#and i have a headache that sometimes stings

[frankensteinsdeaddaughter]

My brain is actually a bee hive.

[dreamyberry]

6.2.24 🎉💧

[miryum]

You've Got Stars in Your Eyes so Let's Paint the Sky (Azriel x Reader)

Summary: Azriel “mourns” his wife

Warnings: Az pretending to be angsty (but happy ending), recreational drug use (tho not from Az or reader), gambling, drinking/alcohol, mentions of hangovers, timeline is a bit loosey goosey, a bit of Elain-bashing, guilt. (title is from Hold On by Extreme Music. Fic is not based off of it, but I was listening to it while editing and thought it fit well)

Word Count: 2.9k

Azriel was hardly one to get intoxicated. Yet there he was, sitting around the expansive fireplace with the other members of the Inner Court, tossing back his fifth glass of alcohol. 

It was not an uncommon occurrence for the Court to get drunk every once in a while and indulge in pleasure after their missions. Azriel had just returned from a two-week long commission and was slouched in an armchair big enough for his wings to fold comfortably behind him. It hadn’t been very taxing, but the trip had required secrecy. He couldn’t speak to anyone, just having to let his shadows zip in and out of places, returning to whisper in his ear. Admittedly, he had missed his family and couldn’t say no when Cassian asked him to join in some indulgences.

A cloud of weed surrounded Cass as he took another drag. Even Rhys had an ornate pipe between his lips, though he had yet to light it. Feyre sat on his lap, dragging a slow hand through his hair. Mor had convinced Nesta to play a round of cards and the pair had money laid out for the winner. Elain was sitting next to them, awkwardly watching. Amren was in Summer Court, visiting Varian.

The Shadowsinger didn’t like to drink. It usually brought back painful memories at night, though he was able to forget about them during the fact. He liked the sting of alcohol and its taste, but not the effects. The pleasure of it burning down his throat was always welcome, but the headache in the morning was uncomfortable. As he would lay in bed that next morning, memories swirled in his mind, either one’s from the night before or from his childhood. It was a gamble he was very rarely willing to take. And yet, as he watched Rhys finally light his pipe, Azriel couldn’t help but take another down of his drink. He swallowed thickly and the alcohol was like fire. The moment he compared it, he glanced down at his hands. Flexing his fingers, Azriel turned his stare to his whiskey. It was a lovely amber that seemed to glow in the firelight.

Azriel’s eyes wandered to his brothers and their mates. His finger slid around the rim of his cup, sometimes catching on the glass and disrupting his rhythm. His lips pressed together and his gaze turned to the fire. Shadows slowly curled around him, resting in his lap like a cat. They shifted and creeped lazily up to settle on his forearms. One wisped around his ear before brushing against his cheek, like a kiss. A deep sadness settled within Azriel. His heart weighed down as if by an anchor. 

He reached up and brushed at the leathers right over his chest, like he was searching for something that wasn’t there. One shadow climbed up to nestle in his hair, before settling down with a wistful sigh only Azriel could hear.

“You alright, brother?” Rhys asked, noting the shift in mood. Feyre glanced towards Azriel, resting her head on Rhys’ shoulder. Elain quickly looked over her shoulder.

The Illyrian nodded, exhaling through his nose. “Simply thinking,” is what he only replied.

Cassian blew out a smoke ring before turning to the conversation. “And what is it that you’re thinking of?”

Azriel only shook his head when he noticed Nesta peering up at him suspiciously. She laid down a card and Mor’s brows furrowed just a touch. It was things like these that one noticed being the Spymaster of the Night Court. 

Rhys studied Az’s face carefully. It wasn’t unusual for Azriel to be quiet, but something about this was unsettling. Something was on his mind and there was only one person that made Azriel this melancholy. Unfortunately, the weed was lowering his inhibitions, and he forgot the promise he had made to Azriel when the Archeron sisters had first arrived. “Thinking of Y/n again?” he asked in a whisper, though his voice was powerful enough to sweep the room. 

Mor instantly tensed, a contemplative frown on her face. Cassian blew out a long column of smoke, using his full chest to exhale. Feyre stared at Azriel, confusion swirling on her features. She stayed in the crook of her mate’s side, ever perceptive. Nesta rubbed a card between her thumb and pointer, about to set it down. She was the first to speak. “Who’s Y/n?”

The night was silent and it took a long time for Azriel to answer. He pressed his finger into the rim of his glass and the shadow in his hair seemed to deflate slightly. Even the shadows in his lap stilled before curling tighter around their master, either asking for comfort or trying to give it.

“My wife.”

Elain’s eyes grew wide and a thick blush covered her cheeks. Her stare darted down to his fingers, as if looking for a ring. When she didn’t find one, she turned away, head ducking down. Feyre lifted her head off of Rhys’ shoulder and even Nesta looked shocked. The senior Inner Circle, however, didn’t react. They all knew who Y/n was and they loved her dearly.

“I miss her. I miss my wife,” Azriel muttered, staring down into his drink.

Azriel could barely see through his tears. He stood, in a new custom suit, in front of his brothers. He sniffed once and Rhys clapped him on the back so hard he let out a cough. 

“Where is she?” Cass muttered from his place behind Rhys. Rhys then turned around and gave him a sharp glare. Amren rolled her eyes at their display and Mor gave Azriel an encouraging nod. The females were standing opposite them.

It was then that the door to the garden opened and Azriel turned to see his mate, you, walk out. 

You were wearing the dress you had always gushed about and your hair was styled beautiful. A bouquet of flowers was grasped in your hands, though Azriel could hardly see any of that. All he could see was your eyes. They had quickly become his favourite colour and something he loved to stare into. 

The tears finally began to fall. He could hardly remember the words the High Priestess said, too lost in the feeling of your hands in his and how utterly beautiful you looked. You had insisted on a wedding after learning of the human custom. Your mating bond had snapped over seven years ago, but Azriel was more than happy to keep indulging in your wishes.

Morrigan and Amren were your ladies and Rhysand and Cassian were Azriel’s gentlemen, something you insisted was vital in a wedding. You had also insisted on exchanging rings, slipping the band onto his fingers before he repeated the gesture to you.

Finally, Azriel had the chance to kiss you. He had kissed you plenty of times before, even before you were mated, but this felt… more complete. With one hand on your hip, he pulled you close. You let out a giggle as his other hand cradled the back of your neck. His lips curved up into a devilish grin before dipping you low. You let out a lovely squeal, arms looping around his neck, before he silenced you with a fierce kiss.

And so you were wed. And he would never let you go.

Mor let out a sigh, rising from her place on the floor. She stood for a moment, as if unsure of what to do. Eventually, she decided to refill her own glass before offering the pitcher to Azriel. He took it thankfully. “I miss her as well,” she said. “But it does not help to dwell on her, Azriel. It only makes you sad, and you know this.”

“What- what happened?” Elain asked, clearing her throat. Feyre shot her a stern look but Nesta hummed in agreement. As much as Feyre wanted to be considerate, her curiosity also burned.

In response to Azriel’s silence, Rhys provided quietly, “I sent her on a mission. Years ago.” The muscles in his jaw jumped and Feyre made a sympathetic noise, running a hand through his hair again. “I don’t believe Azriel has ever forgiven me since.”

Azriel let out a derisive scoff. He pressed his lips together and gave Rhys an eye roll. However, after a moment, he said, “it comes and goes.”

Elain shifted her position so she was sitting a little closer to Azriel and facing him. “How many years ago?” she asked, her voice calm and consoling. “Do you still have your ring?”

Cassian was the one to answer, brows pulling together like a drawstring. “Only two years,” he said. It sounded like he was scolding Elain, but Azriel didn’t notice, instead focusing on a shadow that was weaving around his fingers. 

The shadow drifted up to rest on Az’s collarbone and it dipped down to touch his leathers. With a sad, nostalgic smile, he tugged out a chain that was hidden beneath his clothing. Hanging down from it was a gold ring. “Even before her mission, I thought it would be best to keep it out of sight,” he murmured. “In case I was ever caught. I wouldn’t want to risk her.”

Mor, who had been drifting around the room, gave Azriel’s shoulder a squeeze as she passed.

Meanwhile, Elain glanced towards Feyre, a pleading look in her eyes. Rhys turned towards his mate and let his hand glide up and down her side. Feyre finally asked, “did the bond ever snap for the two of you?”

Azriel’s entire expression softened and practically everyone could see his shoulders relax. He wasn’t sure if it was the memories or the fire that sent a warm feeling through his chest and throughout his body.

You stood on your balcony, doors wide open and arms crossed. You didn’t want to be here. You didn’t want to be at the Town House. You wanted to be at your shared apartment with Azriel, one that was located in the city center. But, seeing as Az was being a stubborn male, you had decided to spend the night away.

Of course, Azriel wasn’t going to let you. You saw his shadows before you saw him. They zipped to you, racing up your body. They twirled around you excitedly and you couldn’t help your smile. Even if you were mad at the Shadowsinger, you couldn't stay mad at his shadows. “You know I love you, yes?” came his smooth, quiet voice from behind you.

You let out a breath and nodded. Azriel came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. His chin rested on your shoulder and in your peripheral vision, you could see his wings twitch next to you, as if wanting to embrace you too.

“That’s not an apology,” you noted.

It was Azriel’s turn to sigh and his breath tickled your skin. “I know,” he murmured. He didn’t say anything for a long time. Entering your relationship, you were aware that apologising was hard for Azriel. He wasn’t used to making mistakes and was usually so guarded and careful that he didn’t. But you were different. You made him feel things that no one else had and he didn’t know what to do with those feelings. He was bound to make some mistakes.

Finally, he turned his head into your neck and whispered out, “I am sorry, my love.”

That’s when the bond snapped.

Your soul was yanked towards Azriel’s and the centre of the universe seemed to change. Everything was now focused on him. Everything now made sense. And based on the hopeful, desperate expression on Azriel’s face, he felt it too.

“We didn’t see them until practically a month after their mating ceremony,” Mor snickered. Cass let out a loud laugh, the weed making everything seem much more funny than it actually was. Elain pressed her lips together. 

Azriel shook his head fondly. His shadows suddenly darted away from him, but he was too inebriated to care. “Shut your mouth, Morrigan,” he muttered, though he was smiling. “What can I say? I love Y/n. It was a nice month.” He took a sip of his whiskey, trying to hide his grin.

Yet, before he could start reminiscing, a knock sounded against the wood of the doorframe. “Az, what are you telling these lovely people?” a new voice spoke up, a teasing lilt in the tone.

Azriel instantly stood. “By the Cauldron,” he murmured reverently. He didn’t notice the Archeron sisters peering curiously at the newcomer as he launched himself into your arms. You were obstructed from view to the sisters as Azriel’s wings curled around you protectively as he held you close. His grip was desperate and loving as he pressed his face into the crook of your neck. “My love,” he whispered out so that only you could hear. “I didn’t know you were visiting.”

You held your mate close, a hand brushing calmly in his curls and your other on his back. “I’m not visiting,” you replied softly. “Rhys said I could be done. With the mission, I mean.”

Azriel had half a mind to turn and shoot an accusing look at Rhys, but he wouldn’t take his eyes away from your beautiful face. “My wife,” he muttered. He took your hand in his and kissed the ring you wore proudly. “Forgive me.”

“What for?” you asked.

He shook his head and pressed his forehead to yours. “That promise I made to you years ago – I didn’t keep it. I let my emotions get the best of me as I missed you. Rhys didn’t deserve my anger for sending you away.”

You let out a laugh that was beauty incarnate to Azriel’s ears and Feyre shared an bemused look with Nesta. Since when did Azriel apologise? And for being rude to his brothers, of all things. To add to it, he had been smiling more with you in his arms than the entire time they had known him. Was it simply that the Shadowsinger had missed his mate? Was there another layer underneath that lay dormant until you were there to peel it back? What was Azriel truly like when the love of his life was home?

Cassian called you over and you exchanged hugs with the rest of the Inner Circle. Mor was ecstatic to have you back – her best friend had returned. You were disappointed that Amren wasn’t there to greet you, but you understood the needed time with her mate. After all, you were sure Azriel wouldn’t let you out of his sight after being reunited. 

You were then introduced to the Archeron sisters. You gave Feyre a little teasing bow and greeted, “my High Lady.” Feyre scoffed and swept you into a welcoming hug. 

Nesta was next to greet you and you congratulated her on being able to put up with Cassian. Azriel laughed at your joke, arm around your waist. Throughout greetings and introductions, he had never left your side. Every so often, he would place a kiss on your temple or give your hip a small squeeze. He truly was a different man around you.

Eventually, you stood in front of Elain. “Azriel made it sound like you were dead,” she said in hello. Her voice made it sound like she was passing blame onto your mate, but you tried to brush it off.

With a laugh, you said, “well, he gets rather grumpy whenever I’m away for too long. I’m sure you understand.” Some of Azriel’s shadows brushed lovingly along your arms and face.

“He wasn’t wearing his ring, you know?” She laughed along with you, albeit a bit awkwardly. “You have a lovely mate. You’re very lucky to have him.”

You raised your brow and exchanged a look with Mor. “Yes,” you agreed slowly, thinking that was an odd thing to comment on. “But Azriel can choose to wear his ring or not. And he talked to me about it beforehand. We both thought it best to keep our marriage under wraps as we went on missions.” You held up your left hand and Azriel took that as his cue to nuzzle his nose into your hair. “I put mine on only a couple hours ago, when I knew I’d be coming back.”

Elain’s cheeks filled with heat and she nodded. Muttering some things about how she was glad to meet you, she stepped back and towards Nesta. 

Impatient as ever when it came to you, Azriel soon ushered you away with the complaint on his lips that your attention wasn’t only on him. He wanted to see you back in your home. After mating, he had chosen a wonderful house special just for the two of you. Over the months, it had gotten harder and harder to live there without your presence. Oh, how he had missed you.

When you were finally alone, you cradled his face in your hands, finally able to kiss your mate after two years. One hand slipped down to pull on the chain that hung around his neck. “I need you to wear this now,” you whispered. 

Azriel chuckled and raised a brow. “Jealous, my love?” He pressed close to you, unable to take the feeling of you not cradled in his arms any longer.

“I think I’m entitled to some jealousy,” you replied. “After almost twenty-eight months without hearing your voice, seeing your face, or touching your skin, I get some leeway.”

“Hmm, that you do,” he muttered, slipping his ring back on proudly. “Now, will my beautiful wife accompany me to our home?”

“With pleasure.”

[orchidseason]

pirate!AU ✩‧₊˚ the stolen hummingbird [part 1/2]

𐙚 caitvi x f!reader

Kiramman, motivated by her hatred for VI’s sister, kidnaps you—the hummingbird—for your herbalist knowledge, and Vi, the theif she once shared a bond with. Consumed by revenge she drags them both into a dangerous web of conflict, and becomes blinded by how her quest for revenge is unraveling the very connections she’s desperately clinging to

warnings : word count 3.8, pirate captain!caitlyn, theif!vi, healer!r, enemies to lovers, injury, blood, loss of freedom/kidnapping, weapons, angst w comfort, side character death

You were known as the hummingbird.

Your knowledge and understanding of herbs, plants, flowers—it was unlike any other. Similar to a hummingbird, you flit from place to place, never in one place for too long. Your nickname precedes you, growing quite a reputation amongst the people. Those you have helped speaking good news, spreading word of your kindness. Those who even believe you are a myth, wishing to uncover who you are. All create talk, chatter that is ushered at tables in bars and whispered amongst alleyways.

Growing up, your parents were sick. The money crises caused you to be poor, unable to make enough to pay for medicine to help your parents. So, you took it upon yourself to create a way for them to live. It was built upon a passion to save them, help them as much as you can. It helped? You’re not fully sure, but one by one they unfortunately passed.

Herbs, plants, leaves, flowers. It never interested you. What did was the ability to help others, delay death even if it’s just another day. It started small, helping a family friend’s child. From there it was the bartender, a homeless man in an alleyway. From there, you were traveling to help someone’s aunt, friend, sometimes even their dog. You used it to heal. Seeing others smile when they realized a cut or wound or sickness, they had would be healed brought a smile to your own face. You know your parents smile down at you each time you save another. It became your job, maybe you’d consider it your destiny, your purpose.

Gulls’ Island is where you reside now. A client had a message sent to you, word of mouth. Two weeks ago, at a market someone had whispered the client’s location into your ear, having recognized you. So, like your title, you flit to their location. Now on the land, the sand under you as you walk ashore. It is night, lanterns lighting up the small town ahead of you. Their home resided on the dock; a boat parked nearby.

The chill of the air nipped at you as you grip your leather bag, hood over your head as you cross the wooden path. A few raps at their door and it opens, the person on the other side of the door looking distraught.

“Is it truly you? The one said to take away the sting?”

“Who is it that I’m assisting?”

The man opens the door fully, ushering you inside. It looks homey, the fireplace lit, and little trinkets settled around the room. You step inside, thankful for the fire as it warms you up. In the corner lies a table and a chair, on the chair lied a sick looking little kid. He had his forehead against the table, breathing shallow. You slip the cover off your head, stepping near him in caution.

“His symptoms?”

“Oh yes,” the man starts, “he’s not been eating or drinking regularly. Can’t keep it down that’s why. He seems to have a fever, headache.”

You hum, crouching on the floor and getting a closer look at his face. He’s sweating, a line dripping down his forehead. He’s shaking, fingers gripping the table.

Something feels off.

“And how long has he had these symptoms?”

“A week or so now?”

“I see,” you say and stand, eyes shifting around the room. There wasn’t a mess, it looked clean. No glass on the floor, or cuts in the wooden walls. You look back to the boy.

“Can you look up at me,” you ask softly.

He does and there’s tears in his eyes. Your expression hardens at the sight. The floor creaks behind you then and next you know you’re shoved against the wall. The man who had opened the door, explained the situation now had you pinned against the wall—a knife held at your throat. Your attention shifts from his weird expression to the woman who walks out from the bedroom, and your heart beating like a scared bunny in your chest.

Captian Kiramman.

You recognize her indigo shaded hair and eyepatch-clad eye from the pictures in the books you’ve seen and the hate posters around cities. The crew that she leads has a title that exponentially precedes yours. The Sapphire Pearl. Her stories are discussed in tragedies, her face only appearing in nightmares.

You keep your gaze steady, refusing to let your body betray you as Caitlyn’s eyes remain fixed on you. You don’t speak more, because you know there’s little point. Your hands stay still at your sides, fingers curled tightly, betraying the turmoil inside you.

She looks at you a second longer before nodding her head to the side and the man, gripping your arms in a tight bruising hold tugs you along with him. You look back to the little kid as you’re dragged out, seeing the cries escape him. Just in the other room lies his parents you presume, the bedroom where Caitlyn had been waiting. They’re tied, bound—and the sight makes your heart jump.

The man keeps a tight hold on your arm, the other holding the knife to your neck as they whip you out of the house and back onto the beach where you had only just arrived. The wind blows Caitlyn’s hair around that’s pulled back in a tight ponytail. Around the island and her ship comes into view. Settled aside an island in the distance, dark with no lights lit. You yourself couldn’t have seen it if it weren’t for a crew member pointing it out. You’re shove onto the smaller rowboat. Caitlyn sitting in it among you and a few crew members. As you’re seated, your wrists are maneuvered behind you and tied with a rope settled on the floor of the boat. Whoever tied them leaves no room, tying it to the point it hurts every time you move your wrists.

The ship as the distance grows smaller grows in size. The sheer volume bringing upon a fear within you. Just like before you’re shoved around, pulled by the same man, his hand gripping your tied hands and bringing you upon ship. They’re hundreds of people on board, their eyes on you as you’re brought on board.

You’re ushered into her Captian’s quarters. The door shuts behind you, hiding the three of you in privacy. Caitlyn leans back against her desk, and you’re held in front of her, no room to try anything.

She’s looking at you, expressionless, “the woman renowned for her assistance and healing?”

“If you want something, tell me your symptoms and I’ll hand you the ingredients for it and be on my way.

It made good sense to assume at first that she wants something you carry. A rare flower, a plant that’s only from a specific region.

“How considerate,” she says, “but the contents of your bag are not what I’m interested in, hummingbird. It’s you.”

She uncrosses her feet, heeled black boot stepping closer to you. Her eyes holding more than just simple curiosity, they’re dark and calculating. This isn’t a thievery of an item.

“Your skill, your knowledge. It’s your expertise I intend to claim, not your possessions.”

You take a deep breath to steel the way your body had a visceral response to such news. She continues, disconnected from the weight the situation holds.

“Until then, you’re to be held prisoner. Any act of rebellion will be punished.”

That’s the last word before she waves you off. It’s all a blur as you’re brought to the lower level and shoved inside a cell. The latch shuts above, and the rooms enclosed in darkness save for one lantern. You slide down onto the cold wood, chest heaving as you try and adapt to all that’s happened. Each time to try to take a deep breathe, all that you’re filled with is thick and oppressive air that smells of salt and sweat.

A jingle of chains behind you catches your attention. You turn your head only sideways, eyeing the cell across from yours in the corner of your eye. The swaying lantern’s light shifts onto her from time to time, lighting up the woman residing there.

She’s trying to keep it together, but you can see the tension in the way her muscles tighten, the way her hands clench into fists. Her hands are chained, not allowing her to go any further than the seated position she’s in. She’s furious, that much is obvious. Her eyes occasionally flicker to you, a mixture of anger and regret clouding in them. She’s not angry at Caitlyn. She’s angry at herself too.

Her voice is low and rough, but there’s an edge of vulnerability she can’t quite hide.

“Who the hell are you?”

No words are spoken as you turn your head fully to regard her silently for a long moment. There’s no need to rush an answer.

“I’m here, just like you.”

You let the silence settle between you, the words offering no explanation, no invitation to know more. It’s the bare minimum, and it’s all you’re willing to offer for now. The woman seems to consider whether to say more, then deicides against it.The tension is thick, but her guided silence says it all. You’re both here for a reason, a connection tying you all together. You both settle into a silence as the ship drifts away from shore.

You’re woken up with a start, your head lifting off the wall behind you. Three crew members come down. In a quick succession they have you in their grip as they bring you aboveboard. It’s the first time you’ve seen the sun in what—a week? Two weeks?

Caitlyn stands beside a huge table, maps and papers strewn across it. Her tight ponytail’s now loose, a sign of her anxiety and tearing her hand through her hand many times. You’re brought in as you were the night you were kidnapped. She doesn’t glance at you, eyes tired and closed off—focused solely on the map.

“What specially can you do? What all are you actually capable of? There’re rumors of your restorative infusions, one’s unlike anything one’s heard,” she stops her rambling, dragging a hand down her face, “What can do you do?”

She repeats, voice hoarse and said through gritted teeth.

“I heal.”

She shakes her head, mind working and thinking, “there needs to be more that you can do. As there’s one side of the coin, there’s the opposite,” she whispers like she’s come to a conclusion, like she’s had a brilliant idea, “I need you to make something that could kill.”

Goosebumps line your body.

“I can’t... I can’t do that.”

“You can do it. You’re capable of it. Once we arrive at this town, you are ordered to prepare it.”

“But it’s not what I do.”

She wasn’t listening, a hand waving at you to be thrown back into the cell after, rough hands of the crew shoving you. Vi, you’ve come to know her name over the past few days, focus is set on you as you’re brought back down. Her expression softens when it finds you.

“You, okay?”

“Fine.”

Vi’s eyebrows scrunch, “what did she want?”

You crouch onto the floor again, tired, “she ordered me to make something that could kill.”

It seems you’re still in shock. Your hands in front of you, shaking as you inspect them. Vi’s silent, but you can feel her frustration, her anger from where you sit. You look over the rough edges on your hands. Your hands are colder, harder to move from the cool of the water and little sunlight.

“It goes against everything I believe, Vi. I cannot make something in turn that will harm another. I can’t do that. I got into this to heal. Not... not whatever she’s planning.”

Vi’s listening, eyes stuck on the floor of her cell. She sighs, letting herself become vulnerable, honest with you.

“She’s after my sister,” she starts, “I knew her before all this. She changed when my sister killed her mom. She’s set on killing my sister. It’s the only thing on her mind. Believe me, I’ve tried to talk to her. She’s deaf to anything but revenge. The Caitlyn I knew is gone.”

Almost a month had passed.

You’ve grown used to the same walls, the same sounds of the waves hitting the sides of the ship. A few people have since been taken. Every cell has been filled. Your own cell had another woman chained across from you, making the space increasingly tighter.

After a month had passed you felt the first shift in the routined torture. It seemed the boat had come ashore. Ashford. That’s where you were. You knew since you had overheard a crew member discuss it.

It was a change, but true change didn’t happen until five days later. The sun rose and the sun set many times before it finally happened. Crew members came down again, opening the cell you sat in. Vi’s expression was dripping with poison as they dragged you up.

This is the third time you’ve seen Caitlyn. First was when she kidnapped you, second was when she commanded you go against all you’ve ever known, and now? She’s leaned back onto the chair, her right leg stretched out straight in front of her. Her face is strewn in pain, eyebrows furrowed. She looks furious, and pained, and conflicted—and many other things, they all flicker back and forth too quickly for you to keep up with.

Her cut has bled into her clothes, soaking the fabric and turning it a darker color. You’re sure you won’t be explained why such an injury happened, but it looks as if she snagged it on something.

The crew member announces their presence, but Caitlyn doesn’t rush to respond. She looks to you, silently commanding you to help her with the gash on her thigh—following that command she commands the crew guard to leave.

“But—”

“Haven’t I given you a command? Leave.”

The door shuts and so do your air pipes, the room suffocating.

Her eye-the uncovered one-is bloodshot, “why’re you still standing there?”

You’re reaching for your bag immediately after. It’s basic to always have enough for some form of cut/gash concoction. You mix it together, creating a yellow-ish paste—your eyes flickering to her thigh.

“Why kidnap me?” you ask, still focused on your work, trying to keep your hands steady despite the tremor in your fingers. “You’re obviously smart, Caitlyn. Do you really need my help?”

When she speaks, her voice is measured, betraying none of the emotion swirling beneath the surface. “I didn’t take you for your skills alone. I need your help… but it’s not just for making powders or salves.”

You glance up, brow furrowed. “Then what? Why capture me if not for that?”

Her jaw tightens as she leans in slightly, her words cutting through the air. “Because I need someone who understands pain… and how to make it disappear. You’re the only one who can help me finish what I started.”

You cover her gash, watching as she controls her pained expressions with ease. The only things that give it away are the little furrow in her eyebrows. You finish applying the paste and wrapping it. The room is quiet save for the distant creak of the ship. You wipe your hands of any excess.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Caitlyn mutters, the words barely above a whisper, her voice tinged with frustration, maybe fatigue. It’s hard to tell, but she’s looking over the secure work you did on her injury, your soft and careful fingers when you worked. You didn’t need to be careful. “But I’m not ungrateful.”

“Of course I did,” you start, packing all of the little bottles full of supplies back into your bag, “I may not have had a choice, but I—this is what I’ve always done. I’ve always helped where I can. I heal.”

There’s a shift in the air.

Because this time Caitlyn listened.

It wasn’t the last time you healed her.

A few days later you’re shoved up the stairs and forced onto your knees, Vi shoved alongside you. Her bicep brushing against yours. You look up, seagulls swarming stop of the ship—the sails fluttering in the wind. Caitlyn also stood in your vision, along with the hundreds on her ship.

“We’re traveling into Ashford, you two are accompanying.”

Ashford is full of colorful lanterns littering the rooftops, creating a welcoming and fun atmosphere. The ground has powders, scattered across the floor. Reds, purples, pinks, yellows, light blues—it’s like a disco ball. There’s a small home at the end that Caitlyn raps her knuckles upon. A man opens it, arms full of dark tattoos of a language you’re unfamiliar with. He welcomes Caitlyn, and only her—the door shutting after.

Unbeknownst to you all, that door shutting was like a countdown. The many people hidden in the roofs surrounding you engaged, aware of the trigger (that being the door).

Caitlyn had found out too, her intuition snapping into place quick. It turned out to be an ambush, supporters of Vi’s sister having tracked her there and tried to surround the crew she had brought into town.

It was in the blink of an eye, but Caitlyn had stepped in the way of an attacker—taking the brunt of the attack instead of Vi. The blood seeping into Caitlyn’s shirt from the jab to her stomach was concerning.

This was the second time you healed her.

She seemed more conflicted, eyes darting around as if she was reading her own thoughts. You had her laid down on the window chair, the noon sun shining onto the wound making it easy for you assess it. For some reason, you spoke—lips dropping open to ask a question like something tugged it out of you.

“Why did you step in front of Vi?”

It’s like her thoughts shatter, her focus coming back to the present. She exhales, her voice carrying in the quiet room, “because she’s not the one I’m after. Her sister is my enemy.”

The mixture is spread across her stomach, you watch as it flinches from the coldness of the paste. Caitlyn looks out the window, at the birds flying around.

“Vi’s sister,” she starts, the bitterness tasting in her mouth as she thinks about her, “I can’t... I can’t let that go. She killed my mother.”

But in the same breath, she looks conflicted, “But I don’t want Vi to suffer more because of what I want.”

There’s a pause, as if Caitlyn is fighting herself—fighting the love she still holds for her mother, and the desire that feels all too fresh, the one that’s consuming her and difficult to let go. It’s a fleeting moment, but it’s there: her love for Vi, burned under her pain, manifesting in subtle gestures and words left unsaid.

“I’m tired of the fighting. But I’m not done yet, I don’t feel I’ve come close enough.”

The air between you is thick with unspoken emotions—regret, love, and an overwhelming need for closure. But Caitlyn hides it well, masking it with the determination that’s been her shield. Just as she had opened up to you, her expression hardened once again—attention set on the seagull flying free.

She was still holding onto the passion for revenge, but her grip had loosened—not nearly as tight as it was when she had kidnapped you.

You’re dismissed after patching Caitlyn up. The event sun sinks low, creating an orange hue over the ship. You shut the door to the captian’s quarters behind you. The wind is softer now, the ocean brushing the sand in the background. The deck is mainly empty save for maybe ten other people—most other in the town, or under in the bunker drinking. Vi sat on a step, attention snapping to you. You glance sideways at her, silhouette outlined in the fading sunlight.

“You okay?” You ask, your voice a gentle nudge.

“Just amazing,” she says, but there’s a trace of something in her voice, “Just… tired with it all.”

You sit beside her, the air growing cooler as the sun disappears behind the horizon You’re unsure whether she’s taking about the trip to the town, Caitlyn, or the deal with her sister—could be all three. But regardless you don’t press her.

Instead you shift closer to her, seeking the warmth. You look out at the sea, as far as your vision will allow you. The sunset is beautiful—more vivid than what you could’ve imagined. But it doesn’t feel like something you can appreciate.

“Caitlyn doesn’t make it easy,” you say finally. It’s an understatement. She makes it incredibly difficult. On one side you understand her motives, on the other—youre furious, hurt with her.

Vi tenses at the mention of Caitlyn, but she doesn’t pull away.

“She’s been consumed by this need to make amends. It’s changing her. She promised me she wouldn’t change.”

Her voice cracks, just a little, and you feel the weight of her words, the deep ache behind them. You can tell how much it hurts her to see Caitlyn—the person who was becoming everything to her—became this shell of herself, this revenge-fueled version of the woman she used to know.

“You’re scared she won’t come back?” You ask softly, leaning in and meeting her eyes. The lantern near her icy eyes, lighting a fire in them from the hue. Vi doesn’t answer immediately, but the tremble in her hands and the shake in her eyes says it all. Finally she speaks.

“She was all I had left. After everything, and now she’s gone.”

You let her talk, listening to every word, eyes flickering around her face—seeing her.

“Vi” you start, “she’s still Caitlyn. Even if she’s lost and blinded by anger and hurt, even if she’s lost for some time. She’s still the person you knew. Maybe she just needs someone to remind her of that.”

You say, remembering what Caitlyn had spilled to you. Vi’s eyes flicker to you, searching you. For a long moment the world feels suspended between you two—unspoken words, shared understandings. The weight of her emotions hang in the air, but for the first time in a while, it feels like something between you two shifted.

Her breath hitches slightly, and she looks at you a little longer than usual—gaze trailing down to your lips for a moment. But just as the moment stretches, the sound of footsteps  disrupts it. You both turn, and Caitlyn appears out from the captian’s quarters. Caitlyn’s gaze shifts between the two of you. Her lips tight as she approaches the stairs to the both of you sitting there.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Caitlyn says, her voice colder than usual—annunciating each word.

Vi stands first, “we were just talking.”

Caitlyn cuts her off, “we’re leaving at dawn."

As Caitlyn leads the way towards the ship’s helm, you can’t help but wonder if this—whatever it is—might have just begun to change like the tides.

sapphire seas masterlist - next part (coming tonight)

[blu3n]

[ Could you please write something like Jason and her are already in a relationship, but she doesn't know he's Red Hood and she falls and Red Hood catches her and he starts flirting she is all "I have a boyfriend, back up" and she goes back home and tells Jason everything complaining about the Red Hood and Jason sits there with a smirk enjoying her ranting? Maybe she punches him in the stomach and comes home and sees Jason has a matching bruise? Honestly, I leave the writing to the writers..😅 ]

@angel-eyes-777

Author: thanks for asking! 🐞

Description: You had no idea Jason was from Red Hood

For several reasons, Jason wouldn't tell you that he was Red Hood, both to spare you from the atrocities he committed and for fear that you would leave him when you found out what he did.

He would feel bad about it, his mind would be so tight that he would almost speak as soon as you asked him something about it, but he did it to protect you from the evil that he was.

He would cry a lot if you left him, Jason loves you and doesn't want to be left alone again.

When you found out he would freeze, try to stop you from leaving or want your attention on him so you wouldn't stop to think about how violent he seemed.

It was cold in Gotham City, the wind blowing in your face making your skin colder than usual. Your work shift was quite tough, your grumpy boss pulling your foot to deliver piles and piles of work.

Letting out a sigh of discouragement, you try to cross the street, taking a shortcut that was sometimes convenient. So focused on your stress and headache, you couldn't see the huge hole that was in front of you..

.Before you could fall, you felt a pair of firm and strong hands holding you, saving you from falling into that place.

Red hood you look up, observing that familiar face that you saw on TV, usually not frowned upon by society as an anti-hero or something like that.

"We usually look where we're going, gatinha?" Sua voz era sedutora e profunda, faria qualquer garota se apaixonar por ele em um minuto se ele quisesse.

"Thanks for saving me, now I'm going," saying firmly, you walk past him, after all, your boyfriend was waiting for you at home so you could sleep together in a warm bed for another day.

"Hey, what's the rush, baby?" He holds your wrist with his rough and thick fingers, his touch soft.

"I said no, and that's it." When she realized that this guy wouldn't leave you alone, in an act of self-defense she punches him in the stomach, making him grunt in pain and bend over a little.

Without wasting time, you run back home, trying to hurry, you just wanted to go back and see your boyfriend again.

When you walked through the door, you noticed that he had something in his stomach and the TV was on.

Jason looks at you with an amused expression. He never told you about his Red Hood persona, and he managed to hide it surprisingly well throughout your relationship. The TV was on, covering a news story about how Red Hood saved some kids from a burning building.

You stopped and sighed as you walked into the house "I don't have much to say about him, he saved me from falling down the drain but he's still a flirt" she says in disgust

"Well, he saves people, doesn't he?" he says nervously, running his fingers through his hair so as not to look as nervous as he looked.

Following your eyes to his abdomen she frowns and realizes something was wrong, moving slowly towards him you see the same mark on his abdomen. "What?" without even needing to ask properly he already collapses in front of you knowing that you found out.

"i'm sorry- baby please- baby" jason stands up the pain stinging in his stomach he tries to reach out to touch you desperate for you not to leave "please don't leave me..."

"No, no, I won't leave you" your voice soothes him and he holds onto you holding you there...needing your warmth and your love, the rest of the night you two slept together while he clung to you

he loves you.

--------

🪼 Thank you for requesting the writing, and I hope it is what you asked for.

[httpdwaekki]

bright | h.h.

summary: you have a light sensitivity and forget your sunglasses but hyunjin is kind enough to give you his.

wc: 800

a/n: i wrote this in hopes to reach more of stayblr, the lovely @astraystayyh and many other wonderful writers (including myself) are writing requests for anyone that is willing to donate to her fundraiser to help people in gaza! all you have to do is donate and send proof to one of the writers along with your request! (please do make sure you read writers rules for requests first! and be aware they have a right to say no to the request.) remember to eat, drink water and take your meds, ily <3

(pictures are not mine! credit to owners!)

it wasn’t a secret that you had trouble with any kind of light, the sun, lamps, phone screens, etc.

sometimes you were okay but other times any type of light could cause a migraine unlike anything else. because of this you always kept a pair of sunglasses on you just in case.

well apparently not always, today you had rushed out the door to meet hyunjin, the shaded lens forgotten on your counter.

you were sat outside at a small cafe, waiting for hyunjin to return. both of you wanting to enjoy the last of the spring before the summer heat. you were oblivious to the missing object, opting to go without them for a bit, but that didn’t last long. soon after your eyes felt strained, a familiar dull ache presenting itself behind your left eye. 

you look in through your bag, searching for the darker lens that weren’t there. you sigh, the ache still coming in waves, growing stronger with each one. luckily there was an umbrella so you decide to ignore it and enjoy your time with your boyfriend.

you place your bag back on your chair, as the pretty brunette approaches your table, drinks and food in hand. his signature versace glasses slipping down his nose, dopey grin present on his face as he places the tray on your table.

you return the grin, scrunching your nose as he flicks the glasses atop his head. he sets your drink and your food in front of you before sitting in the chair across from you. you both enjoy your drink and pastries, catching up and enjoying each others company.

the sun decided to shift, causing the sun to shine directly on you, the dull ache becoming sharper. you squint your eyes, attempting to hide the wince in pain with it. you place your hand above your eyes, giving yourself a bit of shade, focusing on hyunjin’s story.

“so he came to stay at our dorms for a bit to “escape the loud rage of felix because he sucks at league and it’s not changing anytime soon.” his words not mine.” he explains, as you giggle at the absurdity of his story. “ so seungmin’s solution was to go to the dorm that housed the loudest member in the whole group?” you asked, softly chuckling.

“that’s what i said!” you smile at his outburst, switching hands as your arm got tired. hyunjin tilts his head at the action. “angel?” you hum, looking at him, eyes squinted. “why don’t you put on your sunglasses?” he asks, pointing towards your bag.

“oh i forgot to grab them when i left, it’s okay though.” you give him a reassuring smile before leaning forward into the shade, taking a bite of your croissant.

he knew your eyes and most likely your head was hurting you, and you were trying to put on a brave face. he grabbed the shaded lens currently holding back his soft locks, leaning forward, sliding the lens carefully onto your face.

you jump in surprise, letting out a squeak before relaxing. you send him a small pout as he sits back in his chair, running a hand through his hair, pushing it back. “what’d you do that for?” you ask, pushing the glasses up your nose.

“because, i know your eyes are probably stinging and if you don’t have a headache now, you’re definitely on your way to one.” he replied, taking a sip of his drink. “what about your eyes?” you asked, frown still present.

“don’t worry about mine, do you want to sit over here in the shade?” he asks, moving as if he’s gonna get up. you shake your head, moving to stop him. “no no, i’m okay, you stay.”

he scoots his chair over slightly, still in the shade, “come on, move your chair.” he waves you over. you roll your eyes before getting up, moving your chair towards the dimmer area, sitting down.

“i was fine over there.” you glare at him over the black shades.

he rolls his eyes before leaning over slightly, wrapping his arms around you. “will you just let me take care of you please?” he asks, placing a quick kiss to the back of your head. “plus i know you were 2 minutes away from a headache.” giving you a knowing look.

now it was your turn to roll your eyes. “yeah yeah.” you concede, admitting defeat. “thank you, my love.” you say, turning to him, placing a kiss to his cheek. “anything for my muse.” he smiles, placing a chaste kiss to your lips before letting you go.

the rest of the day was spent walking around, enjoying the weather and a quick trip to the versace store to buy you your own matching pair of sunglasses.

do not repost

[cosmousee]

WHAT YOUR HIGHER SELF WANTS TO TELL YOU 💫🌟

Hello my loves!!!

I am back.

Love being MIA (jk jk I miss it so much, but life just has been holy crap) Here's a reading on what your higher self wants to tell you. Which Ive been trying to do since fkn last week of October, and finally here I am!!

Oh I am also going to start doing paid readings I guess, I am so excited!!! (but after November because end term exams are upon me)

Lets get to the reading!!

Choose whatever pile resonates with you, whatever does not, remember to just pass it on🥰

Pile 1>>2>>3

Pile 1

Hello love!

Welcome to your pile!

So starting off, your higher self is warning you about the people who are around you. While I was connecting with the higher self for the messages, it felt like there was this huge bundle of snakes intertwined and you were at the centre of it. You might be surrounded by people who do not have your best interest at heart. 

Since they were so intertwined and you were literally at the core of it, it seems like they have sllithered there way into your closest and innermost circle, but not because they genuinely want to be there, but it may be because they want to get some gossip from you, or they want to reap the rewards for the hard work you have done. You know sort of like, parasitic situation.

For you oracle we have

The Bee and Pomegranate: productivity

This card is making me think that they are either jealous of your productivity and want to know how you are doing it so they can as well, or they really want to piggy back on your success and call it theirs. 

With the Bee I think, it is time for you to identify the issues in your hive, and start eliminating them. You might feel a little suspicious about them sometimes but brush away that thought thinking you’re just being paranoid. But, if your intuition is constantly pulling your attention towards that, and if you’re having a bad feeling, its time to sting that *beep* and cut them out of your life. 

I am getting that you might start having some issues while you’re with them, like getting a headache, your energy levels being drained even though you were fine seconds ago. Having stomach issues after having a meal with them, your electric appliances would stop working, something like that.

I also saw this forked snake typa thing, which had two heads, and basically they are double faced and a snake to everyone and aren’t true to anybody. Just felt like mentioning it here.

For your tarot cards, we have,

Ace of Cups and The Emperor (reverse)

I feel like, because of the people around you, and their negative energies towards you, new opportunities might be blocked from coming to you.

You might feel the energy of something new coming, but then it just does not. Also, you do not have your cup full. Because of all that energy draining by these people, you only feel happy superficially, or because you are supposed to feel happy with your friends. But actually, deep down in reality, your soul knows you deserve better and these aren’t the people who are going to fill your cup.

You’ve got better opportunities waiting for you, you’ve got a whole empire waiting for you with The Emperor, but you need the right people in your court who will help you get there. Community is important, and being alone sucks, especially if you’re in a new place, could be a new school, a new university, a new job and you are afraid of letting them go because what if nobody else is there.

But until you take that risk, you will never find out. And honestly, right now, even being alone for a little while would be good for you to rejuvenate yourself and align yourself with the life that you really want, with the people that you really want.

That’s all I have for you today! Thank you so much for reading 🎀🌻Please let me know what resonated I love hearing from y'all<3

Pile 2

Hello love!

Welcome to your pile!

Idk what it is with this reading, but saw snakes for this pile as well  (I was literally playing slither.io rn), but in a veryyy different light as compared to the first pile. Basically, you know like there are two sides of you, the light and the dark, the yin and the yang sort of a thing. Except, I saw one side more earthy, nature ish and grounded I guess, and the other is just the same thing but… horror ish. You know thorny forest and dark night things. 

I think what your higher self is trying to tell you is that you gotta embrace all of yourself. All the parts, the good, bad, light, dark etc etc etc. It happens sometimes when you realise some weird (dark trait/habit so to say) of yours and then you fixate on that and you end up believing you’re not a very good person (HOLY FKN CRAP the universe just aligned in such a weird way I cannot even, gonna give context in a bit). 

But just because you believe you’re not a good person doesn’t mean that you don’t have the good qualities in you. And vice-versa as well, sometimes when we do light work, we tend to forget our shadow selves, or repress it. Which isn’t…ideal. Ya know?

You gotta embrace everything.. Just like the big snakes circle the little ones in slither.io (such weird analogies holy crap)

Okay so I do use costar (i am aware people dislike it, but its daily messages hit right at the spot. But today’s did not make sense to me, until NOW)

Okay anywho, moving on

Your oracle cards are:

The Caiman and Poppy: dreams

The Hawk and Thistle: graceful persistence

They are going to make more sense with the tarot cards so I am just going to mention them here,

Queen of Swords, 6 of pentacles (reversed), Ace of Wands and 3 of Wands

I feel like there has been some passion project sort of thing you have been wanting to pursue, but not getting the motivation, or you know the nicer way to do it. You may start doing it but then leave it after sometime because it is not providing you the happiness that you thought it would. Its not because you’re doing the wrong thing, its probably because there’s another way to do the thing, where you’ll enjoy it to the core.

This ‘new’ way of doing the thing might be revealed to you in your dreams. Your higher self may come to you in dream state and then reveal what is to be done. Now of course, ain’t that easy, they may not tell you exactly what you have to do, but tell you in some weird ass format which you might have to decode later on.

I am also getting the vibe that do not share this new thing with the people around you, I think. Not until it is successful anyway. I know its fun when you go and be like “Yo I had this epiphany in a dream” and blabber it all out. But for the time being, keeping the thing to yourself would be more beneficial to you. The Hawk from the oracle card has got sharp eyes and is on the lookout. Now its not to say that people are out for you or will take your ideas blah blah, but I think its for your own sake. You know sometimes you tell a person something and the whole excitement just blows away? Think of it as avoiding this scenario. 

Anyways! I hope whatever this new thing is, it brings back your spark for doing the things you are passionate about and this time receiving the serotonin with it as well!

That’s all I have for you today! Thank you so much for reading🎀🌻Please let me know what resonated I love hearing from y'all<3

Pile 3

Hello love!

Welcome to your pile!

SO OKAY! 

Everybody who chose this pile, like fkn immediately go and connect to your higher selves, they have SO MUCH TO SAY and I can only cover so much (sorry higher selves I am trying my best here)

Okay so, gonna explain everything together, your oracle card is:

The Antelope and Wheat: nourishment

What I felt is like, you know, you have multiple personalities, moods and what not. Like one day you’re like Yay Party and then two days later you’re just hibernating happily. You’re being told to nourish all the various aspects you have of yourself. 

Wanna go clubbing. Sure!

Wanna stay in and sleep in your cute pajamas. Sure!

Wanna go on a solo date/trip. Sure!

Don’t deprive any one of them, if you feel like you do not have enough resources to do so, or just because, it is easier to just lie down or do something else instead of doing what you actually want. 

I’ll explain more with your tarot cards:

King of Pentacles, 3 of swords, 7 of swords, The Chariot, The Hierophant, 4 of pentacles and Ace of pentacles

(see I told you they have a lot to say)

Coming back on track, I feel like you wanna reach the King of pentacles before you nourish yourself, you know have absolute abundance of money, energy, health and what not. 

But it is also possible that sometimes, you aren’t the King of Pentacles, you might be the Queen, the Knight, the Paige and this or that, and then it breaks your heart that you know “oh I can’t do this, I am low on resources”.

But that’s just your brain being wacky, and since you aren’t fulfilling all of your needs, it sort of snatches away happiness from other things as well. I mean of course you’ll be happy doing what you can but then you’ll know something is missing and that’s not the experience you wanna have with the things you love.

Your Higher self is telling you to keep moving forward, do not let your wacky brain control you with its weird ass thoughts (easier said than done). Do not reserve yourself from living your life to the fullest, because of minor here’s and there’s. Its pentacles, it’s gonna get refreshed any which ways and you’ll always be in a cycle of receiving it and giving it away.

This thinking might have been ingrained in you since childhood, through your home, or society or the community that you live in. Which is okay, I mean if you were brought up like that, obviously you will live that way. You know, Asian parents being like you can’t have fun for 2 days in a row! Which is makes zero sense (been there done that)

Try detaching yourself from that mindset if you are able to, because there’s a much livelier version of yourself to live as and they are looking forward to you taking steps towards them!!

That’s all I have for you today! Thank you so much for reading🎀🌻Please let me know what resonated I love hearing from y'all<3

[cowboysandcannolis]

Yuji Itadori, Matchmaker Extraordinaire

Yuji has the best of intentions when he tries to set up Nanami with you, the kind and beautiful school nurse….

It was nearly the end of your work day, the golden sun streaming in through the western window of your office, you forced yourself to stifle a yawn as you finished the last of your injury reports for the month. Panda closed his tail in a door, Nobara kicked a wall and injured her foot…nothing too out of the ordinary for this school.

A soft knock at the door was closely followed by Yuji Itadori, one of the first year students, poking his head in, his usual warm smile on his face.

“Hi, Yuji. What seems to be the problem today?”

“Hi, Miss Y/F/N! Well I was out on a mission with Nanami and I got all scraped up. I told him I was fine but he thought I should come see you anyways.”

“Aww, well he’s right. You sit on the cot and I’ll get something to disinfect those scrapes.”

The teen was more than happy to seat himself on the cot, rolling up his sleeves and pant legs so you could have easy access to his scrapes. Coming to the nurses office wasn’t so bad when the nurse was kind and pretty like you were.

“Is Nanami hurt too?” You asked as you pulled disinfectant and gauze out of your cupboard. On your way over you also stopped at the mini fridge that was situated between your desk and Shoko’s. This was intended to be for your lunches and ice packs, but you kept the bottom shelf stocked with juice boxes for students who came to see you. “Today for juice boxes I’ve got…..Fruit Punch and Lemonade, which would you prefer?”

“Fruit punch! And no, I don’t think so. Nanami is crazy strong. I don’t think he ever gets hurt.”

“You’d be surprised, you know. I’ve even cleaned up Gojo before, who do you think we keep the juice boxes for?” Giggling as you pulled a stool up beside the cot, handing him his juice box flavor of choice before you pulled on your purple latex gloves.

“Even the strongest get hurt sometimes. Okay, this is going to sting, you just tell me if it’s too bad, okay?”

Yuji nodded dutifully and you began to dab his scrapes gingerly. His face scrunched up a little in pain but he didn’t complain. “These must have hurt, hm? What level curse was it?”

“Two, but there was a whole bunch of them!! Hey, Miss Y/F/N? Did you ever go on missions and kill curses yourself? I mean, I know you have reversed technique and all but…”

“Mm, actually, that’s Shoko with the reverse technique. I have something we call Cerebral Manipulation. It can be used to soothe headaches, bring on sleep, bring sweet dreams…However, it’s most effective on offense.”

“Whoa. What does that mean, what happens?!”

Your parted your lips to attempt to explain the intricacies of your technique, however the soft click clack of loafers in the hall gave you pause, a soft smile pulling at the corners of your lips.

“Yuji, I hope you aren’t prying. Though I am glad to see that you came to get cleaned up.”

The blonde sorcerer stepped into your office, adjusting his cufflinks. It was amazing just how put together he could look after fighting curses, hair still slicked back neatly and suit pristine.

“Hi, Kento. I’m just about finished up with Yuji, here. Are you hurt at all?”

“No, Y/N. I’m fine. Thank you.”

Humming softly in acknowledgment you cleaned the final scrape on one of Yuji’s elbows. “Okay, I think you’re free to go. These are going to scab up but that is good. Don’t pick at them. If they feel hot, itchy or look really red I want you to come back and see me, okay?”

“Okay, Miss Y/N. Thank you for everything.” The boy grinned, rolling down his sleeves and pant legs, hopping up like he was not injured at all, juice box in hand.

“Of course, Yuji. Anytime. Just be careful out there.”

Yuji paused before he walked out the door, Nanami was helping you straighten up your office, putting your stool away and holding the bottle of disinfectant as you stood at the cabinet, carefully arranging a roll of gauze.

“Nanami? Are you coming?”

“No, Yuji. I’m going to help Miss Y/N clean up and then I’ll walk her out.”

“Kento is a gentleman, Yuji. You should always try to do the same, if you can.”

“Oh, okay. That is really nice of you. Have a good night guys!”

Yuji walked through the long halls of the school, hands in his pockets and head down. Nanami was a gentleman, of course. A great adult role model. So why didn’t he ever talk about having a wife or kids? It just didn’t make any sense.

The following day at lunchtime Yugi set his tray down beside Gojo, who was slurping from a bowl. On the other side of the cafeteria Nanami quietly picked at his rice, the only person at his table.

Yuji felt the tug at his heart, Nanami was lonely and sad and Yuji was going to attempt to fix that.

“Hey, Gojo?”

“Mhm?” The white haired sorcerer asked around a mouthful of lotus root.

“Do you….think Nanami is lonely?”

Gojo snorted, lifting his head from his bowl of oden, a white eyebrow raising incredulously from behind his blindfold.

“What in the world would make you ask me that?”

The pink haired boy shrugged his shoulders, a little bashfully.

“I don’t know, it’s just…I was in the nurse’s office yesterday and Nanami came to check on me and he just seemed so happy around Miss Y/N. I was thinking…I don’t know…maybe we should try and set them up together?”

“Yeah, you do that and let me know how that turns out for you. I think you’re-“

“Okay, I will!”

The teen needed very little encouragement as he bounded across the lunchroom. Gojo looked after him, mouth parted, debating on if he should intervene. After a moment he shrugged his shoulders and returned his attention to his lunch. “Eh, no harm in letting him.”

“Hi, Nanami. So, Miss Y/N was wondering if you’d want to eat lunch with her today?”

The blonde sorcerer glanced up from his plate, cocking a light eyebrow in surprise. Why would Yuji be asking if you would have lunch with him? It didn’t make much sense. Perhaps you just asked the boy to do you a favor, that was possible.

“Yes, of course I will…Is she available now?”

Yuji nodded enthusiastically, phase one of his plan was complete, now he just needed to get you to agree. Though in hindsight it may have been more convenient if you were already here.

“She should be, let me go get her…”

In a flash Yuji pivoted on his sneaker and darted out of the lunch room, sprinting down the long hallways towards your office. Something was off, Nanami decided.

Yuji arrived at your office, frantically knocking on the door before letting himself in.

“Miss Y/N!!”

Startled by the sudden commotion you dropped your pen, which clattered on your desk, you quickly rose, hand hovering over your emergency bag.

“What is it? Is someone hurt?”

“No, no! Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you think it was something urgent. I just needed to find you. Uh-Nanami is wondering if you’ll have lunch with him today. Like right now.”

Letting out a sigh of relief you nodded softly, placing your pen in the holder on your desk.

“Oh. You scared me! But yes, of course. Let me just get my lunch out of the fridge and I’ll be ready-“

“I got it for you Miss Y/N!”

Salad in hand you followed the teen down the hall as he chattered away, a ball of pure anxious energy. You became increasingly guarded, Perhaps Gojo or Panda were lurking around a corner with a bucket of ice water or the like.

As you arrived at the lunch room you were remarkable still dry, though you entered the room cautiously. Only two tables were occupied, one with Nanami and one with Gojo, both heads raising to look at you as you walked in the room.

“Okay, enjoy your lunch!” Yuji yelled before skittering off to sit beside Gojo, he watched you owlishly and you imagined Gojo was doing the same from behind his blindfold.

The clicks of your kitten heels as you walked to the table felt deafening, as if the rest of the room were holding its breath.

“Hi….” You spoke softly, greeting Kento, though you trailed off, cautiously touching the stool with your palm to ensure it held weight before sitting down slowly. “I feel like I am about to be pranked. Why are they watching us? Why is everyone being so weird?” You spoke in a hushed whisper to the man across the table, eyes wide and full of concern.

“They’d be idiots if they tried anything…” Nanami muttered, taking a moment to shoot a glare at the other table, at Gojo specifically. Gojo gave him a thin lipped smirk, raising a hand to wave at them in a slow, almost creepy motion.

•

Yuji, from the other side of the cafeteria watched the two of you like a hawk, trying to make out the conversation by reading your lips, which he wasn’t very good at, admittedly.

“I think Y/N said something about being spanked!” The teen gasped, scandalized, throwing his hand over his open mouth. Satoru struggled with all his might to hold in his giggles.

“Yeah? Now what are they saying?”

Megumi sat beside Yuji without paying either he or Gojo much attention, digging into his lunch. Like a normal person.

“Shhhh!” Gojo scolded his ward, gently giving the hand that held the boy’s sandwich a tap. “Yuji’s trying to concentrate!”

Megumi warily tracked Yuji’s gaze to the only other occupants in the room, both of whom were looking back at them. Y/N had a wary, concerned look on her face and Kento was glaring.

“Why exactly are we staring at each other?”

“Yuji is trying to make Y/N and Nanami fall in love.” Gojo whisper yelled to the boy, Yuji, with his brow furrowed in concentration nodded furiously. “Yup.”

“Huh?”

•

Nanami finally had enough of the staring contest, making a show of rolling his hazel eyes and shaking his head before he decided to drop it and return to having his lunch with you.

Picking at the rice on his plate he muttered “They are too childish to bear. At least Yuji still is a chid. Gojo has no excuse.”

•

“Children….bare….Oh!! What if Nanami is asking Y/N if she wants kids?! Aww, their baby would be so cute! And such a powerful sorcerer!”

Gojo at this point had clapped a hand over his own mouth, eyes watering ever so slightly as he fought to keep his laughter at bay.

Megumi looked between the two of them with absolute confusion, dark brows furrowed “So…Are Y/N and Nanami having a baby? Is that what the big deal is?”

•

“Do you want to just go out to lunch? I’ve kind of lost my appetite…” You admitted, prodding at a piece of spinach that looked absolutely unappetizing. “By the time we get there I’m sure I’ll be feeling better, oh what about that new soba place?”

Gojo, who was a far better lip reader than Yuji, gasped aloud “Wait, they’re going to the new soba place…I wanted to go to the new soba place…”

“Oh, I thought Y/N said something about soap….” Yugi muttered quizzically, scratching his head.

“What the fuck is happening?” Megumi groaned in exasperation.

•

“That sounds great, love. Let’s get going. I don’t think I can stand another minute of being stared at by the peanut gallery over there.”

Both of you rose, collecting your unwanted lunches, which Nanami discarded.

After which he laced his hand in yours, pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead and the two of you walked out of the lunch room hand in hand.

•

Yuji’s mouth fell open and stayed that way for far too long as his brain tried to process what he just witnesses. “Wh—-I did it? It was that easy? I’m the world’s best matchmaker….”

All at once Gojo released his laughter, clutching his stomach as he leaned back, nearly falling out of his seat.

“Hey, what’s so funny? Nanami finally found love!” Yuji shot back defensively. How dare Gojo laugh at poor, loveless Nanami like that!

“Yeah, with his wife! God, you are sooo gullible! Did it not tip you off that Y/N’s last name is Nanami? Annnyyway. I’m gonna go see if they’ll let me go with them to get soba.”

At that the World’s Strongest trotted after the couple on his long legs, pausing only to shoot a shit eating grin at the teens before he rounded the corner and disappeared. He may as well have flipped them off.

“Huh, guess I didn’t know her last name…”

Megumi shook his head so hard it began to ache. He was dumfounded by how dumb Yuji was.

“How did you not know that? I was at their wedding when I was a kid. Wait, what did you think was happening on Valentine’s Day when Nanami gave Y/N that giant bouquet?” Megumi snapped, genuinely annoyed at his friend.

“I thought he was just a gentleman and did that for all the women…”

At that answer the black haired boy stood from his seat, carrying his untouched lunch towards the trash can.

“Hey, where are you going?” His pink haired friend called after him, eyes big and sad.

“I’m going to get soba.”

“Aww, man.”

Yuji stared down at his wildly distorted, reflection in his jello with a sigh. Perhaps he just wasn’t meant to be a matchmaker after all….

[bitter-me]

Hello!! Before I leave a request, I would like to ask how are you doing? Are you sleeping well? I also want to say that I really liked the fic with Jin Yuan!! Thank you very much!

Regarding my request! -What about Argenti with the Knight of Beauty! Reader? I’ve been thinking about this for a very long time, but only now am I deciding to write!

It's the same as always - if you don't like it, ignore it!

(I apologize for any mistakes if there are any)

-Anon 🌾

Beauty in All

Argenti | M. Reader

----------

"Although my sleep schedule's a mess, I'm a-okay! When I read your request I was taken aback because I actually was thinking of writing for him. Did you read my mind?"

----------

"You're so beautiful!"

"So handsome!"

"You're very pretty!"

"You look like a doll!"

Those are the worlds he constantly hears, all those compliments, those honeyed, flowery words. So sweet he could have diabetes. They always compliment him on his looks, how elegant he is.

They asked him---no, bombarded him with questions.

"What's your skincare routine?"

"What shampo do you use?"

"Do you use make up?"

And the questions goes on and on with no end to it.

Of course he doesn't deny it either. He knows he's beautiful.

But is beauty all that matters?

They say "I love you" they say "I think I'm in love with you." But is all of that true? At first he was flattered but as time goes on, he began to believe their nothing but lies. They love him yes but do they truly love him? Or are they simply obsessed?

It's clear that they only see him as a doll meant to be placed inside a glass case. To admire.

He's not human to them, but a doll.

When he met Argenti, he was simply indifferent to the other's flowery words. They're mere flattery after all. He didn't mean it... not one bit.. Even though he smiles and thanked him for the gifts, flowers, and compliments. He can't help but feel a little... angry.

Who does he think he is? Some doll he could play with? So what? He's going to leave him once he's bored? Is that it!? He's merely an entertainment for him?! When the Knight said those words with a charming smile. Doubt began to cloud his mind. Is he truly sincere?

.

.

.

.

.

He wanted to believe him... he truly wanted to believe him...

But...

"I love you, my dove." The Knight said sweetly as he gave a charming smile.

What a wonderful, loving, and gentle smile... and it was directed to him too... and yet...

"Argenti.." He began slowly as he looks at the other with a stern expression. "Please focus on the mission." He sighed pinching the bridge of his nose as if he's trying to get rid of a growing headache. Unlike the rest of the Knights of Beauty [Name] doesn't do any fighting, instead... he's their navigator.

How should those hooligans know where to go without a navigator? They'll be lost in space! Floating in the endless vast of the universe.

Honestly... it's almost as if he's the only one with a brain amongst their blind worship. Yes he's with the Knights of Beauty... Yes [Name] worships Idrila... but he knew for a fact that their Aeon has fallen... if she is how benevolent as the others claimed it to be.. then wouldn't she be answering their calls then? Answering their worship?

Sometimes he wished he could lend the other Knights his thoughts, and... sometimes he hopes for a savior to come, one that got what it takes to convince everyone. To let them see. They could worship her yes, heck! [Name] still worships her even after he knows the truth! But... to blindly follow her Path? To blindly put your own life in danger? For someone who had longed past?

"You're next destination is close to Penacony so..." He began to brief Argenti on his next "expedition."

.

.

.

.

.

....How could this happen..?

This isn't supposed to happen... HOW IN THE AEONS NAME DID THEY GOT EATEN BY THE GIANT STING!?!? AND HOW DID HE GOT ROPED INTO ALL OF THIS?!

Without much to do... he merely sticks with Mr. Yang and Miss Himeko as [Name] isn't that much of a fighter himself. He applaud Miss Himeko for being able to do so. As a fellow navigator, she earned his respect.

As the crew continue to investigate they soon discovered Juvenile Stings, and Lesser Stings inside the train. At one point, [Name] was caught in the crossfire.

Just his luck, huh..?

Argenti... being the "Knight in shining armor" he is... decided to put it upon himself in treating his lovely navigator.

The two didn't say a word as [Name] let Argenti treat his wounds. The once smooth skin now turned bloody. Looks like he won't be receiving any more compliments after this... and just like that... he'll be left to rot as their "toy" is now damaged and had lost it's appeal..

Then after a long silence, [Name] spoke up in a quiet tone. A question. One that's been plaguing his mind ever since the Knight confessed his love to him. "Argenti... will you still love me... when I'm no longer young and beautiful..?"

At first, Argenti was taken aback by the sudden question as his smile falters but soon, his smile returns to his face. Even more gentle and loving than before. "Of course, there's beauty in everything. The sight of you being old and wrinkly... your hair that had turned white..."

"It's a look that makes you feel the traditional and history. Even if you were covered in mud, or turning into an old and thin appearance..."

"It's not just the outside, but also the inside... you will grow and become more wiser..."

"It's proof of how time makes you even more beautiful."

"Beauty isn't just about the outside.. but also on the inside.."

"There's beauty in all."

[certifiedsexed]

Im a trans woman, im 18. I get periods.

Ive been on estrogen since I was 16, 2 years and three months... and my cramps are debilitating. I turn suicidal for a week every month and i sometimes throw up from the stinging/dull pain combo. there is bloating, severe depression, mood swings and extreme dysphoria.

My endocrinologist said that i should beware because my brain is decepting me and that can hinder meaningful conversation in my last meetup a month ago. i swear that im not making this up.

painkillers dont even work on my third/fourth day (i start counting the first day from when i get depressed, the other symptoms start the next day, and there is alot of sharp, radiating cramps, headache and other shittery the third day)

what should i do? am i really such a fraudster? i cant keep going on like this. its reducing my quality of life. is it really possible for me to have this much pain at a 26-27 day cycle??

So, I don't say this lightly: your endocrinologist should go to to hell! You're not a fraud and your brain isn't "deceiving" you. Those are literal textbook symptoms of something like PMDD and it's actually vile of him to straight-up diminish your symptoms and do nothing about it.

My first suggestion is get a different endocrinologist, if you can. That person is committing medical neglect against you and its loaded with medical trans/misogyny. If you can, you do not want to have to continue dealing with that.

Secondly, I want to suggest you try to find an OB/GYN. You have a few choices for dealing with it. If your AGAB is on file, it might be hard to find one that will take you, especially depending on where you live.

If you AGAB is not on file, it'll be easier to get in but medical misogyny, coupled with medical transmisogyny/transphobia is going to make getting help harder.

This does not mean you're faking it or that it's not worth trying [speaking as someone who cannot get diagnosed partially because of bigotry!], it just means people are bigoted assholes sometimes.

You might have to try numerous doctors. I cannot emphasis this enough: if you can, take someone with you! Doctors WILL treat you better.

Sometimes even going to the ER when you're experiencing these symptoms to have them run tests to narrow-down what disability you're dealing with can help. But do not let your endocrinologist force you into believing that the pain you're living with is normal or okay.

I'm not sure if this helps but I hope so, Anon! Let me know if you have any other questions or need anything else, fr. <3333

If anyone else has info that might help Anon, please add on in comments, reblogs and/or asks. Thank you.

[olive-may-write]

Hope

Hi! So this is the first time that I've wrote somthing this length in a while so this will be a bit rusty.

This is slightly self indulgent as someone who has chronic pain, I just thought I'd write someone up with a reader who has it in mind.

Anyway reader is someone who experiences chronic pain, it's a small insight into the mind of someone who lives with it. I tried to make the reader as gender neutral as possoble, but other than that I hope you enjoy. Please feel free to give feedback of any kind, I just ask that you are kind <3.

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton X Reader

Possible triggers: Dissusion of mental health problems, mentions of chronic pain and how it can affect someone's life, Mention of feeling sick / vomiting.

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

The drawing room is not exactly the best place for you to be right now, you had initially thought that a spot of reading would be a sufficient distraction from the blinding pain shooting through your temple. unfortunately, the book you are reading, or trying to at least is not providing any useful distraction, with the words on the page becoming more blurred the more you try to preserver.

Huffing you close the book, trying to focus on something else to distract you from the burden you carry. The pain. 

You were never a sickly child, quite the opposite, you were always able to bounce back from any aliment that affected you, that was until sometime during your early adulthood. You cannot fully remember when it happened, just that one day it started, a sharp pain like a needle had been pushed through just under your kneecap and the stubborn thing would not go away.

At first, you had thought you had just over-exerted yourself during the social season with dancing, however, when that had ended, and you found yourself with more time to rest and recover you found that this pain remained. And it had gotten worse, it slowly moved upwards towards your other joints, sending sparks between all the different offending joints. 

A knock at the door breaks your train of painful thought, you slowly move towards the door, confused as you had confessed to your maid that if anyone needed or wanted you for anything to very gently turn them in another direction to not exacerbate your pain anymore with meaningless conversations. 

The door slowly creeks open, your maid’s face apologetically peeking around the frame.

“Apologies, I understand you did not want to be bothered; however, you have a visitor. One who is very adamant to see you, even after I explained that you had fallen ill today…”  she relays, she seems almost skittish, unlike her usual self. This visitor has put up more of a battle than others, who would see you? 

Sighing you looked towards her, trying not to cringe at a sudden stinging in your temples, you can’t very well be mad at her, after all, she can’t ultimately swat away everyone that wants to see you, though you had hoped that you would’ve had more time to try and calm down this headache before seeing anyone, alas, fortune is not in your favour today. 

“Please do not apologise, Ester, you tried your best,” you say sympathetically. “I do not think I would be so lucky to hide myself away for the whole day without interruptions, please do send whoever is most eager to see me in, if you would not mind.” With the housekeeper slipping back out the door you try to calm yourself, ‘breath, just breath’ you think, trying to calm yourself down, trying to calm the headache, as well as your body. 

You are not given enough time, as you hear the door opening again, this time more swiftly than before, footsteps moving quickly and a huffing breath. You then realise a slight error in your wording to your maid early, while you had instructed her to tell people that you had fallen ill, you mostly assumed that she would only need to tell people already aware of your ailment, and with that understanding they would know that you were somewhat alright and not gravely ill and not someone else. Someone who is not aware of your condition, someone who is now staring at you with anxious eyes trying to determine what it is that is wrong with you. 

With your body still positioned towards the door you fully take in your visitor, Mr Benedict Bridgerton. You watch as he steps into the room, the door slowly closing over, trapped. 

“I was told you were ill” he starts, stepping closer towards the chair you reside in, eyes still darting over you trying to determine the cause of your ‘illness.’ 

“I give my apologies for being so ardent in wanting to see you, I had initially come here under different pretences, however, the way your maid described your illness I was stricken with worry.” He speaks too quickly, staring at you with a slightly overwhelming concern.

“What ails you so?” he finishes almost crouching in front of you. The pause in the room is too stifling, this question that you hoped you would never have to answer while alone. In the past, you were always quite fortunate when the question had come up, with your father or mother there to quickly move the conversation along. Never bringing the truth to light. 

“A misstep walking down some stairs! The floors had just been washed and they were simply too enthralled within their novel to notice” was one such story that had to be shelved after multiple uses.

“Oh, you know they were just so concentrated with their needlework that they strained their hands; nothing to concern yourself about” another one, a slightly more believable story, and one that could be told repeatedly. However this time you were alone, there was no one to save you, no one to swiftly tell a half-truth. No, you were on your own, and with a mind-numbing headache in addition. 

“Ah, yes, erm please do excuse Ester, she does tend to exaggerate a little bit with her storytelling, I have but a simple headache.” You are not exactly lying, you do have a headache, you are simply omitting that the ache is also everywhere else within you. 

“Oh, thank goodness!” Benedict replies, visibly relaxing, almost bending in half with the sigh he lets out. 

“I thought you to be gravely ill with how your maid detailed your condition” he continues, “That you could hardly move, and you were racked with pain” he recounts, what you can only assume to be Esther's attempt at persuasion. And while true, you had hoped she would have chosen something along the lines of having a simple cold. 

“Yes, well, as you can see, I am in perfect health, you have nothing to worry about Mr Bridgerton, though your concern is duly appreciated. I do hope your time has not been wasted by travelling over here,” you respond, very much hoping that you can put this conversation to bed. You can feel the pain in your temples starting to come down towards your neck, you need to move, having been sitting in one position for too long but with Mr Bridgeton here you could not just up and move. You also had forgotten your cane this morning in your room, not thinking you would need it very much today, and you did not particularly want to be witnessed limping up and out of the room in front of a man who had no idea of your condition. 

Your only plausible solution was to grin and bear it, or rather, politely smile and nod along to whatever this man was about to ask you.

“Nonsense!” he exclaims loudly in a jovial manner, making the pain shoot through you once more.

“My time is never wasted when it comes to you” he speaks softly, as if he realised that by shouting, he would be causing you pain. 

“If you are in good health I was wondering if I might ask something of you?” Ah the question you have been waiting for, it could not have come quicker. 

“Yes, you may” Your response could be seen as quite rushed if you were in a normal situation, however with the pressure in your temples building and the pain slowly becoming more intense, you found yourself not caring how your actions could be perceived as by others of the ton.

There is a moment of silence where neither of you say anything, staring at him expectingly, you choose to prompt him by nodding your head towards him, hoping he catches onto your hint. 

“Oh Right!” he starts with a jump. “Well I came here today with a confession of sorts, I have witnessed you, wait! Ah!” he suddenly stops almost aware of how slightly strange he must sound. 

“Oh goodness, well- I, god” You take some pity on him as he seems to stumble over his words, ablet not enough pity to warrant sitting patiently in an increasingly uncomfortable chair. 

“Mr Bridgton, I do not mean to rush you but would you please simply ask this question” huffing slightly. 

“I know this is not how I am supposed to go about this, but I cannot ignore my feelings for you any longer! Please would you do the honour of letting me court you?”

There is a pause after his confession, stunned, shocked you are not sure how to respond. You almost think it is some cruel jest that he has been set up to follow through, but as you look at him, his expression and how he holds himself you realise that he is being as truthful. You feel as if someone has thrown a bucket of cold water over you, what does this mean? This cannot be real. This man of high stature wants to court you. While not lowly in rank, you certainly are not what you would expect a Bridgerton to go for and certainly not someone as seemingly broken as yourself. 

Sitting there for a few more moments you realise that he is still waiting for your response. 

“I, I cannot” you start “I am very sorry, but I cannot accept this offer.” You state, dropping your focus to the floor. 

“I. what?” Benedict almost laughs, stunned. 

“Why can you not? Are you intended to another?”

“No, I am very much not.”

“Are you interested in someone else?” You scoff at the question. 

“No, not that it matters either way” The pain starting to build up even more now that you are having to argue your case.

“I have refused your offer, Mr Bridgton, I do fear that Ester had some truth in her words and I feel a headache coming on. I think it best that you leave for the day” You aren’t lying per se,  you have had a headache for the best part of the day. 

“But why not? I do apologise, but I am simply confused. You are not intended to another, and you are not interested in anyone else, so why refuse my offer.” He states.

“At least agree to court me, and then you can make your decision afterwards, at least let me have a chance to show you how I care for you.”

You are starting to get frustrated, and the pain in your head has started to become unbearable, like someone smashing pots and pans together, you feel a ringing in your ears, and you almost want to throw up. 

“I am not well!” you explode, your breathing is ragged as your chest moves quickly. The pain in your temples is more present than ever, cringing you move to push your forefinger and thumb to either side of your nose bridge and start to pinch, hoping that brute force would almost will the pain to subside. 

‘Pathetic’ you think to yourself, ‘I can’t even argue correctly, must everything I do be muddled with pain?’ You try and calm your breathing, focusing on the feeling of your fingers on your face, the clothes you are wearing, your breathing, anything to try and calm the pain down before it loses control. 

There is a strange tension between the both of you, a quiet blanket that has been placed over the room as you do not know what to say. 

“I am not well sir… I have not been for quite some time” you start again, still pressing your finger and thumb into the sockets below your eyebrows. 

“Ester was right. I am riddled with pain, every day. I cannot dress without the pain, eat without it, speak, walk, laugh; live without it, I am tormented by it…” You begin to feel a sharp pain behind your eyes as tears start to fall onto your cheeks. Realising that by unravelling this thread that you would not be able to stop, you cannot tangle it back up again and simply throw it into your sewing box never to be spoken about again. 

“I cannot be who you want me to be, I cannot offer you anything. It hurts to live, and I cannot burden you with that, you would be throwing away your freedom if I were to agree to your request. Do you want that? To be saddled with an intended that cannot do the simplest of tasks without the burden of pain?” You seem to burst out into a frenzy of words. 

Without giving him a chance to argue back you move to stand, using a hand to brace yourself on the side of the chair you are occupying, you push down to give your body the momentum to move, your elbow shaking as it strains under the surplus of weight it is not normally used to. You curse yourself for not bringing your cane with you.

You pause while trying to catch your breath, frustrated that you simply cannot run out of the room and hide after such a shocking outburst, left to just stand there trying to muster up the strength and energy to try and move towards the door. With your head tilted down you were fortunate enough that you could not see his face, which was one of pain and shock. 

Starting again you move towards the door, gripping the backs of chairs and the edges of side tables, with your back turned you don’t see Benedict moving as well, like a kicked puppy wanting to be comforted he follows behind you, he does keep his distance, not wanting to upset you further than you already are.

As you place your hand on the door, dropping it down so you are grabbing the handle, you feel a presence behind you. From the corner of your vision, you see a hand place itself on the door. You slowly turn around to face him, you thank some part of him that he is not crowding you up against the door, that he has given you some space. 

“Please let me go, let me go. You can be free, you can move on, let me be.” you pleaded, looking up at him, your eyes flitting over his face looking for a sign, any sign that would indicate that he headed your prayer. You slowly focus on his eyes, looking within them, your breath hitches as all you see is a kindness so gut-wrenching it makes you feel physically sick. 

There is no malice, no pity, or any inclination that he will follow your word. All you see within his gaze is kindness, one of love and hope. You start to feel overwhelmed, having such a kind affectionate gaze homed in on you. You think back to all the times you caught his gaze; at balls, gatherings, when he would come to speak to you, when he came to visit today to ask to court you. You think about how there was no pity within his stare, no sympathy, no looks of “such a shame, one so young yet so ill,” none of that. 

You start to think about how you have brushed him off, how you have ignored him, at times even running away from him, too wrapped up in your melancholy to even look, actually look at how he was gazing at you, too scared to even admit that someone might even look at you within out an ounce of pity. 

You start to think about how you could allow this, the love and admiration of another person, how this could happen. Could this happen? Could you willingly put your anxieties aside and let someone in, could they be your rock, could they hold you when the pain becomes overwhelming, suffocating you, pulling you down into despair? 

Could you let him? As this question appears within your mind you feel a spark, like flint and rock smashing together, start within you. It is almost unnerving, unnatural. You have not felt this for an extraordinarily long time, almost losing belief that you could ever feel it again.

Hope. Hope that you could be loved and cherished, that you could have someone there for your bad days, as well as your good days where you could go for a walk or a carriage ride, where you could go to socials and visit family. 

This line of thought left you almost breathless, as you still stood within the drawing room of your home. Slightly pressed up against the door, with one of your hands behind your back on the handle as you were trying to escape…again. 

As this chaos was happening within your head, Benedict slowly brought his hand to your cheek, hesitating as if unsure if his action would cause you more pain than comfort. 

Pushing the feeling of guilt down, you take a leap of faith by slowly moving your head towards him, tilting it so your cheek rests within his palm. You flinch slightly, Benedict moving his band away from you, nervous that he might have caused you more anguish. Quickly you stop him, bringing your other hand to cage his, gently placing his hand back onto your face, cupping your cheek and jaw slightly through his hand.

“It…it did not hurt that much, I was just surprised is all” you whispered “It has been a very long time since anyone has held my face this way” You can feel your reserve beginning to crack, you pushed forward, that small spark of hope within you starting to burn brighter.

“It is quite lovely actually, I don’t have to use as much energy to hold my head up when it is being held for me” you ramble, trying to ease the tension and hopefully his nerves. 

“I see” he replies slowly, looking over you to make sure that his actions are not upsetting you in any way. Slowing analysing your features, sketching your appearance in his mind, unsure if he might get an opportunity to be this close to you again. 

Bringing his focus to your eyes he is startled at what he finds, hope. A small whisp of it, and while surrounded by what he can assume is anxieties and doubt, he is so certain that it is there. 

 “If you would let me” he continues “it would be an honour to hold your head for you if only for a moment, to provide but a small reprieve.” Realising that you are not stopping him from speaking, he continues.

“You are so extraordinarily strong, a remarkable person. Willing to take on so much and push through it all, despite the load you carry” he feels your head rest slightly more in his hand, seeing your eyes fluttering before you shut them for a moment. He is worried slightly that he might have messed up, saying something that pushed you down into the darkness rather than bringing you up into the light. However, as you open your eyes again, slowly raising your focus from his chest to his face, then to meet his gaze once more, he disregards his previous concern. He can see that spark burning ever so slightly brighter.

You gently pressed his hand between your own and your face, turning the latter into his palm so that your lips were ever so gently touching below his thumb. If he would be so bold he could move the digit with a feather-like touch across your cheek and wipe away any tear marks from earlier. 

“But you do not have to carry this load alone, I am not sacrificing my freedom wanting to be with you” parroting one of your earlier statements with earnestness.

“I am not sacrificing anything, I come forward willingly, I come to you after hearing about you and your life. I come to you as a willing partner if you would have me. Allow me to carry some of your load, let me hold your head and hands for you. Allow me the honour of holding you during your dark moments as well as your light.” 

“I want to be there for you, with you, I am not here out of pity, I am here out of admiration and love. I fear that if I loved you any less, I would be able to talk about it more, my heart is but a reflection of you.” He felt like he was rambling, struggling to find the words to convey his true feelings, how he was frazzled by you, in a way he had not been before. 

There was a pause and he started to doubt himself, his words, and his abilities before he saw a subtle movement from the outskirts of his vision.

As you looked into his eyes you could feel your grip on the door handle slipping, becoming less tense, less firm. Overcome with emotions from Benedict’s confession your hand goes limp, falling from the handle completely. 

As you stare into his eye you slowly bring now limp hand up towards his face, almost parallel to his still cupping onto your own. You move slowly, akin to a dazed animal who is wary of any sudden movements; as you reach, you settle your arm on his chest resting so that your palm now cups his jawbone. 

Benedict sees the movement, your hand dropping and moving up, towards him, he feels like he might faint, being able to touch you is one thing, but you, touching him is something he did not consider. He shuts his eyes, almost squeezing them closed not wanting to frighten you with how shocked he must look. 

When you finally rest your hand against his chest, he felt like his heart must have stopped beating, he froze, willing himself to take a breath, to steel himself before opening his eyes. 

For when he did, he was in awe, the spark that was once so dim, nearly stamped out was burning and it was burning bright. 

“Do you mean it?” you ask, voice shaking slightly.

“With my whole heart, with the air in my lungs and the blood in my veins. I will be by your side till you are through with me, till I drive you mad, till we are grey and even then, I will still hold your head for you so you can rest for a while.” Benedict tries to convey every ounce of his emotions that he feels so you can be sure that you are fully aware of what he is experiencing. 

“I think I would like that” your reply is rushed. Not wanting to waste a moment, not letting it run away or hide. You finally made your choice, you would let hope win, you would lose the battle but win the war and your victory prize did not seem all that bad. 

[sansaorgana]

Angst idea where readers brother is in the 100 and buck her lover has to break the news that her brother was killed and she’s screaming in agony, and he’s just trying to be their for her in anyway possible :)

hi, love! 😌 I see you have a thing for angsty pieces 🤣 here it is then!

my inbox is open for blurb/short fic requests for major cleven 🤗

Buck felt stupid for interrupting the nurses’ work with something as irrelevant as a headache when they were busy with much more important things but he couldn’t handle the stinging pain inside his head anymore. On his way to the sickbay he felt his temples pulsating and in a brief moment of a haze, he bumped into someone.

“For God’s sake!” He heard a female voice and then a sound of papers landing all over the floor. “Major Cleven!” She scolded him.

Buck’s senses came back to him and he spotted a woman crouching on the floor, gathering the scattered papers.

“Jesus, I’m sorry,” he went on his knees as well to help her. “I’m sorry… I was on my way to the sickbay, I have an awful migraine,” he confessed.

“And you want to bother the nurses with it? When they’re patching up men with bullet holes?” She raised an eyebrow at him and he blushed, handing her the last paper off of the floor. She straightened herself and looked down at him with pity. “Come with me, I have aspirin in my office,” she offered him her hand and he took it to stand up as well.

He followed her to a small office next to the Colonel’s one and she gave him an aspirin from her desk’s drawer.

“Thank you, miss…” Buck stuttered out.

“(Y/L/N),” you introduced yourself.

“Are you perhaps family with Lieutenant (Y/L/N)?” Buck asked.

“Yes, he is my brother. We made sure to be assigned to the same place,” she nodded her head and he nodded his head.

“Thank you for the aspirin,” Buck said before walking out of her office.

This time he nearly bumped into Bucky.

“What is wrong with you today, man?” Bucky asked, worryingly.

“I have a migraine, doesn’t matter… I have aspirin already,” Buck showed him what he was holding in his hand. “(Y/L/N)’s sister gave it to me,” he explained.

“Stay away from her, you devil,” Bucky chuckled and Buck hissed at him. He was sure she could hear them. “I mean, for real, he’s a rough son of a bitch.”

“I know, I flew with him,” Buck chuckled. “He’s one of a kind.”

“Yeah, so if you don’t want to lose those pearly white teeth of yours, stay away from his sister,” Bucky teased.

However, it was not so easy to stay away from her. Perhaps the fact she was a sister of one of his friends was making it a bit more tempting as it felt forbidden.

But she really was a pretty girl – a bit rough like her brother sometimes – but also very helpful and kind when you got to know her.

“I see you’re staring at my sister, sir,” (Y/L/N) grinned at Buck one evening when they were eating supper by the same table. Buck blinked a few times and stopped looking at (Y/N) sitting with her female friends before laying his eyes on his friend.

“I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry,” he made up an excuse.

“It’s okay,” (Y/L/N) shrugged his arms and Buck’s eyes widened a little. “I mean, she’s my little sister, so you know… Not easy for me. But she has to start dating one day whether I like it or not. And you’re a good man, Buck. If there is one man around that base I’d accept her to be with, it would be you.”

“Surely you can’t be serious,” Buck was confused. He liked to look at her, yes. Sometimes he observed her. But he hadn’t actually been thinking of starting any relationship on the base. “I mean, we can die any day.”

“My sister’s a tough cookie, she can handle that,” (Y/L/N) shrugged his arms. “What I’m sayin’ is that if you find my sister pretty, then talk to her, goddamnit. You don’t hear such words often, am I right? That’s how much I trust you, Cleven.”

“Thank you…” Buck cleared his throat and looked at (Y/N) again. She was staring at him, too, with a teasing smile. Her brother waved at her and she rolled her eyes before turning around to giggle at something with her friends.

It was almost as if (Y/N)’s brother was a matchmaker between Buck and her. Soon enough they became a couple as everyone else on the base teased them about it. Buck was trying to always be a gentleman around (Y/N), though, fearing that (Y/L/N) would indeed punch him if he tried to get too touchy or too pushy with his sister. Back at home, he had won some boxing tournaments, so they said. Buck didn’t want to find out if it had been true.

On that day both Buck and (Y/N) were nervous as hell because Bucky and Lieutenant (Y/L/N) were up in the air together. Buck was sitting in his girlfriend’s office and helping her with filling the papers to keep their heads busy.

“Ow,” she hissed suddenly as he raised his eyes, worryingly.

“Is everything alright?” He asked at the sight of (Y/N) clutching her chest.

“Y-yes… Just some weird cramp around my heart, I don’t know…” She tried to sound as casual as always but her eyes wandered to her brother’s picture on a desk.

“You should tell a doctor about it. Heart matters are no joke,” Buck was not satisfied with her answer.

“No, it’s different, baby, it’s not… Nevermind,” she sighed and her lower lip trembled a little. She bit on it and went back to filing the papers to keep her head busy.

About an hour later, Buck heard familiar noises from the outside.

“They’re coming back,” he stood up rapidly. “I’ll go and check. Wanna go with me?” He offered her his hand but she shook her head.

“N-no, I’d rather stay here,” she admitted.

Buck nodded and hurried out of her office to go outside and watch the planes land. He was relieved to see Bucky’s one but he couldn’t find the one with (Y/N)’s brother on board.

Nervously, Buck approached Bucky as his friend was jumping out of the plane.

“That was fucking hell!” Bucky looked exhausted but he grinned. “You’re a lucky bastard that you weren’t there!”

“What about (Y/L/N)?” Buck asked seriously and Bucky’s face frowned in an instant.

He shook his head as Buck’s heart skipped a beat.

“What do you mean?”

“Listen, the plane, it went down…” Bucky explained nervously.

“Any parachutes?”

“I’m sorry, Buck,” Bucky shook his head. “I mean, it happened so fast. They just… They blew up in the air. I doubt they even had time to grab any parachutes.”

Buck only nodded and turned around to walk back inside the base. He wanted to be the one telling (Y/N) about her brother’s death but he had no idea how to do it. He grieved his friends but his heart was also breaking for his girl and for the pain she would feel now. He wished he could take that all on him but it was impossible.

When he carefully entered her office again, she was already sobbing. There was no way someone had told her before the interrogation, though. He looked at her questioningly.

“He’s not back, am I right?” She hid her face in her hands and Buck’s eyes widened before he approached her to put his arms around her.

“How did you know?” He only asked and she let out a cry. She wrapped her arms around him and took a deep breath in.

“I just knew… I felt it, back then… I tried to tell myself it was not true but I just knew,” she admitted and Buck caressed her back.

After a while of holding her close and letting her cry out all the tears as she trembled in his arms, (Y/N) moved away slightly to look at Buck’s face.

“Maybe he’s just MIA?”

Oh, how he wished to be able to feed her with such hope. But there was none and there was no point of lying. Although her eyes were practically begging him to.

“Do you want the truth?” He swallowed thickly. He hated seeing her like that.

“No need. I already know,” she sobbed again and hid her face in the crook of his neck. “God, Buck, how will I even tell it to my parents?”

Buck didn’t say anything. There were no words. He only held her close and kept caressing her back and arms to comfort her.

Time passed and they just stayed like that. At some point, Colonel Harding opened the door and froze at the sight.

“She already knows,” Buck whispered and the Colonel nodded before leaving quietly.

Buck was sitting on the bed and watching (Y/N) going through her brother’s things quietly. He was there for emotional support because there was nothing else he could do except for just being there and it was killing him that he couldn’t do more.

“This I’ll send back home, this I’ll keep here with me,” she was mumbling as she rummaged through her brother’s personal belongings. She suddenly turned around with a smile on her face wet from tears. Buck furrowed his brows. “No comment at that,” she chuckled sadly and threw a few condoms at her boyfriend. “You can give them to Bucky,” she sniffled and went back to looking at her brother’s things.

Buck chuckled sadly, too. He hid the condoms in his pocket. He would give them to Bucky later indeed. (Y/L/N) and Bucky had loved to brag to each other about their adventures with women.

“Weird,” (Y/N) turned around and handed Buck an envelope. “It’s for you,” she said.

Buck caressed the paper delicately as he read the message written on it.

Give to Buck Cleven if I go down

“Are you sure you want me to read it?” Buck looked at his girl.

“What do you mean? It’s addressed to you,” she answered, confused. “It’s weird but that’s how it is.”

“Perhaps you’d like to read it first?” Buck wanted to make sure. It felt odd to have a letter from her dead brother waiting for him like that.

They had become close these past few weeks but it was not like they had been best friends.

“Just open it. Or not, it’s your decision. The letter is addressed to you,” (Y/N) shrugged her arms and went back to looking through her brother’s things.

Buck’s hands shook a little as he tore the envelope open and took out a note from it.

Buck, if you’re reading this, it means I went down. A possibility I’ve always considered. If there's one pilot out of us all who will survive this whole thing, it’s gonna be you. We both know it, don’t deny that. I sincerely hope you’re gonna be lucky enough and my sister will want to marry you one day. But for now, no matter what happens next, please take care of her. I made sure to be assigned to the same place she was being sent to. I promised our mother to look after her and now that’s a promise I cannot keep anymore. Please, do it for me. I am no man of words. As you can probably see… Ha ha ha. So that’s it, old man. Tell my baby sister that I love her and that I’m going to look after her from the other side. Sincerely, (Y/L/N). PS When you two have a son one day, it would be nice if you named him after me. Just a suggestion…!!!

“And?” (Y/N) turned around to check on Buck. “Oh, baby, what is it?” She asked when she saw tears in his eyes. “What did he say?”

“You can read it,” Buck handed her the letter and she sat next to him, holding the paper in shaking hands.

He watched her reading it as her eyes also filled with the fresh tears.

“I’m going to miss him so much… What will I even do without him?” She asked after giving Buck the letter back. Her voice was oddly calm as if she finally started to realise what had truly happened.

“He’s still here. Watching over you. That’s what it says here,” Buck pointed at the letter. “I take very seriously what he wrote,” he assured her and put his arm around (Y/N) to bring her closer and kiss her forehead. “Every word,” he added.

“I just want you to promise me one thing, Gale,” (Y/N) hugged him tighter.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

“Don’t leave me in this world like he did.”

Buck took a deep breath in. It was a promise he wanted to give more than anything but he couldn’t. All he could say was that he would try his best. But that was not what she wanted to hear. Perhaps she needed a little lie.

“I will not,” he said. “I promise.”

MASTERLIST || BUCK MASTERLIST

[malk1ns]

january 25 @ kraken, 4-1 loss

at the time of posting this, all we know is geno left partway through the first period and didn't return to play after a gnarly-looking knee on knee collision. i am processing a possibility via fiction, because with no updates or news any outcome is possible and i need to start working through those feelings just in case. at least sid scored i guess.

previous soulbond installments: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Zhenya knows his night is over as soon as he hits the ice.

He tries. The trainers give him a shot and send him back out for a quick twirl, and he sits on the bench for a minute, but a simple turn has him gritting his teeth in discomfort.

He doesn’t say anything when he limps back down the tunnel. Karl tries to stop him, but Zhenya can see the sympathy in his eyes and wants no part of it, so he keeps his eyes down as he hands off his stick, helmet, and gloves and makes his way back to the locker room.

Bending his left knee enough to get at his skate to unlace it hurts too much, and he can’t get up and walk with one skate on and one off, so Zhenya waits until one of the trainers comes looking for him. There’s a pounding in his head that he ignores; it can wait.

Someone must spread the word, because Kevin comes to him, kneeling in front of Zhenya’s stall to palpate at his knee. It’s so painful that Zhenya starts sweating again, gritting his teeth.

“Well,” Kevin says, sitting back on his heels and pulling out his phone. “It’s too early to tell what’s going on in there—you’re pretty swollen, I’m not sure even a scan would give us much right now. We’ll have to wait and see how it goes. I don’t think you’re in on Monday, though.”

Zhenya knew that already. There’s a sob clawing its way up his throat, but he swallows it down.

After all this time, the work he put into rehab, the care he takes, and it’s his left knee that does him in, halfway through the second-to-last year on his contract.

“Hey,” Kevin says, getting to his feet and resting his hand on Zhenya’s shoulder. “It might not be what you think, yeah? No reason to assume the worst yet. We’ll get you another shot and send you back with some painkillers. Be careful on the plane and take it easy tomorrow, and we’ll see where we’re at Monday morning. Alright?”

Zhenya nods mutely, holding his breath against the sting of the needle and exhaling explosively as numbness works its way down his leg.

It’s only when he’s in the shower that he turns his attention to the frantic knocking in his mind and opens the door.

Sid explodes into his consciousness and Zhenya winces, bracing himself on the shower wall to keep from tripping at the force of Sid’s presence in his mind.

He’s practically frantic with worry, and Zhenya threads some apologetic guilt through the whirling mass of Sid’s upset. It doesn’t do much to calm Sid down, but he retreats a little, giving Zhenya room to breathe in his own head.

Zhenya’s mastered ‘talking’ through the bond, such as it is, far more than Sid has. Sid’s frequently still too loud, too intrusive; he can’t hide much, even now when he’s learned to shut the door when he wants. He’s never been one for nuance or subtlety, and that’s translated to how he handles the bond.

It gives Zhenya a headache sometimes, but Sid’s getting better, and Zhenya would take Sid in the back of his mind, even when it’s uncomfortable, a thousand times over never having him there again.

He should maybe be worried at how quickly he’s gotten used to the bond, how fast it became essential to him. But it’s not like it’s going anywhere, so whatever.

Zhenya does his best to be reassuring, but one of the downsides of the bond is that they can’t actually talk with words, so he can’t tell Sid that it’s not immediate bad news. He’s not sure Sid would believe him anyway—Zhenya’s still in pain, and he can’t help but feel like his career is crashing down on him.

He didn’t want to go out this way. He’d always thought that he and Sid would retire together, even with their contract term mismatch, and he’d hang up his skates while he was still producing at a high level.

Sid pulses anxiety at him, and Zhenya closes the door again. Sid doesn’t need to be thinking about Zhenya when he has the rest of the game to get through still.

He feels it when Sid scores. Feels it when they lose, too, but clings onto Sid’s euphoria at netting a goal as the guys troop off the ice at the final buzzer, doing his best to push his pride and excitement at Sid and prop him back up.

If the worst case scenario plays out, this will be Zhenya’s role for the next two and a half months—sidelined indefinitely, traveling with the team as nothing more than a glorified cheerleader, there to crack a joke to distract from the inevitable devastating losses and cheer on milestones when they happen.

When he was last out for a significant period of time, he had Sid there with him for most of it, by his side for rehab appointments and training and dicking around on the ice even when they weren’t technically supposed to be skating yet. That won’t be the case this time. He’ll have Sid in his head, though, a 360 immersive live feed of each and every game. That’s better than nothing.

And he can help, just like he has been for the last month. He can do his best to push Sid farther and higher, lend him the strength to drag the team along with him.

Zhenya never planned on being a glorified WAG. For Sid, though, he thinks he can do it.

[typicalopposite]

Heartache

Chapter Two (Read Chapter One HERE)

Pairing: BuckTommy - JonahTommy(past)

Rated: M

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Abusive relationship ; manipulation ; emotional trauma ; dom/sub undertone ; forced heart conditions ; attempted MCD (no actual MCD) ; this one gets very dark

One. 

There is one chair in the room. Everything starts there.

Two.

There are two trash cans. One for trash… one for the bandages, and gloves, and medicine bottles, and syringes.

Three. 

There are three medications placed on the bedside table: Sertraline, for his anxiety, Tylenol for his headache afterwards, and propofol. 

Four. 

There are four people on Tommy's phone to contact if it ever goes wrong… His father, although he likely won’t answer. His Nonna, for a copy of his advanced directive, and life insurance policies. His captain, to tell him the news. Howie, because other than Jonah… he is the closest thing Tommy has to a friend.

Five. 

There are five things Tommy thinks about during their role plays… They keep him tethered to reality as his body literally slips free from it. His mom swinging with him on their porch swing. His last day in the army. His first day back in the air. His neighbors cat that hops balconies and sits with him while he recuperates afterwards. His life before he met Jonah… 

Calm, peaceful… healthy… lonely. Who would have thought someone would miss being lonely. 

Sometimes Jonah makes him feel lonely even when he’s right there with him. Sometimes Jonah gets distant and cruel. Pokes sharp painful fingers into the fragile exterior that is meant to be there for protection, but Tommy’s is weak and flawed and easily penetrable. 

Jonah knows every insecurity, every self doubt, every regret and mistake and failure. He can take Tommy on his best days and play him like a fiddle until he’s reduced to a sniffling squabbling mess and then he draws him in close and kisses away the tears; tells him he cares about him and most importantly he wants him… even though no one else ever will. So Tommy should be thankful. Tommy should be willing to do anything to repay such a selfless act of generosity. 

Absolutely anything.

And so, for two years, Tommy did anything… and everything… Jonah asked of him. He never complained. No matter how scared he felt everytime Jonah came home with that look in his eye… knowing he once again had that scratch that he needed to itch… that need he needed to fill— he needed Tommy to fill. For two years Tommy allowed himself to fill it. To be Jonah’s assistant, of sorts; his plaything, of sorts; his… experiment… of sorts. 

Two years of letting Jonah play God.

Until it all— almost— went wrong. 

“N- No more…” Tommy had said, once his heart stopped pounding like it was about to burst out of his chest. He’d wanted to call an ambulance… or at least go in to get checked out. Jonah convinced him not to. 

“You want to lose your job? A heart attack? At thirty six? They’ll clip your wings so quickly…” Jonah glared at him, like he dared him to try to push back with logic— like the fact it took him shocking Tommy four times to get his heart beating again. Jonah eventually lets out an over dramatic sigh. “I mean if you’re that worried…” he said, putting on a pitiful pout. “If you think I know that little… and didn’t do a good job here… then fine. Here…” Tommy was already prepared to take it all back when his cell phone was slung directly at his face; he had no time to stop it or move before it smacked him right in the mouth  “Call them.”

Tommy lifts a hand to his face, feels the sting of what he knows is a cut on his trembling bottom lip. “I- I won’t call…”

“No. Call them, Tommy. They can take better care of you… right? Right?!” 

“N- No.” 

“But you’re scared?” He crossed the room back to their bed, leaned down so he was right in Tommy’s face; Tommy could see his jaw clench, his nose flare… He is nearly half Tommy’s size. It would be so easy… so easy… to fight him off. Instead Tommy cowers as he shakes his head. “You think I’m not good at my job?” Another shake of his head. “You think I can’t save you?” 

“I know you can…” Tommy cried— it made him sick how he cried… “You are amazing, and s- so skilled… you always take the best care of me… You- You’re my hero, Jonah…” The words— the lies— flow so easily because he’s trying to diffuse Jonah’s anger before it bubbles up too high. “It’s me, baby… I- I’m too weak…” and it’s true wasn’t it… he was so weak. So pathetic. “I just don't think I— m- my heart… can handle it anymore. I’m so sorry…” 

He reached out and blindly grabbed Jonah's hand, keeping their eyes locked together as he brought it to his lips. Jonah moved the hand to his cheek, running his thumb roughly over the cut on Tommy’s lip. “I forgive you…” he said and kissed Tommy. Pushing him back down on the bed and climbing on top of him. Tommy went without a fight. 

A month passed and Tommy waited, anxiously expecting each time he saw Jonah to be faced with that look again… that itch… that need… but it never came. Tommy thought maybe he was really free of their little game. 

Then the dispatch fire happened. 

Tommy sat on their couch and watched the news coverage as the fire raged on, the firefighters on scene working effortlessly to put it out. They announced Captain Bobby Nash was still inside. He mindlessly rubbed a hand over his chest as he stared at the screen and waited for each update. Finally they said Bobby was safe. Tommy sighed in relief. The reporter gave praise to the 118– Tommy couldn’t help the proud smile for his old team as the camera panned over to them standing united as they exited the building— and the 133… 

And Tommy couldn’t help the sinking feeling of knowing Jonah was on such an intense call. 

He spotted him on the TV, standing next to one of the victims, smiling down at her as they talked, and he dreaded the thought of Jonah coming home the next morning to tell him all about it. He turned the TV off, pulled out his phone and texted Howie, asked him to send updates on Bobby, and praised them for their work at the fire. He didn’t call, nor did he text Jonah. He just went to bed. 

The next morning he woke up to a return text from Howie. Bobby was going to be fine, so was his step daughter. Again Tommy sighed in relief. Then he read the rest of the text and his heart began to race: we lost one though. One of the dispatchers went into cardiac arrest on the ambulance ride in. Firefighter Greenway did his best but he couldn’t save her. She was DOA. 

Tommy ignored the other text in his phone from Jonah saying he was almost home. He ignored the key in the lock turning  over… and the door pushing open. He ignored the initial call of his name as Jonah stepped inside. He already knew what was coming next.  

Except it didn’t. 

Jonah was a little stoic as he crossed the apartment to their room, pulling Tommy into his arms and kissing him. He asked if he heard about the fire, and Tommy lied and said he hadn’t. He said he wasn’t feeling too good and went to bed early; slept in late. Jonah actually seemed concerned. He said he would order them some breakfast, and they could just spend the rest of the morning in bed. 

What was Tommy going to do, not take such an extremely rare offer?

He held Jonah after they ate; pulled him up against his chest, let him listen to the beat of his heart like he knew Jonah liked to do, and tried to push asking about the fire to the very last second. But after a few random dramatized sighs from his boyfriend, Tommy finally asked. “Is everything okay?” 

There was a long pause. “I lost her,” Jonah finally said. Tommy felt like he’d been dunked in ice water, he shifted his body so Jonah’s head was no longer on his chest— so he could see him better (so he couldn’t hear his heart pick up speed). 

“O- Oh… b- baby I’m so sorry.” 

Jonah shook his head, brows pulled tightly together. “I just— it doesn’t make sense… I can’t believe I couldn’t save her…” 

“I’m sure you did everything you could,” Tommy said.

Jonah jerked his head side to side. “No. No, I should have saved her. It should have been fine.” He all but leaps out of the bed, storming out of the room. Tommy startled at the slam of their bedroom door. He thought, maybe he should just let him cool off… alone. A glass shattered in the kitchen, and he thought, instead, that maybe he should attempt to calm him down. 

He grabbed the broom and dustpan out of the hall closet first, and went straight to cleaning up the glass as Jonah paced the kitchen. He only just got all the shards up when he heard the contents on the counter table behind him get shoved off. It crashed to the floor, more glass breaking— the glass cake tray his Nonna gave him, with the entirety of a cake he’d bought himself the day before and hadn’t yet tried… he desperately tried to not react to the loss of either— another mess for Tommy to clean up; he went straight to it. 

“I guess I really am just a piss poor paramedic,” Jonah said bitterly, his voice rising from a growl to a scream. “Can’t save anyone. Why am I even doing this fucking job?!” 

Maybe it was because Tommy did want anything else broken… Maybe it was because he didn’t want their neighbors to hear the screaming and call the cops… Maybe it was because he was so conditioned to please… 

He dropped the broom. 

Clutched his chest.

And took in a sharp breath. 

“J- Jonah…” Tommy said, looking up at him. “P- Please… Help…” It took less than a second for Jonah to catch on. Then he was kneeling at Tommy’s side, lifting Tommy’s face to look at him. There’s a glint in his eye, a flicker of something dark… and Tommy should be scared but instead he leans into the touch. In that moment Jonah’s full attention, devotion, love even (maybe), was on Tommy; in that moment it was really Tommy helping Jonah… because he just loved him so much— too much. “I need you… I’m scared.” 

Oh, was he scared…

Jonah fed off of it. It was like a switch flipped over and he went full character: assuring Tommy he was in the best hands, helping him to his feet, leading him to their room… Jonah gently pushed him down to sit on the chair. Tommy put himself into autopilot while Jonah got him ready. 

He checked Tommy’s vitals. “BP is good… heart rate is accelerating… you need to relax, Tommy…” 

Tommy slowly nodded. And begins taking deep breaths. 5… 4… 3… 2… 1…

“There you go… That’s better…” Jonah smiled at him, and leaned down to kiss Tommy’s forehead. It should be comforting; it’s anything but comforting. “Okay go lie down… I’ll get everything set up.”

5… 4… 3… 2… 1… 

Five memories. Four contacts. Three medications. Two trash cans. One chair. 

Jonah pulled on his sterile gloves— Tommy only knew because he had to pop them to his wrist every time… he couldn’t actually watch him because of what he knew came next. Jonah went into his little medical bag and pulled out the Tylenol… and the propofol. He sat them on the table beside where Tommy kept his anxiety medication. Then he grabbed one of the syringes— slowly opening the sealed packaging and Tommy focused on any other sound of the paper peeling apart in the room to try to drown it out— then he drew up the propofol.

He tied the rubber band around Tommy’s bicep, waiting until his veins popped out nicely. “Big pinch,” he said and gripped Tommy’s wrist as he brought the needle to the vein. 

“Wait…” Tommy gasped, trying to calm his breathing— trying to blink back against the rush of tears. “C- Can you hold my hand?” He asked. 

Jonah looked at him and a flash of disappointment crossed his face before he, too, broke character. “Now Tommy… that would be a little too unprofessional. Don’t you think?”

Tommy swallowed around the lump lodged in his throat and nodded. “Y- Yeah. You’re right. S- Sorry…” He looked back to the ceiling fan spinning above him, and refocused on his breathing. The needle pressed into the vein, the medicine burned as it entered his body. 

5… 4… 3… 2… 1…

Five memories. Four contacts. Three medications. Two trash cans. One chair. 

5… 4… 3… 2… 1…

Five memories. Four contacts. Three medications. Two trash cans. One chair. 

5… 4… 3… 2… 1…

Five cc of propofol. Four minutes to take effect. Three seconds to boot up the defibrillator. Two paddles pressed to his chest. One shock.

5… 4… 3… 2… 1…

He felt it as it happened. It made him feel sick knowing Jonah could see it as it happened, too. Tommy could feel his eyes, wide and maniacal, locked on him as he waited for Tommy’s breathing to slow and eventually stop. Tommy felt himself dying— felt how this was killing him. Not just in the moment— as it literally killed him— but in general. 

He had flown so far from the person he had aspired to become when he finally came out and embraced who he was. This was not where things were supposed to end up. He hated that version of himself almost as much as the old. He wished he’d never met Jonah… never fallen in love with him… never become so dependent on him…

5… 4… 3… 2… 1…

Five things he always wanted to do: go skydiving, go deep sea fishing, go mountain climbing, go on a cross country road trip, take a walk down the aisle. 

Four places he always wanted to travel: Italy (for Nonna), Paris (for Romance), New York (for Broadway), Alaska (for the Northern Lights), an altar (for love). 

Three words he always wanted to hear: I love you— not just I love what you can do for me. 

Two souls who are meant to be together— but it was never the two together in that room. 

One more time… for Jonah. 

Anything for Jonah. 

His body surged up into an arch from the shock. Tommy collapsed back onto the bed, gasping for air, his heart pounding as it attempted to re-regulate itself. Jonah stared at him with this strange mix of awe and pity. “Shh…” he shushed softly, reaching out to wipe away tears as they fell down Tommy’s cheeks. “You’re okay. It’s okay. I saved you.” Tommy blinked, eyes feeling heavy. He grabbed on to Jonah’s wrist, clinging to it for some sense of comfort. “You did so well. You can rest now.” The hand on his cheek gently swiped over his eyes, closing them. 

When he woke up, Jonah was there, like always. His mood was better, like always. His eyes were soft and inviting. His lips found their way to Tommy’s… kissing him deeply— passionately… hungrily. Tommy laid there and played along knowing this was only another part of the game; thinking, still, if he tried hard enough to believe it… it was almost like they were just making love. 

*

His phone ringing woke him up. 

Recovery this time took longer than his usual couple days… He had to call in sick to work… His captain was annoyed but understanding; Tommy rarely missed work, if he did it was serious. 

The phone continued to ring, causing his headache to only get worse… and he was still an hour away from being able to take more Tylenol. He groaned and rolled over to grab it, bringing it up to his ear. “H’llo?” 

“Hey Tommy…” Daryl, Jonah’s partner at the 133, said way too loudly into his ear; Tommy had to pull the phone away and put it on speaker. “How are you feeling? JG said you were a little under the weather.” 

Tommy scoffed. “Uh, yeah… what- what’s up? Is everything okay?” 

“About that,” Daryl continued, and the strain in his voice had Tommy up and out of the bed, starting a panicked pacing of their room. “Listen I- I overheard Cap talking to Jonah… something about Wilson and Han from the 118 reporting him… o- over that dispatcher's death, I think. It sounded like they dug up some crap from his past… heavy shit. I don’t know— but the conversation got pretty heated; he left very upset. Thought I’d give you a heads up…” 

Daryl was one of the only people who knew about Tommy and Jonah. Jonah didn’t want the type of friends who came over to your house… he had too much to hide at home. Tommy was enough of a loner… so he never had anyone over either. He had Howie, but he knew Howie was a sore spot for Jonah since Hen took a while warming up to Jonah as Howie’s temporary replacement; and then he was moved off the 118 after he came back. Tommy could read a room enough to know he shouldn’t mention either of them. 

Now they are— are what… out to get him? 

He was rushing Daryl off the phone and scrolling through his contacts for Hen’s name before he even really knew what he was going to say. He didn’t even wait for a hello before he was going off. “What the hell are you digging around Jonah’s life for, Hen! What business is it of yours!”

“What the— what business is it of mine?” Hen repeated back to him, scoffed and added, “what business is any of this of yours!?”

“He’s my boyfriend, so you snooping around trying to find something on him to hurt him is my business,” Tommy blurted out. 

Hen was quiet for a long time. “He's your— he’s hurt people, Tommy,” she said, a new— softer— tone to her voice. 

“That’s a lie… he— he would never!” He promised. He said it was only ever Tommy. It was— It was their thing… “J- Jonah is a… g- good man…” 

Another long pause. “You don’t sound too sure about that,” she said. “Listen… if you’re scared— if you feel like you have to—” 

The sound of a key turning in the lock caught Tommy’s attention. “You need to let this go, Hen,” he said and ended the call. 

The front door slammed open, and Jonah stormed in.

He came straight to the bedroom and stood in the doorway, eyes locked on Tommy. His breathing was heavy and slow… shoulders rising with each inhale, and falling on the exhale. “Get my bag,” he said, flat and emotionless. 

Tommy should have fought, right then. He should have refused. He got up and walked to the closet instead, bringing the medical bag out and back over to the bed. He held it on his lap as Jonah crossed the room to him. Jonah didn't pick it up, just opened it where it sat on Tommy’s legs and began taking bottles of propofol out, IV tubing, syringes. 

“You worked with them,” he said after a while. Tommy lifted his eyes slowly up to meet Jonah’s. “With Hen… and Chimney. You still call him Howie right? He’s your friend…” 

Tommy quickly shook his head. “I- I would hardly call us—”

“Do you agree with them, Tommy?” Jonah said, and leaned down close to Tommy’s face. “Do you think I’m a horrible person, too?” 

“No!”

“Do you think I hurt those people?” 

“Of- Of course not…” 

“You know I had it under control.” 

“Ye— wait…” Tommy searched Jonah’s eyes, waiting for some explanation he knew wouldn’t come. Jonah didn’t blink. Hen was right… and maybe— maybe Tommy had thought that all along. But thinking and knowing are so vastly different in moments like these. “Jonah… you— you didn’t…” Jonah’s brow furrowed; Tommy chose his words carefully. “You didn’t m- mean to hurt them, I’m sure…” Jonah doesn’t react… “They— They were just… weak. You did your job… you would have saved them had they been stronger.” 

“Exactly. They were just—”

“M- Mistakes?”

Jonah smiled; something so maniacal and evil shouldn’t have been a comfort… but he seemed to lose some of the tension in his shoulders, so Tommy did as well. “Mistakes… that’s it. They were mistakes.” He began to draw up doses of the propofol. One syringe after another. “Not even my fault, really… just weak people who didn’t want— no didn’t deserve to be saved. Now I’ll just have to show them what I’m capable of… then they will see…”

“Show who?” 

“Hen and Chimney,” Jonah reiterated with a grin. “I’ll show them both just how good I am at what I do.”

“H- How…” the question rolled off his tongue before he could stop it. Jonah didn’t respond, just laid everything back in the back and walked to the closet for the defibrillator. “Jo- Jonah… w- what are you going to do…”

Jonah smiled, reached up and cupped Tommy’s cheek. He leaned in and kissed him. “I’m going to teach them a lesson, baby.” Tommy felt his eyes widen, a choked off sound escaping him as he shook his head. “It’ll be fine. They have to learn.” 

“Jonah… please… don’t,” he begged, would beg on his knees if he had to. He couldn’t let Jonah hurt anyone else. He decided to be brave just a fraction of a second too late and felt a sharp pinch in his neck just as he was about to lunge at him. 

He fell over on the bed, watching Jonah pull out his phone. “Heard you were talking about me,” he said.

Tommy barely heard Hen’s voice respond before he passed out. When he opened his eyes again the room was dark. Part of him thought maybe— just maybe— Jonah was gone. He tried to sit up and felt dizzy… 

“Easy now…” he heard Jonah’s voice cut through the darkness. “You know better than to try to move around so quickly.” 

“Mmhmm…” Tommy hummed. 

He watched the silhouette of Jonah walk around the bed, sit down beside him; he took his hand and held it like one would a stranger. “I really thought you were the one, Tommy…” he said. “I thought you understood me. I thought you cared…” 

“I- I do… care,” Tommy said, sluggishly. 

The silhouette shook his head. “No… no you don’t. I’m really sorry, baby… but I have to get going. Things to do; old friends to visit.”

“J’nah… p- please…” Tommy tried once more. He felt the familiar sting of medicine entering in his vein, only then registering the needle that had been in it. He felt Jonah’s lips press to his in a chaste, emotionless, kiss. He felt the rise of the mattress as Jonah got up and walked out. 

Four minutes. 

Jonah said it took four minutes before the flatline. He waited until he heard the front door click shut and he rolled off the bed, falling heavily to the floor. His adrenaline spiked… that was a good thing… it would keep him alert longer. He rolled over towards the bed, sticking his arm under it and feeling around until his fingers brushed over the box. A panic induced purchase really… he’s glad he made it now— he’s knows Jonah took his with him. 

Three minutes. 

He hadn’t even opened it yet. Why hadn’t he ever opened it?! His fingers trembled clumsily as he tore the box apart and freed the equipment inside— a shiny, brand new, defibrillator. It felt like some kind of sick Christmas present… He struggled against his fading consciousness to get it set up… nearly busted his head as he toppled over to plug it in… he pulled himself back up with the bedside table and that’s when he saw his phone was still there where he left it after the call to Hen. 

Two minutes.

He managed to do it in tandem; turn on the machine with one hand, call 9-1-1 with the other. “9-1-1 what’s the address of your location?” The dispatcher asked the question, then waited for Tommy’s response. Tommy peeled the first pad off, and carefully slid it under his shirt, sticking it to his left side. “Hello? 9-1-1… what is the address of your location?” 

One minute.

1318 Brannon St Apartment G… 1318 Brannon St Apartment G… 1318 Brannon Street Apartment G!

“I- I’m actually not sure where he’s going,” Tommy said as he put the second pad on the right side of his chest. He turned the defibrillator on, holding the phone close to his mouth; his finger lingered over the button… he didn’t have much time to waste but— “But his name is Jonah… Green- Greenway. He drives a 2021 white Nissan Altima. License plate seven-delta… hotel-li-li-lima… nine… six… sev—” 

He pressed the button and everything went dark. 

“Sir. Sir, do you hear me?” 

He had read… somewhere… that shocking your heart while still conscious felt like getting kicked in the chest by a horse. 

Tommy fluttered his eyes, tried to open them against the blindingly bright light of the— the ambulance. He was in an ambulance. 

“Alright! We got him back!” 

Tommy took a deep breath through the oxygen mask over his face. Then another. Then another. 

“That’s it, sir… in and out. Nice and slow. You’re going to be just fine… you’re safe now.”

Was he though? Was Hen? Was Howie?

He got his answer in the shape of the former— donning a matching hospital gown to his— sneaking in his room many hours later. 

He was still barely conscious… having faded in and out multiple times. The only people to enter his room since his arrival had been doctors or nurses— none paying him much attention as he incoherently asked about Jonah and if he’d been caught— that’s the price you pay being a loner, he supposed. Hen stopped in his doorway, waiting until he opened his eyes and looked at her to enter. 

“Hey…” she said with a smile, soft and friendly— neither things he deserved. “How are you feeling?” 

Tommy waited for the other shoe to drop. For rage or some snarky comment… an I told you so. It didn’t come. “Like I was kicked in the chest by a horse…” he finally replied, letting his head loll towards her. “Are you— you and Howie…” 

“We’re fine.”

“Jonah?” 

“Going to prison… for a very long time.” 

Tommy sighed, and nodded. “Good,” he said. That was good— something good to come from… all this. “How- How did you know I was here?” 

“Karen called the cops when I called to warn her Jonah was up to something…” Hen explained, sitting down on the foot of Tommy’s bed. “They told her somebody had already called in, and there were already units out looking for him. I had Athena look into it. She said the person who called was found unconscious and admitted here… I pieced the rest together and asked the hospital if they had a Thomas Kinard.” 

She reached for Tommy’s hand and he flinched, pulling it away. “I- I’m so- so sorry, Hen… I- I should’ve…”

“Hey, no. Don’t do that. We are all victims here.” She reached for his hand again and took it this time. “Some… a lot longer than others, I’m sure.” 

She gave him a knowing look and he couldn't help but laugh… What else was there to do? “You have no idea…” he said tiredly.

*

Evan is quiet. 

Tommy is… on edge— although he’s doing his best to be patient. He just dumped a lot of trauma, he would not be surprised if Buck turns and runs out the door, never to look back. 

“So you— you told Hen everything?”

“Everything I just told you, yeah…” 

Evan nods. He’s still holding Tommy’s hand… that’s a good sign, Tommy hopes. “And— And Athena? You— you told her, too?”

Tommy shakes his head. “She just asked around about the anonymous caller for Hen. She never knew it was me. I did talk to the cops who found me, though. But…” he sighs… this is the part he regrets the most. “I asked to be left anonymous. I— I didn’t know Jonah was doing this to other people… there was nothing that me testifying would add to the case, unless I wanted to press charges.” He breaks away from Evan’s eyes. “And I— I didn’t…” 

“Tommy,” Evan gasps in disbelief. Here it comes, Tommy thinks. “Why- Why wouldn’t you… after— after everything he did to—” 

“I know…” Tommy interjects, hanging his head. “He hurt Howie and Hen… and so— so many other people…”

“And you!” Evan all but shouts. “Tommy he— he hurt you too… so many times… and he— he shouldn’t be allowed to get away with that.” 

That… was not what Tommy expected Evan to be upset about. He isn’t exactly sure how to respond to it. “He’s going to prison for life, Evan…” he says, as a start. “He didn’t get away.”

“That’s— that’s not good enough.” Evan shakes his head using his hold on Tommy’s hand to pull him into his arms. 

Tommy is held tight to Evan’s chest and he feels— he feels many things, actually. Mostly he feels safe. Which is something he’s never really felt in a relationship. Safe to be himself. Safe to be vulnerable. “I’m sorry…” he says, trying to blink back tears. He thinks he’s cried enough in just this one day for his entire lifetime, and the next. “Jonah… he— he was all I had… I just— I- I couldn’t…and I know I should have but I couldn’t. I’m so sorry…”  

“H- Hey…” Evan gently pushes him back, then gently cups his face. “You have absolutely nothing to apologize for. He is the one who should be sorry… I don’t blame you for wanting to bury those memories. I’ll— I’ll talk to Athena; maybe we can fight this summons.” 

If only it could be that easy…

Even after Tommy re-explains his reasoning for not wanting to get on the stand in front of Jonah… the judge still decides she’ll allow it. “I’m so sorry,” Athena says somberly, and Evan’s hold around Tommy’s waist tightens. He presses a kiss to Tommy’s cheek. 

They meet with the DA, discuss what he should expect, and Tommy schedules a session with Frank— recurring sessions, actually. 

He knew this would come back into the light one day. He should have been prepared. He’d gotten too cozy with his life, that was his first mistake…

“Tommy there’s a call for you in Cap's office,” Lucy says, jogging up to where Tommy is under the hood of one of Harbor’s engines. 

“For me?” Tommy grabs a rag and wipes the grease off his hands, so he can run his fingers through the loose curls falling down onto his forehead. “Who is it?” 

Lucy shrugs. “He didn’t say.”

There is a sinking sense of dread Tommy can’t shake as he approaches the office, takes the phone, and puts it to his ear. “Hello?” 

“Five… Four… Three… Two… One…” Tommy hates how he can hear the sinister grin in Jonah’s voice. He hates that he’s hearing Jonah’s voice at all. “You were always counting down. Sometimes you even did it out loud, did you know that?”

“How— How did you—” 

“Do you know what day the trial starts?” Jonah continues, brushing over Tommy’s question… of course. Tommy doesn’t respond; Jonah chuckles. “Save the date, baby… it’s a good one. I can’t wait to see you.” Then the line cuts off. 

“Who was that?” Lucy asks, but Tommy is too busy trying to get his phone’s calendar opened. “Tommy…” she says— repeats, maybe… She touches his arm. “You’re shaking… Are you okay?” 

He is not.

Five years ago Tommy talked himself into meeting someone he matched with on some dating app Howie teasingly suggested he try. 

Four days until he has to come face to face with that same person on the anniversary of that first date. 

Three life sentences is what Jonah is looking at if found guilty… He will be found guilty. He has to be found guilty.

Two hours before Tommy is off shift… and Jonah probably knew that. 

One almost— but not quite— forgotten nightmare Tommy has been thrown head first back into. 

~~~~~~~~~

Tagging people who seemed interested (let me know if you want to be added for the last chapter or removed 🫶) : @sunnywithachanceofbi @weewookinard @xtarmanderx @racerchix21 @sad-girl-hours23 @laundryandtaxesworld @swagmaster9k @iphyslitterator @adian-ua 🫶🫶

[creepycranberry]

Big Black Car- 2

Rafe Cameron X Maybank!Reader

1 2

Warnings: slow burn, L*ke, topper is very much noncanon compliant (he’s like a mix of topper and Austin’s character in IDDI), alcohol, abuse, parental death, not proofread, kook/pogue bullshit, swearing, w*rd, let me know about anything else.

Extra TW for violence and abuse in this chapter

____________

Luke’s working at the garage today, so you’re cleaning the house and restocking the fridge.

He can pay for his beer, you’re not even touching that shit, but you pay for most everything else. The only thing he really covers is his drinking habit, the utility bill and sometimes necessary maintenance.

Other than that his money is his money and your money is y’all’s money.

You’re cleaning the ceiling fan when a loud knock at the door makes you jump and almost fall off of your step stool.

You open the door only to be faced with your father, who looks to be fuming.

“Why the hell weren’t you at work Saturday?

“I took a day off, why does it matter to you?” You say, backing up a little.

“We need that money, kid!”

“Well maybe if you wouldn’t spend all of your fucking money on alcohol and actually paid attention to your responsibilities instead of being blacked the fuck out all the time We would h-“

Your head is turned by blunt force and your eyes water as your cheeks sting.

“Don’t fucking talk to me like that you ungrateful bitch!” He yells and you flinch.

“What do I have to be ungrateful for that I'm not providing for myself?” You retort.

This time you see it coming, moving at the last second to deliver A swift punch to his jaw.

He recovers fast and sends a swift punch to your stomach that knocks the air out of your lungs. And then you’re on the floor when you’re met with a boot to the face

“You fucking bastard! I work so hard for you and you’re not even my fucking daughter you entitled bitch!” He yells, making his way down the hall to your room.

Your room is nothing special, just your bed, a dresser, and a few boxes with stuff in them.

He grabs a box and walks towards the front door, throwing the box in the yard.

“Dad, what are you doing?” You yell, holding your T-shirt over your nose.

“You’re nineteen, find your own damned place to live! Quit mooching off of me you shithead.”

He goes for another box but you close the bedroom door, locking it as he yells from the other side, you grab a large tote bag and shove whatever clothes you can into it before stacking the boxes.

You wait until you can’t hear Luke screaming anymore.

You can’t breathe because of your nose, which isn’t bleeding as heavily anymore, but is still bleeding plenty, and you have a killer headache.

Your shoulder and stomach ache, your cheek stings and it hurts to move your jaw too much.

All of the pain hits you at once and you take a deep breath before attempting to stand, you grab all of your stuff slowly and quickly make your way out to your car, shoving all of the boxes in the back, including the one Luke threw into the yard.

You’re on your way to the Carreras when you see Rafe, walking down the street while you’re stuck at a stop light.

You’ve seen him once since Saturday and he barely acknowledged you.

He doesn’t see you at first and you look away in hopes that will make him less likely to see you at all but it doesn’t. Instead when he sees you his eyebrows lift in surprise and then go back down in what almost looks like concern.

You just keep driving.

when you get to the Carreras Topper is already sitting on the porch, waiting for you.

“Maybank! what the hell happened to you?” He asks, standing up and holding your face still to get a good look, avoiding the bruised areas.

“My dad-” you just start crying.

It’s embarrassing, and it makes your stomach hurt even more but you can’t help it.

Topper rests his hands on your hip and you hiss in pain, practically jumping out of his reach.

Topper moves your shirt up to reveal a big bruise on your ribs.

“This fucking…” Topper trails off and wipes the tears from your face, “it’s gonna be alright. Okay, you tell me when you can, for right now just tell me where it hurts and we’ll get you fixed up. Alright?”

You nod and he leads you to the front door, you fumble with the key for a moment before he takes it from you.

You look around as he unlocks the door and for a split second you see Rafe in the Passenger seat of Topper's car.

You’re shaking, you're not sure when you started shaking but as topper leads you to the couch you look down at your shirt to see the blood and remember that your face and clothes are probably covered in blood.

Topper crouches in front of you, taking in your messy appearance.

“Where does it hurt?” He asks again.

“My uh, my nose,”

“Yeah, no shit.” He smiles.

You return his smile and begin to point to where you can feel the pain.

Topper goes to the freezer and looks for anything to act like an ice pack.

He comes back with a few packages of frozen vegetables. He helps you lie down on the couch before placing the ice packs in their respective areas.

“Where’s the first aid kit here?” He asks and you tell him before you hear your phone ringing.

When you answer it you hear Mr. Carreras voice.

“Hey, Is everything alright? We just got an alert from the security company-“

“Crap, the alarm. Uh, everything is fine I just, I’m in a bit of pain right now and I was kind of just focused on getting an ice pack. I’ll put in the code really quick though.”

“Alright sweetie, call us if you need something.”

You say goodbye and hang up the phone, ignoring the pain in your stomach as you attempt to stand.

“What the hell are you doing?” A low voice at the door asks and you look up to see rafe, leaning against the door frame.

“We set off the security alarm, I have to put in the code to-“

“What’s the code?”

“I’ve gotta do it, Mrs-”

“Maybank, what’s the code?” He says it slow, punctuating each word lightly.

“I’m not giving you the security code to someone else’s house.”

“just give me the damned code and then sit on that damned couch with your ice packs. Alright?”

You cautiously stare at him for a moment before sitting on the couch and putting a package of frozen peaches to your cheek and nose, “102004.”

“Thanks, peaches.” He comments sarcastically and puts the code into the small keypad by the door.

You don’t say anything.

Topper comes back down the stairs with a first aid kit, and a new shirt from your bag.

He looks from you to Rafe and then back again, “everything okay in here?”

“Everything’s fine, Top.” Rafe says, sitting on the other end of the couch.

Topper cleans the blood from your face and neck, then puts a bandage on your nose and hands you back the bag of frozen peaches.

“Um, I need you to take your uh-” Topper stutters. Topper was big on boundaries with you, always being extra careful about your comfortability, even when it was inconvenient.

“He needs you to strip so he can check out the injuries on your torso.” Rafe says, point blank.

Topper gives him a “what the fuck, man?” Look but you just take off your shirt, revealing a black sports bra and a big ass bruise over the right side of your rib cage.

“Jesus, what did that sick son of a bitch do to you?” Rafe exclaims and Topper gives him a look again.

“Took out his anger on me and then kicked me out. Used the whole ‘You're not my daughter anyway’ card and then threw my stuff out into the yard.” You shrug, “it’s fine though, let’s see him try and pay for all his bills and groceries on his own.”

Rafe and Topper go quiet.

“You’re not his daughter?” Rafe asks after a minute.

“Legally I am, not biologically though.” You shrug.

“Whose kid are you then?”

“Joel Morgan.”

“Wasn’t he a Kook though?” Rafe asks and you nod.

“He decided to slum it with my mom at some point. I ended up coming along, but my mom was with JJ’s dad by that point. So he raised me for the first few years of my life, and then he died, I got sent to live with JJs dad, my mom was long gone by then and now here we are.” You explain, giving him the short version.

“And that’s why you went to our school?” Rafe asks and You nod, “wait but wouldn’t he have left like a trust to you or something?”

“He did. had an account to pay for all my schooling too. Only problem is I don’t get access to that trust or my inheritance until I’m twenty five, so until then I’m stuck doing this all on my own.”

The boys stay quiet, topper makes sure that your ribs aren’t broken or anything.

“Well you look alright, just keep ice on them and after your done house sitting if you need a place to stay, my place is always there, my parents love you I’m sure they’d be thrilled to have you-“

“Thanks Topper, but I can deal with it on my own. I have enough saved that four months worth of pay should be able to cover a small apartment. Probably on the cut, in the projects but it’d be better than nothing and definitely better than mooching off of you I-“

“You wouldn’t be mooching-“

“I don’t want to be a burden or cause problems, Topper. I can make it just fine on my own until my trust kicks in.”

“Fine but if you ever need anything, I’d be more than happy to help you.”

You just nod, “thanks for the help.”

“Anytime.”

•~•~•~•~•~

The Carreras get home today so You’re cleaning up again, restocking the fridge, and then changing into work clothes.

You take orders at the counter, sending them off to the kitchen and then handing them out to customers, along with ringing in to-go orders.

You're working a double shift today, trying to make up for the Saturday you missed.

“Hello! Waitress! Could I get a- what the hell happened to you?”

“I don’t think we have that on the menu JJ. Could I get you anything else?”

“Okay, what the fuck?” JJ exclaims, getting up off his stool and going behind the bar, despite the other servers protests, “what happened?”

“Luke kicked me out.” You shrug.

You haven’t seen JJ in the last week or so, he’s been at John B’s, avoiding our father as per usual.

“What?”

“Mhm. I have to figure out a place to stay by the end of the day.”

“Just stay with John B like I am.” JJ shrugs.

“John B is helping us out enough.” You shake your head, refilling a napkin container.

“Well then where will you go? You’re too stubborn to let anyone give you handouts.”

“I’ll figure it out, now, do you need anything to eat? When was the last time you drank some water? You better not just be drinking beer over there.”

“Geez, chill Hermana, me and John B are just fine. You worry about yourself for once. Got it?”

“Sure, fine, whatever.”

“I will take an order of fries though.” You sigh and give him a look before turning around to give the order to the kitchen, “thank you, I love you, you’re the best, extra ketchup please.”

•••

You’re napping in your car after work when violent tapping on the car window wakes you up. You jump and reach into the passenger seat for your keys before realizing that it’s just Topper.

“The Carreras are back.” He says.

“And the sun is up.” You respond, rubbing your eyes.

“Where are you staying?”

“Don’t w-“

“Cause I’m not gonna just let you live in your car. Stop being stubborn and come stay at my place.”

“Topper, it’s kind of you to offer but I really can’t.” You insist, tired of having the same argument with him over and over.

“Just take the fucking offer.” You hear a rough voice behind topper say.

“Rafe I’m not gonna take a handout-“

“It isn’t a handout. It’s a friend looking out for a friend. Fucking hell, just let him do something for you for once. I’m sick of listening to him complain and I’m sick of listening to you two having the same argument over and over. Goddamnit.” Rafe exclaims and you mull it over.

“I’ll pay rent.”

“My parents won’t let you. At most they’ll let you pay for your own necessities but that’s it.” Topper says and you sigh.

“Fine.”

“Fucking finally.” Rafe exclaims and Topper glares at him. You can’t help but laugh a little, which causes Topper to glare at you.

When you look back to Rafe his face is set in a relaxed expression, he’s beginning to look weirdly comfortable when you see him now.

“Need a ride home?” You offer to the both of them and Topper opens the passenger door and Rafe Huffs as he takes residence in the back seat.

When you get to Toppers house his mom is in the front, standing to her flower beds. They were the one things she didn’t let her staff handle.

When you get out of your car she begins to smile before her expression turns to concerned. She turns her attention to her son, “what happened to her?”

“Not my story to tell but she has no where else to stay so I-“

“She's staying here.” His mother says, meeting your eyes. It’s not a question, it’s an order to you.

Topper's mothers family was close with your fathers. You and Topper had known each other at a young age. After your father died and you moved to Luke’s you only saw each other at school. And for a few years that was it, and then Topper turned fourteen and his parents no longer required him to stay closer to their home and he would pick you up from your house on weekends while JJ was at John B’s. You would ride on the pegs on his bike wheels down to the marina and the two of you would hang out until he would have to take you back home.

His mother hated Luke, not just because he was a pogue but because she didn’t think he was fit to be a father. She was wrong for a while and then she wasn’t.

“Yes ma'am.” You smile and she nods.

“Show her to the guest room.” She says, returning her attention to her flower beds and effectively dismissing the three of you.

Topper leads the way and Rafe follows closely behind you. You reach the room next door to Toppers and he opens the door, setting one of your boxes on the floor by the bed.

“This is where you’ll be living, our bathroom is connected, we can go grab toiletries later if you need, towels are in the cabinet above the toilet, toilet paper is under the sink etcetera, etcetera.” Topper smiles and you stand in the middle of the room awkwardly, “you okay?”

“Yeah I uh, it’s just new.”

Topper nods and leads you through the bathroom to his room. You had spent some amount of time here in middle school. You would come over and rant to Topper about work shit, ignoring him when he offered you money.

Topper flops onto the bed and you sit in the desk chair, spinning around. Rafe sits on the bench at the foot of the bed, his eyes trained on your nose.

“Does it still hurt?” He asks you.

His sincerity almost shocks you, “only when I remember it’s there.”

“Sorry.” He mumbles.

“It was polite of you to ask.” You offer him and he nods before training his eyes on the floor.

“What did Mr. Carrera say?” Topper breaks the silence.

“He uh- he didn’t really say anything to me about it. He slipped a hundred into my tips though.” You smile as best you can, “he did tell Kie to ask JJ about it though.”

“He hates JJ.” Top comments.

“That doesn’t really matter when it comes to JJ or me actually surviving.”

“I think Mom will probably kill him if she sees him around.” Topper smiles and you nod.

“Seems like a safe bet.”

Rafe looks severely uncomfortable when he speaks next, “I’m kinda bored. I might just head out.” It’s directed at Topper but he’s looking at you.

“You sure, man?” Top asks and rafe nods.

“Yeah, wheezies been having a hard time in her English class and dad and Rose are out of town so I’ll probably have to help her with that.” He says, getting up and heading for the door, stopping to turn to you, “I’ll have Sarah let JJ know where you’re at.”

“Thank you, Rafe.”

“No problem, peaches” he says as he heads down the hall.

“I really hope that nickname doesn’t stick.”

[es46]

Submas Prompt: Not even Hours - 2

- "Are you okay?" Ingo's been hearing that a lot lately. He knows they mean well. After all, he doesn't look as well as he should for a man who, so far as everyone knew, had never been plucked from his time by the Creator and thrown into the distant past. How could he explain that? Yes I am very well, I'm only struggling with the psychological ramifications of realizing my years in Hisui mean nothing because, from your perspective, I never left Ingo has tried his best. He's pretending to suffer from a low-level sickness, and he's been exploring every avenue of improving his image. Hair salons, spas, anywhere that could make his skin look less worn, his hair less greyed. And Ingo does have comfort knowing none of his family and friends had to mourn his absence. But it's difficult. "Are you okay?" Elesa, honing her skills in the Battle Subway. She's seeking to join the Elite Four, so when time allows, she trains. Having just won, Elesa fixes Ingo with a piercing gaze. She's noticed the way his posture drooped, a shadow of dread flickering in his eyes. Ingo tries his best to stave off the worst memories of Hisui, the aura of the shadow atop the mountain, but sometimes it crawls in his soul. He smiles uneasily, feigns stomach ache. He's been eating a lot to compensate for his time in the past, conveniently, and it's not necessarily a lie. Elesa doesn't seem to buy it, but Ingo distracts her with talk on her hopeful proposal to Skyla. As expected, Elesa flushes and starts babbling on what to do for Skyla, what ring to buy, - Ingo tunes her out, brings himself under control. He's okay. "Are you okay?" Skyla herself. She's in Nimbasa more often these days, running collaborations with Elesa, and there she found Ingo sat on a bench, staring blankly out across the park. Ingo hadn't expected her and jolts when spoken to. His mind is pulled from Hisui, a dreadful cold and great cliffs, to Nimbasa's brightness. The concern in Skyla's eyes is close to palpable; she's never known Ingo to jolt. He smiles uneasily, feigns a dizzy spell. Too much time on the Ferris Wheel. Skyla relaxes, smiles and nods, and chatters cheerfully about her own experiences on amusement rides, like the rollercoaster- Ingo tunes her out, brings himself under control. He's okay. "Are you okay?" His own brother. In their home, Emmet sets down a dinner platter on the coffee table, eyeing his brother with an odd expression. Concern, kindness, disappointment? It pains Ingo to look at a face that shouldn't be three years younger and realize he can't read Emmet like he used to. Hisui was too much. This is starting to be too much. Ingo averts his eyes, looking back to the TV. The volume helps to keep Ingo focussed on the now, away from Hisui's howls. He mumbles some excuse- headaches, leg cramps- but this time Emmet isn't dissuaded. "This has gone on for a while, Ingo. Surely you have spoken to a doctor by now?" "I have, Emmet. They think it merely a persistent bug. I'll be fine if I eat well and rest often." Ingo doesn't like the way Emmet's eyes narrow. Of course his brother can still read him well, even if deep down he may doubt the lines on Ingo's face, the darkness behind his eyes. Surely Emmet is suspecting there is something worse here. But what could Ingo say? You are right, brother, I am not fine. In the span of three hours from your perspective, I was seized by Arceus and stricken by a brutal time for three years. Ingo can't say that. Emmet is talking again, wanting to arrange another visit to the doctor, wanting to accompany him this time. Ingo can't tune him out, so instead he blocks. "I am okay, Emmet. I just need time." The words come out harsher than intended. Emmet falters, briefly hurt. Regret stings, but Ingo excuses himself and rushes to his room. In time, this had to get easier. Arceus owed him that much. But for now, Ingo will sit on the edge of his bed, hold his head, and repeat. I am okay. I am okay.