#Some things are left in the wind for a lot longer than previously - it's nothing that directly impacts like The Final Version (so far)

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Your Weekly TV Guide

On Monday you can expect:

2:30 PM: Law Abiding Citizen

And Tuesday:

2:30 PM: Wander Over Yonder

Wednesday:

2:30 PM: WOY

Thursday:

2:30 PM: WOY - Commander Peepers

Friday:

2:30 PM: Villainsona (&video!)

Saturday:

2:30 PM: Game concept

Sunday:

2:30 PM: Sona daily goings-on

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<— masterlist for previous/next chapters —>

A/N: if you’re wondering why I’m having to repost this, or why you were perhaps previously following me but no longer are, please refer to this post

warning: mentions of suicidal thoughts

Dont Say Goodbye - Chapter Four: Listen, It’s The Voice Of Reason.

Things are a little awkward between you and Daryl when you step out of your cell the next morning. Despite nothing new being revealed, merely addressing the rift between you is enough to change everything. Up until now, the two of you have somewhat picked up your friendship from where it left off, like those years of absence never happened, because neither of you wanted to talk about the in between, you just wanted to enjoy being back in each other’s presence for a little while. Now, it’s floating alongside you whenever you’re with him, it’s breathing down your neck and presumably his whenever you’re apart, making you sweat and fidget with the weight of the unsaid. You never thought you’d see the day where you enjoyed standing at a fence and stabbing walkers - which is the common lingo for the dead amongst these people, you’ve learnt - but it’s a lot easier to deal with these feelings on your own than when he’s there.

This morning, Daryl asked you if you were alright with Aurora going up to the watchtower with him. Obviously, the idea of your four year old daughter being up at that height didnt thrill you, but you knew that she would be safe with Daryl, and that Aurora would much rather hang out with Daryl than anyone else; she has really connected with him in the short time they’ve known each other. So, you made her promise that she would stay sitting against the wall and she would not venture towards the edge, and Daryl promised you he would make sure she kept her promise.

“Mister Daryl-“

“Ya dont gotta call me that.” Daryl cuts off the little girl, hesitant to admit that he actually really enjoys her company.

For the entirety of yesterday morning, all he heard was questions directed to ‘Mister Daryl’ and he didnt have the heart to tell her she doesnt need to refer to him like he’s some figure of authority. He cant deny it was somewhat endearing, and as mildly irritating as it was to be bombarded with questions about every flower or crop they walked by, every cloud she saw, every bird, and every goddamn tree, he found those questions somewhat endearing, too.

“Okay. What do I gotta call you?” Aurora asks, copying his exact phrasing, which tugs at Daryl’s heart strings enough for him to take his gaze away from the view ahead and look over his shoulder at her as she sits against the wall with her legs crossed, staring at him with a serious and curious frown.

“Jus’ Daryl.” He clarifies, turning back to the view ahead, focussing his attention back on his job as he readjusts his forearms against the railing.

“Okay. Daryl, is that a crossbow?” Aurora questions, and Daryl nods.

Though he wonders how such a young girl recognises a weapon by name, he doesnt ask, because part of him doesnt want to know, in case she learnt it from whoever the hell her dad is. The last thing Daryl wants to think about is you and some random prick talking about his preferred hunting weapon.

But unfortunately for Daryl, a four year old doesnt need to be prompted to carry on talking.

“My favourite bedtime stories are the ones about the crossbow man.” Aurora says, somewhat absentmindedly, and somehow she knows how to say just enough to get Daryl interested, but not enough to give a full explanation, meaning he has questions to ask her now.

“Who’s the crossbow man?” He really, really hopes that Aurora isnt about to go into a long, detailed story about her father.

Just focus on the wind, the horizon, the fields, some zen shit. Maybe if he focuses hard enough, he can tune Aurora out like he effortlessly manages to tune out everyone else. But deep down, Daryl knows he doesnt want to do that, because this little girl already reminds him so much of you. An echo to a child long forgotten, who wore his brother’s oversized hand-me-downs and constantly trailed after the girl that had that damn smile.

“He doesnt have a name, he’s from Mama’s stories. She has a lot of stories about him. She says that when she was a li’l older than me, she got lost in the woods a lot, and the crossbow man would come save her. But he was a kid then, too. He has a super cool bike, and she used to like riding on the back. But those ones arent my favourites.” Aurora’s lack of description leaves much to be desired, but Daryl cant help recognising those details. There’s only one way to know for sure.

“Wha’s yer favourite story?”

In fairness, two seventeen year olds getting fake ID’s to sneak into a bar, probably wasnt yours or Daryl’s smartest idea. It wasnt like the two of you needed a bar to get access to alcohol, the first time you’d gotten drunk you and Daryl were far from the legal age, but what else would two teenagers do in the empty house of an alcoholic while said-alcoholic was off with some waitress? Daryl was hardly going to regret his first taste of alcohol when it landed him his first and only kiss with you, which happened in a drunken mess of giggles about wanting to be each other’s first kiss. But, the two of you were only fourteen then, and three years later you went looking for the authentic drinking experience. Obviously, you wouldnt dream of venturing to a bar without Daryl, and your faith in him somewhat blinded you to the danger.

When some sleazy middle aged bastard came up too close behind you and touched your waist, you flinched towards Daryl, who abruptly ended his conversation with the barman to scowl at the guy next to you.

“Back up, man.” Daryl warned, voice cold as he gently took ahold of your hand and moved you to stand behind him.

“Or what?” The creep tested, sneering down at your protector, who he was stupid enough to view as nothing more than a kid. Some scruffy redneck who’d pick a fight just to lose it. Anyone who thought that of Daryl Dixon back then was bound to regret it.

“My favourite part is what the crossbow man says to the man right then! The crossbowman says ‘or, I’ll shove your head so far up your ass that your wife will be kissing shit stains, but something tells me she wont see a difference’!” Aurora giggles excitedly at the line she’s memorised, she even recites it with an accent that sounds like Daryl’s. He considers telling her not to cuss, but he decides to let it slide, because technically it’s his cussing that she’s replicating, and he cant really fault her for that.

“Anyways, after that the crossbow man beats up the creepy guy, but that makes the bad man’s friends come over. And Mama goes and calls for help, and the crossbow man’s sidekick comes and helps.”

Daryl struggles to hold back a laugh at that, but the smile that breaks across his face is impossible to hide. You referred to Merle as his sidekick? Oh, if Merle was still around to hear that, it’d make Daryl’s whole year.

“And the crossbow man’s sidekick helps them get outta there, and then Mama and the crossbow man walk through the woods together back to Mama’s house.”

Daryl remembers that walk to your place like it was yesterday, Aurora’s narration perfectly coincides with the replay going on in his head.

He couldnt tell if it was the sun or his own fury, but his entire body was burning. He was so angry that day, angry at you for calling Merle, angry that he couldnt win the fight on his own, angry that the fight he couldnt win was one that he was fighting to protect you. And of course, you knew all of that, and you also knew Daryl wouldnt listen to a single word you said, so you both walked back to your family home in complete silence, except for the lingering sounds of various bugs flying through the Georgian heat. The path back to your place was a mixture of street and woodlands, and you did your best to keep Daryl away from walking along the side of the road when he had a black eye, a split eyebrow, and bleeding knuckles. If a cop happened to drive by and see him, if his dad happened to drive by...it was your job to keep him safe in every way that you could, and you always made sure to hold yourself to that.

“Nobody else was in Mama’s house, so they didnt have to sneak through the window that time.” The kid explains, like Daryl doesnt know the story inside and out.

Your house being empty had been a massive relief considering Daryl’s injuries; he’d been limping all the way there, but that was a detail he didnt like to remember, it made him feel weak.

“Mama took care of the crossbow man, and then they had a sleepover, ‘cause the crossbow man’s dad wasnt very nice.” Hearing a child summarise one of his own memories is up there with the strangest experiences Daryl has ever had.

But Aurora is absolutely right, you did take care of him, you always did.

He sat on the edge of the bathtub while you rushed around, gathering supplies to patch him up and clean his wounds, while he focussed on calming himself down. With you right in front of him, safe and showing him the kind of love that only you ever did, it didnt take Daryl long to forget his anger. All he had to do was focus on the colour of your eyes, your concentrated frown as you cleaned his wounds and then the soft glances you’d give him as an apology for hurting him in the process. Your hand sometimes went to rest on his knee when you fixed him up, and that made Daryl’s body feel hot for an entirely different reason. You held his gaze, and then you held his hands, so familiar with cleaning his bloody knuckles that you didnt even need to look at them to do it, you just gave him that damn smile, because you knew it would distract him. It always did.

“Why’s that one yer favourite?” He asks the little girl, wondering what could possibly appeal to a four year old about that story.

Glancing over his shoulder, Daryl notices that Aurora isnt even looking at him, she’s playing with a stick she’s found.

“Because I think it’s one of Mama’s favourites too, she really likes to tell that one. It makes her face pink.”

Daryl cant help smirking at that as he turns his head back to where he’s supposed to be looking, but his eyes happen to drift down to the fence.

“Daryl?” Aurora calls, and he hums in response, too caught up in thoughts of you to prepare himself for her next question, but as soon as she says it, he knows he couldnt have prepared himself if he tried.

“Do you have a dad?” It’s such a strange question, and had anyone else asked it, Daryl would’ve been suspicious as to why they were asking, but when it’s coming from a kid, he knows the intention isnt to belittle him.

“Did have one, but he’s gone.”

Aurora processes his answer the same way she processes everything else: without much thought. “Was your dad nice?”

That definitely pulls Daryl away from thoughts of you, and he fixes his gaze on the horizon. “No. Was yers?” He regrets it as soon as it leaves his lips, but he just wants the conversation off of his own childhood as quickly as possible.

“I dont have a dad, just my mama.” Aurora says simply, but she sounds a little sad about it, like she feels she’s missing out on something but she doesnt know what.

The response confuses Daryl, and he immediately feels terrible for not asking her about her father sooner, now knowing that he has never been in her life. If her dad had left or died when Aurora was old enough to remember, she would have said something different, she would have said he was gone, or added some detail to the description of the dad she remembered. But she doesnt remember him, because he was never there. Guilt swirls in Daryl’s stomach, making him feel sick for holding a grudge against you over something he had clearly known nothing about. Of all people, he shouldnt make assumptions about you like that. You deserve better. And you deserve better than whatever asshole didnt stick around to raise his kid.

“Daryl?” A little voice pulls him from his thoughts again, and Daryl hums once more. “You should think up a nickname for me.”

This causes the crossbowman to frown, and he turns around completely to face your daughter. “Why?”

Aurora shrugs. “Mama calls me Roar, and you should call me something too. You cant just call me what everyone else calls me, we’re best friends, it doesnt work if you do that.”

How could words as sweet and innocent as that not make Daryl smile?

“Since when are you ‘n’ me best friends?” He asks, but he makes it very obvious in his tone of voice that he’s joking.

Aurora beams up at him. “Since now!”

Daryl chuckles. “Alright, wha’d ya want me to call you, then?”

Aurora rolls her eyes dramatically, exactly like you do. “The whole point is that you have to come up with it! After lunch, Im gonna go hang out with Carol again, give you some time to think about it. By tomorrow, I expect results.”

Daryl can tell that she is absolutely just reciting words and phrases that she’s heard from you in entirely different settings, and trying to apply them in a way that makes sense to her, while also making her sound like a professional four year old as she points her stick at him. And the crossbow man is hardly in the position to disagree with his new best friend.

Throughout the morning, you’ve noticed Maggie slowly travelling from one end of the fence to the other, edging her way closer to you. Naturally, you were curious about her intentions, but when she ends up right beside you and doesnt give you more than a smile as a greeting, you put your curiosity to rest.

Stretching your arms out, you sigh, feeling your elbows and shoulders aching from practising the same stabbing action all morning.

Maggie chuckles. “You get used to it eventually.

You smile at her. “As fun as this job is-“ Your sarcasm brings another laugh from Maggie. “-I dont think it’s my calling.”

She wiggles her eyebrows. “Would your calling have somethin’ to do with Daryl, by any chance?”

Your eyes widen, darting up to the watchtower and seeing him scowling off into the distance, like the dramatic star of an action movie. Realising that Maggie is clearly onto you, you sigh in defeat.

“Is it that obvious?” The embarrassment almost pains you, you never imagined you’d so easily be transported back to the mindset of a lovesick teenager.

Maggie smiles at you sympathetically. “It wont be to him, so try not to worry. You knew him before, right?”

You nod, the two of you nonchalantly continuing to stab through animated corpses as you talk.

“Yeah, since we were kids.”

Maggie’s eyes widen. “Sheesh, I can only imagine that man with uncontrollable hormones.”

You stop what you’re doing and stare at Maggie, your jaw almost hitting the floor, and it takes a second for her to register what she just said and she stares right back at you, until the both of you burst into howling laughter that leaves you hunched over.

“I meant mood swings! Not that!” Maggie clarifies, and you nod along as you wipe your tears, having guessed what she’d been intending to refer to, but still finding the alternative endlessly hilarious.

“Well, to be honest it was a challenge to deal with both…” Your gazes lock, and shocked silence falls, you unable to believe what you just admitted and Maggie stunned by the revelation, before you’re both wheezing and crying all over again.

The two of you are still wiping away tears as you venture to the serving table for lunch. Just when one of you calms down, you look back at the other and lose it again. Inside jokes, you’d forgotten about those, too.

As soon as Maggie spots Daryl leaving the watchtower with Aurora at his side, she disappears to find Glenn, making sure that you have no choice but to talk with Daryl after the conversation you just had. With nobody currently at the serving table with Carol, and a decent distance to cross before Daryl and Aurora reach you, you decide to go and talk with the woman that reminds you oddly of yourself.

“Do you enjoy serving people meals everyday?” You ask her curiously, and Carol laughs.

“Nothing could bring me more joy!” She says sarcastically, causing you to chuckle, and you’re about to ask her something else, but Carol seems to have questions of her own. “You and Maggie looked like a pair of giggling schoolgirls, what was that about?”

You smile at her. “Oh, nothing, just stupid stuff.”

Carol raises an eyebrow. “Would that stupid stuff have anything to do with Daryl, by any chance?”

You bury your face in your hands, shaking your head. “Jesus, does everybody know!?!”

Carol gives you a sweet smile. “Everyone here knows Daryl, and he’s never willingly sat down to eat with anyone, let alone after only being in their presence for a day!”

You cross your arms over your chest, nodding and glancing to the side to make sure Daryl isnt in earshot. “It’s not like Im a total stranger though, it’s different.”

Carol tilts her head to the side as she looks at you, a knowing expression on her face. “You’re right, it is different.”

“Wha’s different?” Daryl asks as he approaches, Aurora taking a brief moment to talk to Boss about her day so far. Obviously, a dog cant respond like a person, but for the majority of her short life, the only company Aurora has had has been dogs, so she treats them like people, like friends, because they are.

You try to smile at him as innocently as you can, but you cant think up an excuse quick enough. Thankfully, Carol comes in clutch.

“The stew! It’s a little different today, you'd be surprised what a few carrots can change!” She exclaims, and when Daryl scoffs and takes a bowl, Carol subtly winks at you.

A new kind of tension fills the air between you and Daryl at lunch. The tension yesterday was heated, this morning it was awkward, but now it feels...soft. His eyes arent as cold towards you, and you watch as he interacts with Aurora on the opposite side of the table, the two of them seeming to have somehow clicked over the past few hours. She’s making him smile so much, and Daryl seems truly relaxed, like he’s at home with her, and he’s getting there with you. There’s still a rift between you, but it feels as though outer forces are working on bringing you together, even when you’re apart for however long.

“How’s workin’ on the fence?” Daryl asks as the two of you take your empty bowls over to the piles of dirty dishes.

“It’s alright, just not sure it’s something that I want to keep doing.” You say, still feeling the growing aches in your joints and knots forming in your back.

Daryl doesnt question you, but the way he looks at you is enough to encourage you to elaborate. Conversations like this happened one too many times when you were teenagers. Every job you got, up until the very last one, you decided you hated within a week and did everything in your power to get fired. You got tired of being in the same place all the time, seeing the same people, saying the same shit over and over again, and eventually the money just wasnt worth the agony of it all. Teenage-you had far less patience.

“You know me, being shut in somewhere is my own personal hell, same as you. Working on the fences is like staring at the walls keeping me in, regardless of how good it feels to be safe here.” You explain, and Daryl nods, fully understanding.

“Got any idea what you wanna do instead?” The two of you head back over to the table, to Aurora, who is once again having an in-depth, one sided conversation with Boss.

“I dont know, might take up some shifts on watch.” You smirk at Daryl, and a smile curls at the corner of his mouth.

“That so?” He teases, and you beam at him.

“Just imagine how lucky you’d be to spend even more time with me!” Your every word is dripping with sarcasm, making Daryl scoff and shake his head at you.

“Oh, Mama, I want to hang out with Carol now if she wants me to, Daryl has a mission that he has to do alone.” Aurora chirps, and you cant help but laugh as you look up at Daryl, about to ask what this ‘mission’ is, until Carol’s laugh joins yours.

“Actually, I think Hershel is looking for you, he wants to give Aurora a checkup now that you’ve both settled in. He can check over your dogs too, if you like.” Carol smiles sweetly as she picks up some of the dirty dishes and takes them over to the unlucky bastard on dish duty.

You take Aurora’s hand. “C’mon then, let’s go see Doctor Hershel.”

Your little girl nods, hopping off the bench at the table and waving at Daryl with her free hand. “Bye best friend!”

He waves back at her, despite the very short distance between them making it somewhat unnecessary. However, you are very much caught off guard by Aurora’s words, and you gasp at her.

“I thought I was your best friend?!” You question dramatically, eyes darting between your daughter and Daryl.

“Guess ya got fired from that job, too.” Daryl teases, sounding almost cocky, and your jaw drops. Did he really just make a joke, and at your expense?

“Oh, Dixon, I will wipe the floor with that smug ass face of yours!” You threaten playfully, and Daryl tips his nose up at you.

“Naw, ya cant be late for the Doc. Run along.” And then Daryl mother fucking Dixon waves you off with his hand, an unprecedented degree of sass radiating from him, while you stand there, utterly stunned. This prick really hasnt changed since you last saw him.

For the entirety of the short walk back into the prison, your mind is spinning. Have you really broken through Daryl’s harsh exterior already? Your relationship is still far from restored to its previous standard, but it is dangerously close to getting there. How is that even possible?

“I told Daryl my favourite story about the crossbow man.” Aurora says matter-of-factly, halting you dead in your tracks. You crouch down in front of her in the middle of the cell block.

“Aurora, why would you-“ You begin, but your daughter cuts you off.

“‘Cause it’s him, isnt it Mama?” She guesses, her intelligence racing far beyond her years, and at the cost of your dignity.

“How did you know?” You ask her, unable to fathom how she figured this out, considering you’d gone to expert lengths to assure her that ‘the crossbow man’ had no name, no physical description, nothing. Not just because thinking about him in too much detail would wound your heart beyond repair, but also to make him seem as much like a mythical, fictional superhero as you possibly could.

“You knew his name, he has the same cowboy accent that you use when you pretend to be him in the stories, and he has a crossbow. I remembered it from when you drawed one.” Aurora explains, like her expert deductions are no big deal, and like her incorrect past-tense of ‘draw’ isnt absolutely adorable.

You close your eyes in a pained blink. There is not even the slightest chance that Daryl would fail to realise the crossbow man was him, especially since Aurora told him a story that you know for a fact he’ll remember, as it was one of the more dramatic events of your teenage years. The shift in him, the newfound comfort in talking to you, the evaporation of the slight icy glare in those eyes, it was all because of your daughter.

You take a deep breath. “He’s never gonna let me live this down.” You whisper, mostly to yourself, but Aurora frowns.

“Huh?”

Standing back up, you shake your head. “Nothing, c’mon, let’s go find Doctor Hershel.”

Eventually, you find Hershel waiting in a cell, talking with Beth, who’s feeding with Judith. After exchanging brief greetings, you go in search of your other two dogs. Boss is always at your side, so you never have to worry about him. Weirdly, even though Batman is the smallest of the pack, you worry the least about him. He has the personality of a king, he does his own thing when he has the space to do so. Humans essentially become servants to him, you just happen to be his favourite member of staff. You never knew that such tiny dogs could have such huge personalities. Batman is the most difficult to find, given his size and nature to do whatever the hell he pleases, but you find him digging a fourth hole among a cluster of holes he has already dug. You know that Bear is working, dragging things for people so that they can all get things done faster, but even if you didnt know that for certain, you wouldnt be worried. Of your three dogs, Bear has perhaps the most empty space between his ears. He just blindly adores everyone, so if he wasnt working, you’d only have to go in search of people in order to locate him. You find Bear in an entirely different area of the prison, helping Glenn move supplies from the latest run in the car outside, to a different part of the prison that seems to predominantly be used for storage. After collecting your three boys, you head back in the direction of where Hershel is waiting. On the way there, you cross paths with Rick, and he smiles at you.

“Hey (Y/N), everythin’ alright?” He greets you, and you nod.

“Everything’s great! Just heading to a doctor’s appointment!” You joke, causing Rick to laugh before you continue. “Actually, there was something I wanted to talk to you about.” You say to Rick, and then you turn to your dogs. “Go find Aurora.” You instruct, and the three of them run off, with Boss leading them.

“You’ve trained them well.” Rick compliments, and you smile.

“Thanks. I tried to prioritise teaching them things that are multipurpose, like ‘find Aurora’ can be an instruction of protection, or to send them to a specific location, or to return to a base camp.” You explain, and Rick nods, seeming impressed.

“What was it you wanted to talk to me about?” He asks curiously, and you smile.

“Doctor Hershel is a very nice man. I like him very much. I have never seen a person as old as him!” Aurora rambles excitedly as the five of you head back to your cell, the doctor’s appointment having been a huge success, judging by your daughter’s ongoing review for the past four minutes, and Hershel’s quick summary of ‘everyone’s just fine’ when you returned to the cell.

“Did you tell him that he’s the oldest person you’ve ever seen?” You ask, dreading the answer, because you know that you didnt teach her social etiquette of talking to older people for the same reason you didnt teach her how to communicate with babies: you didnt think any would have made it this far.

“Yes, and he laughed lots. He said he’s 105!” Aurora claims, clearly shocked, and you cant help laughing.

“Really?” You raise an eyebrow at her, going along with the playful lie that Hershel has told her.

“Really! He’s the oldest man ever!” Aurora jumps at your side, overjoyed by her discovery of the ‘oldest man ever’.

Darkness has settled when you sit down outside your cell, dangling your legs off the platform and swinging them idly. The last time you sat here was to talk to Daryl, but for some reason you’ve chosen it as your preferred location to be alone. It’s like there’s an echo of his presence still sitting beside you, and that is a source of comfort you’d forgotten the feeling of. So much has happened today, you are completely overwhelmed, not only by other people’s knowledge of feelings you hadnt even had the time to acknowledge were there, but this whole place, the everyday conversations about work and food, being in a community of people. It scares you how quickly you’ve readjusted to a life that isnt all about protecting your family for every second of everyday; has that instinct gone? Is this place going to make you weak? Whether it changes your family doesnt matter, they deserve to feel the effects of safety, but you cannot risk settling because if this falls through, it’ll be up to you to protect them all again. Such troubling thoughts can only be processed with the comfort that Daryl’s presence provides, even when he isnt physically there.

The pounding in the door continued long after the monster on the other side had gotten bored. Your body was crumbled against the bathroom door, your hand still holding the lock in case he tried to open it from the outside. The pounding was in your head rather than reality, and you eventually realised it was your own heartbeat you could hear, not the man who you were sure had just broken another of your ribs.

“Where’s your precious Daryl now, huh!?! Oh, that’s right, he doesnt give a shit about you anymore! Nobody does! And it’s all your fault! Nobody will fucking miss you!”

Tear filled, wild eyes darted around the room, petrified that he’d find a way to somehow materialise in front of you. The reassurance of being alone only came when you heard the familiar creak of his armchair as he sat in it. Your gaze fixed on the bathtub, and his yells filtered out, suddenly sounding like you were under water, and that is where you decided you wanted to be. As the tub filled, you attempted to pull your shirt up, but the agony in your chest and back protested, fresh bruises colliding with old ones and making it impossible. Being clothed would probably be better anyway. If the only thing you could control was that the last time he saw you alive, you wouldnt be naked, then you would take that. You sat against the wall, watching the water pour out of the faucet, feeling an overwhelming sense of peace at the thought of everything finally being over.

Once you got too tired to continue watching the water, you carefully pulled yourself to your feet, hissing and muffling your cries of pain by biting down on your hand. What did another set of bruises matter? If your mind hadnt shutdown months ago, you would have registered the discomfort of lowering your denim covered legs into the bath water, but the only sensations you knew then were cruel ones, so something as pathetic as discomfort didnt even cross your mind. Laying back, you closed your eyes, your ears filling with water and barely distorting the sounds that your brain had already pushed away. This would be it. Your body with all its injuries, and your life drifting away in this manner, that would surely solidify his guilt in front of a jury. Your parents wouldnt rest until he was properly punished for his crimes, and though you didnf have time to leave a note, Daryl would know the truth. The news of this event alone would tell him everything, that you had no choice. Your head fell back, you didnt even have to force it to sink. The water engulfed your face, and you waited. This was really it, you were getting out of there, forever. The first eighteen years of your life had been well lived, the people you loved would remember those, you would live on in them. As far as they knew, as far as Daryl knew, that was still who you were. A year of hell was enough to change that, you had no say in any aspect of your life, except in how it ended. Just taking one deep breath, that was all you had to do, and then you would be gone, leaving an untainted memory behind. This was you.

“Naw, it aint.”

A voice you hadnt heard in a year, but one you would never fail to recognise. He couldnt be here, there’s no way, no way in hell.

“Wont know unless ya sit up.”

Shut up!

“Make me.”

It didnt make sense. How could you possibly hear him? Daryl was likely a thousand miles away, with nothing but justified hatred in his heart for you. He wouldnt be there, he couldnt be!

“Sweet girl, ‘m always with you. Now, quit the poetic shit, and get the hell up!”

Something took ahold of your body, you swore you could feel two gentle hands lifting you by your shoulders, and you took a gasp of air. Rubbing your eyes as quickly as you could, you scrambled to look around you, unable to care about potentially worsening your injuries as your eyes searched for him. But you were still alone.

The scuffle of shoes drags you from your thoughts, and you hurry to wipe the tears from your cheeks as he sits down beside you.

“Alright?” Daryl asks, always able to see through any of your efforts to hide your tears from him.

“Yeah.” You answer, and it isnt a lie.

Honestly, you cant even tell if your tears were sad. At the time, you were devastated, your mind had conjured up a version of Daryl to talk you out of leaving forever, because that was the only thing that would work. For so many years, you were so convinced that you would never get to see him again, and here he is. With no idea of what he got you through.

“Spoke to Rick earlier, about changing my job.” You change the subject to something you actually need to talk to Daryl about.

“Wha’d he say?” He enquires.

You bite back a smile. “Rick agrees that it’d be a good idea for you to have a run partner.”

Daryl’s head snaps to the side to scowl at you. “No.”

You sigh, rolling your eyes at him. “You’ve only just found me again, Im not gonna let you go out by yourself and lose you twice.”

Your comment was intended to be sweet and somewhat humorous, but Daryl’s silence as he stares ahead tells you it didnt land that way at all. He hangs his head, pulling at some loose threads in his jeans.

“Ya werent the one that lost.” His coldness is back, but this time in his voice rather than his eyes, though you’re sure if you could see them, daggers of ice would pierce straight through you.

“We both did.” You correct him, and Daryl shakes his head silently, looking off to the other side, away from you.

An intense awkwardness settles over the top of both of you, cementing you in place regardless of how desperately you both want to escape. Much to your surprise, Daryl speaks up first.

“Shouldnt go out there, risk yerself like that. Ya got a kid now.” Apparently, he managed to navigate away out of the tension before you.

“I had Boss protecting me out there before, I’ve been out there this entire time. All those nights we spent out in the woods as kids, I’ve always known that Im never safer than when you’re around. Besides, these days, I can handle myself.” You tell him, hoping that referring to more innocent memories of the two of you will soften him up, and when you see the tiniest sign of a smirk forming on his face, you know you were right.

“Makes a change.” He teases, referring to the same memories, but particularly the memories of you being utterly helpless without him.

Nudging him playfully, you gasp. “Shut up!”

Daryl laughs, but there’s no malevolence there, there never is when he’s with you. He’s known you so long, part of him cant let go of the countless times he saw those terrified eyes staring up at him. Protective instincts just come naturally to Daryl when you’re nearby. But he can see that you’re different now, after being on your own for so long.

“This whole thing, way the world is...it’s made ya stronger.” He observes, nodding at you. This time it’s Daryl who says something with good intentions and it’s received wrong because of things that are yet to be discussed.

You avoid his eyes. “It wasnt the world that made me stronger, I can promise you that.” Not wanting to go into this now, you stand up and start walking into your cell.

Daryl’s gaze fixes back on his lap. “Hard to hear ya say that.”

You look over your shoulder, frowning at the back of his head. “What?”

“Promise.” Daryl clarifies, sounding bitter as he stands up and storms into his cell, without sparing you a glance. That clarification, that one word, sends a sharp pain through your chest.

Stepping into your cell, you are greeted by the adorable sight of your sleeping daughter curled up in bed, with Batman whining in his sleep on the top bunk, Bear snoring quietly under the bottom bunk, and Boss sitting by the door, waiting for you. A small smile makes its way onto your face as you rub behind his ears, and he nuzzles against your arm, staring up into your eyes and understanding far more than anyone else thinks he can. Boss follows you over to the bed, and once you slip under the covers, Aurora reaches for you in her sleep. You pull her into your side, one arm wrapping around her while your other hand continues to stroke Boss as he lies on the floor beside you. How much longer can you keep this up?

The longer you wait, the worst things will get between you and Daryl. He deserves an explanation, you know that, so why is it so hard for you to provide one? He needs to know. And he will, you decide, nodding to yourself with determination as you close your eyes. Soon, he’ll know everything.

————————

explanation for this chapter title - again with the theme of each chapter title sounding like it’s said in conversation with the title of the series:

“Dont say goodbye.”

“Listen, it’s the voice of reason.”

like one is telling the other not to write things off so quickly, the voice of reason for Daryl is a four year old, who provides him with the knowledge that he was wrong in thinking (and holding a grudge over) the reader completely shutting him out of his life, and therefore prevents him from shutting her out. the voice of reason for the reader when she felt she had nothing left to live for, was Daryl, who provided her with the strength to keep fighting in order to make it out of there and back to him. overall, every voice of reason provides evidence for how much the reader truly cared for Daryl even when he wasnt in her life. at the end of the chapter, it’s the reader’s own voice of reason that makes her decide she’s going to tell Daryl the truth soon.

[caitimetravels]

she’s insignificant

chapter 3: the dangers inside

the umbrella academy x reader

disclaimer: i do not own the plot/storyline of the netflix tv series and i do not own the umbrella academy characters.

warnings: swearing, mentions of death

masterlist

y/n stared at the blue energy in the courtyard before deciding to join her siblings as they rushed to see what it was. as she ran down the stairs she caught sight of klaus holding a fire extinguisher.

"what are you doing?" she caught up with him.

"something" he shrugged, bursting out the door first. "out of the way!"

"thats not going to- klaus what the hell?" y/n went to stop him only to watch as he tried to extinguish the mass of energy. she shook her head in disbelief, stepping beside vanya.

klaus chucked the extinguisher when he realised it wouldn't work.

"what is that gonna do?" allison shouted over the loud noise. klaus threw his hands up.

"i don't know. do you have a better idea?" he stepped back in surprise as another flash came from the portal. luther pulled klaus back.

"everyone get behind me!" and in true sibling rivalry diego nodded, shielding vanya and y/n.

"yeah, get behind us!"

they watched, brows furrowing at the familiar figure that dropped to the ground. as they stepped closer the vortex disappeared.

"is that-?" y/n looked up at vanya, peeking around diego to see.

there, in a too large sized suit, stood their missing brother. he pushed himself to his feet taking in their appearance.

"does anyone else see little number five is that just me?" klaus questioned as they walked closer. the said boy stared down at himself in confusion before looking back at them.

"shit" he cursed.

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

they all moved back into the kitchen, letting five do as he pleased while he explained what he needed to.

he placed a chopping board and knife on the table while the others stood at the other end. y/n stood off to the corner, not entirely comfortable with them after being accused of murder. "what's the date? the exact date"

five walked around, grabbing bread to make himself a sandwich. vanya answered, "the 24th"

"of what?" five pushed walking back over.

"march"

"good" he pulled out two pieces of bread, laying them on the chopping board.

"so, are we going to talk about what just happened?" luther raised an eyebrow, expectantly but five stayed silent. "its been 17 years!" luther stood, frustrated but five wasn't taking any of his bullshit.

"it's been a lot longer than that" the shorter boy walked towards him before blinking behind him to grab the marshmallows. luther sighed,

"i haven't missed that"

"where'd you go?" diego piped up, unfazed.

"the future" five sighed, "and it's shit by the way" he opened up the bag of marshmallows.

"called it!" klaus raised his finger.

"do you want one?" five looked up at y/n, referring to the sandwich, a soft gleam in his eyes. the others shared a look, of course he had only missed her. she gently shook her head with a small smile. "i should have listened to the old man" five walked to the fridge, pulling out a jar. "he knew. travelling through space is one thing, travelling through time is a toss of the dice"

he paused as he opened the peanut butter, looking up at them again before noticing klaus' attire. "nice dress"

"oh, danke" klaus twirled loose material around. allison rolled her eyes.

"how did you get back?"

"in the end i had to project my consciousness forward into a suspended quantum state version of myself that exists across every possible instance of time" he continued making his sandwich like he hadn't just shocked them.

"that makes no sense" diego scoffed,

"well, it would if you were smarter" five shrugged, ignoring the way diego stood up to fight him. luther held him back.

"did you put a decimal point in the wrong spot?" y/n asked, surprising the others. she crossed her arms, thinking "it was probably a miscalculation in your proof of the existence of a bound for the number of limit cycles of planar polynomial vector fields of fixed degree."

five paused, thinking it over before realising she was right. "it should have been 0.57" he mumbled.

"how long were you there?" luther changed the subject, obviously confused.

"45 years" five went back to his sandwich making. "give or take"

everyone sat back down in shock.

"so what are you saying? that you're 58?!" luther narrowed his eyes in disbelief. there was no way.

"no" five looked up, speaking through gritted teeth. "my consciousness is 58. apparently my body is now 16 again"

"how does that even work?" vanya croaked out, still shocked at the situation.

"delores kept saying the equations were off" five shrugged, stepping away and looking off into the distance as he took a bite of his sandwich. "bet she's laughing now"

"delores?" vanya asked. y/n froze, he had kept her? at the girl's movement, or lack thereof, allison looked over at her, raising her eyebrows.

y/n shook her head, waving it off.

five picked up the newspaper on the table, staring at the picture of their father.

"hm.. guess i missed the funeral"

"how'd you know about that?" luther questioned, defensive.

"what part of the future do you not understand?" five narrowed his eyes, slightly amused by his brothers incompetence. "heart failure, huh?"

"yeah-" diego started only to be cut off by luther.

"no" there was silence for a moment before a kitchen knife stabbed into the table beside luther's hand.

"if i had murderous intent, luther, you'd be the first on my list" y/n scoffed, walking out.

they all stared after her in shock.

"nice to see nothing's changed" five sighed before following her out.

"thats it?" allison asked, turning towards him as he walked. "thats all you have to say?"

"what else is there to say? circle of life" he called back.

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

vanya walked up to five in the parlour where he stood staring at his painting.

"nice to know dad didn't forget me" five turned to her, "read your book by the way.. found it in the library that was still standing"

he started to walk around, noticing y/n sitting on the balcony above. she had her legs dangling through the bars, calmly reading a book. he turned back to vanya.

"thought it was pretty good, all things considered" he stared her down, "definitely ballsy, giving up the family secrets. sure that went over well"

"they hate me" vanya frowned,

"well there are worse things that can happen" five was obviously trying to cheer her up, in his own way.

"you mean like what happened to ben?" there was a pause, both thinking it over.

"was it bad?" five asked softly, he knew y/n was still listening. he heard the faint sound of a book shutting. he looked away as vanya nodded.

"y/n had a hard time dealing with it.. the worst of all of us. dad forbid her from going on missions after her reaction.."

"her reaction?" five turned back, eyebrows furrowing, this wasn't in vanya's book.

"she nearly tore our souls out.. she was devastated and couldn't control her emotions. dad said it helped her though, something about a new ability. he trained her alone from then, forcing her to find you" vanya shrugged, sighing, going silent.

"find me?" five pushed, "what do you mean find me?"

"she said she did.. did she not?" vanya looked surprised now.

"no, no she did.. just didn't stay long is all" five shook his head, frowning.

"yeah well, they stopped trying when she lied to dad"

"she lied?" five looked back up at where she was previously sitting but now she was gone, the only thing left behind was her book and a wisp of smoke.

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

"ben.. i'm- i'm scared" eight sat cross legged in front of his statue. "my powers are getting stronger and i'm scared to hurt the others. i wish you were still here" she refused to cry no matter how much she wanted to. she couldn't let the same thing happen.

"i'm scared ben. what if i can't control it? what if hurt somebody? you're not here to help me and i-.. it hurts sometimes. dad doesn't understand, he never did but it hurts to suppress my emotions like he wants me to. we try so hard and he still never thinks we're enough.." she paused, pulling her knees up to her chest. "what if i am weak? what if he's right?"

unbeknownst to her ben's ghost sat beside her. "you're not weak" he shook his head, moving to look at her face. "you'll never be weak, you're so strong. please keep being strong for me" he pleaded with her as she continued to blame herself. he hated this. he hated not being there for her. he just wanted her to be okay.

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

y/n walked beside five, standing under his umbrella with him. they didn't speak as they walked back out into the courtyard. the siblings all stood in line with luther in front of them, carrying their dad's ashes.

"did something happen?" grace looked at them all, smiling despite the occasion. they all looked up at her.

"dad died.." allison answered, confused. "remember?"

"oh, yes of course" grace nodded, expression turning more somber.

"is mom okay?" allison asked, now worried about how grace was acting.

"yeah, yeah she's fine" diego quickly defended, "she just needs to rest, you know, recharge" allison looked incredulous but dropped it nonetheless.

pogo stepped forwards, looking up at luther. "whenever you're ready, dear boy"

luther breathed out, opening the lid and dropping the ashes in a pitiful pile. they all frowned.

"probably would have been better with some wind" luther griped,

"does anyone wish to speak?" pogo ignored it, looking at the rest of them. everyone stayed silent, looking away. "very well.. in all regards, sir reginald hargreeves made me what i am today, for that alone i shall forever be in his debt. he was my master and my friend and i shall miss him very much.." he paused, "he leaves behind a complicated legacy-"

"he was a monster" diego cut off, still staring down at the ashes. klaus laughed. "he was bad person and a worse father. the world's better off without him-"

"diego" allison scolded, glaring at him in surprise.

"my name is number two. you know why?" he looked over at her. "because our father couldn't be bothered to give us actual names, he had mom do it"

"would anyone like something to eat?" grace asked, smiling again, unaware of what was happening.

"no, its okay mom" vanya denied, albeit confused.

"oh, okay"

"look, you wanna pay your respects" diego stepped out in front of them, "go head, but at least be honest about the kind of man he was" he looked at pogo now.

"you should stop talking now" luther warned, anger growing. diego glared at him for a moment before fully turning to face him.

"you know, you of all people should be on my side here, number one"

"i am warning you-" diego ignored him,

"after everything he did to you" y/n sighed, crossing her arms to her chest, fighting wasn't going to fix any of them. klaus and five shared a look. "he had to ship you a million miles away"

"diego stop talking-" luther tried again. diego was definitely hitting a nerve. he jabbed a finger into luther's chest.

"that's how much he couldn't stand the sight of you!" luther grabbed his arm and swung at his head. diego ducked. they begun fighting while everyone else backed away.

"boys! stop this at once!" pogo attempted to stop them, moving back despite this.

klaus held an arm out to shield five and y/n. the former slapped it away. they continued to fight, diego egging him on and landing several punches. klaus began to chant while vanya yelled at them to stop.

"klaus" y/n warned, gaining both his and five's attention. her eyes were turning black, she was struggling.

"y/n? are you okay?" five hadn't been there, he didn't know what she would do if she lost control. pogo walked away, not wanting to stay. klaus nervously watched y/n while the others watched luther and diego fight.

"i don't have time for this" five sighed, beginning to walk away, leaving y/n with klaus under his small pink umbrella.

that was when it happened. y/n froze as they knocked ben's statue.

"aw" klaus complained while allison glared at them.

"and there goes ben's statue"

"klaus?" y/n's voice scared them all. she sounded weak. she gripped his jacket, tightly. "klaus"

"what's wrong?" he looked down at her, watching as she fought her emotions. her eyes were turning black but she kept fighting it.

diego pulled out his knife and vanya's shouting at him to stop made it harder for y/n to calm herself. he threw it at luther, cutting his arm.

"klaus" she called again and he held her arm unsure of what to do. "i-i can't.. i can't-" she let out a pained whine as her eyes darkened, she was letting go. suddenly diego and luther let out shouts of pain.

"what's going on?!" allison watched them, confused and distraught. vanya quickly left their mother's side, pulling y/n into her.

"its okay, you're okay" vanya whispered to her, trying to calm her. "it can be fixed, you're okay, just relax. try to relax" listening to vanya's heartbeat she slowly calmed down, the blackness of her eyes seeping away and diego and luther straightened, no longer in pain.

y/n stared at them in shock and guilt before shaking her head and running inside. she locked herself in her room again. she was truly a demon.

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

one by one the siblings left, y/n watched sadly as they all abandoned her again. she was always left alone, the family problems only got bigger when they got together. she sighed, maybe she was better off alone.

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

y/n looked up from her book as she heard frantic footsteps around the mansion. peeking out her door she noticed vanya slowing down in front of five's room.

"oh thank god" she disappeared through his doorway but y/n could still hear her voice. "i was worried sick about you"

five had talked to vanya? why hadn't he come to her?

"sorry i left without saying goodbye" five's voice answered softly. what had he been doing? y/n quietly left her room to hear better. she wanted to be apart of her brother's plans too. she didn't want to be left out anymore.

"no, i'm the one that should be sorry. i was dismissive and i guess i didn't know how to process what you were saying.." vanya paused, "i still can't to be honest"

"maybe you were right to be dismissive" five huffed, that didn't sound like him at all? what was he really doing? "maybe it wasn't real after all.. it felt real. but well, like you said the old man did say time travel could contaminate the mind"

well vanya referred him to a therapist y/n tried to sense the room. something else was going on. carefully using her power she felt another person.. klaus. when vanya walked out y/n quickly turned to smoke, gliding along the floor, past five who watched vanya leave. klaus pulled himself out of the closet.

"that's so touching, all that stuff about family and dad and time"

"will you shut up? she'll hear you" five warned him, walking back over.

"you're lying to vanya?" y/n appeared next to klaus, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow.

"it's nothing you should worry about" five dismissed before looking klaus over again. "i thought i told you to put on something professional"

"what? this my nicest outfit" klaus gestured to it. y/n snorted when five scoffed.

"we'll raid the old man's closet"

"whatever, as long as i get paid" klaus shrugged, beginning to walk behind five.

"when the job is done" they stopped just above the stairs.

"so, where are we going?" she followed along, smiling innocently at five who raised an eyebrow at her.

"not we, just klaus and i" five shook his head, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"five" she frowned,

"y/n" he mocked.

"just let me come, please don't leave me in the dark. i just want to help you" she pleaded, she had missed him.

he thought it over before sighing, "fine" he turned to walk again but klaus stopped him.

"but just so we're clear on the finer details" he waved his hand around, talking over the plan. "i just got to go into this place and pretend to be your dear old dad, correct?"

"yeah, something like that" five agreed, exasperated.

"what's our cover story?" klaus continued, ignoring five's look of annoyance.

"what? what are you talking about?" five shared a confused look with y/n who shrugged.

"i mean was i young when i had you, like 16.. like young and terribly misguided" five agreed just to get him to stop but he didn't. "your mother, that slut, whoever she was, we met at.. the disco and you can be his sister"

"i am his sister?" y/n raised an eyebrow, but klaus only smiled, clicking his fingers.

"okay, remember that. oh my god the sex was amazing"

y/n scoffed, walking away first, five following. "what a disturbing glimpse into that thing you call a brain"

"don't make me put you in time out" klaus waved a finger at him.

as they walked out the door onto the street y/n paused.

"what's wrong, baby sis?" klaus asked, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "you're not backing out already?"

"no!" she quickly denied, looking up at him as she snapped out of her starstruck daze. "it's just.. i haven't left the house in 16 years.."

klaus and five shared a sorrowful look. what had happened to her?

tags: @rxses-and-reverie

[crossbowking]

More Than Anything (Part 2)

(Click HERE to read More Than Anything Part 1)

Summary: (Set mid-season 6) The reader’s feelings towards the archer evolve, but a supply run that goes south threatens to destroy it all.

Request: “I’d love to see something w protective Daryl and some angst, maybe set at the start of their time in Alexandria w an established relationship?” - @pulplorrd

A/N: See, you'd think I would've learned after making you guys wait a year and a half for No Way Out Part 2, that I should probably FINISH my stories before actually posting the first part...yet, here we are, one month later lol I'm sorry for the wait but hopefully it's worth it!

Happy reading and let me know what you think :)

xx Jess

Masterlist

Tip Jar

Previously...

But as its grasp slipped away from around Tara’s arm, the walker’s deadweight, in turn, collapsed against you.

You lost your footing and fell backward.

Except the solidity of concrete never rushed up to meet you.

Instead, you were embraced by water, the tarp that’d laid across the motel pool coiling around your body as you sunk deeper and deeper into nothingness.

Now...

When the world ended, you’d accepted the idea of death — your death, specifically.

You knew that one day, your life would undoubtedly end — most likely at the hands of the dead, ripped to pieces, torn to shreds, the way so many others before you had been taken. But you’d always hoped your death would at least mean something — maybe laying your life on the line, sacrificing yourself so the people you loved could survive.

Something noble, something brave.

Not like this.

Before the fall, you’d managed to inhale a sharp breath — though once you’d submerged into the grimy pool water, the coldness, the darkness, the shock of it all, had zapped the air right out of your body. You were becoming increasingly aware of the tightness in your chest, the burning in your lungs as you struggled against the walker pressed against you, its weight sinking you further into the depths of the pool.

Then, the panic set in — your heart pounded against your ribcage, right alongside the immense pressure crushing your lungs. Glimpses of sunlight hung just above you, peeking through parts of the drifting tarp you frantically attempted to push aside. You were completely disoriented, your vision obscured by the murkiness surrounding you, floating specks only visible beneath the shattered light above.

When your back connected against the bottom of the deep end, you managed to wriggle out from under the dead’s listless body — though the tarp remained twisted around your limbs. No matter how hard you fought, how hard you struggled, you couldn’t free yourself from the suffocating material. You could’ve sworn you were caught in a dream, your movements lagging and sluggish as you thrashed beneath the surface.

It felt as though someone had reached their hand directly through the center of your chest, squeezing your insides in a vice-like grip. A tingling sensation crawled down your spine, settling atop your churning stomach as the throbbing behind your ears began to slow.

You were listening to your last heartbeats.

It became unbearable, the water threatening to force its way past your clamped lips, the simple need to breathe. A sharp stab of pain shot through you as the blackness in your vision intensified, pulsing reddish-white around the edges as the fire in your chest consumed you at last.

Then, with nothing else left to do, you inhaled.

You weren’t sure what happened next — everything felt faint and fuzzy and quiet. The darkness that lingered no longer struck fear in you — instead, it was warm, enveloping you in its arms like a long-lost lover. The silence was soothing as you drifted in the emptiness, like careless whispers and forgotten melodies. You were weightless, you were freed, you were everything and nothing all at once.

You were dying.

That you were sure of.

Yet much to your surprise, you weren’t afraid — no, instead…you felt at peace.

But the brevity of calm didn’t last as you were suddenly aware of a vague pressure, though it wasn’t all-consuming nor constant. It was distant at first, a feeling you could’ve easily brushed aside had it not begun to gradually grow in force, in vigor — a steady pounding, coming from the center of your chest, over and over again.

The warmth around you began to splinter, shattering like shards of glass, the fallout piercing your skin as it collapsed around you. The pain was deep and burning and you longed for just a moment ago when all you felt was the sweetness of oblivion. The pressure pounding against your chest increased, becoming the sole thing you could feel, the only thing you could focus on, the unwavering thuds drawing you back from whatever place you’d drifted off to.

In the next moment, you were awake.

Your body flailed, jolting upright, but you’d only managed to get an inch or two off the ground before water began to suddenly spurt from your mouth. Your eyes squeezed shut as you choked on the liquid, every nerve ending in your body red-hot. You were vaguely aware of hands, rough and calloused and familiar, gripping onto your arms and forcing you onto your side, the motion allowing the water leaving your lungs to flow easier.

You gasped a constricted breath, coughing harshly on the exhale, completely and entirely disoriented as to what in the fuck just happened. Your chest tightened as you spit up more water, your throat closing around the sensation as you fought for control of your breathing, the feeling of concrete against the side of your body grounding you.

When your coughs finally died down, the same hands from before grabbed onto your arms, pulling your deadweight upright, maneuvering your limp body as if you were a rag doll. You blinked your bleary eyes open, wincing from the sunlight directly above as you drew in shaky breaths.

And then you saw him.

Daryl knelt in front of you, his ragged breathing mirroring your own, soaking wet from head to toe. Strands of hair stuck against his forehead, droplets of water still dripping from the ends as he stared at you, wide-eyed, his expression a mixture of horror and shock — something you rarely witnessed when it came to the archer.

He was mouthing something — no, he was shouting something — but you couldn’t hear him. You couldn’t hear a damn word he was saying as you sat there, dazed and confused, wondering if what just happened actually happened.

His hold around your arms slipped away, his hands cradling either side of your face instead, tilting your head up and brushing your drenched hair back. He leaned forward a fraction, frantically studying your features, his haunted eyes bouncing back and forth between your own as though making sure you were there — really there.

The silence was becoming a little less resounding, the world around you gradually seeping back, though muffled and dull — but the way Daryl was looking at you, the apprehension in his gaze, shook something loose inside you. Your mouth opened, but no sound came out. You wanted to tell him it was okay — that you were okay — but damn it, why couldn’t you speak?

So instead, you slowly lifted your hands, weakly grasping onto Daryl’s wrists, the small motion all you could muster — you had to let him know you were here. He glanced down at your hands, a small huff of relief escaping him.

But when he looked back up, you noticed the moisture that’d built in the corners of his eyes.

Daryl’s hands slipped behind your head, holding you still as he leaned forward and pressed his forehead gently against yours.

You, on the other hand, silently thanked whatever God or higher power was out there for giving you one more moment like this.

When the archer pulled back, you spotted a red streak smeared across his forehead that hadn’t been there before. Your brow knitted together as he sat back on his haunches. You tried clearing your throat, the sensation burning the rawness that’d spread. “You’re —” you croaked, your voice sounding foreign. “— you’re bleeding, D.”

Daryl’s expression darkened, his jaw clenching as he lowered his gaze and unsheathed his hunting knife. “It ain’t mine,” he rasped, suddenly slicing a long strip of fabric off from the bottom of his dampened shirt and balling it in his fist, ringing out some of the water.

Before you knew what was happening, he was reaching forward, pressing the material gingerly against your forehead and wrapping it behind your head, tying the strip into a knot to keep it in place. You were surprised at the sting of pain you felt, unsure when you managed to cut your head open in the midst of what had happened — everything was still sort of…fuzzy.

The sound of a car door slamming drew your attention. You peeked out of the corner of your eye, spotting Tara jogging towards you, the car you’d driven to the motel running idle in the parking lot.

“They’re coming!” she called out, motioning towards something just behind Daryl.

You craned your neck, attempting to get a look, but before you could, the archer was looping his arms beneath your armpits and hefting you up to your feet. The world tilted unsteadily around you, and had it not been for Daryl’s hold, the ground would’ve surely rushed up to meet you.

“I got ya,” he rasped, slinging one of your arms across his shoulders, his grip snaking around your waist.

Tara appeared at your opposite side, slightly out of breath. “Welcome back, chicka,” she shot you a slightly strained smile before following Daryl’s lead and winding your other arm across her shoulders, keeping you propped upright between them.

You wanted to tell them you were fine, that you were more than capable of walking on your own — but your strength had depleted, your legs shook beneath you, and the shock was beginning to wear off, making all the little aches and pains in your body alarmingly obvious.

Then, you were moving.

They half-dragged, half-carried you across the stretch of concrete, hurrying towards the parking lot where Tara had left the car. You peeked over your shoulder, managing to get a glimpse of what you were leaving behind — the small herd from earlier had been taken down, their bodies splayed out sporadically on the other side of the pool. Some sporting knife wounds, others bullet holes. The pool itself was rippling, the water sloshing back and forth, air bubbles visible at the surface.

Some of the dead had followed you into the water.

Just beyond the pool, you spotted exactly what you were running from — another herd, three times the size of the first one, ambling in from the woods behind the motel, most likely drawn in by gunfire.

When you reached the car, Tara slipped away and jumped into the driver’s seat. Daryl flung open the back door and maneuvered you carefully inside. You grimaced as you inched further into the car, only stopping once your back was pressed up against the opposite door. The archer quickly slid in after you and slammed the door shut, grabbing onto the back of the driver’s seat as Tara peeled out of the parking lot.

The silence that followed rang heavy.

Your heart hammered against your chest, your breaths coming out slightly wheezy, almost like there was still some water left in your lungs. You met Tara’s eyes in the rearview mirror before she focused back on the road — you noticed then that the sleeves of her shirt, up to her elbows, were wet.

She’d helped drag your body out of the pool.

You glanced over at Daryl, the archer’s grip on the driver’s seat white-knuckled as he stared at the back of the headrest. Waves of tension rolled off him, the feeling nearly palpable. But his eyes flickered towards you a moment later, as though he felt you watching him, and some of the rigidity faded.

He wordlessly shuffled closer, grabbing your arm and pulling you away from the door you leaned against. You were too tired and too sore to object, your body slumping against his side as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders — you thought for a brief moment that he was hugging you.

But instead, he wound your seatbelt around your body and locked it in place.

Daryl fell back against the seat beside you with a huff, keeping his gaze focused ahead, staring straight through the windshield. He didn’t look at you again — he remained still, like he was carved from stone. You weren’t even sure he was breathing. His arm just barely grazed the side of yours, but despite whatever hidden turmoil was surely happening inside of him, he made no effort to move away.

He needed time to process what happened — what almost happened.

But so did you.

You shifted, closing the small gap between you and resting your head against his shoulder, ignoring the way he stiffened. The material of his shirt was still damp and smelt like a mixture of chlorine and mildew from the murky pool water, but you couldn’t find it in you to pull away either.

You hadn't realized you’d dozed off until the archer gently shook you awake, the car now parked outside Alexandria’s makeshift infirmary.

You still felt weak and lethargic, but you managed to make your way inside without any help — although Daryl, silent and stoic as ever, remained at your side, his hand hovering over the small of your back.

The infirmary was quiet as Denise checked you over — Tara had gone to update Rick and the others on what happened, as well as distribute the supplies you’d managed to bring home. Daryl, on the other hand, paced — back and forth, like a caged animal, on the opposite side of the room. Almost like part of him desperately wanted to run, but a bigger part of himself needed to be there.

“Are you feeling any nausea? Confusion? Loss of basic motor skills?” Denise suddenly asked, breaking the silence that’d stretched on, looking up from the textbook she was reading from. She’d never dealt with an ‘almost drowning’, but had been able to scrounge up some old medical textbooks for help.

“Uh,” you cleared your throat, shaking your head once. “No. No, nothing like that.”

“Okay, good. Yeah, that’s good…” she murmured, mostly to herself, before flipping to the next page and skimming the stretch of words. “Besides your forehead, any other lacerations?” she looked up at you once more, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“I don’t —” you shot Daryl a look, but he was too busy pacing to notice. “I don’t think so,” you shook your head again, your fingertips ghosting over the bandage Denise had patched your head up with.

“Good, good. We’ll want to keep an eye on that in case of infection,” she informed before flipping to the next page, mouthing the text to herself. “Okay, and any soreness?”

You grimaced as you sat up a little straighter. “Just — just right here mostly,” you admitted, motioning towards your center, below your chest.

Denise shut the textbook and placed it on the metal table you sat on top of. “Can you show me?”

Your brow knitted together but you obliged, sliding off the table and grabbing the hem of your shirt. You fought back a wince as you rolled the material up, stopping just below your chest, exposing your skin.

The first thing you noticed was the way the room suddenly stilled — you glanced up, spotting Daryl standing frozen across the way, pacing no longer. But he wasn’t staring at you — he was staring at your midsection, a look in his eyes you’d never seen before.

When you lowered your head, getting a good look at yourself for the first time, you realized exactly what he was seeing.

Bruises. Dark and discolored. Scattered down your sternum and along the center of your ribcage.

Your head snapped up at the sound of the front door slamming shut.

And Daryl was gone.

You tried to ignore the pinprick of tears that grew, the hurt that settled across your chest as you lowered your shirt back in place — but when Denise suddenly reached out and placed her hand on top of yours, patting it softly, your features crumpled.

Everything that happened seemed to catch up to you in that moment — the fear, the shock, what Daryl must’ve felt pulling your unmoving body out of the water. You’d nearly died. What would’ve happened if he hadn’t been able to bring you back? Would he have been the one to put you down when you undoubtedly turned? Or would Tara have done it — the act far too painful for the man you loved to follow through with.

The man you loved.

Denise wrapped her hand around yours, squeezing gently and drawing you back. “Hey, it’s okay,” she soothed.

You quickly swiped at the tears that slipped down your cheeks, huffing a hitched breath. “I know, I’m just —” you glanced up at the front door, hanging onto the foolish hope that it’d swing open once more. “I don’t know,” you finally mumbled, albeit defeatedly.

Denise followed your gaze, scoffing slightly. “Men suck,” she finally shrugged.

You sniffled softly before shaking your head. “Not that one,” you murmured fondly.

Denise squeezed your hand once more, shooting you a sympathetic smile before she pulled away. “It could’ve been worse — most people who have CPR done on them end up with broken ribs or punctured lungs. You, my friend, are one of the lucky ones.”

You inhaled a deep breath, fighting back a wince, the motion stretching your bruised body. “Thank you. For everything.”

Denise nodded before taking off her glasses, using the hem of her shirt to clean the lenses. “Y/N, I don’t mean to overstep my boundaries, but,” she paused, sliding her glasses back on as she regarded you seriously. “You smell like a sewer rat.”

You faltered, completely caught off guard by her statement before remembering that you were still wearing damp, swampy, pool water clothes. Then, despite everything, a laugh slipped past your lips, breaking the tension. You let out a hiss as the movement sent a wave of pain through you. “Ow, fuck, don’t make me laugh,” you bit back another chuckle, lightly swatting her arm.

Denise smiled before motioning towards the door. “Go home, shower, get some rest — Doctor’s orders,” she grinned, turning away and beginning to clean up her workstation.

You thanked her again before hobbling out of the infirmary.

As night drew near, most residents of Alexandria were already in their respective homes — you were grateful for that. You didn’t want to see anyone right now, their worry and endless questions something you were more than happy to put off until tomorrow.

When you made it back to the apartment you and Daryl shared, you were, yet again, fighting back feelings of disappointment — he wasn’t home. You felt a pinprick of worry, but knew he needed time and space to process whatever it was he was feeling.

And when he was ready, you would be too.

You walked through the kitchen, the morning you’d shared earlier feeling like a lifetime ago — the pan he’d used to make eggs, now dry, remained sitting on the counter. The bedroom was untouched, looking exactly how it had this morning, just the way you’d left it. You grabbed a fresh set of clothes before making your way into the master bathroom attached, ignoring the bone-deep tiredness settling over you.

Showering was a good call — the warm water rained down as you scrubbed your body of the muck that clung to you, being extra careful not to get the bandage on your head wet or make any sudden movements. When you were finished cleaning up, you stood beneath the shower head for a few minutes, eyes closed, inhaling the steam around you with deep, calming breaths.

You were okay. You were alive. You were here.

You shut off the water, stepped out of the shower, and dried yourself off, gingerly patting down your chest and around your ribs, before slipping into clean clothes. You wiped away some of the steam that’d collected on the bathroom mirror before hanging up your towel, combing out your knotted hair, and brushing your teeth — the same routine you did every night.

The normalcy was soothing — you were already beginning to feel better, more like yourself. You were ready to put what happened behind you and move forward, sure to never take another day for granted.

But when you opened the bathroom door, ready to curl up in bed and doze off, all of your feelings from earlier came rushing back at the sight of Daryl.

Once again, he’d been pacing the length of the bedroom, only stopping after you’d entered the room, his gaze snapping towards you. He shifted his weight back and forth, opening his mouth before clamping it shut. You could feel his energy, rolling off his body in waves — tense, rigid, wild. He was struggling to say whatever was on his mind, only furthering his evident frustration. He flicked his hair away from his eyes, turning to face you head-on, clearly gathering up the gall to speak.

You took a small step forward. “Daryl —”

“Ya were blue,” he suddenly rasped, a fire in his gaze that wasn’t there before. “Tara was shoutin’ for ya an’ I — when I went in an’ pulled ya out, there wasn’t — I didn’t —” he huffed a breath in frustration, his face tinged red. “God, damn it, Y/N, ya were fuckin’ blue,” he finally growled, chest heaving, hands balled into fists at his side.

His anger wasn’t directed at you, but the situation itself, you knew that. But still, his words — or more so the emotion, the truth hidden behind them — had you recoiling from him, your heart breaking at the thought of what he’d seen, of what had run through his mind when he realized you weren’t breathing.

You couldn’t imagine how scared he must have been.

And that was what was beneath his outburst — not rage, but fear.

But he wasn’t finished with what he needed to say — if anything, he was just getting more and more worked up as he began to frantically pace once more. “This is why — I fuckin’ told ya — I didn’t need ya comin’ out there. I didn’t need ya on that run but ya — ya didn’t listen ta’ me an’ then —”

“I love you.”

Daryl stilled, mid-stride, his gaze widening as if all of the air had been sucked from his lungs.

You felt your face flush, the air between you so thick it could be cut with a knife. You hadn’t meant to say that aloud, but the words just sort of…tumbled out? And now, there they were, hanging between you. Part of you wondered if the archer could hear your heart pounding from where he stood — or maybe it was his heartbeat, synched up to yours.

You sputtered a soft breath, shaking your head in disbelief, trying not to panic because the last thing you wanted was for Daryl to look at you the way he was looking at you after telling him you loved him. “I’m —“ you took a breath, regarding him earnestly. “I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. And I promise — I promise — you do not have to say it back. Hell, you don’t even have to feel the same way,” you huffed an awkward laugh, but the noise hitched somewhere in your throat, betraying your words. You grew serious once more. “I just — I couldn’t have another night going by without you knowing. Not after what happened today,” you swallowed the lump in your throat, shrugging a shoulder up meekly. “So, I love you — I love you more than anything.”

You weren’t sure what sort of reaction you were expecting from him. But you absolutely refused to acknowledge the tiny part of you that secretly wished he’d swoop you into his arms, pull you close, tell you he loved you too — because that wasn’t Daryl. That wasn’t the type of man he was — and you were okay with that.

Because you hadn’t fallen in love with that type of man.

You’d fallen in love with the man standing shell-shocked in front of you.

You cleared your throat and stepped forward, moving away from the bathroom doorway. “The shower’s all yours,” you murmured, needing to break the uncomfortable silence that carried on.

You sidestepped around his frozen form, ignoring the way your legs shook like jelly beneath you as you made your way towards the bed. You took a seat on the edge of the mattress, keeping your back towards him, staring ahead at the blank wall in front of you instead.

After what felt like forever, the floorboard squeaked beneath the shifting of his weight, his footsteps growing faint as he slowly walked away and entered the bathroom, closing the door shut after him.

You strained your ears, listening for any movement beyond the door he’d disappeared behind — but you heard nothing. It was like you could feel him through the panel of wood between you — you could almost picture him, just standing there, trying to process whatever the hell was going on inside that mind of his.

A moment later, the shower turned on.

And you released the breath you’d been holding.

Exhaustion swept through you, the day’s events wearing you down. You carefully maneuvered yourself into bed, pulling a thin sheet over your body and settling onto your side. Your eyelids grew heavy, the sound of the shower lulling you to sleep despite the strange, sort of freedom your admittance had brought you, the feeling buzzing through your veins.

You didn’t regret your vulnerability — he needed to know he was loved, damn it.

When you heard the shower turn off, you snapped your eyes shut. You listened to the archer move about the bathroom until the door finally creaked open. He seemed to be just standing there, and you could’ve sworn you felt him staring at the back of your head as if he was gauging whether or not you were actually asleep. But a moment later, you heard his footsteps padding across the bedroom before the mattress dipped beneath him.

You held your breath, covers drawn to your chin as Daryl shifted in bed, eventually lying down beside you. Another beat of quiet passed, neither of you moving, nor breathing it seemed.

But then suddenly, you heard him speak, so softly you almost missed it. “I know ya ain’t sleepin’,” he rumbled.

The corner of your mouth quirked up — because of course he knew.

You sighed, shifting gingerly onto your back, the sheet pooling at your waist as you looked over at him. He laid on his side, facing you, propped up on his elbow. He was dressed in clean clothes, his hair still wet from the shower, pushed back out of his face.

He really was rather beautiful.

“Busted,” you smiled, though the archer’s expression remained solemn.

Ever so gently, he reached towards you, his fingertip grazing the material of your shirt, over your ribcage, below your chest, hovering the bruises that lingered. “Does it hurt?” he rasped, the mouth turned downward into a small frown.

You shook your head. “Not really.”

Daryl’s eyes met yours, his expression skeptical and knowing.

You never were a good liar.

“At least you didn’t break a rib?” you offered sheepishly, your lame attempt at a joke falling flat given the current audience.

But when Daryl’s features fell, a flash of what looked like guilt settling over his face, you placed your hand on top of his, resting them against your stomach. “Don’t do that,” you murmured, reading him like a damn book as you rubbed circles with your thumb over the back of his hand.

The archer grumbled something indistinct, staring down at your intertwined hands.

Your grip tightened around his. “I mean it,” you spoke, an edge to your voice, only softening when he looked at you instead. “You saved my life, D — that’s it. You can let go of anything else you’re holding onto.”

Daryl’s lip twitched as he chewed on the inside of his cheek, seemingly mulling over your words.

You were sure he’d hang onto whatever unnecessary guilt he carried — because that was just who he was — but eventually, he nodded once and settled down on his back, staring up at the ceiling. You were too tired to press the subject further so you curled into his side and rested your head against his chest, winding your arm across his midsection. His arm automatically wrapped around you, his fingertips trailing absently up and down your spine, sending shivers through your body.

You weren’t sure how long you laid like that, melting into the warmth he exuded, the steady pounding of his heartbeat easing you to sleep.

You’d nearly faded away when Daryl suddenly spoke.

“Did ya mean it?” he rumbled, the noise vibrating from deep within his chest. “What ya said before?” he grunted, his hand pausing at the small of your back.

You could’ve imagined it, but you almost felt the slight tremble of his fingertips against your skin.

You slowly pushed up onto your elbow, your faces mere inches apart. You searched his uncertain gaze, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Of course I meant it,” you whispered. “Every damn word.”

Daryl’s eyes narrowed, as though not entirely believing what you said could be true.

So you leaned forward, closing the remainder of space between you, and pressed your lips gently against his. He returned the kiss, a quiet desperation growing as one hand came up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb sweeping back and forth across your cheek. You broke away from the kiss, brushing his hair back before meeting his lips once more, settling your hand on his chest, feeling his heart racing beneath your touch.

When you pulled back, you noticed his skin flush, surely mirroring your own. He looked up at you, slightly breathless, a fondness in his gaze that sent your stomach somersaulting. He cleared his throat, the ghost of a smile flickering across his face. “Well, alright,” he finally resigned, accepting your answer to his question.

You snorted a breathy laugh, leaning forward and kissing his cheek before burrowing against him. A soft sigh slipped past your lips as Daryl’s hold tightened around you, as though afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t.

You closed your eyes, reveling in the feeling of contentment, unsure how many more moments like this you, or anyone else for that matter, had left in this kind of cruel and harrowing world.

But for at least tonight, you could be at peace.

“I love you,” you murmured groggily, beginning to sink deeper into unconsciousness.

Right before sleep came, long after Daryl thought you’d drifted away, you heard him whisper three, simple words.

“More than anythin’.”

Then he pulled you closer and the world dimmed.

A/N: Aw...a happy ending! (I figured I owed ya after putting y'all through Honey & Whiskey lol)

P.S. Feedback is incredibly important. I write for my own happiness, but I also write for YOU. So don’t be afraid to shoot me an ask or leave a comment with your thoughts! It truly motivates me and helps move along the writing process. Also, please consider donating to my Tip Jar. Every little bit helps!

P.S.S. I can no longer tag people on this account, so my tag list has been transferred to my side blog @crossbowking2. If you’d like to be added/removed, please let me know!

[calumxkisses]

Us | c.h.

pairing: calum hood x f!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: none

summary: Michael and Crystal take you and Calum along to visit their wedding hall and it's the perfect location for a dance full of love.

a/n: am i obsessed with the idea of dancing with Calum? yes. let me know if you liked it. i'm still not really good at writing fluff imagines but i'm learning and i'll hopefully do better in the future.

you should read this imagine while listening to: us

➳

“So, this is the wedding hall?” Calum asks as he enters looking around the room. The structure is huge, there is still a lot to do but some decorations have already been fixed.

“Yeah, there are a few things we would like to change but it’s pretty much gonna be like this.” Michael responds, walking inside the room and looking around.

“It's lovely, guys. It's like being in a fairy tale.” You whisper while looking around the room. Your fingers are barely intertwined with Calum's as you look at the room, admiring the ceiling and the windows overlooking the sea.

You turn to Crystal and notice a tear running down her face as she admires the room. A smile forms on your face as you see your best friend so happy, her dream is coming true and you couldn't feel more proud of her.

This marriage has overcome the strangest obstacles, the biggest certainly was having to be postponed due to a pandemic, but their love has never stopped in front of these, it has grown more and more and to be able to be among the witnesses of their love is among the things you are most grateful for.

The room is very large, has an oval shape and is surrounded by windows overlooking the sea. Some tables have already been set up and embellished, they are also circular in shape and have floral decorations in the center. The tablecloth is embroidered in lace, it is pearl white but the different colored decorations, which accompany the flowers in the center, make the table look wonderful and original, recalling Crystal's passion for plants.

The chairs that surround them, simple but still elegant, have ribbons that decorate them. They’re gold and white, yet their simple design makes them look gorgeous.

“We are going to talk to the wedding planner to fix some things, in the meantime you can stay here and see if there is something else that we should change.” Crystal's voice grabs your attention, as she approaches Michael and takes his hand in hers. The wedding planner is at the entrance, smilingly waits for the couple and, for a moment, you think that there can’t be a more beautiful job than being able to make the dreams of couples come true.

“Calum, can you check that the stereo is working? They told me they fixed it but I haven't been able to check it yet, you'd be doing me a big favor.” Michael asks as he leaves the room grinning and not leaving time to Calum to reply.

“Gotcha.” Your boyfriend replies, shaking his head in amusement and smiling.

As Calum approaches the speakers, you take another moment to admire the room.

Looking up, your breath locks in your chest as Crystal's gorgeous decorations leave you in awe. The ceiling, which was previously simply white and wooden, is decorated with strips of tulle hanging like waves, giving life to a sense of peace and softness. The stripes extend all over the ceiling, giving the impression of being in the middle of the clouds.

In addition to the tulle, in a delicate way, some threads of small lights descend from the ceiling, romantically illuminating the room and creating an intimate and unobtrusive atmosphere.

A small elegant chandelier hangs in the center of the room, it is gold and its light is not as strong as someone might think, it is ideal to keep the room more illuminated in the most important moments, but its presence is more scenic than functional.

Some leaves and some flowers come down intertwined along the edges of the windows, hiding the window frame and making the atmosphere of the room even more simple and elegant.

The main theme is certainly white and gold, but Crystal and Michael made sure to add a few more hints of color as well, in order to make the room less monotonous and more fairytale.

The light inside the room disappears, leaving only the small lights that descend from the ceiling on. You open your mouth to ask what happened, but the words do not come out as your gaze rests on the sea outside the room, calm as in the best days, while a wonderful sunset is reflecting on the clear water. The sky is painted orange and pink, some clouds are scattered in the sky and you no longer have any doubts on why your friends have chosen this location.

There is a sense of peace in the air and you feel like you are in a different world, in a world of calm and joy, while the land where you have lived in these difficult months seems a distant memory.

“It's beautiful, isn't it?” Calum whispers in your ear as his hands rest on your hips from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder and looking outside.

“If it's a dream, please don't wake me up.” You whisper, closing your eyes and letting the sea air coming in through the window on your left, caress your face.

“I could never do that, you are too beautiful when you sleep.” You can see him smile as he whispers those words and, as every time he smiles, you smile too. There is something contagious about his joyful expressions, they warm your heart and you can't help but share them with him.

“Does the stereo system work?” You ask after a few minutes of silence, turning around to face him and leaving a quick kiss on his lips.

“Do you want to try it with me?” he asks with a smile, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket and pressing a couple of buttons on the screen.

“What do you mean?” A confused expression forms on your face. The long lilac summer dress moves with every blow of the wind but the summer temperature makes sure that you don't feel cold.

Calum puts the phone back in his pocket and, after a few seconds, the first notes of your favorite love song can be heard throughout the room.

While you smile, your boyfriend clears his throat and, reaching out his hand, asks you: “May I have this dance?”

Your cheeks turn red and the muscles of your face stretch into an even bigger smile as you nod and grab his hand. Calum walks you to the center of the room and holds your hips, bringing you closer to him.

And, as the first words of one of the most beautiful love songs echo in the room, you rest your head on his chest and close your eyes as your feet move to the sweet rhythm of the music.

Sometimes I'm beaten

Sometimes I'm broken

'Cause sometimes this is nothing but smoke

Is there a secret?

Is there a code?

Can we make it better?

'Cause I'm losing hope

Calum had never loved dancing, at least not this much. His footsteps were limited to a few twirls and jumps on stage or some weird movement on the dance floor, when the alcohol level in his body was way too high to be ashamed of anything he was doing. He had always seen dancing as something that did not belong to him, an activity that stressed him more than it should, and he had never imagined that he could love it so much.

But after you arrived in his life, one of the moments he loves the most is to dance with you, at two in the morning, in the kitchen, to the notes of any love song you are obsessed with in that moment, in the peace of the silence and of the sleepless night, while Duke looks at you confused and waits for the right moment to come ask for cuddles.

The way you let him hold you, the way you let yourself be vulnerable in front of him, away from judging eyes, and the way he feels like protecting you, in the darkness of the room, makes him feel a sense of calm that he hasn' t felt for a long time before your presence in his life.

And even if he was the universe's worst dancer and the whole world was watching him, he’d still dance with you.

Tell me how to be in this world

Tell me how to breathe in and feel no hurt

Tell me how could I believe in something

I believe in us

Calum squeezes your hand tightly as, observing you with eyes full of love, he spins you in front of him. The sunlight lights up your face and the man in front of you is sure he has never seen anything more beautiful. You look like a Greek goddess, the kind you hear in stories and in history books, the goddesses who saved the bravest soldiers and helped them in the toughest feats.

This is how he feels, ever since he saw in you a friend - and then a girlfriend - more than an enemy, he saw his little world in fractions being put back into place, with delicacy and love, and he is ready to sacrifice his most important assets to always have you on his side.

The sun is slowly setting, making room for the moon and all its stars. Yet, with him holding you tight, it seems to you that the world has stopped.

After the wreckage

After the dust

I still hear the howling, I still feel the rush

Over the riots, above all the noise

Through all the worry, I still hear your voice

Calum would be able to describe every single moment he walked into the dark and you led his way out with your light. Whenever he had writer's block, whenever anxiety kept him from getting through his day, whenever his thoughts got too dark and the demons took over, you were there.

Your delicate hands caressing his face or the sweet melody of your voice whispering comforting words, Calum remembers every one of these moments, every single one.

When the world becomes too heavy and distressing, he knows that you will be by his side and that you will help him carry the heavy weight.

And when the insecurities make their way into him, you will always be ready to remind him that he deserves to be loved.

So, tell me how to be in this world

Tell me how to breathe in and feel no hurt

Tell me how 'cause I believe in something

I believe in us

Tell me when the light goes out

That even in the dark we will find a way out

Tell me now 'cause I believe in something

I believe in us

Between dance steps, Calum lulls you slowly, the song continues to echo in your ears, and even your jaw relaxes. It’s so calming to not feel the weight of the world and the speed of time but to be able to enjoy this moment with a light heart and a head empty of all worries. In a society that runs fast and demands perfection from everything, having the opportunity to be able to stop and be left alone in love and peace is a luxury that cannot always be granted. Especially when your boyfriend is in an internationally famous band and you are trying to make your smaller, yet still of great value, dreams come true.

There is no worry about having to say the right words, having to wear the best clothes or just being yourself and praying to be accepted by millions of people who don't know you but who judge you as being part of your life.

‘She's not good enough for him’ or ‘He deserves someone more beautiful, with a perfect body, with a good mental health’ or even ‘She doesn't really love him, she does it for the money’ And there are also those gorgeous people he meets often, who work in some radio or who know mutual friends, and immediately those words written under your photos get inside you and make every certainty collapse.

You look at yourself into the mirror and you think they're right, that you're not perfect and that he really deserves one of those cover girls or someone who won't make him worry if you don't answer the phone. Insecurities that, however, under the sheets of a now familiar home, Calum makes you forget about.

And the words he whispers to you every day, the way he looks at you as if you were the most beautiful person in the world, the consideration he has of you, the notes he leaves on the table when he goes out or all those details that he pays attention to, they convince you that he doesn't care what size you are, the color of your skin or the negative thoughts that cross your mind, he loves you for your intelligence, for the kindness you carry in your heart and the delicacy with which you treat him, for the funny sound of your laugh and the way you make him feel in heaven, while reminding him to always keep his feet on the ground. And those comments, those ideas, disappear in the blink of an eye.

And now, like every time you’re with him, with your head on his chest and with his arms holding you, with the sea in the background and the lights that illuminate that corner of paradise that Crystal created, everything seems to be in the right place.

Used to be kids living just for kicks

In cinema seats, learning how to kiss

Running through streets that were painted gold

We never believed we'd grow up like this

Calum had never had good words to describe his love life. He had had love stories he was not proud of, toxic or in which he hadn't really felt strong feelings, and of the only good stories he had had, he didn’t like to tell about them because he was ashamed of how he had lived them. He believed that he hadn’t committed enough or that he hadn’t loved in the right ways.

So, he had decided not to try anymore, to put aside that desire to want to create something with someone and the more the people around him fell in love with and the more he thought about the effort he should have made, and all that stress made him forget the meaning to love. He didn’t want to meet anyone anymore, his life was good as it was.

And when you showed up awkwardly, in ruined makeup and wet clothes, Calum had thought of a thousand reasons why he didn't want to deal with you. Who shows up at an event dressed like this? What kind of girls does Crystal meet? And the way you talked about how your umbrella broke halfway and how you were about to be hit by a car didn't interest him. Calum just wanted to eat at that restaurant, pulled there by his best friends after a day spent in the studio.

And when the party moved to a friend’s house, it only bothered him how carefully you made sure you didn't spill your drink as you moved between dancing bodies and wagging dogs. He couldn't stand how you talked about life to Ashton, the love you put into describing the people who were part of it.

And when he saw you a few weeks later, he hated the way you greeted him and the way you worried about how he was doing. All too cheesy, too filmy and unrealistic.

But then, without realizing it, between one hateful look and another, Calum listened with interest to the way you talked about your passions and hobbies, how you described the places you had visited and the cities you dreamed of seeing. He laughed at you dancing and smiled when you paid attention to what people were saying around you, mentally marking down all the information to make sure to always ask the right questions.

And he found himself wanting the same attention from you, to see the smile you gave to others, dedicated to him. And so his answers to you became less and less cold and he had become less good at hiding his sweet eyes from you.

And even though every cell of his body was asking otherwise, to not feel another broken heart, Calum had decided to kiss you in the backstage of the iHeartRadio 2018, while you were wearing his leather jacket and moving his hair from the front of his eyes.

And the rest is history.

So, tell me how to be in this world

Tell me how to breathe in and feel no hurt

Tell me how 'cause I believe in something

I believe in us

Tell me when the light goes out

That even in the dark we will find a way out

Tell me now 'cause I believe in something

I believe in us

And like when Emily Bronte said ‘Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same’, as in the case of your love, there isn't much to do. You cannot go against fate if two hearts are meant to spend the rest of eternity together.

There are no arguments, reasons or strong enough excuses to separate those who are connected by much more than just love. And that’s what makes you this close, that in the darkness of the world, in the hell of fear and anger, that strong feeling resists, and fighting together is always better than doing it alone.

It’s a strong love, ready to defeat everything that tries to divide it, ready to sacrifice the absolute good of one, in order to spend the rest of life in misery together.

Like the rebellious angels, who preferred an earthly love to the eternal glory of God, so you are bound to laugh and cry together, and there is nothing that can make you happier than that.

Calum turns you around one last time, whispering a compliment in your ear and making your laughter echo across the room. The sun has now set and the stars are taking its place, the lights that descend from the ceiling look like little fairies that got lost admiring your love and the room has taken the shape of a magical forest.

Your friends are at the door of the entrance, with eyes full of love they look at the two of you laughing together and their hearts melt to see you so in love and they can’t help but imagine themselves in your place, in a few weeks, ready to dance and share the same love that you and Calum are sharing.

Breaking the peace of that dream, with pride and a grin on his face, is Michael, clapping and laughing at the way your boyfriend is completely in love with you but also feeling happy to see him so positively changed. He takes a few steps toward you and you don't need to hear him speak to imagine the comments he's thinking, making you and Calum shake your heads smiling.

“Just so you know, I expect to see you dance like that at our wedding too.” Your best friend's sweet voice says as she points at you by moving her finger between you and your boyfriend.

You run toward Crystal, her pink hair is tied up in a low ponytail, with a few tufts running down her face. Her smile is big on her face, lighting up her joyful expression. You have a billion questions to ask her, most of them are about the choices they made for the final decorations and your heart is so full at thinking about your best friends getting married.

You’re too caught up in your happiness to notice Calum, just a dozen steps behind you, smiling to his bandmate while whispering: “I want to spend the rest of my life with her.”

“Well, you know what to do.” Michael responds by nodding with his head and looking proudly at his best friend.

“Will you help me organize the proposal?”

--

[bubblyhoney]

can i request a fic where sapnap takes the reader to his hometown? like the classic going to places he went to when he was younger. maybe playgrounds and ice cream shops idk

places i used to go

warnings: language of course, an allusion to virginap, my uneducated guess of what sapnap was like in highschool, tiny detail of long haired!sapnap, singular canon detail of underage drinking, jokish about marriage

tags: sapnap x gn!reader

words: 2191

A/N: you are a god, anon. i love comfy and nostalgic fics like these and it was so fun to write. if you hate it dont tell me but if you like it lemme know akskdjd

inbox/requests: open

-

The wind whips fast on your bare fingers, cool and quick and raising goosebumps in its wake. You blink in the haze of the early sunset, head lolled to the side of the headrest. It feels good.

“That’s where I went to high school.” Sapnap interrupts your thoughts and points a finger at a collection of tall brick buildings down a side street. The silver of the lettering is dull, but you can still feel the nostalgia.

“And you’re about to see the park that me and my friends used to hang out at after work and—actually, nevermind.” His arm drops to the middle console and he looks straight ahead with slightly pinker cheeks.

“Do what?” You ask, voice all sweet, and a grin grows on your face. You turn towards him and wiggle your eyebrows.

“Nothing. Homework.” He avoids your eye contact and hikes his hand up higher on the steering wheel. “Anyways— Do you want to get some food before we head out? I know a great place.”

You two were just coming to a close on your little trip to visit his family; it was his step-mom’s birthday and you decided to make a week of it. It was your first long-term trip with Sapnap, and also your first time meeting his dad’s side of the family. You were proud to say she loved you. His little sister took a little more effort to talk to you of her own volition, but soon enough she was on your side.

You have a couple hours to kill before making your flight back home, so Sapnap has taken it upon himself to give you a quick tour of his hometown.

“Yeah,” you decide, bottom lip popped out. “Can we get ice cream after?”

“Uh, duh.” The Neighbourhood’s Stargazing starts through the speakers and he reaches to turn it down. “I’m so ready to get home and sleep.” He stretches his neck in his seat, letting out an uncharacteristically inappropriate grunt when his bones pop. You make a disgusted face, nose wrinkling, but stretch your own back, slumping down in the seat. The day had been full of packing up and this horrible hike his dad liked to do early in the mornings, so you two were pretty beat.

“Okay, we’re here,” he announces three sleepy minutes later in his best attempt at a whisper. Lifting your head off of the corner of your seat, you blink in the setting sunlight as a yawn splits your face. “You’re so cute.”

“Shut up,” you mumble, and struggle to get your seatbelt off in that post-nap haze. You’d barely been asleep for thirty seconds, damn it. The air is a swampy heat when you step out of the car onto rocky gravel and nearly twist your ankle climbing over the curb. Sapnap catches you by the lower back, trying to hide his laugh but failing miserably. You slide him a dirty look, smacking his shoulder as hard as you can manage while limping towards the front entrance.

The door jingles when you two breach the doorway, alerting a bored-looking hostess that the circus has arrived. She looks at Sapnap a second longer than she should, eyebrows screwed together in silent confusion. But she leads the two of you to a booth near a large window, handing you sticky menus and promptly fucking right off to the host station. She nearly runs.

“Do you know her?” You ask, inconspicuously hiding your face in the search for their 24/7 breakfast menu. You feel his eyes on you.

“Don’t think so.” He leans on one elbow and slides his phone out of his jeans’ pocket. In the 25 seconds it takes for you to find their french toast and sides menu, he has browsed and closed his phone with an animatedly shocked look on his face.

“What?” You give him a weird look and put down the menu.

“I totally went to homecoming with that girl.” He eyes the hostess. You glance over at her again, meeting her gaze, and offer a polite smile. She turns away quickly, eyes wide.

“She’s cute,” you say, voice high and fake, and he drums his fingers on the tabletop as an amused look makes its way onto his face.

“Are you—?”

“What?” You reply right back.

“Nothing.”

Thank God the server comes up to your table then and starts asking for drink orders, or else you’d have to admit (sheepishly) you were a tiny eensy-weensy bit annoyed. Only a tad. But after requesting a Dr. Pepper and a water the conversation surrounding the nervous-looking hostess dies.

“I’m so hungry I think I feel my stomach shrinking.” You flop your head onto your arm on the table top and make a whiny noise into the stack of napkins your server left at the table. Sapnap rubs his thumb into the side of your forearm, touch warm and nearly dissolving the pangs of hunger and jealousy.

“You weren’t hungry an hour ago.” He lifts your hand to his face and plants a kiss on the back of it. Oh, pulling out the big guns, huh? “I would have made you something.”

You tilt onto your chin, pouting, and stare up at his cute face. His cute, scruffy, perfectly-kissable face.

“I think I got hungry staring at you for half an hour.” A mischievous grin grows on your previously-petulant face and he just shakes his head.

“I do have that effect,” he admits with cockiness in his tone, lifting his eyebrows and leaning back into the booth with his lips pursed.

The server returns with two glasses and takes your food orders onto their little yellow notepad. You chug the water down when they leave for the kitchen, getting your lap and chin thoroughly wet in the process. Sapnap just snorts at you and shoves the napkins your way.

“So,” you start, patting dry your jeans. “tell me what you were like in high school.” You cross your arms and settle into the booth, smirk on your lips.

“What I was like?” He parrots, sipping at his soda, looking thoughtful. “Firstly, a virgin.” You make a noise. Duh. Dude had a buzz cut his junior year. (You’ve seen the pictures. His step-mom particularly likes them.) “Secondly, I was actually— well, I wasn’t popular, but I had a lot of friends. We were all semi-athletic lonely band kids but we had fun. Had one girlfriend senior year but she went to Cal Tech in the fall and I didn’t. I, um, worked at a Dairy Queen in the summers and gained so much weight I had to lose all over again for Unified Track.”

“Relatable,” you comment, drinking noisily at your water. He fiddles with the paper straw wrapper and crunches it up into a ball. It goes soaring into your drink with a quiet “Kobe” and you just give him a look. He smiles toothily right back at you. “Stop being cute, I’m trying to listen to your story.”

“Oh, my bad,” he mocks. “Anyways. That’s what I was like in highschool.” You fish the paper ball out of your water and flick it wetly at his arm. It sticks and you choke on a laugh, cheeks puffed.

Two plates of warm food are set down loudly onto the table and you thank the server with a surprised smile, Sapnap mirroring you.

Two minutes of wordless chewing passes, minds occupied just by “food, me eat” instead of anything related to your previous conversation. You realize that Sapnap is one of the loudest chewers ever, and he realizes that you fail to notice the streak of maple syrup in your hair.

“C’mere,” he mumbles through a mouthful of omelet and hash browns and beckons you with his hand. You lean closer, chewing slowly, as he pats a napkin at the strands of hair trapped in syrup.

“Thanks, baby.” You take the napkin from him and pause your assault of the warm french toast before you to clean the sticky sugar out of your hair. He just watches you, half of a smile on his lips.

You two finish your food in record time. It’s borderline vacuum-like. There’s a short grace period where you just sit like two lazy cats, slumped down in the booth and holding your full stomachs. But the check comes soon after, and you both pay your way and are out of the restaurant without any mad dashes for the bathroom. A miracle, really, because of the American-like amount of butter you both consume.

“I’m a much more functional person now,” you mutter into the cotton of his shoulder, swinging your hand in his. He just hums in agreement.

“I guess we’re not getting ice cream, then,” he teases, and you just groan in response.

“I don’t feel like having diarrhea on a plane, unfortunately.” You sigh heavily when you have to split and get into your respective sides of the rental car.

The entire trip (somewhat roundabout because of the amount of side quests to show you things from his childhood) to the airport Sapnap is a chatterbox. He’s like this when he has sugar: either bouncing off the walls with energy or talking your ear off.

“That’s where my dad proposed to my step-mom. I was kinda young but I remember being surprised at how big the ring was— dude broke the bank for her.” It’s a little gazebo you catch a glimpse of through the trees in a park. It probably was an incredibly picturesque moment, and you can sense how much she must have loved it. With just meeting them this weekend, you can already see how much love those two have for each other.

You hope people can see how much you love Sapnap.

“Oh my God, it’s still there.” He points out the side of your window to what looks like a Dairy Queen that has been through World War 3. “My buddy Eric and I once spilled a gallon of that liquid ice-cream-shit all over the men’s bathroom.”

You shoot him a horrified look. “Why was it in the bathroom?”

He just smirks.

“—And that’s my Uncle Ron’s house. Had my first beer there.”

“And last, hopefully,” you add, pulling a disgusted face. The two story bungalow is cute, and one of your favorite colors: olive green. “That shit is nasty.”

He just shrugs and continues down the side street.

“Is this the park you were talking about?”

He pulls into the gravelly parking lot of a small clearing of tall trees, a picnic table and campfire sat squat in the middle. But he doesn’t respond, just turning the car off and climbing out. He reaches the passenger door without speaking, and opens it for you. You climb carefully out, confused.

“Come on.” He takes your hand and starts for a small path to the left of the picnic table. The mid-sunset shade envelopes the both of you.

“I hope this isn’t where you kill me.”

“No,” he snorts. “I just wanted to show you something.”

It’s just a few moments of stumbling through the damp underbrush before you’re coming face to face with a small, mossy pond that sits right underneath an incredibly old willow tree. He stops right on the edge of the rocky path and turns toward you.

“This your make out spot?” You ask between a grin as he snakes an arm around your waist and tugs you flush to him. Your innocent smile fades when you feel the press of his lips to the side of your neck, light and ticklish. Oh.

“No,” he murmurs, and just breathes you in. “I came here once—the night before I graduated highschool. And I told myself when I really really loved someone I’d take them here with me.” He sways with you in his grasp, a gentle and song-less dance.

You grip his shoulder tighter in your hand and lean into him.

“That’s— awfully romantic, huh?” Your voice is quiet. Almost nervous. He just makes a noise of agreement.

“So here we are.” His voice is the opposite of yours, all strong and confident.

You two just move together for a moment. The sun breaks through the tree canopy, shining bright orange down onto the glassy surface of the pond. Crickets and frogs chirp back and forth as the willow vines swing in a cool evening breeze. You watch nature come alive around you, suddenly grateful for the man in your arms.

“Don’t propose,” you whisper, breaking the gentle tension. A laugh breaks the silence and he’s pulling away to look at you. Maybe in disbelief. A strand of hair falls into his eyes and you brush it away, fingers stilling on his temple and sliding down onto his cheek. Stubble scrapes against the skin of your palm and he stares at you through those meadow eyes.

You realize in that moment that he is exactly himself. Of course he is. He’s Sapnap, and everything that encompasses that. Dark and light and fiery and cool. He always has been, and always will be.

You realize you wouldn’t mind if he proposed.

-

A/N: ask or send me some stuff!! requests, rants, anything. let me know what you think

[pillage-and-lute]

The Stars Are Not Wanted Now

Was this among my list of WIPs I posted recently? No. Not at all. Because it popped into my head fully formed and hurt my feelings so I decided to make it everyone’s problem.

TW: Believed character death (not real) ,grief, discussions of hallucinations.

Title cheerfully stolen from W. H. Auden’s Funeral Blues

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It took Geralt almost an hour to realize what he’d done. He’d sat and stewed and wished his tearducts would give him more catharsis than a handful of small drops. He wanted to sob, really cry, eyes red and face wet, but his body let him down. He stared for a while at the dirt. At the footprints in the dirt.

They weren’t his. They were from Jaskier’s stupid shiny boots. Impractical boots that gave him blisters, but he’d only had enough money for one pair and he needed ‘court boots’ apparently. And he was walking down the mountain in those silly boots and a doublet that wouldn’t keep him warm as the mountain air chilled with night and Geralt had just let him go. Geralt had made him go. He didn’t have any gear, they shared gear and Geralt had made him leave.

Geralt’s slow, witcher heart beat double time as he realized he might have murdered his bard. 

Roach huffed at him for being gone so long but he shushed her and loaded her up as quickly as he could. He needed her, and Jaskier needed him.

Geralt followed the footprints like a bloodhound, eyes and senses searching, but his mind wandered behind. Their relationship was such an odd one, Jaskier always traveling ahead or staying behind. Bards needed audiences and witchers needed wilderness, but they were never more than a few days from eachother, and every town Geralt went into he could be sure Jaskier was there. There had been exceptions of course, when bardic festivals or court appointments swayed Jaskier’s path, but he always came back. It was down to the separate nature of Geralt’s Path, with the capital P, and Jaskier’s path. Bards traveled between towns, straight shots, rarely sleeping rough, so his bard didn’t need gear, and it would only slow him down. Witchers wandered, fighting a monster here, collecting potion ingredients there, and coming to towns only for contracts and coin.

Geralt’s eyes scanned every inch of the track, never missing the boot prints, noting the depth of them, the scent of sadness lingering. A human would have missed the single, red thread caught on a bush, the shade of Jaskier’s stupid, too thin doublet. Geralt’s fingers plucked it from a branch. 

He remembered how, in the first years of their acquaintance, he’d watched the bard walk away each time, believing he’d never see him again. But Jaskier had always come back. He’d circle around or wait in the next tiny village, playing ditties for barmaids and he’d greet Geralt with a smile that struck something sensitive and previously well protected in Geralt’s chest. Slowly Geralt had started expecting Jaskier’s presence and those treasured smiles.

It had come with detriments, that was true, Jaskier talked so much Geralt wondered how he found the air and he was foppish and disinclined to wake before noon. It was just that, so slowly that Geralt didn’t know how it had happened, those faults found favor in Geralt’s eyes. 

And now he’d told Jaskier he was a burden. That he wanted him gone. As Geralt had grown to treasure his bard he’d stopped expecting Jaskier would leave him and started fearing he would instead. Geralt had just been the creator of his own nightmares, doing to their friendship what wind, weather, time, and age could not. 

That was the thing, Geralt thought as his eyes scanned the trail, near invisible in the dark. Age. Jaskier was forty at least. Crow’s feet, Yennefer had said. He would have to leave Geralt sooner or later, settle in some city and see him only if Geralt sought him out. The impending end to their precious routine rolled Geralt’s stomach and took over his thoughts. Now, though, well, how weak was a forty year old human? Strong enough to go down the mountain in the dark? It seemed so, which was frustrating. Geralt was going as fast as he could while tracking Jaskier’s every footstep, but even his magical eyes only saw so much in total darkness. Jaskier was hiking blind. 

A new scent drifted to Geralt’s nose. Wolf. A mixture of fur and wilderness and wet dog. 

And blood. 

Geralt let go of Roach’s reigns, sprinting as best he could, letting his nose lead him. He could smell blood. He followed it into the trees, crashing through the brush, careless of the briars that tore at him. He didn’t even smell his own blood, it didn’t matter, he didn’t care. All his senses narrowed down to the smell of Jaskier’s blood and...

and his eyes saw red. a torn doublet,

Geralt lurched forward, hoping, praying that it didn’t mean what he knew it meant. He clutched the rags to him and he stumbled. His foot hit something. 

A boot. A stupid, shiny boot and it reeked of blood. Geralt let it fall from numb fingers. A tiny beam of moonlight struggled down, gleaming dully off of leather. Geralt knelt before the instrument case, smelling blood on the strap, feeling the contours of it. When he lifted it it was heavy. Jaskier had died alone on a vicious mountainside, devoid of his beautiful doublet and his lute. 

Geralt felt a puff of breath on the back of his head. Roach had followed after him, picking her way through the forest in the wake of his mad dash. He pressed his face into her mane and finally felt tears flood his cheeks. She settled beside him when he no longer had enough water to cry and he just stayed there, knelt between tree roots and bushes, cradling the lute and a scrap of doublet that still smelled like chamomile. 

He didn’t move until dawn.

When the runny light of morning came Geralt just moved on. Whatever had happened to Jaskier’s body, he couldn’t see it. Of course the bard deserved a proper burial, and Geralt cursed his weakness all the way down the mountain, but there mightn’t be much of Jaskier left to find. Geralt felt sure that if he saw his friend like that he’d simply lay down next to him and die too. 

He already felt like he might. 

Geralt moved on, physically. He moved around, slinging Jaskier’s lute up with his saddlebags. He wandered between towns and fought monsters, going north in a roundabout way. Going home. 

Kaer Morhen was going to be cold that year, it always was, and Jaskier was never there, but without the hope of Jaskier’s smile in the spring the cold seemed to have taken residence in his soul.

Geralt wasn’t eating well. He couldn’t bring himself to do more than chew a few pieces of dried meat. He drank a lot and didn’t sleep and took too many risks when fighting monsters. It was foolish, he knew, it was how witchers died, getting sloppy like that. He did it anyway. And on the rare nights he did sleep, he clutched the tattered piece of doublet. The chamomile scent was slowly fading and Geralt feared when it left entirely. It and the doublet were all he had.

In light of all of this, Geralt wasn’t that surprised when he finally lost it. He heard music in a tavern and it sounded like Jaskier. Every bard sounded like Jaskier now. There were no instruments, just an achingly familiar voice. Of course, Geralt still had the lute. 

When he walked into the tavern and saw a bard turn, saw Jaskier smile wide at him, Geralt didn’t even flinch. His medallion was still on his chest. This was no ghost, he had simply lost his mind. 

Geralt sat at the bar without looking away from the apparition, and his heart swelled as it sauntered towards him. Jaskier looked so lifelike, so alive. There wasn’t a scratch on him. He was exactly the bard Geralt remebered, no crows feet to be seen. He was dressed in blue, not unlike when they had first met. Geralt’s heart twisted as he remebered all things he’d said, and, even worse, the things he hadn���t. His heart was thundering in his ears, blood rushing, everything else tuned out. It didn’t matter that Geralt had gone crazy, Jaskier was here and so beautiful and Geralt loved him so much that it hurt. 

“Mind if I join you?” The hallucination said. Geralt just stared. He wasn’t going to talk to it, there were enough rumors about witchers without the townsfolk knowing he was crazy.

“C’mon, now, Geralt,” the faux Jaskier said. “You wouldn’t keep a man with bread in his pants waiting.” 

Geralt just stared as the bard pulled a half-eaten roll from his pocket and winked. The hallucination stopped smiling, shoulders slumping. “I’ll go,” it said. 

“Stay,” Geralt whipsered immediately. He was alright with going crazy because this last bit of comfort was so tantalizing, so real Geralt could almost reach out and touch. “Please,” he said, even quieter. “I’m sorry.” 

Jaskier beamed and sat and ate and Geralt wondered idly who the bartender served in place of the man he knew couldn’t be there. 

Geralt had thought the hallucination would be gone in the morning, but the vision of Jaskier was standing by Roach the next day, a travel bag over one shoulder. Okay, Geralt’s brain was in it for the long haul. Fine, but there had to be rules. That momentary weakness last night couldn’t happen again. He needed to get to Kaer Morhen soon if he wanted to beat the snows and there could be no distractions. So, no talking to the bard.

It was very hard not to talk to the hallucination. It traipsed and danced and prodded and teased, but when it got not even a hum in response the exhuberance dimmed. That was horrible. Geralt didn’t need the reminder that he’d hurt Jaskier’s feelings, he’d already killed him. The proof was walking right beside him.

Something in Geralt felt healed, though. It was why he didn’t try to fix this. Having Jaskier, even if it wasn’t real, was nice. He wondered what would happen if he reached out and kissed the bard. It was his hallucination after all. The thought, though, that he would reach out to Jaskier, who looked so real and alive, and feel nothing but air....Geralt would rather go through the trials again. It would be like losing Jaskier all over. 

One night, when the hallucination reached out for the instrument strung on Roach’s saddle Geralt tensed. Some part of him believed that if this shade of Jaskier was reunited with his beloved lute he’d go, dissappear and leave Geralt all alone again. He didn’t, of course. This wasn’t a spirit, Jaskier wasn’t tied to this realm by the lute. He was a figment of Geralt’s tortured mind. 

He played Toss a Coin and Her Sweet Kiss. As far as Geralt knew, Jaskier hadn’t finished the latter, but his imagination finished it anyway. It hurt to hear Jaskier singing about love unrequited, it was obviously about Yennefer but that...that wasn’t Geralt’s love. Geralt’s love had be eaten by a mountain. Red sky at dawning, Geralt had had enough of red. It didn’t put him in mind of Yennefer’s lips or of rubies or harpies or anything else, but Jaskier’s doublet, the scrap still hidden in Geralt’s bags, and some words. “See you around, Geralt”

The apparition continued to play, but Geralt turned his face away. Maybe this was torturing him for killing his only blessing. 

At the crossroads of the northern mountains Geralt paused. He had been walking besde Roach, resting her for the trek up the Killer, with Jaskier’s lute across the saddlebags and his hallucination trailing along behind. This was where Jaskier always parted from him in the autumn, and the hallucination stepped forward, reaching toward the lute on Roach’s back. Geralt felt ice down his spine. 

His hallucination was going to leave, of course it was, Geralt had never brought Jaskier to the keep, but to be there all winter without this small, fake comfort would kill him.  

Geralt wrapped his hand around the lute strap, ready to pull it from the nonexistant fingers of his dead companion. “No,” he said. 

He slung the lute over his shoulder and walked toward the Killer, praying that his failing mind wouldn’t choose now to become sane. To his relief, the hallucination followed. 

On the way to the keep the vision changed into a warmer cloak and gloves and Geralt marveled at the detail. He wondered if he wasn’t dead himself, or asleep and simply dreaming, but he kept going up the trail, hearing the crunch of Jaskier’s shiny boots on frost. The vision talked and Geralt loved its voice and cursed the sound.

Night was falling when they reached the gate of the keep, and Geralt could see three lit lanterns, one for each brother and another for Vesemir. He paused, watching the lights come closer. He drew a breath, in through his nose, smelling pine and chamomile, out through his mouth. He couldn’t let the others know. He had to pretend that the ghost of all his regrets wasn’t doggin his steps. He flexed his fingers on the strap of the lute. 

“Don’t just stand there, idiot, get in here, it’s cold,” Lambert called. Eskel smiled at Geralt and took Roach’s reigns, cooing to her as Geralt followed Vesemir and Lambert into the hall. 

The fire was lit and warmth seeped into Geralt’s numb fingers and toes. Vesemir raised an eyebrow at him.

“Aren’t you going to introduce your guest?”

“What?”

“Vesemir shook his head. “Gods almighty, Geralt, I didn’t raise you boys with much manners but I thought you had some.” Then Vesemir turned to where the vision of Jaskier stood. “You Geralt’s bard?” he asked.

“There’s no one there, Ves,” Geralt hazarded. 

Vesemir scowled at him. “Stupid prank to play on your old teacher. Never get an apprentice, lad, they’ll take your sanity and all your time.” That last part wasn’t aimed at Geralt. It was like someone had poured fire into Geralt’s veins.

“You can see him too?” he asked, quietly. 

“What game are you--” Vesemir began, but Jaskier’s eyes had gone soft with understanding.

“Oh, Geralt,” he whispered. 

Geralt stretched out one shaking hand and caressed his bard’s chilly cheek. Jaskier leaned his face into it and brushed a kiss against the palm. “I’m so sorry, dear heart,” he said, stepping closer to Geralt and wrapping his arms around his neck. “I should have known something was off.”

“You were dead,” Geralt said into the crook of his neck. “There was blood and your doublet was shredded, and you left your lute behind.” 

“You truly thought...all this time? Geralt, I thought you knew,” Jaskier said, warm breath brushing Geralt’s ear. To his surprise, Geralt was crying, tiny, bare tears and shoulders shaking. 

“Knew you were alive?”

“That too, but dearest, I’m a changeling, on the mountain I...I was so sad I just wanted to run away, and I was so tired, so I became a wolf.”

“Changeling...you’re fae?”

“Only half,” Jaskier said. “Or less, I’m not sure, but I can change into all the animal of the forest.”

“You never have.”

“It’s a painful feeling and you can’t play a lute with wings or paws but I was overwhelmed so I just...oh darling I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for you to think--”

“I smelled blood.”

“My boots, you told me to buy the practical ones, but I didn’t listen.”

Geralt pressed his forehead against Jaskier’s and felt the warmth of him. “You’re alive,” he said. “You’re real and you’re alive.”

“You thought all this time I was a ghost?”

“A hallucination,” Geralt said. “A good dream, or torture for killing my...”

“Killing your what, darling?” 

“Killing my love. Letting my greatest blessing be taken from my hands. I thought it was penance, my love.”

Jaskier leaned in and kissed Geralt softly. His lips were soft and perfect and too chapped to be a dream. His breath tasted like the jerky they’d eaten on the trail and it was real. When he pulled away Geralt leaned back in and kissed him again. 

“Nothing I said on the mountain was true,” he mumbled against dry lips. “Not a word. I love you more than life itself.”

“I love you too,” Jaskier said. “And I won’t leave again, not even if you tell me to.”

“I won’t,” Geralt said. “Never again.”

[pucksnsticksnhockeyboys]

all wrapped up for you

summary: you’d do anything for your best friend, even if that means helping him buy the perfect gift for the person he truly likes.

word count: 3k

note from the writer: day three! make sure to check back for the next nine fics! / masterpost of the Christmas fics

tagging: @bqstqnbruin @broadstbroskis @laurenairay​ @calgarycanuck​ @justjosty​ @sorryjustafangirl​ @tayella13​ @wastedheartcth​  @kiedhara​  @writinghockey​  / add yourself to my Christmas fics taglist

You really wished you were better at telling Anthony no. Wished you had taken up your friend’s offer to get brunch so you had an excuse to say you were busy on Saturday. Wished you weren’t so gone for him that the moment he said he needed help you didn’t clear your calendar.

Because now you were stuck helping the guy you were practically in love with buy a gift for someone else.

He showed up to your apartment half an hour earlier, before you had even gotten dressed for the day, and let himself into your apartment as if he owned the place. You couldn’t be mad, truly, because you had given him a key and it was far from the first time he had done so.

“Are you ready?” Anthony asked excitedly, making his way into your kitchen where you were putting your now empty mug in the sink. You rolled your eyes, grin tugging at your lips as you turned to face him and gestured to the baggy t-shirt and old shorts you slept in.

“Does it look like I’m ready, Beau?” You questioned teasingly, watching as he sighed dramatically with a grin that rivaled yours. A thought crossed your mind then, one that dampened your mood and you bit your lip to try and stop yourself from voicing it, but it was too little too late and suddenly you were speaking without your permission. “You must really like this girl if you’re showing up early and trying to drag me out of here.”

“Yeah, I do.” Anthony responded easily, and thankfully his back was turned as he dug through your cupboards for something to snack on so he didn’t see the way your face fell and shoulders slumped. You hurt your own feelings with that comment, the dreaminess in his words tugging at your heart. You wanted nothing more than to be his, but if you couldn't have him, you at least wanted him to be happy.

“I’m going to go change.” You murmured, and if Anthony picked on the sudden change in your tone he didn’t say anything. The time it took for you to get dressed and put the final touches on your outfit gave you the break you needed to collect yourself and your thoughts.

You knew the next few hours were going to be rough; you’d be spending time with Anthony, which you always looked forward to, but it’d come with a cost. That cost being helping him get the perfect gift for the person he had feelings for. The person who was, very clearly, not you.

“Ready?” You questioned as you emerged from your bedroom to find Anthony sitting on your couch waiting patiently. He jumped to his feet, clearly anxious to get started, and you tried your best to chase away any and all thoughts regarding your current predicament with him.

If he asked your help, then you’d give it to him.

“So, what are we thinking? Jewelry? Perfume? Shoes?” You asked the moment you entered the department store he had taken you to. Glancing up to him, you couldn’t help but laugh at the bewildered look on his face, clearly unsure of where to start.

“Is that stuff you would like?” He turned to face you, brows furrowed and for a moment he caught you off guard. This was a dangerous game, picking out stuff you would like only to have Anthony turn around and buy it for someone else. But he looked so completely lost and out of his element that you forced a tight smile and curled your hand around his bicep to lead him further into the store.

“Do you know her sizes? Shoes could be nice, or we can look at jewelry if you want it to be more romantic.” You mused, pulling him towards the shoe section to start. Even if he wanted to look for other stuff, you could still buy yourself something nice. Maybe you’d get something out of this trip other than your own hurt feelings and the confirmation that he definitely did not feel the same about it. A little retail therapy never hurt, right?

“She’s about your size, yeah.” He told you, certain in his tone despite not giving you a solid answer. You tried to stop yourself from running through the list of people Anthony hung out with that were roughly your size, but you came up short, certain that he would have told you if it was one of your mutual friends.

“Maybe we should look at perfumes, then.” You steered him away from the clothing section. If he didn’t know her exact sizes, then you didn’t want him to get her something that didn’t fit. Standing in front of the display shelf full of perfume, you getsured for Anthony to take his pick.

“Isn’t this the kind you wear?” He asked, grabbing a bottle off the shelf and spraying it. You shot him a look, unsure of why he would know that and how he was able to pick it out easily. It wasn’t as if he had smelt it and recognized it; he had picked it up off the shelf completely unprompted. Part of you wanted to melt at his words, to overthink and hurt your own feelings once more, but you shoved that part aside.

“And you know that, how?” You asked, grabbing the bottle out of his hands and putting it back on the shelf. There was absolutely no way he was going to be getting the same perfume you wore for some other girl.

“I don’t know, I’ve seen you getting ready for nights out too many times, I guess.” He said with a shrug, but you would have sworn you saw a blush on his cheeks. He turned away from you before you could be certain, and you were left standing in front of the shelf of perfume confused while Anthony wandered off to the counter full of different types of jewelry. “Jewelry is romantic, right?”

“Yeah, what are you thinking?” You confirmed, trying not to seem as defeated as you were by his choice of words. He was looking for a romantic gift, a gift that was not for you and you were helping him pick it out.

“I don’t know, what do you like?” He questioned, looking over the case of rings, bracelets, earrings and necklaces with confusion. You couldn’t help but chuckle at how lost he looked, and it was that tiny bit of pity that had you turning to look at the jewelry to pick out something you liked.

“I think those necklaces are really pretty.” You hummed, pointing out a row of beautiful gold chains with different pendants and designs. They weren’t overly gaudy but strikingly simple, and they had caught your eye almost immediately.

“The diamond ones?” Anthony questioned, looking to the rack just next to the one you had been pointing to. Shaking your head, your head, you moved closer so that the necklaces were in reach. They truly were a gift you’d love to receive, and it stung a bit that Anthony might be buying one for someone other than you.

“No, not necessarily. I don’t think the price tag matters, but maybe something a little more personal, you know?” You explained, your fingers brushing over the dainty gold chains absentmindedly. Glancing up, you noticed a far away look in his eyes as he studied you and most definitely not the jewelry you were showing him. “Beau?”

“Yeah, I got it.” Anthony said quietly, like he was having a completely different conversation that you were unaware of. You gave him a confused look, but chose not to question him. Your heart was hammering in your chest as a result of the way he was looking at you, a soft smile on his lips and a look that was too similar to adoration in his eyes. All too soon, though, his gaze drifted over your shoulder as if searching for something. “What about that?”

“A candle?” You asked, following his gaze to the section of seasonal and decorative candles. Anthony nodded, a slight flush to his cheeks as he grabbed your hand and pulled you away from the jewelry and to the candles. “Beau, you asked me to come along for gift ideas but you haven’t listened to a single thing I’ve suggested.”

“Just trust me on this? I promise she’ll like this.” He assured you, though he didn’t sound all too convinced. Candles weren’t the most romantic gift, certainly not as much as the jewelry and perfume you had just been looking at, but he had the advantage of knowing who you were shopping for.

“You know, this would be a lot easier if you told me who she is. Have I met her before?” You questioned, grabbing the first candle off the shelf and smelling it. You were trying to act inconspicuous, but you were dying for information.

“Yeah, but I’m not telling you.” He said, a bashful look on his face as he avoided your gaze and examined the candles as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. He must have felt the weight of your stare, because he shot you a mischievous smile that nearly knocked the wind out of you. “It’s a secret.”

“Does Barzy know?” You challenged, picking up another candle and inspecting it as a way to try and seem less interested than you were in Anthony’s love life.

“That’s not important.”

“So he does.” You stated, a victorious smile on your lips despite the way your heart raced at the thought of getting closer to finding out who had Anthony all worked up. Maybe it would be best if you didn’t know who it was, to live in blissful ignorance for a little while longer, but you had never been the best at preserving your own feelings. Hence the reason you had agreed to spend your free Saturday helping Anthony buy a gift for someone else. “Come on, why won’t you tell me?”

“How does this smell?” He dodged the question, grabbing the closest candle and holding it up to your face to get your opinion. You gave him a curious look, but otherwise dropped the subject and focused on the apple cinnamon scented candle he held.

“Here, try this one instead.” You sighed, handing him the candle you had previously been testing. With a heavy heart, you watched as he gave the candle sniff before looking to you for guidance. “Wisteria and jasmine, it’s supposed to be a romantic combination. I’m sure she’ll love that, whoever she is.”

“Yeah,” Anthony started, watching you with the same adoring look in his eyes that made your heart race. “Whoever she is.”

You couldn’t help but feel a little guilty satisfaction as you watched Anthony hand the candle to the cashier, because even though some other girl would be getting his attention along with that gift, at least it wasn’t something entirely too romantic.

It was a few days until Anthony finally came around to your place again. He had told you that he needed to come over and give you his gift, because he was supposed to be heading back home to see his family soon and wanted you to have it before he left. Your present for him was sitting on your kitchen table, a nice leather wallet wrapped and ready to be exchanged, and when he finally knocked on your door you jumped to your feet to let him in.

He was nervous, you could tell from the way that he knocked instead of letting himself in and how he rushed past you with little more than a quiet ‘hello’ and a kiss pressed to your forehead. With a furrowed brow, you shut your apartment door and followed after him into your living room, where instead of making himself at home on your couch like he usually did, he was pacing the length of the room.

“Beau, are you alright?” He stopped at the sound of your voice, and spun to face you a little too quickly. He didn’t say anything at first, just dragged his hand through his hair and nodded despite looking anything but alright.

“Here’s your present.” He blurted, holding out a wide, flat box. Definitely not a candle. It was evident that he had wrapped it himself, you could see how much tape he used and how the folds were less than neat, but you smiled happily all the same.

“Let me go get your gift, and we can open them together—” You started, but Anthony shook his head quickly to shoot down the idea.

“No, you need to open yours first.” He said decidedly. You didn’t put up an argument, and instead took the box he was extending towards you and settling down on the couch. Anthony stayed standing, and you tried not to let that unnerve you, but something was going on with him.

After unwrapping the present, you opened the lid of the box to find a familiar blue and orange jersey inside. With a chuckle, you lifted the fabric up to better read the name and number on the back of the jersey. Beavullier, number eighteen. It was a running joke between the two of you, that somehow you, his good luck charm, didn’t even own one of his jerseys.

“Thanks, Beau.” You smiled genuinely, but before Anthony could say anything in response your gaze caught on something else in the box with the jersey. It was a smaller, black box that you instantly recognized as one for jewelry. Your breath caught in your throat and you glanced up to Anthony, but he was just watching you with a nearly unreadable look in his eyes.

You opened the box, a shocked grin instantly making its way onto your face as you saw the dainty gold chain and the tiny circular pendant of the necklace. You remembered it as one of the necklaces you had pointed out to him in the department store.

“You said personal.” Anthony said quietly as you brushed the pad of your finger across the lowercase ‘a’ engraved on the pendant. You felt your heart skip three beats at the realization of what the ‘a’ meant. It was for Anthony. He was giving you a necklace with his initial on it.

And he had you convinced that he was terrible at buying romantic gifts.

“Yeah, I did.” You replied just as quietly, carefully setting the boxes on the coffee table before standing and crossing the short distance to where he was standing in your living room anxiously. “Who is the other girl, Beau?”

“There isn’t another girl. Never was, never will be.” He confessed, his hands slowly finding purchase on your waist as you stepped closer to him with each word that passed his lips. Your heart was hammering in your chest, but a thin veil of confusion still covered you. Regardless, your hands fell to his chest, and you could feel the rapid beat of his own heart under your palm.

“Why’d you buy the candle that day, then?” You questioned, because for the past few days you had done nothing but think about how he bought another gift for another girl. Anthony smiled sheepishly, ducking his head slightly in nerves.

“I couldn’t exactly buy your gift with you right there, now could I?” He explained and you couldn’t help the chuckle that fell past your lips then at his comment.

“What’d you do with it?” You were teasing him then, simply bidding time until the conversation that you felt was inevitable came. The one where you finally told Anthony how you felt, the one where he, hopefully, said he felt the same.

“Gave it to Barzy. He really appreciated you picking out the scent, by the way. Said it was exactly what he was looking for.” He mumbled, his head dropping lower and lower in search of a kiss you wouldn’t hesitate to give him. He was teasing, buying time for you to pull back but you stayed still, tilting your chin up slightly in a bid to get him to finally connect your lips.

“Well, tell him I said you’re welcome.” You grinned, shaking your head in mirth at their close friendship. It was then that Anthony closed the gap between you and him, your hands moving of their own accord to hold his face as he kissed you with everything he had. It was a little dizzying, to finally have his lips on yours after so long spent dreaming of this moment. Even when you pulled back ever so slightly to breathe, it was clear both of you had smiles that would last for days.

“Besides, I needed to take you shopping to see what you liked. Pretty smart, eh?” He grinned, clearly proud of himself. You rolled your eyes playfully at his comment, but he only tugged you closer to him until you were flush against his front.

“Beau, I’ve spent the past week and a half thinking you had feelings for someone else. You could have played it a little smarter.” You teased, shifting so your arms were wrapped loosely around his neck. His expression flickered then, to one a bit more serious and he was looking at you with a sincerity in his eyes that would have made you melt, if his kiss hadn’t already done so.

“So, you like me too?” He questioned, and though his wording felt a little juvenile you nodded honestly, your gaze shifting to match his.

“Wouldn’t have kissed you if I didn’t.” You told him, tilting your chin up in search of another kiss that Anthony wasted no time in giving you. “And I definitely wouldn’t have done it again.”

“Do you want to put on the necklace? I want to see you with my initial.” He commented, a little cheekily but mostly happily. You nodded, slowly slipping from his arms to pick up the box you had set on the coffee table. With a sly smile of your own, you asked;

“Help me put it on?”

[random-tinies]

The Quest For Blue

Some light-hearted Hurt No Comfort for a tiny Ghostbur as he searches for blue to give to his family. ^^ 2.1k words

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The day is like any other in Ghostbur’s ghostly life. The sun is shining, the sea breeze blows through Friend’s blue wool, and he’s hanging out with Tommy in front of his tnret. The tiny ghost flops on his pet sheep and points to the left. “Let’s go say hi to Tommy, Friend!”

Friend baas and trots over to the dirty crime boy. Ghostbur floats up and sits on his younger brother’s shoulder, floating a few millimeters above his clothing. “Hello, Tommy! Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it?”

Tommy walks into his tnret and gives Ghostbur a strange look as if the small ghost had grown antlers. Ghostbur feels his head to make sure he didn’t. “No it’s not. It’s raining out.”

“What?”

Ghostbur looks back outside the tnret and sure enough, rain is pouring down on the small island. Lightning flashes and thunder rolls over the trio, sounding as if the sky was falling down. The small spector gasps and floats at the entrance. “Friend! Friend, come here! Don’t get wet! I won’t be able to hug you then!”

The docile sheep walks under the wool shelter and starts chewing on Tommy’s torn shirt. Ghostbur opens his mouth to scold his dearest sheep, but Tommy lets out a heavy sounding sigh that stirs a sour emotion in Ghostbur’s soul. He floats back up to him and asks, “What’s wrong, Tommy?”

His brother’s voice sounds about as gloomy as the sudden turn in weather outside. “I’ve done a lot of bad, Ghostbur. I’ve hurt a lot of people. I am alone. I have no friends.”

Ghostbur huffs and folds his arms. Are they not friends? Does Ghostbur not do his best to cheer Tommy up every day? “Well at least you have me! I’m your friend, Tommy!”

Tommy merely sighs and turns away. “I’ve hurt you, too, Ghostbur. You’re stuck here because of me.”

He tilts his head in confusion. “I chose to be here, Tommy! Lads on Tour, remember?”

Tommy lays on his bedroll and doesn’t respond. Ghostbur takes out some blue dye and sets it next to him. “Here, have some blue.”

The tall child closes his eyes, a quiet pained expression on his face. The ghostly tiny turns to his giant sheep and says, “This may take more blue than I thought. We’ll have to go out and find some!” He looks outside. “Oh, but the rain…”

“Baa!”

“Oh! You’re right, Friend!” Ghostbur beams at the blue sheep. “I can just walk under you!”

And so, the two set off through the rain, heading into an oak and birch forest that soon turns into a spruce forest with snow covering the ground. Ghostbur notices the snow drifts getting deeper and deeper until he’s forced to fly out from under Friend, who baas at him in protest to the cold snow, or risk melting in the ground. “I’m sorry, Friend! I was sure I was going the right way but we haven’t seen anything but red poppies here…”

A shadow falls over the duo and Ghostbur looks up. A large dark grey wing is extended above them and a tall, dark figure towers over them. A veil hangs off of his large green and white hat, hiding his face, and a dark grey and green robe falls off his shoulders. One wing is wrapped in bandages. Ghostbur smiles at the taller gentleman. “Hello, Phil!”

“Wil, what are you doing all the way out here in the snow? You’ll melt.” Although he can’t see his face, Phil’s voice is soft, interlaced with worry.

Ghostbur cheerfully answers him. “I’m getting blue for Tommy! Do you have any that I can use?”

A few tears drip down to the ground from under the veil. “All of the blue you gave me was used up, remember? I miss Wilbur.”

Ghostbur frowns, an uncomfortable feeling in his chest. “You sound like you could use more blue. I’ll make sure to stop by here on my way back and give you some when I find it!”

Philza doesn’t react to what he says. “Why are you all the way out here in the middle of a snow storm? Are you lost?”

Ghostbur shakes his head, then pauses and scratches the back of his neck, sitting atop Friend’s head. “We were trying to get back to L’manburg. I know I have some blue in my chests there!”

Philza shakes his head, the wind blowing the snow around them in a blindingly white swirl for just a second. “Oh, Ghostbur… L’Manburg is gone. It was blown up.”

A pit of dread forms in the tiny’s soul. His brows knit together and he looks at Philza in horrified confusion, denial already forming a wall in his mind. “What?”

The giant birdman points with an ominous finger ahead of them. “If you’d like to reach L’Manburg, go through that portal. The snow storm is picking up. You don’t want to be caught in it.”

Ghostbur blinks and looks ahead at the previously empty forest path. Sure enough, a Nether portal stands tall, the brilliant purple shine cutting through the snow with ease. “Oh, you’re right! Philza, would you- Oh!”

A gust of wind comes again and Ghostbur shuts his eyes and nestles into Friend’s wool to avoid the worst of the snow. When he looks up again, his father is gone, vanished into the strange pine forest. “Oh… Well, I suppose we’d better head into the Nether if we want to get that blue, Friend. Off we go!”

Friend trudges through the snow drifts and steps through the portal into the blistering heat of the Nether dimension. It’s oddly silent, no piglin sounds or ghast blasts to greet them on the other side. Just the ominous vwooping sound of the portal behind them as they step onto the warm netherack.

Ghostbur takes a shaky breath, gripping Friend’s wool in his hands. The sheep headbutts him lightly. He pushes back with a laugh. “Yes, yes, I know. Just a short walk, right? We won’t be here long enough for something bad to happen.”

And with that, the two set off into the Nether. Friend’s ears flick from time to time as they traverse the dry area. After a while, the scenery starts looking the same. He swears they’ve passed the same lava pit at least three times now. This trip is turning out to be much longer than he thought.

The silence is strangely deafening. The glow of the lava is harsh and Friend’s wool is gaining a reddish hue from brushing against the netherack. Ghostbur takes out some blue dye and reapplies it to the sheep’s wool with a sigh. “I think we may be lost. I don’t know who we’re going to ask for help, though! There’s nobody around for chunks…”

A gruff voice and footsteps surprise the duo. A large shadow looms over them. “Ghostbur? What are you doing here? It’s dangerous in the Nether.”

The spector smiles as he turns around and zooms up to greet his brother’s seemingly bored face. “Technoblade! What luck that you found us! Me and Friend were trying to find the portal to L’Manburg so I can get some blue for Tommy!”

He hugs the piglin hybrid’s snout and floats a ways in front of him. Technoblade sighs and gives Ghostbur a gentle pat on the head, hand phasing through the tiny ghost slightly. He starts to walk in the direction Ghostbur and Friend were heading. “They don’t call me the human GPS for nothing. I’ll show you the way.”

The suffocating atmosphere of the hellish dimension eases up on Ghostbur as he and Friend trot after him. He gladly starts babbling away to his estranged brother. “Oh, thank you, Techno! I was getting worried we would never find our way out of here. See, we were heading this direction but I think we were going in circles! I don’t remember ever turning but you know my memory.”

Techno fixes him with a pitiful stare for a moment, pausing. There’s an aching feeling that tugs at Ghostbur’s soul as he’s trapped by it. Oh, he thinks, Techno must be sad too. I’ll make sure to find him later and give him some blue too!

Ghostbur continues cheerfully rambling on. “I ran into Philza earlier too! He was… well, I don’t quite remember but he helped Friend and I find the portal here! Sort of like you are too, come to think of it-”

“We’re here.” Technoblade interrupts with his signature monotone inflection, gesturing to a simple nether portal and turning back towards them. “Be careful out there. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Oh! Don’t worry, Technoblade!” The tiny ghost gives him an award-winning smile. “I’m already dead! I can’t get hurt.”

The piglin hybrid gives him a wistful smile and a pat on the head for both of them. He opens his mouth to say something but a loud cry from a ghast interrupts him. He whirls around with a shining netherite sword and bats the incoming fireball away. “Go! I’ll hold it off!”

The sudden appearance of a ghast startles the two fellows but Ghostbur hangs onto Friend as the sheep bolts towards the portal after a fireball explodes near them. He closes his eyes as they charge through the purple gateway.

Panic spikes through Ghostbur as he comes out the other side alone, facing blackstone walls. Oh dear, this isn’t where he meant to end up. These are the walls inside the prison where Dream is kept. He spins in a circle, looking around the room. “Friend? Where did you go?”

The portal shatters, the pieces dissolving into the air. Warden Sam walks up behind him, fixing him with a suspicious look. “I thought you said you were alone. Who’s this friend you’re talking about?”

The tiny spector jumps at the sudden appearance of the creeper hybrid, the red eyes burning holes into his transparent form. “Oh! Oh, uh! Nobody! I came alone and there’s no one with me!” He can’t place it, but something about the situation is making him very anxious. Confusion swims through his mind. He must be forgetting something. “I must have left Friend outside with Tommy…”

Feeling down about this, he reaches into his pockets to pull out some of his emergency blue, but his pockets are empty. “Ah? Where are my things? My book? My blue?”

“You put them in the chest,” Sam says. “You can have it back when you’re done visiting the prisoner.”

“Okay…”

Ghostbur doesn’t remember wanting to visit the prisoner. He just remembers looking for more blue to give to his family. And now he is stuck following this very spooky man down a very spooky staircase to a very spooky wall of lava with no blue to take away his fear and no Friend to keep him company. How had he ended up here?

Slowly, the lava parts, forming a walkway to the prison cell where a white, porcelain head smiles at him. Despite the heat, a chill goes up his spine. Ghostbur grips his sweater and looks back at Sam for reassurance but there’s no sign the hybrid had even been in the room. “Um- S-Sam? Are you hiding?”

Ghostbur wishes he could hide too. He’s not sure he’s going to find any blue over here. He turns around and gasps, suddenly much, much closer to Dream than before. The lava closes behind him as the monster stands. Ghostbur doesn’t remember crossing the sea of lava to get here but he must have because now there’s nothing separating him from this… friend? Tormentor? He doesn’t remember.

His chest is heaving with air he doesn’t need as Dream casually steps towards him, the mouth on his chest grinning impossibly wide. Dread forms in the pit of his stomach as a clawed hand reaches for him. He curls in on himself floating in the air, tears pricking at his eyes, terror thrumming through his heart.

He jerks awake with a yell and looks around for Friend. The cold, dark walls of the subway greets him and he curls up on himself, careful not to touch the wet floor. Shadowy figures who shift and shake if he looks at them crowd around the tubeline. He hiccups, tears welling in his eyes and burning their way down his cheeks.

“Oh, that’s right… I’m alone…”

He grips the blue stain in his sweater. His voice is impossibly quiet.

“I have no blue and I have no Friend…”

He starts crying, missing his family members, missing his sheep, missing the blue he would use to calm down. He sniffles.

“I’m sorry… I just wanted to make you all feel better…”

[thunder-at-dawn]

7 with eternalduo? lee!eret perhaps?? idk -paper anon

i loved writing this one so much oh my god thank you for this galaxy brain prompt paper anon

word count: 1,805

prompt list can be found here!

prompt 7: "i happen to know a weakness of yours."

warning: this is a sfw tickle fic! don't read if that makes you uncomfortable :]

The Red Banquet was an event that shook the land. Everyone who attended left with something in mind. Whether it be hope for the future or a feeling of dread, it was a night that no one would forget.

For Eret, they were reminded that they needed to be more alert.

They nearly died that night. They were almost sacrificed, and had no way of defending themselves. While royalty normally had knights in shining armor and didn’t have to ever defend themselves, Eret decided that would no longer be the case. The monarch had never really been the fighting type, and hopefully, would never have to be. They just decided that it was time to practice some skills.

One of the things that Eret did was set up an archery range. It was behind their castle, and had a small variety of targets to shoot at, all different lengths away from the starting line. They often spent quite a bit of time there, regularly practicing their aim and making sure to hit as many targets as they could.

Today was a relaxing day, a cool breeze flowing through the air with a slight overcast in the sky. Eret drew back their bow, taking a deep breath. The only noises around were just the chirps of bird and the wind passing through. Eret calmed their mind, focusing only on the target.

PING!

They unclenched their hand, watching the bow zip towards it’s target. It landed right in the center. A perfect bullseye.

“Woo!”

Eret paused, knowing that cheer didn’t come out of their own mouth. When they heard clapping, they turned around to see an old friend applauding for them.

“A bullseye! Bravo, old pal! Bravo!” Foolish clapped his hands together as he walked towards Eret. The monarch smiled and took bow, both of them now laughing at the antic.

“How’s your day been?” Eret asked, walking over to the targets to collect the arrows they had shot around.

“Eh, it’s been alright.” Foolish shrugged, crossing his arms and resting them on the fence post that acted as the shooting line. “Just been building stuff like usual, and I was in the area, so of course I had to pay a visit to my old pal! And you were exactly where I’d thought you be.”

“My castle?” Eret asked, pulling an arrow out of the target they had previously shot at.

“No, the archery range behind your castle. You’ve been spending a lot of time here for the past month or so, I’ve noticed.”

“Well, you know what they say. Practice makes perfect.” Eret nodded, stepping behind the fence and loading an arrow in their bow. As Foolish nodded in agreement to Eret’s statement, the monarch pulled back the drawstring, taking a deep breath and focusing on the target in front of them. They released the string, watching the arrow fly straight out towards the target and landing in the center. Another bullseye.

“WOO! Man, you’re good at this! I feel like… you’re just unstoppable! You’re a force of nature, nothing can take you down!” Foolish said in awe before pausing, a small smile on his face. “Well, actually, there is one thing.”

“The wind.” Eret answered with a small chuckle. “It’s definitely made things a lot harder out here than they normally are.”

“Oh, no. I was thinking of something else.” The totem-shark stepped closer to his friend, now grinning widely. “I happen to know a weakness of yours.”

“Oh really now? And what would that be?” Eret pulled back the drawstring to the bow, focusing and making sure the arrow would hit the target. They took a deep breath, ready to fire. However, right as they let go of the drawstring, they felt two hands suddenly squeeze at their side. The bow’s aim was suddenly shifted down, and the arrow landed right in front of the target, in the grass instead of on the target itself. Eret whipped around, only to be greeted by a grinning Foolish.

“The fact that you’re stupidly ticklish.” Foolish smirked as he looked as his friend, who scoffed with a grin on their face.

“Betrayal.” They mumbled, although they couldn’t help but laugh a bit to themselves.

“Oh, come on. It provides a fun challenge, doesn’t it? You try to shoot bullseyes into the targets, while I try to not make that happen. It’ll help you improve your skills!” Foolish suggested.

They looked at their old friend, chuckling as they loaded another arrow into the string. “Alright, challenge accepted.” They nodded, Foolish clapping his hands with excitement and standing behind Eret.

Eret stood in place, pulling back the drawstring once again. Everything was calm and peaceful until they started to feel one-finger pokes across their torso.

“Heyyyy, Eret! Are you gonna shoot that? Are you gonna shoot the arrow?” Foolish asked as he prodded around the monarch’s sides and stomach.

“Ihi’m trying to focus.” Eret said, a giggle slipping out.

“Oh? Was that a giggle? I thought I heard something, I guess I’ll have to prod a little more to get it out of ya, huh?” Foolish started to poke at the right side of Eret’s body with two rapid fingers. They tried to keep their laughter in and focus on the target, but they eventually broke into giggles, stumbling away from Foolish and letting go of the arrow. It flew out and landed on one of the white rings of the target.

“Looks like you gotta get some more practice in, huh?” Foolish teased. Eret rolled their eyes, moving to a target that was closer to them. They drew back an arrow, taking a breath and holding it steady. However, things wouldn’t be peaceful for long. Foolish quickly shot his hands up into Eret’s underarms, surprising the monarch and causing them to accidentally let go of the arrow. It shot upwards in the air, landing somewhere on the blue ring, above the bullseye.

“Foolish!” Eret whined lightheartedly.

“What?! You agreed to this!” Foolish shot back. Technically, he was right, but whatever. A challenge was a challenge.

Eret made their way to other targets on the shooting range, wanting to shoot a bullseye, but Foolish would be there to thwart their plans every time. He would poke at one spot repeatedly, taser them in the sides, blow light air onto their neck, and everything else imaginable to throw them off guard. It would work every time, as Eret was unable to hit a single bullseye.

The monarch set their sights on the furthest target away from the shooting line. This would be the last arrow Eret would shoot until they had to go and retrieve the arrows back from the targets. They drew back the string of the bow, holding it steady and waiting for Foolish to try to distract them. They let go, the arrow flying and landing on the blue ring.

“You didn’t do anything that time.” Eret acknowledged out loud, turning towards their friend.

“That’s right!” Foolish commented, not adding anything else.

Eret wouldn’t lie, they were a little bit suspicious. They watched Foolish closely, but shrugged it off when it seemed like they had no mischievous intent.

“…Alright.” Eret set the bow on the ground, turning their back to Foolish. “I’m going to go get the other arr- AH!”

Oh, how wrong they were to think that Foolish was going to let them off so easily. The demigod had tackled them to the ground, and he held Eret’s wrists so that they couldn’t try to escape.

“What? I had to catch you off guard somehow! You know, you gotta be aware of your surroundings when you’re shooting arrows, old pal! You never know when a monster could sneak up from behind and attack you! You could get blown up by a creeper, shot by a skeleton, your brain could get eaten by a zombie, or in this case…” Foolish grinned, letting go of Eret’s wrists and forming his hands into claw shapes. “You could get snuck up on by a tickle monster!”

Eret nervously tried to squirm away, but their friend was quick to shoot his hands down, clawing at the monarch’s stomachs with both hands. They tried to keep their laughter hidden inside of them, but quickly broke after a few seconds.

“Fohohoolihish, nohoHOho!” They giggled, weakly trying to push his hands away.

“Eret, I’m serious, you should be more careful! Tickle monsters can be very dangerous!” Foolish playfully warned his friend, skittering fingers all over their torso. “They hide in plain sight, just waiting for you to be caught off guard, and then they pounce! And after they attack, their victims can get really tired out, and leave them to be more prone to being attacked by other monsters!”

He spidered his fingers up and down Eret’s sides, relishing in every bit of laughter that came out of their mouth. They tried pushing his hands away, but had no success, their arms likely tired out from pulling back strings and arrows all day. Foolish moved his fingers up his friend’s body, dancing over their hips now.

“They’re extremely dangerous, my friend. They have a variety of strategies that they use, and no singular monster is alike any other. So if you get attacked by one, it’s attack will be very different from the second one you encounter!” Foolish squeezed at their hips, watching as Eret wasn’t even trying to fight back anymore, only laughing their head off.

“Eret! I’m trying to warn you and be serious, why are you laughing at me?! This is no laughing matter, old pal!” He shook his head, moving his hands up to scratch and scribble up and down their ribcage. Eret’s laughter quickly escalated in pitch, squirming around and weakly trying to fight Foolish off.

“NoHOHO- FOHOHOOLIHISH! YOHOU- YOHOU’RE-” The monarch attempted to talk back, but was interrupted by frequent squeaks and laughter flowing out of their mouth.

“I don’t get what’s so funny, Eret! This is very serious!” Foolish tried to stay straight-faced, but couldn’t help but smile when he saw his friend’s face. Eret’s sunglasses were starting to tilt off of their face, their hair was disheveled from so much thrashing, and a stupidly wide grin graced their face as high-pitched giggles came from their mouth.

“You still hanging in there?” Foolish asked as he slowed down the movements of his fingers to a stop. Eret nodded, still giggling as they adjusted their glasses and put them back properly on their face. The demigod reached out a hand, helping Eret off of the ground.

“Gotta be more careful next time, old pal! You never know when a monster might attack.”

“Oh, shut up.” Eret shoved his friend lightly. The two friends looked at each other, smiles on their faces as happy laughter filled the fields.

[heliads]

Changing Perspectives

At first, Steve Rogers thinks that the new S.H.I.E.L.D. agent darkening the hallways of Avengers Tower is nothing more than a thorn in his side. Then again, there might be more to her than what meets the eye.

masterlist

Steve hurries through the halls of Avengers Towers, ducking and dodging around startled agents if he decides they’re not moving quickly enough. Steve has a debriefing in a few minutes; he had started out with good intentions and a promise to himself to be on time for once but he got sidetracked somewhere just before leaving his front door and his head start has quickly evaporated. So much for trying to be punctual.

Steve skids around one final corner, slowing his pace to pretend he hadn’t been rushing and heads purposefully into the debriefing room. He slides into a seat in the back, next to Natasha. “You might want to be careful, Rogers,” She says, turning to face him with a grin that borders on gleeful, “I don’t think it would do good things for your All American Boy reputation if you were caught arriving less than five minutes before a debriefing.”

Steve rolls his eyes, pulling out the case file on whatever mission he’s about to hear about from where it’s been wedged underneath his arm. Truth be told, he was supposed to have read it in advance, but he didn’t bother to make the time to do so, preferring to keep it propped insistently against the corner of his desk as if its proximity to him would encourage Steve to read it in any way.

Steve has just started to flip through the case file in the hopes of finding a quick summary when the lights dim and the speakers arrive. There are two or three of them, each dressed in the familiar dark and practical clothing designating them as S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, primarily researchers. 

Steve finishes his quick scan of the case file while the researchers drone on, but even after his reading is completed he can’t quite bring himself to pay attention. Maybe it’s the dark of the room, or the monotonous voices of the agents, but Steve’s focus drifts away from the debriefing on hand and out the window next to him. The view of the New York skyline is breathtaking, as always. Sometimes it’s strange to be able to see the city like this, new technology practically bursting out of every street corner. Steve may have spent a lot of time in the twenty-first century by now, but some nagging part of him still doesn’t think it’s right to see such a modern city as commonplace.

Steve is rudely awakened from his thoughts by the sound of his name coming from the lips of one of the agents. Steve jolts back to reality, turning to face the agents as if he’d been paying attention all along. “..and that’s what we had planned so far. Are we in agreement, Rogers?” Steve glances from the projected display overhead to Natasha’s position in her case file, which is conveniently flopped open to the proper section.

“Well, I don’t see any problems there. S.H.I.E.L.D.’s new policies, especially, the Paper Cards Protocol, should cover the previous breaches in security. I think the question is more how quickly you’ll be able to implement them.” Steve leans back in his chair, feeling satisfied with his answer. It’s pretty easy to fake attention- just yammer on about security and throw in a couple of keywords that he had just seen in the case files. Normally, this is enough to deter any of the S.H.I.E.L.D. researchers, as they always seem too overwhelmed by the idea of contradicting a national hero to question him any further.

The agent in front of him, however, does not appear to be cut from the same cloth. She folds her arms across her chest. “Excellent answer, Rogers. Just curious- is there anything more specific you’d like to say, or are you happy to stick with the same general statement you just read out of Agent Romanoff’s booklet?”

Steve stares at her for a moment, surprised and the agent continues on without giving him a chance to speak. “See, this is exactly what I’m talking about. Not to keep bashing on Rogers, but most everyone here is content with ignoring protocols and policies brought up by lesser agents in favor of sticking to what they’ve always done. Why do we need new security, and why new protocols? It’s because no one’s actually paying attention to what we already have and it makes us have to think four steps ahead instead of the regular two.”

Steve frowns up at the agent as she continues talking, unable to feel the sting of her criticism through his confusion. Steve realizes that he actually doesn’t recognize this particular agent- never seen her before, not even in passing through the halls. Yet according to the neat rows of colored insignias designating her position in the S.H.I.E.L.D. ranks, she’s actually a pretty important agent. Maybe only a few ranks below Natasha.

The agent notices his gaze. “Yes, I’m new to this area. Just returned from an international mission. Name’s Y/N L/N, but you would have known that had you been paying more attention to the debriefing at hand instead of whatever might be going on out there.” She says, waving a hand in the general direction of the window. In front of him, Natasha smirks. “Already cutting to the bone on your first day back, L/N?” Y/N’s previously cool demeanor cracks as she flashes Natasha a grin. “Maybe so.”

The two agents (and friends, apparently) share a laugh before Y/N continues on with her debriefing. Steve is left to stew in his corner of the room, biting his cheek and wishing that of all the days to not pay attention, he hadn’t chosen this one. Steve’s usually the one to be in control of the room like this, usually the one to center the conversation and prove to everyone why he’s got the reputation everyone’s so familiar with. Y/N remains aloof and in control, completely and utterly aware of the effect she’s having on him and obviously proud of it.

Steve decides that he loathes her.

Tony’s throwing some sort of party again. Honestly, Steve cannot figure out what delights the man so with wasting large sums of his money just to impress the general public, who would have followed Tony anywhere if he so much as looked at him. Yet here Steve is, uniform disregarded for some nice clothes he had to dig out of the corner of his closet designated ‘Not bloodstained, could be worn to media events.’

As he arrives at the Avengers Tower, which has been newly redecorated to reflect the festive mood, Steve begins to remember why Tony’s having this particular gala. Some new invention launched into the public, some big deal that’ll have his face splashed across the front pages for weeks. As Steve straightens his shirt collar and heads inside, he’s enveloped by the roar of noise typical of Tony’s parties.

A few hours in, the bottles are already popped and Steve wants nothing more than to leave. If you’re like him and can’t get drunk, it gets pretty hard to pass the time. Just as he’s heading to the door, though, Nat notices his escape attempt and blocks his path. She laughs at his disappointed look as she pulls him back into the fray. 

“You can’t leave, not yet. Tony’s about to set off some fireworks, and if I have to stick through his entire thing, so do you.” Steve groans, but allows Natasha to walk with him to the doors leading outside. It’s a brisk night, with a cool wind cutting the heat of the tower. There’s the sound of a countdown rolling across the dark of the night, and then the answering boom and flash of the fireworks.

Steve has to admit that they’re impressive. If there’s one thing Tony can do well, it’s another display of opulence. Steve still isn’t used to the bright colors and shapes that are typical of modern fireworks, and he finds himself standing there in awe for longer than he expected.

Then, his attention is caught by a brief flash of movement in the middle of the cheering partygoers. Everyone here is happy, celebrating, having fun, but this one figure looks panicked, and is slipping as fast as they can towards the doors to get away. Steve blinks his eyes a few times to clear them, staring at the person rushing inside. With a slight twist to his stomach, Steve realizes it’s Y/N, and she looks more upset than he’s ever seen before. It’s strange to see her usually indifferent face twisted with something that looks almost like terror.

Steve is leaving the party before he realizes, desperate to get to her. What if something is terribly wrong? He has a feeling that it’s not HYDRA or some other enemy attack, because Natasha and Tony don’t seem worried, but Y/N, Y/N is not doing very well at all.

Steve is just rounding a corner when he sees her. She’s flung herself down on the ground in a dead end of a hallway, hands clamped down over her ears and back hunched as if to protect herself. Steve hesitates where he is, just out of her sight, when he sees the tears starting to wash down her cheeks. As Steve stands there, he realizes that she’s saying something over and over again. There’s a pang in Steve’s chest as he realizes she’s repeating the same simple sentence again and again, as if by hearing it one more time she’ll snap out of whatever haze she’s trapped in.

You’re not in Kolograd anymore. You’re not in Kolograd anymore. You’re not in Kolograd anymore.

Steve recognizes the name of that city- it’s some distant town in Russia, the place where she recently completed a mission. It was supposed to be some tiny corner of the country, but it instead housed dozens of HYDRA facilities. Steve had heard rumors that the mission hadn’t exactly gone to plan, but Y/N had seemed fine and so everyone had just forgotten it. Looking at Y/N now, though, Steve realizes none of that was true. He doesn’t know what happened in Kolograd, but it was enough to scar Y/N even now, to the point where she would have to put up a front everyday and pretend she was fine.

Steve decides that he may have misjudged her.

The night is late, the curtains drawn. Most of the Avengers have finally dragged themselves away to bed, leaving behind rumpled couch cushions where they had previously sat, where the room had filled with the last dregs of conversation finally run out. Some government official had sent over a few bottles of wine and other spirits, clearly in the hopes that a few expensive gifts would spare them from checking into his history with shady business dealings. There would be no such luck for him.

However, these now empty bottles meant that the night was not as quiet as it usually was. Steve, wanting to clear his head of the drunken haze that permeated everything in the room except for himself, slipped out of the room and opened the doors to a balcony. He steps out and leans against the railing, savoring the rush of focus that the cool air brings. He barely notices the door open again behind him, and then another figure comes to stand next to him.

Steve smiles when he realizes it’s Y/N. She, of course, is just another regular agent who lacks Steve’s cursed ability to not get drunk, and Steve notes the scent of alcohol on her tongue and the slight sway in her steps that usually isn’t found among her normal balance and care. 

Y/N breathes in the cool night air, letting her shoulders sink, then turns to face Steve. “I feel like I should be envious of you and your super-fast metabolism, but to be honest it’s kind of nice to not have any worries right now.” Steve chuckles quietly at that. “I do miss it, to be honest. Every now and then, it wouldn’t be the worst thing to be able to let go of everything.”

Y/N considers this for a while, her eyes still on Steve. In this moment, he realizes that the balcony is small, and the two of them are barely a few inches apart. She’s right there, just in reach, and he supposes he isn’t exactly surprised when she leans forward and kisses him.

Her lips are warm and soft against the biting chill of the wind, and Steve’s a little disappointed when she breaks away. Steve doesn’t say anything, and maybe that’s why Y/N gets this panicked look in her eyes like she’s terrified she’s ruined everything. She forces a light giggle. “It looks like I’ve had too much to drink. I think I’m going to head in.”

Steve realizes how this looks and wraps his arm around her waist to stop her from turning away. “It’s not a mistake, and you don’t have to pretend that you’re that drunk just to get away from it.” Y/N frowns at that, pausing where she stands. “What?” Steve glances down at her. “You’re afraid to really say how you feel, so you’re blaming it on the closest thing in sight. You don’t have to hide anymore, Y/N.”

She stares at him for a second, then her confused frown turns into a laugh. “You know, I thought I was supposed to be the deciphering agent who could see through anyone, but you’ve read me far too well.” Steve smiles back at her. “Maybe I’m making it up because I want an excuse.” Y/N cocks an eyebrow at him. “An excuse for what?” “This.” Steve leans forward and kisses her again. This time, she doesn’t lean away. This time, Steve’s fairly sure he’s found the one girl he can finally rely on, to have his back and to keep him around forever.

Steve decides that he loves her.

[kaitycole]

Love Two: the hard love

Summary: Miya Atsumu is an adventure and a half which is exciting for you after a mundane high school relationship. But what price has to be paid in order for you to be in his world?

Parings: Atsumu x Reader

Word Count: 7187 (my apologies)

Warnings: Angst. Toxic relationship tropes. Toxic behaviors. Slight physical violence (towards the end - it’s a wrist grab and a slap). Adult language.

Rating: 16+

A/N: This series is based on an article that talks about how in live, most of us experience three types of love. I’ll link the article in the series master post for anyone who wants to read it!

Golden yellow hair.

Chocolate brown eyes.

Burnt cinnamon cologne.

These images burn into your mind as tears sting your dry eyes. You swallow hard, trying to get the lump in your throat to dislodge but it only reminds you of how dry your throat is, how sore it is from screaming. Your head lays heavy on your pillow, a dull ache wraps around your head and you aren’t sure if it’s from the alcohol or the crying you’ve done over the last three days.

You two had a fight, another fight, the same old fight. You screamed, he brushed it off, leaving in a rush and slamming the door while you slid down the doorframe, sobbing. You thought that you’d be used to this, the constant up and downs that came with loving Miya Atsumu, the rollercoaster of emotions that came with the cycle of being together, breaking up and then getting back together. You’d been doing it for three years now, on and off again, but never being off for long before he dragged you back into his arms, not that you ever refused.

Your head hangs to the side as you slowly push yourself off the floor, your body too tired after fighting to climb into your bed the night before. For a moment you consider crawling down the hall before your pride takes over as you stand up, legs stiff but wobbly at the same time as your feet drag you to the couch in the living room. You aren’t sure what time it is, your eyes slowly adjusting to the large amount of sunlight coming into the apartment, the apartment he surprised you with and you had loved, now it felt like a prison.

Your phone starts buzzing and when you look, there’s several notifications from your two best friends Kaneko Yua and Higashi Naoki. You shuffle to the kitchen, grabbing a cup as you perch your phone between your shoulder and cheek, filling you cup with tap water.

“Y/N! Where are you?” Yua’s voice is too loud for the linger ache in your head, you jerk the phone from your ear to turn the volume down.

You chug down the ice-cold water that does nothing to remove the dryness from your mouth or throat, it’s as if it’s been coated in a thick layer of cotton. “Apartment.”

She’s silent for a minute, you can hear her mumbling to someone next to her. There’s a muffled sound coming from her end before a new voice comes through the line, fresh tears prick your eyes when you recognize it’s Naoki.

“We’re coming over, don’t leave.”

*                      * Three years ago

Your high school days had been filled with volleyball matches, practices, tournaments and while you have no ill feelings towards the sport or the boy who brought it into your life, you just hoped university would broaden your horizons.

Yet here you stood at a MSBY Fan Greet, your younger brother all but vibrating with excitement as he waited to get his overprice photograph signed by his favorite team. You previously made plans to hang-out with Yua over the spring break, but since your parents both couldn’t take him, your brother guilted you with the  “but I miss hanging out with you” card and puppy dog eyes.

“For you.” His accent coats his words, passing you small folded piece of paper before your brother makes his way down the line to the next player for an autograph, tugging at your pants for you to follow his lead.

** “Wanna get something from the vending machine before the next class?” Yua asks. Kaneko Yua became your friend when you both started university last year, the two of you quickly became the best of friends even though the only interests you share is in your shared Art History major.

“I’m done for the day.” You tilt your head, smiling right before you stick your tongue out at her.

She throws her head back, groaning as you continue to walk, “how’d you get such a good schedule.”

“Told you to take those early morning classes.” You wink before running into her as she suddenly stops. “Yua-ch—”

Golden yellow hair and a cocky smile catch your attention as he leans against a flash sports car in the library parking lot. Yua looks at you, her eyes wide, you had mentioned that you got his number a few weeks ago to her, but that nothing but short conversation came from the exchange which only lasted a few days.

“Y/N!” He calls out to you, obnoxiously waving one arm up in the air to catch your attention, it does, along with the rest of the student body that’s outside.

He starts walking over to you and Yua, pulling off his sunglasses you see that dark chocolate eyes that captured your (e/c) ones just weeks ago. Your heart is thumping against your chest as he quickly closes that gap that has been between you, a short arm’s distance away from him. You can smell his cologne, it’s a strong smell, something similar to burnt cinnamon being carried by the wind the circles around you.

Yua looks at you for answers but you couldn’t give her any if you even tried. You find yourself swallowed whole by his dark eyes, feeling like you’re about to sink. “M-Miya-san?”

“Atsumu.” He smirks, “sorry for just showing up. I was in the neighborhood and thought we could go get something to eat. You aren’t busy, are you?”

“No, she’s not.” Yua nudges your arm, bringing you back to reality, “she’s actually all finished for the day.”

“What do you say? Will you come with me?” He reaches out his hand and you almost immediately take it and maybe you should’ve been more cautious, after all this wasn’t like it was in high school.

** The first few months with Atsumu are blissful, perfect and you start to wonder if this is what you were missing back with Ushijima. Every day with Atsumu is an adventure, you never know what to expect which is a sharp contrast to that same day everyday feeling you had back in high school. He keeps you on your toes and you love it, you eat it up, spending all your free time with him and it shows when you get back a test with a failing mark.

“Budding romances aren’t the most important thing in life, Y/N.” Your professor speaks low when he places the paper on the desk, he doesn’t have to tell you how he feels about it, disappointment drips from his words.

Atsumu didn’t offer much help on the subject either, simply shrugging at it and telling you that there’s always the next test. “Let’s go out.” “I really should study, ‘Tsumu.” You tilt your head back to look up at him, he’s sitting on the couch behind you.

He says your name, dragging out each syllable, “it’s the last night I can. I have an away game that I leave for on Friday.”

“You didn’t tell me that.” “Must have forgot.” He looks down at his phone, “coming or not?”

You know that you shouldn’t have gone, that studying is more important, but him leaving meant that you’d be apart for the first time and he had that lopsided pout on his face, so you agree. Grabbing your jacket and following him out the door as he drapes an arm around you, “I can always count on you.”

*                      * Two years and four months ago

“I’m gonna kill him!” Yua shouts as she walks into your dorm room. She practically ran from her part-time job in the library to your dorm when you called her, unable to talk from crying so loudly. While she took the elevator up to your room, she managed to see the text explaining the cause of your distress and is fuming.

“You’ll…go…to jail.” You finally manage to spit out, the sobs and hiccups breaking up your words as you wipe your running nose on your sweatshirt sleeve. Usually Yua would scold you, telling you just how disgusting that it, but tonight she just sits next to you, letting you lean on her shoulder.

She gently rubs your arm as she wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer to her side, “maybe I’ll key that fancy car of his.”

“I think it’s his brother’s.”

“Deflate his balls!”

“Yua!”

“Volleyballs, get your head out of the gutter.” She smiles when you let out a small laugh. She leans her head down on yours and you are thankful that you’re close enough for the silence to be comfortable, for certain things to be left unsaid.

*                      * Two years and two months ago

The next few weeks seem to drag by, each day seemingly longer than the last. Yua has all but moved into your dorm, refusing to leave your side for more than the duration of classes. With her there, you realize even more that your phone hasn’t gone off, there’s no surge of messages coming through from a certain setter. Things take a bit of a turn when you hear a nearby conversation, two girls gushing about some famous model getting into a relationship to a volleyball player.

But it’s that said volleyball player’s name that anchors your feet to the ground, that name that echoes in your ears while your lungs struggle to take in the air you want to force into them.

Miya Atsumu

Yua essentially banned the use of his name or anything related to him into your life and for better or worse you’ve both manage to uphold it, especially seeing how with his newest brand deal, his face is everywhere just like Michael Jordan’s was in the U.S. during the 90’s. Somehow, you manage to avoid it, until now when your body seems to act on its own and you’re sudden reading several headlines confirming the match.

*                      * Two years ago

“Are you sure you’ll be okay alone?” Yua looks at you, worry etched on her expression, “I don’t have to go to this guest speaking event.”

“Yua, you’ve been talking about this for weeks, you’re going.”

“Promise to call if you need me to come back? I’m only going to Tokyo, so I can get back within three hours.”

“Yes, yes, I promise.” You make a “shoo” gesture with your hand, walking towards her as she picks up her back to leave. You pull her into a quick hug, reassuring her that everything will be fine for one weekend.

** You let out a dramatic sigh, towel drying your hair as you walk out of the bathroom and towards your bed.

8PM on a Friday and I’m getting ready for bed, lame.

You’re slipping on a pair of fuzzy socks when the music you’ve been playing gets interrupted by a phone call. Within much thought, assuming it’s Yua, you answer, only to stop in your tracks when a familiar and husky voice calls your name.

“Y/N!” Each syllable of your name is drawn out with a slight lag, a telltale sign that he’s intoxicated.

If Yua was there, she would tell you to just hang up and block the number, that you had been doing better lately and should just let someone else deal with it, but Yua isn’t there and you feel that it must mean something if you had been the one he called.  Drunken words are sober thoughts, right?

His drunken voice and repeated plea of your name is enough to melt you, enough to make you throw all rational thought out the window, quickly throwing on a hoodie, rushing to the address he barely slurred out.

Fortunately, the restaurant he is at isn’t too far from your dorm, however it is embarrassing when you walk in and could hear him across the room, shouting for you.

“Atsumu.”

He quickly turns to you, that sloppy grin of his piercing you in the heart as he stumbles over to throw his arms around you. The scent of alcohol hits you before he does, leaving you to wonder just how much he’s had as you stagger backwards a bit before steadying the both of you. You just barely get the both of you to a cab, his constant swaying challenging you until you’re able to shove him in the vehicle, hesitating when asked where they were taking you. You didn’t know where he was staying these days, you still weren’t sure what he was doing in Kyoko, so you settle for the only address you know to go.

** “Are you serious?” Yua shouts, all but pulling out her hair.

Three weeks. That’s how long Atsumu had been back in your life and how long your best friend had been in the dark about it. You wanted to tell her about the night Atsumu called drunk, but felt it was best to do it in person since it was such a touchy subject, but when she got back, she was still so excited about the speaker and to tell you about it, you lost your nerve.

Then as the days continued to go by, you kept coming up with a reason not to tell her. What you weren’t expecting was her for to just show up out of the blue or for a fresh out of the shower Atsumu to answer the door. You felt confrontation coming and that was something you weren’t a huge fan of.

“I know it looks bad, but I can explain.”

Yua shakes her head, her lips in a straight line, foot tapping on the tile flooring. “This is why you’ve been cutting classes and missing assignments.”

“I don’t see how this is your business at all.” Atsumu glances over at Yua, an amused smirk on his lips, “jealousy doesn’t suit you, sweetheart.”

Yua turns abruptly on her heel, storming out of the dorm room and when you grab her arm, there’s tears in her eyes when she turns to face you.

“He’s changed, Yua.” There’s such a hopeful look on your face, an expression that screams that you actually believe him.

She drags her arm across her eyes, wiping away the tears, “why can’t you see he’s not good for you!”

*                      * 1 year and 10 months ago

The shuffling of your peers is lost on you, motionlessly staying in your seat as all of those around you practically bolt out after the 55 minutes long public speaking class. Your eyes are trained on the board in front of you but the notebook on your desk is unopened, your pen still capped.

It takes a few moments for you to notice the weight of the hand on your shoulder and the back and forth motion it's pushing you in. Shaking your head, you snap out of whatever daze you’ve been in and look over to see Naoki with a concerned expression on his face.

“Do you need to see the nurse?”

You shake your head, “oh, no. I was just thinking.”

He raises an eyebrow at the quick smile you throw his way before he sighs, giving into your excuse, even after only knowing each other a few months, Naoki knew when to just let things go.

“Good morn—You aren’t Yua.” You stopped your greeting when you noticed the shuffling at the chair next to you wasn’t Yua but someone you’d never seen before.

“Oh no, sorry. I’m Higashi Naoki, I just transferred here.” He gave you a big bright smile, extending his hand out.

“Uh, oh, hello.” You felt embarrassment creep up the back of your neck as you awkwardly shook his hand. Luckily your phone vibrated, allowing you to focus your attention to something else other than the rather attractive brunette sitting next to you.

You read the words on the screen, somewhat understood the meaning of them but your mind kept going back to the warm orange brown eyes that looked at you with such kindness. They reminded you of the way you felt back in high school, the way that Ushijima made sure you always felt: safe.

To your surprise, Yua had already met Naoki, they shared the glass before this one and Yua was actually excited that you two had ended up meeting. After that, the three of you were fast friends, almost as if you had all been friends for years rather than just several weeks. But not everyone was excited for your new friendship and he had no problem being very vocal about it.

Atsumu wasn’t keen on the friendship when he randomly showed up to the campus one day, seeing the two of you sitting outside, laughing. You had to run after him, he took off without letting you even introduce Naoki, trying to tell him that he was just a friend, but Atsumu seemed to already have his mind made up on what was what.

A week later, after not hearing from Atsumu you got a message from him telling you that he needed to dedicate himself more to his team, his career and being in a relationship with you just wasn’t it.

“You can copy my notes during lunch, Y/N.”

“Thanks, Nao-chan!” You smile up at him while shoving your things into your backpack. He clears his throat, blush spreading across his cheeks as he turns away from you.

** Professor A: Missing Assignments

Professor B: Make-up Test Notice

Professor C: Mandatory Advisor Meeting

XMail: Unread Messages (12)

You feel a pit in your stomach, not wanting to read the emails, already knowing the disappointed messages they held. You hadn’t been your best self lately especially when it came to your studies and had several unfinished assignments and 0’s in the gradebook. It wasn’t like this was the first time you and Atsumu had been broken up but for some reason, each time felt worse than the previous time.

Leaning back, you let out a deep sigh as you glance around at the boxes that liter the room. After you and Atsumu broke up the most recent time, Yua managed to convince you to move into her off-campus apartment. At first you didn’t like the idea, not wanting to be a burden to her or cause anyone to think anything of her with you living with her, but she wouldn’t heard anything but yes. She told you that she had the space (her parents insisted on getting her a two bedroom even though it was just her) and it was easier for her to keep an eye on you.

There are still some things that are in boxes, mostly things from Atsumu that you didn’t want to toss out, but didn’t think should be on display either. Plus, with all the catching up you had to do, there wasn’t much time for anything else especially with the schedule that Yua had made for you. The two of you shared most classes, so she had all the notes and study guides you needed and to be honest, it helped keep your mind off a certain MSBY setter.

BZZT!

Nao-chan: I’m heading up, let me in! (1:42PM)

A smile spreads across your face, pushing yourself from the desk and quickly slipping out of your room and towards the door. By the time you open it, you see him walking up the hallway and he flashes you his signature smile when his eyes meet yours.

“Nao-chan!” You crash into him, wrapping him into a hug, one that he returns effortlessly.

“What have I done to get such a warm welcome?”

“I can’t just miss you?” You tilt your head when you look up at him, stepping away from him to look him in the eye. You hold back a laugh when you see his face turn red, turning his face away from you before mumbling something along the lines of “yeah, no, that’s fine.”

You bring back two cups of juice (Yua refused to let soda into the apartment) and notice that Naoki seems to be nervous, wringing his hands together and looking down at the ground which is different that he usually acts.

“Nao-chan, what’s wrong?”

“Oh, uhm, well I wanted to ask you something.” He makes eye contact with you and you nod for him to continue, “I bought these and thought we could go together.”

He pulls something out of the inside pocket of his jacket, passing it to you and for a second your blood runs cold, eyes scanning over the item picking up the word ‘volleyball’. By the warmth suddenly on your arm, you could tell that Naoki sensed your discomfort.

“Forget it, it was a dumb idea.”

“No! It’s not, it’s just…uhm…”

“I just thought that it might be a good way to get out of the apartment and it’s an Adlers’ game so maybe you’d seen your friend.”

You scrunch your brows together before looking back at the tickets. It was for a game between the Schweiden Adlers and Tachibana Red Falcons, a smile spread across your face, a mix of excitement to see Ushijima play again (his play style is still one of your favorites) but also that Naoki remembered these little facts about you.

“I’d love to go. I’ll call Ushijima and tell him we’ll be there!” You give him a quick hug, rushing to your room to get your phone, leaving a smiling Naoki behind.

** Naoki smiles watching you all but vibrate as you wait in line to go into the gym. The game had been all you talked about for the last two weeks, eager to get out of the apartment for anything other than classes or your on-campus job. You spent most of your free time telling Naoki just how amazing Ushijima is on the court and how he had already asked to meet Naoki, who seemed a bit nervous when you mentioned that.

“I didn’t know you liked watching volleyball, Nao-chan. Did you play in school?”

“Oh, uh no. The person I’m interested in likes it, so I thought I’d learn more about it.” He hands over the tickets, the two of you being ushered into to the building. His shoulder brushes yours due to the large amount of people all in the crowed hallway.

“I didn’t know you had your eye on someone! I’ll teach you all I know about volleyball so you can impress them!” You beam a huge smile at Naoki before your attention is pulled to the other side of the hallway. “Nao-chan! Let’s get t-shirts!”

He follows you as you drag him towards a table set up with shirts to memorialize the game. You intended to get matching ones, but due to size differences, you had a settle with a white shirt for you and a black on for Naoki. After you reluctantly let him pay, the two of you make your way to the gym, Ushijima had seats held for the two of you.

Once the whistle blew, you were back in your element, a huge smile on your face watching Ushijima command the court just like he had been for as long as you could remember. For the first time in years, you feel light and free, happier than you can remember being. Ushijima catches your eye at some point during the second set and you eagerly wave to him, giving him that same toothy grin you did as kids.

** “Toshi!” You barely give him time to turn around, running straight into him as you throw your arms around him, both Toshi and Naoki chuckle at the fact you managed to knock Toshi off balance for a few seconds.

“Y/N.” He pulls you into his broad chest and if you hadn’t known him for years, you wouldn’t believe that this tall and muscular man was the same boy who ran around with a watering can that was almost as big as him. “I’m glad you came today, it’s been a while.”

“Since high school.” You bite your lower lip and notice that Toshi squeezes your arm, a gesture he’d do to comfort you. He gives you a reassuring wink, letting you know that there’s no hard feelings about the past before he looks over at Naoki, “are you going to introduce me to your boyfriend?”

“Oh no! No, no, no.” You stumble over your words, frantically waving your hands around.

“I’m Higashi Naoki, nice to meet you.”

“Nao-chan is just a friend.”

Linking your arm with his, you look back at him and see his smile drop for a split second before it reappears while shaking hands with Ushijima but that quickly leaves your mind when you see a familiar poof of orange hair. But before you can take the time to figure out who he is, you hear an accent that you don’t think you’ll ever be able to forget.

“Just friends, huh?”

Your eyes widen in horror, immediately turning and seeing the familiar sight of golden yellow hair walking away from you.

“Y/N—” Naoki reaches out to grab your arm, but you’ve already started running after Atsumu, calling out his name as you rushed to catch up to him, weaving through the crowded hallways.

“Tsumu!” You finally grab ahold of his wrist, trying to pull him back but instead he just yanks you forward as he tries to get his arm away from you.

“Don’t call me that.” His tone is icy with an expression that matches, “why are you even here?”

“I came to see Tos—Ushijima.”

“I mean why are you here talking to me, you are clearly on a date with what’s his face.”

“Nao-chan? We’re just friends, it was just to get out of the apartment and have fun.” Your voice is trembling, bottom lip quivering listening to the harsh tone of his voice.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes, “you were all over him, just stop lying.”

“No! I wasn’t.” The tears you’ve been trying to hold back now slip down your cheeks, you couldn’t figure out why he was acting like this especially when you were broken up.

“I never thought you’d end up like all those other girls, just another pig wanting to date me for status.”

Your heart is pounding loudly in your ears that you don’t hear whatever else he mumbled before turning and walking away, your arm weakly reaches out to him before your knees hit the vinyl flooring. After several moments pass, you feel someone pull you up and wrap their arms around you, the familiar scent of men’s body wash washes over you.

“Thank you.” You choke out, the comforting embrace causing more tears to fall.

“Best friends forever, right?”

*                      * 1 year and 3 months ago

“Are people looking at me?”

“Huh?” Yua raises an eyebrow as she looks over at you.

“There’s a psychology term for that feeling, it’s called spotlight effect.” Naoki says, trying to reassure you that no one’s looking.

“No, I think she’s right.” Yua stretches an arm out in front of him, causing him to stop walking before you drop your backpack on the ground, shocked.

Atsumu is standing on campus, wearing a suit, carrying a stupidly large bouquet of flowers, going around asking where you are, all but shouting your name to the sky. Part of you wants to disappear, of course he’d choose to stand in the middle of campus, catching everyone’s attention.

You trip slightly over your bag, marching towards him, barely hearing Naoki calling after you before Atsumu’s attention snaps to you, his eyes locking in on yours.

“Y/N!” Gleefully, he scurries towards you, handing the bouquet to you, it’s heavier than you thought it’d be.

“Atsumu, what are you doing?”

“I want, no, I need to talk to you.” He drops down to his knees and you can hear the increase of hushed tones, you glance back to see a very confused Yua and Naoki wears a horrified expression. “I’d like to try again, please.”

“Atsumu…”

“I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”

“Okay, okay, just…please get up. People are staring.” You try to hide your face behind the flowers, the pure embarrassment causing your face to burn.

He pushes himself off the ground, grabbing your hand as he pulls you towards the faculty parking lot. It doesn’t feel like you are in your own body, your legs moving to keep up with him before he stops.

Once again, he drops down to his knees, grabbing your hands with his, pleading with you to listen to him, to believe that he really means it when he tells you that he’s changed, asking you for just one more shot. For most of his speech, you look at the top of his head, seeing that the golden yellow is being overtaken by his natural dark brown roots, your fingers twitch, wanting to run through his hair. It’s when you finally lock eyes with him that you see the tears that line them, a single one slipping down his cheek from the corner of his right eye.

“I shouldn’t have come.” He wipes his eyes, sniffling a bit. He squeezes your hands before he stands up, letting you go. “I’m sorry for doing this you.”

There’s no way to explain it, but he seems different and suddenly you want to see this new him, to be the one that gets to be part of this new and mature Atsumu. Throwing all your sense out the window, pushing the rational and logical voices of Yua and Naoki to the back of your head, you wrap your arms around him, pressing your face into his back and you can feel his heart pounding in his chest.

“Don’t go.”

*                      * 9 months ago

“Y/N! Door!”

Still in the process of buttoning your shirt, you poke your head out of your room, “I’m almost done, can you get it, please?”

Yua and Naoki share a look, when you had told them you decided to get back with Atsumu they weren’t shy about telling you how they were against it, that as your friend they hated seeing you so hurt, but they also told you that they weren’t just going to leave you either. It had been an unspoken rule that when it came to all things Atsumu (including opening the door) that they didn’t want to be part of it, for you to keep that part of your life away, unless he did something to hurt you.

Naoki reluctantly gets up, you can tell by the way he sluggishly walks his way towards the door. Dipping back into your room, you finish getting ready, grabbing your phone and sweater before pulling the door shut behind you.

You hear the door slam shut and look to see an irritated Naoki, “where’s Tsumu?” Naoki goes to speak, but you don’t give him a chance, instead just rush out of the apartment.

“Tsumu! Tsumu!” You shout out to him, barely catching his attention as he presses the button for the elevator. “Where are you going?”

He clenches his fist; the gesture catches your eye. “Home. I didn’t sign up to be humiliated tonight.” He looks at you, a type of rage in his eyes that you’ve never seen before and you aren’t sure what could’ve happened to make him so upset. Since he showed up on campus, begging for another chance eh always made sure to be open about his feelings.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You have to tell me, Tsumu.”

“I just don’t like him being in your apartment.”

The elevator dings, doors opening and just as he goes to step into it, you pull back on his arm, pleading with him to stay, tears filling your eyes. He jerks his arm from your grip, not that you were holding on that tightly, and he steps into the elevator.

You aren’t sure why your relationship is like this, why it has so many ups and downs, why it hurts this much. You aren’t sure why being with Atsumu is so hard, why it feels like all you see is his back while he walks away from you, leaving you broken each time. In high school, you hated the almost boring way each day with Ushijima felt, but in this moment, you’d give anything for that because at least back then you felt safe and knew where you stood.

*                      * 5 months ago

For the last four months, Atsumu spoiled you rotten with daily gifts and elaborate dates. You received a flower a day, it was the flower of your birth month, boxes of your favorite candies, along with cards that had some romantic quote in them.

For dates, he takes you to the best restaurants, buys out move theatres, flies you to various parts of Japan to not only watch his games, but to show you around. When you’re together, he actually listens to you, takes his time to finally get to ask you about your upbringing, family, and where you see yourself in five years. He shows you how he’s remembered things you don’t like and even the things that you do and for the first time in the two plus years you’ve known him, it feels like things are starting to even out, that all the turmoil might just be over.

** “Do you like it?” His accent drips from his words, you’ve noticed the accent gets thicker when he’s either nervous or excited.

You glance around the empty apartment, a bit confused as why you’re standing in the middle of it. You thought that Yua apartment was big, considering it had two bedrooms, but this seems to be even bigger than hers. The large windows allow an abundance of natural light and you really do like that.

“It’s a really nice apartment.” You smile as he walks over to you, pulling you into his toned chest, his chin on your forehead.

“I’m glad, it’s yours.”

You pull back, shock written all over your expression, too many thoughts racing through your mind for you to form a sentence. Atsumu did a lot of crazy things, did a lot of spur of the moment things, but this, this really did top them all. “What?”

He shrugs, digging in his pocket before placing a key in your hand, he looks a bit scared to you. “It’s just…my lease was up and I know it’s a bit further from campus than Yua’s, but I was thinking you’d like to live here…with me.”

Without any hesitation, you throw your arms around Atsumu, repeatedly saying “yes” as you awkwardly bounced up and down. When you pull back, he cups your face in his hands, bringing you closer for a kiss.

You can’t stop smiling, eagerly nodding your head as Atsumu talks about furniture and getting your things boxed to be moved, not really hearing anything because all you can think of is that things are finally going to work out between the two of you and that’s why your heart is thumping against your chest.

*                      * 3 months ago

Two months.

8 weeks.

60.8 days.

That’s how long your relationship of bliss lasted, how long you saw the caring and loving version of Atsumu, the side of him that stole your heart even after months and years of back and forth, ups and down, on and off.

You hate it because things were going so well, everything was perfect, even better than how great things had been with Ushijima back in high school. What you hate even more is the fact that while you had been packing up your things, you said some not so nice things to Yua, telling her that she was wrong about him, that this time things were going to work out. You had all but bragged and even hit below the belt with saying she was just jealous that she didn’t have someone that loved her the way Atsumu loves you.

Nine times out of ten you’re alone in this apartment, your music on the highest volume isn’t loud enough to fill the silence that creeps through the rooms and wraps around you and when the silence gets to you, you’re forced to think about things you’d rather not. Like how right Yua had been, how Naoki was only looking out for you, how every time you got back together with Atsumu, it just seemed to hurt worse than the time before.

During that one time of ten that Atsumu is home, the two of you just fight, you fight about everything really; your classes, his games, your friends, his friends and now that you’re all but isolated from your friends, it just makes things worse. You’ve always hated comparing the two, Ushijima to Atsumu, knowing both relationships are/were different, but recently, you’ve wondered if repeating the same day over and over, if that almost suffocating comfort, you wonder if that would be easier to live with now when looked at next to the way your current relationship has been.

*                      * Atsumu flips his phone face down, muting it after it had begun to ring, turning his attention back to the movie the two of you were watching.

You scoff, pushing yourself off his side to lean against the other side of the sofa.

“Don’t start.”

“Start what? I was just getting more comfortable.”

“Cut the shit. You always do this.”

You roll your eyes, already irritated. “Did you want me to leave the room so you could call her back?”

“This is exactly what I’m talking about.” He pushes himself off the couch, shaking his head as he storms into the kitchen.

You reach across the couch, swiping his phone from the armrest, trying to get into it, but no surprise he’s once against changed the passcode. You’re fuming at this point, shoving yourself off the couch before you start to walk to your room. You were done, have been done with all of this.

His hand tightly wraps around your wrist and jerks you backwards towards him. He starts yelling, demanding that you give him back his phone and the anger in you takes over and you throw it across the room. You start to scream about how you’re done, you’re tired and don’t deserve to feel this miserable. He yells back telling you that he’s giving you things anyone would be thankful to have and you smack him with your free hand.

He freezes, dropping your wrist as he runs his fingers through his hair, the expression on his face is something you’ve never seen and without another word, he storms out of the apartment.

You didn’t see him for three weeks, if it hadn’t been for his teammates Hinata and Bokuto stopping by, you wouldn’t have known that he’s okay and has been staying with them. When he does come back, he has a long-winded apology and a large bouquet of flowers. He falls to his knees in the door way, telling you that he’s sorry, that he can’t believe his actions and that he swears that he’ll do better.

*                      * Present Day

When you open the door, Yua throws her arms around you, pulling you into a comforting embrace and you feel yourself start to sob again. She holds you up as your knees get weak, letting the exhaustion take over you as you inhale her familiar perfume.

Naoki slightly pushes by the two of you, angrily making his way through the apartment, brows scrunched into a scowl. You watch as he flings open every door, stomping through each room before he walks back to you, rage radiating off of him. “Where the fuck is he?”

You’re startled, panicking you look up at Yua who wraps her arm around your neck and pulls you back into her, your face pressing just below the top of her shoulder.

“Obviously not here, so chill out.”

She ushers you over to the couch, Naoki handing you the throw blanket to wrap around yourself as you finally catch your breath. You lean your head on the back of the couch, it just adds pressure to your headache, but you’re having a hard time opening up to your friends.

“How’d you know something was wrong?” You slowly lift your head up, looking between the two of them, your face turning red when you hear that you called Naoki repeatedly around 2AM, leaving incoherent voicemails where they only picked up on the words: fight, Atsumu and leave.

“I really think you should move back in with me.” Yua speaks with caution, knowing how sensitive the topic is.

You just nod, defeatedly. You’re more upset about failing to maintain the relationship than you are that the relationship is over. Part of you wants to know why you put yourself through so much to prove you could stay with him, was it because you didn’t want your previous break-up to mean nothing? That if you could make this one work then you weren’t an awful person for ending things with Ushijima for an almost comical reason?

“Just pack what you have to have and we’ll replace whatever you don’t bring and need, okay?” Naoki gives you a small smile before Yua stands up telling you that she’ll grab your things from the bathroom and Naoki can get the things throughout the living room.

Roughly half an hour later, you have most of the things you brought, minus any gifts that Atsumu gave you, but you can’t seem to step through the threshold. Yua and Naoki are standing in the hallway waiting, but you’re afraid to make the step because all of a sudden it symbolizing a bigger commitment that you intended. Once you step out of the apartment, once you shut the door and drop the key in the box, you’re officially shutting the Miya Atsumu chapter of your life and that shakes you to the core.

“Y/N, you’re going to be okay. We’re right here. I’m right here.” Naoki reaches out his hand and you decide to take that leap, grabbing on to his hand like a lifeline. Your knees are wobbly as you place one foot into the hallway, straddling the threshold. “C’mon, just one more step. I got you.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, frantically taking that last step before throwing your arms around Naoki, repeatedly saying “I did it!” He puts his hand on the back of your head, pressing you into him, telling you that he’s proud of you.

You take one last look into the apartment that for some reason now fills small, it feels different, like you no longer belong there and while you’re still terrified of letting go of the rope that ties you and Atsumu together, there’s something exhilarating about starting over. Your eyes are closed as you pull the door shut and when you turn and open them, you see proud smiles on both Yua and Naoki’s faces and you couldn’t help but be excited for this next chapter.

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[catxsnow]

BROTHERLY DISTURBANCES W.W

Request: can i request a wally and batsis!reader trying to make out in peace but keep getting interrupted by her brothers?

Warning: fluff, kissing, implied smut

A/N: I love Wally West with my whole heart okay. He deserves better and I hope he comes back in season four of YJ 😩

Word count: 2.2k

It was great that your boyfriend and your brothers got a long. Wally and Dick were best friends long before you even met him. Jason liked the speedster too - you were sure it was because he reminded him of Roy a little bit. Even Tim liked Wally - mostly because Bart was one of his best friends.

Least to say, they were all happy that it was Wally that you were dating, not some asshole. You were glad that you didn't have to go through that awkward stage of your brothers intimidatingly asking your boyfriend what he wanted with you. Wally already knew them all, they knew exactly what kind of person he was.

Dick the most. Their time together on the Young Justice team proved a friendship that would never end. Having him basically be part of the family with dating you was even better.

You and Wally started dating after his endless flirting with you. At first, it had just been a joke to piss Dick off, before he realized that he genuinely had feelings for you. He was trying to spend as much time with you as he could get - and as a speedster it seemed that he had all the time in the world.

It took you a long time to cave to his pleads of asking you on a date. The second you did, it was like your whole world changed. Your brothers got closer to you, Wally was more loving than ever, you were happier. Dating Wally made you a better sister, and a better person.

The downside of them all being friends, was that you were often interrupted by them. Dick was always stopping by your apartment to hang out with Wally or you. It was nice to see him, but there were times that you wanted to get into a classic sibling throw-down with him as well.

Today, was one of those days.

For the first time in a long time, you and Wally both were free of university classes and missions. You got the chance to laze around in your apartment and just enjoy the presence of one another. Wally always complained about how slowly the days passed, but you knew that these were his guilty pleasure days.

The smell of fresh cookies filled your apartment, upon Wally's request. Rain pattered against the window, filling the empty noise. Wally sat in the arm chair in your small living room with you on his lap. His hand grasped your thigh as he met your lips. His favourite part about days like these? Getting to kiss you as much as he wanted.

Wally dragged out his kisses for as long as he possible could. It was one of the few times he despised speed. You smiled into the kiss, wishing that you could spend every day like this. Hands tugging through Wally's messy hair, the heat of his body radiating to yours. Nothing could ruin this moment.

Except for Dick Grayson.

You regretted giving your brother a key to your apartment. Especially right now, when he barged in without knocking. You nearly jumped off of Wally's lap, startled from his sudden entrance. Your fear turned to disappointment very quickly, and it seemed like Wally's did too.

"Cookies," Dick grinned, grabbing one off the plate and shoving nearly the entire thing into his mouth. He finally noticed that you and Wally were sitting on the chair, and awkwardly smiled at your angered look. "Bad timing?" It didn't take being a detective to realize what you were previously doing.

"When do you ever have good timing?" You glared. Wally tapped your leg, gesturing for you to get off of his lap, to which you complied to. Your arms were crossed over your chest as the two friends dabbed it up. In all your time together, it seemed like Wally was never mad at Dick for something like this, always you.

"What're you doing here, Rob?" Wally asked, using Dick's old nickname. His mouth was full of a half eaten cookie and you were sure the plate was going to be gone within the hour. As much as you loved Wally, he was a lot to cook for.

"Was in the neighborhood, thought I'd stop by," Dick shrugged. He swung his arm over your shoulder and when you didn't return his hug, he tightened his grip and completely messed up your hair. Of course, both boys thought it was hilarious to see you so frustrated about a simple fix.

Your peaceful day had come to an end as Wally and Dick settled on the couch and chatted about everything and anything. Their friendship had come first for longer than you were dating Wally and longer than you were siblings with Dick. It was often times hard to compete with that and over the years, you had just accepted it.

It was hours that Dick had stayed over, him and Wally laughing and having fun like the good old days. You loved seeing them happy like this, but you also just wanted your alone time with Wally again. Finally, Dick had decided that he used up his time and that it was time to head back to his own home.

The second that Dick left, Wally sped over to you and latched onto your waist. His lips crashed onto yours, missing your taste just as much as you had missed his. At that moment, your bed - even the couch - seemed too far away. Wally settled with setting you up on the kitchen counter, standing between your legs.

You trapped him in his place, legs wrapped around his waist. Wally's hands rested below your shirt, gently rubbing the pads of his fingers on your skin. He pulled his lips away, just long enough to utter, "I love you."

"As much as you love my brother?" You teased. Wally playfully glared at you, you always teased him about how close he and Dick were. He grabbed the bottom of your thighs, carrying you to your bedroom. You laughed the whole way there, even more so as he literally threw you on the bed.

Wally didn't hesitate to join you. He hovered over you, legs entangled as he kissed you again. His hair tickled the underside of your chin as he trailed down your neck. Hands grasping at your shirt, but not wanting to pull away long enough to tug it off of you. Finally, he pulled away the material.

"Babe, I don't think I'll ever stop admiring you," Wally grinned. He took every chance he got to flirt with you, and you had to admit that you loved it. This time, you rolled your eyes at him, and pulled him back down to meet your lips. He didn't seem to complain about that either.

A sudden, familiar gush of wind made you freeze. You were well accustomed to Wally speeding in and out of a room, along with the mess of loose items that followed. However, with Wally hovering over you, there was only one other person that would be speeding in and out of your room at that speed.

"Please don't tell me..." You trailed off, already knowing the answer. Wally sighed, handing you back your shirt that he had just removed. The two of you straightened up your clothes before leaving your room and back into the kitchen.

Bart was raiding your fridge, food already shoved in his mouth while none other than Tim was sitting in your favourite chair.

"You look great in red (Y/N)!" Bart complimented while still chewing. You could feel Wally's glare, and before he could do anything to his relative, you grasped his hand. You hoped that he hadn't noticed you shirtless, but of course being a speedster he easily noticed everything in a room before you could blink.

"What do you want, Tim?" You asked, looking over at your younger brother. "Bart if you take that last slice of pizza I'll personally send you back to your timeline myself," you snapped. Bart wearily looked between the pizza in his hand and you before setting it back in the fridge and closing the door.

"Haven't seen Kon in a while, thought he might have come here," Tim explained. It wouldn't have been the first time one of your super friends came and crashed at your apartment for a couple nights. Tim looked up at Wally's ruffled hair and your shirt that was on inside-out. "Sorry for the bad timing." Just like Dick. 

"Kon isn't here," Wally answered the obvious.

"A simple text would have sufficed instead of showing up," You snapped. It seemed like everyone was making the effort to ruin your day with Wally. However, family was family and as much as you hated them you couldn't be annoyed for long. They all meant their best, even if it wasn't valuing you in the moment.

"Am I not allowed to come visit?" Tim asked. Of course he was. Just like Dick, you did enjoy Tim's visits to your home as well. Also like Dick, you weren't in the mood for anyone else to come by your home. The hours of the day were ticking down and you knew that by the next day, you weren't going to get the option of peace again for a while.

"Hi, Tim. Thanks for stopping by, great catching up. You too, Bart. Really great visit, missed you both, bye!" You sarcastically vote as you ushered both the men towards your front door. They tried to complain as you did so, but you had slammed the door right in their faces, followed by an obvious click of your lock.

"Really, babe?" Wally chuckled at you. "Just can't get enough of me today, huh?"

"Do you want me to invite them back in? Stay for dinner? Less time that you get to see me nak-"

"Nope!" Wally changed his attitude very quickly. He sped over to you, hoisting you up in his arms and raced back into your bedroom, this time closing and locking the door in case you had any more visitors. The tension between the two of you escalated dramatically throughout the day and it was killing you not to break it.

Wally's finger's danced along your skin. They roamed up your thighs, under your shirt, anywhere that he could reach. All day he had been waiting for his and all day he had been denied. It wasn't just you who was craving his kisses, he was craving yours as well. He needed this moment with you, otherwise he was sure he was going to explode.

Your kisses were no longer slow and tender, they were rushed, needy. Both of you were petrified that someone else was going to come along and ruin your moment. The perfect day that you had envisioned was no more, the last few hours of the night were fading just as you had dreaded.

You were right to fear as well. Wally barely had his belt undone when yet another knock came from your front door. His eyes filled with dread at the sound. "Think we can ignore them?" Wally asked, still kissing along your jaw. You didn't answer, just tilted his chin so you could kiss his lips.

However, the knock didn't stop. It got louder, and louder until you couldn't bare the sound of it anymore. Whoever it was, they had no patience in the slightest. "Fuck," You muttered. You grabbed the closest shirt on the floor and shoved it over your half naked body. Wally flopped against the bed, rubbing his eyes in frustration.

You whipped open your front door, fire in your eyes at getting interrupted once more. Just as you had dreaded - and expected - it was Jason at your door. His arms were crossed and he had a duffel bag over his shoulder, one that held his Red Hood suit.

"Patrol?" Jason asked. There were several times that he came to you asking if you wanted to scour the city with him. Most times, you wanted to. This time, you barely gave him notice.

"No," you deadpanned. The door was maybe a little too harshly slammed in his face. There was no way that you were going to waste the last bit of time with Wally to go out in this city to fight criminals. You wanted this night to yourself and you had even gone out of your way to tell Jason that you were taking the night off. He must have forgotten.

"Babe, I know I've said it before but you look so good in my clothes," Wally complimented as you walked back into your room. You hadn't noticed that it was his shirt that you picked up rather than your own. "Another one of your brothers?"

"Jason," you scowled.

"I thought I had a big family," Wally joked. He pulled you back into your bed so your legs straddled his thighs. Both hands were intertwined as he stared up at you. "How many more interruptions can we expect? My body can only handle so much more."

"Well, if you include Bruce, there's still a chance of five more," You shuddered at the thought. "I don't care what's happening out there. I'm not leaving this bed again. Even if it's Beyonce that comes at my door."

"Babe, I like the way you think."

[robininthelabyrinth]

Sometimes if you pray to someone enough, they become a god. The people of Yunmeng have been praying to Jiang Cheng since he rebuilt Lotus Pier.

Everyone thought it started later.

With Jiang Cheng rebuilding the Lotus Pier with his own hands, side by side with cultivators and common folk alike, working on it night and day – the real cause for his enthusiasm was insomnia, spurred on by endless nightmares, but to an outsider it looked a lot like virtue. When there was no more building to be done, he took up his sword and went night-hunting: not for fame or glory, though he would hardly refuse those, but simply to have something to do. Nothing, no matter how small, escaped his grasp.

It’s said that Hanguang-Jun went where the chaos was, but he never needed to come to Yunmeng. Jiang Cheng, as terrifying as he might be, a force of nature in wind and lightning, would always get there first.

Everyone thought it was because of Zidian.

After all, to a common person, what sort of person can call lightning into their hand with little more than a thought? Even cultivators, rarely seen and mysterious, could not reliably do such a thing, and Jiang Cheng’s ancestors had generally been respectful of the ancient spiritual weapon, using it only for war.

It wasn’t that Jiang Cheng wasn’t respectful of Zidian. It was only that in time it became as much a part of him as his own right hand, and he had never learned to stay his hand when anger filled him from head to toe. Zidian crackled on his knuckles when his nephew irritated him, when something when wrong, when he felt upset – the sight of the lightning comforted him, reminded him of his mother’s devotion, and let him feel powerful when he felt powerless.

Still, it did mean the common people saw a lot more of it than they had before.

Some people – including Jiang Cheng – thought it was because of Wei Wuxian.

The majority thought only that Wei Wuxian, that daring genius, that talent that hadn’t been seen in a thousand years, had done something; the minority who knew what it was that he had done, the truth of the golden core settled in Jiang Cheng’s belly, believed that it was Wei Wuxian’s merits that had set Jiang Cheng on the road to glory.

Those people were all wrong.

It was true that cultivation was a means to fight against one’s fate, and that it could, if perfected, give a man the chance to leap up to a higher branch and become a god in a single moment, the right opportunity of fate and luck and merit.

That just wasn’t what happened, that’s all.

Wei Wuxian was a talent not seen in a thousand years, that much was true, but the same could be said for many others in his generation: times of anguish were often fertile grounds for geniuses. Hanguang-jun himself, who took Wei Wuxian as his husband, was very nearly perfect in his sect’s cultivation style, upright and righteous even beyond their expectations, and yet he also fulfilled the requirements of Wei Wuxian’s Jiang sect, being free in his heart and defying all odds to claim the man he loved. If there was anyone the cultivation world could place their hopes on, it was him.

Not Jiang Cheng. Easily angered, overly emotional, too competitive, overly trusting, self-sacrificing yet selfish – not Jiang Cheng.

And yet when the lightning tribulation came, when the opportunity to ascend to the heavens appeared, it appeared to Jiang Cheng, not Hanguang-Jun.

The truth was: Jiang Cheng did not cultivate to greatness and godhood.

The truth was:

It began years ago.

The lady of the Jiang sect was cultivating alongside her husband, with her two children brought along to gain experience by proxy, but night-hunting was sometimes a dangerous sport and this particular evening they left them behind in the small, obscure village at the foot of the mountains; a place that no one cared about, nobody noticed.

Jiang Yanli was polite and kind to their well-paid hosts; Jiang Cheng was restless, and snuck out the window to go walk around.

He had very little spiritual energy back then, being only a small child, but his mother was fierce and strict, and he knew the basics. When he found the village children grieving over an injured dog, which panted and whined in agony, he squatted down at once and stained himself to the utmost to transfer his little store of energy to the dog.

The dog was healed, and tottered to its feet, happily licking the faces of all those who came by.

“How did you do that?” one of the village children asked, but, embarrassed at the new experience of being talked to by a child his own age, Jiang Cheng fled instead of answering.

The money the Jiang sect leaders had spent was used, eventually, to send the best and brightest of those children to school, and it just so happened that that child, too, was a talent that hadn’t been seen for years; he scored well in the imperial examinations and became an official. He never forgot his home, going back often to Yunmeng and offering money and help to all those who asked; his little obscure village whose name was commonly forgotten became wealthy, and its children, now grown, spread out across the land – and with them went their little superstitions, formed in their youth, of praying for good luck from a youth dressed all in purple, who’d said his name was Jiang Cheng.

It didn’t take long before someone connected the local god that had given the children such fortune with the Jiang Cheng that swept through their lands like a scourge aimed at evildoers: a man who had survived his own family’s ruin and resurrected a dead sect from the ashes all on his own, a man who summoned the wind and lightning at will to scold his impudent nephew, a man who would come no matter how far the distance at the merest hint that a demonic cultivator had emerged to torment the common people, refusing to tolerate injustice.

The stories, exaggerated through retelling, spread through the common people.

It began at the outskirts of Yunmeng, where the cultivators and cynical wits of the Lotus Pier rarely went; by the time it reached further in, the stories had become fantastical and personal – a sea captain swearing that he’d been rescued from pirates by a lightning storm that sent down purple lightning, a village talking about how Jiang Cheng had come in person to eliminate a demonic cultivator that would have become the next Yiling Patriarch if he’d been left unchecked, a housewife shyly whispering about how her children had become filial at last after a mere glimpse of him.

When the Jiang sect cultivators, travelling around, first heard the stories, they laughed in delight – teasing their too-prickly sect leader was a popular pastime, since his bark was invariably worse than his bite – and immediately set to telling even more stories. And so the tales of what Jiang Cheng had achieved during the Sunshot Campaign, previously limited to the world of cultivators, began to circulate among the common people, and even made its way to a certain court official in a far-off capital, who told his Emperor about it.

It was truly a coincidence that around the same time, the Emperor’s favorite son encountered a misfortune, surrounded and assaulted by wicked creatures, and that Jiang Cheng, night-hunting in the area because he couldn’t sleep and because he simply refused to stay one moment longer in the house where Hanguang-Jun and Wei Wuxian were stuffing everyone full of dog food, was bored enough to intervene with a flick of his finger.

The Emperor was still laughing about his earnest official’s little backwater superstition, for which he’d indulgently lit a candle as a reward for an especially fine display of merit – such a charming request, so naïve and innocent, he could hardly believe it, and he’d added the gold and honors the work had really deserved on top as a matter of course – when he received the letter from his son, telling him about how purple lightning had descended from nowhere in a night with a clear sky, saving him from certain death.

Only a sailor was more superstitious than an Emperor.

In his overwhelming relief, he ordered a temple to be built, and the poor folk of the capital flocked over to see who this new god was: it turned out that part of his legend involved dogs, which was fairly rare for a god, and since plenty of people in the capital had dogs that they treasured like part of the family, it was easy enough to accept him.

Eventually the story of the temple (and its copycats, quickly constructed or converted) made its way, carried by merchants, to Lanling; the young sect leader there rolled around on the floor laughing and insisted on going to visit every single one of them.

He brought his spiritual dog, his friends, and a very great deal of spending money.

Every single town that had put up a temple to the god of purple lightning was suddenly flooded with good fortune: money, money, and more money, with cultivators in yellow competing with those in white to buy better gifts for those at home, and the gifts they liked best of all were the ones sold by the temples.

Even the local dogs suddenly all became well behaved after meeting with the cultivator’s husky.

(It wasn’t a husky, it was a fairy! One of the villagers insisted. You’re all blind – didn’t you hear the way the cultivator in yellow and gold referred to it? I’m telling you, it was a fairy rescued by Jiang Cheng years ago and given to the cultivator as a gift –)

Good fortune begets more good fortune: even more temples began to be built, and the ones that had become rich overnight had not yet had time to formulate the habits of the wealthy; they were initially inclined to spend their money locally, rewarding good deeds, rather than consolidate influence or seek position, and that encouraged even more people to come to pray. Eventually, of course, one of the temples ended up in the hands of an ambitious man, who used the unexpected fortune to raise his family’s stature, and that made the temples a matter of interest to the wealthy, too.

It was a joke in the Lotus Pier, Jiang Cheng going around with red ears and a furious temper that refused to hear a further word about it – not that that stopped anyone, most especially Wei Wuxian, who had taken to telling outrageous tales of the godly Jiang Cheng everywhere he and Hanguang-jun travelled.  

Outside of it, though, it became less and less of a joke, especially as the wheel turned and the generations shifted; what one generation thought of as a novelty, the next accepted as a matter of course.

And so one day, the skies above Yunmeng opened up, the lightning tribulation descending, and –

“Hanguang-jun! Senior Wei! A story has just come – Jiang Cheng ascended to immortality!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Wei Wuxian said with a smile.

“It’s true,” the junior insisted. “I’ve heard about it from three different sources – I’ve even heard that Sect Leader Jin has already gone to the Lotus Pier to investigate; I heard the senior people there sent him a letter, most urgently.”

“An urgent letter?” Wei Wuxian asked, smile starting to fade. “Lan Zhan, do you think something actually happened to that brat Jiang Cheng?”

Lan Wangji shrugged, indicating that he didn’t know.

Wei Wuxian huffed, amused, and looked up to the sky. “Hey, Jiang Cheng! If you’ve really ascended to the heavens and become a god, you’d better come and tell me yourself, or I’ll never forgive you!”

The sky was clear that day, with only a scattering of pale white clouds.

There was nowhere in nature for the rumble of thunder to come from, and Wei Wuxian, who had turned away, turned back to the outside with a confused expression: how had it suddenly become dark? Where had the thunderclouds come from? Why was there lightning –

There was a flash so bright it blinded the eyes, searing purple, and suddenly Jiang Cheng was there, standing in front of Wei Wuxian.

“Don’t threaten me, I hate that,” he said.

Wei Wuxian gaped at him. “Jiang Cheng? Where..?”

“I can’t stay long, too much to do,” Jiang Cheng said, scowling; it was a familiar look on his face. “Tell Jin Ling he either has to find someone else to do the damn job or consolidate Lotus Pier and Lanling, and not to pray for help too often or I’ll break his legs. And anyway, for you –”

With Wei Wuxian still speechless, he didn’t have any time to react before Jiang Cheng moved, slapping his hand right up against Wei Wuxian’s dantian: the weak golden core inside, a gift from Mo Xuanyu, suddenly glowed bright, strengthening back to what Wei Wuxian had had before he had given it away.

“I can’t give you more than what you had; cultivation is fighting the fates, and every man’s path is his own,” Jiang Cheng said, looking irritated by this inescapable law of the heavens. “But at minimum I can restore your potential – not that I think you’ll stop with the demonic cultivation, because you’re you, but at least a stronger golden core will help mitigate the effects, and make your lifespan more similar to Hanguang-jun’s. Who is not getting any sort of gift from me,” he added with a glare, “is that understood?”

Lan Wangji’s eyebrows had arched up and he stared wordlessly at Jiang Cheng, who immediately became so uncomfortable with it that he shifted from one leg to the other and then spat, “Fine, one gift, whatever. Think about it carefully. Anyway, I’m going now. Don’t bother me too often – but don’t not bother me at all, you hear me? Or I’ll find a way to break your legs.”

Another flash of lightning, and he was gone.

Wei Wuxian put his hand to his dantian, which still glowed warm, the strength starting to spread through his veins to his entire body – he’d forgotten how nice the feeling was, having never expected to feel it again.

“Lan Zhan,” he said blankly. “Did – Jiang Cheng – he just –”

Lan Wangji exhaled; in anyone else, it might have been called an aggravated sigh.

“We should,” he said, “probably set up a shrine.”

[lockefanfic]

Face

Seo Yeji had grace, poise, class. 

But not at 2:17am. And not when you wanted the very opposite of those things. 

It didn’t take her long to shed that regal, princess-like aura she so often carried. All it took was a text to make sure she was home, an Uber over to her apartment, and a knock on her door. A quick, frenzied duel of lips and tongue; a diving of your hands beneath the folds of her bathrobe to squeeze delicious naked curves; a parting of lips, a suggestive glance at the floor implying you wanted her on her knees.

She was quite a sight, her hair, still damp from the shower, brushed to one side of that perfect, small face of hers. Her skin is flushed and pink around the cheeks. It must have been a long, hot shower she’d just stepped out of. Pity she wouldn’t be clean for much longer.

Her hair waves as her head bounces, taking you in and out between her lips. The warmth and wetness of her mouth mirrors the warmth and wetness of the rest of her. Her tongue plays merry havoc on the underside of your long, stiff shaft. You gasp. You groan. You extend your left hand to the foyer wall to balance yourself. You do your best to keep standing upright amidst the assault of pleasure being conjured in your loins by the stunning young woman on her knees before you.

You can’t help but look down, unsurprised to find those eyes looking back at her. You were more than a little in love with those eyes, so graceful and demure one moment, filled with joy and laughter the next. She had a glare that could kill and an eye smile that could do the same. You loved getting both equally.

But she had a third look - a look of wanton lust. A look that told you she didn’t care how you treated her. A look that told you she was there for you, there to be taken, there to be used for your own pleasure.

Your left hand leaves the wall to join your right, clasping each side of her small head between your palms before you begin to thrust your cock in and out of her mouth with small movements of your hips, fucking her face the same way you fucked her other holes, enjoying every entry and exit into her hot wet depths. You’d had her pussy more times than you could count, and had your way whenever you wanted with her ass; but her face was special. Every girl on the planet had the other holes. Not every girl had a face quite like Seo Yeji.

She keeps her eyes locked on yours the whole while. Her face was so perfect, so small and perfectly sculpted, so emotive. A princess and the girl next door and a sly seductress, or any combination thereof. You found yourself wondering if this really was the same girl that bathed regularly in the light of camera flashes and the adoring shouts and cheers of her fans. 

If only the cameras could see her know. If only the fans could watch her like this.

You gently pull out of her mouth, finding the slim trail of her saliva that connects the tip of your cock to her mouth so ridiculously erotic. She wipes the sloppy remnants of her spit from her lips and mouth away with the back of her hand. She thinks she has cleaned herself. But you take your stiff, glistening cock in your right hand and slap her across the face with it, your hard meat landing with a satisfying dull wet smack on her cheeks, her nose and her chin. You rub it against her beautiful face, and her lips part in a quiet, wordless moan. 

Yeji loved a lot of things. She loved the feeling of you cumming inside her well-fucked pussy, filling her up with warm semen. She loved it when you ravaged her ass, using the most private part of her body roughly, callously, without regard for her own comfort or pleasure. Nothing quite compared to those things - but the feel of your cock playing on her face came close. 

She doesn’t break eye contact for a second. Not when she stands up, not when she slips her bathrobe from her shoulders to reveal her perfect body in its naked splendour, and not when she turns her back to you, spreading her legs and bending over until she is leaning against the foyer wall with both hands.

Why speak when no words were needed? Her eyes told you all you wanted to know. Her eyes told you what she wanted you to do. What she needed.

When you grip that slim waist of hers and slip inside her dripping pussy she finally breaks eye contact for the first time. She gasps; a thin, airy exhalation of breath, as though your cock was taking up the room inside her previously occupied by oxygen. She loved that feeling. That feeling of first penetration, of being filled and made whole. 

But as wonderful as that feeling was it was only a prelude, a starting point for what was to come. Could anyone stay there, embedded hilt deep inside one of the most beautiful women on earth, and possibly resist the temptation of actually fucking her? You certainly weren’t strong enough. You doubted any man on earth was.

You fuck her quick and fast; this was no time for slow lovemaking. This was a 2am liaison, and if the way you fucked her mouth didn’t make it obvious enough, you had no time or desire to prolong it more than necessary. 

Even as the gasps and moans that leave her throat mingle with the wet slapping of your hips against her ass, she keeps her head turned, those eyes locked on yours. Her face twists and contorts in pleasure and the twinge of pain that is the result of how roughly you are taking her; but her eyes stay fixed to yours. They tell you she was loving it. More than that - they tell you she wanted more.

You increase your pace, fucking the shuddering young woman with hard strokes of your cock until she stumbles forward, her upper body pressed now against the wall of her foyer. She is finally forced to break eye contact with you as her face is pressed against the cold wall by your left hand gripping her skull roughly. She grunts and moans and gasps as she is taken. You do the same as you take her.

She orgasms first - she always did, always so wanton and needy when you used her like this. Her mouth freezes in an open “o” of pleasure. Her entire body shakes and quivers. Her walls tighten and pulsate. She somehow becomes even wetter than she already was, her slick, dripping passage a wet sleeve for your cock.

You fuck her through the entirety of the orgasm. Usually you would slow down and let her relish each moment of it. Not today. Not now, not when your own orgasm beckoned. You fuck her hard, fast, rough. She is no longer an award winning actress, a perfect standard of beauty and grace. She is a toy, a means to an end. Something to be used.

You deliberate, for a moment, where you would cum. The thought of letting her choose didn’t even cross your mind. When you near orgasm, you remove yourself from her.

Your hands find her shoulders, pushing her down onto her knees. With your left hand you grasp a handful of her hair, dampened now with sweat in addition to her shower. You give it a sharp pull, pivoting her face up towards you. With your right hand you find your slick cock, and point it at her face - that gorgeous, perfect face, broken now by lust and want and need.

Her eyes find yours again. She opens her mouth, her pink tongue beckoning you to fill it with cum. She wanted it. Needed it. Expected your cum to land wetly into her mouth.

But what she wanted and needed didn’t matter.

You bring yourself to orgasm, and your cock pulsates before sending thick streams of warm semen all over Seo Yeji’s face, thick ropes of cum landing on her forehead, her nose, and her cheeks. You shudder as you cum, but you force yourself to watch as you paint the gasping young woman’s face with semen.

When your orgasm begins to wind down you thrust your cock inside her mouth. She gags initially, but she quickly accepts it, her tongue swirling around it and her lips closing around its base. You give her a few thrusts before you empty the last of your cum inside her hot, wet throat.

When you are done cumming you slip your cock out of her mouth. She chokes and gags slightly on the cum sliding down her throat. Some of it slips out of the corner of her mouth. 

A sly smile appears on your lips as you take in the sight of Seo Yeji on her knees, her face painted with thick ropes of your cum. She makes no effort this time to wipe anything off her face. She lets the thick liquid drip wetly down her features, enjoying the feel of the warm streaks it leaves behind on her perfect skin.

You pull your pants up and rebutton them.

Not a single word spoken. You never even left the foyer of her apartment.

The beautiful, graceful actress is gone. There is only a wanton, needy woman, lusts temporarily satisfied, naked and on her knees with a face and throat full of cum. 

The world was familiar with Seo Yeji’s faces. Only you saw this one.

You turn and leave the apartment, closing the door behind you and leaving her there.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Oooh maybe there was only on bed at a sky resort with Calum and the rest if the band is making bets of when feels are confessed

Lol, here we go another confessional pool. Love to see it. Reader Insert CW: Mentions of death/lost loved ones.

Enjoy Christmas 2020 Blurb Mastelist

Enjoy my full masterlist!

_________________

Ashton and Calum are the first to head to the check-in. The rest of the guys are pulling out their last bits of luggage from the truck. You trail in the middle, still laughing at Luke’s fumbling on the snow. But soon the wind chill creeps up through your jacket and you contemplate heading inside and grabbing your spare key. 

From the counter, as Ashton sorts out the keys needed, Calum glances out to the front door. You’re standing right near the doors, doubled over. He knows it’s you standing there too, can tell by the hiccup of your laughter that’s just muffled enough that Calum can almost belief it’s his subconscious playing a trick on him. “Are you sure you’re okay rooming with them? It won’t be too weird given the whole you not telling your feelings for them because they just lost their brother and you don’t want to seem too insensitive.”

“You make it seem like I’m being weird about this?”

“Calum you’ve had feelings for forever. Yes, they lost their brother this year but you’ve been there for everything. You’ve been nothing but respectful. But they’re doing a lot better. They came on to this trip to have fun. Try to get back to normal because everything and everyone at home keeps treating them as fragile.

“Ashton, it just doesn’t feel like the best time.”

“And will be the right time? When will you every have the best time to tell them your feelings, mate? Because I don’t think there’s ever been a best time in life. There’s only ever now or never.”

Calum shakes his head. “Right now is not good,” he utters and then grabs his bags. Sure, you and Calum had been close for a while. He had been there for a lot. But he couldn’t risk it. This Christmas was going to be hard on you after what happened and there was no way Calum could even consider dumping his feelings on you at a time like this. No, this is the time for you to have some fun. That’s all he needed to focus on. 

“Looks like it’s me and you,” he teases, dangling the key in your face. 

“Hmm, I guess you’ll do,” you laugh. Michael, Ashton, and Luke watch the two of you trek across the resort to your room. 

“Do you think they’ll confess anything on this trip?” Luke asks. 

Ashton sighs. “I don’t know. I think Calum’s overthinking the whole thing. But I also get it. He doesn’t want to push them. I hope the universe is cooking up something.”

“I got dibs something happens tonight,” Michael laughs. 

“Ah, you are a betting man. I’m saying tomorrow,” Ashton counters. 

“I don’t know,” Luke tacks on. “Calum’s been super careful about all this. I think possibly by the end. Gonna need a little bit of romance sparked before anything happens.”

The snow crunches beneath your boots but you’re thankful the house isn’t that far from the check-in. Inside, you thankful to see a bit of warmth or heat had been on previously. There’s a fireplace in the main area. You trail down the hallways to unload your suitcases before settling in. As Calum cracks open the door, a singular bed stares back up at him. It’s a queen sized bed. There’s space, but there’s only one. 

“Have you seen a ghosts?” you asks, noticing the way Calum freezes. 

“Oh-I-Sorry.”

He steps into the room and then you wheel your bags in behind you. You look up to the bed and your heart races. You thought for sure your room would have at least two beds. But it’s okay. There are worst things that could happen. Like you waking up in Calum’s arms. Fuck. “So which side do you want?” you asks facing Calum’s practically still frozen pose. 

“I’m not picky,” he counters. 

You pick the left and drag your suitcase over. You manage to find where the thermostat is located and turn it up just a little after unwrapping yourself from your winter gear. You explore throughout the house too, finding the kitchen and seeing how much space there is. The fire place doesn’t seem too complicated but you don’t mess with it too much. The backdoor opens up to the yard. It’s covered in snow too, but something about the tree lines and the dusting of the snow covering the land for as long as the eye can see. It’s breathtaking. 

The rest of the guys come in then, partners with them. But you stay at the door, watching. You wish you could take a photo to do it justice. You wish you could take even a shitty phone picture and send it to your brother. And you could--in theory. Because he was on your plan and you haven’t removed that line yet at all. You could text his phone. It would deliver. But it would never be seen. And that’s how you know you’ve been standing too long. 

You return to the room, faintly hearing the other guys and their partners settling into their rooms, just as Calum steps out of the bathroom, a towel thrown over his shoulder and just sweatpants on for the moment. The sight doesn’t shock you, but it does make you freeze for just a moment, not ready to see it and you duck your head digging into your suitcase. 

“Everything alright?” Calum unearths a sweatshirt but he doesn’t miss the way you disappeared. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m okay.” 

You head into the shower next and let the steam billow around you. The heat nearly scorches your skin, but you almost like it. You enjoy the fact that it reminds you you’re still alive, you’re still feeling. It’s Christmas time. You should be having fun. The house is decorate in garland and wraths there would be Christmas cheer being pumped into your veins but as it stands, there’s just trying, pretending just a little, just enough that it feels like something. 

The sheets don’t even feel real when you slip into bed. It feels like you’re drowning. You lay there fore a moment, trying to grip onto the sheets to ground yourself. But it just all feels too clean, too stiff, too not lived in. And you’re still drowning. You sit up, suddenly aware of the sweat dripping down your back.

“Hey,” a soft hand caresses your arm. “what’s up?”

You look over to Calum who’s turned to his side. “I-I can’t sleep.”

 “Talk to me.”

“It’s the same thing as always,” you sigh. “And I don’t want to bore you with those details. Yet again.”

Calum sits up. “No, bore me. Yet again.” 

You sigh, scrubbing over your face. “It’s okay, Calum. Go back to sleep.”

“Alright, get up,” he sighs and slips out of bed. You don’t move, unsure of what his plan is. He holds out his hands and waves his fingers. “Seriously, c’mon. Get up. This calls for hot chocolate.”

Giving in, you pull the sheets off your body and take his hand. His hold is warm and the two of you pad softly through the door. You hold onto his hand, trying not to conjure up anything in the shadows. The kitchen is the only light source and you settle at the counter as Calum finds mugs and a packet of hot chocolate. He knows he most definitely added it to the list that Ashton sent to everyone and Calum made sure to add that. 

The spoons click against the ceramic mug. The steam escapes into the chilly air. “So,” Calum starts, leaning across from you. “Tell me. Everything.”

“I’m pretending,” you answer. “I am pretending. And sometimes I’m not sure I’m convincing myself.” Calum nods in understanding, watching you take a sip of the drink. “Some days are easier than others. I don’t know--something about that bed, it all felt fake. I hate that feeling. I don’t know. It just--I need to be okay with not being okay. And I am most of the time. It’s just sometimes, like right now, it makes me realize time just keeps going. And I want to go with it too, it’s just hard.”

“What could I do to help?”

“You’ve done more than enough,” you say, taking his hands. “More than enough.”

Calum nods again, trying not to memorize the way your hands feels wrapped around his again. “You know I’m here for you. What if,” he pauses and catches of the sight. “What if we slept on the couch? No fake bed.”

You look over your shoulder and inhale deeply. It is not a small couch but it is also not a very large couch. “Oh, Calum, no, I couldn’t.” But before you can say much else he’s taking your hand and dragging you towards the couch. “It’s so small,” you counter as he settles down on the couch. 

“Good thing I’m comfy,” he returns. You sit next to him, careful of the hot chocolate still steaming in the cup. 

“Calum, really, you can go back to the room, I’m okay by myself.”

“Nah. I won’t stand for that.” He guides you into his chest, and it’s just sitting, cuddled up next to each other. And you manage to finish the beverage but you don’t last much longer against sleep nor can you give into the way Calum’s wrapped you into his arms. At some point, he stretched out across the couch and you cuddled up on his chest. And maybe there are blankets. But you’re not sure. The only thin you’re sure about is that this doesn’t feel fake anymore. This doesn’t make you feel like you’re drowning. 

“I told you it would only take the night,” Michael laughs, watching to two of you cuddled up on the couch. 

“If that’s a pool you guys ran about confessing feelings, you're shit out of luck, Clifford,” Calum whispers. You haven’t woken up yet, or so Calum assumed, and he doesn’t want to move too much. He’d rather let you sleep even if it meant he has to lay there for an extra hour or two or three. You need the rest. 

“I’m still in luck,” Luke adds on. 

“Me too,” Ashton quips.

“I told you nothing was going to happen this trip because they need to focus on healing, and getting back to normal not me or my feelings for them,” Calum hisses out again, scooting up every so slightly on the couch. You don’t seem to be aware or bothered by the movement. 

“You like them. Just admit it. It would all save us a lot of trouble,” Ashton giggles. 

You try not to snort, you really try not you. The whispers of Michael and Luke woke you just a little but it was the rumble of Calum’s voice was the one that kept you up for sure. Calum freezes, eyes widening at the feeling of you shaking against his chest. It goes quiet in the entire room when the rest of the guys notice the panic too. 

“Luke,” you start, pushing up from Calum’s chest. But you don’t look away from Calum’s panicked face. “I hope everyone brought cash for you.”

It’s in slow motion as you stretch up and plant a kiss on the corner of his mouth, close enough that it almost connects but just far off the mark that Calum knows. His heart races and he cups your face. “What was that for?”

“Thank you. I like you. And I know it’s a fucked up time in my life. But you are really cute and you care. So I wanna try just give me some time.”

A shadow casts over them and when Calum glances up there’s Ashton holding a mistletoe. “Kiss and make it real,” he laughs.