Steve guy’s character a little bit. You couldn’t remember the exact phrase, but it couldn’t be smart to get into a car with a stranger. Especially a stranger offering to take you to some secret location with them. After all, he could be a murderer, a kidnapper, or a rapist. You would be none the wiser.

But he fed you, clothed you, and offered you a form of shelter. He couldn’t be too ill intentioned if he was willing to go out of his way to help, right? Maybe he just wanted to keep you off the streets, and that was why he was willing to take you to wherever it was that he was going.

Your stomach turned the longer you watched yourself, the longer you thought. Perhaps your intuition found that something was off. But who even knew if you could trust your intuition, after all, you were basically a day old, and you didn’t seem to have any other option.

——

You ended up going back out into the diner and accepting Steve’s offer. You didn’t really have much of a choice, and he wasn’t exactly a bad one. 

Steve was quiet for the majority of your trip, only speaking when he noticed that you’d moved your sights from the window over to him. He didn’t seem to be a fan of the way you were studying him, but for some reason your eyes kept finding him.

Hours had passed in the day, and night was quickly approaching. You dozed as you watched the starry night from the passenger window. Your eyes were becoming heavier by the moment, hours worth of watching flat landscape, combined with the complexity of your day finally catching up to you.   

——

Cold. You felt cold. The floor was cold. The blood running through your veins was cold. Your brain was cold and freezing, hindering you from properly processing what was going on in front of you. 

A searing pain rolled through your body as you tumbled down the stairs, back into a room that was suffocatingly familiar.

“I should’ve never allowed you to leave. Ungrateful,” a faceless man followed you down the stairs and hovered over your now battered body. “I give you a home and you complain. I take care of you, giving you almost anything you could ever ask for. You complain. Do you know how many people would kill to be in your position? With someone like me taking care of them?” 

“You told me you loved me, you goddamn liar. I let you come upstairs, and you try to fucking kill me. I should kill you,” he seethed, leaning down over you.

But I won’t.

The words were unspoken, but familiar. A threat uttered to you before, usually followed with an ‘I’ll make your life a living hell instead.’

You were unable to speak, as if someone had ripped out your vocal cords. Suddenly the faceless man was reaching down and holding the bloody organs in his hands. Your blood ran cold once again. 

“You can’t even fathom the hell I want to release on you right now,” he continued, chest puffing out with exaggerated, angered breaths. “But I’ll be the bigger man. Because I love you,” he dropped the cords on the ground beside you, and your eyes flicked over to the mutilated part of yourself. “Y/N, I need you to prove to me that you love me.”

You wanted to beg, to plead and tell the man whatever he needed to hear in order to release you, but you were completely powerless. 

The man hoisted you up with ease, and you soundlessly whimpered. He carried you into a small, plain room and set you on the flat, stiff mattress on the floor. 

“Come on, Sweetheart. You know I’m doing this for us.” 

The faceless man kissed your forehead, and the feeling of dread overtook you.

——

You awoke with a gasp, clawing at your own neck to make sure that your vocal cords were still intact.

“You alright?” Steve asked, glancing over at you. “Should I pull over?”

“No, I’ll be fine,”  you whispered.

“Take some deep breaths for me, okay?” he advised, setting a reassuring hand on top of yours. “We’ll be at the hotel any minute now.”

——

Your nerves were absolutely fried by the nightmare. Your hands shook like leaves in the wind while you stood next to Steve as he checked you into your hotel room.

“How’re you doing?” he asked in the elevator, setting his large hand on top of yours once again. The gesture was calming, even if you felt a slight undermining feeling of something unsettling.

“A little better. I probably just need to lay down somewhere comfortable.”

Steve nodded and squeezed your hand, “you’ve had a long day. You have first dibs on the shower. Maybe it’ll help you relax.” 

The smile that Steve was giving you was comforting. You felt glad that he was the person to have picked you up.

The elevator made a little ding noise before the doors opened, and he guided you to your room. 

You made a beeline to the shower, not even taking the time to be impressed with the size of the hotel room, the amenities, or the quality of it. You just wanted to shed your clothes and find at least a moment of peace. 

You exited the bathroom after about a half an hour, and walked out into the suite in just a towel. 

“Can I borrow some more clothes?” you glanced over at Steve, who was openly checking you out from the comfort of the bed.

Wait, the bed.

There were way too many things going on for you to be focused on the fact that there was just one bed. Maybe Steve would offer to sleep on the sofa.

“Yeah, that’s fine. My teammate left some clothes in that smaller blue suitcase. It’ll probably fit,” Steve paused for a few moments as you found the aforementioned suitcase and looked for something comfortable that you could actually sleep in.

“Who did that to you?” he asked, gesturing at your bruised legs.

“I don’t… I don’t know. It’s all so blurry,” you sighed, settling on a fresh pair of sweatpants and a thin t-shirt. “I’ll be right back.”

You changed quickly in the residually steamy bathroom, and sat down at the foot of the bed. 

“Do we need to have a fistfight over who gets to sleep in the bed?” Steve joked and you shook your head.

“I can sleep on the sofa, if you want.”

“No way. You deserve something comfortable,” he got out of bed, and approached the bathroom to take his own shower. “Get nice and cozy, friend. You deserve it.”

He disappeared into the bathroom, and you moved up to the top of the bed, slipping under the covers and sighing aloud from relief. Your body was finally having a chance to relax, and the hotel bed was surprisingly comfortable. 

By the time Steve returned from the shower, you were already half asleep, and very unaware of your surroundings.

As you fell out of consciousness, you had blurry visions of confinement, punishments, and pain. You once again woke up with a gasp, but this time Steve was standing over you. 

“Deep breaths, okay? I saw you thrashing and mumbling something to yourself. I think you were having a bad dream.”

You nodded and panted, trying to catch your breath and slow down your hummingbird heart rate. 

“You’re safe, I promise.”

“Can you stay with me?” you stammered out.

“Yeah, of course,” Steve got into bed beside you, and rubbed your back as you curled into a fetal position, “just try to relax, okay? There isn’t anything to fear when I’m here with you.”

You nodded, clutching onto Steve’s genuine tone. Something about him just made you feel… safe, despite the possible red flags around him. 

After Steve got into bed with you, you were finally able to fall into a dreamless and peaceful sleep. 

——

You woke up to an empty and cold bed. You blinked a few times and looked around the room, eyes stopping on Steve as he watched you from the couch, eyes quickly flipping between yourself and the book in his hands in an effort to cover up his staring. 

The whole ordeal made you feel slightly off, but the realization that you were essentially mooching off a stranger felt worse. 

You hopped out of bed and anxiously paced towards the bathroom. “Shit, Steve,” you muttered. “I shouldn’t be taking advantage of you like this. I should probably leave.”

“Where else do you have to go?” Steve almost defensively questioned, frown deep on his face.

You took a deep sigh and shrugged, “I… don’t know. I’ll figure it out.”

“You don’t have to go,” he began, sounding unsure in his words, “stay. With me,” he stood up and walked over to you, grabbing the back of your arm softly. “You’re not taking advantage of me. If anything, you’re helping me. I get pretty lonely on these kinds of missions, so please, stay with me.”

You turned to look at Steve, the deep creases in his face at the thought of losing you. With just a glance, you knew that you couldn’t leave. 

——

The next few days of your life had proved your theory. It was almost alarming how quickly Steve became your anchor in the midst of a new, overwhelming world. 

The first thing that he did for you was tell you what your name was. As confused as you were to how exactly he figured it out, (he told you that he knew some weird tech guy. You were prepared to go with anything), you were grateful that Steve was able to help you out a piece of your old life back together.

He was oddly patient with you as you learned more and more about your surroundings. You were most impressed by the grocery store, and may or may not have spent hours inside of that food palace, spending much more of Steve’s money than was socially acceptable. 

For the next few months, you stayed at a safe house with Steve, spending the majority of your time looking down at your reflection in the lake in the backyard, wondering if your memories could ever come back.

You’d grown closer with Steve in that time as well, he was really the only person that you’d gotten close with since you’d lost your memories. Now that you were thinking about it, you hadn’t said more than three sentences to anyone else. By that measurement, your next closest friend was a gas station cashier.

In fact, you’d started dating Steve. Granted, you couldn’t completely wrap your mind around it all, despite the hours of rom-coms you’d watched while Steve was gone on missions. You just knew that you cared a lot about Steve. When he was around you, your heart fluttered. He was the only person you truly felt comfortable with. He protected you time after time, and voiced to you just how much he adored you. 

It made you feel wanted, to know that despite all of the confusion, you still had a place in this world, even if the place was just Steve Rogers’ heart. 

——

Steve arrived at the safe house late at night after nearly a week of being off on another mission. The bed creaked as he got into bed with you, and pressed up against your sleeping form. 

“Steve, sometimes I have these really awful dreams. Mostly when you’re not with me,” you began out of the blue as his arms snaked around you. “It’s always this faceless man just… abusing me. And I can’t even do anything about it because I’m too weak. And I can’t say anything because he stole my vocal cords. It sounds so silly, because it’s all just a dream, but it all feels so real. I just... I need you to promise me that you’ll protect me no matter what. Especially against him.”

“Of course,” he whispered against the back of your head, “I promise that I’ll protect you from him. He’ll never even get the chance to let the thought cross his mind.” 

“I love you, Steve,” you mumbled sleepily, “please never leave me again.”

He’d been waiting to hear those words.

——

Your fingers wrapped around a warm mug while Steve put the finishing touches on your breakfast. He’d decided to go all out that morning, with an impressive spread of food that would put most buffets to shame. For a moment, you questioned if you’d forgotten about some important holiday, or an anniversary.

Steve set a plate down in front of you, then pressed a soft peck to your forehead, “enjoy, sweetheart.”

You grinned softly down at the food, and at the affection, “what’s got you in such a good mood?”

“Just relieved to be back. I don’t like being away from you for too long,” he settled into the seat across from you, and took a sip of his own coffee.

“Mm, you sure? You’re not always this chipper post mission.”

Steve chuckled and shook his head just the slightest bit, “alright. You got me. I wanted to save it as a surprise, but I hate keeping secrets from you,” Steve paused.

“So… what’s the secret?” you pressed, bringing a forkful of food up to your mouth.

“I’m retiring.”

Your eyes widened as you heard the news, and you nearly choked, “are you really?”

Steve simply nodded, “I’m ready for the next chapter of my life with you.”

Your heart fluttered at the sweetness of his gesture, and the slightest hint of nerves. Why was Steve so willing to give up his entire livelihood for someone he knew for less than a year?

You felt bad for questioning his motives, considering that Steve had been nothing but good to you in the time that you knew him. If it wasn’t for him, you probably wouldn’t even be alive. He had proved himself to be an amazing, loving man, who had bent over backwards to keep you safe and comfortable. He trusted you, and it was time for you to do the same.

“I’ve been plotting this for a while, to be honest. You might think this is a little fast, but I even have a permanent place for us to stay.”

You couldn’t find it in you to be skeptical for much longer, your feelings of adoration for Steve overruling your hesitance to jump into something like that with him. 

You smiled softly as Steve spoke, getting up and pacing over to where he was seated so you could give him a hug, “I.. yes, that’s fast, but it’s also kinda amazing,” you sighed softly, burying your face into the crook of his neck. “When are we leaving?”

“Tonight, if that’s alright with you. I was thinking that we could spend the day packing up and… celebrating,” he winked down at you, and you looked up to shake your head fondly. 

“That sounds like a plan,” you gazed at him with adoration, and leaned up to press a soft peck to his lips that was lovingly reciprocated. 

——

Music pounded against your eardrums as you ground against a handsome stranger, one you couldn’t see, but instinctively knew. The smell of sweat, liquor, and sex filled your nose, the rancid combination oddly comforting in a retrospective moment. 

“We’re leaving!” A voice you hadn’t heard in what felt like years informed you. Your face broke into a wide grin when you heard her voice. “But it doesn’t look like you care!” she jeered. “Good luck!” your friend laughed, disappearing in the sea of people. 

“You’re coming home with me, right?” he asked, a hot breath against your cheek. 

You nodded. The words refused to come out. 

“Good,” he confirmed, pressing a kiss to your neck.

Out of the blue, you weren’t in the club, but in the small basement room from before, staring at nothing in particular while sat at the edge of your vanity’s seat.

“I’ve tried everything with you,” he commented, leaning against the doorway casually. You felt the need to apologize, to tell your captor that you didn’t mean to do what you did, that you loved him. Plead for him not to punish you. “After months of submission, I thought that we were finally getting somewhere. Why’d you have to throw it all away?” 

Glancing up at the vanity, a woman with sunken eyes, a pained expression, and fading bruises looked back at you, just long enough for you to briefly become that messy, drunken woman at the club once again. 

“I’ve tried everything with you. The easy way clearly didn’t work,” he continued, “you leave me with no other options, my love,” the man sighed, sitting down next to you casually. “I want you to know that I’m doing this for us. You know that nothing good ever comes easy, right?”

The syringe went into your arm like a hot knife through butter, and your muscles clenched as fire filled your body. You went to scream, but your throat was still out of commission. As you went down, your vision and thoughts began to blur before you couldn’t decipher one thing or another. The final noise you could make out was the distortedly slow rendition of It’s Been a Long, Long Time on the record player.

In an out-of-body moment, you watched as the man pulled your relaxed body down to the floor, cautiously pulling the clothes off of you and making you cringe internally at the sight of yourself in such a state. He left your body alone for a moment as he looked through the negligible amount of clothing in your closet, grabbing the same dress from the night at the club and pulling it on your limp figure.

It was torn and messy, not unlike the state it was in when you found yourself conscious. The faceless man muttered something unintelligible to himself before hoisting you up bridal style and taking your body out to the car. 

You watched in terror as this all played out, your slack face looking disturbingly at peace compared to how you’d appeared before. In fact, even in your ghastly state, you felt at peace. 

That peace quickly came to an end as you watched yourself get ditched on the side of the road, and as your body slowly began to twitch back to consciousness, your dream began to fade away.

——

You dragged your suitcase up through the garage, grateful to be at your final destination with the man you’d fallen in love with. You hoped that after moving in, the dreams might finally stop. After all, your dream in the car felt somewhat final. You were trying your best to be as positive as you could manage in such a strange situation, and from the outside, you had to admit that the house was gorgeous.

Stepping inside felt like the worst case of deja vu you’d ever experienced, as if your memories were repairing themself with every millisecond you were in the home, gazing at furniture you hadn’t seen in months, and smelling faint scents that you’d forgotten existed. Feature by feature, the puzzle pieces of the faceless man came together.

The longer you observed, the worse the feeling became. Waves of grief, fear, and pain were rolling over you again and again until you were completely drowning on it. The realization hit you with a ton of bricks: this was the house from your dreams.

Steve came up behind you, snapping you out of your panicked trance. He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek and squeezed you close to him.

“Ready for the first day of the rest of your life?”