#funny enough this was supposed to be a role reversal but my fingers had other plans

[giggly-squiggily]

Attention (Tengoku Struggle)

*kicks door in* Hey! :D That was aggressive- How are y'all? So I'm kinda addicted to Tengoku Struggle. Sharaku is literal perfection in my eyes, so it only felt right to start off the first fic of the fandom with him! :D I hope y'all like it!

CW: Suggestive humor (Sharaku's a bit of a slut lol)

Summary: Sharaku's feeling needy and wants attention. Rin learns firsthand what happens if you ignore such a demanding soul.

“Hey…” A poke to her back brought Rin out of her book. “I’m bored.”

“Congratulations.” She didn’t turn to look at him, fighting down a smile at the small whine he made. Sharaku could be quite needy from time to time. Truly a cat, personified.

“So cold..I’m gonna die of a broken heart, you’re so mean to me.” He poked her back again, flicking at the ends of her long hair and further cementing her mental comparison. “Those plant books really are more important to you, huh?”

Rin merely turned the page of her book, humming as she carried on reading. The pokes continued, her hair getting gently tugged and swatted at from time to time. Eventually she felt him sit up, gathering it to braid. “It’s silky. You’ve been using that tea tree oil I gave you.”

“Everyday, without fail.” She finally let herself smile, his fingers gentle as they folded the dark strands into a neat plait. “Though I do like it when you apply it. It works better.”

“Ah, so that’s what I am to you- your personal stylist!” He was grinning, she could hear it in his voice as he worked the braid down her back, tying it off and giving it a playful tug. “I’m gonna have to start charging- 300 ryo per hairstyle.”

“That’s surprisingly low, given how much you charge the others.”

“You get a discount.” He leaned in and kissed her ear, making her skin warm and breath shudder. “Of course, if you really insist on paying me in full, you can in other ways~”

Rin rolled her eyes, fighting down a blush at his lewd comment. Instead of humoring him, she pointed at one of the plants in her book, murmuring about how lovely it was.

 It wasn’t long before she could feel him leaning into her, resting his chin on her shoulder. “Riiiiiin…”

“I’m reading. Join me if you’re so bored.”

“Books aren’t interesting to me. I’m more of a visual guy.” Sharaku poked her side, making her twitch. “Wanna watch a movie? We can recreate a steamy scene or two..”

“Stop being annoying!” She elbowed him, squirming when he poked her sides more. She knew there was no mercy in her future now that she reacted. “If you don’t wanna read, go draw something!”

“I need inspiration. A muse.” His little pokes grew, both hands joining the fray in tickling her. “Give me a smile- I wanna paint you.”

“Paint something e-else! Ugh, Sharaku!” Dropping her book, she grabbed his hands as she twisted to face him, glaring as hard as she could. “You’re acting like such a child! Stop it!”

Sharaku merely grinned back at her, eyes twinkling. Without any warning, he leaned in and stole a kiss. “S-Sharaku!”

“Don’t act like you didn’t like it. I can feel you blushing.” Oh, how insufferable he was! Trying to pretend his comment didn’t ring true, she battled the hands resuming their annoying quest at her sides, fighting down giggles whenever he landed a poke. “Come on, you know you do! You love me soooooo much!”

“Yoohou’re so stuhuhpid! Ahehaha, stahhahap!” Unable to fight back- or perhaps she wanted to lose- Rin fell back against the sheets of his bed, twisting this way and that as his fingers danced up her ribs. “Shahahahahhaku! Gehehhet ohohf meehhehe!”

“No way! I figured you were ticklish, but this? This is amazing!” His fingers were inquisitive as they walked up and down her torso, gently prodding along her hips and waist to see what would give him the best reaction. When he poked along her highest rib, she let out an embarrassingly high squeal. “Uh-oh, I found your tickle spot~”

“Shuhuhuhut uhuhuhp! Thahaht’s nohooht truhuhue-EHehehehehehk!” Okay, maybe it was true. Sharaku focused his efforts on drilling two fingers onto each side of her upper ribs, using his body weight to keep her pinned beneath him as she shrieked and cackled like a witch. “Shahhahaku, pleahhahahahse!”

“Please what? Keep tickling you?” He grinned against her neck, gently nuzzling it and worsening her ticklish state. “For someone who acts so stubborn, you sure are cute when you’re laughing like this.”

“Iihihihihm nohohohohot cuhuhuhuhte!”

“Sorry, but you’re really cute. Adorable even.” He kissed the spot along her pulsepoint, the feeling both tingly and ticklish. Too bad the latter was far more present as his hands shot back to her waist, kneading like a cat’s paws. “I like making you scream my name. Wasn’t it you who said I have magic hands the other night?”

“Dohohohn’t be soohohoho grohohohoohss! Gehahahaha, cohohohme on- tihihihme ohohohut, tihihihime oohohohut!” She tugged at his sweater repeatedly, gasping for air when he paused his antics. “Geahhaha..hehehaha..hohohold on..juhuhst a sehehehcond mhohohore…”

“Wow, you want me to keep going?” Sharaku looked both surprised and delighted, kissing her flushed cheek as she rolled her eyes. “I didn’t know you liked this sort of thing, babe.”

Did she? Rin couldn’t recall the last time someone tickled her like this. Oshichi would occasionally poke her sides when they sat by the Sanzu River, and she could recall small occasions where Sensei Nono ran a quick finger along the back of her neck whenever she was too lost in thought during lessons.

Maybe in her forgotten past, perhaps. Even without that- she couldn’t deny the lightheaded feeling was refreshing. So much had happened since she came to the human realm- it was nice to really let herself go and just breathe.

“I think I do..” She found herself speaking out loud, blushing bright red at his brow. “Shush.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your eyebrows are too loud.”

“Pfft-” Sharaku fell into her, laughing against her neck. It was tingly like before, but Rin found she rather liked the feeling. “Yohohou’re cute. But seriously- you really like this?” He ran his hand against her side, tapping against her ribs and making her tense. “Me tickling you, yeah?”

“Iihihs it a bahahd thing if I do?” She giggled through her words, her voice catching when he met her gaze. There was such a love in his eyes, it made her nearly forget where she was.

“Farthest thing from it. I like that about you. Our Lord Hell Guardian has some really sweet quirks about her.”

She would have pinched him for that if he hadn’t started tickling her again, bringing both hands back to her waist as she attempted to curl up on herself, giggling like a child. “Ahehahahaha! Yohohohou’re goohohohd at thihihihis!”

“Like you said the other night- I have magic hands.” He grinned, laughing when she did pinch him. “Just so you know- I’m gonna tickle you more if you don’t pay attention to me.”

“Oohohoh so thahhaht’s hohohow it ihihis? I’hihihll hahahve to ihihihgnore yooohohu more ohohoften- EHEHEHEK!” She squealed when he went for that bad spot again, digging ruthlessly into it. “Shahhaharkau pleahahhahahhase!”

“Take it back!” He demanded, nose to nose with her with eyes full of warmth. “Take it back right now.”

“Fiihihih-EHEHEHE! FIHIHIHNE! I thahahake it bhahahack! I tahhahke it bahahahck!” She really needed to watch her mouth around him. With another kiss to her giggly lips, he finally stopped tickling her- pulling her lightheaded form into his arms as they laid back in bed. Gasping for air, she clung to him- truly believing at some point this was the end.

Well, technically they were already dead. Not a terrible way to go out, though.

“You good?” He asked her in a soft voice, running his fingers against her messy braid as she nuzzled further in his chest. Now that the tickling was over, she felt a wave of embarrassment flush through her body- the high from all that giggling coming down. “Did I go too far?”

“You’re fine.” She reassured him, wrapping her arms around his waist in an exhausted hug. “I just feel really good right now. And embarrassed. A ticklish Hell Guardian- how silly is that?”

Sharaku laughed beneath her, rubbing her back. “It’s really silly, but it’s not like you’re the only one here who’s ticklish. Everyone is.”

She blinked a few times, the words melting into the cracks of her mind. “Everyone?”

“Yeah- especially Kiku. Something about those hyper-senses or whatever.” That made sense to her. She could see their resident wolf being ticklish. Yona as well. Goemon was hard to picture, but she couldn’t deny it felt like a genuine possibility.

And then there was…

“I know what you’re thinking.” He met her gaze with a small pout. “Yes, I am too. But if you tickle me, I’ll tickle you back tenfold. I’ll get you so bad, you’ll have to explain to the guys why you ended up in the onsen after.”

Rin could barely hold back her smile- let alone her amusement. Falling into him, she clung to his sweater with a hearty laugh, feeling him tremble beneath her as he joined in. “I lohohove you so muhuhuch, Shahaharaku!”

“God, I love you too, you dork!” He pulled her closer and rolled them on their sides, nuzzling and kissing her neck until she was practically squealing once more.

She’d get him back eventually. Maybe not today, but definitely at some point. For now though, she let herself enjoy her big cat of a boyfriend and his silly antics.

Thanks for reading!

[shy-urban-hobbit]

8 with Lambert & Vesemir please if you want to 💕

8 - "I'm really disappointed in you."

I had two ideas for this one and I really wanted to write both so we have a modern au humour drabble with a little bit of role reversal which Lambert is way too happy about and/or fluffy/angst child Lambert under the cut where Vesemir learns Lambert doesn't use words to apologise (CW on that one for implied abuse/corporal punishment).

"I'm really disappointed in you." Lambert didn't even try to hide his smile as Vesemir was led out from the cells to the front of the station. Of all the days Geralt and Eskel had to be busy...

"Well, what do you have to say for yourself?" Lambert crowed, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow in a parody of the pose Vesemir adopted every time he'd asked that of his youngest.

"Wrong place, wrong time." He answered as he walked out onto the wet, dark street. It really was - Vesemir had just been minding his own business at a nearby bar when all hell broke loose between a couple of guys and their respective friends. Vesemir wouldn't have gotten involved at all if someone hadn't thrown a right hook at him as he tried to leave and well...old habits and all that. It was just his luck Lambert was the only person available to come and post bail.

He might have realised too late what exactly he'd said, but Lambert certainly didn't. His smile morphed into a full on, shit eating grin as one of his own classic excuses fell from his father's mouth, "I've heard that before!" He yelled out, raising a finger and wagging it in exaggerated sternness, "When are you going to start thinking before you act? I swear, I never have this much trouble with Eskel and Geralt!"

"Are you done?" Vesemir deadpanned from where he was trying to walk ahead of the younger man.

"Not even close." Lambert laughed, jogging slightly to catch up so they were now walking side by side, "Do you have any idea how long I've waited for this opportunity? I'm not stopping until I've gone through your entire repertoire of Disappointed Dad phrases old man!"

Vesemir did an about face, "That's it. I'm seeing if they'll let me spend the night in the drunk tank."

"Ok, ok." Lambert said holding his hands up in a placating gesture, still grinning, "But you have to admit, the irony is pretty fucking funny."

Vesemir gave out a "hmm". He supposed he'd be able to laugh about it in the morning - he wasn't telling Lambert that though.

"C'mon. I'll buy you a drink, we should celebrate this. Vesemir's first run in with the law!"

"What makes you think that was my first?" Vesemir asked, ducking through the door of the first bar they came across and smirking at Lambert's spluttering.

"Wait, what...Vesemir??!"

It was nearing the end of Lambert's first month at Kaer Morhen when it happened. He was confident that he could handle whatever punishment he was about to receive and then Vesemir had gone and said those five words before dismissing him.

"I'm really disappointed in you."

That one phrase had cracked through the walls he'd built up during his short life and had settled unpleasantly in his chest. He'd grown used to people being angry at him thanks to his shit-stain of a father, his mother was the only one who'd ever felt fear for him and there had been absolutely none of that since he arrived here and got shoved into a bare dorm room with six other boys. He didn't think he'd ever had anyone express disappointment in him before - at least, not directly. He wasn't sure how to feel about this, which in turn was making him feel angry.

It wasn't his fault! Voltehre had dared him to try and steal something from one of the alchemy labs. If he hadn't done that, Lambert wouldn't have dropped that stupid ceramic bowl. He'd hidden the pieces as best he could, it had only been one of the smaller ones so it had been pretty easy really. Apparently that hadn't been good enough though as he found himself being summoned to Vesemir's office; where he'd resolutely denied all knowledge despite the evidence staring him right in the face from Vesemir's desk.

"What's up with you?" He looked up from where he'd been sat curled in on himself at the top of the stairs to the boys dorms, definitely not sulking. One of the younger, freshly turned Witchers he recognised as Eskel was leaning against the wall, looking down at him.

"Nothin'. Piss off, asshole." Lambert snarled into his knees.

Eskel only laughed, "Big words from such a small mouth. C'mon, either talk or piss off yourself. You're stinking up the hallway with that sad stench."

"M'not sad." Lambert said petulantly.

"Uh huh."

"Stupid Vesemir."

"What'd you do to get a beating from him?"

"Didn't beat me."

Eskel was silent for a minute before dropping down next to Lambert, "Let me guess. He did the 'I'm not angry, I'm disappointed' thing. Fucking hate that."

Lambert's head shot up in surprise. The last thing he'd expected was for the other to agree with him.

"So. What'd you do?" Eskel prompted again.

For some reason, Lambert found himself telling the whole story. How Vesemir had summoned him to his office to ask him about the broken bowl. How Lambert didn't understand why Vesemir was disappointed when he should be angry, right? That was usually what happened when people who weren't his father broke things (that would still be the fault of Lambert or his mother).

"You do know he'd be able to smell that you'd been in there, right?" Eskel asked from where he was leaning back on his elbows.

Lambert froze. He did now!

"He's not disappointed that you broke it, you know how many of those things we have in storage? He's disappointed that you lied about it. He'd have been able to smell that on you too, just so you know."

They sat in silence as Lambert digested this. That still didn't make sense. He still should have gotten a beating for the lying, shouldn't he?

He didn't realise he'd said that last part out loud until Eskel answered, "Honestly, if it had been any of the other Masters, you probably would have. Vesemir's harsh, but he's not the worst one here. Do you understand why you feel guilty now, though?"

Lambert nodded, "So, how do I make it go away?"

Eskel shrugged as he stood up to leave, "Figure that out yourself. I'm not your damn mother."

Lambert flipped him off in response, tapping his feet as Eskel's words called up thoughts of his mother. How she'd sit trying to salvage whatever his father had destroyed the previous night, how she'd smile that sad smile at him when he'd try to help. Hmm, maybe that was an idea? He picked himself up and hurried down the stairs shouting for Eskel. Maybe he'd know where to find what he needed.

Vesemir turned the bowl over in his hand. Calling the repair work amateur would be being generous. Thick lines of glue making the cracks appear large and obvious and giving the rim a slightly uneven quality, the surface was also uneven in some parts where the adhesive had dried in globs and smears, a couple of spots on his desk suggesting it hadn't fully dried when it had been left. Obviously the work of a child, confirmed by the now familiar scent it was covered in. He thought on the dark rings around Lambert's eyes that morning, his shuffling steps and wandering concentration during training. The lad must have been up all night working on this.

Vesemir gave a small chuckle as he placed it on a high shelf. No good for potion work now, but he'd find some use for it.

[whiteqnn]

PURE [4] - Corpse Husband x Fem! Reader

A/N: I’m back. Shout-out to my sister @mojajasnoscmrokirozproszy , who encouraged me into finishing this part.

part 1 

part 2 

part 3 

part 5

PURE [4] 

Corpse was confused, to say the least. He stared at the screen with his brows furrowed, not exactly understanding what just happened, or what caused Y/N to leave so suddenly. He thought they were all having fun, or at least that’s the impression Y/N gave while interacting with other players. 

Was she just pretending she’d had fun when in reality, she didn’t want to spend time with them? 

He knew it was none of his business. They didn’t even know each other, outside of these two short games they’ve both been part of. But Corpse was quick to get attached to new people, and Y/N’s sweet voice, her innocent demeanor, and pure personality made him instantly like her... 

Perhaps it wasn’t exactly a good thing that he felt so worried when she left, given the fact that two of them have spoken maybe for a few minutes since they met each other. But Corpse couldn’t help it, and certainly couldn’t stop this weird feeling that something was wrong and that he needed to make sure that Y/N was okay. After all, he was the only one who knew that she left. Except for his audience, of course. 

So the moment her white little astronaut suddenly disappeared, Corpse went on a killing spree. He didn’t even care about that whole finish my lyrics thing he decided to terrorize his friends with, he just wanted to finish this game and check on Y/N. It was obvious that she wasn’t telling the truth. Even though it looked like she was trying really hard to contain her emotions, he could still hear her quavering voice. It was too hard to hide, and he knew it firsthand. That’s why he made it his point to at least check on her.  

“Jesus Corpse, you just went full berserk on us...” Felix murmured when the last person was killed, and Corpse could see a sign victory on his screen. It didn’t make him smile though, not how it usually would. 

“It was great though! Let’s do it again, but maybe on the other map?” Sykkuno suggested, clearly very excited about this hide and seek game they’ve come up with. 

“Sure, let’s get the first one maybe?”

“Actually, would you guys mind if we had a little break?” Corpse asked before they could start another game. “We’ve been playing for a little while now...”

“Ah, yeah! Bathroom break!” came Rae’s response, followed by a few hums of approval. Corpse sighed in relief. He was afraid his worried voice would draw the attention of other players, but they didn’t seem to notice it. 

“All right, is ten minutes good?” asked Sean, and when everyone agreed, Corpse excused himself from his audience and muted his mic. He grabbed his phone and unlocked it, only to be hit by a sudden realization.

He didn’t even have Y/N’s number. 

“Fuck...” he cursed quietly under his breath, running a hand through his hair. How the fuck was he supposed to check on her? He couldn’t use discord, he was still streaming after all... Maybe Twitter would work? Nah, she probably wouldn’t even notice his messages. What was left then?

Of course. 

Sean.

Corpse didn’t even think about any explanation as he quickly typed in a message to the said man, asking if he had Y/N’s number. The response came almost immediately. 

“Yeah, I have. Why?” 

Okay, now what? He couldn’t just tell him what happened. Corpse knew that Sean and Y/N were close, but he felt like it wouldn’t be fair towards the girl if he told Sean what happened. Maybe she didn’t want anyone to know... Maybe she didn’t want to speak to anyone. 

Him included. 

But Corpse felt as if he had to do it because that was something he wished someone would do for him if the roles were reversed. To at least show that he cared, that she wasn’t alone with whatever it was that bothered her... 

Was he being intrusive, for wanting to make sure that everything was okay? And what if she was totally fine and he’d just end up making a complete fool out of himself?

“Not that I haven’t already made a fool out of myself...” he mumbled under his breath, his fingers quickly typing the response to Sean. However, before he could finish it, the said man’s name appeared on his screen with an upcoming call. 

It was so unexpected that Corpse almost dropped the phone.

“Um, hey man” he said after picking up, his hands trembling as he tried to come up with some good explanation as to why exactly he needed Y/N’s number. “Look I-”

“Does this have something to do with her disappearance?” Sean cut him off, leaving Corpse with his mouth hung open, utterly shocked.  

“I um- no. I just wanted to call her and... cause I don’t have her number...”

“Corpse, I heard what she had told you...” Sean sighed into the phone “I was flying around you after you murdered me.”

“I...” Corpse tried once again and again found himself at the loss of words. His brows furrowed suddenly as he realized something “Wait- are you still streaming?” 

“I left for a moment to grab something to drink and call Y/N. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t say anything on the stream.” 

Corpse sighed in relief. If Sean managed to somehow play it off, then his fans maybe haven’t figured out what was going on. He didn’t want them to attack Y/N’s social media with tons of questions she obviously wouldn’t answer. 

“Do you know what happened?” Corpse asked quietly, hoping that maybe Sean knew something more that would ease his nerves. He hoped that it wasn’t anything serious, that maybe Y/N just had a bad day. “She left so suddenly and I got a little worried...” 

For a moment there was silence between the two of them, Corpse impatiently awaiting an answer and Sean thinking about the right words... or wondering whether he should tell him the reason for Y/N’s disappearance in the first place. 

“It’s- ugh.” Sean groaned, before letting out a heavy sigh “It stays between us, all right? I don’t want others to start texting her out of nowhere, asking if she’s okay. She would probably kill me.”

“Yeah, absolutely” Corpse nodded his head rapidly, even though Sean couldn’t see him. 

“Okay... So I don’t know the exact reason of her disappearance...” he began, and Corpse felt his heart sink in disappointment. “But I have some suspicion.”

“Can you be a little more specific, Sean? We don’t have much time before the next game...” Corpse didn’t want to sound rude but he was slowly growing impatient, and even more nervous when he still wasn’t able to check on Y/N and make sure that she’s okay.

“She received lots of hate after our last stream.” Sean finally explained, although his voice sounded quite reluctant. “And when I say lots, I mean lots, Corpse.”

“What?” Corpse grunted, his brows knitted together in confusion “What do you mean?”

“Oh you know, man... Comments on Twitter, on her Instagram, even under her latest video...” Sean let out an exasperated sigh “Apparently, some people are not happy that she’s playing with us.”

“Why?” Corpse managed to utter, completely shocked at the news. For some reason, it was the last thing he expected Sean to say. It didn’t even cross his mind that someone as sweet and polite as Y/N might have to deal with this kind of issue. 

She was always so kind, why would anyone hate on her? 

“You know how some people act online...” Sean murmured, his voice clearly gloomy, as opposed to his usual cheerful tone. “They think she shouldn’t be playing with us cause she’s not popular enough. Some consider her annoying, not funny enough, and so on...”

“What does popularity have to do with who we’re playing with?” Corpse almost growled these words, feeling anger slowly bubbling up in his stomach. He couldn’t comprehend why anyone would act this way towards Y/N, towards this little angel as Sean put it last time they played, towards this sweet, innocent girl, his partner in crime... 

“That’s what I told her before the stream” Sean explained with a sigh “And that she shouldn’t worry about what strangers think of her... but it’s easier said than done.” 

“You think she received another text or something?”

“I don’t know man” Sean sighed “I tried calling her like ten times already and she didn’t answer. It’s not like her to leave so suddenly, without saying goodbye. I’m worried something happened...” 

Corpse clenched his jaw, closing his eyes for a second. If Y/N didn’t answer Sean’s calls, why would she answer his? They barely knew each other, while Sean was her best friend.  

“Maybe... I’ll try calling her?” Corpse suggested anyway, his voice low and almost shy. He figured it was worth at least a try. 

Sean was quiet for a moment as if contemplating what to do. They were already running out of time, and Corpse didn’t know what to do. On one hand, he didn’t want to end the stream and leave his fans, he felt bad at the thought alone of disappearing so soon and disappointing them... But on the other, he couldn’t just leave Y/N like that. Especially, since as Sean explained, it wasn’t like her to act this way. It only proved that whatever happened was rather serious.

“Y’know what?” Sean suddenly said “I’ll give you her number, maybe she’ll pick up from you.”

“Thank you, Sean” Corpse said quietly, ready to end the call, only to be stopped by Sean’s words. 

“Look... I know I shouldn’t be asking you to do it, but... could you maybe try talking some sense into her?” he asked, clearly uncomfortable with this request “I feel like you’d be able to calm her down...”

“I...” Corpse stuttered, running a hand through his hair “I’ll try, okay? I’m not sure if she’ll want to talk about it though, I’m basically a stranger, so...”

“Corpse, she agreed to join us only after reading your last tweet.” 

Oh. 

His heart fluttered with something that didn’t seem like growing panic. And even though his face was expressing his worry, his lip corners formed a small, bashful smile. And whether he liked it or not, his cheeks turned completely red.

“I’ll... I’ll see what I can do” he managed to reply, before ending the call. 

Corpse ran a hand through his locks and down his face, releasing a heavy breath he didn’t know he was holding. He considered getting Y/N’s number a difficult task which, however, turned out to be the easiest one. Now came the real challenge. Calling her. 

For a moment, he just stared at the screen of his phone, scanning the new message from Sean, which consisted of Y/N’s phone number. It looked as if he was memorizing the number when in reality, he just felt panic overtaking his body and complete chaos in his mind. 

Let’s say she picks up the phone, and then what? Should he just say hi? Introduce himself? 

“Hi it’s me, the guy you basically don’t know and who became paranoid after you disappeared from the game” 

 Yeah, sure. Perfect introduction for the pep talk he was supposed to deliver. 

Why was it always that he acted almost as if on instinct one second, only to start having second thoughts a moment later. He couldn’t back out now when he had already got her number. Not when there was also another person counting on him. Not when he still didn’t know what the fuck happened, and for some reason was determined to find out. 

And then was the problem of his voice, which suddenly seemed stuck in his throat. It was a very weird feeling, typical for one to get while being on the verge of a panic attack. As if there was a need to talk, but the body refused to. As if his vocal cords were paralyzed and not eager to cooperate. 

As if it was him who just experienced something strongly upsetting, not Y/N. 

Corpse fidgeted with his phone for a moment, before deciding against the idea of calling the girl. He figured he wouldn’t be able to utter a single word if she picked up the phone from the unknown number in the first place. If she did though, she’d probably consider it some misdialed call or some prank. Which was the last thing he wanted her to think.

Instead, he opted on sending her a text. 

He sat still for a moment, thinking about a message that wouldn’t right away reveal the cause of his concern, but which would say enough to figure out who sent it. His thoughts drifted back to the game they were both playing, remembering his stupid comments and her gentle voice. His fingers typed out the message almost automatically. 

“Wanna jump into the lava with me?”

He hesitated just for a second, before sending the text, his heart doing a backflip in his chest the moment he pressed the send button. Corpse gripped the phone tightly in his hands, his eyes staring at the screen and waiting impatiently for those three little dots indicating that the other person is typing a response to appear. He waited and waited, and a lump slowly formed in his throat when Y/N didn’t respond immediately. 

Was he really getting paranoid? 

Maybe he was just tired. Or she had a bad day. Or she just found this game boring.

Or she didn’t want to play with them. Or she thought his comments were annoying. 

“I’m an idiot” Corpse muttered to himself and slapped a hand on his forehead, pushing those thoughts away. Deep down he knew that wasn’t the case, but the longer Y/N didn’t respond, the louder was the voice at the back of his head, telling him that her problems were none of his business and he shouldn’t be asking for her number in the first place.

But it was the right thing to do. He knew it, Sean knew it, and Corpse also hoped that Y/N did not perceive his text as some pathetic joke. He waited for a couple of minutes, before typing another message:

“I’m here, partner, if you need to talk.” 

He felt the need to assure her that despite the ongoing stream and the other players probably already waiting for him to return, he was there for her. That’s what he considered the best option, not to force her into talking, but to let her know that she wasn’t alone. And that it would take just one word from her to make Corpse drop everything and listen to her. 

After what seemed like an eternity of staring at his phone and analyzing his own messages, Corpse put his phone away, realizing that Y/N wasn’t going to reply anytime soon. He couldn’t help but feel disappointed in himself, and guilty as well. Perhaps it would be a better idea to call her, but at that moment he wasn’t able to trust his own voice. He thought about sending her another message but decided against it. Another new text was probably the last thing she needed, with her phone being drowned by hundreds of notifications from angered, and worried fans. 

All Corpse could do was hope that she saw his texts and that she knew she wasn’t all alone. He sure as hell wasn’t going to make her feel as if she was obliged to confide in him. After all, he was a stranger. 

Then again... sometimes to understand a problem and look at it from a different, new perspective, what one needed was, indeed, a complete stranger. 

-

The next two hours felt almost like an eternity. And a complete hell to Corpse. He tried his best to focus on the game and interacting with his fans, but no matter what, his eyes would drift towards his phone every now and then. Hoping to see Y/N’s name pop up on his screen, with a message saying that everything was fine. 

But then again... would it be enough to calm his nerves? Maybe she’d write something like that just so he wouldn’t worry. Just so he would leave her alone.

She might as well just tell him to fuck off...

The fact that he received so many notifications all the time, especially now, during a stream, didn’t really help. Each time his phone lit up with a new notification, he would crane his neck with the hope of seeing Y/N’s response, only to be disappointed when it turned out to be just some new comment or someone tagging him in an instastory. Something that usually made him really happy now was the reason for his irritation. 

He couldn’t focus on the game itself either, finding it difficult to do his tasks and form some logical arguments during discussions. He didn’t really care, to be honest, when people threw him away almost at the start of the game. Winning or being the best Impostor was currently the last thing on his mind.

So when he said his goodbyes after the last round of Among Us and ended the stream, after thanking his fans, Corpse didn’t know what to do with himself. The game, even though he didn’t really pay much attention to it, provided at least some distraction from his phone, which was still silent when it came to Y/N’s texts. She either didn’t see them or didn’t want to see them. Corpse could only guess what was her reaction if there was any. 

He’d exchanged a few messages with Sean though, the man asking about Y/N during the stream and after it ended. Corpse couldn’t stop the guilt from growing even more when Sean expressed his concerns regarding Y/N and her absence. He knew the older streamer counted on him when it came to checking on the girl, but, obviously, he failed at getting a simple message from her. 

What was he even hoping to achieve in the first place? That she will text back right away, telling him everything that bothered her, confessing all her problems? He would have to be a total idiot to expect this girl to react to his messages.

It was all so overwhelming and frustrating at the same time that he felt almost nauseous. 

Leaving his phone in his room, Corpse walked to his small kitchen to grab a glass of water. The cold liquid brought much-needed relief to his burning throat, giving him a momentary sensation of comfort. He tested his voice, clearing his throat carefully and mumbling some nonsense under his breath. A sigh left his lips once he realized he could talk again and this weird feeling disappeared. 

He splashed his face with cold water and returned to his room, plopping down on his chair and giving his phone a quick glance. Perhaps he didn’t expect Y/N to reply to his texts at all because at first, he didn’t even notice her name on the screen of his phone. He looked back to his computer, almost out of habit, glancing between the tabs he had opened on his screen before. 

And it struck him suddenly, making him almost jump out of his skin when he realized that she did text him back. 

Grabbing his phone quickly, he unlocked it and opened the messages, almost hitting the one with Y/N’s name on it. 

“Hey, partner.” was all the message said. And yet it made Corpse’s heart almost jump out of his chest, both from relief and a sudden feeling of panic. 

She texted him back. Now, what the fuck was he supposed to do?! 

He stared at her text for a second as if trying to convince himself that it was real and he didn’t accidentally pass out on his desk, dreaming that Y/N takes his comments and texts seriously. 

When he came to the conclusion that the text was, indeed, real, and Y/N probably expected him to write something back, he thought about the best way of asking her what happened. On one hand, he knew from Sean what could possibly be the reason for her disappearance. On the other, what obviously mattered was Y/N’s version. How to get it out of her though, without being too intrusive?

Corpse decided that the best option will be to make some dumb, small talk, which would ease her (and his) nerves.

“Y’know, I almost didn’t manage to finish the mission without you” he texted her, concluding that playing along this partner thing would maybe work. In his text, Corpse referred to the one time he was the Impostor after Y/N left, and which happened to be completely boring without her running around “Had Toast and others suspecting my every step all the time.”

This time, much to his relief, the three little dots appeared almost immediately.

“I’m glad you managed to kill’em all nevertheless.”

He imagined her saying it with that sweet voice of hers, which made him snicker, whether he liked it or not. While thinking of some right response, Corpse couldn’t help but wonder how did she know that he managed to kill every crewmate during that round... she wasn’t playing anymore then, so that could only mean she watched his stream.

“Not gonna lie though, everything would go way smoother hadn’t my partner in crime left me on the battlefield all alone :/” he texted her back. Corpse watched intently as the three dots danced next to Y/N’s name and suddenly disappeared, then appeared back again after a few moments, only to disappear again. And for a second he panicked, that maybe this text sounded passive aggressive, or that it made Y/N blame herself for leaving the game... 

However, when her response finally came, he realized he was wrong.

“Can I call you, Corpse?” 

For the first time in a really long time, Corpse was so eager to agree on a phone call.

He replied frantically, telling her that of course, she could call him, and then waiting impatiently for the call. And when she didn’t call immediately, like he expected her to, he found himself wondering if she suddenly changed her mind and decided against the idea of calling him. 

But then his phone buzzed and her name appeared on the screen.

The device almost flew out of his hands, his heartbeat quickening and a lump forming in his throat once again.

Relax, man. It’s Y/N, your partner in crime. You’ve heard her voice before. 

But this was different. The circumstances were different and the reason for a call was different too. And now it was just the two of them, as opposed to a lobby full of friends. And Corpse tried so hard to figure out how to convince her that all the hate she receives on social media didn’t mean anything, that for a moment he forgot she was still calling.

He pressed the green button carefully, as if he was defusing a bomb, and found himself unable to utter a single word, just like before. There was silence on the other line too, as if Y/N expected him to speak up first. 

So Corpse build up the courage and took in a deep breath, before letting out a quiet, almost shy:

“Hi”

 The word left his mouth almost as a whisper, and for a moment he thought that the girl didn’t even hear it, but then her voice told him otherwise.

“Hey... Corpse” she mumbled. She sounded so different, almost as if she was sick. Her calm and soft voice was so quiet that Corpse had some trouble hearing her at first. She sounded so tired, so hurt, so defeated, that he completely forgot every advice he had managed to stock in his mind before this call. 

“It’s good to hear you, partner.” he said after a moment, realizing that asking what’s wrong wasn’t the best thing he could do at that moment. He felt that she’d probably hung up on him if he did... “I didn’t think I’d hear from you after you aborted the mission.”

He heard her sigh out a laugh at his words, his tone playfully accusatory. The girl cleared her throat and wondered for a second, before replying:

“It wasn’t exactly my mission... And if I remember correctly, you were the one who broke our partnership, chasing me around the ship.” 

He could almost hear the smile behind her words, which made his lip corners curl up slightly. He was glad she still managed to joke with him. It meant that, perhaps, it wasn’t that bad. 

“Did I kill you, though?” 

“You would if you had a chance.”

“I had plenty of chances Y/N, and I never took one” he replied right away with a chuckle. “I may be the murderer, but I’m no traitor.”

“You say that after luring me to that lava pit and killing me and Sykkuno? It was a trap all along, wasn’t it?” she asked suspiciously, but he knew she was joking “I bet you were conspiring with MrBeast all this time...”

“How dare you” he scoffed, trying to hold back his chuckle “I took you there cause it’s a special place, it was no trap! It just happened to be the wrong place and the wrong time...”

“Sure, partner”

“I’m serious!” he laughed “Besides - I apologized, and if I remember correctly, I think we both agreed that I jumped into that lava pit for you after all...”

“After they voted you off! You didn’t have any other chance!”

“Maybe it was all planned?” he said, changing his voice to more mysterious “Maybe I conspired with MrBeast so I could jump into that lava pit... and the only way to do it is by being voted off. So, either way, I kept my word.”

“Fine... whatever.”

Their laughter died down and was replaced by surprisingly comfortable silence. Corpse was happy with how the conversation started - he believed it would be easier for Y/N to explain what happened now, if she wished to explain, of course. 

“Y’know...” he began after a second, deciding to change the subject and finally address the issue. “Partners are supposed to help each other... and be there when the other person is in need...”

He was careful with his words, being full aware that Y/N might find it uncomfortable to share her problems with him. He wanted to encourage her, just slightly, if his previous texts weren’t enough. 

She sighed quietly and he could sense her reluctance. 

“But only if the other person wants partner’s help.” he added after a moment, keeping his voice as soft as he could. Y/N didn’t respond right away, but she didn’t hang up either, which Corpse took as a good sign. He gave her a couple of seconds to collect her thoughts, before asking another question: 

“What made you so upset, Y/N/N?”

He could hear her inhale the air sharply as if she had trouble breathing steadily. The line went silent, not that Corpse was surprised. He waited patiently, giving the girl the time she needed to decide whether she wanted to answer that question and what words should she choose if she did. 

And when she finally spoke up, Corpse felt as if his heart could break.

“They are just so mean...” she almost whispered, her voice cracking. He didn’t have to ask whom she meant, it was obvious. “And I don’t even know why... I didn’t do anything to those people, and yet they are so mean towards me.”

Corpse hummed in response, allowing her to keep talking. If there was one thing he knew that helped coping with stress, it was sharing it with someone else. And even though he himself had a lot on his plate, he felt the need to be that someone for Y/N. 

“I... I don’t want you to think that I’m some crybaby, who takes everything super seriously and can’t take a joke, but...” she stuttered for a moment and Corpse fought the urge to cut her off and tell her that what he thinks of her is the complete opposite. “But those comments... those weren’t jokes, Corpse. I don’t think anyone would find them funny.”

His heart ached at the sound of her quiet, weak voice. And then it angered him, that some anonymous haters managed to upset this cheerful, innocent person. How could anyone do something like that to Y/N?

“I... I’m sorry for telling you this...” she suddenly trailed off, sounding rather awkward and uncomfortable. “I shouldn’t be bothering you with my silly problems...”

“They aren’t silly as long as they are problems to you, Y/N.” 

“Yeah, but... I’m sure everyone from the group has received such comments at some point of their career... or maybe they still receive them...” she murmured almost embarrassed. “Maybe it’s no such a big deal after all...”

“Let me ask you something” Corpse said, feeling anger bubbling up in his stomach. Not directed at Y/N, of course, but at the people who made her think this way. “Imagine that someone, let’s say me, calls you because of the same reason. Would you consider telling me that online hate, or any hate for that matter, is not a big deal? That those are just my silly problems” 

She was silent for a moment, thinking about his question, and probably not expecting it in the first place. However, after a few seconds of initial surprise, she replied firmly:

“Of course not.” 

“Then why are you trying to convince yourself that they are?” he asked in what would sound like an accusatory tone, but in reality was just his voice laced with worry. “There’s no such thing as a silly problem Y/N, as long as it bothers you. If you consider it a problem, then it is a problem. And the fact that other people receive similar, or even worse comments, doesn’t mean anything. Maybe just that they are longer on Youtube and they’ve learned to deal with this kind of stuff... And your reaction? It doesn’t make you a crybaby and please Y/N, don’t ever think that way about yourself.”

He said it all so quickly and almost on one breath, letting all his frustration out and trying to form his babbling into some logical statement. 

“I understand what you’re going through...” he confessed after a moment of silence between them. “I know what it’s like to go through the ocean of positive comments and find those few which say something completely different... something that is meant to hurt you and humiliate you... Something that ruins your day, or even a couple of next few days or weeks... Something that completely overshadows everything else you’ve read about yourself. Something that people write from the safety of their own computers or phones, without showing their faces and remaining completely anonymous.”

For a moment, Corpse allowed himself to speak about his own experience, thinking that maybe when Y/N realizes that he knew exactly what she was dealing with, it would make it easier for her. “And that is the key fact, Y/N, that they are anonymous. They do what they do because no one can see them because it is comfortable for them to leave a hate comment and not face any consequences. Because they don’t have to face the person their hate is directed towards.”

“Some of the accounts were not anonymous...” Y/N mumbled, and Corpse could clearly hear that she was speaking through the tears. “People were using their public accounts, with photos and everything...”

“But let me guess, those comments weren’t even about your videos, huh? They weren’t about any of your work?” 

“Well...” she whispered, thinking about Corpse’s question. “Truth to be said, no. Most of them just looked like some kind of a personal attack on me...” 

“Exactly. It’s not even criticism, it’s just plain bullshit cowards are sharing online. They probably aren’t even able to form some logical sentence, they just combine some random words which are supposed to hurt you.”

“It works...”

“Y/N...” Corpse sighed into the phone, hearing her defeated tone. “Let me ask you another question, okay?” she hummed in response, and Corpse cleared his throat. “Tell me, whose opinion matters to you the most?”

“My friends... and my fans��“she said.

“Okay.. and whom do you consider your fan?”

“Someone who finds the content I create interesting and entertaining and takes his time to watch my videos.” she replied right away.

“Okay. Do you think that people who left those comments took their time to even watch your videos?” 

“Probably not...” she replied after a second. “Look, I know what you mean Corpse... That I shouldn’t worry about it because they are not my fans and therefore their opinion shouldn’t matter... but that’s not the case. It’s the fact alone that for some reason people spend their time hating me when I didn’t even do anything to them.”

“You didn’t do anything to them.” Corpse repeated her own words in his deep voice. “And they didn’t watch your videos. It seems like they don’t have any reason to leave those comments, right?” he asked. “I know that it’s hard Y/N, I really do, but the truth is, you can’t really have everyone leaving positive feedback under your content... There will always be someone who will consider it a good idea to send you a hateful message, just because they can, not because they have any specific reason to. Now I don’t say that’s okay... but it’s in a way like some disease. The one there’s no cure for. Even though you can’t cure it, you can make yourself immune.” 

“How, Corpse? How do you make yourself immune to messages saying that you’re a fucking annoying bitch, that you don’t deserve what you have? That you don’t deserve your friends, and you are not good enough to play with them? To spend your time with them? How do you deal with comments suggesting that you should go and kill yourself, because you’re not famous enough, and you will never be?” 

Her voice suddenly rose, and Corpse felt as his heartbeat quickened with each comment she described. He gripped his hand around the phone, his knuckles turning white and his brows furrowing in an expression of pure fury. 

He considered her words for a moment, trying to come up with the best advice, but realized there wasn’t any that would satisfy her. He could imagine the state she was in, she probably wouldn’t take any of his advice seriously. And he wouldn’t blame her for that. 

“I’m sorry for snapping on you...” she suddenly said, her voice back to its soft tone. “It’s just too much for me to handle...”

“It’s all good, Y/N, don’t apologize. You have the full right to be angry and to show it. I just want you to remember that...” Corpse gulped the lump in his throat, feeling his cheeks getting warmer. “Those comments are not what define you. As a matter of fact, they’re not even about you. You know why? Because people who write them don’t know you. They don’t even take a moment to acknowledge what an intelligent and talented person you are, not to mention how kind... but I do. A-and everyone else too.”

She was silent for a moment, and Corpse panicked, that maybe he said too much, or made things awkward again. But then she spoke up, her slightly less weak than before.

“I suppose... maybe you’re right, Corpse.” she said, still sounding a little bit unconvinced. He understood, it was clear his one pep talk wouldn’t suddenly make her forget about it. It would be like telling a person with depression to stop having depression and expecting them to suddenly feel better. “Thank you. For listening to my pathetic babbling... and for not telling me to just pull myself together.”

“First of all, your babbling is not pathetic...” he began “Second of all... I know we don’t really know each other, but... If you ever feel the need to talk to someone, I’m here.”

“And for that I’m grateful, Corpse” she said, clearly smiling. “Sorry, I mean, partner.”

“Partner.” he chuckled into the phone, smiling from ear to ear. 

“It’s getting late...” she yawned into the phone. “Sorry. I think I’ll go to sleep, I’m really tired...”

“Of course” Corpse replied, hiding the disappointment in his voice. He really enjoyed talking to her, just to her alone, but he understood that the whole conversation and the event preceding it probably exhausted her. 

“Hey...” she suddenly said, and Corpse could swear that her voice sounded as if she unexpectedly became shy. “Um... it was really great talking to you, you’re a really good listener, Corpse.”

“Glad to hear that” he smiled happily.

“Um... would you mind if I called you tomorrow too?” she asked so quietly that he almost didn’t catch it, his breath hitching in his throat. “If you have time that is... if you don’t, or if you have some super plans, then I understand, it’s fine-”

“I don’t have any super plans, Y/N” he couldn’t help but chuckle, finding her nervous banter adorable. “Call me whenever you want.”

“Okay...” she sighed, almost in relief, but Corpse didn’t want to point it out to embarrass her even more. “So... let’s say, around 2 pm?” 

“Sounds good to me.”

“Great.” she said, her voice trailing off a bit. “I’m falling asleep here, Corpse... Thank you once again, for everything.”

“Anytime, Y/N.”

“Good night, partner.”

“Goodnight, partner.” 

-

Part 5 coming soon. It will probably be the last part of this series, I’m not sure yet though.

TAG LIST FOR PURE IS CLOSED. 

TAG LIST FOR CORPSE REQUESTS/OTHER FICS IS OPEN (if you want to be tagged, please send me a text)

@slytherin-chan @pillowjj @afuckingunicornn @love-and-virtues @ignooynim @crapimahuman @hannahjsworld @laugh-like-the-moon @fallengoddess772 @kingric03 @dolphinpink310 @paigeyisme @bunnychano3o @dxrtygxrl28 @z-nyx @baby-iyania @trashygeek @qmalley @yn-dreamlife @queenshadow142003 @daughterofsmokeandbone23 @my-little-art-world99 @yoongi-holland @rinarecommends @psychoticunicornsblog @goldensunshinestyle @unstableye @pastelvixenbeauty @weallneednamjesus @benakenalove @corpsesimpp @xenos-sonex @jellicorn05 @must-be-a-weasley-92 @keijikunn @infinitely-kate @thisshitisfuckingdifficult @summerbbygirl @mygirlviolet @eat-your-veggies @evans-dejong @jeffxx @weepingdonuthumancookie @myinnergayistakingover @i-love-scott-mccall @thecanterburywitch @annshit @blood-of-fandoms @namjoons-crabssss @guadu-chan @harleyharleycrow @stormyskys13 @soft4kei @ukai-hoe @that-chick212 @campcampie @cookiewhoree @ukiyolixx @princess-skate @newtaholic-staygold @unknown-and-invisible @cherry-piee @marvelenthusiast3000 @apples-of-february @lovelybrit @wineandionysus @faepetersen @vincent-stargogh @idalinette @ggsmashgg @browneyespinkhair @uwucorpse @fluffylittellama-blog @yoshigguk @queentorresstuff @becihadshawn @winged-reader @x3musicismylife @musubipost @missdox @honeyames @dark-o-room @izthefangirl @l0verl0ser @laurenfangirlsout @asianfrustration13 @hopelessfluff @sacrifice-me-please @stopicouldhaavedroppedmycrossant @sleepingalaska @strangenerdsstuff @otakuartist05 @blossom-702 @astream-ofconsciousness @mythicalamphitrite @infinitelycharmed23 @ s1utforfictionalcharacters @ abrokenlink  @ lestrangeesme  @laazullii @ avesagittarius @ smiithys

[ultimatetrashyfanfic]

Still loving Komahina and I also love hurt/comfort sickfics so this was pretty inevitable. Nagito is very good for sickfics. Anyway, I wanted to show these two trying to navigate a bad illness and all the frightening and sometimes embarrassing things that come with that. Post-hope arc again. With fluff because I can’t NOT do fluff. I hope you enjoy it - Circle

Also on A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34280557

Warning: descriptions of vomiting (I didn’t describe the puke itself or anything, don’t worry, I’m emetophobic myself) and high fevers/vague descriptions of medical procedures.

Hajime noticed at the beach this time - and just like every time, he kicked himself for not noticing before he’d made Nagito leave the cabin. He thought back to when Nagito stumbled as they walked across the island, about how he’d chased every meagre bite of breakfast with a gulp of water like it was difficult to get down. Hajime hadn’t been vigilant enough, and now they were sitting together on the sand and Nagito was leaning far too heavily against his shoulder.

“Nagito?” Hajime said cautiously. When Nagito turned his head, Hajime hastily put a hand to his forehead, managing to catch it before Nagito veered away. “I knew it. You’re burning up.”

Some old routine. Nagito would deflect, then grow self-deprecating; Hajime would shut that down, then begrudgingly carry Nagito back to their cabin. They’d done this dance together over and over, whenever Nagito’s weakened state and illness made something like a common cold seem as serious as smallpox.

It didn’t seem so bad for the next couple of days. Nagito had a fever, but it was a low one, and he ate when Hajime asked and seemed alert and talkative. Hajime felt comfortable leaving him in the care of their friends while he went to Mikan for medicine and advice - though his friends proved to need supervision of their own. He returned to his cabin just as Sonia and Gundham were leaving, reassured when Sonia reported that Nagito wasn’t any worse. At the time, he didn’t notice the splashes of brown paint on Gundham’s bandages or Sonia’s dress.

Hajime stopped short when he stepped over the threshold. There was a gigantic swirly witchy symbol covering almost the whole wall above the bed, the heavy smell of paint in the air. Nagito was peeping over the top of the bedsheets, eyes sparkling.

“What the hell is that?” Hajime couldn’t even sound angry. He was just bloody tired. Why were the Ultimates so dramatic?

“Sonia and Gundham did a ritual for my good health,” Nagito explained. His lip twitched and Hajime knew he was fighting a smile. “I was so honoured to have two Ultimates working to help me that I thought it’d be unspeakably ungrateful to protest.”

“Oh, shut up, Nagito! I can see you just think it’s funny,” Hajime snapped. Nagito snorted and disappeared under the sheets, spluttering.

Hajime sighed and took another look at the giant eyesore on his wall. At least it was painted fairly neatly - and he knew Gundham and Sonia’s hearts were in the right places even if this particular stunt was irritating. He supposed they were trying to help in a weird way. Sonia went along with anything Gundham said, and Hajime didn’t expect Gundham to know you shouldn’t paint giant symbols on other people’s walls without permission. Gundham navigated social interactions like he was going into battle; Hajime doubted he would ask permission for something he clearly saw as a good deed.

“Doesn’t it make your boring plain wall more interesting?” Nagito piped up.

“Don’t push your luck, Nagito.”

“Right. Who knows what pushing my luck will do.”

Later on, Hajime would worry that he’d jinxed them somehow, that whatever strange force was behind Nagito’s Ultimate Luck was malevolent and wanted to teach them a lesson for mocking it - because that night brought disaster. Nagito was usually exceptionally clingy when they were in bed, often to the point where Hajime got so warm he had to pry him off, but now he curled up right on the very edge of the mattress, well away from Hajime. Hajime knew he was awake from his strangely measured breaths and his unusual stillness; Nagito was a restless sleeper. He frequently kicked Hajime in the night and rolled right on top of him and yanked the blankets away. Sometimes Hajime felt like he’d get more sleep on a busy runway as airplanes roared overhead.

Hajime poked Nagito in the back, careful not to tip him right off the bed. “Hey. What’s up?”

He didn’t get a response. Hajime sighed. “Do you think I’m stupid? I know you’re not asleep. You never sleep like that. So what’s going on?”

He wound his arms around Nagito’s waist and tried to pull him closer to get a better look at him, but Nagito winced and slapped his hands away with surprising force. “Don’t,” he gasped, curling up even tighter. “Don’t press…”

“What? Is it your stomach?” This was new. Nagito had been off his food lately, but then he frequently found it difficult to eat. “Do you feel nauseous?”

Silence. Getting information from Nagito was like getting blood from a stone sometimes. Hajime felt Nagito’s forehead in the gloom. His fever had definitely gone up and his skin was clammy. Hajime let his fingers trail down Nagito’s cheeks to his jawline and felt along his neck - the lymph nodes were so swollen they felt like two throbbing ping pong balls.

“Fuck,” Hajime muttered. “I thought we might get through this one without anything too bad.”

He was expecting some strange rambling about how this bad luck would inspire them to hope for good things in the future, but Nagito still didn’t speak. He rolled over and shuffled across the bed, tucking his burning head right under Hajime’s chin. It worried Hajime more than any words could; Nagito didn’t actively seek out comfort unless he was feeling really terrible.

“Hey,” Hajime mumbled, having to spit out a mouthful of Nagito’s unruly curls. “Ugh, your hair keeps getting in my mouth. Look, I know you’re sick and I’m sure it must feel crappy, but you’ll be okay. You’ll probably feel better by tomorrow morning. Right?” Hajime knew he sounded like he was trying to convince himself as well as Nagito.

More silence. Hajime could feel Nagito shivering, and wound his arms around him quickly. He usually teased Nagito for being so chilly all the time, needing his jacket whenever the sun dipped behind the clouds and getting goose pimples in the air conditioned cabins, but it didn’t seem remotely funny anymore. Nagito trembled like he was buried up to his neck in snow, but he certainly didn’t feel cold.

“You’re burning up. Fuck, I think I need to get Mikan,” Hajime said. He felt a hand shoot out and grab hold of his t-shirt, clinging for dear life. Hajime knew he could easily pry Nagito off, but he couldn’t bring himself to try at a time like this. “Okay, don’t freak out. I’ll stay. But I’m going if you get any worse.”

It was after midnight when the vomiting started. They’d already been in the bathroom since eleven, huddled together on the floor by the toilet, sharing a blanket. Nagito kept sleepily begging Hajime to go back to bed and leave him there, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Shut up,” he mumbled. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t be here with me if our roles were reversed.”

“That’s different. You’re you and I’m me,” Nagito whispered. He let his burning head rest against Hajime’s shoulder despite his pleading.

“It shouldn’t be different though. It’s not different, not to me. You’re sick and I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway if I knew you were in here on your own feeling miserable.”

“You have such a kind heart, Hajime. To think you could care so much about someone as worthless as I am.”

“Nagito. If you don’t stop that I’m going to shove your head down the toilet and flush, no matter how sick you are,” Hajime threatened. “You’re not worthless. For the millionth time.”

“You’d think you’d have got tired of saying that by now,” Nagito said.

“I have. Very fucking tired. But I’ll keep saying it until you believe me. Now shut up and try to get some rest. And let me know when you need to throw up. You’re in a position right now that would have you puking down my front and it’s making me nervous.”

Thankfully, Nagito was exceptionally neat about it when he did have to lean over the toilet to vomit. Hajime hooked his white curls back behind his ears and tried not to groan too much. It was unpleasant, obviously, but it was clear Nagito was the one suffering the most right now. He didn’t need Hajime moaning in his ear for him to hurry up - and as the minutes ticked by Hajime found his embarrassment and mild disgust morphing into anxiety. He knew Nagito hadn’t had much to eat these past few days, but the retching and heaving went on well after Nagito had nothing left to bring up. Nagito’s cheeks grew flushed and blotchy, and it wasn’t long before Hajime was the only thing holding him up over the loo, his arms wound around Nagito’s chest. He could feel Nagito’s heart pounding hard against his arms, on and on.

“Come on,” Hajime said eventually. “I’ll get you a bucket or something. You’re not really throwing anything up now anyway. You need to lie down.”

Nagito didn’t respond. He was breathing heavily, his face dripping with sweat. He was gripping the porcelain so hard his knuckles bleached white. Hajime had to pry off his fingers one by one.

“Come on,” he repeated. “I’ll get you something to wipe your face. I know you feel miserable but you can’t stay tethered to the toilet until you die.” He scooped Nagito up into his arms, cradling him as carefully as a newborn. Nagito felt frighteningly hot and damp.

Shaky arms wound around Hajime’s neck and a weak, hoarse voice whispered into his ear. “Death would be welcome at this point…”

“Stop it,” Hajime said firmly. “Don’t go all melodramatic on me. You sound like Gundham.” He carried Nagito to the bed and ran a cloth under the tap. “Here. Shall I do it for you? Then you don’t have to sit up.”

Nagito didn’t react, staring up at the ceiling. He seemed to decide to ignore Hajime at will, and it annoyed him almost as much as Nagito’s self-deprecation.

“Fine, don’t talk to me,” Hajime snapped. “I’ll scrub your face like a baby if you’re going to act like one.” Despite his tone, Hajime ran the damp cloth over Nagito’s skin with unbelievable care and tenderness, going carefully around his eyes and mouth.

Nagito’s eyes flickered over to him. “Well, Nurse Hinata, what’s your diagnosis? Is it curtains for me now? Is this world finally finished with me?”

“No! God, I’ve never known anybody so dramatic,” Hajime said angrily. “It’s just a little stomach flu or something like that. Don’t be so stupid.” He was almost shouting now. It was far easier to get angry than to admit to Nagito that he was scared too, that the knot of panic in his chest was getting tighter by the minute.

Nagito stared at him pityingly. Hajime wanted to slap him and clasp him close all at once.

“I’m going to get Mikan.” He turned to leave, but felt a clammy hand grasp his wrist and hold it with a surprisingly firm, desperate strength. Hajime turned back. “Nagito..?”

Nagito had his head bent, his lips pressed together. He didn’t speak, but he clung to Hajime’s wrist so tightly his fingernails dug in.

“But we need help. I’ll be as fast as I can, I promise. I’ll run all the way,” Hajime tried.

The hand squeezed even tighter.

“Oh fucking hell,” Hajime groaned. “Okay, I won’t leave. But we still need help, so you need to let me go for a second, okay? I promise I won’t go past the door to the cabin.”

A pause. Then Nagito slowly unclamped his fingers and let Hajime break free. He immediately flew to the cabin door, opened it wide and took a deep, long breath inwards. “HEY!” he bellowed, as loud as he could possibly manage. His voice boomed through the still night air. “WE NEED HELP! COME OUT AND HELP US!”

He yelled the same simple lines over and over until a door opened. He’d rather hoped for somebody sensible like Twogami or Mahiru; he ended up with Kazuichi. It made sense really - the sensible people would be asleep at three in the morning, and Kazuichi’s cabin was directly across from Hajime’s.

“What the hell are you screaming about, Hajime?” Kazuichi whined, scrubbing his eyes. His hands were covered with oil and he smeared it across his cheeks. It looked like he was wearing bad war paint. He’d doubtless been hunched over some project he was working on. It usually annoyed Hajime to see his friend neglecting vital things like sleep for his machines, but he was grateful for Souda’s insomnia tonight.

“Kazuichi, come over here, I need your help. Nagito is sick. Like, really sick. I need you to go get Mikan. Please.”

“What? Why can’t you do it?” Kazuichi said indignantly.

“I just… I don’t want to leave him alone, okay?!” Hajime muttered, flustered.

“Awww, Hajime! You loooove him,” Kazuichi cried, spluttering with laughter.

Hajime heard Nagito snort behind him too. He must’ve heard. He felt his cheeks flush crimson. “Kazuichi, will you just fucking go before I throttle you!”

“Stop yelling at me, I’m doing you a favour!” Kazuichi cried, looking wounded - but he ran off in the direction of Mikan’s cabin obediently.

None of them slept much that night. Mikan worked diligently, trying antibiotics and saline drips and ice packs, but she couldn’t get Nagito’s fever down, getting more and more tearfully apologetic as if she was personally blighting him herself. “His fever is dangerously high. We have to find a way of lowering it,” she muttered over and over like a mantra, shaking her head.

Anti-nausea drugs stopped the persistent stomach pains, but Nagito was clearly far from comfortable. He stopped smirking and teasing Hajime, stopped laughing at Kazuichi’s silly jokes. He stopped putting himself down and babbling about how the four Ultimates were so full of kindness and hope to be fussing so much over someone like him. He just stared vacantly up at the ceiling, his eyes foggy and over-bright, his cheeks flushed.

They each toiled in their own way until dawn, when they finally collapsed with exhaustion, squashing up together on Hajime’s bed. They lay there undisturbed until Twogami came looking for them, concerned by the absences at breakfast. He shook Hajime awake, wanting to know why there were four people curled around each other like puppies on his bed, but all Hajime could focus on was Nagito. His head was resting on Hajime’s chest, burning hot through his shirt. The fever was still there. He’d woken up but the nightmare was still going.

It was a mercy that Twogami found them. He sent Mikan off to sleep in her own cabin and made Hajime give a detailed account of the previous night (he let Kazuichi remain asleep at the foot of the bed. Twogami knew he wouldn’t sleep again if he was disturbed, and he wasn’t in the way).

“If he gets any worse, we might have to contact Future Foundation,” Twogami said thoughtfully. “They’ll have more complex medical equipment.”

“We don’t need them,” Hajime snapped. “Especially Makoto.”

He’d thought Kazuichi was still sleeping, but he snorted. “Because Nagito gushes over Makoto. That’s why you don’t like him,” he mumbled sleepily, sitting up.

“Shut up, you hypocrite. Why didn’t you like Gundham before?” Hajime argued.

“I don’t know why you get so fussed, Makoto looks a lot like you.”

“He doesn’t!”

Twogami sighed and crossed his arms like an exasperated parent. “If you two want to bicker you can go do it outside. Nagito needs peace and quiet.” He sounded like a parent too, and the other men quietened immediately and focused on Nagito again.

Nagito didn’t seem to wake up properly. He could open his eyes (though this looked like it was taking an extreme amount of effort) but he didn’t speak or even react very much when somebody spoke to him. He barely blinked when Hajime tried to make him sip water or Kazuichi tapped on his cheek and called his name. Mikan was forced to give him fluids intravenously. When the afternoon brought no improvements, Hajime let Twogami contact Future Foundation for better medicine.

Hajime spent another anxious, sleepless night desperately holding Nagito - though he didn’t feel like Nagito. He hadn’t spoken a single word all day, and though Hajime was trying to be optimistic, he could feel panic pooling in his stomach like oil. Would the medicine get here in time? Would it even work? Nagito was so sick, as sick as he’d been with that awful Despair Disease. Hajime remembered how he’d left Nagito alone then; he wouldn’t make that mistake this time. He’d be there for Nagito - if he was even aware of Hajime at this point. It seemed less and less likely. He wasn’t even opening his eyes now. All Hajime could do was hold him, hold onto this lifeless, unresponsive husk that sucked in shallow breaths far too fast. He wondered if the real Nagito was somewhere deep inside, floating aimlessly, or if the fever had fried his brain completely and obliterated the strange, smart, fascinating person Hajime knew. No, surely he was being stupid. It couldn’t be that bad, right? Unless Mikan and Twogami were just being tactful. Maybe they both expected Nagito to perish and just didn’t want to snuff out Hajime’s hope. He clutched the burning body tighter.

“Don’t you dare die,” he whispered fiercely, cupping Nagito’s cheeks. “I mean it. Not after everything that’s happened. You can’t just give up now. You woke up once before. It took you the longest of everyone, but you still came back. Do it again, because I’ll lose my fucking mind if anyone else dies. You’d better fight this.” His eyes burned. Several tiny droplets of water fell onto Nagito’s face.

Hajime waited. He silently begged Nagito to open his eyes, whisper something coherent, clutch his hand… but nothing happened. Hajime held him all night, terrified of drifting off to sleep in case he woke up and found Nagito stone cold and white and still. He’d found Nagito dead once. Bloody and bound, his eyes bulging with pain… No. It wasn’t real, even if it felt real. It wasn’t real it wasn’t real it wasn’t real.

Morning brought the stronger medicine from the Future Foundation. Twogami explained what it was and how it worked, but Hajime was so fuzzy-headed with lack of sleep and stress that he didn’t take any of it in.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” Twogami said doubtfully. “Mikan set up the IV so you don’t have to worry about anything. You could leave one of us here, go get some rest.” He tried for ten minutes to convince him, but Hajime shook his head.

“I can’t leave him. Not until he’s better.”

“You’re so stubborn. At this rate we’ll need to start nursing you along with him,” Twogami muttered, but he left them alone. Mikan left as soon as she could too, apologising even more than usual. Maybe Hajime had been glaring at her? It wasn’t her fault, he just had a splitting headache, but he obviously couldn’t leave to go apologise. Not now.

Time had started to blur. Minutes crawled by like days, but then suddenly an entire hour could disappear in a second. Hajime stayed sitting by Nagito’s side, periodically holding his hand, begging him to squeeze his back. Nagito lay still, but his breathing had evened out considerably since he’d been given this new medication. Hajime tried tickling at his cheeks and smoothing back his hair and Nagito twitched and sighed - tiny reactions, but they were reactions. Hajime hardly dared let himself hope and he definitely didn’t dare let himself sleep, though he was so tired now he had shooting pains behind his eyes.

Later - much later - Kazuichi came back, bringing Hajime toast and coffee. He looked startled by the state he was in. “Good God, Hajime, you look worse than Nagito!”

“Thanks a bunch,” Hajime grumbled. He didn’t touch the toast but took a grateful gulp of coffee.

“Seriously, bro, when did you last sleep? Or eat? Or… shower?” Kazuichi asked, sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed.

“That’s rich, coming from you.”

“Have you seriously not slept since he got sick?”

“How can I?” Hajime snapped. “Will you please stop bleating obvious questions at me, Kazuichi. Yes, I’m fucking tired and hungry and I look like shit right now, I know. But I’m trying to make sure my boyfriend doesn’t die right in front of me, so forgive me if I can’t give much of a fuck about anything else! I don’t have the energy to deal with you right now. So can you please just shut up or fuck off!” He was practically screaming by the end of it. Part of him really wanted Kazuichi to yell back, start a real fight; he was so tired and so frustrated and it was so easy to take it out on Kazuichi.

But Souda didn’t argue. He didn’t speak, but his eyes filled up and he ducked his head to hide his quivering lips. Hajime felt a sudden wave of shame wash over his head. He didn’t want to make Kazuichi cry (even if that was pretty easy to do).

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, putting his head in his hands. “Yes, I’m tired. Tired and miserable. It’s not your fault.”

“I know you’re tired. I thought I could stay here. Keep watch over Nagito for a bit. You can sleep next to him,” Kazuichi said, his voice cracking.

Hajime felt worse than ever. “Shit. I’m sorry.” He grabbed Kazuichi and pulled him into a clumsy hug. “You’re a good friend. Better than me.”

“I’m your best friend, right?” Kazuichi asked hopefully. “You’re not just being nice? Am I actually just annoying?”

“You are annoying. But you’re still my best friend.”

Kazuichi grinned. “Okay. And you’ll get some rest now? I think you really need it, Hajime. You’re so grouchy when you’re tired.”

Hajime rather wanted to grumble about that comment, but he didn’t want to prove Souda’s point. “You’ll wake me up if anything changes with Nagito? Even something tiny. Even if you’re not sure it’s a change, can you wake me up to check?”

“Yes. God, you’re worse than Peko with Fuyuhiko. Do you really love him, Hajime?” Kazuichi asked.

“Look, we’re not at a pre-teen sleepover, Kazuichi. I don’t want to sit here with you and gossip about boys,” Hajime said, shuffling close to Nagito. He wasn’t sure - maybe it was wishful thinking - but he thought Nagito’s body was slightly cooler.

“See what I mean. Grumpy,” Kazuichi mumbled.

Hajime didn’t bother to reply this time. He didn’t think he’d manage to get a wink of sleep with all the stress and worry, but he was out like a light almost immediately, so exhausted he didn’t even dream. He wasn’t sure how long Kazuichi kept vigil at their bedside (several hours, he guessed. Kazuichi was a good friend) but he was gone when Hajime opened his eyes. The silvery dawn light was filtering in through the windows, bathing their furniture in a soft glow. Something was burrowing into Hajime’s chest like a small animal.

“Nagito..?” Hajime mumbled, still half-asleep.

“Of course. Who else do you invite into bed, Hajime?”

“Nobody, dumbass.” Then it clicked and Hajime was instantly awake, peering through the dim light. Nagito truly was awake, looking very pale and sleepy and weak, but his eyes were open. Hajime clutched onto him at once, holding him as tight as he dared. Nagito felt as fragile as glass, like he might shatter altogether if Hajime squeezed too hard.

“Careful, you’ll yank my IV out,” Nagito mumbled, but he buried his face into Hajime’s shoulder too. His skin was still clammy, still warm, but not that terrifying burning anymore. Nagito felt clammy all over. “You should wait till I’ve showered before we do all the tearful reunions.”

“Shut up. I need a shower too,” Hajime said hoarsely. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “Fuck, it’s good to see you awake and talking.”

“How long was I out?”

“Several days. How much do you remember?”

Nagito paused. “I remember the night Mikan and Kazuichi came. It gets a bit muddled after that. Someone tried to make me drink quite a few times. Nothing much then. Except…”

“Except?”

“Perhaps I was dreaming. I couldn’t imagine somebody caring so much for someone like-”

“Oh Christ, I haven’t missed that,” Hajime groaned. “Just tell me what you remember!”

“You. Your voice, telling me not to die. Though it sounded more like you were threatening me not to die. And something dripping on me.”

Hajime felt his face flushing. It seemed like years ago that he’d hovered over Nagito and frantically begged him to keep fighting. “Trust you to remember something embarrassing like that.”

“Were you truly crying?”

“What else would I be doing? Drooling on you?”

“You hardly ever cry.”

“I’ve never seen you that sick before,” Hajime admitted. He held Nagito in the hug so he couldn’t see his face. It was somehow easier to blurt it all out in the gloomy morning half-light. “It was… fucking horrible. I didn’t dare sleep. I haven’t felt scared like that since the simulation. I thought I was going to lose you… just like Chiaki.”

There was a long, pregnant pause. Hajime could feel Nagito’s breath tickling against his neck.

“We smell awful,” Nagito finally whispered.

Hajime started spluttering with laughter. “For God’s sake! Can’t you ever be serious?”

“You know I don’t have any idea how to comfort people. But… you shouldn’t worry so much when I get sick. Not just because I’m me, but because my luck usually comes through for me eventually. It hasn’t let me die yet. Well, except in the simulation.”

“Shut up. Don’t talk about that,” Hajime said quickly. “Izuru has luck too. So that should mean I’m stuck with you forever.”

He rather expected Nagito to shoot back with some sort of self-deprecating response like “poor you” but Nagito was silent for a while. He was practically in Hajime’s lap now, his skinny legs wound around Hajime’s waist.

“Thank you.”

“Hm?” The words were so quiet Hajime barely heard.

“Thank you for taking care of me. Nobody has ever done that before,” Nagito said, his voice as light and delicate as the dawn. He still found it so hard to accept things like this. He’d spent so many years building walls around him and then Hajime had come along and blasted through them in an instant. Nagito felt raw and vulnerable and exposed - but there was a warm feeling in his stomach too, new and unfamiliar.

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat,” Hajime promised.

“You’ll probably have to. My immune system is awful.”

“Then I will. Needing things isn’t bad, Nagito. You’re not meant to do things all alone.”

“The thing we need right now is a wash.”

“Yes. We’d better get that over with first,” Hajime agreed - but despite their words they both remained in their embrace, clinging to each other with desperate strength, long after that sun had risen properly.

[snowbellewells]

CSSNS20: “A Cottage by the Sea” ~ the Epilogue

** A grateful Thank You to @searchingwardrobes once more for this gorgeous cover art!!

** Thank you as well to the @cssns20 event and those who have stuck with this story despite my halting and glacially slow posting schedule. You’ve reached the happily ever after at last! :)

Summary: Princess Emma has always been drawn to the shores of Misthaven, where the sea meets the shore near her parents’ castle. When an unknown boy washes up on the sand, with eyes as fathomless and blue as the waters that brought him to her, he soon becomes Emma’s best friend, her partner in crime, and her other half.  But the tides give and the tides take away, and as her blue-eyed boy sails in her father’s navy and risks all in defense of those who made him family, unexpected danger and challenge will try to tear them apart, and might well show him just where he came from that day he first appeared to her from the sea…”

From the beginning here on Tumblr  or on AO3 ~Epilogue ~

When they could finally bear to part from each other (some hours later, if Emma was honest, a blush flooding into her cheeks upon reflection) they made their way toward her parents’ castle. With Killian’s navigational knowledge and natural instincts, not to mention Emma’s lifelong penchant for wandering the beaches and hilly paths around her kingdom whenever she could do so, it wasn’t long before they could see the familiar spires and turrets rising into the sky in the distance ahead of them.

Despite putting themselves back together as presentably as possible, little could be done for the soaked and rather bedraggled state of their clothes, not that Emma could bring herself to mind very much. They had hardly stopped holding hands since Killian had emerged from the sea and come back to her once more, and returning hand-in-hand was the least of their worries at appearing before the throne.  Raising her fingers entwined with his up to his lips, Killian pressed sweet kisses to her knuckles, looking away from the imposing sight of the castle before them to hold Emma’s gaze intensely with each step they took. “Your parents will be overjoyed to see you return unharmed, Love,” he murmured, humored affection lighting his eyes along with the words. “You must have sent them out of their minds with worry, setting off alone on a fool’s errand the way you did.”

Shaking her head with an indignant huff, Emma managed to break away from his incendiary stare to defend herself. “I don’t see why they should expect anything else! Either of them would have done the same if the other were missing. Are they not the fabled True Loves who claim they will always find each other?” She tossed her disheveled mane of curls saucily when he had the nerve to snicker at her pique. Narrowing her green eyes at him. Emma went in for the kill. “Thank that’s funny, do you? Well, I suppose you’re going to tell me you would simply sit in safety and comfort doing nothing if our roles were reversed and I had gone missing?”

That did stop the humored teasing in his manner. There was no way he could ever lie to her, and they both knew he would do anything, cross any distance or boundary to come to her aid if she needed him, so he really had no denial to offer. 

“That’s what I thought,” Emma concluded with a smart little bob of her chin. And then, shaking the fraught moment off - she had too much to be overjoyed for at present - she leaned into his side to whisper against his still half-bared warm chest, “And that’s exactly as it should be.”

Killian merely hummed noncommittally low in his throat. He was not about to admit for a moment that he was flattered and touched that Emma had come seeking him against all odds. He was - infinitely so - but he would never consider his own life or limb worth his princess putting herself at risk. It had been a revelation to see her once more when her trusty little skiff had appeared on the horizon, but if she had not made it to Calypso’s island… if she had been lost…

Rather than answering her directly, he offered a gentle smile which stirred something delicate and warm in her stomach despite the interlude in the surf they had already shared. Shaking her head, Emma eyed him with knowing fondness before she reminding him sincerely, “They love you too, you know that, right? You are the one they will be overjoyed to see alive and well.”

His head dipped into a quick, dismissive little nod, while a finger went almost unconsciously to scratch behind his ear. Clearly, her sailor was no more willing to believe his place within the royal family than he had ever been. “Aye, as you say,” he agreed lightly, but he didn’t elaborate and she didn’t push.

Instead, Emma let their joined hands swing easily between them as they moved toward the castle with renewed purpose and waited for him to speak when he was ready. She was biding her time as patiently as she could. Killian would soon see at any rate - as soon as they stood before her parents.

After that, with the castle in view, they kept traveling steadily, and it did not take long at all for them to enter her parents’ throne room; her mother cried out with joy and rushed forward to embrace them both, her tears of relief wetting her daughter’s hair before she turned to clasp her adopted son to her breast. Emma tried to shoot him a look of pleased satisfaction, ‘See? What did I tell you?’ clearly conveyed, but she couldn’t catch his eye over her mother’s enthusiastic fussing and fluttering, nor could she get a word in edgewise to badger him.

Then her father reached them as well. He hadn’t run, giving his wife her reunion moment, he had kept a more sedate pace, but his immense solace at their arrival was felt as he engulfed Emma in his strong arms, one large hand cradling the back of her head, and for a moment squeezing tightly enough to seem he might never let go. “Thank Heavens you made it home, Sweetheart,” he breathed softly against the hair at her temple. Quickly, he stepped aside just enough to reach Killian too, clasping his upper arm firmly. “Thank goodness the both of you have returned.”

Snow nodded fervently, wiping more tears from her cheeks even as they continued to fall from her twinkling eyes. She was beaming in spite of her emotion, adding, “You were right, Baby.” A knowing look and press of the hand for her daughter had Emma simply returning the gesture with quiet grace; the frustration she had felt when she set out forgotten now in the happy reunion with Killian at her side. “And praise be that you were! What a blessing to have you here with us again, Killian.”

The older monarch’s green eyes still sparkled a verdant hue as lovely and captivating as her daughter’s, her raven hair only barely beginning to be streaked with a sophisticated grey. Still, Queen Snow White had all the enthusiasm and energy of a much younger woman as she turned to her husband. “Charming! We should celebrate! Don’t you think?”

The king’s full lips had tilted upwards in mirth, knowing his wife and her love of royal events all too well after so many years together. She was still clutching his hand, but didn’t even give him a chance to answer aloud before turning back to Killian and Emma enthusiastically.

“What do you think?” she pressed, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. “A homecoming ball, in honor of your safe return?”

Emma found she expected the flush that suffused her sailor’s skin at the suggestion, stealing up his neck, over his cheeks and even to the very tips of his adorably elfin ears, as he ducked his head at the Queen’s lavish plan. It would seem she was beginning to know her love’s quirks nearly as well as her father knew her mother’s - True Loves and all. “There’s no need for all of that fuss over me, your Majesty,” Killian answered hastily. In fact, he gulped and quickly raised his face to stare directly into Snow’s gaze intently. “Actually, I mean no offense, but I would prefer to simply return to my duties without fanfare. It hardly seems right to have such a celebration when all the others on the ship - good men, all of them - were lost.”

Snow’s expression sobered quickly, her compassion immediately making her feel for Killian’s loss of friends and compatriots, and for those sailors’ families. Obviously, she and Charming had seen to notifying those households and making sure any widows and orphans left behind by the lost sailors were cared for, but she could see that Killian held some sort of responsibility on his shoulders that was not ready to be recognized for making his way home when others could not. “Of course,” she stated firmly, “You’re right.” Her smile was more tempered, but still hopeful and encouraging; reminding the rest of them in the room just why her kingdom followed her absolutely, why her people loved her, and how she could inspire others to carry on whatever the odds. “Perhaps a memorial service for those who were lost would be more in order.”

“As you say, your Highness,” Killian agreed simply, bowing his head in deference to her decision. 

“Good man,” the King added heartily, the words low and restrained, but no less meant. Reaching out , he clasped forearms with Killian, who returned the gesture, though soon he had been pulled into a less dignified fatherly embrace, bone-crushing and back-slapping strength giving away King David’s happiness equal to his more effusive wife’s at seeing their honorary son home again.

~~***~~

Meanwhile, back out to sea, well beneath the surface off Misthaven’s shores, startling changes were afoot. From the very deepest bowels of Davy Jones’ dungeons and caves, the aftershocks and reverberations of his defeat were still being felt, radiating out in ripples as the darkest shadowed corners of his domain were slowly brought to light.

With their nefarious master so undeniably vanquished, the unfortunate souls pressed into Davy’s service by death at sea were released at last - a boon unlooked for - too much for many of them to have even hoped to receive after so long. Gradually, their souls felts the weight of their imprisonment lighten, the metaphorical chains binding them in darkness and the deep releasing their hold.

And one such soul, captured not so much by misfortune or chance than by demented grand design, could feel those shackles fall away more profoundly than most. Liam Jones broke the surface not far from the beautiful if deserted shores of Ogygia. Not sure where exactly he was, the elder Jones sibling bobbed in the shallows, taking in his surroundings curiously and thrilling to the feel of the sun on his skin. Wherever he was, he could remain until he found out; he could stay forever, if he chose. Or he could build a vessel and sail elsewhere. Either way, he would no longer be summoned back to his prison at another’s beck and call.

Still marveling at the return of long departed human sensations returning throughout his body, Liam struck out with a strong, determined stroke, swimming for shore. Ater so long trapped below, it seemed strange needing air to breathe, feeling the human pinch in his muscles at the exertion, the chill of such cold water enveloping his skin. And yet, pleasant or not, each bit of stimuli made his breath catch and his heart pound; it meant he was alive, unbelievable as it might seem. 

Though he could have managed the distance in seconds with the powers tied to his father that he had possessed, it still took Liam little time to reach the sandy ground stretched out where the water washed up and over it in a continually receiving and returning caress. He had always been a strong swimmer, with the sea in his veins. “Her little guppy” he distantly remembered his mother saying, in one of the few hazy visions of her his memory had retained; her voice gently teasing, dark eyes crackling with good humor and pride. Strange that he would think of her now, after so many years…

Reaching land, Liam staggered out of the surf, chest heaving, eyes scanning the area, already taking note and attempting to discern where he might be. He would have bet he had been banished to the very edge of the known world for his shift in loyalty, if his father still held any power. However, the blast that had rocked him and made him lose all sense of time and place, even consciousness for some moments, and which had made Emma vanish from his hold, had seemingly destroyed and ruined Davy himself. It had also almost certainly nullified any punishment the old monster would have tried to throw at him. He must be somewhere in the known world; and yet, it resembled nowhere he had ever traveled himself, now anywhere he had charted or mapped, before.

He was half-sitting, half-leaning against a large branch stretched across the sand, the trunk of some tree felled from a small stand of them nearby making a decent resting place to catch his breath, when he sensed he was not alone. Keen senses from a life of hard work and striving to protect a younger sibling thrust into the harsh world much too soon, were returning to him more and more with each moment that passed. Where nothing had been able to truly hurt him as one of Davy’s souls in the deep, his senses now all but blared in self-preservation to be on the alert.

Turning sharply to look back toward the surf he had only just emerged from, he saw a lovely female form standing on the edge of the sand, watching him, unmoving as the waves washed up over his feet and back out to sea again. Though she made no move, nor did she speak, the space between them seemed almost to vibrate with tension - as if she wanted to run to him, to speak, even though he couldn’t say that he knew her, not for sure. Still, the sense of unseen danger, the need to watch his back was gone. Liam forced himself to release a taut breath and lower his shoulders… then slowly took a step forward.

The graceful, dark haired lady before him did the same, took two quick steps nearer in fact, as if she could hold herself in check no longer. It was as he squinted, moving forward again and trying to see more clearly against the bright light of the sun glancing off the water as it began to lower to the evening horizon, that who she must be - impossible as it was - became suddenly clear. A stronger breeze kicked up, sending the gauzy, draped, light robe she wore whipping against her calves and making her hair fly wildly across her face, her elegant hand reaching up to catch the riotous, nearly black curls and hold them back, even as a joyous, enchanting laugh escaped her throat and rang merrily in the space still between them.

And then he knew. That laugh came echoing back to him from long-treasured, nearly forgotten memories of a little house on a hill looking out over deep blue waters. Of a dark-headed woman standing on the slope waiting hopefully for the ship she expected to come in, those same wild tresses - curly as his and as dark as Killian’s - floating around her in the breeze. That same laugh had tickled his childish ears, always pleasing him when he was the one to call it forth, and the voice that accompanied the laughter, so warm and mellifluous, had sung him to sleep when he missed his papa, and soothed his young heart when he was hurt or afraid. His mouth opened, wanting to greet her though no sound came out, no words escaping. ‘Mother,’  his soul cried. 

She reached him at that moment. Her cool palms framing his face gently as she seemed to drink in his features like a woman long denied. “Liam… my dear, precious son,” she crooned softly, as if she could feel how overcome he was.

His mother’s touch, her sweet voice in his ears once more, brought tears to his eyes for the first time in what felt like ages. She opened her arms, swaying slightly as his shoulders shook, and she simply held him as she had so long ago. “I’m here, Darling. You’ve had to be so strong. I’m here now,” she soothed. “Just let it go.”

~~***~~

When the storm of his emotions had calmed, Liam learned from Calypso all that had truly taken place when they were children - who she was, where she had been and why, just as Killian had on this very island as well. It seemed so fantastical: their mother, a sea nymph, the sea nymph of myth and legend, making he and Killian half supernatural beings as well, even before his disastrous stint as one of his father’s minions. And yet, it made a strange sort of sense to him as well, as the pieces shifted and settled within his mind. He had been older when they were left with only their father, remembered more… and it had never seemed quite right that their mother would simply vanish. His father’s abrupt, “She left us, went back to her own,” had never rung true. He might have been a mere eight-year-old, but he saw enough, understood enough, to know that it had been Mama who kept them fed and clothed with what little Papa provided. Mama who snuggled with them when storms raged and kept them warm when cold winds whistled through the cracks in the walls. It was Papa who was seldom home, who seemed likelier to take off one day and never return. Whereas he had believed Mama, had known she meant it with every fiber of her being when she’d sworn to him that she would stay with them as long as she could. He had missed her terribly when he woke one morning, so early it was still dark, to Papa shaking him, urging him to hurry - they were off on an adventure. The ache had faded over time; he had thrown himself into seeing to Killian, making sure his little brother knew the songs she had sung, the stories she had told, and that he did not lose that last little germ of sweetness - despite what their lives had then become - that sweetness which reminded Liam of the mother they had both lost.

To see her before him now, hardly able to stop brushing her fingers through his curls or squeezing his hand with both of hers, eased something deep inside that had still been gaping wide and empty though the pain had dulled. They had been taken from her. She had been seeking them, wishing for them back, all along.

Finally he managed to clear his throat, blink out of the awed daze he’d been in, and asked anxiously, “And you’ve seen Killian? And his princess?  They - they’re safe?”

Her loving smile, so fond and proud, warmed Liam’s heart in a way that was wonderfully healing. “More than that, they are home… together… and ecstatically happy.”

“Good,” he nodded, genuinely relieved, even if he felt sadness welling too, knowing Killian was where he belonged, but not sure he would ever see his little brother again. He wasn’t even sure why he hadn’t passed on to the afterlife, or just where he was, what he was, or what was next.

“You always were so noble,” his mother commented, shaking her head as she studied him calmly. “So thoughtful. I can see you’re wondering what’s next. The truth is, that choice is yours, Liam. You deserve that much, after so much time was taken from you, against your will.”

Blinking, Liam simply stared back at his mother, trying to grasp that the next step was fully his to make at last. He was no longer bound to another’s whims and designs, no longer pulled by strings that made him feel little more than a puppet torn by what he desired and what he was ordered to do. 

Calypso beside him offered a sadly hollow smile, taking her eldest’s hand with a gentle squeeze, and whether because of her supernatural nature, or simply because she was his mother, he could see that she understood. “You may move on at last, to the peace and rest that you have earned and to which you should have been welcomed long ago. Or, seeing as how Davy never fully let nature and time take their courses, and you are not completely dead, nor fully alive, you might also remain here with me on this island and in these waters surrounding it - a guide and caretaker of the sea, which you are already well adapted to with your part-nymph heritage.”

She paused there, resting a hand on the side of his face, her thumb lightly stroked his cheek, before she drew a deep breath and continued. “I won’t try to pretend I wouldn’t love for that to be your choice. I would like nothing more. However, I imagine you will choose the third option. You may return to mortal life with your brother and those who have become his family. Your natural life - and its fleeting span with all the mortal frailties - will be restored for you to live out as you would have done had your father not disrupted Fate’s course.”

Liam’s heart began to pound with excitement at her words, though he would have been happy simply to be free of the troubling limbo which had trapped him for so long, to feel the sun on his skin and the wind on his face as he sailed the waves once more, rather than merely looking up from his prison beneath them. He would not have thought returning to stand at his brother’s side - restored to life - could be an option.

Nodding kindly, even as she brushed away a single tear, Calypso sighed. “I thought as much,” she confirmed. “You took such good care of Killian. He looks up to you and still misses you so. It would have been quite a surprise had you chosen any other way.”

“I am sorry, Mother,” Liam began, floundering for a way to explain that he loved her too, but the pull back to the life which had been stolen was just too strong.

“No, my son,” she interrupted, stilling him with a light hand to his chest, “don’t apologize. This is as it should be.”

And so it was, that as the sun rose the next morning, spread across the sky in vibrant hues over Misthaven’s shores, a magnificent tall ship - proud, strong, and gleaming new - sailed into the royal port, one stunningly familiar form at the wheel, straining to see the dark-haired lieutenant who waited on the docks with the royals, waving to him frantically in welcome. The brothers Jones were reunited at last.

~~***~~

Four years (and nine months) later…

Once again, as was often the case on hazy summer evenings, the gathering twilight shadows and purpled hues of the darkening sky found two solitary figures strolling arm-in-arm along the sand on the shores of Ogygia. If one were to draw nearer still, they would see the dark head of tousled, windswept hair bend down to the glowing golden waves of the shorter figure, as Misthaven’s prince consort whispered in the ear of his princess wife, a secret for only the two of them which made her throw her head back in carefree laughter before she stood on tiptoe, clinging shamelessly to his arms for balance to kiss him him thoroughly and soundly.

Tired from sun and wind and salt water, dazed and deliriously happy as they were, both recognized it was a perfect day drawing to a close around them; one of the sort which were growing increasingly numbered as May dwindled toward June, and the two months  allotted them each year to steal for their own, away from royal duty, on the island belonging to his sea goddess mother came to an end once more.

They had married in the fall, not at all long after their return and the defeat of Davy Jones. It had seemed impossible and ridiculous to wait in drawn out courtship to be joined as man and wife; there would never be another for Killian but Emma, nor for Emma but him. Both had nearly given their lives to be sure they had a future together, and neither wished to wait for that hard won future to begin.

Of course, only a couple of weeks into married life, they had found out just how lucky it was they had not delayed. Emma was expecting their first child. Exactly nine months to the day from their first joining in the sand and surf of her kingdom’s shore, where they had first made love surrounded by the very ocean which always brought them back together, their twins were born. The palace officially announced the two baby boys as being early; common for twins and easily presented as fact, but princess and lieutenant-turned-prince knew the truth, and two living reminders of a moment they would never wish to forget were an unexpected blessing. Little David Liam Jones and Henry Leopold Jones had been their love and joy personified in living form before their eyes each day since then. Their sons, identical in looks, energy, enthusiasm and daring loved the water every bit as much as their parents, and had taken to the annual summer escape with only their parents and uncle to see their other grandma each May with dauntless excitement. What four-year-olds wouldn’t want to run wild as young colts all day in sun and surf until exhaustion felled them, only to rise again and do the same the following morn?

Emma, for her part, wanted Killian to be able to visit his mother; did not ever wish to see her taken from him again. Yet she also, much as she loved her people, her kingdom, and her parents, and though she accepted the rule she would one day take upon her own shoulders, found this summer retreat a paradise she would never wish to trade. Though Killian’s patriotism, loyalty to the crown, and place by her side as support and advisor was an immense comfort, Emma could not deny how freeing it was to be far from crowds of admirers, petticoats, policies, protocols, and packed agendas for a time. Only her husband, her babies, and sandy beach and windswept waves as far as the eye could see…

That evening, as they finished a supper of fish Killian had managed to catch for them despite the rather dubious help two exuberant four-year-olds proved to be, simple bread, and mangoes from further inland, both Henry and David had fallen over in weary contentment with full bellies and tired, sunkissed limbs. Chuckling together, Emma had cleared a path and opened doors in their small cottage as Killian carried each to their beds, tucking them in without causing either boy to wake.

For themselves, Emma and Killian left the cleanup for the next day and tiptoed quietly to their own bedroom for a moment alone, together in the whispers of moonlight that crept in through the open window with a gentle breeze.

Letting her fingers lazily twine with his as she led him forward easily, Emma found her breath stolen as Killian stopped near the foot of their bed, tugging her insistently back against his solid form. His arms came up to wrap around her in warm security, and she melted at her husband’s touch. His unshaven cheek prickled her skin when he kissed along her collarbone and up her neck, making her shiver despite the heat.

He had divested her of the light shift she wore almost before she realized it was gone, and his hands were questing boldly over her bared skin, causing a low, throaty moan to escape her lips, only barely managing to keep it soft enough not to wake their children from slumber. It took embarrassingly little time for him to have her thrumming with desire in every nerve ending, particularly with her hormones as wildly raging as they were.

As if he could read her thoughts’ direction, Killian paused his seductive teasing for his hands to rest protectively over her slightly rounded stomach, searching her gaze earnestly before murmuring, “Are you certain this is alright for the little one, Love?”

Emma met his eyes with exasperation; his worry sweet, but oft-repeated by this point. The last month when she had carried their twins had been miserable, and their delivery had been long, difficult, and turned more than a bit traumatic before it was through. Her recovery had been slow and painful, and they had seriously considered whether they wished to try for any more children. But Emma had found that she could not rid her mind of the image of her husband with a tiny baby girl cradled in his arms. Her heart had urged her to try once more, and now she hoped and prayed that a daughter might be safely on her way.

Nodding in answer to Killian’s question, she tried to pull him to her once more, and to smooth the worried creases from his brow.

“But,” he pulled back again, “are we positive? I never want to hurt you, or - “

Shaking her head, Emma could see that stronger measures were needed. Gripping the front of the loose linen shirt he wore barely buttoned, she pulled hard and threw her weight toward the bed, sending them both toppling onto the mattress with a gentle bounce. She rolled quickly to trap him with her body, and leaned in close to assure him, “You won’t hurt me, Killian. I know that as surely as I know anything.”

His whole face lit up with relief and love at her words, warming with one of the most stunning smiles she had ever seen. Satisfied that he was put at ease once more, she turned his face to her own with a finger at his chin and quirked her eyebrow in mischief as she teased, “Well, you won’t hurt me unless you leave me with this ache you’ve started…”

Rolling them once again in the tangled sheets to catch her between his arms as he hovered over her, diving down to steal her breath once more, he rasped, “Well then, Darling, if you insist.”

As the moon shone down on the island’s gleaming waters, they spoke without words, one in body and soul, perfectly happy in their cottage by the sea.

Tagging: @cssns @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes​ @jennjenn615​  @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @therooksshiningknight @spartanguard @optomisticgirl @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @thisonesatellite @shireness-says @stahlop @xsajx @lfh1226-linda @drowned-dreamer @thislassishooked @kday426 @ultraluckycatnd @tornadoamy @xhookswenchx @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @wefoundloveunderthelight @darkcolinodonorgasm @teamhook​ @revanmeetra87​ @scientificapricot​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @vvbooklady1256​

[glenncoco4]

You Can Count On Me

A/N: Chapter 5

••••

She steps off the dirt path and onto the small dock. Her presence doesn’t even effect him, which is concerning. “I thought I’d find you here.”

He doesn’t have the energy to respond, his thoughts are swirling and the anxiety he’s been having about this situation is bubbling to the surface more and more each day, especially because of her. His cerulean blues stay focused on the ripples of the water surrounding his feet.

Kicking off her flip-flop, the brunette takes a seat next to him on the old dock, putting her bare feet in the cool pond water right along side his. She turns to look at him, wondering what’s going on inside his head and for a moment as the sun illuminates is silhouette, something inside her heart shifts. “Why’d you run off like that?” 

“I guess I just got a little bit overwhelmed by it all.”

“All of what?”

“The thought of going off to college and making something of myself.”

She huffs a laugh, shaking her head in disbelief.

Marty quickly whips his head around, affronted by his best friend’s reaction. “I’m glad you’re enjoying my misery.”

She scoots closer to him, encircling his forearm with her own arms. “No, Marty its not...I’m laughing because you obviously haven’t been paying attention to what I’ve been saying for the past 7 years.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Don’t you realize what you mean to your mom, to my parents...to me? Marty, you’ve already made something of yourself. You are the kindest, funniest and best person I know. You changed my life; you’ve changed so many people’s lives.”

“Really?”

A soft smile crosses her features at the childlike hope in his cerulean blues. “Hey, have I ever lied to you before?”

“No.”

“Exactly. And I never will.” She states matter of factly before leaning her head against his shoulder, soaking in the beautiful glow of the setting sun cascading across the water with the person who makes her feel so safe it’s kinda ridiculous. 

The tension in his body slowly ebbs away at his best friend’s words as the scent of lavender beautifully assaults his nose. Taking a deep calming breath, he leans his head against hers, knowing that whatever life throws at him, she’ll be there. He can count on that. “I know.”

••••

Stepping of the dirt trail and onto the old dock like she’s done so many times before, the brunette takes in the picture before her. There he is, clothes tattered, scars across his beautiful face, but he’s alive and that’s all that matters. 

He turns around already feeling her presence ease the tension away from his battered body. His sorrowful blue eyes meet those of sweetly intense brown and the shine that glistens in them. Shaking his head in defeat, he realizes how close he had come to never seeing her again. 

Kensi doesn’t give him a chance to say anything before she’s closing the distance between them, throwing her arms around him, she’s able to relax for the first time in four months. “You’re safe.”

His body clings to hers, hands grasping at her shirt feeling as though they can’t get close enough. That lavender scent that is so uniquely her fills his nostrils, immediately bringing him a sense of self. She’s here. He’s here. They’re here together and that’s all that matters. “Yeah, for now.”

“I thought you were dead.”

“Not yet. Maybe tomorrow.”

She pulls back, a cross between anger and hurt written across her features. “Don’t.”

“Sorry.” The blonde apologizes, regretting his words the moment they left his lips. 

Without thinking, her finger finds the red scrape on his cheek. “Are you okay?”

The feel of her skin against his brings back memories of that night a few months ago. He wants that again so bad. So bad he can almost taste it, but there’s something he has to take care of before he can even think about moving forward with her. “I’ll be better when I catch Lazik.”

“Woah. Woah. Woah. What do you mean when you catch Lazik?”

“I have to finish this, Kens.”

Seeing the determination set in his soulful blue eyes she knows there’s no stopping him, but she’ll be damned if he thinks she’s going to stand idly by. “No, we have to finish this.”

“I suppose I could use some backup.” He smirks, earning a playful nudge from his partner. 

••••

A resounding gasp fills the agents ears as the tech operator discovers who the third vehicle belongs to. “Car’s registered to Dale John Sully.”

Kensi tilts her head back against the head rest in exasperation when Eric confirms that her best friend’s undercover persona is indeed inside the warehouse, putting his life in even more danger than before. “Callen, that’s Marty’s alias.”

The team leader shakes is head wondering why he’s so surprised that the detective is indeed in another sticky situation. “Your boy just loves trouble, doesn’t he.”

She stares at the roof of the car for a minute, thinking about Callen’s words. “It’s funny, cuz when we were growing up, it was always the other way around.”

“Kens, I’m not so sure this is a good idea.” Marty looks around the backyard nervously as his best friend pulls out the power saw from her dad’s tool shed. 

“What are you talking about? It’s just a little tree house.”

“Yeah, but what’s your dad gonna say when he catches us with his power tools?”

The brunette begins to pull out the sawhorse before turning around to meet the 13 year old’s worried eyes.“He’s not gonna catch us and you’re not gonna tell him either.”

He feels a unfamiliar thud in his heart when the challenging spark in her mismatched orbs meet his.“Has anyone ever told you how cute you are when you’re homicidally angry?”

“In fact they have and he was never seen again.” 

Taking a deep breath, Kensi focuses on the here and now. Rescuing Marty’s ass, just so she can kill him herself for going in alone. “So what’s the plan?”

••••

The bald man turns to meet Dale’s eyes, a dark smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “You are surprised I have a wife?”

A shiver runs down his spine. “Everybody’s gotta have somebody, right?” The blonde answers as a sense of warmth and dread swarm through his body at the thought of his person, his somebody, his Kensi and how close they are to having at what he hopes will be forever. 

••••

Callen watches as the shaggy blonde, presses the muzzle of the gun forcefully against the dirty cops jaw. “Deeks, look, he’s not worth it.”

Marty ignores the team leader’s statement as his anger continues to take control of his body. “Ask me again. Ask it again!”

Kensi watches on as a side of her best friend that she’s never seen before takes over. Thinking of how he would deal with this situation if their roles reverse, she does the only thing that would certainly bring her out of her rage. “Marty. Marty, put it down.”

As soon as his name leaves her lips a calmness washes over him and it suddenly hits him that she was there to witness what just happened. He empty’s the camber of the gun handing it off to the guys before looking for the nearest way out. 

Seeing the frantic look of turmoil in her best friend’s eyes, Kensi places her hand against his chest, trying to bring him some sort of relief. 

He shakes his head, trying to school his features as much as he can and does the one thing that never seems to work when it comes to her, not that he would want it to. He walks away from her without a word. 

Finding a clear spot against the ally wall, Marty leans against the brick, sliding down until his ass his the hard concrete. He brings his knees up to his chest, burrowing his head into them as he finally lets his tears fall. The anger he’s been holding onto for so long, the pure shit that was this case and the most beautiful moment he’s ever experienced in his life all swimming around in his head. 

He’s not sure how long it is before the familiar sound of her footfalls hit his ears. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t acknowledge her presence.

“Hey, are you okay?” She chastises herself for asking such a stupid question. Of course he’s not okay. She’s seen him come out of some pretty deep covers, but this one seems to be affecting him more than any other. Kneeling down in front of him, her hands find his, trying to once again comfort him the way she always has. 

“I’d be better if everyone just left me alone.”

The bite in his voice tells her one thing, his walls are up and considering the emotional state he’s in right now, they won’t be coming down any time soon...even for her. She stands back up, shaking her head in frustration. “Understood.”

The sound of her footfalls getting further and further away finally draw him out of his “cage,” realizing that she’s not going to fight him right now even though she knows its what he needs. He can feel the strain in his throat as her silhouette gets smaller and smaller. “Kens...” He sighs in defeat as she quickly turns the corner. 

This day keeps getting shittier and shittier. 

••••

He brings his fist up to tap on the piece of wood once more, but just as he does it’s pulled open. A set of mesmerizingly mysterious eyes are suddenly staring back at him, leaving him at a loss for words. “I-“

“I thought you wanted to be alone.”

���I did, but...”

“But what?”

She’s upset, actually upset doesn’t seem to be the right word for what he sees staring back at him. Ever since they were kids he’s imagined this moment in so many different ways, this wasn’t really one of them. “I-I wanted to tell you that after that night we had...I never meant for it to happen.”

Kensi can feel her heart split into two at his words. The thought of this...them..of what they could be, it’s all suddenly gone. All the fight she thought was inside her has dissipated. She won’t let herself cry. She won’t. “O-oh, yeah, right. I-I understand.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, you were probably just in the heat of the moment and didn’t want to hurt my-“

Before she can finish her sentence, his lips are on hers, cutting her off. His hands come up, cradling her face, kissing her with such passion and reverence that it would put a Nicholas Sparks movie to shame. 

Their tongues duel as if its their last moments on earth and this is goodbye. It’s a few minutes later when they have to pull back, both panting as the rise and fall of their chests brush against each other. “What was that?” 

“It seems as though I’m not so good with the words, so I had to resort to other tactics.”

“Not that I didn’t enjoy those tactics, but you know you can tell me anything, Marty.”

“I know. I know. It’s just, laying it all there and saying the words out loud...to you, I-“

“Deeks, what is it?”

At the sound of his last name leaving her lips, he knows he better get to the point and stop being circuitous. It’s now or never. Chips on the table. All in. Taking one last calming breath, his hand finds itself back on her jaw, the feel of her skin against his sends a shock wave through his body. Conveying everything he possibly can in his eyes, he says what’s been sitting on the tip of his tongue and in some part of his head for 20 years now. “I’ve always wanted this one specific thing in life and I didn’t realize until recently what it was. I want you, Kens. I want you and me...I want us. You’re so much more than my best friend. You’re everything to me, Kensi and I’m so far past being in love with you.”

As his confession washes over her, everything stands still as her broken heart slowly mends itself together. This is so not what she was expecting tonight. “You-you love me?”

“I do.” His lips rise into a small smile. “I think the night we made love made me realize it even more.”

He watches as an unreadable look crosses her face as if she’s trying to size him up before turning around and walking further into her apartment. Seeing as though she doesn’t slam the door in his face, he follows her in, quickly shutting the door and becomes confused when he doesn’t see her sitting on the couch. 

The brunette follows his movements as he walks further into the living room before she makes her next move. Coming up behind him, she spins his body around and pushes him onto the couch. Straddling his lap, she presses her heat against his. His arms immediately wrapping around her waist loving the feel of her body against his as her movements quickly bringing his member to life. 

Slowly moving in, a soft blissful smile spreads to her face as her intense mismatched orbs dance with passion. “I’m in love with you, too.”

[desdemonafictional]

@borath86

“You don’t have to worry, I’m never going to touch you.” reversed megarung [ao3]

--

Rung arrived at the temple early, already painted and polished in the brushstrokes he now knew by spark, but he had no luck catching Megatron before the ceremony. The doors were very firmly shut, and the narrow eyed clerk with the tapping tablet pen gave him a series of unwelcoming sneers until he retreated to the altar of the temple, where the old priest greeted him with wry familiarity.

It had probably started as someone’s idea of a joke. Rung had outlived three conjunxes, since the institution of mandatory social bonding under Valentinus Prime had forced him to take the first one, and his last arranged bondage had ended before it had even begun when the ship transporting his soon-to-be mate had been stricken by a plague and left him with only a corpse to greet at the spacedock.

Someone, Rung thought, would probably be happy to see Megatron dead.

Rung never took conjunxes of his own volition. He stretched the mourning period out as long as he was allowed, each time, wearing the grey and purple of a widow, and the veil, right up until it was time to walk through the temple doors again. But he was reluctantly in orange again, now, waiting at the altar.

The first conjunx had developed cybercrosis. It happened with old mechs, sometimes. Although he and Rung had been the same age, then. They'd arranged the marriage to appease the new regime, and been very happily uninvolved with each other until the day that the diagnosis arrived. Funny, how sudden mortality changes a relationship.

The second conjunx had died in a crash. Rung had pulled him from the wreckage, oil-sticky and dripping, heavy in Rung's shaking arms. He was already dead before the rescue team touched down.

When Megatron was shoved through into the temple chamber, for a moment Rung thought he must have been a widow too—in his gleaming gunmetal grey, statuesque, formidable—but then Rung realized he was simply of the disposable class, probably brought to the temple in the same grey he was constructed from.

Rung’s spark dropped into his tanks. No one had mentioned this during the arrangements.

It wasn't that he had any reservations about a difference in class. No, of course not. Rung's concern lay in the implicit role he'd been assigned by whatever smug clerk made the arrangement. If anything, Rung was a firm believer in the rights of the underclass, and even now, disposables had such limited marriage rights. They could be bonded, but they couldn’t sue for divorce; the legal courts barely accepted their testimonies in a handful of situations, and legal enforcers literally couldn’t open certain kinds of cases for them without the authorization of a citizen class mech. They couldn’t even own their own property; legally speaking, they couldn't be robbed, unless they were transporting something belonged to a citizen.

A citizen taking a disposable as a conjunx was enough to draw lascivious titters in certain social circles—what could you be marrying them for, after all, except to do things that no self respecting fellow citizen would subject themselves to?

What must that bureaucrat think of him, a four time widow taking on a mech like the one coming down the aisle now, all stiff backed and stone faced? He must look deranged. He must look like some kind of a serial killer.

The priest said the familiar blessings; vows were exchanged. Rung offered up the slim vial of his vibrant innermost energon and took the more murky vial of Megatron’s in turn; they both uncorked and knocked back the death tasting blood, all raw and bitter in the throat. Rung offered his hand. Megatron barely brought himself to take it.

By the time they arrived back in Rung’s home, they had yet to exchange a single word. Rung stood in the doorway to the bedroom, a hand on the frame, wondering what the hell to do now. He'd like to think that Megatron was better off with him than he would be alone in the world, without anyone to advocate for him, at the mercy of a merciless justice system. But.

But.

“Well,” he started, and turned back to the main room with a reassuring smile firmly fixed to his face. “I suppose this is home now, for you.”

His conjunx, rooted in the middle of the floor with his hands tight against his sides, regarded Rung with cold impassivity.

“I’ve been married several times before,” Rung said, coming closer now, “it’s always stressful at first, but soon—”

“Soon you’ll have me straightened out,” Megatron finished for him, with cold resentment like a thick ichor in the mouth. “Soon I’ll submit to you as a dutiful conjunx should, is that it? You’ll teach me my proper place? To respect my betters?”

“No—” Rung starts to say, but Megatron cuts him off with growing intensity.

“Soon you’ll have me leashed and beaten like a pet, groveling at your feet, begging to be used by you, no doubt,” he says, “no doubt you will, like all the others before me, until I bore you, and then the next sad wretch will be soon in coming, no doubt.”

Megatron dug his fingers into the plate of his chest and without warning, pulled himself apart, baring the wild green light of his spark. It was beautiful, and Rung hated to see it like this, thrown open like a prison cell.

“Come take what you want,” Megatron seethed, “but you will pay for it dearly, because I am no cringing pet to be tamed and taken at anyone’s leisure! If you want this spark, you’ll pay its price in blood and paint!”

He filled up the room, blazing and fierce, and Rung had no doubt at all that anyone who had wanted to take him would have broken their own teeth on that iron will. Every mech who laughed and stamped his many forms had underestimated this inconvenient disposable mech, had failed to see this wonderful terrible core at the heart of his fabricated frame.

“Call the enforcers if you want,” Megatron said, setting his jaw, “bring out whatever implements or tools you have in store. All of it will avail you nothing.”

“Oh, my dear,” Rung said, and his spark broke for the mech who expected even now to be beaten and subdued by a master he had never asked for. He reached out, as if to sooth. Megatron—for all his bluster—flinched.

Rung slowly pulled back his hand. He began to understand that this was not going to be like his previous marriages. This was not going to be the amiable disinterested cohabitation, or the slow shy unfolding of affection—he could not simply be himself here, in the face of Megatron’s loathing and fear, and expect to be accepted for what he was.

He closed his other hand around the curled fist, and pressed it tight against his chassis.

“You’re very brave,” he said. “What you must have suffered, only to end up here, in this strange place, with a stranger.”

Megatron glared at him. His fists were squeezing at his sides.

“I only have the one bed, with the one hookup,” Rung said. “For tonight at least, we’ll have to share. Tomorrow, we’ll see about arrangements.”

“I’m sure,” Megatron grit out.

Rung shook his head. “You don’t have to worry, I’m not going to touch you,” he said. “Out of everything in this world, that’s one thing you’ll never have to be afraid of. No tools, no implements. I’ll never touch you, and neither will anyone else.”

He pushed his glasses up his forehead, smearing the thick formal polish in finger shaped streaks, and sighed.

“That, at least,” he finished, “is something I can do for you.”

[ri-ahhh]

Ooooh but like what if it's gray getting jealous and a teeny but insecure too when MJ mentions some of her work mates and other close guy friends w whom she hangs out and drinks and parties yk?And when he finally meets them he might not be able to get some inside jokes or be pissy on how touchy one of her guy bffs is?!And just goes like"baby am I too young for you?"🥺maybe some cute fluff and hot makeup sex?? ;p Sorry if this too much or straight up lame It's cool if you don't wanna concept this

Ok, first of all, I love this. Second, this is my first MJ concept and I’m soft af🥺

If there’s one personality trait Grayson Dolan wouldn't normally attribute to himself, it’s that of being easily jealous. Why would he be? His life, despite it’s occasional heavy downs, is relatively picturesque in the grand scheme of things. He’s got a loving family, an amazing career, a beautiful girlfriend, and he’s narcissistic enough to proudly say he’s a good-looking dude.

But the little green monster first starts to stir in chest when said beautiful girlfriend lays back on his chest one morning, scrolling through Instagram while the two of them laze in bed. MJ is looking through the pictures she had been tagged in at a company dinner the night before, double-tapping her phone screen occasionally and diverting his attention away from his own phone when she does.

“Who’s that?” he asks, trying to sound as casual as possible as he eyes a certain picture with slightly narrowed eyes.

“Hm?” MJ had already scrolled down to the next photo, but she goes back to the one in question. Grayson points to the guy standing next to her. “Oh. That’s Jesse. He’s one of my teammates.”

Grayson doesn't respond right away, his gaze focused on the way the attractive young man has his arm wrapped tightly around MJ’s waist in the group photo. MJ is leaning away from him, but it still gives him a bad vibe — not from her, but from him.

“He looks friendly.”

MJ glances up at him and slaps the other side of his bare chest with the back of her hand jokingly. “Relax, we all had to squeeze in to get the picture. He’s just a colleague.”

“Yeah, to you,” Grayson mumbles. He tosses down his phone and turns on his side so he can throw his arm over her middle, nuzzling into her hair.

MJ smiles and scratches her nails up and down his sculpted arm, his warm breath tickling her ear. He’s not really the possessive type, too confident in himself and trustworthy in her for this to have ever been an issue in their relationship, but her work world is one entirely separate from him. She doesn’t think it’s too irrational for him to be suspicious, especially since she can admit feeling a little iffy about the way Jesse had so easily sidled up to her for that photo.

She shifts her head on the pillow so she’s facing him, kissing his lips softly but soundly. It’s an unspoken reassurance between them, and they both let the topic go.

A few days later, they’re in the kitchen together, a pass only she is allowed while Grayson cooks. MJ sits on the island, her feet dangling over the cabinets as Grayson stirs the vegetables he’s sautéing on the stove, when her phone buzzes on the marble countertop beside her. She picks it up and chuckles, her manicured fingers typing away.

“What’s so funny?” Grayson asks nosily.

MJ hits ‘send’ in the text response she wrote. “Jesse sent a stupid meme that reminded him of this super difficult exec we have to deal with for one of our clients.” She holds up her phone so Grayson can see it, but without the further context he doesn’t really see the humor in it. It causes a weird sensation to bubble in his stomach, one he can’t quite place, but it definitely makes him give the veggies an extra vigorous stir that has some of them flying out of the pan on accident.

He draws the line on this guy in his head when MJ sends him a text the next afternoon while he’s in a Wakeheart meeting downtown, just a few blocks from her office.

ugh baby i’m so sorry i have to cancel our lunch date :/ jesse wants to keep working on this report we have due this afternoon and i’ll look like a dick if i leave.

Grayson huffs and feels the back of his neck flush with anger. Why is Jesse controlling whether or not she can take her lunch break? She has a habit of skipping it to begin with, which Grayson can’t stand and actively tries to make sure she doesn’t do, so his irritation with this dude is through the roof now. His mind can’t help but wander to the possibility that maybe Jesse is doing it on purpose; he knows for a fact all of her coworkers know about him, so who’s to say he’s not trying to keep her to himself today? Before he can type out a heated response, however, MJ double-texts.

i promise I’ll make it up to you tonight. whatever you want, on me. literally and figuratively ;)

She knows him too well, can probably sense his frustration a few streets away. Grayson sighs, but his mouth lifts in a little smile, because he loves her and he’s low-key looking forward to that promise now.

Alright. I’ll be thinking about that to get me through this meeting. Pls eat tho baby, it makes me worry when you don’t.

me too lol. and gonna order some kreation now, don’t worry. ily

She punctuates her message with a few heart emojis, and Grayson returns the sentiment before pocketing his phone once more. His mind is far from the financial projections he’s supposed to be paying attention to, but luckily this is much more Ethan’s territory in the business than his, anyways.

Friday, he and MJ are cuddling on the couch watching a movie when out of nowhere she gasps a little and sits up from where she’s leaning on him. “Oh, I almost forgot to ask. You and E doing anything tomorrow?”

Grayson chuckles and shakes his head, amused by the suddenness of her question. He pushes a lock of her hair, damp from their shared shower, behind her ear. “Not that I know of, other than we might go to the skatepark.”

MJ grins. “Well, my boss is making us do our monthly team-building workshop at a climbing gym, if you want to tag along. I don’t think you’ll be able to join us during the middle of it, obviously, but afterwards it would give you the chance to meet some of the people I work with, if you want.”

He considers it. He hasn’t been climbing in a while, and he’s actually been itching to get back into it. Not to mention, it’ll give him a chance to keep an eye on Jesse while he’s around MJ in the skin-tight lycra she wears to work out in.

“Yeah, I’m down. I’ll ask E if he wants to come, too.”

The next day, the three of them roll up to the gym in Ethan’s Tesla. Grayson wastes no time in taking MJ’s hand in his as they walk through the parking lot, just in case a certain set of eyes are watching. MJ squeezes his fingers reassuringly; she’s not dumb, not impervious to the fact that when he kisses her goodbye once they step inside and before they go their separate ways that he had caught a glimpse of the man from the picture that put his guard up to begin with.

When he pulls back but makes no move to join Ethan on the other side of the gym, MJ shakes her head with a grin and cups his cheek softly.

“No need to stake your claim, Neanderthal,” she says.

He looks down at her with a pout that makes her heart and her panties melt. His wide hands plant themselves on her hips and tug her a little closer to him, anyways. “Am I being obvious?” he asks.

“Only to me,” she winks, rising on her toes to give him one more chaste kiss. “Now go with E, before Chanel gets here and I have to reverse the roles.”

Grayson laughs but does as he’s told, giving her waist a gentle squeeze before they part ways. MJ’s company had rented half of the gym, which was roped off for them. He chooses the open wall closest to the one they're using, eager to keep his girlfriend as nearby as possible for the couple of hours they would be separated.

As he sits on a bench and slips on his climbing shoes, Grayson can’t help but search out where Jesse is. He’s easy to spot, that’s for sure. Not only is he already next to MJ, chatting animatedly while she smiles and nods politely in return, but he stands out with his curly mop of hair, caramel-colored skin, and pale blue eyes. Maybe his attractiveness is part of the reason Grayson is somewhat intimidated by his obvious interest in MJ, but he’s also part of her everyday life, one he knows nothing about other than what she shares with him.

It’s never been something that bothers him, because it’s healthy to have a life outside of a relationship, but he’s always dated — hooked up, whatever you want to call it — in his industry. There was always a mutual understanding of what work and life in general entailed with those flings, and it’s taken Jesse for him to suddenly realize he doesn’t have the experience or the knowledge of how to handle his feelings with that not being the case with MJ. It makes him feel out of control, not good enough somehow.

Grayson Dolan does not like to be out of control and he most certainly does not like being below his own standards.

“Who’s that?”

Grayson is brought out of his daze by his brother’s voice and the hand he had clapped to his shoulder. If he were able to laugh at himself in this moment, he might have found Ethan’s question funny, since it was exactly what he’d said when he first saw Jesse, too. Ethan’s gaze is fixed on MJ and the man in question, who had placed his hand on her elbow as he talked only for MJ to duck down to ‘tie her shoe.’

“Jesse,” is all he says, standing up to buckle his chalk belt around his waist.

“Oh,” Ethan replies, nodding his head a little. “Do we like him?”

“Nope.”

“Cool.”

Ethan becomes another set of eyes for Grayson while they climb, giving him nudges or a little whistle every time he catches Jesse standing a little too close to MJ, or finding a reason to touch her, or to ‘help’ her as she climbs up the wall. Grayson glowers over every time, trying his best but probably failing to not to come off as the jealous boyfriend. Every once in a while MJ will catch his eyes, giving him a quick wave or a thumbs-up with a pretty smile just for him. It makes his heart settle some, only for his chest to tighten again when Jesse starts cheering for her a little too loud.

The two hours pass by a little faster as he settles into the rhythm of climbing, trying to put her touchy coworker in the back of his mind. He trusts MJ with everything in him, but he knows how men can be — ignorant either by choice or by idiocy to a woman’s obvious signals of disinterest.

“Gray!”

He’s just reached the top of the wall when his girlfriend’s voice cuts clear through the loud chatter around them. He looks down and sees her on the mat, hair pulled back in a cute high ponytail, freckled cheeks flushed from the exertion of the day, as she waves him down with that same bright smile.

He grins, excited to have her to himself once again. “One sec!”

Once he’s made it back down the wall, he greets her with a kiss. She’s tied her jacket around her waist, leaving her top half covered only by a pretty green sports bra that happens to be both his favorite color and one that makes her eyes pop beautifully.

“I like this,” he says suggestively, hooking his finger in one of the straps and tugging gently.

MJ rolls her eyes and reaches up to adjust the center of the Wakeheart cap he’s got backwards over his hair. “Come on. You can meet the idiots I have to put up with every day.”

She leads him to the group, who are all standing around chatting, gulping down water, gathering keys and such as they prepare to leave. He gets introduced to them a couple at a time. Some of them he recognizes by name, such as Valentina and Jude (both of whom MJ actually likes and considers friends), MJ’s intern Alessia, and Chanel, of course, who bats her eyes so obnoxiously it’s almost comical.

And then there’s Jesse, who’s immediately sizing Grayson up with those striking eyes as soon as they approach him standing in the corner on his phone. Grayson doesn’t back down in the slightest, a smirk fixing itself on his lips when MJ leans into him and wraps her arm around his back. He drapes his own over her shoulders, pulling her that much closer to him.

“Hey Jess. This is the famous boyfriend I’ve told you all about,” she introduces, patting a hand on his hard stomach and smiling up at him for a moment.

Grayson lets go of MJ long enough to extend his hand. “Grayson.”

Jesse accepts and shakes his hand politely. “Jesse. MJ and I are teammates.”

“So I’ve heard,” he says, keeping a tight smile on his face as Jesse continues to square up to him, like Grayson has posed some kind of challenge.

Jesse nods, a grin of his own popping up as he gets the idea that MJ has maybe talked about him before. Grayson wants to roll his eyes, but he stays trying to be the bigger person here.

“So what do you do, Grayson?” Jesse asks.

Another hot flash overcomes him. He’s heard the question often enough to know there are two ways people ask it: innocently and genuinely; or knowingly and almost maliciously, like Jesse is now, waiting for him to say the ‘i’ word and berate him for it passive-aggressively.

MJ tightens her arm around him some, and it calms him down enough to answer with an even tone. “I do social media.”

“That’s just the tip of the iceberg, though,” MJ steps in for him with a grin. “He and his brother have a whole production team under them. And they're CEO’s and part-owners of a fragrance company, Wakeheart. I think I’ve told you, whenever you compliment my perfume, that it’s Grayson’s, right?”

She’s incredible, really. Grayson smiles and shows off the diamonds in his teeth, which glint in the harsh artificial light. “Well, Jesse, if you like MJ’s perfume so much, I’d be glad to send you our whole collection. Maybe you’ll find one that’s right for you.”

He can see Jesse’s resolve start to waver, especially when MJ stands on her toes to kiss Grayson’s stubbled cheek. “Very generous, huh Jesse?”

Jesse clears his throat and digs his keys out of his pocket tellingly. “Ah, yeah. Thanks, man, good to meet you. See you Monday, MJ.”

He brushes past the couple without another glance, and he at least has the decency to blush a little from embarrassment. MJ turns and wraps her arms around Grayson’s middle, staring up at him with big green eyes that sparkle with amusement.

“Do you think he got the picture that I’m completely, totally, head over heels in love with you?” she asks, swaying slightly as he wraps his arms around her as well. “And that he has no chance in this universe whatsoever?”

“I don’t know, I feel like you could’ve laid it on a little thicker. Hyped me up a bit more,” Grayson jokes, dipping down to brush her lips with his. A blonde statue glares at the pair of them when he pulls back and glances over MJ’s head. “Chanel is staring daggers at us. Should we make out right here so she can see how I feel the same about you?”

MJ giggles and shakes her head. “Unfortunately, nothing will faze that bitch.” She nuzzles his nose with hers affectionately, the chaste display a perfect disguise for the dirty whispers that comes out of her mouth next. “Mm, my CEO boyfriend can take me home, though, and fuck me nice and hard in the shower.”

Grayson’s eyes turn a shade darker, and he bites his plump lower lip. He wants to slip his hands down to her ass, but he’s also very aware of how public they are right now. “If we even make it to the shower,” he murmurs.

MJ scrunches her nose and raises her brow in a look of mild disgust. “Gray, if you think I’m sucking your dick after it’s been in a cup for nearly three hours, without you taking a shower, you better think again. I don’t think even Chanel is down for that.”

Grayson lets out a belly laugh and releases her, taking her by the hand instead to go find Ethan. “Noted, baby. Noted.”

[pinknerdpanda]

Sunset

Word Count: 2,649

Characters: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Language, feelings of abandonment and hopelessness (but it gets better!!)

SSB Square Filled: “The man on the bridge, who Was he?” (bolded and italicized below)

A/N: This was written for my beautiful Name Twin - @amanda-teaches​ Writer + Reader Challenge (prompt bolded below) and also @captain-rogers-beard​ Flex Your Writing Muscles Challenge (photo prompt in the title graphic is from 6/4). It also fulfills a square on my @star-spangled-bingo​ card. This began as something rather therapeutic for me, and it became a whole lot fuffier than I expected. So...yay?

Beta’d by: @shy-violet-soul​ who always encourages me and showers me with love, and @princessmisery666​ who has helped me with this fic in more ways than I can even describe. Everytime I hit a wall, she was there with help, support, love and ideas and I am so thankful for her. 

It felt wrong.

The sunset was spectacular - fiery hues of crimson and amber evening kissing the brilliant blue of the fading day; ashen shades of violet and lavender the only evidence of their embrace. The last remnants of sunlight danced across the rippling surface of the water, painting the gentle waves in warmth as they lapped against the shoreline.

Salt hung heavy in the air as it whipped loose strands of hair around your face. The taste lingered on your tongue like a lovers’ kiss as you tried in vain to brush the wayward locks from your eyes. 

So wrong.

Soft laughter punctuated every dull crash of the tide upon the sand. You watched the dwindling groups of people hold onto what little remained of their peaceful beach day. Though as the warmth of the day vanished, so did the people.

Being here was supposed to be a homecoming; a celebration of the person you were and the life you’d lived. It should have been a gasp of oxygen after surfacing from a deep dive; sustaining, energizing and life-giving.

Instead, the tranquility of the scene before you only seemed to underscore the pain boiling deep behind your ribs. Even as the sky turned to ink and the stars blinked down at their reflection in the water, the anguish seared your lungs and stole your breath.

It was unsettlingly unexpected. 

A fresh wave of tears prickled the corners of your eyes and you clenched them shut in an attempt to keep them at bay. It might have worked, if you hadn't been immediately met with the vision of him behind your eyelids.

It wasn't his fault. Not really. But that didn't mean it didn't hurt like hell. Seeing him today - even from a distance - was like pouring salt on a wound. The elation on his face as he'd grinned up at the little girl perched on his shoulders felt like a dagger straight to the chest. 

The soft sound of bare feet on sand caught your attention. You sniffed, shifting to pull your knees up to your chest as the footsteps stopped beside you. 

"You want some company?"

The gruff voice was soft and despite wanting to hate your new companion for lacing his words with such obvious pity, you couldn't. Your pain had been dealt by hands less sure than his, so you shrugged instead. There was something warm and comforting in his presence and your soul cried out for more. The feeling multiplied exponentially as he dropped to the ground beside you, his knee grazing your thigh as he folded his legs underneath him. 

"'S'pretty here."

You nodded once, weakly. Even a broken heart couldn't make you think otherwise. Once upon a time this spot had been your own, personal oasis. Well, as much of one as a public beach could provide. But you didn't need much. Life had been simple, then. Now? Now, 'simple' sounded like a fairytale. Another on a long list of things you dreamt about, but didn't dare hope for.

“The man on the bridge,” Bucky began, his voice gentle. “Who was he?”

Brass tacks. It was one of the things you admired most about him; his ability to cut straight to the heart of the matter without poetry or pretense. It wasn’t a question borne out of irritation or obligation; instead patience and comfort reigned in his words. He could read body language and facial expressions better than 99% of the planet, but you knew even the other 1% could have plainly seen the pain in the heart so cruelly branded onto your sleeve. 

“This was,” you cleared your throat as best you could with your heart taking up space there. “I used to live here. I always wanted to live by the ocean, so when I lost my job due to budget cuts, I decided ‘what the hell?’. Packed up, cashed out my savings and started driving. As soon as I hit the city limits, it felt like home. Had a hell of a time finding a job, but I did eventually. I met him there.”

You sniffed, stretching out your legs and leaning back with your palms in the sand behind you. Without having to look you knew he was watching you; waiting until you were ready to continue. 

“I never believed in love at first sight; still don’t, because that’s not what it was. He was sweet, funny,” you smiled despite yourself. “Kind to a fault. The type of kindness that infuriates you because it makes you realize how selfish you actually are. But he loved me. I don’t know why, but he did. He loved me fiercely; even when I couldn’t return it and sure as hell didn’t deserve it.”

Bucky’s breaths matched the roll of the tide; calm and gentle and unwavering. You felt him shift, his shoulder grazing yours as he matched your position.

“What happened?”

The air between you vibrated with the low timbre of his words. Not that you noticed - not really. Remembering was always the worst part; remembering just how easily you’d been forgotten. 

“The blip.” Your voice was so faint it barely registered in your own ears, but you knew he heard it. You knew from the way he inhaled deeply as he shifted; from the feel of vibranium fingers sliding gracefully across your own.

“I don’t blame him. He couldn’t know we’d all come back. I couldn’t expect him to live out the rest of his days mourning my ashes.”

The tightening in your throat and the tingling at the corners of your eyes cut off any other words you might have said. If the roles had been reversed, you wouldn’t have known what to say to yourself. But true to form, Bucky did. Brass tacks and all.

“Still hurts.” Not a question, because he knew. His words were meant every bit for himself as they were for you. 

A humorless chuckle broke from your lungs and you nodded. 

“It still fuckin’ hurts,” you agreed.

"So that's why you wanted to come here." Not a question, but an acknowledgement.

Biting your lip, you narrowed your gaze at the calm waves. "I guess I just wanted closure. I missed this place. Missed the memories I made here. I knew seeing him was a possibility, but I'd hoped.." you trailed off. 

Bucky hummed in understanding of words you couldn't find. 

You looked at him then, the sliver of moonlight above casting him in a sort of macabre splendor. Chestnut waves rendered a dozen shades of grey and gaze focused on the heavens. Trying to ease some of your burden while still obviously saddled with plenty of his own, he looked peaceful; tranquil in a way that felt contagious.

You sucked in a breath, hoping to provide him the same respite he offered you, willingly or otherwise.

“Coming back from that place - that state of nothingness - was jarring enough. But then having to face the five years worth of reality you left behind? It’s a wonder any of us are still alive today to mourn it.” Shifting again, you crossed your legs and turned to face him, his hand enveloped in both of yours. “But we are. You, me, Sam...all of us. Finding the love of my life had become a husband and father without me; it was the hardest thing I’ve ever faced. But I did - face it, I mean. And in some fucked up way, it led me to you.”

Bucky tilted his head toward you, his gaze narrowed and his eyebrow raised.

“You’ve been watching too many Lifetime movies, sweetheart,” he deadpanned, though his eyes sparkled with affection.

You shrugged. “S’true.”

Even if you’d had a second to process the mischief in his expression, you still would have been startled by the quick tug of your hands as Bucky pulled you into him. You squeaked, landing with a muted thud beside him. He caught your hands just as you tried to flick sand at him, and held you close instead. 

“You’re getting sappy, ya know that?” He sighed, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

You rose enough to see his face, blinking sweetly down at him.

"I’m sorry, what were you saying?” You purred, in feigned innocence. “I keep getting lost in your eyes.”

Bucky grumbled, his grip on you tightening as he lifted you both off the ground. “You’ve done it now.”

You giggled as you twisted away from the ticklish prodding of his fingers, though it was no use.

“Put me down, you neanderthal.” You shouted in mock protest, trying and failing to wriggle free.

“Oh you don’t have to worry about that, doll,” Bucky crooned seconds before tossing you - rather ungracefully - into the shallow water. 

Scrambling to your feet, you couldn't help the giggle that escaped your lips. You kicked at the water, aiming for Bucky's face, but he anticipated it. Of course he did. He dodged deftly out of the way before grabbing your waist and pulling you both into the waves.

Coughing and sputtering, you shoved half-heartedly at his shoulder as a genuine smile bloomed on your lips. Neither of you seemed bothered by the water that lapped over your still entangled bodies.

"Thank you, Bucky."

"For what?" He scoffed, an incredulous but warm look moulding his features. 

"For this," you waved a hand in the air. "You didn't even ask why I wanted to be here, you just offered to come with me. Never asked for details or tried to pry. You could be off saving the world...again." Bucky rolled his eyes. "But you're here saving me, instead."

Bucky's eyes dipped to your lips as the air began to crackle with unspent energy.

"You say that like it's two different things, doll."

The heat you felt under his careful gaze only intensified as the weight of his words settled on you.

Bucky stood before you could respond, holding his hand out to help you to your feet. He didn't let go as you strolled away from the water, instead he laced vibranium fingers with your flesh ones. Just as you reached the boardwalk that would take you back to the hotel you’d rented, Bucky glanced sideways at you before redirecting his steps. Smiling, you allowed him to lead you further down the beach, unwilling to let go of the bubble of peace you’d found just yet.

“Ya know,” Bucky murmured, his thumb stroking your knuckles gently. “It took a long time for me to reconcile my past with my expectation of the future.” He paused, noticing your questioning look before continuing. “What I mean is, my past is so…” Bucky shook his head and stopped walking. 

You wrapped your free hand around his bicep reassuringly, encouraging him to continue but you waited patiently until he was ready to go on. 

Bucky cleared his throat. “For a long time, I believed my past dictated my future. It’s full of so much pain and regret and things I can never undo. I always figured my future would be more of the same; a kind of comeuppance for everything I’d done.”

“Bucky…”

His lips curled into a half smile as he squeezed your hand gently. “I know. It’s taken a lot of therapy and literal reprogramming, but I know. It wasn’t me. Not really. Even accepting that though, I still always wondered how it would frame my life going forward.”

“Your past is just that, Bucky. It’s in the past,” you cocked your head to one side. “Your future is what you make of it.”

Bucky’s smile grew and he reached out to brush the damp hair from your face. “Yours is too, ya know.”

There he was, cutting straight to the heart of the matter, with as few words as possible. Again.

As your steps resumed, you kept your grip on his arm, snuggling in close as the temperature dipped slightly without the sun to warm the air.

“When I first met you, I had no idea what to make of you,” Bucky chuckled. “Honestly, you were a little intimidating.”

You scoffed. “You were intimidated by me?”

“Well, yeah,” Bucky sighed. “I was so irritated that Sam signed me up to be part of that support group - without telling me, mind you - but then you were there. You were funny, gorgeous and kind. You were so quiet, but there was this fire behind your eyes, and I wanted to know why you kept it locked up.”

The memory of that first meeting made your stomach twist. The plan had been to bide your time in silence so you could at least tell your therapist you’d gone. You’d wanted to be anywhere but there, until he walked in. The whole room had recognized him - if the quiet gasps and whispers were anything to go by - and it had been painfully obvious how uncomfortable that had made him. 

Bucky laughed. “I’ll never forget the way you plopped down in the seat beside me, threw a bottle of water at me and glared at Frank and Donna until they stopped staring.”

“They were being rude.” You shrugged.

“They’re nice.” Bucky countered.

You shrugged again. “They are, but that night they were being rude. Nothing screams ‘Welcome to our blip support group’ like oogling the new guy.”

“Alright, well my point is,” Bucky stopped again, this time turning to face you, his hands gripping your shoulders gently. “I knew from the moment you shot icy death glares at them, that whatever my future held, I wanted you to be a part of it.”

Blinking, you opened and closed your mouth a few times before frowning. 

“Remind me again who’s been watching too many Lifetime movies, Buck?”

“I’m serious,” Bucky chuckled lightly. “But, I get it. The wounds are still fresh, and I don’t expect anything, but I just want you to know that I’m here. And I’ll continue to be - in whatever way you’ll let me - until you send me away. This place?” Bucky waved a hand. “This is your past. But just remember that it doesn’t get to decide your future. You do.”

You bit your lip, allowing his words to envelop you with peace and warmth and - for the first time in a long time - hope.

“I think,” you paused, furrowing your brow, “Sometimes our wounds stay fresh because we keep picking at them. I think I’m ready to leave the past where it belongs.”

Bucky hummed, thumbs rubbing circles against the balls of your shoulder.

“And for the record, Barnes? I don’t plan on sending you away any time soon. So it looks like you’re stuck with me.”

Throwing his head back, Bucky barked a laugh before sliding his arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. You felt him press his lips to the top of your head as you snaked your arm around his waist, relishing his warmth.

“Well, lucky for both of us, doll. There’s no place I’d rather be.”

As you continued walking down the beach you’d once considered home, wrapped in the arms of the man who wanted to be your future, it struck you. The beauty of the setting sun had felt wrong because you’d been looking at it through the warped lens of your pain. The resplendence of the day drawing to a close wasn’t a mockery of the life you’d lost, it was a crimson and amber colored reminder that every day draws to a close and there will always be beauty to be found in the ending.

But the hope of the morning - when the sun will begin it’s reign once again, overpowering the darkness with it’s warmth and light - is where the true splendor is found. 

You glanced up at Bucky - the man offering you the same promise of the rising sun, and for the first time in a long time everything felt right.

Like what you see? Want more? My SPN Masterlist is here, and MCU is here. Thanks for reading! :)

A/N 2: I am using my new and improved taglist. If you want to be added, see this post.

Weirdos: 

@hannahindie​ @amanda-teaches​ @ellen-reincarnated1967​ @feelmyroarrrr​ @masksandtruths​ @princessmisery666​  @jamielea81​ @foxyjwls007​ @becs-bunker​ @super100012​ @shy-violet-soul​ @emoryhemsworth​ @impandagrl​

Heroes:

@arrowsandmixtapes​ @bethbabybaby​

[jaskierswolf]

Part of Your World Pt.3/4

Main Summary: Jaskier is a sea witch who finds Ciri crying by the edge of the ocean. She's lonely and desperate to find her Destiny so Jaskier offers to escort her to him. (On AO3) _____________

The night had been an awkward one. Jaskier had insisted it was too late to go after Geralt but Ciri hadn’t wanted to go back to sleep. He wasn’t proud about it but he had charmed the young girl back into a magical slumber. He hoped that she wouldn’t be too angry with him. Geralt had still been nearby, he knew that much but the witcher kept his distance.

Jaskier had changed back to his human form so he could stay with Ciri whilst she slept. He didn’t sleep as much as humans did but he did manage to catch a few winks before the dawn creeped over the horizon. Jaskier rolled over on the ground with a groan. He never enjoyed the sunlight in the early morning. It took him a while to adjust to the light. He buried his face into his sleeves and squeezed his eyes shut.

“She won’t wake up.”

Jaskier yelped and sat up, his head spinning at the sudden movement. “G-Geralt?” He slurred and blinked a few times. Geralt was indeed sat across them poking at the ashes of the campfire. His swords were strapped to his back and his was looking all grumpy in his black leather armour.

Honestly, how did anyone manage to look that attractive with a constant frown on their face?

But Jaskier also remembered how they had laughed together in the water, the bright smile on Geralt’s face. It had been absolutely radiant in its beauty. He also remembered the way they had held hands on the walk from the tavern, he wasn’t sure Geralt had even realised they were doing it but Jaskier had been giddy the entire time.

He’d always had a habit of falling in love too fast, but this time was a whole new level. He wanted to pull Geralt down into the depths of the ocean and never let him leave. It was such a pity that witchers needed the air to breathe.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been staring at Geralt, in his sleepy haze, but it suddenly dawned on him that Geralt had spoken to him, not a question exactly but one that still required an answer.

“Ah umm… yes. No. She won’t.” Jaskier hummed and looked down at Ciri. She was curled up in a ball and her long ashen hair was covering her face. “She wanted to go after you. She almost ran off into the night.”

Geralt let out a low growl. “She could have been hurt.”

Jaskier huffed and ran a hand through his hair. “Well, yes. You see that is exactly why I put the spell on her. Oh don’t look at me like that, Geralt. It is easily reversible.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“What’s… what’s stopping me?” Jaskier threw his hands up and then flopped back onto the ground. “Geralt!” He whined. “You ran away the moment she saw you!”

“Hmm.”

“Oh stop with your hums and grunts.” He muttered. “I’ll wake her and you can explain to Ciri why you ran away like a coward!” He snapped.

Geralt sighed and rested his forehead on his fingers. “I’m no coward, bard.”

“Oh really?” Jaskier grumbled. “Because from where I’m standing you look exactly like a coward.”

“Calanthe would have my head.”

“Calanthe is fighting a force that is greater than all of us, Geralt. Ciri is lonely. She thought that finding you might change that. She’s a good kid. I promised her that I would help find you and I really hate breaking my promises.”

That was true. It was part of a sea witch’s genetic make-up. A promise made must be kept. It could make them feel very sick for weeks if they broke that promise. It was why his mother was so particular in the wording she used whilst when making deals with the mermaids. Jaskier wasn’t quite so lucky. He’d spent many a month in bed after failing to finish a bargain that he’d made.

“I’ll talk to her, but she’s too young for the path. We’ll take her back to Cintra.” Geralt muttered.

Jaskier snorted. “We?”

“You started this mess.” Geralt smirked.

Jaskier raised his eyebrow and sauntered over to the witcher, cupping his cheek in his hands. “Why, dear heart, it’s almost as if you want to spend more time with me?”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm yourself.” Jaskier licked his lips and then leant forward to brush a kiss on Geralt’s cheek before the nerves got the better of him.

Geralt grabbed his wrist before he could properly pull away. “Jaskier.”

“Yes, Geralt?” He asked, his cheeks heating up as he tried not to overthink what he’d just done.

“That’s. That’s not a good idea.” Geralt closed his eyes and threw Jaskier’s wrist away as if it had burned him.

Jaskier’s heart clenched in his chest and he pulled his arms around his chest. “No. Of course not, witcher. I am a monster after all.”

Geralt grunted and nodded towards Ciri. “Wake her. We’ll, I’ll take her home.”

Jaskier sighed. So it was ‘I’ now. Well that wasn’t entirely unexpected and he did need to get home. If he headed west from this part of the forest he would be back to the coast sooner than if travelled to Cintra with Ciri and Geralt. His mother would be wondering where’s he’d gotten to by now. It had been a long time away, even for him. He chewed on his lip, pulling at the rough skin. He didn’t want to leave Geralt. It was foolish, he’d only known him for a few waking hours but he wanted to know more. He just felt that if he let the witcher go now then he would regret it.

He’d regret it for a long time.

“Cintra is by the coast.” He said, his voice cracking. “It would be safer to travel together.”

Geralt fixed him with a fiery stare but Jaskier didn’t back down. They were still close enough to the river for him to be able to use his magic but he honestly didn’t believe Geralt would hurt him. He stared back with as much fierceness as he could muster and put one hand on his hip. Eventually Geralt snarled. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Just wake her already.” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier stroked his fingers through Ciri’s hair. “Time to wake up, little lion cub.” He sang in her ear.

She groaned and rolled over. Jaskier smirked at Geralt. “See, she’s fine.”

“Hmm.”

___________________________

The journey back to Cintra was not an eventful one. Geralt and Ciri glared at each other for the first couple of days whilst Jaskier filled the silence with tunes from his lute. He tried to make sure he kept the lyrics as far away from love as possible but every time his gaze met Geralt’s he just wanted to sing of his desire for the witcher. As a result he frequently resorted to singing more bawdy, not entirely Ciri appropriate songs. He couldn’t help it. They were just less embarrassing than pouring his heart out in front of Geralt.

After the first few days, Geralt had grumbled an apology for running away to the princess. She had lit up and pulled him into a hug. Geralt had given Jaskier a look of sheer surprise and Jaskier had cackled about it for days but after that moment things had settled down. Ciri told Geralt all about her life at Cintra and Geralt in return told them both snippets of his life on the path.

Jaskier mostly listened. He still hummed and sang in the background, strumming happily on his lute but he absorbed the new information about Geralt and Ciri like a sponge. The poems and ballads already forming in his head.

They were a days ride away from Cintra when he caught Geralt staring at him across the camp. Ciri was already curled up asleep with her head on Geralt’s lap. Destiny was a funny thing. Ciri seemed to already see Geralt like some kind of parental figure but had accepted that they would go back to Cintra until she was older. Geralt for his part seemed to have settled into the role of parent with an ease that neither witcher nor sea witch had anticipated. Jaskier supposed he should have known really, despite all his grumpiness, Geralt was at his core fiercely protective over those he deemed to be worthy. It hadn’t taken long to work that one out, and Jaskier was certain the reason the child surprise scared Geralt so much was that he didn’t believe himself to be worthy of her.

It was utter bollocks.

Geralt had given the girl more care and attention in the few weeks he had known her than Calanthe had given her in the years she’d spent in court. Jaskier could relate to that one. Being the child of royalty was not all it cracked up to be. His mother spent more time on her potions and her contracts and spells than on her only son. He had had to entertain himself for years, and it seemed Ciri had been the same. She was thriving under Geralt’s care. She soaked up the storied he told as much as Jaskier did. Jaskier even noticed that Ciri had started mimicking Geralt’s actions and manner of speaking. It was all fascinating. Humans were a funny bunch.

But now Geralt’s attention was solely focussed on him whilst the girl was asleep. Jaskier felt his cheeks heat up under the witcher’s gaze and he put away his notebook with a heavy sigh.

“You know, dear heart. The way the fire dances in your eyes is absolutely sinful.” The words fell from his lips before he could stop them.

Geralt rolled his eyes and smirked. “I told you, it’s not a good idea.”

Jaskier pouted. “I know, I know. I don’t expect anything, dear witcher, but it would be a tragedy if you didn’t know how beautiful you are.”

Geralt tilted his head and smiled at Jaskier so softly that he thought his heart might explode. “Says the creature who could woo a thousand monarchs.”

Jaskier winked. “Only a thousand?”

“Hmm.” Geralt gently lifted Ciri up and carried her to her bedroll. She wiggled in his arms as he moved her but she didn’t wake. Jaskier hummed gently under his breath to weave a spell so they wouldn’t disturb the sleeping princess. Once she was settled Geralt came to sit next to Jaskier, bumping their shoulders together. “A thousand monarchs and one witcher.”

Jaskier choked and turned to face Geralt, his face burning hotter than the fire. “I’m sorry, What?!”

Geralt chuckled.

“Oh ho ho! No!” Jaskier gaped at Geralt, trying to stop his magic from going feral and turning him back into his natural form. “You do not get to just laugh! Weeks, Geralt. I have been pining over you and your gorgeous eyes for weeks! And then what? You suddenly flirt back! It’s just not fair.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at him. “You changed your mind?”

��What?! No! No!” Jaskier groaned and leant in to bury his face against Geralt’s shoulder. “No.” He mumbled. “I just want to know when you changed yours.”

Geralt sighed and leant his head against Jaskier’s. “You were always beautiful to me, when I saw you watching me. I thought you were beautiful and your scent, it reminded me of the ocean even before I knew what you were.”

“You reached for your swords.” Jaskier reminded him.

“You wouldn’t have been the first human to try and kill me.” Geralt muttered. “When I realised you were looking for me, I assumed the worst. I was wrong.”

“But I’m a monster.”

“No. You’re just not human. Neither am I. Doesn’t make us monsters.”

Jaskier laughed and snuggled closer against Geralt’s chest. “So when exactly did I woo you, oh great witcher? I thought I’d been more subtle.”

“Jaskier, you are as subtle as a Roach on a rooftop.”

Jaskier furrowed his brow. “I. What? Geralt, that doesn’t even make sense?”

Geralt laughed. “Long story.”

“Tell me.” He joined in with Geralt’s laughter and linked their hands together.

And Geralt did. He told Jaskier of the time where he’d come back from a contract to find his horse standing on the top of the tavern. To this day no one knew how the the mare had managed to end up on the roof. Geralt suspected a mage had been trying to get back at him for something. Either way, the entire village had gathered and darling Roach had ended up with her own Gwent card to mark the occasion.

Jaskier had been in fits of laughter by the end of the story, muffling the noise in his hands. “Oh, darling.” He frowned and looked around the camp. “Where is she now?”

Geralt looked up. They’d retrieved her from the tavern before heading back towards Cintra but Jaskier hadn’t seen the mare since they’d made camp earlier that evening. Geralt gave a sharp whistle and the mare came trotting out of the trees.

Jaskier grinned. “Well now, isn’t she a clever girl?” He cooed at the mare who flicked her ears with a snort.

“Hmm.” Geralt said fondly as he stroked the horse’s muzzle. “She is.”

“Why wait until now, Geralt?” Jaskier asked, holding up their hands when Geralt gave him a confused look.

Geralt shrugged. “I was losing you anyway, thought you should know, before we part.”

Jaskier groaned. “But I could have had weeks of kissing you, and now we only have tonight!” He pouted.

Geralt hummed and held Jaskier’s cheek so they were facing each other in front of the fire. “Then let’s not waste time.”

Jaskier surged forward and claimed Geralt’s lips with his own, a kiss that he had been dreaming of ever since their eyes had met in the tavern and every time Geralt looked at him ever since. Every song that he had been repressing and every shimmering glow of love in his heart bloomed under Geralt’s kiss. Geralt’s hands wrapped around his waist to pull him closer and Jaskier hummed happily, not noticing the glow that begun to weave around them, the water in the air responding to his call without him even realising it.

They kissed until they couldn’t breathe and then they kissed some more, holding each other close until the dawn began to rise over the horizon and it was time for their adventure to end. ________

Tag list: @alwenarin @slythnerd @davidtennan-t @flippinfricks @awitchersbard  @innocentcinnamonpun @marvagon @elliestormfound @geraskier-trashh @panerato @moonysourenza @artistsfuneral @victorieschild @hailhailsatan @pheebs0612

[elsaclack]

30 and 42 for peraltiago please 🥺

SO THIS ISN’T MY BEST EVER but i kinda....maybe......partially like it??

pre-relationship, probably late s2ish?? bc i have no other brand or any sense of self-control, apparently

30. “Those things you said yesterday...did you mean them?”

42. “I don’t care, just hold me.”

Amy doesn’t see Jake for nearly six hours after they arrive at the emergency room.

She tries not to let it bother her - she knows he’s okay, she could hear him arguing with the nurses for the entire first hour they were there - but the truth is, after the last twenty-four hours of terror and pain with nothing but him tethering her to reality, it feels not unlike she’s missing some vital part of herself without him in sight.

And she supposes the feeling must be mutual; after six hours of faint, but persistent anxiety festering in the spaces between her ribs, the door to her room cracks open, and he noiselessly slips inside.

He keeps his back pressed to the wall beside the door well after it’s clicked shut again.  “You awake?” he whispers in the semi-darkness.

“Yeah,” she rasps, and he darts toward her.  She can tell he’s limping, even in the shadows cast across his figure by the dim lights behind her bed, and she chokes down the automatic admonishment that rises in her throat at the sight.  She knows it would fall on deaf ears - she knows if the roles were reversed, she’d shrug him off without a second thought.  So she watches him move closer, watches him drag the guest chair closer to her bedside with one hand, watches him feel around in the folds of her blankets for her hand.

And once he’s got a firm grip on her hand, he finally goes still.

Jake presses his lips against her knuckles, and she’s thankful for the darkness concealing the faint blush that spreads across her cheeks at the scratchy feel of his five o’clock shadow against her skin.  “You okay?” he whispers, gently tracing a path up her arm from her wrist up to her shoulder and back down again with the fingertips of his free hand.

She shrugs the best she can, and he exhales a huff of laughter through his nose.  He’s close enough that she can see the faintest glint of light reflecting off the whites of his eyes, and a bubble of warmth expands around her heart.  “What about you?  Are you okay?”

She taps her index finger against his hand, adjusting her head on the pillow to see him a bit easier.  He blinks, lips pursed to one side, like he’s really considering it.  “Better, now,” he finally says.

She blushes again.

Slowly - wincing against the sharp pains of her muscles protesting her movements - she rolls to her right side, closer to him.  Jake doesn’t try to stop her, though his grip momentarily tightens around her hand; it loosens as slowly as she sighs, settling into her new position on the bed.

It’s quiet for a moment, and even though the quiet is normally something Amy rather enjoys in his company, right now all she hears is the distant echoes of torture playing on a never-ending loop in her mind.  So she clears her throat, eyes squeezed shut, only opening them when she senses him shifting in his seat.

“Hey,” Jake’s voice is low and soothing, and she does her resolute best to focus on it over the memory of his voice shattered with desperation.  She blinks, shaking her head slightly, and his face comes swimming into view.  “We’re okay,” he reminds her, gently squeezing her hand.  “We made it.”

She nods, ignoring the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.  “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“Don’t,” he says sharply - so sharply he seems to surprise himself.  “This wasn’t your fault.”

“It was, though,” she mumbles, and Jake’s grip on her hand tightens again - and this time, she can feel her own hand shaking.  “Kirkland was my perp, you only got caught up in it because you happened to be with me when -”

“When he attacked you and kidnapped you and dragged you back to a literal torture chamber that he built specifically for you,” Jake interrupts, and Amy clenches her jaw against a veritable tsunami of guilt - her fault, her fault, her fault.  “Ames, I’m glad I was there.  I’m glad he decided to take me, too.”

Her breath catches in her chest, but his earnestness does not fade.  “You are?” she manages after a beat.

“Hell yeah I am,” he says with a forceful nod.  “Could you imagine what would have happened if I hadn’t been in there with you?” 

She tries to conjure the images in her mind, but all she sees is his face contorted in pain, rivlets of blood dripping down his pale skin from somewhere above his hairline.

“He woulda killed you, Amy,” he says softly, and it’s like a bucket of ice water over her head.  “If I hadn’t’ve been there to negotiate with him -” he stops, shivering in a way she thinks might not be entirely voluntary, and it’s suddenly very difficult to remember how to breathe.  “He would’ve - god.  I’m so glad I was there.”

She knew, on some level, that she spent a certain amount of time being held hostage completely unconscious; it hadn’t occurred to her in the disorienting moments after regaining consciousness that the dream she’d had of Jake begging for both of their lives - for her life, specifically - had actually happened.  But now that she’s thinking about it - now that she’s really allowing herself to relive it - she can’t believe she spent even a moment believing her mind could conjure anything as horrific as Jake listing all of the reasons their deranged captor shouldn’t murder her in cold blood.

“You talked to him about me, didn’t you?” she rasps, and Jake nods slowly.  “You begged him not to kill me.”

“You could hear me?”

“I thought I was dreaming,” she says absently.  “What did - what did you tell him?”

He clears his throat, fingers rippling self-consciously against the back of her hand.  “I - I told him that you’re so smart, and sweet, and funny,” he starts, “and that you’re horrifically awkward with kids, but you’d do absolutely anything for your nieces and nephews.  That you have six brothers who adore you and one who kind of tolerates you. Um, that you make mini loaves of pumpkin bread and give them to all of your neighbors on the first day of fall every year, and chocolate chip cookies for the first day of spring.  I told him that you’re a terrible dancer but you’re taking classes to get better and that you love animals but can’t go within five feet of a dog without having a full-on epipen level allergic reaction.  That you pretend to hate pop music but you can sing along with almost every Taylor Swift song on my Spotify playlist.  That you love cheese but hate string cheese and you can only have red wine on Friday nights because you get such a bad headache the next day, but you refuse to stop drinking it even though it’s clearly bad for you.  I told him that you’re my best friend,” he murmurs, “and that I love you more than anyone on the planet, and - that I’d, y’know...I’d just be kinda...lost.  Without you.  Or something - something like that.”

She exhales slowly, watching him chew the inside of his cheek and avoid eye-contact.  “I - I don’t - know what to say,” she finally manages.

“Nothing,” he says quickly, “you don’t have to say anything.  I’m - I was desperate, y’know.  He - had a knife, and I couldn’t - my wrists were tied, I couldn’t get to you to - to physically stop him.  I would’ve said anything.”

She nods, hoping the room is dim enough to mask the undeniable wave of disappointment flooding her belly.

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t stop him from hurting you,” he says softly, so softly the tears spring up automatically at his words.  “God, hearing you scream - I don’t think I’m ever gonna get that sound outta my head.  I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, and this time he doesn’t try to cut her off - just shakes his head, diligently chewing his cheek once more, eyes fixated on the blankets bunched beneath her crooked elbow.  “And you’re right - if you hadn’t been there, I - I don’t think this would have ended in the ER for me.”

He clears his throat again, briefly pressing the back of her hand to his lips.

“Did you mean it?”

He lowers her hand slowly, brow furrowed, and there’s a mottled-looking bruise developing over his left temple, dipping dangerously close to his eye.  “What?”

“The things you said...did you mean them?”

He shakes his head - an absent movement she recognizes from all the times she’s watched him try to piece a puzzle together.  “I’m not following you,” he confesses.

“You said you would’ve said anything to stop Kirkland from killing me.  Did - did you mean all the things you did say to him?”

His mouth drops open, but no words come; he shakes his head again, a confused laugh escaping from his throat.  “I just - I was trying to humanize you, I just - told him facts about you -”

“Jake.”

He keeps up the facade another moment, before deflating.  “Yeah, I meant it,” he mumbles, the pad of his thumb swiping up the inward curve of her own thumb in a nervous tick.  “I just - I dunno, Ames.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” she says truthfully; he studies her expression for a moment, before nodding in bald-faced thankfulness.  “But you should know - the feelings are...mutual.”

She can see his eyebrows shoot up toward his hairline, a broad grin splitting his face in an instant. “Oh-ho,” he quietly crows, “so you are totally in love with me!”

“Never said in love,” she mutters, rolling her eyes and ignoring the faint ache at the base of her skull at the movement.  He snorts, leaning closer to her, and through the mirth she can see it - unabashed affection simmering in his soft gaze.  Her heart throbs, familiar and exhilarating, and for a third time he presses her hand against his lips.  Exhaustion thrums through her veins, tugging at her sticky eyelids, and despite the fact that she can feel the warmth of his breath on her face every time he exhales, he’s stupidly, stupidly far away.  “Come up here,” she murmurs with a twitch of her wrist.

He furrows his brow.  “What, in the bed with you?”

“Yes.”

“It’s so narrow - and your knee -”

“I don’t care,” she interrupts, “just - hold me.  Please.”

She tacks the last word on as an afterthought - as cushioning to what she belatedly realizes is more of an order than an invitation.  “Yes, ma’am,” he mutters, already sprung up from his seat to clamber up the side of the bed, and whatever pulse of self-consciousness she felt fades immediately.

Amy rolls painstakingly to her left side, biting back a pained groan the entire way that only subsides when she feels the warm wall of Jake’s body flush against her back.  He pulls her into him until her shoulders brush against his chest, and she closes her eyes at the feeling of him nosing through her hair.  The crown of her head is wrapped in thick bandages, but she still feels the press of his lips against her; carefully, she turns her head to find him a breath away, watching her through long eyelashes.

It’s not the most comfortable position - she’s sure she’ll get a crick in her neck like this if she tries to hold it too long - but when he tentatively brushes his lips against hers, her discomfort vanishes.  It’s just him - his arms around her waist and curled beneath her head, his knees slotted in behind hers, his lips warm and gentle, moving in tandem with hers.

He presses another kiss to the corner of her mouth when she pulls away, and another to her cheek as her head automatically rolls to a more comfortable position; as she turns her head back to face the far wall, he trails kisses down the side of her neck and up the line of her shoulder.  “Thank you,” she whispers.

“Sh,” he shushes her, and her eyes flutter closed.  “Sleep now.  Talk later.”  He plants two more kisses at the juncture of her neck and shoulder.  “I like you.”

She smiles - a small, tired thing.  “I like you, too.”

He murmurs something else - something that makes him laugh, that makes the mattress sway beneath their bodies - but she’s asleep before it reaches her.

request a prompt for any of these pairings!

[sad-goomy]

role reversal

Day 6 of Postwickshipping Week

Read on Ao3

Hop wedges his phone between his cheek and his shoulder, shuffling through his gym bag for his apartment keys as on the other end of the line, Sonia asks, “Are you sure it’s okay? I could always guilt Lee back into doing it.”

“He’s up to his neck in Battle Tower renovations,” he mumbles, opening his front door and stepping inside his apartment, dropping his bag and toeing off his sneakers. After a press conference, two interviews, and a training session, he’s absolutely ravenous and heads straight to the kitchen where he knows some leftover pasta is waiting for him. He puts the Rotomphone on speaker, letting it float next to him as he walks down the short hallway. “Really, it’s no sweat. Quick tour like that won’t take more than half an hour.”

Sonia hums, and it blends with the hum of the microwave heating up his dinner. “If you say so. I told her to be there around five, if that’s all right?”

The microwave beeps at him, and he grabs a fork before taking the cardboard box out. “Perfect, I’ll have finished up training by then. What’s her name?”

“Gloria.”

“Will she be in a lab coat?”

There’s a laugh on the other end of the call while Hop sets himself up on the couch, careful to not spill before tucking into his pasta; it’s not as good reheated, but he hasn’t had the chance to go grocery shopping in nearly two weeks, so it’ll do just fine.

“Probably not – she's more of a cardigan girl.” There’s the shuffling of something like papers, and then Sonia’s voice is back. “Be on the lookout for a pale girl with short brown hair, brown eyes, and a couple inches shorter than me.”

“So the poster child for ‘girl next door?’”

“Pretty much.”

Huh, she sounds like she might be my type, he thinks in the back of his mind, because given his schedule it’s been a minute since he actually went on a date.

“Oh no, she’s your type, isn’t she?”

He sits up straighter, swallowing a bite of pasta as he bristles. “What does that mean?”

“It means I don’t want you distracting her or scaring her off,” Sonia tuts, though her voice is halfway to another laugh as she continues, “Sycamore still won’t forgive me for stealing her from him, so I don’t need you giving her a reason to run back to that internship.”

Hop frowns at the Rotomphone until the defensiveness gives way to a smirk. “Did Magnolia ever lecture Leon when he was distracting you?”

“Sod off!” His laugh fills the apartment as he tries not to choke on pasta. Her tone is clipped now, and he knows her well enough that he can practically see the blush on her face despite the harsh consonants. “Gloria. Five PM. No funny business.”

“No funny business,” he echoes with a roll of his eyes, and then the call ends and he goes back to dinner, his apartment quiet once more.

...

Sonia’s right – she isn’t wearing a lab coat, but a grey wooly cardigan.

(Also she’s definitely his type.)

The stadium has been fairly empty all day, what with no matches scheduled, so she’s easy to spot. She’s reading the dedication plaque on the wall as she waits with this little smile that has him grinning on reflex.

“Gloria?”

He holds out a hand and she shakes it firmly, letting out a low whistle followed closely by a chuckle that has no business making his heartbeat stutter. “Well what do you know? Sonia wasn’t kidding – I actually get to meet the Champion himself.”

“I’ll do you one better and put us on a first-name basis.” He throws in a wink, and her lopsided smile is back as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. With a quick jerk of his chin towards a back door being guarded by a League staff member, he asks, “Shall we?”

“Lead the way, Hop.”

It’s honestly unfair how nice his name sounds coming out of her mouth, how it puts a little – for lack of a better word – hop in his step as they make their way further into the stadium. In an effort to distract himself, he decides to make some small talk. “So, you’ve ever seen a match here?”

“All the time when I was a kid.” She’s looking at the framed jerseys that line the wall, but when she feels his curious gaze, she glances up at him. “I grew up a few streets away, so we had season passes.”

There’s a wealth of questions he can ask, and he wants to go through each and every one of them, wants her to keep talking because she has this cute lilt to her voice, but he gets the feeling that would go against Sonia’s specific orders of “no funny business.” Instead, he settles on the most innocent one he has. “Who’s ‘we?’”

Her face lights up for a moment as they turn a corner. “My mum and brother, Victor. Maybe you remember him? He battled you in the semifinals.”

He does remember him; his team gave him quite a bit of trouble whenever they would battle. Looking at her now, he can see the family resemblance, nearly kicks himself for not getting it sooner. “Right. He’s mentoring under Kabu now, isn’t he?”

She nods, and their steps are slowing now, as if making way for the natural rhythm of their conversation. Hop isn’t quite sure if he’s making this up in his head, but then she’s leaning just a little closer to him, biting her lip, and he’s fairly certain there’s something he hasn’t felt in a while happening here between them.

“He is, and I reckon he’ll be trying to challenge you soon.”

“Thanks for the warning. I’ll be sure to keep an eye out.” She giggles behind her hand, and he’ll be damned if that’s not the cutest thing he’s seen. Some voice in the back of his mind (that sounds suspiciously like Sonia) is telling him that they should really focus on the stadium’s infrastructure, but that part is quickly silenced by the growing faction of his brain that’d like to know everything he can about the little scientist before him. “And what about you? Willing to challenge me on my new home turf?”

A shake of her head has a few strands of her hair flying into her face, and his fingers flex with the need to brush them away. “Afraid I’m not the battling type. Never had the knack for it, and got this pesky interest in studying forms of temporary evolution.”

“Is that how you ended up in Kalos?”

Her eyes widen and then narrow a moment, shining in amusement as he realizes he’s let slip the little information he had on her thanks to Sonia. She doesn’t question it, though, instead sidling just a hair closer as she teases, “You’re asking an awful lot of personal questions for someone who’s just supposed to be giving me a tour.”

He sighs, putting on a show of self-deprecation as he runs a hand through his hair. “And I even went and promised Sonia that I’d be on my best behavior.”

“I won’t tell her if you don’t,” she whispers conspiratorially, waggling her brows until he snorts a laugh, which makes that crooked smile reappear on her lips.

Hop decides he likes looking at her lips, but now is probably not the time to be doing that. He takes a moment to think, and he remembers that he still doesn’t want to go grocery shopping, and he figures that he isn’t technically distracting her if they’re both off the clock, and he comes up with his favorite idea so far as Champion.

“That’s awfully nice of you to offer – maybe I should treat you to dinner after this to repay you.”

Gloria hums, and her cheeks are pink as she tilts her head. “Maybe you should.”

...

He does.

And he still doesn’t get to ask every question he has for her, but he does get to listen to her ramble about Dynamax with a goofy grin on his face as they take a walk in the vague direction of his apartment. If he’s being honest, he doesn’t understand half of it, but it means he gets to listen to her voice and see how her eyes just light up as she gesticulates. He’ll ask Sonia for some recommendations on journal articles later, so that next time he’s better equipped to respond, to understand how smart she truly is.

“Next time” might be a little presumptuous, but then neither of them seem willing to end even the first time, as she hasn’t excused herself. He stops at a quiet street corner, thankful that no fans have spotted him so far to interrupt...

Whatever this is. Is it a date? They’ve certainly been flirting, or maybe she just naturally comes off this way and he’s misreading things.

She looks up at him, about to ask when he cuts her off with a smirk. “Question for the professor-in-training, and this one might require all your expertise.”

“I can certainly try,” she replies smoothly, admiring how the streetlight warms his eyes to pure gold.

“Would you, in your professional opinion, call this a date?”

Her lips part for a moment, and then she’s smiling up at him with an intent he can’t decipher. When she speaks, her voice dips low into something that sends a shiver down his spine. “Well, it’s not a proper date unless there’s a goodnight kiss.”

He hums, nodding slowly before his face breaks into a wide grin and he’s stepping close to her, one hand tracing up her arm with a featherlight touch as the other cups the side of her face. As he leans down, he hears her breath hitch, and it makes the corner of his lip twitch upwards as he mumbles, “Then you should know that I’m not one to half-ass anything.”

She smiles for just a moment, and then his lips are on her and she finds that he’s absolutely right, melting into his grip as he leaves her breathless.

When they part for air, she keeps him close, arms wrapped around his neck as he leans his forehead against hers.  She nearly goes cross-eyed trying to look at his smile, but it’s worth it and has her giggling in a way that only makes him grin wider.

Sonia’s voice very nearly makes a comeback in his mind, but he silences it because he knows this isn’t any funny business; in fact, it’s very serious, and so he has to admit to Gloria in a hushed whisper, “I’m afraid that wasn’t my best work. Can I try again?”

Her laugh is warm and bright and cut short as she leans up to meet him once more, nipping at his lip in a way that has Hop thinking, for the first time since he became Champion, that he’s finally met his match.

[reddie-fangirl24]

Richie, The Patient Chapter 3

Support me on my Ko-Fi!

“Richie? Hey, Richie? Wake up.”

Opening his eyes after once again dreaming about horrific events that happened on stage, Richie felt like he was on another planet. He couldn’t open his eyes, let alone see straight. Somebody was talking to him, but his cranium was in so much pain that Richie had no clue what the words meant. His stomach felt worse. It felt like a volcano would erupt.

Feeling himself being lifted to his feet, Richie’s legs wouldn’t cooperate, nearly toppling over to the ground. At least he was able to walk, but he had no energy. He pressed a hand to his churning stomach.

“Are you sure that you don’t want to take the limo?” That was Steve’s voice. He sounded close.

“How could you not call me? Next time you’d better contact me if something like this ever happens again!” Richie felt so confused, doing his best to keep up. Whoever it was sounded beyond angry.

Hardly aware of what was going on, Richie struggled to get inside of a car. He was barely able to keep his head up as he sat on the seat. Turning up his nose, a foul smell lingered in this car making him gag. 

Somebody pushed his head down into their lap. Fingers brushed through his hair while the other hand smoothed his aching shoulder. Everything ached. He liked that. Wait, he knew that sensation. Only one person brushed his hair like that.

Richie slowly started to connect the pieces of the puzzle. “Eddie...” he smacked his lips together, noting that foul taste occupying his mouth.

Shushing him, Eddie stroked his boyfriend’s hair, encouraging him to rest. He looked very worried. “We’ll be home in a bit, Rich.”

Not having the strength to ask any questions lingering in his mind, Richie was terribly guilty that he had to force Eddie to leave work and stop his studies just to come to his rescue. He was stressed enough as it was.

Feeling his stomach flip, Richie could only imagine what social media was like right now. Ronnie was known for making insulting tweets that ended someone’s career. The first time Richie ever performed, thankfully social media was still on the rise, a critic only talked about his anxiety instead of his jokes. From that point on, before each show, Richie did a breathing exercise to get rid of his jitters. 

Groaning, Richie avoided looking out the window of the moving vehicle. Eddie opened the window to let in a cool breeze. Sweat built up on the top of Richie’s eyebrows. He was pretty sure that his clothes were swat soaked at this point. Despite feeling warm, Richie shivered. His bones ached. Eddie noticed, holding his boyfriend tighter.

Right when he was going to alert the driver to pull over, they were home. 

Poor Eddie already had his heavy bag of school books to carry, plus Richie who could barely support himself. Even the little breeze was enough to knock him over. Leaning his boyfriend against the car, Richie’s legs felt like jello. As he waited for Eddie to pay the cab driver, Ronnie’s furious reaction replayed in his mind. 

Grasping his churning stomach, Richie shivered. How was he cold when the sun was out? He just wanted to crawl under the covers and hibernate like a polar bear.

Feeling that uncomfortable nauseating wave in his stomach, Richie hovered his hand over his mouth. “Eddie...” Richie urgently got his boyfriend’s attention. Right when he found his wallet in the mess of his bag, Eddie’s eyes went wide. Quickly, he paid the cab driver. “Keep the change, thank you!”

Climbing the few steps to their house was the equivalent of trying to reach the top of a mountain in Richie’s case. Eddie remembered the first time he ever came home with Richie. Still weak from his injury, Richie carried him inside, bridal style. Richie did so much for him, and now it was time he returned the favor. As he held Richie tightly with one arm around his waist, he encouraged his ill boyfriend until they were in the house.

Briefly having difficulty with the lock, Richie ran through the kitchen, knowing that Eddie abhorred the idea of vomiting in a place where they ate. As soon as he reached the bathroom, Richie fell to his knees, clutching the toilet, vomiting. 

His legs shaking, Eddie took a deep breath. In the midst of studying and working, Eddie also found a window to see a therapist. Throughout his sessions, he talked all about his childhood, his mother lying to him about his illness, and his own battles with anxiety. As one of his goals, Eddie started to conquer his fear of germs so he could be happier. With himself and in his relationship with Richie.

Feeling a soft hand rub against his back while he coughed hoarsely, Eddie removed Richie’s glasses to prevent them from slipping off his nose. “Don’t hold back, Rich, just let it all out,” Eddie encouraged him. “I’m right here.”

Taking deep breaths in through his mouth, Richie kept his eyes shut tight, waiting to see if it all stopped. Everything hurt. His fingers that gripped the toilet, his back and his stomach hurt terribly. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this sick, even when he was a kid. 

All he could see were the nightmare images of faces of the disgusted fans as he kept his eyes shut tight so he wouldn’t have to look at the mess swirling around in the water in front of him.

Ripping off a piece of toilet paper, Eddie flushed the toilet, helped Richie stand, and brought him over to the sink. “Here, brush your teeth, and rinse,” Eddie instructed him. His heart fell looking at his pale face.

Richie swished the water throughout every corner of his mouth, getting rid of that foul taste. His stomach felt better, but knowing that it wouldn’t for long made Richie dread the rest of the day. It was still early afternoon. All he wanted to do was bury himself deep inside a hole. 

“Wash your hands good,” Eddie told him, resting a hand on his shoulder to keep him steady.

Richie was able to think up a funny comeback through his foggy mind. He thought about pretending to spit the water in Eddie’s direction, but he had no energy to turn his neck. Besides, Eddie would have a fit. “Sure thing, dad.”

Eddie gave him a warning look, though he smiled, relieved that Richie was joking. A good sign, at least.

Going into the bedroom, Eddie immediately removed his sweat-soaked shirt, throwing it into the hamper. Just when he was about to bend down, Richie groaned, grasping his aching back. He always had back problems due to a rough fall he took. The next few hours weren’t going to be fun.

Once Richie was dressed in something more comfortable, Eddie tucked him under the blankets of their bed. Then he furiously went all over the place getting Richie water and a separate glass of ginger ale as he took Richie’s temperature. He practically brought out the whole medicine cabinet. And then he wet a towel and rubbed it over Richie’s head to bring his fever down.

“How’d you find out?” Richie barely had the energy to speak. He was about to talk with the thermometer in his mouth, but again Eddie would have a fit. 

Living with a germaphobe wasn’t easy at times. If he coughed, Eddie rushed to get him some cough medicine. Or if he sneezed without using a tissue, Eddie came in from the other room to give him a stock load of tissues. It’s not like Richie was complaining. He never had anyone to take care of him until now. 

“I saw online,” Eddie answered, bending a straw so Richie could take a small sip of water. This morning was so hectic that looking back it felt like a week ago. Before the car gave him trouble, he made it to the auto shop. Who knows when they’d get it back. He was able to get in some study time at the library, but not much. Eddie worked in a little store. Because everyone was at the big show, there wasn’t a lot of business today.  

Curiously, he saw fans talking about the incident on Twiter. Yes, Richie convinced him to get a Twitter. The instant he watched the video of his own boyfriend throwing up on the stage almost made him have a panic attack. At first, he didn’t think he was going to be able to leave, but his boss let him go under the warning that he had to pick up a shift.

“I am so mad that Steve didn’t call me! You get sick and he just decided to keep you there!” Eddie ranted off as he fluffed Richie’s pillow for him. 

“It’s online?” Richie uttered, closing his eyes in dismay.

Eddie’s face broke. That’s right, Richie didn’t know. “Oh, Rich,” Eddie cooed, lightly putting his hand on his stomach, rubbing it in a nice massage to make his boyfriend feel better. “I was so busy this morning. I feel like this is all my fault. You know I would never have let you go to that show, right?”

Richie turned away on his side. No, he was not mad at Eddie, just with himself. He didn’t want him to see the tears. He felt so rotten. So embarrassed. So sick.

It was over. His entire career was over.

“I’ll let you sleep, Rich,” Eddie told him, rubbing his side. “Get some rest. I’m going to be in the other room if you need me, okay?”

Richie was already out like a light in a few minutes. Carefully, Eddie took off his glasses and put them on the nightstand.

Washing his hands good and clean, Eddie felt like crying. How could he let this happen? He was supposed to look after his boyfriend. Not let him go on stage and humiliate himself like that. Guilty, Eddie should have been there. Then Richie wouldn’t have had to stay in that compact room on that uncomfortable couch.

Going into the little office space Richie made up just for him, Eddie tried to concentrate of getting some work done. He had to finish an essay, a test was coming up within the week, and he had to read a whole chapter in the textbook. 

Sighing, this felt wrong. This was his boyfriend. It felt so wrong to be in two separate rooms. When he was recovering from his own injury, or if he ever got sick, Richie stuck to him like glue. Eddie found it annoying at the time, but now that their roles reversed, he was so thankful for Richie always being by his side.

Richie needed him. Making up space in their bedroom, Eddie worked on whatever homework he needed to get done while tending to Richie at the same time.

“I’m right here, Richie,” he whispered to his love as he slept.

[septic-skele]

US - Heed The Signs (Part 1)

Summary: Something is up with Papyrus. Blue is determined to make some headway on their journey to Snowdin and the warning signs go completely over his head.

Blue should have seen the signs. No, on the contrary—the signs were abundant, practically a slap to the face, and he had just brushed them aside. When he’d shaken Papyrus awake this morning on the creaky old bench they’d claimed for a night, it wasn’t…particularly gentle.

“Good morning, starshine! Up and at 'em! It’s a beautiful day, Papy, and it’s about time to greet it. Let’s not keep it waiting!”

To his surprise, Papyrus curled away from Blue’s prodding hands and shivered. “M’tired…Dun’ wanna walk today…” he whined, rubbing roughly at his eye sockets as he tried to roll over, putting his back to him.

“Hey, now! We don’t want to overstay our welcome, do we? Mweheh, if you’re worried about the bench getting lonely, I’m sure another traveler will come to keep it company as soon as we leave! Three is a crowd.”

Though that still didn’t budge him, Blue’s smile didn’t budge either. Optimism was key to making their long, arduous journey bearable. He needed to make the best of this for the both of them.

“Papy, do you remember the echo flowers yesterday?” he tried hopefully, clasping his shoulder. “I’ll bet there are plenty of others up ahead with riveting things to say to us! What do you think?”

“Nnnh…”

“Well, they’ve definitely got better things to say than that!” Taking initiative, he scooped Papyrus up, ignoring his keen of resistance as he planted him firmly on his feet. “There, see? Now we just put one foot in front of the other. Sound good?” When Papyrus swayed and listed into him, nuzzling halfheartedly into his shirt, Blue chuckled and put it down to being half-asleep. “Come on, sleepy-skull. Baby bones need exercise!”

It should have worried him—how Papy lagged and leaned on the cavern walls as they made their way, how his eyelights were just a little too bright. When they reached one of the falls, he hissed, rattled and whined them to a standstill. They wasted almost fifteen minutes debating it until Blue, with a calming breath and utmost poise and patience, hiked him up on his back and carried him across. Looking back on it now, it was a mercy that he had.

The water flowing past them was chilly, its roar drowning out the clatter of Papyrus’ bones as he quivered. Blue couldn’t help shuddering a little too, wading on tiptoe so his brother wouldn’t dip too far. He’d grown, he realized about halfway across as Papyrus’ legs bumped his sides. Maybe someday they would be doing this with roles reversed!

Maybe someday they would have a warm, secure home in one secure place and they wouldn’t have to do this.

“We did it!” he exclaimed unnecessarily as they stumbled back onto dry ground. Puddles formed around them as Blue helped Papyrus wring out his tattered shirt. He needs a jacket.

He needs a lot of things.

Soul sinking as Papyrus sniffled and shivered, Blue took another breath to muster himself. Courage and optimism. “Hey…I’ll bet the faster we walk, the faster our clothes will dry.”

Hopefully they would be dry by the time they arrived in Snowdin. Wet clothes in that kind of cold would be absolute misery no matter how Blue tried to spin it.

It seemed Papyrus had the same thought, though he took an opposite approach: the slower he walked, the more likely they would be dry long, long, long before they ever reached Snowdin. He shuffled, kicked at the floor, stopped to hug himself or rub repetitively at his eye sockets.

Make the best of it. Make it an adventure. Make it something fun. Those were the first ideas Blue had to turn to.

“Brother! Why don’t we play a game to pass the time?” he called as he paused yet again to let Papyrus catch up. “It’s called, um, Name Everything You See! I see…water sausages! Your turn!”

“Mm…grass,” he mumbled, barely looking.

“Crystals on the ceiling!”

“Lily pads.”

They managed to make that work for a while, until Papyrus made a point of repeating the same answer for every step. Blue was exceedingly close to giving in and carrying him for a while longer, only to brighten when he saw the field before them.

“Look, Papy! Now I see the echo flowers!” To his great relief that made him perk up just a little; he took Blue’s hand and let himself be dragged over.

Stopping here meant they still weren’t making headway, but it was what Blue had promised. They spent a few minutes batting at the petals, eavesdropping on old news.

“…ready to try again, if you are?”

“…can’t prove anything.”

“…What do you remember?”

“…speaks in hands.”

“…two animal runts digging through my trash again!”

Blue tensed at that phrase, his mind already rewinding two nights to their slightly desperate search for dinner. Had they really been that conspicuous? It was meant to be a mission of flawless espionage; the old monster wasn’t supposed to see them!

“Umm…Umm—!” Forcing a grin, he spun around as Papyrus glanced over. “I just thought of something! What did one flower say to the other after telling a joke?” He didn’t wait for an answer, tilting his head with a wink. “I was just pollen your leg!”

If there was anything that could lift Pap’s spirits as a last resort, it was Blue indulging his terrible sense of humor. Sure enough, his eyelights grew big, his mouth fell open and then he was doubled over laughing. As the pun echoed around them, his giggles bubbled over into gasps for breath, then hard coughs, then giggles again.

Was it really that funny? Blue wondered, chuckling sheepishly. It froze in his throat only moments later, soul plummeting into his nonexistent stomach as his little brother promptly crumpled to the ground and burst into tears.

Finally, inexcusably late, all of his internal alarms went off. “Papyrus?!”

These weren’t the silent, subdued tears that Papyrus would wipe away on his sleeves when he thought Sans wouldn’t see; these were deep, wrenching sobs that tore at his core, rocking him forward on his knees. Blue was at his side in seconds.

“What is it?” he demanded. “What is it, what’s wrong?!”

If he answered, it was unintelligible through his cries as he curled in on himself, cradling his head against the echo. Anxiety swelling in him, Blue pulled off one glove, intending to rub circles into his neck and back—

Stars. Stars, was he always this hot to the touch? Dismayed realization sank in just as Pap’s next gasp became a gurgling moan, and a heave of half-formed magical essence was being retched into the grass.

Guilt and horror crawling on his back, Blue sat by until his brother stopped gagging. From there he gathered him up in his arms, all pretenses gone. “Oh, Papyrus…I’m so sorry! I should have realized…W-Why didn’t you tell me?”

Whimpering—in shame or pain, it was uncertain—Papyrus buried his flushed, pinched face against Blue’s shoulder. “Didn’t…want’cha mad at me,” he hiccupped miserably. “M’not sup-p-posed to be slow! K-Keep up so…so we can find home faster…” His quivering grew violent for a moment, his next words a reedy rush. “D-Didn’t wanna get left behind.” His voice cracked; it was the most he’d spoken all day.

Blue’s embrace fell slack, the light draining from his eye sockets. “What? How…How could you think that I would ever…?”

The tears were budding again, wetting his shirt as he forced the words out through coughs. “M’always too t-tired—an’ too slow—an’ c-can’t go as far as you can—an’ can’t help you—an’ can’t g-get up to greet the day when y’want me to—”

“Papyrus…”

“—And I had a bad, awful dream where you went off away from me an’ something got you! They got you an’ I—I was all alone—”

“Brother, look at me.” Blue did his best to compose himself as Papyrus obeyed, though his voice still held a tremor. “I will never, ever leave you behind. No matter how tired you are, no matter how slow, I will always be there to help and protect you. What would I do without you?”

“…Get t-to a home in Snowdin faster.”

That struck with just as much pain as a bone breaking. “Nothing could be home without you, Papy. I’m not going anywhere.”

The echo flowers concurred, spreading the message across the field, softly willing Papyrus to believe it. He didn’t answer, hoarse breaths slowly evening out as Blue scratched soothing fingers against the base of his feverish skull.

“You’re tired,” he whispered, lulling him down. “Rest as long as you need.”

[badass-princesses]

New fic up on Ao3 and here!

She’s Gonna Save Me.

Prompt:The part where Judy is treating Don after he is bitten by the kelp.

I took it and ran with it.

Judy liked to think of herself as level-headed. She was a doctor. Her hands had never shaken when she assisted in surgery. She had never faltered with chest compressions. Even after Evan had died, she’d managed to hold herself together until she got home.

But seeing Don with poisonous kelp wrapped around his leg was enough to make her chest seize with panic. She shouted instructions at Will, and balled her hands into fists before taking a deep breath, and turning to her patient. Smith’s face appeared in the doorway, but Judy shut it before the crazy lady could spew more lies. Her mother may trust the woman, but Judy couldn’t. Not when her friend- maybe her best friend- was telling her how he couldn’t move either of his legs, and “That’s bad, isn’t it? It sounds bad to me.”

“You’re fine.” Judy gritted out. She threw her helmet off, and dug out a plasma torch from the back of one of the cabinets. She wasn’t even sure if it was the tool she needed to use, but she sure as hell wasn’t about to touch the kelp even with gloved hands.The toxin had cut through the thick layers of Don’s suit, and she wasn’t about to risk herself- no matter how badly she wanted to rip the damn stuff off of him. She was the only doctor in the galaxy, and she couldn’t save Don if she was paralyzed on the ground.

She’d never operated a plasma torch outside of training, but for the past year, she’d been doing a lot of things she hadn’t done outside of training. It would be fine. Don would be fine.

“That’s… fancy.” Don’s words were beginning to slur slightly. Judy tried not to think about what that meant. “Wait, you’re going to use that on me?”

“I need to cut the kelp off your leg, now.” Judy said, her words clipped and cold. If she didn’t focus on his whining, she would be fine. She could get it off in a few blasts. She fired it up, and aimed the purple light on the kelp. Thankfully, the plasma made it easy enough to slice through the kelp, but did not cut into the suit.

Don, however, didn’t like being ignored. “Please be careful!” He yelled, sitting up in protest.

“Stop moving!” She pulled the torch back from his flailing arms.

“I’m just saying, that’s my favorite leg!”

Judy toyed with the idea of purposely letting the toxin reach his tongue. It might get him to shut up. “That’s why I have to cut the stuff off,” She explained, and she was very much not calm, and not patient. She was trying to save his life, and he was being a brat. “Because whatever toxin is affecting your body is coming from there!”

           She moved around to his other side, barely glancing up as he reached up and gripped his head. “Something’s happening. Something’s happening, I can’t feel my head.” A rare note of fear was evident in his voice as he lashed his head back and forth, like he was trying to protest the toxin itself.

Judy had no time for his antics. “Good, if I make a mistake, it won’t hurt.”

Then he said “That’s not funny.” And it came out all wrong, and suddenly Judy was very, very scared because the toxin had reached his tongue, and it was the opposite of a relief. But she couldn’t look up at his face. If she looked up at his face, she would lose her nerve, and forget to cut away the kelp and then he would die, and she would lose her best friend.

So she ignored him and kept cutting. She had no idea what was happening to her mom, or her sister, or anyone in her family, and she wasn’t ready to know. If Penny and Maureen were dead, she didn’t want to know. Not yet. She lasered and torched until every last bit of kelp was cut from his suit. She let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. The kelp was off, and his leg seemed to be fine.

Stepping around the mess she had made was not easy, and briefly she toyed with the idea of making Smith be the one to deal with the toxic material. But no, she couldn’t trust that witch with a potentially debilitating toxin- even if she did seem “reformed”. So Judy kicked it all to the side and focused on her patient.

Don was finally quiet, and it was terrifying. She took his pulse, and her breath caught in her throat, the terror coming back in a terrifying wave. He wheezed out a breath, and she tried to speak as calmly as she could. “Don, I think you’re going into an anaphylactic shock, so I’m going to give you a blood transfusion, okay?”

She was already paging through everyone’s charts when he managed to slur out, “My hero.”

“Hopefully.” Judy closed the folder. “Lucky for you, the only real doctor on this ship has the same blood type as you.” She started pulling out all the necessary supplies.

“Uh,” His lips tried to form words as his eyes landed on the needle, and widened in horror. “Doc, I’m not s’good with needles.”

“It’s either this, or I send you into a medically induced coma!” She finally let the panic bleed into her voice, and the sentence ended in a yell. His eyes remained wide, but he dragged them from the needle to her face. A face which she knew was contorted into unmasked fear. A face which a real doctor would never let their patient see. But she didn’t feel like a real doctor right now. Because this was Don. Her Don. “And I- we- can’t lose you. You do not get to die on me." She stared him down, hoping he couldn't see how desperate she felt. How it was she who needed him. "Alright?”

Don let out a slow, wheezing exhale, and managed a slight, jerky nod. “’Kay.”

“Okay.” Judy let out a calming breath, and began setting up, and prepared both his arm and hers. “Just… Relax. We need to let the transfusion run its course.”

“Sure, sure.” Don’s head still flopped around, but he was numb, which meant he didn’t feel the needle slide into his vein. Doing it on herself was a little more difficult- especially in the dim light, but she got her own in a couple of tries, and leaned back on the cot she had pulled up, and let out a long, deep breath, trying to release the tension from her muscles. They were hooked up, and he was going to be fine. Probably.

Of course, that was the moment her dad showed up, asking about the plasma torch and evading answers when she demanded to know what he needed it for. She desperately wanted to follow him, to help him with whatever he was trying to do to help her mom, and her sister, but she was stuck. If she left Don now, he would surely die from the toxin. She had to trust her dad, and Will. They would do whatever it took to save their family. She warned him about the toxicity of the kelp, and then he was gone, with both of her torches in hand.

And she sat back. And waited. Her com buzzed every two minutes, reminding her of the impending countdown. Reminding her that her mom and Penny were right in the strike zone.

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she reached up to wipe it away. She could not be crying now. She looked over to see Don already watching her with glassy, red eyes. She couldn’t tell if the transfusion was working or not.

Her com beeped again, and she choked on a sob. Twenty-five minutes. They were running out of time, and she was stuck here.

“Hey.” Don’s voice was gravelly, and his lips barely moved when he spoke, but it was something. She blinked the tears out of her eyes.

“Hey.” Her own voice was thick with emotion, and she tried in vain to compose her expression. “You’re gonna be fine.”

“So’s Pennnn… an Maureen.” He managed. He could hardly move his head now, but his eyes- even under heavy lids, even bloodshot to hell- remained steadfastly trained on her.

Judy shook her head. “You don’t know that.” Her head thudded dully on the mattress, and she squeezed her hands into fists, digging her nails into her palms- the exact thing she wasn’t supposed to do. But how else was she supposed to keep from crying in front of him? This was worse than being trapped in the ice. Back then, her family had all been safe. This time, the roles were reversed. She was fine, but she was still separated from them. She couldn’t save everyone at once, and that terrified her.

“Mmm,” Don’s eyes slid shut, stayed shut for a moment too long, and then he opened them again. “They’re crazy.”

The statement was so unexpected, so absurd in the moment, that Judy actually managed a laugh. It was a short, aborted thing that stopped as soon as it started, but still. “Gee, thanks.”

His chin wobbled, like he wanted to shake his head. “No, I mean… You’re crazy. All of you. So they’ll figure something out. Always do.” His words still ran together like watercolors on a page, but still. He was speaking, and that was a good thing.

Judy tried for a smile, but she was still too caught up in her worry. “I don’t know. We’ve caught so many lucky breaks, but now?” She shook her head. “I think our luck’s running out.”

The corners of Don’s lips twitched. “Your mom’s too stubborn to let lightnin’ get in her way.”

He was right, of course. But too much was uncertain, and she couldn’t see what was happening. She couldn’t tell if her dad and will had flooded the garage for who knows what reason, and she was too afraid to comm and ask.

She wanted Don to reach out, and grab her hand, like he usually would when she was afraid, and stressed. But he was paralyzed. So she did it for him. It worried her, when his fingers didn’t react, didn’t twine with hers like they normally did. But she kept his gaze, relieved every time she saw him blink, and breathe, and flare his nostrils. He was fighting it. She tugged her cot up next to his, and laid back, staring at him. It was quiet for a short time, save for the wheeze of his breath, and the pounding of blood in her ears.

She heard yelling from the hallway. Her dad had left the med bay’s door open when he had come through earlier, and she saw him, Will, and Smith run past, suited up with helmets on. Her dad was soaking wet. She sat up, but leaning forward tugged on the needle still in her arm and she winced.

“I need to find out what’s going on.” Judy tried to pull her hand from Don’s tight grip. “Don, let me go, I’m just going to comm them-“ She stopped short as she realized. He managed a weak smile and squeezed her fingers. “It’s working.”

“It’s working.” Even his words sounded clearer, and she let out another hysterical, half laugh.

“It’s working!” She squeezed his hand again, and then did have to pull her hand back to reach for her comm. “Dad? Will? Don’s okay. Where are Mom and Penny?”

It was a few seconds before her dad’s voice came through. “Uh. They’re working on something.”

That was enough to make the smile slide off of her face. “What do you mean, they’re working on something? The lightning is in five minutes!”

“I know Judy!” Her dad yelled. Judy sat back, stunned. He never yelled, unless he was really, really scared. “I know.” His voice was softer, and it cracked on the last word. “We’re using the Chariot a Faraday Cage.” He explained how Penny had given Maureen the idea to tie the rigging back together and climb it to reach the Chariot. He switched comm to public so they could all hear each other.

“Maureen, talk to me.”

Her mom wasn’t in the Chariot. The lightning was one minute away and they weren’t there yet, and her dad gave the order to strap in and Judy was swallowing down her rising hysteria. She was so afraid, she felt like she was the one going numb.

Don held out his hand. “We don’t have seatbelts, so we’d better hang on, princess.” He was so calm, it was almost laughable. She was the one who was supposed to be grounded. His hand helped, though. It was clammy, and rough, and real, and he looked into her eyes and promised, “They are going to make it.”

The messages came in static-y and chopped.

“Stay with me.”

“We’re in.”

The doors were taking too long, and Judy could hear the lightning from outside. The Jupiter shook, and her cot slid, thudding against the side of the exam table.

Judy squeezed Don’s hand, squeezed her eyes shut, and braced herself against him. For what, she didn’t know. She felt Don tuck his head on top of hers. His nose was in her hair, and his lips were against her forehead.

Penny’s voice quaked over the comm. “I love you. I love yo-” Then the lightning hit, and all Judy heard was static.

Then a whir.

“We got juice.” Will reported.

“Hold on!” Her dad instructed.

The ship shook and shuddered, and then Judy had to grip the edge of the table because they were turning, and rising- and they were off. They were finally, finally in the air. Judy leaned back, realizing she had practically burrowed into Don's side.

They made it. But her mom… Penny… “I have to go check on them.” Judy said, beginning to unhook the transfusion. “You’re okay now, this should have been enough.”

“I feel great.” Don promised, his words clear and pronounced. He even offered her a thumbs-up. She taped up both of their arms and, after a moment’s hesitation, pressed a kiss against his cheek and ran out of the room as her dad reported the ramp was up- as if that would have deterred her otherwise. She opened the hatch and nearly jumped down the ladder, though she had to favor her right arm on the way down.

Will and her dad were on her heels. The sight that greeted her was… horrifying. The Chariot was blackened and burned beyond belief. Was that how Faraday Cages were supposed to look? The wheels of the Chariot were gone, and the lights had exploded. The doors were smoking, but that didn’t stop them from running right up to it. Her dad needed a crow bar to pry open the damn thing while they screamed for the family members trapped inside.

They were alive. Her sister and her mom. They were alive and they were fine, and they were there.

Judy would need to patch them up. She would need to be a doctor in a moment, but for now she was a daughter, and a sister. Don was right. They made it.

---

Later, after she had made sure her sister and her mom were fine, she got to turn all of her attention back to Don. He had seemed to be napping, so she shut the door and began cleaning the kelp off the floor. Debbie had to be locked out so she didn’t eat it all.

“Hey Doc- uh, Judy?” His voice was scratchy and hesitant.

At his words, Judy nearly dropped the gauze she was holding. Don never called her Judy, not unless something was really wrong. “Yeah?” She came up to his side. “What’s wrong? Is it your leg?” She was already rolling up the pant of his leg before he could speak, checking for any sign of infection.

“No, no, I feel great.” He promised, weakly trying to bat her hands away. She frowned at him. He smiled- a real smile, this time.

“That’s probably the morphine I gave you.” She moved back up to his side. He reached for her hand, and she acquiesced.

He was still grinning. “Has anyone told you that you have a delightful bedside manner?”

The doctor rolled her eyes and sat on the cot. “So.”

“So?”

“What’s wrong?”

Don’s smile fell. “What do you mean?”

Judy felt her patience grow thin. “You- well, you called me Judy.”

“And?”

God, did he really not know? “You never call me Judy unless something is wrong.”

"No I don't.”

“You really do.”

A frown wrinkled his forehead. “Huh. Well, Judy, I wanted to thank you for saving my life… again.” He swung his legs up and off of the table, sitting so he was mirroring her, and he cut off her protests. “You fixed me up good as new. I even get to keep my favorite leg.”

He knocked their feet together for good measure, and beamed when he earned a genuine laugh from her. “I had a pretty fussy patient.”

“He sounds like a real charmer.” His expression turned from playful to serious when he squeezed her hand. “Seriously, though.” He was leaning forward and she was too. He pressed his forehead to hers. “Thank you.” It was more of a breath than words, meant to be heard only by her.

He looked so soft in the lantern light. His dark eyes reflected the golden glow, and not for the first time, she found herself unable to look away from him. They had all almost died today. She had almost lost him.

Neither of them were in a hurry to move. The rest of the ship had fallen asleep long ago- her family was probably still in one big pile in her parents’ room. She longed to join them. And yet…

Penny was right about something in her book- Judy was ready to move out. But she wasn’t ready to be alone. And Don was right there, and pulling her in, close, until they were both lying face-to-face on the cot, and she realized what was going to happen right before it did.

It was a slow kiss. One saved for quiet, late nights, or sleepy mornings, or we-beat-death-again days. It was their first kiss, and yet he felt familiar against her. The way his mouth fit so perfectly against hers, and how he pressed a hand against her cheek and she leaned into it instinctively. Everything about him simply felt right, and her heart swelled with the knowledge that this was happening and it was wonderful.

[buddaimond]

Full Audio Interview: San Francisco Chronicle,Tony Bravo interview with Rob at Mill Valley Film Festival

Partial transcript by RPAU

Robert Pattinson lost a button on his shirt on the way to the Mill Valley Film Festival, but he’s been through worse.  

…

Sans button, Pattinson jokes he’s falling apart.

“I think I feel worse (now) than I did then,” Pattinson says, fresh off the plane from Los Angeles. “I still don’t understand, to this day, how I didn’t get sick the entire time. Just being in a rain machine in sub-zero temperatures for months has definitely improved my whatchamacallit … immune system.”

Q: I was worried you were going to lose more than a button seeing your physically demanding performance in “The Lighthouse.” How did you get to a place where you could portray that type of isolation and insanity?

A: The script was so kind of audacious, there were moments with things in it I’d never seen anything like it in any other script. You realize you had to take a kind of running jump to kind of even reach any of it. I’m attracted to scripts where you first read it, it’s very engaging and you feel, “Wow, this has got some kind of totemic qualities, something really primal and powerful about it.” And it’s also working with Willem, I’ve seen the amount of energy that Willem can bring to a performance, so I kind of knew that it was going to be an adversarial type of relationship.

Q: Did you and Willem do any kind of exercises to get to a place where you were comfortable enough to do some of these very physically intimate scenes?

A: We rehearsed for a week, Willem loves rehearsing and I really dislike it, which is kind of handy for our relationship. We did five days of rehearsing and I just found it to be the most incredibly stressful thing in the world. By the time we were shooting with each other, there was already this weird tension, it’s the opposite of what’s supposed to happen from rehearsals, normally it’s supposed to get people relaxed with each other. I love Willem, he’s such a lovely personable guy but there was this strange energy.

Q: What did you do to get into the physicality of this character? I read your Esquire interview … do you want to elaborate on any of the points in that?

A: Whenever I read stuff I just think, “Wow, I just come across as a psychopath.” I read that article and was like, I did say those things, but now they look really weird.

Q: One of the things you said is that you ate mud.

A: I did eat a lot of mud. I do that on a few different movies. I think that comes from “Gladiator” having such a big effect on me as a kid, there’s one scene where he’s about to go into the arena and he picks up the sand and rubs it between his fingers. I always used to do that before scenes when I first started as a teenager, I added a little bit to it where I’d just eat it afterwards. Robert Eggers loves to shoot in one take. Some of the scenes are seven, eight minutes long and you need to be psyched. It’s almost going into a boxing ring or something. There’s so much energy expenditure. There’s a sort of strange reverse meditation where you kind of just invoke some kind of massive amount of rage inside you. I was reading that article and it sort of makes out that I was drunk for it. I thought about getting drunk for the drunk stuff, but it’s absolutely impossible to get drunk in any of these scenes.  

Q: Especially not on kerosene, we hope.

A: Do people actually drink kerosene? That’s crazy. I think it was really just a question of trying to block out absolutely everything else that was going on in your life. I was isolating myself quite a lot, which isn’t particularly difficult in Nova Scotia, you can literally just walk down to the ocean and there’s not a soul around.

Q: There are moments I laughed out loud in spite of this being a very moody, very atmospheric film. Is it any different playing moments of humor in the film? I’m thinking of a moment in particular when you’re trying to dump something in the ocean and the wind changes directions.

A: I guess I’m one of those people who thinks, “Is something going to be truly funny if it hurts quite a lot?” I think everything can only be real if it hurts, like a compliment; I was talking about this other day — if you compliment someone, it has to give you some real pain to be a true compliment. I think throwing fecal matter in my face, that was probably the hardest scene in the entire movie and also terrifying. The cliff which I’m on was on the side of the cliff in gale-force winds and pouring rain, and I couldn’t really see anything. That was one of the more terrifying things I’d ever done in my life.

Rob talking The Batman:

Q: Speaking of heroes, you’re taking on the iconic role of Batman. Were there any hesitations entering another big fan franchise?

A: Nah, it’s a great part. I think when you’re older, it does feel a little different. I think once you’ve already dealt with it a little bit, I’m better at navigating it, I think. Maybe I’m not, maybe I’m completely unprepared.