#crying the iron grip these two have on me is not healthy

[jujoobedoodling]

I've missed you.

unspecified political marriage au setting.

There Is No War In Quel'Thalas.

[starsfic]

Stupid Ex

Summary: An ex of Qi Xiaotian tries to claim his and Red's new baby is his. The flaming calf. The flaming calf that looks just like Red.

“Look at her…”

“She’s so little!” Long Xiaojiao cooed, snapping a picture with visible tears beading up in her eyes. Pigsy and Tang were close to bursting into tears as well, either gripping each other or the frame of the bed that their son lay in. Qi Xiaotian smiled happily, even with exhaustion glazing over his eyes.

Their smiles and tears surrounded the little bundle Xiaotian held. A small scarlet calf slept in the soft gold blanket, nestled safe and close to the baba she had just come out of screaming barely an hour ago. According to the nurses and the doctor, she was very healthy and very adorable, both of which Xiaotian agreed with. Even better, she had inherited Red’s features, including the bull true form. (Hey, sue him, he was still adjusting to his monkey form.)

“Where’s Red?” Xiaojiao asked, breaking him out of his admiration. “I thought he would be here, all over you two.”

Xiaotian felt a snicker come out at the mention of his spouse. “He burst into happy tears when he saw her,” he said. Red had barely been able to hold his daughter, sobbing threats at the Buddha for making something so defenseless so small. “I honestly thought he would pass out with how hard he was crying, so I sent him to get some air and let his parents know Huiying’s here.”

The doors slammed open.

“Oh, speak of-” Xiaotian felt the words die down when he saw the look on his spouse’s face. Sun Wukong and Red’s parents trailed behind, exchanging concerned looks, and Xiaotian could see why.

Red looked pissed. The quiet kind, the kind that couldn’t even light his hair. The set to his jaw and the cold fire in his eyes relaxed, just a little, when they met eyes. So Xiaotian was pretty sure he wasn’t pissed at him.

“Oh, look at her!” Sun Wukong was there, forcing Xiaotian to look away from Red. “Mind if I hold her, kid?”

“Sure!” Xiaotian passed Huiying over. His daughter made a little noise, but settled in the king’s arms easily. “Be careful around Red, we don’t him to pass out from all the tears.”

“Nah, DBK’s the guy you wanna be concerned around,” Wukong chuckled, flashing a grin at his former sworn brother. “Right, bud?”

DBK snorted about how he was a mighty demon king, he didn’t cry over a baby, only for him to see Huiying and have tears bead up. The scene of his father-in-law, the mighty Demon Bull King, crying over his daughter should’ve delighted Xiaotian. It did, but Red’s anger burned at the back of his mind. A warm hand wrapped around his, and he looked away from Iron Fan cooing over Huiying’s little hooves up at Red.

His spouse met his eyes.

“I’ll tell you later,” he said, too quietly for anyone else to hear them. “Once we’re home.”

“...Okay.”

-_-

Red didn’t explain when they got home. At least, not immediately.

Three days passed. To be fair, they were an extremely busy three days, with adjusting to having the actual baby home, greeting guests, and planning Huiying’s 100th day celebration. His family were all great help, but it was still an adjustment. Xiaotian had nearly put Red’s weird expression out of his mind until the fourth afternoon, when he was feeding Huiying. His spouse settled across from him.

“Hey, what’s for lunch?” Xiaotian asked, coming to a pause when he looked up. Red had that same cold fury in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“So, I must ask…do you know of a man named Chen Zixin?”

Xiaotian blinked at the random question. “Zixin? The name sounds familiar, yeah, but…” Something tugged at his mind at it. The name sounded familiar, and Xiaotian’s gut twisted unpleasantly. “I think he’s an ex of mine?”

Red nodded. “I figured.” He took in a deep breath. “Now, I need to let you know, I am not accusing you of doing anything. I am not upset at you.”

Something cold shot down his spine. “What…what happened?”

Red pulled out his phone. “He called me while I was trying to call my parents. He texted me when he couldn’t get in touch with me. I did block his number, but I saved the texts in case.” Xiaotian exchanged Huiying, still contently sucking on her bottle, for Red’s phone. He had already pulled up the screenshots.

Unknown Number: Hey, you're Red, right? Married to Qi Xiaotian?

Me: Do you care to explain why you are trying to communicate with me? I am very busy today.

Unknown Number: Okay, easy, dude. My name is Chen Zixin and I'm an ex of Xiaotian's.

Me: I do not see the point.

Unknown Number: I hate to drop this on you, but Xiaotian and I got back into contact nearly a year ago. I swear, I didn't know he was with someone. But I need to tell you that there's a good chance that his baby's mine.

The moment he read the last line, his stomach dropped.

"Red, I swear, I didn't-"

Warm lips pressed against his forehead. "I know you didn't." Red glanced down at his phone and barely managed a chuckle. "He's so stupid. I asked him what his proof was. Go to my files, I labeled the proof as Idiot."

Xiaotian did, barely resisting a snicker at the file name. What popped up were the screenshots that Red had shown him and more screenshots. He felt a brow raise as he looked the other screenshots over. It looked like a few weeks' worth of talking between Zixin and "him." It was all steamy sex talk, including nudes. At the first one, conveniently cut off under his face, Xiaotian felt himself pause, connecting the dots.

"He doesn't know you changed your number, for one thing," Red chuckled, sounding a bit happier. His tone turned sweet and adoring as he looked down at Huiying. "And he doesn't know Baba got top surgery before we were blessed with you, yes, he doesn't know..."

Xiaotian chuckled. "Plus, I am not that skinny." He paused as a thought occurred to him. "Hey, should we tell whoever's picture this is that he's using their picture?"

Red chuckled a little bit harder, sitting down next to him. "No need. I reverse-Googled it. It's an art model picture, and it’s literally the first image that pops up when you Google “art model”." 

"Oh, great!" Well, that left one other thing. "What should we do about Zixin, though?" The fact that an ex he barely remembered had popped out of the woodwork to try and claim paternity of his daughter was... worrying. “Did you tell him off or something?”

"Don't worry." Red grinned like a cat who had gotten the cream. "I told him that he was an idiot, and since our wonderful daughter has not inherited your lovely features-"

"Stop it."

"That he was an idiot, that his accusation alone showed that he had no knowledge of who you were as a person, and I pray that he never passed down his genes if he ever actually had a child."

"...Wow." Scam callers alone never bothered them again once Red got on the phone, so Xiaotian's concern was washed away by a wave of relief. "So, since that's dealt with, what's for lunch?"

"I have that handled."

-_-

The next week or two were quiet. Qi Xiaotian assumed that Zixin had gotten the hint and had decided to leave his weird quest to claim Huiying as his child behind. Good for him. Xiaotian was more focused on his family.

Like today!

Pigsy had finally gotten the money and permission to extend the noodle shop. It was now bigger and better but still affordable and delicious. People were gathered around, watching as Pigsy pulled out big scissors. Xiaotian, Tang, and Xiaojiao stood on the side, with Tang beaming and Xiaojiao snapping a hundred photos. Xiaotian felt his chest squeeze tight with pride as Pigsy cut the red ribbon.

Or maybe that was Huiying, rubbing her cheek against his chest from where she was nestled in her sling.

It was probably both.

Yeah, it was both.

As people trickled in, Tang calling dibs on getting the first bowl, Xiaotian found himself next to his Dadsy, hugging him tight. "Oh, I am so proud of you!"

Pigsy patted his back. "Couldn't have done it without you, kid," he said into his shoulder. "You've been a massive help with everything."

"I don't feel like I was," Xiaotian grumbled as he pulled away. "I barely got in a week of helping the construction." The moment Pigsy learned he was expecting, Xiaotian was banned from helping. All he could do from there was help Pigsy make sure that everything legal was squared away, do some marketing on social media, and taste-test Pigsy’s new dishes.

Pigsy sighed, reaching up and patting his head. "You were there for me, son. That's more help than I'll ever need. Plus," His tone turned even more adoring as he reached out, stroking Huiying's little cheek. She made a little noise at the affectionate gesture, and Xiaotian felt his heart melt. "I wanted things to be ready so my granddaughter has something to be proud of!"

Xiaotian chuckled at Huiying's little snort. "Oh, yeah. I can't wait for her to be old enough to help out-"

"MONKIE KID!"

"Oh great." The peace couldn't last this long, could it? Red wasn't even here yet to provide commentary. Xiaotian sighed and turned to the twin demons, striking a pose. Was it just him, or did they look pissed? "What do you two want?"

"We finally have a way to defeat you!" Yin bellowed. "Although I expected better of you!"

"Yeah!" Jin said, and yeah, that was a glare. "Who knew the Monkie Kid was a filthy cheater?"

Wait, what. "I'm not a cheater."

"That's not what this fine gent says!" They moved, revealing a guy. "Remember him?"

Xiaotian squinted. The guy looked familiar, he guessed? He looked like a hundred other guys he saw on the street. "Not really?" Yin, Jin, and the guy all blinked. He glanced at Pigsy, who was also squinting. "Pigsy, do you know him?"

"I...think?"

"Oh, come on, enough of this bullshit!" The guy yelled. "You know me! I'm the father-" Wait. Waaaait. “I can’t believe you’re still lying!”

"You're Zixin?"

The guy paused, blinking. Yin and Jin looked a little nervous, jumping when there was a yell of "YES!" The guy moved forward, but one of the twins grabbed his arm. "And I know that baby's mine, you can't deny it."

"My dude," Xiaotian felt a snicker rise up. "My dude, I barely remember you. Why would I fuck some guy I barely remembered?"

"I don't know! You're probably lying." The guy gestured to Yin and Jin. "But these fine blokes are gonna help me take back my baby!"

The demon twins blinked before exchanging looks.

"Oh, yeah."

"Right!"

Xiaotian blinked, and then, instead of standing on the sidewalk, he stood on a stage. Several people, including Pigsy, Tang, and Xiaojiao, sat in the stands. A big, flashing sign lit up, spelling out WHO'S THE BABY DADDY in neon.

Xiaotian sighed, glancing over at his family. Pigsy had pulled out his phone while Xiaojiao was snickering and recording. Tang just looked amused. Good. He wanted to save this. Maybe he could get some videos from the cameras perched everywhere?

"So!" Yin and Jin appeared, both dressed in suits and ignoring Zixin throwing up in the background. "We have a contested custody battle here!"

"This fine gentleman claims that the Monkie Kid's baby is his!"

"And the Monkie Kid's husband..."

"Isn't here," Xiaotian said before the spotlight could move. "And, I would like to make a point before you three humiliate each other even further." Yin and Jin blinked again. Xiaotian didn’t wait for the response. “My baby,” he said. "You mean this baby?"

Xiaotian couldn't help the smirk that rose up when he revealed Huiying's little face, and Yin and Jin's faces dropped. "This baby," he repeated, holding her up for the cameras to see. Several coos and gasps of adoration filled the stadium- before Huiying sneezed. As people screamed in shock at the flames, Xiaotian stared down Yin, Jin, and Zixin. "This baby," he said. "You're claiming that this baby isn't Red Son's?"

Red snorted, looming over them. All three of them jolted, meaning none of them had seen Red stalk through the audience and now loom, Xiaotian's inner sex kitten purring at the beast.

That was his husband.

That was the only possible father of this and any future children.

"Heyyy Red Son!"

"Look, we just wanted to make sure-"

"YOU STOLE MY-"

Yeah, definitely the only father.

[sinofwriting]

They'll Have Me - Ethan Payne (Part Three)

Words: 1,260 Summary: Alice has her fourteen-week scan and has a slight breakdown due to a mean comment from a nurse.

Part One Part Two

Alice grips Ethan’s hand tight as her doctor moves the doppler along her abdomen. This was her first ultrasound using a doppler and the sensation of it moving across her skin was odd, but she definitely preferred it this way.

“The baby looks healthy, no deformities that I can see.” She smiles at the younger girl before returning her eyes to screen, squinting as she moves the doppler again. The baby was being stubborn, trying to hide, she didn’t want to let Alice out of her office today without an actual due date and the sound of the heartbeat. “There’s a few tests I’d like to do, just some simple bloodwork.” She reassures. “I want to make sure that you are also doing okay along with the baby.” “What kind of tests?” The young man standing next to Alice asks. She sends a reassuring smile. “Just standard tests. I want to check her iron, blood sugar, along with a few other things that I’d try to explain but It’d sound a bit like gibberish. Nothing that I don’t require for all my patients.”

Rotating the doppler, she smiles as she gets a very clear view of the baby. “Alright. You are definitely fourteen weeks along, which means that you should be due” she rotates it again, “February ninth. But babies have their own schedule, so I wouldn’t be surprised if you went into labor anywhere after the first to a few days after the ninth.” She takes a breath, “Okay. February ninth.” The doctor smiles, “now for my favorite part. Would you like to hear the heartbeat?” “Please.” She nods, before turning the knob that controls the sound and it fills the room.

Tears immediately start to form in Alice’s eyes, she wants to cup her stomach, to hold her baby as best as she can right now at the sound of their heartbeat. “Does it sound healthy?” She asks, sniffling. “It’s very strong.” A sigh of relief, leaves her and her grip on Ethan’s hand finally loosens, but he doesn’t let her hand go.

“There will be a copy of your ultrasound with the receptionist, unless you want more.” “Yes, please.” Ethan says. “I know I want one, and I’m sure mum will as well.” “Four please.” Alice requests, and the doctor nods. “Can do. Now, I’m going to a nurse to take your blood. I will see you at your twenty week scan, unless something in your bloodwork comes back that I need to talk to you about.” “Alright, thank you.” “Of course.” She smiles, before leaving the room.

“You doing alright, Fe?” Ethan asks, tearing her eyes away from where the doctor had been. She nods, giving him the best smile she can. “Just overwhelmed.” He squeezes her hand, but doesn’t say anything as the door opens and a nurse enters.

“Hello. I’m Jaine. I’ll just be taking your blood.” She greets them both with a smile. Ethan gives her another squeeze before moving, not wanting to be in the way. “It’s always nice to see the father coming to appointments. Are you excited?” The nurse as she starts getting the vials ready. “He’s not the father.” Alice interrupts, sending an sorry smile to Ethan, who waves her off. He’d be stupid to think that people wouldn’t assume that he was the dad. The nurse's smile disappears. “Oh. I see.”

Alice watches as she cleans the inside of her arm, stomach clenching at the unease in the room. “Could he not make it?” The words are polite but fill her with more dread. “He’s not in the picture.” The nurse scoffs before she can stop herself. Shaking her head, before starting to draw her blood.

Alice keeps her eyes on her lap, feeling tears in her eyes, but not wanting to cry, not in front of this nurse, or Ethan. Her arms wrapped themselves around her as soon as the cotton had been stuck to where the needle was inserted.

“I pray that the child will come out okay with only a mother.” The nurse says, before leaving the room and the last remark makes the tears fall from her eyes.

“Fucking bitch.” Ethan says, the shock that had kept him from speaking gone far too late. He glances over at Alice and his anger only increases seeing her curled into herself.

“You okay?” She nods, “I’m okay.” He doesn’t believe her, but doesn’t say anything. Just helps her off the bed, escorting her to the front desk with a hand on the small of her back. Concern growing when she doesn’t even smile when getting the ultrasounds.

“She’s wrong, you know that right?” He says once they get into the car and he’s waiting for the light to turn green. “I know. I just,” She pauses, sniffling. “It’s just I’m all they got, you know? I don’t have my mum and dad, gran, grandad. No aunties or uncles, not even a cousin. I’m all they’ve got and I don’t want to screw them up.” “Oh, love.” The pet name escapes and he flushes but pushes his embarrassment away. Taking a hand off the wheel he grabs hers. “They won’t be screwed up, not with you as a mum. And I know you think you’re all alone, but you’re not. You’ve got my mum and me.” “I know, it’s just,” “They’re going to ask one day to meet your parents and family and there won’t be anyone to meet.” She nods, “yeah. I’m grateful that I have you and Ruth. I just never thought about how they wouldn’t have any cousins to play with or an auntie and uncle to go to when I won’t buy them something.” Ethan chuckles. “I think the guys will have that covered. And who knows one of them or any of our friends could announce their having a kid any day now. They won’t be alone as you think.” He gives her hand a squeeze before dropping it to return the wheel as he makes a turn. “Thank you, Ethan.” She whispers after a moment. “Don’t worry about it, Fe.”

“Now,” he starts as they grow closer to the house. “Would you like me to do your hair when we get home? I could even wash it for you.” “You want to do my hair?” Alice couldn’t help the surprise that filled her voice. She had taught Ethan when they were both teenagers how to do her hair and in the years since he had done it more times than she could count, but never had he offered to do it before. “Yeah. It’s been awhile since I have. And I know wash day is today.” Her heart warms at him remembering that it's a wash day. “Sounds nice, but I’ll wash my hair, I don’t want to struggle getting off the floor.” He scoffs, “I’d just pick you up. Besides, my bathroom sinks big, tall enough that you could sit on a chair in front of it.” “You’ve thought about this.” Her voice is quiet. “I figured you might be tired when you're further along, best to be prepared. Besides,” he turns his head to wink at her. “You’re my girl. Gotta treat you right.”

She shakes her head, fondness filling her. Ethan had always called her my girl, and when he got a girlfriend it changed to my girls. Lauren, his first serious girlfriend, had always found it amusing when he did it. The words had always filled her with a fondness.

“Sounds nice. Thank you.” “You’re welcome, Alice.”

[bokubear]

hq boys holding their baby for the first time

featuring ; bokuto koutarou + akaashi keiji + atsumu miya + sakusa kiyoomi + kuroō tetsuro

warnings ; cute hq dads :’)

notes ; akaashi with his baby girl i’m crying—

+BOKUTO is gritting his teeth, horrified and also immediately relived upon hearing that you’d had the baby. although that didn’t guarantee the baby’s health and well-being, the part he was scared about. “congratulations, you’re now the parents of a healthy baby boy.” the nurse handed the little one to bokuto first, letting him simmer in that fatherly feeling. he felt too happy to cry at the moment, cooing at how incredible this was and the way the little boy reached his hands up, stilled at the sight of his father. “i promise you i will always be here for you. always.” he whispered, eyes gentle. his son. wild. he honestly could get enough, sugaring you with compliments and kisses of absolute adoration.

+AKAASHI was as nervous as can be, hands shaking while he wearily took a peek from the beds side-barriers. hand now aching from your iron grip. he didn’t mind. “look keiji, she has your hair.” you chuckled weakly, lifting the baby up to his unstable arms. “y/n-baby-i don’t want to drop her-“ his babbling cut short by the little girl wrapping her finger around his, eyes round with curiosity. if akaashi could be more in love right now he might just explode. “hi darling, you’re beautiful.” his lips pulled into a different type of smile, face breaking into a mess of tears. the nurses found this very cute. “it’s alright keiji, cry as much as you need. it’s our baby girl after all.” you laughed, the nurses followed suit. 

+ATSUMU stood bleary eyed beside you, just watching. he was so excited before, but now he didn’t know how to feel. however he knew that he felt .. warm. a fuzzy sensation erupting in his chest. “how do you do it.” he shook his head, marveling at the two little ones sitting in front of him, two little girls, twins. “magic.” you chortled, amused at his frown. “can i hold them ?” asking meekly, he took the two in each arm, marveling once again. “she had your hair, and she has mine.” he nodded his head to each baby wrapped in pink and purple, to set a difference. “the better have my eyes though.” he batted his lashes, full of himself. the nurses found him quite the charmer. “hopefully not your personality.” — “hey, what’s that supposed to mean-“

+SAKUSA rubbed your white knuckles, his chest heaving with breaths. upset that you experienced so much pain, but so proud of you to be strong throughout. birth was .. a lot for the opposite. much worse than even germs to him. “baby, baby look at me.” you slowly moved your head, breathing slowly. “yes… kiyoomi ?” he melted with relief. you looked exhausted. “you did amazing, you know that ? i am so proud of you.” he pressed a few kisses to your cheek, alerted by the nurses arrival. “hello, apologies for interrupting you, but we would like to inform you that your baby girl has been safely and healthily delivered.” they handed the cutie to kiyoomi first, singing happy birthday with smiling faces. she was like glass, so delicate, so precious. “hello there sweetie, i love you.” he blinked back his tears, grinning. so very happy.

+KUROŌ, coming from a person lacking a father figure felt almost destroyed. but it fueled him to assure his world, the baby boy in his arms would never suffer the same fate. he couldn’t even express his feelings in words, lips trembling with overflowing emotion. now he had two beings that were his world. you, and the bundle of joy wrapped in a blue blanket in his arms. he was overjoyed. “good lord, you’re so cute.” he carefully moved a small piece of messy black hair to the side, allowing a full view of the little one. “getting the fatherhood feeling ?” you mused from beside him, appearing a bit playful despite the past. “of course i am kitten, now i’ve got two kittens.” you rolled your eyes. “sure sure. but if you dress him up as a cat for halloween i will divorce you.” he stiffened. “me ? never.” nervous laughter ensued.

-maak

plagiarism, repost, and editing is prohibited

[littlefreya]

Bark at the Moon

Summary: Walter always comes to you when he needs a hard release. Tonight he seems to need it more than ever.

Pairing: Werewolf!Walter Marshall x Female Reader 

Word count: 2K (WTF it was supposed to be a drabble)

Warnings: 18+, sex, lycanthropy, supernatural themes, no strings attached, vaginal fingering, oral performed on female, primal play (slight biting and scratching), cockwarming, slight denial, angst, fluff and romance.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own

A/N: Not me naming my AUs after Ozzy Osbourne songs/albums. Following my post from October I am trying to follow up. This one-shot is also inspired by A Company of Wolves and @fishcustardandclintbarton​ moodboard. Many thanks to my beta and muse and dear friend @agniavateira​ for all the help. 

Please reblog and comment if you enjoyed 🖤

Title: Bark at the Moon

Muddy Timberlands dragged across the worn doormat as the large detective sought to rid himself of the dirt caking his soles. Black and soft, the dark mane of curls hung loosely above his forehead, a pale blue sheen cascading over each ringlet that concealed his face while he kicked his feet like an unruly child.

An instinct within pressed you to reach a wandering hand and entwine your fingers between those healthy locks. But ironically, touching Walter screamed ‘taboo,’ as if he wasn't going to finish wet and messy inside you anyway. 

Otherwise, he wouldn't have been here. 

"Rough evening?" you murmured, taking a long whiff of air. Traces of coffee drifted from his breath, mingling with the brisk November chill that wafted over your face.  

It's not that you didn't enjoy his company; it's just that Walter left you with nothing but bitemarks, bruises, and dirty sheets. A foreigner to this country even after all these years, Walter was much like the salty rocks from the islands that bred him: hardened and crude, yet smooth at the edge where the water licked the stone. Some evenings he wouldn't even speak; the moment his boots made it past the doorway, all civilised manners flew out the window, luring the beast to wander. Shredding your outfit, he’d fuck you to tears, shaking you the way a canine carnivore stuns its prey and then unload himself into you until you ached and begged him to stop.

Once stripped off his uniform, the sullen cop was no different than the deviants he shoved behind iron bars. Little did it matter, you loved him enough for the two of you, and though you knew you were a toy to pass the time, he always crawled back to you with that deprived agonised sparkle staining his gaze. 

After what seemed like an endless battle between his shoes and the bristly rug, he finally paused and slowly lifted his chin. Marine-blue irises peered below thick brows, and a red rim of weariness perfected his customary scowl. 

"Yeah," he drawled with indifference, "got any beer?"  

Observing him for a moment, you studied the sharp ridges of his furrowed brow and nodded, turning to let him in. Despite his heavy frame, he followed with lithe stillness, stepping into your house without making a sound while you advanced to the kitchen. 

Whatever happened tonight must have left another dent in the coarse material that made this man. You often mused on the things he must have seen and found out it’s better not to ask. 

You reached for the fridge when his arm wrapped around your waist by surprise and snatched you back, hauling you flushed against his broad chest. Briefly, he nuzzled your nape, his parted lips huffing hot against your skin. His breath carried the pained melody of a sad longing animal, an ache so great it seeped through the pores of your skin and infected you with his grief. 

You weren’t afraid of the beast but felt sorry for it.

“I need to feel you,” Walter rasped, a timbre of plea in his baritone. Palm swiping greedily at your breast and his cock hard and hungry, he ground his hips at the cleft of your ass. Like the black, shaggy dog that he was, he sniffed the air and then rubbed himself further against your jeans, seducing the wanton animal within you to come out of its hiding. 

“You want me too, I can smell it, I can smell your cunt.” 

Where was the lie?

With a guttural growl, he turned you to face him, skilful hands already making tatters of your clothes and his fangs nipping your throat. Caged in his grasp, you hissed and shuddered out of fear and lust. A part of you was always frightened that one night Walter will pierce an artery by mistake at the heat of the moment whilst another, more archaic urge, called for the sweet passion that was your Thanatos.

Succumbing to both urges, you forced his cable-knit sweater off, exposing his muscular, beefy torso and splaying your hands down his flexing pecs to feel the soft, dark fur that covered his chest and belly. Everything about Walter was large and charged with virility, twisting your moral compass and making any argument weak in his presence. Staring at the bulge in his trousers, you gnawed your bottom lip, giving to the pang of hunger that shot through your clenching core while your wicked fingers began to fumble with the clasp of his belt. 

With a low roar rumbling in his chest, he scrutinised you as if this was a trial, his eyes flashing, anticipating you to reach and grab his large cock. 

“Fuck…” his sonorous voice caressed your ears. He quickly slid his hand down your trousers, grabbing a handful of your ass before gliding his fingers to feel between your engorged petals. 

A tempest of moans unfurled from your clenching throats once you squeezed his shaft in your palm, choking around the veins adorning the meaty girth.

“You are always so wet for me, always so ready,” he uttered and licked your cheek. 

“Walter, please!” 

At your plea, his fingers slipped deep inside your burning cavern. Back and forth, he probed your little slit, spreading thick wetness across your mound and further up your virginal ass to taunt you. 

Before you met Walter you vowed that you’ll never be into that kind of debauchery. But whenever the bulbous crown of his cock accidentally teased your puckered hole, the only thing you could muster to think of was how much you wanted him to fill every empty inch within you.  

Long, nimble fingers dug deep, parting your sealed walls asunder in an endeavour to find the small heap of pleasure that regressed you to savagery. You were nothing but an instrument of pleasure, gyrating to the melody he composed by the rhythm of his thrusts, following every note. He made you shudder, made the earth below split in half and all the while, he held back and watched. A sick mist of curiosity hovered over the frigid ocean that was his glance, mindful of how logic and reason drained from your face, leaving you utterly incoherent and primal. 

Just as he was.

He crooned at your whimpers and nodded at the desperation dripping from your gaze. Hips swaying, you wriggled against his hand in a frustrated attempt to reach for the tendrils of ecstasy that loomed inches from your grasp.

“You want to come, love?” he asked, almost patronising. His brow lifted, and his eyes flared with what you could only describe as pity.

“Yes! Please! Please make me come!” 

His fingers tore from your sleek with a sudden haul, leaving you a trembling, outraged mess. Yet you had no time to curse him for denying your pleasure. Moving faster than your thoughts, Walter stripped your trousers and slammed you rear onto the counter. Kneeling between your spread legs, his strong hands gripped your thighs and dragged your cunt into his bearded jaw.

“Fuck!” 

His mouth wrapped around you in a lover’s embrace, his silky tongue plunging between your lips to savour the honeyed nectar that dripped from your tightening core. Thoroughly devouring your cunt, Walter hummed. Raw, unfiltered, and unbound, he laved every inch within as if he was dining at Olympus and feasting on ambrosia for the first time. Arching back, you dared to entangle your fingers in his curls and ride his bristly face until you succumbed to the furious, quaking bliss that spasmed within your womb and consumed you into rapturous euphoria. 

Engulfed in a veil of blissful darkness, you continued wailing, heaving, and slumping on the counter. Puny jitters of aftershock trod upon your throbbing flesh while Walter finished his feast with languid laps of his tongue.

Once you blinked your eyes open, Walter stood straight between your legs, now fully naked, peering at you quietly. His eyes were aglow with all the conundrums he could never speak. Still hazy from your ecstasy, you stared back with awe, drinking each taut bulging muscle and worshipping the feral, beastlike entity that he was. Not even the scars on his body could steal away his unspoken pride. 

Reaching a hand for his imposing cock, he crept closer and glared straight into your soul as he pressed himself into your tight little entrance. A loud groan thundered through your kitchen as he pushed in, erupting into the most melodic war cry which never failed to astound you once he penetrated you. Still clenched from your orgasm, you gritted your teeth and whimpered in pain, not quite ready to have all of him at once. Yet Walter wasn’t keen on stopping and continued delving deeper and deeper, despite your nails tearing fresh new trails of blood down his shoulders.

“Wait!” you pleaded, yelping when he suddenly bottomed out inside you.

An arduous gasp tore from his lips, and his forehead dropped on your shoulder. Stilling inside you, he breathed in the mien of a wild creature, trying to regain his composure for a brief moment as he timed his assault. Fingers etched below your thighs, he pulled you up with ease and carried you through the apartment whilst still buried inside you.

Confused by his actions, you hung your arms around his thick neck and clung to his body, welcoming the soft brush of his hide against your naked breasts. 

Soon, you found yourself on your bed with him seated beneath you while your legs enveloped his wide waist. Nestled between your cinching walls, his cock throbbed full of rage, desperate for the unbridled friction that Walter forbade as he refused to move. Milking every drop of his self-control, he vigorously fought to dominate his desire. 

With his shaft pulsating hot and buried completely within your womb, your previous orgasm felt like a distant dream and a fresh new need soon awoke, begging your body to writhe on top of him and take what you were promised by force. But Walter was in no rush to unmake any part of you just yet. Securing one arm around the small of your back while the other held your jaw, he made you stare directly into his eyes. 

Bare more than ever, he allowed you to glimpse through the cracks that creased his beautiful blue eyes, showing you the pure terror harbouring the heart of darkness that lived within him. 

Perhaps, a part of him desired you to break and cast him away from you, to say ‘nevermore.’

Mercy softened your face instead. 

Enamoured and embroiled with curiosity, you allowed yourself to roam freely, gliding both your eyes and fingertips to descend the delectable plains of his body. Tender and careful, you stroked a soothing touch over the elevated scar tissue the way one pets a wounded creature, your gentle caress painting over the large claw mark that marked him years ago and left him cursed.

Walter followed the movement of your hand. His chest sinking with a low roar, his cock twitched and swelled inside your protesting canal while he remained immobilised and kept himself sheltered in the warmth of your sanctuary.

“Last night,” he finally spoke, his voice soft yet drenched with hesitation while his eyes dropped to stare into nothing for a shy moment. “Last night, when I turned... I… killed someone…” 

Your heart clenched in anguish along with the seams of your cunt. All the hurt that flowed in Walter’s blood now mingled into yours, ascending your body from the spot where you were coupled. 

What you wanted most of all was not to run. No. You desired to suck the poison tainting his veins and swallow it instead, unable to bring yourself to do anything but love him more than you did earlier. 

Spreading your legs further to each side of his hips, you moved closer and wrapped your arms around him. Nails biting into his muscular back you clutched him tightly, making a firm statement of your unwillingness to spite him for his actions. 

Because, even a beast needs to be protected and cared for. 

* Disclaimer: I don’t own Night Hunter/Nomis or Walter Marshall * Dividers by @firefly-graphics​​

[velvett-tearss]

Checkmate — Eren Jaeger

summary: A vicious cycle where you and Eren fight over who gets to light the match while dousing each other in gasoline.

warnings: toxic relationship, manipulation, domestic altercation, slut-shaming, gaslighting, cheating, heavy cursing, suggestive themes, mentions of alcohol and marijuana use, fem!reader (she/her)

genre: modern au, angst (?)

word count: 3.4k

a/n: my venus scorpio hates to love Eren lmao pls don’t think this is a healthy relationship, (lmk if i forgot any other warnings pls), this was on repeat while i wrote, hope you enjoy it <3 (again, pls lmk if I missed anything!) and stay safe!

You knew it was wrong. Everything about you and him was wrong. Nothing could justify it anymore, you knew that much. You didn't think you could lose yourself in the game, but you had.

And, all of it was Eren's fault.

He didn't worry about feelings, responsibilities, or duty. He didn't care if he came back later than he said he would you, if he left you waiting in that pretty dress you had picked out just for him.

And, you loathed that about him. You loathed that Eren Jaeger was free. Totally and utterly free of everything and anything. Nothing would hold him back. He wouldn't allow it to come to pass.

He had his freedom, but you had something else.

You questioned things when you weren't satisfied with the answer you had been given. You did things just to see what would happen after. You pushed people just to see how long it would take from them to fall over the edge.

You had often been told you were simply too much to deal with. That you pushed people's buttons until they no longer wanted to be around you. That you stole parts of their sanity until they had no choice other than to run away.

But, you never saw it like that. You didn't mean to be a parasite who ate away at people's peace and patience. You simply liked testing your boundaries.

So, you preferred the word curious.

Maybe Eren had been walking around the earth without shackles his entire life, but you knew everyone was a prisoner to something, even someone like him.

Naturally, you wanted to see what it would take for Eren to break. He was so shameless, so completely free of any care in the world. Eren obeyed his own rules and his alone. He was such an inconsistent asshole half the time, but you couldn't help yourself.

You wouldn't forgive yourself if you had looked away from that charming smile and those pretty teal eyes.

Despite the facade of him being a simple-minded person, you found out what was truly hiding underneath the mask.

Eren was intemperate with a sharp tongue and a loud mouth. He did things his way, and there would be no other option. There was such a mix of emotions boiling inside him, it was like it was asking to be disrupted.

How could you not indulge yourself?

You knew it would be gratifying to see how he would react when backed into a corner. Would he cry like the others? Would he fall to his knees and beg for your forgiveness? Or, would he shut down?

How long would it take for him to leave you?

Eren was already known to be hot-headed, and you wondered what it was like to burn. You figured it wouldn't take long to find out how far you could push him. He was the crybaby type, so you didn't think he would be hard to crack.

But, he wasn't like the others.

See, Eren Jaeger wasn't a person who would easily crack. He wasn't the guy who gave up under pressure. In fact, he was the complete opposite. He was a fighter, and he would stop at nothing till victory was his.

It was only too bad for him that you were the same. Your thirst would only be quenched when you saw him break. You needed it more than you had ever needed anything.

You pushed, and he pushed harder. You shouted, and he shouted louder. You bitched and moaned and complained and did awful things to him, and Eren did them right back.

It was an endless cycle between the two of you.

You would do something to tick him off. Maybe it was telling him how Jean looked so sexy in black or how Armin's intelligence was out of this world you didn't know how he wasn't dating anyone.

Perhaps you were a parasite who ate away at your own liberty to do what you wished. You stretched yourself to push him into a corner, and it always worked.

Whatever it was, Eren would explode on you. You knew it pushed his buttons, it fucked with his mind, and that's why you did it. Because maybe it would be the day he finally gave in to the pain you inflicted on him and leave you for good.

Sometimes it would be him doing something that rubbed you the wrong way. Perhaps you wore something too short, so he called you a whore before fucking you like one. Or, he didn't answer your texts all night because he was with God-knows-who.

You shouted at him, called him all sorts of different names, and even trashed his apartment if you felt like it. Eren would fight with you, blame you for pushing him far enough as to dip a toe in the unforgiving pool of infidelity, and the two of you wouldn't speak for a week or so.

"I can't even walk around my own damn apartment without you being so annoying!" Eren shouted with so much force you held back a flinch. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself down, green eyes wondering about the room.

You didn't know if he was shit-faced, high, or a mix of both. You didn't care anymore. It seemed like you had been arguing for hours, but who really knew? All perception of time was lost on you when you were around Eren.

All this started because he asked you to stay the night at his apartment. He usually preferred to go out and have some fun around town, but this was his way of making it up to you for leaving you stranded at the restaurant on your last date.

Well, it was a way for the both of you to make up with each other. Before Eren decided to steal your phone and drive away without you, the waiter serving you had left his number for you. It was only the consequence of your actions earlier that night.

You spent most of the evening flirting with him every chance you got. Batting your eyelashes at him, leaning against the table the slightest so he could get a peak of the dainty little necklace that sat pretty on your cleavage.

He wasn't even that attractive, really — you and Eren both knew that — but he still let his emotions get the best of him. If there was one thing you could trust to be consistent it was his red-hot anger.

"Don't leave when I'm talking to you!" Eren ordered, green eyes blazing hard at the back of your head. He watched you walked around the house, following you to continue your argument. "What? You're gonna go and cry like a little bitch now?"

"Why can't you leave me alone, Eren?!" you screamed, grabbing your sweater and shoving it into your bag. You turned around only to find him inches from your face. "I'm not staying here if you're gonna be a dick!"

He let out a dry chuckle as you continued gathering your things. "What a perfect fucking excuse to go fuck that jerk in your class, right?" Eren hissed, reaching to grab your arm. "Gosh, can't you ever just keep your legs closed for a night?!"

"Keep my legs closed?!" you shot back, shoving him away from you. "You're the one who's been out doing who-knows-what, Eren! You're the one who comes home with lipstick stains from whichever whore you fucked!"

"You shouldn't talk about your friends like that."

You snapped your neck to him.

His face was stony with his jaw clenched, and his hands balled up in fists. None of those things frightened you, though; it was those eyes of him. Those pretty green eyes that had once stared at you so sweetly, so lovingly long ago.

Now, all you could see were glaciers in his irises.

You swallowed down the thick lump in your throat. "You are such a fucking dick." you declared, averting your gaze from his cold one. You advanced to the door, but he caught your arm in his grip again.

"Let go of me." you ordered, attempting to pry his hand off your arm, but he wouldn't budge. "Fuck, Eren. Are you fucking stupid and deaf? I said—"

Your voice got caught in your throat when he shoved you against the wall of his bedroom. He had you caged in, one hand pinning you to the wall and the other right beside you.

It seemed like Eren learned from the last time he tried to keep you from escaping. His last efforts of getting you to stay put were always futile, and you somehow still managed to break away every time.

He always tried to grab you a second time, but you left his cheek with a bright red outline of your palm, smacking him good and hard before leaving his apartment in a fray.

None of your past escapes mattered right now, so you continued squirming around in effort to release yourself from his iron clutch. "Wow, I guess you're not as stupid as you look." you scoffed, your other hand clawing at his.

"Don't be such a bitch." Eren ordered, but you continued your attempts to leave that were only feeble against his strength.

"Why don't you go with your other girlfriends, hmm?" You scoffed, reaching for his wrist and struggling to release your arm. "Tch, Eren, you're fucking hurting me. Stop—"

He brought you towards him, pulling you into his arms. You let out a grunt of disapproval as you tried to shimmy out of his crushing hug. "Oh, my gosh, let me go! I don't want you!" you protested, pushing your hand against his hard chest to create space between you, but he thrusted you back into his chest.

"Don't be such a bitch." Eren murmured into your ear. He had one hand wrapped around your upper back, keeping you close to him, while the other held your wrist tightly to stop you from pushing him away.

His shirt still smelled like the cologne you gifted him for his last birthday. Eren was extra kind to you that day, holding your hand and giving you kisses on the cheek.

The fresh scent was familiar on your nose. You breathed it in, allowing yourself to give in to his touch. "I'm not a bitch." you told him, closing your eyes. You hoped it would help you travel back in time to that beautiful spring day.

He only grunted in response, leaning his head against the top of yours. You felt the slight brush of air down your neck when he let out a sigh. The hand that held your wrist released it, finding purchase on your waist.

A few moments of silence passed between the two of you. Eren's fingers found solace in the ends of your hair. You hadn't realized how much his words affected you until you felt your hair twirl around his fingers.

Did he really think you were a bitch? Is that why as much as you loved his cologne, you could still smell the unfamiliar scent of someone else on him?

If he cared about you, why would he leave you alone in his messy apartment all night? Why would he even bother inviting you? Why did he make an effort to speak to you so lovely that your heart fluttered?

"I just wanted to have a nice time with my girl, and you're making that so difficult. Why?" Eren questioned softly, a strand of your hair between his fingers. "Why do you go out of your way to do shit that irritates me?"

Tears prickled your eyes. "I could ask you the same thing." you replied, holding back the urge to sniffle. How could you not cry when he hurt you? You loved him with so much of yourself, and everything he did seemed like it was just to cause you harm.

"You're so mean to me, Eren. You never treat me like you should."

"I know." he said, the movement of his mouth against your head. "I don't mean to treat you like that, baby. I'm sorry. I really am." You didn't believe him, though. You didn't even want to look into his eyes because you feared you would be right.

You let out a sigh, wiping the tear that escaped the corner of your eye on his shirt. "You're bad for me, Eren." you stated, turning your head to rest against his shoulder. "You're a bad guy and a bad boyfriend. You cheat on me and call my names, and you make me cry."

Eren hummed, rubbing your back in circles. "I'll be better. I'll try harder this time." he offered, his tone almost sounding pleading on your ears. "I promise I'll do better for you."

You didn't believe it. Eren couldn't do better. He was sick with an incurable disease. He no longer felt safe in his own body. He couldn't trust his thoughts to lead him to the correct answer. It all started when he met you, and your infection spread throughout his entire system.

You had infiltrated his way of thinking and acting, his way of feeling and speaking. Eren Jaeger would never be the same person he was before he met you.

He couldn't hide his disdain when he was around his friends, not with all the remarks you made of them. Did you really think Jean was better looking than him? Was it his hair?

Maybe he should start spending more time in the library. Would that make him him look smarter in your eyes? Would you come to him for help with your homework or would you still go to Armin?

And, it was in your silence that his questions of doubt were answered. "You don't believe me." Eren stated as if he were reading the very thoughts from your mind.

A bolt of lightning shot through your spine at his tone. This was the side of your boyfriend you hadn't quite figured out yet. He could loving and playful and crack jokes all day, and mean and standoffish where he wouldn’t even look at you, but he could also be fucking sadist.

His fist curled into the roots of your hair, yanking your head back to meet his gaze. There was a sharp ache pounding on the back of your head, but you forgot all about it when you saw the slight curl of his lip.

"No one else would put up with you. You know that, don't you?" Eren asked you, green eyes appearing darker than they ever had. "You know no one would ever give you the time of day like I do."

"I know." you managed to tell him, leaning into where he gripped your hair to ease the pain you felt.

"Do you?" he questioned, raising a brow.

You tried your best to keep the hammering of your heart against your chest from showing on your face. Eren may have been a sadist, but he wasn't the only one.

"Yes, Eren." you stated, deciding to take a risk and place a gentle hand on his shoulder. You felt him tense under your touch. "You misunderstand me. I only what what's best for you and me. That's all I ever wanted."

He furrowed a brow at your words.

Sure, you would admit that Eren had power over you. He was stronger than you, taller than you, quicker than you. He was the one who had your back against a wall, and it was your hair in his fist.

But, you had something he didn't. You honed the skill he wouldn't be able to polish for years to come. He may have been overly aggressive and carried the ability to make an environment where he would always be the person with the most power, but you had experience.

And, that was something he couldn’t create.

"I've done so much for you, Eren. Why would I go through all this struggle if I didn't want to be with you?" you explained, forcing a pout on your lips. "Is that how you feel about me?"

His grip on your head began to loosen. "No," Eren forced out, eyebrows so scrunched forward they lost their sharpness. "That's not what I want. I was—"

"If you know that, then why would you stand me up?" you demanded, gazing you at him. "If you know all I want is for you to be happy, why would you start a fight with me? You know I would never hurt you like that, baby."

"I didn't mean to start a fight." Eren admitted, swallowing. "I just don't want you to leave me. I don't want to be alone. I don't know what—"

"I know. You don't have to explain it to me, baby. I know exactly what you're thinking." you told him, reaching for his hand to hold in yours. "It's okay, Eren. I know you wouldn't ever want to hurt me, right?"

He nodded, teal eyes watching as you brought his hand to your pillowy lips. You placed a feathery kiss against his knuckles. It had been so soft, so sweet that he wanted to cry.

He had just had car sex with one of the girls who lived in your dormitory's building, and you were kind enough to give him another chance. He did something that hurt you, and you still only wanted what was best for him.

"I love you." Eren sputtered out. His eyes were wide at you, and his voice sounded like he was begging you for something you refused to give him.

You let out a sweet sigh, eyes snapping to his. "You love me?" you repeated, taking a moment to savor the way the words felt on your tongue. Your brows furrowed at the words. "Do you really?"

He nodded quickly, maneuvering his hand to hold yours. He peppered kisses along your fingers, your knuckles. "I do. I really fucking do. I love you." Eren assured, kissing the inside of your hand before grabbing the side of your face.

You raised a brow as he planted soft, needy kisses along your cheeks. "How much do you love me, Eren?" you inquired, bringing your hand to massage his scalp.

Eren swallowed, looking up at you. He was quiet. You blinked back at him, waiting for his answer. You had been so surprised to find he had nothing to offer you in that moment.

You quirked a brow at his silence. "How much, Eren? How much do you love me?" you repeated, voice advancing from a curious tone to a demanding one.

He shook his head, bringing your lips to meet his gently. He tasted like . . . was it honey? Or was it just how sweet the lies he told sounded on your ears?

You weren't able to tell what his mouth tasted like, but you knew you had earned another spit sister? Had he kissed her the way he kissed you? Did he feed her the same lies he did you? Could she taste him? Was she able to put a finger on what the candied flavor on his lips was?

Eren pulled back from you slightly. You couldn’t tell if it was his turquoise eyes that were glassy or if it was yours. "Too much." he told you, lips brushing against yours. "I love you too much." He collided his face with yours, tongue slipping into your open mouth.

His kisses travelled lower — along your jaw, down your nec. He sucked hard when he found your pulse-point, only stopping once a soft moan escaped your swollen lips.

There really wasn't a way you would ever leave him, even if you tried to. Despite all the fights, all the times you professed your hate for him, all the times you tried tried to break it off, Eren stayed with you.

But, it was the same for him. Even if you hurt him, flirt with his friends right in front of him, cuss him out and manipulate him the way you had already done a profuse amount of times in the past, Eren would always love you. How could he not?

Maybe it was because both of you were equally fucked in the head, or because you both loved the concept of pain whether you be playing the role of the inflicted or inflicter, but in some twisted way, you never wanted to leave him.

Somewhere in the messed up relationship that you two had, you realized you loved him. God, you fucking loved him, even if he treated you like a pet.

And, he was your favorite toy. Yours to use and to lie and to fuck. Whether Eren Jaeger was so free he couldn't help but trample over you, or you were too much, too curious that you pushed him to the very brink and a little more, one thing wouldn't change.

You knew it was wrong. Everything about you and him was wrong. Nothing could justify it, you figured that much. You didn't think you could lose yourself in the game, but you did.

And, all of it was Eren's fault.

note: welp they were toxic huh

[bibliocratic]

clear the area jonmartin, post-MAG200 content warnings in the tags

They earn their ending. A happy-ever-after beyond the gaze of any eyes.

Jon endures his abdication. This world has no Archivists, has need of none, the thankless crown of Knowing finally unburdened from his shoulders. The blood washes off Martin’s hands with soap and scrubbing and scalding water. They live.

The end. In conclusion. Fin.

-

Jon’s new scar, the packaging of his skin split ragged from collarbone to sternum, fades like sun-caught paint. A maw of red pursing to a gummy primrose pink, settling into a rough cartography of white.

The first few months are hard. Brimstone flare-up silences and ice-pick shouting, open-handed forgiveness and closed-fist weeping. They drain themselves to husks with anger and worry and grief until there is enough space for better things to grow there in their stead. Jon’s nightmares were a nightly stormfront to bear, sweated sheets and dawn fanfares of panic and dread, but he is learning now, with the space for his ribs to expand, that it is ok for them to breathe here.

Jon digs up the garden with a rusty trowel until it is a bumpy canvas of mulch and soil, dirt tucked under his fingernails and decorated with smudges up to his elbows. He hums while he irons their shirts in front of the television, thoughtless and senseless with tune.

Martin has tried to, but the sound goes down the wrong way.

-

Martin is happy.

-

It isn’t the sight as such, that might sit as a film over his vision to tinge his waking sepia. The reddest thing they own is a terracotta plant plot brimming with raggedy thyme that lives a precarious cliff-top existence on the kitchen windowsill. He observes Jon’s face in all its variations, even pained – when he snags splinters in his fingers, when he stubs his toe on the stone front step and swears damnation – and his response is sympathy tempered by admonishment.

It’s not the sensation, not really, that might tremble on his skin. Martin’s palms tend to dryness inside their homely bubble of creaky central heating, hemmed in by boisterous coastal winds. He handles bread knives and butter knives and steak knives and carving knives without the muscle memory of other blades, and he thinks he might be getting pretty handy with his oven experimentation.

It’s the sound. It wakes him, the noise lingering like the echo of a slap.

The slick punch of metal into muscle. A tooth-bared, tense-jawed gasp.

Resurfacing to shocked consciousness, he would be seized by a frenzy, to know, to check. His scattering hand scrabbling for the lamp with such force he hit it off the nightstand to roll in a giddy clatter, throwing off the covers to rapidly pollute both of them with the outside air. Jon would be rocked from sleep, groggy, panicked, and Martin’s words would not come, a train of thought trying to race full steam where no one had laid tracks, so it would be just the two of them, exhausted and upset and amping the other up in misery.

Now, upon his rousing, Martin knows not to turn on the light. He does not check. The aftermath of punch-gasp curls in his ear, and he inhale-exhale-inhales with the ferocity of mantra, and clamps the threatened tears in the clench of his teeth.

He does not wake Jon.

-

“How did you sleep?”

“Oh, you know me. Like a log.”

-

He is happy. He is. Why wouldn’t he be?

--

Jon rumbles like a rusty mechanism with snoring whenever he drops off on his back, and he mumbles accusatory when Martin coaxes him to his side. Martin finds black hairs on his pillowcase, in the shower plug. Jon is a vista of experience since the Eye left him, who gets hungry and tired and grumpy and drunk and silly and fed-up and giggly. Jon searches him out with the surety of magnets, and loves him, loves him, loves him. He seals kisses to Martin’s new landscape of extensive scars. Their disagreements, when they surface, are as meaningful and lasting as stones skipped on water.

Martin wanted this. He wants this. The rhythms of domesticity fading to foam on an untroubled shore.

He is out of practise with happiness, that’s all. It doesn’t come to him like breathing. He needs to till the earth of it, shelter its seeds from a thousand circling crows until it bears harvest.

He just has to try harder.

-

Night-time.

An episode or two of something simple, Jon nodding off like a capsizing ship before the credits. Encouraging him up in grousing, unwilling increments, rubbing out the nettle sting of pins and needles up his own arm. Check the locks, the light switches. Brush teeth. Pyjamas. Put his phone to charge, read until Jon succumbs to sleep. Click the light off, pushing Jon onto his side so his mouth doesn’t dry. Jon squirming around like a fastidious octopus until he has at least half his limbs hooked over Martin.

The dark creating shadow play. In the absence, Martin colouring in the gaps with lurid shades of disaster.

A creak – the rattle of a door downstairs, an intruder unfastening the back door, transferring their weight upon the staircase. A unfamiliar scent – the recollection of smoke-stench in his nostrils, the acrid promise of gas, the ferrous pungency of blood. The rain will flood their house to drown them. The wind will blow their roof in. Jon hooks his leg around Martin, the skin void of hair where Daisy’s mouth had almost torn it off, and all he can envision is the ways this could be destroyed as he watches.

Bundle Jon close. Ignore the rain, the itch at the bottom of his stomach, the queasy roil of his fear. Drift into unkind sleep populated with its garden of earthly terrors.

-

Martin is… not happy. Not exactly. And that’s fine. It’s fine.

-

Jon is happy.

-

Jon, rubbing at the compression lines around his hips, the accusatory splay of the top button refusing to budge closed:

“I can’t fit into my jeans.”

Martin enfolds him from behind, planting his palms over the slight paunch of Jon’s stomach, filled out through sensible eating and small indulgences and a hunger that will never be ravenous but has restored its human qualities.

“Hmm. It’s a good look on you. Healthier.”

“Or it’s middle age.”

“Or it’s eating things that aren’t tea and meal-deal sandwiches.”

“Or other people’s terror.”

“Oh yes, you’re right, I completely forgot about your subsistence diet of eldritch and unbidden horrors in a luscious wholegrain wrap, forgive me.”

Jon laughs at that. The sound has not yet lost its novelty for either of them.

He shifts, turns, his arms a buoy around Martin’s stomach.

“You’ve lost weight.”

“Must be all the clean air,” Martin quips. “All that healthy living.”

-

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

Martin wakes up.

When his heart has wound down from the pace of its gallop, he extricates himself from Jon’s grip. It is a laborious task to find the places where they’ve joined in the night and pull them apart, like separating fabric snagged on rosebushes.

He gets some water from the cold tap in the kitchen. Sits heavily on the sofa, the room cossetted by the gloom.

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

His hands shake.

He doesn’t go back to bed.

-

He isn’t happy, but he could grow to be. He could. He could. He just isn’t trying hard enough.

-

Some days, he feels like he’s waiting for the ice to give under them.

Check the passers-by as they walk. Anyone familiar, any teeth filed too sharp, anything animal or blood-shot, any eyes that glance too deep.

Check the oven. The gas knobs are angled to off but a leak is not impossible in a house this old, their alarm might malfunction, they might fall asleep and some spark from a plug socket could catch and incite a conflagration.  

Check the window latches. The opening wide enough for a body to squirm through, the claws of a Hunter marring the sill. Wriggling infestations that invade through the letter box, the keyhole, the gap under the door where the wind can whistle through.

Check. Check. Check.

-

Jon is happy. Jon has a job, work friends, a hundred small luxuries that he has struggled to earn. Jon is happy, so why can’t he be? He went through so much less, the blood washed off easily with soap, what the fuck does he have to cry over –

-

Martin has always crafted his masks from scrap, tongue out in concentration, piecing things together in low light, a make-do-and-mend of his own devising. His early efforts, the paper mâché and glue easily cracked before he learned to shore up his constructions. He has a small collection garnered over years.

The quiet-voiced, muffled-stepped, muted-smiled creation of a Good Son.

The zipped-mouth, no-refusals-no-complaints-yes-of-course-how-high earnestness of the Good Employee, the desperation sanded off the edges so no one could see.

The I’ll-get-the-first-round friendliness, the open-handed, open-hearted, too-naïve Good Colleague.

This new mask forms in increments, in the same way a rising mound of dirt marks the extent of a grave being dug.

He doesn’t mean to. It’s just he’s better at not talking about things. He always has been. And it is an ugly, easy comfort, to slip back into bad habits.

And Jon is happy.

All the things Martin does not wish to permit the light to touch he compresses inside like shaken soda. The rot in him deepens structural, the places where he papers over moulds and fungal speckles with the distraction of their new life. His smile parades simple, contented, cheeky, teasing, and there is a meticulous artistry in each. He sketches interest, paints joy, manufactures irritation out of the clay of nothingness that he allows himself to feel instead of the overwhelming rush of everything else.

I love you, his mouth murmurs, laughs, sighs, groans, and that at least is always true.

The mask of a Good Partner slips on tailor-made.

-

They find their nine-to-fives. Jon’s job is uneventful, boring, and nowhere near an Archive. He works in a registry office for the council, filing and organising and he’s cheerfully lied on his CV in order to get it. He gets the bus and texts Martin grumpy faces and GIFs summarising his mood when he gets suck in the commute or some idiot parks in a bus lane, he has a couple of colleagues he likes and a greater number that he tolerates, he gets a hot chocolate from this universe’s overpriced multinational chain on his lunch hour. When he gets home, he complains with delight at the mundanity of his dissatisfactions, regales Martin with tales of meagre drama.

Martin gets a cleaning job at a school. It is monotonous, dull and safe. Martin loses track of the time easily, quagmired in his musings. The children are wary of him and his visible scarring but it doesn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. The teachers are friendly enough, as well as the other cleaning staff, but he does not make friends. They’ll have to move anyway, if anything finds them here, if the Fears emerge again.

Martin tries not to feel like he’s waiting.

-

He wants to have a good night’s sleep.

-

“I’ll have breakfast at the school, don’t worry.”

“There were some leftovers from the canteen, so I’m kind of full.”

“It was one of the teacher’s birthdays, you know, Denise? Heh, might have had a bit too much cake. I’ll pop this in the fridge for later though, it’ll keep till tomorrow.”

“I’m just not that hungry tonight, Jon.”

-

He feels sharper when he doesn’t eat. It is uncomfortable, a scratched-out, hollowing sensation, but things focus more. He can control nothing else but this, and it feels good, to have this mastery over himself when so much is beyond him.

He drops down notches on his belt and tells Jon it’s all the walking he’s doing.

-

The world continues to happen to them. He goes to the cinema with Jon and picks at popcorn and encourages Jon’s outraged opinion. He meets Jon’s mildly interesting work friends and plays nice and excels at small talk, and he drinks half a cider that he nurses over the evening because it’s making his head fuggy. His body communicates its sharpness to him and he gains grim satisfaction from ignoring it. He goes to work and goes home and doesn’t sleep and goes to work and goes home and doesn’t sleep.

Martin does his best at living, and his mask doesn’t slip.

-

“You seem tired,” Jon pries his words out carefully, picking them out of his teeth as one would scraps. “Is… is everything ok?”

“Yeah, sure it is. Why?”

“…  you seem a bit down today. Recently. Is anything… is there anything you want to talk about?”

“I’ve just been working too hard. Been a while since I had to do double-shifts, heh, I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“If you’re sure?”

Jon shifts to a different position where he’s sat on the sofa, his legs tucking up under him. Martin endures his questioning gaze with practise.

“Yeah, I’m all good.”

Martin delivers a hand-crafted smile that’s gilded heavily with guilelessness and reassurance. He watches as Jon believes him and hates himself.

-

“You know… You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but you can – you know you can talk to me, Martin?”

Martin’s eyes focus on Jon’s chest at the point where a knife once sunk in, and doesn’t reply.

-

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

Martin wakes up.

Jon has twisted over onto his back again, rattling like a chain-smoker’s cough with his snoring. They were quiet that evening, tangled up in their own thoughts, but there is none of that distance in sleep. During the night, Jon’s wormed himself out of the covers with a single-minded determination, his restless legs squashing the duvet to the bottom of the bed on his side, encouraging Martin’s to follow suit.

He’s shirtless, his top chucked off to pile unceremoniously on the floor. The temperature is ripe with a burgeoning summer heat, and Jon tosses and complains if he’s overwarm, and Martin didn’t think he’d get to feel the drudgery of another lived summer. He’s shirtless, and the room is palled in sweltering dark that softens the vague shapes of the wardrobe, the chest of drawers, the knickknacks of the life they’re building together. He’s shirtless, and Martin cannot see where the scar is, the only scar of Jon’s he has ever thought ugly, but he knows it is there. That he put it there. That he could just as easily be waking up alone.

His body pains him to live in it. His stomach tight and bottomed out empty.

He is so so tired.

Martin’s heartbeat does not slow down. His chest constricting, and he swallows, a sharp sound hiccupping in his throat. He stifles it with a forceful sniff but more come as a painful spasming wave, and he has to sit up if any air is to dribble into his lungs.

He should get up. He has to get up, do this in the bathroom, doubled-over the sink, stifling his weakness where it cannot be witnessed. He cannot do this here.

Punch. Gasp.

His burning face is soaked as he bunches up his sleeves against his reddening eyes. A calming exhale drains out shaky, moulds itself into another loud sob. He plants his hands over his mouth, screwing his eyes closed, and this will pass, he’s fine, this will pass…

“Martin?”

I’m sorry to wake you, he thinks to say. It’s nothing, go back to sleep, stop looking at me Jon, I’m fine, I’m fine, it’s nothing, it’s nothing…

His shoulders start to shake.

“Martin?” Jon repeats slowly. And the ice creaks and cracks and Martin gasps and then it breaks, and the force of his damned-up grief is tidal, catastrophic and he sobs into his hands.

“It’s… it’s alright – it’s… it was a nightmare, that’s all, ‘s alright…”

“It’s not!” Martin bubbles out, the words mashed to a wail in his hands. “It’s not, it’s not, it’ll ruin this…”

“Hey.” Jon brings his arm around Martin and he buries his head in the bony crook of his shoulder because he does not want to meet Jon’s eyes. “What do you mean? Martin?”

Jon rubs at his back. Martin’s body betrays him in a hundred ways as it collapses around him. His weeping wrings him out, dry-mouthed and headachy and trembling when he subsides into shivery breaths.

“Talk to me,” Jon says. “Please.”

“You’re so happy,” Martin sniffs out. “I-I want you to be happy, god, o-of course I do. Things are, they’re good, they’re good and we won, s-s-so why does it feel like I’m still holding my breath? I-I go to bed and I’m frightened of every noise, and I wake up and I’m terrified that someone somehow could take this all away, and I can’t sleep, and I-I’m tired, Jon, I’m tired of holding my breath, and it’s all – it’s all so much a-a-a-and I can’t – ”

“Oh, Martin – ”

His words fail him then. Jon holds him up and his arms do not loosen.

“We-we’re going to fix this,” Jon says after a long while. “I promise you, together, we’ll – we’ll talk to someone. You aren’t alone in this. Together, alright, we’ll do this together. We’ve survived – everything else, we can get through this too.”

“I don’t know if I can believe you,” Martin says, too drained to avoid honesty.

“…Maybe not yet,” Jon says after a pause. “That’s OK. I can wait.”

I’m sorry, Martin attempts to say but Jon presses a kiss to his forehead.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Jon says. He strokes Martin’s sweat-soaked hair.

“… Can we talk? Tomorrow? You don’t have to tell me everything, but… I’d like to be there for you, if you want me. If you’ll let me.”

Martin nods because he doesn’t trust his gummed-up throat. Jon takes that as an answer.

Dawn comes in slowly enough but they see it in together.

[nothing-but-dreamy]

HC: s/o is dying in their arms

A/N: So..... I got this request:

"If you have the time do you think maybe you could do a headcanon with the resident evil boys reacting to their s/o dying in their arms? That angsty stuff ya know?"

And, here you go! I took Leon Kennedy and Chris Redfield. Enjoy...?

Words: 3.135

Warnings: angst, mention of blood, mention of death, raw emotions (the whole palette; gender neutral reader

Leon Kennedy:

- before Leon even can react, the infected has bitten you, digging its teeth into your flesh what caused you to cry out in pain and in surprise because you haven't noticed it behind you at all

- Leon kills the zombie or infected or whatever it was Umbrella had created this time before he runs to you

- you are already coughing blood; you press your hand on the wound but you are already spilling the blood on your bulletproof vest - ironically that you thought a bullet would kill you when you are fighting against BOWs

- you see Leon's concerned expression and that is the only thing that is really hard for you in this moment - to see him suffer; he is the last one who deserves any of this because he is too nice, too lovely, too handsome and too precious

- because deep down inside of you, you know that it is over; this is the end of your journey; the BOW didn't just take a little bite to taste you - no, it took the whole buffet and a refill on top

- you already feel the virus spreading through your veins, nagging on the healthy blood cells to change them into something nasty, at least you imagine it to be like this; it is just a question of time what happens first: that you become one of these undead monsters on your own OR that you die of immense blood loss - internally, you hope for the second option because the last thing that should ever happen is that Leon sees himself forced to kill you

- Leon kneels next to you; he doesn't even care if he is already covered in your blood, the only thing he is trying is saving your life

- he tries to give you the anti-virus but you stop him what makes Leon even more furious, a state you barely have witnessed before from this skilled, composed but also cheeky agent who always has some funny words on his lips to make you smile

"Could you please keep still so I can help you?"

"Leon, n-no... just ... don't.", you breathe, stopping his hand while you get shook by new waves of coughing.

"YN, we don't have much time. So, please, be smart and listen to me just this one time.", Leon says composed but you already see the tears glittering in the corners of his eyes - these beautiful, bright eyes you will miss the most because they held the promise of your shared future in them.

"It... it would be just a- a waste..", you choke out, taking the anti-virus to throw it out of reach for Leon who stares at you in shock, "The blood lo-lo... the loss is faster than the virus. At.... at least, I- I'm not turning into ... into...", your voice breaks as you become short of breath.

- Leon already sits on the ground, ignoring whatever happens around him; it doesn't matter at all; he just sits down, pulling you onto his lap while enclosing you with his arms as strong as he can to pull you close to his chest, the place where you have been preferably when you two were together, spending quality time in bed together

- this time, it is the same; your hands already find their way to his chest so you can feel his heartbeat while you try to breathe and live a little bit longer; you fight till your last breath just to look into Leon's handsome face, framed by these always so soft fringes; that is the last wish you have to whatever entity that might be out there - that Leon's face would be the image that will burn into your mind that it will persist till you reach the afterlife

- Leon tries to stay strong for you but it is not working; the tears are already running free as he realizes that you are right; no help would be fast enough to save you; so, this is the last opportunity he has to say things; things he always had on his mind when he saw you, when he was with you but he never found the right moment to say them; Leon was sure he would have all the time in the world to show you what you meant to him if he wasn't able to tell you that - now, he had to realize that he was wrong

"Leon... p-please, look at me...", you plead softly, seeing his eyes is something you cling to as if they are the lighthouses which would guide you back into life.

Leon smiles weakly at you and strokes bloody strands out of your face, "Don't worry, you have my whole attention like always. I always had eyes just for you, sweetheart.", he whispers.

"Oh, n-no... y-you won't start now with the-these cheesy nicknames.", you choke out, accompanied with some more blood.

Leon chuckles softly about the fact that you are still the same, talking back like always, "Fight me. When you decide to leave me, I can decide to call you 'sweetheart' as much as I want.", he says and shows you your favorite smirk even through tears.

You chuckle, "Yeah, blame me for that, Kennedy.", you whisper.

Leon leans closer to you as he notices that you become weaker, even the grip of your hands becomes less, "There are so many things I always wanted to tell you and now, you... you-", but his voice breaks because no matter how tough he wants to be it is you he is losing right now. You are his partner as an agent and in life, working side by side and living even closer.

With your last strength, you raise your hand to cup Leon's cheek, "Then tell... tell me the most imp-important thing...", you say slowly to get the words out as clearly as possible.

Leon leans against your weak touch, already feeling how your skin becomes colder. You also start to shiver and he brings you even closer to keep you warm with the body heat you were always searching for, "The most important thing? That I love you, YN. I lost my heart on you the moment I met you no matter how frustrating you were with your trouble-making attitude. As we started to date, I was the happiest man on this planet and this never changed. You just make me so damn happy. I should have told you that so much earlier.", he whispers.

You smile weakly at him, "Better now th... th-then never...", you whisper. Actually, you want to say more but you can't.

Leon, who sees it, leans down, raising your chin with his forefinger softly lying underneath it so he can reach your lips for a longing, loving and caring kiss. He feels you responding to his lips. You kiss him back. He continues to kiss you with more force, with more emotions until he notices that there is no reaction from you anymore.

- Leon squeezes his eyes shut, leaving your lips slowly and resting his forehead against yours while countless hot tears are running down his cheeks; he covers you with his tears, a veil of undying love Leon carries for you

- he's clinging desperately on your lifeless body in his arms; his fingers are digging into your skin in hope to jolt you back into life but nothing happens

- he even sobs ugly and muffles the sound as he buries his face into your hair to take a deep breath of your scent for the very last time

- he just sits like this for no matter how long, embracing you, until medics come to bring you away - or at least, they try because Leon won't let go of you; only as another agent comes to remind Leon of the rules and the protocols they have to follow, Leon gives in and let go of you but just very reluctantly

- in the end, Leon Kennedy stands there, covered from head to toe in your blood with dark gleaming eyes and a grim expression on his face with the strong determination to destroy Umbrella and everything else which fault it was that he had lost the love of his life forever

Chris Redfield:

- as Chris hears the shot, it isn't just the sound of a bullet leaving a gun;

- it is the sound that will burn itself forever into his mind, into his memories and into his heart because the moment he hears it accompanied by your muffled scream, a big part of his life will change within one second

- Chris turns around and sees you slowly slumping down on your knees before you fall to the ground, lying on your side and gasping for air

- the Umbrella subject the team was chasing is already on the run with the gun still in his hand; two members of Chris' team are running after him, catching and arrest him

- but Chris doesn't care for the mission any longer as he sees you nearly unconscious lying on the ground, a puddle of blood already forming underneath you; seeping from the nasty gunshot wound in your body

- with long strides, Chris is next to you in just a few seconds; he throws his rifle aside; undressing the protected jacket he is wearing to press it onto your wound to stop the bleeding but he already has noticed that your aorta got hit; blood is already everywhere and still pouring out of you very quickly

"YN! Open your eyes! Now! That's an order!", Chris says serious and slaps softly on your cheek to wake you up.

Very slowly because you already feel weak, you open your eyes just to see his worried expression, "That didn't go as planned, right?", you choke out with a strained voice.

- The other members of the team are in some distance just watching helplessly the scene; the medic feels frustrated and angry because there is nothing he could do to help you; he already had seen that you will die within the next few minutes and in the way Chris treats you in front of everyone, the medic knows that Chris is aware of your death as well

- Chris knows what such a wound means and so, he doesn't want to waste any precious moment with you; you, the one person he kept the closest to himself; it were against a bunch of rules to start something with a team member and Chris always was dutifully enough to stick to the rules until you showed up; you changed the game the second Chris had laid his eyes on you;

- you were the best explosive expert he could ask for; your personality was just as spicy as your grenades and first, Chris thought you were just toying with him but quickly, during a mission where the two of you had to save each other asses, he realized that you weren't just flirting out of fun instead, you really wanted him; Chris was sure with his assumption as you were kissing him;

- that was you and your character - cheeky, playfully, bubbly, maybe a bit too over the top but straight forward if you really wanted something; mostly when you wanted him

- all this is swirling through Chris' mind as he kneels next to you, scooting you up into his lap to have you closer; he doesn't care if someone sees the two of you; he already expected your relationship to be an open secret to the other members of his team; they all knew about the two of you and secretly, they were all shipping you two so hard; destroying any kind of rumors in the beginning to protect the two of you and that no superior would notice the tiniest bit

You look into his beautiful but concerned eyes, "Chris, I'm sorry, I fucked up.", you whisper, your voice is layered with pain and agony; you even try to move but you give up as you already feel your body becoming numb

"Shh, everything will be good again, you will see. Don't worry.", Chris whispers and strokes softly over your back. He's lying, he knows it, you know it, the others know it, but no one cares; you know he needs that to stay strong for you or otherwise he would break in front of you;

- no matter how tough Chris Redfield seems to be on the outside, you know how soft he is on the inside; you discovered this side on him very quickly because he couldn't keep up his resistance in front of you; this tough, tall and broad guy turned into a soft, passionately and cuddly teddy bear in your hands and you wouldn't want to have it differently

"Yeah, you know, Captain, there are still a few things I wanna do with you.", you say low with a soft smirk, using your favorite 'nickname' for him to produce a weak smile on Chris' lips; you always used his military rank as a teasing nickname when you two were in bed, knowing exactly that it turned him on to get called that from you in a sexy voice

"What things do you wanna do? Tell me so we can plan something for the next week. We all need a break.", Chris asks, his voice just a whisper because he can't speak louder anymore or otherwise the raw emotions would take control over him completely.

"Showing you my home town. My mother wants to meet you so desperately.", you say before you hissed with pain, "You know, I told her a few things about you."

"Oh, already? I had no idea you're so serious with me.", Chris says, his voice heavy with tears while he strokes beads of sweat out of your face.

"Obviously, I fell in love with your sexy ass and now, there's no turning back anymore for me because I just love you, Chris.", you whisper weakly, one single tear is running down your cheek because the last thing you want is to leave this incredible man forever.

- that you address him by his name is almost too much for Chris to handle because you just do it when you talk about important, serious things; he swallows thickly because your confession is everything he always wanted to hear no matter how sure he was to have you; to hear these three words coming from your lips was everything Chris was longing for and now, as they came, he would have done everything to switch these words with your life to keep you by his side a little bit longer

Chris pulls you even closer, "I know you will hate it to hear but I won our bet that you would say 'I love you' first. Gotcha.", Chris breathes, nudging your nose with his and now, he even can't stop the tears anymore from running freely down his cheek, soaking his shirt and even your combat clothes

The blood loss is already too heavy and so you claw your hand into Chris' shirt to pull him down to you because you can't move properly anymore, "I can handle losing this silly bet because I already got the jackpot of my life a long time ago.", you breathe before you connect your lips with Chris’ for the most passionately and longing but at the same time desperately kiss the two of you have ever shared.

- all the love you feel for this soldier is lying in your lips which are getting colder with each passing second. Chris' lips are hot against yours, the stubble he sports as a beard, because you like to see it on him the most, is already wet with heartbreaking tears; you try to deepen the kiss but the dizziness in your head is already too much; Chris encloses your face with his free hand, supporting your neck with his long fingers and kisses you stronger than before; your tongues are caressing each other lovingly before Chris breaks the kiss, leaning his forehead against yours

- You feel Chris' warm breath fanning over your face while his heart is racing under your weak grip of your hand. You hate to see him suffer like this, knowing that he has to live with the pain to lose you, to be alone again. You hope he finds someone else even if you already know that Chris will have a tough time while coping with your death, maybe even using your death as the cause to start a vendetta against Umbrella and everything they do.

Your vision becomes slowly blurry and the edges of your sight are already black, "Chris, promise me that you won't do reckless things...", you choke out, followed by some coughing.

"Stay by my side and I won't do anything, I promise.", Chris whispers, offering you a solution.

"I will always be by your side, Chris. I will be watching over you.", you breathe before Chris kisses you again until there is no more reaction from you.

- Chris rests his forehead against yours, clinging to your dead body and crying silently with closed eyes; his face is a mask of pure agony and despair while he grit his teeth; his veins are filling with anger and hatred for what has happened to you; he still can't believe that you are gone, that you have left him just like this, leaving him alone in this crazy, cruel world of living nightmares

- the team is speechless about the whole scene; to see these two lovers getting separated far too early hit all of them; just the medic is able to function, knowing what kind of protocols they have to follow; the medic tries to get Chris away from you but the huge Captain is not moving; so, the three others have to drag him away from you with all the power they can find

- reluctantly, Chris let go of you, standing up with shaking knees; while he tries to catch his breath, his eyes are landing on the suspect who had shot you; before someone of the others can stop him, Chris, feeling like a blank nerve, storms over to him, pushing him up against a wall, beating into the man's face what brings him down to the ground with a bleeding nose and eyebrow; Chris even wants to kick him but the team mates can hold him back, bringing him away so he can cool down somewhere else

- but Chris won't ever cool down again; he promises to himself to use your death as the fuel to keep the fire burning to fight until the last BOW and even Umbrella would have paid for what they had done to you

- You didn't want him to do something reckless but Chris wouldn't do anything reckless, he would be merciless till the moment he would see you again

[volleychumps]

Requesting cheating angst with Kuroo, Iwaizumi, Akaashi, and Atsumu? Rip my heart apart please😌😌♥️

oH SHIT let’s do a remix on the fluff for this one post, everybody- I’m in an angsty mood so uh, eskettit :( I couldn’t make it past Akaashi’s scenario and I had so many breaks, so proceed at your own risk, everyone! 

Turn and Keep Going. (Kuroo, Iwaizumi, and Akaashi) - angst -

TW: CHEATING, CURSING, ANGST- no fr I ugly cried and I wrote it

Kuroo

“Y/N. Where do you keep the extra towels again?”

You didn’t mean to see it. In fact, if you had the choice on whether or not you did- 

you would have chosen not to. 

The phone in your hand became tightened in an iron-clad grip as a chuckle with a nervous tinge to it slipped Kuroo’s mouth, and the world seemed to drown out for a moment. As if the world around you submerged into the water of the sea, where everything you could hear was jumbled as a strange heat flooded your vision, choking your lungs with the salt of the ocean. 

“Y/N?” The garbled voice was questioning now as your eyes stayed glued to the screen, of the naked set of breasts and invites, even worse- 

the accepting replies. 

That was all it took for you to flinch away from the hand that Kuroo had carefully set on your back hunched over the device, the towel he had been using to dry off his hair falling to the floor in a heap of material as the raven-haired boy finally entered your bedroom from his post-practice shower. 

Still, the phone remained tightened in your hand so tight to the point where your knuckles were turning white. 

“Why are you going through my phone?” The accusatory edge to Kuroo’s voice had risen, and so did you to your feet, the device hitting the floor next to the towel as you fight to keep your head afloat.

“How long?” Your voice cracked, no matter how hard you fought the breaking feeling spreading across your chest as Kuroo seemed to still completely, and you didn’t need to look at him fully in the face to know how utterly guilty he looked. 

“W-What do you-?” 

“Don’t.” Your voice was soft, refusing to meet the captain’s eyes now, not knowing just who was standing in your room. 

Not knowing just who was the man now holding your face in his hands, urging you to look at him with his own flood falling on his cheeks as his words remained garbled. Still, you let him. 

“Baby. Kitten-fuck. I don’t know what you think you saw, but I love you! I wasn’t completely there when I-” 

“Fucked her?” Your voice hadn’t risen, eyes glazed over in a haze as Kuroo’s voice hitched. 

“No. Nononono- Y/N, kitten-” 

“T-Tetsurou?” The name felt foreign on your tongue as your head finally rose to meet his, willing everything inside you to hold it back as Kuroo held you tighter, as if his arms would salvage what was falling apart. 

“Get out.” 

“Y/N. Please.” His voice fell to a whisper- 

and the dam broke. 

“I SAID GET THE HELL OUT.” You screamed, falling to your knees as your arms wrapped around yourself, knowing you were all you had in the world at the moment. You saw his legs approach you, before hesitating and turning the other way, clenched fists creating bloody marks in his hands from his fingernails as he complied. 

“And Tetsurou.” You spat just as his legs stall in the doorway, watching as Kuroo’s feral and playful eyes that once painted every edge of your universe seemed to be fighting to remain stable. The captain heard those words, and couldn’t fight the sobs beginning to wreck his body as the voice he loved echoed in his ears with parting words- 

Your voice didn’t crack this time. 

“Don’t come back.” 

Iwaizumi

“She’s a nobody.” 

You jump at the sound of the voice, humorless chuckle slipping your lips as Iwa steps to your side, dark eyes looking tired and void of any light that might had once lit up his dark irises. You look out at the landscape, still looking straight forward as the ace settles next to you, hanging his forearm across his bent knee. 

“How did you find me?” 

“It’s been two years. I know you, Y/N.” Iwaizumi’s eyes bore into your side profile, and more sarcastic giggles make their way past your lips as you hug your knees to your chest, jabbing him where it hurts. 

“Funny. I really thought I knew you, Hajime-” 

“Don’t you start with that shit.”

You lazily finally meet Iwa’s eyes, causing the ace to feel the lump growing in his throat at the amount of light drained from the look of them, mirroring his own. Iwa moistens his lips, trying to get his head back on track as the heat tinges at the sides of his eyes. 

“We love each other, don’t we?” 

“Yeah. We did.” 

Iwa flinches at the past-tense term, feeling his breathing hollow out at the sound of it. 

“We must’ve at some point, right?” All cried-out, you watch the sun seem to slowly sink into the horizon in a mix of color as your eyes soak in its’ prettiness, as if the light from the sun would somehow bring the gleam back to your eyes-

but every time you closed them, all you saw was Iwaizumi fiercely kissing another girl in the passenger seat of her car, fist clenched in her hair as he kissed her with anger from the fight he had with you-

“You do. You love me.” The denial sunk in as you laugh. And you laugh some more as if that were the most idiotic thing in the world. “And I love you, Y/N- princess, we can make this work and get through this-!” 

“I don’t want to, though.” You cut him off, drawing circles in the dirt as you remember the nights teasing Iwa for showing too little emotion- not knowing that the most you would get out of him would be after he stuck his tongue down another girl’s throat. 

“Don’t you get that?” You shake your head, smiling as if you can’t believe it, shoving Iwa’s attempt of holding you off of you as you raise to your feet, soaking in the colors as they fade to a more dark color palate. 

“I don’t give a fuck about some nobody, don’t you get that?!” Iwa’s on his feet now too, and you finally begin to crack as you look out to the horizon, a familiar heat flooding your vision as you smile. 

“Hey, Hajime.” You ignore his cry, prompting the dark-haired boy to look in the same direction you were. “This is where it all started, didn’t it? Where you kissed me, and promised that you would always protect me, right?” 

Iwa’s own eyes brim with frustration as the stinging heat from earlier takes over, feeling the mix of regret and heartbreak begin to settle in as you turn and give him a smile. No sarcastic intention behind it as you close your eyes, Iwa’s eyes widening at the sight of something he’d never get to see again. 

“I guess you really don’t know me, after all.” You smile to the point where its’ painful, spinning on your heel. “I came because I knew you’d find me, not to fix whatever this is, but-” 

You’re turned around now, the sun fading into night as you will your legs to keep walking. 

“To say goodbye to you, Hajime.” 

And so, the dark-haired ace watched as you walked off into the distance and out of his life for a problem he created, yells of frustration enclosed in his throat and the need to punch something ever-so prevalent- 

as the sky above now swirled with dark pigment. 

Akaashi

“Don’t. Don’t go, please.” 

“Keiji, let go.” You tug your arm in an attempt to make the messy-haired boy release you, trembling when he pulls you into his chest, burying his head in your neck as the hot tears hit your skin, prompting you to bite your lip and fight the urge to hold him back as your own eyes burn. If he wouldn’t let you go, then-

You can’t help the vicious words from slipping. “She’s waiting, you should go to her, shouldn’t you?” 

“Stop. D-Don’t say that-” 

“Am I wrong?” Your voice remains stable to your surprise, causing Akaashi to tighten his hold on you even more. “The girl who came out after you in your shower...who is she?” 

“No one! No one, Y/N, you were so far for so long, and-” 

“And what?” You question emotionlessly. “You have needs? You were lonely? Cut the bullshit.” 

“Do you know what it’s been like?” Akaashi’s voice is soft with an angry edge as he pulls back, still holding you in his arms as if to keep you there for an eternity, and for a minute, time does stop- 

and you soak in the reality. Life tore you two apart, distanced yet together, far away yet still part of the same relationship. The blue-eyed boy would never be able to rewind the clock and keep you as his no matter what life hurled- 

“Let go.” 

“Fuck if I do.” 

Your strong exterior begins to crumble as Akaashi watches with now widened eyes as the viciousness drains only to be replaced with sorrow, relief filling his heart when you hold him back just as tightly, your chin resting on his shoulder as your grateful he won’t be able to see what kind of expression crosses your features. 

“Keiji.” You whisper almost child-like, causing Akaashi’s heart to swell with hope until the next words make his heart stop. 

“Eat healthy, will you? I know Bokuto likes to drag you around to all these places, but too much ramen isn’t good for you-” 

“Y/N?” 

“And please, for god sakes, make sure you remember to pick up your suit from the laundromat on Thursdays, I know you’re presentations are usually on Fridays-” 

“Y/N.” 

“Oh, and don’t forget- you always make it a point to drop by Konoha’s for a guy night on the fourth of every month, so don’t drink too much because it gives you a massive migraine in the middle of the night-” 

“Y/N!” 

“And Keiji?” You pull back, corners of your mouth pulled back as you cup his face gently, leaning your forehead against his as Akaashi Keiji freezes in shock as the love of his life, his future, his world- 

Smiles a wordless goodbye, capturing his lips as Akaashi wonders how to turn the hands of time, forcing the laws of nature to bend for his selfish desires as his arms slacken- 

“Be happy.” You whisper, retracting your arms and hands before stepping out of his now weak grip, brushing past him with a finality in your steps as time refuses to stop, Akaashi fighting every instinct on forcing you to stay with him- 

letting you go as the hands of time continue to move along with your steps away from him, the setter lifting a hand to his mouth before he falls to his knees and looks up to the sky- 

wishing he had more hours, minutes, and seconds to see that smile for just a bit longer. 

“Yeah. You do the same, love.”

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

LMAO GO READ SOME OF MY FLUFF IF THIS MADE YOU SAD I’M SORRY 

General works: @takemetovalhalla @kasandrafaye @savemesteeb @dreebbles @yams046

[luimagines]

I was wondering how the boys would react to you having a breakdown?

Masterlist

SO so softly.

This one won't be as long as the others but I will be splitting it into two parts.

This one contains Hyrule, Sky, Legend, Warrior and Wild.

Content under the cut!

Hyrule

Hyrule had noticed that you were having a rough day.

He wasn't sure what had set it off or how it started because you were fine in the morning but something happened along the lines that tipped you over the edge.

You were walking down the trail of this unknown Hyrule. Until you tripped and landed directly on your knee.

Hyrule stopped in his tracks at the sight.

Usually you'd just get back up and brush it off, act like it never happened. But this time...

He hears you sniffle and his heart breaks.

"Hey," Hyrule makes his way over to you. "Are you ok?"

"I... I don't know." Your voice cracks.

You shift to get off of your knee and look at the cut. It appears that you landed directly on a rock and it cut through your pants.

"No... I'm not ok." Your eyes quickly fill with tears and Hyrule all but runs to your side.

He's quick to pull you close and rub circles on your back. The touch seemed to be the final straw on the camels back and sobs began to rack your body with such force that it shook Hyrule to his core.

His heart bled with you as you cried.

"Anything I can do to help?" He asks after a few minutes of silence.

"No." You sniff and hug him tightly.

"You sure?"

"My brother... He's sick." You admit. "And I... I can't-"

You look up and into his eyes. "I can't go see him. He's not getting any better. I'm stuck. I-"

You freeze, glancing over his shoulder and the sobs turn to rage. "YOU!"

Hyrule lets you go and turns around.

A shadow. Formless and floating. A single black mass with no face or discernable features but all the more watchful.

You rip yourself away from Hyrule and stand up again. "Why are you here?!"

You know this thing?

"Is it dangerous?" Hyrule stands up as well and makes a grab for his sword.

"To me? No." You admit and grab his hand. "But it's never really shown itself to be an ally."

You glare at it, wiping the last of your tears away. "You can't hurt my friends, you hear me? I'll kill you if you even try."

Hyrule put his hand on your shoulder and begins to lead you away. "Ca you even kill that thing? Are we safe?"

Your glare hardens. "I don't know, I've never tried. We should be safe though. It's a long story."

"I've got time." Hyrule smiles. "We're at the back of the group, so it's not like we have to worry about the other walking up on us."

"Maybe later." You sigh and take his hand in yours. "Let's go."

Your voice is soft and quiet, he has to strain himself a bit to hear it but he knows its because the sadness has returned.

He takes his hand out and places it around your shoulders instead, holding you close.

Hyrule walks with you, side by side until to reach the rest of the group.

Maybe you just need a friend right now.

He can be that friend.

Sky

Sky had noticed that you were quieter than usual.

And not within the same brand that Link’s were typically used to.

It was like a loaded spring waiting to burst from confinement and he thinks he can see the moment when it happens.

The group was simply teasing and rough housing each other until someone said something and you didn’t appreciate it.

You shoot straight up from where you’re sitting, fists at your side, jaw clenched and what looks like to be tears beginning to build in your eyes. Without a word, you turn on your heel and leave the group behind. 

The camp falls silent at your departure, no one knowing what went wrong.

Sky hums in contemplation and stands up as well, silently waving to the group that he has you covered.

He’s to follow where you went and he picks up the pace to make up for lost time. You didn't seem to go far, just out of ear shot.

When he finds you, you’re pacing back and forth, muttering to yourself in a language he doesn’t understand or even heard for that matter. Your hands are still clenched into fists, but one’s by your mouth, pressed tightly enough that the skin pales and the other is gripping your wrist tightly enough that he thinks you’re digging into your skin.

There are tears openly falling from your eyes but aside from the miniscule voice cracks that he barely catch, you’re silent.

If no one followed you, he doubt that they wouldn’t have even known this was happening.

“Hey.” Sky clears his throat and he sees you snap in his direction. You’re eyes widen in shock and he’s made a witness to all your pain and frustration and he’s aware how vulnerable you’ve made yourself by not leaving them entirely. 

You knew that any of them could have followed you and didn’t actively try to hide yourself.

He doesn’t want to make it worse.

“Hug?” He opens his arms and tries to show how unjudgmental he’s being. He doesn’t want you to think he’ll think less of you. That any of the group would think less of you. It has to be why you just left. But he also knows that there is a time for talking and a time for silence.

This is not a time for talking.

You look at him a moment, your grip on yourself tightening by a fraction.

The spring is wound up even more. 

“You don’t have to talk about it fi you don’t want to.” Sky reaches out.

It explodes.

You run to him and collapse into his arm. He’s quick to wrap you up and hold you tight. As tight as he can manage without the fear of actually hurting you.

You don’t say anything and sob into his shoulder.

He lets you.

He doesn’t lessen his grip until you stop crying, and even then, he holds you until you pull away first.

You stay close to him until you’re breathing easier and the evidence of your breakdown lessens somewhat. At least until it’s not so obvious.

“Thank you Sky.”

“Any time.”

Legend

“Hey, The Old Man is looking for you.” Legend walks to where he knew you ran off.

It wasn’t any of his business to know where you were going or why.

It... tickled his curiosity however, he couldn’t help the want to follow you and make sure didn't just go off and die.

But he knew you could handle yourself if you needed to.

So he shrugged and let you be.

But now that he sees you....

He regrets it.

Your back is turned to him and you don’t turn to face him when he calls him. The air around you is heavy and somber and your completely still in posture. You’re leaning up against a tree with your arms crossed and with one leg crossed around the other.

It’s a blocked off stance that Legend is familiar with. What’s concerning to him is that there was no one around you to consider blocking off- unless you were blocking off the group... And he supposes that you did, since you left... But to still be blocking something off...

He hates to think about the other option.

You’re blocking off yourself.

He creeps closer, trying to be as quiet as possible, until he’s close enough to hear you gulp.

“Yeah I’ll-” Your voice cuts itself off with a slight crack. He knows what you’re doing. You’re trying to project your voice to be as normal as possible. “I’ll be there in a minute. I didn’t mean to be away for so long.”

Legend creeps around you until he’s facing you head on. He sees that your eyes are closed and shut tight and there are tear tracks on your cheeks. Not to mention that you have an iron grip on both your arms, enough so that your knuckles turn white.

Oh... Now Legend feel like a horrible friend.

The worst actually.

He knows he’s probably the last person to be here. He’s not at all equipped for the emotional...anything. But he’s also not inclined to go back and find someone who is.

This.... Looks really personal. He doubts that you want more people to know about this.

Legend takes a step closer and places a hesitant hand on your shoulder you.

You wince and slowly, oh so slowly, lift your head and open your eyes.

Legend gulps and puts his other hand on your opposite shoulder. “I’m not very good at this-”

Your legs give out.

Legend is quick to fall with you and pull you away from the tree and against his chest. You cry openly and loudly this time, clinging to him like your life depends on it. He’s your life line in this vulnerable moment and Legend feels.... Honored is not the word he wants to use. But he does feel a certain way about being the one here to share this moment with you, to be the one you trust with this, to be the one you’re clinging to.

Forget the others right now, he thinks as he begins to cling to you just as hard as you do him, this is more important.

Warrior

Warrior wakes up with a start one night. He’s confused and disoriented, the only thing he’s aware of right now is that something is wrong.

But it’s quiet, his brain registers a second later. So no monsters.

Weird. Why is he awake then?

He sits up slowly, trying to gather his surroundings and what could have woken him up.

Legend, Hyrule and Wind are accounted for, they’ve gathered together in a twisted pile of limbs that makes it difficult to tell where one starts and the other ends, but they look warm and comfy.

Wild and Twilight are both leaning up against Time, the Old Man has both of his arms around them and holding them close.

Sky and Four are by his side, Four is wrapped with Sky’s sailcloth and is snuggled close to the knight and wait a minute...

It was your watch. Where are you?

Warrior shoots up straighter and makes a quiet maneuver to his feet to not wake the others. He gets his sword and stands up turning in a circle to survey the whole camp.

You’re nowhere in sight.

A striking fear hits him right in the heart, like a bucket of ice water dumped over his head. He’s immediately thinking the worst.

You’ve defected. You’ve betrayed them. You’ve been kidnapped. You’ve deserted them. You’re hurt. You’re dying.

He stops himself from screaming out your name.

He’s overreacting.

You’re fine.

Healthy even. You probably just had to relieve yourself and would be back just as soon. He can wait until you come back.

Warrior takes the post and sits by the fire. 

This is fine. You’re fine.

It’ll only a be a few minutes and then he’ll go right back to bed.

Minutes pass.

You don’t show up.

Warrior stands up again and tries to look around for you or any evidence as to where you might have gone. He doesn’t really find anything. He begins to panic again.

He makes the executive decision to move away from the camp and try to find you. He gets a little ways into the tree line and begins to travel in around the perimeter. The group will be fine for a minute. If he can’t find you then he’ll go wake the group up, start a search party and then go find you.

Then he hears something.

A sniffle.

A chocked sob.

Warrior should expect a wave of relief to wash over him at you both being nearby and alive but instead, a different sort of dread washes over him and he all but runs in the direction of the sound.

You’re not fine.

He finds you sitting against a tree, almost camouflaged with how dark it still is, with your legs hugged close to your chest and your head against your knees. 

He places his sword down and kneels next to you.

“Hey...” Warrior reaches out and places his hand on your shoulder. You don’t react to his presence and it breaks his heart. 

He sighs and takes a seat next to you. Warrior takes his arm and wraps it around your shoulders, pulling you against his side. His other arm comes up to cradle your head and his finds that his fingers gently take your hair and methodically begin to run through it.

Warrior resolves to stay next to you until you’re done, until you feel better.

And he does.

Wild

Wild was cooking lunch and minding his own business for a change when he sees you storm into the camp, ignore absolutely everyone, and continue power walking through until you’re gone again.

It stuns him enough that he actually drops his spoon into the pot, losing it to the boiling contents within.

Twilight hisses by his side. “That’s... unfortunate.”

“Watch this.” Wild points to the pot and stands up, not giving Twilight a chance to say his piece.

He storms after you, trying to match your pace before you get too far for him to track.

Wild considers himself lucky that you don’t go that far from the group, only just slightly beyond what would have been the perimeter of their camp.

You’re entirely wound up, hands by your face and pacing back and forth.

Words fail him in that moment and he watches as you press harder against yourself trying to calm yourself with deep breath.

It’s not working.

Wild calls your name quietly and you freeze up in your spot. “Are you ok?”

You lock eyes with him and crumble.

The Champion rushes to your side and catches you before your knees hit the floor. You curl into him and grip his tunic like a life line as the strongest sobs Wild’s ever heard just completely rack your body. He’s quick to wrap his arms around you and hold you close and tight. One arm goes around your waist as the other cradles your head by his neck.

The position is familiar to him and the deja vu Wild’s experiencing is a kin to a smack to the face but he powers through.

It’s not about him right now.

He says nothing while you cry. He asks no questions and makes no claims. Comfort words don’t flow either however and the only sounds that reach his ears are your broken gasps and his own quiet breaths.

I’m here, he thinks. I’m here for you. It’s ok. Let it out.

He’s almost jealous for a moment about how you still have the energy to cry, to still find the strength and space to let out your emotions even after everything you’ve been through.

He’s cried for a long time, coming to terms with what’s happened to his home, his love, his friends, and at the same time he thinks he hasn’t cried enough.

But he’s has no more tears to shed.

He’s also has no shoulder to cry on.

But you need one right now and he’s not willing to leave someone he cares about alone in a time of grief.

Hopefully Twilight doesn’t let the food burn. Good food is always good for the soul.

He thinks that it’ll help when you’re done.

Part 2

[t0wnspersonb]

Forever (Tsukishima Kei x Reader)

Anonymous said:

idk if anyone has done this but, can i request for kei tsukishima. where the reader and him are about to graduate, and she’s scarred that since everything’s gonna change she thought that he’ll lose interest and break up w her. but the ironic part is that they actually end up getting married and having kids lmaoo, pretty pls 🥺

Anonymous said:

Can you write sometimes where reader is pregnant and she’s hesitant to tell tsukki but he finds out anyways and it’s all angsty but ends on a fluffy note! (can this be when they’re in college?) also i LOVED your tsukki stories okay they’re my favorite!

~~~~

Word Count: 2,787

Summary: You and Tsukishima have been together since you were kids, after you had given birth to your guys’ first child Tsukishima revisits the past.

~~~~

I decided to combine these requests! I hope you guys don’t mind! This gave me all the fucking feels so I hope you guys like it! Again, I’m still shuffling through my inbox, I’m sorry that it took so long for me to write this one anons! Please enjoy and let me know what you think:)

~~~~

“I c-can’t! I c-can’t do this without Kei!” You cried, tightening your grip on Yamaguchi’s hand.

 The rising hysteria could no longer be beaten down, genuine fear overtook your body. It overshadowed the overwhelming feeling of pain, the urge to push being bitten down as your eyes scanned around the hospital room frantically.

 He still wasn’t here.

 Could you have a panic attack in the middle of giving birth? You thought so.

 “Y/n-chan.” Yamaguchi soothed, gently smoothing your sweaty hair away from your face. “He’s on his way, there was an accident a couple miles out from the hospital. The roads are blocked, traffic is at a standstill. But Tsukki will be here, I promise. But you need to start pushing now, it’s not safe for you or the baby to keep holding this off.”

 You whimpered softly as you gazed up at your childhood friend, his freckled face was calm and reassuring.

 At least… at least Yamaguchi was here right? You weren’t doing this entirely alone.

 But sadness still gripped at your heart, Tsukishima was going to miss the birth of his first child. He wasn’t here.

 “Mrs. Tsukishima. You have to start pushing now or we will have to do a C-section instead.” The doctor stated firmly.

 Yamaguchi squeezed your hand gently.

 “O-Okay.” You whispered out.

 You started pushing.

 ****

 Hours later, you were asleep in the hospital bed, completely knocked out from pure exhaustion.

 Beside you, your husband cradled your newborn close to his chest, gazing down at the small baby boy with the softest expression.

 Tsukishima had barely made it in time, right before the final push. The fear and guilt that Tsukishima felt was still present in his heart, but… love and complete joy was there as well.

 You and the baby were safe and healthy. That’s all that mattered to him. His eyes glanced over at Yamaguchi, he was asleep in one of the other chairs in the room. He would have to take him out for dinner in thanks for being with you when he couldn’t.

 God, he felt like a terrible husband. 

 The meeting at the museum had run late, and while the both of you knew that the baby was going to be due any day now… he didn’t think that it was going to happen tonight.

 “Mind if I take him?” a nurse asked quietly, Tsukishima looked up at her in surprise and nodded, carefully handing his boy over so they could finish doing their checkups.

 “Get some rest.” She said pointedly before leaving the room.

 Tsukishima sighed softly, removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. He was tired. But not like you.

 He reached for your hand, the one that was curled close to your face, carefully lifting it up and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. 

 His expression was soft as he stared at your sleeping face. Tsukishima had never felt luckier in his entire life.

 The fact that you were still his after all these years, the fact that you brought his beautiful son into the world… he was truly blessed.

 Tsukishima’s lips twitched into a small smile as he thought back to the past.

 ***

 You sat on the gym floor, rolling the volleyball around absentmindedly. It was just you and Tsukishima, the silence between the two of you was comfortable. Tomorrow was graduation day, tomorrow was going to be the start to a new journey.

 Your eyes glanced over at the tall blonde, he was finishing up some last-minute stuff for the volleyball team.

 Biting your lip softly, you turned your attention back to the volleyball that was in front of you.

 The feeling that you had beaten down since the beginning of the year could no longer be buried.

 You had to ask.

 “Kei?” you called out softly.

 “Hmm?” 

 “Are we… do you… do you like me?” 

 He looked over at you, a dumbfounded expression covering his handsome face. “You’re joking right?”

 You huffed at him in annoyance, a soft pout taking over your features.

 He sighed, closing the notebook he was currently writing in, facing you directly. “We’ve liked each other since we were kids Y/n. We started dating in middle school. Why are you asking me something so stupid?”

 “Well do you love me?” you tried again.

 “Yes.” 

 Oh. You looked away from the blonde male, doubt and unease still clouding your heart. This was stupid. Asking him those questions wasn’t truly going to give you the answer you really wanted.

 You heard Tsukishima sighed loudly, hearing the soft squeak of shoes against the floors, and then he was pulling your chin up, forcing you to stare at him.

 He was squatted down in front of you, his lips turned down in a frown. “What is it?”

 “Nothing.” You mumbled, attempting to avert your eyes from his own.

 “Don’t lie. Something is obviously bothering you. Tell me.” he demanded, his grip on your chin tightening only slightly.

 You weren’t sure what it was in his face, but you felt tears begin to cascade down your cheeks. Much to his surprise and yours.

 “Y/n -” 

 “You’re going to break up with me!” you wailed, all of your feelings bursting from you like a broken dam. “You’re not going to want me anymore once you go to college… you’ll find someone better, prettier, more athletic than me! Everything is going to be different after tomorrow, you’re not going to love me the same way and -”

 His hand covered your mouth, stopping the flood of words that were rapidly escaping your quivering lips.

 “Are you stupid?” he asked incredulously, his eyes holding a fiery passion as he stared at you intensely. “Why would you say such ridiculous things? I thought you were smarter than that. You’re acting like Hinata.” he scowled, stretching and pulling at your cheeks.

 “That hurts Kei.” You whimpered out, but at this point you had stopped crying. 

 “Good. It’s punishment.” he said bluntly, pinching your cheeks harder.

 “Ow, ow, ow!”

 He finally released his grips on your cheeks, sitting down in front of you as you rubbed at your sore face, sniffling slightly.

 “Have you calmed down now?” He asked, reaching up to wipe the remaining tears from your eyes.

 You nodded wordlessly.

 “Good. Now listen closely.” he said seriously. “You seriously think that after all the years we’ve been together I’m not going to want you anymore just because we’re going to different colleges? Have you forgotten that I deliberately chose a college that was close to yours so that I could still see you every day?”

 You didn’t say anything, so he continued on. “Do you really think that I would be unfaithful to you, and look at other girls just because you won’t be by my side as often?”

 Again, you were silent.

 “You really think that I’m going to want someone smarter, prettier, more athletic than you? I’m going to be too busy worrying about your stupid ass the entire time that I won’t even have time to think about my classes, much less try to find someone else.” You started getting more nervous as Tsukishima’s voice gradually began increasing.

 “Of course, things are going to be different after tomorrow.” He said, tone sharp and biting. “That’s to be expected, we’re graduating high school Y/n. Nothing can stay the same forever.”

 He was right. Tsukishima was always right.

 “But…” his hand cupped your face, urging you to look at him. You felt your breath catch in your throat, his expression was full of adoration, his gold eyes burning into yours.

 “One thing will never change, and that’s how I feel about you. I love you. I want only you. Don’t you ever question that again dumbass.” he murmured, leaning forward and capturing your lips in a passionate kiss.

 ****

 Tsukishima’s lips twitched at the memory; you were truly a crybaby back then. While it had gotten better over the years, you still cried about everything.

 Tsukishima felt his stomach twist as he thought about when he had truly made you cry. He still felt guilty about that.

 It wasn’t even that long ago when it had happened.

 *****

 “You need to go to the doctors Y/n.” Tsukishima said, frowning as he watched you rinse your mouth at the bathroom sink.

 You had just finished puking your brains out for the third time that day. This has been going on the past couple of days, both of you under the impression that you were coming down with a stomach bug.

 “I made an appointment for later today.” you mumbled, drying your face against the hand towel.

 “Do you want me to take off of work to take you?” he asked, gently wrapping his arms around your waist.

 You shook your head. “The museum needs you Kei. I’ll be fine.” you said quietly, leaning back into your husband’s strong chest.

 He hummed softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your neck. “If you say so… I’ll be leaving first then.” 

 You waved goodbye to him at the door, watching him drive off.

 You sighed softly, heading into your office to finish up some last-minute work. It had been three years since you guys had graduated college, both of you finally getting to work at your dream jobs, Tsukishima at the museum, and you, working at a design firm.

 Things were finally falling into place it seemed. You guys had only gotten married last year, and it was just a couple of months ago that you guys had finally bought your first house.

 Life was good. Really fucking good. 

 The ring on your finger caught your attention as you typed, pausing for a moment to appreciate its beauty.

 Tsukishima had kept his promise. He’s continued to love you unconditionally. He even married your dumbass, something that you hadn’t imagined at all.

 Yes, life was really good.

 Nothing could go wrong at this point.

 Right?

 Wrong.

 Fuck you were so wrong. 

 You inhaled shakily, wringing your hands together nervously as you stared at the doctor in shock.

 “You’re… are you sure? Can we take it again?” you asked, voice shaking.

 “I’m very sure. But we definitely can do the test again.” The doctor said.

 You nodded. Maybe it was defective? Maybe the second time it would…

 No.

 It was still the same.

 It was still positive.

 You were pregnant. You were definitely pregnant.

 It wasn’t a stomach bug. It was morning sickness. You were already six weeks along.

 You were too busy in your life to even realize that your period was late, you had thought it was from the stress of work and moving.

 The rest of the day you were on edge, you couldn’t even focus on your work. 

 What did this mean for you?

 No… what did this mean for your relationship with Tsukishima.

 You guys had never talked about having children, it something that was never brought up. 

 What if… 

 What if Tsukishima didn’t want kids?

 The tears flowed easily down your cheeks at the thought, your hand resting on your stomach unconsciously.

 But this was… this was Tsukishima’s baby. The man you loved the most. You already knew deep in your heart that you loved this baby.

 The thought that Tsukishima wouldn’t, the thought that Tsukishima might not want anything to do with you or baby caused more tears to fall down your cheeks.

 You didn’t say anything to him for three weeks.

 The fear you held ate away at you, you wanted to tell him, but each opportunity that came up, you backed out.

 Until one day when you had come home from the grocery store, Tsukishima was staring blankly at the tv. His hands folded in front of his face; his expression unreadable.

 “Kei are you ok-”

 “How long?” he interrupted you, his eyes holding so many different emotions as he stared at you.

 You frowned in confusion at his statement. “I don’t -” “How long have you been pregnant Y/n?” he cut you off, rising from the couch at full height. He glared down at you.

 You could feel your lips tremble. “You have to understand -”

 “How long?” he repeated again.

 “I’m nine weeks.” You whispered, tears stinging your eyes as you stared at the carpet beneath your feet. 

 You heard his sharp intake of breath, your body flinching hard at the noise.

 “When did you find out?” he asked.

 “Three weeks ago.” You whispered.

 “Why… why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you tell me the minute you knew!? Why did I have to find out that my wife is pregnant from a voicemail the doctor left on our phone!?” 

 He’s… Tsukishima has never yelled at you like this. Your head snapped up to see his furious expression as he stared you down with an icy glare.

 “Kei you have to understand I was scared! I didn’t know if you -” you were reaching for him, only for him to jerk his arm back at your touch, stepping further away from you. 

 “Don’t touch me.” he said coldly. “I can’t believe you. I’m leaving.” he walked past your trembling form, grabbing his jacket and his car keys, the door slamming behind him.

 Your heart broke, you collapsed onto the floor. Loud sobs escaping your lips as you hugged yourself. One of your hands clapped tight over your mouth as you desperately tried to quiet the despair that was coming from your lips. 

 ****

 By the time he had gotten home it was incredibly late, Tsukishima had never felt more exhausted in his entire life.

 He quietly closed the door behind him, discarding his coat and keys onto the kitchen table.

 He fucked up.

 He shouldn’t have overreacted like that. He shouldn’t have left you like that.

 He just… he didn’t know how to handle it. He was angry because you kept such an important secret from him. He was shocked because - well - because you were pregnant, something that wasn’t planned at all. He was scared because… what if he wasn’t a good dad?

 He definitely didn’t feel like a good husband right now.

 His heart broke as he took in your form. You had cried yourself to sleep, curled up tightly on the bed, your hand clutching at your stomach protectively.

 He had hurt you so much, he had left you when you needed him the most… you dealt with a large burden on your own, all because you were fearful of how he was going to take it.

 He fucked up.

 He hated himself. 

 Tsukishima had to make it right now. The thought of losing you forever. The thought of losing his child forever, he couldn’t stand it. Carefully he slipped under the blankets, his long arms wrapping protectively around your body as he pulled you tightly against his chest.

 He buried his face into your hair, his grip tight on you. His hand gently pushed yours away, his fingers rubbing carefully against your belly.

 A baby.

 You were carrying a baby in there. You were carrying his baby. 

 He’s never loved you more than this moment.

 “Kei?” you whispered; you woke up when you felt your body being tugged into a familiar chest.

 “I’m so sorry.” he whispered back, kissing the skin behind your ear. “I shouldn’t have acted that way… I just… I’m sorry. I love you. I’ll love you forever Y/n. I’ll love our baby forever. They will want for nothing. I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of both of you. Don’t leave me.”

 You felt tears sting your eyes once more, your hand gently rested on top of his. “I won’t leave Kei. I love you.”

 He squeezed you tightly to his chest, his fingers tracing patterns into your stomach as you both began to drift off into sleep.

 ****

 “Mmm… Kei?” you mumbled sleepily, eyes gazing at your husband. He was staring off into space, his hand still holding your softly.

 Your soft voice snapped him out of his thoughts, his eyes finding yours immediately.

 “You did so well.” he praised, gently pushing your hair away from your face. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be here sooner.”

 You shook your head, leaning into his touch. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

 He didn’t say anything as he continued staring at you, gently touching your face with soft fingers.

 “He’s beautiful.” he finally said.

 “Takes after his daddy.” you cooed, eyes fluttering back shut in exhaustion. You felt a gentle pressure of cool lips press against the top of your head. 

 “Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.” Tsukishima breathed out.

 So you did.

 Tsukishima’s heart has never been more full. 

[watchyourbluesturngolden]

let me in

this is very different from what I’ve been writing lately. this is just something I have struggled with, and I know there are others out there who also struggle with this. 

please do not self harm. there are so many other ways to deal with problems, self harming will not help. please talk to someone you trust if you are struggling with this. I love you very much and i want you to stay safe and healthy :)

this includes graphic descriptions of self harm, so please do not read if this will be triggering for you!

warnings: self harm, graphic descriptions of self harm, blood, anxiety, angst

word count: 3.5k

You had been getting better. The thin scars on your legs had nearly faded away; they weren’t even noticeable unless you knew where to look. You hadn’t had the urge to harm yourself in what felt like ages. You weren’t even upset when you noticed the faded lines anymore. You knew they were part of your past, not something you needed to keep reliving.

Harry didn’t know. You had stopped soon before you started dating him, and it wasn’t something you really wanted him to know about. Logically, you knew he would never make you feel bad about it. Of course, he would want to make sure you were ok, and you just didn’t want to have that conversation. You were fine. You didn’t want to go through the whole “why would you do this to yourself” because honestly, you didn’t know.

There was also a part of you, albeit a small one, that was scared to see how he would react. What if you were wrong? What if, once you told him, he saw you as a crazy girl who slit her own skin because she was sad? What if he decided you weren’t worth the trouble? What if he didn’t want someone who was broken?

You felt bad keeping this from him, but you told yourself it was for a good reason. The last person you had let see your scars was your ex. He had always been good to you, up until you trusted him enough to show him the ruined skin. He had pulled away, looking mildly disgusted. He had made you feel like an idiot, asking over and over again why you would do something like that to yourself. He even implied you had done it for attention.  

So, you just didn’t tell Harry. It’s not like he would ever need to find out. The scars were faint and high up on your thighs, and there was only one that could really be seen. It’s not hard to explain away one small scar.

Lately, though, something was different. You didn’t know why, you just felt off. Nothing had changed; there was no big stressful life event happening. You weren’t approaching any milestones or anniversaries, those were always hard. You and Harry weren’t having any problems; you were just as in love as ever. You weren’t even stressed at work; in fact, you had been doing very well there for a few weeks now.

Maybe it was just that everything felt too perfect. You weren’t used to having such a stress free time. Ironically, it was making you anxious. It felt like the calm before the storm. The only problem? you had no idea what this storm was, or when it would strike.

You were just constantly on edge. You would flinch when Harry came up behind you, tensing in his arms before you relaxed against him. You were short tempered with your coworkers when all they were trying to do was make polite conversation. You felt like you were constantly on the verge of tears, and the smallest inconvenience made you cry.

Of course, this didn’t go unnoticed by Harry. He could tell something was wrong, he just didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know if asking you about it would upset you more, so he just made sure to let you know he was there for you if you needed anything.

He didn’t know it, but this just made you feel worse. You felt like you were being a terrible girlfriend, being snippy and closed off when he hadn’t done anything wrong. You didn’t have the energy to go into everything right now. You were just tired, mentally and physically. You barely had the energy to get up in the morning, instead snoozing your alarm and rolling over until Harry reminded you that you’d be late for work. Not that you really cared about that anymore.

It was getting harder to care about anything anymore. You were just too exhausted to care about your job or your skincare routine or your favorite tv show. You were still taking care of yourself, but you were pretty much just doing the bare minimum at this point. You knew you weren’t eating enough, and most days you drank much less water than you should. Eventually, Harry got too worried to stay quiet anymore.

“Love, we need to talk,” he said, settling into the couch next to you. “What’s been going on with you? I can tell something is wrong, did I do something?”

“No, of course not,” you said, immediately feeling guilty. “I’ve just been- I don’t know.”

“Been what?”

“Nothing, just- work has been stressful,” you lied. You didn’t really know what else to say. You really had no idea why you felt so miserable and anxious all the time.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I thought you were mad at me,” he said, looking relieved as he pulled you against him.

“No, I’m not. I’m sorry I worried you,” you said, staring blankly ahead over his shoulder.

“Promise you’ll talk to me when you feel this way, yeah? I don’t want you to be sad all alone. I want to help you feel better, and if I can’t, then I want to be sad with you.”

“Really?”

“Of course. I love you.”

“I love you,” you whispered, clutching his shoulder.

-----

Even though you had Harry’s continued support, you could feel yourself getting worse again. You were more anxious than ever, and you were getting less and less sleep. You knew the two were related, but you couldn’t help it. You laid awake most nights, listening to Harry’s even breathing next to you as you stared at the dark fabric of his sleep shirt. At this point you were getting less than five hours each night.

All the energy you did have was devoted to pretending everything was fine. You forced yourself to smile and be polite to your friends and coworkers. Your family was convinced that you were doing well. Harry was harder to lie to.

You didn’t know it, but he didn’t fall asleep very easily. The even breathing you heard at night wasn’t really a sign of his sleep, but rather him trying to soothe you. He stayed up with you until you fell asleep, only letting himself drift off once you were down. He knew how little sleep you were getting, he just didn’t know why. He didn’t want to press for answers, especially after you had insisted you were ok.  But he couldn’t let this go on. He saw that you were eating less and laying around more. He saw how your fingers constantly fidgeted, pulling at your clothes or picking on your cuticles. He saw that your smile never quite reached your eyes like it used to.

Harry didn’t want to leave you alone. He was worried that something would happen; that the dam holding your feelings back would suddenly break and you would be wrecked. He barely left the house, working from home as much as he possibly could.

Some days, though, he had to go in.

“I’m going to the studio today,” he said, kissing your forehead. “I shouldn’t be more than a few hours.”

“Ok,” you said with a small smile.

He held back a sigh, noticing once again how fake the expression looked.

“I’ll text you when we’re finishing up. I can bring something home for dinner, what do you want?”

“Whatever you want’s fine,” you replied, looking down at your nails. They really were in bad shape. You had been pulling at them constantly, not even noticing it most of the time. You just couldn’t keep still, needing a way to release the nervous energy built up inside you.

“Sounds good,” he smiled, picking his keys up from the bowl by the door. “Love you.”

“You too,” you answered, only glancing up at him for a second before you went back to picking at your skin.

He stepped out the door, leaving you alone with your racing thoughts. Almost immediately, your mind drifted to the kitchen.

You weren’t sure when the desire had come back. It had been so long since you had felt the urge to harm yourself. You really thought you would never do it again. Now, every time you were alone, you couldn’t drag your thoughts away from the knives in the kitchen.

You felt your eyes drifting toward the drawer where you kept all the utensils, your mind telling you to go get one. Your heart started to speed up, which was never a good sign. You felt the beginnings of panic as it became harder to take a deep breath. You looked at your hands, clenching them into fists to stop the shaking.

You stood up, taking an uncertain step toward the kitchen.

You took a steadying breath, forcing your lungs to move. The closer you got to the kitchen, the worse you felt. Your hands were shaking nonstop and you felt nauseous, your heart still pounding out of your chest. You knew this was just the anxiety. You weren’t really dying, even though your brain was trying to convince you otherwise. Even though you knew you were physically in a safe place, you didn’t feel like it.

You made your way to the drawer where you knew the knives were, sucking in a deep breath when you pulled it open.

Am I really about to do this?

You picked up the closest one, slamming the drawer shut and sinking down to the floor. You leaned your back against the cabinet, holding the knife in a death grip as you breathed shakily. You slid up the thin fabric of your pajama shorts, inspecting the skin.

Your breath hitched when you saw the single scar, remembering the night you had put it there. You remembered the countless other cuts you had made, all too small to leave noticeable marks.

With those terrible thoughts in your head, you pressed the tip of the knife into your skin, dragging it parallel to the existing scar with enough pressure to leave a small trail of blood.

You exhaled as the pain exploded along the injury. You had forgotten how much this hurt. As much as the cut stung, though, it was better than the horrible restlessness and anxiety. It was grounding.

You dropped the knife to the floor beside you, sliding it away so it was out of your reach. You put your hands over your face, tipping your head back to rest against the wood.

After a few minutes, the open cut was still really hurting. You looked down to see a thin trickle of blood running down your leg. You sighed, standing up and making your way to the bathroom.

You gritted your teeth when you ran a wet cloth over the cut, wiping away the blood. You placed a band-aid over the area, pulling the edges of the injury together in hopes that it would heal faster.

Finally, you changed out of your shorts and into a pair of sweatpants. You didn’t want to take any chances and let Harry see what you had done.

Once everything was cleaned up, you went back to the kitchen to pick up the knife. You rinsed it quickly in the sink before putting it in the dishwasher so you wouldn’t have to see it anymore. Out of sight, out of mind.

-----

Harry came in the house to see nothing had changed. You were still sitting on the couch in the same position with the same expression on your face. The only difference was that you were wearing pants instead of shorts. When he asked, you easily explained it was because you were cold. He didn’t totally believe you, but he didn’t know what to say, so he let it go.

He had decided to bring home McDonalds, knowing how much you loved chicken nuggets. He got concerned, though, when you picked at it and ate less than half of the meal.

“Y/N, really, is something wrong?”

“Hm?” You hummed, looking up.

“Is everything alright? You’re not acting like yourself. You’re not even eating your chicken nuggets.”

“Oh- I just ate a lot today.”

“No, you didn’t,” he said gently. “You haven’t been eating much at all lately.”

“I’m- I’m just not hungry, I don’t know,” you said, avoiding his eyes. “I’m really tired, I think I’m just going to go to bed. Thank you for bringing this,” you stood up from the table, bringing your leftovers to the fridge so you could eat them later. You pressed a kiss to his cheek before padding up the stairs.

You looked at yourself in the bathroom mirror, sighing at the dark circles under your eyes. They had been getting more prominent lately with how little sleep you were getting.

You brushed your teeth, ignoring the exhaustion that was clawing at you. All you wanted was to collapse into bed, but there was one other thing you had to do first. You set the toothbrush back in the stand, taking a deep breath. You pulled the sweatpants down, glancing at the cut from earlier. Your stomach turned when you saw how red the area was.

You quickly pulled them back up, flicking off the light switch and making your way back to your room. You were a little surprised to see Harry laying in the bed.

“Are you going to sleep? It’s still pretty early,” you said, glancing at the clock on the nightstand.

“I had a long day,” he smiled, stretching his arms out. “Also, how could I resist cuddling you?”

You smiled, the first genuine one in weeks. Harry’s heart swelled. It felt like forever since he’d seen you happy.

“Come on then!” He said, wiggling his fingers at you.

Once you settled in, you very quickly realized you might have a problem. You were used to sleeping in, as Harry called it, “the most uncomfortable position known to man”. You were mostly on your stomach, but your upper body was slightly twisted so both of your arms were in front of you, wrapped around the edge of the blankets. Harry would throw his arm over your back and one of his legs over yours. This was normally fine, but it also meant the front of your legs were pressed against the mattress.

The sweatpants you wore were smooth, but they felt like sandpaper on the wounded skin of your thigh. You were constantly adjusting, trying to find a position that would allow you to relax. You thought you were being subtle, but apparently not so much.

“Why’re you moving so much?” Harry murmured, not opening his eyes.

“Sorry,” you said quietly. “Can’t get comfy.”

“Maybe that’s because you’re flopping around like a fish out of water,” he said, a small smile appearing on his lips.

“Am not.”

“You are,” he insisted, grinning wider. “Just go to sleep.”

“Oh, wow, thanks, that’s so helpful,” you said sarcastically. “You’re a miracle worker, really.”

“I know I am,” he smiled, pressing his face against your shoulder.

Despite the stinging pain in your leg, you finally managed to drift off. It was probably the lack of sleep finally catching up to you, combined with the emotional stress of the day.

You snapped awake, feeling a stabbing pain. You sat up, gasping faintly when you saw the thin line of blood staining the white sheets. You quickly made your way to the bathroom, squinting in the sudden light as you pulled your sweatpants down. You must have torn the cut open when you were asleep. Luckily, your pants were black so they wouldn’t show a stain, and the one on the sheets was small enough that Harry probably wouldn’t see it before you could clean it up. You reached for the Kleenex box, pressing a tissue against the cut to stop the bleeding.

Harry mumbled when you got up, his half asleep brain not fully registering your movements. He woke up more when he heard the bathroom door shutting, sitting up against the headboard. He knew it was no use trying to sleep, he wouldn’t be able to relax until you were in his arms again.

After a few minutes, he started to get worried. He stood up, glancing at your side of the bed. He stopped when he saw a small red stain on the sheets. He furrowed his eyebrows, his sleepy mind trying to work something out.

He knocked on the bathroom door.

“Y/N? I saw the sheets. Didn’t you already have your period, last week? What happened?” He started getting concerned, knocking again when he didn’t hear an answer. “Can you hear me? Are you ok?”

“I’m fine,” You said, your voice wavering.

“You don’t sound fine,” he said, placing a hand on the doorknob. “Can I come in?”

“No- just go back to bed, Harry, I’ll be there in a minute,” you answered quickly, wiping  the tears from your eyes. You were getting really worried; the blood wasn’t stopping and you didn’t know what to do.

“Y/N, what happened?” He asked again. You heard his hand ratting the doorknob, breathing a silent sigh of relief when you remembered you had locked it. “Why is the door locked? You’re worrying me, please let me in?”

“It’s nothing, Harry,” you insisted, sniffling.

“It’s not nothing if it’s making you cry, baby, I can hear you crying,” he said, rattling the doorknob again. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m- you can’t come in,” you said, beginning to feel frantic. You were going to have to find a way to explain this to him, even if the bleeding stopped soon. What were you supposed to say at this point? You were locked in the bathroom, crying on the floor. That was bad enough without the self inflicted cut on your leg.

“Ok,” he relented. “But I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to sit here on the floor until you come out, or let me in.”

You sighed, eyes darting around the room. There was nothing in here to help you; all you could do was press the tissue against the cut and pray it stopped soon.

After a few minutes, you lifted the Kleenex again, wincing when a fresh trickle of blood pooled around your skin.

At this point, you were getting really scared. It had been almost 10 minutes and the bleeding wasn’t getting any lighter. This had never happened before and you didn’t know what to do.

“Harry?” You asked quietly.

“What is it, love?” You heard his voice from the other side of the door.

“I need help,” you sniffled.

“What happened?” He asked, his voice immediately sounding worried.

“It’s- it’s not stopping.”

“What’s not stopping?” You heard the doorknob rattling again. “Y/N, please unlock the door,” he begged.

You obliged this time, shuffling to the door and turning the lock. You sat back, not looking at Harry when he entered.

He immediately kneeled down next to you, inhaling sharply when he saw the blood-soaked tissue in your hand.

“Baby, what happened?” He asked, his eyes going wide.

You didn’t answer, blinking back tears. He gently lifted the tissue away from your leg, gasping again when the blood bubbled up around the edges of the cut.

“How did this happen?” He asked again, grabbing several new Kleenex from the box and pressing them to the area.

You still didn’t say anything, finally meeting his eyes. It only took one look at your sad expression for him to put the pieces together.

“Did you do this?” He asked quietly, not looking away from you.

You only hesitated for a second before nodding, dropping your head in shame as a new wave of tears came to your eyes. There was no point in lying now.

He didn’t say anything, just shifted on the floor. You panicked for a minute, thinking he was going to leave, but you quickly calmed down when he put his arm around you.

“I’m sorry,” he said, resting his head on top of yours. “I’m sorry you’re going through something and I’m sorry I didn’t notice how upset you are.”

“Don’t be,” you sniffled, leaning against him. “It’s not your fault I pushed you away, and it’s not your fault I’m stupid enough to cut open my own skin because I’m sad.”

“Hey,” he said firmly, lifting his head to look at you again. “Don’t talk like that. You are not stupid. I don’t ever want to hear you talking bad about yourself. I love you way too much to allow that.”

“I’m sorry,” you leaned your head against him again, too tired to keep eye contact.

“Remember what I said?” He asked, wiping a tear off your face. “You talk to me when you’re sad. If I can’t help you feel better, I’ll sit with you and we’ll be sad together. But whatever you do, you don’t get to shut me out.”

“I know,” you sniffled again. “I just didn’t want to burden you.”

“Y/N, you could never be a burden. You are the love of my life. I will gladly sit with you and be sad every single day if that’s what you need. You just have to let me in. Promise you’ll let me in?”

“I promise.”

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

like a secret in your throat

y’all asked for whump. y’all got whump. title from “Vampires Will Never Hurt You” by my all-time favorite band, My Chemical Romance

whump, hurt/comfort with a happy ending!

tw: manhandling the bard, vampire transformations (side character), non-sexy biting, blood mention, canon typical injuries/violence

---

Geralt looked up from his mug of ale when he realized that Jaskier had stopped playing. Instead, the bard was chatting merrily away with a tall, broad-shouldered man in a dark cloak. The hood obscured most of the stranger’s face but Geralt caught the reflective glint of a bead or piece of metal braided into his matted black hair. An instinct tickled at the back of the Witcher’s head but Geralt couldn’t quite place the feeling. Something was wrong about this little tableau but he couldn’t figure out what it was; his medallion wasn’t reacting to anything in particular and Jaskier seemed perfectly happy, lost in conversation with the dark-haired man.

Geralt returned his gaze to his mug and let his mind wander.

Jaskier did seem perfectly happy to be without him on nights like these, when they were back in civilization and the extroverted bard could branch out and meet new people. That was the problem, in Geralt’s opinion. 

Lately the Witcher had found himself contemplating what life would be like on the Path if he decided to travel alone again. Winter wasn’t close enough for him to excuse himself and go North, but he’d developed a strange and uncomfortable dependence on the bard that he needed to be weaned away from. It wasn’t healthy for either of them. 

It wasn’t safe.

If he grew too close to Jaskier, then… 

Wouldn’t that be a weakness? Wouldn’t that be a vulnerability and a dangerous closeness? Geralt couldn’t risk forming a connection like that. He couldn’t allow himself to hope for something so organic and pure to develop between a half-monster and a youthful, bright-eyed bard; Witchers weren’t meant to get nice things. That was not his lot in life.

And yet…

Some mornings, when he only barely cracked his eyes open and used his heightened senses to peek across their campsite, he saw Jaskier looking back at him, a curious glint in those pretty blue irises. Geralt couldn’t pinpoint the emotion the bard’s face held; he was bad at that, and the uncertainty of the younger man’s feelings scared him. He could handle rejection, but acceptance? If Jaskier was as loving and openminded as Geralt thought him to be, it could prove to be a problem. Jaskier was too good for a Witcher. He didn’t deserve to be trapped by a life on the Path, dying too young because he was foolhardy and quick to fall in love.

The Witcher’s introspection came to an abrupt halt when the Jaskier in question appeared beside him, flushed and grinning. “Geralt, dear heart, are you ready to retire for the evening?”

“Are you asking me to bed?” the Witcher smirked, smothering the very real ache in his chest at the thought of curling up next to Jaskier like that. “Or do you need to borrow our room to entertain a guest?”

“Oh, no, I have no plans of that nature.” Jaskier’s already pink face darkened a shade and Geralt’s stomach flipped. “I’m actually rather tired. I was hoping to get some decent sleep tonight before we flung ourselves back into nature tomorrow.”

“Hmm. I’ll be along shortly. Don’t wait up.”

“See you in a bit then, dear heart.” 

And Jaskier disappeared up the stairs.

Unfortunately, the Witcher didn’t realize he wasn’t the only one watching Jaskier slip into their rented room with a longing expression on his face.

---

“We need to set up camp for the evening,” Geralt announced, bringing Roach to a stop and sliding gracefully down from the saddle. Jaskier loved the way his Witcher looked when he did that, like some kind of fairytale Prince or knight errant. The way his long, silver-white hair shifted and fluttered against his shoulders in the dusky light made him look more like a fantastical painting than a century-old Witcher; even with his scars and his pallid skin tone. 

The unconventionally enchanting sight made ballads stir in the most romantic corners of the bard’s busy mind. Words pooled and shifted behind his eyes, arranging themselves into neat rhyming couplets or quatrains. 

Geralt of Rivia, tall and fair,

With golden eyes and silver hair;

Whose glare could even douse the sun,

And send a Gryphon on the run.

The bard barely kept himself from sighing aloud as he removed his pack from across his shoulders and unfolded his bedroll and thin travel blanket. The material felt fragile between his calloused fingertips and he sighed forlornly,  “I’m going to need a new blanket soon.”

“Hmm.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll pay for it. And I’ll get Roach some new reins while I’m in town,” the bard waved his hand nonchalantly, as if spending money was no big deal. It really wasn’t, all things considered. They would be able to travel far more comfortably if Geralt would allow them to stop in Novigrad and access his University accounts more often. Alas, Witchers are stubborn creatures. “I see the way they chafe her poor muzzle, Geralt, so don’t argue. If you really insist you can pay me back by letting me write a song about the color of your eyes.”

“My… eyes?”

“They’re rather pretty, dear heart, and I think the world could do with a ballad about how they glow when you turn your face toward the sun.”

Geralt felt the back of his neck grow hot and he glanced away, “Hmm.”

“Well, let me know what you think in the morning. I don’t need an answer right away.”

Geralt finished setting up a decent pile of firewood and brought it to life with an efficient burst of Igni. He glanced across the flames to Jaskier and grunted, “I’m going to catch us some dinner. Make tea.”

“Yes, sir,” Jaskier saluted, smiling. Geralt rolled his eyes, grabbed his crossbow, and disappeared into the darkening treeline. Jaskier began to hum as he set up their tea kettle and filled it with water from the waterskin. The humming turned to quiet singing as he measured out two mugs worth of tea from the sachet of dried leaves. 

Singing that was cut off with a sharp, sudden cry.

---

Geralt heard the bard scream once. Only once.

The sound punctuated the air before leaving an uncomfortable, grating silence in its wake. 

The Witcher took off towards their campfire without a second thought, allowing his instincts to take over and guide him safely back, the potency of Jaskier’s fear hung thick and sour in the air, growing stronger the closer he came to their clearing. When he burst back into view, chest heaving from the sprint, he widened his eyes at the sight before him:

The cloaked figure from the tavern had Jaskier wrapped in his burly arms. One large, long-fingered hand had immobilized Jaskier’s wrists by pressing them into the dip at the base of the bard’s spine, forcing his elbows out and pressing his chest even tighter against the stranger’s. 

Jaskier looked up at Geralt beseechingly through his dark, damp lashes. His mouth opened in a silent cry of confusion and pain when the man tugged at his wrists and forced his arms to bend awkwardly. The bard wriggled and strained against the stranger’s iron grip in an effort to escape but the man only snarled in irritation and jerked him back into place. “Bad bard. Stay put, little thing.”

Geralt took a slow step towards his swords, trying to reassure Jaskier with his expression that: Everything will be okay. I will get you out of this. I will protect you and keep you safe… somehow. 

Jaskier needed Geralt to pay attention and protect him from harm.

Geralt had failed.

The Witcher watched with wide, horrified eyes as the hulking man keeping Jaskier captive shifted slowly into a far less humanoid form. The baubles braided into his hair jangled and clinked as his nose elongated and his eyes widened. His arms lengthened to form clawed bat-wings and his face thinned and covered over with a layer of grey fur. Fangs burst forth from his gums and slid over his previously humanesque canines. His voice, which had been rasping odd little sounds in the Witcher’s direction, faded into an terrible shriek. 

A Katakan. 

A Katakan that had snuck in and out of civilization without Geralt so much as smelling it; one that had Jaskier pinned against its chest, the claws of its unoccupied hand sharp and dangerous as they hovered near the bard’s ribcage, ready to pierce but unwilling to waste precious blood unless absolutely necessary. It screamed again, even more shrilly. “Want him!”

Geralt dove forward and pulled his silver sword from its sheath. He swung it in an elegant arc and narrowed his eyes, “Let him go and I might let you live.”

The Witcher’s words were a lie and they both knew it.

The Katakan twitched its long ears in annoyance and hauled Jaskier even closer. It wrenched his arms painfully and the bard whimpered, blue eyes filling steadily with tears. Geralt’s heart seized wretchedly in his chest and he tried his best to ignore it; he couldn’t let his feelings distract him until Jaskier was safe. 

“I want him,” the monster rasped, readjusting the bard in its grip. It turned Jaskier around until he was facing the Witcher, releasing his wrists just long enough to pull his hands around to the front before capturing them again. It grazed its two long fangs against the column of Jaskier’s throat and trilled happily. “He sings so pretty. Talks so sweet. Bet he tastes sweet like he talks.”

“Hmm,” Geralt agreed. “He does have a rather pretty singing voice. I suppose that’s why I can’t have you killing him.”

“But he will sing for me,” the vampire shrugged. It shook Jaskier like a toy and the bard’s tears finally fell. He whimpered again when the vampire leaned close and told him: “Sing, little thing. Let me pull lovely music from your veins.”

Jaskier shivered visibly. He gave a few panting, strangled sobs as he slipped into panic, too frightened to move with the vampire’s fangs so close to his neck. He wanted Geralt to finally swing that stupid sword and get this over with. He wanted to curl up in Geralt’s arms and never leave for the rest of his life. He wanted to be taken to Kaer Morhen and hidden away in safety, fuck his music career and the rest of the world. He wanted Geralt to stay in his presence forever, never letting him out of sight again. He wanted…

Before he could finish his thought there was a sharp, piercing, all-encompassing pain at the juncture where his neck met his shoulder.

A keening wail filled the air once. 

The vampire bit down harder, its tongue sliding against the skin of the bard’s neck in an effort to urge the blood to exit faster. 

There was another high, piteous cry for help and then... 

The world went black.

---

When Jaskier opened his eyes again, the world was even darker than it had been before; mostly because the light from both the moon and their campfire was being blocked out by the broad plane of Geralt’s chest, which Jaskier found himself cradled against almost… lovingly. Above him, he heard the Witcher murmuring: “Jaskier, please. Please wake up, Julek. Come on, bard, I kn-”

“G-Geralt?” he managed to croak. He followed it with a very eloquent, “Hunh?”

“Jaskier,” the Witcher sagged with relief, pressing his forehead against the bard’s and breathing in deeply. He tightened his arms around Jaskier, pulling him even closer as his frown disappeared, “Melitele be blessed, you’re alive!”

“Should I not be?” Jaskier asked. He tried to sit up on his own and winced when a bright burst of pain flared out from his shoulder.

“The Katakan- You were bleeding so much and I-” Geralt was, as always, at a loss for words. Jaskier waited patiently, still feeling drowsy and half-alive, and allowed the Witcher to gather his thoughts. His neck ached and his left arm tingled fiercely every time he tried to flex his hand on that side. 

“Did it… Am I a vampire now?” he asked. The absurdity of the question broke Geralt from his confusion.

“No,” the Witcher answered swiftly. “You’re still very mortal-” a hand swept through Jaskier’s hair, calming him further “-And unfortunately still very fragile.”

“Are you going to beat yourself up over this for the next week and somehow twist it around until it’s all your fault?”

“Hmm,” Geralt looked away. Jaskier was still being held so very tenderly in his arms, laid across the Witcher’s lap like some kind of swooning maiden. He rather liked how close he was to Geralt and hoped to stay that way for just a little longer. The Witcher surprised them both by letting a full sentence slip into the air between them, “I don’t like seeing you hurt, Jaskier, especially not when… when I was close enough that I could have prevented it from happening at all.”

“Your medallion didn’t give you any hints about this thing back at the inn when I was talking to him? He seemed completely normal, if a little monosyllabic. I’m used to monosyllabic, anyway,” the bard joked, trying to lighten the mood somewhat. It didn’t work; Geralt lifted his head and stared into the fire, his brow already furrowed as he slipped into his private realm of self-loathing. Jaskier was still laying across his lap, his neck and shoulder giving off pulsing aches with every beat of his heart. 

Eventually the Witcher spoke again, his voice low and full of frustration. “Katakans are different, they don’t- they don’t set off my medallion the way other creatures do, and they can disguise themselves as people. They can move and talk like people; you saw it transform.”

“I did,” Jaskier grimaced. “And it wanted me to sing while it drank my blood.”

“You didn’t do very much singing,” the Witcher grumbled. “You screamed twice and fainted. It nearly dropped you.”

“If I remember correctly,” the bard smiled playfully, “Someone said my singing was too pretty for me to die.”

“Hmm.”

“It was you, Geralt. You said that.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier tried to sit up again and nearly passed out from the pain that screamed through the entire left side of his body. “I- Geralt, I-”

“What’s wrong, Julek?” the Witcher asked, adjusting the bard until he was more comfortably enclosed in Geralt’s arms, his back leaning against one of Geralt’s bent legs for support. Geralt’s other leg was straightened out before him and Jaskier let his calves fall atop the Witcher’s thick thighs. They looked like a painting, with Jaskier reclined as he was and Geralt looking at him like that.  

“Everything hurts, dear heart. My whole left side feels aflame.”

“It’ll burn like that for a day or so,” Geralt shushed him. “You bled quite a lot, you were bitten, and you hit the ground pretty hard.”

“You didn’t catch me?”

“I was a little busy beheading your attacker and keeping you from becoming a member of the undead,” Geralt scoffed. “Pardon me for not carrying you to safety first.”

“Well since you let me get injured, you have to kiss it better to gain your pardon,” the bard insisted. Geralt’s eyes widened comically and his hand clenched where it was resting on Jaskier’s lower back. 

“It’ll- It would hurt if I kissed your wound,” Geralt replied shakily, trying to escape while he still could. Jaskier wasn’t about to let him. Not again.

“Then you’ll just have to kiss my lips instead.”

“Jaskier?”

“Hush, Geralt. I know how you feel about me, and I feel much the same about you. Let’s skip the words bit, because I know that’s not your favorite, and get right to the kissing.”

“Oh, uh...” The Witcher allowed himself to smile. It was a soft, nervous thing but it made his eyes crinkle at the corners and Jaskier felt himself fall even further in love with his darling Geralt. “Alright.”

Geralt cupped the back of Jaskier’s head carefully, tilting his own chin down, and brought their lips together slowly. The bard’s lips were soft and plush and warm beneath his own, giving just slightly but not wilting beneath his touch. It was better than anything he could have imagined. When they pulled apart, Jaskier frowned. 

“Was it bad?” Geralt asked automatically, more nervous than he had ever been with another lover. 

“No,” Jaskier shook his head. “I just don’t think I’m healed yet. I may require another. Or several more.”

“Well, if the patient thinks it’s necessary,” Geralt grinned, leaning forward again. Jaskier pulled himself up a little to meet him, ignoring the lances of hurt in his arm. “I suppose...”

[sparks-joy-imagines]

hiiii!! I saw the recent post and wanted to request this if possible:

after a huge bloody battle where they nearly lost each other, ace and sabo's crush stumbles towards them with a shaky whisper of their name, pulls them by the strings of their hat/cravat and deeply kisses them, confessing their feelings. thank you!

thank you so much for your request :D hopefully you can enjoy what we came up with - mesu Ace: “Ace! Ace..” As fast as your aching legs allowed you to, you dragged yourself over to him. Cupping his face in your hands you frantically looked him up and down for any serious injuries but he seemed mostly all right. Without a second thought you pressed your lips against his, pulling him closer by the strings of his hat in an attempt to make yourself realise that he was safe and by your side. Ace’s eyes widened when he felt your lips on his. Soon his gaze softened and he sighed against your lips, deepening the kiss before he pulled back to rest his forehead against yours. “On kissing terms now, are we?” An equally playful and relieved smile appeared on his lips. Startled as you hadn’t even realised what you had done you pushed against his shoulders to bring some distance between you, yet he held you in place. “Don’t give me this crap! I thought I lost you!” Even as you started squirming your way out of his grip it only got tighter. “Y/N. I’m sorry I didn’t mean to,“ Ace tried interjecting but you didn’t let him finish. “No! You listen to me now. You think it’s funny to think the person who means most to you in the entire world is dead? That the one person that you love“ —you shifted uneasily in hold— ” that.. that gets you is torn out of your life just like that?!” The silence that followed your little outbreak let you suddenly become very aware of what you had just revealed. Lowering your gaze to your hands you started fidgeting with them. There was no chance you could stand Ace’s gaze right now and you knew it. It took several moments before you could sense any reaction at all from him. “So, you love me.” You couldn’t read the tone in his voice and judging from the heat radiating of your cheeks you could easily switch careers to a fire hydrant. “What about it?” There was no way you would ever be able to look into his eyes again. Pressing your hands together you could still feel his iron grip on your shoulders. Seconds seemed to stretch out to hours until you heard fabric rustling and felt the grip of his hands gone. Next thing you knew Ace was squatting down in front of you leaving you no choice but to face him. He got a hold of your hands and pressed them gently in his own. The formerly playful smile on his lips was gone and a shiver ran down your spine as you noticed the seriousness in his gaze. The moment he spoke your heart fell. “I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to tease you. I love you, too. And I promise you that I’ll never disappear from your life just like that, ‘kay?” Sabo: “S-sabo..” Your voice was raspy and it took all of your strength to push your volume over the groaning of the wounded. “Come on. Where are you, Sabo?”

Even if your legs felt like giving in every second you were too stubborn to stop limping on. Earlier Sabo had taken a direct hit for you flying into a stone wall of a nearby building. You knew his haki was good but the impact had been devastating.

Back then, you had to take care of your opponent so you couldn’t check if he was alright and now there wasn’t even anything of the stone wall left, and even worse no Sabo in sight either.

“Come on, come on, come on,” you hissed under your breath while you let your gaze wander over the rubble left from the fight.

Just when you were about to give in, you heard footsteps right behind you.

“Looking for me?”

In a swift motion you turned on the spot just to see Sabo standing there, his arm in a noose. He grinned at you apologetically and pointed to the first aid tent the support troupes of the Revolutionary Army had set up.

“Sorry, Koala forced me to go get my arm checked first. Got my joint put into place again and should be fine in a couple days though. Not to worry.” He rubbed his neck a bit and looked at you.

You couldn’t help looking at him dumbfounded. The wave of relief that washed over you finally got the better of you. Your legs gave in and you landed on the ground with a thud.

Sabo was down at your side within mere seconds.

“You okay, Y/N?” He eyed you anxiously and turned to call a medic over.

“You’re okay. I.. I thought when you took that hit for me, you would-” You didn’t recognise your own voice among the sobs which finally found their way out of your throat.

By the time it took Sabo to turn back to you, you were full on crying. He gently wrapped his healthy arm around you and curled you into his chest, rocking you back and forth.

“Shh, Y/N. I’m here. Everything’s going to be just fine.”

In your vulnerable state you clawed yourself in the first piece of clothing of him in your reach, his cravat, and pulled him down to you, sealing his lips with yours.

For a small eternity it felt your lips were just where they were supposed to be. On his.

Slowly, you pulled back and peeked up into his shocked eyes.

“Never.. ever take that kind of hit for me again, Sabo, you hear me?” you stroked shyly over his cheek and gazed down when he covered your hand with his own. “I love you too much as though I could stand losing you like that.”

Just when Sabo opened his mouth to say something, a soft cough could be heard from behind you two.

“Medic here. What can I do for you?”

Sabo grunted displeased and turned to the medic.

“Can you give us just a minute? We’ll be done here and.. I’ll get Y/N to the tent.”

The medic nodded and disappeared while Sabo turned back to you, smiling warmly.

“Sorry ‘bout that. If I knew you were confessing I wouldn’t have called for them.”

You nodded slowly and leaned back a little.

“Just my luck to have this kind of timing, huh?” you chuckled.

Sabo gently stroked your hair out of your face but instead of pulling it back he cupped your cheek in his hand. His eyes darted from your eyes to lips and back as he slowly leaned in.

“Maybe we’ll have more luck together?”

Just before his lips touched yours you whispered: “Maybe”

[its-kall-the-clown]

From promt list 9#, red son and mk, "you can't just stay in bed all day", and " hold me a little longer"

*Gets my little angsty clown hands allllll over this.* yessssss.

As some contexts this is pre-relationship but you can just FEEL the attraction and sexual tension so it counts as spicynoodle. Enjoy!

prompt list

Hold Me

Rating: PG

“You can't just stay in bed all day.” MK rolls his eyes and the hiss that comes from under the blanket.

The blanket from HIS bed mind you.

He suddenly understands where Pigsy was coming from when he yanked the covers off his sleeping form back in middle school to wake him up for the day.

Red Son had...well, the best word for it defected from his parents. And now he was no longer welcome in his home and his parents were out for blood.

Thankfully Wukong was easily convinced to help and with Red Son officially under the great sage's protection it makes Princess Iron Fan and the Demon Bull King think twice before attacking their now disowned son.

But that didn't mean it didn't go down in a fight first. The demon bull king vs the monkey king and poor Red Son caught in the middle.

Red Son was disowned in the worst way possible.

"Useless son!! I wish you never were born!"

MK was there. Standing right next to Red Son. But even from a mile away you could hear the boy's heart-shattering under the impact of the words.

Red Son was the one to sever the final thread connecting them. Shouting how he was no longer their son, eyes pouring blue flames as he attacked his father and mother.

It took both Wukong, MK and Pigsy to pull Red Son off of them.

MK had never seen Red Son like that. Sure he had his more feral moments. But what he witnessed was truly terrifying. He was out for blood and only when MK had his arms around the demon's form and the flames were starting to burn him did Red Son stop.

His anger and rage melted into apologies and hiccuped sobs as his hands fretted over MK's injuries.

Red Son left with them that day and Red was making good use of his newly acquired freedom.

By sulking about it.

MK pokes the lump under his blanket in his bed and it hisses again in a warning. Like a cornered cat that had zero intentions of actually hurting MK.

“Come on dude. You're gonna starve eventually if you don't come out. Pigsy made you some noodles, extra spicy.” he tries to tempt the demon with the promise of food but even that only gains him another low rumbled growl.

MK breathes in through his nose and lets it out through his mouth, trying his best to not let Red Son’s attitude affect him. He needed to grant them more sympathy. Red Son lost the only family he ever had and was now trying to navigate this new one that accepted him with open arms.

He set the noodle bowl down onto the side table with a sigh and sat on the edge of the bed, it dipped under his weight.

“Alright. If you want to stay in bed We can do that." He pulls the blanket up and he's met with scowling eyes that dilate in the light.

That was actually pretty cool. Exactly like a cat.

"Scoot over." He instructs and Red Son blinks at him dumbly. MK doesn't wait for him to protest and shoves his way into the same space, and pulls the covers over both their heads. He wraps his arms around the demon and pulls them to his chest.

"Peasant!!! What are you doing?" He sputters and MK rests his chin atop the demon's head.

"It's called cuddling. It's good when you're depressed." He explains his hand trailing down Red Son’s hair till he finds the base of his ponytail. He easily removes the hair tie and takes advantage of the loose locks.

He runs his fingers through his Red hair and they squirm under him. There is another warning rumble in the back of Red's throat but MK pays it no mind. He was all bark and no bite. He finds the longer he runs his fingers through the warm hair the more the demon relaxes in his grip.

"I do not need to be coddled..."

MK could feel claws pricking through the front of his shirt, Red son shivering and shaking in his hold. It occurs to MK that Red Son had never been held gently before. It sends a pain ricocheting in MKs chest.

He needed to fix that. He would hold Red Son gently, he would treat him like he's precious, make him feel special and loved. He would hold him and hug him and stroke his fingers through his incredibly soft hair as long as the demon needed...

...that sounded way more gay in his head than he had the brainpower to process right now.

"It's okay….no one's here to judge you." He reassures gently and suddenly the claws against his chest become so much more gentle. Red Sons' shoulders hitch.

"They were my parents…."

"I know."

"Was I not enough??!" The demon's hands twist in the front of MK's shirts and MK knows where Red is coming from. He too originally came from a family that he felt like he needed to prove something to them. To be worth something so they would keep him around.

It took him years to learn that no matter what he did he would never earn their love.

Love was shared not earned.

"It's okay, you are enough Red" he reassures and the demon’s shoulders shake and he a breath shatters into hiccuping sobs, tears cascading down his face to be absorbed by the sheets and MK's shirt.

He presses gentle kisses to the boy's forehead and lets them cry it out. Red Son deserved that. He deserved to have a good healthy cry while someone soothed you.

MK isn't sure how much time has passed but eventually, the sobbing subsides and now it's just Red Son's face shoved into his chest while he works the knots out of his hair with his fingers.

"How are you feeling?" MK asked eventually and he only felt a steamy huff against his neck. God, it's hot under the covers, that could be attributed to the fire demon but he's sure with two people in the bed it still would be pretty unbearable.

"Want me to let you go?" He asked and he felt a little head shake against him.

"you may….hold me a little longer" the words are more of felt rather than heard and MK nods understanding.

"Okay, but you're gonna have to let me pull the covers up a bit. It's stuffy under here." He feels a nod against his chest and MK pulls the covers back enough to vent the heat building under the covers.

"Much better,"

The sudden cool air makes Red Son pull out of his chest and look at him with wide eyes and

Oh.

Oh.

They had to be the damn prettiest eyes MK had ever seen.

I mean, it wasn't hard to admit that Red Son was attractive, with perfect skin, thick brows, muscles all over his body that could put marble statues to shame…

But seeing him like this?

Nothing but flushed cheeks and wild hair framed by the dying sun's light?

Gorgeous.

MK can't help but reach forward and cup the demon's face. He just needed to behold the beauty before him. Red Son goes easily into the touch, hooded lids and parted lips only making him impossibly more ethereal.

He leans forward

Who could blame MK?

He watches the hooded lids close shut.

Who could fault him?

He pressed lips tenderly together. His own eyes flutter close and he tilts the face for a better angle where their noses don't hit each other awkwardly and they just fit together like puzzle pieces.

He would hold Red Son.

As long as he needed them to.

[cupcakey00]

It’s Just Instinct

Here’s to my first one-shot, everyone! (edit: it’s actually not a one-shot since there will be another part or 2 lol oops) In which Cassian struggles to adjust to the overwhelming instincts to protect Nesta.

 Words: 2,325

there is some NSFW content in this.

Nesta could count on both hands the number of times she had to intervene to stop a murder where Cassian was involved, especially since they’d mated just one month prior. The first time had been only two days into their mating frenzy. Lord Devlon may have been many things, but a fool was not one of them.

Or so he thought.

Unbeknownst to the pair, the camp lord in doing his rounds managed to hear the throes of their passion, and made the decision to send a young female to deliver war reports to Cassian as opposed to their usual male. Unbeknownst to Devlon, Cassian had recently discovered Nesta’s attraction males and females. Suffice to say, it was only Nesta’s iron grip on his bicep and pushing on his chest while screaming for the Illyrian to “leave! You have to go!” that stopped him from tearing the poor young female to shreds at just the scent of her outside their door as she slid reports through the gap. After all, their Commander was busy, but so were their enemies.

Unsurprisingly, Devlon was unimpressed.

The second time came when Azriel had visited during the third day of their mating, unannounced, hoping to visit his friend and discuss the Illyrian rebels. Unfortunately for Azriel, his personal vow never to spy on his family finally became his crux. At the sound of Azriel’s feet touching ground from outside the cabin door, Cassian’s eyes dilated, his muscles tensed, and his breath hitched. Nesta knew what was coming next, although this time, she couldn’t stop it. Not when Cassian was still strung up from the female’s visit the prior day, and most certainly not when he was interrupted with his head between Nesta’s legs.

Azriel realized immediately his mistake the moment he landed, but he knew he could not simply leave. He knew that would only make it worse. Worst case scenario, Cassian would pursue him for days during his frenzy if he deemed Azriel enough of a threat, so long as the threat of being away from Nesta for long didn’t outweigh the perceived threat to Nesta; he had seen the look in his eyes long before Nesta and Cassian were mated. He saw the thirst for blood at any male – and, recently, female – who so much as looked at Nesta a few moments too long. Whether it was in protection or possession, Azriel didn’t know. He didn’t think Cassian did either. Granted, he always kept a leash on himself for Nesta’s sake and his own. It wasn’t fair to Nesta to be treated like an object, especially not one that he owned. That, Cassian knew. Thus, Azriel stayed. He waited, deciding that staying silent, allowing for Cassian to make the first move, would allow for his brother to calm down, register him not as a threat, but as a friend who meant no harm nor claim to his mate.

Surprisingly, Azriel, too, was a fool.

In Cassian’s cloudy, newly mated mind, the Night Court’s spy and Shadowsinger’s silence and stillness confirmed one thing and one thing alone: he was there to lust over the sound of his Nesta crying out in ecstasy, a hymn promised to Cassian and Cassian alone. Nesta had just reached the point of unintelligibility, unable to articulate a single word or thought with Cassian’s mouth feasting on her dripping center after teasing the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs with his tongue and breath for what had to have been hours, bringing Nesta to near tears, begging Cassian for more, begging him to let her come. For a cruel amount of time, Cassian would not relent, tracing and blowing; sucking oh so near it, never on it, telling her about how “you’re so pretty when you’re begging me to let you come, Sweetheart. You’re going to have to wait for that.” He was never merciful enough to tell her how long she had to wait. (The only reason he had the self-control to delay it was because of how thoroughly he fucked her the previous two days.)

Nesta had been close, no longer able to make a single sound except for gasps and high-pitched whimpers with her back arched off their dining room table, one hand gripping Cassian’s dark hair at the root as his hands kept her legs spread wide open, forcing her hips down, forbidding her from grinding on his face, while her other hand gripped the tablecloth. With her back arched, he couldn’t see her face, so he watched Nesta’s pert nipples instead, still red and raw from his previous ministrations, lips around one nipple sucking, tongue flicking, teeth biting, while his fingers twisted and tugged at the other, alternating whenever he felt like it. The red was mostly faded.

He’d have to fix that.

Cassian knew that while the denial for release was torture for Nesta for the time being, her orgasm by the end couldn’t possibly be anything short of mind-shattering. He sent a prayer to whatever gods were listening that he’d be able to feel her walls clench around his tongue fucking her, nose rubbing against her clit. He could only hope she wouldn’t squeeze so tight around him that his tongue was forced out of her pretty pink hole while her walls contracted; he couldn’t let any of her sacred nectar go to waste on their dining room table.

He’d lick it up right off the wood, maintaining eye contact with Nesta if he had to.

The other part of him, the more primal, male part of him, craved the satisfaction of making his mate come so devastatingly he wouldn’t be able to keep his tongue inside, tip of his tongue massaging her G-spot through her release. He hadn’t dared come close to it yet; he knew that’d put an end to their fun. Everyone knew the journey was more important than the destination.

Truly, considering this was the trajectory they were on, it was no wonder Cassian would have brutalized Azriel’s body so badly, Rhysand would have had to rethink who assumed the role of the Night Court’s torturer.

Would have, had Azriel not been forced to use a Siphon-imposed shield around himself, infuriating Cassian even further. Not only had this male heard his lover’s euphoric cries, but he couldn’t even kill him for it, and it was his fault Nesta wasn’t only dripping onto the table instead of his face, she was also needy with the desire to reach the orgasm she had earned. This male thought he could arrive at their doorstep and put a halt to his lover’s pleasure? Unforgiveable.

Azriel wasn’t safe until Rhysand, who then also became the subject of Cassian’s hunt (the third in 24 hours), used his magic to force Cassian back into the cabin and established a shield around it, confining him while allowing Azriel’s shadows to bring him back to Velaris with Nesta screaming for Cassian the entire time – never once leaving the inside; Cassian’s brothers seeing Nesta in such a near-orgasmic state, even if she did put clothes on first, was a sure-fire way for him to level all of Illyria to eliminate them both. This, Nesta knew.

Through their open bond, he could feel what Nesta felt. Had she been in danger, Cassian wouldn’t have been able to ignore her pleas even if he wanted to. Hell, had Cassian been able to think a tad more clearly, he’d have strapped on his Siphons to put more concentrated pressure against Rhysand’s barrier. But alas, there he was, stark-naked body limning with unbridled power, using his magic until it was drained, not a Siphon in sight, snarling near animalistically.

After that ordeal, the message became clear: no one was to come in contact with the Commander or his mate until they left their cabin unless of an emergency. Rhysand imposed a no-go zone of a half-mile radius around their cabin to be kept at all times until indicated otherwise by the Commander himself. It took two weeks until the pair could leave the cabin without fear of murder, although that didn’t stop an incident from popping up almost every day since, especially since Cassian was convinced most of the camp either wanted to kill Nesta or fuck her. Still, Cassian tried. He tried to rein it in, and Nesta could see that. She knew he took no joy in threatening the lives of his fellow Illyrians, no matter how much they hated him. He had to learn to control himself, and learning he was. However, everyone knows that when learning, mistakes are bound to be made.

That was what brought them here, a crowd of wide-eyed Illyrians with bated breath, gazing at the four in fear: Cassian, Nesta, and a young male who’d been training with an older Illyrian.

Nesta placed a hand firmly on his chest, assuring, “Cass, I’m okay,” as Cassian’s eyes and stance guaranteed violence, twin blades in either hand. His eyes held nearly none of their characteristically striking hazel, instead swallowed by the black abyss of a predator salivating for a hunt. The scent of the blood trickling from the cut on her upper arm was suffocating him. He couldn’t breathe, his body wouldn’t let him. Not when he was so close to his prize: the young male’s blood bathing his blades. Breathing would only alert his prey to his presence, chancing he’d run.

Then again, Cassian wanted a chase.

Still, Cassian would not move. Instincts begged him kill, maul, maim, but his less animalistic side implored him to drop his weapons and help his mate, to be rational and think clearly.

Still, Cassian could not move. Could not attack the enemy for fear of leaving Nesta unattended, nor drop his weapons for fear of leaving her vulnerable to another attack, never mind that he could wipe out every male, female, and child in the camp with his bare hands if he desired.

Nesta, sensing his inner conflict, whispered sweetly to Cassian, “Cassian, Love, I’m safe. I’m healthy, I am happy. I’m okay. You don’t need to do this, you know this.” Facing him, her right hand gripped his shoulder, her left, resting on his abdomen, applying pressure to his body knew she could not remove if she wanted the boy to live. Still, it wasn’t enough for him to break eye contact with the young Illyrian. Slowly, she slid her hand from his abdomen up to his heart, feeling the melodic thump, thump, thump that always grounded her, whether she was facing a nightmare or the much more nefarious demons of her conscious mind.

Still gripping his shoulder, she removed her hand from his chest and pressed her body against his, reaching down in search of his fingers. Immediately his grip softened from his weapon, seeking the warmth and comfort of Nesta’s embrace above all else. Gripping his hand gently, she took a step back. At this, Cassian’s eyes snapped down in alarm until she placed his hand over her beating heart, hand atop his, unblinking as she watched the bloodlust drain from his gaze as he peered into her own, his eyes a telescope gazing upon the stars within the vast edges of the universe people deigned to refer to simply as Nesta’s eyes. Cassian knew he could spend the rest of his immortal life studying them and still he’d have more to learn. Nesta would let him.

In his heart, Cassian knew she could take care of herself, that it was an honest accident. The boy was still learning how to hold a sword, it wasn’t his fault he had it parried out of his grip, especially when it was Nesta who hadn’t realized she wasn’t the compulsory 15 meters away from the fighting pair; she’d been busy running back and forth bringing ice to the healers. Truly, if fault had to be blamed, Nesta laid claim to most of it.

Not that it mattered to Cassian, of course.

In his eyes were terror, veiled thinly only by the stubborn rage. In them, she discerned all his fears…his regrets that he couldn’t save Nesta from the Cauldron. She saw the same look in his eyes he had when they almost died together during the war, and finally she understood. She understood why he’d been so protective. That not only did he struggle with believing he wasn’t enough for his people, but for his own mate too. For the love of his life, his whole world. For his sole reason for living for the past 500 years, the present, and the eternal future. Her gaze was piercing, imploring, begging him to forgive himself, begging him to have mercy on himself, but he couldn’t. Not yet. Not yet had he proven himself worthy of his mate, nor might he ever.

At this, Nesta was the one to feel fear. Not at Cassian, but for him; a life of regrets and guilt is not a life at all, especially for an immortal.

From his shoulder she removed her remaining hand, gently grasping his own, the second twin blade dropping into the mud, and placed his large palm over her cheek, using it to cradle her face. She smiled sadly, tears threatening to spill over as she nestled her cheek into his palm, feeling the rough callouses she wished she could engrave onto her soul so that she’d never be without them.

Those tears? Cassian hated them. Each one that threatened to fall was yet another one of his failures, an indication of Nesta’s pain. Pain that he caused in his own inadequacy. He could never forgive himself.

This wasn’t a conversation they could have in front of a crowd, so she whispered, just barely audible, “take me home,” and instantly, he pulled her body flush against his and flew to the cottage that became the both of theirs, everyone else be damned.

One day, Cassian will learn. Just not today.

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There will be a part 2, maybe a part 3!! I hope you enjoyed :)

tag: @arinbelle