#also i think ive said this before but his finger/knuckle cracking !!!!!!

[httpiastri]

oscar nails oscar nails oscar nails 😵‍💫

bestie i've tried so hard not to think about or look at the nails because… new season, new me… a new, judgement-free jack… but then he posted this picture and i just couldn't not see it

this is the problem with being obsessed with his hands, to be able to look at them i also have to see the nails 🥲 but to cheer myself up, imma just sneakily make this into a preseason hand neck arm dump while i'm at it…..

[msbarrybeeson]

Princess and Her Matra | Cyno X (F) Reader (Part IV) (Royal AU)

Summary: Sanity slipped from Scaramouche as you, kneeling on the floor, retaliated against his desire to enter the Eternal Oasis. You, carried in the arms of your loyal General Mahamatra, must put an end to the Prince's enraged assault on Setekh.

Relationship: (Bodyguard) Cyno X (Desert Princess) Female Reader

Characters: General Mahamatra Cyno • Matra Dehya (Lionness) • Matra Candace (Priestess) • Prince of Avidya Scaramouche • Avidyan Advisor Il Dottore • Liloupar the Jinni.

Warnings: Minor Character Death.

Word Count: 3070

Parts: One / Two / Three / Four / Five

➵ ➵ ➵

"You're telling us in the one time we were tasked with not watching over you, the Prince held our General Mahamatra hostage, nearly killed him, and coerced you to call this 'magical spirit' to enter some kind of Oasis?"

Dehya gaped in utter shock, while Candace, concerned. Before the latter inquired, you interjected while flipping through pages of a book.

"No, I have not informed my Father yet."

"With all due respect, Your Highness, you should. For one, you have a good reason to get your wedding called off. Two, send them away!" Dehya cracked her knuckles. "I've been waiting to get rid of those numbskulls. Did you see how they've been treating us? We Matra may be soldiers, but calling us 'dogs' is low." She turned to Candace for validation of her point.

The latter, however, noticed your reservation. "Your Highness?"

In your thoughtful silence, Cyno answered, "Her Highness is worried about her people. The whole point of our King agreeing to the arrangement is to save Setekh from dehydration. Knowing the Avidya's malicious intention now, the Prince himself threatened to harm the Setekh if anyone hears of this."

He crossed his arms. "And knowing how he managed to have me tied up so easily, I doubt he was bluffing."

"Don't think we should be giving into his egotism though," Dehya remarked. "He's probably going to assume control of Setekh regardless of whether he enters the Eternal Oasis."

"Do not worry," you assured, speaking up again. "I have a plan."

"I believe it has something to do with that book?"

You nodded. "I have read about the legend of the Eternal Oasis. I do not remember ever it saying the realm grants a God's power." Flipping through the pages. "Though, I do recall reading this Jinni shares a notable power of its own."

"I am guessing that's the 'magical spirit' you were talking about," said Dehya.

"The Jinni had served under the Goddess of Flowers, or Nabu Malikata. Only listens to those worthy, which I assume is whoever is blessed by the Goddess herself." You finally reached the page.

Scanning the words, your fingers paused on an interesting detail. "Just as the Jinni is cautious with its master, the gateway to the Eternal Oasis opens only to those whose heart is deemed worthy," you murmured to yourself.

Suddenly.

You heard loud thuds beyond the library doors, hurrying down the corridor, as if panicked.

You recognized them as footsteps.

"Did something happen outs–?"

A voice boomed, muffled through the door. "The Prince has gone mad!" You also recognized that sound as one of the Matra.

"Defend our King!" shouted another.

Blood ran cold as you picked yourself from the seat, hands on the table. "Father? What's going on?" Your breath became shallow.

All four of you bolted out the library, straight to the throne room. It had not been three days since his arrival, yet somehow, your fiancé had caused unnerving trouble.

There was a dispute. Your eyes darted from the crumbling sandstone pillars to the shredded banners on the walls. Then to the Avidyan Prince, surrounded by his angry Rangers. "You're no Prince of ours!" one Ranger screamed, directing their spear at the young man. "You must be the reason why Lady Rukkhadevata, went missing! You monster!" yelled another.

Dehya was bewildered. "Rangers rebelling against their own Prince?"

"Fools!" Scaramouche seethed, tying up the Avidyan soldiers in his strings. "Completely absurd. You dare disrespect your one and true Prince!? You should be bowing to me!"

One Ranger prepared his bow, his brows furrowed and tall black ears folding back. "As if! You're no Prince of ours if you wanted nothing to do with our forests! We have always taken pride in keeping Avidya alive, yet you are bold enough to tell us to let it wither!" The arrow shot through, but Scaramouche cut it up into pieces with his strings.

Another Ranger leaped up behind him and threw her boomerang.

"Silence!" However, his hand sent her flying back onto the ground with a loud thump. The Prince pulled a set of strings around the Fennec, strangling his throat.

"Your Highness!" Your head turned to find one of your Matra running to you. "You must leave! Run away for your own sake–." His sentence barely finished as Scaramouche cut his body up. The pieces dissipating to blood-red dust. Your eyes widened in horror. Cyno, Dehya, and Candace attempted to retreat you, but Scaramouche sensed your presence.

He eyed you with a crazed smile. "Looks like you're on time, Princess." A sudden movement of his wrist and the strings were attached to you. He yanked you to him.

This prompted the General Mahamatra to shout, leaping to grab ahold of you. "Your Highness!" But more cutting strings appeared, caging he and the other two outside.

"I demand to see my Father! Where is he!?"

"Under close care of my advisor. So there is no need to worry, dear." He held your chin, mocking you.

"Do not lay a finger on him. Or anyone!" You gritted. "What have my people done to you? What have your own done to you?"

"What have they done?" he laughed, turning his back to you. "They failed to know their place." The strings pulled everyone in the throne room up, hanging them on the walls like flies trapped in a web. "I am your true King. Your true God with powers beyond your understanding."

All except you.

"But not enough for you fools to respect me, is that right?" His head snapped back to you, stomping back to your kneeling figure. The Prince snarled. "So you better call that Jinni of yours, or one snap will kill them all."

"You're wasting precious time, Scaramouche." Il Dottore scoffed, stepping in the perimeter. "Slice their heads off them all already. We only require the girl for the Oasis."

"If you choose to kill them all," you picked up a fallen arrow and brought it up to your neck, "I shall end myself as well!"

"(Name)!" Cyno yelled. "What are you doing, (Name)?!"

"Your Highness, our lives are not worth it!"

"We Rangers are not worth your sacrifice!"

"The Setekh needs you!"

Yet your resolve remained.

"Do you dare to gamble with my death, your only chance of reaching the Eternal Oasis?"

"You." Scaramouche's form shuddered as he laughed maniacally.

He laughed.

And laughed.

To the point even you were concerned.

"Haha! You truly are bold, Princess!" He laughed. "To think that these pathetic subjects cared about you so so," Scaramouche swung his hand across your face, "much!" His expression went from laughter to a dangerous scowl.

"How could they worship such a pathetic weakling like you?!" he screamed, slapping your face once more.

This time, you had enough. You etched the arrowhead into your skin, drawing a trickle of blood.

"Enough, Scaramouche!" Il Dottore interjected.

The Prince stopped his hand from throwing another hit.

"Do you, or do you not want to become a God." The question, or more so statement, made the Prince falter. "Hit the girl again," Il Dottore's tone dripped with venom, "and I shall cast you aside as your Creator had done before."

His hand dropped to his side. His knees onto the floor.

And suddenly, the strings on everyone were released.

You closed your eyes, lowering the arrowhead. You heaved, releasing some pressure on your lungs. "I command everyone to leave the palace grounds... Matra, evacuate all Setekhans to Avidya. I urge for the Rangers to provide temporary shelter."

You added, "..Immediately."

Although the named and injured councilmen passed a worrisome glance in your direction, everyone opted to follow your word and flee the throne room.

"General," the Lionness called out.

"Leave me be. Whatever the circumstances, I cannot abandon Her Highness."

The Priestess intercepted, "Then, we shall help you as well."

"No, I have always served as her protector. You two heard her: evacuate the people."

Candace bit her lip and nodded. "Defend our Princess."

"We have released your people. Time is ticking, so you better do what you must, girl." You glared upon Il Dottore's sharp-toothed sneer, carnivorous and predatory. You wanted to fling your hand to his nose.

One glimpse to the side and you found your General. His hand gripping his partisan while positioned defensively. You showed him a weak smile, a sign you knew more than you led on.

You faced forth the thrones, worn away from the chaos ensued while standing tall. You slowly clasped your hands and closed your eyes once again. "Strewing flowers along a path, that which is blessed by the gentle Nabu Malikata herself," you recalled from the book. "I call upon thee, Jinni, to seek my heart's wealth."

All of a sudden...

A blinding light illuminated the throne room, capturing the insatiable eyes of Il Dottore and Scaramouche. A spiral of brilliance glowed before halting in front of you. A brighter flash prompted you to cover your eyes until it dimmed into a bottle. Or perhaps, a bulb made from glass. There was a violet cap on top and a distinguished golden glow inside. For a moment, it trembled, danced frantically until a voice echoed.

"Who has called upon the powers of a Jinni?"

You prayed you were aware of whatever fate you were pulling yourself into. There was a sense of hesitation: "It is I, Princess (Name) of Setekh."

It audibly gasped. "It is a great honor to encounter another member of the Setekhan Royal Family. I shall introduce myself, Your Highness. It is I, Liloupar."

"Enough stalling," Il Dottore interrupted. "I demand you Jinni to bring forth the Eternal Oasis."

In a shade of red, the bottle shook violently. "How audacious of you. I only listen to the commands of those who are worthy and one alone. Who are you to dare order me in front of Setekh's Princess? Oh, I understand. Indeed, you are nothing more but an outlander."

Il Dottore scowled. "Hold your end of the bargain up, Princess."

You rolled your eyes, before facing the Jinni. "Liloupar," you spoke in a gentle voice. "I request of you to show us the entrance to the Eternal Oasis. I entrust you to reveal a heart's truth." For a minute, Liloupar only appeared to stare at you. You felt as if the Jinni was pondering. "Very well," Liloupar hummed. "As you wish, Master."

As the bottle danced in the air, a gateway appeared before them. This garnered a malicious smile from Il Dottore. Scaramouche wasted no time pushing you aside as he hurried to the entrance, only to learn:

He could not pass through.

Stunned, his breathing quickened.

"What is this?"

Panicked.

"Why can I not enter?"

His hands began slamming onto the gateway, like an invisible wall existed there. Liloupar lowered itself into your arms' embrace, vibrating in prideful satisfaction.

"What is going on, Scaramouche? Move along!" Il Dottore reprimanded. "After every resource poured into this project, not another second should be wasted. The Prodigal cannot obtain its full potential without a God's power!"

Enraged.

"Open your eyes! Are you so blind to not see what I am doing?" snarled the Prince. His eyes flickered to yours, violent and crazed. He seethed, "You find this amusing, do you not? Daring to play your absurd games and tricks against me, Princess?" Electricity began to conduct as the floors shook. Sand from the ceilings themselves fell. You tried standing to your feet, but your balance faltered. A voice bellowed:

"I am going to end you all!"

"(Name)!" Cyno grabbed you by your wrist and yanked, ushering you away from the palace. "The palace is no longer safe. We must retreat to the Avidya!"

"Archons!" you cursed. "Is there no end to this tantrum of his?!"

The second you and Cyno touched the final flight of steps, a deafening and thunderous sound quaked the Setekh. You peeked behind to discover that Scaramouche had transformed into an enormous mechanical puppet, demolishing half of your palace in the process. His height as tall as thrice the palace.

Sandstone debris and boulder-like chunks toppled down, nearly colliding into you if it were not for your General wrapping an arm around your waist, picking and carrying you up in his arms. "Hold onto me, Your Highness!"

You yelped, panicking as the Prodigal swung a hand down in your direction. "Cyno! Above us!"

Cyno leapt out of the way as the hand smashed right into many homes and buildings, crumbling them all to dust. Your stomach churned in a sickening feeling, and you prayed to Deshret the Matra evacuated everyone on time.

"Never in my years of serving my masters have I experienced such troublesome events," Liloupar trembled.

"From your right!"

Cyno jumped to the left, avoiding a scorching beam from obliterating you. "Not only his hands!?" You grimaced upon how the Prodigal occupied a wide range of offense. "You cannot outrun him, even if we reach the Avidya!"

"I have my duty to protect you. Until I entrust you under the care of the other Matra, I cannot simply stop when your life is endangered!" he yelled. His amber eyes gazed down into yours. For a brief moment, his features softened up.

You instantly broke contact when a shadow overcasted his features.

"Cyno!" you screamed, tugging on his shoulder. "Above you!"

The Prodigal's hand began to fall with a heavy force. Your General gritted his teeth. His mind came to terms with the unlikeliness of outrunning the strike area, yet his legs pushed further. A booming sound echoed as the edge of the hand pounded into the sand. Your fingertips dug into your palms as you urged, "Cyn–!"

The Prodigal's fingertips were right above you. You felt the wind knocked out of your lungs as your General hurled you tumbling forward. You fell with a weighted thud. The impact casting sand and spinning your head into a migraine.

"Urgh."

Accompanied with a terrible high-pitched ringing in your ears.

"Aurgh."

An awful groan left your throat, leaving you to cough up some sand. Your throat had gone dry when you realized. "No." You screamed his name, "Cyno! You did not dare–."

You witnessed his figure vanish as the Prodigal's hand made full contact with the ground. A disastrous earthquake rumbled Setekh from the force, and a huge gust of wind nearly blinded you with sand.

You found yourself hyperventilating.

Your blood ran cold.

Practically gasping in and out.

You could not move.

Dread painted your eyes.

"This cannot be happening."

You faced down, vision blurry by the second as hot tears trickled down. "Cyno. Cyno." You tried running to him, but your legs were too weak. "Cyno. No. This cannot be happening. Please. Please!" Your hands clenched tightly and you shut your eyes. Voice caught in your throat, feeling like you were going to choke. "Please! No. You said you would protect me no matter what."

Liloupar left your arms, glowing brighter. "Master!"

You slowly opened your eyes again.

And trailed up front.

Your General.

A breath heaved out. More tears fell over your smile. You sighed again out of pure relief, shutting your eyes, "Thank Deshret." Opening up again, confusion soon overtook your features instead.

"Cyno?"

A violet hue shone from the electricity crackling underneath the puppet hand. As the murky fog began to fade, you distinguished another figure, large as the hand trying to crumble them. Only this time, you discovered a pair of claws and tall ears. All in violet and gold.

Your eyes widened.

"Hermanubis?"

The figure's claws shoved the Prodigal's hand off them, another gust of sand hitting your way. Cyno was still there, but the colors around his headdress– which enlarged into some form of a hood or mask– lit up in synchronization with the figure that seemed to possess him.

"Cyno is Hermanubis?"

"No, not himself," Liloupar corrected. "It appears he is a current holder of the Great Priest Hermanubis' power. 'How' he obtained such power is beyond my knowledge." You pursed your lip and huffed, your strength returning to pick yourself up. "There is no time to ponder now. I must help him."

This had the bottle frantically shaking. "But Master! Your own safety comes before his!"

"Liloupar." Your resolve remained strong. "I wish to help him."

The Jinni merely sighed. "Perhaps it is time for me to conduct use of my other assets."

A voice reverberated from inside the Prodigal.

"Unsightly insects!" His hand swung at Hermanubis, who leapt onto the arm and bolted up to strike the head. Scaramouche seethed, "Keep your claws off of me, animal!"

He attempted to snatch Hermanubis off, but the latter jumped to the shoulder and landed another heavy strike to the puppet's spine. Catching him off guard, the Prodigal nearly fell forward.

Another to the head.

Across the face.

Until Scaramouche screamed, enraged.

"Worthless humans should be bowing down to your God!"

He hurled Hermanubis down onto the sand. Giving no time to recover from the impact, the Prodigal ignited a blast. The energy revving from within.

SHATTERS!

Scaramouche audibly hitched his breath as a needle practically stabbed him through the heart. His sights fell to the very Princess he despised, standing in his way. You smirked.

"There's more to me than smile-and-waves!"

You aimed another arrow to the chest. The bow you carried being a metamorphosed Liloupar. "Leave Setekh alone!" Releasing in an instant, the arrowhead struck the heart, pieces of glass breaking off from its outer casing. His emanating power briefly faltered. The Hermanubis figure picked themselves from the sand, their glowing white eyes staring upon you.

"Cyno! Strike the heart!"

The figure silently nodded, leaping back onto the puppet's arm again.

Scaramouche became more agitated. "No!" The Prodigal tried to swing him off, but Hermanubis clutched on, who propelled himself up to thrust a powerful lightning bolt to the puppet's chest. The entirety of the heart case shattered into thousands of pieces.

An energy wave bursted in response.

The puppet began to collapse, but Scaramouche, in his final chance of retaliation, shot a beam in your direction. "I refuse to be brought down alone!" he yelled.

Hermanubis, or rather Cyno, darted to you. Their glowing eyes widened. Their claws dug into the sand and vaulted themselves in desperation to grasp you.

Time slowed down in this very moment.

Hermanubis wrapped you into their claws, right before the light blinded you.

[alcinadimitrescuwu]

This Woman's Work Part IX (Alcina x Female Reader Fanfic)

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII

“You’re almost there, Maman. You’re doing great. Just a couple more steps.”

You take a deep breath in through your nose and blow it out through your mouth and push forward at your daughter’s coaxing, your arms gripping the railing that had been set up in your bedroom. The wound in your side is in agony but you take another step, biting the inside of your cheek hard to keep from crying out in pain.

It has been three weeks since that horrible night. You had already lost a lot of blood by the time Karl and Alcina arrived at Donna’s place. In an incredible stroke of luck, Donna had surgical thread in her sewing kit and at Salvatore’s instructions (he was having one of his good days) sewed up the place where Alcina’s claws had torn through. You were in and out of consciousness, but every time you opened your eyes Alcina was there by your side holding your hand.

Alcina is sitting nearby in her chair now, gently burping Ecaterina after her feeding. She looks up at you and you see concern in her golden eyes and another emotion that has been a mainstay for the past couple weeks: guilt.

Things had been...awkward between the two of you since that night. No matter how many times you assured her that all was well and you had forgiven her, she refused to forgive herself. You had only been intimate one time since that night and it ended quickly after Alcina had forgotten about the wound in your side as she cupped your hip and you couldn’t hold back the scream of pain that came out of your mouth. Alcina had immediately gotten out of the bed and as far away from you as she could, as if afraid touching you would cause any more damage.

She had sunk into the chair and began sobbing brokenly. You had wished to go to her, but your Bath chair was already on the other side of the room. You braced yourself against one of the bedposts as you said gently, “Darling, it was an accident. The pain’s already subsiding. Please come back to bed.”

Alcina covered her face with her hands, but you could see the tears rolling down her cheeks. “I can’t even make love to my wife without causing her pain. What kind of wife does that make me?” The raw self-hatred in her voice broke your heart.

From that point on whenever you had settled down for the night, Alcina kissed your forehead and turned out the light and that was the end of it. She kept to her own side of the bed and you greatly missed the feeling of her muscular arms about you with your shoulder tucked under her chin, her curls kissing your cheekbones.You had the sense that if you tried to move closer she would move away so you didn’t even try.

You try to take another step and suddenly the room spins around you and you fall forward. Daniela, however, quickly grabs your arm and puts her arm around your shoulder before you hit the ground.

“I think that should be enough for today, Maman,” Bela says soothingly.

You set your jaw. You only have three more steps to go before you clear the railing. “No, girls, I can keep going.” But your ragged breathing and forehead shining with sweat give you away. You push your tongue to the inside of your cheek and taste coppery blood from where you had bitten into it.

Cassandra rolls your Bath chair over to you. “Maman, you don’t need to push yourself so hard. You’re not gonna be of any use to Ecaterina if you run yourself ragged.”

You smile at Cassandra’s brutal honesty as she helps you into your Bath chair. “You’re right, dearest.”

Alcina stands up, having finished burping Ecaterina. She looks affectionately over at her daughters taking care of you and you see one of the first genuine smiles from her that you’ve seen in weeks. “You’ve been so good to Maman these past few weeks, dears. She and I really appreciate all the help you’ve given to us and Ecaterina.” She rests the hand not holding Ecaterina on the back of your chair and you take her hand in yours, kissing her knuckles. Surprisingly, she doesn’t pull away this time. “It’s time for us to put Ecaterina down for her nap and for me to change Maman’s bandages. If you’ll excuse us, loves.”

The girls nod in agreement and vanish into their bug shrouds. Alcina turns around and settles Ecaterina into her cradle. Ecaterina gurgles, her eyes mirroring the gold in Alcina’s. Alcina gives her a tender kiss on the forehead before turning to you. She motions for you to stand up and you obey as she kneels down to your level and helps you take off your day dress. Standing there in your slip with her hands on you reminds you of how long it has been since you have last felt her touch.

Alcina lifts up your slip ever so lightly and peels off the gauze bandage wrapped around your waist. Alcina sets her jaw as she uncovers the gashes she herself had inflicted on you. She takes off her gloves, dips the pad of her thumb in a jar of salve and applies it to your wounds. There is an unreadable expression on her face.

You try to give her an encouraging smile. “I talked to Sal the other day,” you posit. “He says that even though the wound is deep,if I don’t expose it to too much sunlight it won’t leave a scar!”

“Not a physical one at least,” Alcina mutters.

Ok. You’ve had enough. You turn her head to face you. “Darling, we’ve been over this,” you say, rubbing her cheekbone with the pad of your thumb. “Are you going to keep punishing yourself forever?”

Almost despite herself, Alcina leans into your touch and interlaces her large fingers with yours. “I can’t imagine how much physical pain you must be in, my love,” Alcina whispers. “And all by my hand.” Tears begin forming in Alcina’s aureate eyes. “I nearly killed you.”

“You didn’t though, Alcina!” You move over to her lap and she gently almost tentatively wraps her arms around you and holds you close. You lean your head against her chest and resist the urge to sigh. It’s been so long since you’ve been held by your wife. “I know you were under Miranda’s control but something held you back from killing me outright. I know it.”

“You don’t know what it’s like being under someone else’s control.” You can almost feel Alcina’s body shudder as she recalls that night. “It was like I was outside my body watching myself. I was screaming at myself to stop when I kissed that woman.” The memory of your wife kissing Mother Miranda so passionately pops into your mind briefly but you shut it out as she goes on. “And when I stabbed you, I-” Her voice cracks. “I was practically begging myself to stop but my body just moved on its own.”

“Don’t you see, then, darling?” you ask. “You weren’t yourself when you were under Mother Miranda’s control. The person that kissed Mother Miranda, the person that stabbed me, that wasn’t you, so please.” You cradle Alcina’s face in your hands and stare into those beautiful discs of gold. “Please stop blaming yourself for this. Mother Miranda is dead. I’m alive. Our daughter is safe and healthy. That’s what matters now.”

Alcina kisses your forehead lovingly. “When did you get so wise?” she asks, tucking a stray curl behind your ear. You can see that you’ve finally gotten through to her. Her body posture is more relaxed, her jaw is loose, and her shoulders aren’t so tight. She carefully places the new bandage over your wound and you feel a pleasant tingle as you feel her bare fingers brush briefly over your tender skin.

She moves to pull your slip over your new bandage but you take her wrist before she can withdraw it. You hold her gaze as you take the strap of your slip off your shoulder and your slip coils in a pool of silk around your ankles. She takes you in her arms and brushes her lips against yours briefly. When she pulls aways, you see the same desire in her eyes. “Are you quite sure, ingeras?” Alcina asks, brushing the back of her knuckles against your cheekbones.

“Yes” you rasp. “Take me to the bed.”

Alcina picks you up as you wrap your legs around her waist, taking care not to touch your sensitive wound and carries you over to the bed. She gently, almost reverently lays you down on the bed. She lowers herself down to kiss you again and you bury your fingers in her curls. Alcina deepens the kiss, her tongue coaxing your mouth open as you unfasten the pearl buttons on the back of her dress. “I’ll go slow for you, draga,” Alcina murmurs against your lips.

“Alright, let’s see how our little patient is doing today- JESUS CHRIST! What the FUCK?”

It seems like Heisenberg has decided to check up on you today.

With a frustrated growl Alcina moves quickly in front of you while holding her own dress up. “Yes, Heisenberg, that is in fact what we were setting out to do before you arrived.” Alcina shakes her head at him derisively. “You seem to have impeccably bad timing, as always.”

Heisenberg’s face is beet red again, you note with amusement. “Well, excuse me for trying to check in on my sister-in-law and my goddaughter! Speaking of which, really Alcina? Getting down and dirty with the kid in the room?”

Alcina’s cheeks are also sporting a lovely red color. “Ecaterina was asleep.” Amidst all the commotion, Ecaterina has already woken up and is crying. “Well, she was until you came in.”

The girls suddenly materialize into the room. “Mother!” Cassandra chirps. “I thought I heard Uncle Karl in here and- JESUS CHRIST! What the FUCK!”

Alcina covers her face with her hands. Bela takes the book that Daniela is holding and holds it so it’s covering the image of you and your wife on the bed. “Really Mother,” Bela tuts to herself.

Daniela doesn’t seem to mind. She turns to the two of you, unperturbed by the state of your undress and asks, “Can Uncle Karl stay for dinner, Mother, Maman? Please? It’s been so long since we’ve all had dinner together!”

You smile indulgently at her over Alcina’s shoulder. “Of course he can, darling,” you say.

“Fine,” Alcina mutters. "Now if you please, will all of you kindly get out of our room?”

The daughters vanish into the bug shrouds, chattering excitedly about what Cook is making for dinner. Heisenberg leaves too, chuckling softly to himself.

You turn to your blushing bride and give her a chaste kiss on the lips before you both get dressed and join your daughters for dinner.

Together. As a family.

[wing-ed-thing]

Mob Wife (Kakuzu x Reader, ft. Hidan) Part IV

Synopsis: The Akatsuki are in emergency mode. Kakuzu leads Hidan to the only place he knows for sure is safe to regroup.

Word Count: 

Warnings/Tags: Violence, Blackmail, Language, Fem!Reader, HouseWife!Reader, Moll!Reader, Attempt at Humor, Ceremonial Drinking of Sake, Traditional Wedding

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Finale

Notes: It’s back. Writing Hidan has got me feeling a certain way rn

It rained on your wedding day: weather fitting for, and not minded by, a criminal and a deserter. As you approached the temple, he tried to tell you many times that you were going to be turned away, but as you spoke to the shrine masters, you were greeted warmly and welcomed. You were young with a warm face that offset Kakuzu’s intimidating exterior. Everyone always loved you right away, a way about you that Kakuzu could never begin to consider replicating. With your open heart, you brought a foreign concept into his world: acceptance. The few priests and priestesses at the temple on the border of the Land of Stone looked upon you kindly, a kindness that you and Kakuzu continued to repay years later. The small village of a few hundred that housed that shrine would never see a shinobi attack. Now, only you continue to repay years later.

You could tell that Kakuzu didn’t like being in the temple in the slightest. He had never been one for religion or structure or ceremonies, so you tried not to laugh the first time you saw him in his montsuki haori hakama. You wondered how much grumbling went into getting Kakuzu in such formal attire with a goofy, lopsided grin. Even as he gazed upon your amused, upturned lips, his infamous temper laid unusually dormant. Kakuzu never thought that he would see his own wedding day. Being the kind of man he was, he never thought that he’d have one. He didn’t think that he deserved it, but for once as you stood in front of him in your shiromuku, all of his jaded thoughts seemed to fade. Of course with you, all doors opened.

Kakuzu knelt next to you at the shrine, ever stoic. He put his hair up before the ceremony and secured it neatly behind his head. You remembered it when it was short. As the priest announced your marriage to the gods, you couldn’t help but glance at Kakuzu out of the corner of your eye. He held himself together better than you imagined he would.

“Well, yes. I am an adult,” he would tell you later.

But at that moment, he received the first sakazuki. The priest's vessel tipped over the small cup two times before pouring. Kakuzu brought the dish up to his lips and took three sips: pointless seeing that neither of you had parents, but traditional nonetheless. You were taught to always honor your ancestors, but you doubted that Kakuzu felt the same. You received your cup and the same sake, taking the same three sips and the ceremony went on. The second sakazuki represented your vow to care for each other. You received a slightly larger cup and once again, you each touched the sake to your lips three times. The third represented fortune and fertility.

The Heavens, the Earth, and the People.

You offered Kakuzu a light smile as you moved to the next part of the ceremony, a gesture to assure him that it was almost over. He would have rolled his eyes in any other setting, but Kakuzu didn’t even have to speak for you to know exactly what he meant. You knew that more than anything, he was happy to be with you. Out of all the things that he had done as a shinobi, he could handle a stuffy ceremony.

“I thought you liked stuffy things,” you teased him later, parts of your robes slung over forearms and shoulders for better mobility as you walked through the gardens. Your hand rested in his as you balanced yourself on some raised, rock ledges. His expression could have easily been mistaken for exasperation as he scoffed, but you knew better. He looked happy. “You’re a shinobi. Now that’s stuffy!”

The priest had you stand and you received a flowering branch to offer to the gods. As you held the sprig in your hand, you glanced at Kakuzu. His eyes met your own and you quietly prayed over your offerings before presenting them together, stem first. You bowed together, the rituals vaguely familiar to you as you performed them.

With the blessings of the gods, you had received your rings. Your thumb ran over the skin of Kakuzu’s hand. They had a familiar gruffness to them and held smooth bumps from old scars. His fingernails were short. You slid the band onto his ring finger. The black suited him. He squeezed the fingers of your other hand. The space behind your eyes stung as you held back tears watching as he placed the ring on your hand.

Neither of you had family, so you thanked the shrine priests and priestesses and enjoyed their hospitality. You took a single picture. It was the same frame that you held in your hands now.

Kakuzu walked out a few hours ago, taking Hidan with him. Your kitchen was, for the most part, wrecked. Your doing. Your tears had since dried up and your trembling was beginning to fade. With a shaky breath, you brought yourself to your feet. You placed the picture face-down on the counter and reached for the broom in the corner. Your heart hurt, but the world continued on. And if the world continued on, so should you.

***

You didn’t want to eat, you didn’t feel hungry, but you stood over the sink anyway biting into whatever you could pull from your fridge. You cleaned up the kitchen to the best of your ability. Trash piled up in neat bins outside: splintered wood, broken plates, and any other particles of dust that you managed to sweep up. You could handle it later. At least the rest of the kitchen was spotless. You glanced down at the thick wedding band that sat in your hand. Twirling it between your fingers, you bit into your bell pepper like an apple. That was the kind of night you were having.

A harsh pounding came from the front door and for a split second you wondered if your husband came back. Ex-husband. You didn’t think so. You kept your eyes on the kitchen window but the pounding continued adamantly. A slight shiver went down the back of your neck. The next farm wasn’t for miles. That was definitely not Kakuzu.

You put down your pepper and rolled out your utensil drawer. Your fingers danced across the kunai strapped to the bottom as you silently hoped that your training hadn’t worn off too horribly. The banging ceased as the doorknob began to rattle. The door swung open and you launched your kunai with immense velocity and precision. It was snatched out of the air.

“Fuck! That hurts like a bitch!”

Hidan stood in the entryway with his hand still held up and wrapped around your weapon. Blood dripped onto your floors as the kunai clattered to the ground. He shook out his palm, now sporting a deep gash. All you could do was stand and blink, wondering why he was there and if Kakuzu was with him. Hidan threw his cloak onto the rack. It slid, hardly staying on as he marched over to you. The door didn’t fit into its frame the same as it did before and there was no sign of Kakuzu.

“Can you patch me up, lady?” He looked around your kitchen for somewhere to sit, but found none. He dripped more onto your floors. You quickly guided his wrist over your sink and looked up at him. Beads of water fell down his face. You didn’t even hear the rain outside.

“What happened?” you asked sternly, your voice cracking a bit with worry. Hidan groaned.

“You fucked up my hand, can you at least fix me? I’m traumatized over here.” You sighed, yanking him forward before turning the running water on over his hand. You held it there for a second as if telling him to keep it there before running off to get your medical kit.

“Hidan, you have to tell me if there is an emergency,” you said as you heaved the box onto the counter from your spare room. You cleaned his palm with soap and disinfectant before applying pressure. While you didn’t have to worry about blood loss with Hidan, you also didn’t want him passing out on your kitchen floor either. That would make one more thing to clean up. “Hidan—” You pulled the gauze extra tight. He didn’t seem to be listening to you. —“Is there an emergency?”

“No, lady, it was just cold as fuck and Kakuzu’s got a stick up his ass that’s worse than usual. But you already know what that’s like.” The atmosphere stood still at the mention of Kakuzu’s name.

You knew that you shouldn’t worry about him. As far as you were concerned, he had just divorced you a few hours ago, and even if he hadn’t, you were certain that he could take care of himself. You apparently didn’t do a great job at masking your worry.

He usually didn’t care about the effect of his words, but as you frowned to yourself, Hidan couldn’t help but consider how sad you looked. He pursed his lips, never one for comforting others. For a split second, he wondered whether or not he should have brought up his partner at all. Two fingers gently bumped the bottom of your chin and you looked up at Hidan.

“Don’t look so down. It doesn’t look good on you.” He hesitated. “He’ll come back.”

You dropped his wrapped hand, not noticing that you’ve been drawing loops around his knuckles with your finger.

“I don’t know. He’s usually pretty certain about things and I can’t dwell on that.” You shook your head, turning the water back on to wash your own hands. “You have to go. I know that you have things to do and my— and Kakuzu won’t like that you’re here.” He pouted as you moved around him. You had blood to clean up.

“But it’s raining…” he pouted, expression falling in your peripheral. “And he’s miserable right now which means I’m miserable. C’mon let me stay, I’m miserable.”

“Hidan.” You turned to him and leaned on the doorway from your kitchen to your small living area. “Your partner doesn’t live here anymore.” You flicked on the entryway light, your bucket in hand. Hidan followed behind you, now taking your spot in the doorframe.

“But that doesn’t mean that I have to leave. You know he’s being stupid, but that doesn’t mean that I need to suffer out in the rain because Kakuzu’s a crotchety, old bastard.” You sighed, resting on the handle of your mop. You shook your head.

“I’m sure by the time you get to town the two of you can find somewhere to stay.”

A silence overtook the house again, full of raging, but unspoken thoughts. You squeezed out the yarns and tended to the floors. It, at the very least, gave you something to do. Hidan’s blood already dried part way and you scrubbed harder, but not before it was snatched out of your grip. Hidan shoved you over to take your place. The backs of your knees hit the armrest of the modest couch that you almost toppled down onto. He took to scrubbing.

“So what happened?” he asked.

“Sorry?” Hidan peered at you with his bright violet irises.

“I’m trying to be nice and ask you about your problems, so you better start chatting before I lose interest.” The mop splashed back into the bucket. “Who else do you get to talk to?” You pursed your lips. You knew that he was biding his time to wait out the rain, but his words weren’t wrong. The hurt still felt fresh and perhaps you were feeling a bit desperate to get it out of your system.

“I’m not sure what happened. I asked, but, well, you know how my… how Kakuzu is.” And you found yourself retelling the entirety of what happened: the argument, the ring, Kakuzu’s misplaced comments about children. You left out the part about the wrecked kitchen. “And then he said something about ‘now letting this happen’ which had to be the last straw for me.”

“Did you want brats?” Hidan had since stopped his cleaning. Surprisingly, he listened intently to your rambling as he propped himself against the wall. You swung your feet back and forth over the side of the couch.

“I never really thought about it before and Kakuzu and I never talked about it, so I don’t know why he brought it up.”

“Because he’s a dumbass who thinks too much. I never know what’s going on in that fucked up head of his. If I had a home to come to like this with a cute little thing in an apron—” Hidan scoffed. —“Fuck the Akatsuki. I wouldn’t be hiding you out here because of some band of losers in capes.” That made you laugh.

“You’re in the Akatsuki,” you giggled and Hidan raised a slender eyebrow.

“So? I’m the best one out of all those guys.”

“The best out of some band of losers?” The corners of Hidan’s lips turned upwards into a brief smile as he rolled his pretty irises.

“Listen, I got my devilish charms going for me which is better than Ragdoll. He looks like a fucking pin cushion.” Your hand came over your mouth as you laughed. Hidan looked down at where you sat, pride swelling in his chest at the prospect of cheering you up. But your face quickly morphed into something sentimental.

“Aw, but he’s a cute pin cushion…” Your bottom lip curled into a pout, but at least you didn’t look quite as sad as before. Hidan leaned a bit forward.

“He’s a little over a hundred-eight centimeters tall and has a big-ass nose.” You let out an amused breath. “I’d hardly consider that ‘cute’.”

“But it’s a cute nose. It’s slender and has that cute little bump in the middle.” Your voice grew quieter. Another silence, the third of Hidan’s visit.

It all felt too confusing for you. Maybe Kakuzu was never that interested in you in the first place. You shook your head then and there, much to Hidan’s confusion. Despite Kakuzu’s attitude towards most everything, you knew that he cared deeply about you. Perhaps he had grown bored. Despite ninja work not being of interest to you, you knew that many found the profession very exciting. You ran many profitable operations in the surrounding area, but more money could be made elsewhere, you knew that much. Your lifespan was nothing compared to Kakuzu’s nearly a century of living. He had done everything in life that he had wanted to do and all you had little to show for your existence.

You kept replaying his words about the time that you had. That you had enough time to do more. But if you really thought about it, you were content living the way you had been. You were happy and for a split second you considered whether or not Kakuzu actually saw himself as worthy of you. You shook your head for the second time. No, if anything, you considered it the other way around. You’d imagine that you would come off as boring and childlike to an immortal.

“That’s a lot of thinking.” Hidan had taken to wandering around the room. You hadn’t noticed. “Fuck thinking. You deserve better than taking care of some place in the middle of nowhere and running numbers on boring-ass shit.” You smiled again to yourself, something else that you didn’t notice.

“I actually like it here,” you mumbled. Hidan yawned.

“Can I stay now?” You deliberated to yourself before grabbing the bucket and the mop away from him. He didn’t do a great job, but you found yourself relatively uncaring at the moment.

“Yes, you can stay,” you sighed. Hidan was already halfway down the hall by the time you finished your sentence.

“Good because I was going to crash here anyway.”

@brokennerdalert @unsatisfiedanddisappointed @krispypotato @meme-queen-1999​

Notes: Reader and Kakuzu had a Shinto wedding if anyone’s interested. 

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed and otherwise supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

[hopelesshunny]

the love languages part i: gifts (f.w.)

pairing: fred weasley x fem!reader

summary: fred doesn't like to admit that he gets jealous when it comes to his girlfriend, after a overhearing a conversation where the love of his life is the topic he goes shopping.

warnings: jealously, slight possessiveness, greasy comments from greasy guys, kissing, fred playfully slaps y/n's butt once.

word count: 1.8k

a/n: this is the first instalment of my love language series, i'm hoping to update it over the next four mondays!! i'm starting a taglist for this series and for my future writings in general which you'll find here, i'm so excited to keep writing for this series and i'd love to hear what y'all think of it - my ask is always open and i can't wait to hear your opinions!!

*all photos are from pinterest*

series masterlist // part ii // part iii // part iv

Fred laid back on his bed, his hands clasped behind his head as he watched his girlfriend adjust her uniform in the mirror. Fred had known Y/N for years but she had become a Weasley family staple after she rescued a very stressed Ron in the library who was pouring over a potions essay that Hermoine had refused to help with. It wasn’t until they had convinced Y/N to spend the summer at the Burrow with them this past year that Fred had finally worked up the nerve to express his feelings for her, and now here she was flashing him that sunshine smile in his dorm room, his mirror, making her way over to kiss his lips.

“You’re staring Freddie.” She giggled, as she plopped down in his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Can’t help it angel.” He replied, pressing a sweet kiss to her forehead. “You’re just too good to be all mine.”

“Well-” she started “I can assure you that I am, my love.” He chuckled as he placed another kiss to her lips. She closed her eyes, relishing in the feeling of his lips on hers for a little longer than she probably should have. In all honesty, Y/N had been crushing on Fred for years, long before he had even known who she was. She had simply intended on observing him from afar, sneaking in quiet chuckles at the jokes he and George cracked in class, stealing quick glances at him across the Great Hall as he teased his siblings. But when she developed quite the unlikely friendship with his younger brother and they had invited her to their family home, Fred started to see her in a different light. Y/N had been at the Burrow for over a month when Fred finally realized that maybe the reason he always wanted to be close to her and that he laughed the hardest at her jokes wasn’t just because he wanted to be her friend, he wanted to be her boyfriend, he was in love with her.

She was everything he had ever wanted, the perfect girl for him, but her being perfect made her quite the center of attention. Fred would never admit that he was jealous but the stares she attracted as the pair walked down the hallways always got to him. However, she never noticed the way other people looked at her, probably because she was too busy staring at him, too focused on the feeling of his hand in hers.

“Freddie.” She whined, wriggling in his grasp. “I’ve got to get to the library and you’ve got practice.” She giggled as he buried his face in her neck, inhaling her scent.

“The library isn’t going anywhere and they won’t mind if I’m late.” He mumbled which earned a playful scoff from her.

“I have a feeling that your lateness will not be excused.” She replied as he groaned into her skin.

“Fine.” He spoke before placing a playful smack to her butt, signalling for her to move off of him so he could reluctantly get ready for quidditch practice.

“Don’t worry Freddie, I'll find you once you're done.” She cooed, placing a kiss to his lips before making her way out of his room and down the hall, leaving him breathless, once again.

Fred quickly got dressed and started the trek towards the pitch, his head flooded with the thoughts of Y/N, a smile seemed permanently etched on his face. Until he overheard voices from around the corner; there stood two Ravenclaw boys leaning against the wall, and the topic of discussion happened to be his girlfriend. Fred gritted his teeth at the sound of her name coming from such mouths, his jaw becoming tight as he felt his hands ball themselves into fists.

“No, I’m telling you, she knows how to fill a uniform.” One of them groaned as the other laughed in agreement. The thought of someone staring at her, making such comments about his girlfriend made him angry, but the fact that they were looking at her like that, like she was nothing more than a body, infuriated him. She was so much more than that, sure she was gorgeous but she also helped his younger siblings with their homework when they couldn’t figure something out, she baked bread with his mother on Sunday mornings and always reassured him when he felt like the entire world was against him.

“You’re right.” The other remarked. “Don’t know what she sees in Weasley. Merlin, she could do so much better.” He added, running a hand through his hair. Fred couldn’t listen any longer, couldn’t handle the garbage he was hearing.

“And I assume you think you’re better eh?” Fred spoke as he sulked his way out of the shadows, causing the two boys to jump at the sound of his voice. “Quiet now, are we?” He chuckled.

“It’s only the truth Weasley, she’ll leave you at the sight of someone better.” The braver of the two spoke. “You’ll be tossed out soon enough.” Fred could feel the anger bubbling inside of him, but he knew that Y/N would despise the thought of him fighting, especially over her.

“We’ll see about that.” He breathed, feigning a lack of bother, the two boys stared at him, shocked at his response as he simply walked past them.

The week had melted itself into the weekend and the thought of his conversation in the hallway still plagued him, he knew Y/N wasn’t like that, she wouldn’t simply drop him if someone better came along. He knew that she loved him, knew that she barely even noticed those who were interested in her no matter how persistent their efforts in pursuing her were. But he needed something, something to prove that she was his, something that could show that she was proud to be his. After seething over this for the past week, thinking about constantly pulling his jumper over her head or maybe just never letting go of her hand in an attempt to keep greasy eyes off of her, it finally hit him and after a sneaky visit to a jewelry store he had a solution.

“Hey princess.” He spoke, excitement evident in his tone as he took his spot next to Y/N in front of the tree she was leaning against.

“Hi, my love.” She replied, abandoning the book she was reading to lay her head in his lap. He sighed with content, running his fingers through her hair as she gazed up at him, nothing but pure love gracing her features.

“I got you something.” Fred said softly as he ran a thumb across her cheek, she looked up at him, taking the hand that wasn’t occupied on her face into her own, interlacing their fingers.

“Freddie-” She started, but he stopped her, pressing a finger to her lips.

“No, no, no.” He protested. “I know you always say you don’t need gifts but this one means a lot to me.” She stared at him curiously as he continued to speak.

“I overheard these guys talking about you and I tried to not let it get to me but I- I couldn’t.” He spoke, her face softening. “I know you love me and I love you more than anything, I just wanted to get you something that could show everyone that, that could show you that.” He ran his fingers through his crimson hair and let out a shaky breath as she brought his hand to her mouth, gently kissing each knuckle. He was so nervous, he had planned exactly how to go about this in his head, but here in this situation, with her staring up at him with those eyes, all previous thoughts of smooth words and flirting were abandoned. He wanted nothing more than to spill his guts to her, tell her every single reason why he loved her, kiss every inch of her body.

“I always say I don’t get jealous when it comes to you, but I do, I hate it when other people look at you the same way I do.” Her lips quirked into a smile. “You’re the love of my life Y/N, there is absolutely no one out there better for me than you, I’m all in.”

“I couldn't agree more Freddie, all my bets are on you.” Y/N said, rising from her spot in his lap to straddle him. She placed her palms against either side of his face, resting her forehead against his closing her eyes and feeling the heat of his cheeks against her hands. Fred reached into his jacket pocket to reveal a small velvet box, Y/N’s eyes grew wide at the sight. He chuckled, sensing her surprise.

“It’s not an engagement ring angel.” He started, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “At least not yet.” He opened the box, where a simple silver necklace sat, four letters sat in the middle, his name in plain script. Y/N gasped, her hands flying to her mouth as Fred pulled the necklace out of the box and loosened the clasp.

“May I?” He asked, a grin etching itself on his face.

“Of course.” She whispered as he placed the chain around her neck.

“There.” He spoke, leaning back to admire her, she looked so pretty with his name lying against her skin. “What do you think?” He asked, his voice quiet as he searched her face for some sort of indication into how she felt about the gift. She stayed quiet for a moment, simply staring down at the necklace, she ran a finger across the letters as Fred bit his lip, nervous at her sudden silence.

“I love it Freddie.” She whispered, pulling his face to hers capturing his lips with her own before kissing his forehead, both his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids, his lips again and again. He broke into a full fledged laugh until he noticed the tears in Y/N’s eyes.

“Oh no princess, don’t cry.” He chuckled, wiping away stray tears.

“They’re happy tears Freddie.” She giggled. “Just love you so much.”

“I bet I love you more though.” He retorted, resting his hands on her waist as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. “I’ll have to buy you more gifts if you keep kissing me like that.”

Y/N sighed in response, her fingers twirled in the hair at the nape of his neck. They both knew that Fred could never buy her another gift for as long as they both lived and she would still love him as much as she did in this very moment. There was so much uncertainty in the future but right now, with his name around her neck and his arms wrapped so tightly around her waist she knew that no matter what happened in the next month, the next year and for the rest of her life, her love would be completely and utterly Fred Weasleys.

taglist (join here!!)

@onlyfreds

[its-kall-the-clown]

Hey, I'm send my ask cause I love your writing style. This is the aftermath I'd sick MK. Pigsy & Tang took him to the hospital while Wukong is in FFM waiting & worried out of his mind. So he flies there & he is in fir a shock when he discovers his kid is so sick & in hospital. Prompt list: #39 & 45.

*rubs clown hands together* yall really want part 3? >:3 its angsty but what else am I know for? XD

in this one Tang gets a chance to be a protective dad again

PART 1 PART 2

Prompt List

I'm Sorry Bud

Rating: G

Wukong wasn't worried. He was the incredibly handsome sage equal to heaven and super immortal. He had no reason to worry Except….maybe he was incredibly worried. No matter how much he tried, his stomach snapped and curled unhappily every time he even thought about MK.

He got a phone call.

Not from MK but from his dad Pigsy.

He didn't even get a word out before hellfire had rained down on him. Call him old school but there were definitely some new curse words that he had never heard before that spewed out of the hog's mouth.

He was flayed verbally so viscously he shuddered under the swearing and even looked over his shoulder to make sure the pigman did not spontaneously spawn behind him.

The call ended with Pigsy talking about taking MK to the hospital and it was HIS fault.

They hung up after that and Wukong hasn't stopped pacing for the past five minutes. MK was sick, running a deadly fever, and in the hospital because of it.

Because of him...

He bites his thumb, his tail lashing wildly behind him, while he continues to dig a trench with his feet.

"Fuck it."

He leaps upward, summoning his nimbus, and speeds off into the sky to the general Hospital. He's there for only a few minutes but it feels like forever. He didn't even wait for his nimbus to stop before he's timing off to the front doors.

He probably scares the poor lady behind the desk with how he practically slammed into it with how fast he was rushing. He asked for MK which got him nothing till he realized he needed to probably give them his full real name. After saying Qi Xiaotian Sanzang they directed him to a room.

He rushes to room 607 but before he can even get a hand in the door he's grabbed roughly by the shoulder.

"I wouldn't go in there if I were you…"

Wukong turned around to see MK's other dad, Tang, he's holding a few water bottles under his arm and a can of instant coffee. Looks like they were going to settle on for the night at MKs side, and Tang had been sent out on the errand the get them some drinks.

"Pigsy is still in there, and he's not too keen on seeing your face."

They scan the king up and down with passive eyes that hold a twinge of resentment that makes the fur on the back of his neck bristle defensively.

"I just want to see him…..make sure he's okay." He pleads and the passive gaze melts a little bit sympathetically.

"Please," Wukong begs again, even going so far as to duck his head submissively to the mortal. He just wanted to make sure MK was okay. It was his fault after all that they were sick. He should have never let them egg him on into training in the rain.

Tang looks him over again, studying him with a keen eye. He lets out a sigh eventually and walks forward.

"Okay, but only because MK asked about you once. let me get Pigsy out of the room first."

Wukogn jerks his head upward with surprise. He was actually going to let him see MK?

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. I might not convince him to leave MK's side, wait here and disguise yourself or something." Tang gives him a little head nod before entering the room and shutting the door. Wukong does as requested and transforms into a beatle to cling to the wall.

A few minutes pass and at first, the monkey thinks that Tang couldn't do it and Pigsy wouldn't leave MK's side. But the door opens and the pig demon exits with a grumble about finding a nurse or doctor. Wukong barely has time to fly between the cracks before the door is shut again. He transforms back, landing on his feet.

MK is there.

He looks awful.

The poor boy is laying in a hospital bed, iv hooked up to him to administer fluids and a cooling compress to his forehead. Wukong approaches the bed reverently feeling his heart shatter into a million pieces.

"When they took his temp initially he was running a 104-degree fever," Tang explains walking up beside him and grabbing MK's limp hand.

"He was delirious, crying and shouting Something about being a disappointment before he passed out." They finish, the man rubbing MK's knuckles tenderly. Wukong takes the other side of the bed. And knees there to look at them up close.

"It's your fault you know."

It's like a full-body slam into a mountain. The words were delivered without mercy. He didn't even look at Tang and instead swallowed stiffly.

"You show up out of nowhere, pick MK without any reason that I can understand, and then you make him fill these impossibly big shoes!?" Tang's fist tightens at his side, face growing red slowly and Wukong isn't sure if he prefers this simmering rage of the explosive rage of Pigsy.

"You know how hard it was to build MK back up when we adopted him officially??? He was just a scared timid boy, no confidence! We had to HELP him get where he is now. And then you come along and just-" Tang throws his hands up in the air in frustration "-ruin that in a couple of weeks" he finishes with a growl. Wukogn shrinks further, this feels an awful like when he would get scolded like his master for doing something wrong and he didn't even have a defense for it. All of it was true. He did pick MK for little reason other than he likes the kid's spunk and good heart.

And he was making them fill big shoes. And maybe the big shoes were just too hard for MK to walk in, and maybe he noticed that but didn't help him because he assumed they would get better with time.

"I'm sorry…." He whispers out burying his face into the sheets of MK's bed. He whimpers feeling the guild nash and bites at the lining of his stomach.

"It's your fault...and I don't know if I want ML training with you anymore…."

It was all his fault.

His fault.

His fault.

"Baba...Don't...yell at monkey king."

His head jerks up to find that MK was conscious now, a hand reaches for his head and scratches the top of it like he's a monkey.

"MK…" Tang starts and is cut off by MK who shakes his head.

"Not his fault….he's so lonely." The by comments driving a knife between Monkey King's ribs and stabbing his heart. Those fingers continue to scratch the top of his head deliriously.

"You need to rest, bud. If you don't rest you won't get better." He instructs holding back something in his throat that he realizes is a pur.

"Mmmmkay. Do I look okay?" They asked and Wukong chuckled at the odd question.

"You look fine. Just rest please." He pleads and MK nods his head drearily before drifting back to sleep. Tang and he look at each other, bewildered by the experience. Tang studies him for a moment, eyes drifting over his form at MK's side with the boy's fingers still intertwined with the fur on the top of his head.

Tang must find what he's looking for because his shoulders relax slightly

"You may continue to train MK…." He holds up a finger. "On the condition that you are open and honest with him AND us about his training." He instructs and Wukong nods

"You also cut back to every other evening instead of every night after work. You're going to break him and wear him out. If in a week I decide that's still too much it gets cut back again. Understand?" Tang looks expectantly to Wukong who nods his head up and down quickly. These rules were more than fair, he could do that! Hell, he would tell MK himself of these new rules if he needed to.

The door clicks

"Tang the doctor said those vital signs were normal right now. I TOLD you this" Pigsy enters the room and looks at the display before him. Tang is sitting by MK's side, holding his hand and the window opens slightly.

"Why did you open the window?"

"I-it was a bit stuffy in here" Tang admits looking to where Wukong was just a few seconds ago and then to the window. He must have escaped quickly when he heard Pigsy enter the room. In the blink of an eye, he was gone.

Pigsy grumbles something and walks to the window and shuts it. Then he trudges over to his lover's wide and buries his face into it.

"He's gonna be okay…." Tang reassures and the pig demon who lets put a huff through his snout into their chest. Tang kisses the top of Pigsy's head affectionately and that causes them to melt on his hold.

They all were going to be okay.

[soulwillower]

tozier • bill denbrough

(bill denbrough x tozier!reader smut)

requested: okay so once regular requests open, here’s my idea. so the reader and richie are siblings and they absolutely hate each other and to get under his sisters skin, he fucks her best friend. so in sheer anger she decides to fuck all of his

warnings: underage drinking, very flirty bill denbrough, smut, oral (male receiving), a teeny bit of deepthroating, fingering, switch bill, unprotected sex, praise kink, a teeeeeny bit of a pain kink i guess but i think that’s it. unedited

part 5 of the tozier series [  i  ii  iii  iv  ]

(losers and reader are 20+ and in college in this)

5.7k words

♡

when richie had galloped into your room to tell you that the losers were coming over, you’d just shrugged it off and nodded your head - you were used to your brother’s friends being around. honestly, now it didnt ever bother you because despite the pain in the ass that he is, your brother sure knew how to pick a friend or two (or six).

you’re thinking about that as you pad into your kitchen, face on the floor until you see richie’s legs sat backwards in a chair.

“hiya.” richie greets you with a two-fingered salute as you look up. you open your mouth to respond but your breathing is cut short when you look to the right, where bill denbrough stands in all his stupid sexy glory in the middle of your kitchen, toying with a lighter as he meets your eyes.

bill. oh god.

“hey, y/n.” he says with a soft grin, his green eyes alight with joy as he tosses his lighter to richie, who catches it swiftly.

you try your hardest to not fucking blush because damn it, all he said was “hi” and you’re honest to god 3 seconds away from taking off all of your clothes and leaping onto him. or vomiting in the sink - maybe both. for some reason, bill always makes you feel hot, no matter how old you get and how many of his friends you bone.

“h-hi bill, how are you?” you ask back, cursing your nervous stutter. richie, who has apparently decided to throw caution to the wind and smoke openly in your kitchen instead of going out back to the yard, chuckles through his lit cig. “aw, you’re startin' to sound like him, sis.”

you shoot richie an alarmed look, "that's a bit rude." you say and richie shrugs it off, wiggling his stupid bony hand at you, “nah c’mon, it’s so cute!” he insists and you just turn even redder.

“n-no, he’s right.” bill mutters with another goddamn smile and your chest flutters with butterflies as you make eye contact. “but i’m doing really good, thanks. how are you, y/n? are you going to come w-with us tonight?”

you and richie both look at the boy standing casually at your kitchen counter, his eyes innocent as he pops a blackberry between his plush lips. you have to tear your eyes from him because he’s staring at you expectantly and you think you might fucking combust.

bill denbrough, your brother’s best friend, was very hot. obviously. he had always been sweet - when you were all in middle school you remember bill always being kind albeit dismissive when you would see him at your house in passing.

but puberty smacked into bill like a fucking freight train, just as it did to you and your brother and all of his friends, and bill was a borderline god now. it was completely un-fucking-fair, because you swear sometime between when richie slept with your best friend and now, you went from barely batting an eye when the boy was around your house to blushing when he so much as looked at you and waking up in a sweat after having a dream of him sneaking into your room from richie’s and fucking the daylights out of you.

totally, completely un-fucking-fair.

but sometimes, you kind of thought bill saw you in the same way you saw him. sometimes.

it was there in the way bill’s eyes would meet yours; it was there in his gentle words and sharp laughter whenever stan or your brother made a stupid joke and bill was three beers into the night, the way he’d immediately look for you every time he did so.

you’re pretty sure it was there most of the time - even before you started on this quest of sorts to get back at richie, because it's not like you weren't thinking about richie's friends before you started this whole thing. and bill has always been the boy next door, the friend that your mom always gushed about even from a young age; he's just grown into his looks so quickly in the five years since you were in middle school.

and that, in itself, is the real reason why you’re thrown by bill’s insistence that you join the rest of the group tonight - you can count on your hands the amount of times that bill denbrough has asked you to hang out. it's not like he doesn't like you, but it's more like he doesn't care if you're there either way. and you hate to say it, but that nonchalant attitude makes your thighs clench every time he smirks when you walk into the room.

“i mean, sure, that's cool.” you say neutrally, feeling way shier than you ought to when, at the same time, you’re watching bill crack his knuckles and all you can think about is him sliding his fingers deep inside of you.

“we're going to kiera gross's party.” bill says with barely any interest as he picks another blackberry out, and yes you are blushing again so you turn to look at your brother instead. you really didnt want to piss rich off, but if bill denbrough was insisting you go with them tonight...

he shrugs, "whatever, just don't be a bitch." he says with a playful grin. "oh, and don't get too flustered tonight, y/n. you know, cuz stan's coming." richie says in tease, making you flush. "shut up, richie." you hiss, shoving his shoulder and sneaking a glance at bill, whose expression is unreadable as he stares between you and your brother.

you'd had a small crush on stan when you were kids, which had weaned off eventually, but it used to be fairly obvious. stan was so funny and intelligent and admittedly very hot, but he and especially richie still tease you about it occasionally, which is very mortifying. you don't know why you're so flustered that bill knows - it's not like he'd care for any reason, and he's too nice to really tease you about it too much anyways, and it's not like he hasn't heard them tease you about it before.

you're just embarrassed.

"okay. yeah, i remember her. i'll come." you mutter, toying with the hem of the shirt you're wearing and smiling at bill. you feel hot under his gaze and your legs clench together just at the way his fingers tap against the counter. god.

"y/n, what the hell, 's that my shirt?" richie pipes up, switching the subject with brows furrowed as you blink. "i don't know what you're talking about." you say, trying to feign innocence as you grin at the two boys in front of you. richie scowls, "c'mon, stop stealing my shit!" he whines and you shrug, glaring at him, "stop stealing my weed, then."

"take it off." he grumbles, crossing his arms, and you scoff.

"big deal, rich, you have so many other shirts." you reason as you walk over to fill up a glass of water. "no, y/n, it's mine. take it off!" he insists, and you sigh, making eye contact with bill from across the counter.

"fine!" you snap, getting a sly idea in your head. a very bold idea, one that will be perfect to piss richie off. so you start to lift the shirt up from off your frame, lifting a pointed brow at richie as his eyes widen and he rushes towards you.

"no, no! jesus, don't fuckin' do that." he yelps. bill's chuckling and you can't help but look up at him, flushing under his smirk as he lifts his brows playfully at you. he looks so hot as he smirks down at you, his eyes trailing down to where your fingers still have the hem of the shirt lifted up slightly.

"i-i wouldn't mind." bill says quietly, a glint in his eyes that immediately makes you flush, your stomach flipping around at his words as you tear your gaze away, feeling the adrenaline rush from your brother's anger and bill's attention. your heart stops at his words and your stomach burns, butterflies fluttering around as a small giggle escapes your lips.

"bill, stop. fuck you. fuck both of you, actually." richie mutters, rolling his eyes and turning away from you both, putting out his cigarette on his shoe and standing to go throw it away. bill looks at you with red cheeks of his own, lifting a brow in tease as he looks at you.

"he was just joking, richie." you say with a smirk, ignoring how weak your legs feel. you grip the counter as you stare at bill, unsure where his boldness comes from but wondering if it's driven by the same reason you're acting up.

bill hums, smirking to himself as he pulls a few more blackberries and drops them in a bowl. "oh sure, c'mon trashmouth. i was j-just joking."

“william.” richie snaps and you raise your brows, confused but loving what was happening. you're slightly thrown off - having forgotten that bill's full name was william, but also because of the sharpness and warning tone in richie's voice.

“what?” bill asks with a laugh, looking up from the damn fruit carton as he stares richie down. it almost feels like a challenge, the way your brother is staring at bill, and you feel left out in a way that you don't really know if you want to be let in.

it's slightly tense and you’re shocked - richie is the kind of fucker who laughs at suave shit like that, but the more you think about how protective he is of his friends, the sooner you roll your eyes.

"oh....kay. i'm gonna- i'm gonna go." you say awkwardly, biting your lip. you hide your grin as you slip out of the kitchen, meeting eyes with bill as he winks subtly at you while richie shakes his head with a frustrated glare down at the lighter in his hands. "y/n," richie calls as he follows you down the hall.

you turn right at the base of the stairs, a smirk on your face. "what?" you snap. he glares at you. "don't do that shit in front of my friends, that's so fucked."

you stare at him, trying your hardest not to smile. you wonder if bill can hear you. "what? we were just teasing you, richie. i can't help it if your friends all want to fuck me."

he runs his hand over his face, groaning, "can you be quiet? bill probably heard that. and don't fuckin' joke about that. if you touch one of my friends i'll kill you." he snaps. 

you shove him, completely floored that he could be so daft. "richie, you're still fucking my best friend! i hate you, why are you such an asshole?"

"whatever. stay away until we leave tonight." richie says as he turns to leave, holding up a middle finger as he stalks back towards the kitchen.

you didn't go back downstairs until you heard the others come in about forty five minutes later, spending most of your time getting ready and calming down after richie's stunt. you decided that tonight is the night you try and hit on bill. after grinning to yourself in the mirror and flattening your top against your chest, you make your way down from your room to find all of richie's friends lounging around the kitchen. of course, your eyes immediately find bill, who is still eating those damn blackberries. you chuckle.

"do you ever put those down?" you ask, causing him to pick up his head and chew slowly, grinning through a closed mouth as if he'd been caught red-handed. his eyes move up and down your figure and it makes your stomach flutter. he doesn't get the time to respond because richie's already herding everyone out the door. bev's winking at you, which makes your stomach flip, slinging an arm around your shoulder in greeting as you all file into stan's hatchback, mumbling about the girl's house whose party you're going to.

you spend the first two hours with bev and mike, playing pong and sipping casually on mixed drinks while you catch up with people you haven't seen since you graduated.

a while after, mike and bev start to play king’s cup. you opt out, instead deciding to go find some of the others. when you make your way to the kitchen, you find richie and stan taking body shots off of two girls you remember from your bio class junior year. 

the sting of jealousy you get from the girl as she cards her fingers through stan's curls instantly makes you sour, shoving richie as you grab a mike's hard lemonade and crack it open on the counter.

"what's wrong with you?" richie mumbles, wiping his mouth as the girls walk away. stan smirks as he leans on the counter, his cheeks red. god, you hate being so horny. where's bill?

your eyes linger over the crowd and richie, always the asshole, takes the opportunity you'd accidentally just presented to him. "you sad stan the man isn’t taking body shots off of you? you’re not really his type, sorry.” 

you gape at richie, feeling like you could murder him on the spot. you’re bright red, not daring to look at stan as he mutters, “richie, you’re a fucking asshole.” 

you glare at your brother. “just trying to find the best thing to kill you with. i want you dead.” 

"whatever, you don't need to be so sensitive." richie teases, craning his neck when somebody calls his name from the backyard. "sis, duty calls. catch you in a bit." he adds, his attention on your friend who'd just shown up and is waving richie over. the sight of her makes you roll your eyes at richie.

as the boys leave, stan nudges you, "don't listen to him, he just doesn’t like the idea of me liking you more than him. you're cute when you blush." he nudges your chin with his fingers and then laughs when you flush even more, turning and making his way through the crowd with a drunken goodbye.

jesus christ. 

now that you're alone, you want to scream. your eyes roll back as you rub your face with a short sigh. what the fuck were you thinking, getting involved with ben, bev, mike, and eddie? and now bill? plus, what’s stan up to, since when was he such a flirt? 

god, you're way over your head.

“a-are you okay?" the devil himself asks as he pads into the kitchen behind you, a smile on his face. great.

you sigh, shaking your head, "richie makes me so fucking mad sometimes." you say honestly, wary of talking shit about richie to his best friend. bill just nods, and you realize for a second you really let yourself think that richie's friends didn't know he was an asshole.

"you know,” bill smirks, “r-rich told me to stay away from you tonight.”  bill just takes three steps closer, oh so slow, and it unintentionally backs you against the counter.  your mouth goes dry, your body buzzing at the proximity.  slowly, bill places his hands next to you and leans on the counter.  “we should just get back at him to piss him off.” he mutters and your eyes widen, lips parting as you stare at him. "it's f-funny when he's mad."

your eyes bounce down to his lips, which are curled in a smirk and you breathe out shortly. "how do you suggest we do that?" you whisper, hands snaking around his shoulders and ignoring the pounding in your heart. he smirks, "d-don't know. what would piss him off the most?"

you grin, feigning innocence. "y'know... maybe if we just went into a room together right in front of him. he'd get somad." you say with a giggle. bill chuckles, turning back to see richie laughing loudly with your old friend by his side, telling some stupid story that was probably making everyone roll their eyes. "let's go, then." bill says, grabbing your hand and pulling you out of the kitchen, your face burning already at how easy that just was.

you pass the group of people that richie's in, and bill sends you a look before he taps a kid next to richie on the shoulder, effectively grabbing richie's attention. "h-hey, can you hold onto this drink? just for a bit?" bill says, handing him his cup. you follow bill's lead, handing your drink to your friend and asking her to hold onto it. "we'll be back in a bit." you say, sending her a wink and making richie furrow his brows.

you see his eyes follow you as bill grabs your hand and pulls you towards the closest room, his hand falling to your back as he ushers you into the room. as the door closes, you let out a bit of a laugh, shaking your head. you sit on the ground in the empty bedroom and bill follows, his knees grazing yours and making your stomach flip embarrasingly. he pulls out a deck of cards. "w-want to play something while we w-wait?"

you snort, realizing if you want to make richie suspicious you should at least stay in here for a bit. and it's not like you're complaining that you have to spend time alone with bill denbrough. "you want to play war?" you ask, looking at bill.

he nods and starts shuffling, handing you half the deck. "he's going to kill me." you mumble with a slight laugh. bill sends you a look. "he's going to kill m-me, not you." he says, shaking his head.

you laugh, "no, he's going to be furious. he's a bit hypocritical, he doesn't want me to have sex with you, let alone be nearyou, but he's probably going to take home my best friend again tonight."

bill hums, and that's when you realize how blunt you'd just been.

"he just d-doesn't like it when people have fun." bill says, lifting a brow as his voice goes lower. you turn slightly red as you make eye contact. "and it sounds like he kind of deserves it, anyways. i think if we had sex it would be a win-win."

you blink because wow, bill is much smoother than you expected. you look at him, his dark auburn brows rising above his half life eyes, which are trained on your lips. "then what's stopping us?" you say in a whisper, your heart pounding in your chest.

and just like that's you're kissing bill.

his lips are chapped and warm, strong against you as he pulls you closer by your neck. he smells amazing, and you surge up against him with a small sigh when his tongue brushes along your bottom lip. you're about to move over and straddle him, but a noise makes you pull away.

"out of the way!" you hear your brother's voice distinctly call muffled from behind the door and you jerk away from bill suddenly. he chuckles at you and you both pull yourselves together just as the door bursts open, richie standing at the doorway. you blink up at him with a smirk, the deck of cards in your hand as bill asks him innocently, "what's up, r-rich?"

"what the hell are you doing in here?" he snaps, looking between you with angry eyes. you snort, "we were going to play war. is that okay, dad?" you spit sarcastically. richie rolls his eyes, "get out. we're leaving anyways."

and he turns, leaving the door wide open as he tries to grab mike's attention. you meet bill's eyes and you both laugh awkwardly after having been interrupted, ignoring the red on your cheeks as you make your way towards the front of the house to meet up with the others.

richie acts like a toddler for the ride home, the streets at one in the morning empty as you all sing along terribly to the music stan plays. he's pouting and sending you and bill death glares from where the two of you sit in the trunk of the car, making you smirk to bill when richie looks away.

but after you've all gone to bed, you toss and turn in your room by yourself, unable to get bill off your mind. his lips, his hands on your neck and waist... after thirty minutes of debating, you finally pull yourself up and creep out of your room to find him in the basement with the others. you're not sure what your plan is, but luckily you don't have to finish it because you nearly run into him five steps away from your bedroom door.

"oh!" you say, jumping a bit in the dim lighting. "y/n." he says, looking surprised and guilty. "what're you doing up?" you say, letting out a breath as your heart rate jumps.

"can't sleep." bill explains, green eyes boring into yours. you hum, nodding and ignoring the blatant lie bill just told, ignoring that he's walked up two flights of stairs towards your room just because he 'can't sleep.'

it makes you grin. "well, i still have that deck of cards we were using earlier." you say, sending him a look as you gesture slightly to your bedroom behind you. bill smirks, "we n-never did get to play that round of war, did we?" he says with a charming smile.

it's mostly quiet as you set up the deck, the tension of being alone together in the middle of the night in your bedroom making you seem like you're doing something you're not supposed to. it makes you feel warm as you start playing, the first time you draw the same card giving you a good idea.

after you flip your fourth card down and see you lost, you let out a sigh. "fuck." you whisper, reaching and pulling your top off. you toss it to the ground next to where you and bill sit and then you dare to look at him.

his eyes are wide, cheeks flushed as he stares at your chest, your skin glowing against the fabric of your bra. "fuck." he nearly moans, and the noise makes you instantly clench your thighs. "these rules are n-not the ones my parents taught me." he says with a swallow. you laugh a bit, shifting as your heart pounds. "i like this version much better." he whispers.

the next time you both draw the same card, he loses, and he smirks, pulling his own shirt off. it makes you turn red because yeah, you forgot he and stan are on the baseball team and you did not expect him to be this fit. you lick your lips, pulling your eyes off his bare skin and clearing your throat. it's silent in the room, the sexual tension almost killing you.

as you both draw a matching card next time, you're about to scream from the intensity. you lose and try to hide your smirk as you pull your shorts off your legs, going onto your knees and grinning at bill. he groans lowly, biting his lip and making you impossibly more wet.

"i don't know how long this game's gonna be, y/n." he says lowly, his eyes glued to your frame. you lick your lips, shrugging as you move to crawl toward him, "we can just say i win, then." you whisper, throwing a leg around his hips and settling into his lap.

"well why can't i win?" he asks as his hands course over your bare skin, leaving goose bumps in their wake. he's grinning softly, eyes stuck on your lips with an enticing look. you melt as you lean forward, "you'll have to work for it." you whisper against his lips, kissing him.

his hand slides from your hip up to your jaw, his thumb caressing your chin softly as he presses against you. "f-fuck, y/n." he mutters against your lips as you pull back, moving your hips softly down against him and feeling his cock twitch below you. you let out a small moan into his ear as you balance your forehead on his shoulder, your fingers roaming over his chest.

he's biting softly into your neck minutes later, making you whimper as his thumb sneaks down to rub circles against your clit slowly. you palm him lightly and his head falls against the mattress, letting out a moan. you kiss him as your hand moves, squeezing him lightly and loving his stuttering breath on your skin.

you pull yourself off of him and sneak between his legs, laying down so he has a perfect view of your ass as you mouth over his boxers. you tease his cock with your mouth before you mumble, "can i taste you?"

"y-yeah, fuck yes." he breathes out, and if it weren't for your aching need to make him feel good, you might have huffed at how needy he sounded. you pull him out of his boxers and toss the underwear to the side, watching as his cock springs up to hit his stomach.

"sh-shit," he whimpers as you grin, leading your mouth down to press hot, open mouth kisses down his shaft.

he groans, one hand coming to hold your head softly, making you tingle. you watch as he stares at you, lips parted and eyes blown wide. his cock is glistening with precum as it lays hard against your palm. you lick your lips, leaning towards him and keeping your eyes on his.

you lick a stripe up the base of his cock and up to his tip, swirling your tongue. he groans in relief and pleasure as you take him into your mouth slowly, bobbing your head and taking as much of him in as you can. he's bigger than anyone you've been with before, and the need to feel him inside you and to make him fall apart has you taking him as deep as you can.

he lets out a choked moan as you take him deeper, your eyes clouding with tears as you try not to gag. you can tell he’s straining not to buck his hips as you bob up and down on him. you know he’s already close and you smirk when you hear him moan swears under his breath. he's whimpering, his cheeks rosy as he looks at you with half-lidded eyes. he's putty in your hands, and it makes your stomach flutter.

“god, you feel so good, y/n.” he groans. you pull back, sucking on his tip as you swirl your tongue, catching your breath. you take him in again, holding as long as you can and loving the way he’s writhing under your touch. he groans, one hand digging into the carpet, the other resting in your hair, his chest rising and falling shakily.

bill sits up, his eyes dark and lip caught between his lip as he watches you. “i see you touching yourself." he mutters, and your hand slowly stops rubbing your clit, your mouth stilling until he's deep in your mouth and you look up at him. "a-are you going to let me fuck you?” he says, his demeanor changing so quickly you swear you can't breathe. you turn red as you pull your mouth off his cock, a string of spit falling down your chin. he catches it with his thumb and then slips his thumb into your mouth.

"i just want to make you feel good." he says as your tongue swirls eagerly over his thumb. as he pulls it out you nod, trying to find the words to regain the authority that you'd just lost. "such a pretty girl." he mutters as he rubs your cheeks with his hands.

"please," you say, feeling desperate. "please fuck me."

he moans at that, eyes rolling a bit as he nudges you so you're laying back on your carpet. he's above you then, kissing you deeply as his hand slowly trails from your knee and up slowly towards your neglected pussy, his fingers stopping to rub your clothed folds. you let out a small moan as his fingers move, your toes curling. "so wet." he says quietly as he looks at you, watching your reactions to see what you like. it gives you butterflies.

but you suddenly can’t think of anything besides bill, because he’s slipping a finger inside your heat slowly and you're gasping, eyes clenching in pleasure.

he's building a rhythm with his fingers and you know that if anyone is awake in the house besides you, they’d know exactly what was happening in your room currently. you can’t find it to care as you look up at bill, staring back at you with swollen lips and a smirk, his fingers making you grip his hair in ecstasy.

your moans pick up in pitch and you clench around his fingers tightly as his thumb starts to rub your clit, the feeling of bliss having never felt this strong before. your toes curl and you let out whimpers, one hand tangling in his lush hair and the other holding your breast. his head dips down, lips attaching to the other nipple and swirling, making you arch your back.

his fingers pick up pace, curling and pumping in and out of you as he leaves light hickeys all around your breasts. the thought of bill denbrough marking you up for everyone, including your brother and all the other losers to see pushes you closer to the edge.

“bill, fuck, i’m close-“ you start, groaning in pleasure as he smirks slightly. you whimper when he pulls back, a devious smirk playing on his lips, his fingers sliding out of your heat. you moan at the sight of him, shirtless and hair missed up from your fingers, his mouth sinful.

he reaches his hand up to you and obediently you take his fingers into your mouth, sucking and licking up yourself from him. he watches with his mouth slightly open and eyes dark, pumping himself in his other hand. "fuck." he mutters as he pulls his fingers from your mouth, staring down at you. "you sure you want to?" he asks, lips close to yours. you nod, "please, bill, need it so bad." you say, hands rising to his shoulders.

he says nothing then, instead lining up at your entrance and teasing your swollen clit with his head. he's kissing up and down your throat and you let out a whimper, gripping his bare shoulders. and then he pushes into you slowly, his teeth grazing your neck. the sudden stretch fills you to the brim and you let out a guttural noise at the feeling. your back rubs uncomfortably against the carpet as he pushes into you, but your hands grip his shoulders tighter and all you can think about is bill.

“fuck, bill.” you mumble, moaning his name as he starts thrusting, building his pace slowly as you adjust to his size. "harder." you barely get out, whimpering as his hands grip your hips, and then he’s snapping his hips into yours.

“fuck, you're perfect.” his hands grip you, holding your legs open as your eyes roll back slightly, “look at you, f-fuck.” he pounds you into the carpet, his lips then falling to suck large marks on your neck, the stinging pleasure of your bare back on the carpet adding to the pleasure of bill tearing you apart.

his hips still snap into you deeply, his arm slipping under your back to prop you up slightly, making him hit your g-spot and making you let out a loud moan. you feel him so deep inside of you that tears prick at your eyes, the pleasure building instantly. "so pretty." he says against your neck.

you keen loudly, back arching as you yelp his name. he pulls back to look at you, hand tugging on your hair so you look at him as he pounds into you. “look at you.” his voice is deep and rough and then he's pressing a kiss to your temple as he fills deep inside you, the feeling overwhelming as your orgasm creeps up again.

your fingers scratch down his bare back, making him hiss and hum slightly, gripping your hips and lifting you slightly. after a few more thrusts, he pulls out and is flipping you quickly to your hands and knees, hand pressing gently on your back so you arch it. "shit." he hisses under his breath as he eases back into you, the new angle has you biting your hand, his cock pressing deep inside you from the pace of his hips. his lips pepper over the raw skin of your back, red and sensitive from rubbing against your carpet so hard.

and he nudges your head as he thrusts into you, tilting your jaw so he kisses you. his lips are against yours like he’s claiming you, his teeth clashing slightly with yours and his tongue dominating. you’re weak, legs shaking as he pounds into you.

you moan, your stomach clenching in ecstasy as you moan out his name, coming closer with each harsh thrust, “bill, fuck, im gonna cum,” you whimper. at your words, he pulls out of you and flips you again, so you're back on your back, this time lifting one of your legs and pushing into you quickly. your eyes roll back at the new angle, legs shaking as his fingers dig into your thigh.

“wanna see your f-face when i make you cum.“ he mutters, hand rising to thumb your lip, dragging your bottom lip down. you whimper, face red from the pleasure of his words. he's slamming into you, your back rubbing hard against the ground and his eyes admiring the smudged makeup of your eyes, the blissed, fucked-out look on your face. your chest is littered in blossoming hickes, varying from pink to dark red and slightly purple already.

his thumb rubs circles on your cllit and as he presses lightly, you can't hold off any longer. "bill, fuck!" you hiss as you hit your peak, your orgasm making your legs shake. "so pretty." he mutters against your neck, pressing kisses to it as you’re moaning and arching your back.

"fuck, b-babe, 'm gonna cum." he mutters as you look at him desperately, his eyes fall shut in bliss, a deep groan leaving his lips as he thrusts one last time into you, pulling out. you quickly move as he rises to his knees, opening your mouth as his fingers squeeze your jaw.

he's pumping himself as his cheeks redden, chest rising and falling quickly. "y/n, fuck." he mutters he as he cums, spilling onto your tongue as you look up at him.

beautiful moans fall from his cherry colored lips as he spills into your mouth, his cock laying heavy on your tongue.

you look up at him with wide eyes as he sighs, falling back down next to you. "j-jesus." he mutters, and you laugh, kissing his cheeks and then his lips.

"th-that'll piss richie off." bill says breathlessly. you laugh lightly - if only he knew.

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[morganaspendragonss]

quédate un segundo más (2/8)

and the second chapter! lots of research went into this, but i am not a medical professional and there probably will be certain errors.

ao3 | 1.5k | cancer, chemotherapy

Owen Strand is not a quiet man. He always has thoughts or comments at the ready to fill any silence; always a joke to crack or a story to tell.

So when he’s been silent for a full ten minutes, TK knows they’re in dangerous territory.

“Dad, please,” he begs. “Say something.”

“What do you want me to say?”

There’s a terrifyingly calm, hollow quality to his dad’s voice, a kind that TK has never heard before in his life. It chills him right down to the bone, and he clutches onto Carlos’s hard with a strength that must hurt, though of course Carlos doesn’t complain.

He never complains about anything anymore, not even about TK’s annoying habits. He’ll just quietly solve the problem himself, always with a smile, and it feels weird. It feels like he’s already an invalid, like his life has already stopped long before he’s dead.

It’s something that TK knows he’ll have to address, sooner rather than later, but his father still isn’t saying anything, and TK really, really needs him to.

“I don’t know! Just…please.” TK’s voice cracks and tears spring unbidden to his eyes. At least that gets his dad to look at him, finally, but the pain and grief in his expression almost breaks him again.

“TK…” He sighs heavily, then abruptly stands and starts pacing, fingers drumming an erratic beat across his knuckles. “Are they sure? Are they sure that it’s— Because back in New York, they told me my chances weren’t the best, and look at me now! The doctors here are miracle workers, I swear; let me call Doctor Jacobs and talk to her, I’m sure there’s something—”

“Dad, stop!”

His dad stops pacing and looks at him, wounded. “You told me to say something.”

“I know! Not that, though.”

“Then, what?”

“That you support me? That you’ll be here? And, I know”—his dad’s mouth snaps shut, indignation wilting into guilt—“I know you will be. But say it anyway?”

“Of course I will. Whenever and however you need me. I just think—”

“Doctor Jacobs is on my treatment team,” TK interrupts, quieter this time. He meets his dad’s eyes, aching at the pain he’s putting everyone through, and he sees something give way. “This isn’t something you can fix, Dad.”

It takes another minute or so before his dad finally slumps and moves to sit back down. And it’s funny—TK can’t help but wish he was still fighting against the inevitable because that, at least, is familiar. Just as it did when Carlos broke down in his arms, the reality of TK’s situation becomes that much more real, and the noose around his neck tightens just a bit more.

“What have the doctors said?”

TK takes a deep breath, looking back at Carlos for support. He smiles and squeezes his hand, but there’s something sad behind the gesture. There always will be now, TK supposes.

“They’re gonna put me on a chemo course. Obviously it won’t… But it will help with the, um, the pain. They said there are possibilities of surgery to deal with some of the side effects, but it probably wouldn’t be worth going through with it in my case.” Sensing another interruption coming, TK levels his dad with a hard look—as hard as he can manage, anyway.

“Dad, you know why. I’ve got the option of support care and they said we’ll deal with side effects as they come. After that…”

He trails off, the mere thought of talking about the after making him feel about to throw up. In truth, the doctor hadn’t said much about what comes after treatment, claiming that it’s too soon to think about it, but TK knows. Or, he can imagine. He’d done enough of it years ago, when it was his dad on this side of things.

Days spent in bed, too weak to even stay awake for more than a few minutes. Constant discomfort, being drugged out of his mind on pain meds he won’t be able to refuse, time losing all meaning as he slowly loses the fight.

And then…

And then.

His dad nods and stays silent, and this time, TK doesn’t mind.

There’s nothing else to say, after all.

*

TK balls up his dirty socks, gaze flicking between them and the hamper. It would take three steps, maybe four, to cross the room and put them in; TK knows because Carlos loves to remind him every time he throws them and misses.

Carlos hates when he does that.

So TK throws the socks across the room, and, like always, misses.

And, like always these days, Carlos says nothing and simply bends to put the socks where they belong.

“Stop it,” TK blurts out.

Carlos freezes and frowns, a deep crease appearing between his eyebrows. “Stop what?”

“That!” He gestures violently towards the socks, which only serves to make more confusion appear on Carlos’s face. “I know that it annoys you when I do that, so tell me! Don’t—Don’t be so nice all the time!”

Now Carlos looks beyond confused. “You don’t want me to be nice?”

TK groans, flinging his head back—mistake—and turns towards the window, only half to hide the sudden dizziness. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Behind him, TK hears Carlos sigh quietly, then soft footsteps make their way across the room. Carlos’s arms slip around his waist and his chin lands on his shoulder, TK stiffening a moment in the embrace before melting into it. They stand there in silence for a long time, staring out across their backyard, Carlos clearly giving TK the time he needs to figure out what to say.

“I want things to be normal,” he whispers eventually, not daring to look Carlos in the eyes. “I’m not going to break if you tell me to pick my socks up or do the dishes because I left them soaking in the sink for ages. Things don’t have to change—I don’t want them to change.”

“TK…” Carlos breathes, but TK isn’t done.

“I know that one day—one day soon—they’ll have to. But, not right now, okay? I need it to not be now.”

A second passes, then TK feels Carlos pressing the socks into his hands. “Okay,” he says, and it feels like a reprieve.

*

It seems like they’ve just started to return to something resembling normality when the first chemo session comes along and smashes it all to pieces. He’s told to go in two hours early so they can run tests, but as soon as TK steps through the hospital doors, he feels as though that time could just as easily be thirty minutes or thirty hours.

When he’s finally seated in the recliner with a nurse prepping to insert his IV, a sudden panic overwhelms him and his chest heaves as tears well up in his eyes.

He doesn’t want this.

He doesn’t—

He doesn’t want to die.

TK doesn’t realise the nurse has stopped working until a firm grip on his hand brings him back to reality. He looks at Carlos with wide eyes, his reassuring smile clear even through TK’s blurred vision.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, reaching up with his free hand to wipe away the tears making their way down TK’s cheeks. “I’m going to be right here the entire time, I promise.”

It’s a promise that extends beyond the chemo session, and TK doesn’t doubt that Carlos is going to keep it. It still terrifies him that today is the start of the end of his life—at least, that’s how he sees it—but Carlos’s hand in his is enough to give TK the courage to relax and allow the nurse to start his IVs.

The session passes relatively uneventfully. TK never forgets where he is or why, but Carlos’s soft voice is a comfort, as it always has been for him. He feels weird as the drugs start to take effect, like he’s floating and on the verge of sleep, but also hyper-vigilant of everything around him. The nurse stops by at intervals that feel random but are probably regular to check his vitals, and then, finally, to take the line out.

Through it all, Carlos is there.

Once treatment is over and the precautionary thirty minutes after have elapsed, TK’s eyes are growing heavy and he knows he’ll probably fall asleep as soon as he gets in the car. Carlos supports him as they walk out and eases him into the passenger seat, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. He’s still smiling, like he has been the entire day, though TK doesn’t understand how, when he knows how much Carlos, too, must be hurting.

He wriggles his body until he’s facing Carlos, watching him through half-closed eyes. “You can cry, you know,” he mumbles, needing to say it even though he knows what Carlos’s response will be. “You don’t have to be so strong all the time.”

Carlos sighs and starts the ignition. “Yeah, I do.”

TK doesn’t argue.

[yongtxt]

hundred [johnny]

word count: 4.5k words

characters: boxer!johnny x doctor!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: blood/wound/stitches mentions, johnny hates hospitals but he likes the pretty doctor, [im not a doctor nor a boxer pls dont say that i have info wrong because I Know]

author’s note: i know this isnt long to some of u but to me it is and i havent written this much for so long im so proud of myself for finishing this:( it isnt that good but this is the first long fic ive written in a while and shhsdjk also i needed to get this out of my system ive thought about this au since that jcc came out where johnny and hyuck was doing muay thai plssss (i couldnt find a better gif tho) ok this is getting too long / feedback is appreciated tysm

Johnny Suh hated hospitals with a burning passion.

It wasn't from a past trauma nor was he afraid of it, it wasn't that serious. He wasn't exactly sure what the cause of it really was. If he had to make a guess, it was probably from the accumulation of the little things, the insignificant factors people would usually dismiss but bothered him enough that it contributed to the big hatred he built for hospitals.

Maybe it was the distinct smell of hospitals, it reeked of death and old people. Maybe it was the atmosphere of the fluorescent-lit hallways, always gloomy and heavy. Maybe it was also the fact that the fees were so expensive and yet the food they provide tasted horrible, even the coffee was a hit or miss. The only upside he could think of was people get better in hospitals, but even that wasn't assured.

Despite how much Johnny despised hospitals, he always finds himself coming back. If he wanted to get better, he had no choice but to go. He would endure the gruesome process over and over again whether it be to treat his wounds or to stitch his cuts.

With his jaw littered with small bruises and his lips busted at the corner, he sat impatiently on the hospital bed as he waited for his doctor. He was fiddling with his fingers, knuckles bruised the same way his face was. He looked beaten up, he always did.

The clothes he wore contradicted the state he was in, they were fresh and laid back. He looked like a college student from the way he dressed. A delinquent more like, if one considered his cuts and bruises. Before heading to the hospital, he always makes it a point to shower and make himself appear presentable to the public. Although no one really bothers to take notice of his effort, only him.

The sliding door opened and Johnny's attention shot up from his phone, his gaze meeting with yours. Your head popped in, peaking through the small crack you made. Your eyes lit up in recognition as it always did whenever you see him.

"Youngho-ssi?" You spoke almost as if it was a question, voice barely above a whisper to make sure you were in the correct room, about to tend the correct patient.

Johnny didn't understand why you always did that, call out his name as if this was the first time you were seeing him. At that point, you've been already acquainted with him enough due to his numerous trips to the hospital. Either way, he nods every time.

You gave him a small smile, widening the door enough so you could enter. You wore a white lab coat, a name tag pinned to your chest and a stethoscope hung around your neck. You were small, although anyone compared to him was bound to be comparatively smaller – that wasn't the point, you looked young and that never fails to astound him every time you go through the door.

You had a clipboard in your hands, scanning through what he assumed to be his condition that a nurse had written earlier after a quick checkup and disinfection of his open wound. Your lips were formed on a tight line, eyebrows furrowed. He continued to stare at you with such amusement.

"You don't have to answer my question, Youngho-ssi, but why are you always here?" You finally broke the silence, startling him in the slightest. You never bothered to ask before, always just offering smiles and small talks while you did your work; maybe his sudden regularity of coming to the hospital recently made your curiosity peaked.

He couldn't blame you. Anybody would be curious why a 24-year-old man keeps coming back to the hospital with no clear explanation.

He cleared his suddenly dry throat, he never liked saying his job. He said, "I box for a living."

"Ah, that makes sense!" Your eyes visibly glimmered, absentmindedly jotting down notes on his medical records. "My coworkers and I thought you were in a gang or something."

"I don't think I would be allowed to be here if I was." He chuckled, making you giggle as well.

"Seo Youngho, 24, minor lip laceration in need of immediate suture." You read of his data from the clipboard, almost comically. It was medical terms he was unfortunately already too familiar with, to him, it basically meant that he had a busted lip that needs to be sewed shut.

"You can just call me Johnny. Youngho sounds too formal to me." He said nonchalantly. You nodded your head to his simple request; it probably was best if you got to know him better since he frequented the hospital so much.

"Alright, Johnny. We'll start the process now, okay?"

With keen eyes, he watched you slip on a pair of surgical gloves. You grabbed a tissue from the metal tray that sat beside him and began folding it into squares. He felt his heartbeat quicken, he hated getting stitches or any form of medical treatments for that matter, but as morbid as it was, he thought of it as punishment for his recklessness in the ring.

"Isn't boxing just, I don't know, senseless violence?" You asked, tone dripping with pure innocence and unadulterated interest as you gently dabbed away the remaining dried blood the nurse failed to clean earlier.

"It's a sport, it's how I bring money to the table." He pursed his lips, ignoring the twinge of pain that surged through his nerves. He visibly relaxed when you placed a hand onto his shoulder to reassure him.

Ever since the first time you got assigned to him, the first thing he took note of was the softness of your hands. You handled him as if he was fragile glass, despite how he easily towered over you. He felt pathetic as a 24-year-old but your gentle touches would greatly help put him at ease.

"I guess. I didn't mean to be rude." You were hesitant, Johnny could tell but he was glad you didn't push on any further. He couldn't handle explaining his occupation when you were about to pierce his skin. "Okay, Johnny, now that your lip is clean and the anesthesia had seeped in, we'll start. I think you know how it goes by now."

"Make it quick, please." He nodded, squinting his eyes shut at the mere contact of a surgical pen grazing over his gaped lips. You were relieved that his cut wasn't too big, you couldn't stomach the idea of putting him in too much pain for longer.

As you picked up the tweezers and string of nylon, you couldn't help but laugh at the six-foot boxer in front of you who was clearly petrified of getting stitches, "This will be done as soon as you know it. You won't really feel it because of the anesthesia, remember? Now count to a hundred backward for me."

Once the numb feeling of nylon dragged through his lips, he swore he saw white spots flicker in his vision. His eyes immediately watered and he tried his best not to squirm under your hold, beginning to count to a hundred backward like you had instructed him to. You admitted it to him the first time you stitched him that it was a trick that you learned from your pediatrician friend. Despite it being for children, it helped to get him distracted while you focused on your job.

Minutes felt like hours, Johnny had been fighting the urge to punch something, anything, to release tension and nerves. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he took a peak and tried to take his attention away from what was currently happening on his lip. His gaze landed on your pretty eyes, how it was narrowed in focus and how your lashes perfectly framed it.

This wasn't the first time he'd observe you up close, there had been many occasions in the past that you had been too close for comfort in order to tend his wounds. It had been too many that it was almost as if he was close to memorizing your features. You were not only beautiful but you were also a smart and capable doctor.

Eventually, you finished and started to rub ointment on his sore lip — the finishing line.

"Try not to eat anything spicy or hard. You know the drill." You grinned at his suddenly pale features, ripping off your gloves as his eyes adjusted to the bright lights of the room. "You're good to go. Be careful next time."

He let out a shaky breath, clearly still winded up from the procedure, "I'll try. Thanks again, doc."

-

The punching bag felt great against Johnny's fists. There wasn't a feeling in the world that could compare to the impact of leather slamming against his skin. He could last hours mindlessly pummeling the bag if his stamina just allowed him to.

Hyunsik, Johnny's manager and personal trainer, drew away from the punching bag he held in between his arms. He let out a breath and held out a hand to motion that Johnny has done enough.

Johnny was hurting, Hyunsik could see that much. The bandages he had wrapped for the boxer's fingers were turning into a shade of red that they were all too familiar with.

Hyunsik clicked his tongue, "You should've used your gloves."

"How can I grow stronger if I keep relying on them?" Johnny rolled his eyes. His muscles needed a boost and this seemed to be the only logical way to strengthen them — a little blood never hurt anybody.

"Someday you're gonna fracture your hand and you'll be forced out of the ring. Remember that." Hyunsik huffed, his voice stern. "Take them off, I'll clean the blood off."

Johnny reluctantly did as told, unfurling the bandages wrapped around his fingers. The pain was excruciating when the fabric grazed along his tender skin, he winced at the unsightly view of his reopened wounds.

Hyunsik led him back outside of the ring to the benches where the first aid kit was. He made the boxer sit down so he could start cleaning off his wounds. It looked horrific, more so than it usually did and he had no choice but to break the news to Johnny.

"It looks really bad. You need to go get that checked in the hospital and have it sewed back." Hyunsik said, taking a wet towel and carefully dabbing it across Johnny's bloodied knuckles.

He didn't want to go to the hospital. Going to the hospital to have his wounds treated meant that Johnny would be medically required to take days off work to let his hand heal. Johnny frowned, "Don't you have an ointment or something that could help? I can't afford to lose a day of practice."

"Don't you think I know that?" Hyunsik rolled his eyes. "As your manager, I want you to be in top shape for your match next week, even if it means sacrificing a day or two for you to heal."

Johnny could only nod. He sat through Hyunsik's lecture on the changes he should make to his dietary plan and the exercises he should do during his temporary break. It infuriated him that he couldn't do anything about it but nod along.

The incoming match that was set next week would make or break his career as an underground boxer. He didn't have the option of missing it because of some measly reopened wounds. If he had to rest to get better, he had no choice but to suck it up. This was his fault anyway for pushing himself too much.

Johnny showered in the locker rooms and changed into nicer clothes that didn't reek of blood and sweat. His hands were stinging but he shook it off.

He ignored the concerned looks other boxers were giving him and begrudgingly made his way to the hospital to get himself checked in. You wouldn't be happy to see him all bloodied again, he thought.

-

Much to Johnny's surprise, it wasn't you who was assigned to him. It was a much older doctor with graying hair and a nose stuck too far up in the air. She was rude and condescending, her lack of politeness to her patients was quite appalling. If Johnny wasn't in such a bad mood, he might've complained already.

God, this day couldn't get any worse.

With a meek voice, Johnny asked where you were and at the mention of your name, his doctor gave him a narrowed look. She sneered, "She's handling much more important cases. Does she know you?"

"I think so." Johnny gulped, unsure of the answer himself.

The doctor's grip was tight and she was hasty. It was as if she was trying to speed through the process to just get it over with. Johnny wanted to cry because he was starting to get traumatized by this doctor's procedure, he didn't want to hate the hospital more than he already did.

He internally screamed for your name as he watched the doctor pull on the gloves. The sliding door harshly whipped open and there you were in all your glory, like an angel sent from above to save him from the devil incarnate who was about to pierce his skin.

You were panting and the sheen on your forehead made it obvious that you ran your way to his room. Johnny's heart leaped with glee.

"Unnie, I'll handle him." You said, unable to catch your breath as you made your way inside. "I think the ER needs you more than me."

The doctor seemed hesitant at first but you tried to convince her otherwise. She eventually agreed and left you with Johnny who had a cheesy smile on his face the entire time since you've arrived.

"So Johnny, what happened this time?" You asked, picking up the clipboard that sat next to him on the bed.

"I overdid the punching during training and it reopened some old wounds on my knuckles. It hurts like a bitch."

You pulled a face, "That's a bit intense."

He chuckled, "It's normal."

"Can I please see it?" You opened your palm so he could place his hand on yours. You observed his cuts and the scabs that were beginning to form around it, it was too deep to let it heal on its own so you made the verdict that he needed to get it sewed back together ⁠— as unfortunate as it was since he was a boxer and he needed his hands to box.

You tugged on a new pair of gloves and began the painful procedure, Johnny started counting down even without you instructing him to. You quickly got to work and stitched back his wounds with your lip in between your teeth

Johnny felt squeamish, he could never get used to the feeling of stitches. His eyes were glued shut and he mumbled numbers like it was mantra.

Once you were done, you smiled fondly at your work. You managed to get by with fewer stitches and you felt pride swell up in your chest. Johnny noticed and, as lightheaded as he was, couldn't help but smile as well.

"You're pretty good."

"At stitching?"

Johnny nodded with his cheeks flushed, he made a mental reminder to smack himself in the head later for such a crude comment. You probably thought he was an idiot now.

"I sure hope so." You chuckled, making him blush even deeper if that was even possible. "It's part of my job."

Johnny shook his head in embarrassment, his dark hair bouncing from how vigorously he did it. He mumbled, "That sounded really lame and not smooth, I'm sorry. Please forget I opened my mouth."

You could only chuckle as you apply the ointment around his knuckles. He wanted the ground to open up and just swallow him whole.

"Please let this heal completely, Johnny. Don't apply any strain on your injuries for a couple of days and refrain yourself from carrying anything heavy so that the stitches won't rip." You said, carefully placing down his hand back on his knee. You were gentle as ever, Johnny swooned. "Absolutely no punching for a while."

"I have an important match at the end of next week. Is there any way to speed up the healing process?" Johnny asked, his eyes were almost pleading at you and you blinked at him in surprise.

"Apart from what I just said, there's really nothing else you could do." You pursed your lips, watching his expression visibly deflate. "If you want to have even a sliver of a chance at winning your match, I suggest you do as I say. Your stitches won't take too long to heal, I promise."

If Hyunsik was there with him, he would've probably already scolded him but the point would be the same. He had always prioritized Johnny's health above winning.

"Okay, doc. I'll do my best." Johnny said, defeated.

"You know, I always see the aftermath of your matches and your training. I want to see you in the ring next time when you're not bloody and beaten up yet." You smiled at him and you swore that all the color that was previously drained from Johnny's face came rushing back. "If it's okay."

"Are you serious?" Johnny asked, almost dumbfounded. Did the pretty doctor he'd been crushing on for months really just asked if she could watch his match?

You nodded with the same hue of red now tainting your cheeks.

"O-Of course! It's on Saturday next week! Please come and cheer me on!" Like a little kid, he excitedly rambled on about the details about the upcoming match and you nodded with the same enthusiast as you wrapped bandages around his hands.

You weren't from his world so everything he said sounded foreign to you. The terms he said, the infamy of his opponents, the prominence of it all — you were eager to learn it if it meant seeing him this happy.

You've always known that he hated hospitals. It was clear from the way he acted during your first meeting. He was stiff and tense, the body language he exuded just screamed that he wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of there. As he visited the hospital more and more, you noticed the hatred never faltered. He only became better at hiding it from you.

To see him so relaxed and carefree within the four walls he hated with all his being, it was a breath of fresh air and the feeling you had in your chest grew stronger.

"You're good to go. I promise to see you in your match." You were jotting some last-minute details on the clipboard and you missed the way Johnny kept grinning like an idiot. "As much as I love seeing you here, I hate that you keep getting yourself injured. Keep out of trouble for me, Johnny."

You left the room without letting Johnny say another word.

Fuck, Johnny realized he hadn't asked for your number.

-

Johnny's match started in ten minutes. His heart was pounding in his ears, he almost couldn't hear what Hyunsik was shouting to him.

The underground stadium was filled to the brim with people, he felt more nervous than he did during his first boxing match. A lot was at stake for this win, he needed the belt. He was desperate for it.

"Johnny, are you listening to me?" Hyunsik raised his voice, aggressively slapping Johnny's cheeks together in his hands so he could focus on him. The boxer's mind was fleeting and it was his job to pull him back to reality now.

He hadn't seen you since last week and as much as he wanted to go back to the hospital to see you, he refused to badly hurt himself in the days that led up to the match. Johnny scanned the crowd for your face but he couldn't see it. You weren't there.

At the lack of your turnout, he failed to mask his disappointment. Hyunsik let out an aggravated groan and pulled the boxer on his feet to berate him further.

"Johnny, please for the love of all things holy, look me in the eye."

"I'm sorry. I'm okay now. I'm listening."

"Good because your match is starting soon and I need you to win this. All your hardships and sacrifices boils down to this match, you hear me?" Hyunsik bellowed, trying his best to keep his voice louder than the cries and chants of the audience. "Show them what Johnny Suh is capable of!"

Johnny nodded fervently, forcing himself into a state of serenity of peacefulness. He let out heavy breaths to even out his breathing as his team surrounded him, prepping him for what was about to come.

Hyunsik raised his hand at Johnny. He had five minutes left until his match started and he wasn't calming down.

"Can I please have some water?" Johnny asked and his medic stumbled on his feet to fetch him a bottle from the nearby cooler. He couldn't help but let out a shaky chuckle, his team seemed tenser than he was.

He downed the bottle as soon as it reached his hand. His hand was shaky. Goddammit, why was he so nervous?

At the corner of his eye, he saw Hyunsik making his way over to the barricade that separated his corner to the rest of the stadium. He arched his neck in a way that would let him take a peek what was so important that Hyunsik had to leave his side when the match was starting in a few minutes.

It seemed like Hyunsik was trying to stop a girl who was forcing her way in through the barricade. His stomach lurched at the sight of her familiar face.

As if he was acting purely on instinct, Johnny shot up from his seat and ran towards you. Hyunsik held up his arm to stop him from going any closer to you. You could've been a deranged fan, for all Hyunsik knows.

"Johnny-"

"I know her."

Hyunsik was startled at his response and started to profusely apologize to you. You looked nothing but smug and Johnny let out a breathy laugh that helped unravel the knots in his stomach. The boxer quietly motioned for him to take his leave and Hyunsik hesitantly did as told only after tapping his wrist as a sign that time was ticking.

You bowed at him apologetically, "I'm so sorry I'm late! There was this damn patient-"

"It's okay. You're here now." He cut you off, a cheesy smile on his face. You easily reciprocated it back.

"I just came down here to wish you good luck." You said with the usual confidence in your tone gone and now replaced with a sudden timidness and bashfulness. "Not like you need it or anything."

"Where are you sitting?" Johnny asked, noticing that you were struggling to keep your attention on his eyes. He peered down and realized that he didn't have a shirt on, he chuckled.

You pointed near the walls of the stadium and he strained his vision to see so far away. He pursed his lips and let out a noise of discontent. You said that it was the only seats available because you were so late.

"Why don't you sit here with them? They wouldn't mind." Johnny said, jutting his thumb over to his team who was furtively watching his interaction.

"Oh no, it's okay."

"I insist. I want you to see me win up close."

You blushed a deep shade of scarlet and Johnny grinned at his successful attempt at a flirt. Was it even a flirt or was it an ego stroke? Either way, it didn't matter because you were smiling at him. You were easing his nerves and you didn't even know.

"I got out of my shift early so I wouldn't be in the hospital later to stitch you up." You teased, softly prodding his shoulder blade.

Johnny playfully puffed out his chest, "I don't plan on getting too injured today, I wanna look cool in front of you."

"Whatever you say, Johnny."

"But I'm nervous. I'm actually really nervous today." Johnny mumbled as if he didn't want anyone else in on your conversation, gone all traces of his cockiness as his heart thudded erratically against his chest when he heard Hyunsik's call of the last minute until he has to go inside the ring.

You gingerly reached for his taped hands and gave it a gentle squeeze, "Just count back from a hundred like I always tell you to. You'll do fine."

"Wait for me after the match, okay?" And so you did.

Counting down the numbers, Johnny clambered inside the ring and the bell rang to signal the start of the match. Being in the medical field meant that you were against all forms of violence so you couldn't really watch the entirety of the match without feeling sick to your stomach. Johnny didn't care, he was just happy that you kept your promise and was cheering him on.

It was hectic and everything was happening all at once. It was loud and everybody was screaming. This wasn't your world, it was Johnny's and your heart fluttered at the thought that he was willing to let you in it.

Eventually, the match ended in Johnny's favor and the next thing you knew, you were being hoisted up in the air. You had the biggest smile on your face, similar to Johnny's who now had a shiny belt slung over his shoulder. All his hard work and all his trips to the hospital paid off.

"Congrats on your win!" You exclaimed, placing your palms on his chest to steady yourself.

"I wanted you to see me get the belt." He admittedly sheepishly, reaching out to hold your wrists in his bruised hands.

"Aren't you hurt in any way? We can drop by the hospital if you want." You asked, checking to see if he had any major injuries but true to his word, Johnny was inflicted little to no injuries during the match, exclude the few bruises on his jaw and a busted lip

"Actually, I'd rather we get some coffee instead." Johnny said, the small smile on his lips making you chuckle.

"I'm sorry, I don't date my patients." You smirked at Johnny's crestfallen expression, softly shoving his side to make it known that you were only joking.

Johnny pulled a face, releasing a breath he didn't realize he was holding once he realized your joke. He played along, "I think you can make me an exception, I don't usually invite people to my matches."

"So this is about getting even, huh?" You were teasing him and now your faces were merely inches apart but before Johnny could even think of leaning in, you spun around and grabbed his hand once more. "C'mon then, my treat!"

Johnny let out a laugh. A boxer and a doctor, who would've thought?

[chibistarlyte]

it’s okay (to not be okay)

Todoroki nodded and pursed his lips. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration as his mismatched eyes focused on his own hands as they tried to move in an unfamiliar pattern. If Katsuki were the sappy type, he might have admitted Todoroki looked cute when he was concentrating.

But Katsuki steered himself away from that train of thought, watching Todoroki’s hands sign a very simple, very loaded question.

“Are you okay?”

hi i’m here with some todobaku hospital fluff because the manga didn’t give us any :(

spoilers for up to chapter 302!

you can read the fic below the cut or here on ao3! you can also find a masterlist of my bnha fics here!

.

Katsuki felt a weight land on his shoulder. 

It was enough to rouse him out of his fitful, pain medication-induced sleep. He forced his heavy eyelids open and stared into the darkness of his hospital room, his eyes adjusting to the lack of light. Katsuki tried to tilt his head down to see what was on his shoulder, but something prevented his movement. He felt bandages and soft strands of hair tickling his jaw. His muscles tensed on instinct, causing a throb of pain to ring through his abdomen.

"The fu—"

A bandaged hand entered his field of vision, coming closer until it rested atop his own mess of hair, awkwardly patting his head. 

"Didn't mean to…" a raspy voice began to say, but the short phrase was cut off by a dry cough and a small, pained whine. "...to wake you."

Katsuki felt himself deflate a little, his own voice hoarse with sleep when he spoke. "Stop talking, you moron, or you'll lose your voice for real."

Todoroki grunted in response, scooting himself closer to Katsuki on the bed. He pressed his left side, his warm side, against Katsuki’s right. A soft heat pulsated in the air and made Katsuki relax even further. 

He hadn't gotten to see Todoroki much during their stay at the hospital. Most of what he knew, he learned from Kirishima when he visited his room earlier that day. He told him that Todoroki's mother, brother, and sister had showed up to his room. Then, the entire family had disappeared to Endeavor’s hospital room for a good, long while. 

Considering everything that had happened—everything that had been revealed just a few short days ago—Katsuki wasn't surprised about the Todoroki family meeting.

But the fact that Todoroki was here, in Katsuki’s room in the middle of the night, could only mean one thing. 

"Your family's not here right now, are they?" Katsuki asked softly.

He felt Todoroki shake his head against his shoulder, the other boy’s hair wisping against his skin in such a way that Katsuki unconsciously shivered. 

"They left," Todoroki croaked, his words barely audible.

Katsuki let out a shaky sigh, pain creeping in at the edges of his awareness. One cursory glance at the IV bag hanging next to his bag told him his current dose of pain medication was almost up, and he'd need it replenished soon. But until then, Katsuki did all he could to focus on the physical pain so he could ignore the storm of emotions swirling in his bruised, battered, burned chest.

"Are you—" the question was cut off by a sharp intake of breath, followed by a series of short, strained coughs.

Katsuki rolled his eyes, blindly reaching his hand out as far as he could with Todoroki squishing his arm against his side. He patted what he hoped was Todoroki’s leg. "I told you to fucking stop talking," he chided, though his word lacked any real heat.

Todoroki wheezed and ducked his head a little, settling it on Katsuki’s chest. But he avoided the areas that were covered in bandages.

It was quiet between them for a little while. The only sounds taking up space in the silence were the quiet, steady beeping of Katsuki’s heart monitor and Todoroki’s even quieter, raspy breaths. Katsuki wanted to go back to sleep, but the steadily increasing pain prevented him from drifting off. He idly wondered if Todoroki had fallen asleep already, until he saw Todoroki’s hands moving.

"The hell are you doing, half-n-half?" 

Todoroki didn't answer, which was probably a good thing since he couldn't talk without hurting himself. He shifted until he was able to sit up, facing Katsuki. Once again, he started moving his hands.

Katsuki recognized the motions as a very unpracticed, very clumsy attempt at signing. Todoroki’s hands were shaking a little, though whether it was from nerves or injury, Katsuki wasn't sure.

"Sign that again, but slower," Katsuki instructed when Todoroki’s hands stopped in mid-air. 

Todoroki nodded and pursed his lips. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration as his mismatched eyes focused on his own hands as they tried to move in an unfamiliar pattern. If Katsuki were the sappy type, he might have admitted Todoroki looked cute when he was concentrating. 

But Katsuki steered himself away from that train of thought, watching Todoroki’s hands sign a very simple, very loaded question. 

“Are you okay?”

Another haggard sigh brushed past Katsuki’s lips, a sardonic smile tugging the corners of his mouth upward. "Un-fucking-believable," he said, leaning his head back on the pillow and staring up at the dark ceiling. 

Todoroki made a questioning noise that Katsuki almost missed because of how quiet it was.

Katsuki glanced back down and saw Todoroki looking at him curiously with his head tilted to the side. Cute crossed his mind again, but he shoved the thought away with as much mental force as he could muster. "Your entire family's dirty history has been broadcasted to all of fucking Japan, and your not-dead brother is a mass murderer who tried to kill you, and you're asking if I'm okay?"

He didn't mean to raise his voice, but the way Todoroki flinched and averted his gaze made Katsuki bite down on his tongue. He wrenched his eyes shut and blew out a frustrated sigh through his nose.

Katsuki felt a light tapping on his sternum, right above his cummerbund of bandages. He cracked his eyes open again to see Todoroki's finger lightly poking at his hospital garb.

Todoroki sat up again and brought his hands back up after getting Katsuki’s attention. He paused to think for a moment, then motioned the sign for “ hurt.” He paused again, a shadow descending over his bandaged face as he more cautiously signed “ die.”

And hell , if that didn't bring up another thought that Katsuki had been trying to avoid since he woke up. 

Because Todoroki was right. He did almost die. Todoroki had almost died. And Deku…

Goddamn Deku .

Todoroki tapped Katsuki’s hand this time to get his attention. Katsuki watched as Todoroki struggled to sign out “ Mi-do-ri-ya .”

"What about him?" Katsuki growled out, hoping his anger would hide his worry for his childhood friend.

"…Coma," Todoroki said, sounding like it took every ounce of voice he had left to say it. He wrung his hands together, fingers interlaced tight enough that Katsuki watched his knuckles turn white.

"Yeah…" Katsuki said, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat. "He hasn't woken up yet, the fucking asshole."

"You saved him," Todoroki said, falling into a small coughing fit after squeaking the words out. Even though his eyes were watering from the exertion, the sheer admiration and pride that Katsuki saw in those crystal-colored irises when Todoroki looked at him…

"It wasn't enough," Katsuki said, gritting his teeth. He punched the mattress, but there was hardly any fight behind his fist. "He's still…he might…"

Todoroki lightly touched the back of Katsuki’s fist, holding his fingers there for a few moments. Then, he reached his other hand out and gently took Katsuki’s wrist. He slowly turned Katsuki’s hand until his fist was face-up. Then, his fingertips aligned with Katsuki’s fingernails and Todoroki slowly unraveled Katsuki’s fist until his hand was lying limp on the sheets.

The sensation of Todoroki’s blunt nail lightly scraping against his bandaged, calloused palm made Katsuki shiver. Todoroki’s finger traced shapes into his palm that Katsuki only barely put together. 

It was hiragana. “ Go-me-n.”

Katsuki raised a brow and looked up to Todoroki in surprise. "Sorry? What the hell do you have to be sorry for?" he asked a bit harsher than he intended, genuinely confused at Todoroki’s apology.

Todoroki took Katsuki’s hand in both of his and squeezed it tight, staring down at their joined fingers instead of at Katsuki. "I couldn't…" Todoroki tried to clear his throat, but it only brought on more coughing. He wheezed out, "I couldn't save him…or…you…"

Katsuki felt a punch to the gut that hurt almost as much as Shigaraki's tendrils piercing right through him. "Couldn't…are you insane ? You stopped me from plummeting to my death after I was fucking stabbed and bleeding out all over the goddamn place."

Todoroki shook his head. He let go of Katsuki’s hand to sign at him, and Katsuki couldn't help but miss the contact. Todoroki pointed at Katsuki before signing Midoriya’s name again, a little faster this time, and again signing “ hurt.”

Katsuki genuinely couldn't believe what he was hearing…what he was seeing . "Well, yeah, we were hurt, but you saved us both , Icyhot. We would have been goners without you. You know that."

Another shake of his head had Todoroki’s two hair colors mixing together at the part. "My fault," he croaked out, ducking his head low as if ashamed. His hands fisted the sheets, and his knuckles turned white again.

Before he could think otherwise, Katsuki leaned forward and placed his own hands on top of Todoroki’s. He ignored the stab of pain in his abdomen as he jarred his wound. "Stop," he said firmly, perhaps angrier than he intended. And wasn't that always the way, his emotions manifesting themselves as anger to the people around him. "Nothing is your fault, you fucking hear me? Your dad's a shitbag, and he's the one who fucked up and has to answer for that, not you. Never you."

Todoroki looked up at Katsuki, tears streaming down his face and soaking into the bandages wrapped around his cheeks. He seemed...surprised.

Katsuki narrowed his eyes. "Look, Deku isn't awake to make you feel better, so it's my job right now," he said in his own defense. His glare turned more intense as he lowered his eyes to the sheets. Unconsciously, his hands tightened around Todoroki’s. "He better fucking wake up, or I'll kill him."

Something that sounded suspiciously like a laugh came from Todoroki, and he masked it behind a cough. 

Katsuki glared up at Todoroki. "What's so funny, you bastard?"

Though there were remnants of tears dripping down Todoroki’s face, he smiled softly at Katsuki. "You care…for Midoriya," he rasped.

As much as it was his reflex to deny any kind of emotional attachment to the nerd, Katsuki fought down his instinct and nodded curtly. "Wouldn't have jumped in front of him if I didn't…"

Todoroki continued to smile at him, sniffing his own tears back and nodding. "I care…for you both, very…" He swallowed, a strained whine escaping his burned throat. "Very much."

Flutters ran rampant in Katsuki’s stomach, hearing those words from Todoroki’s mouth. It was too much for him to handle, the pain in his gut piercing through the kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttering about his insides. 

As soon as a pained hiss left his lips, Todoroki’s hands were on his face, cupping his cheeks like Katsuki was someone very dear, very precious to him.

“Pain?” Todoroki asked, the very same sensation mirrored in his own voice.

Katsuki nodded shortly. “Damn meds are wearing off…”

Keeping one hand on his face, Todoroki reached around Katsuki with his other hand and grabbed the nurse call remote from the side of the bed. The little button illuminated red, reflecting off the stark whiteness of Todoroki’s hair. 

“Nurse’s station. What do you need, Bakugou-kun?” one of the nurses asked through the speaker on the remote.

“New IV bag,” Katsuki said through gritted teeth, trying as hard as he could not to start hyperventilating from the pain. He didn’t need to pass out, especially with Todoroki still on the bed with him.

“Okay, we’ll be there shortly,” the nurse assured him from the other end of the line.

“Todoroki, you should leave,” Katsuki said, in too much pain to relish in the surprise on Todoroki’s face that he’d used his actual name and not some witty moniker. “Before they catch you out of your room.”

Todoroki bit his lip then shook his head, telling Katsuki without words that he intended on staying right where he was. He ran his gentle fingers through Katsuki’s hair, a soothing motion to help dull the pain even a little.

Katsuki was grateful for the distraction.

When the nurse arrived with a new IV bag full of medicated fluids, she didn’t say anything about Todoroki being there. She just set to work on replacing Katsuki’s medication, and once he could feel the cold sensation of the fluids entering the vein in his arm where the needle stuck, he began to relax a little.

Todoroki was still sitting on the bed when the nurse finished up and left the room, running his hand through Katsuki’s hair. But once they were left alone again, Todoroki withdrew his hand. 

Katsuki wanted it back.

Todoroki exhaled before signing “ go,” at Katsuki, nodding his head toward the door.

And really, Todoroki should be in his own room, resting.

But Katsuki shook his head.

Todoroki tilted his own head in question.

Katsuki didn’t answer.

A beat of silence stretched between them, and Todoroki’s hands began moving again.

“Are you okay?”

Katsuki blew out a ragged breath, deflating against his angled mattress and shaking his head. His eyes slid shut, if only to stop the burning tears from daring to fall down his cheeks. “No…I’m not.”

Something warm pressed against Katsuki’s side. Something familiar, something comforting. Katsuki felt a weight land on his shoulder, and a tear slid down his cheek.

“It’s okay…” Todoroki said, his raspy yet gentle voice coming from right below Katsuki’s chin. “To not…be okay.”

Katsuki let out a watery laugh, trying to sniff back his tears to no avail. “That sounds like something damn Deku would say.”

Todoroki hummed, the soft noise interrupted by a whine. He didn’t say anything as Katsuki continued to cry quietly, and really, nothing needed to be said.

Katsuki appreciated Todoroki’s quiet company more than anything right now.

After some time had passed, and Katsuki’s tears finally ceased, having left dry and salty tracks down his face, Katsuki let out a tired sigh. 

“…Thanks, Todoroki.”

“…Shouto.”

Katsuki blinked, his heavy eyelids slid open, staring down at the mop of red and white hair on his shoulder. 

“Call me…Shouto.” A cough, a wheeze. “Please.”

The butterflies were back in Katsuki’s stomach, immune to the medication that numbed his pain. 

Wordlessly, Katsuki tapped Shouto’s arm to get his attention. The other boy sat up just a little, turning his head to look at Katsuki. Katsuki felt his breath catch in his throat, having Todoroki’s eyes fixated on him so earnestly and curiously.

Katsuki lifted his own hands, wiggling his fingers to draw Shouto’s gaze to them. Once Shouto was watching, Katsuki began signing.

“Ka-tsu-ki.”

The pure happiness in Shouto’s tiny smile nearly killed Katsuki on the spot.

“Ka-tsu-ki,” Shouto repeated aloud, his damaged voice cracking on the final vowel. His hands also mimicked the motions Katsuki had shown him to go with each syllable.

Katsuki then signed Shouto’s own name, going through the motions slowly and carefully so the other boy could catch on.

They practiced a few more times, with Shouto signing Katsuki’s name and Katsuki both signing and speaking Shouto’s name, until Katsuki grew drowsy from the medication. He settled back down to sleep, and Shouto curled up against his side with his head on Katsuki’s shoulder once more.

“‘Night, Ka-tsu-ki,” Shouto whispered, letting out a content sigh against Katsuki’s chest.

Katsuki let out a content sigh of his own, his eyes sliding shut. “G’night, Shouto.”

[jiikyu]

Taste of Marigolds In Bloom

Herb of the Sun — Or Marigold was often used during the Middle Ages as a love charm. Carrying one of these brightly colored flowers was thought to bring love. Though be warned for they are also poisonous. Chapter IV. Sitting in the back of a police car was not how you anticipated your night ending — And certainly not with Mirios arms wrapped around you all the while. You’re not sure how you got here. ∘◦ ✿ ◦∘ All characters are 18+ Yandere!Mirio x Fem!Reader(AΩβ) Y/N = Your Name F/N = Your Full Name E/C = Eye Color H/C = Hair Color

Warnings: Yandere / Unhealthy Behavior / Delusions / Angst / Possessiveness / Violence and uh Fluff? First Chapter Here❦ Previous Chapter Here❦ Next Chapter Here ❦

∘◦ ✿ ◦∘ “Oh hey!” Mirios leans his arm against the doors frame. “Isn’t this a lovely surprise.” “Hey, do you wanna come to Nabezos with me?” Your question takes him by surprise and he feels his arm slipping. It’s raining. “Sure, let me grab my jacket.” ∘◦ ✿ ◦∘ The little droplets from above mean the sidewalks are clear of people, it’s not often you practically get the city all to yourself. When Mirio agreed to come with you to the popular restaurant off campus grounds, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous. It wasn’t like you to swing by unexpectedly, at least not without some form of prior acknowledgement. Like a text. What’s even stranger was that you wanted to go to Nabezos, in the rain. Maybe it’s nothing to be get riled up over... The conversation flows in it’s usual lighthearted manor with you both throwing in the occasional jab. It’s normal. But if that’s truly the case then — Why won’t his heart stop hammering violently against his ribs? Somethings not right. He just knows it. Mirios pace starts to slow to a crawl, and little by little it all together stops. And you had been so close to making it to Nabezos, maybe two blocks down the sidewalk? Suddenly his appetite is gone. When there’s no respond to your corny joke do you turn to see the blond fallen behind. Everything about it feels so very wrong. Standing like motionless his yellow umbrella rests loosely in his grasp, shoulders slouching forward. But — You catch sight of something that freezes the blood in your veins. Tears threaten to spill from those blue pools. How had this happened? Only a few seconds ago were you chatting like normal. This proves all of your fears and suspicions, that there is something deep troubling Mirio. That’s why you were doing this right? You were going to do your best to gently coax out whatever was bothering him. Had you already messed up? The gap made between you wasn’t large by any means but by gods do you close it fast. Abandoning your umbrella to ground below as shoes splash against the wet pavement, now your standing before him in the rain. “Wait Mirio what’s happening? Why are you crying?” “Y/N...” His voice has been reduced to a rasp whisper, the usual optimism drained and you can see the bottom of the well. “Are you leaving?” Huh? The question confuses you even further. That cannot be the root of the problem, a small idle conversation between you and your friend could not have been the cause of this. “What? Of course not!” As much as you want to stay in Musutafu — Your words are not quite the full truth, are they? “Well I... I don’t actually know yet.” Do not make promises you cannot keep. The way he kneads his lip with his teeth, suffocating any sound from escaping, it does nothing but further shatter your heart into tiny fragments. If this continues you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to put the pieces back together. You’re about to speak again when the blond does the unexpected. Taking a deep breath he exhales, then the corners of his mouth upturn. It is nowhere near as radiant as his signature smile, and you know it’s not real. But now it’s his turn to close the gap. Taking the step forward Mirio dips the yellow umbrella so it no longer hangs over his head but yours. The thrumming of his heart drums against his ears, he’s sure you hear it too. “Y/N, what if I told you I don’t want you to go?” Oh. Wait? Does that mean? Oh. You feel the heat rise to your cheeks. “I —“ The soft pitter-patter of raindrops against the umbrellas canvas matches your own heartbeat. Fast and light, like suddenly you’re floating. You watch the collar of his gray gym shirt start to darken with moisture and droplets catching in that sunshine soaked hair. You swallow down your shame because — You’ve never been more sure of anything in your life. “I would say, I feel the same.” You’ve never seen someone visibly light up the way Mirio does when those words leave your lips. The very words he oh so desperately needed to hear. Was that all it really took? No, he must be dreaming. “Really?” The single word is laced with so much hope it’s palpable, it’s followed by a sniffle as he brings his thumb to wipe away a stray tear. “Of course idiot!” Your own eyes start to blur and you blink them away before it’s too late. “Now stop it, you’re gonna make me cry!” Your fingers grab a hold of the umbrellas metal handle, just above Mirios hand. You push it towards him, so it’s no longer covering only you. “There, now we can both stand under it.” Sure, both of you have a shoulder that’s going to get absolutely drenched, but do you care? No. Mirios eyes go big when you do this and you swear you see literal stars dancing in those pools of blue. You’re so blissfully unaware that everything you’re doing only furthers you both down this spiral. He’s staring at you like you’re his entire world. And he wouldn’t change a single thing about you, for anything. “Aw you’re such a softy Y/N.” “Wha — You were crying first! You started it.” It’s not fair. He really does have the most contagious smile you’ve ever seen. Hand in hand you and Mirio continue to make your way to Nabezos, your own umbrella is left forgotten to the rain. ∘◦ ✿ ◦∘ Dinner had gone so well that you’re left giddy and boy, does it show, your smile never once falters. Not even when the scent of cigarettes and alcohol starts to overflow your senses. Currently you’re leaning against the outside of Nabezos, the buildings bricks now having imprinted into your back. Awning overhang keeps you dry from the rain while your eyes stay trained to the bright screen of your phone. Sun having started its descent the color slowly begins to fade from the sky. But you’re not worried, campus is only a few blocks away.

And you have Mirio.

Now you’re just wait on him, who, being the forgetful man he is forgot his wallet at the table you had eaten at. Never in a million years would you believe someone as breathtaking as Mirio would return your feelings. 

Your happiness leaves you blind to the world.

“Hey are you d-deaf or do you just think it’s cute to ignore someone talking to you?”

Huh? Only when you look up from your phone do you realize there’s a man, who you don’t recognize, staring directly at you. Your mouth is suddenly dry. The stench of booze and smoke is so strong your nose is set ablaze. You can’t help but take shallow breaths. When had he gotten so close? Were you really that oblivious to your surroundings? Your pulse is racing but you don’t move, maybe if you continue to ignore him he’ll leave you be. What a stupid idea. Suddenly your wrist is grabbed, phone slipping from your grasp and it falls to the pavement. And now you’re trying desperately to yank yourself from of his grasp. But his fingers have an iron clad grasp around your limb. “What sort of game are you trying to play?” He’s shouting at you and you have no idea what he’s going on about, you just want to get as far away from him as possible. Your eyes barely catch the flash of yellow that appears over the drunks shoulder and before you know it he’s no longer holding onto your wrist — Or rather he was flung off you by an impact to the gut. The stranger lets out a cry as his back slams against the hard concrete below. You listen to him cough and sputter for air, but you don’t look — Your eyes stay glued to your savior. Mirio. Besides the loud grunting coming from the man who just got his guts rearranged, it’s eerily silent. You cannot see the blonds face, so you can only guess what expression he wears... But something feels off and that scares you. You finally tear your eyes away from Mirio when you hear the other stand. The stranger regained his footing but why isn’t he running away? Isn’t it enough? Mirio hasn’t moved an inch since landing the first strike, standing between you and the man. A shield. Neither move for a while, just staring each other down and you can see the sweat beading down the strangers face. You never would have expected Mirio to be the one to break the stalemate. Basically just straight up breaking into full sprint towards the stranger before banking a quick left. “Oh shit —“ Is all the man manages while raising his right arm, taking shaky aim at the blond, some sort of liquid ejects from his fingertips? Mirio makes it look so incredibly easy to dodge, the inky black substance lands somewhere in the shadows. Forgotten. The man does not get a second shot. An earth shattering blow lands under his chin and you swear you hear an echoing crack of bone against bone. And just like that it’s over — Or at least that’s what you tell yourself. Anyone would be knocked unconscious by the sheer force. But Mirio doesn’t stop. What if I told you I don’t want you to go? Those are the words that come to mind as your E/C eyes follow Mirios fist. Over and over again it connects with the strangers face. Time slows like some form of torture, you watch the man take each crushing blow. As you watch the blonds knuckles begin to turn a dark crimson. And you do nothing but stand frozen, a bystander, a participant. Even the ability to speak is lost to you. Only when the terrible sound of blood starts to bubble up from the man’s throat does Mirio finally release his white-knuckled grip from the shirts collar. Without the Alphas hold the unconscious body rag-dolls to the pavement below. God, does the sickening thud make you shudder in disgust. Now it’s just you — And the man who has only ever showered you with warmth and overbearing kindness. Towering over the bloody pulp of a man he stands with his back towards you, chest heaving as he attempts to recapture his breathing. Your mind is so vary far away right now but somehow, somewhere in your anxiety riddled state are you able to produce a single cohesive repeating thought. It’s something that comes so naturally it almost terrifies you, you might even loath yourself later for it... You cannot help but be frightened, not for the beaten man lying against the cold pavement, no your fears are for Mirios safety. For his sake. When he turns to face you you’re met with the burning blue of the ocean. And within seconds you swear you see the raging sea already starting to simmer. Your feet stay planted as your hero takes the first step towards you. Even if your life depended on it you’re not sure you’d be able to move an inch — Though it’s too late for that now, isn’t it? By the time you notice he’s practically all over you, but there is an invisible wall of tension that keeps him from touching. With the back of your shoulders pressed against the brick wall there is no escape from the cage of muscle surrounding you, thick forearms having rooted themselves on either side of your head. Every instinct screams at you, to run, to submit, to hide, to do anything useful. Maybe you’re broken. Instead, you find yourself entranced, E/C eyes trace along the scars of those very forearms keeping you trapped. The healed skin darkened where deep gashes once bled. Following the perfect blemishes to the meat of his shoulders you accidentally meet deep iris pools, completely and utterly awestruck. The expression Mirio wears is one you’ve never seen before. You want to tell yourself that it’s the shadows casted down by the looming cities walls — Or that’s it’s just the dark clouds raining down on you. But... You’re having a difficult time convincing yourself. “Are you hurt?” A low breathless whisper pulls you from muddy waters, dredged up from the murky depths of your mind. Was that Mirios voice? He’s close, so close, his ragged breathes ghost across the bare skin of your neck. Your eyes fall to the filthy lot concrete, where you’re barely able to make out the motionless mans shape. Why is it so hard to see? You hadn’t even noticed your eyes gloss over, fat tears already rolling down your cheeks. “M-Mirio you —“ The pain in your voice has his chest twisting in agony. Sharp thorns digging into the delicate flesh. Seeing you like this hurts worse than the searing ache in his knuckles. But it’s okay. Because you’re safe. The thin threads holding him back finally fray and snap. Mirios arms abandon the wall behind you, pulling you flush against his broad chest, muscled arms wrapped around your frame. “It’s okay. I’m here now.” His head rests atop your own, you feel his lips move against your locks as he continues to reassure you. “I’ll always be here — I promise.” You won’t ever have to be worry again. Being held only makes the flood tears worse, when your body melts against his so does the last bit pf willpower holding the dam together. Slowly you begin to hiccup into his shirt, your arms shakily wrapping around his neck, falling further into the embrace you feel his arms tighten. And now your balling in a empty public restaurant parking lot with a bloody unconscious body only a few yards away. The dying rain isn’t strong enough to wash away the scent of copper. ∘◦ ✿ ◦∘ Blinding red and blue lights flash across the cities walls. When you speak with the police — Well actually, it’s not so much you speaking with them as it is you listening to Mirio tell them the details of what happened and offering a weak nod when they wanted your input. You haven’t spoken much since exhausting your lungs and draining a lakes worth of tears onto Mirios shirt. His eyes keep darting to meet yours between every couple of words. You watch on as the blond speaks clearly and calmly with the officers, you envy his ability to do so. He’s even able to smile as if nothing happened — You finally tear your eyes away, choosing to look at a lone anthill, inches from your foot. The weight of his jacket keeps you semi-warm as you stand under the overhang of Nabezos, the smell of ocean and sun clings to the leather, you pull the fabric tighter around your shoulders. You had watched as three first responders wheeled the stretcher to the waiting ambulance. As soon as its doors slammed shut the siren blared to life and the vehicle sped away. It was a good sign you tell yourself. A sign that the man was alive. The invisible weight on your shoulder lifts, if only by a hair. “Do you need a ride home?” The question snaps you from staring at the pavement. A male officer, possibly a Beta? It’s hard to tell in the rain, he has kind eyes. There’s no time for you to search for an answer before a firm hand finds itself planted the deputies shoulder. Mirio now stands behind the rather startled man, all smiles of course. Though something about the curve of his lips doesn’t sit well with you.  “That would be great actually, can you give the both of us a ride?” It takes you a second to realize he’s answering for you. “We’re both headed the same direction.” “Of c-course.” The officer shakes away his initial fright by the time he finishes speaking. And you still have yet to process what’s happening. ∘◦ ✿ ◦∘ Sitting in the back of a police car was not how you anticipated your night ending — And certainly not with Mirios arms wrapped around you all the while. You’re not sure how you got here. But what you are sure of is that there isn’t an inch of you that doesn’t smell like the Alpha. He’s been scenting you ever since entering the vehicle, practically pulling you into his lap. It’s not so uncommon amongst friends — Although, you’re no longer just friends, are you? His hand could wrap around your wrist two times over. The blond has a delicate touch as he traces the pad of his thumb over your skin, he holds you as though you’re porcelain. The entire time your eyes are glued to the red busted skin of his knuckles. An uncomfortable clearing of a throat breaks the moment. You had almost forgotten about the police officer who so politely offered the ride home. You blame it on overactive instincts, that this is probably the norm, it’s a lousy excuse and you know it. And a part of you, one that you’re desperately trying to drown under the surface until there is no oxygen left, knows instincts are not the only thing at play here.

∘◦ ✿ ◦∘ When Mirio told you he’d be staying the night at your place you thought it had been an offer. Not a fact. You remind yourself that you know Mirio. Know that he would never hurt you, that he’s only looking out for you. That’s why you agreed. 

So what if your every attempt to convince him you’d be fine staying alone was disregarded. Right? 

You stare into the mirror, letting the sink fill with water. Paying no attention to the temperature you soak a hand towel into the ice cold liquid. Bringing the damp fabric under your eyes you wipe away the last remnants of tears marks. The soft knock on the door startles you from your haze, looking over you notice the shadow of what can only be a pair of feet peeking under the thin frame of wood. “Are you okay?” Mirios voice may be muffled behind the wood but it’s impossible to ignore the worry bled into every syllable. “Yeah.” Your own voice is still raspy from your crying, it reminds you how weak you truly are. “Just give me a few minutes... Okay?” “I’m here.” What you can’t see is the large hand pressed into the creases of door. “When you’re ready.” The outside noise seems to die down with that and you listen to the static of the running water as you strip out of your soaked clothing, peeling the wet material from your skin. The jacket that had kept you warm now hangs off the tubs edge. ... Mirio stands guarding the entrance of the restroom. Like a good boyfriend. Foot tapping nervously against the carpeted floor. This is all so new, usually the hero is in full control of his actions. But now — Every passing second is another nail plunged into his coffin, he might have really screwed up big time... And just when the two of you had finally become official. He doesn’t know what took over. But he does. When saw you cornered by some low life — He only remembers the feel of white hot burning rage coursing his veins and the look of terror in your eyes. He really dropped the ball hadn’t he? He doesn’t regret it. Not even for a second, he’d do it again, for you. His only regret is scaring you. Suddenly his foot stops its anxious drumming. It becomes apparent to him that — With you in the bathroom he has full range of your dorm, unsupervised. Not that he would do anything fishy, of course not! It’s just the first time he’ll get to appreciate your little temporary home. 

A glimpse at the future you’ll share.

Waiting by the door for another minute he takes the first experimental step away from his post, waiting with bated breath. Nothing. The only sound is the continuous running of a faucet. It’s the only sign he needs to continue onwards, down the hallway. By all means it’s not a long journey, in only a few of feet does the blond find himself in front of a cracked door, a dim light streams through the gap. With a featherlight touch he pushes it open to reveal what he’d hoped for. Your bedroom. He’s not disappointed, the room is so very you. It smells like you. Even when Mirio’s absolutely drained he can’t help but admire every little detail, even down to the lone sock lying forgotten in the center of the floor. A tired smile makes its way to his lips as he goes to pick it up, tossing it in the hamper sitting only a few feet away, a smile resting pretty on his features all the while. How forgetful you were. He doesn’t mind this, in fact quite the opposite — He can’t help think it’s quite domestic. Who knew he’d windup such a hopeless romantic? Before the blond knows it he starts to wonder what living together would be like. It really can’t be helped.

Mirio can almost envision you seated at his table waiting while he cooks your favorite meal, it might take him a couple of tries to nail but he’s anything if not persistent — Or perhaps, waking up to morning kisses with your legs tangled in knots. Maybe one day a couple of children that share both your and his qualities pop into the picture. He understands how silly it is all is, that he can’t help but feel as though he’s already been living this life with you. Too bad it doesn’t last. The sweetest of daydreams are cut to shreds when blue eyes catch the unmistakable flash orange and white of a bottle. On your nightstand are your suppressants, sitting carelessly for all to see. After staring for what is probably considered far longer than normal a not so innocent thought just sort of floats its way into his system and... Suddenly Mirio’s being crushed under the weight of something tremendous and hideous. Guilt. He could never. Everything’s falling into place, just the way it’s meant to. But — Some stranger had basically gone and flipped his world upside down in the matter of seconds. That drunk bastard leaning in close you, probably whispering dirty words to you... His fist clenches into a tight ball, knuckles still burn from the impact of skin against skin. God only knows what that creep was gonna do? That filth had tried to take you from him, there is no mistaking. Was it some sort of cruel joke, turning the best day of his life into one of the worst? A bead of sweat breaks along his brow as blue eyes continue to stare down the bottle of white pills. Fear has got Mirio in a chokehold and right now it’s a losing battle. You are someone he wants — No, needs to protect, that’s why he can’t stop but think... What would he do without you? He doesn’t notice his fingers have started moving on their own volition. Mirio cannot picture a world without you.

[withoneheadlight]

| a house (is a home) | (i). the keys | (ii). memories&herons | (iii). old dogs&inheritances | (iv). memorabilia | tinyplaylist |

~

The kitchen’s Steve’s favorite part of the house.

It has this odd shape. Trapezoid. “Fuck, Stevie, so goddamn weird”. Doesn’t make sense in a, on the other hand, perfectly rectangular house (or, well, it does but, they’ll only find out about that later). The cabinets are ceiling-high. The tiles of the wall white and cracked under the repeating pattern of light mint-green-stemmed, yellow-petaled lilies. The whole backdoor is painted on that same shade Billy calls Ripe banana dreams, both so terribly old-fashioned and fiercely cute none of them says a word about repainting it. There’s a wooden piece, built into the farthest end of the counter. It looks disgustingly juicy and mercilessly stabbed when they move in, but Billy insists on keeping it, and sanding, and treating, and varnishing it. Manages to get it back up on shape because “Better than anyone, darling you should know what a little touch of class can make”. And for more than two weeks straight the only goal of his life is to learn to cut vegetables at high speed because “I have to live up to this level of professionalism. Impress our most un-impressionable guests”

(And, to Steve’s surprise –and probably hers– when she finally deigns to pay them a visit, his mom is, in fact, pretty much impressed.)

He learns how to make good casserole. Tries his luck with Mexican and Italian. Fails miserably with Japanese. Will never-ever admit it but, he loves it when flour ends up staining every single surface, making the biggest mess around himself when he bakes. Steve knows why it is. It’s a shared feeling. Floats up till it reaches the ceiling and bounces back down to them, heavy with the warm smell of cooking pie and cinnamon. Tastes docile and tamed like “Maybe not so much vanilla next time. Whaddaya think, babe?.” Tastes savage and daring, like the overwhelming tang of freshly squeezed lemon lingering on Billy’s tongue, when he crowds Steve against the fridge and kisses him, nibbles a shuddering laugh out of him “How the fuck are you able to even think about putting your mouth near that thing, Hargrove?. That was––ugh. That was disgusting”, “Well you know me, whatever it takes to make you squirm” leaving Steve with absolutely no option but lick the sugary dough stain over his cheek to “Cover up that foul flavor” and maybe because he wants to make Billy squirm a little too. 

It’s a heart-warming, welcoming feeling. Like the vivid smells of green tomatoes and parsley and mustard sauce. Like the taste of love on Billy’s lips. The way he loses his breath when Steve kisses the sugary flavor into Billy’s mouth with his:

This place smells like home, tastes like home. Like finally, finally. Home.

It’s Billy’s favorite place, too. But Steve doesn’t think it’s just because of that. But also because maybe,

maybe.

He has also noticed that–

There’s this particular, particular moment. It happens around seven on autumns, right when the day starts to fade. It happens between six and six past twenty-eight on winters, and holds the sleepy cheeks of the newborn tulips on Steve’s garden till they fall asleep on springs, sun already sinking behind the horizon by the time both hands of the clock meet over the spiral of the eight, pointing towards infinity. And then grows bigger and bigger and bigger from there, flooding into summer: the golden sunlight seeping through the wide, double-paned window facing the backyard in an oblique angle, making the yellow flowers of the tiles look like they’re re-blooming in gold. 

It’s the moment the day turns into a fire. 

It’s their favorite moment in time. And in this particular, particular day of July, it happens at ten past nine.

Billy is making Spaghetti Carbonara. The kitchen is damp with the rich smells coming out of the boiling water. Mushrooms and oregano, black pepper and lime. A song is cooing at them from the radio, the beat of the drums a boneless memory of that one echoing around the quarry on faraway almost-night on a faraway July. Water rippling under the quiet sigh of the breeze. Trees cutting the liquid rays in asymmetric halves. 

Billy takes off the apron. Turns the stove down.

Reaches out to Steve, fingers wavering come, come, come.

To me. Come to me. “C’mon, Harrington. Do I scare you or what?“

He has this way of looking at Steve that makes the space between them narrow, narrow: the whole unknown world. And aseptic, non-lived-in flat in downtown Florida. This tiny, tiny town. A mysteriously-shaped kitchen––

“¿Can I have this dance?” 

Steve walks to him, takes his hand. 

––Their bodies, pressed flush. 

Inside his chest, Steve’s heart is running. 

(“Can I at least have this dance, before we say goodbye?”

Mazzy Star was playing. The corner of Billy’s eye felt wet where his skin brushed against the corner of Steve’s mouth. They danced till the daylight faded, till there were teardrops falling from the night sky.

“Billy, I don’t have to––” 

“Don’t, pretty boy. Don’t say it. I’ll make you stay if you do. And I can’t do that”)

They made lovelovelove on the back of Billy’s car.)

In this light, they fell in love, they fell apart. Ran away. Ran back. 

Steve nudges at Billy’s chest, makes him move backward till he’s far enough to tug, draw him in between their tangled arms, hands intertwined. Steve curls himself around Billy’s back, noses at the warmth trapped between his curls. He smells like BillyandSteve, like this home, like past, like future. Like us.

Steve whispers in his ear. Three words. Billy’s neck curves towards him. An instinct. Tickled by their warmth. Steve kisses the curve of his ear. Tugs the collar of his shirt aside, bites where shoulder meets neck and up, up.

“Easy, Prom King” Billy teases, grins at him tender and wild. Knows when to use the one that gets Steve every time “Or you’re gonna make me think we’ll become picture-perfect from this magical moment onwards. A bunch of kids. White fences. You know, the whole shebang” 

(Billy crashed the Camaro into a tree in the winter of two thousand and fourteen. Had left the house in a frenzy. Something happened Max wouldn’t talk about. But she was scared, so she had called,

“Find him. Please.. Make sure he’s alright”

When Steve found him, Billy was in the middle of the Brookville road, feet stumbling on the twin yellow lines, following them nowhere. So weary, so impossibly small like this: head hanging, arms wrapped around himself. A crooked shape, carrying the weight of the shadows the tall pine trees cast on his back.  

So unlike him. 

Steve stopped the car at his side, engine oozing steam, shaking in the icy mid-May air “Billy” he said. Low. Careful. Careful. Billy’s eyes looked wet in the moon-silver night, pupils blown, deceivingly calm, “What are you doing? This is dangerous” And Billy’s spine had bent even lower, forearms finding rest on the window frame. Leveling with Steve. Looking wasted, looking tired, but still, he flashed a grin at him, teeth-shark white, never going down if he wasn’t going down swinging. And Steve–– hadn’t known at the moment, but the blood staining his cheek, the screaming-purple mark around his eye.

Those weren’t from the crash.

 “I was sleepwalking, Harrington” he said, voice dry, laugh harsh. Shrugged “Waiting for a lucky strike”)

“What does it make you think that’s not what I’m aiming for?”

(When he took Billy to his house Max was already there. Had sneaked out. “Neil will kill you if he finds out,” Billy said and she nodded, white knuckles peaking red with how hard she was gripping the handler of her bike, and Steve hadn’t seen her cry before, not ever, but her eyes were swollen and wet and,

“Are you––”

“I’m alright, kiddo. You know me. I’m always alright”

And the lie sat heavy, between them. Two lies, covering the truth. Poorly stitched. But Max had called Steve for help, so that’s what he did. Help. Sent her back home. Took care of Billy’s face. Billy’s hands. Nodded at those same lies, let them do their work while taking care of wounds he didn’t know, back then, couldn't have been for a crash. Made him spend the night. 

Billy still hadn't woken up when Steve left the next day, leaving food and a note on the nightstand ‘I’ll be back soon. Stay’. 

Retraced Billy’s steps down the yellow lines splitting the forest in half. To find it.

The Camaro wasn’t done yet. Howled like a wounded beast under Steve’s touch, but stayed together all the way to Donny’s garage. And Steve paid for the repairs. Covered it all up. Max has said “His dad can’t know, Steve. Can’t know. If he finds out he will--” and steve was starting to put two and two together. To realize some billy was, maybe, running away from something. Someone. When he crashed his car.

Woke Billy up when the hands of the clock met over the spiraling infinity of the eight. Seventeen hours straight of sleep and still looking like he could use a lifetime. Told him “The car will be ready in two or three days. ‘Til then, you stay'' covered his mouth with his hand. Didn't let him complain “And If whatever happened last night happens again, you take it and you run. Back here. And you stay again, ok?”

Two weeks later, Billy showed up at his door. Lit him a cigarette. Offered to teach him how to fight.

“I cannot give you back your money, but I know you don’t need that”

Made him laugh.

They spent almost the whole summer together, after that. Some days. Most nights.

Wasting time. Fighting. Joking. Driving.

Falling.

No ‘what ifs’. No promises. Just,

“Leave the light on if you can’t sleep, pretty boy. If I manage to sneak out of the Old fuck, I’ll pick you up. Promise I won’t stop kissing you until dawn. Gotta make up for what you paid for that ca, uh?”

Because Steve was gonna leave. Wasn’t gonna throw a single glance behind his back.

That was the plan.

And he did. He did. But––)

He spins Billy out. Tugs him back. When their chests bump, his laugh bursts, bubbles up. Weightless. Happy. Because all that matters to him, to them, it’s between these four irregular walls now.

And God this, this, is Steve’s favorite part. 

(–ended up coming back running, hoping the love would re-stitch itself as he followed the road’s yellow lines. 

Hoping Billy was the one letting his light on this time.)

Because the sun’s gonna keep on shining. They can keep on dancing in here, in their weird trapezoidal kitchen (in their house, in their home), for as long as they want. Hearts touching. Lips brushing. Bodies swaying, spinning, cutting through the golden light. 

~

[heartofsnark]

This Is Love (Chapter Twelve): Evil Comes In Disguise

Notes: This one is shorter than others but it felt like it took me so much longer, I blame Cyberpunk 2077 for stealing my one braincell for a while. Also, I have a tendency that the longer it takes me to write something, the more insecure I feel about it, so I ended up cutting this chapter a bit shorter than I originally intended. But I think it works and I hope you enjoy!~

Word Count: 8686

Chapter Warnings: Talk of physical assault, hospitals, POV switches, Joseph visions, me trying to write police investigations/interrogations to minimal success and struggling to write Jerome for the first time properly. 

For chapter one and the warnings about this fic’s overarching themes, please click here!

For the previous chapter; click here!

And the clock ticks and ticks and ticks and ticks. Every second feels like an eternity. Every moment of silence seeming to stretch on for hours. Her nerves fray with each one, worry blooming like a flower in her chest. The tension palpable as the three deputies and Sheriff wait to hear what will become of the town pastor. Dahlia’s mouth starts running before she can stop it; to distract herself or her distraught friends, she doesn’t know. 

“How long have you all known Pastor Jerome?” 

“Oh, Jerome’s been in Hope for…fifteen years or so,” Whitehorse tells her, thinking a minute over the exact timeline. 

“He took over the Falls End church when I was thirteen,” Hudson adds, “so yeah, fifteen years.” 

“Wow,” Dahlia can’t help but exclaim, astounded by just how long they’ve all known the pastor, he’s been with the county for more than half of Hudson and Pratt’s lives. 

“St-,” Pratt swallows his words then starts again, stuttering, “still remember my mom making me give my first confession to him…I was terrified I was gonna go to hell, get kicked out of church, break my mom’s heart.” 

“What did you do?” 

“His mom caught him looking at porno mags,” Hudson rats him out, laughing. Whitehorse cracking a smile and Dahlia snickering. 

“I was eleven, shut up,” he tries to defend himself through his own laughter, “yeah, Jerome thought it was funny too, told me everything was okay and then it was.” 

Rook can just imagine it, Pratt as a kid, terrified that god’s going to smote him for looking at a tit. There’s a bittersweet quality to the four smiling and laughing at the memory; the anxiety and fear still looming but it’s a little easier to breathe. The weight crushing down on them is a little lighter than it was before. 

“If he makes it out of this, we need to go back to church,” Hudson tells Pratt after a beat of silence. 

“We do, don’t we?” 

“Officers?” A man in a doctor’s coat calls out to them, the same one who stitched her head back together before. 

“Is he okay?” 

“We stabilized him; we got the bleeding under control and it looks like we won’t have to transfer him after all, he should be fine to recover here. We’re still monitoring him, but things are looking up.” 

There’s a sigh of relief; maybe just from Whitehorse, maybe from all of them. She can’t even tell. Things are looking up, Jerome is likely to live and none of them will lose someone who clearly means so much to them. 

“What exactly is it that happened, doctor?” 

“Someone out in the valley called 911; the heard scratching at the door and when they looked he was collapsed on their front step. That’s all we know at this point, but as I told you, this was clearly an assault. The bruises, the bleeding, it all matches with brute force assault and with the severity we do believe it was multiple people who attacked him.” 

“Who the fuck would wanna hurt Jerome?” Hudson asks, more to herself than anyone else. 

“You’re all free to stay in his room, so you can question him when he wakes up, but I don’t know how reliable his memory will be with what he’s been through.” 

“Thank you, doctor.” 

 The four go into the hospital room and Dahlia clenches her jaw when she sees him. Bruises mottle and color the friendly face she’s seen around the county; a myriad of red and purples across him. One eye swollen, stitches and bandages in places where the skin broke. They were trying to kill him; that’s all Dahlia can think. This was an attempted murder, his body is hidden under a hospital gown and blankets, but she can see from his arms that the damage extends over his body. A IV gives him a steady drip of fluids to keep him stable, a heart and oxygen monitor letting the staff know he’s staying that way. 

“Jesus fuck…” Pratt whispers under his breath. 

Hospital coffee and more stories of the pastor pass the time as the four settle in; the time Jerome comforted an emotional fourteen year old Hudson when she spilled communion grape juice on her white dress. Whitehorse talks about how often he’s visited the church to talk with Jerome. 

Hours pass of the four talking, Dahlia downing five or more paper cups of coffee across the time. And then a cough sound rings out, a shift of fabric, the pastor slowly waking up. Whitehorse calls out for the nurses; the deputies shifting in their seats as he comes to. 

The nurses flood in, checking on Jerome’s vitals, ensuring he can comfortably sit up in his bed. He’s an older man, not as old as Whitehorse, but probably as old as Jacob or Joseph. Mid to late forties. With short dark textured hair and a dark beard.

“What the hell happened?” Whitehorse asks when the nurses are done checking on the Pastor. 

“John Seed,” The pastor begins, and Dahlia clenches her jaw, “he and members of Eden’s Gate kidnapped me, he tried to force a confession from me and when I didn’t comply; they beat me and left me in the woods. I tried to get help the best way I knew how, but I passed out before I could speak to anyone.” 

Dahlia doesn’t have time to think, to ruminate on what this means, what might be going on; Whitehorse telling her to grab the evidence collection kit he brought in. There’s not much to be collected, but their best bet of getting any conclusive evidence is swabbing Jerome’s fingernails. There’s nothing to get fingerprints off of, no weapon, no duct tape, no bindings. No bodily fluids exchanged, thankfully for Jerome’s sake. But, if he fought back, grabbed at his attackers, there’s a chance the blood under his fingernails could belong to them. That he managed to gouge their skin deep enough to leave a trace. 

“Sorry, this might hurt a bit,” Dahlia gives a gentle warning when she sees the broken and bloodied state of his nails, gently swabbing blood from under them, making sure to collect from each finger before dropping it into a vile. 

“I think I’ll make it,” he manages to say, a slightly dry laugh, his voice deep and resonant.

“I know you will, but still don’t wanna add to it.” 

“Jerome, you said John Seed, did you recognize anyone else?” 

“Lonny, Theodore, and Patrick were the only ones I know I saw…The way John talked he was doing it because of Joseph, that he ordered it… Eden’s Gate is getting worse every day.” 

“Don’t worry, Jerome, we’re gonna do everything we can, Hudson, take the sample back to the station to see if we can match it to anything already in our database.  Pratt, Rook, want you to start pulling the peggies in for questioning and getting DNA. Start with Lonny Stevenson, Theodore Rossi, and Patrick Michaelson. No arrests, not yet, just questioning. We’ll handle the Seeds later, alright?” 

“Understood.” 

There’s a heavy tension in the cruiser as Pratt and Dahlia climb into it. Jerome is alive,  there’s a weight to what he’s told them and to their duty to get justice for him. Pratt’s knuckles are white as he grips the steering wheel, jaw clenched, and shoulders wrought with tension. Pastor Jerome has been an important figure in his life. She can’t imagine how hard this must be for him. She thinks of how much worse she might feel if it were Lloyd or Whitehorse in that hospital bed, someone she were close to. Dahlia squeezes Pratt’s shoulder as they drive, hoping her empathy shows through the touch. Even as strangers, her stomach is in knots, though it may be because of her…connection to the accused. 

Despite their constant encroachment on boundaries, stepping on the line but never quite over it, Dahlia had maintained her hope that the Seeds and their flock were good at their core. That’s why she turned Cassie into their hands, but everyday there’s something new. And this is the worst yet. If they’ve truly done this, if they’re ordering full out assaults on people, that does a lot more than just cross the line. 

One of their three main suspects, outside of the two youngest Seed brothers, works at the Green-Busch Fertilizer Plant, an Eden’s Gate owned business. And for possibly the first time since she began working in Hope County, Dahlia is the one leading the charge as they get out of the cruiser, Pratt not trusting his own voice. 

“Patrick Michaelson,” she calls out and a man steps out, “we need to have a word with you down at the station.” 

He’s generic by Eden’s Gate standards, too long hair and a scraggly beard. His arms are covered, so she can’t check for scratches or bruises along them. 

“I in any trouble, deputies?” 

“Just need to ask some questions; Theodore Rossi or Lonny Stevenson here? We need a word with them as well.” 

“No, but I could ring ‘em for you?” 

“We’ll chat first, then you can call them from the station, alright?” 

“Whatever you say, officers.” 

The last thing she wants is for them to have a chance to put together a story and alibi before they start questioning them. They allow Patrick into the back of the cruiser, he seems to be maintaining his cool. And the tension in the car only strengthens as they take him back to the station. Dahlia watches him in the mirror along the way, waiting for some sign of anything to peek through, for a sleeve to ride up and to see scratches from Jerome’s nails, something. But nothing of the sort happens. 

Dahlia has never actually had to interrogate or question anyone, she realizes once they’re at the station and having Patrick take a seat. She doubts he’ll give them much information. If he’s innocent, he won’t have anything of interest to tell. If he’s guilty, he won’t want to tell them much of anything. Getting a DNA sample is what’s going to be the most important thing, if they get some conclusive evidence, something that links one of the Eden’s Gate members to Jerome’s assault the rest will come much easier. 

“Coffee?” She offers, as she pours black coffee into three paper cups.

Patrick murmurs a small thanks before he drinks from the cup before they start asking him questions. Hours pass of trying to ask the same questions in slightly different ways or tones. Dahlia trying to stay friendlier in her tone while Pratt is terser, due to his personal connection. But getting more than a ‘I was at home, last night,’ is like trying to get blood from a turnip. He refuses to give a DNA sample as well. 

“We about done here?” Patrick asks with a hint of annoyance in his voice. 

“Fine,” Pratt grumbles, “I’ll walk you out and you can ring Lonny and Theodore for us.” 

Dahlia taps her fingers against the table as the two men walk out, breathing a sigh of relief when Patrick leaves his coffee cup. It takes a few minutes and then Pratt comes back, he collapses into his chair and groans, she can feel the stress radiating off of him. 

“Well, that was a waste of fucking time,” he grumbles. 

“How you figure?” 

“How you figure anything else?’ He looks at her incredulously, like she’s grown a second head and breathed fire. 

“Left his cup,” Dahlia pokes at the little Styrofoam cup, “our property, we wanna swab it for DNA, our business and don’t need anyone’s consent for it.” 

“I’ll run it down to evidence, you brew another pot for the next two.” 

“On it.” 

Pratt runs that down, the cup bagged and labeled with Patrick’s name, she’s sure. Lonny and Theodore aren’t far behind. And their questioning goes much the same. They don’t give particularly direct answers and refuse to give DNA samples. Theodore avoids talking as much as he can, mostly opting to glare at the deputies after his first insistence that he has no idea why he’s here and has no obligation or desire to talk. But, he does at some point break his sourpuss expression to take a drink of coffee. Lonny is cockier, more aggressive, making snide comments but he drinks coffee at some point too; so that’s all that matters.

By the end of it all, three cups are sent down to evidence to be swabbed for DNA to be tested against the DNA found under Jerome’s fingernails. If it’s from any of them, they’ll know by hopefully the end of the day. Evidence based cases are rare around here, so the forensic team stated they can fast track it, hopefully

Pratt and Dahlia rest in the bullpen office, Hudson joining them. There’s a somber air to the entire office. Hudson’s leg bounces with nervous or angry energy, Dahlia isn’t sure which. Meanwhile, Pratt is wringing his hands until the skin rubs raw. Their worry is palpable as they wait for either more information or direction. The oppressive silence has started to weigh on Dahlia’s shoulders, she’s tapping her fingers against a table. 

“You know,” Dahlia says after too long, “you guys can go see Jerome if you want, I’ll call if any info comes in.” 

She knows they’re worried about him and want to be there to check on him. There’s no reason for them to sit here and suffer when she can just let them know when the analysis comes in. 

“We’re not gonna leave you to man the station by yourself,” Pratt dismisses her out of hand, as if the idea that she can be left alone is ridiculous. 

“I think I can manage for an evening, anything happens, I know how to reach you all.” 

“I’m going,” Hudson declares, “I trust Rook and I’m driving myself crazy here.” 

“Thank you, Hudson…” Dahlia says with soft smile, Hudson actually trusts her and isn’t acting like she’s a child. 

“You coming?” Hudson asks Pratt, looking at him expectantly. 

“I’m not leaving Rook here alone.” 

“I’m an adult, you know that, right?” 

“If Eden’s Gate was willing to attack Jerome, who knows what else they’ll do. And you’re already on their radar, were before this.” 

“What, you think they’re gonna storm the station?” 

“Who knows anymore.” 

“I don’t have time to listen to you two bicker, I’m leaving,” Hudson tells them before walking out of the station. 

Dahlia chews her lip once she’s left with Pratt. This is already a stressful day and not the time to let her wounded ego guide her behavior. But it is wounded. She’s not a child, young sure, but not a child and by no means incapable. Pratt has been coddling her and trying to limit what she does since the beginning of her job, she thought it was lessening, but… Does Pratt seriously not think she’s competent enough to be left alone for a few hours? Is she that unreliable? Incapable? Does he think that little of her? 

She doesn’t lend a voice to these insecurities or anger; not the time or place. 

“Don’t pout,” Pratt says after a few minutes.

“I’m not.” 

“You are, I can physically see you pouting.” 

“Even if I was, it’s not important.” 

“Seriously, Rook? You wanna be a brat right now?” 

“Seriously, Pratt? You wanna be a patronizing dick right now!?” Her voice is harsher than she intended. 

“Deputies?” A voice calls out, one of the workers in their piddly little forensic department poking their head into the open office. 

“Yeah?” 

“We got a match for the DNA found under Jerome’s fingernails.” 

“Who’s our guy?” 

“Patrick’s matched, we couldn’t find any traces of Lonny or Theodore’s.”

“I’ll call Whitehorse,” Pratt says before getting out his cellphone, “figure out what we’re doing next.” 

Dahlia only nods, not trusting herself after her outburst. Her fingers still tap tapping against a desk as Pratt speaks to the sheriff. She can only hear Pratt’s side of the conversation as he explains what they were just told and agrees to whatever Whitehorse is telling him, before he hangs up. 

“So, what’s our next move?” Dahlia asks, voice cracking more than she’d like. 

“Arresting Patrick and questioning the Seeds. He wants a lighter touch with John and Joseph, his words, not mine.” 

“Lighter touch meaning…?” 

“They can be questioned together if they want, given a day and the chance to come in on their own terms. Whitehorse doesn’t want us ruffling their feathers unless we get something conclusive on them.’ 

“I’ll never get why he wants to walk on eggshells around them.” 

“Because they’re nuts and got a good hundred or more people who’ll fight for them.” 

Dahlia shrugs, she gets that, she guesses. But its still hard for her to wrap her head around that the men she’s met could order an assault on someone else. A part of her is still holding onto the hope that Patrick just acted on his own, that John and Joseph had no idea. But, Jerome says John was there. And John’s not exactly a face he could confuse with someone else… 

“C’mon, let's go get Patrick.” 

He’s at his house at this late hour, knocking in the door of his little farmhouse. Patrick answers the door, face souring the moment he sees the officer. His lips are sealed, not speaking a word to the deputies as they read him his rights and bring him into the station. He refuses to speak for a long while, even as they book him and try to ask him a few more questions. 

“I wanna call my lawyer.” Is all he says after an entirely too long drag of silence. 

“John, your lawyer?” Pratt asks. 

“What of it?’ 

“We need to have a chat with him too,” Dahlia informs him, “so we’ll be happy to call him for you.” 

“Fine.” 

Dahlia stretches out her back as her and Pratt leave the interrogation room, this day has been her longest yet, but they seem to be getting somewhere. She looks over to Pratt. 

“Want me to call up John or you wanna do the honor?” 

“I will, they like you too much.” 

“Have zero idea what you mean by that, but alright.” 

Pratt grabs the station phone and rings up John’s number. Dahlia chews her fingernails as she waits, biting away at them and chipping her nail polish in the process. When she runs out of nail that goes past her fingertips, she chews at the skin. Mind racing as Pratt talks to John, she feels like her thoughts and feelings are tearing into two directions. What she wants to be true and what evidence supports. The older deputy hangs up the phone and Dahlia looks up at Pratt expectantly. 

“John says him and Joseph can be here in a few hours, chances are Jacob will be with them.” 

“What makes you say that?” 

“Anytime either of them have been questioned, Jacob’s there, just to look mean I guess.” 

She nods, thinking of what she read so far in the Book of Joseph, of the abuse in the Seed family. It doesn’t shock her at all that Jacob has a protective streak, that he wouldn’t want his younger brother’s far out of sight. She does find herself wondering why Faith isn’t following alongside her siblings as well. Her fellow deputies didn’t seem to know much of her at all, Hudson not even knowing what she looks like. Hell, the youngest sister hasn’t even been mentioned yet in the Book of Joseph. Though given the hefty age difference, perhaps she wasn’t born yet during the memory Joseph chose to open it with? 

Dahlia takes a seat while they wait for the Seed brothers, graciously accepting the cup of coffee that Pratt offers her. Her leg taps as she drinks at it, listening to the clock tick away as she waits for the Seeds. Her fellow deputy sits next to her and she can tell the day has been wearing on him. She doesn’t know why, what it is that pushes the impulse forward, but she thumps her head onto his shoulder. A soft form of contact, comfort, whether it’s an offering to him or a selfish desire of her own, she isn’t sure. 

But Pratt responds by leaning his head towards her, over top of her own. His hair tickling at her skin and his scruff scratching at her skin. She can’t help but smile and press in a little closer, just appreciating his presence in this quiet moment after such a drawn-out day. 

“Shit!” 

Pratt’s sudden yell jolts Dahlia awake, her skull knocking against his. She blinks sleep from her eyes, when did she even drift off? How long was she sleeping against his shoulder? Her hands and the bottom of her jeans are wet; the cup of coffee and it’s contents now on the floor as well as her shoes. 

“Fuck,” she curses under her breath, she must have dropped it when she fell asleep, “sorry.” 

Dahlia goes and gathers up paper towels, cleaning up the mess. She didn’t even realize she was that tired. 

“Don’t sweat it, shit has been crazy around here lately, I nearly dozed off myself.” 

“You telling me this ain’t typical.” 

“God, no, county’s usually more boring than watching paint dry. Lately, feels like county’s gone nuts.” 

“Eh,  I prefer the crazy, keeps things interesting at least.”

“Deputies,” the on shift desk worker pops their head into the room, “the Seed brothers are here.” 

“We’ll be there in a second.” 

Dahlia finishes cleaning up the mess and sighs, that weight back on her shoulders. It’s way past their usual shift hours and the day as a whole has been a lot. But they may finally be getting to the root of what happened. They’re getting some justice for Jerome, Patrick is a damn near guaranteed arrest. They just need to get to the bottom of John and Joseph’s involvement. She took this job to help people and that’s what she’s doing, Jerome has a right to feel safe in this county and as much as she hopes the Seeds are good, if they’re hurting others, it needs to be shut down and now. 

Mess cleaned; Dahlia and Pratt go out to the waiting room to greet the Seeds. John and Joseph look relatively cleaned up. Though John always looks some version of prim and proper. She’s positive she’s never seen the youngest sibling in a shirt that wasn’t a collard button up and she’s certainly never seen his hair in any state other than slicked back. His shirt of choice today is purple, no vest or trench coat, just the buttons left undone to show the sin marked across his chest and the sleeves rolled up to show the tattoos across his forearms. 

Joseph is wearing a shirt which is an accomplishment for him, a stiff white button up done up to his throat and a black blazer over it, nearly overkill in the heat of August. Perhaps he only wears clothing in extremes, either half naked or completely covered. His greasy dark hair is pulled back as usual and despite the late hour, his yellow aviators are on. 

And then there’s Jacob, black tee and jeans with his typical camo shirt tied around his waist. Dog tags, key, and rabbit’s foot hanging from a chain around his neck as they always do. 

They’re superficial observations, what the brothers wear, but she can’t help but take in the stark contrasts of the brothers. Joseph trying to look more put together and less crazy, John in that same state but every day, and Jacob genuinely not seeming to give any sort of a fuck. 

“Deputies,” John is the one to greet them, grinning and Dahlia folds her hands behind her back, trying to still her body and straighten her back to present a confident front. 

“John,” Pratt returns the acknowledgement with a nod, “I-“

“It seems you have one of our flock members contained on the bas-“  John cuts off Pratt. 

“We actually would rather speak with you and Joseph before we discuss that case,” Dahlia cuts the youngest brother off in turn, not letting him dominate the conversation or set the tone for this. 

“Is that so?” 

“Yes, I assume, you’re both comfortable with answering some questions for us?” She cocks her head to the side, trying to stay nonthreatening, not that her five feet of being could ever be threatening. 

“Of course, that would be no problem at all,” Joseph is the one to speak next, giving her a smile, eyes soft despite the circumstances. 

“Actually,” Pratt cuts in, a twitch in his jaw, “I’ll be asking those questions alone.” 

“You’ll what?” Dahlia levels a glare at her partner, ready to throw him through a window, but unable to do so. He’s pushing it, he keeps pushing it. 

“I think it’ll be best if I conduct the interrogation alone.” 

“Oh, do you?” 

“You girls need a minute, or can we get this shitshow on the road,” Jacob says, the deep rasp of his voice cutting through the spat. And she doesn’t miss the clench in Pratt’s jaw at the emasculating choice of words. 

“Come on back; sorry for the trouble,” Dahlia says, a tight lipped smile as she leads the Seed brothers to the interrogation room. She’ll deal with Pratt and his overprotective bullshit later. It’s a quick walk down the hall and she politely opens the doors for them, she thinks she sees Jacob rolling his eyes. 

“Go ahead and take a seat, we’ll be just a moment,” Dahlia tells them, giving a small nod when Joseph thanks her. She lets the door shut behind the Seeds and turns her gaze back on Pratt. 

“Rook-”

“What the actual fuck, Pratt?” She keeps her voice low, but her tone is terse, how could he try to strong arm her out of the interrogation. 

“Look, you’ve spent a lot of time with them, regardless of if you’ve wanted too or not. They’re fixated on you and you’re just too close to them to be interrogating them.” 

“You’ve known them longer than me! You’ve known them for years! This is a rural county, it’d take me longer to meet all the cows here than it would the people!” 

She wants to wring his neck, he’s entirely too protective of her and for no real reason. More now than ever she realizes she made the right call not telling anyone about the mute “angel” Eden’s Gate member who swung on her or the vandalism of her trailer. Pratt already barely wants to let her handle ticketing people and now he doesn’t want her interrogating suspects. It’s ridiculous. She’s a grown adult woman, she needs to be allowed to do her fucking job. 

Dahlia is done listening to this nonsense, she decides, and makes a beeline back to the interrogation room. Pratt isn’t going to stop her from doing her damn job. She opens the door, her coworker trailing behind her, as she steps into the interrogation room.

The Seed brothers are sat at the table. Jacob’s legs open wide, sat relaxed in his chair, completely disinterested by most appearances but he still watches the deputies from the corner of his eye. She’s reminded of a predator lulling prey into a false sense of security before it strikes. 

Joseph sits between his elder and younger sibling. His elbows on the table, hands politely folded, not a hint of anxiety in him either. Seemingly calm, but his gaze is intense on the young deputy as she enters, never straying away from her.  He never looks over at Pratt, the other deputy’s warning that they’re fixated on her ring through her mind. 

John is sitting back in his chair and his gaze is just as intense, but there’s more manic energy behind it. In him in general. Perhaps he’d look calmer, more serene like his brothers, if not for the constant bouncing of his leg, the movement starting to  shake the rickety table. 

“Sorry about that,” Dahlia starts before Pratt can find a way to force her out of the room, “would either of you like any coffee or anything before we chat?” 

“No, thank you. We’ve done this song and dance before, deputy, you can’t sneak dna off of us,” John dismisses her off with a sneer. 

“Okay then, no coffee, understood,” she rescinds her off  as she sits down at the table across from them, Pratt sitting next to her. 

“Look, let's cut the bullshit,” Pratt speaks up, “a person was attacked, beaten badly. We got evidence, won’t say what, that connects one of your church members to the attack. And its being alleged that he did so on Joseph’s order with John supervising the whole thing, and...you’re just hear for window dressing I guess.”  He gives a dismissive look to Jacob at that last part, no doubt his attempt to give a little revenge jab for his comment earlier. 

“Why I’m here ain’t any of your concern, princess.” Jacob says, voice low and the threat within it not subtle. 

“Okay…” Dahlia cuts in with a clap of her hands when she sees the way Jacob and Pratt are glaring at each other, this is an interrogation not a pissing contest, the last thing they need is Pratt trying to fight Jacob and getting his ass kicked, “this is already going off the rails, good job everyone. Now, while his wording was...abrupt, uh that is the reality of the situation. There are some heavy accusations being levied at you two, so we were hoping to ask you a few questions.” 

“This is absolutely ridiculous,” John responds, rolling his eyes, “these are completely baseless accusations.”

“We do have evidence linking one of the men, a member of your church, to the assault. Our witness and survivor is credible. At this point we have no reason to believe they’d lie about what occurred.” 

“They persecute us the same as they did the prophets before us, the faithful handed over to courts and councils, sheep sent out amongst wolves,” Joseph speaks sudden, voice intense as he stares into Dahlia’s eyes, a chill rolls up her spine, a tension pulling in her shoulders that she can’t quite shake. 

“Seriously,” Pratt scoffs and for the first time Joseph’s eyes leave Dahlia, harsher and colder at the older officer, “you really think this is about your church, that someone would make this shit up just to get at you, think they beat the shit out of themselves too just to spite you?” 

“Of course not,” John speaks next and she can’t help but notice the jolt in his body language, “I’ve yet to speak to our flock member you’ve find evidence of. But even if he’s done what he’s accused of, surely, you can’t expect us to be held responsible for the actions of every member of our church. We have hundreds of followers, you cannot reasonably expect us to be accountable for any of them who may stray from our ways.” 

“The witness specified you were there, John. Not just accountable, but physically present for assault.” 

“And there’s no evidence of that, you said so yourself, and as I’ve told you before, there are many in this county who aren’t above taking any chance to sully mine and my family’s name. Who’s to say, they didn’t see their assault as an opportunity to bring down our entire church.” 

“May I ask where you were last night?” 

“Had dinner with my family, as I always do, and stayed in for the night. Rather boring, I’m afraid.” 

“Anyone who can confirm this story?” Pratt asks and Dahlia tries not to roll her eyes; his family would be the ones who can confirm it and ...they’re mostly here and biased. 

“My brothers who are sitting right here, my sister if you feel the need to ruin her night as well.” 

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” 

“Then are we done here?” 

“This isn’t a formal arrest or detainment,” they don’t have anywhere near the evidence or that, “so,  you’re free to leave if you so please. Though, there’s still the issue of Patrick who requested counsel with you.” 

The brothers have made it clear they want to leave and that the deputies won’t be prying any more information from them. So, Dahlia escorts them out. 

“You two can go on home,” John tells his brothers, “I’ll call someone to get me once I’ve sorted this out.” 

“We couldn’t possibly leave you behind, we’ll wait,” Joseph squeezes John’s shoulder than looks to Dahlia, “assuming that would be okay.” 

“Of course, don’t expect you to ditch your brother.” 

“It is tempting sometimes,” Jacob mumbles under his breath, a smirk pulling at his lips when John glares at him. Rook has to press her hand to her mouth to avoid laughing at the brotherly teasing. 

“Jacob…” Joseph gently chides. 

“Regardless, you two are welcome to sit out in the waiting room, there's a vending machine if you need anything or if you’re not interested in that I’m sure Nancy can get you set up with coffee or food from our break room.” 

“Thank you, deputy.” 

“I’ll be out, shortly,” John says the final word pointedly as his brothers go to the waiting room, then turns to the deputies, “which room is my client in?” 

“Room 103, I’ll be right in, go on and get settled,” Pratt tells him and John leaves down to the room where Patrick is being held. Dahlia holds her tongue until the youngest Seed brother is out of hearing range. 

“Think we can get anything else out of them?” 

“Fuck no, he’s going to tell Patrick to keep his mouth shut, insist that there’s another explanation. Like getting blood from a turnip, we’re just going to have to deal with what we have. DNA should be enough to convict Patrick, as for the rest, we’ll have to see if Whitehorse feels we got enough to do a full investigation. But, we don’t have much.” 

“The evidence against Patrick might be enough to subpoena Joseph’s sermons, get warrants to search the church and houses?” 

“Maybe,fuck,” Pratt rubs a hand down his face, he looks exhausted and she’s sure she’s not much better, “what time is it?” 

“Nearly four in the morning.” 

“Fucks sake, okay, their foul mood makes a bit more sense.” 

“Yeah, I can take care of the talk with John and Patrick, like you said won’t be getting much from them, so you can head home or check on Jerome.” 

“No, no, absolutely not. I’ll take care of this, you go home and get some sleep.” 

“Pratt-” 

“Rook, you were the one passing out on top of me. Go home and sleep.” 

“I-” 

“Please, for once in your life, just listen to me.” 

“Okay, just this once,” she bows her head, feeling like a scolded child, “but we do need to have a serious conversation about you babying me, you know that right?” 

“I don’t baby you.” 

She blinks and widens her eyes, has he heard a single word he’s said to her all day. Refusing to let her stay at the station alone, not wanting her to call John, and not even wanting her to be involved in the interrogation. And that today alone, she can’t count the amount of times he’s told her not to be the one to issue tickets, to stay in the car during calls. She knows they’ve lost an officer in the line of duty. And she knows she’s a lot younger than Pratt or Hudson. But this is her job as much as it is theirs. 

“Okay,” Pratt scratches at the back of his neck at the incredulous look, then gently puts his hands on Dahlia’s shoulders, “serious conversations can wait until we’ve both slept, alright?” 

“Fine, I’ll go home and crash, get yourself some sleep when you finish up here, okay?” 

“Okay, will do.” 

He drops his hands from her shoulders and gives a small pat to her arm as she turns to leave. As much as she’d rather Pratt be the one going home to get some much needed sleep, she can’t say she won’t be thankful for a chance to crash. 

“And Rook,” Pratt calls out before she can get through to the waiting room, she turns to look at him, “stay away from the Seeds, please.” 

“Don’t push it.” She rolls her eyes, overprotective ass, she pushes through the doors to the waiting room. 

Dahlia gives a friendly nod of acknowledgement to Joseph and Jacob as she moves past them, looking towards Nancy. 

“I’m gonna go home and crash for the night, any news comes in, don’t hesitate to call me, alright?”  She explains to dispatch, not fully trusting Pratt to let her know if it’s up to him, throwing on her leather jacket and already searching for her pack of cigarettes. She’ll catch a smoke break before she rides home, her nerves needing the nicotine fix. 

“Alright, dear. Drive safe.” 

Dahlia waves a quick bye to both Nancy and the Seed brothers before she leaves the building. The air is cold, temperatures drop quick at night out here,  a start contrast to the hot muggy days. A dark sky hangs above her except where stars breach the abyss. Goosebumps prickle up along her neck where the air hits, she put a cigarette between her lips and lights it, breathing nicotine deep into her lungs. She tilts her head back, blowing smoke from her mouth, white billowing around her. 

“Deputy,” Joseph’s voice calls out and chills run along her spine, “you know, smoking is really a terrible habit.” 

“We all got our vices,” she says, shrugging her shoulders, making sure to blow the smoke away from Joseph. 

“That is true, I know that better than most…” 

She nods when he trails off a bit, his church seems to focus a lot on sins and vices, overcoming them she assumes. Sins marked across the skin of so many of its members. Silence falls across the two, for once Joseph breaking eye contact, a rare moment for him. 

“Is there something you wanted…? Can’t imagine you’d rather wait out here in the cold.”

“Yes, actually, I think there’s a lot we need to discuss. Faith told me you have concerns about your friend, Cassandra.” 

“Cassie, yeah,” she corrects, not sure why it bugs her so much to hear them using Cassie’s full name. 

“Yes, John always was wishing to speak with you regarding the orchard and… I’d hate for this… incident to color your opinion of me and my family.”

“I understand and I’d love to talk all this out with you, but-” 

“It’s four in the morning.” 

“Yeah, sorry,” she frowns, feeling bad about it, “its been a rough day and I just am ready to crash, I’m sure you must be exhausted too.” 

“Of course, I understand, which is why I’d like to invite you to have dinner with me and my family.” 

“Uh, what?” 

Dahlia blinks and coughs on cigarette smoke, taken aback by the sudden invitation. He’s here for an investigation, she just interrogated him, and he’s concerned with inviting her to dinner to… preserve some sort of good image? While a formal investigation isn’t opened on him or John yet, needing warrants and authority to do anything more, but one is right around the corner. 

“We try to have dinner as a family, my brothers, sister, and I, as often as possible. A luxury we couldn’t indulge in for so much of our lives, I think it’d be a wonderful opportunity for us all to speak and for you to know my family separate from church or police interrogations. So, would you like to join us for dinner tomorrow night?” 

“Uh…” 

This could be her only chance to talk to him about Cassie before a formal investigation is launched and it becomes a conflict. 

But it could already be a conflict, since they are hopefully not far away from launching that investigating. 

But, she could use it as a chance to probe around, see if she can unearth anymore evidence in the Jerome case. 

But, anything procured without a warrant wouldn’t be admittable, so the most she could do is see it and then know what to go back for once they secure a warrant. 

But, even just getting a chance to ask questions without the environment of an interrogation room, might get some truths out. As well a chance to ask about some of the other strange things going on in the county. From roadblocks to the issue of the weird “angel” that assaulted her. 

But, they could be dangerous, if they do have anything to do with Jerome’s injuries… 

But, she’s not weak and it’s not like she's looking to antagonize them. She can ask her questions and be polite. 

But, Pratt would kill her. He literally warned her to stay away from the Seed family five fucking seconds ago. 

“Sure, I’d love to,” she tells him, ultimately unable to say no to his earnest little smile. 

“That’s wonderful, our dinners are at John’s ranch house, I’m not sure I have anything to write the number down on…” 

“I can use the memo app on my phone, what is it?” 

“Oh.” He seems taken aback for a moment when she gets out her phone, but recovers to prattle off the address, Dahlia typing it in. 

“Did I get it right?” She asks, moving to stand closer to Joseph’s side, so he can see the phone screen.

“Uh, yes, that’s,” he reaches out to touch her phone and accidentally closes the memo app, pulling his hand away like it burned him, “oh.” 

Dahlia can’t help but laugh, watching the older man fumble to deal with tech. He’s older, sure, but he’s not pushing his sixties or anything. He ducks his head and she can see a very subtle flush of red flare up his cheekbones. Its the most human he’s ever seemed to her, just an older man who hates phones, embarrassed that he has no idea how to use one. 

“Don’t worry,  it saved,” she explains, pulling it back up. 

“Yes, that’s correct.” 

“Alright, see you and your family tomorrow.” 

She tucks her phone back in her pocket and waves bye again, getting on her motorcycle. Dahlia slides her helmet on and starts the journey back home, mind racing and heart heavy with the events of the day. 

Joseph sits in the passenger side of the truck, Jacob driving and John sitting in the back, as they leave the police station. It's late, nearly early enough for him to be waking up. John made a grave mistake, trying to punish Pastor Jerome for leading people astray, away from Eden. A noble intention, but he did it out of wrath and anger, letting someone else’s sin fuel his own. His impulses placed them back in the sight line of the police. They can recover from this easily enough, as frustrating as it is. The bigger issue is once again working to reign John in and working to change the junior deputy’s view of them. 

The Lamb plays a vital role in the collapse, she was chosen to be the one who brings about the end, how exactly she will do so remains to be seen. But, he’d rather she do it alongside them stepping into New Eden by their side after she helped cleanse the world, rather than doing so in spite of them with no understanding of the gift she was given. 

“What the hell were you thinking?”  Jacob scolds their younger brother, always protective of the project and them being found out by law enforcement, he’s more than a little irate about John’s mistake. 

“Jacob…” Joseph still chides him for cursing, a nasty habit his eldest brother struggles most to break. If Joseph’s being completely honest, he’s not certain Jacob is trying to break it all. 

“Pastor Jerome is a fraud, he is leading people astray and spreading lies about The Project, he had to be taught a lesson.” 

“Who cares? His people abandoned him for us, John. He can talk all he wants, no ones fuckin’ listening.” 

“Oh, so suddenly you’re above corporal punishment, are you going soft on me, Jacob? Do you allow your soldiers to say whatever they please, reward them for their insolence?” 

“Jerome’s not a soldier and unlike you, when I teach outsiders a lesson, I’m not dumb enough to let them walk away from it.” 

“Brothers, stop,” Joseph speaks over them, not yelling, but his tone stern enough to end their incessant arguing, he makes eye contact with his youngest brother through the rearview mirror “Jacob is right, John.” 

“But Joseph-” 

“You endangered The Project, our mission, our family; for the sake of satisfying your own wrath. You put all of us at risk and for what? So, you could indulge in your sins?” 

“He was spreading lies, telling people you were dangerous-” 

“And that made you angry, it made you wrathful. And so you lashed out to make yourself feel better, instead of speaking to me, instead of seeking out the word and confronting the sin inside of yourself, you sought to quell your anger through violence.” 

“I’m sorry, Joseph.” 

“I know. Righteous anger and swift justice has its place. There will be times to cut off the hands that wrong us, but this was not one of them.” 

“I understand… I already spoke with our flock members in the station, they’ll dispose of the evidence and secure Patrick’s freedom. Without it, the investigation will end and he won’t be punished for my mistakes.” 

“I knew you’d take care of it in the end,” he tells him, watching the relief flood John with the smallest amount of praise after being scolded, “I invited the junior deputy to dinner.” 

Jacob slams on the brakes on a thankfully deserted back road, causing Joseph to jerk against the seatbelt and John to slam his face against the seat in front of him. John yells out from the sudden impact and Joseph turns to look at his eldest brother in confusion. 

“God damn it, Jacob!” 

“John!” Joseph scolds when his baby brother takes the lords name in vain, he can see a bruise forming on John’s forehead already. 

“He tried to kill me!” 

“Am I the only one who understands that we’re criminals?!” 

“In the eyes of man, perhaps, but in the eye of -” 

“Eyes of man are the ones that matter, right now, Joseph! You’re inviting a fuckin’ cop into our lives, into John’s house. A cop who just interrogated us less than a fucking hour ago and you want to feed her for her trouble.” 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were scared, brother. Jacob Seed, scared of a little girl.” 

“Well, its a damn good thing you know better, or that shiner would be the least of your problems, brother,” Jacob nearly spits the word brother, glaring daggers at John. 

“Jacob,” Joseph gets his older brother’s attention, Jacob has always been the strongest willed, has always asserted his opinions even if he’d do anything for the family, “are you doubting me?” 

“No, of course not, I just don’t understand why you’re doing this?” 

“We have cops within our flock, Jacob.”

“Yes, converted cops who benefit us. This deputy can’t walk into a church without puking her guts up, she’s a problem waiting to happen.” 

“She has been making a problem out of herself, trying to keep me from purchasing the orchard, enabling the greed of this county.” 

“Look, I know it can be difficult to understand, you’ve not heard what I’ve heard. The Voice hasn’t spoken to you, as it has to me, my decisions are not without reason. Reasons that will be revealed in time, the junior deputy is important, bringing her into our flock is a priority. Understood?” 

“Of course, understood, Father,” John concedes, using Joseph’s formal title. Joseph looks to his eldest brother, who’s scarred jaw is still clenched tight. 

“Understood?” He repeats himself, he knows Jacob wouldn’t go against him, but his willful nature… something Joseph was envious of in childhood now leads to the occasional butting of heads. 

“Understood.” 

Jacob starts the car back up, driving Joseph and John back to their homes. John to his ranch house and Joseph up to his church, where he has a cot in the back of it. The sun is starting to come up when Jacob drops him off at the church compound, before driving back to Saint Francis. 

Eyelids heavy with exhaustion, Joseph is quick to return to his quarters, a headache starting to creep up along his temples. He changes for bed, then kneels before his bed, bowing his head for prayer and folding his hands together. Hands pressed together tightly, his rosary pressing into his skin. 

And he prays. 

He prays for John to find his way, to battle his sin and win the fight. 

He prays for Jacob to one day fully let go and accept the word. 

He prays for Faith not to stray from the path. 

He prays for his flock and family, he prays for their faith not to wane, he prays for them to be strong enough to weather the collapse, he prays for the persecution of his family to end, and he prays that he can save more souls; specifically the junior deputy. That he can find a way to reach her heart, help her see her gift, and learn the importance of her role before it’s too late. 

Then a sharp pain shoots from his temple across the rest of his head, like lightning shooting through his skull. The darkness of his closed eyes fades away into a new world, a vision of New Eden, a paradise he’s been shown and promised so many times he knows the sight of it by heart. The bright blooming pink flowers and modest homemade homes of a commune, a return to nature, to innocence. 

His family and flock there, older versions of themselves, dressed in more rustic handmade clothes. Less clear and less certain than last time. But he sees John, Jacob, and Faith with children clinging and playing around them. And he can’t explain the feeling, that they’re all his children but his siblings as well. 

The five year old boy with a head of dark curls and blue eyes that looks so much like Joseph as a child, the boy who called him papa. 

A girl around three with bright ginger hair, a face covered in freckles. She grins and blinks, sun in her eyes. She reminds him so much of Jacob, head held high with a crown of red. 

Maybe a year younger, another girl has straight dark brown hair and big wide blue eyes. Eyes that remind him so entirely of the young baby brother he cooed at as a child. 

The oldest of them, clings to an older Faith’s skirt. A young boy of ten maybe tweleve, so much older than the smaller children. Hair dark as pitch, olive skin, and green eyes setting him apart. He looks different from the others, perhaps his family tie not one forged by blood. 

His family, those he has now and those he will gain, the family he will be gifted. But, there’s something missing…. Pieces of the puzzle not yet in place. 

Weak clumsy fingers grab onto his bed as his vision subsides, the reality of the world he’s still in returning to him. His head pounds and throbs, agony radiating throughout it, as the collapse draws closer his visions are getting more and more frequent. He can only hope as he falls into bed that he’s keeping himself and his family on the right path to find paradise.

[xiaomomowrites]

act V

Genshin Impact | TartaLi/ZhongChi

Summary:  “Anyway, childhood dreams are all too easily shattered. Even if you just leave them be, they will fall to pieces all by themselves,” Childe had said ruefully to the traveler, “So someone has to protect them, right?” 

And what about your own, Zhongli questioned, who will protect you, Tartaglia, if not me?

Or, Zhongli is incredibly soft for a specific ginger.

A continuation of act IV; takes place a couple months from where act IV left off. Both stories can be read individually.

A/N: This fic is entirely self indulgent haha. I played Childe’s individual story and couldn’t help but feel obligated to write him being doted on. Seriously, the guy went through that much trouble to take care of his brother and preserve his innocence :( made me wonder if there was anyone to take care of him, too, you know? 

Umm if you wanna cry with me, listen to the song Everything I Wanted by Billie Eilish while or after you read. Please enjoy! - u.n

Spoiler alert: contains spoilers for Childe’s story, Monoceros Caeli.

--

The warmth of the morning sun’s rays always had a way of withering down even the strongest of soldiers. 

A morning not so different from yesterday’s gently pulls Zhongli from a restful slumber. He cracks an amber eye open to observe his surroundings and takes a calming breath, and feels his own chest rise and fall. The sun crept through the window and past the curtains, enveloping the entirety of one ivory wall and reflecting against Childe’s pale skin. Two bodies lay intertwined underneath the thick duvet, creasing every which way where their legs tangled and rose and fell with each breath they took. He glanced down to where Childe had an arm slung across his waist protectively, and allowed himself to bask in the way the weight felt against his body. For the first time in a long time, Zhongli woke with his heart full of peace and completely void of discourse. 

The ex-Archon glances down at his peaceful lover with the ghost of a smile on his face. 

He inches closer and pulls his hand away from where it was laced with Childe’s between their faces. The action released a soft, discontented grunt from the ginger. Zhongli bit his lip to hide a smile, and brought the offending hand up to his Childe’s cheek. He brushes his knuckles across the smooth skin, running his thumb across his cheekbone as he gently pulled away, only to reach back in to repeat the action. 

Childe sniffles in his sleep and subconsciously leans into his touch. 

Zhongli’s heart flutters.

At the heart of it all, he knows that Tartaglia is incredibly soft hearted. Buried beneath is a soul that is desperately clinging to the innocence of childhood that was lost in the abyss. He’s a man that carries burdens as heavy as the rocks he breaks with the flick of his wrist, a man that would sprint to the ends of the earth for his family and anyone he loved. A man that loves so deeply, yet so exclusively. He’s a man that is careful with his heart, a man that needs to be, but in the event that he should entrust another with his entire essence, it should be considered the highest honor. Zhongli’s chest swells. Childe truly is one of a kind. 

Sometimes, Zhongli finds it hard to believe that someone as magnificent as Childe has chosen an old man like him.

His ginger hair falls against his forehead playfully and tickles the bridge of his nose. The side of his head that’s pressed against soft satin pillows also has ginger locks splaying out in every direction, unlike his usual semi-neat hair style. His fingers twitch subconsciously where Zhongli once held them between his own. His breath rises and falls with each steady inhale and exhale, and fuck Zhongli is so in love. He’s really in for it, now. Oddly enough, it’s a familiar feeling. It’s an all consuming feeling that blooms within his chest before spreading like a wildfire down his arms and into his core, down to his legs and out to his arms; the warmth will spread up to his neck and make his head feel a thousand pounds lighter before the process repeats again. It’s akin to what he feels on the battlefield, except, instead of adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream, it’s more like a gentle wave of reassurance. It’s a feeling so unforgettable, even Zhongli in his densest moments has to be able to recognize it. 

Seeing that he roams the earth as a mortal, the only person who could truly be the cause of his downfall now lies in front of him, blissfully unaware of the world around him at the moment. 

What a beautiful feeling it must be, Zhongli ponders, to think of nothing but the luxuries that life has to offer. One of them being waking up next to the love of your unfortunately long life. 

Zhongli likes to think now more than ever, that Guizhong would be proud of him. Look at me now, old friend, he thinks proudly, look at what he’s taught me. Look at what you’ve opened my heart to.

Because even if Childe was a swirl reaction of multiple emotions at once, most of them chaotic, some of them malicious and some of them benevolent, he’s been one of the kindest teacher’s Zhongli has ever met. And the man is six thousand years old. 

It’s in his eyes, Zhongli concludes silently. 

Childe has never been one to be very open with his emotions, but like it or not, they constantly revealed themselves in his obnoxiously blue eyes. His eyes, ever cerulean, have led Zhongli through his heart and showed him the ropes, handling him with care. His eyes were the very reason Zhongli knew that he needed to make amends after the storm, three months ago. Because even if Childe’s posture and tone reflected but playful and meaningless feelings of betrayal, his eyes begged to differ. One look at him as he passed over his gnosis, and Zhongli knew he had hurt him more than he could imagine. More than he had ever expected he could. At the time, all Zhongli knew in him was a soldier. A Fatui Harbinger at the disposal of the Tsaritsa.

Oh, how he was wrong. 

As soon as the traveler, their floating companion, and Signora all but vacated the bank, he hauled ass to Wangshu Inn. Zhongli remembers the way his heart slammed against his chest as he pumped his legs as fast as they could go. It was Ekaterina that had informed him, vaguely, that Childe had plans to leave the next morning, if not earlier. He simply could not let that pass without saying his piece. Stubborn as a rock, Zhongli fled. There, he caught Childe at the last minute with his travel duffel already equipped and ready to go. He thought, for a terrifying second, that he had already lost him. 

And yet here they were, tangled together in a heap of limbs as the sun rose, ever upwards. 

I love him, Zhongli determines, I love him I love him I love him—

“Are you watching me sleep, old man?” 

Ah. He had been too caught up in his emotions to notice Childe’s obvious change in breathing. He had been awake for awhile. Zhongli’s hand, where it had once been running lovingly across his face, has stilled for quite some time and rested gently against Childe’s cheek. Still, Childe’s eyes remain closed.

Zhongli smiles, uninhibited. “I love you,” the words flowed out of him with such ease, he almost didn’t recognize his own voice. 

Both of Tartaglia’s eyes slam open. He doesn’t even get the chance to blink away the sleep the way he usually does in that infuriatingly cute manner. Instead, all he blinks once, nice and slow. Processing.

“Well,” the (former? It’s tentative) Harbinger starts dumbly, “good morning to you, too.”

Zhongli chuckles. “Good morning, my love.”

Tartaglia’s eyes widen once more. The ginger looks at the deity with disbelief, as if he were still processing the fact that the first confession was not a fluke. It truly is a comical sight for the ex-Archon. Another one of the simple pleasures in life, he deems, is bringing happiness to the one he loves most. 

The ginger sits up on one elbow and looks down at the man in confusion, tugging him closer in the process. “What’s up with you?” 

“Nothing is up with me,” Zhongli shrugs and looks up at the object of his affections with such nonchalance it makes Tartaglia’s head spin.

“You’re being all…” the sentence almost dies on his lips, “feely.” His head is too muddled with sleep to think of anything else to say.

“Feely?” He tilts his head in genuine confusion. Zhongli has never heard that word before. 

“Yes, feely!” Tartaglia shakes him restlessly, “what’s with the…” he waves a hand in the air aimlessly.

“I love you,” Zhongli states again, simple as breathing, “is it so wrong for me to tell you?”

“No!” He negates quickly, “I’ve just… you’ve never said it out loud before, I guess.”

Zhongli’s eyebrows pull together in slight distaste. “Have I done something that made you feel otherwise?”

At this, Tartaglia sighs and slumps forward. He lets his forehead thump against the other man’s collarbone and nuzzles closer. “No, you oaf, like I said, you’ve just never said it directly before. Caught me by surprise a little.”

Zhongli brings a free hand to tangle in red hair idly as he speaks. “I’ll be sure to say it more often, then.” And in a moment of insecurity, he follows with, “do you… share the sentiment?”

Tartaglia stills in his arms. Zhongli’s breath stutters for a moment. He wonders if he should drop the subject in its entirety when Ajax’s voice finally returns, albeit muffled by the sheets. 

“More than you could ever know,” he admits quietly. Zhongli ignores the quiver in his voice for Ajax’s sake. “So much so that it scares me.”

Zhongli’s heart soars. “You don’t need to be afraid, darling,” he assures him with confidence, “when was the last time you let someone take care of you?” 

There was a time, Zhongli recalls, when Tartaglia told him all about the day his little brother had visited him in Liyue. The little troublemaker took ten years off of Tartaglia’s life span when he rushed headfirst into a ruin guard factory with little regard to his own safety. Tartaglia, ever the family man, threw himself into danger and shifted into his Foul Legacy Form despite his slow recovery from the last instance. High on adrenaline was the excuse he had used when Zhongli looked at him sternly. He was left coughing and sputtering, a pathetic image of the Eleventh Harbinger that is usually so calm and collected, always looking for a fight. 

Had Zhongli been there, he would have scolded him endlessly. 

“Anyway, childhood dreams are all too easily shattered. Even if you just leave them be, they will fall to pieces all by themselves,” Childe had said ruefully to the traveler, “So someone has to protect them, right?” 

And what about your own, Zhongli questioned, who will protect you, Tartaglia, if not me?

“It’s been a long time, sensei,” Ajax admits into the sheets, “please be patient with me when I’m being difficult.”

Zhongli cradles his nape. “For you, my love, I’d wait another six thousand years.”

[animebaby00]

Request: Makoto/Haru

Makoto and Haru in university. Makoto is involved in an accident. Haru called out of class. Their story of recovery. Makoto with a broken leg/ribs and Haru from the traumatic fear of almost losing Makoto. Haru takes care of Makoto.

Phew ! I'm so sorry this took awhile to get out! But it's here and ready for you! I hope you like it!

Our Pain is Also Our Strength

(WARNING: Mentions of car accidents below)

Haru knew something was wrong the moment he got called out of swim practice at Hidaka University. The odd feeling he got when he was told to go to the office. It made his skin prickle with unease and made his hands become sweaty and cold, creating a heavy sensation that felt like a rock was sitting deep in the middle of his stomach.

It was such a rare occurrence. On one hand alone, he could count the amount of times he'd been taken out of class during all of his years in elementary school and highschool. Most of the time, it had been for medical reasons, things involving family. But as far as he knew, there was no such issue in any of those departments. 

Until today. 

Static rang in his ears upon hearing it. A woman at a desk muttered something to him, a collection of about 30 words, but Haru only registered 3 as he ran out of the school's building and to the nearest train station

Makoto, accident, and hospital.

Those were the words that repeated over and over and over again in his mind and not just because of their connections, but because Haru just couldn't register…

How? And why? 

He wasn't even sure what "accident" meant. Did he fall? Injure himself? Did something happen at work? Did someone step out of line and hurt him? He hoped it wasn't that. 

Who would even hurt someone who was as nice,sweet, and considerate as Makoto? 

So many questions that Haru didn't know the answer to. And that scared him.

However, that feeling increased tenfold when he was told at the reception that Makoto was in the emergency ward as well as full detail of what happened. 

It was a traffic accident. Not as extreme as most but effective enough to cause a significant amount of damage. Makoto had been at an intersection at the corner, preparing to turn, and some bastard had run a red light. 

Makoto's car had spun around due to the compact and the driver's side had collided with the base pole of another stoplight on the adjacent side of the street, trapping him inside. Supposedly, he had been unconscious when the paramedics arrived on the scene, but had woken up due to all the commotion. That was all the information Haru had collected until he just couldn't take it anymore and promptly asked where Makoto's room was. 

He excused himself from the individuals he had bumped into to get there, apologized for pushing himself into the already full elevator that would take him to the proper floor. He didn't feel bad though, considering that he was damn sure that anyone who was in his situation with a boyfriend who was in an unknown state after an unfortunate accident would be in a rush just like he was in now. 

Finally, he arrived, and he wasted no time in entering, desperation and worry gnawing away down into his bones. 

"Makoto ?" He asked urgently, practically sprinting inside the room, "Makoto ? Are you in here ?" 

"H-Haru ?"

His blood froze, eyes widening at Makoto's voice.

It sounded so weak.

Slowly, Haru peered around the privacy curtain in the center of the room that divided off the bed from a double sink area and an extra IV stand, gaze resting on the inhabitant in the bed he had been so worriedly aching to see. 

And the sight he was met with utterly knocked the wind out of him. 

He'd never ever thought that he'd have to see Makoto, his Makoto, in a state like this. 

The first thing he noticed was the cast, huge, bulky, riding all the way from the top of Makoto's foot to his midthigh, elevated with a stack of thick hospital pillows. Crisp, clean bandages were thickly wrapped on a few sections of his arms, but a more noticeable one was wrapped widely around his chest area, their whiteness off set by the splotches of several bruises that littered his skin. There were a few butterfly bandages on his forehead and over his brow to seal the more minor injuries, and several IV cords were dangling from the holders above, administering from what Haru could count as 3 different medications.

And Makoto sat in the middle of it all, and still managed to,somehow, keep that damned, adorable, beautiful smile on his face. It was smaller than usual, but still, it was there.

All too quickly, he found himself rushing forward in angry, terrified, relief to Makoto's side. He pulled him into his arms the best he could without hurting him, not giving a damn when the hot tears that he didn't even know he was holding in, cascaded in waterfalls down his face. 

"M-Makoto," he hiccuped, burying his face into the crook of his neck, "God, Makoto…" 

He could feel the bigger male hum against his ear, warm arms and hands encircling his back, "It's okay, Haru. I'm alright. I'm here."

"S-shut up. Y-you almost…" he pulled away, furiously wiped at his face, and proceeded to cup Makoto's cheeks in his hands, gliding his fingers over his jaw, his cheekbones, and the bridge of his nose, committing every single feature to absolute memory. He leaned forward, allowing their foreheads to touch and he let out a shaky sigh.

"D-do you know how m-much that s-scared me? I...I thought you-"

"Hey, come on." Makoto's soft voice eased, grabbing onto the hands that were cradling his face, ""Don't think like that."

"How can I not?!" Haru wept, voice cracked like broken glass, "This isn't something we can just forget about! I could've lost you today, Makoto !" 

"I know…" the injured male trailed, hurt by his boyfriend's distressed outburst. He couldn't blame him though. If Haru had been the one in his position, he would probably be saying the exact same thing right now. 

He grabbed the distressed male's hands in his own. 

They were covered in cold sweat, but Makoto didn't mind in the slightest. 

"Haru please, calm down. There's nothing we can do right now until the doctor comes back in so let's just...talk. Okay?" 

A light pressure could be felt against his palms and Haru looked down, noticing the gentle squeeze from Makoto's fingers. His staggered breathing calmed some and he closed his eyes.

"Y-you're right." He stammered, amazed at how easy it was for him to calm down by Makoto's simple touch, "I'm sorry. Anger is the last thing you need. I shouldn't have come in so...so"

"Hey, you have nothing to apologize for. If I were you, I probably would have done the same thing," he ghosted his fingers over Haru's knuckles, "You have every right to be upset and it would be a lie if I said I wasn't upset too. No one wants to be in the...position that I'm in right now. It's not exactly ideal, or comfortable for that matter."

Haru's eyes immediately widened, "Are you in pain?" he  fretted, to which he got an immediate reply of a shaking of a head. 

"No, not really. They've been pumping me full of drugs since I've got here. If anything, I just feel really sluggish and tired, but I can't really find the ability to sleep. They didn't want me too just in case I had a concussion." 

"Oh…" 

"Haru?"

"Hm?" 

Makoto opened his arms, and Haru immediately shook his head. 

"Why not?"

"I don't…" he looked down at the floor, "I don't want to hurt you."

"Silly," Makoto chuckled, arms spreading the tiniest bit wider, "You won't hurt me. Now come here."

Haru looked off to the side a little uneasily, but then proceeded to scoot forward until he was laying in the crook of the space between Makoto's arm and the side of his chest, head resting on his shoulder. 

"There," Makoto smiled, "Much better."

Haru said nothing, instead opting to guide Makoto's face towards his. And in one, swift movement, their lips were merged together in a soft, heartfelt kiss

Makoto's eyes closed at the feel of Haru's cool, sweet lips on his, noticing the feel of his hand gripping his neck in a gentle, desperate fashion as he carded his fingers through Haru's soft, dark hair. Those actions were a silent agreement that right now, this was what they needed most.

~~~~~~~

"There. Does that feel okay? Not too high? Do you need me to move anything?"

Makoto chuckled, "It feels perfect Haru. Thank you."

He nodded, "I'll be right back with the ice, do you want anything from the kitchen while I'm in there ?" 

"No, I'm okay. Just the ice is fine."

"Okay…"

It's been 2 weeks since Makoto's accident, and during that time, Haru had been doing absolutely everything he could to aid in Makoto's recovery. 

When the doctor had come back in to speak to the both of them, he had revealed that Makoto had a plethora of injuries. 

He didn't have a concussion which was good, but he did suffer from a broken right leg, 2 broken ribs, some cuts and bruises, and he had to get a few stitches on a cut above his eyebrow. They were certainly grateful they both had good medical insurance and savings since it was obvious that Makoto was going to be down for some time. 

The doctor gave him an estimation of 2 months with the cast and an additional month with a leg brace as well as some light physical therapy. All in all, a supposed 3 month period before he would make a full recovery. 

That meant, he couldn't coach, teach, or swim at all until that time period was up. He had also been put on strict bed rest for 3 weeks minus the necessary actions of using the bathroom, to which he had to use crutches to do so in addition to any other walking around that he did. At least Makoto only had 1 week of bedrest left, and he was grateful for that. He was also immensely grateful for all of the things Haru had been doing to take care of him. 

The chores around the house; cooking, cleaning, laundry, and the shopping. Making sure he was comfortable at all times, helping him bathe and get dressed while also attending college on top of it all. Haru was doing it all and it was definitely a lot to take care of. And while Makoto deeply appreciated it...he couldn't help but feel bad, but he knew there was nothing he could do except help out in the tiny increments where he could while also ensuring Haru that he was fine.

Which he was having to do a lot as of late. 

"Here, I have your ice."

Makoto snapped his head up, "Hm? Oh, thank you Haru!" 

"No problem…"

Haru gently set the ice pack to lay steadily on the base of Makoto's cast then took a seat next to the temporarily disabled male, head moving to lay on his shoulder as he grabbed the remote to randomly scan through the TV channels. 

Makoto shifted his position slightly, arm raising to rest over Haru's shoulders. Even from the slight touch, Makoto could feel how tense they were. He gently ran his hand over them, even turning it up to smooth at the base of Haru's neck where his hair ended, and he frowned slightly as the rumble of a yawn left Haru's lips.

"Are you tired?" 

"A little."

"Why don't you get some sleep…"

"I'm fine."

"But Haru-" 

"I have to take care of you."

A sigh left Makoto's lips. This was growing to be his response for absolutely everything. He gently squeezed his boyfriend's shoulder.

"I'll be fine for a few hours. You need to stop thinking about me so much and also take some time to look after yourself. You're exhausted Haru, anyone can see that."

Haru shook his head "It was just that stupid nightmare I had. It woke me up a few times, that's all. I'll sleep better tonight." 

A deeper frown etched it's way onto Makoto's lips. 

Every so often for the last few nights, he was aware that Haru had been struggling to get a good night's sleep.  It was only about a week ago that Haru shared the information that he was having nightmares about the accident and Makoto was devastated. But once again, he couldn't blame him, even though he had told Haru to wake him on the occasions that he did have them so that he could at least talk and try to quell the feelings they caused for his traumatized love. From what Haru told him, they weren't pleasant, almost all of them resulting in a twisted, gory ending that was nowhere close to what actually happened.

"Haru…" Makoto whispered, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Didn't want to bother you. You need rest."

"And so do you." 

Makoto guided his other hand under Haru's chin, inwardly wincing as the action caused a twinge of pain to shoot through his chest, but he didn't care. Slowly, he guided Haru's head to look at him, green to a heavy, exhausted, dark-circle rimmed blue.

"Listen, I know you're worried about me, and you have every right to be. What happened was... uneventful. And it was unexpected and scary. I get that. But you wearing yourself down to care for me isn't going to help anything."

Haru pressed his lips together, and looked downwards, "...It's not just that." 

"Huh? What do you mean?"

 "Why I'm doing this? It's not just to help you. It's..." he looked back up, eyes now brimming with tears " It's so that I'm always with you. I don't want to leave your side."

Makoto felt his heart jitter uncomfortably in his chest, "Oh, Haru…"

"What happened two weeks ago," he started suddenly, "It scared me. I...I don't think I've ever been that scared in my life. Seeing you like that...it just showed me what life can do to you." 

Makoto stayed silent as Haru continued, his voice growing to become tight and strained.

"All I can picture is what else could have happened. I just can't get it out of my head. I don't want to have nightmares, I don't want to be fearful. But I realized then, when I saw you…" he swallowed thickly, and gripped the fabric of Makoto's t-shirt, tears falling.

"I saw how fast things can be taken away from you. How fast you can lose the things you care about, and I don't ever want you to be taken away from me…!"

Makoto was at a loss for words as Haru cried into his shoulder. This whole time, he was so scared, terrified, and he left it eating away at him until he couldn't anymore. 

This accident affected the both of them, sure. But it had affected Haru so much more that he originally thought. 

"Hey," Makoto urged gently, tilting Haru's face up "Come on Haru, look at me." 

He did, slowly, his eyes soaked with tears. Makoto smiled warmly and wiped them away with his thumbs. 

"I won't ever be taken away from you, I want you to know that right now. Nothing could ever, EVER separate us so I don't want you to be scared that something will." Makoto looked downwards at his cast, " Accidents happen whether we want them to or not, and they can do a significant amount of damage and that's something I should have paid more attention to in regards to you."

Haru shook head, "No, Makoto I-" 

"Shh," he was stopped by a finger against his lips,"This took a toll on you just as much as it did me and I should've noticed that. It scared you and made you fearful and I should have done more to prevent that. You can't lie now and brush it off like it's nothing."

An uneasy "Hrm..." sounded from Haru's throat and he watched as Makoto reached down and grabbed his hand, intertwining their fingers. 

"Let me say one thing though." He whispered softly, stroking the skin on the top of Haru's hand, "You can stay by my side as long as you need and help me when I need it, but let me at least do something to help you." 

He firmly set his gaze on Haru, eyeing his dark blue orbs, "I know it will take some time to get over this. We both need to recover, me physically and you mentally. So when you need to talk or if you're worried about something, don't hesitate to come talk to me, and make sure you continue to take care of yourself on top of it." 

He squeezed Haru's hand tighter, "If we help each other, then I know we'll be okay. You believe me don't you?"

In all honesty, Haru could never make sense of how well their hands fit together, like two puzzle pieces, or a perfectly crafted lock and key, and it always offered a gentle, soft, reassuring warmth.

That warmth radiated everywhere, all around them, even in Makoto's words in that things would be okay. That they would recover from this.

Haru squeezed Makoto's hand back, a soft, quiet "Yes..." leaving his lips. 

"Good," he kissed Haru's temple, "Now what do you say we both get some rest ?"

And they did, bodies settled comfortably on the sofa, Haru nuzzled against Makoto's neck, together.

Exact the way they should be. 

[theheartsmistakes]

The Last Night Part V

Author’s Notes: Hey all you cool cats and kittens (she did it), here is Part V of my Jordelia (and friends) fanfiction based off of the lovely characters from Cassandra Clare’s novel Chain of Gold. The song sung in the dream sequence is a Persian Children’s song called You Are The Sky's Great Moon. I’m not sure of the author, unfortunately, but it was not me. I just thought it fit so perfectly for how Cordelia feels about her friends and how they feel about her. I am terribly sorry about the wait on this one, but it’s quite possibly my favorite piece yet. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. As always, if this did tickle your fancy, please hit the <3, reblog, or pop in with a comment. Comments grow my heart and fill me with motivation. Stay safe. Stay healthy. Stay sane. We’re almost out of the woods.

P.S- This one might require some reading of the previous parts. So, here they are in order if you want to catch up:

Here is Part I

Here is Part II

Here is Part III

Here is Part IV

                                                           .Part V.

Cordelia stood in the center of the ballroom of the London institute. It was larger than she remembered it: empty now of the elaborately dressed guests, the waiting staff, the noise of the quartet, and tables of food. The curtains were all drawn away from the arched cathedral windows illuminated the space in the warm light of the auspicious London sun burning away the last hours it had in the sky. The distant London skyline was bathed in blue with not a cloud to be seen for miles. No smoke billowed into the sky from factories or chimneys; no boats crowded the harbors as if she were looking at a picture of London. It felt so warm to be in the light, she wanted nothing more than to bath it in and never leave. 

A light pressure wrapped around her elbow. She turned around to and found herself facing her mother, with her dark hair loose in curls to her waist, standing in front of her.

“Mâmân?” Relief filled her as she wrapped her arms around Sona’s waist and buried her face in her shoulder.

“Layla.” Her mother’s hand slid down the back of Cordelia’s head, fingers sliding through the tendrils. “Do you remember that song we used to sing together when you were a child?"

Sona grabbed Cordelia’s hand; the other pressed against her shoulder blade and suddenly they were dancing across the room. An odd thing, to be dancing with one’s mother, but Cordelia didn’t mind. A smile spread across her face as she matched her mother’s footwork as they spun around the room. 

“It’s been such a long time since we sang it,” said Sona. “I cannot seem to remember how it begins.”

Sona released Cordelia in a spin, the delicate soutache embroidered golden mesh of her dress billowed out around her ankles, and when she turned back around Lucie was standing in her mother’s place. Her tawny hair was twisted back in an intricate braid and her eyes, the same intense blue as the Tenerife sea, glistened as she grabbed Cordelia’s hand. Cordelia had never realized how lacking in height Lucie was— but then Lucie had never invited her to dance. 

“If you are the sky’s great moon.” Lucie’s clear voice filled the empty ballroom as she began reciting the childhood lullaby as they floated in a semi-circle around the room. “I’ll become a star and go around you.”

Lucie paused and stepped away from Cordelia, their hands outstretched, but still clasped together like when they were children swinging around in a circle until they both collapsed from dizziness.

Lucie let go and looked over Cordelia’s shoulder. She turned around just as Matthew strolled across the room in a pinstripe suit and picked her up under the arms and lifted her off of the floor. “If you become a star and go around me, I’ll become a cloud and cover your face.” 

Just as he set her back on her feet, a hand clasped her own and spun her around. “Thomas?”

He turned and shuffled down the room with her beside him. “If you become a cloud and cover my face.”

“I’ll become the rain and will rain down.” She turned to her right to find Christopher.

They raised her arms and both bent at the waist in a bow before disappearing like the rest. Anna came from behind her and walked in a small perimeter around her. Cordelia’s eyes trailed her every step. “If you become the rain and rain down.” 

Alastair walked in the opposite direction of Anna. “I’ll become grass and spring.” The crossed each other and disappeared to opposite sides of the room, leaving Cordelia in the center, right underneath the three tiered crystal chandelier.

A hand slide around her waist. She felt the feather light tickle of fingers sliding down the bare skin of her arm until fingers slide into the spaces between her own. A body pressed firmly against hers from behind. The hand tightened around her middle and she felt someone’s breath on the exposed skin of her neck. “Daisy, my Daisy.”

There was only one boy who called her that.

She spun around to face him. She was so close to him she could see the faint random freckles across his nose and cheekbones. His hair was disorderly, as it always was: a piece fell across his brows, and his warm gold eyes moved across her face as if she were a painting, studying each individual line and stroke and shape that made up the whole picture. 

“James.”

A sharp pain lanced through her ribcage, stealing her breath, as she fell limp against him. It was only then that she noticed a great shadow had stretched across the ballroom stealing away the warmth and the light.

James head bent until his forehead pressed against her own. “When you become grass and spring, I’ll become a flower and sit next to you.”

The shadow inched closer to them until they were a pinpoint in the center of the room. Her hands clung to the fabric of his shirt until her knuckles became white as she drew herself up so their noses were aligned. They recited the last line together. “When you become a flower and sit next to me, I’ll become a nightingale and sing for you.”

A feeling like the floor dropping out from her feet pulled Cordelia away as she was ripped from James once more. 

***

It was dark, that much Cordelia could tell, and it was cold. So cold the tips of her fingers ached. She was flat on her stomach, laying on something hard- stone possibly— that chilled her to her core. A dull, but intensifying pain, ached on the right side of her ribcage with every breath that she took. It was also the only part of her that felt enflamed with heat. Her lungs felt too full, the air scratched against the back of her throat as though she’d inhaled a mouth full of soot. She tried to cough, but nearly cried out from the pain in her ribcage. 

Moving didn’t seem like a viable option, but neither did lying still. She tried to walk carefully through her memories to figure out where she might be. The last thing she remembered was James. He held her so tight; he was so warm and then everything was so cold again. She had said goodbye to James. Then Alastair— she’d been in a carriage with Alastair. The memory of him lying, bleeding in the street made her cringe. She had to find him—to get her stele and get to him.

Her arms shook as she pushed herself to her feet; her teeth clenched so tightly they might crack from the pressure. The pain was agonizing, spotting her vision with white dots; it was only then that she noticed the ground beneath her hands turned to fine powder and disappeared in a gust of wind.

She had been here before, that much she was sure of. The smell of acidic rot and decaying flesh was difficult to forget. Everything around her was orange and hazy like being surrounded by a blazing fire, but without the heat. 

“Welcome back,” said a clear, deep voice that rang through her like the bass of thunder. 

Cordelia stilled, bent awkwardly on her hands and knees. She looked up in the direction the voice had come from. 

He was dressed much the same as the last time she’d seen him, in an all white tailored suit complete with black buttons that glistened like eyes- perhaps they were eyes. His pale gray hair swept across his face; in much the same way as James’, but she would not allow herself to think about that. 

“Didn’t I stab you?” asked Cordelia. 

Belial moved towards her, the tails of his coat flapping in the desert-like wind. “I faintly remember something about that, yes.”

“If at once one doesn’t succeed, one must try again.” Cordelia reached for Cortana with the arm on her uninjured side, but found that her hand closed around empty air where the hilt should be. 

Belial smiled mockingly.

“Where is Cortana?”

“Where it fell,” said Belial. “You see I don’t often make mistakes, but on the rare occasion that I do, I am sure not to make the same one again.”

Cordelia’s head dropped and she looked at her hands. The knuckles on her right hand were bleeding; the pinky on her left hand was angry, swollen, and bend out of place at the joint. Dried blood encased her arms from her elbows to her wrists. There was pain everywhere, enough to swallow anyone whole, but still she tucked her legs underneath herself and sat up with her hands resting on her thighs, as if she were presenting him with an offering. 

The last time she’d been in the shadow realm, she had been with James. They had held each other, defended one another, and barely managed to escape with their lives. Self-preservation hadn’t been a thought in her mind, as if James and herself were one entity, there was none without the other. Now, alone, self-preservation rang through her blood- Shadowhunter blood- every sense awakened and alert; desperate for a fight or an escape.

“What is it that you want from me?” asked Cordelia, the words shook on her lips.

Belial chucked, it echoed around them. “Nothing from you.”

“James.” Cordelia caught her breath and gripped her ribcage. When she looked down at her hand again it was covered in blood. There was a hole in her dress, just underneath her breast, the whole front of her was covered in a dark stain. “He won’t come. He thinks I’m in Idris with my—Alastair. What have you done with Alastair?”

“Consider him a calling card,” he said. “He was wounded quite gravely, but left with enough breath to relay a message as soon as your friends find him. It’s been extremely difficult to capture the attention of either of my grandchildren especially while I… healed, but after some careful observations, I believe I have exactly what will capture their attention.”

Cordelia’s hands clenched around the fabric of her dress, still damp from the rain. “He won’t come.”

“You don’t think so?” Belial raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps you’re right, but no matter, he is not the one that I require.”

Cordelia looked up again. Belial’s face hadn’t changed. It remained expressionless with the stoic passivity of a graveyard statue. “Who— who else would you—“ The thought dawned on her like a punch to the stomach. “Lucie.”

“Very good. I was afraid you were only bronze and no brain,” said Belial. He waved a hand in the air, and for a moment, Cordelia caught the faint outline of an automobile speeding down a London street. The two passengers in the front seemed to be squabbling with one another, a much larger figure sat in-between them with his neck bent awkwardly so his head wouldn’t burst through the top of the cab. Three more figures sat side-by-side in the back, one of them was Lucie. The picture focused on her face, gazing out the window, her body present but her mind lost in thought. “My granddaughter. It’s true, I overlooked her at first, believing James to be the true vessel because of his connection with the shadow realm, but that is until it came to my attention that my granddaughter holds the power to summon the dead. While I did prefer a male form, James is merely an adolescent traveler, jumping from realm to realm as if on holiday.”

The burning intensified in Cordelia’s chest. She could feel sweat drip down her spine despite the chill. 

“Lucie?” Cordelia nearly laughed. Sweet, unassuming Lucie— with ink stains on her fingers and her mind constantly in the pages of her stories— with the ability to summon the dead. “You must be mistaken. If Lucie had the ability to summon the dead, I’m sure that I would know about it. I am her— best friend.”

“Didn’t you just abandon her to go home to Idris?” His lips curled. 

Cordelia shook her head. “No, I—“ She caught her breath and nearly bent over from the pain. “No, I wanted to spare her the humiliation of being seen with me after I—“ She raised herself up again. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

“No, I’d much prefer it if you didn’t actually,” said Belial, examining his shoes as if they held more interest to him than the entirety of the conversation. 

“If what you’re saying is true,” said Cordelia, a shudder went through her whole body as the pieces started to come together in her mind. Her mouth became impossibly dry. “Then Lucie would—“

“Be able to summon an army of the undead,” said Belial, as if it were a completely normal thing to do like walking. “A truly wonderful thing about dead people is that you can’t kill them… again. They’ll be unstoppable in destroying your realm: killing, pillaging, destroying, so that I can come and claim it as my own.”

Cordelia let out a deep breath. “Just once I would like for a villain to come up with a less egregious plan than world domination. However, considering who you are— thief of realms and all— this is rather right on character.”

Belial spread his arms out to his sides and bowed at the waist.

“Lucie won’t do it,” said Cordelia, oddly calm. It was one thing she was absolutely sure of. 

“Do you not think so?” Belial squatted down in front of her, still feet away as though she were a wild animal that might attack him at any moment. He was smart— she would. “I didn’t think so either. Not willingly, not unless I had something of great importance to her.” His eyes narrowed. “I tried to capture James but he had more wards around him due to my last attempt. I thought my dear daughter, Tessa, but Tessa seems like the explosive type. Unreasonable, like she might throw herself onto a blade before being used. Then there was her father, William, well I’ll just admit I feared I’d be decapitated before Lucie had a chance to join us.” He cleared his throat. “Her other friends, while they hold great importance to her and would have done the trick, there was the little dilemma of you and that blade. It seemed you were the most logical choice.

“You did make it quite difficult for me,” said Belial. “Always following James around like a loyal dog. I had to think of some way to separate the two of you. That’s where the Blackthorn girl came into play.”

“Grace,” said Cordelia. “Are you controlling, Grace?”

“Not directly,” purred Belial, “but I am not without my connections. You see, I promised the Blackthorn’s to raise their beloved Jesse if they served me. After that, they were like clay in my hands.

“When I found out the Blackthorn girl already had James under a binding spell, it all became rather easy.” Belial laughed. “He went to her like a drunk goes to ale.”

Cordelia swayed slightly and fell to her hip, her arm outstretched to catch her. Tears burned her eyes with rage. How could she know nothing of Lucie’s power; nothing of Grace’s spell on James. It seemed perhaps Belial was right about one thing. Perhaps she didn’t know her dear friends at all.

Belial’s eyes danced and flickered over her, taking in her expression, her resolve, her bleeding waist. 

“Don’t die yet Miss Carstairs.” Belial turned his back to her and crossed his arms. His eyes took to the darkened sky as if waiting for something to fall from it. “There is still a need for you.”