#I know it’s not quite a memory. more like a fever dream mixed in. but I’ve waited so long for scraps like this

[pizzazz-party]

Finally some good fucking mariko food

[oo-delallymrcrow]

Soup for the Soul

Summary: Gricko has come down with a flu. You help take care of him and Hootsie.

A/N: another request! I'm sorry it's taken awhile to put out but it's finally here! I thought this was so cute and I love Hootsie! I would absolutely die for her I swear! Edit: I forgot to say @amethyst-gemstone requested this because they give me inspiration!! Thank you 😊

Gricko Grimgrin wasn’t one to fall ill. He prided himself on his resilience, his ability to withstand the things that would knock others flat. But this time, something had gotten the better of him. When you’d first heard about it, the idea of Gricko, bedridden and vulnerable, seemed almost impossible.

Everyone seemed to be busy with something and just could not stay to help their friend. Kremy and Gideon off doing God knows what with Twig. Frost and Torbek doing ... .well you didn't really listen when you heard the coughs and sad hoots coming from Gricko’s room. So with everyone else busy with their own things today, you volunteered to stay behind.

You walked up to the room that Gricko had taken over and softly rapt at the door. You just heard a sniffle and a few scratches in response, so you opened it. Hootsie immediately hopped up to get a few scratches and coos as you made sure she was ok. Looking up to find Grickob in a sorry state, lying in bed with a fever that had him sweating and shivering all at once.

“Gricko?” you called softly, stepping into the room. He didn’t respond, just mumbled something incoherent.

You approached the bed and found him lost in a feverish haze, his usually sharp eyes glazed over.

“It’s me,” you said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’m here to help. Just rest, okay?”

He muttered something about “the shadows moving” and “never trust the clocks,” his voice barely above a whisper. You couldn’t help but smile a little at the absurdity of it all. Even in his delirium, Gricko was a strange one.

Hootsie curled up at the foot of the bed, keeping watch as you moved about, gathering supplies to help nurse him back to health. You made sure she was fed and comfortable, giving her the attention she needed while also trying to soothe Gricko’s fever.

Hours passed, and Gricko’s ramblings continued. He talked about forgotten memories, dreams that made no sense, and even mumbled your name a few times, though you couldn’t quite catch the context. Every now and then, he would open his eyes and look at you with a confused expression, as if he wasn’t sure if you were really there or just another figment of his fevered imagination.

As he slept you let her follow you around the Inn and help with the mundane chores. She helped you with the broom, letting her hold it while you swept. You opened the front door to let her run around in the grass and chase rabbits and mice that she found and ate for lunch.

Speaking of, you made sure to gather a few ingredients to make a nice soup. Making sure to make it hearty and filled with vegetables that you know Gricko lacks in his diet. As you prepared it Hootsie came in from her fun, sitting and watching you as you moved around the kitchen. When you finished you made sure to ladle a good helping and a good cup of tea with honey mixed in.

As you brought him a bowl of warm soup, he tried to sit up, but his strength failed him. He reached out, and his hand grasped the fabric of your pants, tugging weakly as he struggled to stay upright.

“Gricko, it’s okay, I’ve got you,” you whispered, setting the soup and tea aside to help him back down onto the bed.

But instead of letting go, he clung to you, his fingers trembling as he pulled himself closer. Before you knew it, he had curled up against you, his head resting on your lap like a weary, weak puppy seeking comfort.

“Stay,” he murmured, his voice barely a breath. “Don’t go…”

You couldn’t refuse him, not when he was like this. Gently, you stroked his hair, trying to soothe him as best you could. He nuzzled closer, his fever making him more vulnerable than you’d ever seen him before. The lines between platonic and romantic, between caring and something more, began to blur, but you weren't ready to question it. Just stroked his hair with a hum of a soft tune as Hootsie joined you both on the bed, laying by Gricko’s feet to watch as she too fell asleep.

As you sat there, with Gricko curled up in your lap, you realized just how much this strange, often misunderstood man meant to you. He might be freaky, with his odd habits and mysterious ways, but in this moment, all you saw was someone who needed love, just like anyone else.

And so, you stayed, holding him close, whispering reassurances until his breathing slowed and he drifted into a peaceful sleep. You pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, hoping that, in his dreams, he’d find the comfort he so desperately needed.

But there was a shift that night. His delusions became less frequent, and instead, he watched you quietly as you took care of Hootsie. You heard him mumble something but when you turned to look at him, he had fallen asleep again. You smiled and let Hootsie cuddle up to her father as you tidied up his room.

When you left for a while to make him a small breakfast, you found him awake and talking quietly to Hootsie. You stopped for a second to listen to his soft words as Hootsie chirped and hooted.

“She let you play outside? And eat all the rats and rabbits? She really is a nice lady isn't she?”

You smiled to yourself before you entered the room with a soft ‘hello’.

Hootsie jumped from the bed to let you set the tray of food down as Gricko sat up. You smiled as he gave you a cheeky grin.

“I see you're feeling a little better.”

“Oh quite. I woke up to find the place tidy and a nice cup of tea next to me.”

You hummed as you brushed some of his hair back as his eyes crinkled in another smile and you saw them soften as he continued to watch you. You moved to sit at the end of his bed as he began to eat. Hootsie coming up to cuddle with you as you both talked about where everyone has been and other nonsense.

“Hootsie was telling me you were taking really good care of her.”

“Oh it wasn't anything special. She just needed someone while you were down for the count.”

You giggled as she purred and chirped at your words. He chuckled and leaned back from finishing his meal. He watched you both, you having a conversation with her and Hootsie responding to you. Hootsie turns to him and waddles up to lay by his side. She looked up at him with her big owl eyes and you could see him melt and scratch at her chin.

“She really likes you.”

“Hmm I hope so,” you chuckled as he glanced up at you.

“I really like you too.”

You blink at his soft words and can see he is being sincere with his words. He watches you and with a nervous laugh he shrugs as he looks away.

“Sorry. Probably something you don't want to hear.”

“That's not true Gricko,” you swallowed and stood up to grab the tray. “I like you too.”

You turned and started to leave the room as Gricko gave a slight cough.

“So hypothetical, if I wanted to take you out on a date, you wouldn't say no?”

You smiled and turned to Gricko with a wink, “get better and we'll see.”

As you walked down the hall you stifled a laugh as Gricko whispered excitedly to Hootsie.

“Oh Hootsie, did you hear that? You'll have a momma yet!”

[magickedteacup]

Sora and Riku do a mixed classical Indian dance number together, scribble draft of some key poses.

Music: Gully Dreams - Hanu Dixit

This is both the most niche and the most disgustingly romantic thing I’ve envisioned in my little mind. I don’t know if the scribble poses are clear enough or if people need to be more familiar with the dance styles I’m referencing to decipher my WIP. But anyway I’m posting it.

Partially references this kuchipudi dance video. Partially from my fevered memory, so might not be posed quite right yet. This all started when I was thinking about Demyx’s inexplicable use of the sitar. And then I started thinking about how characteristics of classical Indian music could be just as dramatic and complex, even in a compatible way, with Kingdom Heart’s existing music. And then I started thinking about what fusing those two ideas would look like. Potential comparable dance references here and here (all links are of different dance styles).

[addisonstars]

"take a photograph and live inside"

written for day 24 of september for @jegulus-microfic with the prompt "capture"

708 words of fluff, fluff, and more fluff!

“Happy anniversary love,” Regulus says as he hands James a part of his gift. He’s proud of this gift, partly because he didn’t need Sirius’s help on it like he normally did when deciding to get James something. He never knew what to get people; gift-giving was a very stressful thing for Regulus. 

James smiles brightly and sets down his fork. They were eating cheesecake to celebrate their 7th anniversary, along with a bottle of expensive champagne Regulus had gotten. They normally went out to eat or did something special, but they opted out this year and had a domestic day to themselves, just enjoying each other. Doing it this way also meant they had all day to fuck each other senseless on all surfaces of the house. 

He unwrapped the little gift, holding a photobook in his hands. One side was green, and the other was red, a little throwback to their days at hogwarts. 

“A photobook, for me?” James exclaims, delighted. “I love it already.” 

Regulus blushes, the tips of his ears turning pink. He ushers James to get on with it, to open it already. He is partly nervous because even though he knows James will love it, some part is worried he won’t. 

James peels back the cover, and flips to the first page. It’s a picture of them at Hogwarts in the astronomy tower. He had to practically beg Remus to take this picture sneakily while they were in there, but he was able to con him into doing it. He would have asked Sirius, but he didn't know about their relationship yet and he wasn't quite sure if he wanted to tell Sirius quite yet that he was shagging his best friend. 

“Aww, it’s us in the early days. I remember those days, when we were so careful yet carefree with our relationship.” Regulus sees the smile forming on James face and he can’t help to contain his own forming. 

The next page shows a picture of them in their quidditch robes, with their brooms in hand. The next, one in the common room with James and Regulus ties mixed up; James was wearing Reg’s green one and Reg had on James’s red one. That was not the first time that the occurrence happened, nor would it be the last. 

They kept flipping through the picture book together, seeing all their moments captured in print. It warmed Regulus' heart to see him and James so happy, so peaceful together. 

There were photos of him and James in front of their first flat together, some of them holding Teddy - Sirius and Remus' child - some selfies taken in the dark, some dinner photos, or other holiday pictures. James couldn't help but recall the moment that they were taken in, describing each moment in vivid detail. 

They passed their wedding photos and Regulus started tearing up. He couldn't believe that he had gotten so damn lucky to be with James. It was almost as if some god had made them just for each other, Regulus made just for James. 

Them in their best suits, with their favorite people surrounding them. It was a fever dream to Reg, and sometimes it was hard to believe that they had made it so far. 

He sniffled at the happy memories and James turned his head to look at him. “Aww my Reggie darling, don’t cry,” James came and wrapped his arms around Regulus. “There's no need to.” 

Regulus wiped his tears, and said, “It’s just, I love you so much, and,” he sniffed, “I don’t know what's gotten into me. I’m never like this,” Regulus laughs. “I love you so much and it makes me cry happy tears,” he chuckles. 

James’s eyes leaked a tear, because he too couldn’t help the fact seeing Regulus cry happy tears made him cry happy tears. He loved Regulus so much, and seeing their wedding photos from 7 years ago was such a emotional moment for the two of them. It was proof that there was nothing that could separate the two of them. Nothing could break the bond of their love.

“I love you so much too Reggie. So much my star.” James kisses Regulus with a wet smile. “So much.”

rahhh they make me so happy i dont think you understandddd

title inspired by "photography" by cody fry

-a.s.

[quinloki]

I bloody hate Tumblr, I didn't get to send the playlist in the ask so I'll send it again. (Assuming that you didn't get an ask about this one TT but, if I did send it... Just ignore my old ask and pretend you don't know who sent it since it was not an anon ask.)

Anyways, just wanted to say I love your fanfics (I read'em on Wattpad), especially 'Some Direction' and 'Just Like Fire'. At the moment, I'm reading 'Hat Trick' and I got hooked into in the first chapter. I haven't stopped thinking about it since work.

By the way, the playlist I made is quite mixed in terms of genre (K-pop, OPM/Original Pilipino Music, and Classical) and languages (Eng, Korean and Filipino), I hope you don't mind? Though, just in case, I noted down which is K-pop, OPM, and classical, including the language(s) they are sung in.

Sabo

- STARTAFIGHT by Joey Valence & Brae

- Hit and Run by LOLO

- What Do They Know by Mindless Self Indulgence

- I Want To Break Free by Queen

- Keep Myself Alive by Get Scared

Law & Crew

- Mary by Big Thief

- Bad Idea by Dove Cameron

- Bodies by Drowning Pool

- Barracuda by Heart

- In My Prison by IV of Spades [ OPM // ENG ]

Kid & Crew

- What's up Danger (With Black Caviar) by Blackway and Black Caviar

- PUNK! by BVDLVD ft. Lil Darkie

- Paint The Town Red by Doja Cat

- Kill Of The Night by Gin Wigmore

- Bad Reputation by Joan Jett & the Blackhearts

[ NOTE: I haven't finished Wano, I just started out, so I'm mostly basing this on my first impression during the Sabaody Arc. ]

Marco

- Under Pressure by Queen

- There Is A Light That Never Goes Out by The Smiths

- Memories by Thutmose

- It Took Me By Surprise by Maria Mena

- Familia by Nicki Minaj, Anuel AA, Bantu

Shakky

- Welcome To the Jungle by Guns N' Roses

- Captivated by IV of Spades [ OPM // ENG ]

- I Ain't Perfect by IV of Spades [ OPM // ENG ]

- Just A Girl by No Doubt

- One Woman Army by Porcelain Black

Rayleigh

- Smells like Teen Spirit by Nirvana

- Naughty Naughty by Porcelain Black

- Outta Get Me by Guns N' Roses

- Time Of My Life UPSAHL

- Egoistic by MAMAMOO [ K-pop // KOREAN ]

Kaku

- Stupid MF by Mindless Self Indulgence

- Figure It Out by Royal Blood

- Hunter or Prey by NOISEMAKER

- Revenge by (G)I-DLE [ K-pop // KOREAN BUT HAS ENGLISH ]

- Problems by Hayloft

Katakuri

- Violin Sonata in G Minor "Devil" by Giuseppe Tartini [ Classical ]

- Creep by Radiohead

- Glory and Gore by Lorde

- Are You Satisfied? by MARINA

- Misfit Lunatic by MISSIO

So I didn’t reply to this for a while because I needed time to check out the songs xD

Then I did and FORGOT TO BLOODY ANSWER THE ASK.

I liked a lot of these, my apologies for not having more detailed responses than that T-T - I’m pretty sure I added a couple and I know most of these are on my Liked list (so I can hear them again and again and see if they vibe more with time).

Thank you so much for going through and doing this with such focus \o/ it was helpful even if I apparently fever-dreamed replying >.<

Mom glad you’re enjoying the other stories \o/ and it should be obvious but I’ll say so just in case, I love all kinds of music, so there’s no disqualifications based on language ^_^ (also classical is great cause sometimes lyrics are distracting.)

[tessatales]

Touch Starved Series: ✨Bucky✨

Bucky x F!reader

Warnings: SadBoi Bucky, Past Trauma?

Theme: Cute, Constant need for touch, touch starved (duh)

A/N: Hey! How are you all doing? This fic feels like I was written during a fever dream- so if something is written really wrong please let me know 😂😅

In other news, It’s going to be my birthday soon! 23 years old 😛 no one likes you when your 23, right? (If you get the song reference- we’re friends now)

Anyway- onto the fic 👌🏻

*Y/N POV*

Bucky has been acting- differently. You’re not sure when it started, but you’ve noticed he’s become somewhat, clumsy?

Recently, you’d noticed Bucky seemed to be bumping into you more. Whether it was a brush of his arm against yours as you passed in the halls, or offering to spar with you in training and ‘tripping’, he seemed to be constantly bumping you. All of this with his Vibranium arm.

Since first retuning, Bucky had been hyper aware of his arm, it’s lack of feeling causing him to give people and objects a wider birth as to not hurt or break anything.

For the most part, you accepted this. Knowing that only Bucky himself could bring himself to terms with his situation. But the sudden change in his demeanour regarding his arm was a surprising yet happy change. Or at least that’s how you wanted to see it. 

*Bucky POV*

Bucky had feeling in his left arm.

When Shuri had talked about upgrading his arm, and he’d jokingly (somewhat bitterly) about having feeling in it again; Bucky had assumed her silence to be quite sadness over her inability to grant his wish.

But to Bucky’s surprise, she’d managed it.

‘You’ll be really sensitive to begin with’ Shuri had said, her fingers wizzing over her labs controls as she spoke.

‘I’m predicting that anything you do with the arm with feel amplified until you become used to the sensations again’ The teen said, grinning as she turned to him.

‘Oh and don’t worry, you’re able to completely numb the feeling when needed. So you can still use your arm in battle without the worry of pain’

Bucky had just stared, his mind barely focused on the conversation as he looked at his arm. Feeling. He had feeling.

Since then, Bucky had kept the new update quiet, deciding not to tell anyone until he had gotten used to feeling again. But it had been so hard to keep it to himself. Everything felt so strong, he’d lost count of the amount of time he’d nearly shouted in shock when one of the team brushed past him.

To counteract this, Bucky had started off slowly, trying his best to keep his movements steady and slow as he began to touch things around the compound. The sensation of the worn out cover of The Hobbit that he kept by his bed was so strong he dropped the book, the pages fluttering open as it hit the floor.

The sensation running through his arm had been an indescribable mix of what he could only assume was shock and pain; his minds subconscious seemingly reeling at the new feeling.

What annoyed him most was that Bucky didn’t even remember loosing his arm. If he was honest, he didn’t remember much of anything since before the fall that turned him into this. The Winter Solider.

The most recent memory he had was when he first saw Steve again; the vague recognition of his best friend had worked it’s way through the decades of brainwashing to bring him back; and thanks to Shuri and the help of Wakanda. Bucky was able to fully become himself again.

But in coming back into himself, Bucky had had to come to terms with the loss of his arm over 75 years after the event that took it. This meant that such things as phantom limb had long since subsided but the loss was still fresh in Bucky’s memory.

Over the course of a few months, Bucky had tamed the sensations that course through his nee feeling left arm; his constant practicing meaning his arm was almost completely used to all sensations. He had one problem. Y/N.

Since returning from Wakanda, Bucky had grown close to Y/N. Her lack of fear towards him had been an instant comfort (even if Bucky refused to show it)

And as much as he’d like to deny it, Bucky had thought more than once about wanting his relationship with Y/N to be much more than just platonic. But before he could admit these feelings, he needed to get a grip of his arm. For some reason (a completely hormonal reason, according to Shuri) whenever Y/N had touched Bucky’s metal arm, the sensation had been so strong, Bucky could only compare it to how it must of felt to loose he original limb. The reaction the touch had caused had hurt Y/N, the look of sadness in her eyes had burned Bucky’s heard nearly as much as the touch had his arm. So he need to get control. He would only tell her about his arm when he was able to touch her without fear of his own pain.

So he’d started out slow, having himself purposely brush past her in the halls. He’d done it so often in the beginning he was surprised she hasn’t called him out in it. But eventually it had worked, the sensations dimming to a natural state after only a few weeks. He’d done this with everything he could think, offering Y/N food, drink, a sparing partner; anything where he could discreetly touch her where she wouldn’t suspect an ulterior motive.

Bucky had thought he’d gotten away with it all until just now, when a hastily written note had been slipped under his door; asking him to meet Y/N in the training room ASAP. Bucky had tensed, running his hands through his hair before stuffing the note in his pocket and making his way to the training room.

*********

‘Hey Bucky’ Y/N said as Bucky entered the room, her legs dangling over one of the built in bleacher seats.

She wasn’t in any form of training kit, so Bucky knew she hadn’t summoned him for a late night training session. But the look on her face didn’t portray any anger ether, so Bucky didn’t think he was being chewed out for something ether.

‘What’s up Y/N?’ Bucky said, making his way up the bleacher steps to join her.

‘Did you know that Shuri is very bad at leaving her computer unlocked when we’re having girls night?’ Y/N said, looking at Bucky with an unreadable expression. Bucky frowned as he shook his head.

‘No, funnily enough I don’t get invited to Girls night, doll’ Bucky said, trying to lighten his confused mood. Y/N smiled.

‘And did you know, I can read her blueprints for your Vibranium arm’ Y/N continued, her Y/E/C eyes scanning the training room slowly before landing on Bucky.

Bucky’s shoulders sank.

‘You know.’ Bucky said, clasping his hands together with anxiety. He could see Y/N nod in his periphery.

‘Please don’t think I was hiding this from you. I haven’t told anyone. Shuri said it would take a while to get used to feeling in my arm again so I decided I’d tell people when I was used to it again.’ Bucky said, his chest suddenly tight with guilt. Y/N shifted in her seat.

‘Give me your hand, Buck’ Y/N said, her voice barely above a whisper. Bucky stared, his mind suddenly blank as he raised his  Vibranium arm towards her. She took it gentle, her hands warm as she wrapped her hands around his.

The sensation was bliss, the mixture of soft skin and warmth a beautiful combination for the metal arm. Bucky sighed, the breath almost ragged as it escaped him.

Y/N smiled, humming lightly as she began to draw shapes into Bucky’s open palm, the soft touch so delicate Bucky forgot for a moment that Y/N was just as capable of killing a man as he was. Bucky stared, watching intently as Y/N continued to draw softly against his metal skin. Y/N’s hand suddenly stilled.

‘Bucky, You’re crying’ Y/N said in a whisper, her hand now resting inside of his. Bucky frowned, sitting up slightly as he used his free hand to wipe his face. He was indeed crying.

‘I didn’t realise..’ Buck said, trailing off. Y/N shook her head.

‘Don’t worry about it Buck. You’ve been given something you didn’t know you could. It’s understandable to be overwhelmed sometimes’ Y/N said, lacing her fingers into his. Bucky squeezed her hand lightly. Y/N squeezed back.

*Y/N POV*

You and Bucky walked back to his room still hand in hand. Nether of you wanting to break the contact. You hadn’t been upset with Bucky for keeping this secret; more happy that he had gotten this chance. A chance to be the Bucky he never got to be in 1945. You looked forward to this future for him. A future where he can maybe make peace with the trauma he endured.

You hoped for his future, and maybe, just maybe, you’d be part of it.

[kissme-hs]

Cute Chris evans fluff 💓

Hey my loves. I apologise for not writing in a while, my job and personal life haven’t been so great. But I will try to update as much as possible. Requests are open. Hope you all enjoy it :,)

Reblog+ liked if you enjoyed please!

Pairing: Chris Evans x fem! Reader

Warnings: none.

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅

Life isn’t easy. It never was. There are days where everything comes crashing down, there are days when you’re at your lowest, there are days when you’re in pain—so much pain that you decide to keep it yourself because no one would understand.

But the those days, those crashing down minutes, that pain eases when you’ve someone to share it with. A person who listens to all your doubts you’ve about yourself and never fails to remind you how those doubts are nothing but a slip of mind from your perfect self. A person who promises to stay by your side through thick and thin and they do indeed stand on the grounds of their words they uttered in complete sense.

And the sad truth is, not everyone finds their ‘someone’. Not everyone is blessed enough to find their person, though they do but not so easily. But you however, lied somewhere in between. Never having a luck in finding that person who wouldn’t leave you wo thing months when they come to realisation that you’re not perfect, when they realise that you’ve flaws and you’re not one of the plastic barbies like they imagines. Everyone left, eventually.

Except Chris.

That day when you were weeping in his arms after having a not so self warming moment, when you were doubting his decisions for choosing a normal girl over those glorious women. To say, that you, for the first time let those hurtful comment get through that tough skin you built over the years, he held you. He held you so tight and didn’t let go. Not even once.

Your tears were damping his navy blue shirt he wore, he cradled your crumbling body in his arms joining you on the floor. His cheek pressed on top of your head as you clutched the soft cotton material of his clothing in pain. Those words thrown at you pierced through your skin and he saw it. But in that moment of you crying, at your lowest and not the prettiest with ugly tears and broken heart, lost self esteem—he stayed by your side.

That moment of pain was your golden memory because that’s the moment when you realised how this one was different. Any other would’ve left not wanting to deal with a broken state person, in this date everyone is busy fixing themselves that they all want someone who doesn’t require touch ups. And no one realises, that we all are a little broken at the end of the day.

And for Chris finding you was his biggest victory. He’s one of those mentioned earlier who can’t find Love easily, given up on hope to find love was the state he was in when he found you. His heart accepted the fate of him might being alone for the rest of his life seeing his friends getting married and having kids already.

It felt as if god answered all his prayers when he found you. You were the person he missed all this time not knowing who it really was. Not everyone understood him, to the world he might be a handsome guy with no flaws whose heart was made of pure gold but inside those four walls of his house where he sits idle left to wander alone with his insecurities made him who he really was.

But the day when you decided to stay overnight within a heartbeat to take care of him all night long because of the burning fever that took over his body, putting cold cloth over his forehead to make the sickness go away—not caring how it might make you lose your job because of the day off, was the day he felt his heart whisper, ‘she’s the one buddy, we found her’.

He felt like crying, how could someone care for him so dearly? How could someone be with him aware of the imperfections he possessed? How could someone ever love him so much to the point where he was for the first time felt as if all his inner darkness doesn’t exists anymore. How could someone?

But the answers to those questions nestled within the questions itself. It simply, she loved him just like he loved her.

So when one Friday evening when he walks into the kitchen, the aroma of freshly made lasagna filling the air made his mouth water and his heart swell with the view of his love stirring the soup with a soft humming coming through her lips, he couldn’t t help but wrap his arms around your body. Frank Sinatra faintly playing on the record player he got from the vintage store.

His lips quickly coming in contact with the skin of your supple neck making you giggle as you put the wooden spatula on the tray to turn around to face him.

“Well hello there mister” you smiled wrapping your arms around his neck. His own lips turning up to give the most adorning smile you’ve ever seen, his eyes searched yours. Though he stayed quite enjoying the moment, he said a lot.

“Can I have this dance my love?”

“But honey the food-“ you couldn’t even finish your senetence when his arms snuck behind your from your side to turn off the stove and pull you to the middle of the kitchen.

He took your hand in his and placed the other on his shoulder making you giggle. You shook your head when he placed a soft delicate kiss on your nose making you scrunch before wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you close, so close that if you look up at him you’re lips would touch his in a ever so light kiss. His chest pressed against yours as he swayed your bodies to the soft beat of the music resting his cheek on your head just like he did that night.

Closing your eyes you swayed along, where you rested your head against his chest. And you swore it felt as if you two were the only ones on this earth, it felt so heavenly. With his skin against your and your heartbeat synchronised nothing else mattered. He had his whole world in his arms and you were held by your world.

“I love you so much.” Chris whispered pulling away a little making you look up at him. His eyes sparkled with your sight staring at him with those eyes he lived so much, and a face of an angel.

His heart skipped a beat just by thinking how much he loved you and you loved him back just the same way, unconditionally.

“I love you too” you whispered before he leaned in and pressed his lips to your in a soft kiss, the kiss wasn’t rushed but slow. It was like as if you both were trying to make love through that kiss.

But it didn’t last forever as you wished, he pulled away after a minute or so making you whine slightly. His eyes stared into yours like if he was trying to find an answer of a question he was yet to ask. He brought your intertwined hands to his lips to peck the skin of your hand.

“Marry me?”

“Huh?”

“Marry me baby, I just want to you to be my forever, I want to grow old with you, have babies with you, die with you. I never thought I’d find someone who’ll love me more than I love myself and I swear everyday I wake up as the happiest man alive all because you’re in my life.” He whispered and you could see his eyes tearing up along yours. Though you’ve been together over an year and talked about marriage, this was completely out of the blue and a dream come true.

You stared at him with his tear dripping down your eyes as he slowly pulled away to reveal the most gorgeous ring you’ve ever seen and slowly gets on one knees, before he could even get comeplety down on his knee you pulled him up by cupping his cheeks and pressing your lips to his.

You could feel his warm tears falling on your cheeks mixing with yours and then making their way on your lips as one.

“Yes” you whispered against his lips and he waited no second in sliping that elegant on your finger before pulling in again for another kiss, first kiss as engaged lovers.

“I love you so goddamn much.”

“I love you more Chris”

He found his forever and so did you.

[erismerald]

𝑰 𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒔𝒕 (Jacob Frye x reader) 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 2

Hello creed, I bring you here the second chapter of my Jacob Frye fanfic, I hope you like it and maybe I would like to remind you that my requests are always open in case someone is interested!

Without further ado, stay safe, and happy reading!

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 1

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: Fluff and a bit of teasing ;)

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 3953

𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧 𝟏𝟖𝟔𝟖

Your head hurt a little, and your vision was blurred, you felt moving but you were still, you looked around, the environment you were in was different from the wet and scary street, with a little more effort, you tried to look for details that would help you identify where you were, you were on a train. ... but how? the room you were in was well decorated, you knew that style well, your nanny was doing her best to decorate every part of the house with the rustic and elegant theme of the Victorian era, so none of that had been a dream?

You sat up in bed, feeling your body weakened, you took a deep breath and gained strength to pull yourself together, the clothes you were wearing were different, it was a nightgown, made of cotton, all black with gold details on the sleeves, after all you had really traveled in time. ... but how was that possible, one moment you were with your friends and the next you were alone in the world, flash all the memories of last night had burst into your mind, the dark street, the rain... the man who tried to abuse you, and your savior, who was he? was it him that brought you here? doubts hovered empty in your consciousness, you looked at your wrists small black marks tinged your skin, you felt pain when the palm of your fingers ventured to touch them, without realizing it you let out a 'auch', you couldn't control the fear you felt, you were alone. You wanted your grandmother by your side to calm you down, you grabbed your knees and pulled them up to your chest, and laid your head down lightly letting the tears run down your face, feeling them fall on your hands, you felt small, you felt abandoned.

Suddenly the bedroom door opened revealing a woman, still quite young she must have been in her early twenties, she smiled sweetly at you, no matter how hard you tried to hide under the blanket, that smile warmed your heart and made you smile back.

"I see you're awake at last" She approached with a tray of food that she set down on top of the couch where you were lying "My name is-" she was interrupted by a man, you recognized him, he had been the one to save you, your heart pounded hard when your gaze met.

"Ahhh finally, I'll be able to sleep in my room again" he laughed sitting down in the armchair opposite you, you bowed your head in shame

"Jacob! The girl just woke up, and you're already being a real jerk, I can't believe you're my brother sometimes" The girl said turning her attention back to you " Dear ignore him, he's just a jerk, how do you feel?"

"I... I'm confused just... I feel sick and hot" your voice came out shaky, you were nervous.

"It's because of the fever the doctor said you would feel like this for a few days, but that you would be fine, what's your name?" The girl asked meekly, sitting down in front of you, your gaze shifted a little to the man sitting in front of you, he seemed asleep.

"M-my name is Y/n L/n" again your voice betrayed you, as you said your name the girl looked shocked but interested in you.

"Your family is a great help to our brotherhood, it is an honor to have you here with us!" The girl said with a gentle smile kissing her lips, a feeling of hope embraced your body, would there still be a way back home? But in a flash, you recalled what she had said.

"M-my family? how do you know them?" you asked pulling your body forward-facing the two people sitting in front of you.

"The L/N family has always been a great help in training young assassins" Assassins? What? you didn't want to believe what you heard, all the memories were joining the truth about your family, the story your grandmother told you and you preferred not to believe was really true? It wasn't possible, but why now? why now that you had decided to find out who you were? Why now that you have finally traveled to London? And who were the people in front of you? The girl stood up and stretched her hand towards you "My name is Evie Frye, and that idiot over there is my twin brother Jacob Frye" the words that came out of her lips were like glass tearing your mind, you felt dizzy as if you couldn't breathe right, was all that true? Wasn't it possible? Was it? But how did you end up in their time? Was your grandmother right, weren't they just children's stories?

"How is it possible?" you whispered, both brothers looked at you curiously, " No, it can't be real, I must be dreaming... "Your gaze was fixed on your hands resting on the thin cloth that covered your body, crystal clear tears came out of your eyes, Evie seeing your reaction to finding out who they were hugged your body and pulled you in, you hid your face to her shoulder, letting the sadness leave your heart.

A few minutes passed, but it seemed like hours, your body was still weak from crying, in 18 years of life you had never cried so much, you took a deep breath, hugging Evie's body tightly.

"I know very well who you are" you finally said, Evie knelt down beside the sofa looking puzzled at you.

"How do you know us, love?" Jacob said getting up from the armchair and staring at you, he was much taller than you, and you felt a little embarrassed to feel his gaze fixed on yours, in one small movement you looked away from Evie, you took a deep breath and gathered your courage to expose your whole story.

"My name is Y/n L/n but I am not from here... in fact until a few minutes ago I believed that you two were part of the stories my grandmother used to tell me when I was younger... "I know well who my family is, I just didn't know their true position in this brotherhood, my grandmother used to tell me stories of the Frye twins and the adventures of the assassins to free London from the grasp of the Templars, but I always believed that you were a lie, I am not from here, nor from this time and I honestly don't know how I got here," you said between sobs, raising one of your hands to your face wiping the tears that were falling "I don't even know why I came here, for one second I was in 2020 and the next I traveled back in time to here. .. BUT I DON'T KNOW WHY! I WAS JUST TRYING TO FIND OUT WHO I WAS, WHY DID I HAVE TO VISIT LONDON AND IGNORE ALL THE WARNINGS MY GRANDMOTHER GAVE ME? WHY DID SHE LET ME COME? DID SHE KNOW THIS WAS GOING TO HAPPEN?" Your crying turned into anger, you felt like your body was going to collapse, you felt dizzy, everything was becoming blurry but something broke your fall and held you tight, with the tremendous effort you looked up to see what had happened, the next thing you knew you were in Jacob's arms, he protected you from falling or passing out, you wanted to talk but all you could say was 'ahh' or 'I...'.

"Okay love I know it's a lot to process but you're not alone here, you have us now, we'll take care of you," Jacob said stroking your hair and holding you close to his body, the beating of his heart helped you calm down. "Now what do you mean 2020? We can tell you're not from here but did this happen? Evie?" Jacob called his sister's name they both looked at each other, and after a few seconds, Evie had an idea.

"Let's wait for you to recover so you can tell us everything straight so we can understand what's going on, but..." Evie stopped sighing "Until you can get back home we have to make you unnoticed, we have to make you mix with the people of our time, only then you will be safe, and since your family is a big influence here in London we can visit them and try to ask for help, what do you think?" Evie smiled at you and you smiled back, you felt your eyes grow tired, and without much effort, you fell asleep.

Your eyes opened slowly, it was hard to sleep with the storm of thoughts that rambled through your mind, occupying every neuron, it was still night, you looked at the clock on the desk, it was 4 am, still so early and you were already so awake, you couldn't deny that you felt anxious and nervous with what was happening, Your body moved from side to side on the sofa where you slept, the rain hit the glass loudly, the sound of the wheels on the rails, the wind whistled lulling your body, but you couldn't sleep anymore, the stress, the fear, the frustration of not being home, it was agonizing, you stared at the ceiling, thinking, those memories were still very fresh in your mind, it would take a while to accept.

With a little effort you pushed your body up, sitting down and crossing your legs, the window above your head was splashed with raindrops that slid with speed, the landscape was beautiful, the city lights in the background made your heart beat faster, Even in another epoch London was still London, still a beautiful, attractive city, without you realizing it, a weak smile broke out on your lips, it was ironic that you wanted to visit a place so much and when you did it was as if it vanished through your fingers.

You observed the room and noticed your bag lying on the side of the sofa, with one hand you pulled yourself towards you and took out your drawing notebook, you appreciated the picture sticked on the leather cover, it was your grandfather who had made it, he made a dozen of them just for you, every time the pages of one finished, another one came on the scene, with canvas for more adventures and emotions, since you were very young that writing and drawing were a way to represent your emotions and represent the world you lived in.

With a few gestures you let your hand flow across the white page, drawing and sketching empty emotions but full of comfort, looking on the bright side, when you return you will always have something to show your grandmother, a memory, the sound of the pencil scratching the sheet of paper, soothed your heart so full of bitterness, 'so this is what it's like to discover who I am? Is this what you wanted me to see grandma?' you thought to yourself, is this the destiny that was destined for you?

You sighed and let your hand fall on your thigh, you looked forward, and saw Jacob's coat resting on the back of the armchair in front of you, a wave of warmth and embarrassment invaded your chest, you felt strange every time you thought about him, he was mysterious but gentle and protective, when you felt his body wrap around yours it seemed that they had connected to each other, and all the negative energies and scary thoughts disappeared, your heartbeat as he did, your breath calmed down as you felt his fingers tangle in your hair to comfort you, without a second thought, you began to draw his face on that once white page, you remembered every detail of his face, the two scars, his unshaven beard, his hazel eyes, his lips. ... he was an attractive man, you would never in your life think of meeting him, but now that you know him, he was something you didn't want to forget, you put the notebook against your chest and smiled like a little child, feeling butterflies playing with your belly.

But something interrupted the moment, that moment when you were no longer present on earth, you were lost, hidden in a world of thoughts:

" Rough night?" A voice coming from behind you, scared every inch of your body, you put your hand on your chest letting the notebook fall to the floor, you recognized the owner behind that hoarse and funny voice, Jacob laughed a little "I didn't want to scare you, love, I just came to check if you were okay and since I saw you were awake I decided to come in" Jacob said sitting next to you, his gaze crossed with yours. "How are you feeling?"

"I-im okay, and don't worry you didn't scare me, I was just lost in my thoughts and didn't even see you coming...." you replied shakily, like a leaf in the middle of a storm, his smile was directed at you, you could feel your face getting warm, it was obvious you were nervous, but why?

Jacob sat in the armchair in front of you, he looked tired, but more importantly, he was completely flushed, your gaze was fixed on his body, his hair was dripping, his breathing was racing, your heart was beating unregulated as if you were in a sprint, your breathing became heavy for a few moments.

"Do you like what you see love?" Jacob teased, bending his body forward, you jumped a little when hearing his voice, and quickly looked the other way, the rain was still beating strongly on the window, but the train had stopped, maybe because of the bad weather? "I was just messing with you, I just came from a mission, and well... since you are sleeping in my room and my stuff is here, I came straight to you." He laughed a little, his laugh was wonderful.

Even not looking directly at him you could feel his smile, unbelievably you were feeling calm again, your breathing was quiet, but you felt Jacob's gaze on your body, something captivated him about you, but he still couldn't know what it was, maybe because you were exotic? Because you were new to him, his gaze was fixed on your neck, the necklace that belonged to him was now adorning your neck.

"I wanted to thank you, Mister Frye, thank you for saving me from that... you know, I wanted to thank you earlier but, I've been busy with my mind-" Suddenly you felt his fingers slip up your neck to your jawline turning your face to face his, his curious gaze was focused on the necklace, he smiled.

"How funny I have a necklace just like that hanging around my neck, matching aren't we" Again his laughter filled the room, you couldn't contain yourself, and a small giggle broke out from your lips "Oh you do laugh too, you have a very adorable laugh" Your face flared, a pink color graced your cheeks as you heard his voice, he was so close. ... his scent intoxicated you, as if you were drunk on his scent alone, you felt your eyes getting heavier, but something woke you up, a fallen drop of Jacob's hair fell on your cheek.

"Shouldn't you take off your wet clothes, or at least dry yourself? Mister Frye you might catch a cold" the words escaped from your lips, the concern was explicit on your face, Jacob found it adorable, but he laughed a little, confused you looked at him pouting, you were just trying to help and he still laughed.

"Darling, my clothes are all here and if you haven't noticed, you're here, it would be inappropriate to undress in front of such a delicate lady, besides I'm used to it, after missions I usually go to some pub to celebrate with my rooks but Evie asked me to keep an eye on you, and I didn't want to leave you alone either," Jacob said sitting back in the chair.

You blushed but nodded, he was right, it wouldn't be appropriate, but something wandered in your mind, he didn't want to leave you alone? Jacob's watchful eyes noticed your notebook lying on the floor, he reached out to pick it up, you felt a wave of embarrassment and shame hit you like a stone, no, a bunch of them.

His fingers slid across the pages looking at the drawings, especially the one you had done the day you arrived in London, he looked like a child watching a cartoon on TV, he was mesmerized.

"Ahm Mister Frye, may I ask you something?" you asked as he looked at your notebook, he nodded without saying a word. "What was this mission you went on?" his gaze was still focused on the drawings, but he took a deep breath and answered finally.

"Y/n you know what an Assassin does right?" He asked, you nodded, waiting for his answer to continue "I was assigned to kill templars and free London from the disgusting and profiteering clutches of theme, today I helped rescue some of my rooks who were taken hostage in the middle of one of their rounds when they warned me,

I ran immediately to save them, they are like a family

family, and I as their leader have to help and protect them.

His words were like melodies, he sounded just like the way your vein described, ruthless, brave, gentle and playful, fearless, you smiled, was it possible for a man like that to be true? Was it even possible that your childhood hero was right there in front of you watching your drawings? Was it really true that after many years of hearing about him, you were having a conversation with him? You felt so confident that for a few minutes you forgot that you were stuck in 1800.

"You are really brave Jacob..." Finally, you said, slowly removing the necklace from your neck and holding it between your fingers, circling it from side to side. "You know I spent years adoring you... wanting to be like you and Evie, my grandmother spent years telling me about your adventures, I remember when I was younger and climbing up on the roof, jumping from window to window pretending to be you, pretending to be with you, and well. ... years later here I am in front of you, talking to my idol, and I still don't know how to react to this situation" You laughed a little sarcastically. You were nervous but you knew you could trust him, when you looked ahead again his gaze went through every detail of the drawing you had made of him, he seemed excited.

"I thank you Y/n, for idolizing me when you were younger, it must come as a shock to you, finally meeting me hum?" He said with a tinny smirk on his lips.

"W-well it is but I think you can even exceed my expectations Mister Frye" You laughed nervously, you tried to avoid looking at him, you were afraid you wouldn't know how to react.

"How do you feel about your family belonging to the brotherhood?" He questioned you as he put your notebook down on the desk next to him, you sighed, honestly you didn't even know what to say, or what to think about it, of course, you knew for many years that your family came from a long line of assassins but, you preferred to believe that it was a lie or just another story invented by your grandmother to entertain your creative mind during the most starry nights, you never imagined that they were real, and you still thought that taking someone's life for the sake of a brotherhood or to protect others was wrong, and you didn't want to be associated with that, so you forgot that story, and went on with your life, but now that you knew that they were real, you were a little afraid to confront them.

"I... honestly I don't know how to answer you, when I was younger, I heard the stories told by my grandmother over and over again, but I never thought that they were real, and even when she talked about the brotherhood I... preferred to ignore it, in my view, it isn't right to kill someone, I thought that the assassins were cruel monsters who had no feelings, so I never really wanted to know that part of the story, but I confess that I am afraid to confront them tomorrow..." Jacob seemed to understand what you were feeling his eyes were downcast, you could hear his heavy breathing, you felt a little worried, would you said something wrong, but something surprised you when his gaze met yours you could see a little fear and sadness in his gaze.

"Do you think I'm a monster?" Jacob asked getting up and walking towards you again, you felt your body harden like a stone, your heart was beating uncontrollably, you couldn't think of anything to answer him, he knelt in front of you, still with his gaze fixed on yours, you couldn't even think, he was very close to you, his hand wrapped around yours and took the necklace you were holding between your fingers "Your grandmother gave you this didn't she? and by some fluke of life you came right to me... tell me Y/n even after I saved you, do you think I'm a monster?" His voice was husky, his touch made you sensitive, his smell made you dizzy, you are hypnotized.

"N-no, I don't think you're a monster, I... just didn't know much about.... I... and by some fluke of life you came right to me... tell me Y/n even after I saved you, do you think I'm a monster?" His voice was husky, his touch made you sensitive, his smell made you dizzy, you are hypnotized.

"N-no, I don't think you're a monster, I... just didn't know much about.... I..." Jacob's hand moved closer to your neck his fingers slid across your skin easily, you sighed deeply as you felt his skin in contact with yours, Jacob smiled, it was funny to see your submissive reaction to him, with a small gesture, he placed the necklace around your neck, caressing the back of it, but before he left, his breath-focused on your ear and with a whisper, he made your world crumble.

"Don't take this necklace off, so I'll always know why you're here"

He stood up and grabbed his coat, you were completely paralyzed, you were blushing, your breathing was heavy and panting, your gaze seemed glazed on him, he smiled and walked towards the door, but before disappearing into the darkness his voice echoed once again in the room "you better get some more rest Love tomorrow we have a long day, it was nice talking to you miss L/n". And with that he left you there alone, your heart pounding, panting, and nervous, your only thought was his voice softly caressing your ear.

You let your body fall back, staring at the window, and the rain sliding on it, you didn't realize that the train was moving again, you just let your mind wander, what would have happened if he stayed here?

Feelings and thoughts left you awake for the rest of the night, before you knew it the birds were already singing, the first rays of sunlight illuminated your smiling face.

[mandoalorian]

Sugar and Spice [Maxwell Lord x Reader] - Chapter 3

Summary: When you are evicted from your apartment by your toxic ex boyfriend and have no place to go, who do you turn to? Alone in the city as the countdown to Christmas begins, you find yourself applying for a job as the assistant of the world’s biggest entrepreneur; Maxwell Lord. Little do you know, he has other intentions for you. No doubt about it, this Christmas will truly be like no other.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: Eventual smut, mentions of a previous verbally abusive relationship, typical 80s misogyny (but very little of it), mentions of food and drink, alcohol consumption. This is a sugardaddy x sugarbaby fic soooo… a daddy k!nk too oops.

But in this chapter - more tension and also male and female masturbation

Author’s note: Chapter 3 wheyyy! I'm super sick at the minute, but nevertheless I hope my illness isn't reflected in this piece of writing. Yikes. I hope everyone is enjoying so far! Remember if you wanted to be added to my taglist feel free to let me know!

MASTERLIST | SUBMIT REQUESTS

PREVIOUS - CHAPTER THREE - NEXT 

The rain drops pelted heavy against your skin as the cool winter ambience sent a shiver down your spine. Once dismissed by Maxwell Lord, you practically raced out of the building. The contrast between the heat you felt in his presence and the December air was immeasurable. You took a big gasp of air, letting rain drops fall on your face and soak through your clothes. You stood there in the middle of the busy street trying to process what just happened.

You had been successful. Your elaborate plan had worked out and you had gotten the job. Only, it was unlike anything you had ever done before. Maxwell told you to expect a call sometime tomorrow and before you left, he made sure you were comfortable with the prospect of his job offer. First things first— tell Tristan the good news. Hopefully then, he would let you stay in your apartment a little while longer.

Before you could grab a ride from a cabbie, the doorman tapped you on the shoulder. "Ms Minerva?" His tone was completely different than earlier, more polite and friendly. "Ma'am? Mr Lord has requested his driver take you home. He didn't want you to get wet in the rain but," the doorman looked you up and down. "I see you're already drenched from this God foresaken rain. I’m Andreas, by the way."

Maxwell had asked his own, personal driver to take you home? You felt butterflies erupt in your stomach from his kind gesture, but you worried about the authenticity of it. How genuine was he? Maxwell Lord was someone who built up his reputation and business on lies and false hope.

"Oh really, that's quite alright," you dismissed the offer. "I can just get a cab."

Andreas put his hand out, halting you from walking away. "I'm afraid Mr Lord insists." He told you, taking out a sleek black umbrella and opening it up. He held it above you, protecting you from the rain.

"Could you tell Mr Lord that I'm grateful for his offer, but I can make my own way home?" You said through gritted teeth.

"I'm afraid not," Andreas said with a short shake of his head. "Whatever Mr Lord wants, Mr Lord gets."

So that's how it was going to be.

Before you could reply, a black limousine with tinted windows pulled up on the road in front of you. A few passer-bys on the street, hands full of their Christmas shopping, shot you a strange glance as you slipped into the car. Andreas shut the door behind you and suddenly you found yourself sitting in a car that probably had more worth than your entire life’s savings.

The seats were sleek and black leather, the floor was carpeted and you spotted a small ice cooler by your sofa seat. You carefully clicked it open and examined the insides. It was just various bottles of alcohol- mostly spirits. You couldn’t help but smile as you continued to explore the limousine.

Upon meeting him, Maxwell Lord was not what you expected, but now you had found the perfect opportunity to learn more about him. You spotted a velveteen box nailed to the floor so you opened it up and found a variety of odd things. It was like a rich man’s junk drawer. Everything from gold fountain pens, jewellery, condoms, multiple checkbooks were mixed inside this box. Nosily, you scurried through it all, taking out the occasional item and examining it closer. You couldn’t believe it. You had never met someone who was just able to leave such expensive items lying around in a random box inside their own limousine.

This whole experience felt like a fever dream.

The lights in the limousine were dimmed and so you searched around for a switch or button of some kind to brighten the interior of the car. Your fingers tapped into a switch and rainbow disco lights flickered on, illuminating the limousine multi-colour. It looked more like a party bus. You didn't even realise the driver had already got into the car and as he turned on the ignition and began to drive, you jolted and fell back at the sudden force, into the plush leather seat. You scrambled to belt yourself up and compose yourself.

"Ma'am, where will I be taking you?" the driver called from the front of the limousine, as he tried to navigate through the busy Christmas roads of DC. You yelled your address back to him and he made a brief sound of acknowledgement.

After a few moments of sitting in still silence, despite the rainbow disco lights beginning to give you a headache, you heard a buzzing noise. You scrambled around in your seat, looking for where the noise originated from, when you found a phone nailed to the wall of the limo. Maxwell Lord’s limo had its own carphone! Of course it did.

Your eyes widened when you realised it was ringing and you contemplated answering it. It could be anyone! It could be someone important or a business related matter. It could be private. Thoughts raced through your mind as the phone continued to buzz.

"Are you going to get that?" The driver called out again.

You took a deep breath and took the phone off the hook, nudging it between your ear and your neck. "H-hello?" you asked, your finger anxiously twirling in the wire connecting the phone and the dock.

"Apologies for calling so early on, I usually wait a few days before calling back my female suitors," you weren't sure if your heart rate eased or increased when you heard Maxwell's voice. His voice sounded easy-going, and you were sure you even heard him chuckle slightly at his own remark. "I trust you weren't made uncomfortable by Andreas insisting you got a ride home."

"I have to admit, Mr Lord, I don't usually get into cars with strangers." you huffed, squeezing your eyes tight shut.

"Smart," Maxwell replied quickly. "So why did you this time?" His voice was dark and had a lulling undertone. He sounded similar to when he saw you during the interview earlier on, and the memory made that familiar heat erupt once more in your stomach.

You struggled to find your words. "I- I uhm-" you weren't exactly sure why you had agreed to Andreas. You would've never agreed to such a proposition before. But this is what Maxwell Lord wanted. And you didn't dare want to disappoint Maxwell Lord. You didn't understand because you didn't even know the man— nor did you have any care about him whatsoever prior to your meeting today. But since you exchanged those words in his office, you had been feeling a certain kind of way. "I trust you." you admitted with a defeated sigh. It was true. You trusted a man you had barely even spent half-an-hour with. You trusted a man who built his business on lying to the people of the world.

On the other end of the line, Maxwell was smiling to himself. His feet were on his desk and he was nursing a glass of his favourite whiskey. He could never tell you, but he craved to hear your voice again. He was already thinking about the next time he could see you. He put the glass down on his desk and with his free hand, palmed at his hardening manhood.

"I'm glad," Maxwell replied smoothly. "Trust is going to be very important in our kind of arrangement." There was a beat. "Speaking of which, would you owe me the pleasure in accompanying me to dinner tomorrow night?"

"D-dinner?" you blurted out, feeling your cheeks heat up. Dinner with Maxwell Lord— this is not how you thought today would go. Sitting in a limousine and being asked out by the cover boy of Forbes magazine.

"I know a really nice restaurant by the river. Black-tie dress code type thing." His voice was like silk. It was getting hot in the limousine. You needed air. The thought of him taking you out for dinner at a restaurant, having a nice meal and enjoying his company felt like a dream. Then you were hit with the reality of your financial situation.

"Oh Mr Lord, I'm sure it's lovely but I don't think I can afford-"

"I think you're forgetting the terms of our arrangement darling," Maxwell snickered on the other end of the line. It was true— you had. For a moment you thought it would be a normal date. But this wasn't a relationship. He was right, it was an arrangement. "What I have, is yours. You are to want for nothing."

There was something romantic about his sentiment, you once again found yourself forgetting the true nature of his words. "Well then," you gulped."Dinner sounds great."

Maxwell's smile grew wider. "And then back to my place." his invitation sounded more like a command than a question, and the authority in his voice was enough to get your panties wet. You pursed your lips together to suppress a moan at the thought of going back to his house. You wondered what it would be like. Would your arrangement commence tomorrow night?

"I'd really like that." you let out a shaky exhale. Your hand dropped in between your legs and you slowly began to touch yourself through the thick material of your denim jeans. You ached to get home and take them off. There was something that felt so naughty about getting off in the car of a man you had just met. Especially when that man was Maxwell Lord.

Maxwell felt the same. He had intended to take you back to his place to go through a contract and discuss the specifics of your arrangement— but if the night led to something else, he certainly wouldn't be opposed. You were driving him wild; like no other woman had ever. He unzipped his pants and slipped his hand under his boxer shorts, slowly beginning to pump his length while holding the phone in the crook of his neck.

"You- you have something pretty to wear?" he asked, trying to remain as composed as possible.

"Maybe, maybe just my little black dress." you whispered in response, pressing your forehead against the cold window to try and release some tension.

Your description left much to the imagination, but Maxwell wasn't complaining. He wondered about the black dress: how short it was, exactly? How did it fit you? Did it accentuate his favourite parts of your body? Maxwell's eyes fluttered shut as he carried on stroking his length, a small grunt escaping his lips. It didn't go unnoticed by you.

"I'll have my driver pick you up tomorrow evening," Maxwell hummed. "6pm."

You couldn't even reply— he already put the phone down. Maxwell slouched back into his chair and worked at his already hard length. His thumb swept the precum that beaded at his tip and he continued pumping, wishing that the wetness around him was from your mouth as you devoured him.

He imagined your pretty lips suck him and his cock began to throb in his hands. He imagined having to push your hair out of the way so he could get a good look of your face whilst you took him in your mouth. He imagined your eyes wide and your cheeks hollowed as you fit him inside of you. He wanted to fuck your mouth, wanted to make you gag and have your saliva make a mess all over him.

Maxwell gasped as he spilt his seed all over his tailored suit pants. He kept his sensitive cock in his hand for a few moments after, feeling it soften. He wanted to soften inside of you. Already, he was enamoured by you. Desperate to feel your touch, your wetness. Desperate to hear your screams of pleasure.

When you got home, you had planned on seeing Tristan, alerting him of the good news. New job. Then maybe, he'd let you live in your apartment just a little bit longer until you could afford rent. You decided he could wait until tomorrow. Hurrying into your small flat you locked yourself in the bathroom and turned on the shower.

You discarded your clothes, letting them pool into a puddle on the floor. In your frenzy, you had forgotten to open a window, so the steam from the hot water warmed your skin and small beads of sweat drew along your collarbones and chest as you ran your hands over your body. You bit your lip, hard, remembering the image of Maxwell's hands in the office which you had so carefully ingrained into your head.

You thought about his thick hands squeezing your tits, the pad of his thumb rubbing over your nipples and pinching hard enough to make you squeal. You wondered how his touch felt. You imagined him rough, and ruthless, but since meeting him today, and the way he diverted all your expectations, you wondered if he would have any surprises up his sleeve for your time in the bedroom. You let your fingers gently trace the skin of your stomach, a feather light touch that tickled slightly. You closed your eyes, imagining the wealthy CEO stood behind you, arms wrapped around your naked body and planting sloppy wet kisses into the crook of your neck.

With complete certainty, neither you or Maxwell could stop thinking about each other. Maxwell wanted to call you over in the dead of night when he couldn't sleep. His body ached for you. He felt a neediness that he had never felt before. Of course he could just call one of his assistants. He paid them enough, they would be able to come over and satisfy him (to some extent), but the problem was, they weren't you.

You had done something to him, and now nobody else could even begin to compare to you. You consumed his every thought. Maxwell had once almost married a rival CEO. He was meant to be in love with her but… the feelings were not the same as this. The feelings he felt for you were far beyond lust, but he couldn't put his finger on what exactly they were. He cursed himself, feeling frustrated. This wasn't him. But he was completely and utterly whipped on you.

And you weren't much different. You swore you were in love with Tristan. You had been in an on and off relationship with him for two years but once again, the feelings you had for him were so different to the feelings you now possessed for Maxwell. It was indescribable. You wrecked your room, trying to find the perfect shoes and accessories to wear with your promised little black dress. You wanted to be perfect. You wanted to look perfect. And it was all for Maxwell.

He had you whipped, and you hated him for it.

You lived your life wanting to only impress yourself. You didn't think twice about the way men felt about you. It never mattered. But this was Maxwell Lord. Everything was just different.

So when your 'date' finally came around, you were both equally bursting with anticipation.

When you slid in the back of the limousine, Maxwell couldn't keep his eyes from you. His gaze was glued onto your amazing figure which he loved so much, and the way your little black dress clung to your body and accentuated all your perfections. Your little diamond earrings sparkled under the car's dim light and there was something so beautiful about the simplicity of it.

Truth be told, Maxwell Lord was nervous. He didn't date. He couldn't remember the last time he went on a proper date (he wasn't even sure if you classed this outing as a date). He wasn't one for relationships either. Hell, a woman could count herself lucky if she lasted a week with him. He liked the spontinuity of fucking different women, no strings attached. Throwing them away like garbage the second he got bored. He had the power to do that. It was just the way he was and he had no intentions of that changing.

Although, maybe his intentions were slowly changing and he hadn't yet realised. You offered him the kindest smile he had ever seen, your eyes glistening like jewels. And oh, he felt his cheeks warm up. He leaned over to the window on his side and pressed his face against it, the cool winter air calming his nerves. When your fingers graced the material of his tailored suit pants, just over his thigh, he swore his heart stopped.

"You look nice." you beamed at him, your heart blooming when he finally turned and his brown eyes met yours. You didn't expect Maxwell Lord to disappoint, in any sense, but especially not when it came to fashion. The power suit he was wearing was practically dripping in wealth, and you were almost certain every inch of him was wearing designer names from his suit jacket to his gold cufflinks in his shirt.

"So do you." Maxwell returned the compliment, gawking as he took in your exquisite form. You felt your cheeks heat up under his gaze and you awkwardly looked down at your match black heels, scraping them against the carpeted floor of the limousine. "That dress- I saw it in Louis Vuitton last year?" Maxwell pointed out and you looked down, reacquainting yourself with the outfit you had chosen to wear.

"This? Oh no no," you chuckled earnestly. "I got this from the thrift store for seven dollars like a month ago."

You regretted those words as soon as they left your lips. You did not just admit to Maxwell Lord that you had bought the dress he had been so enthralled in, from the moment you entered the limo, second hand. To your surprise, he gave you a toothy grin, the corners of his eyes crinkling in delight and that adorable little dimple appearing in his left cheek.

"We're here," he announced as the driver pulled up on the side of the road. You gazed out the window in awe. The whole street was lit up in gold Christmas fairy lights, and the restaurant that Maxwell had selected, was highlighted with tinsel and a huge Christmas tree in the front window.

"Wow," you couldn't help but whisper at the gorgeous view. You hadn't even realised Maxwell had already slipped out the car and opened your side door for you. He held his hand out for you, and of course you grabbed it. His hands were soft and warm… he definitely moisturized. He helped you out of the limo and shut the door behind you, sliding an arm around your waist as he guided you into the restaurant.

"Be careful not to slip on the black ice." he warned as he helped you slowly walk in your heels. Still hand in hand, you looked up at him with the biggest smile. You hadn't felt a happiness like this in a long time. He didn't look at you back, instead of focusing on successfully navigating inside the restaurant without falling over.

The restaurant was empty. Not a soul in sight. Your eyes snapped to Maxwell, waiting for him to give you an explanation. He caught on, offering you a small and understanding nod.

"I rented the restaurant out." He explained, raising an eyebrow as he examined his surroundings. Your gaze followed his as you took in the merrily strung Christmas lights and the beautifully decorated tree by the front bay window.

"Why would you do that?" You quizzed him.

"You never know who is sitting among us," he explained. "Journalists, paparazzi, crazed fans."

Ah, there it was. The part about Maxwell you had completely forgotten about. He was famous. Everyone in the world knew who he was and if you had known anything about Maxwell before meeting him, it was that the tabloids loved to pry into his personal life. So, you were somewhat understanding. But that didn't stop the devastating feeling of your heart sinking into your chest. He wanted to hide you. It made sense, I mean, you had only just met and you were only his sugar baby, but it still hurt. You done your best to ignore the strange feelings and told yourself you could still have a good night with him. But the thoughts didn't escape your mind.

You and Maxwell were ushered to a seat by a lit fireplace and passed menus by a beaming waiter. "Can I get you a drink while you decide on what to eat?" he asked with an enthusiastic smile.

"Just a bottle of your finest champagne with two glasses," Maxwell replied, not even looking at the waiter but flicking his wrist and gesturing for him to scurry away. The waiter left both of you in a frenzy, and you couldn't help but giggle. "Is something funny?" Maxwell prompted you, raising an eyebrow. You pursed your lips again but shook your head 'no'. Maxwell's eyes flicked back down to the menu and you burst into another fit of giggles. "Seriously, what is it?" Maxwell asked sternly and you straightened your posture, taking a deep breath and trying to compose yourself.

"That poor waiter looked so afraid of you." You admitted quietly. Maxwell shrugged his shoulders like it was no big deal.

"A lot of people are afraid of me."

"Why?" you beckoned, leaning closer to him.

Maxwell hesitated and put his menu down. "I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"A lot of people used to be afraid of my mother," Maxwell admitted. "I'm afraid I'm going to end up like her."

"Why were they afraid of your mother?" you questioned him, thanking the waiter as he promptly brought you the two glasses and bottle of ice cold champagne. You began to pour it out.

"She was so cold. Bitter… heartless…" Maxwell scowled, quickly taking a glass of champagne and downing it in one quick gulp. "I worry that, maybe, others perceive me in the same light as they perceive my mother."

"That they think you're cold, bitter and heartless?" you quizzed, and Maxwell winced at your words. He didn't reply, instead buried his gaze into the cream coloured table cloth.

You extended your arms and reached out, taking hold of his soft ring clad hands. Maxwell's breathing hitched under your touch. You noticed the way his hands were considerably larger than yours but even still, you rubbed comforting circles into his skin with your thumb. He interlocked his fingers with yours and you offered him a warm smile. "I don't think you're cold, bitter and heartless."

Maxwell sighed. "You don't know me."

"I see the warmth in your eyes," you whispered. "I know there's more to you than meets the eye."

Taglist: if you want to be added let me know! (if your name is crossed out it means I can't tag you)

December Magic: @kiwi-the-first​ @100layersofdaddyissues​ @mrschiltoncat @honeymandos @thisisthe-wayson​ @this-cat-is-dea​ @blonde2bomshell

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[iwanthermidnightz]

When she was 18, Taylor Swift wrote a song called “Fifteen.” “Back then I swore I was going to marry him someday, but I realized some bigger dreams of mine,” she sang, sounding more like a wizened great-grandmother than a rising senior.

“Fifteen” is evocative, if a little sanitized: Nimble mandolin strums mimic the nervous-excited butterflies of the first day of high school, as Swift sings of wide-eyed hope that “one of those senior boys will wink at you and say, ‘You know I haven’t seen you around before.’”

There was a certain emotional truth to the lyrics — do several years’ age difference ever seem more consequential than when you’re a teenager? — but some older listeners were skeptical. “You applaud her skill,” wrote a critic for the Guardian in a mixed review of Swift’s second album, “Fearless,” “while feeling slightly unsettled by the thought of a teenager pontificating away like Yoda.”

Swift, now 31, sings, “When you are young they assume you know nothing,” on “Folklore,” an LP that is both compositionally mature and braided throughout with references to the specific, oft-denigrated wisdom of teenagers. By the end of that song, “Cardigan,” the narrator has excavated such a heap of florid but emotionally lucid memories that she must conclude, with the force of a sudden revelation, “I knew everything when I was young.”

Though it’s not as flashy a topic as exes, fame or A-list celebrity feuds, age has long been a recurring theme in Swift’s work. A numerology enthusiast with a particular attachment to 13, Swift has also released a handful of songs whose titles refer to specific ages: “Seven,” “Fifteen,” and, of course, “22,” the chatty “Red” hit on which she summed up that particular junction of emerging adulthood as feeling “happy, free, confused and lonely at the same time.” Like her contemporary Adele, Swift seems to enjoy time-stamping her music, sometimes presenting it like a public-facing scrapbook that will always remind her what it felt like to be a certain age — even if, with their millions of fans and armfuls of Grammys, neither of these women is exactly typical.

Swift’s critics have often seemed even more hyper attuned to her age. Perhaps because precocity played such a role in her story from the beginning — at 14, she became the youngest artist to sign a publishing deal with Sony/ATV; at 20, she became the youngest to win the album of the year Grammy — many listeners have been fascinated with how her evolution into adulthood has, or hasn’t, played out in her songs. People comb Swift’s lyrics for allusions to sex, alcohol and profanity as meticulously as MPAA representatives do a borderline-PG movie. Particular attention was paid to her 2017 album “Reputation” and its several mentions of drunkenness and dive bars — even though Swift was 27 when it came out.

The relative puritanism of Swift’s music up until “Reputation” did feel like an intentional decision: Unlike the female pop stars who broadcast their “loss of innocence” as a sudden and irrevocable transformation, Swift seemed acutely conscious that she did not want to repel younger listeners — or lose the approval of their parents. At best, it felt like an acceptance of her status as a role model; at worst, it had the whiff of a marketing strategy.

But the mounting obsession with whether Swift was “acting her age” also reflected a larger societal double standard. Famous or not, women face much more intense scrutiny around age, whether it’s those constant cultural reminders of the biological clock’s supposed ticking or the imperative that women of all ages stay “fresh-faced” or risk their own obsolescence. (“People say I’m controversial,” Madonna said in 2016. “But I think the most controversial thing I have ever done is to stick around.”) And while girlish youth and ingenuity are rewarded in some contexts, they’re also easily dismissed as silly and frivolous as soon as that girl strays too close to the sun — as Swift has experienced time and again.

Despite having once been a teenage girl myself (unlike a lot of music critics), I confess that I am not completely free of these internalized biases. I was initially dismissive of “Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince,” a song that appeared on Swift’s 2019 album “Lover.” The first few times I heard it, I wondered what a grown woman on the cusp of 30 was doing still writing about homecoming queens and teenage gossip.

But over time, I’ve come to appreciate the song and its dark vision, which acknowledges cruelty, depression and the threat of sexual violence (“Boys will be boys then, where are the wise men?”) more directly than any of the songs Swift wrote when she was an actual teenager. The senior boys in this song are not the sort who wink and say to freshman girls wholesome things like, “Haven’t seen you around before” — which, unfortunately, makes them feel more authentic. Even the title “Miss Americana” alludes to a larger world outside the high school walls, and the greater systemic forces that keep such patterns repeating well into adulthood.

“Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince” now feels like a precursor to some of the richest songs on “Folklore,” which finds Swift returning once again to her school days with the keen, selectively observant eye of an adult. Consider “Seven,” an impressionistic recreation of her perspective at that age. The second verse, charmingly, plays like a first-grader’s breathless sequence of unguarded observations:

“And I’ve been meaning to tell you, I think your house is haunted, your dad is always mad and that must be why/And I think you should come live with me and we can be pirates, then you won’t have to cry.”

But “Seven” is not cutesy so much as poignant, because of the tensions that result when Swift’s adult perspective interjects. “Please, picture me in the trees, before I learned civility,” she sings in a yearning soprano, prompting the listener to wonder what sorts of feral pleasure she — and all of us — have exchanged for the supposed “civility” of adulthood.

Quite a few songs on “Evermore,” Swift’s second release of 2020, also toggle between past and present, conscious of what is lost and gained by the passage of time. The playful “Long Story Short” passes a note to Swift’s younger self (“Past me, I wanna tell you not to get lost in these petty things”), while “Dorothea,” like “Seven,” revisits a fevered childhood friendship from the cool perspective of adulthood.

Most striking is the bonus track “Right Where You Left Me,” a twangy tale of a “girl who got frozen” (“Time went on for everybody else, she won’t know it/She’s still 23, inside her fantasy”). That language echoes something Swift admits in the 2020 Netflix documentary “Miss Americana”: “There’s this thing people say about celebrities, that they’re frozen at the age they got famous. And that’s kind of what happened to me. I had a lot of growing up to do just trying to catch up to 29.”

But Swift’s recent songs, at their best, understand that “growing up” isn’t always a linear progression in the direction of something more valuable. Take the “Folklore” songs “Cardigan” and “Betty,” which use an interconnected set of characters to chronicle teenage drama and celebrate the heightened emotional knowledge of youth. “I’m only 17, I don’t know anything, but I know I miss you,” Swift sings in the voice of James, a high schooler who broke Betty’s heart and has shown up on her doorstep to ask forgiveness. Maybe that is a melodramatic thing to do; maybe it is the sort of thing adults could stand to do more often. Swift’s music helps us to remember that growing up doesn’t automatically mean growing wiser — it can just as easily mean compromise, self-denial and growing numb to emotions we once felt with bracing intensity.

In a gesture to regain control of her songs, Swift is currently rerecording her first six albums (her master recordings were recently sold by Scooter Braun’s Ithaca Holdings to the investment firm Shamrock Capital). Last month she released a note-for-note update of her early hit “Love Story,” and has promised to release an entire new-old version of “Fearless (Taylor’s Version)” later this year. It has been amusing to think of Swift going back and inhabiting the voice of her teenage self: On the face of it, “Fifteen” is particularly surreal to imagine her singing as an adult.

In another way, though, “Fifteen” — with its distant reflections on the youthful folly of expectations — makes more sense and carries more emotional weight being sung by a 30-something than it does an 18-year-old. Perhaps Swift was preparing for such an exercise when she made “Folklore,” an album that shakes off years of scrutiny and finds her reveling in the creative freedom to be as young or as old as she wants to be.

[kazimakuwabara]

Fever, Fever, Go Away

Summary: Usopp dreams. Gets in an argument. Hallucinates. And then passes out. Post-time skip.

(So this is chapter two from a sick Usopp fic I’m working on, on A03. I really liked this chapter so I thought I’d post it here as a stand alone. The rest is on A03 under the same title if you’re interested ^^)

****

He was sleeping.

He wasn't sure how he knew he was sleeping, but he was.

A peal of breezy laughter floated in the air, light and soft, but somehow still able to cut through any noise. A laugh, which Usopp had not heard the likes of sense...

 Ah.

There it was.

That was why he knew it was a dream.

It was her laughter.

 Her.

His mother only existed in dreams.

Feelings and colors clarified; sounds smoothed out and settled into something understandable, and then the scene came into clarity.

Banchina, his perfect mother, was skipping down a hill. Not just any hill, but the hill below Usopp's family home. Syrup Village. This was Syrup village. He was home, no... no he was not home. He was just... remembering, or dreaming, or both, as the case was. He focused on his mother, her back so recognizable. From her strong posture, to her thin limbs, and her charming large hands which she used to make food, or make pottery, or when she was feeling especially industrious...

Mix chemicals.

She'd been a chemist, or something like it when he was a child. She even had a shed in the back, behind their house, that she used to mix all sorts of things together in. She had even taught him how to mix smoke bombs. There was a lot Usopp had gotten from his father... but there was a lot he'd gotten from his mother too. Usopp pulled himself back to the scene; back to his mother.

She hummed a tune as she skipped down the hill. One that Usopp hadn't thought about in a long time, but recognized immediately. Her hands were behind her back, one clasping her wrist loosely as she skipped and hummed, a few words slipping out as she half sang:

 "As the son of a son of a sailor    I went out on the sea for adventure...

   ...As a dreamer of dreams and a travelin' man    I have chalked up many a mile..."    

She did not sing the whole song, she stuck with humming mostly, seemingly only singing out her favorite parts or the song. But when she got to the chorus, her half meandering, half humming voice rose up, and she belted it out:

"Son of a son, son of a son Son of a son of a sailor Son of a gun, load the last ton One step ahead of the jailer!"

Behind her, screaming more than singing, a small child's voice echoed her. It was him. Little him.

He turned, or at least the scene shifted and then, a small boy, no more than five came running after his mother, tearing down this hill at a speed too fast for the slope. He was belting out the chorus too, eyes alight with delight as he thought of his father. The boy kicked up his heels when he got to, 'Ahead of the jailer,' and Usopp winced, knowing what would happen next. Little Usopp... tripped. And then, in a spectacular display of flailing, Little Usopp tumbled down, end over end, moving like a wild wheel down the hill, until his mother had stepped in front of him and caught him. Her face had been terrified during the moment, but now that she'd managed to stop the little boy's stumble, it smoothed out into a mask of calm.

She knelt to the ground, settling the little boy down about her lap, and in a soft voice asked, "Usopp! Are you alright?"

Little Usopp was shaking, half from fear, and the rest, from pain. The tumble had been quite dramatic, and would only get worse. Little Usopp hadn't seen it yet, but Usopp's knee was bleeding, and where it wasn't bleeding, it was scraped up raw, this skin stinging and irritated red.

Usopp, all grown up now, and nearing his twenties, still had the scar from this fall.

Banchina's eyes were on it, and she frowned with deep concern, and then Little Usopp spotted the injury. His eyes flooded with tears, and he took in a gulping breath---

But Banchina clapped her hands dramatically, and shouted, "Banchina... SPELL!!" She bellowed the word with a dramatic flourish, and then closed her eyes in deep concentration, and wiggled her fingers.

Little Usopp's head snapped to his mother, caught in rapt attention. Tears were still spilling down his cheeks, but his wail had been halted.

With an exaggerated grab at the air around Usopp's knee, and in a completely serious voice, Banchina began to chant, "Pain, Pain, fly away! Come again some other day!" She chanted these words over and over, each time her voice growing louder, more fervent, and more dramatic until she made a huge throwing motion, and tossed an unseen heavy load away from her son. Little Usopp sniffled and clapped for his mother's performance, and while he clapped, she removed a scarf from her neck and quickly tied it to his leg.

"Did that help?" She asked, still focusing on his bloodied knee.

"Yes," Little Usopp whispered, wincing as she tightened her makeshift bandage, "It still hurts."

"Yes... I think it will a little while yet!" Banchina whispered seriously, "You had a very big fall!" Once his knee was tied up, she scooped him up into her arms, and turned back towards the hill, "I shall have to cast more spells, but Usopp, you did very well! Brave boy!"

Little Usopp wrapped his arms around her, and buried his face in her neck. She was hurrying on up the hill, where she would treat his knee, but it would still scar.

Usopp, the big one who was watching his younger self with envy, knew this to be true. Absently, he touched the pant leg, knowing under it was the slightly hooked raised scar. As a child, he used to draw on it, and turn it into a yawning crocodile's mouth.

This was a nice dream. A nice memory to have. But it was sweet agony. Nice to see his mother... terrible to know that when he woke up... she would be gone.

He couldn't recall the last time he had dreamed of his mother.

As she reached the top of the hill, she paused, and turned around.

It was as if the distance between them had faded away. She stared at him. A young mother staring into her adult, or at least something like it, son's face. In reality, she'd never know his aged face, but she was looking now. Maybe she could see it, and know it.

Usopp stood a little straighter, puffed up his chest, and held out his arms. Would she like what she saw? Be proud of it? Even recognize it?

"Wh-what do you think?" He stammered. He hadn't meant to stammer.

Banchina looked him up and down appraisingly, in the way Robin might look at an ancient item, and then she whispered, "Wake up Usopp."

He blinked.

That was not her voice.

Banchina opened her mouth again, and Zoro's angry voice emerged, "Oi! Usopp! Wake up!"

                                                        *******

Usopp took in a ragged breath, startled into alertness. No. No, he was not startled into alertness, he was terrified into it. He was thrust, terrifyingly into alertness, and even screamed as the hands at his shoulders, clamped harder.

"Ah! Come on Usopp! Shut up!" Zoro barked, shaking Usopp once more.

Usopp took in a deep breath, and coughed, choking on the scream he'd been about to let loose. When he managed to catch his breath, he rubbed his eyes. Looking about, Usopp felt confused by his place of sleep. This was not the men's room, nor was it his workshop.

"Where....?" He began to question and then stopped. He knew where he was. The answer had suddenly popped into his head.

This was the crow's nest, and he had been on duty. He... had slept on duty... and been awoken by Zoro.

 Oh, no!

Even though they had been docked at Marah (The name of the island, which Robin liked quite a lot for some historical reason Usopp could not recall) for over a week, Zoro had insisted they still keep up their night watch routine. There'd been a few begrudging moans, but everyone had agreed. Seemingly, nice tourist location or not, the Straw Hats needed to be vigilant. They were all wanted people after all.

And Usopp had fallen asleep on his watch, a huge slight by the crew's first mate's, standards.

Zoro crossed his arms and glared, letting Usopp know he was due for a lecture. And then probably a punishment, in the form of some workout routine.

And any other day, Usopp would agree. He took watch very seriously. He had never fallen asleep at watch, well, at least not since his Sabaody days, where the care of the group's well-being seemed to be taken a little more seriously overall. And Zoro, despite how often he napped, never fell asleep on watch, and was not one to let it go if any one else happened to fall asleep on a watch. Even Chopper had gotten a stern scolding from Zoro when the little doctor had fallen asleep, and Zoro was soft on him plenty.

Any other day, Usopp would accept a scolding from Zoro, and he'd whine, but he'd accept a punishment too.

But today was different.

He had dreamt of his mother and seen her with such aching clarity. Because of that, Usopp couldn't bear to be yelled at, scolded, or punished today. He needed to go hide, and... and... and something. Mourn maybe? But he needed to do something, and he needed to do it alone.

Remembering his mother was as painful as it was wonderful, and for the momentary joy he got in having that dream, his day was now ruined. Zoro needn't punish him... he was punished enough.

Because now he was back in a reality where she was dead and gone.

And it was such a bitter thing, worse than any pain Zoro could give him.

And so, with a bit of tremor to his voice, Usopp got up and muttered, "I recognize I fell asleep, and that was wrong, but I can't be yelled at just now."

Zoro raised an eyebrow and scoffed, "What was that?"

Usopp grit his teeth, but forced himself to unclench and relax his jaw. Not meeting Zoro's eye, Usopp cleared his throat and said louder, "I was wrong for falling asleep, there's no excuse for that. But lecture me tomorrow-"

"So you admit to being in the wrong, but want to weasel out of the punishment?" Zoro snapped, talking over Usopp.

Usopp rubbed his head, a vein in his brow pulsing. His head hurt. His heart hurt. The scar on his knee, long recovered, hurt.

"Not now, Zoro," Usopp muttered, trying to get himself back into the present. Trying to readjust to being motherless. Why did it still have to hurt so much, years later? Why did tears still prickle at his eyes?

"What?" Zoro growled, his eyes narrowing as he tried to take on a frightening countenance.

But Usopp couldn't do with it today. He brushed past Zoro, and without a word, began to descend the rigging.

That was the wrong move apparently, because Zoro was soon descending after him, making a scene. Shouting his name over and over, and demanding for Usppp to stop. Usopp did stop, when his feet hit the deck, his teeth grit hard, and his head throbbing as Zoro continued to yell. The rest of the crew was looking from their own positions, and a few were starting to drift towards the scene, clearly curious as to what was going on.

"Do you think you can just walk away from this?" Zoro barked out when he was on deck. But he did not stop when his feet hit the deck, he kept walking, shoving his chest against Usopp's and glaring into the Sniper's eyes when he, at last, looked up.

Usopp had not been expecting the contact, and when he was met by Zoro's chest, he pressed back, surprising himself by doing it. Zoro too, looked surprised.

And it was probably Usopp pressing back against the riled-up Zoro that had Sanji calling out, "Oi! Moss-head! What are you doing over there to Usopp?"

Sanji's face was set in a protective frown, and he was stomping over, Luffy already ahead of him, although he only looked interested at the scene, and not upset.

"Usopp," Zoro spat, poking a hard finger to Usopp's bare chest, "Fell asleep on watch."

Sanji's eyebrows shot up, and he set his mouth in a hard line. He didn't have anything to say to defend Usopp, but his face said he clearly didn't like Zoro being so angry about it.

Usopp's head throbbed more, now embarrassed and ashamed to have the whole crew hear his missive.

"Usopp fell asleep?" Luffy asked, coming to stand near his First mate and Sniper. His voice held that innocence it usually did, but it had an edge. An edge that he was listening in now as a Captain, and not as a friend.

Usopp swore under his breath, shoulders sagging. This day was turning out into a real mess, "I know. I know I fell asleep. It was wrong. And I'll take full responsibility-"

"You'll take it, now!" Zoro snapped, "Not tomorrow, or not later when you feel like it!" He jabbed Usopp several more times with his finger as if driving a point into Usopp.

Usopp's jaw was beginning to hurt from how hard he was gritting his teeth, and Zoro's last jab, actually made Usopp stagger.

"Oi! Marimo, quit being a prick!" Sanji snapped, making a move to walk forward, but Luffy held out his hand and stopped the irate cook.

"If Usopp fell asleep, he needs to get scolded," Luffy said his tone cool but authoritative in that way that only Luffy could manage. He was staring unblinkingly at Zoro and Usopp, peeling back the layers of the scene, assessing something Sanji could not. There was something suspicious in Luffy's gaze, like he had an idea forming, but wasn't quite sure of it yet.

"This isn't about me trying to avoid responsibility-" Usopp tried to say, his chest hurting as his anger built. His heart was rattling inside his chest, and it felt like a panic attack was brewing inside of him.

 "Pain, Pain, fly away!" His mother sang in his ear.

"You, will stand there and listen to me!" Zoro said folding his arms, his voice leaving no more room for argument, "You fell asleep on watch, which is as stupid as it is dangerous. Anyone could have picked you off, or snuck on the ship and picked us off! Your life, and our lives are in your care when you are on watch. And do you know how terrifying it was for me to wake up to the dawn? I had third watch! You were supposed to change out with me, and so when I woke up, I thought something had happened to you! I thought you were hurt, or sick, or anything but asleep on the job!"

 "Come again some other day!" Usopp's mother sang.

Usopp, whose head was barely lifted as it was, sagged downwards. His head was pounding. His mother was still dead. He had made a mistake, but could Zoro just wait? His mother had been long dead. It shouldn't still hurt. His heart felt too small in his ribcage. It was tight. Why did Zoro have to chew him out in front of everyone? Couldn't he wait. Just a little while longer? He was so embarrassed already, so ashamed, he was not his mother's brave boy.

"Usopp!" Zoro barked for attention.

"Hey..." Sanji began to talk, his hand reaching for Zoro's shoulder, "Stop! I think-"

"Usopp!" Luffy breathed, voice sure, and eyes knowing something, in the way he always knew, "Do you feel sick?"

Usopp lifted his pounding head to look at his Captain, confused by the question. Looking at Luffy took a strange amount of effort, and it made Usopp's head hurt worse. He squinted at his Captain, confused by his change of voice, when a loud, heavy wet sound caught his ear.

The deck went silent, and the air got heavy.

Usopp looked down at the deck below his feet. A startling large amount of blood was at his feet, and there were clumps in it. Great big clots were in the wet puddle, and Usopp cringed in disgust taking half a step back. It was then, he realized the blood was coming from his nose, as his movement caused his still dripping nose to be at the right angle to drip onto his chest. This was not the only problem. That half a step back, had also thrown off his equilibrium, and he was falling.

"Usopp!"

He was falling... but everything has already gone white anyways so... so...

 Oh.

Usopp was unconscious.

[honeypirate]

Denki x reader pro hero au

Warning - angst!, talks about smoking weed just barely, reader gets bit by a villain and gets very badly poisoned that as it eats through their body takes them on fever dreams. Denki beats the villain before he finds reader I just didn’t know how to write it lolol

The stars danced in the sky, floating around like they were little fairy sprites dancing and spreading their magic across the world. The moon was bright, lighting up the few clouds around her in the sky, you could have sworn the clouds were neon colors, reflecting like the northern lights but that was impossible.. you blamed the villains quirk, a poison that was currently flooding your body through the bite wound to your thigh.

The thought of magic had your thoughts running off towards the way Denki’s eyes would shine when he would see you, little electric sparks running through the tips of his hair in excitement before he would sweep you up into a hug. If anyone was magic in this world it was him, you should have told him that.

The yellow electricity sparking through the air went well with the glowing hallucinations in the sky and until your eyes found his face you thought it was part of the vision.

His eyes are worried, his lips moving but you hear nothing, just the sounds of cicadas in the trees which was impossible since you were in the inner city. You find the energy to reach for him and he takes your hand quickly, you think you hear him say your name but you aren’t quite sure with the little fairy sprites that start to fall from his lips.

Your thoughts are hard to control, it’s hard to focus when the poison slowly takes over all of your senses. You’re dragged from one scenario to the next, remembering and watching different events in your life play out again like a movie. You weren’t sure if you were alive or dead, if you were awake or asleep, and where was Denki?

It all feels so real, if it wasnt for the pressure against your palm of him holding your hand that grounded you as the visions took over.

Youre 7 and your quirk has manifested, a strong combination of your parents quirks, flight from your mother and strong ghost like tentacles from your father that you could pull from your body like extra limbs. Your parents found you hanging upside down in your room with a tentacle holding a different toy as you giggled.

The world was always magical to you, you felt like you never could get enough of it, always fascinated by every tree and rock, it was so beautiful to you. Everything was a gift and the world had so much to offer, every time you left the house you found more reasons to believe in magic. A butterfly landing on your head, a cat that hates everyone but loves to rub against your legs, singing with the wind and having it wrap around you like it was a friend. All of these amazing things that most would look over made your world so much more magical.

The colors of your vision change and turn into the entrance exam for UA, the first day you met Kaminari. He had watched as your back was to the fight, your eyes watching the clouds as you smiled, using your tentacles to fight for you as you floated fifty feet above ground. You were so dazling that Kaminari was almost toast but your tentacle saved him and when he looked back up to you, your eyes were on him and you were smiling so bright he had to know you.

The vision changed to Kaminari stuttering through his words trying to talk to you and thank you for your help, he was so adorable you couldn’t help but hug him with a laugh “of course we should be friends!” you had said and he felt his brain go liquidy.

You’re 22 on your apartment balcony, smoking a joint he brought over after a hard day. You both needed it. That was the first time you held his hand, the first time you cuddled on your couch both needing the comfort.

This is when the colors start to make little sense to you. They swirl into darker muted versions of northern lights and then you’re sitting at a table in a living room that you don’t recognize but feel like you know it. A man is sitting across from you and smiling so softly your heart melts. Denki? It feels like him but it doesn’t look like him.

Another man smiling at you except now you’re on a walk beside a river you’ve never seen before, the setting sun coloring the sky with the colors of your vision as the man takes your hand. He’s dressed in clothes you’ve only ever seen in history movies and he’s cupping your cheek and telling you how much he loves you. You know this is Denki too.

Your mind feels like its spinning as the world flashes with bright colors and lights, in the real world Kaminari is screaming for someone, anyone to help! To get the paramedics to you! Anyone with a healing quirk! His hands cupped your cheeks and saw your usually (color) eyes swirling with sparkles of blue yellow and red, he was losing it. His best friend was taken down in the battle and he wasnt there to protect them how can he be called a pro hero when he cant do anything to save you.

The amount of visions you have of different versions of you and Denki seem never ending until it goes back to the one you know. Flour raining down over you both when he added it to the stand mixer as it went full speed and you remember at the time thinking how cute he looked a little messy.

Oh yes, the world was magic. Your world has always been filled with magic and you didn't doubt that it always would be. Oh what a world you were lucky to live in, oh what a man you were lucky to love, a man who’s memories are starting to fade from your mind. Breathing started to become a chore as the colors stopped their swirling, landing on a soft pale yellow and staying there as you walk forward through the vision, jogging, running, sprinting, you had to get back to him. Who was he? The man with the blond hair and kind eyes? Why did you need to reach him again? Everything was fading as the pale yellow seemed to sink into you and take you over, why were you so worried again? You closed your eyes and sighed, letting yourself disolve into the warmth of colors.

“Please” your eyes fluttered open in the vision to darkness as the soft word echoes around in your head, who was speaking? “please y/n” the voice cracks and you feel warm wetness land on your hand, the one you can feel again, a weight and warmth to it as the voice holds it. “y/n stay with me” it calls out and your eyes flutter open to the real world, the world that was your own. “Den?” you ask and a sob falls from his lips “y/n” he says and you reach up to cup his cheek, brushing away his tears “i dont feel so good Den, i think that guy bit me” your voice was soft, head still swimming “it’s going to be okay” he says “its going to be okay, i can see help coming they’re just having a hard time with the destruction. Stay with me okay? You have to”

Your arm starts to shake but before it can fall hes holding your hand to his cheek “Den, this world is full of magic” your voice cracks and your breathing is starting to hurt “dont ever forget about the magic. Promise me” he furrows his brows and a sob chokes through “dont-” he starts but your eyes were so dim he couldn't help but crying out an “i promise”

“My world Den, it was magic. But it was never as bright until i found you” tears flow from your eyes into your hairline filled with the colorful remanence of the poison “my sparky boy” you whisper and a smile barely tugs the corner of your lips as the poison mixes with your memories, muddling what you really wanted to say but you were unable to stop the worlds as the fell from your lips “we will always find each other, we have loved each other in lives before and lives to come, you are mine and i am yours” your eyes flutter closed as they begin to roll up in your head, he cries for you to hang on the sounds of help just down one more block, your eyes flutter open and he can tell how hard youre fighting to be here for as long as possible as you squeeze his hand as tight as possible “Denki, I love you” your hand relaxes and as your eyes close and your hands go limp in his, he feels the magic drain from his world.

[vennilavee]

as embers settle (3)

the soul of a flame masterlist

pairing: levi x reader of color

summary: you get a blast from your past. or, what happened to you in the Underground and how you got out.

warnings: alcohol, cursing, some violence, mentions of prostitution (it’s not detailed), harassment

word count: 3459

a/n: sorry for the almost 2 month delay!! enjoyy

***

Levi doesn’t come by often. But when he does, he turns heads every time. And he stays for hours whenever he has the chance to. It goes on like this for a few weeks- him arriving late at night or the early evening. And staying until past closure. Just to get a glimpse of you. A chance to talk to you. 

He never once denied himself of that reprieve. He won’t deny to himself that he likes you, that he enjoys your presence. This life within these three walls is too short to pretend and to deny himself of those small joys.

You talk about everything, and nothing. Lately, he’s taken to daydreaming about your lips when he can’t sleep. His thoughts flit to your scars, the one on your forehead and the one on your clavicle. It’s not the first time he’s wondered if you carry any other scars. 

Levi wonders if you’d ever let him see them. He wonders if he’d ever show you his own scars.

He sits at his usual table in the back, rubbing his hand over his face tiredly. Can you see how tired he is? He hopes not. Those shitty kids, the shitty titans, and even shitty Erwin will be the death of him.

If you heard him say that, you’d tease him and tell him that he’s saying that out of love. To which he would scoff.

Today, he expects to see your usual smile and the teasing glint in your dark eyes. But instead, he’s met with a frown and lines of irritation fracturing the planes of your pretty face. It looks out of place on you. In fact, you’re gripping the pitcher in your hands too tightly and even Misaki is looking at you warily. Your eyes are steely as you watch a group of men at the other end of the bar.

They’re MP’s. No wonder you look so displeased.

“Aww, come on,” One of them jeers at you, “Give us a smile, won’t ya?”

You so desperately want to turn them away. But money is money, and if there’s anything the Underground taught you… it’s to grin and bear it. Even when all you want to do is scream. Normally, you’d play along. To rake some extra coins from them. But not today. Because this one- he’s one of the MP’s you’d known quite closely in the Underground. He would roam where you lived late at night, you’d hear the commotion and the ruckus that came along with his arrival.

You’re disappointed that he’s still alive. 

His hair is greying, wrinkles around the corner of his eyes. But he’s very much alive and well. Alive enough to be throwing back your precious liquor like it’s water. 

You hate him, you hate that you’ve known him since you were nineteen, and you hate that he still has this hold on you. That you can’t just kick him out and be done with it. 

He knows it and you know it. He comes by every few months, whenever he feels like torturing you with his face. Whenever he feels like toying with you, reminding you of what you had left in the Underground. Or rather, what you had ran away from.

You hold your head high around Roz, the way you always have. Even if he smirks at you like he knows your secrets, which he does, you ignore him. The way you always have.

You’re usually much better at pushing the bitter memories to the side. But tonight, they threaten to spill out spitefully. Memories of shared sheets, sweaty skin and unkept promises. And then a face, a face you think about every day, a pretty face that makes your heart leap and ache at the same time.

The face of your friend, of your dead lover. Liya. 

When you see him, you see her. You see her stained, dead eyes, her cold skin, her lifeless arms. Her neck bleeding out in your frozen arms, your tears mixing with her blood. 

It was a long time ago. It was a long time ago that you had gotten involved with the wrong crowd- specifically, with Roz- and gotten her killed. The bitter pill of regret dies on your tongue but you push it away.

You were foolish. She had been your partner in every sense of the word. She was the one who had discovered the secret to earthwater. Earthwater was her creation, and she wasn’t even here to reap the benefits. 

The two of you had had an idea. Liya brought it to life. She had figured out how to proof alcohol and distill sugar and starch to create the perfect blend. You were thieves in the night, stealing every bit of raw material as you could to bring your dream to life.

Your makeshift brewery was in the corner of your attic in the small apartment (if you could even call it that) that you shared with Liya. It had taken about seven months of meticulous experimenting to create something that you both believed in.

It was worth it though. To see her smile so full of hope, shining in a way you’ve never seen her shine before.

“People will do anything for booze,” She said confidently, her eyes glinting, “We’ll turn over a profit in no time.”

“Even if we don’t… The memories we made along the way were worth it,” You giggle.

“Shut up, memories won’t get us out of this shithole,” Liya snorts derisively.

The version of earthwater that you both had concocted isn’t identical to what you currently brew and sell in your bar. It was a primitive version, not as tasty or flavorful. But still, it was impressive enough that it had caught the ears and eyes of your little neighborhood. And then word spread further and further. Until you and Liya had enough money to invest a little more in your little slice of magic.

Your little attic operation took off rather quickly. You had wanted to buy a nicer place to live in, but Liya had told you to look at the big picture.

To think about the sun. To think about how the sun would feel once you both saved up enough to get out.

Pretty soon, earthwater had attracted the likes of the MP’s to your corner of the Underground. You gave them free samples, just enough to entice them. And then, of course, you charged them extra for your booze. 

You were happy with what you had. Creating something with the love of your life. Scamming the shitty MP’s. Providing something fun in a place where the sun didn’t even shine. Liya wanted more though. She wanted the sun. 

Sometimes you wondered if she wanted it more than she wanted you. She reassured you though, when her head was in between your thighs, that that wasn’t the case. And you believed her. 

And then Roz came along. With his false promises that fed into your naivete so nicely, like it belonged. 

You would give Liya anything to fulfill her dream. Even if that meant giving up yourself. He had promised you money, so much money. A chance at leaving this hellhole. A chance at a full belly and a good night’s sleep. A chance of not having to be on edge all the time. A chance at a happy life with a girl that was supposed to be your soulmate. 

And then Roz was demanding more of you. Liya didn’t even know- all she knew was that you were returning home later and later at night, with tired eyes and blooming bruises. She wasn’t stupid. She had put the pieces together before you could even confess to her.

“You’ll get yourself killed!” She screams. Certainly loud enough that the windows rattle. You wince.

“I know what I’m doing!” You say stubbornly, “We almost have enough money to get out! That’s what you wanted!”

“What I wanted?!” Liya protests, voice reaching a fever pitch, “I didn’t want you to prostitute yourself to the fuckin’ MP’s so we could get out! 

“It’s just the one-”

“As if that makes it any better! How are we having this conversation!”

“It’s just Roz-”

“Just Roz! Do you know how many girls have gone missing here after meeting him? Everyone here knows Roz! God, you’re so stupid,” Liya begs, eyes filling with tears.

In the end, she was right. You had gotten yourself killed, at least a part of you. In the end, you had rebuffed Roz after that and he had retaliated by slitting Liya’s throat when you weren’t home. Like a coward. You had found her in your bedroom, the sheets dark and stained with her blood. 

Everyone in the vicinity could hear your cries and your broken, raw screams that night and for the next few nights. 

There had never been any evidence that it had been Roz. Liya was a nobody in the Underground, and so were you. But you knew it was him. And he knew that you knew.

You spent months torturing yourself by keeping all of her things in your bedroom, sleeping on her side of the bed. Until you saw Roz again and you knew that there was nothing holding you at home. You vomited the next time you saw Roz, and the feeling never quite goes away even now.

You needed to get out, and it burned like an itch. And ironically, when you pooled together your money with Liya’s, you had almost as much as you needed to buy your way out. It was only a matter of months.

Your train of thought is interrupted by Roz. Seeing him traps you back into a version of yourself that you don’t think of often. There was no point to thinking so much about it- if you dwelled on your decisions when you were younger, you would get wrapped up in this vortex of guilt. You knew that. But damn, Roz always had a way of getting under your skin.

It’s a shame. That he’s still alive, and Liya isn’t. 

His words are garbled in your ears and it takes you a few seconds to realize what he’s saying. You cast a glance over to his table and a sense of dread fills you. He’s alone now- his party has left him. Most likely because he was drunk and being irredeemably stupid. 

Goosebumps rise on your skin. Words bubble in your throat, words you’ve never had a chance to say. You want to cut him, cut him right where it hurts…

Instead nothing comes out of your mouth. He derisively laughs at you and your silence. Misaki clears her throat, about to say something when Roz’s eyes slide over to lazily take her in.

The world tilts on its axis a little bit when his mouth opens.

“Who’s this?” He sneers, light eyes flashing at Misaki, “She looks so much like her… Like your Liya-”

Your heart thumps erratically out of your chest and your face is warm. Before you realize what you’re doing, you’re on your feet and your knee connects with his chest. He falls back in his chair to the ground with a thump. Roz only looks at you with a knowing smirk and your hand latches around his neck.

You must look wild. You feel wild. You feel the pent up fire of nearly ten years burning through your veins and you finally succumb to it. 

“This feels familiar-”

“I should’ve fuckin’ killed you all those years ago,” You scream, your chest heaving and your hands shaking, “Don’t fuckin’ look at her. Keep Liya’s name out of your fuckin’ mouth-”

“Killin’ me wouldn’t have brought her back-”

“No, but it woulda been so fuckin’ sweet,” You grin with the taste of blood in your mouth.

“Not as sweet as you-” 

And then you draw your hand back and punch him. Your ears are ringing, you don’t hear Misaki screaming, you don’t feel your right hand starting to throb or feel your knuckles splitting. You only feel rage wash over you and turn into numbness. 

Tears are falling fast and heavy down your face and your eyes are blurry. Suddenly, you feel a pair of arms circle around you and yank you off of Roz. One last look at his bloody face and crooked grin does nothing to calm the sudden hysteria rising in your chest and blooming from your lips. 

“Get out! Get out!” You scream repeatedly, and you’re not sure who you’re screaming at. There’s nobody here. Nobody but you and Misaki.

And the person holding you close. You whip your head around to rip yourself out of the person’s arms to break your other fist into Roz’s face. With wide eyes, you realize that it’s Levi holding you back. You know him well enough to see lines of concern and confusion dotting his steely eyes.

“Stop,” Levi murmurs in your ear, “Relax. Stay with Misaki, I’ll get rid of him.”

Misaki steps closer to you, something unwavering in her gaze. And she holds your hand, squeezing tightly and taking you to the backroom to get you some water. And have you sit down.

You hold your head in your hands and squeeze your eyes shut. Misaki holds your hands and kneels in front of you, getting you to breathe with her. 

Levi drags the man with a broken nose out of your bar, allowing Roz’s head to hit the door frame with a soft crack on his way out. Roz groans but Levi pays him no mind. 

“I’ve met scum like you before,” Levi says lightly when he dumps him in a dark alleyway.

Roz looks up at him, eyes flashing in recognition. But Levi just scoffs at him and turns his back, heading in the direction of the Silver Sapphire.

***

“Go home Misaki,” You sigh, “I’m a mess. Stay home tomorrow, I’ll probably keep the bar closed.”

“I’m not leaving you alone,” Misaki says indignantly and gently cleans your split knuckles with a wet cloth.

You hardly even feel it. All you feel is the quiet ache of your heart from being closed off for this long. Maybe you should have handled Roz all those years ago. Would it have helped?

Levi finds you and Misaki in the supply closet. You’re sitting on a crate, your eyes dazed and Misaki is kneeling in front of you. She murmurs words of comfort to you but you’re not listening. Levi doesn’t know who that guy was or why it sent you into such a rage, but he can read in between the lines. 

“Thanks,” You mumble, finally raising your eyes to meet his stare, “For getting rid of Roz.”

“That’s his name? What a stupid name,” Levi says lightly and you snort.

“Misaki. Go home,” You urge quietly, “I’m sorry you had to see any of that.”

She looks at you and then at Levi unsurely. Her green eyes scrutinize Levi for a moment longer, trying to decide if she trusts you with him. With softened eyes, she nods and tells you to rest up before heading out with her bag.

Levi rolls his sleeves up and pulls up a crate to sit on in front of you. He gestures for you to give him your right hand. Against your brown skin, your knuckles are split a bright, brilliant red.

He gets up abruptly to wash his hands before inspecting your hand further, and to look for medicine and gauze. 

“Bottom left shelf,” You murmur.

“Where’d you learn to punch like that,” Levi muses, sitting in front of you with the cleaning solution, ointment and gauze next to him.

“The Underground,” You mutter, “Like you.”

Levi bristles wordlessly. Your words solidify an already existing suspicion of his. Levi motions for you to give him your hand and you wince as his fingers brush over your throbbing knuckles. Despite the pain, heat blooms in your chest at his sudden but soft touch. His hands are rough like yours, but still gentle. 

“This will burn. I’m cleaning it to make sure it doesn’t get infected,” Levi says.

“No shit, I know how to clean wounds,” You scoff. Levi gives you an unimpressed look that you return. 

“Congratulations,” He says dryly.

You barely react when he lightly dabs the cleaning solution on your knuckles. Levi wonders how much of this is muscle memory to you. The pads of his thumbs press into the back of your hand, almost soothing you. He’s quiet as he works, concentration folded into the creases of his handsome face. 

“You’re not going to ask me what happened?” You ask tersely.

“If you want to tell me, you will,” Levi shrugs. He’ll never press you to share more than what you are comfortable with.

An anvil sits on your chest, filled with pain that you’ve spent a long time convincing yourself was gone. If anyone can understand the pain that comes from the Underground, it’s Levi. 

“I had a friend. She was brilliant…”

And so you peel your lips open and tell him of your sinister love story cut short by your own stubbornness. You tell him about Liya, about Roz never leaving you alone, about finding Liya dead in your bed. 

You say it so swiftly, so factually that Levi wonders if you even realize what you’re saying. Your bottom lip is bitten as you look at him sadly, with guilt written in your eyes.

“You did what you thought was best at the time,” Levi murmurs, his voice quiet but firm, “Don’t taint her memory with your guilt and regret.”

“How can I not? This was her dream,” You reply, your own voice sounding far away to your ears.

“So honor her dream,” Levi says simply, “And honor yourself.”

Your eyes widen and his words immediately make you halt the spiral downward. His silver eyes are disarming, almost seeing through you as if you were transparent. But then you realize, he’s not seeing through you… He’s looking at you as if you were a mirror.

Levi pulls his eyes away from yours and gingerly continues to wrap your hand with gauze. His touches are fleeting and familiar. It makes your heart jump erratically, and how ironic that you were in the same place when he had so awkwardly cleaned your face up… All those days and weeks ago.

Something new blooms in your chest, mixing with the heat and adrenaline already pounding through your blood. It’s been a long time since you’ve been touched the way Levi is touching you. Firmly, but as if you were delicate. 

That’s not to say that you haven’t been touched in the past few years.

“What about you? Whose dream are you honoring?” You ask softly.

A breathless sort of sound falls from Levi’s lips. He doesn’t answer you, only smooths his fingers over the bandages around your hand. Silver meets your brown eyes and your pulse quickens again at the intensity of his stare.

He looks at you long and hard but still says nothing. You don’t think you’ll get an answer from him.

“Change your bandages twice a day,” Levi says lightly, “And don’t get infected or somethin’ equally as shitty.”

“Thanks, Levi,” You say with a laugh.

He squeezes your shoulder fondly, allowing for his thumb to float towards the base of your neck. A soft caress, and then another. His hand twists to cup your cheek, thumb gentle against your cheekbone. You lean into his touch, and something quietly shifts in the air between you and Levi. 

“I lost track of whose dream I’m honoring a long time ago,” Levi says softly, “It’s just my dream these days.”

As quickly as he allows for the touch, he pulls away. You find yourself missing his unexpected warmth, but you know that’s the most you’re going to get out of him.

He leaves soon after that and leaves you with the lingering heat of his fingers on your cheek. It feels like something new, something old, and something you lost but found again.

Eventually, over another night of late night tea he does tell you. Levi says it in passing, the names of his friends from the Underground. Isabel and Farlan. He says it fondly, as if he’s telling you a tale from a storybook.

You slide your hand across the table and squeeze his hand lightly. Before you can pull away, he keeps your hand tucked into his. Surprise lights up your features and then it melts into a bright smile. The candlelight illuminates your dark eyes and Levi can’t draw his eyes away.

So he doesn’t, and he lets himself fall into you. Wholeheartedly and completely.

***

tags: @simpingmaize

[cammmerrroniii]

Fever Dream

The night air is crisp and cool as usual at the Jorhouse. The mighty Nein have recently returned from Eissel Cross and were recovering from the events that had unfolded there.

Caduceus, in an attempt to comfort everyone but mostly himself, immediately busied himself in the kitchen making some of his special tea. The Willinghams, he thought to himself, they should make the perfect brew to settle these rascals. He looked back through the door leading into the foyer and saw Jester, so excited to see Essik tomorrow, bouncing around the room adding her own touches to the house to make it feel more homey since they’d be here a while.

Caleb sat in the corner pouring over a book, as usual, but every now and then you could see his eyes just glazing over the top of his worn and slightly yellowed pages to watch this little blue teifling work her “magic”. Veth was in her room, preparing little presents for Yeza, apparently their anniversary was coming up soon and of course Fjord was up there teasing her as he does.

Meanwhile, Yasha was sitting cross-legged on the second story balcony looking over the street, processing everything that had happened. The things that had occurred that she never thought possible. Seeing that coat had brought back so many memories; memories that she’d tried so desperately to bury with the others. She knew blaming herself never helped anything but she couldn’t help it. And then there was Beau. Oh Beau. Beau, Beau. What have you done to me, she thought while watching the neighbor’s peeking out their windows at their house for the fifth time.

She let out a sigh and thought about why she had acted the way she did around Beauregard. She felt that itch begin to rise once more inside of her. It always started this way, her toes would tingle and make her legs ache to run. The sensation would travel through her muscles like a ripple, until she found herself clenching and unclenching her fists and looking around for an exit. But Beau, with her captivating blue eyes and crooked smile, had complicated things.

Unbeknownst to Yasha, Beau was up on the roof staring down at the Aasimar woman. She knew she needed to talk to her about the poem, but she also knew that she sucks with feelings. She’d been watching her from afar for a while now, and, thinking about it, she thought about how stalkerish she probably seems. She took a deep inhale and deftly got to her feet without making a sound.

“Hey Yasha! I was wondering where you were hiding” she called out acting like she had just stumbled upon her.

“Oh!” Yasha jumped slightly in surprise, “Hallo, Beau. I’m sorry. I thought I had told everyone I’d be up here. Were you looking for me?” She had said where she would be. They all heard her.

“Yeah! I mean, no, well I mean not for like a long time or anything I mean, don’t worry about it, aha!” Gods why is she so weird all the time. Beau parkoured down to the balcony and leaned awkwardly against the rails for a second. “So, Yash....” Fuck, why didn’t she think of something to say first?!

Yasha looked up at Beauregard through her lashes expectantly. “What is it, Beau?”

Beau swallowed hard. “Um, ah. So that, ah, poem.. I uh gave it a read”, quite a few times, though she neglected to mention that part. A surprised look that was a mix of nervousness and horror spread across Yasha’s face. With everything going on, she had forgotten about that silly little poem.

“Oh, uh, that’s.. good. Yeah I, um, Jester gave me the idea and um she thought... I mean, uh, I-I thought that you know I,” she chewed on her words for a second. “I have been thinking about you- I mean, thinking about telling you how I feel, that is. So.. what did you think?” She bit her last few words off sharply and held her breath.

Beau knew that something had changed in Yasha since she had gotten her wings back. She saw it more and more as the barbarian woman continued to slowly open herself up to the group. She looked her over for a second and did, in fact, notice just the faintest bit of white at her roots and her skin held a light shine to it. She was literally glowing, and radiating beauty. Beau shook herself for a moment and realized she had been staring at Yasha awkwardly for a few seconds while she was clearly anxiously awaiting her reply.

“Um,” she cleared her throat and sat down beside Yasha, their knees brushing against each other as she did so; the slight intake of breath Yasha did at the contact did not go unnoticed. “I think that you definitely have a way with words that is unique. And I wanted to tell you that, if I understood your poem correctly, I’ve felt the same way since the first day I saw you.” She told her honestly and unabashedly, though her heart was hammering into her ribcage.

Yasha stared back at Beau, looking a bit stunned. They sat in silence for a few moments, though it wasn’t as awkward now that they’ve both discussed somethings out loud.

“Beauregard,” Yasha started slowly. “I care very deeply for you. And I don’t want you to end up hurt again because of me.” Beau looked like she was going to say something but Yasha cut her off. “I’ve been going through big changes recently and accepting everything has been a big part of that. And I forgive myself. For Zuala, and Molly, and you most of all. I-I need to go for a little while, not very long, I promised you I wouldn’t leave and I’m going to keep that promise but I just need to go and commune with the Storm Lord. He sent me these visions in my dreams and I know I must go there in order to complete my change and prove myself worthy. I didn’t want to tell anyone, old habits die hard I guess. But, I cannot hide things from you. Not anymore.” She opened her eyes that she wasn’t aware she had closed and looked back over to Beau. She was thinking. Yasha could tell because of the way the tip of her tongue just slightly glazed over the corner of her mouth repeatedly.

She’s going to feel betrayed, that I’ve lied to her. She’ll never forgive me, Yasha let herself think.

“I understand,” Beau finally said. Yasha looked at her in surprise. Of course she understood. As blind as Yasha is, even she could tell that underneath all of that bravado - and abs, oh gods so many abs - Beauregard understood Yasha on a far deeper level than anyone ever had. Beau connected eyes with Yasha and grinned. “But I’ll be expecting a kiss when you come back to me.” Yasha heart did a back flip just thinking about kissing Beau. She couldn’t form words as her brain got all goopy, so she simply nodded.

They both got to their feet slowly and stood facing one another. Yasha leaned down and gently laid her lips onto Beaus forehead. Beau was grinning like an idiot when Yasha pulled back.

“One for now, and the other when I come back. I promise.”

“Good luck.”

And with that, Yasha hopped the railing and landed perfectly on her feet. She began walking to her destination, already planning the kiss. She looked back one last time just in time to see Beau fist pump the air and do a little happy shimmy before she saw Yasha looking and froze, sheepishly waving goodbye to her before ducking into the house.

—————-

It was late, Beau would guess around 3AM. The witching hour, she thought to herself. Yasha had left some two or three weeks ago and Beau hadn’t been able to sleep very well after about the first week of her absence. They were still at the Jorhouse and everyone was fast asleep.

She quietly crawled out of bed and slid out onto the balcony, looking out in the direction Yasha had left.

The group did not take the news of her leaving well at first, mainly because they were concerned for Yasha’s safety. But, they all understood and came to the resounding conclusion that she could take care of herself.

“Who in their right mind would mess with Yasha,” Fjord had said. “She could bench press all of us with one arm if she wanted to.” Beau let some dirty thoughts of Yasha bench pressing her seep into her gutter of a mind and Fjord had scoffed at her while Jester wiggled her eyebrows and cackled at Beau’s expression.

“Ja, our Aasimar friend will be fine. She has a new belt that I’m sure she’s itching to add some notches to.” Caleb had remarked.

“And I can send her a message!!” Jester squealed, about to do just that. Beau had grasped her blue friend gently and advised against it.

“Yasha just needs some time alone, I think. Just her and the Storm Lord. She’ll be back soon.” Beau gave a small smile to Jester, who grinned knowingly back and gave her a small nod in understanding.

Looking out over the cool and quiet streets thinking back to the day Yasha had left and the conversation they had had, Beau couldn’t help but feel like she was being watched. She heard a thud and spun around to see a tall figure standing over her. Long white hair, glowing eyes boring through her, and though covered in dirt her skin shone through dimly.

“Yasha!” Beau startled out. She didn’t have much time to process before Yasha enveloped Beau with her arms, pulling her into a warm hug. They stood like this for a few moments, just basking in each other’s embrace.

“I missed you Beau. I mean, I missed all of you. But, you know what I mean.” Her voice sounded faintly of angelic chimes and hums. They pulled apart though staying very close as Beau looked up in awe.

“You look.. different. Still very beautiful, though.” She blushed at the fact that she just straight up said Yasha was beautiful to her face which was literally only a few inches away, oh my gods. “I’ve never seen someone after a change like this before.”

Yasha just smiled softly, and gazed at Beau for a moment. “You’re beautiful, too.” And then she leaned down and captured Beauregard in a mind blowing kiss. For both of them, it felt as if this were the first time they have ever kissed another person. It was electrifying.

As Yasha was welcomed back into the Nein, her family, there was something there in the back of her head that was just overwhelmed with joy and love that she had finally found her soulmate. And as she connected eyes with Beau across the living room of the Jorhouse surrounded by their family and friends, she knew that Beau felt it too.

I know this is super long and I’m so sorry. But this is the dream I had and was told to write so I wrote it for you guys. I hope it’s okay, like I said, I’ve never written fan fiction before. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. If it’s terrible, also please feel free to DM me, I always accept criticism so long as you’re not being, like, a huge dick. :)

[wickedmilo]

THREE, MIRROR | MILO & BEA

PLACE: A coffee shop near the university campus TIMING: 10:37 PM SUMMARY: Bea notices Milo being the worst vampire in the world, and makes a begrudging effort to help him.   WRITING PARTNER: @beatrice-blaze CONTENT WARNINGS: Very brief mentions of substance abuse, mentions of emotional abuse

Milo’s mind was still reeling. From finally running into his killer, from being forced to accept the fact that he had allowed the man to escape Dani’s stake, from being given the chance to explore the space where he had lost his life, and really see it for the first time since waking up as a vampire. It was an awful lot to process, which was why he was feeling slightly idiotic, and simultaneously slightly desperate, as he waited in line to order a coffee. Of all the places he could be drowning his sorrows, searching for an answer at the bottom of the bottle, a coffee shop was probably the last place anybody would expect him to be. Maybe that was a part of why it felt so comforting; the unpredictability, the spontaneity of the decision. Also, he supposed, the mundanity. He was waiting in line alongside late night students, people working on screenplays, or trying to complete assignments that were dangerously overdue. He could hear scribbling notes, hear the tapping of keys, even the subtle whir of laptop machinery if he allowed himself to focus. But he wasn’t here for other people, he was here for himself. For the familiar scent of coffee. For the feeling of wrapping his hands around a hot paper cup. He could only assume that was what everybody sought when they visited a café after dark. 

He couldn’t count the amount of times he had stumbled into this particular shop with a bad hangover, or even still drunk. It had been a saving grace first thing in the morning. And it was proving to be a saving grace now. At least here he felt vaguely human, at least here he could pretend everything that had happened to him over the course of the past few months had been some awful fever dream he had finally woken up from. Something he could move past, and forget. Something he could wash away with the right combination of syrup, coffee, and oat milk. When he reached the front of the line, he placed his order, asking for far more syrup than he usually would in the hope of granting the beverage a stronger taste. A few more minutes of waiting, of forcing any unwanted thoughts to the very back of his mind, and he picked up his cup, making his way over to the wall lined with mirrors.  

It was a staple of any coffee shop trying to appear sophisticated. And he was so used to the décor that he didn’t stop to consider whether his favourite spot could still safely be his favourite spot. Pulling out the chair closest to the wall, he dropped down onto it, leaning back against the cool surface of the glass as he began to tap his fingers against the drink in his hands. It was a nervous habit, one he never could seem to shake. Taking a careful sip of his coffee, a quiet sigh managed to escape him at the dull, one-note taste. If only it would taste as strongly as it smelled. It didn’t seem fair that one sense had been heightened while he had essentially lost another entirely. Maybe if he mixed it with some blood? Could he do that? Would that work? So lost in his own thoughts, it took him far too long to realise he was being watched. Catching the eye of a stranger, when they didn’t look away he raised his eyebrows in a silent question. Apparently he wasn’t even allowed to wallow without being interrupted. 

Bea had gotten used to sleeping when it was light out in New York. The habit had still lingered after her return, her night owl tendencies too much of a hassle to break at this point. It helped to sleep in the light, to wake up gasping and be able to see everything in her room. There was no fear that the Hunter stood in the corner of her room in the light. The ocean could not flood her room. She could see that Adam’s dead eyes weren’t staring at her, crawling to her and telling her he needed to come back. The day rid her of her nightmares far faster than the night did. There were no corners to hide in. She was safe awake at night and safe asleep in the light.  

Usually after a show, Bea would find herself at the Stacked Deck, martini in hand as she gambled. She was trying not to drink on bad days, on the days where memories tore at her. Partaking in another vice, that seemed safe. Her mouth was dry as she stared into the steaming coffee in front of her. This wasn’t usually her first pick of a café, but it was the closest she had been to when her walk started to turn into wandering, aimless. These moods, they hit like waves, battering her over and over again, small moments of reprieve falsely claiming the storm was finally over. It exhausted her, cement added to her bones, trapping in the cold, dragging her down further into the sea. Water slipped into her lungs, coughing it up, inviting more in, but there was no release of consciousness, no, she was forced to live it all, feeling herself drown, over and over again.  

A hand gripped the back of her seat and Bea jolted with the motion, magic rushing to her fingertips as she looked for an enemy. It was some college kid, punchdrunk from hours spent in front of a laptop. Her heart hammered in her chest, her pulse screaming that she was alive, they were safe. Find five things you can identify in the room. That’s what her therapist had said, right? She couldn’t remember, but she began to count. “One, coffee,” She forced her eyes around the room. “Two, table. Three, mirror.” Mirror… She could see the mirror clearly, could see herself from across the room, all too sophisticated looking for the wild look in her eyes to fit, but not the man in front of it. He was a vampire, he had to be. She had stood in front of a mirror enough with Kian to know. His eyebrows went up and now she was too. A tide pulled her to him, pushed her to do what always made her feel safe and take care of someone else. “You’re in front of a mirror,” She said, her voice stronger than she expected.  

Milo hadn’t been expecting the woman to approach him, and he stared at her as she closed the distance between them both. It took far too long for her words to fully register, but when they did he felt an irrational surge of annoyance. “What?” He snapped. Why should she care where he was? What business did she have trying to tell him something he already knew? The mirror had always been there, it didn’t exactly feel like an important piece of information. But as quickly as his irritability had risen to the surface, it was replaced by a sudden realisation. Oh shit, he was sitting in front of a mirror. A jolt of panic shot through him without warning, uncomfortable, and disorienting. Had he really just announced to the entire coffee shop that he wasn’t human? As if hoping to prove he hadn’t been quite so moronic, he glanced behind himself to be met with the reflection of the woman, the shop, and absolutely nothing else. “Fuck- shit-” He muttered, scrambling to his feet, backing away until he was standing beside a window. No longer within reach of the mirrored wall, he still felt nervous, and unsteady. Only when he took a deep breath in an attempt to regain his composure did he fully understand what this stranger had done for him. But why? What had compelled her to care? 

Offering her a hesitant smile, still battling the anxiety clawing at his chest, he did what he could to calm down. Part of him understood there was a possibility this wasn’t the end. The person standing by his abandoned table could be a slayer who had decided to toy with him, or somebody who loathed vampires and was hoping to laugh at his lack of intelligence. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. He would deal with that later, for now he needed to focus on the present. “I-uh… thanks.” He muttered, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. It was important to look unassuming, he knew that. Lest he be seen as a threat. But the sheepish demeanour came naturally to him, so he said the first thing that came to his mind. “It’s easy to forget sometimes… I just…” Glancing back down at his coffee, still sitting on the table where he had left it, he let out a quiet huff of frustration. “Hey- I don’t suppose you could pass that to me?” He asked. She was only going to say yes or no, he didn’t see the harm in pushing his luck. “That drink is… it’s me trying to stay sane. Apparently it isn’t working…” He added, gesturing vaguely to the mirror.  

Irritation rose swiftly in her chest as the man snapped at her. For a moment, Bea considered turning around and letting him suffer the consequences of his actions. The memory of her sister cradling Adam’s body swam to meet her anger, tempering her. This vampire was not Adam, but just like with Eddie, she had the urge to force him to take care of himself. Death had been a friend when she was the one reaching out to it. She understood who truly held the power now. No matter what she could do, there would be people who she lost. Death might be something she could circumvent herself, but that did not mean she would not witness the ramifications of it. She could still try to make others safer from it, even if after it took them, they refused to come back to her.  

Dull brown eyes watched as the vampire scrambled back from the mirror. “It shouldn’t be,” Bea said with reproach. She didn’t want this man to hurt, but she did not like him. She still remembered the taste of Kian’s disappearance in her mouth. She still felt the sting of rejection. The understanding of his goals with her, had come later in life. She had even truly realized that he had been using her until she spoke to her friends about their relationship. Abuse seemed like a terribly harsh word for it, but she could not think of something softer that described it correctly. Her lips pressed and for a moment she thought of saying no. She passed it to him wordlessly, eyeing him with suspicion. “Are you always so careless?” 

“Oh, come on. Like you don’t forget to eat sometimes, or put on lotion before you go out into the sun.” Milo countered. Self care, and self preservation consisted of so many little things, things that were difficult to remember when you were busy, or tired, or your life was getting complicated. Surely anybody could understand that. Pointedly ignoring the tone the woman had chosen to take, he was surprised when she handed him his coffee. It wouldn’t take a genius to see she was annoyed, maybe she too had come to the coffee shop for some kind of escape, and he was ruining it for her by being an all too present reminder of the supernatural. Focusing on her scent, on the sound of her heartbeat, she clearly wasn’t a werewolf, vampire, or zombie. So what was she? A spellcaster? A human who knew too much? “Thanks…” He said quietly, his demeanour softening. She didn’t owe him anything, and she had given him his coffee in spite of that fact.  

Hugging the cup to his chest, he watched her, unsure how they were supposed to move forward in such an unusual circumstance. But then she spoke again, and a laugh managed to escape him. He pushed his hair back away from his face, relief at only being caught out by one person was beginning to wash over him. Lowering his inhibitions, and making him all the more grateful for the stranger’s begrudging intervention. “Not always.” He insisted, feeling the need to defend his intelligence. “Sometimes…” Mirrors weren’t always an issue, and when they were he had proven relatively competent when it came to avoiding them. But he had an awful lot on his mind. He didn’t want to dwell on his many mistakes. He wanted to pretend, to enjoy the little bubble of safety the coffee shop felt like it was providing. “Look, it’s been a really fucked up week, okay? I just… I needed a break.”

Bea’s expression soured even further at the man’s reply, “Those things aren’t the same and you know it. I’m not going to have someone attempt to kill me if they notice I didn’t eat.” She didn’t know why she cared, maybe she didn’t actually but wanted the distraction, but whatever caused her to come over here kept her here, even with her mounting irritation. Hadn’t her therapist said something about this? She couldn’t remember it, not with her pulse roaring in her ears, but she knew that Miranda wasn’t going to be happy with her for butting into something again. She’d probably say that taking care of other people to ignore her own self care was a form of escapism or some shit. Bea wasn’t really all that willing to work on breaking out of that habit just yet, it’s what made her useful to the people around her.  

It was always a fucked up week in White Crest. There was always another building disaster. There was always something that ruined someone’s life. It was just how the town was. She bit her tongue and said nothing. Taking a moment, she looked away from the man, back to the mirror. She stared back at herself and her eyes lingered on the scar circling her neck. Wicked’s Rest always took something from the people who lived here, it was just how it went. She looked back to the man, “Find a place that doesn’t have mirrors to take a break then. Or one day a hunter will find you sitting in front of a mirror and they will try to kill you. They’ll make sure you stay dead too.” She certainly didn’t hate hunters, especially knowing the ones she did and how they were driven to make the world a better place, but she didn’t want to be a bystander to someone’s death.  

Milo was half expecting to win over the woman’s sympathy, convince her in some way to feel for him rather than see him as an idiot. The fact that his words only managed to irritate her further only managed to irritate him further too. Maybe she had a point, but he wasn’t about to admit that. “Whatever, I’m only saying it’s easy to forget the important shit. Especially when your life is a mess. So, bite me.” Taking a sip of his coffee, out of habit more so than in an attempt to calm down, he found the hot drink did manage to soothe him a little. It reminded him of why he was here. The desperation, and longing for an escape. He wouldn’t be able to find one while he was being yelled at by a stranger, that much was undeniable. Though he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to escape this interaction. This woman had genuinely helped him, he couldn’t bring himself to walk away from her. No matter how determined she seemed to ruin his night. 

Watching as she turned away from him, he saw her stare at her own reflection, but couldn’t follow her gaze without stepping closer, something he absolutely wasn’t willing to do. She would only berate him again, and he didn’t want to encourage her. “I used to come here a lot while I was studying.” He countered, glaring at her even as she ignored him. “Forgive me for wanting something familiar.” If he had chosen almost anywhere else in the cafe he might have been able to avoid the mirrors, but he hadn’t been thinking, too lost in his own pain. As far as he was concerned that was understandable, more than valid given the circumstance. Though his company would probably argue otherwise. “No shit,” he shot back. “I’ve met one or two, I-” He broke off before he could insist he knew what he was doing. How could he say that after such a ridiculous mistake? “I’m fine.” He answered instead. “Okay? I don’t need your help, or- whatever it is you’re trying to do here.” 

“You’ll have to excuse me if I decline that offer,” Bea sneered back. Maybe on another night she would have been kinder, gentle in her correction. The combination of bad night and an unshaken dislike for vampires was a potent one. She wouldn’t apologize for it, not when she felt she was justly annoyed. She took a deep breath in, Miranda’s voice ringing in her head. She had to keep her cool, they were still in public and she had a reputation to uphold. She kept her eyes off the mirror now, unwilling to see how her face had shifted as anger took over. She was better than this. She knew she was better than this. It was just that this vampire was in front of her and she could barely stand the proximity. The grief of her past had never truly been dealt with, pushed aside instead in favor of continuing on. That was the way of the Vurals, wasn’t it? 

Familiarity. Bea could understand that. She found that in the Stacked Deck and Coffee Plus after her death. A place to feel normal just for a moment. It was the most human thing a person could want. “Be more mindful about where you sit here then,” She conceded, her throat tight at the grim reminder that he was struggling with his own demons. A sharp smile took over her face, “You don’t need my help now, after I helped you.” That was the way of it though, wasn’t it? She never wanted help after she proved she needed it. She could, in a way, sympathize with that. “Look, I don’t like vampires, but I wasn’t going to let you get caught like that. I’m not in the business of watching someone make a fatal mistake, even if I don’t like them. That’s all I’m doing.”  

“You’re excused.” Milo countered, unable to think of a witty comeback. He was torn between gratitude and frustration. The fact that this woman had done something genuinely good for him, and then turned on him almost the moment he was safe, was pathetically causing his head to spin. Was it really too much to ask for a quiet night? He didn’t have the mental capacity to deal with such inconsistency. He had been polite, he had thanked her, and he had been met with a less than positive attitude. It didn’t feel fair. Raising his eyebrows as a few beats of silence passed between them, he watched the stranger as she turned away from her reflection. She was a difficult person to read, which only served to make the interaction feel more irritating, and unnecessary. “I don’t know whether it counts if you stick around to insult the person you helped.” He pointed out, although he knew she could argue against his statement. Regardless of whether she was being kind to him, she had stopped him from potentially becoming a target. Nothing she said now was going to change that. He and Deirdre hadn’t exactly parted as friends, but that didn’t erase the medical attention he had offered her.  

Letting out a huff of breath, unsurprised to hear she didn’t like vampires, he appreciated the reason for her behaviour. Even if said reason was bullshit. “I’m sorry, it’s not my fault you’re Team Jacob. I’m not about to fucking fall at your feet because you did me a solid in spite of what I am.” He awkwardly crossed his arms over his chest, careful not to drop his coffee cup. His confidence was rapidly fading as he realised he didn’t always like vampires either. When he met them for the first time, he felt nervous, and scared. It was a product of his history with them. It was only after getting to know them that he became comfortable in their company, maybe this was something they both had in common. “Okay, shit. I get it…” He muttered begrudgingly. Shifting awkwardly on the spot, he chewed on his bottom lip, steeling himself to be honest with her. “You think I like vampires?” He asked. “I was fucking killed by one… but that doesn’t mean you get to talk to me like you already know who I am. We’re still people. There’s still good and bad.” 

“Asking someone if they’re always careless isn’t an insult. My attitude towards you isn’t an insult just because it’s not immediately positive.” Bea could feel the heat in her blood, felt herself simmering under the surface. The world was unfair, so why did she have to be fair to everyone she met? She was kind when she didn’t have to, better than other people had been to her. It shouldn’t fall on her shoulders to carry on with optimism and generosity at all times. Shouldn’t she get to be as bad sometimes? You’re spiralling, she thought grimly. Miranda had told her she did that, where all of her thoughts started to go too fast to logically go through them. She wanted to go home, but what waited for her there. Felix was in New York, Nell at their parents’ house, Luce at the cabin. The house was empty and it was too late to call anyone over to fill in the gaps that ghosts had left. 

Bea’s eyes narrowed, “When you spend three years of your life getting used as a convenient blood bag, I’ll listen to your opinion on how I should feel around vampires.” The relationship she had held with Kian was complicated, but she had grown to realize that their love had been toxic. She had begun to understand that they had only lasted so long because he hadn’t felt motivated to find someone else only a year or so ago. Her throat tightened, she had assumed that he was like Kian, someone who had chosen this life. She had never forgotten with zombies that many of them didn’t pick this. It was harder with vampires. It was hard to look at him now, the stripped truth of what was in front of them almost too much to bear. She nodded, such a small movement that it could have been lost with a blink. An apology stuck on her tongue, thick, hard to move. She could type apologies, but speaking them, that was a very different story. “You’re right,” She conceded. “I let my bias get the better of me.”  

“It wasn’t what you said, it was the way that you said it.” Milo pointed out, although he strongly suspected the woman might already know. He wasn’t sure why he was even bothering to continue with this argument, but walking away felt too much like admitting defeat, like agreeing with her. “It is when you’re generalising.” He added, figuring it definitely counted as an insult if her mood was in relation to his vampirism. It wasn’t the first time what he was had managed to make somebody uncomfortable, and it didn’t seem to get any easier. But at least she was making it easy to be annoyed, at least she was making it easy to not feel guilty. Bex had been different, she had been soft, and regretful in a way that made him self-conscious, that made him want to apologise for being himself. His current company had an edge, one that as far as he was concerned, gave him permission to be less than content. 

Fully prepared to defend himself, he found his expression shifting once again when he registered what he was being told. There were so many details to her story that would change the context of it. Had she given blood willingly? Was it being taken by someone she knew? Was she being held captive? Or manipulated into sharing? But as quickly as his mind began to run through the possibilities, he was reminded of her obvious trauma. How it had happened wasn’t relevant. It didn’t matter. What mattered was how upset she clearly was, how deeply affected by the past. She had damage, same as him. He couldn’t exactly blame her for that. “I’m sorry that happened to you.” He said quietly, a frown creasing his brow. He had been used as a blood bag once, and it had cost him his life. He tried and failed to imagine how he might feel if he had been used for three years, if he was still alive, and vulnerable to another attack. He still felt vulnerable, though he knew nobody was going to drink his blood now. She couldn’t say the same. “Yeah, you kind of did… but it’s whatever.” He unfolded his arms, trying to assure her without letting her think she might have won. “That shit stays with you, I know it does…” 

Irritation continued to mount, but now it was focused inward. Bea did not lose control. She presented herself as a measured person, her actions had meaning. There was hard to find meaning with the pressure building between her ears. She had fallen from her path without realizing it, twigs broken from her blind tumble. Left behind her an ugly, broken mistake. Her jaw locked, unwilling to deny the truth of his words, unwilling to apologize or put herself in a worse position. She felt young again. At least there was no threat that she would break all the windows in the café, even as far she had fallen, she had more control than she did at nineteen.  

“It’s not,” She finally said. She had let him speak, let him apologize for what happened to her. She knew he deserved to be heard after she spoke to him as she had. “It’s not appropriate or kind of me to treat you the way I did.” The way, she knew, certain witches had in the past. The way her zombie friends had. “It’s not alright or whatever. I was wrong,” The words throttled her, the alarms in her brain begging her to shut up. She never enjoyed admitting she was wrong, it made her feel dizzy, out of control. But she was already there tonight, she was already spiralling, might as well dive in to fix something she had made. “I’m sorry too, for the little that it’s worth, that it happened to you. That you were killed.” She knew the feeling, the wrongness that came after that. She didn’t know how being changed into something else felt however. “White Crest isn’t kind. Just try to be careful and maybe it’ll avoid pressing its misery on you again,” She finished softly, weakly.  

Milo listened to the apology, taking a moment to really register the woman’s choice of words. He recognised the fact that she was trying, in the same way he understood how difficult it was to take responsibility for a mistake. He appreciated it more than he could say, so he offered her a hesitant smile, hoping to show her he was no longer offended, or upset. He was too tired to cling to so many negative emotions, too desperate to forget, if only for a little while. “You, uh… you don’t have to be so dramatic about it.” He teased, careful to gauge her reaction. He was attempting to lighten the mood but he knew there was a possibility of pushing her further away. He wanted to move forward, he just didn’t know how to. “Look,” he said, becoming serious again. “I know how it feels, I really do. Or part of it, at least. I also know that’s weird because I guess I’m like, one of them now. But I didn’t ask for any of this… You were used by a vampire, and I was used by a vampire. Different outcomes but it still fucking sucks...” Catching the ironic phrase the moment it left his lips he laughed quietly, unable to help himself. “I mean, figuratively but…”  

Falling silent when his company warned him White Crest wasn’t kind, it made him wonder what else she had been through, how else she might have suffered at the hands of his hometown. His memory flashed suddenly back to Dani, and his killer, to the moment he had allowed the person responsible for his death to touch him. He couldn’t do anything to suppress a shudder. As it always did when he truly considered what had taken place, anxiety began to claw at his chest, and he swallowed, staring down at his coffee so that he could collect himself before looking back up again. It was a strange conversation to have, and maybe not one he was ready for given recent events. But he pressed on. “I’m Milo. I probably should have said that earlier.” A soft sigh escaping him, he pointedly ignored the pain still weighing him down, remembering distinctly why he had come to the coffee shop in the first place. “Hey, I don’t suppose you want to, uh… start over? Maybe get another coffee and find a table that isn’t in front of a mirror?” He asked. He didn’t have anything to lose, but maybe, just maybe, he could gain a friend. A friend who partially understood the way the aftermath of his attack was still affecting him. 

A snort left Bea, an amused smile lighting her face, “Trust me, this is me not being dramatic. I’m usually far more over the top.” She knew how to make a show, knew the words to say to get crowd reaction, knew how to dress and act to get the attention in a room. Her calm was often everyone’s dramatic. She watched his face closely, knowing that these conversations were never easy to have. Personally, most people didn’t know the details of her relationship with Kian. They didn’t know her history or how she felt dirty after it was all said and done. She had never gotten close enough to another person with ties to vampires to compare notes, see how trauma was different on other faces. “I find a lot of people turn into the thing that destroyed them, your’s just couldn’t be stopped.” She had become a killer after the Hunter, had walked this world with the goal of making sure others knew she could end them if she so wished. She had picked that, this man hadn’t. “It does fucking suck, pun intended, considering what happened,” She repeated back, that small smile still on her face. 

Bea considered her options. She could just walk away, this had ended amicably enough, or she could give him a shot, accept company and let herself get pulled from the hole she had placed herself in. “I’m Bea or Beatrice, either work.” She always introduced herself that way, even though she rarely went by Beatrice anymore. Her mother had loved her full name though and so Bea had never stopped. Maybe it was time to. “I know a spot here where there are no mirrors, should be pretty safe.” She had never really stopped looking for those safe spots, not after three years of it. “I’ll get us more coffee and meet you over there?” She offered, guard still up, but willing to take some time to pull it down. 

Milo watched the woman, pleased to see a genuine smile light up her face as she spoke. He smiled too, unable to help himself, but it didn’t take long for the expression to fade. He tried to imagine a world where he killed people so callously, where he was willing to take a life because it was convenient, and made him feel good. He refused to let himself become that, he was never going to forget the trauma, the unrest his experience had caused him. It might actually haunt him forever. He knew he could be selfish, knew on the odd occasion he put his own wants and needs before the wants and needs of others, but never to such a scale. That wasn’t him, and it was never going to be him. “I really hope that isn’t true…” He murmured. Maybe his company was right, and becoming a vampire was enough. Maybe she wasn’t talking about the murderous tendencies that apparently came as part of the package. Humming quietly in response to the pun, he glanced back up at her and was surprised to find she was still smiling. It made him feel better somehow, the knowledge that she might actually be enjoying the conversation.  

“Bea...” He echoed, committing her name to his memory. He didn’t enjoy being given a choice, not when names could carry so much weight, and be so personal. It only made sense to use the first option he had been given. A laugh escaping him at the mention of mirrors, drawing him out of his thoughts, he was struck by how ridiculous it was relying on a human to show him where he would safely be able to sit. He felt like a child, although he knew he was in no place to complain about that fact. She was helping him, and considering how their interaction had begun, that alone seemed like an outright miracle. Following her gaze to a handful of tables, he nodded before catching her eye. “Coffee sounds good.” He agreed. “With oat milk, and as much syrup as they can legally give me.”

“Sometimes hope can be enough, if you follow it with determination.” There were moments where Bea looked toward Luce and saw hope in a manner she didn’t with many other people. It was a Vural trait to never go down easily, but Luce always felt like the most hopeful somehow. She was by far the least optimistic, yet somehow when hope was introduced to a situation, the eldest sister thought of the lightning caster. She couldn’t completely explain it, but it felt right in her chest. Luce didn’t let go of hope once she found it, she held fast, a dragon with her horde.  “Oat milk,” Bea nodded, heading over to the front. “I’ll convince them to give you some illegal syrup too, don’t worry.”  

Milo grinned at the mention of illegal syrup before turning away from Bea, making his way over to their new table. He felt okay, he realised. Not good, and definitely not whole, but okay, and that was undeniably the best possible outcome of the evening. He had been expecting the drink to help him. Had been expecting the solitude, and the quiet sense of normalcy to ground his overwhelming emotion. When in actuality it was the company helping him settle. Bea may have been cold, and short to begin with, but he was really beginning to like her. Maybe there was something in that. He had called Evelyn, hadn’t he? To help him when he was catatonic. Didn’t he usually call Orion when he was feeling particularly miserable, or confused? Even Macleod and James on the odd occasion had helped him to organise his thoughts. It struck him suddenly that he didn’t need coffee, he didn’t need to cling to his old life, or wallow in it entirely alone. He needed to find somebody to be with, somebody who could distract him from his thoughts, and allow him a sense of freedom. He knew the clubs now, he knew the substances. But did he know anybody willing to get on his level? If he looked in the right places, he strongly suspected White Crest might finally deliver. 

[daringyounggrayson]

one step at a time

anonymous said: Here’s a prompt for you: “I could really use a cuddle” for Dick with either Bruce or Damian?

thanks for the prompt! this accidently turned into a short fic, whoops. I also included my headcanon that Dick’s early exposure to fear toxin caused some long-term health problems. all you really need to know, though, is that Dick experiences fear toxin symptoms on and off even without exposure, the antidote doesn’t work very well for him, the exposure damaged his lungs which can make it hard to breathe during an attack, and he uses an inhaler that has a variation of the antidote in it which helps to relieve his symptoms. Enjoy!

He’d seen him again. Bruce, last night. Of course, not really him. Because Bruce isn’t here so it couldn’t have even been him, but also not him, because his memory of Bruce had been warped by fear toxin. And now that the night was over, he was left to sift through the memories. They meant nothing, sure, but the thing about people is that they find meaning in anything, including nothing. Dick does it well, too; probably the only time he can call himself a spectacular person.

“Alfred?” Dick calls, voice scratchy. He must’ve been screaming, probably scared the crap out of Damian, even if the kid would never admit it. Which only makes Dick feel worse.

With no response, Dick sits up and carefully takes the IV out of his arm. He looks up to see if it was just fluids, or if the antidote kept wearing off and he’d needed to be on a drip. Both, it turns out. Fun.

“Master Dick, my apologies, I was with Master Damian,” Alfred says, hurrying over to Dick before he can get out of bed. He’s pushing Dick back, gathering supplies to set up what looks like a blood draw.

“Damian okay?” Dick asks.

“He’s well, albeit a little shaken.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“We’ll have none of that.” Alfred pulls Dick’s arm out and wraps a band around it, then he’s swabbing the crook of his arm with an alcohol swab and jabbing a needle into it. He takes the band off and lets the blood flow into the vial. “How are you feeling?”

Dick shrugs. “You know.” He’s been exposed to fear toxin so many times, and the early times, they hadn’t even had an effective treatment for it. Now, it seems the antidote doesn’t work on him as well as it does on the others, even Bruce. And an exposure always makes him feel sick the next day—chest tight, headache, kind of nauseous. Not to mention feeling jumpy and on edge. Alfred already knows all of this, though; voicing it would be redundant.

Read the rest on AO3 or below the cut!

“Perhaps you should rest a while longer,” Alfred suggests. “At least until your blood has been properly examined.”

“Sure,” Dick says, because really, he’s not feeling great. “But I want to check on Damian first.”

“Very well,” Alfred says, using his voice that says he doesn’t think it’s “very well” at all, actually. But he knows when not to push.

Dick makes his way upstairs, shaking ever so lightly from fatigue and residual fear. He hopes this doesn’t last long, but he knows it must’ve been a pretty bad hit. Maybe multiple hits. He’s surprised Damian wasn’t taken down too—or maybe he had been, but his immune system doesn’t have the same response as Dick’s, so he recovered quickly like everyone else seems to. He hopes it stays that way, and if Babs, Jason, Tim, Cass, and Steph are any indication, Damian should be fine. 

Dick eventually reaches Damian’s door, and he raps it with his knuckles. He waits, and a moment later, Damian opens the door. He looks up at Dick, and something like relief flashes across his face before it’s replaced with a scowl. “Hey, kiddo. Just wanted to check in after last night. You holding up okay?”

“I don’t need your concern, Grayson,” Damian tells him. “Perhaps if you had taken more precautions last night, you would not be in your current state and Scarecrow would have been apprehended more efficiently.”

So not well, was the answer to his question. “Right then. Alfred checked you out and everything?”

“I was able to supply my own antidote in the field, and Pennyworth examined some follow-up blood work to ensure it had worked properly. Which it had. Due to my quick response, I never experienced its effects,” Damian says proudly. It’s kind of amazing; even with quick response, Dick can never avoid the effects of fear toxin completely. “I was also able to get you back to the car before you could make a fool of yourself in front of Commissioner Gordon.”

Dick closes his eyes for a moment, holding his tongue. “Thanks, Damian. I’m sorry you had to see me like that, but you did a good job last night. I’m proud of you.”

He can hear Bruce’s voice whispering in his ear again. He wants to groan; he hopes this is just a mild leftover effect and not a sign that he needs more antidote. The fear toxin is way worse, obviously, but being on a drip isn’t fun, and it comes with its own side-effects. His chest is feeling tight, though; maybe he should find one of his inhalers.

“Grayson?” Damian is asking, something fearful in his voice.

“Hmm?” Dick opens his eyes and realizes he’s slumped on the ground, hands pressed to his chest. “Oh.”

“I should get Pennyworth,” Damian decides, looking like he’s ready to run.

Dick shakes his head. “It will pass, just need a minute. ‘Sides, Alfred’s probably already on his way.”

“Is the toxin still in your system?” Damian asks instead, and Dick shakes his head, even though he doesn’t really know that for sure. “Pennyworth was telling me of your chronic health issues that have resulted from over-exposure at a young age. Is that . . ?” Why he feels like he’s been run over?

“Probably,” Dick answers, closing his eyes again. He wonders how much Alfred has told him. He should know, for safety reasons, but. It would be nice to have some control over this situation. “Can you get my inhaler for me?” Dick could get it, but Damian sounds so helpless right now—giving him something to do will be good for him. “It’s on my nightstand.”

“Very well, if that will help.”

Damian is fast, and he’s quiet while Dick takes the inhaler. He doesn’t know if he’s done this in front of Damian before; he’s needed to, but he’s always excused himself. Dick takes the puff and holds his breath; a few minutes later, his chest feels less tight and the whispers have settled.

“Thanks.”

“Master Dick?” Alfred calls, heading up the hallway toward him. “Are you quite alright?”

“He had an attack,” Damian says, tattles.

“It wasn’t an attack,” Dick says, because it wasn’t. Not really. “Just rough from last night. Did you check the bloodwork?”

“It looks clear. So as long as your symptoms remain mild, I do not feel the need to give you another dose,” Alfred tells him, and Dick relaxes. “Bed rest, however, continues to be recommended.”

This is something Alfred will push for, and Dick doesn’t want to be pushed, so he holds his hand out and lets Alfred help him up.

“Very good, sir,” Alfred praises him. “Master Damian, if you’ll excuse us for a moment.”

Alfred helps Dick get into bed, gets him settled, and hands him a pill. Then he disappears into the bathroom, returning with a cup of water.

“What’s this?” Dick asks, swallowing it with the proffered water before he gets an answer.

“Only some Tylenol,” he assures. “For the headache and chest pain.”

“Thanks,” Dick says, easing himself into the pillows. “Was it … it was bad last night?”

“You were having difficulty breathing when Master Damian brought you in,” Alfred tells him. “You required a breathing treatment followed by oxygen for a while, although neither were very effective until the antidote began to work. Master Damian seemed unsettled, so I thought it would be best for the two of us to have a conversation about your specific reactions to fear toxin.”

“How much did you tell him?” Dick asks, eyes closed and breathing already slowing.

“I didn’t go into too much detail, but I explained the cause”—over-exposure to and lack of treatment for fear toxin mixed with a developing brain and pair of lungs—“and how your symptoms come and go. He was confused as you had been exposed before and hadn’t reacted so severely, so we discussed how this can be unpredictable and is often influenced by other factors. Including variation in dosages and time before treatment.”

Nothing new to Dick, but for a ten-year-old who had no warning, it could be a lot. Even if that ten-year-old was Damian.

“Hmm,” Dick chooses as a response. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” Alfred tells him, resting a hand on top of his head. “Sleep well, and do call if you need me.”

And Dick sleeps.

oOo

The nightmares come and go. It’s not the toxin, but his brain is always like this after an exposure—even if it hasn’t been this bad in a while. Years, even.

Dick finds himself in a confusing cycle of waking and falling asleep, unsure of where he is and what’s real. He remembers Alfred, finding him in the hall and herding him back to bed, pressing an inhaler into his palm. Had he been sleepwalking? Had Alfred checked him for a fever? He felt cold, maybe they were chills. Maybe he was actually sick.

The next lucid moment, he found himself feeling the urge to run away. From what, he couldn’t remember, but the nightmare had been clear once. He was at least certain that the only place he wanted to run to was Bruce, but he wasn’t here, and the dream told him he was also part of the monster. But that couldn’t be right, because Bruce could never be a monster. He fought monsters, and he won.

“Grayson?” Damian is shaking him awake. It had been a dream, then. But. He was in the hallway? Had he run away? “Grayson, it was just a dream, you’re alright.”

Bruce had said those words to him. Not exactly, but close. And Dick had said them to Damian—it hadn’t been fear toxin that had caused that first nightmare, it had been after Bruce, and after Tim left.

“I’m, I’m,” Dick mumbles, unable to control his tongue.

“You’re outside father’s room,” Damian tells him calmly. He sounds like he’s following a script; Alfred had probably told him how to handle Dick like this. “You are having a flare-up. Do you require your inhaler?”

“I’m fine,” Dick says. And he thinks it’s true. “You can, I’m sorry I bothered you.”

“Nonsense. It is Robin’s job to look out for Batman, isn’t it?” Damian asks, and Dick nods. “Then as Robin, leaving you now would be a dishonorable act.”

Dick hums, unable to argue and unsure how or even if he should. It’s hard to think like this; he doesn’t feel like himself.

“Do you require assistance to get back to bed?” Damian asks.

Dick stands, and Damian slides his arm around Dick’s waist. Dick knows he could manage on his own, but he’s dizzy. It’s nice not to have to stumble and fall all the way back to his room.

Damian only lets go of him when Dick’s sitting back in bed. He hesitates, watching Dick cautiously. Dick is feeling tired again, too tired to figure out what Damian needs. Maybe a dismissal? Could be, but Dick should probably thank him instead. This is a big step for Damian, trying to take care of Dick, showing that he cares about Dick. He remembers the first time he was sick since Damian came to live with him, and he had been quite the opposite of kind and understanding back then.

“You’re shaking,” Damian says. “Is that? Or perhaps you are not in the proper state to discuss this.” More script, Dick guesses.

“It’s okay,” Dick assures him; he’s happy to answer the question, happier that Damian feels comfortable asking. “But yeah. I think it’s just the adrenaline.”

“I see.”

A long pause, and Dick can feel himself swaying where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. He wishes Damian would spit it out, or leave if he wasn’t going to. Dick really needs to lie down.

“I am aware that you are very … tactile, and I have read that pressure can help ease anxiety,” Damian starts cautiously. “Do you think that would help you?”

For a moment, Dick forgets how terrible he feels and he can’t help but grin up at Damian. “Are you asking me if I want to cuddle?”

Damian scowls at him, crossing his arms over his chest. “Do not be childish, Grayson. I am merely suggesting what the experts have found to be effective, especially for people such as yourself. I would rather let you recover in your own time, but Batman and Robin are needed, and—“

“Damian,” Dick cuts him off. “I could really use a cuddle. Or whatever you want to call it.”

Damian scoffs at him, but then he wraps his arms around Dick. Dick hugs him back, squeezing him tightly. It does help Dick feel better, and he hopes Damian is sharing some of this relief. After all, they’ve both had a rough night.