#and i rub my eyes and nose raw with tissues every single time

[uhlillie]

the internet is such a beautiful place sometimes 🥲

[goldenempyrean]

I've Got You

〚 Notes - Okay, hello! This fic was the result with another collab with the awesome @lots-of-pockets and I think it turned out pretty good :D 〛

〚 Pairing - Natasha Romanoff x Reader 〛

〚 Summary - It was early into your relationship with Nat when you wound up sick but you didn't have the heart to tell her, unsure of how she'd react. Despite your claims, it seems Nat's a little more concerned about your health than you first thought 〛

〚 Wordcount - 1700 〛

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It had started with a persistent tickle in the back of your throat. A little irritating but nothing a little water and chamomile tea couldn’t fix. But then came the runny nose and stuffed up sinuses, and no matter how many times you blew your nose, it would return with a vengeance. Every. Freaking. Time.  

You end up going through two boxes of tissues in just a day, and your poor nose had been rubbed red raw. You didn’t often get sick. Maybe once or twice a year and it was never anything more than the casual cold. Usually, you’d allow yourself to take a day off work to recoup knowing that your boss wouldn’t want you at anything less than your best, and that was that.  

But you had a sinking feeling that this time, that wouldn’t be the case. You felt absolutely horrible, and that was only amplified by a thousand when you realised that tonight was the night that Natasha going to be driving down to see you. There was no way she could sick you sick, you’d just have to pretend you were completely fine.  

The two of you had only been dating for a little under seven weeks, so things were still pretty new to the both of you. That includes the affection front. Sure, you kissed and occasionally cuddled, but you were nowhere near close enough to be comfortable with her looking after your sick self.  

It was why tonight would suck, because not only would you have to pretend you weren't sick, it meant you would also have to hide every single sniffle, every cough and every sneeze. All of which you knew would next to impossible because you just happened to have a former ex-KGB assassin as your girlfriend. 

You had tried everything to make yourself look and feel better. You even went to extent of gargling with salt water and taking some over-the-counter medicine (which you were usually against) to relieve your symptoms. But nothing seemed to work. 

As the hours slowly ticked by, you found yourself continually feeling worse and worse. Your head was pounding, your body aching, and for the life of you, you couldn't stop coughing. Trying to distract yourself by cleaning up the apartment and making some dinner was hard, mainly because it was a struggle to even stand up for more than a few minutes at a time. 

You tried your best to make yourself look as presentable as possible, despite still feeling like death warmed over. You even took a hot shower, hoping that it would clear out your sinuses, but it only seemed to make things worse. Ignoring the pleasing urge to shove on some warm, comforting pyjamas, you forced yourself to change into some nicer looking clothes, hoping it would distract Natasha from your symptoms, but you knew deep down that it was a lost cause. 

When Natasha finally arrived, you put on your best smile on and greeted her at the door. She hugged you tightly, and you couldn’t help but feel a little guilty for not being able to reciprocate as enthusiastically as you wanted to. 

As you hugged Natasha, you could feel a fateful sneeze building up at the back of your nose. Panicking a little, you tried to suppress it, but your efforts were ultimately in vain. You felt your nostrils flare and your eyes begin to water, and you knew there was no way to hide it much longer. 

No longer able to fight it, you quickly pulled away from Natasha, turning your head and sneezing into your elbow. You tried to play it off as a small cough, but you knew she had heard you. 

"Are you okay?" she asked, concern etched across her features. A hint of knowing crossed her face, but you were too busy trying to stifle another sneeze to notice it. After finally managing to get yourself under control, you send her what you hoped was a reassuring smile as you nodded your head.  

“I’m okay. Just allergies.” You lied, pulling open the front door to properly welcome her inside. Natasha eyed you suspiciously as she stepped inside your apartment, kicking off her shoes andsetting down her overnight bag.  

“I’m okay, really.” You reaffirmed as you closed and locked your front door, turning to face Natasha who was already staring at you with a doubtful look on her face.  

Thankfully, she says nothing, simply taking you by the hand and leading you over to the couch. You sniffled softly as you sat down, and tried to be as subtle as you could about wiping your nose with the sleeve of your shirt.  

There were no tissues near you anyway - not that you could blow your nose even if you wanted to because that would definitely give you away. So, you resorted to suffer in silence, bringing your attention back over to Natasha who was currently telling you about how her drive here had gone. 

As Natasha continued to talk, you could feel the tell-tale tickle in your nose again and you knew that you were about to sneeze. You desperately try to hold it in, clamping your mouth shut and scrunching up your face. You focused all your energy on keeping the sneeze at bay, hoping that Natasha won't notice. 

But just as she finished her story, you can't hold it in any longer. A loud "Hh’iishoo!" echoes through the room, and you cringed, feeling both embarrassed and self-conscious. 

Natasha looked at you with concern. "Are you sure you're, okay?" She asked again. 

You nodded, feeling guilty for lying to her, but what else could you do, "It's just allergies," you repeated your earlier excuse, "I'll be fine." 

Natasha studied you for a moment before eventually nodding. "Okay," She said, still sounding unsure before adding "But if you need anything, let me know." 

You smile gratefully at her, feeling relieved that she doesn't press the issue any further. You tried your best to focus back on the ongoing conversation, but it was getting harder to concentrate with your nose continually running and your head feeling heavier by the minute. 

Giving in, you excused yourself to go to the bathroom, hoping that a few minutes alone will help you regain your composure. As soon as you're inside, you let out a series of sneezes, finally letting your guard down. 

You blew your nose and splash some water on your face, trying to feel better. But as you stared pitifully at your reflection in the mirror, you came to realise that you look utterly terrible. Your eyes are red and watery, your nose is bright red, and you're sweating uncontrollably despite feeling cold all over. 

You took a deep breath and attempted to compose yourself, knowing that you couldn’t let Natasha see you like this. Splashing some more water your face, you took a few final deep breaths before returning back to the living room. 

When you get there, Natasha was stood up again, eyebrow raised pointedly with her arms crossed against her chest. That same look of knowing was back on her face, and you immediately knew jig was up.  

“You’re sick.” She stated, and you felt yourself sigh softly as you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear before sitting yourself back down onto the couch. You don’t deny her accusations, knowing full well you wouldn’t get anywhere if you tried too. 

“It’s not even allergy season,” she added, shaking her head as she sat down on the coffee table in front of you. “You lied to me.”  

“I’m sorry,” You immediately apologised, the guilt you had been feeling suddenly amplified by a thousand at her words, “I just didn’t want you to have to deal with me like this. All sick, congested and gross.” You trailed off in an unsure murmur, using the sleeve of your shirt to wipe of your nose again, not bothering to hide it this time. 

But you grimaced slightly when Natasha took that same sleeve without issue and folded it up so the soiled part of it was out of sight. Apparently, germs didn’t bother her unlike you had previously thought.  

“Look at me,” she murmurs softly, taking your hand in her own and giving it a soft squeeze. You coughed slightly in the bend of your arm before complying. Seeing that Natasha’s lips had quirked up into a soft grin, you couldn’t help but feel yourself mimic it despite how crappy you were feeling.  

“I know it hasn’t been very long, but I promise it’s okay to let yourself be vulnerable with me.” She started, trailing the pad of her thumb across the back of your hand gently. 

You nodded weakly at her words, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. You had been trying so hard to hide your sickness from Natasha, afraid that she would think less of you for being weak and vulnerable. But her words were like a balm to your soul, soothing your worries and reminding you that you weren't alone. 

Natasha stood up from the coffee table and disappears into the kitchen briefly, only to return a few moments later with a steaming cup of tea and a plate of crackers. She set them down on the table in front of you and urges you to eat and drink, knowing that it would help you feel better. 

You took a sip of the tea, letting the warm liquid soothe your sore throat and ease your congested sinuses. You felt a little better already, and it was all thanks to Natasha's care and concern. 

As you ate the crackers and drink the tea, Natasha sat down next to you on the couch and wrapped her arm around your shoulders. Unconsciously, you lean into her embrace, feeling safe and protected in her arms. You felt your eyes close as you took deep breath, savouring the feeling of being cared for and loved. 

Natasha continued to hold you, her fingers tracing soothing patterns on your arm as you slowly drifted off to sleep. You dreamt of being wrapped in her arms, of feeling her warmth and comfort, and of knowing that you were never, ever alone. 

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[hanbxnn]

Omg first request so i’m kinda nervous :> Could you write something about mammon and readers first date?

best worst date

paring: mammon x gn!reader tags: fluff, established relationship, first dates, kisses <3, i fucking love this man notes: IM SOOO SORRY FOR THE LATE POSTTT esp since it's your first req :cc i really enjoyed this so i hope you enjoyed it too anon– my inbox is always open for you

mammon had every single part of the day planned to the absolute second but obviously, everything that can go wrong, does go wrong.

his alarm never rang.

his bed hair wouldn't settle.

he couldn't remember the last place where he placed his rings.

then when he finally managed to leave the house with you, his hands wouldn't stop sweating so he was constantly wiping them against his pants.

seeing you all dressed up next to him with such an adorable anticipating gaze, made mammon's heart thump against his chest.

he had every intention of making this the best day you've ever experienced in your life but he was sure he was going to need to stop by the clothing store if he sweated anymore through his shirt.

sensing his nervousness, you chuckled endearingly, taking a hold of his hand before he could retaliate, pulling him along with the excuse that he was going to make you guys late to the movies.

"i swear i- i had it when i left the house-"

mammon patted every pocket he had on his body, feeling for his wallet that he was certain he shoved somewhere.

"j- just one moment, it's here! i swea–"

his words were cut off when your lips touches his cheek in a quick kiss, taking advantage of his shocked state, you quickly pulled out your credit card for the cashier. taking the drinks and passing them to mammon so you could hold onto to the popcorn and tickets.

"come on, babe! we're in screen four, we should be in time for the trailers." you flashed him a smile as you nudged him towards the general direction.

mammon found himself speechless as he was pushed toward the ticket master, all the way up until the two of you sat down in your allotted seats.

mammon had researched all the hottest movies that were playing in the cinemas in advance, picking a general romcom that received the highest praises from critics.

what he didn't account for was how easily susceptible he was to tearjerkers.

by the end of the movie, he was a sobbing mess. eyes red and puffy with his nose raw from how much he was rubbing them.

you were gentle as you wiped away his tears, letting him bury his head into the crook of your neck as he cried out the last of his emotions, soothed by your soft coos and occasional kisses you left to the side of his face.

just as he had finished calming down, blushing in embarrassment as he tries to wipe away the wetness of his tears that stained your neck. though you didn't seem to be bothered by it at all, instead you pulled out a tissue and began to dab away at his snotty nose with a warm smile.

"hungry?"

and like clockwork, mammon stomach growled as a response to your question. his face heated, tipping down to hide his expression as he quickly pulled you along, headed to one of your favorite restaurants.

you chuckled as you trailed behind him, giving his hand a soft squeeze while you rubbed your thumb comfortingly over his knuckles.

dinner doesn't go exactly as planned either.

the supposedly romantic candlelight dinner was just so conveniently happened to be on the same day as a large family gathering a couple tables down, filling the normally quiet restaurant with loud cheers and an endless continuation of the birthday song.

by the end of the night, mammon was exhausted mentally and physically.

his pout was prominent as he walks you just outside of your bedroom.

"i'm sorry for the horrible date, yer must hate me and never wanna go out with me ever again." he mumbles as he reluctantly lets go of your hand.

his eyes widen when you snatch it back up just as quickly, mammon was taken aback by how your expression showed as if you had just heard the most offensive thing in the world.

"mammon, stop being so silly. i had so much fun today! i'm so happy you took me out on a date today, i'm really grateful for everything you did, thank you."

your hands were gentle as you reached up to cup his cheeks, flashing him a bright smile before inching up to leave a chaste kiss against his lips.

mammon gaped at you from how you seemed to be so content and full of sincerity.

"i don't really want this day to end, do you wanna sleep over tonight?" you glanced up shyly to gauge his response. the mammon that seemed so down not a moment ago felt like his spirit completely revived in an instant.

his eyes sparkled as he nodded his head frantically, there was no need for him to even go back to his room to prepare because the majority of his belongings were already scattered around your room.

mammon mood brightens up the more he hears his favorite sound of your laughter.

as the both of you settled down, with you all snuggled up in his arm, his heart blooms with every word of your retelling of every moment that had enjoyed while you were with him.

as he listens intently to the way your voice lightly trails off, your soft breaths filling up the silence of the room. mammon smiles lovingly as he adjusts the blanket around your shoulders before dropping a long kiss to the crown of your head.

"thank you for giving me the best day ever, i love so you."

no matter how bad everything seemed to go against him, mammon felt like he could overcome anything with you by his side.

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

@sicktember #1

Prompt # 1: Fever

Title: Damn Nick Fury

Fandom: Avengers/MCU

To kick Sicktember off, I'm starting with some classic Avengers sickfic. This is actually part of a longer work that I posted many moons ago on AO3. Still one of my favorite whump fics that I've written.

Clint Barton breathed slowly and deeply as he drew back his bow, sighting in his next target. He was so far unnoticed by the cultists they were fighting, perched high in a tree as he was. Below, Natasha was baiting and dodging them with ease, dispatching one every now and then to keep them occupied. Clint's task was to pick them off as she did so.

Another arrow met its mark.The archer sniffled wetly as he reloaded while cold water continued to trickle down the back of his collar. He had made Fury aware a day or so ago that he had a mild cold, as was his duty as an assassin. If he wasn’t at one hundred percent, his commander needed to know. However, Fury had insisted he and Nat take this mission, since no one else was available. The soaking rain they encountered when they arrived was unexpected. However, it turned out the rain had actually made it easier to obtain the objective of this particular mission. Meanwhile though, it was making Clint thoroughly miserable. Compared to other missions it was going quickly, but the five hour stakeout leading up to the current fight had not been pleasant in the continuous downpour, even up in a tree.

Wiping his nose on his shoulder, Cint again loosed an arrow. Only five more cultists to go. Then they could loot the bunker, get the map they needed, and go home. A drip of water hit him right in the eye, and he growled to himself, inwardly cursing Fury. He had started to shiver an hour ago, though he made sure his hands were steady as ever. He couldn’t wait to take a long, hot shower and sleep for at least twelve hours. He only needed to hold out a little longer.

The tickle in his throat had gradually become a low, irritating ache. He coughed softly. The sound did little to make his throat feel better, but it did make the nearest cultist look up at him. Before the man could do anything other than widen his eyes, Clint’s arrow ended him expertly.

Hawkeye sighed wearily. Four more to go.

~~~~~~~~~~

Thirty-six hours later, Clint and Natasha were relaxing on the couch in Avengers Tower. Natasha had her legs tucked up under her and was reading a book while Clint had his head pillowed in her lap with his arm flung over his eyes. Suddenly, his breath hitched warningly. Natasha lifted her arm in a practiced way to give him room to turn and bury his face into a tissue:

"HehyYIIZSHHhoo! hihtESHHHiew!"

She looked down at him with an irritated sound. "That is the third time you've sneezed in as many minutes. I'm making zero progress in this book. You're going to be finding yourself a new pillow in a minute here. Plus I'll kill you if you get me sick."

He sniffled wetly and blew his nose before replacing his head in her lap with a weak cough. "Aww, you would ndever kill mbe, 'Tash. I'mb the only one who puts up with your crap. But I'mb sorry. I can'dt help the sneezing. It's mbaking mbe mbiserable too if that helps."

She sighed in an annoyed way, but couldn't help looking down at him fondly. "You're lucky I know you well enough to understand what you're saying. And you're also lucky that it just so happens to be true that we tolerate each other better than most, so you're safe from assassination for now."

"Blame Fury. This cold wasn't so bad until I had to sid oud id the rain for hours." He sniffled thickly again, barely turning his head away as he followed it up with a cough.

Natasha made a face, swatting his shoulder lightly. "You're gross. Cover your mouth when you cough. And I don't *have* you let you lay here, you know. You have a perfectly comfortable bed only a short elevator ride away."

" 'm cold though. And if I go ubstairs there's ndo one to mbake mbe tea." He swiped at his reddened nose with the tissue, trying to look extra pitiful.

"You're extra whiny when you're sick. Not a good look on you, Hawk." She carded her fingers once through his hair. "And you're just cold because you're a little feverish."

Instead of replying, Clint halfway sat up again and brought a tissue to his nose, breath scissoring and nostrils flaring.

Natasha groaned as Clint once more exploded into a sneezing fit:

"Gihh-ESSHHshuuu! hehKSHHHshuu!" He coughed, then sneezed again: "ERRSHHhuh! Hih'EZSHHyue! --guhhh." Clint miserably rubbed the space between his eyebrows, slowly lowering himself once again to Natasha's lap.

"Apparently my partner has managed to catch the world's sneeziest cold. How did I get so lucky?"

Once again Clint was kept from replying as Natasha's communicator began to ring. She glanced at the screen, then at Clint.

"It's Fury," she warned.

Clint quickly sat up. She answered the device, turning it so they could both see. Fury's single eye met theirs, looking as serious and commanding as ever.

"Good, you're both here. Barton… your nose looks red. How are you feeling?"

"Aboud the sabe I guess. Sneezy."

"And feverish," Natasha said with a warning look at her partner.

"How feverish?"

"Ndot very. One hundred or so," Clint mumbled.

"That's… not ideal. But I don't have any other option… if at all possible, we need you both out in the field again ASAP. We've discovered a small Hydra base, but it's a crucial one. Some of their brainiest goons are posted there, working on something big. From some communication we intercepted, it sounds like their project is almost finished. I need eyes out there immediately. Recon only for now. Think you can handle that?"

The assassins glanced at each other. "We're good to go," said Clint firmly, though the sore-sounding rasp in his voice betrayed him slightly.

"I hope so. Don't disappoint me. I expect you in the air in an hour or less." With that their director ended the call.

Barton and Romanov glanced at each other once more, this time with a weary sigh from Clint before they stood and went to get ready.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Barton! What's your situation?"Natasha's voice crackled over the com.

"Being... chased by three. Heading... to the roof… of the base," Clint gasped around labored breathing.The metal steps made a sharp clanking noise as the archer sprinted up them, nocking an arrow as he went.

"Can you handle them on your own?"

"We'll… see...," he panted, sweat rolling into his eyes. "Backup… would be nice...."

"I'll be there as soon as I can. I've got 4 of my own. Hang in there, Hawk!" The line went dead for the time being.

"I'm gonna … kill Fury…," he mumbled breathlessly as he reached the roof. He darted to the far side of the area and spun around, taking a knee and aiming his bow at the stairway he had just vacated. The sounds of the three Hydra agents sprinting up behind him were unmistakable, but he was as ready as he was going to be.

"This was supposed to be... an easy recon mission, but noooooo…. It's another... full-on assault," he continued to mumble, trying to catch his breath as the shouting on the stairs got louder.

As an extra stroke of bad luck, it was pouring rain here too. Clint flipped the water out of his eyes with a toss of his head, his hair and clothes hanging on him limply. He hadn't stopped shivering since they'd gotten off the jet. His teeth were now chattering and his fingers were blue with cold. His throat was absolutely burning now, raw and inflamed, the pain exacerbated from running. He couldn't suppress a hoarse barking cough just as the first baddie poked his head through the opening. Clint dispatched him immediately, but the two still coming up were not dissuaded.

The second goon got lucky. Clint's hand slipped on the bow a fraction, and the Hydra agent got hit in the shoulder instead of the heart. The archer knew he was in trouble now. With trembling hands, he managed to kill number three with a final arrow, but the one he had wounded, by far the biggest of them all, continued to advance menacingly.

Hand-to-hand combat was evidently imminent. On any other day Clint could have made short work of this, but this miserable, feverish cold had him operating at around fifty percent capacity and falling. Clint pulled out his knives with shaky hands and another rasping cough. When his opponent was a foot away, Clint tried to leap up to get in the first hit. Instead he slipped and staggered, and the Hydra agent's fist, with all of his weight behind it, caught him in the ribs. Clint heard a dull cracking sound as he was flooded with pain, but he couldn't pause. He spun and ducked, trying to avoid the worst of the blows while trying to get in some of his own. At least ⅓ of his opponent's swings met their target though, and in minutes Clint was battered and bruised, barely clinging to consciousness.

He knew he only had enough stamina for one more try. In a split second, while the Hydra agent was off-balance winding up for another swing, Clint leapt once more, and at last his knife met its mark.

As the baddie crumpled to the ground, so did Hawkeye, wheezing weakly, every breath agonizing. He activated his com as his vision threatened to gray out:

"Roof... clear. Good...Nat?"

"All clear down here too. Mission complete. Nice job, Hawk. Let's turn this bunker inside out and go home."

"Mmph."

"You good, Barton?" she asked, concern suddenly in her voice.

"Gonna need... medevac… Won't… make it down… stairs…."

If Natasha replied, he did not hear her. He let his head fall against the cool, wet metal and let the grayness overtake his vision.

~~~~~~~~~~

48 hours later found Clint lying on a bed in S.H.E.I.L.D. medical with broken ribs and and a confirmed case of pneumonia. He was drifting in and out of consciousness from the drugs they were giving him, but his ears perked up when he heard Natasha arguing with someone nearby.

"He's stable. Not on oxygen. Fever is controlled. He can tolerate oral meds. There's no reason he needs to stay. I promise you, he won't recover while he's here. You need to discharge him home."

The haughty-looking orderly she was speaking with huffed angrily, muttering about shortness of breath and heart rate and changing oxygen requirements.

Clint let himself drift off again to the sound of their voices, trusting his partner to deal with the situation. A cool hand on his cheek awakened him a little while later. He blearily opened his eyes to meet Natasha's, for of course it was she that had roused him.

"We're busting you out of here," she whispered with a little smile. "They're bringing a wheelchair now."

"Thangk god," Clint groaned. "And thangk *you*, 'Tash. You're a lifesaver."

"Eh, you've saved my life plenty of times too. I think we're pretty even."

It took some maneuvering to get a very breathless, battered, and achy Clint out of the bed and into the wheelchair, but they managed it with minimal damage. Once he was settled in the chair, Natasha wheeled him away to their rooms.

Inside Clint's suite, they again had to coordinate getting him from the chair to his bed. Natasha was grateful Clint's pain tolerance was high, because she knew the transfer was far rougher without the assistance of the medical staff. He didn't make a sound throughout the process however, though his face was drawn in pain. As soon as he was settled though, he let out the breath he'd been holding in a rush, which quickly became a nasty coughing fit. He had trouble catching his breath for several moments even after the fit ended. He gasped and wheezed and clutched his ribs, sweaty and reddened and miserable. Natasha could only watch helplessly, stroking his hair to try to help him relax.

"Damn Fury," he croaked weakly when he could finally speak. "This fugcking sucks. "

"Language, please. But I can't argue with you there."

"I'mb gonna kill himb for sending me od thad mission."

"I think he got his just desserts since now his best archer is out of commission for a few months. But at least it seems like the sneezy part of your cold is better."

"You h- had to s- hih- say sumbthing, dih- dn't you?" Clint croaked, gingerly bracing his ribs as his breath scissored and his red nose twitched:

"Gih'tsschh! Ghhnxt'chf! Oh Fugck. Ow! Ow ow ow...." Clint groaned, gritting his teeth, eyes squeezed shut in pain. "Not doing that again."

"Yeah, stifling is probably not wise. Poor sick guy," Natasha murmured, carding his hair with her fingers as they waited for Clint's pain to subside.

After a moment, Clint opened one eye, looking suspicious. " 'Poor sigck guy?' Who are you and what have you done with mby partner?"

Natasha smirked as she sat on the edge of his bed. "Would you prefer I call you a whiny asshole?"

"Yes. Maybe. I dunno," Clint mumbled with a weary sigh and a grimace of pain as he exhaled.

"Well too bad for you, because right now *my* partner is sick and miserable and I plan to baby him at least a little until he's feeling better."

"Guess I'mb nodt complainig," Clint mumbled, stifling a cough, which only made him clutch his ribs in pain. "Hurts whed I cough. Hurts whed I try not to cough. Fugck me."

"Language, seriously. But what can I do to help? You need water, food, drugs, anything?"

"Nodt hungry or thirsty. Too sood for drugs. I just want to sleeb, 'Tash."

"That sounds like a good plan. I'll leave you be then. But I'll be back to check on you soon." She stood up right away, fussing around and tidying up his nightstand area before moving toward the door.

" 'Tash?"

She turned expectantly.

" 'm still cold," he mumbled thickly, looking pale and weary now.

Her face softened affectionately. "Well you're still running a fever, hotshot. You're gonna feel cold."

He groaned pathetically. She moved to his side once more.

"Aww, you're shivering," she murmured, stroking his cheek.

"Told you, I'mb freezing…."

She sighed, looking at him fondly. "Is this you trying to say that you need some extra body heat in bed with you for a while?"

He looked at her pleadingly.

"Okay, okay, no more puppy eyes. I'm coming. But if you get me sick--"

"I know, I know, you'll kill mbe. I'll try ndot to share."

"That's all I ask." She kicked off her shoes and slid into bed beside him, doing her best to jostle around as little as possible. They carefully arranged themselves so that Clint was tucked against Natasha, most of his weight resting against her, while her weight was against the stack of pillows behind them. This position seemed to cause the archer the least pain, and in fact he relaxed against her right away, his breathing deepening.

" I'mb sorry I'mb so warmb. You'll probably swelter," mumbled Clint sleepily.

"It's not the first time I've slept with you when you're running a fever, and I'm sure it won't be the last. As long as you're warm enough."

"Am now," he breathed, nearly asleep.

"Then that's all that matters to me."

[mae-gi-writes]

From Now On | Kevin (The Boyz)

You break down with Kevin when a loved one passes away.

Genre: angst, fluff, sad, mention of death, Kevin moon is an angel 

A/N: for a very special soul. <3 I love you. Stay strong. 

----

Numb. Empty. Void.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” 

“My sympathies.” 

“She was an amazing woman.” 

A hand on your shoulder. You don’t bother looking up, “I can’t imagine how hard it must be.” 

No, you think to yourself. You can’t. Because right now, I am walking through hell. 

There is an abundance of hushed murmurs that fill the room where your mother lays in her casket, looking so ethereally beautiful and serene with her eyes closed and a tinted pink flush scattered over her cheeks. But that’s all a lie, for you know exactly without looking too closely that her chest isn’t rising and falling as its supposed to be. 

“Y/N,” another hand on your shoulder, though this time you recognize the sadness etched in your older brother’s tone. Turning to see Hyunjae’s composed features, what gives him away is the puffiness of his eyes, the scarlet tint to his nose. 

Almost instinctively, your hand reaches out to grasp his arm. A reminder that you are here, with him. Next to him. 

“I can’t find the sandwiches,” he croaks out in the shell of your ear, quiet enough so that no one can hear, “could you help me find them? I think the guests--” 

At this point you can already feel his voice choke up and trip over itself. You squeeze his arm in a gentle manner, “I got it,” you send him what hopes is a sweet smile, though it can hardly pull up your cheeks, before slipping away intot the kitchen. 

It’s impossible to navigate through the swarm of bodies currently littering the corridors. You maneuver yourself to the best of your ability but soon get yourself trapped between a few older women who claim to be your mother’s old classmates, which does not help the tide of pain wrenching through your chest and practically snapping your heartstrings in two every single time the reminder echoes through your mind. 

“She was such a dear! So talented! You look just like her you know,” one of the ladies say with overzealous flair and with tears dotting her eyes. It makes you feel sick, though you manage to plaster a shaky smile.

“It’s sad that I didn’t even get to say goodbye to her,” another sniffled into her tissue. 

“It must be ten times worse for you, Y/N,” they throw you a bunch of watery-eyed gazes and it takes all of your self-control not to scream in their faces to leave you the fuck alone.

You take a step away, “Sorry, I’m just really busy. I’ll talk to you guys later--”

“But wait Y/N, we want to know more,” one of them cry out. 

The other tugs onto your arm, “we can’t believe it happened. And she was so young too.” 

Your brain is screaming at you to run away. To hide. Anything to stop the slow pain spreading through your limbs and causing you to freeze up, your heart clenching and your lungs squeezing so hard through your chest. It’s hard to breathe. Like drowning underwater. Ears blocked and through raw.

You don’t realize that you’ve stumbled back a few steps their arms pull you forward. The women keep on talking over you in hurried sopranos, their voices bouncing around in your skull and causing your head to pound. 

It’s too hard. It’s too much. The memory of your mother’s face surges up through you. The way she died, unfairly, too young. Tears gather before you know it and you can’t breathe and can’t breathe can’t breathe --

“Sorry, I’ll have to steal Y/N for a bit.” 

A hand clamps down on your shoulder, pulls you away. The voices fall away and you take this moment to focus yourself on the warmth of the hand gently holding on to you as its owner steers you away until you are clearly out in the terrace.

It is only then that you manage to let out a shaky exhale. Your headache clears, just a little bit.

And it is only when he speaks that your eyes slide up to the said voice in question.

Kevin gazes down at you wordlessly, maroon orbs soft in the dim afternoon light. 

“Hey, you okay?”

Gratefulness rushes to your heart, just as your eyes fill with unexpected tears. 

You burst into sobs. 

It takes only a second for Kevin’s arms to wrap around your shoulders before he tugs you over to his chest, and as you bawl your eyes out at the unfairness of the world that you can’t even say goodbye to that one person who’s been present from the moment you were born, your hands find purchase onto his shirt if only in a pathetic attempt to stop yourself from getting overwhelmed by the amount of emotion that rips through your throat in the form of hoarse whimpers. 

“Shh,” Kevin mumbles a bunch of sweet nothings in your ear and though you loathe the fake sympathy that comes with a crowd that barely knows you and much less what you are currently going through, you can’t find the energy to push your boyfriend away.

After all, you do trust him more than yourself. For once, you allow your walls to come down. 

You cry and cry and cry. 

You cry, until there seems to be nothing left of your tears, until your tear ducts have dried out and until your entire body seems to be shaking with barely restrained tiredness. 

And through it all, Kevin holds on to you. He holds on like he’s never planning to let go, and your hands clench a little tighter, you hold him a little closer. 

A while later, after almost all guests have vacated your house and after you’ve managed to nod at Hyunjae when asked whether you’re doing okay, you manage to retreat to your room with Kevin in tow, his hand holding onto yours and providing you with a warmth that brings you comfort. 

He sits beside you on your bed as you both watch the sun set in the distance, pinkish hues dominating the sky and painting it in various shades of golden orange and red.

It’s beautiful and yet saddening at the same time to see the first day go by without your mother’s gentle voice floating from the kitchen. The emptiness lingers in the air, a void that mimics the hole in your heart. 

I miss you.

More tears slowly well up at the corner of your eyes and you quickly wipe them away adamantly. You’ve cried enough these past few hours. Enough is enough.

I’m sorry I never told you how much I loved you.

Kevin’s thumb rubs comforting circles over the back of your knuckles. In the silence, you allow yourself to bask in his presence. 

That is really all you need for now. Nothing more. Nothing else.

Just time. Time to heal. Time to suffer. Time to just exist until the pain ebbs away.

I’m sorry I took you for granted.

“Y/N,” Kevin’s soft murmur reaches your ears, “you want to talk about it?” 

You shake your head before biting your lip so hard you taste blood.

“Okay,” he mumbles. That’s when he beckons you into his arms, an embrace that you gladly accept as you crawl into his lap and curl up -- head pressed against the crook of his neck and hands held close to your chest -- as his head comes to a rest atop yours, but not before pressing a gentle peck to your forehead. 

“You know,” his words are muffled against your temple, lips moving against your skin with lingering warmth, “you don’t have to hold it in with me right? I don’t--I care about you. I don’t want you thinking that I can’t handle it. Because that’s what I’m here for.” 

God. This man. A sob almost crawls out of your throat. So you nod, grip his shirt a little tighter. His scent washes over you, a mixture of pine and a dash of coffee mixed in with a boyish smell that comes from his deodorant. 

 It makes you feel at home. At ease. At least with Kevin, there’s no playing pretend.

You’re unsure whether you fell asleep in his embrace, but before you know it your eyes are drowsily fluttering open to meet Kevin’s back. You go to call out his name, only for the smell of fried food hitting your nostrils and turning your head to catch sight of the plate of untouched food by your nightstand, your heart can’t help but melt a little at his thoughtfulness. 

Noticing your movement, the said young man turns before smiling down at you softly, “hey,” he murmurs gently, practically throwing his phone on the other side of the bed and crawling over to where you lie, “you hungry? I brought food. Or rather, Hyunjae did.” 

You know you should eat. God knows when was the last time you’d eaten. But the thought causes your stomach to churn slightly and you shake your head.

“But Hyunjae brought your favourite: meat buns,” Kevin pouts ever so slightly, and pairing that with the slight rumble of your stomach makes you cave in. 

So you nod and he grins back at you, quickly scrambling to your bedside so that he can feed you before you can even protest. You find you don’t have the energy to, only watching him peel off the wrapper and break it into small, bite-sized pieces. 

“Ah,” he holds one out to you and you accept it begrudgingly. You’ve never been too fond of being taken care of. But at this precise moment, you can’t find it in yourself to argue, especially since Kevin has been nothing but your pillar of support throughout the last few hours. How you would’ve managed without him, you don’t even know yourself. 

As he feeds you the rest of the bun, he talks aimlessly about the food vlog on youtube that he’s just binge-watched and how he wishes to visit New York someday to be able to try out all these fancy street foods that keep haunting his dreams. Somewhere along the line, you realize that it’s a little easier to swallow, a little easier to smile up at your doting boyfriend talking animatedly while swinging his arms around. He always does that whenever he gets overexcited. 

Right now, he’s moved on to talking about safe driving on roads implemented by AI technology, “seriously though, it’s kind of scary how technology can do everything these days. At this point we’re not going to  have a zombie apocalypse but rather a robot apocalypse. Can you imagine?” 

“Then they’d be easier to kill, wouldn’t they?” you mumble out, and while it is soft and barely coherent, Kevin’s ears perk up at your participation. That’s probably the first word that falls from your mouth ever since you woke up.

“I guess so, unless they’re already programmed with a hundred of ninja combat moves or something,” he shrugs, moves a little closer to wipe off a few bits of flour stuck to the corner of your lips, “maybe they can even google search it and analyze movements within seconds,” he shudders at the thought, “ooh, scary.” 

“Kevin?” 

“Hm?” his eyes peer into yours, coffee-coloured orbs swirling with naked affection, hand pushing away a stray strand from your face. 

When you speak next, you feel a sob catching in the back of your throat, “thank you,” you swallow hard, “for everything.” 

It happens all too fast. The way Kevin’s arms reach out to swallow you up once more in a bone-crushing hug that leaves you breathless, his lips permanently pressed to your forehead before he nuzzles his nose into your cheek. 

“You don’t have to say thank you,” he murmurs in-between the smallest of pecks he litters across your cheekbone, “that’s what I’m here for.” 

The familiar sting of tears cause your eyes to grow glossy, but this time it’s almost as if your own heart feels a little lighter, a little less burdened. Sleeping had done you some good, and eating had appeased the swelling ache in your stomach.

But Kevin. Kevin had definitely patched up a band-aid over your heart. 

"I know it’s going to be hard, these few months to come,” Kevin continues in a gentle murmur, “but from now on, if you feel like you cant handle it, you have me.” 

Your murmur out a soft agreement, but that doesn’t seem to cut it, for Kevin’s fingers clasp your jaw to tilt it upwards. Your eyes slide to his, intense and persistent. 

“Y/N, I got you. Okay?” 

“Yeah,” you mumble. 

He keeps on watching you for a few more silent seconds. Satisfied then, he pulls you back against him, tucking your face into the crook of his neck once more and placing a chaste kiss right upon your left eyelid, then right eyelid. Then down to peck your lips as your breath stutters out shakily. 

“I’ll be there.” 

It’s a promise. A promise for better days. And hugging him a little tighter, you can’t help but believe in the hope laced through Kevin’s words.

-----

[meet-me-in-the-kitchen]

Hi!!! I've just gotten my wisdom teeth removed and I'm emotional wrecked. Who knew I would miss those little shits? Anyway, could you maybe write something short about Y/n having her wisdom teeth removed and being super sad and in pain and Harry is just there to help her feel better? I love your writing and honestly read all of your work twice at the least. ILY

ANESTHESIA AND LETTING GO

(She would stare at him like he was god’s single greatest gift to humanity.)

“You’re gonna take care of me?” she garbled, gaping so he could see the gauze squished into her mouth and a little bit of blood trickling out of the recent incisions. He tried both not laughing or wincing, but couldn’t help an endeared little smirk tugging at the corner of his lips at her genuinely awed expression, as if she couldn’t believe he was actually there. Thsy’d had to remind her a few times that he was her boyfriend, which worried him a bit at first—he reckoned he’d watched The Vow a few too many times.

“Yes, lovie,” he’d rasped, a warm chuckle rumbling in his chest as he brushed away a lock of hair that was dangling dangerously close to her open mouth. This seemed to cheer her up, because she made a contented little cooing noise, the kind you would expect to come from a woodland creature or a baby, before nuzzling her cheek against his knuckles, gazing up at him shyly while blushing a bit. The older dentist in the room had sighed wistfully while passing by for her post-operative check-up, while her younger assistant sniffed jealously. Loopy from drugs or not, y/n took one look at the woman’s lustful gaze on harry’s bottom and glared at her fiercely, mouth full of gauze. He’d said he was her boyfriend, hadn’t he? That made her his girlfriend and thus perfectly eligible to grab his...

“Oh!” Harry yelped in surprise when y/n’s hands reached behind him and greedily squeezed a handful of his bubbly bottom, a gesture usually performed the other way round, not that he was protesting.

“She’s a bit loopy,” Harry explained sheepishly, a little pink in the cheeks, to the dental assistant, who was now huffing and sneering down at her clipboard. y/n simply batted her eyelashes, mouth still wide open, while Harry gently placed her hands down and she sneakily let them travel down his back and then deliver a firm smack to his backside.

“I can see that,” the assistant muttered darkly. She stuck her nose up in the air, and marched out of the room.

Satisfied that her nemesis was out of the picture, y/n settled back into the chair politely and thought back to what Harry had said before about how he was gonna take care of her and how the smooth planes of his perfectly sculpted face had felt against her cheek; thoughts that once again send blood rushing to her cheeks, and send her into a fit of cute giggles, staring up at the ceiling but not particularly anything as she does so with fingers pressed slightly to her puffy lips.

“Proper spanked me in front of the dental assistant only moments ago, love, and now you’re goin’ all blushy on me,” Harry teased lowly, his own dimple poking out as this sent his girlfriend into even louder giggles, ones that she covered with her hands.

After leaving the dentist’s office, however, things had quickly taken a turn for the worse once the drugs slowly exited y/n’s system. dental pain is quite arguably one of the most excruciating pains to exist on the face of this planet. especially if you’re the one going through it. and besides the physical pain...y/n seemed to be having some attachment issues to her teeth, as well.

“...Harry?” y/n whimpered, curling further into her boyfriend’s chest and looking dolefully up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. His forest green eyes flitted to hers in surprise of her sudden wakefulness. She’d been silent most of the car ride back, after ten minutes of initial happiness and humming his songs loudly under her breath. Once they were back home, she’d clung to his side, and he had to carry her up the steps to their flat, bridal style, because she was kind of flopping all over the place, but he didn’t mind an excuse to hold her so close to him. He helped her into a jersey that smelled just like him to comfort her while she was still neurotically out of it, her cheek squished to his chest while he put Tiger King on Netflix, but admittedly paid more attention to he, looking down every now and then to see a deep-set frown on her fresh face.

“What is it, baby?” he asked. She decided he loved his voice as he talked to her like this, because it was low and pleasant and he took his time saying each word, so it rolled off his tongue like syrup with authenticity and an accent that knew no exact heritage, but Harry. His green eyes were attentive, fingers stroking down her back. “do you need anything?”

“I hurt,” she sniffled, lips trembling. He pouted in response, turning over so he could hold her properly, hips melding together.

“‘M sorry. Do you want more medicine?”

“No,�� she said indignantly, like it was obviously not what she would want.

“You sure?” he asked slowly, eyebrows raising. “I thought it hurt?”

“Not that,” she shook her head, eyes shifting to her nervously twisting fingers heartbreakingly. her lips trembled a bit, and Harry grew alarmed. He was him, so he’d naturally spent hours on WebMd, reading up on the side-effects of even such a common procedure as wisdom teeth removal. Had the dentist damaged the crowns of any other teeth? had she hurt y/n’s gums? what if—

“What’s wrong then, hm?”

“I— I just...” she burst into tears, sobs breaking as she choked out an explanation. In a hushed voice, she confessed: “I miss my wisdom teeth!”

He blinked once. Twice.

“You...” he paused. “Miss your teeth?”

y/n nodded, big eyes filling with tears again at the mention of her long departed acquaintances.

“Like...they were always there for me, you know?” she garbled, tears slipping down her face as Harry frantically tries to swipe them off her cheeks with his own thumbs, while also confirming that his girlfriend has, indeed, finally lost it.

“I mean,” Y/N took a deep breath before diving into a heartfelt monologue dedicated to her teeth. “I could be going through the worst day ever, and i could be a total bitch and most people would probably leave, but my teeth never left me. and like, they never even wanted to leave and they were always there, but I never even tried to make them feel wanted,” she sniffled, blinking back tears dramatically while Harry rubbed the small of her back, handing her a tissue she blew her nose into. “I know that humans don’t need them to chew on raw animals anymore, but...can you imagine how that feels?” She empathized, emotion in her voice, “to constantly be there for this total bitch and then she just wakes up one day and feels a pinch in her mouth—“

“Not a pinch,” Harry muttered defensively, recalling Y/N screaming bloody murder the night before, but unsure as to why he’s defending her from...her.

“—and decides to tear them apart, evicting from the only place they’ve ever really known. I didn’t even say goodbye, and it makes my heart sad,” Y/N aid so defeatedly, it kind of breaks Harry’s heart, too.

“And you know the worst thing,” she whispered brokenly: “they never even saw it coming.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” he stated, wiping away her tears delicately, watching her face until each one was gone, a bare sniffle the only reminder she’d been crying. “I love you too much to let you do this to yourself. We’re gonna watch a rom-com, and...”

“But, I never even named them!” she gasped wetly. He ignored her as she murmured alejandro, wisdom the wisdom tooth, and other potential names for her deceased teeth; while simultaneously contemplating if she could break into the dentist’s dustbin and maybe sneak back her teeth.

But when the day comes to an end and the drugs are flushed out of Y/N’s system, Harry takes care of her. He makes sure Y/N’s getting enough water and eating well; sets a timer to wake her up from her naps and feed her the bitter medicine her scowl suggests she wouldn’t take if it weren’t for him. He would make sure to replace her gauze even if she’s a bit squirmy from all the blood in her mouth, and most definitely wouldn’t be stingy when it came to cuddling; squeezing her so tight with his strong arms, trying his best to minimize the pain as much as possible. that meant pressing light kisses to her puffy cheeks. When she’d be up from an aching mouth, he’d be the one putting his hand under her jaw, massaging lightly, to help relieve some of the ache. He make sure her food was soft and the right consistency, and hold back her hair when Y/N’d inevitably puke from the taste of her medicine, or soothingly rub his warm hand over her back when she was tremoring from the anesthesia leaving her freezing.

“Are you staying?” Y/N asked in the morning, yawning as Harry pulled her up to his chest, stroking her hair.

“Yes,” he nodded, lips pressed to the side of her forehead. “Unless you want me to go.”

Because like her wisdom teeth, Harry would never let go.

MASTERLIST

[yuusa]

𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐆𝐨𝐝 𝟐𝟑

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐈𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐑𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐝

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟐𝟒𝟗𝟒

𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝟐𝟑:

You released a cute sneeze before clearing your nose with a tissue. Although you spent the entire day with Yuki yesterday, you were still feeling a bit sick. Hopefully, you didn't actually give him your sickness either. You both returned to school and were able to finish your committee and homework papers at your house, but you still had to return back to work. Shimada suggested that you rest for another day since you're merely a high school student, she never struck you as the type of person to worry about your health. You decided that it would still be better to return to work though. 

You squeezed some hand sanitizer on your skin as the next customer came through the door. Your eyes widened as you recognized Akito's figure, he pulled parts of his hair back as he approached the counter. He was still wearing extremely bland clothes, something that you noticed was a common feature about him. 

"A-Akito-san, I didn't know you knew about this cafe. . ." You stared at him in shock as you shifted your weight from side to side. This was a very awkward encounter, especially when you haven't seen him in your routine ever since he visited the school. It was almost as if he was trying to distance himself from you. 

You didn't know how you felt about Akito during school, you still felt a bit unsure of what to say to him. You were too caught up in your own world that you failed to realize you hadn't interacted with the dark-haired male at all. You were conflicted about whether or not you should ask him about his relationship with Yuki. You didn't exactly want to be on bad terms with him, especially when he did so much for you at the start of your meeting. 

". . . Hm, a close friend of mine suggested this place to me." He smiled, pointing at one of the drinks on the menu, "I'll have (f/b) with not too much sugar in it." 

"O-Oh, of course. Would you like to have that to go or are you drinking there?" You asked, holding up a marker if he were to order his drink to go. You learned from Shimada that there were customers who wanted their names written on their cups when they order to go so they wouldn't get mix up drinks. 

"I'll be drinking here, thank you." You nodded to his order and handed the order to the kitchen window. You grabbed the wooden tray and walked around the counter.

"Then, follow me this way." Akito smiled behind your figure, admiring your work uniform and the way your apron fitted your body. It was much more attractive than the clothes he was forced to wear at home. 

You opened your hand to gesture at an open table with an empty seat in front, "we don't exactly have single-person seats, I hope this is fine with you Akito-san." 

He only shook his head and waved his hand to dismiss your comment, "I'm not exactly going to be alone, I was hoping you would sit with me." 

You pondered over the professionalism of your job, this was most likely the second time you were invited out during your shift. Although you thought it would be rude behavior for you to simply enjoy a break with someone else, it seems as if Shimada was pushing for you to open up to other people. This wasn't very professional, but you couldn't deny a customer's wishes. You sighed under your breath, holding onto the wooden tray close to your chest as Akito sat down on the seat. 

'Just for a few minutes,' You thought, pulling the other chair for you to sit down in front of him. He leaned his chin against the palm of his hand as he continued to smile at you.

"How has Yuki been doing in school?" He asked, fiddling with one of the sugar packets that were provided in the container on the side of the table. 

"E-Erm. . . He's doing fine." You didn't know if you were supposed to mention the fact that the two of you skipped out yesterday in order to stay home. After all, this was Akito, the head of the Sohma family, you were sure that he wouldn't take Yuki's absence of school too lightly considering the fact that he was supposed to be a model student. 

"That's nice to hear, how about you? Have you been doing?" Akito spun around the packet of sugar around his fingers, feeling the material of the thin paper rub against his skin. 

"I've made a new friend," You said, smiling down as you held onto the tray, "we watched a Mogeta movie together." 

You thought that this might have been the safest information to talk about that wasn't too far away from the truth. You didn't want to involve Yuki in your conversations with Akito, especially after the events that happened that are still fresh in your mind. It might be dangerous for the two of them to meet again, you decided that the best course of action is to interact with the two of them separately. Although they came from the same family, you believe that Yuki only visits Akito during New Years'. It was merely a hunch, but you wanted to believe in something. 

Akito crushed the sugar packet in his hands but retained his smiling face. 'Who the hell is the other bitch?' He cursed, feeling his anger boil within him like a teakettle but he quickly turned off the stove to his frustrations. To say that he was annoyed was an understatement, he was furious inside at the fact that you would watch a movie with someone else that wasn't him, to smile as if you had just found a better friend, not to mention you watched a Mogeta movie with them. The same movie that he went with you on your first date. This new friend of yours may have sparked a flame within Akito that he didn't previously know he had. 

You heard the bell of the counter ring and you quickly excused yourself to pick up Akito's drink. As you turned around to place the drinks onto your wooden tray, Akito's smile dropped to a frown. It was frustrating to him that there was someone else who was trying to meddle in his relationship with you, especially when he went out of his way to try and interact with you. He should look more into your schedule in order to find out who is trying too hard to get close to you. Akito would be extremely angry at the thought of someone else seducing you. Perhaps it was the troubles of being God to mere animals that made his life harder when it came to talking to you. 

You were much different compared to everyone else. You held resentment towards those who have wronged you, you hate them more than anything. There was the feeling of your inner walls being scratched against, something hidden underneath you that you desperately wanted to erase. You knew what it felt having a mother like his. 

It was painful and frustrating. 

But. . . He wasn't going to lose sight of you that easily. 

He watched as you returned with his drink, placing it down in front of him and bowing down in politeness. This gesture of respect made his heart swell and his ego burst, there was something about this small action that made him feel much better on the inside. You quietly sat back down onto your seat, awkwardly fiddling with the apron of your work uniform. Akito's smile returned, he lifted up the cup to his lips, admiring the smell of the (f/b) that was supposedly your favorite.

He wonders if you have gotten closer to Yuki. He heard from Shigure that he has been staying at your house more often. Although he knew Shigure was starting to develop a bit of a grudge against you for your existence to Akito, he knew better than to go against the head of the Sohma family wishes. He stared at your phone that was slightly poking out from your pocket, the eagle charm dangling in the air as if it was mid-flight. 

It might be easier to convince you to stay by his side if it meant putting Yuki on the line. For you, to see everyone's smile was something you were trying to accomplish. You wanted to see them all smile, especially the lonely, timid, sobbing Rat that was crumbling underneath the expectations of others. 

You would break if it meant he’ll smile. 

That was what he was hoping for. You’d be a timid bird locked away for his own enjoyment to see and talk to. 

As he took a sip of the drink, you peered up to look at him, "Akito-san. . . I wanted to ask you a question." 

He set down the teacup back onto the saucer, raising his eyebrow in interest, "and what question would you like to ask me?" 

"I wanted to know why you would go out of your way to meet me like this," Akito stared at you in silence, coaxing you to continue, ". . . I'm just thinking that you must be busy with your own duties."

"You are my precious friend, (L/n)-san." He leaned forward, intertwining his hands and placing his chin on his knuckles, "I like talking to you of course. I may not be able to fulfill the role of a friend to you due to my busy schedule, but I would love to meet up with you more often." 

"I see. . . What exactly do you even see in me?" You asked, watching as Akito's smile continued to widen. 

". . . I see myself in you," Akito slipped his finger through the handle of the cup, swirling the drink slightly, "we're similar (L/n)-san." 

"In what way. . . ?" You felt your hand clench into a fist underneath the table, "we only met a couple of times." 

"I know you've been holding yourself back," Your eyes widened as your blood felt cold, "you think that everyone else wouldn't understand the real you."

That isn't true, it couldn't be. 

"You're a lot better than everyone else aren't you? You're much stronger than everyone else in terms of raw ability, and yet you don't show it at all. Are you holding back? You don't need to hide those urges you feel inside," Akito continued, your body froze still in your chair as you were forced to continue listening to him, "because it's normal isn't it? You'll feel a lot better if you let it all out." 

". . . What are you talking about?" 

"Isn't it obvious? You hate your own family. . . You want to hurt them, don't you? You want to see them suffer just as much as you did.” He concluded, his words stabbing into your heart with every single syllable that comes out, "you're scared that your hatred would spread amongst others, right?"

You instinctively raised your hand, your irritation of the situation getting to your head, as you almost brought it towards his face but froze midway. Yuki seemed to have flinched as he saw your hand but you dropped it to your side, lifeless. The dullness and emotionless look of your eyes were shown through the dimly lit corner. 

'I. . . Don’t want this.’ You thought, your spine getting shivers as your memories began to flood back into you like a tidal wave. You felt as if you were drowning in this situation, the lack of oxygen and weight of your world on your shoulders crushing you into nothingness. 

"I understand how you feel (L/n)-san. You feel so angry on the inside, but you’re bottling it all up. But don’t worry, everyone else is mere comfort. We are the same after all, but you're special." Akito smiled, drinking at his tea while you stared back at him in shock, "you must really care for everyone else, my precious Eagle." 

'Stop.' You internally screamed. This isn't what you want. You tightened your fists, your nerves, and fingers growing numb at the pressure. Your nails digging into your skin and piercing through the surface while you trembled. You felt no tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, your body feeling as if it had been dunked under freezing cold waters, numb and cold to the touch as Akito stared at you with peaked interests. 

If this isn't what you want. . . Then why do you feel so scared right now? 

You slammed your hands on the table, stopping him from continuing any further, the saucer for the bottom of his cup bouncing at the impact, ". . . That's. . . That's not true. I'm not better than anyone else. . ." 

"Why are you denying it?" He asked, nearly finished with his drink, "the more you bottle up all this anger. . . You know that it'll explode in the worst possible way."

"But. . . I won't let you go down that path." Akito stood up from his chair, staring down at your quivering form that was frozen at the table, horrified at how easily he was able to read through you, "if you ever need someone for your anger, I will always be there to provide you with what you need." 

He needed to push you to the very edge if it means he could see your pitiful expression. 

". . . What are you providing. . . ?" You asked fearfully, trying to comprehend the situation thrown in front of you like cold water. Akito walked closer to you, reaching out to hold onto your cheek delicately as he leaned forward into your ear. 

"Toys." He slid his hand down and away from your skin, leaving the cafe without a single goodbye. You were unsure if you ever wanted to hear him say it either, you didn't know if you wanted to hear more of his voice. 

At the table, he left a large sum of money which was worth more than he paid for. There was a slightly crumpled white sheet of paper within the stack. You picked up the cash and held it in your hand, pulling out the white slip that was underneath the dollars and unfolding it. 

'Do not be afraid to ask me for anything you need to release your anger' written specifically by Akito based on his name on the bottom corner of the paper, the black ink bleeding into the parchment as your finger smudged against it. The ink staining your finger with darkness, your (s/c) skin contrasting the sinister color.

You wanted to disappear. 

[debbierhea]

she blames herself

chapter 1 of 2  / wc: 1343 / msr, angst, s10, post-home again

summary: She did not deserve to lose her mother tonight. She didn’t deserve to lose her father or her sister or her children or her dog either. But here she is, a mother without a child and a daughter without a mother, lightly trembling against the headboard of the bed they once shared.

this is the first fic i ever wrote! it got deleted along with my original blog a few years back, so i thought i’d repost for that sweet, sweet validation. this is not a wip. chapter 2 will be posted tomorrow. check out my fic tag if you’d like! xx

She jerks herself from a fitful sleep back into a muddled consciousness. She’s on her back, muscles tensed, jaw clenched. Her hands are balled so tightly into fists that her nails have left deep groves in her palms. She slowly unfurls her cramped fingers to run her hand through disheveled, crimson curls but stops as she brushes the dampness of tears covering her cheeks. Her breathing is labored and she finds it increasingly difficult to allow breath into her lungs. Sitting up, leaning herself roughly against the oak headboard, Scully wraps her arms around herself tightly, anticipating the sobs that will soon be wracking her small frame.

There’s a rustling of sheets beside her and soon she can make out his eyes in the dim moonlight. She can see concern warping his features, making him resemble the young man who stood guard at her hospital bed all those years ago. Scully avoids looking directly at him, knows that seeing the combination of worry and love in his eyes will break her, and she can’t let herself crumble. Not tonight.

“Scully,” he whispers, but she turns her face away. “Scully, please…” He’s pleading with her now. He desperately wants to take away her pain. She did not deserve to lose her mother tonight. She didn’t deserve to lose her father or her sister or her children or her dog either. But here she is, a mother without a child and a daughter without a mother, lightly trembling against the headboard of the bed they once shared. All she has left are two estranged brothers and one estranged friend/partner/lover. He knows he is the root of all of her suffering, but he can’t seem to leave her alone.

The tears are coming faster now, like a river coursing down her fine cheekbones, illuminated in the beams of pale light that slip through the curtains. Her body begins to shake, and she tries to suppress the sobs bubbling up in her throat. Mulder desperately wants to reach out, touch her, wrap her fragile body in his arms and tell her it will all be okay. He uses every last ounce of willpower he has to resist, not wanting to cross the invisible line that was drawn between them when she left over a year ago. He pulls himself up and leans back against the headboard with her, making sure to give her the space she needs to feel in control.

Scully doesn’t speak for a long while; the only sound in the room is her feeble sobs and the sound of the clock, ticking off each passing second.

“She hated me.”

Mulder almost jumps at the rawness of Scully’s voice as she breaks the silence. “What are you talking about?” He asks gently.

“Mom. She–she–,” another round of sobs cuts off her sentence. Her arms are still wrapped firmly around herself, desperately trying to keep the pieces of her from falling apart.

“Scully,” he sighs, “you know that’s not true.”

She drops her head and pulls up her knees so her chin is resting against her chest. Scully’s eyes close and a single tear drips off the end of her nose as she whispers, “You hate me too.”

Mulder jerks his head to look at her. She’s trembling, eyes clamped shut. How could she possibly think that? He wonders. Looking at her, though, he knows she believes what she said is true.

“Scully,” Mulder begins, but she curtly cuts him off.

“Don’t,” she says. There’s a sharp edge to her voice that gnaws at him. He so badly wishes to wipe the tears away that stain her face. He knows he shouldn’t, but he thinks she’s beautiful when she cries.

“Dana.” She startles at the use of her first name and turns her head to meet his eyes before she knows what she’s doing. For the first time since they left the lake where they spread Maggie’s ashes, Scully is actually looking at him and he can see how truly close she is to shattering.

“I could never hate you.” Scully looks as though she will protest this. “Never,” Mulder firmly states.

Scully tears her eyes from Mulder’s and squeezes them shut as new tears threaten to fall. Her hand reaches blindly for Mulder’s in the dark and he meets her halfway, intertwining their fingers. He strokes the back of her hand with his thumb, and, as the minutes pass, the lines of tears criss-crossing her cheeks dry.

Mulder hears her begin to softly sniffle, trying to hide her need for a tissue. He gently squeezes her hand before releasing it, throwing the covers off and rising from the bed. Slipping into the bathroom, he grabs a box of kleenex from the back of the toilet. As he advances towards the bed he can see panic in her bloodshot eyes. She thought it was his turn to leave, that despite what he had just said, perhaps he truly does hate her. Hates her for giving up their son, hates her for leaving. He feels a large lump rise up in his throat.

Hearing him approach, Scully turns towards his side of the bed and as soon as he is settled, she begins inching her way towards his warm body. Mulder immediately opens his arms and allows her to lay her head against his chest. Tissues forgotten, he begins rubbing soothing circles on her back, knowing that she will speak again when she’s ready.

It seems as though hours have passed and Mulder is drifting between wakefulness and sleep when he feels Scully’s soft voice vibrate against his rib cage, “I was a coward, Mulder. And I’m sorry.”

He knows what she means. He knows that she blames herself for giving up their son, for not having the courage to stand by him, to protect him. She blames herself because Mulder isn’t able to know his son. She blames herself because he never got to hear his first word, teach him how to swing a baseball bat, or even see him smile. He knows that she blames herself for everything that went wrong. He also knows that she feels guilty for the precious little time she did get to spend with their son while he was off searching for the truth. His heart aches for Scully, this strong, beautiful woman who was forced to make an impossible decision. Who he forced to make an impossible decision.

“Scully, listen to me. You made the right decision.”

“Mulder…” He can feel her lip quivering against his chest. “I… I threw him away like… like he was garba–”

“No!” And it comes out more aggressively than he intended. The outburst causes her to start folding in on herself again, pulling away from him. He tightens his grip around her waist. “You didn’t. You didn’t treat him like garbage; you protected him, Scully.” Mulder pauses, swallowing hard. “You saved our son.”

He wants to shake her until she believes his words. He wants to kiss her until her guilt is gone. He was to love her until she is whole again.

She shakes her head “no”, rubbing her cheek against his worn cotton shirt. He looks down at her mussed hair and flushed cheeks and can’t stop himself from leaning down and placing a gentle kiss at her hairline. At this, she tenses and then immediately relaxes her body against his. Mulder resumes tracing soothing circles on her back and she sighs.

Mulder realizes that he has allowed her to carry this heavy burden alone. He hadn’t wanted to deal with the emotions and hurt that surround the loss of their son. That’s why she blames herself so completely; that’s why she thinks he hates her. But that stops now, he thinks. This weight will always follow them, a cross they will carry for the rest of their lives. But now they will shoulder it together.

“I love you, Scully.”

Her right hand moves from its resting place on his chest, searching for his left. She intertwines their fingers and squeezes.

[imma-lil-teapot]

TMNT 2003/2K3 Headcanon: Crying - (Raphael)

Feel free to scroll past this first part if you’re not interested in my silly rambling and nonsense. I won’t mind. Promise. ;)

Alrighty then, lockdown has officially started here. :/ *Unenthusiastic streamers fly* Oh well, look what we have all the time in the world for: WRITING! *Enthusiastic streamers fly* Not too much extra to add in this regard since the last headcanon (thanks a bunch for the likes btw, guys :D ), so I guess we’ll just get right into it. :)

Please bear in mind that I’m SUPER rusty! Haven’t written in ages so there are bound to be typos and all matter of general errors scattered throughout the post. Don’t pet them! They bite!  

Anyhoo~ Despite attempting to create and share with the goal in mind to uplift spirits, I decided to start on a rather upsetting subject (PLEASE DON’T LEAVE! They end on happy notes ;) ) because, Imma just come and say it, I enjoy seeing my favourite characters shed tears (not for just any old reason -their personality plays a huge role in this- and CERTAINLY not for sadistic reasons, land sakes no! But… well, you’ll see~ ;) ) It makes me all gooey and fuzzy inside to see them display such raw emotion and I just wanna leap into the TV screen to hug and console them. I dunno why. Maybe I’m nuts like that. (Remembers Raph crying at the farm when Leo was badly injured and wishes she could just hug them all and take away the pain) Oh well, if you enjoy visualizing the same, then *High Fives*. :)

So yeah, if you read the title, you’ll know this is based on the 2003/2k3 series (my favs). Hope you all enjoy~ :D Grab tissues cause sad turts ahead! :’(

Jibber jabber stops here~

TURTLES~

LEONARDO

RAPHAEL - You are here

DONATELLO - Coming soon

MICHELANGELO - Coming soon

WARNING(S): Because of the subject, Angst and Hurt/Comfort will be present.

RATING: G (General)

WORD COUNT: Uhhh... *Shrugs shoulders*

ANYTHING ELSE TO ADD:

Well, you’re just gonna have to scroll down to find him, Master Splinter. ;) I really didn’t know what to add so... *Shrugs* And look at da squishy Turtle Tots, dey so cuuuuute!!! <3 

TO THE HEADCANONS~~~~

~RAPHAEL~

– With his infamous hotheadedness and quick capacity for battle, it’s of course natural at first for one to expect Big Bad Raphie-Boy to be completely opposed to the very thought of crying. He is the resident ‘tough guy’ after all.  

– However, this notion couldn’t be farther from the truth: sure, he can be brash, quick to temper and lash out at those that give him enough incentive to, but underneath that rockhard exterior beats the heart of a real softie, and when something truly upsets that tender muscle, you can bet Mr. Hothead’s not going to try too hard to keep the tears at bay. 

– He’s as passionate as he is headstrong, and reining in such powerful emotions proves to be difficult at most times for him, so out of the four of them, and given the right circumstances, Raph can be surprisingly easy to get the tears flowing.

-- He’s no crybaby by a long shot, mind you, but he also knows that holding back on the waterworks is pointless and makes one just feel worse in the long run. If you’re going to cry, just cry. Simple as that. 

-- Like all of his brothers, Red can’t handle the thought of losing any of his family and close friends. It tears him apart inside and he’ll desperately attempt to protect and prevent anything terrible from happening to them, but when it does, he’s an emotional wreck and doesn’t always know how to handle his distress.  

– His initial reaction is to be by their sides before becoming outraged, and depending on the different situations, it’s not uncommon for him to also nag and pass remarks at the injured brother(s). It’s the only real way of expressing his fear of losing them before dampness starts forming in his eyes.

– Despite his tough guy front, he’s not against crying in front of his family and friends at all. He knows his place and doubts a few tears will have them seeing  him in a different light, particularly his father/master and brothers for they’ve seen the worst in him on many occasions. 

– It’s only when a particularly harsh meltdown wishes to happen does Raph choose to spare them the sideshow; he knows it’s not a pretty sight, so before the sniffling begins, he leaves the Lair and heads topside for some much needed air.

– He chooses the nearby rooftops as his destination; the ideal location to let go of the ever building waves of raw emotion that continue to grip at his chest, and by the time he makes it up the fire escape ladder, he spares little time letting out a rough growl in frustration, kicking an air vent a couple of times for good measure.

 -- With some rage and frustration now out of his system, he heads on over to the brick wall and turns his back to it, roughly sliding down into a sitting position and exhales a dismal sigh. As he subconsciously replays the earlier events through his mind, he finally allows the next phase of his sorrow to surface unbridled. 

-- He dolefully holds his head in one hand and balances it on a single knee pad as the tears now begin to flow freely.

– They instantly soak into his mask, and he grits his teeth as he feels the surges of emotion wrack his entire body. He doesn’t characteristically whimper or sob when crying, but he coughs a lot, and his nostrils leak like a faucet, forcing him to frequently sniff and snort just in order to breathe. This is the very reason why he refuses to really break down in front of the the others; not because of his tenacity, but because he simply finds the whole affair gross. His family certainly didn’t need to hear him constantly hacking up a lung and sounding like an untuned trumpet every time he blew his nose.

– The episode doesn’t last too long, though, much to his delight, and after some more thorough nasal clearing, Raph then wipes at his still somewhat wet eyes and mask before drawing out another -now exhausted- sigh. 

-- He’d begin gradually twirling a single sai around whilst he collected his thoughts. It felt more natural to keep his hands busy than have them being static when he was feeling this way. As his demeanor altered, so did the actions he performed with it.  

– He wouldn’t return to his family just yet for there was still some brooding left to be done... At least that was what he’d convinced himself he was doing. He wanted a clear head when he returned so for now, he’d remain in place on the rooftop in the crisp air with the city bursting with life just below him. 

-- He had to admit, it was certainly the best place for him to be with his thoughts. Comforting in fact. A true New Yorker at heart.

BONUS EXTRA~

– Aside from having everyone special to him perish, one of Raph’s greatest fears is his inability to fully control his own temper. On more than one occasion has it gotten out of hand and thus resulted in him injuring his own brothers, and it had shaken him to the core each time. 

– He’s come to the realization that he is his own worst enemy when it comes to reigning in his own inner rage, and it uneases him immensely that it could happen again and he’s fully aware that the probability is higher than he cares to admit. The more he concerns himself with it, the more it upsets him and thus, the tears of frustration start. 

– Fortunately, his bros are there for him and can tell when he’s feeling low about it. They know the best course of action is to have a light-hearted conversation about it with him and offer their reassurances... With Mikey of course adding his own two cents on the matter in his unique Mikey style, which usually involves poking fun at his brother in red and causing Raph to go from broody to enraged in record breaking time. Just how it should be.

– Not only is Raph A-okay with crying himself, but he’s often first on the emotional support committee to offer the shoulder of comfort to his friends, amazingly enough, and he’s actually pretty decent at it too. Though, not for absolutely everyone; he has his limitations when he knows someone’s really just blubbering for attention.

– He wasn’t always so accepting of shedding tears, though: as a very young Turtle Tot, he often thought of it as being too ‘babyish’ for him to do and thus despised it whenever something happened to cause him to tear up. 

– It took Master Splinter a rather surprisingly lengthy amount of time to change his perception of crying. No amount of explanations on how it was a perfectly natural expression of emotion would sway his son. 

– It got so out of hand that Raph would be in utter denial about crying right in front of his father, even while the latter would be staring at his tear-stained face directly in front of him. “M‘not cryin’,” the little Turtle would sniff. “Cryin’s fah sissies.” 

-- Splinter could only sigh and shake his head as he knelt down to embrace his son. When could he feel that Raphael would not fight the closeness, he’d give him the same lecture again, and Raph would finally succumb to his emotions and sob into his father’s robe whilst Splinter comfortingly rubbed his shell.

-- He could only guess that his words finally got through to his son for ever since that day, Raph’s entire attitude had altered for the better on the subject.

BONUS EXTRA EXTRA FEMALE READER OR S/O EDITION~ (Can also use an OC/FC insert if you wish, up to you)

From the moment you entered the Lair, you could clearly see something was up; Mikey was nursing an obvious wrist injury with a bag of frozen peas and hovering around Donny’s work area, complaining about the swelling to the purple-banded Turtle, who appeared to be paying little attention towards his ‘younger’ sibling as his back was turned.

"Hi, (Y/N).” 

You visibly jumped at the voice behind you and briskly turned, only to meet Leonardo’s placid form, and he swiftly apologized for the start. 

After the formal greeting, you gestured with a thumb in confusion at the former scene with an added, “Do I want to know?”

The leader’s facial features altered to a more serious aspect. “The end result of testing Raph’s patience,” he offered, which instantly had you more than a little concerned. Sure, Mikey could come off as being annoying, but to go so far as to physically harm him? 

“Are you sure it’s not worse than ‘just a sprain’?” You overheard the injured brother asking Donny, whose focus remained on a contraption of sorts you couldn’t quite make out on his desk.

“Yes, Mikey, you’ll live,” he responded with just a hint of weariness. “But no swinging your nunchucks around for a coupla days,” which was met with a typical whine in response from his patient. 

“It’s really not as bad as he makes it out to be,” Leo then added, turning your attention back towards him. Though you didn’t express it, you were grateful to hear the good news.

"Where is he now?” 

“Topside most likely.” Of course. It didn’t surprise you in the least that Raph had chosen to head there and you quickly set a course for the surface. “Need an escort?” The leader in blue offered, to which you politely declined. You knew he needed no further explanation. 

As you pushed back the manhole cover and made your way towards the nearest fire escape ladder, you were unable to put aside the various speculations as to why your special Turtle would hurt his own brother... Well, you would be kidding yourself to say you didn’t have at least one very plausible theory in mind, but as you neared the top of the ladder, the guesswork was instantly dropped and replaced with trepidation for you knew how Raph felt about injuring family. 

To put it simply, you were going to be dealing with a very dejected Turtle, and true to form, as you peered over the top of the building, the iconic emerald green hide and red mask tails met your sight. 

This was Raph’s favorite spot to gather his thoughts after all, so it was a no-brainer decision to begin the search there, and it was clear as day that it was exactly what he was doing for he made no effort to acknowledge your presence as he remained seated against the wall in a slouching position and gaze locked out front. 

As expected, he appeared to be moping. “Hey, Raphie,” you greeted, clambering over the wall. 

You were unable to tell if he had been aware you were nearby for he made no prior indication but instead merely replied with a gloomy, “’Sup, Kiddo?” No movement whatsoever. 

It amused you whenever he chose to refer to you by that nickname, especially since you were both the same age, but as you ambled on over towards him, you were left anything but amused as your former notion was set in stone when you caught the telltale signs of wet stains under his eyes. “You okay?”

“Peachy.”

It wasn’t the first time you had witnessed ‘ol Red crying, but it didn’t prevent your heart from breaking all the same. Something about seeing the bullheaded bad boy in tears left you in a real state of dismay, so without invitation, you seated yourself next him, affectionately leaning against his side, but before the consoling could begin, you had to gently ask, “You wanna tell me what happened?”

“Ugh, it was so stupid! Mikey wouldn’t quit goin’ on n’ on about beatin’ me in the Battle Nexus tournament and kept rubbin’ it in our faces about becomin’ the champ,” he exclaimed with shockingly little provocation, sniffing loudly. “I jus’ got so sick’ve it this time, an’ it’s not like we neva duked it out before or nothin’ but... I went too far this time, (Y/N), ya know?” 

He still refused to look at you as he began to wipe away some fresh tears that were forming in his eyes.

Your assumption had been correct all along; you acknowledged full well how Mikey’s triumphant achievement grated on Raph’s last nerve and how the orange-banded Turtle would seek out every opportunity to gloat about it in a bid to purposely provoke his ‘older’ brother. “Well, you know Mikey, Raph,” you said, not quite sympathizing with the actions he took, but rather offering some support. “He tries to get under your shell on purpose.”

"Yeah, I know, but... Dat’s no reason ta clobber the guy. Not like that, anyway” You noted how his voice gradually lowered grievously and you couldn’t stop yourself from placing your head on his shoulder. 

“No, it isn’t, but...” you knew you were grasping at straws by this point, but still offered, “They say it’s not as bad as he makes it out to be.”

He sighed dolefully. “I lost control again, (Y/N),” and you could feel the vibrations beginning to surge through him. “No matta what I do, I jus’... I jus’ can’t...” He trailed off, wracked with emotions as he covered his face with one hand and allowed the tears to fall, a cough slipping here and there.

You heart bled for this boy, and more than anything right then, you longed to relieve him of the pain, so you did the only thing you could think of: be right there by his side, comforting him through the breakdown. “Oh, Raph. It’ll be okay,” you calmly whispered, slinking an arm around his carapace and shoulders, bringing him closer and lightly squeezing his bicep with your free hand. “It’ll be okay.”

He leaned into the much needed support and continued to allow his misery to flow forth. You didn’t mind in the least for it was exactly what he required in order to heal, and you would be there for him every step of the way.

AND THAT’S A WRAP!

ALL THE FEELS!! I EMBARRASS!!

WOOT, that’s Turt number two completed! Sorry it took a little longer than expected; I still feel rusty with sentence structure and all and am not entirely pleased with the outcome, but I did feel an improved ‘flow’ from the first so maybe things are slowly coming back to me? Or maybe it was the scenario; it felt more natural o write than Leo’s... Maybe cause Bloo Boi’s my fav Turt and I felt added pressure with his?

Oh well, Donny Boy’s next~

Thank you all so much for the read and hope you enjoyed~ :D

~Drag0n Mistr3ss’ Random Fandoms*

[thekriseffect]

Beautiful Imperfections Part 1 (Nik x MC)

[Note: Nightbound is just too good to not make a fic or ten fics for and while I love all the LI’s in the book (seriously, it’s a little insane how great they all are), my Nik inspiration was alive and kicking this afternoon which resulted in me hurrying to put my random and scattered thoughts on paper and try to rearrange them to make something actually decent. Did I succeed? Maybe. Probably... hopefully?]

[Summary: Every scar has a story to go along with it. Nik finally tells Sam some of his own. Part 2 is in the works!]

[Song Inspiration: Elegy- Nathan Matthew David.]

It’s still well into the night, but my brain is working the graveyard shift, so I’m wide awake. Everything’s quiet. Outside the single barred window the sky is still black with the world and its troubles being muted until sunrise. It’s a short-lived standstill, I know, but I’ll take anything I can get at this point. Being hunted by a bloodthirsty creature has more cons than it does pros.

Moonlight casts into the room, causing the skin of Nik’s bare torso to glow like smooth marble and the usually sharp features of his face to be softened as he lays silently underneath me. With my knees on either side of his hips, I watch his chest rise and fall, rise and fall, counting each breath in and each exhale out to counterattack the anxiety that threatens to choke what little life is left in me. And even though his draws are deep due to sleep, he doesn’t make a sound. If I wasn’t looking down at him I wouldn’t even know he was here.

It’s the one time I get to see him like this. Untroubled. Unmoving. Bare. No mask to hide behind or opponent to impress with cunning wordplay. Not the Nighthunter Nik, but my Nik, hidden demons and all.

Here, in the solitude of his bedroom with him pressed up against me and the heat from last night still tingling up my spine, I’ve never felt safer, even with all of my flaws on display. I trust him more than anyone else.

You shouldn’t, utters the annoying voice in the back of my head.

“The Prince of Swords… he knows more than he says, and the dark in him is strong. But he won’t leave your side.”

My eyebrows knit together as I stare down at Nik.

“Don’t trust the jealous boy.”

Desperate for something to ground me, I reach out and gently brush my fingers along a long, deep scar just under his collarbone. Nik’s eyes snap open. Within moments he has my wrist gripped between his large fingers and away from his skin.

“What are you doing?” He asks me curiously, cautiously. Sleep still tints his voice but his eyes are alert and watchful.

“Nothing but sinless things, I promise.” I smirk at him.

“Nothing is sinless when it comes to you, Samantha.” His voice is teasing as he guides my fingers back to his chest, pressing my palm over his steady heart.

“Sam,” I correct, causing him to smile smugly up at me.

I brush my fingertips over the mark again, tracing the mangled tissue lightly before grazing it with my nails. Nik doesn’t say anything, just watches me. His eyes flit over my face as if taking every detail to memory. I should feel vulnerable. I’m exposed, straddling him with nothing but a sheet clinging low to my waist. His skin burns against my own with nothing there to separate us. I should want to hide myself, but I don’t.

“What’s it from?” I ask him.

He doesn’t answer right away and I’m about to ask a second time when he says, “Skin-walker. One of my earlier jobs. It was posing as a coyote, trying to lure a little boy from his front yard into the woods. I intervened, it attacked.”

“How’d you know it was a skin-walker if it was posing as a coyote?”

“Some monsters can change their appearance but no monster can change its eyes.”

I point to another spot. Three round wounds positioned close together, each the size of two of my fingers combined. “And these?”

“I have a goblin to thank for those,” Nik tells me as he rests his palms on my hips, gripping them softly. “He was more difficult to track down. He’d been terrorizing the town by stealing their dogs and leaving their bones behind, thought he was being funny. He knew I was around so he hid himself well… for a time. The asshole was living down in the sewers. It was close enough to the city to come and go whenever he pleased but hidden well enough for them to never find him.” He rubs his thumb over the marks. “Turns out goblins have pretty sharp nails and they aren’t afraid to use them.”

Before I can ask him about another, he suddenly sits up so we’re nose to nose. His gaze drops to my lips. “Are we playing twenty questions now?” Nik teases.

“Maybe. If you want to.”

“I want to do many things with you, Samantha, but silly games is not one of them.” His voice grows deep, husky, and I find myself subconsciously tightening my legs around his hips in anticipation.

I wind my hand across his broad shoulder and around his neck to grip the hair at his nape a little too tightly in my fist. Nik sucks in a sharp breath. “But I like playing games,” I whisper against his lips. The hunger in his eyes makes his smile seem almost predatory.

My other hand wanders greedily. Tracing the veins up his muscled arm, feeling the tight skin of his back, dipping teasingly low on his waist and over his hip bone until my fingers meet another scar. Newer. Deeper. The skin still red and raw and sensitive.

“Bloodwraith,” I whisper. His eyes soften as he tightens his arms around me. The memory comes to mind, sharp and blinding like a photo being snapped. One minute he was there next to me, and the next he wasn’t. Blood warming my hands as I reached for him. Someone screaming, and it wasn’t until later that I realized it was me. Raised voices telling me to do something though I couldn’t understand what. I hold Nik close to my chest.

We don’t say anything for a while then. Enjoying the feel, the scent, the heat of each other. I rest my chin against his shoulder and press my lips into his throat as I say, “They’re beautiful.”

He snorts. “Hardly.”

I pull back to grip his chin between my fingers and force his gaze to meet my own. “Every one of these scars is proof that you lived through something you probably shouldn’t have. Wounds don’t become scars unless you survive.” I press my lips to his. “They’re beautiful.”

[isthisthingeven0n]

party’s over : d.d

okay, so this is angsty and I will let you know now that there isn’t a second part coming.... you’ll see. 

brief summary: it was a simple arrangement until you started to long for it to be more. you saw all of it, all of him but you didn’t know how to say it. that is until you find out you have to leave the country and it’s now or never.

** masterlist  **

Reaching over for my phone I hear him grumble beside me, but I ignore his hands starting to roam across my thighs. “In a minute, Dave,” I mutter as I see a series of messages flooding my phone. 

Scanning the words I push his hands off of me, sitting back upright and staring at my phone with wide eyes as my mind goes blank. “What’s up?” 

I shift on the spot as I open my mouth, but the words struggle to leave. If I say these words aloud, hear them for what it is then it solidifies all of this, that this isn’t some sick prank. “I’m being kicked out.” I mutter, but as I turn to look at him he seems unphased as his hand returns to my thigh, slowly gliding elsewhere. 

“So? You can just find another place easy.” He states, shrugging his shoulders as he lowers his head. 

Pushing him away I stand up by the window, holding my phone close to my chest. “No, David. I’m being kicked out of the fucking country.” I state loud and clear and this time he doesn’t respond. Instead, he sits perfectly still whilst I quickly change and walk out of his room. 

I reach for the front door, but the sound of drastic footsteps interrupts me. Turning he stands behind me in just his boxers, panting lightly. “Okay, what can I do to get you to stay?” He asks and a soft chuckle sounds from me involuntarily. “I’m serious, Y/n. What can I do that means you don’t have to leave.” His eyes pierce into mine, those warm earth tones rising through me like a growing tree as the branches wrap around my heart, tugging it a little bit tighter. 

Shaking my head I lean forward, kissing his lips chastely. “There’s nothing we can do, Dave.” I mutter as I open the door. “Guess you’re going to have to look for a new fuck buddy.” 

Before he has the chance to say anything I close the door behind me, stopping myself from saying anything else I know I’ll regret. 

It was supposed to be an easy arrangement, no strings attached, just friends, a way to relieve stress, a term of agreements whilst we were both single. 

Yet, like every single cliche movie about friends with benefits goes, someone has to catch feelings. And I am hook, line and sinker. 

*

Unable to keep my knee still I feel his hand rest on top of it as I pull down my skirt a bit more. “Is this alright?” I ask and he straightens his tie, smiling over at me. 

“I think you look beautiful.” He mutters, catching me off guard. And based on the blush that crosses his cheeks it was just as unexpected from him too. 

“Miss Y/L?” Standing up I brush my skirt down, heading inside of the office with David and my lawyer, knowing after the next half hour I’ll know whether I’ll continue with the life I’ve established here or have to return home - just like everyone else. 

Opening the door I can’t help but wipe my eyes, that was it. “There’s nothing we can do I’m afraid, Miss Y/L. We have searched for a loophole, but in your case, we’ve found nothing.” She sat there, across the table from me feigning sympathy. 

I can’t say I don’t blame her, this is her job. The number of people she must see every single day, telling them whether or not they can continue living in a country advertised to the world as a place of dreams; and her job is to crush them with a single sentence. 

“Y/n,” David calls out after me but I wave him off as I rush into the nearest toilets and shut the door allowing myself a moment of defeat. 

Burying my head in my hands I sob, I finally allow myself to let it sink in. The fact that this is it. Everyone I’ve met, the memories I’ve made. The place I’ve established here is gone. And he will be nothing but a distant memory. 

I sigh loudly as I blow my nose before a small knock on the door alerts me. “Erm, occupied?” I hesitantly mumble, but a small chuckle eases me. 

“You going to open the door?” He asks sweetly, and by the prolonged silence he sighs. “I can’t see you shaking your head, Y/n. Just, please?” This time it sounds more pleading, desperate to see me with my makeup melting down my face. 

Standing up I shuffle closer to the lock, my hand shaking as I pull it to the side and pull it open as my eyes remain locked with the floor. “Happy now?” I grumble as I lift my head up, seeing the shock in his eyes. 

He reaches his hand out, pulling me closer until I’m resting in his arms and after a moment I hold him back. I wrap my arms tightly around his middle as I bury my head against his chest, not caring that I am stood in the toilets. He sighs as he rests his chin on the top of my head and then I feel it. A light kiss on my head. 

“We’ll get through this, Y/n.” He mutters before pulling away, his eyes locked with mine with such emotion. 

I stare back in confusion. It was the sort of emotion I didn’t know he could portray. Whenever I saw him he was usually needy, wanting attention, wanting to be pleased or bored. But this, this was something else, something deeper than a want, it was more of a need. 

Shaking my head I walk over to the sinks, taking the tissues from my pocket and soaking them before rubbing my face forcefully. I can feel my skin becoming raw as I continue to rub off the evidence that I lost. I don’t want to leave this room weak. I want to leave feeling strong, that despite the fact I am losing everything I don’t want it to show. 

A light touch to my arm stops me. I look up, seeing his expression in the reflection of the mirror. I lower the tissue, letting it fall into the sink. My nose is pink, all red as his eyes focus on me. “I can’t lose you too.” He tells me before I watch him turn me around. 

With my back pressed against the sink, I have nowhere to go. “Dave, I’m not in the mood okay?” I blankly state, avoiding his longing gaze. 

He sighs, shaking his head. “Y/n. I don’t mean it like that,” He says softly, bringing his hand up to cup my cheek as he strokes away the bits of tissue that refused to leave. “I don’t want to be your friend with benefits, the guy who has no strings attached. I want the strings. I want them to be tangled with yours.” 

I let out a small laugh. “Wish you could’ve told me sooner.” I respond with a smile and see his eyes watering. 

“Yeah,” He whispers. “I really should’ve.” 

Moving his hand away I step away from him, heading back towards the door. “I guess this is goodbye, Dave.” I let out a sigh, hovering by the door as I take one last longing look at him. 

But I know this version of him isn’t the one I adore. I love the one who sits in his own merch editing his videos, laughing at his own jokes as they play back on repeat. The version of him that’ll want me to be comfortable when we would try something new in bed. Who would look after me if I got sick. Who would do anything to help me stay, even if there is no answer. 

“Bye, Y/n.” He mutters, lifting his hand as I open the door and walk out. 

No turning back. No defeat. 

This is it now. Leaving with those strings pulling me back towards him, wanting nothing more than to be tied together. But I have no choice except to cut them apart. This is one version that the movies never show, the reality. 

[darksiders-scenarios]

Intimate moment with Death and reader?

As intimate as you'd get from this utterly unreliable piece of *beeporbeamshutup* pathetic excuse of a wannabe writer. 

...I missed you. 

You awoke again. Like every night, you pocketed the folded rag from your desk before swinging your legs off the bed, ignoring the cold that seeped through the marrows of your bare feet as you made your way down the stairs and out the house. You clutched the borrowed thick cowl around your body tighter as you stepped into the night autumn chill.

Like every night, the dark figure sat cross-legged on the porch outside your broken house. Across his lap rested a monstrous gun. He sat hunched with his back to you, cleaning the weapon with scrupulous care. Today, it seemed, was Redemption's turn.

"Greetings, Y/N," Death acknowledged you as he pulled a cloth through the muzzle of the pistol.

"Hello Death," you returned as you approached him, your slippers crunching the dry leaves until you stood in front of him. Death briefly glanced up at you before returning his attention to the task. You smiled bleakly as you watched him.

As he wiped, you noticed that the cloth was clean, bare of even a speck of grime. Death seemed oblivious to that, or perhaps, he simply didn't care. He seemed to prefer the simplicity of the monotonous act, enjoying the tactile stimulation it produced as he clicked and dismantled each metal component. His golden eyes were drawn to the roughened fingers that handled Redemption with reverent care, as though tending to a delicate bird. The weapon struck you as something dearly significant to him yet despite your curiosity you kept your silence. Some things were better left unvoiced.

Like every night, you approached him under the pretense of offering him a clean rag, when really all you wanted was to keep him company. Like every night, Death put away his current rag, usually it would be oiled and grime drenched, and accept yours with a grunt of thanks. You would then wait a few seconds before retreating back inside, the wave of guilt swamping you from intruding upon his private moment. The stone in your chest would swell into a painful boulder, leaving you breathless as you closed the distance to your room.

That was what you should've done tonight. At this point, you should've retreated into the house and left him to his ponderings and silent repetitive ministrations. The intention was oddly absent, in its place a lingering agitation elevating into the folds of your otherwise calm. Or was it apathy? Was it apathy? You told yourself it did not matter. But one thing was certainly clear; where Death was filled with infinite patience, you were, for the lack of a better term, not.

Tonight, you lingered.

Predictably, your spectral companion noticed. "What do you want, friend?"

You cut to the chase. "How are you?"

"A curious opening."

"A curious evasion."

The edges of his lips peeked from his mask and you knew that he was smiling. "Your insight is, as always, dutifully constructive."

You smiled. "You took the words out of my mouth."

He nodded. "Constructive."

You nodded. "Curious."

He exaggerated a sigh, but his breath rumbled softly from a poorly hidden chuckle. "Very well."

"Is that a 'very well' statement, or a 'very well' response to my question?"

"You're the insightful one, I have faith that you'll have no trouble deducing it."

You pursed your lips, feigning a contemplative mien. "Curious."

Death rolled his eyes, but the crease around the edges betrayed his amusement. "Very well then. I will indulge you, human. In the dialect of your people, the adequate response to your question would be, 'I am fine'. Do not bother answering with 'a curious way of putting it'."

"I wasn't. You're quite right about the dialect. It certainly seems-" you caught yourself, "seemed a universal response. Curious, yes?"

"Yes."

'Yes' as in 'Shut up, Y/N, I’m tired'. You shut up.

His attention was focused on Redemption again. You waited silently, absently toying with a lock of hair on your neck.

"I appreciate it."

You blinked. "I'm sorry?"

Death fell silent for a moment, his brows knitted as though ruminating over his own whispered blurt.

"I am aware of your intention Y/N," he explained, his tone surprisingly soft, "You seek to stay by my side under the pretence of bringing me this rag. I am aware."

You grimaced. "Are my thoughts like glass, so obvious?"

Death shrugged.

You shuffled on the spot, unsure what to make of this. Rationally, you felt that you should be embarrassed. But instead, you felt like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders, an odd sensation of liberation soothing you.

"You're not wrong," you admitted.

Death continued cleaning. 

You sighed. "There's no use hiding it then. I worry about you. We..." you swallowed.

"Speak."

You spoke. "We are all bound by some measure of secrecy and entitled to our own mysteries. Candidly, there is nothing more than I wish to share your burden, a sliver of it, a dime, a speck, an atom even." You drew close and placed a tiny hand on his scarred shoulder, the skin was cold to the touch. "You once told me that I can ask anything of you, after..." you hesitated briefly. "after the Hunter."

"I have."

"I would like to ask you something now. A favour even"

"Ask."

"Your soul, deny it as vehemently as you wish, is injured. Your heart, or whatever it is that beats in your breast, aches."

His fingers methodically worked through the magazine, inside and around the barrel in religious strokes, disassembling all the parts with metallic clicks as he cleaned, a mantra he's repeated innumerous times.

You took a breath. "Let me stay with you tonight, Death. Please. I know your need to suffer in silence, your need to endure this penance till the stars die out. No, I am not imploring you to stop, though it would be nice of course." His eyes creased slightly. "No, I simply ask to offer you companionship, as you confessed to already being aware of."

"You already do."

"Emotionally."

Death set aside Redemption onto the slab of rock beside him, the metal coat pristine and unblemished in the bleached moonlight, and used the clean cloth to wipe his hands. Then he sighed, and never had the Horseman look so weary, as though the years were beginning to catch up to him. He rubbed his head with the heels of his palms and met your gaze.

"You hopeless fool," he said.

You nodded. "Even a fool can see that."

Death chuckled, and you felt the texture of his scars and deep lines of old injuries heave beneath your touch. You waited several moments. When he said nothing else, you withdrew your hand from his shoulder and turned, ready to walk away to give him space.

"Come here."

You don't remember pivoting on your heels and cross the distance. You could have glided for all you remembered.

Large hands dangling between his crossed legs, Death leaned forward, searching your face. His amber eyes were intense as they studied you as if seeing right through your heart and soul. You gasped when you sensed the faint nudge of a mental connection, a gentle prodding upon the lid of your mind and you knew that Death was silently awaiting permission. He wanted you to be aware of his intention. You managed a single nod, the gesture stiff. It was difficult to relax from this intrusion despite the wholehearted trust you placed in its owner.

You were not alone in your mind. A measure of his power flitted through you, the gentle prodding fanning through the membranes of your conscious, and you knew that he was searching for something specific in the vaults of your cognition rather than simply rummaging out of snoopiness. The sensation wafted over you and it was uncomfortable truth be told. But you trusted. And allowed. Death's gaze never wavered.

Then it was over in the time it took to blink. Your breathing had quickened and you were shivering.

"You are honest," Death pointed out, a sliver of an unknowable emotion in his voice. The tone in which he spoke them almost implied that he was about to say more but cut off before the syllables became audible.

You weren't really sure how to react. "I have nothing to hide."

Death stared at you for several seconds, he remained seated so you can see each other at eye-level. At length, he pulled back to push his mask up to expose the lower half of his face. You gasped and immediately dropped your gaze, instinct compelling you to respect.

"You may look upon me," Death said, his voice low and resonate to your ears. Your eyes widened as you understood. Death was baring himself to you, akin to shedding a last article of clothing and granting you access to that intimate, this most sacred part of him. He was returning the favour. As you allowed him access to the inner sanctum of your mind, Death was baring his raw, naked self to you. The enormity of this gesture and what it represented was enough to constrict your chest, making it difficult to breathe.

Your hair grazed his chin as you shook your head.

"Thank you, Death. But I will have to decline in this instance," yet even as you said the words, your fingers reached up to brush the planes of his scarred face with your fingertips, tracing the bumps of healed scabs and tissues of old injuries, mapping the lines of his chapped lips, the length of his strong nose and hollows of his cheeks, it was as though you were blind and needed to rely on touch to visualise his features, which in a sense, you were. "This mask, this utmost vulnerability of yours. No, I shall not breach it."

It felt like hours before Death spoke. "I am grateful," he said simply, without elaboration. It was not needed.

Yet even as he said the words, his cracked, cool lips brushed against your forehead, the contact sending a jolt of shock through your synapses and causing your heart to thud as the hard bangs of gunshots against your ribcage. You forced a shuddering breath out, a sigh feathered by a nervous laugh.

There was a brief movement and you knew Death had locked his mask back in place. "But there is something I would like to breach," your voice was hoarse, not fully recovered.

You felt his gaze upon you as he waited.

Your hand rested on his shoulder again and you lifted your head. "I know you are hurting. There is little I can offer in the way of defense and attack. But I think I can offer an emotional shoulder to you, if you let me," you swallowed a strange lump in your throat.

You might as well cut to the chase. "May I... May I hold you?"  

Death chuckled again but his voice was bereft of mirth. If anything, it sounded rueful. "By Creator, you are a hopeless fool," he ran a hand through his damp hair, pausing a fraction. "Come."  

The permission was granted. You acted immediately, desperately, as though you were a starving soul reaching for a morsel before it was snatched away. Death uncrossed his legs, allowing you to draw close and slip your arms around his back. There was a brief reluctance when your hand touched his cold jagged spine, as though waiting for a kind of affirmation to continue. Death reciprocated slowly, one thick arm wrapping around you loosely, angled so the hollow of his palm cradled the back of your head, the gesture gentle despite the rippling strength that ran through the large appendage.

You clung to him like a barnacle.

It was through him, through Death, the very antithesis of life, that you were gifted with a second life. Another rebirth. Where you had been a lost wanderer, broken in mind and spirit, it was Death that served as your backbone, the anchor that prevented you to further collapse into yourself. You thanked him for that.

Yet for a time, your heart had calcified to stone, a defense mechanism to survive the predicament of... of everything really, although predicament was putting it very mildly. Along the way, you had learned to shield your heart behind a stone mask of apathy, to protect and survive. As your mien was hardening, his was softening. The knowledge was quite humourous in a way. The Nephilims, fearing, murderous barbarians, created to be immune to such trivial emotional liabilities  - and then you had anomalies like Death who rose above.

Death who rose above.

For a while, you simply held each other, chest to chest, and you felt the shard fragments of his slaughtered kindred pulsating rhythmically to the wet drums of your heart, almost acting as his pseudo heart. You unconsciously pressed yourself tighter to him, as though your heart sought to soothe the ache in 'his'. His chest muscles flexed with every slow breath and you absently stroked up and down the length of his scarred back to immerse yourself in the closeness.

Your visual perception distorted and you blinked wetness from your eyes.

"I am here," you whispered, dimly aware that you uttered them aloud. You tilted your head up to nuzzle your face to his throat, smearing moisture onto his hard skin. You felt the thick cords of his neck bob as Death swallowed. "You are shedding tears."

You nodded, the lump in your throat suddenly tight and painful. "Regrets," you admitted, your voice was a weak thing.

Death said nothing. He knew. Of course, he knew. Borders were long crossed, boundaries long obliterated between the dimension of mortal and the supernatural. This incorporeal curtain between life and death long incinerated. You were too far gone for rational reasoning, too far drowned in this ocean of mad desperation and grief.

He knew. You knew. Both kept your silence. Perhaps, in a strange kind of way, it was a good thing. A right thing.

You told yourself it was a right thing.

His arms remained wrapped around you, holding you in a gentle hug. The contact was a dialogue itself, of all the things left unspoken, depthless with meaning and shrouded with unanswered questions. Many times you questioned the reason as to why he tolerated your presence, why he allowed you to tag along on his journeys across the realms. In the beginning, it was easy to say that it was for the burden of duty and leave it at that. Now you wonder if your presence served as a reminder. A reminder of his own failings and regrets. A reminder of the brother he felt he has failed to protect.

You glanced at the large pistol on the rock beside him. But like many things, reasons can alter with time, and time was something that Death shall not part with for a very, very long time.

Death leaned his head down to press his temples against your cheeks, one after the other, upon your tears. Your breath hitched and you felt the threat of tears anew at the reverence of the act.

"Tonight," he said simply, without elaboration. It was not needed.

When his mind has defogged and clarity returned, perhaps he will regret that he will have enjoyed it. But it was an opportunity (the word left a strange pleasant taste on your tongue) that you, perhaps he too, knew that couldn't go to waste. To let slide what you could've made a choice.

All the things you wanted to say, the words clinging like heavy mould in the linings of your vocal chords, the syllables that you desperately wanted to unclog and spit out... 

...The clarity of those unspoken regrets, grief and fears gleamed a pristine crystal clarity in the warmth of this touch, the soft patience and empathy in the wait.

This... this was sufficient. You told yourself it was sufficient.

You opened your eyes and swimming distortion welcomed you. You kissed your friend's throat and jaw and pulled back enough to smile at him.

Death smiled back.  

[you-a-southpaw-doll]

Sniffles ~ A Modern Negan!AU One-Shot

Summary: Even though Negan suffers from a sinus infection, he doesn’t let it stop him from spending the day with his son, Christian.

Warning(s): Fluff. Language. Negan as a single dad. Slight angst. Tobacco use.

Relationship(s): Negan x Christian (OMC) (Father/Son)

Characters: Negan. Christian (OMC). Brief mention of Reader.

Taglist: @negans-network @thamberlina @prettyboynegan

Story Time:

“Daddy?”

I look down at my little boy sitting in my lap. He has his head tilted back and he’s just looking up at me with a curious expression. In this moment, he looks just like his mama, my late wife, (Y/N). He has your eyes, and my dimples. As each day goes by, he looks more and more like you. 

At times, it breaks my heart ‘cause you’re not here to see him. At others, it makes my heart swell with love ‘cause I know you’re still here in a way. You passed away two years ago, when our son was only five years old. Some drunk driver had collided into head-on. 

You didn’t even make it to the hospital. Since then, I’ve been raising our little boy by myself. I keep one arm curled ‘round his waist as I hold him in my lap, and bring my other hand up to his hair. I brush his blonde locks outta his face as I sniffle.

“Yea, little man?” I ask, trying not to sneeze.

“Can we watch a movie?” He asks.

I nod. “Of course, we fuckin’ can, bud. You got one in mind?”

He giggles and nods. Whenever I cuss, he always giggles. He finds it to be the funniest thing in the world. I know you never liked me cussing ‘round him, but since you’ve been gone, it’s been harder to control. The words just slip out. He’s picked up a few of ‘em, but he never says ‘em outside of the house, which I appreciate. 

He climbs outta my lap, but doesn’t go very far; only far ‘nough to get the remote. Once he has it, he climbs back up in my lap, sitting sideways, so that he’s sitting on my right thigh, with his legs draped over my other one. I wrap my arm ‘round him to keep him from falling.

He scrolls through the recorded movies I have on the DVR. When he finds the one he wants to watch, he plays it, drops the remote, and nestles up against me, resting his head on my shoulder. I make commentary throughout the movie, which has him laughing. 

I love hearing his laugh; it’s so pure and innocent, and it reminds me a great deal of you and your laugh. I keep sneezing every couple of minutes, and sniffle when I’m not sneezing. Halfway through the movie, he tilts his head back, looking up at me. 

He runs his fingers through my short, salt and pepper beard. I flash him a dimpled smile, before turning my head to sneeze again. This sinus infection I’ve got going on is kicking my ass. Not only is it making my entire body weak, and tired, but my nose is already raw.

To the point that normal tissues irritate it even more, and my nose burns worse than the Devil in a sauna in Hell on a hot Georgia day in the middle of fuckin’ July.

“Daddy? Can we pull the couch out into the bed? I wanna lay down.” My son says, letting out a big yawn for such a little kid.

My smile grows as I kiss his forehead. “Sure, little man. Hop up for a moment, yeah?”

He nods and hops outta my lap. I push myself up off the couch. He beats me to removing the cushions, and tosses ‘em to the side. I can’t help but chuckle. I reach down, grab the handle to the pull-out bed, and tug. When the bed unfolds, I look at my son. 

He’s got a couple blankets in his arms. Laughing, I take ‘em from him and get ‘em situated on the bed. I can’t help but notice that one of ‘em is your favorite one. It’s also our son’s favorite one.  My heart clenches at the sight of it. I miss you something fierce. 

I always do. Every day since you’ve been gone. Christian helps me get the pillows set up on the bed before he crawls under the blankets. Patting the empty space beside him, he looks up me. His curly hair flopping back as his head tilts back.

“Sit with me, daddy?” He asks.

I nod while sneezing. I climb into the bed next to him. He immediately curls up to my left side, laying his little head on my chest, just over my heart, and draping his tiny arm across my tummy. I let my arm rest behind him, bending it at the elbow so my hand can rest on his back. 

Every time I sneeze, he jumps slightly, but hands me a clean tissue.

“I just wanna take care of you, daddy.” He says, handing me the sixth tissue in less than twenty minutes.

I smile and thank him. He stays curled up to my side. A few minutes after I start rubbing his back, I notice he’s drifted off to sleep, snoring quietly. I doze off too, knowing that my son’s alright. I wake up some time later to my phone ringing. I grumble as I reach behind me to grab it. 

Placing it to my ear, I realize that I’ve rolled to my left side, with Christian on his side, facing me, but still tucked against my chest. He’s still sound asleep, and my arm’s still ‘round him.

“Hello?” I mumble, quietly, into the phone, making sure not to wake my little boy up.

“Hey, Negan!” Simon says. “I was just wanting to check in on you and see how things were going.”

“They’re fine.” I sneeze again, causing my son to jump in his sleep, and scoot closer to me.

“You sure? You don’t sound like it.”

I grunt. “Mmhhmm. Christian’s asleep next to me. I’m sicker than a fuckin’ dog. But, other than that, things are a-fuckin’-okay, Si.”

“Ok. Ok. Can I do anythin’ for y’all?”

I shake my head before I notice that he can’t see me. Christian stirs in my arms.

“Nah. We’re fuckin’ good, Si. Thanks, though.” I say to my best friend through the phone.

“Ok. Well, if I can, let me know. Alright? I’ll swing by later.” Simon says.

“Sounds good. Listen. I’ve got to fuckin’ go.”

“Ok.”

Simon ends the call. I lock my phone and set it on the bed next to me. My son stirs again.

“Daddy? When’s dinner?” He asks, sleepily.

I glance down at him. He’s still got his eyes closed. I chuckle.

“You fuckin’ hungry, little man?” I ask.

He giggles and nods. “Mmhhmm.”

I laugh. “Alright. I’ll make dinner in a few.”

He cracks his eyes open and looks up at me, nodding. He snuggles up to me even more. Neither of us move for a few minutes until I hear his tummy growl. I playfully tickle him, causing him to laugh.

I smile. “Alright. C’mon. Let’s go get some fuckin’ food in you, yeah?”

He grins. “Yay!”

He hugs me tightly before jumping outta bed and running to the kitchen. Sitting up, I chuckle and reach into my pocket for my can of dip. I used to smoke cigarettes, but you didn’t like it, so I stopped. After you passed, I needed something, and I was hesitant to drink since you’d been taken from us ‘cause of a drunk driver. 

As much as I missed the taste of liquor, I wasn’t willing to pick up a drink. Since I didn’t wanna start smoking again, I started dipping. I pop the top, grab a pouch of Copenhagen Wintergreen snuff with my index finger, and thumb. I tuck it into the side of my lip as I hear my son call out to me from the other room.

I shove the dip can in my back pocket. I clamber outta the bed, and follow right behind him. I have to stop a few times ‘cause I have to sneeze really hard. Christian runs up to me after the third sneeze with a tissue handy.

“Thanks, bud.” I say, blowing my nose.

He just grins and runs back to the kitchen. It really isn’t that far from the living room, since we only live in a two bedroom, one bath house. It’s just he and I, so we don’t need a lot of space. Plus, it’s the house you and I bought right after we got married. 

I could’ve moved at some point over the last two years, but I didn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to for a couple of reasons. This was the home we’d shared together. I didn’t want to disrupt Christian’s life any more than it already been by having him move. 

Plus, it’s right down the street from the high school I work at, and the local community college I attend at night. I smile as soon as I see my son in the kitchen. He’s standing on his little step stool, hands on the counter, and just bouncing with excitement. 

He looks up at me, smiling.

“C’mon, daddy! I’m hungry and I wanna help you cook!” He exclaims.

I laugh as I walk closer to him. “Alright, bud. Why don’t you go ahead and hop up on the fuckin’ counter, eh?”

He giggles as he does just that. He plops down on the countertop, and swings his feet back and forth, occasionally kicking the cabinet doors. I walk over to him, ruffling his hair.

He just grins up at me. “What are we havin’?”

I think. “Hmm…pork chops, mashed taters, mac n cheese, and some fuckin’ gravy?”

“Yea!”

I chuckle. “Alright. Let’s get to fuckin’ work then.”

He giggles and helps me while I get the pork chops breaded and in the frying pan.

“Daddy?” Christian asks while I cut up the little roast potatoes.

“Yea, little man?” I ask, glancing up at him.

“Can we play some music? Pretty please?”

I laugh. “Sure, bud. You know where my phone is?”

He nods and hops down off the counter. He runs to the living room. I drop the potatoes into the pot of boiling water. I flip the pork chops in the frying pan. A moment later, my son’s walking back into the kitchen. I watch as he walks closer to me, head down, gazing at the screen of my iPhone while his little fingers tap against the screen. 

A moment later, I hear a song start playing. Christian looks up at me, with a cute little smirk on his face. He hops back up on the counter, setting my phone beside him. We jam out to the music while I cook. The songs change, but Christian and I don’t really mind.

We’re just having a lot of fuckin’ fun. Halfway through cooking, and just as I’m ‘bout to add the macaroni pasta to the hot water, I look at my little boy, just as a rough sneeze escapes my body. I quickly turn my head, and sneeze, making sure to cover my nose. 

I sniffle once I’m done sneezing, and look at my son again.

“Do you mind goin’ and openin’ the fuckin’ door, little man? Uncle Si said he’s gonna stop on by.” I say, my voice a bit scratchy from that last, harsh sneeze.

He grins, giggles, and nods. He hops down off the counter, almost falling in the process, but I quickly reach down to help steady him. He grins even more and dashes off to the living room. I hear him struggle with the door handle for a few seconds ‘fore the door hits the bookcase we have by it. 

His little feet pad across the floor in a hurry as he rushes back into the kitchen where I’m at. He runs straight into my legs, wrapping his tiny little arms ‘round ‘em, and tucking his face against my thigh. I just chuckle, add the pasta to the water, and bend down to scoop my little man up into my arms.

I get him settled on my hip; his legs wrap ‘round my waist, one arm curls ‘round my neck, and his free hand plays with the collar of my tank top. I stir the pasta with my free hand, before leaning against the counter across from the stove. I shift Christian so that he’s still got his legs ‘round my waist, but he’s facing me. 

My arms are hooked ‘round his waist, keeping a tight grip on him so that he doesn’t fall. He brings his hands up and fiddles with my dog tags.

“What are these, daddy?” He ask, glancing up at me.

“Those are my dog tags.” I reply, smiling.

His brow furrows. “Dog tags? But...you’re not a dog, daddy.”

I laugh. “No. I’m not.”

“Then...why do you have dog tags?”

“Remember daddy’s uniform?”

He tilts his head to the side. “Your Navy one?”

I nod. “Daddy was in the Navy, little man. My dog tags are my way of being identified if I was ever hurt.”

“Were you ever hurt?”

I point to the scar that’s on my left shoulder. “I was shot.”

He looks up at me, fear in his eyes. “But...you’re ok, right?”

I nod, lowering my head slightly to kiss his forehead. “I’m alright, little man. I’m alright.”

He nods his own head, and drops my dog tags. His little arms wrap ‘round my neck, and he lays his head against my shoulder. I just hold my son close. A few moments later, I hear the screen door open, and heavy footsteps in the living room.

“Negan? Christian?” Simon calls out.

Christian lifts his head and looks at the entryway to the kitchen. A grin covers his face.

“Uncle Si!” He exclaims.

I hear Simon let out a deep chuckle. “Hey, little man.”

I turn, setting my son down on the ground in the process, and look at my best friend. Christian runs over to his uncle, who sets down the couple of grocery bags in his hands, to pick my son up. Simon’s not really his uncle, but rather, his godfather, and with Simon being so much like a brother to me, he’s like an uncle to Christian. 

The two talk in hushed whispers for a few minutes. I focus on finishing up dinner. When I turn my attention back to my best friend and my little boy, I notice that Simon’s looking at me.

“Bro. You look like shit.” He says.

I let out a weak chuckle. “Thanks. I bet you say that to all the guys.”

He laughs. “Shut the fuck up.”

I laugh, which leads me to sneezing again. I groan at this one ‘cause it hurts like a motherfucker. Simon plates three dishes with the small meal I cooked, and carries ‘em to the living room, with Christian and I following right behind him. The three of us all all sit on the edge of the pull-out couch mattress, and eat our dinner while watching Monsters University. 

After dinner, Simon cleans up the kitchen, ignoring my protests and telling him I’ll take care of it tomorrow. He cleans the kitchen up for me, gives Christian a hug, and pats me on the shoulder, before leaving. I get Christian settled in the bath, and he insists that I sit in there with him.

As he’s getting ready to step in the tub, he looks up at me.

“Daddy. Sit in with me. You can work on your homework while I take a bath.” He says.

I smile. “Ok. Fine. I guess I can fuckin’ do that.”

He giggles and hops in the tub. While he’s splashing ‘round, I go grab my laptop and come back to sit on the toilet seat. Christian plays ‘round in the water, with the curtain drawn so he can have privacy, and I work on the two 15 page research papers, on baseball, that I have due over the weekend.

As soon as I finish the little edits I had to make to ‘em, and submit ‘em, I close my laptop, and prop it up against the wall, just outside the bathroom.

“Alright, little man. Let’s get you clean.” I say.

I help Christian wash his hair. For some reason, he’s always had a fear of washing his hair, so I have to help him with it. He prefers for you to do it, but in the last two years, since it’s just been he and I, he’s gotten used to having me help him wash his hair.

As soon as he’s clean, he reaches for the tub stopper, and I grab a clean towel. He stands up, and I dry his hair ‘fore wrapping the towel ‘round him. I scoop him up and carry him out to the living room, plopping him down on the bed. He just laughs that innocent, carefree laugh of his, and I smile. 

He sits up, pulling his arms from the confines of the towel, and reaches for his jersey shorts. When he’s got them on, he looks at me, tossing the towel at me too.

“Daddy. Can I wear I sleep in one of your shirts?” He asks.

I nod and go grab one of the t-shirts I bought from my college. I walk back to him and slide it over his head. It swallows him whole, but he just smiles. I toss the towel onto the chair ‘side the couch while he get situated under the blankets. I settle down next to him, only for him to immediately nestle up to my side. 

Since you’ve been gone, he’s gotten a lot clingier to me. Not that I mind, ‘cause I don’t. Not one fuckin’ bit. He’s all I’ve got, and I’m all he’s got. He lays his head on my shoulder once I wrap my arm ‘round him. I play the pause since we’d paused it after dinner.

“Daddy? Can you tell me a story ‘bout you and mummy?” Christian asks.

I smile and pause the movie. “Of course.”

I tell him the story ‘bout how you and I first met. I had just gotten home from a deployment, so I was still in my uniform, and had my bags slung over my shoulders. I was waiting for a taxi at the airport, and you’d bumped into me from behind.

You apologized, and kept your head lowered, from embarrassment, I later found out. I assured you it was perfectly fine and even teased you a bit. I couldn’t help it. 

You were precious. All flustered and shit. 

Plus, you were cuter than a baby bunny on Easter morning. You took my breath away, and made my heart flutter in ways it never had before. I found out that you were going to the same apartment building I was. When the taxi pulled up, I offered to share the taxi with you, and you readily accepted since you were running late. 

During the ride to our apartment complex, we got to know each other, and by the time the taxi stopped, I’d gotten the courage to ask you out to dinner. I’d never been nervous ‘bout asking a woman to dinner before, but it was different with you. 

You nervously agreed. I realized, later, that you were only nervous ‘cause you thought I was insanely hot and hadn’t ever really had someone like me talk to someone like you before.

Your words, not mine. 

After setting up a date for the following day, and swapping phone numbers, we went our separate ways. Turns out, you lived on the floor below mine. I took you to dinner the next night, and well, the rest was history. I asked you to marry me a few months later, just ‘fore I found out I was gonna get deployed again in a few months’ time.

We got married three days ‘fore I shipped out on another deployment. You couldn’t wait another minute of not being my wife. When I got back, I found you waiting for me, with our son in your arms. You’d wanted to wait and tell me in person that you were pregnant ‘cause you felt it was something that would be better said face-to-face as opposed to the letters we sent back and forth.

Since, I didn’t know you were pregnant, I was sad that I’d missed it, but the sight of you holding our little boy, waiting for my on that dock made my heart swell with love. We went back to our apartment, and eventually bought this house. I got out of the Navy, and got a job as a high school coach. 

By time I’m finished with the story, I glance down at my son. He’s sound asleep, tucked against my side. I smile, kiss the top of his head, and close my eyes. I wake up at some point in the night to him crawling on top of me, wrapping his legs ‘round my waist, and his arms ‘round my neck.

“Don’t wanna lose you, daddy.” He mumbles in his sleep.

It breaks my heart, and I tighten my arms ‘round him. He moves his head and tucks it against the side of my neck, tighten his little arms ‘round me. I drift off to sleep once more.

[onthemeander]

A thousand thanks to Psionicsnow for the prompt. It was fun to write such a soft and subtle story. Very sweet and innocent.

Interested in getting your prompt written? Check me out!

Fresh Cut Grass

Everything hurt. Every organ, muscle, bones, joints, cell, and atom felt like it was smothered in gasoline and set ablaze in a tire fire. Her soul was cracked and broken and shattered and she couldn’t scavenge a single iota of energy to try and collect the shards. Instead, her tears carried them away on a wave of sadness rolling down her cheeks. All of it was let loose, laying across the floors and couch of her apartment as she cried.

Moose laid on her legs, pinning them with his warm wrinkly body while watching her with his watery eyes. She clutched the couch cushion to her chest, curling up as tight as possible without kicking her poor basset hound from his perch. Her eyes were burning and swollen as the tears pooled into a large stain across the cushion. Her sobbing was raw, a baser aching sound from her vocal cords that rang in her ears. The silence of her apartment making every sound amplified.

Suddenly, there was a solid knock at her front door. The sound was paired with a taut but gentle voice calling out her name. Moose sat up, ears perked towards the door, tail wagging and starting to pant in excitement. She heard her neighbor insert his copy of her apartment key into the lock. Tentatively the door opened, just enough for her blonde headed attractive neighbor to pop in. His light blue eyes widened as he slipped in through the threshold. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

“Steve. I’m… sorry. Please-“ She gasped out, trying to wave him away while rolling to her side, Pressing her face into the back for her couch. She pressed in as close as possible to he back cushions to quiet her sobs. Her door lock clicked into place, his sneakers squeaked as he quickly crossed her wood floors in only four steps. Even with her eyes closed, she could tell the light was dimming around her as his shadow came over her.

The scent of fresh cut grass, leather and musk wafted off of him. It changed the air altogether, making the stale stagnant sadness that clung all of them be washed into a soothing balm. The combination was so comforting that she started to breathe deeply for the first time since she started crying. The iron grip around her lungs slightly loosen, the sudden freedom set its muscles on fire requiring more cooling air to ease the ache.

A large calloused hand was soothing placed atop the crown of her head. A large warm wight that grounded her racing mind. Her head was manipulated, picked up just long enough for the sound of shuffling to happen. After several seconds, he had placed a rather warm and firm pillow under her head. The smell of grass was stronger now but the pillow felt weird. It was just a bit too stiff like there was a firm structure deep within its batting. Confused, she opens one of her eyes just long enough to realize that her pillow was his lap.

Even with the surprise, she couldn’t stop the tears, forced to close them again as another fit of hiccups broke out. Steve just sat there, still and calm, silently running his broad fingers through her tresses. Her hands, which had been cushioning her head, now gripped large chunks of his old t-shirt between her fingers. Time was suspended as they sat there.

Slowly she felt just enough energy come back to here where she could actually form words. “I’m… I’m sorry. I just…” her voice made a disgustingly wet gurgling noise, cut off by a full body sob. She was sure there were large tear stains cross his right pant leg. Steve said nothing, just rubbed circles into her scalp and random shapes into her back. Moose wined either upset by everything or simply hungry.

She was slowly coming down from the terrifying height of her crying. It felt like it took an eternity and all it shoved into a single second. Everything that was wavy and faded began to come back into focus as the tears slowed. her breathing haltingly leveled out allowing her own lungs to reach her nose, no longer having to be shoved through her mouth.

His sweatpants-clad thighs were burningly sturdy under her temple, as a set of rolled electric blankets, soothing the pulsing ache that had made its home there. Though he was dressed from the gym he was freshly washed, smelling of citrus, herbs and earthy woods. Like he took his run through a springtime forest, dashing through citrus trees, sage bushes and the fresh waters of some nirvanic stream. “Do you want to talk about it?” She could feel his stomach expands against the back of her head as he spoke. A sturdy constant rhythm she could align her own erratic sobbing gasps too.

She couldn’t, not right now, maybe when things were not as raw. “No. I’m sorry but not really.” Moose whined at their feet, his stubby wrinkly front feet prompting him up against the cushion seat. She sniffed and rubbed her eyes, refusing to look anywhere other than the pattern of the sun streaming through the window panes.

Steve remained quiet, supporting her in so many ways, simply breathing and being there. Stroking random shapes into her scalp with his broad callous fingers, his short nails feeling hypnotically heavenly against her pulsing headache.

Her sleeve was already covered in snot, which made her stomach cramp in embarrassment. Steve either didn’t notice or care as I magically materialized a tissue for her to use. “You must think I am ridiculous.”

“No,” His voice sounding so strong and clear, “we all have our times when we need to let everything go.” He kept handing her tissues not one complaining as her nose loudly honked as she blew it. Finally, the last tears rolled down her check.

Giving one last bone achingly deep sigh she rolled onto her back looking up at his handsome face. His hair was wet, starting to curl in the summer humidity. The light bounced softly off his jawline, freshly shaved and washed. Every bid the perfect all-American man that he was partially famous for. She probably looked a mess next to this Adonis yet the look in his eyes was one of pure reverence.

“Okay, I’m good. I’m sorry but I’m fine,” She said, proud of herself for only sniffing once. He had a soft closed mouth smile for her. “So why did you come over Steve? Did you need something?” Finally getting the energy she sat up, head slightly throbbing at the movement. Moose hopped down, woofing slightly in discontent at being forced to leave his perch. Steve let her sit up but kept close by, constantly keeping contact between them.

“Uhhh… No,” His face became a little ruddy, “actually I heard you from my apartment and was concerned.” She flinched at that, pulling into a tight ball, embarrassed and unable to keep touching him. “Oh god, I am so sorry. I’m sorry you had to come over like that.” He, however, seemed to have other ideas. With a gentle insistence, having her lean against his chest, tucking her head under his jaw. Moose was wagging his tail excitedly looking up at them as she had her head protectively tucked into the neck of the super soldier.

“No, No, it’s okay.” He comforted, voice rumbling so close to her ears. Everything was so close and homey. “I want to make sure you are okay. I want to be there for you when you need someone.” His cologne was centralized right above his collar bone, a buttery warm spiced musk that she could stop from greedily inhaling.

They sat there, simply breathing within each other’s space. The air was heated and electric, sparking all of her nerve endings just being in that place. Closing her eyes, she snuggled into the warmth, which was better than any blanket. She was content, ready to milk the moment and etch the memory into her mind permanently. Just below her palm, she could feel the bold beating of Steve’s heart.

Gently he urged her to turn to look directly at him. His eyes were positively sparkling, the color of a pair of Blue Morpho Butterfly wings with the sun streaming through. Every edge around him was softened, a far cry from the hardened edges sculpted into every soldier and hero’s being. “I care about you, you are special to me.”

“I… I umm… I… same?” Oh god, her heart was shoved so tight in throat she wasn’t able to even phrase a response. I’m sorry just started to pour out of her mouth, her skin burning surely as hot and red as a chili pepper. Steve’s eyebrows rose in an almost comically high pose as he held in a soft laugh. His teeth were white and perfectly aligned, putting Arlington to shame, as he lost out to the urge not to chuckle. His cheeks were red as well, flushed and glowing with so much life.

“May I kiss you?” He asked, his voice husky in it’s whispered tone. Her words were caged like a wild pacing tiger in her throat. She just leaned in, hoping that was yes enough. His hands were enormous, cupping her cheek, and tickling the sensitive skin behind her ear.  His aftershave clinging to his freshly shaved face, deep smoky burning that warmed her like the comforting feeling of the first summer campfire with family.

         His lips were as bold and gentlemanly as the rest of him. Every touch of their chaste lips was treated like a soft and sacred act. A sentiment left from a bygone era, something to be cherished. He took no advances, treating kissing, not like a lead up to the main event but the main event itself.

The fresh cut grass smell filled every one of her inhales. Sparking memories of rolling down hills as a kid and jumping through sprinklers as they watered lawns.  It mixed with the minty taste in her mouth leaving her energized and joyous. She ran her fingers up his arm, tucking them just under the cuff of his t-shirt, feeling the curve of his bulging biceps. He wrapped his large arms around her waist, resting them comfortably just above her hips.

The kisses became shorter, less afraid of them ending all together they simply basked at the moment. They shared soft giggles and gasps between kisses, all the joy, and excitement had to come out in any way possible. There were little moments of teeth clashing together, noses smooshing into each other and complete misses that resulted in lips on chins that made everything even more perfect and real. Movies kisses were so sterile, they didn’t prepare you for the true joy of the little mess ups that made it even more exciting.

Pulling away slowly they relaxed in each other’s space. They were breathing each other’s air and enjoying the look of each other’s flushed face. Steve’s hands stroked along her flanks, tickling ever so slightly. His lips were swollen and pink, becoming even redder as he chewed on it. He seemed almost nervous. All she could do was watch as those perfectly white straight teeth peeked out from his lush lips. Looking up she noticed his cornflower colored eyes pinning her with a determined stare.

“Would you like to go on a date with me tonight?” His voice, usually so bold was reduced to a tender whisper. Her breath caught in her throat, the thudding in her chest increased. He cupped her hands between his own, they almost disappear beneath the wide expanse of his palms. Her cheeks ached with the sudden strain of how wide her smile was. Tears threaten to fall again, but the pain was thankfully not accompanying it this time.

“Yes.”

[captain-kingliamsqueen]

It Hurts To Think About it

Part 10 of Life Before Him

CATCH UP!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

MASTERLIST! 

Pairing: Liam x Riley 

Summary: … Riley and Liam have her parents in cells... what happens when she sees them again?

Word Count: 3,824

Tagged : @starstruckzonkoperatorbat  @drakelover78  @queencatherynerhys @devineinterventions2 @jayjay879  @kawairinrin  @hopefulmoonobject @flyawayblue56  @gardeningourmet  @blackcatkita  @syltti78  @diamond-dreamland  @theroyalweisme  @hhiggs  @mfackenthal  @bruteforcebears @pens-girl-87 @barbaravalentino @umccall71 @darley1101 @crookedslimecreatorpasta @jamjar84 @starstruckpixelberryhistoryvoid 

 ASK IF YOU WANT TAGGED! SORRY IF I MISSED ANYONE! (USED THE TAGS FROM MY “ALWAYS” SERIES LET ME KNOW IF ANYONE WANTS UNTAGGED!!!)

I always notice every single spelling mistake or issue after I’ve posted…so apologies in advance! 

Liam and Riley headed down to the cells where her mother and father were imprisoned. They came to the huge iron gates in the “basement” part of the palace, they stopped in their tracks long enough for Liam to put the passcode into the lock, the gates buzzed allowing them to enter. Bastian stood at the end of the hall staring into one of the cells. Riley could feel her heart nearly beating out of her chest…she had dreamed of pulling them up for years, of having the satisfaction of rubbing her life she was living now in their faces. As they met Bastian, the two stopped Riley looked into the cells to see the two criminals just sitting there in two opposite cells…not saying a word. As soon as they seen Riley they were shook.

“fancy seeing you two here…” Riley barked 

“you know…I was talking to my loving fiancé, King Liam this morning about your punishment…and d’you know what…Liam and I…we agree that you have to be punished, no matter what…I don’t think you understand the punishment that awaits you for what you did to me…you tried to kill the future queen of Cordonia…do you understand what means….Mother.” Riley looked at the woman without blinking

“well…um…-”

“ooh…you don’t know?” Riley chuckled then looked to her father’s cell “what about you…father? Do you know what that means?”

“um-”

“DIDN’T THINK SO! TREASON! THAT’S WHAT YOU COMMITED AND THAT’S WHAT YOU’RE BEING CHARGED WITH…TREASON! BET YOU DIDN’T THINK OF THAT WHEN YOU TOOK ME AGAINST MY WILL…YOU TIED ME UP AND DEPRIVED ME OF OXYGEN…FOR GOD KNOWS HOW MANY HOURS!! JUST SO YOU COULD GET MONEY…THAT YOU DON’T EVEN NEED! YOU LEFT ME FOR DEAD!” Riley screamed at them…but she didn’t shout angrily…she yelled stoically…like the queen she would be. “DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU GET SENTENCED WITH IF YOUR CHARGED WITH TREASON? DEATH! SO UNLTIMATELY BY TRYING TO TAKE MY LIFE…AND FAILING…YOU LOSE YOURS! MAYBE IN YOUR NEXT LIFE…YOU’LL LEARN YOUR LESSON FROM THIS ONE!!...YOU DESERVE TO SUFFER LIKE I HAD TO SUFFER…BUT ALL I WANT RIGHT NOW, IS TO GET YOU OUT OF MY LIFE…AND MAKE SURE YOU CAN NEVER COME BACK AND HURT ME AGAIN”

“RILEY PLEASE!!!” Her mother screeched as she stood from the bench and went to run towards the door but was stopped when the shackles that were attached to her wrists and to the floor in front of the bench, pulled her back, causing her to fall to the floor. she hissed as they pulled on her skin.

“aww mommy…did that hurt?” Riley smirked “good…you deserved it!”

“Riley please! We are your family…please don’t do this!” her mother panicked

“HAH! FAMILY? NO THAT’S WHERE YOU’RE MISTAKEN! YOU’RE NOT MY FAMILY YOU NEVER HAVE BEEN…FAMILY DON’T ABONDON EACH OTHER…THEY DON’T HURT EACH OTHER…NOT THE WAY YOU TWO DID…YOU ARE NOTHING! TO ME! YOU MEAN NOTHING! LIAM IS MY FAMILY…HANA…DRAKE…MAXWELL…BERTRAND…OLIVIA! EVEN BASTIAN THEY HAVE ALL DONE MORE FOR ME…THAN YOU EVER HAVE! THEY ARE FAMILY…THEY KNOW THE MEANING OF FAMILY! YOU MAY HAVE GIVEN BIRTH TO ME, YOU MAY HAVE KEPT ME UNDER YOUR ROOF FOR A WHILE…BUT YOU WILL NEVER BE MY FAMILY…YOU THREW ME ASIDE LIKE I WAS DIRT AND NOW I’M GOING TO DO THE SAME TO YOU!” Riley stood as the woman crumbled before her.

“maybe if you hadn’t been such a shitty mom and dad…you wouldn’t be lying on the cold concrete floor of a cell…crying for your life after being told you going to die for what you done…I sincerely hope from the bottom of my heart…that you both know…what you did was wrong…all of it…everything…I hope you both understand that this isn’t easy to do…but for my own safety and everyone else’s…it has to be done…you have thirty minutes to say your goodbyes to each other…” Riley sighed as she stepped to the side…allowing Liam to officially charge them.

“I…King Liam of Cordonia, here by charge you, Lillian and Stewart Robertson of treason!...you are being sentenced to death by firing squad… at…twelve-thirty on October 1st you will be taken to the royal courtyard where you will be sent to your death as punishment for your crimes” Liam turned from the cells and took Riley's hand in his then the two left the only sound being Riley mother screaming and crying for her. Riley wiped beneath her eyes she walked away, wiping away the stray tears that fell as her mother called for her. Once the reached the main floor of the palace again Liam pulled Riley to his chest, holding her close. He placed a gentle kiss on her head as she sniffled.

“I’ll be alright” she sighed as she pulled a tissue from her pocket and wiped her nose. “no matter what they’ve done…it’s still difficult”

“I know, you’ll be alright, you’ll get through it” he whispered.

“Liam…when is my first appointment with the therapist?”

“one-thirty today. Now…its up to you if you want to come with me, I have to witness the shooting…but you…you don’t have to…I won’t put you through that” Liam sighed

“I feel like for my own good I shouldn’t go…it’s one thing confronting them and accepting that they have to die for what they did to me but it’s another to actually watching their lives being taken from them…I hate them, but I don’t think I could watch anyone having their lives taken from them.”

“listen…it’s not the first time ive had to do it…its hard…it’s difficult to watch a stranger die never mind your parents…I think it’s best that you don’t go.” Liam stated

“thank you…for understanding Liam…” Riley whispered as she wiped her face of the stray tears that had fallen

As Liam went to speak he was interrupted by one of the guards coming from the doors Riley and Liam had not long come through.

“your Majesty…Your Grace…the prisoners will be taken to the courtyard in ten minutes”

“of course, I’ll be along in a moment.”

“I’m sorry you have to watch this Liam” Riley sighed as the guard took his leave, heading back to the cells.

“I’ll get through it…I’d rather me than you” he whispered as he gently cupped Riley's cheeks in his hand, he gently grazed his thumbs over her tear stained cheeks. “this is the next step to getting better…I love you riley” he whispered before gently placing a kiss to her forehead.

“I love you too” she whispered before leaning up to kiss his lips.

“you should go and relax before the therapist gets here”

“yeah” Riley sighed. She was more than nervous about speaking to the therapist, it was one thing talking to Liam about her concerns and her pain, but it was another laying everything on the table to someone you don’t know, but she knew she had to if she wanted to get better.

“I’ll see you later?” she asked

“of course,” Liam smiled.

Once Liam left to go to the courtyard Riley headed upstairs to their quarters.

The courtyard was very rarely used, Liam had only ever seen one execution before, for weeks after it he couldn’t sleep, whenever he did sleep, he would wake up from nightmares. He was nervous, he hated having to watch it, having to sit and just watch someone’s life being torn from them, he knew they deserved it, they hurt Riley, he would have killed them himself if he could, but that wouldn’t have helped. Once he reached the viewing stand, he took a seat in one of the thrones as he watched the trained soldiers lined up on their marks. The first to be brought out was Lillian, she fought the guards to the last minute, her hair was all over the place her clothes where ripped from her struggles to get away from them, her cheeks stained red, she was led to the wooden plank that stood tall, her arms were cuffed together behind her, around the plank as she faced the firing squad. One of the sergeant’s walked over, placing a bland fold over her eyes then, took his place at the end of the line of soldiers, he stood just watching his watch after about thirty seconds he shouted.

“...TAKE YOUR STANDS…AND…FIRE!”

The soldiers all, simultaneously, let one bullet fly each. Liam flinched as the guns went off. just moments later, Stewart was brought out, the same process was followed…

“…TAKE YOUR STANDS…AND…FIRE!”

As the mans body fell limp, Liam let out a deep breathe he didn’t realise he was holding. As the courtyard was cleared Liam just sat…staring into thin air, it was things like this that made him feel the real weight of the crown.

Back in the palace, as Riley reached the royal quarters she wondered about, nervously tidying odd bits and bobs, knowing what was happening, she had to keep herself busy. She headed for their kitchenette and started to make herself some tea, once she had put all the components together and stirred the liquid, as she lifted the mug to her lips, she heard it…

*BANG! *

Riley dropped the mug, letting it crash to floor, shattering everywhere, the boiling liquid scolding her legs.

She cursed and hissed as she tried to pull her trouser from her legs. She broke down into tears when she heard the second one goes off…knowing that, that was it…they were gone, they couldn’t hurt her anymore, not physically anyway.

It was about fifteen minutes later that Liam walked in the door. When he seen her stood there, crying, in the middle of a shattered mug on the floor, with no trousers on and her legs red raw, he quickly approached her.

“Riley what happened?” he asked worried

“I-I was making some t-tea when I heard…when I heard the gun shots” she cried “I dropped the m-mug, it burned my legs”

Liam quickly grabbed a clothe running it under cold water, he then dabbed it gently onto her legs.

“Riley are you alright?” he asked

“I will be…I just…didn’t expect to hear it…I’m…I’m not sure how to feel Liam…I should be happy…they can’t hurt me anymore…they can’t cause me pain…but I can’t help but feel a little sad”

“hey…that’s okay…that’s good…it means you have a heart Riley, they were your parents, as much as they hurt you, at one point in your life…they meant something to you. It’s understandable that you feel sad, but you also understand that it had to be done sweetie.”

“I know…I just…I’m torn”

“I know…I understand” he whispered

After helping Riley sooth, the burns, she changed her trousers whilst Liam cleaned the mess the mug had left.

It was just a few moments later there was a knock at the door.

“come in!” Liam called, Bastian entered the room, quickly bowing his head.

“Your Majesty, Miss Jones is here” he informed him.

“great thank you Bastian…could you show her to my study please and I will have Riley come along in a few minutes” he replied

“of course,” Bastian left the room closing the door behind him, once Liam put the broken mug in the bin and had wiped up the spilled tea he headed for the bedroom where he informed Riley that the therapist had arrived.

“she’s here?”

“yes, Bastian is just showing her to my study, are you ready?” he asked from the door frame

“as ready as I’ll ever be” she sighed then pulled her flat slip ons on, then she headed for the door to their quarters.

“are you coming?” she asked Liam confused as to why he hadn’t followed her

“no sweetie…this is something you have to do on your own sweetie, but you can tell me everything when you’re done, I just…the therapist said on the phone that I can’t be in the room with you during your sessions, not for a couple of weeks, she wants to get to know you and your thoughts without anyone else butting in.” he gave her a comforting smile

“o-okay” she mumbled

“it’s alright…you’ll be fine Riley, I promise” he assured her.

“will you be in here?” she asked nervously

“yes, I will wait right here for you to finish” he smiled

“okay” she mumbled “ill…I’ll see you later” she whispered as she left the room.

Liam wished he could go with her, hold her hand, or even just be present in the room but he couldn’t for her own sake, she had to do this on her own.

Once Riley reached Liam's study, she gently knocked then walked in, she was greeted by a short, brunette woman, she had pulled one of the chairs across from Liam's, over to the other side of the room, sitting it across from the sofa. She stood from her feet and approached Riley, she reached her hand out, gesturing for her to shake it.

“Riley, I’m so happy to finally meet you” she smiled, Riley gently took her hand, shaking it firmly

“it’s great to meet you, miss…”

“jones…but you can call me Ellen”

“okay…Ellen” Riley mumbled.

“why don’t you have a seat” Ellen gestured to the sofa, Riley walked over sitting herself down whilst Ellen sat in the chair opposite her, with a clip board in hand and a pen.

“now Riley…who’s idea was it for you to meet with me?” Obviously knowing it was Liam but she asked anyway.

“it was my fiancé, Liam” Riley replied with a little smile on her face

“the king?”

“yes”

“why did he think you should speak with a therapist?”

“because…I need help…I asked for help…”

“good, that means you want to get better…that’s a good start…so Riley…why do you need help?”

“I…I tried to hurt myself…I took a lot of pills”

“why did you try and hurt yourself?”

“I was having a king of mental breakdown…my um…my parents abandoned me…when I was a little girl, I woke up one morning and they were gone…with my sister…they found out I was engaged to a king and they showed up…after not seeing them from the age of ten…they just showed up” she whispered “out of nowhere”

“and how did that make you feel?”

“angry…I was so angry at them…how dare they leave me the way that they did then show up when they find out I’m marrying a king”

“do you think they came back for money”

“yes…they were always money hungry.”

“Riley, when you realised your parents had left you, when you were a little girl…how did you feel?”

“hurt…I was so hurt, I sat on the porch step for hours watching all the cars that drove by hoping it would be them coming back for me, but they never did…and that made me feel…worthless, like I…like I wasn’t good enough for them…what did I do that made them leave me like that…how bad of a child was I for them to leave me for dead. How much must they have hated me to just…leave me like that, I didn’t have family I didn’t have anyone…the funny thing is though…the maids never turned up that day…or any day after that…they obviously knew they wouldn’t be needed…so they told the maids they were leaving…but they failed to tell me” she sniffled wiping her nose with a tissue. “I cried for weeks...until eventually I just couldn't cry anymore...they weren't coming back I had to be strong there was no one to look after me anymore...I had to look after myself”

“I see…when you think about what they put you through as a child…how do you feel?”

“sad…I want to cry…why didn’t they love me…I was their child…their little girl…” she burst into tears “when they turned up here…I yelled at them so bad…they hurt me and I just couldn’t help but shout at them…when I asked…why they left me…my mother’s reply was that the couldn’t afford to look after me…but the thing is…we had maids…we had the biggest house on the block, my father own a very well-known business, we were the richest family on the block…they weren’t short of money…we had cars…multiple cars…if they were short of money…why didn’t they sell a few of those…or downgrade to a smaller house? Rather than leave their ten-year-old d-daughter to fend for herself. It hurts…it hurts to think about it…it hurts to talk about it” she sobbed.

“how often do you think about it? about what they did?”

“all the time…all the damn time…I don’t want to think about it anymore…I want to get on with my life without this burden hanging over my shoulder…I just want to be happy again...”

“what makes you happy Riley?”

“Liam…Liam makes me happy…he’s my real family, when I’m with Liam…he distracts me…I don’t think about the past…I think about my future with him…I think about the family we’ll one day have…” she smiled through the tears. “I know I’m going to have a good day when I wake up and see his face smiling back at me, he does this thing nearly every morning, where he’ll get out of bed, he’ll make me tea then place it on my bedside table with a little love note beside it” she smiled “I always wished that one day I would be all someone thought about…then I met Liam” she smiled “he’s…everything…to me”

“so why aren’t you happy?”

“my parents…came back…they ruined everything…I was happy…before they showed up…I was happy with my life with Liam…I was finally getting better, I wasn’t thinking about the past as much…I was focusing on my future…our future. Then they came back…I got angry…I broke down…that’s when I tried to hurt myself, I just wanted to end the pain…I couldn’t take it any longer…it was when I woke up that I realised I needed help. Before I had the chance to really speak to Liam about getting help, they…they came back…they took me against my will”

“what happened after they took you?”

“they…they put me in a room…a small room a-about the size of a closet…they locked me in, with no windows, no oxygen…I-I couldn’t breathe” she sobbed “they had a video camera, every thirty minutes for ten minutes they broadcast live across every channel…she suffocated me…” she wept “they tried to kill me…they wanted ransom…but Liam couldn’t, he couldn’t pay it, its Cordonia law that they must never give in to criminals like that, they must never give them what they want”

“did it hurt you that he didn’t give them the money when your life was at risk?”

“no…as the queen in waiting, I knew the law, I knew he couldn’t and I couldn’t expect him to, I told him not to, I didn’t want them thinking they could just walk in here demanding money and get away with it, I hoped he wouldn’t.”

“so how did you get out of the room? what happened after you got out?”

“the kings guard tracked me down…Liam and Drake were the ones who found me first…I wasn’t breathing when they got to me, the doctor said I must have stopped breathing just minutes before they got to me, Liam had to give me mouth to mouth…he saved my life, but when I woke up…I couldn’t remember them, my parents…every memory I had of them had gone…I didn’t remember a few other things as well…my engagement to Liam…finding the man who set me up…a couple of weeks went by and I still hadn’t remember, it was just yesterday that I finally got my memories back…but when they came back…it was like experiencing them all over again…my parents leaving…waking up finding them gone…living in new York alone, the effect of working three jobs, my engagement to Liam, finding Tariq, my parents coming back…the pills…them kidnapping me…being in that room, it all came flooding back at once and it was too much…Liam found me, in the bathroom, balled up on the floor…crying my eyes out, shaking…hurt…he sat down beside me and pulled me into his arms and he just held me…he listened to me…he listen to my pain and my hurt and he talked me through it. It was then that I told him I needed help.”

“what do you think is your main problem Riley?”

“I think…letting go…I have to let go of the past, learn how to accept it…I can’t change it, so I need to accept that it happened and move on, my parents…they committed treason, they were sent to their death earlier today…I think knowing that they can’t hurt me anymore is a huge help…knowing they can’t do anything to hurt me, is a relief, it’s like a weight off of my shoulders.”

“and how did you feel, when your parents were killed?”

“sad…but happy…I felt sad because…they…they were still my parents…they meant something to me at some point in my life…but I knew they had to be punished for what they did, I had accepted the fact that they had to be executed, I was happy because they can’t bother me anymore, I knew why it had to be done and I understood…maybe now I can start to accept what happened, and I can be happy again”

“I think you’re on the tracks of getting there Riley, you’ve opened up a lot today, most people come into the first session with their guard up…but because you want help, your open to letting me in, talking to me, and that’s a great thing because it means we don’t have to sit for three or four weeks trying to get you to open up to me. We will of course need more sessions but I’m positive you’ll find happiness again Riley…but I think that’s all for today”

“really? I feel like ive only been in here ten minutes”

“it flies by, do you feel like you’ve progressed today?”

“I do, every time I talk about it I seems to get that little bit easier”

“it will keep getting easier Riley, I promise” Ellen smiled, she collected her things then pulled her coat on, “now how’s about we make another appointment?” she smiled

“yes definitely”

“alright, how about the same time next week?”

“that sounds great…I’m really looking forward to our next session, if I feel this good after out next session…I’ll be content, I feel like a huge weight is being lifted” Riley smiled as the two women headed for the door. Riley walked Ellen down to her car, waving her off. once the therapist left, Riley quickly made her way to the royal quarters, as she walked in, she called for Liam.

“Liam! Are you here?” …no answer, Riley sighed as she made her way towards their bedroom, as she walked in the lights were out and there Liam lay on the bed…fast asleep. She knew he hadn’t been sleeping very well the last few weeks, with everything that had been happening, he just couldn’t. she slipped her shoes off then walked over, climbed into the bed, she lifted his arm then snuggled into his chest, letting his arm fall over her shoulder.

“how did it go?” he mumbled, not opening his eyes

“good…it was good…I feel…good” she smiled “thank you for contacting her…” she whispered

“I’m glad to hear that” he replied quietly with a slight smile on his face

“I love you Liam…you mean the world to me, I hope you know that” she seen a smile appear on his face, she leaned up and kissed his lips causing him to tighten his arms around her.

“I love you too riley” he whispered into the kiss.

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[nyaarr]

4 times Rein was hurt and had someone by his side, and one that he didn’t.

1.

“Look at me when I’m talking, boy!”

Reinhardt raised his head immediately. Blood from his broken nose rushed down his throat, and he almost choked trying to breathe and swallow at the same time. He sucked it up, though, eyes burning, not daring to complain. He was in enough trouble already.

“I will not tolerate this behaviour again, is that clear?” General von Alder’s brown eyes were stern. He was a huge man, big as a mountain--bigger than Reinhardt was, and he was gigantic at seventeen. “I don’t care what he said, who started what--and if you don’t understand that we’re here for a purpose bigger than ourselves, I’m kicking your arse back to boarding school, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” he swallowed again and grimaced when the tears he had tried to contain spilled on his cheeks. Shit. As if being told off was not embarrassing enough. “Sorry, sir. I won’t disappoint you.”

“Again,” his snort was like a stone slab on his shoulders, and Reinhardt gritted his teeth.

“I won’t disappoint you again, sir.”

“Hope so,” the General smacked him on the back of the neck, hard, then walked away.

He had not dismissed Reinhardt just yet, so he could not leave, or move--or breathe without panting. A large hand pushed his head down without ceremony all of sudden, and a box of tissues appeared out of nothing into his field of view.

“Use it. And get out of here.”

2.

When he received a letter to present himself to a series of tests, Reinhardt was not expecting that his last assessment would be a hand-to-hand fight General von Adler himself. He had seen him weight-lift at the gym many times--damn, they have even trained together on occasion. He knew how strong he was and how he could bench-press him to the moon without breaking a sweat.

Yet, Reinhardt entered the ring with a wide grin; he was younger and faster. How difficult could it be to beat the old man?

After a while of exchanging blows where Reinhardt was not an inch closer to victory, he managed to connect an elbow to the General’s face. He spat blood and a tooth to the mat, and something changed in his eyes. It was not a game anymore.

Von Adler threw Reinhardt to the ground and grabbed him in an arm-bar wrench--all in seconds.

“Yield!”

Reinhardt had never lost a hand-to-hand combat while in the army, and he had never yielded, either. This was not going to be the first time, even if--bloody hell. He gritted his teeth, right hand clawing at the mat as raw pain tore through his left arm.

“Don’t be so stubborn! Yield!”

“Never!”

He roared when his shoulder popped out of its socket. The referees rang the bell to declared the combat had finished, then scrambled to look for a doctor, leaving both combatants on the mat.

“You’re a big idiot,” the General snorted, then patted Reinhardt on the knee. “Let me see.”

“Sir, with all due respect--”

“Shut it, I’ve done this more than once,” he rolled his eyes, setting a large hand on the joint itself, just over his. “It’ll be worse the longer you leave it like this.”

Reinhardt took a sharp intake of breath when he grabbed his wrist, muscles screaming as he pulled his forearm towards the outside. Sharp white pain lanced through his arm when the joint came back together, and he squeezed his eyes so hard he could count stars.

Once he could breathe again, he noticed the General was not sitting by his side anymore. A hand rested atop his head, and he looked up. Von Adler was rubbing his jaw, a little proud smile on his lips.

“It was a good fight, boy. Welcome to my secret project.”

3.

When Reinhardt woke up, the first thing he did was sit up and hold his throbbing head in his hands-- just they were not his hands, they were the huge cold hands of his armour. Then, and just then, he noticed his right wrist hurt like hell as well, and his back, and everything, really.

“Easy,” two large hands grabbed him by the shoulders or, at least, two weights anchored him down from the shoulders. “There was a bit of a problem while we tested your armour. Do you remember anything? Can you tell me your name?”

“Reinhardt,” he said, grimacing, lowering his arms. The armour weighed a ton, and every single muscle on his body was aching and complaining at the effort. “Couldn’t stop the engine. I think.”

“You scared me for a moment, here, ”Balderich’s brown eyes were warm and concerned as he patted his shoulders, making the armours clank softly. Then, he let go a relieved chuckle. “I’m glad I made you wear that ugly bucket of a helmet on your head.”

Helmet that Reinhardt was not wearing at the moment and that he could not even see around--nor care about, in his present condition. He spat on the ground a mixture of blood and dirt, and grimaced.

“Where are we?” Looking around and deciding it for himself was just too much of an effort. The sun in the sky was too bright, and his head pounded like someone was hammering on it.

“Down a cliff. I tried to reach you before you fell, but I was too late,” Balderich got on his knees in front of him, giving him the back. “Can you grab onto my shoulders?”

“You carrying me like a kid?” Reinhardt groaned. “I’m twenty-six.”

“Already?” Balderich laughed and looked over his shoulder, eyes glinting. “But the question is, can you walk your way back up just like us senior citizens?”

“Ah, just help me up.”

Balderich grabbed him by the waist and pulled him up with a grunt. Reinhardt’s world tilted to the side as he moved, the colours went paler. His body weighted too much. Just--

When he woke up again, he noticed most of his pain was a dull reminder of something that had gone pretty wrong. He was at med bay, stripped into a gown --eek. By his side, Balderich snored softly on a recliner.

He sighed at the thought of the old man carrying him on his back, but closed his eyes with a smile.

4.

There was a loud knock on the door, and Reinhardt covered his head with a pillow. It did not drown the sound of someone getting inside his room and pulling a chair by the bed, though.

“I could use my lieutenant on the field, you know,” Balderich said, a pinch of humour on his voice.

“I can’t be arsed to work, today,” he said, voice muffled. The truth was, he was feeling like shit and almost fell to his face when he tried to go to the loo before. After he had zig-zagged back to his bed, the mere idea of moving an inch more to call in sick was unbearable.

The General picked up the pillow from his face and put it aside, making him groan.

“Ah, you look like shit, Reinhardt,” he laughed.

“Fuck you,” he grabbed the pillow back and tried to throw it at him, but it just reached his own chest. The effort almost left him breathless. “This is your fault, old man,” he wheezed pitifully.

The General had been quite sick a week before, and every single one of their platoon was falling to whatever virus attacked him first.

“It is, sorry,” he said and put a hand over his forehead. Reinhardt closed his eyes. “You’ve a temperature. Had you taken anything yet?”

“I’m fine…”

“Obviously. That’s why you’re lying there like an old rug,” Balderich snorted, exasperation permeating his voice. Yet, he ran his fingers through his hair, pulling it away from his face before removing his hand completely.

After a short while, something touched Reinhardt’s forehead again. It was not a hand this time, but a cold, wet towel that reached up to his eyes.

“The doctor will come around soon. While we wait, I’ll give you a run through the old films we’ll be watching during the next two weeks--”

5.

Reinhardt woke up on his side. He was not on a bed, but on top of a thick military blanket sprawled on the ground. There was a hell of a noise outside the tent where he was; people screaming and running, vehicles moving around. He was exhausted and disoriented, and the left side of his face burned and --shit, he groaned because his eye hurt like stupid. What--Where was he?

An engine roared all of sudden, and he pushed himself on his elbow. He gasped at the pain on his back, squeezing his eyes in a grimace. The roaring outside increased and he grabbed his head with a hand; all he could see were airplanes bombarding his position, machine guns firing, people dying, and why--why in the world he could not see with both--

I won’t leave you!

Be their shield.

Reinhardt gasped for breath, but it would not come. He looked around like an idiot, wheezing, a hand clawing the blanket on the ground. He was still wearing his boots. His armour was in a pile on a corner, broken and bloodied; his plasma barrier generator had been destroyed hours ago, and the plating could only stop so many heavy rounds before bending against his body.

The noise continued raging outside, but it was not nearly as deafening as his heart thumping in his ears. His arms still ached from pulling at people, carrying them to a safe place--just to find out there was none. He had tried. He had tried so hard to lead the other Crusaders, to get them to fall back safely with their soldiers, and yet, they all--  Balderich--

He squeezed a fist against his mouth when a thousand laughs, hugs, and beers spilled down his cheeks, never to come back.