#be happy or pretend to be happy . n eventually its fine like .

[29121996]

.

[kyracooneyx23]

Waldosia

Leah Williamson

summary: Leah still isn't over the fact that you're gone and can't help but looking for you in the crowd every game, even though she knows you'll never be there.

warnings: mentions of death, slight angst, depression, just lots of yapping at the end, not a happy ending. (cringe warning)

waldosia: /wawl-doh-zhuh/ n.  a condition in which you keep scanning faces in a crowd looking for a specific person who would have no reason to be there, as if your brain is checking to see whether they're still in your life, subconsciously patting its emotional pockets before it leaves for the day.

You'd had Leah Williamson hooked from the very first time the two of you had met. You'd caught her attention with you're bright smile and warm laugh. She couldn't get enough of you, you were like a drug.

Leah Williamson had brightened up your world during some of the darkest moments in your life. You'd lost your mum to cancer and your sister had stopped speaking to you. When all seemed lost, she gave you a reason to keep pushing even when you didn't think you could.

You were a wreck but that hadn't stopped her from loving you.

The two of you shared a love so special, you were the first person she'd run to when celebrating a win, but also the first persons arms she'd fall into after a tough loss.

She was there to hold you when you missed your mum, and bring back your smile when your sister consistently ignored your calls.

You and Leah had found each other when you were both most in need of love the most.

But it was all a secret.

A love too good for the rest of the world to know.

You feared what would happen if the fans found out. Scared that Leah would be ashamed of a girlfriend like you.

You're insecurities screamed at you, that small voice in your mind a constant reminder that you'd never be good enough for the one and only Leah Williamson

But Leah thought you were perfect, you were real and that's what she needed.

She needed someone who wasn't afraid to talk about their emotions, someone who was there when Leah needed a shoulder to cry on. Someone to keep her head on straight.

And eventually the two of you started to break out of your little shell, finally brave enough to show a little PDA, even if it was only holding hands when the two of you went out together.

You'd even started allowing Leah to kiss you after her games, no longer restricting her to just a short hug.

But of course just as you started to think that everything was going to be good, it began to go downhill.

Down a hill so steep that not even the most powerful breaks could stop the fall.

Fans were too nosy for their own good, trying to get involved in people's business that didn't concern them.

They'd call you ugly, saying that Leah should break up with you and find someone better.

Leah said it was fine, she promised to never stop loving you, no matter what anyone said. You were her world and she swore it would always stay that way. She wasn't going to let this affect her.

But you could tell it wasn't true, you noticed. And so did everyone else. Her performances on the pitch were lacking the quality they used to have. It was clear to everyone that her mind was elsewhere.

And it was. You were all she could think about. Your broken face when you'd look online and see another post dissing you. The tears you'd quickly rub out of your eyes whenever she'd walk in the room, trying to pretend you hadn't been crying.

The guilt was eating you up, and as much as you despised the thought of it, you knew that the only way to fix things was to leave.

And while it would obviously hurt for a while, you'd both get over it. Maybe Leah would find someone new. Someone better. That could give her the love and life she deserved.

You're bags were packed a note left on the side.

That was the last time Leah had ever heard from the love of her life.

She'd tried hard, so hard, to get you back. She'd called you so many times that she'd had to pay unreasonable amounts just to get more data, praying that you'd pick up.

But you never did. Every single time it would ring to voice mail, and she'd leave the same message, begging you to come home.

but her speech would always be cut off by that annoying beeping noise, signaling that she'd run out of time and she'd once again be left alone. No clues to tell her if you'd listened to her and all she could do was cry.

A year later she was still not fixed. It seemed that when you had left, you'd taken part of her with you. She no longer had her favourite person to celebrate with, and suddenly winning the conti cup was no longer as special.

Her jokes were lacking, her eyes not shining as bright as they used to. And everyone noticed, they noticed the change in Leah's demeanor and how talks about you were no longer a usual part of Leah's chats. All that was left was a crack in her voice and tears welling in her eyes from the mere thought of you.

Currently, she was walking around the emirates stadium. Waving to fans who were wildly celebrating the win. But she wasn't paying attention any of them.

She had made a habit of unintentionally looking for you in every crowd, a small part in the back of her mind hoping that one day you'd be there smiling back at her just like you used to. But you never were, and every time Leah would be left alone, but sleep would not come without your arms holding her until she dozed off.

The English captain was doing a pretty good job of keeping everything to herself as she did a lap, until she saw a familiar flash of brown hair in the stands. And that's when her mind went into shambles. She momentarily stopped walking in her tracks and stared at the girl, for a second being convinced that it was you. And then another girl came into view this time with darker brown hair, but she once again was convinced this was you. It was like her mind was playing tricks on her. You're not fucking here...

She brought her hands up to her face and rubbed her eyes harshly, hoping that by doing so she'd slap some common sense into herself. But when she lifted her head, she couldn't stop herself from looking around again, from looking for you. It was as if her brain had set its mind onto something, and decided on finding you in the crowd of 60,000 people. But seeing as it was impossible to actually find you, she just felt as if she was going mental.

Lia, who noticed Leah's fidgeting, looked up at her and grabbed her hand, shooting a warm smile at her friend who was clearly distressed. It wasn't the first time the English had acted this way after a game and it was clear to all the girls the reason why.

'There's someone here to see you.' Lia Walti whispered, causing Leah's stomach to flip.

Was it you? Had you finally come out of hiding?

Lia began leading her towards the crowd of excited people.

At this point, Leah's hands were shaking and her free hand was fumbling with the untucked hem of her jersey. Her heart was racing faster than it ever had before and her breaths were becoming shorter, feeling as if she were starting to lose herself.

What if it actually was you? What would she do if you were here in the stands right now?

Lia lead her towards where Beth Mead and Alessia Russo was already standing, but before they could even reach it Leah abruptly stopped walking. Her eyes snapped up to the girl who Beth was chatting with, eyes narrowing as she couldn't believe the sight before her. It was you, it really was you this time. The long brown hair, which looked a lot darker now (but Leah just assumed that you'd dyed it in the time you were gone) the laugh that made her eyes light up, the jersey with the number 6 on the back that you always wore to her games. And although she couldn't see your face she was sure it was you.

'Y/n?' Leah whispered so quietly, still at least ten meters away, thinking no one could hear her, but of course Lia did.

'It's not her.' She said sadly looking over to Leah who's face fell, her hopeful expression now replaced with a broken one. 'It's just Alex.'

Her eyes filled up with tears and she quickly dropped her hand from Lia's, suddenly feeling a wave of nausea run through her as she responded, 'Fuck, I-I'm... I...,'

Her sentence trailed off as she looked up at the concerned face looking at her, but she couldn't finish her sentence. Her heart was pounding in her chest and she felt like her throat was closing up, quickly inhaling and exhaling in short breaths. She was scared, terrified, of the way she was feeling. The tricks that her mind kept playing on her, giving her hope only to crush it ten seconds later.

'I can't be here anymore, tell Alex I said hi.' Leah tells the Swiss girl before sharply turning around and leaving the stadium, not caring what the fans or players would say.

It was only once she finally got into the car that she let her emotions fully take over, tears streaming down her face as she slammed her face against the steering wheel.

Why would you do this to her? Why would you leave in attempts to make things better when in reality it was just making Leah spiral. A sudden surge of anger coursed through her veins, she was mad at you for causing so much pain when all she did was give you all her love.

She was mad at the fans, and all the other people that had made you feel like you weren't good enough, when you were more than that. You were the best human being she knew, you had a heart too big for this cruel would and nobody had the right to take that away.

Nothing could hurt Leah anymore, so for what felt like the millionth time since you'd left she picked up her phone and pressed on your numbers in her contacts. She couldn't care less if you didn't pick up, no amount of pain could ever hurt someone as numb as she was.

The phone rang for a solid thirty seconds, and Leah was about to give up and just go home when she heard a soft voice coming from her car speakers.

'Hello, who is this?' Your voice rung out and Leah could almost cry from happiness and relief. You were actually talking to her, you were still there and you sounded almost happy.

'Y/n... Is that you?' Leah asks softly, not hearing the gasp coming from your lips. She was shocked that you picked up for once, not knowing that the only reason was because she'd had her caller id off from earlier in the day.

You wouldn't have picked up if you had known.

'Leah?' You're voice was full of shock, the buzz from before gone. 'What are you doing?'

'What do you think I'm doing.' The defender exclaims, 'I've been worried sick about you for a whole year. I have no clue where you are or why you left. was it me? Did I do something wrong?' Her voice trails off as she leans back into her seat running her hand through her bleach blonde hair whilst anxiously biting the nails off her fingers on the other.

'Leah, you shouldn't have called.' She can hear the nerves in your voice but it doesn't stop her from getting angry. 'I've really got to go.'

'No.' She snaps into the phone 'You're staying on this call until you tell me why you left.'

'You know perfectly well why I left Leah.' But she didn't, ever since you'd been gone that was the one thing the Lioness wanted to know the answer to.

'I don't, I wish I did but I don't.' A sigh is heard over the phone line and Leah can hear papers rustling about before you speak again.

'I don't know why you care Leah. You've seemed to move on perfectly, you have Lia now and I'm not there to bring you and your career down with my mess of a life.' At first Leah was mad, mad that you'd ever think you were bringing her down, then confused what were you talking about when you said that she 'had Lia now'.

'Lia?' She says softly voicing her confusement.

'You don't have to act innocent Leah. I'm happy for you and Lia, you're great for each other and as long as you're happy so am I.' It's funny how well Leah knows you, even though you were only together for a short time, she could sense the small smile that you were obviously faking as you said this.

'I'm not with Lia.' Leah says, louder this time to make her point clear, 'how could I ever get with someone when you still have my heart. You had it from the very first time I laid eyes on you, and I'd like it back. Almost as much as I want my girlfriend to come back home.' She laughs lightly, although there is nothing humorous about the conversation the two of you were having. 'You can't expect me to love someone when I've already given you all the love I had.'

'Leah, you need to move on. It's better that way. It's better for you and your career, like I said before I'm not letting myself bring you down anymore.' You say firmly, trying to ignore the ache in your heart knowing after this conversation you might lose the best thing you've ever had, and never get her back. 'You know how much I hate goodbyes, and I would much rather this be hello, but it really is time you move on.' Tears were spilling down your cheeks now and you couldn't stop them.

'I can't move on, you know that.'

Silence filled the car Leah was in and the small office where you were sitting matched that silence. No one daring to speak not knowing the right words to say any more, there was no clear way that this conversation was going to end. You wanted to give Leah the life she deserved whereas the Brit was adamant that you were the one she wanted.

'You messed me up y/n/n, you really did. You left when things got hard, because it was easier for you to walk out than fight for us and I thought you were stronger than that. I lay awake at night, every night, wondering why god brought you into my life, only to take you away from me and leave me a broken mess. I make mistakes, we all do, and if you're a mistake then you're the best mistake I've ever made. But it's still left me broken and I guess that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for caring too much, sorry for feeling joy when I'm around, sorry for feeling safe in your arms, sorry for getting so addicted to you that it feels like I can't think right when your not around, sorry for all the calls and thinking they were a good idea. But most of all I'm sorry that I'm never going to stop loving you and I'm never going to stop trying until I get you back.'

A sob escaped from you, you couldn't hold it back. It was the most heartfelt thing you'd ever heard anyone say, Leah was never going to stop loving you and you would never stop loving her. And maybe in another life where you weren't as depressed and could keep your shit together without pulling down other people with you, you and Leah could've had the happily ever after that are always written in children's fairytales.

Because maybe all along your love story really was just a case of right person, wrong time.

And that was the most fucked up joke the universe could ever play on you.

[rel124c41]

BACK TO CHEST (SOUL TO SOUL). jade leech

Saprophytic organisms obtain their nutrients by breaking down dead organic matter.

tags: main character death (permanently tho?), dark magic, family dynamics, survivor guilt, established relationship, malleus’s unrequited crush on reader, & happy halloween

a/n: jade & floyd's mother's name siphon from @mochinomnoms

word count: 12, 802

When Malleus Draconia, prince of Briar Valley, overblotted, you were beheaded. 

Jade has been rolling that sentence in his head for the entire month. He has been trying to make sense of it. Like a student retyping a sentence, he changes it up every so often; when housewarden Malleus Draconia overblotted, you were beheaded; when Malleus Draconia, born January 18th, 202 centimeters tall, green eyes, a hundred or so years old, overblotted, you were beheaded; when Malleus Draconia, nicknamed Tsunotaro, overblotted, you were beheaded; when Malleus Draconia overblotted, Jade had to watch you be beheaded from Diasoma’s dormitory barbican. The facts do not seem real no matter how much he edits them.

Part of him deducts that it might be because beheaded is the wrong word. Beheaded implies decapitation: the head fully cut off from the body. You did not resemble a cleanly-made dullahan. The slashing, void magic Malleus Draconia sent out cut from your frontal bone diagonally down to your occipital bone. 

Jade hopes more fiercely than a child wishing on a star that it felt like a painful flick to your forehead than nothing else. He does not want to entertain the thought you might have been conscious, wondering when your hair caught fire as you suffered through incomprehensible pain. Visible brain matter stuttering with a few painful last thoughts as you were cut apart.

So, with that said, it has not really registered in Jade Leech’s own brain that you are really dead. He can find the words perfectly fine. He cannot find the meaning of that mysterious poetry, no matter how embellished or how nudely plain.

Which is why his brother has to say certain words to him real slowly. Make sure the meaning sticks. Elongating them, sometimes repeating, “Today’s (Name)’s funeral, Jade. You have to get up.” Which comes out as fuuuh-neeer-al, yooo-u, and uuuh-puh. 

Floyd has to repeat ‘get up’ four times because Jade refuses to. As he has been for the last month, he rots in bed. Luckily, Jade has always been an exemplary student so he will still be able to graduate his second year with all his high marks. Thank the Seven for small miracles.

“Cooome on, Jade. Jade, please, get up. Jadeee.”

Roughly, and then softly and sorrily, Floyd tries to shake Jade out of his pretend sleep. His brother has been doing that a lot – sleeping and then, not sleeping, but still laying in bed with his eyes closed. Who knows what is so alluring about the ebon made from flesh-shuttered windows. A week ago, Floyd had a thought that turned his stomach rotten. What if Jade has been sleeping so much so he can pretend he is still under Sea Slug’s spell, before anything happened?

He does not like to think about it. To be frank, he has been hating thinking this entire month. It makes bile poke its tiny fingers on the muscles in his throat, watching his mirror reflection lie somnolent in bed, looking halfway dead. Which is why Floyd shifts back to shaking Jade at a harsher pace – which he will eventually slow down again, feeling regret for being rough. 

“Jaaadiooo, waaake uuup. Jade. Jade Jade Jade!” 

Floyd wonders if he has to get Azul to assist him in picking up Jade. It is not that Jade puts up a struggle when getting dragged out of bed; it is just that his weight feels like dead weight and that makes Floyd queasy. He likes having Azul there. Azul dresses Jade; Floyd brushes Jade’s teeth. They both take turns taking cups of water and rinsing shampoo out of his hair.

However, Azul is not needed because Jade voluntarily opens his eyes a moment later. Dull, rusted gold and olive peers through black eyelashes. Lifeless eyes flicker, registering what the waking world is showing him.

Shoes that are worth a king's ransom crease because Floyd decides to crouch rather than kneel by Jade’s bed. His hair is neatly slicked back, gel fixating his black strand behind his piercing. Dressed in a simple black suit, Floyd gives a shy smile and whispers, “Hey.” Jade notices something that makes him close his eyes.

Floyd did his tie correctly this time.

“Hey, no goin’ back to sleep. Ya gotta get up today, Jade, c’mon. I’ll eat one of your mushrooms if ya get up. You can decide which one, whatever works for me. Hehehe, how does that sound? … Jade, please. Get up.”

“What’s the point?”

“Because you’re gonna be pissed at yourself if ya don’t. Ya gonna hate yourself more if you don’t get up.”

“Not possible.” Jade’s nose wrinkles when Floyd starts to run his fingers through his hair, combing back black hair.

“You have to get up today. If you do, next week, Azul and I’ll leave ya alone.”

“Leave me alone now.”

“Ya have to get up to say goodbye. Come on, (Name) deserves you there. You have to get up for (Name).”

Jade does the only thing that allows Floyd to know his brother is not a corpse - he sheds a tear. Dried-up, pruning corpses cannot shed tears. It comes with a double edged sword of relief and pain; Floyd watches the tear escape from Jade’s left eye, descending down over the bridge of his nose, and onto his pillow. 

Emptied of one of a thousand tears, Jade whispers back, tormented, “I can’t.”

In your absence, Floyd’s verbose brother has turned into a man of little words. As if the action of talking is just as strenuous as getting up. It is unnerving for Floyd who is so used to his brother talking so much. 

Grief shackles a body like an anchor. So used to swimming through life with dexterity, grief has tangled itself upon Jade like cutting, tangling fishing gear or stabbing, soda-can-holding plastic. Each limb is ten times heavier than it has ever been. His tongue is an iron paperweight.

And, Floyd knows. That weight has been crushing him too.

Floyd still looks towards your designated seat in Mostro Lounge by mistake. Waits with a heavy heart to see you sitting there, ordering one of their chocolate-or-caramel themed drinks. Waits for your voice to just suddenly be in his ears talking, asking about basketball practice or new menu items.

But, he has been brave for his brother’s sake. Which is why he requests, touching their foreheads together, “Then, get up for me. Get up for me.”

For the first time in the month, Jade brushes his teeth without help. He cannot manage to do his hair but Floyd gives no complaints, slicking his own hands up with opaque green gel.

Only one month after death, a body fully liquifies. Life deflating, the soft tissue starts to decay. Oval holes in the skin appear with the ease of stretched dough. Flesh’s solidity fails and melts like candle wax. In a month’s time, a cadaver is expected to expose its vulnerable skeleton. 

Against all physical laws, you have not rotted away like an apple attacked by fungi and bacteria. In fact, it would be appropriate to say you look alive. It is inappropriate though because of the downward, diagonal scar across your forehead. Magic keeps your body fresh but your grave-ushering wound remains.

They stitched you back up? Jade wonders which friend of yours had picked the top part of your cranium off the rain-soaked ground. 

Even though Ace and Deuce were the closest to you – both physically, you had thrown them out of the way of that slashing attack and emotionally, you had thrown them out of the way of that slashing attack –he cannot picture them picking it up. Neither Grim; paws are too small. Perhaps, aspiring not-yet-doctor Riddle Rosehearts had the guts in his tiny stature to scoop up the top half of your brain. Holding a hand under like one does with a napkin full of broken eggs, making sure nothing drips onto the floor. Jade grows too sick to think of the hypothetical of who stitches you back up. 

Jade only remembers shaking, cold due to the rain and the sight. A hand reaching up to his breast pocket to grab his magic pen. Then, Floyd grabbing his shoulders to stop him from making the awful mistake of firing a spell at THE Malleus Draconia. Jade forgets the rest.

Apparently, he screamed himself hoarse. Apparently, Floyd got a broken wrist from their tussle. Apparently, Azul knocked him out with a powerful sedative spell. Apparently apparently apparently. 

The following memory goes like this: waking up in bed the next morning, throat sore, thinking about what tea you might generously brew for him to fight off his evident illness. Usually in good health, Jade is a bit surprised that morning to wake up with a flu. Then, his world is torn apart. Then, Azul and Floyd explain to him slowly – they are always talking to him slowly now – why his throat burns. Not from bacteria-made illness, from screaming, from losing you.

Sometimes, just for a span of a few moments, Jade wishes another thing with childish ferocity — prays to a shooting star. 

He wishes he could have stayed in that peaceful dream — “There is no need to shed tears nor are farewells necessary! … A new world in which none shall ever experience the pain of loss!” he had said — that Malleus was bestowing upon them. I wish Malleus had succeeded in his overblot. With a similar vehemence, he wishes Malleus Draconia died. 

There is no graveyard on the northside of Sage’s Island. No one expects to bury a student. So, someone, perhaps Dire Crowley or your trio, has chosen to bury you just a bit off the hiking trails you and Jade use to venture on. A glade chosen by someone to put a coffin smack in the middle of, still on land owned by Night Raven College.

Your dead body rests ahead, laid in a virgin’s coffin. A tree line formed by an expanding corpse of trees marks a clean circle. Him, Floyd, and Azul come upon the funeral last. Right at the start of the column and rows of seats, Jade’s feet suddenly grow roots into the ground, on par with a neem tree which has the strongest taproot system. He is paralyzed by the sight: you, arms resting on your abdomen, laying in a fairytale’s glass coffin.

The casket is elegant beyond elegance. Silica sand dug from Al-Asim’s numerous deposits was smelted for the glass. Inscribed with gold, your name playfully stretches its arms across the coffin, bordering angels and swans kneeling before it. 

Your head rests on a pillow-bouquet. Speckles of white daisy, ivory white carnations, and eggshell white spider mums kiss your hair. The centerpiece flower is Easter lilies, though. Trumpet-shaped, with shooting stars of pollen branching out from the center of them, Easter lilies crowd the bouquet like purple prose in a literary work. They crowd around your resting, stitched head with delicateness. Another bouquet of identical pattern rests too in your hands.  

The fairytale ensemble makes you look like a martyr. 

You are not a martyr. Jade hates the very thought that that could become your legacy. Wrongly transcribed and reprinted, a publisher who does not know you writes you as martyr. It makes his stomach rot. Neither hero or villain, you are not to be idolized. Bread should not be broken in honor of you and wine should not be drunk in honor of you.

You were wonderfully simple, with flaws and strengths. Now, you are gone. 

“Jade, come. There is a spot up at the front for us,” Azul says softly and slowly. 

A gentle hand pushes on Jade’s back — Floyd’s hand. “They’re not goin’ to start without us.”

That’s not what I’m worried about. I’m worried that —! Jade, not really thinking well, rips himself away from his brother too fast. 

“Woah,” Floyd shouts like a cowboy whose horse has started acting erratic. His gold and olive-brown eyes flicker with concern. Once more, Floyd goes to put his hand on the back of Jade’s suit, only to feel more like he is touching stone rather than flesh. Hm?

Out of Floyd’s knowledge, students, close friends of yours, have started to turn around, and one of them happens to be Malleus Draconia — who makes direct eye contact with Jade Leech.

I can’t breathe. 

Eyes that shimmer like Sheecle’s green take their poisonous green hands, stealing oxygen from the eel-mer’s body.

Jade finds himself breathless. In his chest, his heart grows in weight tremendously. All of the hurt in his bones is pulled towards his center, acceleration like fire. Heavy as osmium. Heavy as tungsten. He feels like something is crushing him with a sleep paralysis-esque weight. Out of his nose, his last breath slithers away; out of his brain, all his thoughts file out of the building in fire-drill-fashion. Buh-bye, Jade! his thoughts wave as they go. His breath walks out like a scorned lover, never to be heard from again.

I can’t breathe. 

Suddenly, Jade’s motionless chest is grabbed by a wayward arm. His spine collides into a breathing, functioning chest. Over his shoulder, Floyd whispers to his brother, lazy drawl slithering in Jade’s ear:

“Follow along to my breathin’ pattern. Try-a match your breath to mine.”

The words are spoken carelessly, with a lazy drawl, but the intent is vigilant. Seeing his brother needing help, Floyd reacts. He holds him close enough to feel the bones of his ribcage. 

On Jade’s back, he can feel the rise and fall of Floyd’s chest — Floyd elongating his breaths to gather deep oxygen in the very bottom of his lungs. They come in slow, constant waves. An inhale causes his chest to expand. An exhale causes his chest to flatten. Each slow rotation hits Jade’s spine in measured breaths — that I’m supposed to follow along to. Match the tempo of. 

Jade closes his eyes so he can focus upon the rise and fall of Floyd’s living lungs. It proves difficult to hear the sound of breathing over the ringing in his ears, like detecting a single scent in a saturated perfume store. Earth makes itself into a curlicue of sensations. Amongst the raging riptide, Jade tries to grab his brother’s hand. Grab onto it and share the same breath. 

It takes a few moments, a continuous rise and fall. Deeper lungfuls of oxygen push at his spine; heavier exhales stir through his three-piece earring. In. Out. Jade is trying. In. Out. In. Out. 

He breathes in through his nose and out his mouth until he can complete the cycle of in and out with a skip between the steps. When he takes his first complete breath, eyelids fluttering open, he sees only the back of Malleus’s haircut and curling horns that hook up like antlers. As he studies ebony locks cascading into layers, Floyd whispers in his ear, “We don’t gotta go up. I’ll stay back with ya.”

A coward down to the bone, Jade nods his head. Well, not always a coward; he is quite a capable eel-mer. In this particular setting, he finds himself to be as cowardly as the lion in The Wizard of Oz. For this month, he has felt that only the worst traits of his personality have survived the aftermath of a torrential blot-storm. 

He lets Floyd push him down to sit at the last row on the right. Your friends in Savanaclaw and Pomefiore are in the back rows as you are not too close to either. Diasomnia and Heartslabyul are gathered close to the front. The remaining dorms are in the middle. 

Ebony locks styled into a jellyfish cut sit in the second row, left side. If Jade looks straight, he can completely dispel Malleus Draconia from his eyesight. Azul moves up to the front, perhaps to tell Dire Crowley or your friends that everyone in attendance, time to start. Jade is beyond grateful for the hand rubbing circles into his spine, as if the touch keeps his breath circulation working.

There are a few moments of talking. Deuce Spade shuffles a bit closer to hear what Dire Crowley is saying; Azul gestures with his hands and when passed a paper, passes it back in rejection; Grim, who now attends in Heartslabyul, starts to grow louder in volume but so far Jade cannot catch a word. Eventually, it is Riddle Rosehearts who stands up. In his hand, the paper that Azul recently rejected.

Even though it is given an introduction, explaining the contents, Jade would have known it without prelude. Off Riddle’s tongue, your poetry falls like a meteor shower, silver fish-tails stretching with warm tenor. The title and author already given, Riddle reads:

“In a sea of nightmares, I spy a rock

Smooth, with a thousand freckles of fresh rain

The maelstrom brings inky monsters and villains

When I place myself upon your shore, I stop drowning

Across the water, you and I are on a rock, braving the storm.”

You wrote a lot of poetry. You were never good friends with Rook Hunt though; you clashed a lot with Pomefoire, unable to make friends with them. Perhaps because your poetry and beauty is different. Not very often did you string words together amorously, rather the words were desolate. 

Your persona – the cultivated, embellished image of the artist you were – was always sort of tortured and damaged. That worst of you created poetry with the rigorousness of an inventory. This one Jade knows well – you wrote it for him. You were embarrassed about it but brave enough to tell him: “I wrote something. I feel … I feel it describes us.” 

He misses those nocturnally active times in the botanical gardens. Transcendent music playing between the spaces of silence, filling you with his feelings, sharing feelings like they were heat and you too were cold-blooded. Under a gazebo of stars on the edge of the universe, you once said. A pocket of paradise stolen was found in the moments creating and cultivating with him, you once said. It feels like a dream, you once said.

Jade stands up from his seat, not able to withstand hearing another word. This gross, wrong interpretation of your work feels like dirt and maggots grinding his mouth. It is not a poem meant for a funeral. Between Floyd’s knees and a chair, he squeezes himself tight to escape. 

Bystanders expect him to do just that: escape. Floyd anticipates it too. He takes those expectations and breaks them. In a domino effect, row by row, people notice Jade drawing closer. Murmurs start to rouse awake the sleepy, forlorn crowd. 

Undeterred, Jade walks closer and closer. When he briefly passes the second row, he lets his gaze flicker over to his left. Eyes pinched together in small slices, gold and brown irises catch just the briefest glimpse of rotating horns and a sharp nose. The curious quirk of Malleus’s lip has his heart electric with lightning bolts of hate. 

Across the water, across the wave, Jade approaches you on that lone rock. He is going to save you from the grave and help you weather this maelstrom. The divide between you and him in life and death is a thin, easily breakable glass barrier. 

“Jade,” Riddle questions.

Back to him, Jade responds, “You should sit, Riddle. Your words were very courteous but I have a few of my own to say. Can I ask you to forgive my gross impoliteness?”

“No,” Riddle fumbles with his words, “no, no it is quite alright. Go ahead … I’m - I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Your sympathy is much appreciated.”

The crowd watches on with gross intrigue, wondering what your boyfriend could possibly be thinking of or what his next move might be. Is it not obvious from your poetry – he is going to outstretch his shore towards you. He does this through violent action. 

Jade brings up a fist. Jade brings down a fist. 

Though it does not give easily, the glass still breaks in fractures. Triangles and rhombuses branch out from underneath Jade’s fist. Jagged, uneven connect-the-dots shapes make up a circular pattern that splinters from the point of contact. A little less than ten pieces fall into the tomb, landing on your ebony dress and bouquet. 

Steeling himself, Jade turns his attention to your face. Gloss from the glass makes you look angelic, like a shimmer of makeup glitter. Someone has painted your lips in a dark, blood red – (“I can’t stand bright lipstick! It makes you look like a clown. Jade, you’ll catch me dead before you catch me in dark lipstick”) – which boils up Jade’s month long, hidden away anger. 

His second punch causes glass to land on your dress like snow knocked off a branch, heavy with volume. The plummeting glass is also followed by a trickle of blood. Jade pulls back his bleeding hand, hooks it underneath a section of glass, and pulls it up like one might do with rotten floorboards. Glass pierces through the material of his glove, hitting bone. He grabs another part of the coffin, snaps it off like it is a mere graham cracker, and forms a fist with shrapnel of glass embedded in fingers. Fragile glass hovering over your face breaks and showers down like freckles. Steadily, he keeps punching and breaking off glass until none remains.

When he pulls back his right hand, the leather is thoroughly drenched in a red flood. Instead of spraying bloody water in thin sheets, it flows off his fingers like a spilled milkshake. Black and red combined, Jade adds the last color to the Snow White triptych. 

Avenging, he takes the bouquet of white flowers from your hands. The stems crunch in his harsh grip; the flowers sway in their downward descent. He brandishes them down by his thigh like one might hold a sword in the midst of battle. Nitroglycerin sweat bubbles and propane sweat pops on his palm. His black gloved hand catches fire, enveloping the bouquet in a blaze that rises vindictively up to his shoulders.

As the last bits of a fire spell, done without the conductor of his magic pen, start to shimmer away in ash and smoke, Jade lets the incinerated, curled inward, black flowers fall to the ground. He takes his dominant hand and slowly places it upon your cheek.

Soft. You are so soft. I should have taken off my gloves. His bleeding hand infects your skin with a new paint. Jade puts his thumb over your lips where someone has put clown lipstick on you. When your lips part slightly under his ministrations, no breath hits his thumb. 

His precious pearl, breathless. He wishes nothing more for you to open up your eyes and dispel his worries. 

“Jade!” Ah, it seems people are starting to come out of their stupor at the display Jade is presenting. He looks vexatious over his shoulder, briefly catching eye contact with Azul. “What are you possibly doing!” Jade also manages to catch his brother breaking comatose to stand up.

“There is no need to fret about me overblotting. I have a secure lid placed on my emotions. Unlike others.”

Hurt flashes in Azul’s eyes. Jade cannot stomach to check if his insult hurt who he intended it to hurt. Instead, he gingerly lifts you in his arms. Limp, you tumble into his embrace with gravity-obeying limbs. Your neck tilts back and your toes point down in Jade’s careful hold.

“Jade!”

This will prove difficult with both my hands holding them and no magic pen as a conductor. It is the only thought in Jade’s head as his brother shouts his name. Worry rarely crosses his twin’s face with such an intensity; most would judge it as anger. Ah, I am really being so impolite today. Sorry Floyd. The starting sparks of a teleportation spell start to pop around his shoulders and torso like fireflies. 

With a deep breath, Jade disappears in a supernova. 

More or less, Jade Leech has returned to being himself. Verbosely polite and formal; eager to lend a helping, subservient hand; jumping right back into the schedule he has: classes, duties for Azul, Mountain Lovers club activities, etcetera. He is a different picture of the man laying in bed, stricken with your absence; now, he has returned to the man he was in your presence. 

Is it because you two are reunited in presence? That old tale of Hercules and Meg, interlocked souls, finally touching again? Are you reunited? Azul cannot be certain that is true. Nobody has been able to locate your body since that day. 

Behind his glasses, Octavinelle’s housewarden traces the motions of his vice. He cannot see Jade’s expression, only scrutinizing over his back as he pens the order of a customer. It is a week after your uncompleted funeral. Azul’s stomach turns sick, watching Jade work effortlessly in Mostro Lounge, not knowing where Jade keeps your corpse. 

Corpse … All his limbs shudder at the word. It could be hidden under his own bedroom’s floorboards or locked away in Ramshackle with your three ghost companions. You could be anywhere.

Every thought Azul has on the situation makes it feel like salt and ice are colliding in his abdomen in a hissing burn. So, he decides to stop thinking about it. Which is why he is almost grateful when Jade comes up to him, distracting his mind from slipping into darker speculation.

Hand on his heart, Jade says, “Table Fifteen is requesting your presence. They have a question about one of our discontinued menu items – the salmon and lemon-ricotta pasta. I already divulged about the excess supply getting thrown out because of low demand. However, your presence was requested nonetheless.”

“Ah, thank you, Jade,” Azul says. It is just the distraction he needs before he thinks about anything more ghastly. Stock issues and dining will not haunt him with goosebumps and night terrors. He starts towards Table Fifteen.  

“Though … I can return and take care of it, if need be.” 

It is that odious sentence that gives Azul pause. Because that is exactly what the old Jade would offer, using a bit of rough, predatory treatment to de-escalate an issue. Same old Jade Leech, hiding a corpse somewhere on campus … who even knows if your body is on campus. 

“No … No, you are dismissed from the issue. Do whatever you please for the rest of your shift.”

“Very well. If you’ll excuse me.”

I have to go make preparations, Azul thinks as he goes to greet Table Fifteen. I don’t see it as necessary but, Azul glances one last time at Jade as the distance between them grows, Jade’s spine once again all he sees, I should prepare for the event of him overblotting.

Saprophytic organisms obtain their nutrients by breaking down dead organic matter. Fungi, bacteria, and water molds all have an exclusive diet of nature’s cadavers. In the simplest of terms, they eat death to sustain their own life. 

Not all mushrooms are saprotrophs. After all, mycorrhizal and parasitic and endophytic mushrooms have a different diet; it is just that a majority of the mushrooms one finds, one will find them living among them dead. As active decomposers, they refuse to let death be finite. As Jade opens his terrarium, chip-esque mushrooms that mimic the look of a body’s heat signals, he recalls fondly how saprotrophs are the easiest to cultivate. 

He takes out the turkey tail mushrooms, ripping them from their roots. Well, mushrooms have no roots but the image is still true. Turkey tail mushrooms are fascinating – they look so much like thermal heat vision, little branching waves of red, yellow, and white, thus making them look alive. And, they have a history of being used as medicine.

So vigorous with life yet bloated after a meal of death. 

Jade opens the book on his desk in the botanical gardens. People always chastised him for his love of mushrooms. If he had an affection towards flowers or perhaps even pretty yellow weeds, he supposes it would not be as frowned upon. He has always been this way, preferring the ugly duckling over the swan. You were of a similar disposition. 

Around his work station, an incense holder burns wisps of Worm’s Wort – which can dull the odor of anything. He flips through pages at a languid pace. From the window panes, moonlight slithers down a thousand maggots and makes their congealing home on Jade’s desk. Interlocking light lies down to rest as Jade stays awake into the night.

I’m so tired. The thought seeps in like a maggot in the ear of a cadaver. Numerous times, Jade changes his pair of nitrile gloves to rub at his eyes, warding off sleep. Moonlight maggots crawl over his skin.

It is only after his sixteenth failed potion (eighty-first if you count the others he has made in the past six nights after your funeral) with the wrong color, wrong texture, or wrong smell, does Jade’s head start to slip off his neck. On the verge of burning out, eyes blinking close, the desk rushes towards him like ground to a meteor, about to kiss his nose and face with pain, and – you catch him in your hand despite the smoldering sting of touching a meteor.

“You make and pick the strangest beds to fall asleep in. I can’t take my eyes off my Jade for a second, can I?” 

Jade blinks to see you resting next to him, forehead on your forearm which lies on the table. His cheek is warmed by your right hand which acts as a bridge between his flesh and the desk. Even though some of your hair is in the way and the left side of your face is shielded in the cradle of your arm, Jade can see it clear as day. There is no scar threading itself across your forehead. 

You give him a warm smile and Jade, who is a cold-blooded creature, replicates that warmth. The last exhausted fuses of energy left in him lift up his lovestruck lips. “Tired, baby,” you ask him.

“Mmmmh, just a bit. I have been at this for quite some time.”

“We should head back to Octavinelle then. Can’t have you knocking over a potion in your sleep.”

“No, no. Let’s stay here a little longer.” To bask in your presence, Jade needs that to a higher degree than he needs water or air. “Don’t go so soon.”

You are dressed in your school uniform. It has all of your soul’s idiosyncrasy in each article. Not really enrolled in Night Raven College, therefore lacking a uniform, you wear a leather jacket without pockets and a grid pattern collared shirt. The sleeves of your button-up gently pull away from being sandwiched by his cheek and desk. You busy yourself with brushing strands of black hair into its correct placement.

“Okay, okay. We can stay here for a while, but you’re definitely going to have a sore neck and sore shoulders in the morning.”

“Pamper me tomorrow?”

You hum, considering it. By now, most of the mismatched, colored tresses have been tucked gingerly behind his ear. You follow the diamond outline of a single sturgeon scale with your finger as you say, “If the price is right.”

Jade's smile grows stupid at that, showing just a sliver of his teeth. You always did like poking fun at his Octavinelle habits. Allowing himself to melt under your ministrations, he murmurs, “Anything for you.”

“Happy to do business with you then, Mr. Leech.”

You move the nail of your index along diamond scales’ edges, content to do as he says. Stay here a little longer under a gazebo of stars. Sevens, it might have been cheesily poetic what you said in the past, yet Jade agrees in totality with your poesy. The universe has collapsed, burnt away worries and responsibilities, and all that remains of creation is you and him. 

Jade lifts his face so the hand playing with his earring falls over his mouth. With pouting lips, he plants a field of kisses on your palm. Such a warm palm. Your hand smells of raspberries and whipped vanilla from a foam soap you were particularly fond of. Jade can even smell it over the Worm’s Wort. And, Worm’s Wort – that is meant to keep his potion-making a secret – is an overwhelming, astringent scent that blankets other smells with high efficiency. 

Everything, even his nose, narrows down to you. It is not an unpredictable feat. Azul once said your voice drags him out of any task with the ease of a siren working to drown a sailor. Which is why he hears you clearly even as you mumble, “Oh, I have this poem I want to workshop with you.” 

Jade mourns the loss of your hand when you move energized. Leaning back in your stool, both hands fall behind you to grip under the seat. You throw back your head, conjuring all the verses up in your head. When you tilt your eyes to look at Jade, you have this grin on your face that balances on the fence of being sleazy with gross intent or being liberative with genius intent. Like you will either tell him you found a dead animal or you found the cure to cancer. He is all ears for whatever you throw. 

He is only thrown for a bit of a loop as you swing your feet to the side and leap off the stool. Not perturbed over your body but rather an article of clothes. The noose around your neck is a blood-red tie with a stark white pattern of skulls upon it, mimicking the look of cut-out paper snowflakes. Patterned by two distinct rows: skulls connecting forehead to forehead then skulls facing the viewer. It vanishes from his sight as your back faces him. 

Out of your mouth, poetry diffuses in the heavy, wet air of the botanical gardens. 

“Wake up. (your feet carry you out towards the stretch of cobblestone, then playfully, you turn and disappear behind large, flowing leaves and unusual flowers)

Door Death, I knock upon thee (“(name)?” jade springs up, a deep fear swimming through him because you are out of his sight)

I ask the eternal question (when he pushes back the large leaves and peculiar flowers, you are no longer in that same spot; his head moves on a swivel, looking for you)

Has my life all been a dream? (your voice carries on the eastern air)

Has all my life been a dream? (your voice carries on the western air)

The eternal question unanswered (pressure falls over his eyes and heart, where are you!)

Door Death, I knock upon thee (a finger taps his shoulder-blade)

Wake up.”

When Jade turns, your embrace retreating slowly, you are holding out a solitary Easter lily out towards him. The gesture plainly tells him to take it. A white trumpet-shaped mouth yawns at him, five or so tongues of yellow pollen sticking out. It looks so correct in your hold that Jade almost doesn’t want to accept it.

Heart knocking with lingering desperation, he takes the Easter lily in hand all the same. In replacement to his palm, he rests his knuckles to his avalanching chest, careful of the flower in his caress. Before he can comment on the verses, you beat him to the punch. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret; my Jade isn’t stupid.” 

He chuckles at that, eyes squinting with mirth.“Don’t I always say you should set your expectations upon higher platforms when with me?” 

“My expectation towards your stupidity or your intellect?” 

“Oya? I’d prefer the latter.” A teasing eyebrow is raised.  

However, you grow grim like this is a matter of life or death. You twine arms around his neck and ensnare him to lean down to your height. In your eyes, a maelstrom of mental unease rages and causes your hues to appear milky-gray with worry. Under the concern of your bruised eyes, Jade responds, “You think I’m making a rash decision? Or perhaps, one that is not fully educated. I assure you that I have rigorously studied this.”

Your mouth quirks. “I think you are choosing the wrong method.”

“Then, enlighten me please.”

You lean close to him, nose to nose. Unlike the sweetness of raspberries and vanilla, your breath is something foul. Cadaverine and putrescine scent that he can only compare to the smell of his mushrooms at peak rot. Jade cannot focus on the scent because your voice hypnotizes him. 

Slowly, you recite a song like it is poetry. “A dream is a wish your heart makes; when you’re fast asleep; in dreams you will lose your heartaches; whatever you wish for, you keep.”

Whatever dust of happiness is holding Jade’s lips blows away. The frown cuts his features. It takes a great deal for him to respond over the commotion of rain and lightning storming around in his ribcage; he only manages one word, perfumed in hurt and hate. “Him?”

Your next breath smells like mint.  He imagines it would be something lovely to taste in a kiss. “I trust him. He is dear to me.”

Hate and hurt dull Jade’s casual loquacity. “But he hurt you.”

“So have you.” Now only hurt remains on Jade’s tongue. You do not let him refute, listing off, “So has Riddle, so has Leona and Azul, so has Jamil, so has Rook, so has Vil and Idia, so has Sebek, so has everyone that has known me. What is one more scar?”

It is the harsh truth, Jade knows. Magicless and fragile, you have been in the infirmary as often as an alcohol back to the liquor cabinet. Nothing worse than scratches and one broken wrist, nothing like this, Jade wants to desperately argue but your eyes silence him.

“So please,” you continue. “Please, give him a chance … You know, I’m still so sad that I never got to arrange that joint club meeting – Mountain Lovers and Gargoyle Research Studies. I think it would have been a peaceful walk at night, looking out for mushrooms and gargoyles. 

“You two are so alike. It amuses me.” This truth takes its knife and thunders itself into Jade’s gut. Maneuvering with incredible dexterity, truth stabs into the eight tic-tac-toe regions of his abdomen, cutting deep red mouths into pallid flesh that tell him: yes, this is a truth. We love the same person. Jade does not voice this growing pain. 

“I assure you, it is beneficial to have full faith in me. Have I ever made a split -choice decision? Do I not map out everything ahead of time? Besides, failing to my weaknesses in magical areas is not something I’m inclined to do, my dear.”

“Consider it. Anything for me, right?” 

Ah, how villainous you are. To use his own words against him like that is a quality he both adores and loathes. Jade maneuvers the Easter lily so it sits in his hand like a cigarette. A loving hand raises up to one of the arms entwined around his neck, rubbing along the sleeve, as he slyly objects, “Surely you can understand my hesitation. After his -”

“I almost died –” Jade’s heart stops beating, fear is a powerful clog to all his heart’s arteries. You continue softly, “ during Azul’s overblot. What happened –”

“Let’s not talk about it. Just trust me.”

“Jade.”

“(Name).”

“No matter how your heart is grieving, if you keep on believing, the dream you wish will come true … Please, consider it for my sake.”

“... I will play around with it in my head … No promises that I won’t crush it like it’s a bug.”

The tone of the conversation turns light. “I hope the sound of it buzzing annoys you.”

“How cruel of you.”

“Ah, NRC has really rubbed off on me. I’m just too wicked.” A laugh breaks your lips.

“The worst. Worse than the worst. Vile.” Smiling with a mouthful of glass, shark-like teeth, Jade finally closes the gap between the two of you. The scent of mint too enticing and the sight of you too dopamine-inducing, he has to kiss your lips until you cry or moan. It is in his biological nature. 

The gazebo of stars rebuilds itself. Each cedar wood paneling falls back into perfect placement. Yours and Jade’s lip find all the old familiar spots of pleasure; first just lip fat smooshing together until you both in perfect sync open your mouths to each other. It might be seen as tedious already knowing the moves but Jade thinks it is a testament to how truly made for one another each of you are.

And, of course, he never allows it to get boring. Tongues like magma flowing in combining rivulets, Jade takes to moving his hands down past the curve of your shoulders to the side of your cheeks. He tilts your head in the opposite direction of how he moves his, deepening the kiss. 

You grip the back of teal strands and real pain ignites on his skin. Pain made by your physical grip. Jade follows along to mimic that harshly loving gesture. However, when he rests his fingers to cup the back of your head, he stumbles upon a scar line. A few inches above your nape. It lies like a jagged river cutting apart two pieces of land.

A warning bell blares in Jade’s mind. The sound causes him to break away. It is not buzzing though, like you were predicting. 

Night Raven College’s clock chimes twice, deep in the bowels of dark, interlocking hallways. It knocks on Jade’s skull and pulls him away. When he lifts his head off the desk, blinking at the sight of potions, his shoulders and neck are incredibly sore. 2 A.M. Two chimes after all mean 2 A.M.  The air is so thick with Worm’s Wort that he almost chokes on it. 

He does end up choking. Not on something as flowy as Worm’s Wort smoke. Rather, he chokes on something rather salty and dangerously watery. 

At 2:47 A.M, Jade Leech walks into the Diasomnia dorm.

At 3:08 A.M, Jade Leech walks out of the Diasomnia dorm, a deal made.

Floyd wakes up facing an empty bed. This is not entirely odd; Jade has a scheduled A period while Floyd opts to keep his first period free. With thick fog still lingering in his brain, it does seem a bit odd not to see Jade because for the past month he has remained in bed. But – Jade is doing better. What gives Floyd pauses is the lingering thought: did I hear Jade come in at all last night? 

Floyd is a light sleeper, always has been, so he should have been able to hear him at least enter the dorm last night or exit the dorm this morning. He doesn’t even think he heard a ladybug on the creaking floor; all of Octavinelle was unnaturally still last night like a graveyard. Before he can ponder longer on dead silence, his phone rings. 

What Azul hisses over the phone has Floyd kicking his covers like they have caught fire. “Tell me you know where Jade is. Tell me right now; where is your brother?”

From point A to point B, Floyd and Jade Leech’s dormitory to Mostro Lounge’s VIP Room, the distance is about eight minutes for a normal person. Due to their longer strides, Floyd and Jade can cut this measurement by two minutes while Azul takes the full eight. It takes Floyd three minutes to point B, as while Azul curses his ear and Floyd curses under his breath. 

Floyd knows it bad when dogmatic Azul does not scold him for walking through numerous hallways and his precious Lounge without a pair of socks, and it gets worse when Azul does not scold him for still being in his pajamas – an XL shirt with poetry in a downward pattern saying: “®, 40S & SHORTIES, BAD DECISIONS. GOOD TIMES., WORLDVIEW” with a pair of white striped, blue cotton pants – at nine on a Tuesday morning. Two Azuls speak in unison, one on the telephone receiver and one in front of him, “I think he has sealed it up with magic.”

It is a book. Just as Floyd’s hand had fallen on Mostro Lounge’s  VIP door, he had inquired why Azul Ashengrotto of all people was having such a hard time getting a single book open. A book is easy to open; a book sealed with magic should be easy too, for a mage of Azul’s talents. 

“Well, can’t ya just break it? It can’t be anything stronger than what we learned in Practical Magic?” Floyd disconnects the call as he talks; he does not need two Azuls in his ear. 

“If the charm was something from that course then of course. This is more on par with the third year Conjuration course … or Ancient Curses.”

Though only seventeen, one would think with the maturity etched in Azul’s features that he was nearing twenty-seven instead. He has a hand depressed on his face and his eyes drawn into a sharp squint. Behind the shield of his glasses, a dozen speculations and calculations dance like sparks of lightning. Floyd hates it as much as he is glad to see that incisive prowess.  

“But … it’s just a book about mushrooms.” Which is entirely true. The book that Azul’s stare is burning a hole through has written plainly on it: Chanterelle Dreams, Amanita Nightmares. 

When considering current events, the title causes Floyd’s stomach to turn inside out. However, it is something Floyd has seen Jade read before Malleus’s overblot. It is just a boring book. A boring book that for some reason won’t open.

Azul verbalizes Floyd’s inner doubt, “A book that Jade left behind. A book that is not opening no matter what elementary magic I throw at it.” 

Left in the botanical gardens. Left there overnight when Jade said he was going to be right back after tending to his terrariums. Getting back into hobbies was a sign of healing from trauma, right? Floyd feels like the skin of stomach is not only inside out but being torched by fire.

“I‘ll open it. I’m on the same level as Jade. Can’t be too hard.” Just as Floyd starts walking up to Azul’s desk, he is stopped. 

“No! No … we shouldn’t risk your health if this takes something more to open.”

Vexation falls on Floyd’s face. His teeth displayed and brow crinkled, “Huuuh?” He stomps over to the desk. “It’s Jade magic. It ain’t gonna kill us.”

“No, but it might drain one of us. And,” Azul hesitates. But when Floyd slams his hands down on the VIP desk, determinate coals burn in his sky-blue eyes. He stares down Floyd without a single flinch. “And you run the fastest out of the two of us, so we cannot risk your energy.”

It takes a moment for him to back down. Reading the map of the plan on Azul’s expression, it comes to Floyd’s attention what exactly Azul is hinting at. “Fiiine.” Floyd’s dominant hand still crosses up to rest on his right shoulder. “Doesn’t mean I’ma be happy about it though.”

“Trust me, neither am I.” And he really isn’t. This entire situation leaves a bad taste in his mouth. 

On the ledge of Azul’s desk rests his staff. The octopus’s bulbous head keeps it steady on the surface. Authentic silver shines elegantly under the expensive lighting. Between the nest of curling tentacles, Azul’s gray gemstone sits, ready to be utilized. White gloves wrap around the sleek black handle.

When Azul holds his staff above the book, Floyd interrupts, “Ma called me two nights ago and said – (Floyd sits in his bed, stricken by the sound of his grown, emotionally shielded mother crying. The sound of her sobs feel so artificial in his left ear, like hearing a creature trying to mimic human speech patterns. Something so visceral wrong laced in the vocal cords of it. 

“Mama, Mama, what’s wrong,” Floyd pleads, about one breath away from grabbing a transformation potion and rushing to the Mirror Chamber. 

“Tell – Tell Jade to pick up his phone please – I just! I – auh – Floooyd,” his mother sobs. 

“Mama, he’s in class. He can’t pick up his phone right now. He’s in class. What’s wrong? Ma?”

That seems to soothe something in Narissa Leech. There is a slick sound of her wiping away tears, probably bringing talons under her eyelids and probably bringing her forearm across her nose. After a few tearful breath, she whispers, “He’s not sleepin’?”

“No, he went to his A period class. Mama, what’s wrong?”

“I,” she sniffles, “I had this awful dream. You and Jade were tiny and still sharing your bedrooms. I went to wake up both of you for breakfast but Jade wouldn’t wake up. I kept shaking and shakin’ him. It was like he was in a coma and just wouldn’t get up. He looked like a tiny corpse. 

“I kept calling for you and Dad, but neither of you would come help. My little baby. I kept trying to wake him up. I just tried and tried. Then, I pried his left eye open and ah!” His mother cries once more. “He looked so dead in his sleep!”). – and I haven’t been able to stop thinkin’ ‘bout it,” Floyd finishes.

It is very rare for either of the twins to show their fears. Fear is a delicious seasoning that gets you devoured in the Coral Sea. Though it wears a mask on Floyd’s face, fear is still evident in his voice despite the steadiness of each syllable. Sometimes friends can just measure how much fear the other has, even when it is not shown.

Azul frowns sympathetically. He has only really had his mother and step-father; worrying about a sibling is uncharted territory for Azul. However, if he had friends with a bond as close as a sibling relationship, it might be Floyd and Jade. It just might. 

It probably is not though. Probably.

“Since we were little, your brother has always been capable. Both in his magic and in his wit. Even … even in this instance, I doubt Jade will ever make a decision hazardously.” Which is exactly what worries them; Jade is brilliant, who knows what an odious mixture of intellect and grief could end up making.

Azul touches the octopus’s forehead to the cover of Chanterelle Dreams, Amanita Nightmares. In reaction, the room explodes with the power of a violet tornado.

“Fuck,” Floyd shouts as wind body-checks him like a obese linebacker. 

Azul’s hat flies off his head. His glasses would risk being magnetized into the same wind-polarity if he tilted his face away from the shimmering violet. However, Azul does not wither even once at the tremendously powerful locking spell. The violet that stains his face like grape only hones him into the irrefutable fact that this is Jade’s magic. Despite being on the verge of being knocked over by it, the realization fills Azul with relief. 

Floyd’s violet nails scrap lines into Azul’s desk but Azul does not twitch out of his resolve. Papers lying on his desk go airborne. The housewarden grits his violet teeth so hard that he risks breaking his jaw, his mole stretching down with the shape of his grimace. 

C’mon, c’mon! Slowly, the tentacles on Azul’s staff start to unfurl from their comatose state. His gem stone and the octopus head remain fixed to the handle unlike the squirming appendages. Silver metal moves fluidly and wraps itself around the cover of the book like a starfish. 

Then, with a burst of brighter violet that fades away to nothing, chanterelle dreams and amanita nightmares reveal their faces to the two of them. Well, not to Floyd. Temporarily blind due to the atomic explosion, he is wiping his eyes with his knuckles, blinking away little spots of endless black and blinding white. Which is why for a vital moment, Floyd misses the look of absolute horror that paints Azul’s face.

“Th-This –.” As the tentacles of his magic staff congeal back into their normal state, Azul sets the handle’s end down on the ground. Uncoordinated, it tumbles to the ground just as Azul picks up the book, holding it close to his chest.

“Wha? What’s in it? Shit, this kills,” Floyd hisses, hunched over. A stray tear falls down Floyd’s left eye as he slowly straightens out. “Stupid Jade.”

With each page flip, Azul’s face turns a lighter shade of white. When a hand reaches out to grab the book, Azul slaps it with so much force that Floyd groans in pain. 

“C’mon, let me see,” Floyd whines. It is not a childish whine but more of a warning, he is going to get violent if Azul does not hand over the stupid book now. Floyd grabs the desk and leans over the top, trying to get a glimpse of whatever Azul is hiding. All he sees is paragraphs of text and a block where an image is drawn.

He does not get to know what the image is because Azul slams the book shut and demands with urgency, “Where is your brother, Floyd?”

A dragon’s treasure is guarded and hoarded with a shield-and-sword-heart acting as its knights. Malleus has found his treasure to have become his memories of you. If each recollection was a shiny ruby or bright diamond, Malleus puts them all in an isolated, inaccessible cache. In times where comfort is needed, he returns to roll a precious gem in his talons, moments of just you and him unshared with others playing in his mind. Right now, Malleus rotates a rose quartz.

This particular rose quartz was formed by magma crystallization as all are. The time period it was formed in was before you knew his true identity. 

You two are perched miles above the ground, on one of the eastern turrets of Night Raven College. You curl into your notepad as Malleus takes in the scenery. 

He took you up here by teleportation. You have improved in leaps and bounds from your first time being maneuvered about the earth by a teleportation spell. Unlike your first time, you only gag now rather than puke. After a spell (not performed by his hands) of dizziness, you two took your seats upon the roof. Meters in front of you lies a single gargoyle. Wingspan extended out and the spine facing you. 

He has already explained it to you in great detail, and you listened. Really listened. So used to be stared through, Malleus has recently been finding his ears turn pink at how you look at him. Tonight, he has cut off his presentation earlier than normal. Bashfully empty of words burnt out from your smoldering eyes.

Malleus welcomes the reprieve with gratitude. Chirping crickets and grinding graphite is the only music playing in his ears – though he can sometimes hear the jazz notes of you going no, no, that line does work, no, what’s another word for … no, too pretentious and has to keep himself from chuckling fondly.

Soon, the crickets find themselves without any further accompaniment; you have stopped writing. Curious, Malleus looks away from the stone he has been studying. His neck rolls. Rejuvenated, his pulse pounds in the taut muscles found in his throat at the sight of you. What a sight you truly are, unafraid to be here with him. 

You catch onto his unshakable staring. Tongue in cheek, pencil clenched in hand, you announce “I.” The pencil weeps under your strength. “I think I got it now.”

Malleus raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

You tap your pencil on the edge of your notepad anxiously. Then, taking a deep breath, you read your haiku:

“Apathy on stone

My prince, do not reveal tears

Gargoyle, keep your face.”

The look you give him is uneasy. He imagines you are anticipating harsh criticism, writing a poem on a subject matter he is so endowed in. Rather than criticism, the only thing in Malleus’s heart is a quick skipping beat.

You have such a way with words that it leaves his spellbound despite the unequivocal fact that you are very magicless. The words seem so knitted together for his especial heart. His own face of stone. However, knowing you do not know he is a prince, he considers the five-seven-five syllable poem and covers up his growing blush with one inquiry , “tears?”

“Because gargoyles are waterspouts. So, I wanted to layer an emotion to the functionality, the rigid job.” For a moment, you consider the poem in your hand then your mouth moves a mile a second. “Ugh! Truthfully, I wanted to say ‘a prince must never cry’ so it can keep the chain of commands like ‘keep your face’ but then the line would only be six syllables! Ugh, I hate haikus! I can’t write a single good one.” 

You look about ready to crumple up and toss the note away with hatred. It would not be surprising, you do this a lot. Enough to the point where Malleus has a collection of crinkled up poems — “If you want them, you can have them. They fucking stink though,” you had first bemoaned when Malleus first asked to keep your workshopping words. This one though, Malleus wants you to be proud of it.

“I happen to think it is quite beautiful, spellbinding almost.”

The way your eyes shimmer when looking at him leaves Malleus choking on the night air. He continues despite his temperature rising in his gut and nape.

“The first and third lines feel impersonal, but the middle line is soft. It is the gentleness sandwiched and withered away by the stone. Despite the cold exterior, there is a heart in there.”

The way you look at him — all the ways you look at him, but even more so now — has him falling helplessly in love with you. Stars blaze in your eyes like he has opened up the jaws of the universe and plucked your favorite part of the cosmo down for you. He would do so for you. He would do so much for you – divide the ocean down the middle, change the phrase of the moon, or tear the sky in two. Wounded so tightly across your finger that it surely cuts off circulation. You look at him so sweetly, bathed by the night’s glow. Malleus bites his tongue bloody to keep from telling you that you have the prettiest eyes. 

“That’s — That’s actually really a revolutionary way to look at it. I —,” you glance down at your work, “I really didn’t have the optimism to see it that way.”

“You should be more prideful of what you create. Your work too has a heart despite its cold exterior, even at its most tortured.”

“Stooop, I’ll blush.” You raise a hand over your eyes but a sleazy grin is underneath your fingers. You enjoy praise a lot.

“I am just being honest with you, Child of Man. You always asked me to be.” He pauses then asks, “however, may I inquire why use the word prince?”

“I don’t know. Don’t they seem regal to you at times?”

“Hm, there seems to be a resemblance.” 

“They remind me of you a lot. Regal. Ah, not that you’re a prince though … What’s that grin for? Don’t tell me I inflated your ego.”

“Nothing of the sorts, Child of Man.”

“Ah, whatever.” Despite your grumbled tone, you flip to the next notebook page. It is the first one he has seen you save rather than tear up. 

Rain pitters on the building, starting out soft like the languid pop of popcorn in a microwave. No, not on Night Raven College’s roof. Rainfall taps like fingertips on Diasomnia’s dormitory, and Malleus realizes it is time for him to put this rose quartz back in his treasure hoard. When his and Jade’s eyes meet across the room, his breath grows thorn in his lungs. Now is not the time to reflect.

From the towering polygon windows, the icy clouds heavy with rain are just barely visible through the shower sticking to the panes. Worser weather is certain to come like an expected guest. Malleus, tongue heavy, announces, “All that is left now is to retrieve their body.”

Diasomnia’s lounge has been cleared of all its furniture and rugs. Tables teleport away and rugs roll themselves up. Black leather couches and chairs are depressed tightly on the southern wall behind Jade and Malleus, blocking the entrance. Not that they are necessary barricades when the bombay blackwood doors are locked firmly with ancient magic. 

It is set in motion to take place in the lounge’s heart. The nook bordered by two grand staircases and twenty feet below where Diasomnia’s throne resides. Upon the cement ground, illuminated by no light, lies a circle of complex patterns and symbols made of thorns. In the middle of linking sigils, Octavinelle’s vice-housewarden stands with an apathetic, stone face. The same expression he had worn when he and Malleus made their contractual deal. 

He keeps his cards so close to his chest, you once bemoaned on your nightly ventures. Malleus remembers it well; you were reaching tear-out-your-hair hysteria due to cooking a meal for Jade Leech and not receiving a clear glimpse into his opinion. He’s impossible to read!  Your teeth flashed with frustration. 

It is an appropriate analogy. Like an experienced gambler, Jade knows not to leave his hands vulnerable to any ill-intent strikes. At first, he was incredibly suspicious of your kindness until evolution changed your kindness to a craving. With Malleus, Jade hides his cards behind his back and then shields them with an illusion spell to change the faces of the playing cards.

Making this shrewd deal was one of Jade’s finer moments. Like an experienced brain surgeon, he knows where to pull with roughness or push with softness in the intricate webbing of nerve-endings. Using survivor’s guilt as keen forceps and using his own signature spell as hooks, Jade performed a deal Azul would have been praiseful of. 

Which is why he will comply with the terms, because he has already prematurely agreed to them. Green eyes watch him pull black gloves carefully from his hands. He folds them once, pockets them, then unclips his magic pen from his breast pocket. A collision of two stars bursts in bright colors on the surface of Jade’s pen.

From out of thin air, you appear. You fall into Jade’s arm with all the grace of a dead body. Jade catches you in a dancer’s standard dip. Limp, your neck stretches as far as it can while dangling strands of hair point down at the ground like a thousand knives. 

He plants a gentle kiss on your cheek. Mourning and love mix in his heterochromic eyes. Jade takes to silently brushing away the pieces that cover up your forehead’s scar as if to almost say to Malleus who watches Jade lift you bridal style: look at what you did to them, look. 

Malleus’s otherwise imperative stare moves to a window. The rain is starting to get gradually heavier. When Malleus looks back, Jade is kneeled in the middle of the circle of thorns, as was pre-planned. The stone-faced prince of Briar Valley interlocks his gloves underneath the gem’s handle base instead of just holding it in one hand.

“No matter what you see or hear, your focus must never flicker from the Child of Man. A single interruption is a breakage in a dam of irreversible consequence. I ask you to heed these words carefully … Jade.”

“Of course.” Curt and clip, Jade’s confirmation is nothing more than contractual obligation. 

The vines from the head base to gemstone bring to shift. Two interlocked vines rotate in a downward spiral, dancing around one another. 

“Then, let us not waste another second.”

The spindle’s wheel starts to spin. Slowly at first, it moves at a pace where one can keep track of the mismatched sized spokes. Gradually, the spindle picks up pace. Inner spokes start to move in a heartbeat-esque pattern, up and down from long to short to long to short. Bombay blackwood twirls; the natural grain melts together into one smooth surface. It keeps picking up pace, twirling faster and faster. It is now impossible to distinguish where the spokes lie as they all melt into nebulous black. Accumulating to its peak, Malleus’s spindle moves so swiftly that it appears to slow down, moving counterclockwise. 

Wind picks up in Diasomnia as if a tornado is tearing through the stone ribcage. Malleus’s hair flies around him like ebon seaweed caught along a boat’s racing hook. The obsidian markings on his forehead stay relenting to the fierce winds, tight upon his increasingly crinkling brow. Behind his pointed ears, ebon strands whip back and forth with a vengeance. 

Jade’s and your hair move in tandem, blown in the same direction. Despite the discord around, despite when Malleus starts to chant, nothing tears his gaze from you. His eyes are intent on you like a mere blink would cause you to dissolve into seafoam. Despite the lighting hitting the ground, he keeps his stare. 

A breath later, the lounge is plunged into green. 

On the tongue of a stone bridge, Floyd and Azul appear out of thin air. Not entirely out of thin air though; around their shoulders, the shimmer of the transportation mirror into Diasomnia fades over their bodies. Rain smacks them in the face with a grievous scorn. Azul loses his footing temporarily but Floyd catches him by the elbow.

He pushes up his glasses, rain falls so hard and fast that they become more of an obstacle than a helper for sight. Getting drenched by the second, Azul stops with Floyd to watch the show of dancing lightning. “By Sevens, do you really think Draconia is overblotting again?”

Diasomnia staff and students in Mostro Lounge had started checking their phones as Floyd and Azul stepped out from the VIP room. Apparently, there was a storm brewing in the Diasomnia dormitory. Apparently, the main foyer was closed off and the vice-housewarden was evacuating students. Apparently, Malleus Draconia is overblotting a second time. Who knows if the information is reliable. All that is important is Jade was seen days ago, walking on this very stone bridge past midnight.

“I don’t care. I know Sea Slug knows where Jade is.” Floyd’s lips pull into a beastly snarl. “C’mon.” 

A cold sweat breaks on Malleus’s forehead. From the two connecting diamonds imprinted on his forehead, sweat drops. It trails down over his nose to his lips which are harshly breathing air in and out. 

Malleus Draconia has to minutely remind himself how breathing works as the tornado rips through Diasomnia like a savage bear. Pressure stomps on his chest with an iron boot. Through all his wild chase to keep oxygen in his lungs, he recognizes it not as pain but rather a deserved punishment. I’m sorry, Child of Man. It is an unheard sentiment; even if said, it would be torn from his lips and thrown yards away by the wind. 

There are many unheard sentiments chopped by the furious air. Most of them come from Silver, Sebek, and Lilia, behindthe barracked door, drowned out by turbulent winds. Harsh air chops up the syllables like a knife, turning them into incomprehensible poetry. The sentiments matter little until among them a single voice shouts, “JADE!”

Stricken, Jade tears his hell-bent gaze away from you. He does not answer loud enough to be heard over the maelstrom but the sentiment is still sincere. “Floyd?”

“Ignore it! Focus on them!!” Under Malleus’s instructions, Jade fixes the nucleus of his sight back onto you. A resurrection can only be completed with the kiss of true love. Without that passionate embrace, the body will lose the returning soul it momentarily holds. A true love’s kiss seals it back in the body. He waits for the predestined moment where he can connect your lips together with unwavering focus. 

“Just a little longer now, my love.” Jade’s lips pull into a lovestruck grin. “Soon.”

Among the wind, voices converse:

“Pry open the door!”

“We have been trying to!”

“Your hands are not broken or bloodied! You obviously have not!!”

“Malleus, this could kill you! This could kill you both!”

“ Malleus!!”

“Jade, you fuck!”

Azul shouts with all his remaining strength, “Jade, don’t do this!!”

A black star forms silently over Jade’s head. 

All of his life, he has been unapproachable. All of his life, people have found his teeth nightmarish and his eyes ghoulish. All of his life, he has waited for someone like you. You mean the universe to him; driven to the point where he would do something as forbidden as this. Malleus grips his staff tighter and Jade grips you tighter.

The black star is an abomination. Quantum processes work in rotation, lapping over each other like yin-and-yang. Ebony water shimmer in the middle of the black star while the outer ring strangles the air atoms with thorns. Atomic particles split into twos, going smaller than scientists thought possible, with the strength of the semiclassical, gravitational abomination. 

It thumps like a grotesque, wet heart and churns with the sound of visceral tearing. From the black thorns, the atmosphere collapses into blue-gray dust, destroying the atoms in its way. The black star gives a pained groan before it expels what it has taken.

From the inky depths of a black star, wisps of smoke start to seep down like water from overhead greenhouse hoses. The plumes of cloud hiss with head-splitting volume. Slowly, those misty clouds spiral back into a congealing mass. A split tornado swirling back into its original shape. Smoke tightens and arrows down before erupting into a cloud over your face. You swallow it; from your eyes, to your nose, to your ears, to your mouth, you swallow all the mist until there is nothing left in the collapsing air. 

Perhaps you are not swallowing; perhaps it is entering.

Jade watches intent each centimeter square of your face with glassy eyes. He waits until each wisps of vapor diffuses into the very pores of your skin. When the air is clear of the smoke, he brings up his right hand to move hair that has fallen over your features.

Onto the skies of your lips, Jade Leech whispers his heart. “I love you. I cannot live this life without my heart and soul. Come back to me; where you belong, my love, is with me.” Under a gruesome black star, he kisses you. 

It is an unreciprocated kiss. When kissing a corpse, one should never expect to be greeted with tender amorous sensations. This is why Jade does not despair when he feels nothing, suctioning your lifeless lips in two kisses before pecking harshly for the third and final kiss. It is alright – he can have his real kiss soon – because the black star is killing itself. 

Collapsing air closes in a snap. Leftover blue-gray powder hangs in the air like dust particles seen from the sunlight’s rays. Slowly, green light starts to slither away, dimming in quanta measures. All is so tranquil; even the tornado winds bottled in the lounge start to dim away. Then, like your heart is trying to jump from your chest, you start to hyperventilate in Jade’s arms.

“(Na-Name) … (Name),” love washes over Jade’s tongue. You twist violently in his arms, throat and chest pounding up and down with irregular breaths. Like a cornered prey, your eyes are wild with confusion. “It’s okay … I got you. You’re safe … Oh, you’re so beautiful. My love.” 

Neck rolling back, seizure-like eyes go white and you cough out a mushroom-shaped cloud of blue-gray dust. Black blood drips down your left nostril and trails like a tear off your cheek. Exhaustively, your chest continues to punch in and out with air that misses their connection in your lungs by centimeters. If you do not find a way to breathe, you will surely die a second time. 

Not that Jade would let that happen after just getting you back. Jade maneuvers you with ease. He moves your back so it lies on his chest and whispers,  “I know it will be difficult but follow along to my breath. Feel it go in … out … in … out … in … out … there, there … out … in … good, so good.”

Your chest beats wildly like the tempo of a metal song while Jade’s chest beats with the measured drum of rhythm and blues. Ungloved skin rests, fingers spread wide, on your chest. Each groove of each other’s bones are felt. Past the layers of muscle, skin, and clothes, your lungs touch together in a kiss. Jade depresses his chest on your back, bending you into a hunch. His words are almost delirious.

“I love you. I love you so much. I love you, please see it and believe it. I would do anything for you, (Name).”

Slowly, the tempo of your lungs start to dim like the lightning, green lights, and wind do. Jade moves his hand from your chest to your left shoulder. He depresses his lips on your neck, holding onto you painfully tight. 

“ … Right where I want you to be again. Be here with me. Be awake with me. I love you.”

You capture your first real breath as the door to the lounge bursts open.

You turn, eyes wide as saucers. Behind you, Jade’s timid smiling face greets you from your eternal sleep. Another string of black blood drips down your face, this one coming from your right nostril. Your brows creases then flattens out, recognizing the face after a moment of hesitation..

“Jade?”

In response, Jade smiles with all his teeth.

Separate from you two, Malleus lies on the floor. His own heart and lungs beating erratically, panting like a dog on a smoldering summer’s day. Lilia may put his hand on his shoulder to try and vanquish the tidal wave of breathlessness but Malleus shrugs it off. His staff is knocked by his side from the explosion of the black star collapsing. Malleus uses it to push himself up on his knees. 

His heart floods with relief and love at seeing the sight of you breathing in Jade’s arms. Besotted beyond belief, he whispers lovestruck, “Child of Man.” Then, the calm expression melts off his face and reveals panic. Because that is not –!

“Jade!”

Floyd breaks into the room like a storm; shoulder-checks Sebek who is trying to reach Malleus; jumps over the furniture that prove to be useless barracks. “Jade,” he shouts again when he notices his brother has yet to turn away from you. 

Their eyes find each other across the room easily. It is incredibly hard to see in the Coral Sea, biological and environmental factors working double-time together to ensure they stayed in the middle of the food chain. Their shared beacon of gold keeps them tethered together in the sea and on the land. No one else, not even their parents have an eye similar to theirs. That’s my brother is what that single ring of gold means.

Floyd can recognize Jade as such even now at the worst of times. However, a marginal note is stapled onto the thought. That’s my brother and, right now, I’m terrified of him. It is an odious thought. Sevens, Floyd can feel the tap-dancers of bile make their merry way up his throat at this very moment. What keeps them tethered together feels more like a chain than a security line to use.

“Bad decisions, good times,” Jade reads off his t-shirt. “Hm, Floyd?”

How can he speak so calmly with that in his arms? Perhaps, that too is part of why Floyd feels goosebumps on the back of his thighs. A prey or lower predator has signals receptors to recognize danger. A cat shows its fear in a twitching tail; Floyd wonders how he must be showing his own fear. Call it animal insight but a part of Floyd knows deep down, that is not you in his brother’s arms. 

“Ja-Jaido.”

“Florido.”

Do this for me, Jade’s eyes seem to implore. Ah, you asshole, Floyd’s eyes respond. 

He walks forward through a graveyard of thorns. “They probably can’t walk that well. Gotta be winded.” Floyd outstretches his left hand; Jade’s eyes squint in gaiety and your own gape wide in curiosity. The grip Jade has around you is protective.  “C’mon, get up.”

“Thank you, Floyd,” Jade says, placing his hand on his brother’s. 

[scribblesofagoonerr]

Burntout

I got upset and cried, and then I decided to try and write something that I am currently relating too, right now.

Lifes' full of up and downs, and sometimes its' okay to admit that you're not okay.

pairings: lotte wubben-moy x reader, alessia russo x reader

warnings: angst, meh.

The morning sun painted streaks of gold across the training grounds as you took part in another intense training session ahead of the upcoming game at the weekend.

You had joined the team just shy of a few months ago with dreams as big as the stadium in which they were due to play in, but beneath the facade of determination, you carried a weight that threatened to crush your spirit.

With each day that passed, you felt like the pressure mounted even more. The expectation were high, the scrutiny, the relentless pursuit of perfection - It all bore down on your shoulders like a somewhat invisible burden.

You found it easy to smile for the cameras, laugh along with your team mates jokes but inside, you felt like you were drowning.

There were a few of your team mates who were quick to note your struggles, 2 familiar faces from your past club, Lotte and Alessia, who had sensed the change in your demeanor. Of course they knew you all too well to be fooled by any of the facade you worse so carefully, they were able to see the cracks forming beneath the surface, the fragile threads that held you together.

Lacing up her boots, Lotte exchanged a knowing glance with Alessia, they both understood that something was amiss, something that needed to be addressed before it was too late.

During a break in the training session, Lotte and Alessia decide to approach you, concern etched in their expressions. "Hey, kid. Are you okay?" Lotte asked gently, her voice filled with geninue worry.

Your facade faltered, just for a moment, before you hastily plastered on a smile, "Of course, I'm fine," you replied, your voice a practiced melody of reassurance.

However, your team mates didn't seem entirely all that convinced. You should have known they would see through you and be able to recongise the pain hidden behind your smile.

You failed to keep your act up.

Lotte and Alessia were like 2 big sisters, you weren't that much younger than them, but you adopted the nickname as the kid, they were both fiercely protective of you and fought anyone who vowed to say anything bad about you.

"You don't have to pretend with us," Alessia stepped closer to you, her eyes searching your face, "We know that you're struggling. It's okay to admit it,"

Tears welled up in your eyes straight away as they threatened to spill over, the dam that you had built around your emotions was crumbling and you could no longer hold back to the flood any longer.

With a shaky breath, you finally let go of the facade that you had been wearing for so long.

"I'm not... I'm not okay," You whispered, your voice barely above a whimper. "I'm just finding it hard to cope right now, you know? I guess its' hard to try and fake a smile, act happy and that, when I don't feel like I'm truly happy."

"Oh kid," Lotte murmered, enveloping you in her comforting embrace, that Alessia joined in as well, both of them offering silent support as you let your emotions flow freely.

"Listen, Y/N/N, we know that you're finding things difficult here, but it will be okay and eventually, you will get used to it," Alessia said softly. "You've got so much potential, you're going to take the world by storm. We believe in you and your not alone in this anymore."

Lotte nodded in agreement with the blonde, "Less is right there, kid. We're going to be here with you every single step of the way, you can always talk to us about anything at all, remember?" she paused and waited for your response of a nod before she continued. "Your like a sister to the two of us and we hate to see you struggling at all, we love you so much, kid."

As the embrace with the two older girls lingered, the weight on your shoulders slowly began to lift and felt like it was replaced with a sense of relief that you hadn't felt in a long time.

"Thank you," You whispered, pulling back slightly both of them, meeting their concerned gazes with newfound determination. "I promise I'll talk to you both and be more open about how I feel from now on. I don't want to keep pretending like everything is okay when its' not."

Lotte smiled softly while her eyes were filled with understanding, "We're here for you, always," she reminded you, her voice unwavering in its' support.

"Together, we'll help you get through this," Alessia rested her hand reassuringly on your shoulder, "You're not alone," she repeated, her voice filled with conviction.

© scribblesofagoonerr

[owliellder]

Two's A Crowd

College Bully! Leon Kennedy x fem! Reader

MDNI 18+

(Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5)

Description: College is proving to be a lot harder than you imagined. You cannot fail this math class. So when you've tried everything else, a well-known student is recommended to you by your professor for tutoring lessons, not really leaving you with much of a choice but to work with him.

Warnings: Not proofread, No Use of Y/N, Dub-Con, Unprotected Sex, Bullying, Yelling, Cursing

Tags: College AU, Bully! Leon, Shy! Reader, both are in their early 20's, Leon is Rude AF in the beginning, Loss of Virginity, Oral Sex, Fingering, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Additional Tags to be Added

Author's Note: I've been late posting this entire series 😭. i explained a bit when anon asked, but i LOST my compression gloves and got a new pair relatively quick on top of my $200 medication 💔 my wallet is in shambles guys

ANYWAYS thank you all for sticking around and bearing with me!! i kiss and hug everyone!! even though i haven't responded to comments lately, i read every single one and it always makes me giggle ♥️♥️

Cross-posted onto AO3

Chapter 5

The drive back to your university with your mom was excruciating. You hadn’t told anyone what’d happened which meant you had to keep a happy demeanor around them throughout the holidays up until now. Dread had settled in your stomach once the drive began and continued to spread the closer you got, similar to when you’re headed to the doctors or the dentist, just a million times worse.

Texting Ella and Sky had helped a surprising amount, turning the majority of your anxiety into rage. Ella was furious when she found out, so her fury, and Sky’s, quickly became yours.

They hyped you up, ready to be at your side and assist in tearing “that shitty fratfuck” to shreds. The support meant so much after everything, especially after the reality of it all set in; you’d seen the picture via snapchat from someone you didn’t know, so how many others had seen it?

Your worst fear was being seen as easy, being used like you were. But you weren’t, were you? Your friends had made sure to try and convince you otherwise, you had to give them that, yet even with the facts laid out in front of you, it was still hard to divert your thoughts away from that ever-looming self-doubt.

Seeing the campus come into view only served to solidify those thoughts and feelings. No matter what Sky and Ella had tried or are willing to do for you, it just wasn’t enough to fix what’s been done.

Your mom helped you bring your suitcase up to your dorm, giving you a tight hug and a kiss on the temple before saying goodbye and heading on her way. Playing okay around your family all winter break was exhausting, so you just chose to sit in silence on your bed instead of unpacking your stuff. Always prepared, you wanted to get here a few days early, using unpacking and settling back in as an excuse, when really you just needed time to collect yourself before the inevitable happened.

He was here, and you were sure he’d seek you out eventually once he spotted you, or maybe when one his friends did and the word made its way back to him. Whichever way it happened, you knew it’d be unfavorable. 

“Hey,” Ella’s voice from the doorway caught your attention, “you look miserable..” How hadn’t you heard the door open? 

“I am miserable, but uh.. let’s just pretend I’m not, okay?” You replied, barely cracking a smile as you glanced up at her. 

She gave you a weak laugh in return, letting the door close as she slowly sauntered over to you, plopping down right next to you on the edge of the bed. “Fine, yeah. You haven’t shown me your schedule yet, by the way.”

“Oh, right-” you paused to reach over and grab your bag, rifling through the various papers in there until finally pulling out the schedule you printed out a couple weeks back. “It’s mostly the classes that aren’t fun.” You stopped to look at your schedule for a brief moment before passing the paper over to Ella, who quickly snatched it from your hand.

She squinted dramatically, holding the paper only a couple inches away from her face. “Yeaaah, these aren’t the best. At least it looks like you’ll have the majority of your pre-reqs out of the way for next year though.” Her observation made you chuckle with a nod.

“Which is what I’m trying to do. Work myself to the bone now, chill out later.” 

“Don’t kill yourself trying to do everything in one fell swoop.”

“I promise I won’t Ella, this is just how I-” A knock on the door drew both yours and Ella’s attention away from each other, an immediate scowl settling on her face. You wanted to ask, but it seems she already knew what you were going to say, quickly shushing you in a hushed voice, “Sky won’t be here until tomorrow night. Don’t answer that.”

You paused, thought for a moment, then nodded once with pursed lips. Ella was a pretty serious person, the mom of the group you could say, so when she pulled that tone, you knew better than to test it. Besides, you didn’t want to see who or what was on the other side of the door, you needed more time.

The next day was a little better, if uneventful. You finally brought yourself to unpack your suitcase, a chance to reorganize everything since you’d gotten a few new things over the holidays. Ella stuck close, bringing food up and into your dorm to take advantage of the empty mini fridge while the two of you binge watched a few random movies.

You stayed cozied up in your bed, having already mapped out and memorized your walking path for each class; longer, less foot traffic to and from. All you had to do was get through the rest of this year, that’s all. Little extra walking never hurt anyone, right?

When classes actually started, the long and complicated walks actually worked for a time; no one gave you strange looks, no one tried to talk to you, and it was pretty quiet. Scenic. But everyone knows everything good must come to an end eventually, and of course it had to be when you were just starting to forget all of this mess.

He caught you between classes. Scenic walks backfired massively when you realized there wasn’t anyone else around on that part of campus. Guess you didn’t think this one all the way through.

You couldn’t help but notice he looked pretty roughed up, sporting a few bruises along his cheekbone, a split lip, and a healing black eye. Seems he’s been busy over winter break.

“Listen, please listen-” Leon pleaded, holding his hands out in a weak attempt to trap you in the hallway. All this did was make you even more uncomfortable. “I know what I did was wrong, but I was not the one who sent that picture around, I swear.” You just stood in place after a few tries to get around him, giving him an almost bored stare. He didn’t really expect to finally catch you, so he stumbled over his words as he continued to ramble.

“I-.. I’m so, so sorry for doing that to you,” he slowly lowered his hands back down to his sides once he was sure you’d stay to listen, “I know that what I did was terrible, and I mean it when I say that I am sorry. I wish there was a way to turn back time and undo it, but I can't. I can't even explain why I did it in the first place, but that's not an excuse. I just- I messed up big time and I was- am stupid for letting it happen.”

To you this seemed sincere, but you really couldn’t be sure and it was safe to assume it wasn’t. Leon managed to trick you for months, who’s to say this wasn’t a trick as well? 

Your look turned skeptical, crossing your arms tightly against your chest with a shaky breath. Despite handling this better than you thought you would, it was still nerve wracking having this kind of talk.

“I'm not good at this, but I'm more than willing to do whatever it takes to make things right, if that's even possible..” Leon breathed out, panting as he tried to catch his breath after talking so fast. “I managed to uh-.. to find everyone who had the picture and I made them delete it.”

“I made them delete the picture.” He repeated, taking another moment to breathe before suddenly looking down to yank something out of his pocket. “I-I got your uh-.. these-” 

Seeing him hold up your panties so casually made you gasp, immediately looking around the hallway to make sure it was still empty before shooting him a glare, whispering a harsh “Put them back! Put them back!” which made him scramble to hide them in his pocket again. 

“Right- right, sorry! Sorry…” Leon was sweating at this point, growing increasingly anxious under your gaze. He didn’t want to mess this up any further, but man he was doing a pretty shitty job at that right now.

His hands were shoved into his pockets as well, both of you blushing with embarrassment, and also shame on Leon’s part. Once he managed to slow his breathing, he started to talk again, a noticeable frown tugging at the corner of his lips. “You don’t.. have to forgive me or anything, I just wanted to make sure you knew that hardly anyone knows and-” His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed dryly, turning his head to the side to look at the wall, “.. and that I’m sorry. I really do like you, I guess I just took a little too long to realize it…”

You made another quick glance over your shoulder before looking back at the man trembling in front of you who was still avoiding your gaze. You wanted to hate him so bad, so bad, but it was hard when all you could see was the Leon who was so sweet, the Leon who let you cry to him when the weight of the world was on your shoulders and made you feel so wanted and loved.

“Can we-” you cleared your throat and pulled the strap of your backpack further up onto your shoulder, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet. “Can we talk later, maybe? Like, in my dorm? I don’t want anyone overhearing any of this..”

Leon perked up when he heard you talk, pulling his hands from his pockets to nervously rake his fingers through his hair, which was now partially damp from the sweat beading off his forehead. “Oh- OH! Yeah, of- of course, yeah, I’m sorry I didn’t- I just needed to-”

You waved your hands in front of your chest, shutting him up so he didn’t spill any further. "And throw those away." He nodded silently, wiping a hand down his face until it settled right in front of his lips, probably knowing he was talking too much at this point. 

There was one more class you needed to go to that day, so you hurried off after telling him to wait outside your dorm until you were done, and he promised he would. Very adamantly, too. At least he held true to his words, standing in the hallway right in front of your dorm room like a lost puppy when you turned the corner. It was cute for a second, though annoyance quickly replaced that feeling as you walked over and let him in.

You weren’t exactly ready to have a full blown talk, but then again, no one ever was. What made it easier was your roommate never returned that semester, assuming she dropped out, so you basically had the whole dorm to yourself for the rest of the year. Or until someone had a roommate issue and needed a change. Didn’t really matter to you at that point.

There was really only one thing on your mind and that was getting Leon to explain this whole ordeal to you. You needed detail, clarification, anything to help you understand what’d been going on behind your back during that time. And he did, telling you just about everything he could; who suggested the bet, who roped him into the idea, the second guessings he had since the start, how he could’ve done literally anything else to avoid the way it all played out, everything.

Obviously you couldn’t just forgive him like that, even though he kept telling you how sorry he was and how terrible he felt about it. You wanted to forgive him, but you weren’t ready, and he understood that. He would’ve been satisfied with any response you gave him, so having been given the chance to really explain and have you listen was more than enough in his eyes.

“And just so you know, my friends aren’t going to let you off the hook,” you pulled your legs up so you were sitting criss-cross on the bed, looking across at Leon who was sitting on the bed opposite of yours.

“Yeah, I know..” he chuckled awkwardly, reaching a hand back to rub at the nape of his neck. “I was honestly expecting them to jump me, but they just give me evil looks whenever they see me.”

You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, making a mental note to question Sky and Ella about that later. “You’ll never get nice looks from them again and I won’t be vouching for you.”

Leon nodded, silence blanketing the room as you’d finally run out of things to discuss. Though it was awkward, it was nice to have him hanging around again. “Anyways,” you started, standing up from your bed slowly as you vaguely gestured towards the door, “I need to study, sooo…”

“Oh, yeah, totally, uhm..” he followed suit, standing up from the other bed before sauntering over to the door as you held it open for him. He walked out and turned around almost instantly, a small smile suddenly appearing on his face once his eyes met yours, his arms jerking upwards slightly as if to suggest a hug.

“Don’t push it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

tags:

@kayotee4 @k-fallingstar @bobastayhigh @mi-zer-y @chasingkennedy @l30nva @espressonerd @jjouki @5tarx @bunnybreadloaves @whoisgami @cyanscribe @c4b3r1a @darichvep @mmmangel @kingtacocat @klee-iii @baby--vera @dakiniii @kenma-izhu @aliidarling @leonsmamacita @deadghxsty @nekoheist @dumbassmortal @cassiecasluciluce @iovewilliams @maeplayscello @deddiemunsonsblog @paranoid-but-android @mariesmain @tteokhwaa @bonnibuckets @eilonwykennedy @1dk-anym0r3 @papatyacikcik @animesnowstorm @lexi-zsy09 @mylifedoesntexist @ifeellikedying @yourmommylol04 @ravioli19 @dakiniii @papichulo120627

(few of your blogs won't pop up, i tried though 😩)

[katebishopsbow]

SOMETHING UNHOLY • NEYMAR JR (part i)

pairing: neymar jr x reader (18+)

summary: while babysitting davi, you went up to neymar’s room to get something for the two of you to play with. it turns out that the room wasn’t empty, and you ended up catching neymar doing something unholy.

tags: explicit sexual content (minors dni), voyeurism, jerking off, choking, praise kink, sir kink, age gap, dirty talking, finger sucking, dom!neymar, babysitter!reader, no mentions of y/n

word count: 2.8k

(gif is not mine)

─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

An excited squeal was heard before the front door flew open, revealing an ecstatic Davi sprinting toward you to greet you with a crushing hug. “You’re finally here!” he giggled with his face burrowed in your shirt, and you patted the back of his head comfortingly as you told him with a smile, “It’s great to see you too, buddy!”

Upon entering the house, Davi began bombarding you with everything that had happened in his life for the past few weeks, from the science fair he won with his exploding slime experiment, the pretty girl who confessed to him at school, the new video game he received from his mom, to the luxurious fishing trip his dad had taken him over the weekend. 

Being the babysitter of Neymar’s kid had its benefits - one of which was the high-paying salary. It paid relatively well compared to the other babysitting jobs you were offered, in fact, it paid so well that this single part-time job was enough to support all your daily expenses and cover part of your tuition fee. And while you initially accepted the job because of the money, you eventually decided to stay because of Davi.

And also because of Neymar - but that’s beside the point.

“Then Dad belly-flopped into the lake! It was awesome!” Davi’s smile is infectious, his genuine excitement about all the little things in life would always fill you with a sense of serene happiness, and sometimes it felt like he was more of a friend than a kid you babysat for. “Well, your dad’s always been awesome,” you chuckled quietly while switching on the TV, surfing through the channels until Davi’s favorite program was on.

Though the boy was quick to interject. “I don’t want to watch TV today… Let's play football together!” he suggested, his voice laced with so much glee and excitement that you didn’t have the heart to say no to him, even though you had absolutely zero agility and were terrible at football. “Alright, I’ll get the football for us…” you pretended to sound unimpressed, but soon broke out into a wide smile when Davi jumped up from his seat with a victorious chant.

“There’s a football in my dad’s bedroom, he said I could play with it if I want.” You contemplated for a while, unsure if it was a good idea to enter Neymar’s bedroom. While he should have been at practice at this hour, meaning that his room was probably empty, the thought of entering his room just seemed like a violation of his privacy.

But before you could ask Davi if he could get the football himself, he had already sprinted off toward the backyard, leaving you all alone in the living room as he yelled out eagerly, “I’ll wait for you outside!” Not wanting to rain on the kid’s parade, you let out a defeated sigh and got up from the couch.

 “I’ll just go in and out. I’ll not touch anything or look at anything inside,” you mumbled under your breath as you made your way up the stairs, trying to convince yourself that this was no big deal. You were only going into Neymar’s room to get the football for Davi - a fully justified reason. And just like Steve Harrington once said, “I’m stealthy, like a ninja.” You’ll go inside, grab the football, and leave - nobody would even notice you were there.

It was all going to be fine.

Walking down the hallway until you reached the room at the very end, you twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open.

It was not going to be fine.

Nothing could have prepared you for what you saw in that room. Your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach when your eyes landed on Neymar, sitting shirtless on his bed with his trousers unzipped, hands wrapped around his length as he pumped himself at a steady pace. The way his face contorted in pleasure, eyebrows furrowed together like he was nearing his release, and then the next second his eyes flew open and he was looking at you in utter shock.

Everything was happening so fast that your brain literally short-circuited, like your entire body had shut down and rebooted itself. Every muscle within you screamed at you to flee the room, to get the heck out after walking in on such an intimate moment of his - but almost as if your legs had stopped working, you couldn’t bring yourself to move an inch.

All you could do was stare at him, eyes wide and mouth hung open like a deer caught in headlights. Neymar’s hand came to a halt, his facial expression just as dumbstruck as yours, and you had to force yourself not to glance down at the fingers still wrapping around his hardened length.

You blinked once, twice, and finally were able to collect yourself the best that you could manage. “Sir, I’m so sorry for coming inside your room unannounced. I was just here to get something, and I— I didn’t know that you were going to be in here— normally you’d be at practice so…” you began to ramble, strings of words spilling out of your mouth as you frantically tried to apologize.

“I’m just really really sorry, sir,” you apologized one last time, shoulders slumped and head hanging low from the unbelievable amount of embarrassment you were feeling, and also because you wanted to avoid looking at him and his exposed body. Squeezing your eyes shut, you waited for Neymar to say something, anything. 

You expected him to scream at you to get out, to lash out at you for entering his room without knocking, to kick you out of the house for violating his privacy like this. But when he stayed silent, not uttering a single word or exploding in anger like you expected him to, confusion began to gnaw at your mind and the silence became unsettling.

Your name suddenly fell from his lips in a hushed whisper, his voice raspy and laced with a strange, unexplainable tone. The call of your name made you glance up, and what was once a look of surprise and puzzlement on his face was now replaced with one of desire - his lips pulled up in a slanted grin, half-lidded eyes gazing into you like he had something sinister in mind, and you could feel your insides stirring when his hands began stroking up and down again.

“Lock the door and come over here,” Neymar whispered in a hushed voice, and while his words were soft and gentle, underneath them all was hiding a sense of authority, so firm and unmoving that you couldn’t help but comply. His piercing gaze never once left you as you turned to shut the door, clicked the lock shut, and slowly walked over to his bed. “Sit.” One word was enough to make you listen, taking a seat on the corner of his bed as if your body was on autopilot.

The rational side of you would’ve made you leave the room ages ago, but somehow you couldn’t bring yourself to leave, not when he’s looking at you with unbridled hunger. All you could do was follow his orders and do exactly what he said, like a girl possessed, hypnotized by all that he had, blinded by the need to find out what would happen if you stayed.

Feeling the tension in the air, you swallowed nervously as you desperately tried to figure out what exactly was happening, eyes flickering between his face and the slow pumping of his hand. “Fuck…” he hissed out through gritted teeth, his piercing green eyes now distant and cloudy with lust. “Now watch.”

Every passing second made it harder for you to breathe, to sit still when Neymar’s pleasuring himself right in front of you, and it was damn near impossible to comprehend the fact that he had asked you to stay and watch. Tightening his fingers around his length, he squeezed his throbbing cock as he thumbed his slit in teasing strokes, gathering the precum that had spilled out.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve thought of bending you over and fucking you inside this house,” he exhaled a shaky breath, smirking at the way your breath hitched as the sinful confession fell from his lips. “I’m a sick piece of shit, right? For thinking of my son’s babysitter this way,” he chuckled, but the way his voice sounded didn’t seem like he was at all guilty. 

Words didn’t need to be said for the two of you to know that this was wrong. From the fact that he was jerking off in front of you, the unholy thoughts that he always had whenever you come over, to how you were enjoying all of this no matter how hard you try to convince yourself otherwise. 

Neymar was years older than you. He was in his thirties and you were still in college. He was a world-class football player and you were an ordinary college student still trying to navigate life. Most importantly, he was a father, and you were his son’s babysitter. Your relationship never should have exceeded that, but it did, with him splayed out in his bed, admitting all the filthy thoughts he had of you while you watched him. 

This was wrong - all of this - but neither of you wanted this to stop.

“But you like this shit, don’t you?” he asked you with a knowing glint in his eyes, and the smirk on his lips only seemed to grow wider. You couldn’t find the words to answer him, any sort of coherent thoughts had longed become muddled up inside your head. Though you didn’t have to, because he already knew your answer from the way your breathing picked up and your thighs clenched together. 

“I bet…” he choked out as his head tipped backward, letting out a deep groan while speeding up his hand. “I bet you’d let me fuck you if I asked.” A little gasp escaped your lips, bright eyes flickering with a lustful gleam he had only imagined in the darkest hours of the night. You stayed quiet, nibbling on your lips to prevent the whine lodged in your throat from coming, and that’s all it took for Neymar to know that your answer was a definite yes.

“You’ll let me come inside like a good fucking girl too, won’t you?” The thought alone was enough to make you whimper, clenching your thighs together needily as arousal pooled at the pit of your stomach. Your eyes fluttered closed, allowing the sinful images to plague your mind - god, how you wished those thoughts were reality instead.

You wondered how his lips would taste like, what his reaction would be if he could feel how soaked you were right now, if he would feel as good as you imagined it to be when he finally slid himself inside you, and how he would look when he finally reached his release, emptying himself deep inside you until you milked him of his very last drop. There was nothing you wouldn’t give for all of this to come true, for him to just touch you where you needed.

Fingers suddenly clasped around your throat, pulling you out of your erotic trance and dragging you back to reality - even though the reality you were in seemed more like a fever dream. “Use your words. Yes or no?” he demanded, and he couldn’t help but admire how good you looked with his hands around you - so good for him, so sweet and breedable.

“Yes, sir,” you answer with a soft whimper, head nodding urgently at his previous question while you relish the firm grip on your neck. “Good girl,” he praised you with a smile before releasing his hold on you. There was a warmth that lingered on your skin even after he had let go, and a part of you wished he had kept his hands there longer, that he had squeezed tighter.

“I bet you’d feel so good wrapped around me… and you’ll let me do whatever I want to you…” He continued to pump himself, cock twitching at the sight of you before him - rosy cheeks and glassy eyes, so worked up and so desperate for him to just touch you. “Please…” you huffed out a pathetic plea, hands gripping tightly on the sheets below you, praying that he would do something to ease the aching need between your thighs.

He smiled - not a friendly one, but the same damned teasing grin he always had on - and had the audacity to coo at you as if he thought you were the cutest thing on earth. “Be patient, baby…” You tried to be patient, you really did, but your patience was running low and you were genuinely going to cry if he didn’t touch you soon. 

A few more rough tugs on his cock and he knew he was nearing his orgasm. “Fuck… gonna come…” he grunted out, rocking his hips up unrhythmically to meet his fist as the bed started to shake. All that could be heard inside his bedroom was the wet squelching of him jerking his cock, the quick and shallow breaths of you both, and the broken moans that rumbled in his throat with each frenzied stroke.

“Sir, please.” That simple sentence was enough to shatter him into a million pieces. A pleasured groan pushed past his teeth as his hips thrust up one last time, body seizing up as jolts of electricity coursed through him in waves of pure ecstasy. You weren’t even touching him, but all he could feel was you - everything else faded into darkness.

White ropes of come spilled from his cock, getting all over his skin and dirtying the white sheets below him. His mouth fell agape, throwing his head back as your name fell from his lips like a mantra, calling you again and again until he completely emptied himself into his fist.

You watched as he fell apart in front of you, refusing to take your eyes off him even for just a second while he drowned in the endless sea of pleasure. “Fuck… that felt so good,” he spoke in a soft murmur, stroking his cock lazily as he collected some of the come splattered on him with his fingers.

Leaning closer to you, he lifted his hand to your lips and pushed his fingers inside your mouth, groaning with satisfaction at the sinful sight - your lips wrapped around him, so good for him, so eager to please. “There you go, my good little girl…” You moaned at the praising nickname he had for you, twirling your tongue around him and enjoying the taste of him.

A strange silence fell upon both of you after he pulled out his fingers, neither of you was saying anything and all you could hear was your own heartbeat drumming in your ears and the ragged breath of Neymar. You could feel his stare on you, dragging his gaze down to your lips, and you wondered if he was going to kiss you.

He leaned in, so close to you that you could almost feel his hot breath fanning against your lips. You squeezed your eyes shut instinctively, but instead, he tilted his head and placed a chaste kiss on your left cheek. 

“I’m off to practice now,” he whispered into your ear, voice low and raspy, and proceeded to get up from his bed. You looked at him with utter confusion, the gears in your head still turning as you struggled to process what exactly had just happened. Was he seriously going to leave? Right now? What about you? 

The ache between your legs only seemed to grow, and the frustration building in your chest was beginning to grow as well, really quickly. “But… Sir…” you tried to think of something, but had no idea what you were even supposed to say in a situation like this.

The smirk evident on his face meant that he knew exactly what he was doing, and was well aware of how mean he was being to you, but he was doing it nonetheless. “Keep being a good girl for me, and maybe next time I’ll give you a little reward.” Sending you a wink, he pulled on his jersey and exited the room.

This motherfucker.

[dunmeshi-darlings]

eeee i love your writing!!! could i get chilchuck comforting a crying reader (who's normally very bubbly and happy)? Bonus if they're crying bc they think their feelings for chilchuck are unrequited 🫣

Thank you kindly dear anon, i hope your day is going well and that you have rested well and ate well.

Chilchuck was never good with emotions, both his and other peoples. He kept his own emotions hidden so as not to appear vulnerable. And when it came to other peoples emotions he was fine with the positive ones...but quickly became awkward when things turn negative.

In fact he might be the worst (well second worst possibly) when it comes to dealing with emotional issues. So when he walks in and sees you crying he freezes up like a deer caught in the headlights. Its such a foreign sight to him he wasnt even sure if he was seeing it right.

You have always been such a bright cheery person, No matter the situation you were always the one that had the biggest grin across your face telling everyone its going to be ok, to not give up and push on. That was one of the things chilchuck liked about you the most, even if he would talk about how a situation was impossible or that it was to dangerousm you were always the one reassuring him that things were going to be ok. He never said it but it really meant alot to him, usually he would just ignore it or blow it off but he knows deep down it helps him more than he lets on.

He stares at you sobbing, wide eyed for a few moments before quickly making his way over to you. "WOAH woah hey Y/N hey hey its ok! its ok, whats wrong are you hurt?"

He says quickly sitting down beside you putting an arm around you instinctually. He normally isnt one to get physical when it came to comforting people but it was just something he did before he even realized he was doing it.

"Im fine...im just stupid..a stupid stupid idiot...an idiot that should have known better" You said through tears before breaking into sobs again, chilchuck looked around awkwardly before pulling you into him to cry, he sat there patting your back trying to comfort you as best he could. patting your back and repeatedly saying it was ok softly.

Eventually when you finally manage to calm down he wipes away some tears from your face before speaking up. "Now tell me whats going on? what do you mean know beter?" You want to tell him the truth, it had been eating you alive for days and days now. But tonight you realized what the actual truth was, and it was to much and broke you to pieces, it was a truth you had tried to ignore but couldnt and it broke your very being. You dont want to tell anyone about it, let alone him...but you know he wont let you hide away and pretend like this wasnt happening. so you take a deep breath and speak.

"im sorry chilchuck...i know this is going to make you feel awkward...and i know..i know you dont feel the same way.....but i like you, i REALLY like you...i care about you more than anyone else. and i know its stupid and i should just get over it but...it hurts.." you admit to him, not even looking at him, With how you feel right now your sure you wouldnt want him seeing your face right now. He didnt say anything, he only stared wide eyed at you. You should have known this was how he was going to react, you know how he felt about inter group relationships so you know he wouldnt want any part of being with you. However your miserable thoughts were interrupted as he pulled you into a tight hug.

"hey dont talk like that...if there is anyone here thats an idiot its me. I do care about you, I really do. You mean alot more to me than you realize, and you help me stay sane down here." He says squeezing you tight, you sniffle softly as you cant believe what your hearing. "Im not great with emotions...both dealing with other people and my own. Whenever you would be so positive and cheery it would make me genuinely happy, but i didnt want to get to attached so id play it off or something but genuinely you have helped me so much down here. I also have....other reasons on why im so hesitant to show emotions that im not ready to talk about just yet...but i do care about you...in fact i think i might like you the same way you like me. I just struggle being open about things you know? i should have been honest with you and open about my feelings back...that way you wouldnt have to deal with this. Im sorry, But to make it up to you, once we rescue falin and leave the dungeon why dont i take you to dinner?"

You couldnt believe what you were hearing, he had feelings for you to?! you couldnt believe it, you could feel yourself hugging him close as you smiled into his shoulder. "That sounds great, id love to."

[destinedfordiaperstories]

Sammy's Little Problem, Chapter 23

“I-I’m sowwy, Windsay,” Sammy offered meekly through her pacifier, staring up at Lindsay through tear-filled eyes.

“Oh, Sammy, you have nothing to apologize for, okay? Lindsay assured Sammy.

Lindsay smiled down at Sammy, glad she finally calmed down. Wiping Sammy clean as she thrashed about, overwhelmed by the moment, had been exhausting. She was just happy to have her friend back.

“I…I know, Winds. I justh feel so helpwess now and…I don’t know, I justh…,” Sammy trailed off, unable to explain her feelings. She didn’t want to sound ungrateful that Lindsay and Allie had been so generous, so loving to her when she needed it most.

Yet…being so dependent on them for her basic needs made her feel like a burden. They never asked for this. Sammy would never be able to repay or adequately thank them. It was a one-sided relationship.

And that wasn’t even considering her own feelings of inadequacy. Lindsay was supposed to be her best friend, her partner in crime. Now she’s wiping her clean on the changing table.

It wasn’t fair.

Lindsay gazed deep into Sammy’s eyes, hoping to see the cause of Sammy’s anguish. She took a deep breath. “Sammy, I know this is overwhelming. I know how strange it must be to be in this position when your best friend changes your diaper. But you need to understand: I love you. Allie loves you. My parents love you. None of us are doing this because we have to. We want to help you.”

Lindsay pressed on, noticing the tension in Sammy’s body easing. “You’re not helpless, you’re not worthless, and you’re not a baby. I don’t think anything less than you before. You’re still going to be a college student at Stanford! So, I don’t want any more of this pity party, okay?”

“Fank you, Winds, that means a wot! I wuv you too!”

“You’re very welcome, Sammy. Now, let's get this diaper on you and get you ready for bed.”

“B-but, I’m not tiwed, Winds! Please, can I stay up a widdle longer?”

Lindsay pretended to think it ever, knowing it wasn’t Sammy’s bedtime. But if she knew anything about Sammy, she loved getting her way. “Oh, all right! How about we go downstairs and watch a movie?”

“Yay, fank you, Winds!” Sammy squealed in delight.

Lindsay reached down, grabbing a pink nighttime diaper for Sammy. As she fluffed it, Sammy predictably whined, “not a nighttime diaper! Its not bedtime, you said so!”

“Sorry, Sammy. Allie’s orders!”

“…fine,” Sammy grumbled.

Lindsay gawked at the thickness of the diaper in her hand. “Poor thing,” Lindsay thought, “she probably can’t even walk in these things.”

Two minutes later, the massive diaper was taped onto Sammy. Sammy lay there, feeling extra small in her nighttime diaper, completely unable to squeeze her legs together.

Lindsay did her best to hide her smile. Sammy looked so cute with her pink Cinderella diaper bulging out.

“Okay, let’s get you into something more comfortable,” Lindsay suggested, walking over to Sammy’s dresser to grab a onesie.

Sammy panicked when she realized Lindsay must be grabbing a onesie. “No need, Winds, I’m vewy comfortable in this!”

“I’m sure you are, Sammy. But look, this one is so cute!” Lindsay suggested, showing Sammy a cute all-pink onesie.

“N-no fank you,” Sammy retorted.

“Don’t be such a grump, Sammy,” Lindsay said playfully, “let's get this shirt off you.”

Too drained from her meltdown, Sammy sighed and raised her arms, letting Lindsay remove her shirt and slide the onesie on.

“Lift your bum for me, Sammy,” Lindsay cooed, “thank you.” It took some effort, but she eventually snapped the onesie in place. “You ready to head down?”

Sammy tried to shift herself off the table, but the diaper prevented her from swinging her legs.

Acting quickly before Sammy could complain, Lindsay lifted Sammy off the table.

“Fank you, Winds,” Sammy muttered, trying to hide her embarrassment.

“Of course, silly. What movie do you wanna watch,” Lindsay asks, holding out her hand,

Sammy grabs it, face lost in thought. “Ummmm, Coco! Ith the besth Pixthar movie ever!”

“Coco it is!” Lindsay agrees. Sammy reached the stairs, eyeing them tentatively. “Do you need help getting downstairs?”

“I…ummm…yeth, pleath,” Sammy concedes.

“Ok, let's go one step at a time, okay?” Lindsay suggests, helping Sammy down the first step.

By the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, Lindsay was fighting with every ounce of willpower she had not to squeeze Sammy’s cheeks. It was cuteness overload for Lindsay. Sammy’s diaper was so thick she looked identical to an unsteady toddler, slowly and methodically taking each step.

“Why don’t you go put on Coco, Sammy. I’m gonna get us some drinks.”

“Okay!” Sammy squealed, excited for a bit of responsibility.

Lindsay fumbled around the cabinets, searching for Sammy’s sippy cups. She realized, to her dismay, they were all in the dishwasher. There was only one remaining option: the oversized baby bottles staring back at her.

“Well, here goes nothing,” Lindsay thought to herself. In a flash, she had milk warming on the stove. If she was ever going to convince Sammy to use a baby bottle in front of her, it had better taste delicious. She added extra milk, deciding Sammy would be more accepting if Lindsay drank it, too.

Luckily, Lindsay remembered her favorite drink her mom made for her whenever she couldn’t sleep. All she needed to do was add some sugar and vanilla to the milk and voila. Once it was warm, Lindsay filled Sammy’s bottle and put the nipple on before filling her own mug with the sweet-smelling milk.

“Sammy, please don’t freak out,” Lindsay pleaded, walking toward the couch, “but the only clean cup was this baby bottle. I’m sorry, but I promise, it’s no big deal! And I made us both my favorite drink ever!”

For a second, Sammy looks on the verge of a tantrum. But to Lindsay’s surprise, Sammy took the bottle without argument. Lindsay breathed a sigh of relief.

Lindsay sat next to Sammy, who was squirming in anticipation of the movie. It may not have been how she imagined their last summer together before college, but she was relieved to see such an authentic smile on Sammy’s face. She knew Sammy would be okay.

“Play the movie, Linds!” Sammy begged. Five minutes later, Sammy cheerfully drank her bottle of milk, legs swinging happily.

By the time Sammy was halfway done, she helped herself to Lindsay’s lap, staring up at Lindsay as she drank, her eyes growing heavy. Lindsay smiled down at her friend struggling to keep her eyes open.

Sammy fell asleep before she finished the bottle.

Lindsay carried her friend back upstairs, gently lowering Sammy onto the crib. Sammy’s diaper was wet, but not enough to warrant a change—especially when the nighttime diapers could hold significantly more.

“Goodnight, Sammy,” Lindsay whispered to her best friend before closing the door.

Lindsay nearly jumped off the couch when Allie walked in the front door half an hour later.

“Hey, Linds,” Allie smiled, “wasn’t sure you’d be awake. Did you two have fun?”

“Yeah, she fell asleep around 45 minutes ago. She was an angel. Well, except for a small tantrum earlier. But otherwise, it was a great night!”

“Thank you, Linds. I know it’s hard babysitting your best friend, but she’s lucky to have a friend like you.”

“I’d do anything for her, Allie, you know that. Even if it means changing her stinky diapers while she’s in the middle of a tantrum. It’s strange, though. When she messed her diaper and broke down sobbing, I didn’t feel like her best friend at that moment. I felt…”

“Like every part of you needed to help her? As if there was nothing you wanted more than to console her? And you were confused by how natural it felt because you instinctively understood how to help her?”

Lindsay thought for a second. “I…yeah, I guess. How did you know?”

“Because I’m a caregiver too, Lindsay. I’ve been down this road. Sammy isn’t the only one going through changes. You are, too. That won’t be the last time you feel that way towards Sammy. Or other Littles, children, and people in need.”

“Really? I guess I didn’t think I’d feel any different. I don’t know…”

“It’s a bit jarring at first, to be honest. But you’ll get used to it. Besides, if we didn’t change at all, we’d be Neutrals. Of course something had to change.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I probably should’ve actually paid attention in class.”

“Well, you’re not the only one. Nobody paid attention to those classes my year, either. It doesn’t matter, experience is the best teacher anyway. And it’s not like you’re adopting a Little tomorrow anyway.”

“Or ever,” Lindsay laughs, “Sammy is a lot of work!”

“You do realize I also swore to Mom I’d never adopt a Little when I was your age. But here we are. But who knows, not all Caregivers adopt. Mom and Dad didn’t! Caring for Littles isn’t the only way caregivers can feel needed!”

“You’re starting to sound like Mom, you know that? Let me have my fun at college before you start with the caregiver stuff!”

“Okay, okay, Linds, you win. You want to sleep here tonight, or are you okay driving home?”

“I’m fine to drive. Besides, your guest room is now a nursery. I prefer a bed to a couch.”

“I’m sure Sammy wouldn’t mind sharing her crib! You could even try her diapers!”

“Bye, Allie,” Lindsay scoffs, smiling as she walks out the door.

Go to Chapter Twenty Four.

[ethansluvbot]

hey!! could u write some random jack champion headcanons ? some can be what hes like general and some about what being in a relationship w him is like?? ty!!

JACK CHAMPION HEADCANNONS

warnings: none just fluff!

an: i have like 7 or 8 jack champion request so expect more pics of him! i do have school tomorrow so i should be able to post once or twice tomorrow :) this is a little shorter because i already have a head cannon post up!

before you guys began dating you were defiantly both super close. everyday you guys would either be hanging out or facetiming.

gets super shy when you bring up his movie performances. you would tell him how good he did and he would immediately blush.

jack, trinity and you have a weekly dinner/movie night. you think its adorable of how he sees her as a younger sister. you would definitely bond with trinity as soon as you met her.

he is so whipped for you. he's always thinking about you. definitely will do whatever you want him to.

he practically forces you to learn new dances for tiktok.

measures you everyday that you are his. he would never make you uncomfortable with other females around. he sticks right by your side like a human puppy dog.

HE LOVES PHYSICAL TOUCH LIKE SM

random baking moments

definitely loves going live with you. (even if you're insecure about it)

when you guys cuddle he'll put his whole weight on you. you'll be begging for air while he's passed out on top of you.

"get off," you sarcastically gasp for air pushing his shoulder. he lets out a dramatic sigh looking at you with pleading eyes.

"fine," you roll your eyes waiting for him to put his weight back on you.

hes texting you 24/7. if you are sleeping he spams your phone until you answer.

JACK: y/n wake up i miss you

JACK: Y/N Y/N Y/N

JACK: do you not love me anymore :(

*7* missed calls from jack :)

loves when you do his makeup. he also loves when you let him join in on your skincare. he's usually the one to buy all of your skincare.

his dad jokes make absolutely no sense but you pretend you understand. you let out the fakest laugh to most of them.

he loves you wearing his clothing. it makes him feel super secure and happy about it.

hes wayyyyy taller than you so he always has to lean over. he kisses your forehead very often.

your parents and him are like best friends. you always hear "where's jack?" "when is jack coming over?" "should i set a place for jack?"

you guys enjoy going to hockey/baseball games together.

you guys switch between being the little and big spoon. jack usually forces you to let him be the little spoon.

eventually, you both decide its time to adopt a cat together. even though jack already has a cat you want to have a "kid" of your own.

he lowkey takes longer to get ready than you do. even though you have to do haircare, skincare and makeup he somehow takes even longer.

he loves pda

you guys released a baby sea turtle together at the beach. jack started to cry a little bit as you laughed.

late night drives to tacobell

he has a lot of 0.5 pictures of you.

forces you to have matching outfits.

lets you buy stuff occasionally on his card.

you guys watch scream, avatar, 13 reasons why and the notebook together.

you force him to be team peeta, atlas and conrad. (im sorry if that's not your fav boys lmao)

reading together :)

traveling frequently

makes you food (he sucks at it)

[bellaxgiornata]

Safe Haven [Chapter One]

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Fem!Reader Word Count: 3.3k [Series Masterlist]

Summary: Contracted to work on your next novel, you leave the States and move in with your sister in Dublin in hopes of a quieter, peaceful place to work on your writing. And somewhere safe to hide. But you weren't expecting to meet your sister's attractive and curious neighbor, the one fresh out of prison–Michael Kinsella. And you certainly weren't expecting to become his safe haven, or for him to become yours–especially when your past eventually finds you.

Warnings/tags: 18+ for this series; contains violence, drug use, domestic abuse, smut, hurt/comfort, angst, mutual pining, friends to lovers

a/n: In this series, Reader is American and has a backstory and family (though if you'd like to pretend Reader was adopted at birth to feel more like a reader-insert to fit you, feel free). She will use a fake name as well. This story is also fairly dark at times, but if you watched the show you should be just fine. Though it's not all dark, because I just really want to give our man Mikey some happiness and comfort! You get Mikey in chapter two though, sorry! You can find the chapter list for this series here.

Also I apologize in advance for incorrect terms of things--I'm American but I am trying my hardest to get correct terms/slang/dialect as I go. But I know there will be mistakes. Feel free to kindly point them out to me if you know something is incorrect!

Head resting against the car window, your eyes scanned the row of houses as your sister drove slowly down the street she’d just turned onto. With each passing moment since you’d left the Dublin Airport, you’d felt a weight steadily easing off of your shoulders. You were free. For now, at least. 

Your body was aching from your time trapped in that cramped seat in the airplane for the more than seven hour flight from Chicago to Dublin, and you were certainly worn out from the time change. In Chicago it would’ve been the middle of the night, but here it was just after nine in the morning. Despite the sun shining bright with the promise of a brand new day, you were desperate for sleep. 

As Megan turned and pulled the car into the driveway of the house at the end of the street, you began to unfasten your seatbelt. You were eager to get out of the car and grab your bags before settling in. Maybe you’d manage to grab a nap after your long trip. It had certainly been exhausting.

Your sister turned off the engine before shifting in the driver’s seat, shooting you a bright smile. "Well, this is home," she told you. "What do you think?"

You leaned forward to look out of the windshield, eyeing the white house with the bit of brick on the front. It was the last house on the corner, with a tall stone fence surrounding the driveway and separating it from the one just next door. Your eyes shifted, taking in the sight of the house just beside it from what you could see over the stone fence. They looked almost identical. 

"It's nice," you told your sister, settling back into the seat and focusing on her again. A tired smile made its way onto your face. "Looks cozy. How do you afford it with just a nurse’s salary at Dublin Central?”

Megan’s shoulders sagged at the question, her bottom lip catching between her teeth as she stared at you quietly for a moment. And then her mouth curled into a sheepish grin. “I suppose I can be honest now that you’re here,” she said.

“And what is that supposed to mean, Megan?” you asked her.

“The house actually sold for a bit under value,” she admitted. “Because of the neighbors.”

Your eyes narrowed instantly at her, one brow rising curiously up onto your forehead. “The neighbors? What do you mean?” you asked. “Are they noisy or something?”

Megan’s eyes dropped down to her lap, an awkward laugh leaving her as she fidgeted with her car keys. “I mean sometimes, sure. But no, it’s uh, it’s because of who they are.”

You rolled your eyes with an amused huff, your attention returning to the house before you. “What? Like you live next door to a damn crime syndicate or something?” you teased.

A heavy silence fell over the pair of you in the car. When she still hadn’t answered, you turned to look at your sister beside you. That sheepish smile was still on her face and it immediately had the amusement on your own dying instantly. Shaking your head roughly at her, your eyebrows flew up onto your forehead.

“You’re kidding, right?” you pressed. “This is a joke?”

The sheepish smile didn’t fall off of her face. Eyelids slowly lowering, you muttered a curse as your right hand came to rub at your forehead. 

“The Kinsella’s,” Megan said softly. “They’ve got a house across the street and the two next door to me. Though the one right next door has been empty for a bit. But uh, Birdy was telling me that’s changing. In a couple of days now, actually.”

Your eyes landed back on the house beside Megan’s, the one that looked almost identical. “Who’s Birdy?” you asked. “And why was that house vacant?”

“Her name’s Bridget but she goes by Birdy,” Megan answered. “She’s the sweet lady across the street. The one with the curly, dark hair. She was interested in meeting you, actually. Very welcoming woman. Brought me a nice housewarming gift when I moved in just over a year ago.”

“She’s part of this crime family?” you questioned.

“Uh, well, yeah,” Megan admitted awkwardly. “But she’s real sweet. And none of them have really been any trouble since I’ve lived here.”

Your attention returned back to your younger sister beside you, eyeing her carefully. You gestured your head at the neighboring house. “So why is that one about to not be empty this week?” you questioned.

“It belongs to Jimmy Kinsella’s brother,” she answered slowly. “He lives in the big, fancy gated house just next door to it with his wife and two sons.”

You shot your sister a pointed look. “You’re avoiding answering the question,” you stated.

“Okay, fine,” Megan said with a huff. “The house belongs to Michael Kinsella. He’s been in prison for eight years–and no, I have no idea for what because I don’t really go poking around into their business. So don’t even ask. But I guess he’s being released on Wednesday. Though Birdy was saying she’s not sure if he’s going to even want to stay there anyway, so it may remain empty.”

“Fucking hell, Megan,” you growled, throwing your head back onto the headrest. Two fingers flew up to pinch the bridge of your nose as you squeezed your eyes shut. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me about this before I agreed to move to Dublin?”

“Because you needed somewhere to go!” Megan answered earnestly. “And I just wanted you here and safe with me. I promise you, they’re not going to be a problem.”

“You know I’m trying to keep a low profile out here, Meg,” you shot. “You know that.”

Megan’s hand gently rested along your shoulder as she softly said your name. You bristled instantly, your body tensing.

“I told you not to call me that here,” you warned her. “Not my real name.”

“Alright Grace ,” Megan corrected herself, overly emphasizing the name you’d chosen. “I promise, they’re not going to go digging into you. You’ll remain private and hidden for as long as you want here, I promise. You tell them you’re Grace Moore and you’re my half-sister and no one will bat an eye. I swear. They’re too wrapped up in their own shit to care.”

Holding your sister’s gaze, a frown spread across your lips. “I hope for both our sake’s your right, Meg,” you told her, tone firm. “Because if word gets out that I’m here–”

“It won’t ,” she pressed. 

Your eyes narrowed back at your sister as you continued, “If word gets out that I’m here, we’re probably both as good as dead.”

“Yeah, I understand the situation,” Megan replied. “You can drop the doom and gloom, though. You’ll be fine here.”

A knock on the window just beside you caused you to startle in your seat, a hand flying up to cover your chest, just over your racing heart. Spinning quickly towards the noise, you spotted a dark haired woman standing just beside the car door wearing a dress and heels. A bright smile was spread across her lips. She sent you a wave with one hand, holding up a bottle of wine in the other.

“That’s Birdy,” Megan whispered.

You forced a smile onto your face as you gazed back up at the woman through the car window. Through the smile and gritted teeth you whispered back, “Just remember my name is Grace Moore here, sis.”

Reaching a hand out, you opened the car door as Birdy took a step back, giving you room to exit the vehicle. The smile on your face felt stiff and worn-out, but you kept it plastered along your lips.

“Well good morning to ya both,” the woman said, her bright blue eyes fixed on you. “Your sister told me she was picking ya up from the airport this morning. Thought I’d stop by and introduce myself.” 

She held out a hand towards you, the gesture drawing your eyes instantly at the movement. For a moment your gaze lingered on her offered hand. 

“Bridget Goggins, though you can call me Birdy,” she introduced herself, her accented voice drawing your attention back up to her smiling face. “And you must be Megan’s sister, yes?”

“Half-sister,” you corrected quickly, your hand sliding into hers. “Grace Moore.”

“Oh well that’s such a lovely name, dear,” Birdy said.

The smile never wavered from her lips as your hand returned to your side, but the calculated and scrutinizing look in her eyes wasn’t lost on you. You were going to have to be careful around her, be extra cautious that you didn’t slip up. She looked like the type who’d notice the tiniest detail and store it away for later, all while still displaying the friendly facade. 

What the hell had Megan done keeping her goddamn criminal neighbors a secret from you?

“Oh, and this is for you, Grace,” Birdy said, holding out the expensive looking bottle of merlot to you. “Consider it a welcome to the neighborhood gift.”

Your mouth felt strained with the effort of maintaining the tight smile on your face as you accepted the wine. “Thank you, that’s very kind of you,” you replied. 

“Your sister Megan is such a lovely young lady, I’ve truly enjoyed having her in the neighborhood,” Birdy continued, her blue eyes piercing through you as she spoke. “I certainly expect you’ll be just as wonderful an addition as she has been.”

Teeth gritting together, you felt the edge of something like a threat in her words. A warning to stay out of their business. 

“I’m rather a private person,” you replied, noticing the faint arch to her brow at your words, “but I’m sure we’ll get along just fine, Birdy.”

“Ahh, lovely then,” Birdy said easily. “I suppose I’ll let ya get settled in, dear. I’m sure it was a long flight for ya from the States. Wonderful chatting with you both.”

“You as well,” you told her. “And thank you–” you said, raising the bottle of wine in your hand, “–for the welcoming gift.”

Birdy’s smile somehow only grew, though whether the smile was genuine or still meant as a warning you couldn’t quite decipher. But it had unsettled you a bit.

“Of course, dear," she replied. "I’m sure we’ll chat again quite soon.”

You watched as she turned, her heels clicking along the pavement as she sauntered off down the driveway and across the street. She’d left you with a strange feeling in your stomach, wondering whether she truly was as friendly and safe as Megan made her out to be or not. But there was certainly more to her than just being the sweet lady from across the street.

Spinning on your heel when Birdy had disappeared, you turned and raised a brow at your sister on the other side of the car. Megan rolled her eyes.

"What?" she asked in exasperation. "She was nice ."

You pointed a thumb over your shoulder in the direction Birdy had just left. "That's nice to you? Because to me that screamed keep your fucking head down and stay out of our shit."

Megan shrugged, making her way to the trunk of her car. "So? You'll be doing exactly that anyway, why does it matter?" Megan asked.

"Because I'd like to keep my head," you told her, making your way over to the trunk.

Your sister opened it, grabbing one of your suitcases and pulling it out with a huff. You reached in, tossing your duffle bag over your shoulder before pulling out the last suitcase. As you adjusted the strap of the bag on your shoulder, Megan reached up and closed the trunk. She hesitated, eyeing you seriously as her hand wrapped around the handle of your luggage.

“I’ve already told you, they’re not going to take an interest in you,” she pressed.

“Oh, really? Is that why I’m getting a welcoming gift from what I presume is probably the damn matriarch?” you whispered harshly.

“Good lord you have written too many of those damn mafia books,” she muttered, turning and dragging your suitcase to the front door with her.

“Well I certainly had enough fucking inspiration for them,” you whispered under your breath.

You followed up the driveway behind your sister, coming to a stop as she took a minute to unlock the door. A moment later she opened it and you were stepping inside behind her, your eyes examining every inch of her house. It was certainly cozy, with a small kitchen and table just off of the front little entryway. Everything looked clean and well organized. You spotted a few plants near the big window.

“So, this is the kitchen, obviously,” Megan said, gesturing a hand at the space as she kept walking forward. “Here is the living room,” she continued as she pointed out the big room just past the kitchen and a staircase to your left. “Though here they call it a sitting room.” She paused, shooting you a smile over her shoulder. “You’re going to sound very American for a while here.”

“That’d be because I am,” you replied.

She rolled her eyes playfully at you before gesturing to a door just in the corner of the space. “Half bathroom.” She turned, gesturing to a sliding glass door on the far end of the living room. “The backyard. Or the garden I suppose is the term here. And then,” she said, hefting your bag up into her arms as she began to ascend the stairs, “the bedrooms are up here.”

Getting a good hold on your bag, you followed your sister up the handful of stairs. Eventually you came to a short landing, setting your bag down as your sister tried to catch her breath.

“Feels like this weighs a hundred pounds,” she complained, pushing some hair off of her forehead. “Right, well, my room is just here,” she told you, pointing at the door on the far left. “Full bathroom here,” she said, gesturing to a door in the middle. “And then your room.”

Megan led the way to the room on the far right, pushing the door open with her shoulder as she pulled your suitcase inside. Dragging your other bag behind her, you made your way in and took in the sight of where you’d be staying for a while. The room wasn’t large, just big enough for a queen sized bed and a small, upright dresser in the far corner. There was a big window just beside the dresser too, a curtain drawn across it.

“You like it?” Megan asked hopefully as she set your luggage by the bed’s footboard.

Nodding, you stepped over to the bed, rolling your suitcase up against it before dropping your duffle bag onto the mattress. “Yeah,” you told her. “It’s bright in here. And you always had a knack for decor.”

“It’s nothing extravagant,” she told you as you made your way over to the window. “But it’s big enough for the both of us. And the garden is nice, you’ll love it out there.”

Pushing back the curtain, the first thing your eyes saw was another window directly across from it. It looked like it was barely ten feet away from yours. There were curtains drawn over the window, but despite that you could easily surmise it was probably the bedroom window of the aforementioned Michael Kinsella. A frown settled onto your lips at that realization. 

Great, so the man fresh out of prison could easily peep into your room while you slept. That certainly didn’t make you uncomfortable. 

Sighing, you turned back around towards your sister, crossing your arms over your chest. You sent her a smile, one which she readily returned.

“Sorry I’ve been an ass,” you apologized. “I appreciate what you’re doing, letting me stay here. Really. It’s just been a long trip and the time difference is killing me. And I’m–I’m a little stressed knowing there’s people just next door who’d probably be very uncomfortable knowing a neighbor is living here under a false identity.”

“Not like you’re a threat to them,” Megan said.

You blew out a rough breath, your head turning over your shoulder to glance out the window behind you. “No, I’m not,” you agreed softly, eyes lingering on the neighboring window. “But I know how people like them think. One little thing seems off and then they’re all over you. Wondering if you’re an undercover fed or cop.”

“Guard,” Megan cut in, catching your attention. “They call the garda–the police here–guards. Just so you know. But I highly doubt they’re going to take an interest in some quiet novelist.”

“Well, considering I write ‘those damn mafia books’,” you said, uncrossing your arms to air quote your sister’s words, “and they're under my real name, I’d think they could get curious.”

“You’re already telling people it’s a pen name,” Megan said with a wave of her hand. “No one’s going to bat an eye.”

“Right,” you mumbled. Feeling the weight of your fatigue settling in, you asked her, “You uh, you mind if I just have a chance to settle in? Maybe grab a shower and a nap?” 

“Oh! No, sorry,” Megan said quickly, making her way towards the door. “Get comfortable, of course. I bet you’re beat. I’ve got spare towels under the sink in the bathroom, too. And if you need anything just holler. I don’t have a shift at the hospital until later tonight so I’ll be around. And there’s some food in the fridge, help yourself to whatever.”

You sent Megan a warm smile as she headed to the door, but after a few steps she hesitated in the doorframe. Eventually she turned, glancing at you over her shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered. 

“Me too,” you replied.

You watched as Megan made her way out of the room and across the landing, listening to her footsteps as she descended the stairs. When you finally were alone, you trudged over to one of your suitcases, lying it down on its side. You unzipped it, digging around a minute for some comfortable clothing to dress into before grabbing your bag of toiletries. Afterwards you headed out of your room to the bathroom just beside it. 

You set your clothes and toiletry bag onto the bathroom counter and then bent down, searching for a clean towel in the vanity. You pulled out a soft, fluffy blue towel and then rose to your feet, spotting an extra towel hook by the shower. Walking over, you hung the towel up before reaching a hand into the shower, turning the water on and letting the water warm up. The spray came out loud, the noise sharp to your ears in the silence.

Turning around, you grabbed the hem of your sweater and slipped it up and over your head before tossing it to the floor. You discarded your bra next before slipping out of your jeans and underwear. But before you could focus back on the shower, your eyes caught sight of your reflection in the mirror and you paused.

There were a few bags under your eyes, no thanks to the flight you’d just endured and the stress of actually getting onto that flight and getting out of the States. You certainly looked as tired as you felt. And your hair looked a little dingy, in desperate need of a wash. Inevitably your eyes dropped lower to the sight of the three long, thin scar lines that were drawn across your stomach. Your right hand reached up, fingertips lightly tracing the length of the healed-over skin. 

Exhaling a shuddering breath, your hand eventually dropped back to your side. Forcing your eyes back up to meet your own in the reflection, you reminded yourself that you were safe now. Hidden. And if you laid low long enough, maybe one day you’d truly be free again. 

[riddle-me-ri]

howdyyy! i have a request :] (this if u even do sequels lol)

could you write hcs for The Tetches x dormouse!reader who (during naps) will grab and sleep-cuddle anyone in range if not already pacified with a pillow/plushie to hug??

if not, that's fine!! thanks for reading teehee i love your work /)^3^(\

a/n: asdfh okay but wait no stop…that, that is absolutely adorable and I’ll be more than happy to make that happen for ya! I’m glad you love my work, your tags on the dormouse reader really made my day 🥺💚 and I hope you enjoy this one too! Sorry for the weird title…it was awkward titling this one to fit my banners lol.

The Mad Hatters React to Being Trapped by a Sleepy Reader

Arkhamverse Mad Hatter:

- Jervis is startled at first.

- His first instinct is to detach himself from whatever has him captured.

- However when he sees that he’s wrapped up in your arms–he’s surprised.

- If it were anyone else, Jervis would have rolled his eyes and shrugged the arms away.

- But, it was you…his sweet dormouse.

- While he did find your sleepiness troublesome, he can’t help but find it endearing.

- Especially in this moment, where you were so deep in slumber, you reached out to him and nestled yourself into his side.

- After very little debating, Jervis decides to get comfortable alongside you. A small smile forming on his face that mirrored yours.

BTAS Mad Hatter:

- Jervis usually tries to stay prepared for all your sleeping needs.

- Such as blankets, pillows, or plushies.

- Yet sometimes, like anyone else, he just forgets.

- He never expected you to lean on him one day, however.

- Jervis is instantly a blushing red mess.

- He tries to look around for one of your usual items–to no avail.

- He sighs in defeat, but he relishes in the sweet proximity.

- Jervis will rest his head on top of yours, after pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

TNBA Mad Hatter:

- Wee mad lad is the perfect pillow size.

- Jervis is taken aback at first.

- He’s relieved to see it’s just you that’s got him captured.

- At first, Jervis tries to wiggle and squirm out of your arms–but failed.

- You just end up nuzzling closer into his side, a sleepy content smile on your face.

- The soft look on your face causes Jervis to pause his squirming.

- You truly looked really adorable when you were sleeping, he realized.

- Jervis eventually warms up to the idea of being a human pillow, but only for you, and in private.

Harley Quinn:TAS Mad Hatter:

- He rolls his eyes.

- Unlike a couple other Jervi, he's totally used to this.

- And he pretends to be annoyed.

- Jervis will gently try to shake you or pat you, something to get you to wake up.

- When deep down he actually loves it.

- He loves the warmth of your arms.

- He loves how you cling to him, and how your grip gets stronger if he even remotely tries to get away.

- Jervis ensures that whenever you fall asleep, he'll always be within your arms reach.

Joker’s Asylum Mad Hatter:

- Jervis is stunned at first.

- His heart pounds at the tight embrace.

- The beats get faster when he realizes its you.

- Well, this is quite the predicament.

- He's unsure what to make of it, but he can't say he's uncomfortable.

- You are so peaceful and warm.

- Jervis can easily see why you find it incredibly helpful to sleep with something…

- Perhaps he can talk you into taking naps with him like this from now on.

Secret Six Mad Hatter:

- Jervis literally won't allow you to sleep with anything else but him.

- The only exceptions being your childhood plush that always helped you sleep or a hat he's made for you.

- Like HQ:TAS, he always makes himself within your arms reach, so you can latch onto him.

- He just finds you so incredibly adorable.

- You also make the perfect model for all his little hats he manages to make whilst in your capture.

- Jervis also likes the idea of being the last one you see when you doze off and being the first one you see when you wake up.

- He likes to stick close to you, to protect you while you sleep.

- Jervis just loves to be able to make his dormouse comfortable as they sleep away.

[starsstuddedsky]

Lingering

reader x seokmin

summary: sunrise at the beach with a crush

genre: fluff this is just self-indulgent fluff

warnings: none!

wc: 1k

a/n: while looking up references of his smile i nearly died

The sun hides just under the horizon, the world holding its breath while waiting for the warmth to return. You study the sky, the twinkling stars that are too far away to survive the sun, going into hiding until the next night. But for now, you can still pick them out, see the ghost of constellations you knew when you were still a child. 

The sand digs between your toes, cold and grainy without the sun to warm them. You like watching the waves roll and crash in the half-light of dawn, the thundering crashes of water breaking on the beach mesmerizing. No matter how many times you sit here, it’s magical. Something about the calming power of extreme violence. 

A voice calls to you, inaudible over the waves, though it still makes you jump. When you turn around, Seokmin is crossing the beach toward you. 

“Why aren’t you asleep?” He repeats, close enough this time to be heard over the crashing waves. He stands over you, hands on his hips. 

“Why aren’t you asleep?” You counter. 

He shrugs. “I heard someone wandering around at five in the morning, so I was making sure we weren’t being robbed. Then I figured I should make sure no one was sleep-walking into the ocean.” He raises an eyebrow at you. “Don’t go getting an inflated ego; I’d do this for anyone.” 

“Really? You’d sneak out at dawn for Seungkwan?” 

Seokmin pauses. “Fine, it is special treatment. You only.” 

It’s silly to get this happy over an answer you forced out of him, but it’s fun to pretend you’re special to him. That’s the worst part about having a crush on your friend. It’s not hunting for feelings when none exist, but knowing exactly how desperate you are. Like how your heart races when he sits next to you, kicking his sandals off and burying his feet in the sand to match you. 

“Oh my god, it’s so cold,” he says, shaking his shoulders to emphasize his point. You shake your head, and pretend like you aren’t hyper-aware of his sweatshirt brushing against yours. He’s quiet with you, a rare quality for Seokmin. You’re used to hearing him joke around with Seungkwan and Mingyu, or do everything he can to annoy Minghao. He’s a friend of a friend that’s turned you into a cliché. God, you can’t even think straight around him. 

“You never answered my question,” he says, staring out across the water. The tiny line where the water ends and the sky begins is starting to grow more definite, the sky above just a shade lighter. “You don’t have to,” he quickly adds, “I know we’re not really that close, well, not yet. I’m not saying that we have to be either, I just mean that—” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “I’m saying I’m here. If you want.” And he smiles. 

A thousand metaphors run through your head, each more cliché than the last, but his smile really is brighter than the sun, warming you from the inside out. You want to tell him… you don’t know what, anything that keeps him smiling at you like that. 

“I like your smile.” You cover your mouth as soon as you say it but Seokmin laughs, smile widening even more. With every heartbeat, his face becomes more clear, the rising sun growing more courageous with each inch. 

“Thank you,” Seokmin says, though he can’t quite look you in the eye. Great, you’ve made it awkward. What can you say to fix this? Taking it back feels even more awkward, and even though it was painful, at least it was true. 

You bury your head in your arms. Maybe he’ll just leave and eventually the tide will rise and wash you away. You could turn into a mermaid, or maybe a jellyfish. You try to remember what you know about jellyfish. They have no brains and no muscles so they just float around the ocean; they have one hole for food to go in and out of; they have tentacles that sting. That could be cool, to be a sting-y jellyfish. Or maybe one of the glowy ones in the deep sea, bioluminescent. 

“You know, I like your smile too,” Seokmin says. You don’t dare lift your head. 

“It’s really cute,” he continues, “like, you always at least smile at my jokes, even when they’re really bad. You never make fun of me with the rest of the guys, and you made a cake for my birthday even though we barely knew each other.” He pauses again, taking a deep breath. All you hear is the crashing of waves on the shore. “What I’m trying to say is I like you. More than a friend.” 

He likes you.

You try to find your brain but you’ve already started to become a jellyfish. There’s nothing in your head except he likes you. 

“Hey,” he taps your shoulder gently. “Can you lift your head?” 

“Nope.” You shake your head, just in case he can’t hear you. 

“Why not?” 

“Because it’s five in the morning and my hair is a mess and I think it’s been way too long since I brushed my teeth and I’m covered in sand, and I like you so much I’m a jellyfish.” You pull your knees in even tighter, determined to remain in this ball of safety. 

“You’re missing the sunrise,” Seokmin says. 

You peek out, blinking at the horizon. Everything is pink and blue, from the sky to the water. The water farther out is as bright as the sky itself but the waves that crash against the shore are white. It’s the beautiful scene that you snuck out for. 

“Beautiful,” you whisper. 

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Seokmin says but when you turn to face him, he isn’t looking at the sunrise. He’s looking at you. 

He’s still smiling, the corners of his eyes crinkled. “That was cheesy, wasn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” you say. “It was terrible.” You press your shoulder against his, and you don’t think you’re imagining the warmth seeping from him. “I still like you.” 

“I like you, too,” he says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Even as… a jellyfish?” 

You groan. “I panicked! I’m still panicking, I wasn’t expecting you to just blurt out that you like me!” 

Seokmin just laughs, throwing an arm over your shoulders and pulling you closer to him. You bury your face again, but this time against his chest, and it’s infinitely better than before. You listen to his heartbeat and you understand the stars in the sky, lingering in a moment that won’t last forever. 

Just one more heartbeat. You watch the sunrise and smile. 

[eddiesguitarskills]

When We Were Young

Part 3

Ex Eddie Munson X reader

Other parts 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

Intro: 5 years have past since you packed up and left behind Hawkins. Well not all of it, as the people you met there are still a huge part of your life. But it's been 5 years since you had set a foot in the small town, 5 years since you left him. And now after all that time you were back.

Warning: angst, language, mentions of suicide, miscarriages, self harm, mental health. Use of y/n. Slow burn. Arguments. Mentions of break ups. Female identity reader.

Bold parts are flashbacks

Word count: 2.2k

A/n: please only read if you are in a good place, I wouldn't want this story to trigger or hurt anyone. I'm sorry this part it short but I didn't want to add loads in when it felt like a good place to end this part. Also there will be happy moments coming soon, it's just super slow burn. Let me know if you wanna be tagged in the next part, thank you for reading

Not prove read.

Despite the panic attack you had after Eddie left, you still went downstairs and pretended to be fine. Everyone was so excited to see you, you didn’t want to ruin that. You couldn't let them see how broken you felt. You had to be okay. You couldn't make them worry about you again, especially Steve. So you smiled and laughed, pretending your hands weren’t hurting from your nails digging into the palms.

After a long night, you went to your new house, you couldn’t make it to the bedroom with how emotionally exhausted you felt. So tired, that you couldn’t even make sounds as you silently sobbed on the sofa until you eventually fell asleep.

You woke up with the promise today would be a better day, last night you just slipped into your old self. You were better now. No stupid ex could ruin your progress. You needed to get some groceries for the house so at least you had something to distract your mind for a little while.

As you drove in your new red Ford (well it was a used ford from a couple of years) to the grocery store you expected everything to look different, but to your surprise, it was the same. The florist with the pink lettering on the window spelling out its name Haley’s, the paint had slightly started to peel but it was still there. The 50% off at the clothing boutique. Even the graffiti that was on the side of the market was still there, from four years ago. The town was stuck in a time warp, maybe it wouldn’t take as much time to adjust.

Grabbing a shopping cart you slowly walk down the isles not sticking to the list you wrote at home. Picking up all sorts of snacks. You had missed American cuisine. Your cart was getting full. I guess it’s true what they said about how you shouldn't come shopping on an empty stomach. The cart was old and rusty, meaning the fuller the cart got the harder to steer it was. The wheels screeched and lagged every time a new item was added. You turned the corner to enter another aisle when the left wheel furthest away from you decided to jam, ramming you into a customer's cart.

“I am so sorry” you look up at the old man wearing a cap. Maybe it wasn’t your ex you were a magnet too, maybe it was just the Munson’s. He frowned at you. Okay so maybe not everything was the same. Wayne was known for being grumpy to others but you only knew him as a sweetheart he was never anything but kind to you. You had never seen him look at you like this. There was a disappointment hidden beneath his eyes, that you, unfortunately, didn’t miss. “For what? Bumping into my cart or breaking my son’s heart?” You don’t know what you expected him to say. But maybe silence would have been better. The words stung you.

His son was the one to break your heart, not the other way around. Sure it might have hurt him when you left, but how were you supposed to feel when he didn’t give you a choice? And the only way of having part of him was taken away from you.

“Do you want me to be your little housewife and have food on the table ready for when you get back from your big successful job?". You stared in disbelief despite the thoughts building like a storm in your head. “Is that what you think?” He hated when you used that voice. The one where it sounded like you were about to break.

It made him hate himself more than he already did. Maybe this is why he was treating you this way. Seeing if you take his bait, to see if you thought he was as worthless as he felt. He didn’t want to hear that voice in his head, he didn’t want to see the disappointment on your face right now, he just needed something to numb it all. So he turned away from you in search of a blunt, a pill, powder, anything.

His turning away from you, caused the storm to break loose, this was the end and he wasn’t even kind enough to break up with you in words. “Fuck you” you whispered and left. You got in your car. Driving as far as you could from him. You could see just enough to get as far as the Family Video which wasn’t a long way from the trailer park before your tears completely cover your eyes sight. You pulled up not wanting to risk anyone’s life. breathing heavily, panic intensifying. In comprehensive words being screamed from your mouth. Cursing out to the universe, Eddie and apologising to the life in your stomach.

God how you wanted to curse his nephew out and tell Wayne the whole truth. But as Eddie said you were nothing so why did it matter anymore? You did hate how you had never said goodbye to the man who took you into his family so easily. Making sure you were always welcome. Making sure your favourite snacks were in his home despite not having the money and living paycheck to paycheck. So you just said “I’m sorry Wayne” he didn’t need to know that it was an apology to him, not his nephew.

His face didn’t change, you guess this was the Wayne Munson everyone talked about, the cold-hearted, scary guy. You had never been on the receiving end of this version of him but it was frightening. So you looked down, scared if you look up for a second more you would cry. “That kid already had a hard enough life, he didn’t need you promising him a better one and then being like the rest of them. You messed him up so bad that he’s only now just starting to smile again. So if you plan on staying don’t you dare hurt him again”. With that threat he left. You wanted to leave the store than to wallow, but you stood in fear not wanting to cross paths with a Munson again. “Are you okay ma’am?” a shop clerk addresses you. You nod “I’m fine thank you.”

Thankfully you wouldn’t cross paths with another Munson today as Wayne had gone to work and the younger Munson was still in bed hungover. Deciding not to come into work today, he might as well have gone in with how many times Sarah had called, asking how to do things, that she should know how to do. Hearing the constant rings and her voice was giving the boy a headache. Eddie didn’t realise she was only doing this to make sure he was okay, it wasn’t like him to call in sick. After plumping his pillow and changing positions back and forth, he found a comfortable spot and started to close his eyes.

The phone rang again, and he groaned. Picking it up now pissed. “Come on Sarah you called 10 minutes ago, you’re a floor manager you should be better than this. Use some instinct, I shouldn’t have to hold your hand through this”. A male’s chuckle made him realise that it wasn’t his employee on the phone. He knew that laugh anywhere and right now he would have preferred to hear from Sarah 20 more times if it meant not talking to Harrington. “You seem like such a lovely boss” Steve joked, hoping to gauge Eddie’s mood. When he didn’t laugh back or make a snide remark, when he was met with silence. He realise how pissed Eddie was, he was never the quiet type.

Steve sighed “look I know I should have given you a heads up, trust me I was going to. I just got so excited about having her back that I didn’t think-“. Eddie rolled his eyes cutting in “yeah you didn’t think”. Steve ignore the rise Eddie was trying to cause and continued. “I was going to tell you, I just didn’t expect you there, not that I didn’t want to see you. I just didn’t know Dustin invited you. I hoped the first time you met again would go better, I didn't plan for it to go like that”. If the men were in the same room, Eddie might have hit the boy, even if he didn’t mean it. With the rage he was feeling. “Better? Do you really think we could ever get along, After what she did?”.

"shut it Munson" Oh, it was definitely a good job they weren't in the same room. Steve didn’t snap anymore. He tried not to raise his voice because he hated how it made him feel like his father. But he would not have Eddie speak about you like that. Especially with what he did. He had come so far with Eddie, after the first couple of months of the incident he couldn't even look at him. But after time he forgave and tried to understand the boy. But he never forgot. How could he forget?

Steve was blinded by the headlight pouring into the shop window. After a long 12-hour shift he was super tired and didn’t need this. He left the shop storming over to the car, about to tell the jerk off. Until he came closer and realised it was your car. He walked over quicker, wondering what you were up to. Were you trying to be funny, by annoying him? He supposed this is what best friends did. He grabbed open your door, trying to scare you. To get his own back. However, as soon as the door opened, he saw you hysterically crying, clutching your stomach. He got down to his knees in front of you, rubbing your arms. “It hurts so much”.

He wanted to cry looking at you like this, you were always the strong one. The anchor in his life. No matter how scared or how much of a dick he was, you brought him back to earth. You were never like this. You squeezed your eyes in pain, holding your stomach tighter. This was worse than the pain he felt when Nancy left, worse than anything with the upside down. This was the most heartbreaking thing he had ever seen. But he had to be as strong for you as you had been for him. So he sniffed back up the tears. “What hurts y/n?”. You pull his hand from your arm to your stomach. “It hurts Steve”. He couldn't be sure, he hoped it was just stomach pain and not... God, he hoped it wasn't that. All he knew is that he needed to take you to the hospital. “Can you move?”

Eddie wasn't used to this version of Steve, even when they weren't friends Steve hadn't spoken to him like this. At that moment he realised that if there was a choice Steve would always pick you, and maybe all his friends would always pick you. Why was he the only that hated you? At that moment he felt more alone than he had in years. It made him scared, he couldn't be abandoned again. He felt like a child scared of his dad, feeling like he disappointed him. With how quickly Steve was to turn his back on him he wondered if everyone else felt the same. Was he just a place holder until you came back?

You had left, he had stuck around. Sat with his friends while they cried. Make them laugh on bad days. Trained Dustin to be a Dm. Went to hospital appointments with friends. Stayed awake talking them down from nightmares. All while suffering from his own traumas. He never complained because that's what friends do. Especially when they had gone through what they had. You left everyone, and now you could just come back, and everyone would love you. What do you know about hard?

“She got to leave, it couldn't have been that bad.” Steve growled through the phone “you don’t know shit Munson” he slammed the phone down. Eddie was all alone, well not completely, he had his thoughts. He was now wishing for Sarah to call. He felt like he was being smothered by thoughts, what did Steve mean? Eddie might have been mean that night to you, but surely it wasn't enough to qualify this sort of response. How had you had a hard life? Had something happened? Was he missing something? He shook his head. No, he hated you, he needs to keep it this way. He picked up the phone and rang Sarah, as soon as he heard her voice he spoke. “Come over after work”. He slammed the phone down. He needed to forget, Sarah could help with that even if it was only a couple of hours.

A couple of hours before the thoughts would come back and he was swarmed by curiosity, pain and loneliness.

Tag list

@sidthedollface2

@chonkzombie

@mxcheese

@ariacraigggg

@chickennug90

@nope-thanks

@rockautumnfanfic

@foreveranexpatsposts

@secretdryrose

@munsonzzgf

@ashlynnkennedy

@violetsandroses8

@sashaphantomhive

@r-a-d-i-0-n-0-w-h-e-r-e

@emma77645

@aysheashea

@supernatural-1983

[alisonwritesimagines]

Knew It All Along ~Jason Todd Imagine~

Requested by anonymous:

🌟HAPPY 5K🌟

if its alright by you i'd like to please request

Jason Todd x GN!Bestfriend/Crush!Reader

Reader shows up for movie night a day or two after they got in a pretty bad fight. They try to play it off like it's no big deal since they won (barely), but Jason is Jason and eventually finds out the fight was over someone talking shit about Red Hood. Que Jay realizing Reader knows at least one of his secrets so he might as well spill another one, right?

Summary: Jason hates the fact that you were in a fight. However, during your usual movie night, he finds out the reason why you were in that fight.

Author’s Note: My last request from my 5k follower special thing I had going on. I am not taking any requests just a heads up if you're new to my blog! Also, surprise guest at the end of the imagine!

Reader’s Pronouns: They/Them

Warnings: mentions of a fight, mentions of bruises and cuts from said fight, cuss words, verbal argument between you and Jason but he's just a worried love sick simp

Side Note: This is a secondary blog. If you comment a question down below, I will not answer since this is not the main blog. Please send the question to my inbox if you want a response back!

Do not repost this anywhere!

The fight you encountered was less than kind. You had thrown a good amount of punches but even though you had won the fight, you were pretty beat up.

"Y/n?" You looked up to see Tim Drake, aka your best friend's (and crush's) little brother.

"Hey, Tim," you greeted with a weak smile.

"Shit. Are you okay?" Tim asked as he helped you up.

"I'm fine. Don't tell Jason. Please," you begged.

"Let's get you fixed up first," Tim said before helping you over.

Of course Tim did tell Jason about him finding you all beaten up. Though you were a little upset at Tim, you knew you couldn't blame him. After all, you were the only person who was able to talk to Jason no matter what the situation was.

After a couple days of healing, you felt better to do your monthly movie night. Jason opened his door to see you standing on the other side with some movie snacks. However, he felt more distracted over the fact that you had cuts and bruises from your fight before.

"You ready for tonight?" You asked him.

"Yeah. Come in," Jason said as he let you inside.

"I was thinking of that new movie everyone has been talking about? It's on Netflix," you tell him as you set up.

"Yeah. Sounds great," Jason said softly, still staring at your bruises.

"Is everything okay?" You asked him.

"I think I should be the one to ask you that," Jason said.

"I'm fine, Jason. Come on. Let's just watch the movie," you tell him, not wanting to talk about the fight.

During the movie, Jason couldn't help but stare at you. He felt heartbroken to see the person that he had been in love with, for God knows how long, beaten up over some fight.

"I can feel you staring," you tell him.

"What was the fight about?" Jason asked you.

"Jason-"

"No. Tell me. What was the fight about?" Jason asked, pausing the movie now.

"It's nothing."

"Bullshit. We both know it wasn't nothing. You wouldn't get into a fight without a reason," Jason told you.

"Jason, drop it!"

"No!"

"Fine!" You groaned in defeat. "I got into a stupid fight because someone was talking shit about you."

"What did they say?"

"They said that the Red Hood was a shitty vigilante who can't do anything," you admit.

"What does that have to do with me?" Jason asked, trying to pretend that he wasn't the Red Hood.

"Oh I'm not stupid. I know you're the Red Hood, Jason. You can't lie to me," you tell him.

"How did you know?" Jason asked.

"I see you with your bruises too. And the fact you left your outfit out one time," you said with a smile. Jason let out a groan before leaning back more into the couch.

"You can't tell anyone."

"Like I would tell anyone. You're my best friend," you smiled at him. Jason looked over at you with a small smile.

"Can I tell you another secret?"

"You can't tell me another secret when you didn't exactly tell me the first one," you laughed a little.

"I'm in love with you," Jason said. You smiled happily at him before leaning over towards him.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

"Yeah."

"I'm in love with you too, you dork," you tell him. Jason smiled before sitting up and cupping your face. He leaned, kissing you passionately on the lips.

"Be mine?"

"I've always been yours. I was just waiting for you to ask officially," you tell him before kissing him again.

Bonus:

"Ma, I would like for you to meet my partner. Y/n," Jason introduced you to his adoptive mother.

"You two made it official!" Jason's mother squealed in delight.

"Yup! Asked them during our movie night a while ago," Jason told her.

"I'm so happy for you my baby boy! You two should stay for dinner! Alfred and I are making something good!" Jason's mother said as she rushed into the kitchen.

"I think she likes you," Jason joked.

"Bruce! You owe me a shopping spree! Jason asked them out!" Jason heard his mother call out.

Jason watched as Bruce walk out of the kitchen with a disappointed look.

"I thought Y/n would be the one to ask you out. Now I owe your mother a shopping spree," Bruce grumbled.

"Sorry Bruce," Jason unapologetically said to Bruce, followed by a chuckle.

[delucadarlingwriting]

Beneath the Surface - Wayhaven Secret Santa 2023

Written for the lovely @lovelyfoolish as part of the Wayhaven Secret Santa! I was really excited to get to join in this year, and I was even MORE excited to see LF has a taste for M/N love triangles too ;3c Thanks to @wayhavensecretsanta for organizing this!

Lovelyfoolish, I really hope you like it!

Summary: Nate's happy for Mason and Mina. No, really.

Word Count: 6.9k

Pairing: Mason/Mina + Nate

Warnings: Drowning

***

Nate hears Mina coming well before he sees her. His senses are not so finely honed as Mason’s, hearing individual heartbeats from a distance requires some concentration on his part usually. Mina is, as ever, a special case though. He can practically pinpoint her location from anywhere in the warehouse. She’s not close yet, but the gentle thump thump, thump thump, thump thump of her heart and tap, tap, tap of her shoes is growing louder by the second. Nate listens, rubbing a soft cloth over the surface of his violin with care, and tries to pretend he isn’t expecting her when she finally comes in.

Mina’s eyes are bright, her pulse pounding faster once they lock gazes. He holds her eye for only as long as needed for politeness, before looking back to his task. There’s only  a small speck of dust left, and he wipes it away as slowly as he can, allowing himself a few extra moments to find serenity before they speak. Once he has it, he sets the cloth aside and faces her with a smile.

“Hello, Mina,” Nate says. 

“Nate,” she replies, her gaze on him like a chokehold. She relieves him some by looking at his distraction laid across the table. “You play?”

“Some, though not in quite a long time,” Nate says. Though the violin is easily transportable, it has always stressed him out to take it with him on missions. It’s spent quite a long time collecting dust in his quarters at the Facility, only brought out for routine care and maybe a play session or two every few years. 

“I do too,” she says. 

“I’d love to hear that,” Nate says. 

“Maybe we can duet,” Mina suggests, stepping close to peer at his instrument. Very suddenly, Nate feels self-conscious. 

“It’s quite old, and in desperate need of a luthier’s care,” Nate says, his eyes finding each and every little flaw in the surface of his violin, the strings that haven’t been tuned yet, the varnish that needs replacing.

Mina nods. “It’s gorgeous. Have you had it long?”

“It, uh, comes from my human days,” Nate says, rubbing the back of his neck. “After…Well, I was lucky enough to be reunited with it after several decades apart.”

One of Mina’s dark eyebrows curves upward, curious. His heart gives a dull thump; if she asks about it, he’ll answer. So he doesn’t give her the chance to ask about it. 

“Did you need something?” he asks, taking the violin and laying it with care in its case. She came in with far too much purpose to have only intended to chat. 

She sweeps a dark lock of chin length hair behind her ear. “Yes, actually. We got a call from the Agency. There’s been several reports from the bay up North. It seems like it might be our sort of problem.”

Nodding, Nate gets to his feet, ready to face whatever trouble they’re heading for. Mina straightens as well, reminding him of his dearest friend. 

“Then we best get going. I’m with you,” Nate says with a smile and a gesture for her to go ahead.. Mina flashes him one in return before turning to march ahead. For half a second Nate waits, watching her go, before he unsticks himself to follow. 

***

“An Agency boat would have been a better choice,” Ava says with a frown, arms crossed and bulging as she sizes up the boat in front of them all. 

Detective Reele’s home is on the outskirts of town, the view of the nearest neighbors obscured by the treeline. The dirt path that led them off the main road to the old, squat house continues on, curving past the trees, Mina having informed them that it would eventually lead to a private ramp, which leads into a cove, which leads to the ocean. As it turns out, the retired detective is quite an avid fisher. 

Farah leaps up, landing on the narrow space at the top of the hull, balanced on just the toes of her high top shoes. Crouching there, she peers into the interior of the boat and says, “Yeah Mimi, it looks like it’s already gone a few rounds with a sea monster.”

“Let’s hope it’s not a monster,” Nate cuts in. Mason throws him a look, a small curve of a smile at the corner of his mouth; he would love it to be a monster. For all that Mason loves to be lazy, he seems to relish the chance for a fight just as much. Not unlike a housecat, though Nate doubts he’d appreciate the comparison. He fights back a burst of fondness as Mason gives a languid stretch before wandering back to lean against the side of the car and smoke.

“A pontoon isn’t ideal either,” Ava adds with disappointment. Nate doesn’t argue there. Given the spare empty beer bottles scattered on the deck of the boat, he assumes it was rarely used for anything beyond recreation. 

Mina shrugs. “This is the best I could arrange on short notice. Detective Reele is the only person I know who has a spare boat she leaves around for weeks at a time.”

“Wait, did you ask if we could use it?” Farah asks, eyes shining with clear delight at the possibility that Mina did not ask permission. Mina’s cheeks go crimson and she doesn’t respond.

“Mina!” Nate exclaims, shocked. She waves a hand at him.

“I have permission to use it, that’s why I have the spare keys,” she explains, then gives a short wince. “Detective Reele is offshore right now though, no signal, so I didn’t exactly get to ask if I could use it for a mission. It would be best to not damage it.”

“We’ll do our best to return it to her in one piece,” Ava says. She gives a hole in the bimini a scrutinizing stare. “In as many pieces as it’s in currently, in any case.” 

Mina laughs, the sound low and light and enchanting. He isn’t the only one to notice though. Hip leaning against the hull, looking out on the bay, Mason’s mouth is curved upward, shoulders looser than they were before. Nate makes himself take in this image of Mason, happy and at ease, and commits it to memory. He needs the reminder of why he holds back. 

A cold wind comes blowing off the bay, sending shivers through them all except Mina. She sedately flips the collar on her jacket up and sets about helping Ava with the hitch. 

It’s an hour north of driving to get to a secluded area where they can load the boat into the water. Mina fills them in on the area, apparently a popular vacation spot in the summer, and fairly safe. Lots of sandbars to break the rougher tides before they come closer to shore. Good for swimming, less good for boating. 

“These reports started in July,” she says, flipping through the manilla folder in her lap. Nate tries not to notice how Mason’s hand is completely obscured by it, the angle of the rest of his arm suggesting he’s got it resting somewhere on Mina’s thigh. 

“Right around the auction?” Farah asks. Mina nods, Mason’s jaw tightens. Nate understands entirely. That had been an unbearable time. As ever, Mina faced the troubles with her chin held high and shoulders back, while Nate wanted nothing more than to squirrel her safely away and fret until the problem was over. 

“That must be why it wasn’t really pinging any radars for so long,” Mina says with a frown, brows drawn together. “Damn. Everyone was too busy worrying about…”

“No one was seriously injured,” Mason says, leaning into Mina’s space as he points to a part of the report. “See? That’s why it wasn’t a priority. Everyone was busy worrying about that rat bastard and his pet annunaki, who were hurting people.”

Even the word annunaki gives Nate an unpleasant chill down his spine. It isn’t the first time he’s felt helpless to save Mina. Murphy had given them a run for their money, particularly at the end. He’d almost lost her then. It hadn’t felt the same at the time though. Murphy was—is—a vampire. Like him. Like all of them. 

An annunaki is so much more as to be untouchable. Not to Mina though. Her bravery in the face of danger puts a lump in his throat, both admiration and acidic fear coursing through him.

That’s over though. On to the next gaping maw.

***

“You holding up alright there, Natey?” Farah asks, bent over the side of the boat so far her nose could almost touch the surface of the water. Nate presses his lips together. The team knows exactly his feelings on being off solid ground, and while he does appreciate Farah’s concern, he wishes she’d do what he’s doing and ignore the problem entirely. 

“Do you get seasick?” Mina asks as she drops off the dock and into the boat. Nate gives a strained smile.

“Something like it.”

Mina gives a sympathetic nod. “That must’ve made travel hard for you before planes were a more common mode of transportation.”

Mason barks out a short laugh. “Are you kidding? Planes are worse.”

“For you, that somehow doesn’t surprise me,” Mina replies, a sharp, clever glint of amusement in her eye. Mason just shakes his head with an eye roll that is more fond than annoyed. To Nate, Mina asks, “Is it the leg room?”

“You do know Nate hates cars because they go too fast, right?” Farah laughs. Nate groans and runs a hand down his face, heat flooding his cheeks and neck. He will never understand just why Farah is so doggedly persistent in her drive to embarrass him.

Mina makes a short, disbelieving noise. “Nate, you can run faster than—”

“I am aware.” He sighs deeply. “Just because I don’t like something doesn’t mean I’m incapable of bearing it. I don’t like boats. I will be fine on the boat. Can we change the subject?”

“I agree,” Ava says, her boots hitting the deck with a thump that doesn’t even half betray her size. She gives the dock a slow, smooth push, sending the boat and all on it floating away, toward the bay. 

Nate’s stomach drops, but it’s better than it used to be, all the more because a boat is not a ship. And it’s fine, because Unit Bravo is with him. 

“Nate,” Ava says as she stands at the helm. He steps up beside her, looking down at the electronic map mounted just to the side. It’s barely half a mile out. The water is calm, lapping at the hull as Ava pushes the throttle forward. 

Salty sea air fills Nate’s lungs as he inhales, letting it expand his chest before letting it all out in a harsh huff. There are parts of this he misses. It’s not the sea itself that hurts, moreso the line it has slashed across his life now and his life then. How different things would be had he made another choice. 

“You like boats, right Mina?” Farah asks over the dull roar of the engine and the wind whipping through the air. She’s sprawled herself out over the curved bench seat against the starboard side of the boat, while Mason and Mina are sharing a single seat across from her. Nate feels a hot stab of envy and puts his eyes right back on the navigation device. It’s been good to see them figure out their relationship. He’s happy for them. It just always takes him a moment to remember that.

“This headwind is holding us back,” he says. Ava makes a short noise of agreement.

“I hesitate to push this thing harder,” Ava says with a grimace. “It hasn’t been well maintained. We’ll get there either way.”

So Nate has no choice but to continue listening to the conversation behind him.

“Boats are fine,” Mina says. “It’s mostly about the water though. I’ve always had a fascination with the ocean.”

“Are you a good swimmer?” Farah asks. 

“Pretty good,” Mina replies. Nate has learned “pretty good” means Mina is very good, but isn’t likely to brag about it. He fidgets, hoping she won’t need to demonstrate her prowess in the water regardless.

“Maybe you can go and charm the thing harassing people,” Mason says. Nate frowns, though he knows Mason isn’t serious. 

“Maybe so,” Mina replies, a smile hidden in her tone. She’s so reserved, but something about her is so magnetic that if, heaven forbid, she came face to face with the creature causing trouble it wouldn’t surprise Nate one bit if she did charm it.  

The sky darkens rapidly as they go, water slapping at the hull of the boat and spraying up, burning Nate’s nose and leaving a fine layer of salt on his skin. His heart thumps faster, though with the whirl of emotion in his stomach, he can’t be sure if it’s anxiety, excitement, or just the anticipation of a mission that hasn’t kicked off yet. If he pays attention, he can hear Ava’s heart running at nearly the same pace, though with decidedly less uncertainty dragging her down. His old friend may not admit as much, but he knows she lives for a hunt. Her shoulders and back are taut, aching for a chance to let loose.

A glance back allows him the chance to check on the rest of the team. Farah’s excited as well, though flightier, a touch more cautious without the advantage of experience on her side to give her the same level of confidence as the rest. Mason is calm, more so than usual. The addition of Mina has certainly helped Mason bristle against the grain of the world a little less. It makes Nate happy in a way. He’s always worried about Mason. 

Then there’s Mina. As even and still as the surface of a mirror, a quiet depth hidden behind her dark eyes, she’s clearly in her element here. The jerking of the boat appears to barely move her. A smile tugs at her mouth, and Nate is lost for a moment, tracing the shape of her lips with his eyes and wondering what it would feel like with his tongue. 

He bites down—hard—on his lower lip, the pain ripping those thoughts away as he turns and stares out at the glittering horizon. If things were different he wouldn’t mind those thoughts. It wouldn’t stick to his ribs.

“Nate,” Ava mutters, glancing up at him. Her jaw is set, eyebrows dropped in a way others might think stern. He sees the worry though. Of course she knows. 

“It’s fine,” Nate replies. Ava frowns and says nothing more. There’s nothing else she would need to say to him. He knows. 

“How much longer of this?” Farah asks, her tone going surly. Nate looks back to see her nose wrinkled, a hand brushing over her ringlets, once meticulously defined and now going frizzy. “This is going to be a major pain to deal with later.”

Nate looks down at the electronic map. “Based on the coordinates of the previous attacks, it should be another few m—”

His words are cut off as the boat pitches upward, like a giant fist has punched the bottom. For a stomach dropping moment, the boat hangs in the air, and he only just has enough time to grab for the folded up bimini before they go crashing back down to the water. The impact rattles his teeth, but he manages to keep his feet, though only by half ripping the bimini’s rods out. Wincing, he hopes Mina doesn’t get into too much trouble for it. When he looks around to the others, it seems no one else was able to stay upright.

Ava is levering herself up to her feet, while Farah is sprawled, groaning loudly (dramatically, so she’s fine) from the rough flooring. Mina’s sitting up on the ground, alert, while Mason is more or less on top of her, though holding himself up with his arms. He’s snarling, fangs out already.

“What the fuck was that?” Mason snaps. He looks at Nate. “The files said this thing was capsizing kayaks, not—”

Another burst of force from below, this time pushing the boat so the starboard side dips well into the water, while the port side hangs up with the moon. Yelps ring out as everyone scrambles for some sort of purchase. 

“Don’t fall in!” Ava yells, still holding the wheel. She fumbles for the keys and kills the ignition 

“Definitely not planning on it,” Farah replies, shoulders pressed to the floor, feet braced on the side of the couch she was lounging on just moments ago. Mason’s got a grip around the solid metal rod that serves as the base for the seat he’d been sharing with Mina, his free arm around her middle and holding her close. She is, alarmingly, staring into the depths with an expression of consideration, dark eyes glittering as she searches for something.

Nate has found a perch on the side of the helm. He leans forward enough to gain some momentum before throwing himself back against the deck. It gives against his shoulder, and he winces at the damage he knows he’s done. Still, it does the trick of sending the boat back down, slapping hard against the surface of the water. 

“Everyone okay?” he asks, rubbing his head, dazed from the impact. Mina has already jumped up, hands gripping the railing to look overboard.

“There’s something down there,” she says, eyes bright and alert, her chest expanding like a hunting panther. “It’s glowing. I think—Oh! It’s gone again.”

“Big?” Mason asks, hauling himself upright and going to look as well.

“Can’t tell,” Mina says with a shake of her head. Her short bob is in disarray, her attempts to run her fingers through it only making it wilder. “It looks small, but it could just be in the depths.” Everyone gives a shiver at that.

“Step back a bit,” Nate calls out, his stomach swimming at the two of them being so close to the water. Even Farah has darted back to join him and Ava at the helm. Her amber eyes flit around as she falls into a half crouch, a grimace twisting her expression.

Mason hesitates, but puts a hand on Mina’s lower back and begins to head back for the rest of them. Mina though doesn’t budge, eyes sticking to the depths, looking for all the world like she wants to slip headfirst beneath the surface. Bile rises in the back of Nate’s throat at the very thought, and he’s halfway to grabbing her before realizing he’s even taken a step. 

A growl escapes Mason’s throat, Nate thinking at first that it’s meant for him, until Mason barks out, “Something’s moving under us, fast. Sweetheart, move.”

Mina starts to back away, but doesn’t manage in time before another thudding impact tosses the boat again but toward portside. They crash down against the surface, water surging up and splashing over the deck. Before any of them can recover, they’re sent flying back toward starboard and then port and then back and forth, not giving them a moment to breathe. 

It’s inevitable that Mina’s grip on the railing would give out. Nate dives across the deck to grab her, blood chilling in his veins. But just as he’s about to reach her, she’s snatched sideways and crushed against Mason’s side.

Leaving Nate sailing stupidly over the side, head first into the water.

***

Milton was always the stronger swimmer of the Sewell brothers. He was the stronger of them both in countless ways, despite which Nate couldn’t help counting anyway. Being the elder, he keenly felt the shift from Milton looking up to him when they were children, counting on Nate to watch out for him, to play with him, to be his champion, to Milton suddenly being the one to lead the way. Nate’s illness was always present, but it worsened sharply as he got older. One day Nate was 10 years old, cutting up Milton’s food for him at the dinner table, and the next he was 22, grasping at his younger brother’s shoulders as Milton helped him out of bed to get dressed on the bad days.

A distant part of Nate’s mind had always held some small shame at needing so much. His dignity had suffered at leaning so heavily on his brother’s help. Milton was a good lad though. He’d never once made Nate feel like any of it was out of the ordinary or shameful. 

Nate had needed Milton’s help, but more than that, he’d needed Milton’s company. He’s never laughed so hard or felt so buoyant as the days they spent together as the best of friends. The day Milton had left for the Navy had been, at the time, the hardest thing Nate had ever faced. His burning pride for his brother had seen him through though.

His old heart squeezes tight in his chest; centuries later it still hurts to feel the old, good memories splashing up against the jagged cliffside of loss. Of all the things he’s ashamed of having done at sea, the things he would do again and again if given a chance, none of them are why he abhors stepping off solid ground. It’s knowing this is the burial site of his first true companion that strikes him through, cutting a wound that refuses to heal.

I don’t know how Ava has lasted this long, he thinks. She’s lived his life three times over, her wounds just as fresh, and somehow hasn’t gone mad from it yet. 

An icy cold hand lays against his cheek, the images in his mind going to inky black for a long moment. A voice he doesn’t recognize speaks to him.

Focus, it says. His thoughts are prodded like a sheep being led along a path, though to pasture or slaughter he isn’t sure. Regardless, he trots along, back to that day he has tried hardest to forget, but cannot. 

His mother had read the letter first. Her scream of agony had shaken the house to its foundation. The pain in his joints had barely become a blip in his thoughts as he’d hurried to find her downstairs, so blind with worry and dread he’d nearly slipped down the stairs to get to her side. Though she couldn’t find the words to tell them what was wrong, Nate had known that very moment that his life had just been turned on its head irrevocably.Never in his life had Nate seen his mother so wracked with pain—

Pain.

An explosion of pain bursts bright behind his eyes, filling his vision with sharp blue, shocking him into dragging in a gasp. A mistake that pours frigid salt water down his lungs. Choking on it, he blinks his stinging eyes and sees the present day. He finds himself in a dire situation, under water, drowning (though it won’t kill him)(this does not make it feel any better), and worse than the curved, glowing figure of a water sprite floating in front of him is the darker form of Mina. 

She can’t be here. Nate pushes past the agony of his body to kick his feet, scooping the water back to propel himself forward toward her. She’s squinting through the water, focused on the sprite. He thinks at first Mina is swimming toward him, only to realize she’s putting herself between him and the sprite. Panicked, he kicks harder, choppier, unable to help it though he knows it only slows him down. It’s hard to remain calm while drowning and fearing the love of his life is doing something fatally foolish on his behalf. 

The sprite just floats there, cautious. Staring. Nate reaches Mina, grabbing her by the upper arm, but his grip is hideously weak. There’s nothing he’ll be able to do to save her if the sprite comes over. It might not peer into her mind the way it did his, but they are capable of so much more than that.  

Mina grabs him back, fingers digging in with bruising force. Before he can react she’s leveraged herself behind him, not as a shield, but to allow herself to slip her arms under his, wrapping around his chest. She kicks her legs to send them up, and he tries to do the same. Spots have started to blot out his vision but he looks between them to keep an eye on the sprite. It doesn’t move, but it wouldn’t take much for it to catch up to them. 

It must have dragged him deep. Mina’s movements go more and more frantic, aching for the surface as they go. No doubt her lungs are bursting at this point. From the left something moves, and Nate jerks, lashing out with a hard kick instinctively. He connects with something solid, which tells him more than anything that it wasn’t the sprite coming for them again. 

He can’t see, but he feels hands on him, pulling Mina away, then taking her place to pull Nate up. This body feels familiar. Strong, broad. Mason. Mina slips away from them both, heading for the surface with greater speed now that she’s unburdened. Nate’s body is so leaden it would take nothing at all to sink him now. Mason grabs him tightly though, and drags him up.

The calm frightfulness of being underwater is burst as they crash through the surface. As soon as they do, Mason adjusts his grip on Nate, his arm bracing against Nate’s stomach, before he squeezes with a force that gives Nate no choice but to give up everything in his lungs and stomach to the water.

“Not—” he wheezes once he can draw the breath to do so. “Not necessary.”

“Shut up and breathe ,” Mason grits out, then starts swimming them both to the boat. Once he gets a few delicious gulps of air, Nate gently pries Mason’s grip away and puts some space between them. Silver eyes flash along with fangs, but Mason doesn’t try grabbing for Nate. 

“I’m alright,” Nate assures him, though he’d probably sound more convincing if his throat hadn’t been sandpapered with salt water. Even so, Mason gives a sharp nod, looking over to the boat where Farah is hauling Mina out of the water. Mason’s expression relaxes by a fraction of a fraction.

“Go ahead,” Mason says with a jerk of his chin. “I’ve got your back.”

From there, he only has to focus on swimming. He moves his limbs in a smooth, calm rhythm that takes him to the hull, where he grabs the railing and starts to pull himself up, only to find Ava and Mina on either side, helping to get him on board. Mason follows a moment later. 

For a long stretch of time, Unit Bravo simply stands and stares at one another, the only sound being from the three dripping with water. Farah breaks first and jabs a finger at the helm.

“We should go, right? We should totally go.” She turns her pleading gaze on Ava, who resists with tight jawed resolve for all of ten seconds before giving in. 

Groaning, Ava pinches the bridge of her nose and says, “It would be best to let Unit Victor take this one.”

“I could try talking to it,” Mina says, soaking wet and shivering, but determination ringing in her voice. It’s then that he notices she’s barefoot and without her jacket. “It couldn’t do anything to me when it tried…doing whatever it was doing to Nate.” She looks to him, but he turns away, hot with shame and hungover from the telepathy.

“Sweetheart, it could crush you if it really wanted to,” Mason says through chattering teeth before tossing Mina’s dry jacket to her.

There’s a short back and forth that ends in Ava restarting the engine and taking them back to shore while Mina gets in touch with Rebecca. Farah stands at Ava’s side, haltingly providing navigation with some gentle encouragement from the commanding agent. 

Nate falls onto the couch heavily, head in his hands as he tries to bail out his waterlogged brain. It’s only a minute or so before the firm cushion dips beside him, a slender hand resting on the damp fabric of his jeans. 

“Nate?” Mina asks, her voice quiet, almost shy. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m healed,” he says, as it’s more honest than saying ‘no’. Swallowing against his suddenly dry throat, he doesn’t resist the temptation to rest his hand on hers, stilling leaning his head against the other hand as he peers over at her. “I’m more concerned for you. You shouldn’t have jumped in after me.”

Mina shakes her head, water flinging from her soaked hair. A few stray strands stick to her skin, curling around her cheeks like a painted arrow pointing to her lips. 

“I’m a good swimmer, and it never even touched me,” she replies, completely missing his point. The was her fingers tighten on his leg stops the argument on his tongue dead in its tracks. “What was that creature?”

“A water sprite,” Nate says, drawing on his knowledge as a crutch. “A subclass of fae, sentient and mischievous, if not outright murderous. They’re solitary, long lived, and widespread. It’s rare they leave a body of water once they’ve bonded with it on a molecular level, as this one has.”

“It must be a new one then,” Mina says thoughtfully. Across the boat Mason stops squeezing water out of his long, shaggy hair to roll his eyes at them.

“Can we get to shore before you two start getting…” He gestures vaguely at them. “You know.”

Nate’s cheeks burst with heat, only for him to realize Mason means he wants them to stop with the deductive chatter. At least, that’s what he thinks until Mason gives them a look Nate recognizes very well, and has not had aimed his way in almost a century. And it is them, both he and Mina. He blinks, straightening up. 

Before he can consider that too closely, Mina looks back and makes a noise. Every vampiric head snaps to follow her gaze, finding a pale blue dot maybe twenty yards behind the boat, keeping pace. Mason’s frame goes rigid, eyes tracking the sprite as it follows. Nate thinks he ought to stand up and do something too, but his limbs are so heavy that all he can do is squeeze Mina’s hand. She squeezes back, warm and steady. 

“Keep an eye on it,” Ava says, voice low. Mason gives a sharp nod without letting his gaze falter for a moment.

Several minutes pass as they go, wind whipping past them, chilling Nate through. The sprite doesn’t bother them though. It just follows, like it’s curious. Nate hopes it’s curious. 

“It’s fading,” Mason says, just as they get close enough to shore to make out the vague shape of the dock jutting out into the water to meet them. 

“I wonder if it wanted to talk,” Mina says, voice so quiet she might not have meant to be heard. Nate shudders; he has no desire to speak to the sprite, though he hopes nothing too dire has to happen to contain it. Then again, had the sprite done what it did to Nate to Mina or another human instead…He presses his lips together into a tight line. Dire may be necessary.

Agents are waiting for them as they approach the dock, but Nate doesn’t mind them much as he hauls himself out of the boat. With his feet on the wooden planks, he feels a bit steadier.

“May I?” he asks, holding a hand out to Mina. She looks up at him, a mysterious smile on her face as she accepts without a word. Her hand slips into his, and he’s dizzy once more. He helps her out of the boat, then stands back as she goes to speak to Rebecca. Mason slides past through the shadows, hovering close. It takes every ounce of willpower for Nate to resist the urge to flex his hand, restless from the touch.

Ava calls to him, and he starts to go to her, but she holds a hand up to stop him. Her eyes search his briefly, then she frowns.

“Nevermind, Farah and I can handle this,” Ava says, glancing back at the agents waiting to speak to the team. Their newest member is already regaling a few with tales of what happened. It may be a trick of the light, but Nate swears his friend has a hint of dimple around her mouth. Noticing him notice her, Ava scowls and says, “Go get yourself together.”

Nate huffs a laugh and slips his hands into his pockets. “I see.”

“Go,” Ava says more firmly. Nate goes.

He doesn’t go far though. Just up the path, away from the buzz of activity and engines, just far enough that he can’t hear the lap of water against the shore. 

The road is mostly compact dirt, lined on either side with soaring trees that leave a slash of night sky visible over his head. With the coming of night a chill has entered the air, Nate’s breath clouding out in front of him. His clothes aren’t dripping anymore, but he’s a far cry from dry. It makes him ache for the familiar comfort of his copper tub, big and deep, filled to the brim with hot water. 

It’s going to be a hard night. Nate doesn’t bury his memories, but he doesn’t linger on them if he can help it either, and never has he had to relive them in such a way before. It was so vivid. His heart gives a painful squeeze as he remembers just a few months ago when that carnival was in town. Had Mason’s vision of his past in the Hall of Mirrors been like that? Nate staggers as he goes, catching himself on the trunk of a tree, overwhelmed by the dear hope that that isn’t how it had worked. Even if Mason doesn’t remember what’s happened to him, how Nate had found him in that awful place—

A branch snaps behind him, jerking him out of his thoughts. He looks back to find Mina, her eyes widening when she spots him in the darkness.

“There you are,” she says, relief so thick in her voice it makes Nate’s pulse quicken. “I swear I looked away for a moment and when I looked back you were just gone.”

“Sorry,” Nate says, forcing a casual chuckle. “I needed a moment. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

“Of course I worried,” Mina says, though she doesn’t meet his eye when she says it, her cheeks darkening minutely. Seeing her react like this when she’s normally so collected has Nate closing the distance between them until there’s only an arm’s length of space. She tilts her head back, an expression of determination fitting itself on her face. “What did that sprite do to you?”

“Pardon?” Nate asks, leaning back. Mina steps closer.

“It was touching you, and your eyes were glowing,” Mina says. She sets her jaw. “It tried grabbing me to do…something, but it got scared when it didn’t work.”

Nate’s throat goes very dry. “Thank goodness for your abilities.”

“Nate, please,” Mina says, waving his words away like smoke. “I don’t think it just said hello, did it?”

“No,” Nate admits. “It wanted to see…pain.” Hissing out a breath, Mina reaches for him, but he puts a hand up to stop her. “Not physical. Memories.”

“Still,” Mina says. She looks back over her shoulder. “Have you heard of anything like that?”

Melting out of the shadows, Mason puts himself at her side, a grimace on his face. “Yeah, actually.”

“It’s a common means of feeding for them,” Nate explains in a near whisper. His breaths come faster now. It’s bad enough to be alone with Mina, but it’s all the worse to have Mason here. He’s too raw, his edges jagged. If he doesn’t get them away, he’ll slip. They’ll see him.  

“You didn’t mention that before. Are you okay?” Mina asks, her voice curling around him with all the enticing warmth of a lover’s embrace. Nate’s mouth wobbles, and Mason’s eyes widen.

“Yes,” he says, voice cracking.

“You don’t sound okay,” Mina presses, more persistent than Nate would have anticipated. He glances over his shoulder, knowing it exposes his discomfort but not being able to help himself. 

“I promise I’m alright,” Nate says, face burning hot. That’s one way to beat the chill of the air, he supposes. 

Mina’s dark brows draw together in frustration.

“Are you allergic to having others take care of you?” she snaps. Nate rears back.

Mina is a consummate professional. He’s always known her to be even keeled, not prone to outbursts. In the time they’ve known each other, she’s never once raised her voice at him. It steals his voice for a long moment as he grapples with what he could have done to make her so upset with him.

“No, not at all,” he sputters. Mason laughs, the sound low and growling, soothing rather than mocking. Nate looks at him, mystified. Mason is one of the most perceptive people he knows, and even if it took him far too long to learn his own feelings toward Mina, Nate can’t imagine he’s as blind to others being drawn to her. 

“Then let her help, handsome,” Mason says. Nate’s thoughts come to a screeching halt at that. 

Handsome? Since when does Mason…? He looks at Mina, but she either doesn't notice or doesn’t care. She is, instead, focused entirely on Nate. That regard pins him in place. He doesn’t so much as breath as she reaches out, slender fingers carding through his still drying hair, pushing it out of his face. His heart pounds so hard it hurts, and now his head is throbbing as well. 

Nate covers her hand with his. “What are you doing?”

“Checking on you.” Mina frowns, pulling her hand away slowly. She tries to at least. Nate presses down on it before she can, meaning her palm slots against his cheek. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows around the lump in his throat. 

“But…” Nate looks again to Mason. His grey eyes are as unfathomable as what lays behind a misty morning fog. Mason just shrugs, a lazy smile on his face.

“Don’t overthink it,” he says. 

That seems an impossible task. The events of the night dissolve entirely in the face of this development. 

Mina’s hand slides down, fingers curling under his chin, pressing down with her thumb until he looks her in the eye. He’s expecting another scolding, but her eyes have softened. Not since he realized his own feelings for her has he held her gaze for this long. He couldn’t dare to, not without risking her seeing everything. 

Perhaps she saw enough anyway. He leans forward, dizzy and brimming with hope, needing to feel her mouth on his more than anything. 

But she doesn’t let him. Her smile is kind when she slides her hand over his mouth and says, “Not yet.”

Mason snorts. “Why not?”

“He’s just been through something,” Mina says, frowning at Mason. Mason shrugs.

“It’d make me feel better.” Mason gives a toothy grin. “Among other things.”

“I’m sure it would,” Mina says dryly. Nate can’t help laughing against her palm. 

With a gentle touch, he wraps his fingers around her wrist, drawing it up to his mouth. He glances at her, waiting to see if she objects, but when she doesn’t he presses a soft kiss to the delicate joint. Her pulse jumps against his lips. A heady emotion fills him from his toes to his scalp, stoking warmth in his guts. There’s little he wouldn’t do to be able to draw more reactions from her. 

“She’s right,” he says, much as he dearly wants to agree with Mason instead. There are too many questions in his mind though, and he’s still not steady on his feet. When Mason frowns, uncertain, Nate adds, “I’d like to talk first.”

“Of course you do,” Mason says with a gusty sigh. No doubt if he had his way there’d be very little talking happening, but quite a lot of noise. 

Two points of light appear behind Mason and Mina, filling Nate’s vision with white before he can adjust to the brightness. The team’s car rumbles, the boat trailer clattering as it approaches slowly. Hanging out the passenger side window, Farah calls out, “Hey you three! Let’s go already. It’s seriously gotten boring now that no one’s drowning.”

Nate tries and fails not to roll his eyes.

“I’m taking tomorrow off,” Mina says, hand dropping down to her side. His skin tingles from her touch. “We can talk then.”

“That sounds perfect,” Nate says, heart skipping a beat. He looks at Mason. “If you’ll be there as well.”

“Of course I will,” Mason says with a frown. “I’m part of this.”

Though it’s not something Nate has ever considered before now, he finds no reason to object to it now. 

HONK. HONK HONK. HONKHONKHONK.

“Fuck! Farah!” Mason shouts, hands clapped over his ears as he stomps toward the car. In the cab, Farah is leaned over into Ava’s space, grinning madly. He meets her eye and she winks. 

Mina laughs, the sound sending a pleasant shiver along the back of his skull. “Alright, come on then. Tomorrow we’ll figure this all out.”

“Tomorrow,” he agrees, following as she leads the way. Mason, still surly, is waiting for them with the back door open.

[star-girl69]

I Loved You Like the Sun

a/n: i suck at writing reunions also i’m sorry for the cliffhanger and i promise everyone is fine 🙏

warnings: mentions of death, mentions of blood, swearing, incest, violence, tell me if i missed anything!!

Daemon Targaryen x Rhaenyra Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Chapter Thirty Four- I Miss You on Me

—-

The last time you saw your mother, she was cold and unmoving. You were still young- barely five- but you do remember thinking that she looked like a rock.

Cold and gray, eyes closed, chest still. She was as still as a rock, unmovable, unmovable.

You were confused, understandably, death not being a concept you could quite wrap your mind around. You wanted your mother to hold you again, hug you, whisper to you, kiss you.

You promised yourself you would never let your children see you like that.

—-

Jace’s words ring in your ears long after you sunk the blade into the flesh of the man’s throat. Blood sprayed your face, and as he scrambled for purchase on the ground, hands flying to the knife, you caught him. You laid him on the ground, and he was a strong man, so it was with great difficulty.

Jace sat beside you, out of breath, in slight disbelief.

By the time you laid him on the ground, he was dead. Gravity had taken its way- blood dripped down his neck and chest, poured around him. It stained your legs, the edges of your nightgown. Your hands were covered in it when you placed his hands over his heart.

Jace placed a hand on your shoulder, and you remembered why you did it. It helped, slightly. But not enough to absolve you of the guilt.

Faintly, you realized he was talking.

“Mother, mother, please. We have to go, mom, please,”

When you looked at him, you saw the pleading in his eyes. He did not flinch as he grabbed your hand, tugged you up from the ground.

He told you that you saved him. Saved yourself. You should be proud. You wiped your hands off on your nightgown, but it was already drying to your skin.

Stained.

—-

Jace had led you through the side door, through to the city below. He stayed to the outskirts, away from the Street of Silk, so the dirt roads were mostly empty.

He still kept tight hold of your hand, even when, in your distressed state, you complained that his hands would be stained as well. He said it was as much on his hands on yours. You didn’t answer, and the two of you eventually made it through the gate. You slipped through, again, without trouble, and you could tell Jace was getting nervous.

“That was the trouble,” you whisper, and he nods, palming his dagger. He does not believe you.

He had long since taken yours back, stuffed it in his back holster, so you did not have to look at it, the blood that still stained it.

The journey passed in silence.

You thought about your mother. You thoughts about death, your children, your husband and wife, your Cannibal.

Instead, you put your arm around Jace’s shoulder. He did not mind the blood. Not even when dried flakes of it fell off into his hair as you kissed the top of it.

You told him he was brave. You could tell he was only humoring you when he thanked you, but at that moment, that was all the right you had left in you.

When you finally reached the woods, the sun just minutes away from rising, maids would go to your rooms soon, the body would be discovered, that Jace let go of your hand and called out to Vermax.

He appeared, a whirlwind of apple green and red wings, a flat nose and wide eyes. He clicked at the sight of you, happy, but Jace only ushered him to silence and prepared him to fly.

The sun rose just as he finished adjusting the saddle to two, and you knew Aegon and Aemond would be informed in mere minutes.

You ushered Jace to take flight quickly, and he heeded you, asking if you would be alright as Vermax raised into the air. You pretended his voice was lost to the wind.

—-

Rhaenyra wanted to stay in bed.

But, she was a Queen, and she knew she couldn’t. So instead, she kissed Daemon’s cheek, held onto him for a little longer, then rose just as maids filed in.

Daemon groaned from the bed as one of them opened the blinds, and Rhaenyra smiled from her chair at the vanity. She realized, faintly, it was probably one of the only few times she had smiled since her Y/N was taken.

She sighs, pushes the thoughts away as handmaidens tend to detangling her hair.

Her lips ache constantly for the press of hers. Her hands shake to hold her, skin burning without her touch. She is losing herself, losing her body, her mind, to the absence of her Y/N.

She finds that the only remedy is to pretend, for just a moment. Pretend she is just around the corner, pretend she never existed, bury herself in Daemon lest she heads to the bluffs and throws herself off of them.

The handmaidens shuffle around her, one pressing powders onto her face, the other beginning to tame her hair. She only wears it simple, now. She feels unworthy of such elaborate designs if she cannot even keep her wife. Another two pour over her closet, compare dresses, whispering about which one is better suited for the day.

She lets them do it. Let’s them make the decisions for her.

If the Gods were cruel Y/N would be with Daemon, curled up in bed, their husband still groaning about the light. When the handmaidens left, Rhaenyra would force Y/N to rise, brush her hair, put powders on her face, pick out her dress.

Ever since her father died she finds her days filled with council meetings. The Princess of Dragonstone is long gone, replaced by a busy Queen.

She likes to take that moment, touch her wife, love her wife, without the prying eyes of others.

Now, Daemon lays alone, and she has no one to care for when her handmaids leave.

A roar rents the air, and one of her handmaidens fumbles, the brush of powder falling.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” she murmurs, as Rhaenyra whispers it is fine.

Cannibal was terrifying before, but with the loss of his only rider, he is despondent. Wild, cruel, hungry to fade his sorrow into nothing. His roars are commonplace, now, so Rhaenyra thinks nothing of it.

It isn’t until he roars again that she becomes slightly suspicious. She is used to the sound of him screeching and wailing, pained and longing. This is different. Excited, hopeful.

“What is wrong with that godsdamned beast?” Daemon asks, sitting up, now fully awakened by his roars. She watches in the mirror as he dresses, the handmaidens finally finished with her hair and face.

They are just tying the strings on her corset when the unmistakable sound of a dragon flying above them is heard. Too large to be Moondancer or Arrax, too large to be Syrax or Caraxes. It must be Cannibal.

She meets Daemon’s eyes- Cannibal is a sore reminder, but now they are just mostly concerned. Has he finally had enough of his sorrowed? Moved onto anger? Rhaenyra is lost, but her children are still with her. She won’t lose them.

“Hurry,” she snaps at the handmaidens, as Daemon straps Dark Sister to his hip. Then they are storming through the halls, stopping when a maid screams she saw a dragon approach the island.

They share a look. Have the traitors finally come for them? Rhaenyra bunches her dress in her hands, Daemon unsheathes his sword.

She will have their heads and her throne.

—-

When you land at Dragonstone, you feel faint. You had refused meals for the past few days- the memory of Blood dying in your lap too much. Your adrenaline had faded, and you only felt worse with the death of the guard.

Jace helps you off of Vermax, and you see Cannibal circling in the sky. You let out a smile, even though your shaky legs. Your Cannibal.

You place a hand on Vermax, leaning into him, the press of his warm scales, while Jace attempts to sling your other arm over his shoulder. A guard runs forward, taking Jace’s place, as your son runs over to Baela and Rhaena.

You barely notice them, too busy trying to focus your feet to stay on the ground, to stay upright. You hear the doors slam, silence, before the sounds of someone running to you are heard.

But your mind is woozy, and you can barely register the guard leaving you, new arms, familiar arms, circling your waist.

“R-rhaenyra?”

Your vision clears, and she holds your face in her hands, studying, looking, memorizing.

“My sweetest girl, my best girl, my love, you’re alive. You’re alive, you’re alive.” She kisses your face, tears falling from her eyes.

“Rhaenyra-”

But another body barrels into you, and you almost fall into Vermax. He presses kisses into the top of your head, pushing your head to his chest.

“Daemon…” you try, but your eyes are closing, and you can barely stand, and you are so weak.

You could not save yourself, nor Blood and Cheese. You could barely save Jace, and you were dying for all those weeks, and everything you have ever wanted is wrapped around you and it is too much.

Your eyes close, and it all slips away.

—-

taglist:

@wondergal2001 @akiraquote @a-lil-bit-nuts @anginoguera @thatkinkylesgirl1 @stitchattacks @honeypillowsblog @kaloafd @blackhoodlea @softtina @wallace02sblog @tetgod @hotd-fanfic @rxscpctals @iramagnus