#gives you a thumbs up and then collapses and turns to dust. goodbye

[goodtimeswithgrian]

crawls out of my hole and puts this preview of my piece for @hotguycomiczine in your hand. keep it safe ok thank you.

[dont-touch-my-soup]

Last Goodbye

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CW: captivity, torture, manhandling, drugging, whipping, forced to perform, forced to watch, forced to hurt, forced to self-harm, amputation, hand whump, blood, gore, violence, multiple whumpees, self-hate

A hand forced Kell’s head up. He flinched back but it didn’t hurt. Not this time. 

Seconds passed by and Kell’s skin itched under Oryn’s eyes. The blindfold kept him from seeing anything but he could feel his scrutinising gaze on him.

Finally, he let go of Kell to even the fabric of Kell’s cloth and to fasten the buttons. Kell could hear his footfalls as he walked in a semicircle around him, inspecting his appearance one last time.

Every touch burned on Kell’s skin, but he forced himself to keep still.

The clothes were too tight, and the fabric tightened with every breath and rubbed painfully over his injured skin.

He didn’t understand why Oryn had wanted him to clean up when he’d be tortured to death tonight anyway. 

The thought was enough to make him nauseous.

It was better not to think about what was happening, but his thoughts were like dice and they just didn’t stop flying through his head.

He breathed slowly against the panic in his chest and again the clothes were suffocating him. Panic creeped up his throat and he tried to calm himself, tried to control his breathing but it was like the edge of a cliff was coming closer and closer and there was nothing he could do to stop himself.

Oryn touched his side and pulled at a loose thread. He didn’t seem to notice how Kell flinched under his touch and continued wiping non-existing dust off Kell’s clothes until Kell’s skin was raw and his mind was screaming.

The cool rim of a glass met his lips.

“Drink.”

A spike of fear rushed through Kell, but he didn’t have the strength to ask. He opened his mouth and the cold liquid poured into his mouth.

He swallowed. Too fast.

The liquid was bitter and cold and felt good against his burning throat.

“It will keep you from vomiting all over my stage,” Oryn explained. 

He patted Kell’s shoulder and turned away and Kell concentrated on his trembling legs. They didn’t feel like they belonged to his body anymore and it scared him how heavy and numb they’d become. The numbness creeped up into his arms and his heart until he felt like floating. 

“It’s time,” Oryn said finally.

Kell’s clothes were already soaked with sweat. He was trembling in the cold air. 

He swallowed. He still felt like throwing up. The only thing he could hear was his own ragged breathing.

“P-please …” His voice is hoarse already from screaming.

He was shaking so hard his teeth were chattering.

A hand started to push him forward, but Kell stemmed his feet against the floor. “Please don’t do this,” he begged, and a sob slipped from his lips. “Please don’t. I will do anything. I swear ...”

A hand over his mouth stopped the flood of words.

“None of that,” Oryn said, his voice low and gentle, his thumb stroking over Kell’s cheek. It did nothing to calm him down. “If you already beg now, you can’t step up the show later. And you still want to protect Sparrow, don’t you?”

The sudden terror was hot and sharp in his chest.

Kell nodded. 

“Well, if you want to protect him you better give me a show worth watching,” Oryn said, his voice like velvet. “Do you understand?”

Again, Kell nodded, tears silently streaming down his face. 

But as soon as Oryn’s hand let go, he was begging again. He’d lost control over his body and the words were there before he could even think about it.

A sudden stinging pain on his face silenced him.

Oryn sighed and without another warning he shoved him towards the stage. Kell stumbled, caught his balance a second later and hurried to move his legs even though everything in his body screamed otherwise. 

He heard the buzzing of the audience. His legs wobbled under him and as soon as Oryn let go of him, he collapsed to his knees with nothing to slow his fall. His stomach twisted inside him, and he counted his breaths to keep himself from panicking.

The buzz of the audience died down and Kell heard Oryn speaking. But the words seemed far away. 

He clenched his hands into fists, but his body was trembling so hard it ached.

He wished he could see the stars one last time. He wished he could see Sabea one last time. 

He would never hear her voice again. He would never see her face again. He would never get the chance to apologise or hug her.

Would she know? Would she feel it when he died?

I am sorry, Sabea. I am so sorry.

He could barely breathe as grief formed a huge burning knot in his stomach.

He took a deep breath and counted his heartbeats on his exhale.

The murmur of the audience grew louder as fear took over Kell’s mind. He could hear a voice betting on how long he’d make it and nausea washed over him.

His gut turned into a bottomless pit, and he was falling falling falling. A sob creeped up his throat. He pressed his eyes shut and held his breath in a desperate attempt to keep it back.

He was still shaking as the sob finally slipped from his lips. The choked sound was almost painful in his ears and he could feel his control sliding away.

Then there was a hand on his thigh. “Good to see you’re still in one piece,” a voice croaked right next to him.

Kell froze. The voice was so strained and hoarse Kell barely recognised it.

“Thrasher,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Thrasher hummed in affirmation. “Listen,” he said and Kell could hear the suppressed pain in his voice. “Don’t do anything he says. Promise me you …”

He was interrupted by a sick wet smack. Then he was screaming. 

Kell’s stomach turned.

Thrasher’s scream turned into a half-hysterical laugh. “You really should have cut my tongue out if you don’t want me to talk,” he said, followed by several Tharlian curses and Kell could tell it took him all his strength to speak aloud. 

“Don’t tempt me,” Oryn said. His voice was colder than ever.

Again, Kell heard something fly through the air and landed with a sick wet smack. Then a third. 

Thrasher wasn’t laughing anymore.

“Stop it,” Kell screamed. “Please,” he added more softly.

Oryn’s dry laughter reached his ears. “I see you are eager to entertain our audience. Don’t worry, we’ll get to you in a minute.”

Steps came closer. Kell crouched his body to his legs, but hands grabbed his arms, rubbing over the countless burns. He screamed as he was yanked up again. Then the blindfold was ripped from his face and Kell blinked into the sudden brightness, squirming his eyes. 

He heard Oryn’s voice but again he couldn’t comprehend what he was saying. The buzzing in his ears drained out every other noise.

There were people in the theatre. It shouldn’t be surprising. He had already heard them. He had known they would be here. Still, it was terrifying, and his mind couldn’t grasp the fact they came here to see them getting hurt. To see them die. 

Then he heard a pained moan on his left. “Promise me … ” Thrasher panted.

He looked nothing like the man Kell knew. His features so contorted with pain Kell barely recognized him. His skin was layered in bruises, dark shadows under his eyes and his nose looked like it was broken multiple times. Scrapes and cuts crisscrossed over his body. Some deeper than others.

His palm was pressed to the floor and covered in blood.

The metallic scent was suddenly the only thing Kell could smell. It was so thick and heavy Kell’s stomach twisted painfully.

Kell wondered how long he’d already been here.

Then Oryn came into his view.

He was talking to him, but Kell didn’t understand a word over the buzzing in his ears. When he lifted the knife, Kell hastily moved to back away from him and fell hard to the ground.

Without rushing Oryn stepped closer.

Kell closed his eyes. He knew it wouldn't protect him. Nothing could protect him. 

He held his breath just as he felt a yank against his wrists. The rough rope vanished and Kell’s hands started to prickle.

He looked up in confusion as the knife was pressed into his shaking hands.

For a second Kell stared at the knife. 

Why would they give him a knife? He could attack them and run … 

He wouldn’t get far. 

“Take the hilt in your hand,” Oryn said, irritated and Kell’s fingers were forcefully wrapped around the hilt. 

“The rules are easy,” Oryn said, and his voice boomed through the room. “Cut off one of your fingers or I will cut off one of his fingers.” He paused before he added: “I even let you choose which one.”

Kell stared at him in horror. 

“I-I … no!”

“It is your decision,” Oryn said softly.

Kell gripped the knife tighter. His hands were sweating so much, it was hard to keep a hold on it. 

He was shaking violently. He couldn’t see anything through his tears.

Cut off his own finger. 

He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t.

He would never be able to play piano.

You will die anyway. It doesn’t matter.

It would hurt so much. There would be so much blood. 

Kell’s lungs were full of ice. He couldn’t breathe.

His eyes flickered to Thrasher lying on the floor, one hand still pressed flat against the wood tiles.

“Don’t.”

Without even looking at him, Oryn kicked his foot into his side and Thrasher screamed in anguish. He curled into a ball, but his hand still remained on the floor.

It was only then that Kell realised he couldn’t move it even if he tried to. It was nailed to the floor. He had no way to free himself.

“Y-you … you …” he trembled so hard he could barely form a word.

It took him several tries until he managed to sit up.

The only thing Kell heard was his own heartbeat. He tries not to look at the blood. It was too bright. Too red.

He took a deep breath and pressed his hand on the floor. If he pressed hard enough it almost didn’t shake anymore. 

Then he placed the knife over his index finger. 

The blade shimmered white in the bright light. His hands trembled so badly he could barely hold the knife. He tightened his grip around it. The touch of the blade felt cold on his skin. He hoped the knife is sharp enough. His vision became fuzzy around the edges. Seconds ticked over. His head was swimming. Finally the knife clinked to the floor.

“I … can’t,” he panted. “I’m sorry.” He couldn’t look at Thrasher. “I’m sorry.”

Oryn bent down next to him and picked it up. 

The terror on Thrasher’s face was so raw, Kell had to lower his gaze. Thrasher desperately tried to move away from Oryn. Fresh blood pooled around his hand and his breaths became shallower.

Oryn caught his wrist and slammed his other hand flat against the floor. Thrasher gasped and tried to wrench his hand out from under Oryn’s, but Oryn put the full weight on Thrasher’s body. A strangled sob escaped his throat and then Kell could hear a sound he would never forget.

Thrasher’s muscles tensed with an effort to make no sound. As soon as Oryn let go of him, he pressed his hand against his chest. Blood immediately soaked the beige fabric and Thrasher gasped for air.

Kell couldn’t stop staring at the severed finger. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. 

The room spun around him, and he heard Oryn’s voice but not what he was saying.

Then the knife was pushed into Kell’s hands again. 

Someone had cleaned it but there was still too much blood on it. The smell of it filled the whole room and Kell’s stomach was violently roiling inside of him. 

He looked up and his eyes met Thrashers. 

He shook his head a single time and Kell could tell how much strength it took him. “Don’t,” he breathed. 

Kell’s gaze snapped to Oryn who just smiled down at him. 

There was no way out of it. If he wouldn’t do it, Oryn would keep going until Thrasher had lost all of his fingers. But if Kell complied, he would still keep going. There was no winning. 

Kell looked down at the knife in his lap. His hands were cold and numb and sweaty and shaking. 

“Make a decision,” Oryn said again.

Kell clenched his fist around the hilt. 

“Three - two - one,” Oryn counted. When Kell still hadn’t moved he sighed and took a step in his direction. It wasn’t even a decision when Kell pressed the knife flat against his stomach and curled into a ball. He knew it wouldn’t help either of them. It would just infuriate Oryn. Still, he couldn’t help it.

A hand wrenched his arm up behind his back and gave it a violent twist. Kell screamed as Oryn wrenched the knife out of his hands. 

He caught his face into his hands and gave him a violent shake. “This is going to cost him an extra finger,” Oryn hissed. 

This time Thrasher was screaming. His scream was exhausted and hoarse, and it echoed inside of Kell’s head. Pleas came over his lips too fast and too slurred for Kell to understand.

The more he trashed against Oryn’s grip the more he tore open his other hand.

Then the knife was in Kell’s hands again.

Tears fell on his hands. He watched as a single tear landed on the blade and blood started to swirl. He looked up at Oryn.

“Please,” he whispered. He immediately regretted it as Oryn’s eyes grew hard. He made a step in Kell’s direction and Kell couldn’t take it anymore. “Please,” he begged. “Please, please, please …” 

He couldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop repeating the same word over and over again but Oryn just pushed Thrasher’s hand to the floor again. He took his time placing the knife over the next finger and Kell’s voice got louder and louder with every second until it turned into a wordless scream.

Then Oryn cut off Thrasher’s fourth finger.

And then Kell was holding the cursed knife again.

“You know the drill.”

“Why do you do this?!” Kell screamed desperately.

Oryn didn’t answer. 

Thrasher’s eyes were closed, and his chest was rising and falling heavily.

There was so much blood. So much blood. 

“Please,” Kell begged again. “You are killing him.”

Oryn laughed. “He can take it. It’s not like I chopped off his whole hand.”

This would never be over. Oryn wouldn’t stop until both of them were dead. And there was nothing he could do. Nothing.

He stared at his own fingers. Pale scars marred the back of his hand. He hated them more than any other scar on his body. 

It didn’t matter anymore.

Nothing mattered. 

Kell set the knife on the base of his little finger and took a deep breath. A second later he saw the blood. But the pain only came later.

His head suddenly felt heavy, white spots dancing across his vision. He was going to pass out. 

His breathing turned shallow as pain consumed him. His own heartbeat raged through his body.

His body fell to the side, slamming hard onto the stage. He pressed his injured hand against his chest, unable to let go of the knife in his other. 

Hands harshly wrenched his hand away from his chest and pain jolted through Kell’s hand. He tried to yank his hand back, but Oryn was too strong. 

“Shhh.” His voice was nearly too low to hear it. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” 

Tears were running over Kell’s face as Oryn pressed a cloth against the fresh injury. 

He was breathing shallowly and too fast for the oxygen to reach his lungs. His head was swimming, and he couldn’t comprehend what was happening around him.

“Good. Now another.”

Kell cried harder and when he opened his mouth a sudden sob was breaking the silence. He wanted to scream; he hated Oryn with a sudden all-consuming fierceness. For a moment anger was all that was left pulsating through his veins. Burning almost painfully in the pit of his stomach. He looked at Oryn. He wanted to punch him, to kill him. 

He had always hated him. He had always wanted him to be gone. But he had never wanted to actually kill him. 

It didn’t matter how well he knew Thrasher or whether he liked him. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Oryn kept hurting them and he would never stop. He would keep hurting them, killing them, torturing them. 

Kell looked at the knife in his hand.

It took a few moments to find Oryn. Kell gripped the knife harder as their eyes met. Oryn's lips tug up and finally he smiled at him. It was a challenging smile.

Maybe he should just smash the knife in his own throat. Then it would be over. It was how this was going to end anyway. It would be the quickest, most painless solution.

But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t move the knife.

He knew Thrasher would do it. Thrasher would be brave enough. Or smart enough. Maybe just desperate enough. That was why Thrasher’s hands were still bound. That was why Kell was holding the knife and not Thrasher.

His eyes wandered to Thrasher. He was only a few steps away. If he ran, he could reach him and … Oryn walked into his line of sight and for a moment there was something in his eyes. Something like hesitation. But it vanished in a blink and Kell wasn’t even sure anymore what he had seen. 

They kept staring at each other and Kell was trying to catch his breath. His mind was swirling, his thoughts racing.

He didn’t want to beg anymore.

He took the knife in his left hand and threw it as far away as he could. He heard voices as Oryn went for the knife. Kell barely felt his legs. Then he toppled to the floor. Belatedly, he realised he had thrown himself in front of Thrasher.

He pulled him into his arms. Kell wiped at the blood and sweat and tears as Thrasher screamed again. “You’re … so stupid,” Thrasher rasped.

Tears fell Kell’s face. He was trembling. 

Then he felt a hand on his arm. Oryn. He was talking to him, but it took a while for Kell to catch on. 

“No,” he said, holding Thrasher tighter against him as if he could protect him with his body. 

“Don’t!” Kell begged.

Someone in the audience laughed.

He clapped his hands around Thrasher’s shoulder.

“P-please…” Thrasher strained his voice, just to get a word out. He sounded dehydrated, exhausted. “Just …” he whispered hoarsely, “take the fucking knife and k-kill me…”

Dread filled Kell as he realised he wasn’t holding the knife anymore. He could have ended this here and now.

He couldn't have done it. He knew it.

A hand wrapped around his wrist and Oryn tsked. “Silly boy.”

They kept staring at each other and Kell was trying to catch his breath. His mind was swirling, his thoughts racing.

Finally, he dipped his gaze. “Please,” he said, swallowing his anger. “Please. You just want entertainment. I promise I can entertain you better. I can sing. I can sing anything you want. Please. Just … please just let me try and … I p-promise!”

“No,” Thrasher’s eyes opened, and he struggled in Kell’s grip. “Don’t.”

But only when Oryn started to smile Kell knew he’d made a mistake.

Tears swelled in his eyes. Desperation in his chest. This was what Oryn wanted. That was the whole reason why they were both here. Just like when he’d brought Jinn. The knowledge tasted bitter on his tongue.

Oryn tilted his head. “Fine. Sing and maybe it’s good enough.”

They both knew it would never be enough. It would just delay the inevitable.

“Kell, don’t,” Thrasher rasped. His words were barely comprehensible.

“It’s going to be okay. I …”

“No, Kell. Don’t do it …” His voice sounded almost angry.

“Enough,” Oryn interrupted them. “Start singing now or he’ll lose his whole hand.”

Thrasher was too slow to hide the flash of panic in his eyes.

Kell sucked in the air. He was still breathless; his face was prickling from tears and salt and his body ached. He closed his eyes and tried to calm down his nerves. He had to sing better than he had ever sung before. He had to convince Oryn.

Kell took another deep breath.

At least Oryn didn’t want him to stand up this time. He wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to stand up.

It was uncomfortably quiet, but Kell still needed more time.

“Now, if you may,” Oryn said.

Kell nodded his head far too many times. Then he took one last breath and started to sing.

He didn’t open his eyes. He had to concentrate. He had to put everything he had into the song. He sang as if it could change the world. And perhaps he could.

When he finally finished, he forgot where he was for a moment.

It was quiet and he was exhausted. His body was aching.

Then he opened his eyes and looked right at Oryn. He looked pleased. A wave of relief rushed over Kell. He had done it. His singing had convinced him.

Then there was a choked sound from his side and Kell’s gaze snatched to Thrasher. He had opened his eyes. Looking straight at Kell. His eyes were big, and his mouth was open.

“You idiot,” Thrasher said, his voice raspy and quiet but it still carried his anger and disappointment.

He wasn’t sure when Thrasher had sat up. His eye was still swollen shut but the cut on his temple had closed.

Kell dropped his gaze to the rest of his body. The blood was still there but the cuts under the layer of blood had closed. Disbelieving Kell touched his chest, wiping away the blood. The skin had closed. All that was left were scars. 

“How …” Kell whispered. 

“You did this,” Thrasher spat, like he was accusing Kell of a murder. “You healed me, you fucking idiot.”

Thrasher’s gaze dropped from Kell’s face to his arms and back again.

His arms still hurt but they weren’t feeling like they were still on fire. Kell looked down. His skin was still bright red and hurt but the wounds had closed.

“What …” Kell started. He didn’t understand.

Kell looked to Thrasher, who was crying now.

He shook his head full of disappointment.

Hands grabbed Kell's arms.

"No!" Thrasher shouted. He pulled Kell closer to him. “My name is Jack,” he said with a sudden urgency in his voice, switching to Tharlian, a pained smile on his face. “Would you … please remember?”

Kell nodded.

In Thrasher’s – Jack’s eyes pooled tears. “I still don’t like you,” he said tunelessly, but his voice was too soft to carry any weight.

Then Kell was ripped away from Jack and he suddenly knew he would never see him again.

He screamed as he saw Oryn crouching down next to Jack, the knife in his hand, and he didn’t stop even as he was carried away. Tears flowed over his face once again and he struggled against the iron grip around his arms, clawed bloody lines down their arms as he fought to get free. He wasn’t strong enough.

A door closed and all resistance in Kell died.

He toppled to the floor and rolled to his side, weeping in hoarse, wracking sobs. Stings of hair stuck to his skin.

______________________________

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Thank you for reading! @whumpzone @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @whump-cravings @tears-and-lilies @imagination1reality0 @suspicious-whumping-egg @i-can-even-burn-salad @siren-of-agony @villainsvictim (please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!)    

[midnight-lightning]

The promise you couldn’t keep

Loki x Reader

Summary: You had a future. A future full of love hope and happiness together with Loki. He had promised you this after all. But sometimes promises couldn’t be kept and futures could be broken…

You had hoped, you had believed, god, you even prayed to which ever higher being there might be… but in the end you still lost…so much.

The nightmare you’ve always feared the most became true.

You were kneeing on the ground next to Thor who looked like a total mess, who was a total mess. Bleeding, bruised and at the end of his powers.

You were also feeling like a piece of shit; it seemed that with every passing second it became harder and harder to breath and your whole body was burning of pain.

But no matter the physical pain, it was your heart, your mental stability that was being torn apart right now.

You had a good view passed the member of the black order, who held both you and Thor in capture. It seemed like they had great pleasure seeing you tortured and in vain, while they gave you just sadisticly enough room to see him standing not far away from you.

“No…no…no, please, no…” these words were constantly coming out of your mouth like water, silent and not seeming to stop any soon.

But no words, no cries, no pleads could stop him from his next words.

“Almighty Thanos”, he pledged “I, Loki, prince of Asgard…Odinson.”

Loki, your beloved, brave and yet so stupid Loki stopped his sentence for a second to give his brother a short look, laying all of his faith and love in it.

Before his gaze shifted to you…

And everything just seemed to die inside of you.

You tried to move, struggling to get out of the hands that were holding you firmly in their grip.

Loki put every bit of sorrow, desire, and the deepest pleading for forgiveness in his gaze. It was his last goodbye to you, you realized horrified.

This was the last straw. A sudden impact of adrenaline appeared in your veins, giving you strength and a big amount of anger. And you used this power to push past a member of the order who stood next to you, trying to get out… trying to get to Loki and stopping him from a decision he had already made a long time ago.

But you were only able to make a few pathetic steps forward before a woman punched you hard in your stomach, causing you to bend over in pain.

A frustrated gasp escaped you and a strand of wet hair felt in your face.

The next second you were already dragged back again by rough arms and no fighting was of any use.

You looked up… just out of an impulse… meeting once more Loki’s eyes which were now full of utter sadness.

As you tried again to get your arm out of the firm, hurtful grip your gaze landed on the cold ring you wore on your thumb. But it was so much more than just a mere ring… it was a promise, a future, a sign of hope.

The day Hela had attacked Asgard you had returned together with Loki to fight her off and save your home.

You still remembered how he hold your hand firmly in his as you two walked out of the space ship, greeted by Asgardians who had gathered around to meet their prince.

You could nearly feel Loki’s soft hand in yours again...

Then Thor had come and Valkyrie… and the four of you fought against Hela’s army.

Loki had never left your side, not even for a second. You two were always fighting back to back, defending and keeping each other safe.

And of course never missing an opportunity to tease the other or you just being the target of Loki’s sarcasm.

And like at the end of every battle green eyes would flicker up and down your body in what you recognized as a visual check for any injuries.

But this day Loki had pulled you into a deep kiss. You had noticed the sudden change, the way he watched you, the way he held you almost every single moment as if you would just vanish, dissolve into air.

You laid a hand on his cheek and stroke softly a strand of his dark hair behind his ear.

“Tell me, my dear… everything will turn alright, won’t it? We will save Asgard and defeat Hela. And then there will be just the two of us, right?”

You were naïve, and you knew that. You knew that there are by far worse things the future has in hand for you than just a crazy sister.

Loki bent down and pressed his lips softly on your forehead, causing you to close your eyes, eager to keep this memory for ever, safe in your heart. 

“I love you, Y/N. And by Odin I’ve never thought I would ever feel this way, yet alone say these words to someone but you… you are my life now and I promise you someday this will all end and we will have peace.”

You took a deep, shaky breath and nodded. Just wanting to believe his words of a happy ending.

“Here,” the god said and took a ring of his finger -the one in his colours, green and gold. “I’ve wanted to get you a proper one but it seems like this won’t happen in the near future.”

Loki took your hand carefully in his, as though he feared you would burst into dust. He pulled the ring on your thumb where it fit just perfectly, because your fingers were way smaller than his.

You held your breath, feeling like your heart wanted to explode in fireworks and confetti any second.

“This is my promise, Y/N,” he continued and gently lifted your chin so he could look deep into your now teary eyes. “My promise to always love you, always care for you and I promise I will be with you as long as you want me to.”

•─̇•─̇•─̇•─̇•─̇•─̇•─̇•─̇•─̇•─̇•─̇•─̇•─̇•─̇•

Back in the cruel reality you looked down at the ring, which sparkled for a moment, mocking you, showing you all the things you would never have, which will be ripped apart just in front of your eyes.

What a cruel joke of the universe.

You looked up and you knew it was the last time you saw his green, stunning  eyes. Eyes which were blurred by the tears that were now streaming down your face.

He wouldn’t keep his promise…

Loki closed his eyes for one single second and when he opened them again his now cold, determined gaze landed on Thanos. “-The rightful king of Jotunheim, god of mischief,” he continued. “Do hereby pledge to you, my undying fidelity.”

His voice broke, just tiny bit. And your heart stopped when Loki pulled out a knife, immediately striking to cut Thano’s throat .

No.

Of course Thanos wasn’t dumb enough to fall for this.

No. The knife vanished and a hand appeared on Loki’s thrat instead.

“Undying?” The Titan sneered and grined triumphantly as Loki squirmed to get out of his deadly grip.

No.

“You…”

No, no, no, no.

“will never be… a go-” 

-silence

These were the last words you heard, the last whisper of a hero… who still fought even when death was already reaching for him.

You would never forget the sound of Loki’s neck cracking. Never. It will forever haunt you in your dreams alongside with Thor’s shout of pure pain.

Your world turned numb. You didn’t register falling onto your knees, you didn’t register the loud and broken cry escaping you. You only felt this unbearable pain and there was this whole new experience of having your heart literally torn apart.

Thanos stepped in front of you and watched you with pure despise in his eyes before he throw Loki’s body carelessly on the ground, as if he was a merely a sack of thrash.

Loki’s eyes,  which had always been filled with mischief, with so much life… were now utterly empty- staring into nothing.

This was the moment you completely collapsed.

Somewhere the world turned purple due to the use of an infinity stone, Thanos and his clan vanished and left you and Thor alone, shattered and broken.

He was gone…

He was gone…

He can’t be…

He can’t…

Thor fell down on his knees, holding his brother’s arm. “Loki… wake up,” he gasped. “Come on, brother, I know… you can’t be… you can’t…”

Gently you stroke Loki’s dark hair out of his bruised face, sobbing and barely breathing.

“Come on… You promised me… you promised me to never let me alone. I need you…”

But none of your pleadings were heard.

His soul was gone, and with him a part of your own.

“You promised it…”

[leviaju]

forgiveness

pairing: belphegor x GN! reader, hints of everyone x reader

words: 8.1k+

genre: angst, fluff at the beginning and a bit at the end if u squint

warnings: mentions of mc and lilith’s death, foul language

preview: “I’m sorry,” He begins, voice much weaker than anticipated. “I know that will never cut it, and it will never be enough, but I’m sorry.” 

“You’re right, Belphegor. It won’t cut it.”

hey guys what up. so... i’ve done a lot of thinking about belphegor’s dynamic with MC, and, like many others, was really bothered by the sudden switch after... he killed them. u know. typical stuff. i wanted to fill in the gaps!!! if im being completely honest, this has sat in my wips for.... like half a year. it’s my first time writing for obey me, so i hope that everyone’s not too terribly ooc LOL

anyways yeah. i mention how belphegor killed mc a couple of times, so proceed with caution! hopefully, if i get any ideas, the next stuff i write will be a lot lighter. hope you enjoy! (also requests r open soooooooo)

The weight on your chest crushed your rib cage, threatening to snap your bones like they were nothing more than twigs. All you could see was the pitch black of eternal night, and whether your eyes were opened or closed you couldn’t tell. What commanded your attention was the searing pain in your lungs, growing exponentially every half-second, and the unrelenting grip that was slowly shattering your esophagus. No matter how hard you struggled, squirmed and fought against the weight holding your body down, there was no use. It was pointless. The pain spread from the raging fire in your lungs to the tips of your fingertips, and everywhere felt as if you had been set aflame. Slowly, a light illuminated the force keeping you down. 

You couldn’t make out much, save for the cackle that rang insufferably through your ears, and the intense eyes that were staring you down. 

They held no remorse. 

-

Bones ache as you rest against your bed, finally allowing the tension in your muscles to melt away. You’d never mistake this feeling for regret of a busy day, having spent so much time with the people you care about, but it certainly took its toll on you. 

It began with Satan, who’d asked you the night before to accompany him on an early morning walk. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence — he’d invite you to join his morning routine on every day off, and you’d never refuse — hence, at the wonderful time of 7:00am, you were venturing around the Devildom, hand in hand with the Avatar of Wrath. The two of you would walk, occasionally resting on a park bench for longer than either of you would like to admit, for about an hour and a half before you took an official break. The time was filled with pleasant chatter and comfortable silence. Every so often he’d squeeze your hand, and when you’d look over, the fondest of smiles crossed his face. It was a reminder of how glad he was that you joined him. 

At around 8:30, he took you into a café for breakfast, and two of you spent only about thirty minutes there chattering away happily. For the most part, he was vividly and excitedly discussing a book he’d just finished the night before…

Until you were interrupted.

“Hello, lovely!” Asmodeus wrapped his arms around you from behind, just before pressing a kiss on your cheek. Satan sighed, resting his head in his hand as he watched the interaction. 

“My selfish older brother’s been hogging you all morning, I couldn’t help but want to whisk you away!”

Despite the glare Satan was sending his way, Asmodeus took a seat next to you, happily engaging in conversation as he completely ignored his brother. He told you that the mall was opening in about an hour, and Asmo desperately wished to get his perfectly-manicured hands on a new makeup product being revealed that day. 

“But of course I can’t go alone! How positively dreary that would be.” His fingers twined with yours as he looked at you hopefully, and you ran your thumb across his hand. A sheepish smile crept its way onto your lips, and you looked over at Satan. He simply nodded, flicking his hand as a gesture for you two to leave, and Asmodeus didn’t hesitate. He was quick to stand and pull you with them, holding tight to you as he whisked you away. You called out to Satan, now alone at the table with a reluctant smile on his face as he waved goodbye. 

“Thanks for breakfast! Get home safe!”

You almost missed the chuckle that left his lips, the café door closing behind you. 

Asmodeus kept you until noon. He got a hold of the lipstick he wanted almost right away, but insisted on buying an outfit to match the colour. Regardless of what you’d initially thought, the outfit wasn’t for him.

“Oh, we’ll look positively stunning together!” He exclaimed after about two hours of forcing you in and out of changing rooms, putting his hands all over you to “adjust the clothing” as he deemed necessary. Near the end, you could feel soreness deep in your muscles creeping in from such an active morning, but Asmodeus’ cheery face and constant flirtations helped you forget about it almost completely. 

It wasn’t until you got home that you truly felt the effects of on-and-off walking since early in the morning. Be that as it may, your stomach was growling, loudly reminding you that it was now past lunch. As much as you wished to give up on food for the time being and instead head to your room to collapse, the pain in your belly was enough to urge you to cease any arguments, instead ready to try and ignore the ache in your bones in order to quell the angry rumbling of your stomach. 

Unfortunately, when you finally made it to the kitchen, there was no food prepared. Instead, what you found was a dejected Beelzebub, frowning softly as he once again was at the receiving end of a lecture from the eldest of his brothers. As quiet as possible, you snuck into the kitchen, trying to listen in on their conversation. 

There was silence, followed by a sigh. 

“It’s easier to simply ask what’s going on as opposed to trying to eavesdrop, MC.”

You jumped, then bashfully made your way into the kitchen, a sheepish grin on your face. Lucifer was rubbing his temple. 

“Beelzebub was supposed to be on lunch duty, but ended up ‘taste-testing’ to the extent that he ate it all. Again.” Lucifer sighed. The typically perfect eldest brother was being run ragged, if the bags forming under his eyes told you anything. “So, instead of working on the papers I have to get finished for tonight, I’m stuck making lunch while he cleans up.”

Beelzebub’s frown tugged at your heartstrings, and in spite of the exhaustion clawing relentlessly at your bones, you relented. 

“Why don’t I help? Four hands are better than two,” you proposed, and a small smile graced Lucifer’s face. He lifted his hand to brush the disheveled black hair out of his face, and your chest ached just a bit at the sight. You made a mental note to drag him to bed for a nap the next time you saw him like this.

“That would be more than welcome. Please, if you may.” Already you turned to start working, but Lucifer’s voice made you pause. 

“But no feeding Beel. He’s eaten more than his fill already, he can wait until we’re all done.”

Needless to say, every so often you’d slip Beelzebub a piece of chopped vegetable or cooked meat, and he’d very happily (but quietly!) munch away, his expression radiating warmth and joy. And Lucifer, who seemed to almost be omniscient at times, never once mentioned it. Once the three of you were done cooking, Lucifer placed his hand on your head, patting you gently. 

“Good work, MC. I must leave now, but I trust that the two of you will be able to clean everything up. Your help was much appreciated. You will be paid back in kind for all of your hard work.”

If nothing else, the slight blush on Lucifer’s face as he ever-so-gently pressed his lips to the crown of your head was more than enough payment. 

“Thank you.” Beelzebub cleared his throat, washing the dishes as you dried them. “I… Thanks for helping. And feeding me.”

His smile warmed your heart, and you nodded, bumping your arm with his gently. The small bit of pink that dusted his cheeks compelled you to coddle him, but you resisted the urge. Barely.

“Anytime, big guy.”

After you ate lunch, the only thought in your mind was the prospect of curling up under your covers and passing out. The fretful, broken sleep the night before wasn’t helping at all in keeping you awake, and that on top of the rest of the day’s events had you yearning for the feeling of your pillows. 

Unfortunately, you hadn’t even made it through the door when your phone began to blow up, one notification after the other in quick succession.

GGKKJFLFJG

MC

CMOE QUIC K

PLS

SUPE R RARE EVENT IN MONONONOKE 

PELASE 

YOU HVE TO BE PARTNERED WIHT SOMEONE TO GTE THE PRIZE

MC

MC

PL E A S E

HURRYHURRYHURRYHURRYHURRYHHHUUURRRRRYYYYYYYYYYY

You found yourself in Leviathan’s room, sat in his lap as he explained the event to you. Your half-asleep brain did its best to keep up with his quick speech, but that, along with the warmth of his chest against your back, became the most soothing lullaby. 

“Hey! Normie! I agreed to let you sit here so I could easily help you through the event, but if you’re going to fall asleep on me, I’m pushing you off—“

“I’m awake! I’m awake. 

...Now, what was I supposed to do?”

The unintentional giggle that escaped your lips at his expression caused Leviathan to huff, exasperated, despite the flush of his face. Diligently, however, he thoroughly explained the event, for the second time, and the method to obtain the rare prize: a level 2000 I’m Going To Murder You So Hard That You’ll Come Back To Life Just To Die Again Death Sycthe, the strongest weapon ever released in the game. It was a partner event, which explained Leviathan’s desperate and urgent request for aid. You didn’t mind though. While yes, you’d probably never be able to get to his level of gamer, you were more than happy to go along for the ride. It made him happy! 

Leviathan rested his chin against your shoulder as he played on his phone, focused to such a degree that the usually easy-to-fluster demon was completely unphased by your proximity. Your phone, set to AutoFight, rested untouched near Leviathan’s leg, abandoned on the floor. You watched him expertly take out enemies that would have one-hit KO’d you through heavy eyelids, and every time he beat a wave of enemies, his attention would momentarily avert from the screen, looking at you from the corner of his eye expectantly. A kiss on his cheek was more than enough to motivate him to continue on, albeit with a pink glow on his cheeks until his attention was once again completely wrapped up in the game at his fingertips. 

-

“Levi! I said open up, goddamnit!” 

The pounding against the door was enough to distract Leviathan from his game, subsequently killing his character in the process. He groaned, cursing the demon who interrupted the two of you as he gently lifted you off of his lap, before getting up to open the door. 

“The hell do you want?!”

To be completely honest, you were so wrapped up in watching Leviathan play his games that you had forgotten about your weekly movie night with Mammon, who had come over to his younger brother’s room to drag your ungrateful ass  back to your own. Leviathan had cleared the event in Mononoke Land hours ago, but not wanting you to leave just yet, invited you to keep watching him play. Setting aside how tired you were, how could you say no? You’d wanted to spend time with him, too. 

Unfortunately, you lost track of time, and your phone, battery completely drained from the event, rested uselessly in your pocket. A consequence of this happened to be missing the countless messages and calls Mammon had sent your way, before he began his hunt for you throughout the house. The last place he checked was, of course, Leviathan’s room.

“Come on, human, I ain’t got all day. No one keeps the Great Mammon waiting!” 

“Except for MC,” you heard Leviathan mumble under his breath, and a laugh escaped you before you had the chance to slap a hand over your mouth. Mammon flushed deeply, before striding into his brother’s room. 

“Hey, wait, you moron! I never said—!” 

The force of Mammon throwing you over your shoulder wasn’t enough to hurt, but it certainly was enough to leave you breathless for a moment. “Let’s go, fragile human. I picked the perfect movie already.” Mammon’s words came out in a bashful mumble, but he had enough courage to lift his head and smirk at Leviathan as he carried you out of the room. All you could do was smile apologetically at the blue haired demon before Mammon turned, bringing you out of sight. 

Mammon was all complaints as he carried you to your bedroom, but you knew it came from a place of love. Even though he’d never admit it, you could tell he was hurt by you unintentionally ignoring him. Because of this, instead of demanding he let you down, you allowed him to hold you like this, not a single complaint leaving your lips. 

When he brought you to your room, you were set on the bed you’d missed dearly and he went to put the movie in the player. 

“Hey! No sleepin’ on me, alright? I wanna watch the movie with ya, and I can’t if you’re passed out, now can I?” 

And so here you are now, bed frame creaking as Mammon climbs onto the mattress. Rubbing your eyes, you nod, and lean into him once he gets close enough for you to. 

“Seriously, I’m gonna hafta have a serious talk with Levi,” Mammon grumbles, slipping his arm around your waist and pulling you in so that you’re almost in his lap. He pulls the blankets over the two of you as you rest your head on his chest, and hum quietly in return. “He used up all your energy, and now we won’t be able to get to enjoy the movie as much! Honestly…”

The vibrations of Mammon’s words can be felt through his chest, and you simply cuddle into him more and try to train your bleary eyes on the television screen. The Avatar of Greed shuts up completely when you take his hand in yours and press a gentle kiss to it, before doing your best to focus on the movie. As time passes, however, the idea of giving into your whims grows more than tempting, and oh-so-easy for you to do. 

-

“Hey! Yo, MC! Seriously… You’re hopeless.”

A chiding, yet gentle voice draws you from the confines of rest. You puff air from your nose in response, cuddling closer to whatever it was that had been so comfortable in the first place.

“MC… Come on. Ya gotta wake up, ya didn’t even watch any of the movie! It was really good, y’know.”

Mammon’s hand rubs circles on your back as you mumble incoherently, a noise to acknowledge the fact that he‘s been talking, and that you are indeed awake now. 

It takes a good amount of time, as well as some gentle encouragement from Mammon, to get you to finally open your heavy eyes, and even longer for you to be able to apologize to him for missing out on the movie he was so excited to watch. He pouts a bit, but the blush on the highs of his cheeks lets you know that he didn’t mind all that much. You smile and yawn, and his chuckle resonates in your ears. 

“I gotta go now, otherwise Lucifer’s gonna kill me for staying so late. Sorry I woke ya up, but ya look so tired now that you’ll probably fall back asleep right away.”

And so, after a quick goodbye and a kiss on the cheek (which made Mammon turn the prettiest shade of red), you close your door and… sigh. If you had been able to stay asleep, the fact that you aren’t in pajamas and haven't brushed your teeth wouldn't be that much of an issue. Now that you‘re slightly more conscious, however, it’s hard to convince yourself to simply climb back into bed. Your breath is bugging you a bit, and the jeans you’re wearing certainly aren’t at all as comfortable as your pajama pants.  For that reason, to your own dismay, you begin getting ready for bed — properly this time. 

A small “finally…” tumbles from your lips after you finish your nighttime routine. Lacking any form of grace, you plop into bed once more and pull the blankets to your chin, nuzzling into the pillow. Your bed still smells like Mammon’s cologne, and you hum softly to yourself before closing your eyes and waiting for sleep to take over once more, and hold you hostage until late in the morning. 

Alas, sleep seemed to be evading you now, similar to how you had ignored it during the day. The mattress you lay on simply isn't comfortable anymore, and the blankets that hug your body cause you to overheat. Unfortunately, if even one limb is out of the blanket, you get so cold you start shivering. None of your typical sleeping positions are anywhere near as effective as they typically are, and you’re left to wrestle with sleep alone, hoping to beat it into submission so you can finally get some proper rest. 

After about 45 minutes of tossing and turning with no results, you finally relent. The nap you’d taken while watching the movie royally fucked you over, and you groan. Eventually you decide to give up on trying to fall back asleep, and huff as you sit properly on your bed. 

Blanket dragging behind you as it drapes from your shoulders, you slowly make your way through the silent hallways of the House of Lamentation. The only sounds floating through the walls were the light buzz of electricity running through the wiring of the house, and your own footsteps as you began walking up one of the many staircases in the large building. 

You aren’t sure how long you’ve been walking, the passage of time different at night to a hazy mind, but eventually you arrive at your favourite area in the house, second only to your lush bedroom. There are no artificial lights, only the gentle cast of the night sky providing the ideas of shape in the planetarium. You’ve never seen stars so vibrant and bright, and there are so many more in the Devildom than anywhere you could go back home. Even though the only light comes from the stars, it’s enough to create soft, fuzzy edges around everything in the room; this includes the bundle of various blankets mussed in the centre of the floor. Slowly, cautiously, you make your way towards the pile. 

Since you’d arrived in the Devildom, the planetarium at the top of the House of Lamentation became your safe haven. Your room, without a lock on the door, was way too easy for intruding demons to enter without permission, and on nights when everything became too much for you to handle, you’d head up to the planetarium to clear your mind. There’s just something so calming about a starry sky on a clear night that releases you of your fears and anxiety, and helps you get a grip on the situation around you. 

After freeing a certain someone from their attic-based captivity, however, you learned that the planetarium was a place favored not only by you. Since he’d been freed, you’d been kind, but there were still fears plaguing your mind, reminding you of everything that has transpired between the two of you. It’s something that you can’t escape, following you even - especially - in your sleep, when you wished you’d be the most at peace. It makes sense, considering the sin he embodies, but you wish it wasn’t like that nonetheless. 

Once you’d learned that this was one of his favourite rooms in the house, especially on nights when he can’t fall asleep, you found yourself avoiding this area. It’s not that you hate him; it’s the opposite, really. Nevertheless, you can’t help but feel the tightening of his fingers around your neck, and the burning sensation in your lungs that’s screaming for oxygen, and the desperation to alleviate the seer of deprivation. 

Still, you trek on. Closer and closer to the pile of blankets, your gut cries to you to run away. You ignore it. The nearer you get to the nest of blankets, the faster your heart beats, the more lightheaded you feel. But you continue. 

Eventually you get close enough to make out the shape of a familiar pillow, the cow print on the case worn and well-loved. From the moment you walked in the room, you knew he was here. All the same, you walk on, and the only sounds in the room are the gentle taps of your clothed feet against the tile, and the quiet noises of your quickened breaths.

You’ve avoided being alone with him since… Since you… Since the event. Your heart screamed at you to forgive him, to love him just as much as you love his brothers. That said, there’s nothing in you that can stop your stomach from churning whenever he gets too close. 

Butterflies beat aggressively within your heart and stomach, and it’s years before you get within his range of sight, but you sit down on the floor, holding the blanket tight to your body. 

There’s one beat, 

two beats,

three beats of silence before you can hear him sucking in a breath through his teeth. In your peripheral you can see his lips parting, closing, parting again as he tries to find the words. He heard you walk in, and was pleasantly surprised when you didn’t immediately bolt in the opposite direction. However, this proximity leaves him with an entirely new predicament. He wants to talk to you, he wants to laugh and joke with you the way his brothers do, but one look at your face and he notices the dark bags under your eyes, and the frown that tugs at your lips as you stare up at the stars. He can hear your heart racing, and feel his own in the tips of his fingers. He opens his mouth again, but the crack in his voice betrays his usual collected personality. 

“I’ll go,” Belphegor begins, begrudgingly starting to gather his blankets. His body freezes when his eyes pass over your figure and you’re looking right at him, through him, and he swears he can feel the blood in his veins stop pumping. Your expression is unreadable, almost scary, and he’s never in his life been in fear of a human until this moment. 

The seconds pass as years do, both of your bodies chilled to the bone but neither of you able to look away. In the end, the one who casts their gaze somewhere else is you, and he exhales loudly. 

“Don’t.”

Your reply is simple, but he’s stuck in place. Slowly, he nods, sitting down again the way he had been prior, and pulling his beloved pillow close to his chest. He can’t breathe, the tension suffocating. It doesn’t help that now you refuse to look at him. 

“... If you want,” he replies dumbly, staring at the floor. He feels trapped in place, afraid to move and scare you off. Despite every nerve in his body screaming at him to leave you be, he stays. You told him to, after all. Slowly, you sit down, his blankets creating a low wall between the two of you.

It’s only now that he gets a good look at you. You're tired, he knows, watching as your eyelids droop and your lazy movements when you get more comfortable under your blanket, but there’s more to it than just that. You seem so fragile, like sugar glass, breaking with even the slightest amount of pressure. He feels he can reach over and shatter you with the gentlest of touches, and that thought alone roots him in place. Since you came back, he’s never seen you without a smile. Your genuine smile was the prettiest, he decided rather early on, one that lights up your face and brightens those around you. Belphegor really, truly loves your smile.

He knows there was a point in time, not long ago, where he could have made it so no one saw it ever again. He can’t help but be grateful he didn’t succeed when he sees you smiling at his brothers. 

That’s never the smile you show him though. It’s not for lack of effort; you certainly try, and he loves you for that. But the smile you show him is always plastered on, and he knows you’re doing it for his sake. With Belphegor, your smile never reaches your eyes. Be that as it may, you’re never weak around him. Fake smiles prove exactly how strong you really are, but your heart races every time he enters the room. As much as he wishes your palpitations are out of excitement, he knows better than to give himself false hope. 

That’s why he’s so taken aback when he looks you over and you seem so vulnerable. Never, not in a million years, would he ever let himself believe that you’d allow yourself to look weak in front of him, not after what he did. Even so, here you are, shaking, knees drawn into your chest, and his heart soars because you’re showing him a new side to yourself. It aches at the knowledge that you’re feeling so vulnerable because of him. 

His eyes burn holes in the side of your head. You know he’s watching you, studying you, but you can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. Not when the hands he uses to pull the blankets over his body are the exact same ones that led you to your untimely and violent demise, and not when every time you look at his face, you can also see Mammon’s above you, sobbing as he tries to will you not to fade away into nothingness. 

There’s no putting it nicely. You were murdered, and Belphegor was the one who killed you. As much as he tries to pretend it never happened, to act around you the same as his older brothers do, you would never forget. Neither would he, regardless of the effort he puts into pushing the memory out of his mind. His chosen way of coping was to laugh with you, to get close and have you forgive him without acknowledging the situation. It was too painful to talk about, after all. He willingly, happily snuffed out the life of someone his brothers love, and someone he’d find himself loving too. You became someone who changed him, helped him grow and be better. It was easier, simpler to act as if you’d met him the same way you’d met any of his brothers. 

Belphegor killed one of the last remaining parts of his past, a part that, while once warm and light, mutated and infected him, causing his anger to grow out of control, like a weed that suffocates any flower that tries to flourish. He killed a descendant of his sister, and the fact that you’re here now is more of a second chance than he thinks he could ever deserve in all his millenia of living. 

And yet, here you are. Scared and shaking, but here. The silence has stretched on for longer than he’d like; he wants to be able to love you, openly and happily, but knows it won’t happen. It can’t, unless he does what he thought was the very last thing he’d do. 

“I’m sorry,” Belphegor begins, voice much weaker than anticipated. He can hear your heartbeat pick up, and he curses himself mentally. Your lip between your teeth, you remain silent. His nerves force him to speak more. 

“I know that will never cut, and it will never be enough, but I’m sorry.”

There’s more silence. He feels like he can’t breathe, the tense atmosphere forcing its way around his throat and tightening its grip. He doesn’t know how long it takes you to even contemplate replying, let alone allow yourself to respond. Belphegor’s ears ring almost deafeningly loud. He can’t take it.

“You’re right.” 

His eyes, which he trained to the ground, dart up to your profile once more. You pause, wetting your lips. 

“You’re right, Belphegor. It won’t cut it.”

There’s not enough time to process your words before he really, really looks at you. Almost fearlessly, you meet his eyes. 

Almost fearlessly. 

The shaking of your hands betrays the strength of your voice. Belphegor’s chest aches. 

“But…”

There’s a pause as you speak. He can’t look away again, even as your eyes meet the stars once more. There’s no chance he’ll miss a word you say, even if it tears him apart.

“It’s… it’s really difficult. I know you know that, but…”

Each time you pause, Belphegor’s mind begins storming. He can’t figure out what you’re going to say, or how you’re going to react, and it drives him crazy. He’s usually so good at reading people, but you’re an enigma. It sends a chill down his spine. 

His throat is caught. Even if he had words to say, they wouldn’t be able to come out. So he sits in silence as you find your own. 

“I don’t want you to feel worse than you do.” You lick your lips. “Or maybe I do? I… I really don’t know. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about you, Belphie.”

The nickname tugs at his heart, more than he could ever admit. He wants to cry, wants to scream, wants to do anything other than look at your melancholy face, knowing he’s the problem. He wants to run and hide, to sleep forever. He can’t, though. Not when you’re here. Not now. 

Knuckles turn white as he clutches desperately onto his pillow. His breath shakes as he draws in air. 

“I want to love you. I want to love you as much as I love your brothers, and care about you as much as I care for them…”

You struggle to find the words. 

“... But it’s hard.”

You curse your lack of eloquence. Now, of all times, when your words are the only thing that enable you to communicate how you truly feel, they fail you. This might be your only chance to ever properly show Belphegor how you feel, what makes you so conflicted every time he walks into the room with a smile on his face, and yet all you can say is “it’s hard”. Obviously. 

A breath finds its way into your lungs, and the sound of your lips parting in the otherwise silent planetarium echoes in your ears.

You continue.

“It’s hard because every time I see your face, or I hear your voice, or I-”, you falter, heart catching in your throat, “or you touch me, I can’t help but be reminded of what happened.”

Belphegor doesn’t dare tear his eyes away from your form. The grief that settles into his face perfectly matches your own, eyebrows upturned and bottom lip quivering just the slightest bit. Even the trembling of your hands is replicated in his own. He’s never seen you like this, so incredibly vulnerable, and it tears him apart inside to know that he is the cause of it.

A shuddery breath comes from Belphegor, and you fight your instincts to check if he’s okay. You know he isn’t.

The silence deafens you, thundering in your ears so harshly that you're tempted to place your hands at the side of your head to muffle how quiet it is. You don’t, however, and whether it’s because you don’t want to look crazy, or because you’re afraid you might shatter if you move, you’ll never know. Do you want him to talk? Do you want him to say anything? Do you want an apology?

If you had an answer for that, you’re sure that things would have patched themselves up much quicker than this. You caution a glance at Belphegor, and the weight pressing down on your chest gets heavier at his expression. It feels almost as if you can inhale the guilt he feels, the emotion radiating off of him in waves.

“I… Logically, Belphie, I get it.” Again with that cursed nickname. Usually, hearing it from your lips makes Belphegor feel warm and goddamn near giddy, but now it only seemed to drive the knife in his gut further. 

“I understand what happened and why you did it. I may not agree… but I get it, you know?” You swallow.

“In the end, I’m still here. And… and I’ve come to learn that you’re nothing like that anymore. You’ve grown, and changed, and the guilt and anger that consumed you took control, and that's why you-- that’s--” 

You pause, clutching the blanket around you to try and ground yourself. The shakiness in your voice is not missed by Belphegor, and even if it had been, there’s no way he’d be able to ignore the tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. Slowly, subconsciously, one of your hands comes up to rest against your neck, a phantom of the grasp that once threatened to crush you.

“S-So… I understand why you did it. And I’m alive, and we’re friends, so it should all be okay, right?” Belphegor casts his glance away.

“But Belphie… as much as I want to forgive you, I also know that I’m never going to be able to forget what happened. It’s there in my dreams, and it’s there in your smile, and it’s there every single time your arm brushes mine and I flinch like a total loser.”

A weak chuckle makes its way out of your chest, and the halfhearted smile that follows forces a tear from your eye. You’re quick to wipe it away, hopefully quick enough so that it goes unnoticed by Belphegor.

It does.

What he does notice, however, is the frustration that holds tight to the edges of your sentences. The frustration is not directed at him, no. You would be yelling if that were the case, and maybe that would be easier for him to hear. No, this frustration is directed at yourself. You’ve been trying so hard, and all Belphegor has been doing is running away. His teeth dig so hard into his bottom lip, trying desperately not to show any anger he feels at himself, that he tastes iron.

“And then we became all buddy-buddy, you know? Like I was never lied to, or used, or manipulated, or-- or--”

Belphegor is torn from his self-pity when you continue, and he almost wishes you’d stop speaking. The thought that you might break him with your words has him shaking, and a feeling similar to fear courses heavily through his veins. Please, stop. He wants to go back to running away.

But you continue, as you always have.

“And I’m left not knowing how to feel. I’m so mad at myself for being such a coward and not being able to just get over it like everyone else, and I’m so fucking pissed that I can’t just exist around you like I do for everyone else. I mean, I used to be terrified of Lucifer, too.” Another fragile laugh, and you sweep the hair from your eyes with a shaky hand. Belphegor swallows hard.

“But I… I can’t pretend like nothing happened. As much as I want to be near you, and hug you, and take naps and play pranks on Luci with you… I can’t. I can’t act as if what I feel isn’t real, and what you did didn’t happen. It’s so hard, Belphegor.” You sigh, and finally look at him once more. He can’t meet your gaze, slumped over himself and hugging his pillow so tight to his chest it seems as if he wishes to disappear into it. “Especially because I really, truly want to understand why everyone loves you so much. And I want to love you, too. I want to know why Beel smiles every time you’re brought up in conversation, and I want to smile just the same. But… But right now, I can’t.”

Talking has gotten easier. The words that used to escape you have become accustomed to being used again, and confidence has restored in your gut. You sit a bit straighter as you watch Belphegor carefully, a sad smile lifting your cheeks. 

Belphegor knows that this is when he should swoop in, say something so intellectual that you’re caught off guard, and he can save you from… himself. This knowledge does nothing to save him from himself. He can’t even open his mouth to mime a sentence, let alone actually speak. The thought of how pathetic he must look settles under Belphegor’s skin, and he can feel his irritation rising. Not at you though, never at you. Not even when… When it all happened. His anger was misplaced, but he has never been angry at you.

Finally, when the quiet becomes too much, he forces himself to meet your gaze. The way you look at him, just as vulnerable and bare and scared as he is… he feels safe. He knows, even though your words sear his heart, that you never mean to hurt him, especially now. You’re being honest, and simply expect the same from him.

Belphegor inhales a deep breath, before willing himself to speak.

“I thought--” he croaks, and quickly clears his throat. Fuck. “I thought that if… if I could pretend that nothing happened, then I wouldn’t have to face any consequences.”

He curses audibly. Just how pathetic can he sound? Belphegor’s voice is hoarse and quivering, and weak. “Weak” is never a word that he would have used to describe himself, but now it echoes hauntingly against the confines of his skull. One of the most powerful demons in existence, and he finds himself quaking before a mere human. He cares for you, though, and he cares for you viciously. Something in Belphegor knows that he’s never going to be able to prove that to you unless he pushes his way through this.

So he forces himself to continue, even with every cell in his body desperately screaming at him to stop.

“I did what I did out of a place of guilt… and regret. I couldn’t stand the fact that it was because of me, that it was my fault, that I’m the reason that Lilith--”

Belphegor stumbles over his own words, and he sets down his pillow before he accidentally tears a hole through it. Instead he braces himself on the cool floor, in need of something steady to hold onto. This whole conversation shook him to the core. He can hardly believe he’s talking about his sister. She’s a topic that he’s avoided even around Beelzebub…

But if Belphegor ever wants even the possibility that you’ll forgive him, he knows he has to. Everything is on the line. His blunt nails press against the tiles and he focuses on steadying his voice.

“I couldn’t accept that it was my fault.” A newfound steadiness weaves its way around his words, and he finds himself sitting a bit straighter. “I’m the one who introduced her to the human world, and kept bringing her back. I’m the reason she suffered, and why the war started, and why we fell, and why she…” Belphegor coughs. “In the end, I couldn’t accept that I’m the one who killed her.

Your heart yearns to tell him that no, he’s wrong, it’s not all his fault. You know it won’t help right now, though, and that it isn’t your time to speak. Settling back a bit, you let your blanket fall from your shoulders. 

Belphegor’s heart stutters, and pounds so hard that he feels like it's trying to tear through his chest. Even so, he doesn’t miss the way your hand reaches out to smooth over his own, and for a moment he feels himself wanting to melt just from the simple touch. 

Belphegor pulls away. He doesn’t deserve your comfort, not yet.

“So… So when you said that you’re a descendant of Lilith, I-- I couldn’t help myself. I jumped at the chance to get to know you, learn about what makes you similar and what makes you different. Her blood flows through your veins, and I was quick to ignore what I did in favour of getting to know you, and… and inevitably, becoming just as fond of you as my brothers… but that can’t erase what I did.”

The feeling of understanding floods you and you find yourself nodding at his words. To be completely honest, even now, you’re scared. Your heart beats for many reasons, fear one of them, but you don’t run away. Not anymore. You couldn’t bring yourself to even if you wanted to.

Your hand, abandoned next to Belphegor’s, lay dormant. The need to comfort wills you to once again place your hand on his, but you don’t move. When he’s ready, if he ever is, you’ll be there.

Just as he’ll be there for you.

“I killed you, MC. And in doing that, I killed Lilith. Again.”

Countless emotions storm their way through Belphegor’s conscience, despair clawing at his throat, regret snapping his back, and guilt slowly crushing him under its weight. How is it that one can feel so empty, and yet so filled to the brim with misery?

“And not only that, but if I succeeded… I would have completely missed out on getting to know you, and caring about you as much as I do now. It would have been a loss that I never would have understood, but know for a fact that I would have felt. Even… Even when I was proud,” he spits out the word as if it’s poison, “of what I’d done, watching my brothers’ hearts break at the sight of your body… Even then, I felt it. The ache. It’s so fucking stupid.”

His tone, now bubbling with anger, stills you. It’s not directed at you, and you know this, but despite yourself, you freeze. Belphegor notices, and quickly clears his throat, relaxing his shoulders. He allows your heart a moment to slow as he regains his composure, and you find yourself breathing again.

“I know that me saying sorry is never going to cut it.” Belphegor turns his body to fully face you. He’s no longer running from his feelings, or from you. He knows he can’t anymore. Hesitantly, he lifts his trembling hand to place over yours. The muscles in your fingers tense, and he pauses to gauge your reaction. When you slowly nod your head once, he delicately places his hand on yours, using his thumb to gently begin massaging the tension away. “And I know that even if I do everything right from here on out, that there’s a chance that you won’t ever forgive me. And I understand why.”

Your heart sinks at his expression, his gaze locked on your joined hands. As aloof as he normally is, you can see none of that on his face now. When you turn over your hand he quickly pulls away, but your shaky movements to bring his hand back and intertwine your fingers urges him to go on. 

“But I want to try. And really try this time. I want you to be honest with how you feel, whether I’m frustrating you or scaring you or anything like that, and… and I want to be honest with you too. I…”

Belphegor trails off, but you squeeze his hand. He draws in a slow breath. 

“No matter what happens, no matter how you feel, we’re stuck together for the next few months. I want to spend that time getting to know you, and I want us to be as close as you are with any of my brothers… but I also want you to know that you shouldn’t feel forced. If it’s ever too much, I need you to tell me, and I promise I’ll back off.”

The smallest of smiles makes its way onto your face as you quietly agree. Belphegor doesn’t allow himself to try and figure out if it's genuine, out of pity, or sadness, but in spite of everything, it makes him feel a bit lighter. Just a bit.

“This won’t fix everything right away,” you say, and he now knows that your smile is a combination of the three. Along with this, though, Belphegor also knows the small sparkle in your eyes is hope, and he’s willing to take that hope and nurture it for however long he must.

“I know,” he sighs, but even he can feel the small tilt of a smile on his face, “but I’m willing to take as much time as you need to decide how you feel about me. And… And if you decide you hate me, which is fair, and that you never want to even be in the same room as me, I’ll respect your wishes.

Until then...Until you decide that you really, truly hate me, I won’t stop trying.”

There’s no way of telling how long his words linger in the air around the two of you, circling around your heads and making their way through your body. Even so, Belphegor diligently watches you, wanting to make sure he’s not overstepping his bounds. He even contemplates letting go of you, but is reassured when slowly, almost unnoticeably, you begin smoothing out the lines on the back of his hand with your thumb.

As much as you want to tell him that you could never hate him, you also know you can’t promise anything. Still, for now, just as much as him, you’re willing to try. You stay in silence, more comfortable than you’ve ever been in his presence, gently caressing the hand held in your own.

Eventually, Belphegor clears his throat once more. The vulnerability has made him tense and rendered his voice weak. 

“Can… can you hug me?” He all but whispers, fragility making his body quiver once more. He was completely open about his feelings for the first time in a lifetime, and the intensity of it left him craving affection. He knows how unfair this is to you, but he can’t help himself. He wishes to be held, for his fears to be quelled by someone so much stronger than him. “If you don’t want to,” he falters, speaking quickly, insecurely, “I won't even touch you. I-If you do, I promise I can keep my hands behind my back, and I won’t even--”

His words end abruptly as he feels you release his hand, and his heart sinks. He debates running away again, until he hears you moving towards him, and he finds he’s frozen in place. Slowly, but surely, with more courage circulating through your veins than you’ve had all night, you make your way over the blankets that divide you and position yourself right next to Belphegor, pulling him into your chest. Even now, he can feel how quickly, persistently your heart races, and yet you stay. True to his word, Belphegor rests his hands on the ground behind his back, but he doesn’t stop himself from nuzzling into your chest… and he cries. The complete, uninhibited release of his emotions hit him like a truck, and he sobs heavily into you, tears slowly but surely staining your shirt. You adjust yourself so you can hold him closer, slowly and reassuringly rubbing his back as he lets go of everything he’s been holding on to for longer than you can even imagine. This is a man who’s run from his emotions for centuries, and the fact that he’s willing to face them for your sake comforts you, cradles your heart and presses gentle kisses against the cracks. You know that you’re not going to wake up tomorrow with everything okay, but for now… for now you’re comfortable with his touch. Heaving in a deep, steadying breath, you reach down just enough to take Belphegor’s arms, and guide them to rest his hands on your hips. At this silent permission, he slowly, delicately wraps his arms around your waist, despite craving your body closer, wanting to hold you tight and never let go. He cradles you like you’re made of the most brittle glass, and you smile. The gesture touches your heart, and… and you feel safe. You know that all he wants to do is embrace you as tight as he can, but he doesn’t, even with permission. 

Here, in Belphegor’s arms, you feel safe. Here, where Belphegor’s grip on you is so gentle that it wouldn’t even crumple paper, you feel loved. As he cries into your chest, holding you as if you were an antique, hope slowly fills your heart.

Everything is far from perfect, but it’s still on the right track, here in the quiet planetarium.

[amphxtrite]

harry potter x fem!reader

warnings: ⚠️tw⚠️ suicide, substance abuse, blood, suicidal thoughts, alcohol, depression, anxiety, breakdowns, kissing, overall pure angst with a fluffy ending.

currently unedited please excuse grammatical mistakes

summary: A summer changes the girl harry potter fell in love with, leaving her with more pain than she’d ever admit.

a/n: there are many things in here that may be triggering, please consider the warnings before reading.

word count: 6k (writing this really helped get my feelings out)

taglist: @oldschoolkiddo

please message me to be added to my taglist

enjoy <3

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Rushing down the Hogwarts halls, bags slung over your shoulder and sun shining through the windows, you scour the crowds of students leaving Hogwarts for summer vacation, trying to pick a familiar brunette with green eyes.

Rounding the corner, you spot three gryffindors chatting by a stone pillar and run towards them, crashing into one of the boy’s backs.

“Guess who?” You giggle, feeling Harry’s chest vibrate as he chuckles.

“Hm, I don’t know, is it Hagrid?” He teases, running his chin as Hermione grins. “Nope.” You laugh, popping the ‘p’

“Is it Dumbledore?” Harry tries again, placing his hand over yours and stroking his thumb over your fingers. “Afraid not lightning.”

“Well then, perhaps is it y/n?” Harry turns, wrapping you in his arms as you laugh and hug him back.

“Are you guys ready for summer?” You ask, glancing around at Hermione and Ron before glancing back at Harry.

They all bore similar expressions, small smiles with a ‘maybe’ face. You roll your eyes.

“Don’t tell me you’re off to save the world over summer too.” You sigh, releasing yourself from Harry’s arms and walking to Ron to give him a hug.

“We won’t get in too much trouble.” Ron chuckles, patting you on the back and letting you walk over to Hermione.

“We just never know at this point.” She shrugs, squeezing you tightly.

“Well I’ll meet you guys on the train!” You smile.

The ride back to your platform was as it always was, the trees whipped by and swayed. The sky was lined with puffy white clouds. The snack trolley passed and you bought yourself a chocolate frog and some ‘every flavour’ beans to share with your mom when you got home, a tradition as they were her favourite, and because she needed a little happiness with you off at school and your father gone.

Sitting back and sighing. The golden trio finally arrived at your cabin and told you about their summer plans. Hermione was travelling, Ron was staying home and Harry was staying with the Dursley’s until he could ‘find a reason to escape to the Weasley’s’ as he put it.

The train arrives at your stop and you grab your bags to leave.

“Write to me if you can, all of you, and I’ll see you next year.” You smile, walking back over to Harry and planting a quick kiss to his cheek, ruffling Ron’s hair and kissing Hermione’s forehead.

“Bye y/n!” Ron and Hermione chime.

“Bye thunder!” Harry calls as you turn again and wave. “Bye lightning, bye guys!” You smile, rushing off to the train.

“So you finally told her?” Ron chuckles, patting Harry on the back.

“What are you talking about?” Harry asks furrowing his eyebrows.

“We know you like her mate, and she just kissed you on the cheek!” Ron continues.

“W-Well maybe I do fancy her, but she gave Mione a kiss too!” Harry stammers, his face going as red as his uniform.

“That was platonic Harry, we can tell she likes you, lightning.” Hermione teases using your nickname for him.

“Listen, I don’t want to jump to conclusions and creep y/n out. She’s an amazing friend and I’d like it to stay that way.” Harry smiles, looking off into the distance to see you still walking away.

“Even if she does like you back?” Ron questions.

“Well you don’t know if she does.” Harry sighs, rolling his eyes.

Your eyes scan the station for your mother, swiveling your head back and forth to find her but only seeing other families being reunited with their children.

Pursing your lips you sigh and wait for a moment. Hoping and praying that this year would be different, and your mother would come running to you with open arms. Seconds fade to minutes, and soon the station is almost empty as excited parents rush home to hear about Hogwarts adventures.

You pull your luggage behind you as you walk to the front of the station and hail a muggle cab, leaning your head against the cool window as the pink skies shine above you, the driver makes no move for conversation, so your drive is silent, and when you finally reach your old house, you hand the man driving the rest of your muggle allowance and nod him goodbye.

Your house was looking as quiet and calm as you had left it.

The flowers you had planted last summer had wilted, the porch sat empty and the stairs still creaked as you approached the door. Home.

You smile as you turn your key in the lock and push open the door, setting your bags on the floor as you set out, candy in hand in search of your mother. The kitchen sat empty with only the soft hum of the refrigerator suggesting someone still lived here. The living room was empty, the old leather couch seemed to be collecting dust and the tv looked like an ancient artifact with the cobwebs strung on the sides. As you ascend the stairs to the second floor, you notice the blinds to every window suspiciously closed. Odd, your mother usually enjoyed watching the sunset.

The floorboards beneath you give high pitched creaks as you walk across the hallways, something you had always despised, especially as a child trying to sneak sweets in the early hours.

Pushing open your mothers bedroom, your eyebrows furrow as her bed laid neatly made, with not a thing out of place. The usual mess of pill bottles and plastic bottles had been cleaned, the pile of clothes had disappeared and she was still nowhere to be found. A sense of dread bubbles in the pit of your stomach as you push on, checking her closet and even your own room for your mom, but nothing.

You turn around with a plan to head to town and see if she was visiting the pharmacy for her pills again, or maybe the grocery store, heck, maybe she had stopped at the corner store for cigarettes again. You turn to shrug on a jacket and leave, but as you reach for the front door knob again, your head snaps up and your blood runs cold.

“No, no, no. Please no.” You repeat to yourself, running up the stairs with tears in your eyes and you approach the one room you had yet to check. The one place your head told you she was, but your heart refused to believe. There was no way it could be true. She’d be opening the door right now, the sound of keys clattering on the table in the kitchen would alert you she was there. She’d say, “I’m sorry I couldn’t pick you up, work was awful today.” And she’d proceed to pull out her groceries so you could prepare your favourite meal together, after dinner you would sit on the couch and you’d tell her all about your school girl crush on Harry Potter and she’d tease you as she popped a jelly bean into her mouth and give you the best motherly advice you could ask for. You pause at the closed door and pause, waiting for the door to open, waiting for the sound of footsteps, even the sound of breathing, anything.

You’re met with silence, and in the exact two hundred and sixteen seconds you stood outside the bathroom door, tears began to cloud your vision as you finally opened the door, counting another ten seconds before opening your eyes.

The first thing you saw was your mother, eyes closed and face unusually pale as she lay in the bathtub, and for a moment, you almost convinced yourself she had fallen asleep.

That is until your eyes trailed down her body, and where the water turned red. You drop the jellybeans and everything goes blurry.

“No…” You whimper incredulously, not realizing you had fallen to your knees until the pain in your legs registered and your eyes flooded. Her skin was littered with scars, ones she obtained from her job, harmless ones that healed with time. Beside them were what you cried for. Large, angry gashes that covered her wrists and stole the life from her.

Your face contorts into a hateful cry as you scream, pain flooding your entire being as the metallic sting of blood floods your nose and you gag.

Words seem to blur together, a mixture of ‘why’ and ‘come back, please.’ Seemed to be the only ones that came out coherently as you collapse and slam your fists repeatedly against the floor.

“Mommy, why did you do this? Why did you leave me?” You sob softly, hesitantly touching her face, ice cold to the touch, a quick check of her pulse showed she was gone, but you could tell from the colour still draining from her face that this was recent. Another choked sob escapes your lips as you turn away from her and spot something sitting on the bathroom sink. A letter.

You scramble to grab it and tear it open.

Y/n, if you’re reading this, you’ve gotten home safely and seen me by now. Please know this isn’t your fault love, I just couldn’t bear this anymore. You know that ever since your father left I’ve struggled, you were the only reason I still wanted to stay alive baby, but it’s too much. Everyday I wake up and I have no reason to stay. I was fired not too long ago, lost all my friends to my absence, and lost everything.

Please forgive me. I love you so much, angel, and I’m so so proud of you, I’m resting now baby. I’m finally free.

The paper starts to crinkle as your hands tighten to fists, your tears spill like rivers down your face and your breathing grows rapid as your head falls into your hands.

“P-Please don’t go… You’re all I have, I-I can’t lose you.” You sob, pushing her hair back against her forehead in the soothing manner she had always done for you.

“Please, please, please. I can’t lose you mom… I-I still haven’t told you about this boy at school, t-the test I aced in potions even though professor Snape hates me, all the house points I got, mom there's still so much I have to tell you…” You sniffle, pressing a kiss to her head as you sit back on your heels and push the tears from your eyes to no avail.

“I got your-your every flavoured beans mom, I was hoping we could share them as I told you, maybe I would get an earwax one and you would laugh.” You stutter as the tears flood your eyes again. “I miss your laugh so much mom, please, can I hear it one more time.” You beg, refusing to move from your spot on the floor next to your mother, holding her head in your arms as you begged and prayed for her to come back, going as far as to try and perform magic to heal her wounds and bring her back.

But even magic couldn’t bring her back, and she’d want more for you than to be expelled for uselessly trying to save her.

Eventually the metallic scent became more than you could bear, you pushed yourself away, swallowing your sobs and closing the door behind you. You had no clue what you were going to do with her, but that would be a problem you’d face another day. Your breathing began to race, your heart pounded a million miles a second and the overwhelming feeling of being trapped settled around you, squeezing you into a box you could not escape from, pushing from all sides until you were clawing at yourself to escape your imagined prison.

It was too much. You run down the hallway to your mother’s room and collapse in front of her cabinet, trembling as you tug open the bottom drawer and grab a small cylindrical container with her name on it.

You knew this was a terrible idea, these were strong muggle painkillers meant to help a grown adult, not a teen.

But the looming dread was too much to ignore, too much to bear, too much to even think about. Your mother’s lifeless body flashed through your head, painfully embedding itself into every inch of your memory until it burned.

You pour an unknown amount into your hand and throw them into your mouth, swallowing them dry and collapsing onto the floor in a fit of anger at your actions and pain. Pain so blinding it swallowed your rage, filling your entire being with a convulsing sadness, and as the meds began to kick in, an artificial peace.

New sunlight shines through the closed blinds onto your closed eyes and you finally stir, sitting upright holding your head in your hands, clueless for a moment what you were doing on the floor. Scanning the room, the burning memory hits you like a punch to the face and you freeze, resisting the urge to empty whatever sat in your stomach onto the floor.

“What am i going to do?” You murmur to yourself, glancing around helplessly for something, someone to hold on too, but alas, you sit alone, clutching a pill bottle in your hands.

You eventually snapped to your senses, called a muggle ambulance to help you get your mother out of the tub and before you knew it, you were standing in a flowerless field as two workers lowered your mother into the ground. They offered you condolences and convincing frowns, but to them this was just another job. One more person laid to rest, no care to know what tragic story was buried in the heart of the one person standing at the funeral.

They left without a word you stood at the headstone, engraving the image into your mind.

‘m/n l/n, finally at peace.’

You convinced yourself reading those carved words would have your feelings set in stone. She was at peace now, finally free from her suffering. But it wasn’t that simple, how could it be?

The last family you had ever known was gone, ripped from your arms and held so far above you, there was no possible way you could reach her.

You trudged back home with a permanent feeling of dread looming over you, again your heart begged to have the pain lifted, even for a moment, just to feel alright. And there was only one way you could think of.

“This always helped take the edge off her…” You murmur, digging through your mother’s drawer again to find an untouched box of cigarettes sitting at the bottom.

“This will help…” You convince yourself, taking the box and standing again, slowly trudging out the front door and sitting on the front porch.

“Everything’s gonna be okay.” You murmur lifting a cigarette to your lips and lighting it like you’d seen your mother do many times before.

Inhaling deeply, you barely flinch as the smooth taste of smoke coats your throat. You exhale as you look up into the sky and sigh, it was going to be a long summer.

It almost became an immediate response for stress to pull a cigarette from your pocket and stick it in your mouth, you didn’t particularly enjoy it, but in a twisted way, the smell reminded you of your mother, and you clutched onto anything that reminded you of her.

When you didn’t have cigarettes you turned to alcohol, your mother hadn’t been much of a drinker, but gifts of different drinks were common when her friends came over were common, and they sat untouched in a cabinet in the basement.

The taste of many of them were bitter, but if you drank enough the taste simply didn’t matter and the buzz took over.

Letters from your friends slowly piled on your window as owls came and went as you threw back fire whiskey and stared into space talking to yourself and shooing away the owls who stared at you strangely before flapping away.

When you weren’t at home you went into the small town nearby and bought anything advertised to take the pain away, no one seemed to pay you any mind, many seemed to be going through it as well, to caught up in their own realities to give a shit about a girl buying sleep medication and painkillers, no matter how strong.

You dove deeper into your pain, taking something every night to lull away the nightmares and ignore the pain. Drinking and smoking in the day to cover the tears and help you forget for a couple hours.

Some days were better than others, when you could just sit outside and enjoy the fresh summer air, but others your anxiety caged you up and you did anything to escape.

One late August afternoon a snowy white owl lands beside you on your front porch as you twiddle your thumbs and hum softly.

It drops the letter directly onto your lap and waits staring up at you expectantly as if asking you to open the envelope and read it to them.

“Alright, I get the message.” You yawn, sitting up and ripping the paper off the top of the letter and pulling a piece of parchment into your hand.

You clear your throat and begin, “dear y/n..

I hope you’re doing well, you haven’t responded to any of my letters yet and I’ve been very worried, Ron and Hermione have told me you haven’t been answering them either and we’re all hoping you’re safe. School’s starting up again and I’m looking forward to seeing you, take care.

Harry Potter.”

The owl looks at you again, and you wondered if it actually thought you were going to respond.

“Sorry pal, I’m not writing anything back. Here, for your troubles.” You nod, placing three knuts in front of the bird. The snowy owl looked down at the money oddly before ruffling his feathers and flying away, leaving you alone once again.

“Harry.” You sigh, sipping on a glass of water. You had completely forgotten you had promised to write to your friends over the summer, almost forgotten your life completely as you tried to focus on keeping yourself alive.

“What the fuck am I going to do?” You sigh, setting down your cup and resting your head against your knees.

Summer blew by much faster once you realized how close the first day back really was, but there you were standing in the empty street hailing a cab to travel back to your station.

You pull your sweater closer to you as your leg shakes furiously and your breathing grows rapidly blowing through every possible bad scenario that crosses your mind. The disappointed faces of your old friends, laughter, teasing, each thought clouds your thoughts. A cold sweat breaks out and you can almost feel yourself slipping when a voice pulls you out.

“Um, miss? We’re here.” The cab driver says, glancing back at you worried.

“O-Oh, thank you.” You clear your throat, handing him his payment and stepping out of the car and grabbing your suitcase.

Taking a deep breath you wipe the sweat from your forehead and walk to the magical platform, bracing yourself as always before stepping through the brick border.

Loud and bustling, you quietly walk towards the Hogwarts Express, but instead of walking to your usual compartment where you knew the golden trio would be sitting you strode all the way down to the back of the train and sat in an empty seat.

Glancing around, you make sure the coast is clear before pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, instantly feeling a rush of relief as you take a deep breath in and out.

You watched as the trees disappeared behind the window and the sky shone above, but it didn’t feel right. You didn’t get the usual rush of excitement and joy, in fact you almost felt worse the closer you got to Hogwarts. You close the blinds hurriedly and sit back in your seat.

“No I-I’m sure I saw her come this way.” A voice calls out not too far from you.

“Harry, We’ve been down this way three times already!”

Harry.

“Fuck.” You whisper, pulling the hood of your sweater over your head and keeping your eyes trained on the floor.

“Mate we gotta get changed into our uniforms, we’ll see her at the feast.” Ron sighs, probably pulling Harry away as their voices fade away and you’re left alone again.

You curse yourself for hiding. Why were you hiding from the people you loved? What were you so afraid of?

The answer lay plain as day, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it.

You were afraid of them seeing you like this. Broken down, exhausted, and with a cigarette sticking past your lip.

That did remind you, your uniform.

Covering the compartment windows with your jacket, you quickly swap your hoodie for your collared shirt and a tie. Running a brush through your hair you menatlly prepare yourself to re-enter your life, a life that no longer seemed like yours. Stepping off the Hogwarts express, it felt like you were seeing your past life, a flash of familiarity you no longer knew, a warmth you could recognize that was no longer for you.

You recoil softly at the shiver running down your spine, but push forwards, walking along surrounded by the sea of students.

Reaching where the carriages usually were, you look up expecting the usual strangeness of being pulled by an invisible force, but stumble backwards at the sight of a dark, nightmarish horse standing before you.

It’s eyes seemed to narrow, glaring daggers at you that seemed to pierce your very soul. You quickly climb into a carriage with some random  students and stare out the windows the entire ride.

Their quiet chatter is drowned out by your thoughts, coming up with a way to avoid the golden trio at all cost seemed to be a top priority, followed by the need to down some firewhisky to get your mind off everything.

You kept repeating to yourself everything would be okay, just make it up the stairs, around the pillars, dodge anyone that seemed to be walking in your direction and hurry up to your dormitory. Collapsing into the bed that was now called yours you sigh and bunch the blankets into your fists and breathe properly for the first time since you left your house. Your roommates had yet to show and you were grateful for the alone time. Your hands finally stopped shaking, your sweat finally stopped and your breathing evened. You finally work up the strength to unzip your suitcase and pull the small container of firewhiskey you had brought out of your bag. You unscrew it and take a small sip, allowing the burning liquid to slowly take your edge off and calm you down. You sat for a moment nursing the bottle against your lips, contemplating whether or not it would be smart to go down to the great hall for the feast. You were starving and needed food, but you couldn’t face anyone in this state. Glancing at your faint reflection on the window you swallow at the unfamiliarity of the person staring back at you. Where had the happy girl you once were gone? And who was the stranger you were looking at? Your summer had been restless and difficult, of course. But had it really been enough to shake you to the point you didn’t recognize yourself?

What a stupid question. You almost laugh to yourself, tilting your head back again and drinking a little more. Drinking was supposed to take your mind off your situation, not have you overthink even more.

After a while of sitting and glaring out the window you finally pick yourself up, tuck away your firewhiskey and straighten your uniform. You make your way down towards the great hall, walking slowly down the halls you used to run through. Staring in boredom at the carvings and paintings on the wall you used to admire with awe. Keeping your mouth shut when you used to laugh down these corridors.

Finally reaching the great hall the sorting ceremony was still in full swing, playing as a distraction while you slipped to your table.

You sit and nod hello to the students surrounding you, giving them empty excuses on why you were late, and half-heartedly listening to their stories.

Your only thought at the moment was to eat and keep your head down, become invisible if you must.

Harry glances around the great hall anxiously looking for your face. He had barely touched his food, hardly clapped at the new students being sorted into their houses, barely talked to Hermione and Ron as they watched Harry worriedly.

Harry had only one thought on his mind, find you. See if you were alright, hug you in his arms and tell you he missed you, ask you about your summer and ask you to Hogsmeade like he was too afraid to last year. He had so much planned, all he was missing was you.

Just as Ron opens his mouth to tell Harry to quit for a moment and just eat, he catches sight of familiar h/c hair. Longer than he remembered, but no doubtebly yours. Standing in a hurry Harry runs off leaving Ron and Hermione confused, glancing over to see where the brunette had run off to.

Your head snaps up as you hear footsteps approach you and just in time you see Harry running towards you. His green eyes were alight in joy. His tousled brown hair was shorter and he looked older, more mature. Your heart drops as you frantically try and hide your face. He couldn’t see you like this, what on earth would he think?

“Y/n, there you are I’ve been looking for you!”

Bloody hell, his voice had gotten deeper too. Still holding that boyish grin that you loved so much.

“Y/n? A-Are you okay?”

Go away. You pleaded in your head, refusing to look up into the green eyes you’d fallen for.

Harry refuses to give up and attempts to reach out and take your hand.

His skin makes contact with yours and you flinch away, finally giving in and removing your hands from your face.

“What do you want?” You snap unintentionally, cringing inwardly at what you had just done.

“I-I just wanted to say hi-- are you alright?-” Harry asks furrowing his eyebrows, was that firewhiskey he smelled on your breath?

“I’m fine, could you please leave me alone?” Your voice is softly this time, but still with a cold edge.

Harry’s eyes blink in confusion, as he glances around and open and closes his mouth like a fish out of water. This was not the reunion he was expecting, heck this didn’t seem like you at all. Regardless, he nods and slowly walks away, looking back every now and again to see you holding your head in your hands and eventually standing and leaving in a huff, were those tears he saw streaming down your eyes?

“Did you find her mate?” Ron asks as Harry takes a seat.

“Yeah-yeah. Listen, something's wrong.” Harry states, explaining the confrontation he had with you. Slowly the two other gryffindors expressions fade to concern as well.

“And you’re sure it was firewhiskey?” Hermione questions, pursing her lips.

“I’m afraid so, I-I don’t know what to do.” Harry sighs defeated.

“Give her some time, perhaps she just had a bad day?” Ron suggests.

“Sounds more like a horrible summer.” Hermione sighs, worried for her friend.

“I’m gonna go look for her, I don’t want her alone at a time like now.” Harry nods, not waiting for his friend’s reactions before running off to find you.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” You curse yourself, unsure where you were running too. You simply follow your feets as you angrily wipe tears from your eyes and cry in the empty hallways. As you run the image of Harry’s shocked face plays over and over again in your head, taunting you, trying to prove to you what kind of person you had become. Your feet lead you down another corridor and before you know it you’re climbing up a flight of stairs and fighting for breath while digging your fingers into your hands to keep yourself from sobbing to loudly. You had let him down. You had let everyone you love down, you let your mother down, you let yourself down. Maybe if you had spent more time at home your mother would have found a reason to stay, if you just didn’t go to the magic school and stayed with her she’d be alive and there to guide you. You miss her so much everyday. You collapse onto the cool ground of what must have been the astronomy tower you glance down at your hands and realize you’ve been squeezing too tight and hot blood is beginning to flow down your palm. You gag as the sight brings you back to the beginning of the summer. The start of your hell. Instinctively you pull a cigarette from your pocket and bring it to your lips, lighting it and before you know what you’re doing, walking to the edge of the tower.

There wasn’t anything left for you here. Your mother was gone, you had successfully avoided your friends and the person you loved had seen you for who you truly were. You were ready, and you couldn’t think of any place you’d rather go then your favourite place at Hogwarts.

The place you’d spent so many nights gazing at the stars. The place you’d realized you had fallen in love, looking into the green eyes of Harry Potter while watching the planets shine above you and the stars twinkle.

Harry, the person you were so excited to tell your mother about. The boy who made you smile and laugh every day you were with him. You would miss him. Miss his smile, his tousled hair you loved to play with, miss his voice.

As you take one final drag from your cigarette, your feet just over the edge, you look up towards the sky. You see the moon shining, the trees swaying in the distance, nature in all it’s peace, calling to you.

A feeling like your mother’s arms wraps around you, and for a moment you can see her, feel her. “I’m coming mom, we’ll be together soon.”

Taking a step forward you look down at the ground, almost smiling softly before looking back up at the sky, where you’d join your mom and--

“Y/n!” A pair of real arms wrap around you and pull you away from the edge. Squeezing you against their chest and sobbing into your hair.

Why were they crying? Why weren’t you with your mother yet…?

“Y/n what are you doing?”

Harry. You realize, and as he raises his head and you come eye to eye, you see his eyes clouding with hot tears behind his glasses. You lift your hand and wipe them.

“Why are you crying?” You ask, dropping your hand again and realizing you had accidentally smeared blood on his face.

“I-I could have lost you! What were you doing so close to the edge?” Harry asks, pleading for answers as he holds you close against him.

“Isn’t it obvious?” You smile as though he had just asked the silliest thing.

“There’s nothing left here for me. My mother’s gone, she killed herself when I got home for summer. My dad left us when I was just a baby. I’ve managed to get Ron and Hermione to stop worrying and you’ll never like me back.” You sigh, looking down at your hands and reaching into your pocket again.

“What? Y/n, I-I’m so sorry.” Harry murmurs, placing his forehead against yours as you raise a cigarette to your lips.

“S’ alright.”

Harry’s eyes widen and he slaps the cigarette from your lips.

“You’re drinking and smoking?” He shouts.

“I’ve got painkillers and sleep medication too, anything that’ll get my mind off things.” You shrug, struggling in Harry’s arms as you try and escape.

“Y/n, these things are going to kill you!”

“Good! Maybe I want to die Harry! Maybe I can’t take being alone anymore, and maybe I know these things will kill me so I use them. I want to see her again Harry! I want to not be alone, I want to erase everything I saw, I want to be me again.” You cry, lifting your hands to your face and using your bloody hands to wipe your tears away.

“But I can’t! I still go back to smoking, drinking, using pills to take the pain away and I still. Can’t. Forget!” You continue, bawling into Harry’s shoulder as he holds you.

“I don’t want to do this anymore. I can’t do this anymore.” You shriek, trying again to escape Harry’s grip, but he refuses to let go.

“Darling look at me.”

You don’t stop.

“Please Y/n, just look at me.” Hary pleads again.

When you don’t stop this time, he finally gives in and leans towards you. Ignoring the blood, tears and taste of smoke, to  press his lips to yours.

You freeze and Harry keeps himself there. Waiting for your breathing to even out and your heartbeat to stop racing.

Your eyes close and you pause as Harry finally pulls away and takes your face into his hands.

“Y/n, you mother wouldn’t have wanted her daughter to go like this. She would’ve wanted you to be happy and live the life she never had. Darling, from the way you’d always talk about her I know she loves you very much, she doesn’t want you to die.” Harry murmurs pressing a kiss to your eyes and nose.

“Ron and Hermione were worried about you y/n, they just respect your privacy and didn’t want to intrude.” He continues drying you tears with his thumb and peppering kisses down your cheeks.

“They love and care for you so much love. They don’t want you to die.”

Harry pauses for a moment and lifts your lips to his, this time deepening the kiss and moving your lips in sync with his.

“And I… I’m in love with you y/n. I wish I’d had the guts to tell you sooner but I was always too nervous.”

“But look at me now Harry. I’m a mess. I-I’m not the same person.” You murmur, trying to avoid his intense gaze.

“Y/n nothing could ever change the fact I love you. You lost your mother, you can’t expect yourself to just be alright.” Harry sighs.

“I still get nightmares about my parents, I see them collapse and have the life drained from them in mere moments.”

“Y/n after everything, you’re my light. You’re what keeps me motivated everyday to keep going. And I’m not going to let my light die if I could have stopped it.”

You pause and choke back a sob as you glance up into Harry’s eyes and once again melt into the soft green.

“I’m here for you darling, always and forever, whenever you need me, whatever you need, we’ll support each other.” Harry smiles.

This time you engage the kiss, grateful as you relish in the pure moment of happiness.

“Thank you Harry.” You smile weakly.

“Now why don’t you tell me about your mom?” Harry suggests, sitting you down and pulling his wand out of his pocket.

As you ramble on about childhood stories, funny jokes and happy memories Harry smiles and listens, healing your hands and holding them in his.

You spend the rest of the evening laying against his shoulder and gazing up at the stars. Harry places kisses against your head, cheeks and nose every now and again, and even though you knew there was still a long road to walk before you could truly say you felt change, you smiled a little and realized.

Nature wasn’t calling you join it, it was reminding you of the beauty you would be missing. The stars weren’t inviting you up, they were shining to show all the wonders you loved.

And your mother wasn’t embracing you from afar to push you forwards, she was edging you back. Back into Harry’s arms.

[babylooneytoonz]

a little bit of you, a little bit of me

— pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

— summary: Tommy and you had a one night stand right when Tommy was 18 and you were 17 and you fell pregnant with a baby girl- but wanted to convince your husband it’s his- so Tommy grew up seeing his daughter every day grow up in the street and with her other dad. And on her eighteenth birthday she comes into the garrison for a drink with a purpose to meet Tommy.

This is requested by an anonymous, although the request was slightly different, I have modified it a bit and I hope you like it.🤍

A/N- I just modified it a bit because I am really not good with the timelines so there might a slight difference in the age . Let's just assume this is set in 1908 which I suppose is when Tommy would be 18? and then later in 1926 when Grace had been shot and all [end of season 3 - beginning season 4] I'm not sure and my math sucks please correct me but I think Tommy was born in 1890 or something I could be seriously wrong though.

— warnings: mentions of extra marrital relationship, trigger warnings, unplanned pregnancy , a lot of angst (Please do not read if you're not comfortable, thank you.)

*Please reblog if you like it, do not repost or claim my work as yours.

[My Masterlist]

You were only seventeen when your parents succumbed to bankruptcy and disease, leaving you an orphan, an only child; but not without ensuring that you were married off to a young man. You weren't in love with him, or with anyone else, and thus, it was easy for you to accept.

With the war not yet begun, you and your husband moved to Birmingham City, hoping to find yourself a place to live at half the rent as compared to London.

And it was during that time, when you met Tommy Shelby, a young lad who lived four houses away from yours.

It was innocent at first, just a glance through the window, or a mindless bump against each other on the road which then developed into greetings and then smiles until finally, one day, when you found yourself sat by the docks late one evening, shielded by unwanted, prying eyes with Tommy Shelby next to you, talking about life in general.

You opened up, telling him about how you were never lucky enough to find someone to love, and to marry for love. Although you had utmost respect for your husband, you couldn't bring yourself to love him, yet. But it wasn't all sad talks.

Sometime, in between the morose and sad revelations, a lighter topic broke out, and they two of you began talking of your favourite pass times, your hobbies and the most embarassing moments of your life.

"Don't you have to go back home, [Y/N]? Isn't someone bloody waiting back home?" Tommy raised an eyebrow, his eyes glistening with amusement and you snorted, pressing your index finger into his chest playfully as you pushed yourself up.

"So, Tommy, what are we friends now?" You remembered smirking, the corners of your plump lips curving into a devilish grin as you stood up, wiping the back of your skirt with your palm.

"Do you want us to be?" He smirked back, and reached forward trying to grab the hem of your skirt, but you dodged, biting your lip as you shook your head, running your hand through your hair.

"Friends don't grab a lady's skirt, Mr. Shelby," you curled your lips teasingly, and taking Tommy by surprise, your fingers slid through his matted hair ruffling them up, before you darted off, the sound of your running the only voice audible to Tommy as he kept sitting by the docks, grinning.

That was only the beginning; and the flirt only rose after that, it didn't die down, no matter how much you knew it was wrong. You couldn't help yourself be attracted to him.

"[Y/N], are you going out, eh?"

You stopped, mid steps, your coat halfway through your arms as you slowly turned around and gave your husband a nervous smile.

"We're out of bread, and tomatoes, and eggs. I thought I'd stock up for two days." You looked at him, glancing at him through your fluttering eyelids, and he simply nodded, pulling a lit cigarette up to his lips, "Don't be gone long, love. It's going to get dark outside."

You grabbed your purse, and fixing your hair with your hands, you pulled open the front door and ran out of your home. You looked left, and right before you crossed the road to the other side and slid through a cramped alley, ducking underneath the clothes that were hanging to dry off from ropes.

Finally, Tommy was in sight.

His hair were disheveled, and his shirt had dust stains on it but you didn't mind; he was perfect in your eyes. You smiled, parting your lips, your tongue sliding out of your mouth as you moistened your lower lip. Your walking turned to running, and the next second, you were standing chest to chest with him, his hand fixed on the low of your back, holding you against him.

"You—"

"Don't, Tommy. Don't make me change my bloody mind," you whispered immediately, cutting him off.

His palm came to rest on your cheek, his thumb stroking against your supple flesh, his blues fixed on yours. You could see the ocean in your eyes, and although you were guilty in that moment for willingly be ready to give yourself to this boy, your guilt was far less than the feelings your heart held for him.

"This one time, Tommy—" you whispered, placing your palm against the fabric of his dusty shirt and balling it into your fist, pulling him closer, you blinked, giving him a nod.

It all flew by in a buzz then. One moment, the two of you were laughing like little kids, chasing after a butterfly, your hand entwined in his, as the two of you ran through the alleys one after the other. Tommy pulled you into one of the structures, made out of bright red brick walls, until he shut the door and pressed you against it, both his hands gripping your neck, his lips pressed to you.

Kisses, moans and gasps. Feelings, passion and unshed tears.

"Can you leave him for me?" Tommy whispered against your ear as he undressed you slowly, his fingers sliding over your bare velvet like skin, making heat and current radiate all through you.

Amongst moans and archs of of pleasure, the crowning and the curling of your toes and Tommy showed you the stars, as he filled you up completely, you moving in sync with him, like dancing to a slow song, you couldn't help but wish.. that maybe you had met him a few months back.

"You know I can't. It's too late now.." Would things have been different then? Would he have married you and then left for war?

"I know love, I know. I'm sorry I didn't find you before." He moaned into your ear, his fingers tracing your spine.

"Tommy.." You threw your head back, your fingers tightly clutching the sweaty boy's head in front of you, as you felt him teasingly bite you on the nape of your neck, all the while, his movements now becoming sloppier inside of you, and the two of you came, and collapsed in each other's arms.

The two of you remained entwined in each other, holding on to each other like either of you would slip into the sands of time. Finally, Tommy's hold on you relaxed, and he brought his fingers to your face, stroking through your sweaty hair, that were sticking to your face.

"This is goodbye then, love?"

You looked up at him, your eyes shriveled with unshed tears, and inexplicable emotions as you swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded, "I will still see you, only the world will never know. Maybe someday.."

Tommy was true to his words, and he never let anyone find out, about that one slip of the moment the two of you had shared, that had led to the creation of the light of your life.

Days turned to weeks, and weeks flew by, turning into months and Tommy watched you from afar as you walked down the street with a friend of yours whose name was Greta. Your head hung low, your stomach bloomed and swollen, the glow on your face bright enough to compete with the brightness of the sun. He was happy for you. You deserved to be happy, and he was okay, even if it wasn't with him.

Upon seeing you with a smile on your radiant face as you entered the bakery, Tommy could not control himself, something that he had been doing for months now at the sight of you. He pushed open the bakery door, with a tiny jingle of the bell, and that caused you to turn towards the door, your eyes immediately widening at the sight of him.

He kept his eyes fixed on you for a second before he looked away, and fixed himself on the counter right next to you, as he began looking around, looking for anything he could buy and not be suspected.

You pulled the coins out of your purse and handed them to the bakery owner, and with one glance at him, nodding in courtesy, you turned away, hurriedly walking out of it. Your steps were fast, as fast a six months pregnant young lady could walk and thus, it was easy for Tommy to catch up to you.

"Greta," you looked at your friend, your eyes widened, and the girl next to you smiled.

"Go," she whispered and looked around, just to see if there were any prying eyes that were looking at the two of you.

You slowly stepped into the alley, and Tommy followed until he had you in a corner, and his eyes fell to your stomach. You parted your lips but all that came out was thin air.

"I'm sorry, love. I couldn't bloody keep myself away from you. You look beautiful."

You gave him a tiny, lingering smile, fluttering your lashes as you looked down at your belly and then back at him, "Liar. I feel humongous."

"You're a sight for my sore eyes, love," his words were breaking you down, piece by piece. The wall that you had created, the thin wall of what was right and what was wrong was slowly crumbling down again. Your lips ached, your body ached, for his touch, once again. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. Finally, you opened your eyes again, and with a finality, you said, "Find yourself a nice girl, Tom. I want you to be happy."

A woman he did find. As time flew by, Tommy did find love again in your best friend, Greta Jurossi, and you were happy for them. You lay in your bed, your sheets coiled over you, covering up your modesty as the midwife examined you. Waves of pain flushed through you, causing you to ball the fabric of the bedding and the towels and let out cries of anguish. Your husband was downstairs, walking up and down; his shoulders tense, listening to your cries of pain.

After fourteen hours, you finally held your little black haired girl to your chest. Your heart filled with unconditional love; as you kissed the mass of her hair, you realised you couldn't love anyone else like you loved this girl.

Tommy held Greta's hand as the two of them entered their spot under the bridge. He pushed her to the wall, keeping a hand at the back of her head so she didn't hit it against the wall as he kissed her and finally made love to her.

"Why do you look like you've seen a bloody ghost, love?" Tommy's eyebrows perked up, as he pulled out a cigarette and flicked it to his lips, lighting it with a match.

"Not a ghost, Tommy, it's just that Marigold keeps us up all night long, she is such a fussy babe," Greta sighed, smiling softly when the image of your baby girl flashed infront of her eyes. She was in love with that little angel, but she knew she was Tommy's, you had told her this as you were her bestfriend. She looked down at her hands momentarily before looking up at Tommy, pursing her lips. She knew this man, and you, better than anyone in the world and she could read your faces like a book.

"Sometimes, I wonder," she hopped off the place she was seated at, pulling her skirts properly at place before she bent down as pulled up her stockings. Tommy took a drag of the cigarette and flicked it away, stepping on it, "What would have been if she would have left him."

"She made her decision, Greta, and I respect it," Tommy called out and she flinched, slowly turning towards him, chewing on the insides of her cheeks.

"Still, it's tragic, isn't it? Watching her everyday and knowing she can never be yours?" She whispered.

"I've made my peace with it." Tommy grumbled, under his breath, shaking his head as he threw his hand towards her and she accepted, entwining their fingers together as he pulled her into him.

"She made me swear something, but I can't keep it inside me anymore. This secret.. I feel like you deserve to know. Will you keep it?" Greta suddenly stopped walking and turned towards him, placing her hand delicately over his chest, and giving it a soft stroke.

"What is it, love?" He asked, his voice husky, and low. He kept his eyes fixed on her, like fireflies drawn to a source of light, that light being the impassivity of her words.

"Marigold is yours, Tommy. She's your daughter. She's got your eyes, and that sweet little smile."

Tommy parted his lips, as if wanting to say something, just anything but he felt like someone had choked him. He couldn't speak. No words flew out of his plump, trembling lips. Waves of anxiety suddenly flushed through him, and he clenched his fists, drawing his hands away from her as a gnawing emptiness filled him up.

Nothing felt worse than the bitter, aching slice his heart felt; as though someone had shot him through his heart, and the bullet was now lodged through. Yet he couldn't bring himself to hate you, although you had never told him, not once in these nine or so months that the baby you were carrying was his.

He laid back down, his head resting against the hard pillow. His mind was intoxicated, his thinking fuzzy yet he couldn't throw out the anguish he was feeling, no matter how hard he tried. The girl he had grown to love, the girl who had pulled him out of the feelings he had for you, the girl who had breathed life into his cold heart once again, the girl he wanted to marry, destiny snatched her away from him like a joke. Was he cursed to not be with the one his heart desired the most?

With a heavy heart, and a tormented soul, Thomas Shelby and his brothers left for war.

The war lasted for years, and so did Tommy, and every single time he felt like death was lurking close by, it never really touched him. When war was over, Tommy Shelby returned a different man, a man with a hollow heart, mind tormented completely differently now. He could hear the shovels in his mind, the clawing of metal against metal. He returned from war, and so did your husband and as the years passed, Tommy watched his daughter grow up, from a young little petal into a full blooming flower, and he never said a word. It was like a silent promise made to you, to protect your honour, something he had sworn with his life.

As the years passed, the hollow void left by you and by Greta slowly died down, and Tommy found himself a woman called Grace. She was enchanting, and she made Tommy feel whole again, complete again, although the shovels never stopped, no matter how hard he tried. Yet, Tommy didn't stop silently watching over the little girl that lived across the street, Marigold.

"Tommy, love?" Grace asked him one day, as she rolled over in bed, the sheets wrapped around her tiny frame and she laid her hand on his rising and falling chest, her fingers tenderly stroking his flesh, "Does that girl mean something to you? I've seen you look at her when she steps out with her mother out on the street, your face lights up."

Tommy didn't reply and instead buried his face into her side, letting himself get lost in her sweet fragrance, soaking him up. When he didn't answer, Grace didn't ask again, but the question remained at the back of her mind, until the day she left Tommy and went to London, breaking his heart all over again.

Just three months later, Tommy found himself standing at the back, his head hung low, staring at the wet soiled ground as your husband's coffin was lowered to the ground. You sniffled, your palm pressed to your lips, as you pulled Marigold closer to you, letting the thirteen year old child grieve, and cry her heart out as her father was lowered to the ground.

As the guests started dispersing, the two of you kept sitting in the front, on chairs that had been put out for you by someone kind. Tommy slowly walked up to you, hesitant and reluctant. Marigold was the first one to look up and Tommy felt his heart swell at the sight of her. It was like he was staring at himself, the same ocean like eyes, her hair just the same amount of dark like Tommy's were, the nose was, however, you and so were the lips. This was the first time Tommy felt he had seen her this close, and the more he saw her, the more he felt how she was the most beautiful girl he had ever laid his eyes across.

You looked up then, and a faint, weak smile crossed your lips,"You came, Tommy? I never thought.."

"If you need anything, I'll always be here for you," that was the only words he could bring himself to say to you for he had by now, suffered so much, he had leaned to lock the young boy that had fallen in love with you, away in a corner. You watched, your eyes cloudy, as he left the cemetery, and you weeks later, left Birmingham, never to look back again.

1926,

The warm liquid rushed down the canal in Tommy's throat. His sleeves were rolled up, his hair messy and tumultuous, dark bags already forming under his eyes as he has been working mostly through the nights. Garrison was as usual, crowded but the Shelby room provided him with the solitude and the peace that he didn't find anywhere else.

It was just then when a knock resonated from the door and his head snapped upwards as Curly poked his head through.

"What's gone wrong now, Curly?" He said, dryly.

"Tommy, a young girl who goes by the name Marigold says she has some unfinished business with you?" He knew instantly who she was. He hesitated for a bit, his fists clenching slightly before he nodded, "Let her in and close the door, Curly."

Marigold bit her lip, yes she had a purpose to be here and yes, she had thought she had motivated herself enough to finally do this, yet one look at the man seated in front of her made her insides churn with nervousness. This was much difficult as it appeared to be.

"Take a seat, Miss.." Tommy pointed towards the empty couch in front of him and she nodded, absentmindedly sitting down with her hands now resting against her lap, "Marigold [Y/L/N]."

Tommy raised an eyebrow, regarding her through his cold, ocean like eyes, "You don't go by your father's name?"

Marigold didn't reply; instead she gave him a knowing smile and Tommy leaned forward, letting his elbows rest against the table, his hand absentmindedly grabbing his glass of whiskey, "Curly said you had some, eh, unfinished business?"

She nodded, her fingers toying nervously with other.

"Care to walk me home, Mr. Shelby? We can talk while we walk."

"Alright then," Tommy nodded as he stood up downing the drink in one go and began reaching for his coat, "I'll walk you home then," Tommy's eyes flickered as he waited for Marigold to walk out first, and once she did, he closed the door behind her and walked out of the Garrison.

Tommy couldn't describe the feeling; although there were no words, there was a warmth. Right next to him, his little girl, now not so little anymore, walked. Slowly, he craned his neck towards her as he pulled out a smoke and flung it to his lips, "How is your mother?"

"Growing old, that's her words, not mine."

Tommy smiled, looking up at the sky, his eyes fixing on the moon for a split second before he looked at her again, "I'm sure she is just exaggerating, yeah."

"Mr. Shelby, it mind sound like I am poking my bloody nose into your business, but I think I deserve to know. There was something between my mother and you once, wasn't there?" She suddenly asked, as blunt as a knife. She had the same fire burning in her eyes, like that in her real father's.

Tommy faltered upon hearing her words though, for he hadn't expected her to ask him this. He paused for a minute, looking at her with a perplexity, he wasn't sure how to answer her. She waited for a second and finally, reached out, grabbing the lit cigarette from his hand and flung it to her lips, taking a drag of it.

"Why would you think that ey?" Tommy blew out.

"Come on, Mr. Shelby, I'm not a little girl any more. I remember you at my father's funeral, the way you looked at my mother, even my dad didn't look at her that way. Come with me," Marigold suddenly grabbed Tommy's hand rather inappropriately if anyone was looking at the interaction and she began walking in a fast pace towards the building now right in front of her eyes.

"Hey, will you bloody slow down?" Tommy tried, but she was headstrong, and the grip of her on Tommy's hand was strong, although Tommy could pullout his hand in one jerk, yet he didn't. This felt personal and it somehow, warmed his heart.

Marigold finally came to pause, her hand letting Tommy's wrist go as her hand flung to her chest, and she began gasping like a fish for air, looking at Tommy.

"Now are you going to answer me? My mum's asleep upstairs by the way." The girl bit her lip, looking from Tommy, pointing her finger upwards, and Tommy realized that she had brought him to her house.

"Did your.. mother.. ever remarry?"

Tommy finally muttered, in a low voice although he had no bloody idea of whether he was ready to hear the answer or not.

"No, she didn't, Mr. Shelby." Tommy felt he could breathe again.

"Is that the unfinished business you wanted to talk about? Because its late and I don't want your mother worrying about you, Marigold," Tommy's eyes remained stoic, not a sign of emotion reflecting in his ice like radiant face. "Goodnight then," He turned away, letting his hands slide into the pockets of his coat when she called out from behind him, making him freeze on spot.

"I know you're my father, Mr. Shelby. That makes me Marigold Shelby, doesn't it?"

Tommy turned around, slow as a snail, and fixated his eyes on her. She had half the door open and she was leaning against it, her chin resting against the back of her hand with which she was holding the door and smiling.

"What did you say?" Tommy almost choked out, surprised.

"Aunt Greta left me some letters, for when I would turn eighteen. She left you some too, if you want?" She slid her hand into the pocket of her trench coat and pulled out a letter that still had a seal on it. Slowly, she extended her hand and Tommy looked from her to the letter, his hand trembling as he took it. It had Greta's signature on it. He blinked, an inner turmoil forming inside of him. Finally, he gave up, and handed the letter back to her.

"Won't you read it?" She asked, confused.

Tommy sighed, "It's better for the dead to stay dead."

"Christ, Marigold, what's gotten into you?" You frowned and watched your eighteen your old act like a five year old, her arms crossed against her chest, as she blinked, impatiently, "Mum, can you hurry up and get dressed? We are going to miss the 7 o'clock show."

"Alright, alright. I'm getting ready. Don't make a fuss, love."

Now, an hour later, you were stack in an almost empty movie hall, watching the black and white movie that Marigold was so interested in watching. And next to you on the right hand side was the man you had least expected to be there, Thomas Shelby.

"She planned this all, didn't she?" You whispered, leaning towards him. It was only days back Marigold had told you everything, especially about Greta's letters and you had been shocked. Now here he was, days after the revelation, and it couldn't have been a coincidence.

"You know I can't bloody say no to her. If it were up to you, I would have never known she was mine." Tommy whispered back, and you stiffened.

"Greta played a nice game," you drawled, absentmindedly turning towards Tommy, who was looking at you with a look of amusement in his eyes.

"What?"

"You're still beautiful. And look sixteen."

You flushed, your cheeks turning a scarlet red, and you were thankful you were in a dimly lit movie hall, and he couldn't really see. If amazed you, how almost nineteen years after you had ended things with Tommy Shelby, he still gave you butterflies, like you were eighteen again,"Jesus, Tommy stop. You're not eighteen anymore, and neither am I."

"Jesus, mum, dad, can the two of you please stop? I'm trying to watch something." The eighteen year old protested, but unbeknownst to the two of you, she had an amused, content smile playing against her lips, as she forced herself to look away.

You glanced at Tommy, and without uttering another word, you slowly sunk into him, letting your head rest against his shoulder, and your hand snuck into his, your fingers entwining with his.

If the two of you were eighteen and seventeen again, who would have thought that it would take losing Greta, and losing your husband to finally end up in Tommy's arms nineteen years later?

What made you smile, however was the fact that he was still the same; he still smelled the same like he did before the same lingering smell of burnt cigarettes and alcohol, mixed with a strong scent of musk; his hands were the same amount of calloused and warm, and your hands still fit perfectly into his. You were sure his lips would too, but maybe that was a thing for another time. You wanted to enjoy this night, watching the film, as a family of three.

Permanent Tommy Shelby Taglist:

@really-dont-forget-it @thepeakygurl @baumarvel @captivatedbycillianmurphy @nyotamalfoy @peakyfooky @buckyxreader99 @theflamecrystal @milea

Want to be added? Please ask, message or comment.✨

[stilloutofmyvulcanmind]

Reunion

Pairing: Harry Wells x Reader

Word count: 600

Warnings: MAJOR SEASON 7 SPOILERS

Summary: With the dust settling, you have to come face to face with a man you never thought you’d see again

Author’s Note below the cut

A/N: So late the other night I had the thought of what if the Universe decided to return Harry instead of OG Harrison, and this small drabble is the result. I also have some ideas for a smutty sequel, so if anyone’s interested in that, let me know! :)

~

“Y/N.”

You closed your eyes against the raspy voice, keeping your back turned on the figure standing in the doorway.

“Y/N,” the voice said again, the sound of booted steps making their way across the floor. You felt the presence of another body behind you. “Look at me.”

“No.” You kept your voice whisper quiet, afraid that if you spoke any louder he’d hear how close you were to tears. 

“Please.”

You shook your head. “I can’t.”

A hand, gentle yet sure landed on your bicep, and you were helpless to resist when it turned you. Still though, you kept your eyes firmly shut, even as the hand moved to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “You can do anything.”

“Not this. You were gone.”

“I know.” Harry’s thumb brushed along your cheek, wiping away the stray tear that had escaped through your lashes. “But I’m back.”

“For now.” There it was. The terror that had been bubbling in your chest since the moment you’d laid eyes on the figure standing in the shadows of the lounge. Harry, somehow back after you and the team had been so sure that he was gone forever, reduced to particles in the Artificial Speed Force. “How long until I have to say goodbye again?”

“Sweetheart…” Harry’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest until your face was pressed into the soft black material of his sweater. 

“Twice,” you gasped through the tears that ran freely now. “I’ve had to grieve for you twice. I can’t do it again. I can’t. I can’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered, cupping the back of your head in a large hand. “I never wanted to hurt you like that. I never wanted to leave you, or see you cry.”

You sobbed harder into his chest, gripping the sides of shirt desperately tight. “Not again.”

“Not again. I promise. Not again.”

“You can’t keep that.”

“I can. When I was...restored...I saw it all. I saw my whole timeline. And I promise, I swear, that we won’t be parted again for many, many years.”

Finally, you looked up at him, eyes watery and bleary. “Really?”

Harry smiled down at you, “Really. We have...a whole life in front of us from now on.”

You laughed even as another sob wracked your body. Knees giving out, you collapsed into Harry’s arms. He caught you, just as he always did, keeping you engulfed tightly in his embrace, as you cried even harder than before, letting you dig your fingers into his sweater like you were trying to claw your way into him. With how hard he squeezed your back, it felt like he was doing the same. 

He tilted his head down, pressing his lips to the top of yours, feeling you tremble under him. “I’ve missed you,” he said into your hair, closing his own eyes at the comforting scent of your shampoo. “I thought I’d never hold you again.”

You tilted your head up again, seeing the tears in his own blue eyes. “Yeah. Same here.”

Harry smiled, cupping your cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Closing the gap, Harry kissed you. You kissed him back, hands sliding up to wind into his curls and keep him in place. 

“If you saw your entire timeline, does that mean you know what I’m going to do next?” you whispered against his lips.

Harry hummed, nuzzling your nose with his own. “I do.”

“Then I think we should go home.”

“I concur.”

[bootyyy-shaker9000]

So for the mud dogs one can you do one of the reader being the Robin Hood type (stealing from the rich and give to the poor) and the reader is close friends with Leonard and he kind of looks up to them for being so honorable (never admits it though). But they do a heist together and Leonard finds out after that its for an orphanage and they hang out after (and upon seeing the reader give so much to the children and the kids all loving up on the reader just made that orgers heart swell) and he can't help but confess his feelings for the reader. Please and thank you ❤❤❤

Not Many Care, But You Do

L.Leonard x G-N! Reader (Oneshot)

Relationship: Pining - Romantic 

Warnings: Cursing. This is a long one, lads

Leonard stood by you breathless as you both found refuge in a nook behind the Hidden City Train Station. The aged pilings that held up the towering tracks above you trembled as the rush-hour train chugged on by. Your backs clung to the brick wall you rested on, for the time being, taking a moment to gather your bearings. 

Raising a hand to grasp at his chest, he wheezed, “You think we’re in the clear?”

You made an effort to pull yourself to the building’s corner, taking a peek out into the overly crowded street. Noting the lack of familiar uniforms in the sea of yokai, you nodded over to your friend in affirmation. “Yeah, yeah we’re good.”

“Finally.” With an exasperated sigh, he pathetically collapsed to the ground as his knees gave out beneath him. “I’m sick of running from those pigs, my feet are killing me.”

“Maybe you can buy a pair of trainers with that moola.” 

“The day you catch me wearing sneakers will be the day I die.” 

Leonard huffed as he withdrew one of the wads of cash he had spewing from his pockets, stroking his thumb over the paper’s edge. You watched as he did so, tossing the bag you had originally slung over your shoulder to his side. 

“Take your share, but don’t take too long.” You spoke, leaning back on the wall and crossing one ankle over the other. 

Leonard raised an eyebrow to you, dragging the sack of loot between his legs while he patted the dirt by his side. “We just ran a mile, sit yourself down for a minute.” 

You eyed him as you contemplated his gesture. Soon enough you gave in and crouched down to his level, your knees clicking in the process. As Leonard rummaged through the bag and tallied up the count in his head, his eyes flickered once or twice over to you. “What’re you in a rush for anyway?”

“I just gotta make a stop somewhere.”

“You gonna elaborate on that?”

You sent your friend a sly grin. “No, I don’t think I will.”

“Pft, fine then, keep your secrets.” Leonard’s lips tugged up before shaking his head, turning his attention back to his lap. It only took another moment or two for him to finish totalling up your win, then he handed the only slightly lighter bag over to you and cleared his throat. “You did most of the work back there so, uh, you can have ten per cent off of my share.”

Touched, you replied with a hearty smile. “Thanks, man. But most of this isn’t for me anyway.”

“What d’ya mean, where’s it going?” Leonard stared at you perplexed as you made way to get back to your feet, dusting off your backside in the process. While one hand accommodated the bag in your grasp, his gaze turned to the one you held out to him. 

“I’ll show you, come on.”

***

The two of you kept to the alleyways as much as possible as you lead the way to your mystery destination, which by the way, you still refused to share with the ogre. The area seemed run-down, forgotten almost. The afternoon was beginning to draw a close, with the sun’s amber gleams sitting above the boarded-up buildings you passed by. 

He was aware that the closer it got to sunset, the sooner more authorities would be patrolling the streets for their nightly shift, which wouldn’t have been such a worrisome thing if it wasn’t for the fact you hit your heist at the brink of midday. Now they’ll have two clear faces to look out for, so you couldn’t blame him for getting itchy. 

“Are we getting close? We can’t be walking around all night.”

“We already are here, dingus.” You stated over your shoulder before quickening your steps, springing up to a nearby set of stairs. 

The building they neared towards wasn’t too grand and lacked much detail appearance-wise, aside from the large plaque that was nailed above the doorway that read: ‘Apple Blossom Children’s Home’. 

Leonard breathed out a quiet “huh?” to himself before gradually making his way towards the entrance step by step.

Turning on your heel, you faced him with a wince. "Just, be nice for me in there, okay?"

"When am I not?"

"Funny."

Your friend tsked from behind as you raised a balled hand and banged a patterned knock on the door's acre panel. Scrambling could be heard from the other side, a muffled voice sounding before the door flung open soon after.

In the entrance stood a dishevelled nekomata, her hair and clothes tussled. Though her ears perked once she took notice of your familiar form, while also straightening out her whiskers in the process.

"Y/N! Aren't you a sight for sore eyes? Get in here, come on." With a wave of her hand, she ushered you into the establishment. While Leonard stood hesitant, you assured him with a simple smile, nodding towards the woman's direction before walking through the doorway yourself.

He stepped into what upon first viewing seemed to be a lobby of some sorts, accommodated with aged lily-pink plaster and the occasional drawings graffitied on the lower half of the walls. On the end before him, a few feet away or so stood a desk, worn and commonly sat at told by the mountains of documents and multiple empty mugs.

He ceased his footing once he felt something catch beneath his sandal, twirling it with his heal he noticed it was a discarded doll, one of many other toys that were scattered across the carpet.

"Kita! Put Jacob down, we have guests!" The cat yokai called out, a bang and a set of giggles heard in tow. Slumping her shoulders with a sigh, she turned to meet your gaze. "I swear it's gotten crazier since the last time you were over. So who's your pal?"

The ogre's cheeks dusted a light pink at the sudden attention drawn to him, though it was subsided as you stepped forward in reply.

"Ena, this is Leonard. He's a close friend of mine."

Ena's bright eyes caught a glimpse of his before a knowing grin pulled at her lips. "Close, huh? He's a shy one, isn't he?"

"W-well I-" He made way to stutter out a response but a childlike shriek reached his ears, wincing as he turned to see the culprit sprinting to your side.

"Fleshy!" The child gleefully yelled, reaching to you with outstretched hands. Ignoring the commonly used nickname, you reciprocated their greeting by sweeping them up into your arms.

"Hey, you! How you doin'?"

"I just squashed a lizard outside!"

"Oh, well, isn't that nice." You deadpanned, while Leonard seemed just as amused as you as he stifled his own snort.

Ena once again sighed, pinching the corners of her eyes. "I've told them to stop calling you that."

"It's fine, honestly." You chuckled, before adjusting yourself to hold out the sack you had previously propped on the ground. "Here. This should keep you going for the next month or so."

The cat scrutinized the bag in your grasp. "Y/N, you don't have to keep-"

"Ena. Take it, okay? It's not any trouble, and I know you need it. Much more than those flashy broads that wouldn't think to even spare a dime."

Your gaze held an encouraging glint, and you further gestured for her to take the bag despite the child that was wriggling in your clutch. To save herself from further prodding, all too aware of your stubborn nature, Ena accepted the bounty and quickly set it beside her counter.

As Leonard took in the scene before him, he rubbed his fingertips against his gloved palms at the sight of the woman's glossy eyes. Then his regard fell upon you, so much warmth emitting from you as you carried the ever-so giddy toddler. He would be lying if he said the entire situation wasn't pulling at his heartstrings.

Ena sucked in her bottom lip, smiling at you wholeheartedly before coiling her arms around your neck, while you hugged her back with your free arm. Choked up, she whispered. "You're a Saint, you know that? Seriously, I don't know where I'd be without you."

Releasing you, she sniffled, gathering herself before turning to your friend, who seemed to jump at her sudden gaze. "And you! Thank you so much."

Leonard almost acted on the urge to mention how he had no idea about the transaction, but he was cut short as she took him into her embrace also. Caught off entirely by the friendly affection, his eyes met yours over her shoulder in apprehension. Though all you did was grin and the small yokai in your arms gestured for him to hold her back.

In an awkward attempt at doing so, the man placed a gentle hand on her shoulder blade with a light pat. "It was nothin'."

"Sorry." Ena chuckled nervously, looking between the two of you. "I just- agh, this just means so much to me."

You laughed along with her, making way to stand closer to Leonard's side. Though, a little birdy on your shoulder drew your attention elsewhere.

"Your boyfriend's staring."

"Wha-"

"Oh my gosh- Kita, scamper!"

"Okay, I'm gonna go call for a pickup."

***

The ogre perched on the stone steps, patiently waiting as you bid your goodbye's inside. He rested his elbows on his knees as he loosely crossed his arms, looking off into the streets where the sun resided, scarcely peeking over the horizon.

He couldn't get the entire last hour out of his head. He couldn't shake the ceaseless butterflies gathering in his belly while he recalled the way you smiled over at him, while you held Kita. How you smiled over at Ena knowingly despite her protests.

Leonard was aware of how compassionate you were towards others, in your own simple way of doing so. It's what made his admiration grow for you in the first place.

You were just so...considerate. Never would he have thought he'd become so attached to someone like you...

"You call them yet?"

The familiar voice reeled him out of his daydream, soon enough mentally slapping himself for jumping as hard as he did.

"Uh, yeah. They'll be here in ten."

"Cool beans." Your feet clipped as you jumped down a step or two, releasing an exaggerated sigh as you sat down beside him.

Sensing the newfound silence, Leonard rubbed up and down his bicep, coughing out before he spoke up.

"So, 'Fleshy', huh? 'M guessing they haven't really come across a humie before." 

You let out a breathy chuckle. "Nah. To be honest, they don't get to see many people at all. Unless it's their social worker..."

Leonard hummed in acknowledgement. "So how long have you been doing this for them?”

“About, uh...a year now? I’d say? Yeah. I’ve known Ena for quite a while, though.” You huffed lightly through your nose before slumping into a similar position as the ogre. “She loves those kids to bits but, she struggles so much. She’s practically on her last legs, and it doesn’t help when the taxes come to bite her in the ass. There’s only one other coworker there and they always fuck off to god knows where, so she’s having to take care of fourteen kids on her own-”

“Y/N.”

Your eyes snapped towards his. “What?”

“Catch your breath, don’t want you passin’ out on me.” Leonard released one of his rare hearty laughs, which never seemed to fail at making your blood rush to your ears. 

“Right. I just- I just can’t stand by and watch her suffer like this, knowing she’s been there for me so much in the past. I would’ve done it even if it wasn’t to owe her back. If people need help and nobody else is gonna do something about it, then I guess I will. That’s just how it is.”

“You mean...that’s just how it is, with you?” Leonard added, taking in the incredulous look you shot him before turning his stare towards the cobbled roads. “I’m not saying it’s bad, you’re just a nice change of pace, is all. There aren't many people out there like you, people who care as much as you. Hell, I’ve barely been that person. But you’re just so... genuine a-and thoughtful. It’s amazing. I don’t get it, if I’m, uh, being honest with you.”

He breathed out another laugh, although this time it was to mostly to cover up his growing nerves. His eyes flickered towards yours before continuing. “I get that people have morals and shit, most of ‘em anyway. But you, y-you’re...”

Leonard stumbled as he caught sight of your sudden proximity, so close he couldn’t help but let his eyes wander, noticing the short, soft breaths that passed your parted lips. He quickly swiped his tongue over his bottom lip as he felt his chest ache for you to be closer.

“Y-” 

“OH LOVEBIRDS~”

“You have got to be kidding me?”

Despite being aware of who your two interrupters were, and were about to awkwardly make way to where Charlotte was parked, Malicious just had to flash the headlights for extra measure.

“Get in the fucking car, we’re gettin’ Linguini’s tonight! Wooo!” The eel practically screamed at the top of his lungs, and in return you could hear a muffled: 

“Keep it down, will ya, or we won’t get takeout at all.”

“Sorry, D.”

The ogre made sure you were up and behind him before taking aggravated strides towards the van, nearing up to where Mickey sat in the passenger seat. 

Holding a tight grin, his friend quipped. “So, kids, how was your date?”

That earned him a palm to the face, pushing him back into his seat through the open window. 

"I take it not so well."

A scowl was etched deep into leonard’s mug as he flung open the sliding door, stepping aside to clear way for you to enter first. Though as you stepped into the van, you tilted Leonard’s chin up to meet your warm gaze. Before he could comprehend the action, you placed a careful, chaste peck to his lips. The act seemed to have eased his tension, because he found himself reflecting the smile you held as he closed the door behind him. 

“We have a rear view mirror, guys, c’mon.”

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Come Alive

A huge thank you to @kiragenta for letting me write a fanfiction based on their incredible art! 

Masterlist, Kiragenta's art that inspired this fic (please go check it out and give it some love!), Kiragenta's Tumblr;  passerotto means little sparrow: someone who is learning how to fly

This was honestly the most fun and probably one of my favourite pieces to write. And, with their permission, here is one of the two panels that @kiragenta​ did!

Percy Jackson leans his head against the rough stone wall of the coffee shop and sips the café con leche he had taken to go. The streets of Rome are just starting to wake up and people rush around each other and into various shops. It seems a Friday morning in the city is a hive of energy before the slam of the weekend. Yet something inside him feels uncharacteristically dull. In fact he has felt like this since the beginning of this trip and frankly it is starting to piss him off. Nobody should be able to make him feel like this. And especially not his dick of a father who decides when and where to drop into and out of his life without warning. It was a new low to abandon him in a city he knew nothing about but to his credit he's only a little surprised.

Now he drains the rest of the coffee and chucks the cup in a trashcan nearby, punching the air when it lands inside with a rattle. The cobblestones under him press into the soles of his shoes as he picks a direction and starts down it. He doesn't have a destination so whichever way he goes he'll land up where he needs to be. Or at least that's what's supposed to happen. So far his wanderings have led him to a dried up fountain, a little cottage on the outskirts of town with more vines than wall, and just yesterday a café that admittedly sold delicious gnocchi and unbelievable coffee, but was not a life changing venture as he had hoped.

The flowers spilling onto the sidewalk from the outside of every shop make him want to become a florist, just so he can spend his days amongst them. He stops in front of a box of daffodils and brushes his fingers against their soft petals. Gods he loves flowers. He loves their colours, and how two flowers on the same branch don't even look the same but they're both gorgeous nonetheless. A woman comes out with warm brown eyes and a kind smile.

"You like them?"

"They're beautiful," He nods.

"Then you must have one,"

And before he can protest her hands are already reaching for the bloom and gently breaking the stem. "When people look at my flowers the same way you do," She hands him the daffodil. He puts it behind his ear. "Their souls are made of sunshine."

A tiny kernel of gold unfurls in his chest. "How do you know that?"

Her smile is warmth and sweetness and full of compassion, "Only the people who care about things that do not serve them can have that look."

"Thank you," He touches the flower tucked behind his ear, "For everything."

"Something is going to change to day passerotto," She looks into him then, her molten brown eyes staring into his ocean green ones, "The winds of the sea say so."

Percy would have called her crazy but for some reason he believes her, can feel it to. He just nods trying to wrap his head around the day and the conversation and, and, and...

"Come back for coffee this afternoon. We have the best americanos on this side of the square."

"I will," He promises preparing to head off in his destination-less direction, but something stops him, "Do you—" He swallows, "Can you recommend a place I should visit?"

"Have you seen the Grazia Salvatrice yet?"

He shakes his head, intrigued.

"Walk a ways, past the fountain in the square and over the bridge. There is usually a big crowd there but it should be relatively empty at this time."

"Thank you," He smiles, bright and hopeful for the first time in a while, "And I'll come back at the end of the day."

"Goodbye Perseus." She gives a motherly pat on his cheek before disappearing into her café once more.

It's only when he's past the fountain that he realises he never told her his name. But suddenly he's standing in an archway and there's a group of people excitedly chattering near him and he feels like he's known the world since he was stardust. He feels...alive.

He moves out of the archway and into an open space with little else save for the statue and small orange tree, just starting to ripen. He makes his way around until he can see the statue in all its glory. And gods is it glorious. It's as if someone draped a blanket of stone over a person. It looks so real. He looks real. A strong jaw and a fierce expression. Fists clenched like he's ready to fight, or holding back. And shoulders that look big enough to carry the world. Percy wants to know everything about the statue. Wants to know why it’s there, who it is, why they chose that gorgeous grey stone instead of bronze or brass. He wants to know the story. The group of people who were cooing over the statue moments ago now disperse until only a couple stood there, hands joined and eyes looking hopeful as they stare at the hardened expression.

He sits down on the bench and watches them, not expecting much.

But then one of the ladies drops a flower at the statue’s feet and he finally notices the small pile of brightness collecting there. Curious still, he looks at them and watches with wide eyed fascination as she swipe a thumb over the cool stone of his chest and then gently, ever so gently, place a kiss to his lips. The other girl does the same ritual and then they giggle and kiss each other.

His feet are moving before his brain has time to think and suddenly he's standing in front of them.

"Hi," He waves, "Sorry to interrupt."

"Hello," The girl with dark brown skin and braided hair grins at him, her black eyes sparkling. "How are you?" American, he deduces.

The other girl, tawny skin with white patches across her chest and on her cheeks, looks at him inquisitively but offers nothing but a smile.

"I'm good thanks. I just—" He looks past them at the statue, which was so much closer now. Close enough that he felt the strange warmth it emitted. "I just wanted to ask why you left a flower and kissed the statue?"

"Oh," The American girl laughs brightly, "Apparently if you leave a flower the statue will grant freedom. If you swipe its chest you will be granted love. And if you kiss it you will find home."

"And you can just do all three?"

"According to my girlfriend here," She points to her right.

"It is true." He can here the girl is native Italian. "Many people have found what they are looking for at the Grazia Salvatrice." She nods deftly.

"Okay," He offers them a smile and hopes it doesn't reflect the butterflies racing through his stomach. "Thank you."

"Bye," The American says before lacing her fingers through her girlfriend's and tugging them both away.

The little area is weirdly quite, save for the coo of a few birds and the bustle from the street there is nothing and no-one. He takes a deep breath and turns to the statue. There's something about its eyes he cannot get over. It's the way they burn. No that's not right. They almost...... crackle. It reminds him of electricity, lightning, storms. And the air around the stone is charged, makes the hair on his arms stand up. His eyes graze over the piece and catch on the clenched fist. He wants so badly to unfurl those fingers and interlace his own with them. 

He's surprised by his reaction but something is drawing him to this ancient stone that he cannot, will not ignore. Taking another deep breath he steps closer until his hoodie brushes against the greyed chest. He doesn't even care about the dust that marks the blue fabric because suddenly the world disappears and the only thing he can hear is the crashing waves of an ocean and the rolling thunder of a storm. Slowly, carefully, he takes the daffodil from behind his ear and drops it by their feet.

"For freedom." He whispers.

And then a shaky brown hand is reaching up and he swipes a thumb over the stony chest.

"For love."

He looks at the sculpted cheekbones and sharp brows and reaches up to touch the perfectly styled hair. He wishes he could run his hands through it. Instead he let's his hand fall to the statues neck, cradling the back of its head softly.

"For home."

And then Percy Jackson sears his lips to the stone and light bursts from his chest. Rays of sunshine radiate from their bodies, but his eyes are closed and he is lost to the world. The statue moves beneath his fingers and he pulls it to him. He doesn't want this to end.

The stone is soft under his palms and he tugs at the warm skin to get them closer, together. This kiss will last for—

He jumps back with a gasp. The stone moved. The stone is moving. It is soft. And moving.

He collapses to the cobbled ground as he watches the statue come alive. The rays of light spilling from his own chest go unnoticed. Slowly the grey tinge bleeds away to reveal golden skin, and faded black pants, and hair that he is sue is spun from sunlight, and eyes the colour of topaz, of brooks, and oceans, and the sky.

"What the—" He splutters, "Who— How—"

His brain is on fire, underwater, buried alive. This is not real.

"Hello," The voice is gravely, naturally or from disuse he doesn't know.

"You were a—" He gasps, "And now you're a—"

Words. He needs words. What's language? What's the alphabet?

"Where am I?" The statue— no, boy—asks.

Percy cradles his head in his hands and tries to form a coherent thought, any thought.

"I'm sorry," The golden boy mutters, staring at the buildings and streets and everything. "Could you help me? I don't know where I am?"

"Yes," He answers rawly, "Apparently neither do I."

"What's going on?" He can hear the frown in the boy's voice.

"You were a statue, about one minute ago. And now you're... well a human?" He chokes out.

"I was what?" Those eyebrows knit in confusion.

"Yes. See that stand there?" Percy points to the empty block of polished bronze with a small plaque on it. "You were standing there a few moments ago, as stone."

"I don't understand."

"Welcome to the club." He groans, running his fingers through his already messy black hair. "What's your name?"

"Jason." He whispers, staring at the space he once stood in disbelief, "Jason Grace."

"Hello Jason, I'm Percy Jackson. And I just made you come alive."

[prettyguardiankore-blog]

Their Return (Levi x Fem!Reader)

Chapter 9

(updated completely on my ao3!)

… 47 ... 48 ... 49… . .50! You let out a labored exhale as you collapsed onto the floor, muscles aching. You used to be able to pump out 100 like nothing, and now, it took you twice as long, and you could barely muster 50. This decided it. You were going to start training again. It unnerved you knowing you were this weak. You groaned as you slowly pulled yourself up from the ground, wincing slightly as your muscles pulled. You glanced down at your chest. Boob sweat. Nice. You reached over to the bench for your towel and began wiping yourself down.

They had left in the morning. You hadn’t slept much, and after a restless slumber, you woke up and peered out of your window, to see a flurry of Scouts pouring out of the castle's main gate. It had been raining.

📷

Most of your morning had consisted of you curled up under your covers, desperately trying to return to sleep, so you wouldn’t think about the expedition. Although, it quickly became evident it wouldn’t work- being in your room doing absolutely nothing was a more tortuous task than you’d anticipated. After realizing that being alone with your thoughts wouldn't do, you began to pack your morning with anything and everything you could to pass the time. So far you’d updated the library catalog, dusted the shelves, helped the cooks clean the kitchen (a task that had earned you a small basket of fruits, which you graciously accepted.), and watered some plants. Hell, you’d even cleaned your room, the filthy mess it was. And now you’d just finished a workout. You looked at your watch. It’d been about two hours since you’d come into the training room. That should be good for today, you decided, so you gave yourself one last wipe down before shutting the door, and heading back to your room.

You needed a shower. You stunk, bad. As you entered your room, you marveled once again in how spacious the floor actually was when it wasn’t covered in shit, and headed to the bathroom, removing your sticky sports bra and exercise shorts, and popping yourself into the cool water. They should be returning soon, you thought, as you scrubbed your scalp. Occupying yourself with busywork hadn’t actually done much to calm your nerves, it only distracted you. All day you’d been thinking about them. How many of them would return? If any of them would return... You felt a lump rising in your throat as you clasped your hand over your lips to stop their trembling. You’d never been so emotional. Hange and Moblit had gone on plenty of expeditions, so why were all these fears resurfacing now? You shut off the water and stepped out of the shower to begin getting ready. It was probably because of Furlan. Your chest grew heavy as you replayed through your own memories. The last conversation I had with him reminded me so much of her … you slapped your cheeks. Stop projecting. It wasn’t fair to Furlan or Marla, and it certainly wasn’t doing your mental wellbeing any justice. You sighed, and returned your attention to getting ready. You didn’t want to take too long, so you put your hair up as quickly as you could, threw on a simple sundress your mother had sewn for you ages ago, and headed out the door. You couldn’t wait any longer, and they should be arriving back soon.

You decided to just wait at the top of the tower until you saw them entering Wall Rose. You’d done basically everything you could to pass the time at this point, so all there was left to do was to wait. You stepped up the narrow stairs, and popped into the area. ★Cold air immediately hit your face, and you shivered. I should’ve brought a jacket, you grimaced, rubbing your arms. You’d forgotten how cold it could get up there. You perched yourself onto the wall's edge and peered down below. Everything looked so small from up there.

Jump off.

You blinked, before slowly removing yourself from the edge. Let’s not get into that right now. ★ You stared mindlessly out into the city, until eventually, you noticed something.

📷

You stared out near the gate. You couldn’t see much, but at the very least from where you stood, you could make out a large group of people accumulated near the entrance. You twiddled your thumbs nervously together. It would be around half an hour before they made it back to the castle. So now you had to wait again. You groaned, and slumped your forehead into your palms. You almost wished you hadn’t seen them enter the wall, because now your restlessness had increased tenfold. So you just stood there, eyes closed tightly shut, waiting. The wind brushed against your face. I wonder if the wind is whistling right now. After what seemed like years, you shot a glance over the wall. Your eyes widened. They were back. You shot up and bolted over the door and began running through the castle. All the pent up energy you’d accumulated throughout the day was bursting out of you as you rushed out to go wait by the main gate. You didn’t want to actually talk to them, aside from Hange, most soldiers weren’t very chatty upon their return, rightfully so. So you weren’t entirely sure how you’d go about checking up on everyone without being annoying. Eventually, you settled on waiting by a pillar. When you spot Hange, you’d pull them from the crowd, and ask them how it went. So that’s what you did. You hid yourself behind the tall stone pillar, peeking out from behind it. You squinted your eyes. You couldn’t see them at all. Come on, where are they? You thought, chewing your lip pensively. As you scanned the crowd, you suddenly felt someone grab your sides from behind, and you jumped about a foot into the air, before quickly turning around. You were met with Hange grinning at you, and Moblit standing to their left, shooting you an apologetic look.

You shot a look back to the crowd, and then back to the, jaw dropped open.“H-How did you-”

“You’re not slick you know. Everyone could totally see you.”

“I wasn’t trying to- Well- ”

You didn’t know where you were going with that, so you clamped your mouth shut. You looked back at them, and you realized something. They were standing right in front of you. They weren’t corpses left behind, or being carried on the wagon. There was no one else standing in front of you, telling you with an averted gaze that they didn’t make it. They were right here. Tears began forming in your eyes.

“Oh dear! You’re crying? What’s been up with you recently? Are you going through puberty again?” they chuckled.

“Hange, don’t tease her.” Moblit scolded lightly, before turning back to you, and giving you a kind, but tired smile. He reached over and gently pat your head. “Don’t worry, we’re back.”

You nodded, clenching your jaw tightly to prevent your entire face from trembling.

“Ah, you're just like a little kid.” they smiled pulling you in for a hug. You weren’t big on physical affection, but as they held you, you found yourself craving their touch, and furrowed yourself deeper into their embrace, closing your eyes. A strange warm feeling was blossoming in your chest. It was lovely.

Suddenly you felt another warm feeling in your body, but this wasn’t the feeling of love. It was the feeling of embarrassment. That didn’t take long. You’d come over blubbering like a baby, and had collapsed into their arms. They were probably tired from the expedition, and you were just giving them more to worry about. At once, you felt very uncomfortable. You slowly pulled yourself from their arms and stood, back straight, clearing your throat.

“Sorry. Maybe I am going through puberty again. That would explain a lot.” you chuckled.

“Don’t worry about it.” they said gently. You nodded bashfully. ”How did it go?” you asked.

“Well, we did fine.” they said, turning back to Moblit. “But the rain was really horrible. That, in combination with the new formations we weren’t as familiar with... resulted in a lot of us getting separated. We were fine, but I don’t know about everyone else.” they said, frowning.

“At the very least, we're all accounted for. No one's missing.” Moblit chimed in.

“I see. Well, I’m glad you two are okay.” you said, softly. “Really glad.”

“We could tell.” they teased. You shot them an annoyed look, and cleared your throat.

“By the way, have you seen Levi’s squad at all?” you asked, turning to face Moblit. He looked up, thinking.

“I haven’t. Because we got separated, we ended up turning back at different times. I think we were the last group.” He said, with a shrug. “But they should be back in their barracks at this point, if you want to go check up on them.”

You fiddled with your dress, and shot your eyes down to your feet. You were finally about to find out what happened to them. It was strange. As much as you wanted to rush over and check on them, the ever looming possibility of some of them not being there also made you want to lock yourself away in your room and never come out. But you were going to have to find out eventually, and waiting if you waited any longer you might die from the stress.

“Thank you, Moblit.”

“Mhm.”

You said your goodbyes and thank yous to the two of them, and headed to the barracks. Once you reached the entrance gate, you stopped. The anxiety brewing in your chest left your skin feeling prickly. You clenched your fists. You can do this.

You took a deep breath and began a skittish walk to the barracks, until you found yourself at their room, your hand hovering over the door, preparing to knock. But your hand never moved. You stood frozen, the world still around you, all while your mind was screaming at you to take action. Just do it. Then, you felt someone tap on your shoulder, abruptly pulling you from your trance. You whipped your head back. Levi stood behind you, eyes downcast and sullen. Upon seeing his expression, you felt your nerves go through the roof. He’s alone, you noted, chewing your lip. No, no, that doesn’t mean anything. They might still be at the stables. Isabel really loved that horse. During your writing lessons, she’d often get distracted, and ever since she was assigned that horse, it’s all she would talk about, gushing about the animal until you gently reminded her why she was with you. You swallowed, before mustering out something to say.

“H-how did the expedition go? I heard you guys got separated.”

He said nothing. His silence brought an inescapable feeling of dread washing over your body. You hadn’t wanted to ask this right from get go. But you couldn’t keep it in.

“Where are Isabel and Furlan?” you asked, quietly. He flicked his gaze back to look at you, eyes widening, before casting his eyes back down to the floor.

Your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach. You knew exactly what that look meant. You’d seen it countless times. You took a shaking breath, and tears began dripping out of your eyes. They’d died out there. And they’d died in the most horrendous way possible. They had so much life in them, and it had been torn away. Their last moments had been filled with absolute terror. You brought your hands to cover your face. You thought you could prepare yourself mentally for bad news. How naive. Isabel was so young, and she had barely set out to see the world. Furlan, he definitely had feelings for you. It was something you chose to ignore because you weren’t sure how to deal with it. But, could you have been happy together? Could you have really loved each other? Were all your potential lovers simply doomed to die? These questions felt all too familiar.

But you were not the one hurting the most right now.

You slowly pulled your face from your hands to look at Levi. He looked devastated. His jaw was clenched stiffly shut, eyes dead set on his shoes, He couldn’t meet your eye. Your heart ached at the sight, but you couldn’t think of anything you could do to help him. Nothing you could say could alleviate the pain, and even if it could, you didn’t know that you had the strength in you to say it. You swallowed down the lump in your throat, and finally said something.

“Levi, I am so sorry.” you murmured.

You reached out your arms, and pulled him into your chest. Maybe you should’ve asked first, but you didn’t know if you could successfully get any words out without beginning to cry. So you just held him in your arms. You held your breath. He felt stiff, but eventually, you felt him relax in your arms, and you let out a quivering breath as you exhaled. Your eyes widened as you felt his arms slowly reach up behind your back, returning the embrace.

The two of you held each other. Your shaky breaths had turned into a torrent of quiet sobs as you held him in your arms. Your mind raced over what you could’ve done to prevent this outcome, but you came up with nothing. You thought reaching this conclusion would provide you with some sense of acceptance, but it only deepened the sorrow in your heart. There was absolutely nothing you could’ve done to prevent this, and that was the most frustrating thing in the world. How ironic, you’d reached out to comfort him, but you were the only one crying. After a while, you felt something land on your head, but you dismissed it. But then you felt another, then another, so you decided to pull away and look up at the sky. It was raining again. Fucking great.

“What the hell is up with the weather today?” you sniffled. “It’s totally erratic.” you said, looking back down to meet his eyes.

They looked glassy now, but you decided not to bring it up. He didn’t say anything. Maybe he just wanted to be left by himself, you would understand if he did. But before you left him on his own, you wanted to reach out one last time. Maybe some company would comfort him before he returned to his room, alone. Should I offer him some tea? You shivered, rubbing your arms. It was freezing. Might as well try it.

“W-would you want to grab some tea before you went to sleep?”

“Hold on.”

You raised your brow as he walked into his room, shutting the door in your face, and he soon came out, throwing something at you. You flinched as you aimlessly grabbed at the air, to catch whatever he threw at you, and you realized it was a piece of clothing, you held it up, and saw it was the same jacket he'd been wearing the first time you’d met. You gave him a confused look.

“A thin sundress doesn’t do much for the rain.”

“Ah, I suppose you’re right.” you said, shimmying your arms into the sleeves. Wasn’t quite your size, but it’d do.

“Thank you.”

“Mhm.”

The two of you began walking over to the castle in silence. Thankfully, but not unsurprisingly, there were no annoying guards to pester you on your way there. The heaviness and guilt in your heart hadn’t wavered, but you’d gotten out all your tears, or at least the tears you were willing to spill in front of other people. You soon arrived in the kitchen, and you immediately set to make the tea. Usually the silence would be unbearable, but both of you had far too much on your mind to even notice. Besides, you hadn’t invited him to chat, you only wanted to keep him from being alone for the rest of the evening. You filled the pot with water, placed it on the stove and sat down next to Levi at the table. You were staring out blankly into the air in front of you until you felt him tap on your shoulder, and you turned to his lips.

“How do you deal with this?”

You stopped for a moment to think about how to answer. You probably weren’t the person to ask.

“As I think you noticed a couple days ago, not in the best ways.”

“...How aren’t you angry?”

“I was, I-I mean, I still am, to be honest. The only thing that really changed is that I grew tired...It’s tiring being so angry every single day, “ you paused. “I don’t know if I told you this, or maybe Hange mentioned it, the blabbermouth they are, but during my recovery days, I was very rowdy… I feel so bad for those poor nurses. I had multiple broken ribs, some internal bleeding in my stomach, and to top it all off, I couldn’t hear a thing, but every day, I still tried to sneak out of the hospital, I hated being confined to bed.” you explained, fiddling your fingers together. “This sort of behavior only grew when they told me that more likely than not I wouldn’t be able to serve. I felt like I had to prove my competence to them, so I was sneaking off to the training fields at night. Eventually, they had to restrain me to my bed.”

“Doesn’t sound like you.”

“I’ve changed quite a bit since then, probably for the better. But anyways, about your question, eventually, I realized that my anger had no real direction. I was mad at myself, for not being quick enough. I was mad at Marla, for not listening to our Captain's orders, I was mad at my Captain, for picking us to go back and kill that crazy abnormal, and I was mad at the titans. I even attacked Hange at one point. I quickly lost, considering it took all I had to stand properly.” you said, feeling your face heating up at the memory. “But there was nothing I could do. So eventually my anger waned off, and was replaced with self loathing.”

You stopped to think, staring mindlessly at your hands, folded neatly on your lap.

“But it’s still there, I know that much… but you know, it’s not all bad. I’ve realized that since then the only thing I can do is grow for the better. I only slip when I allow myself to, and that’s fine as long as I can recover the next day.. And I still have people that care about me.” you noted. The faces of Hange and Moblit flashed through your mind. “...And the ones that are no longer here to care for me, I have to act right for them. I don’t want them to be disappointed or sad as they look down on me. I have to live on properly for them.”

You felt the tears welling up in your eyes, and the heavy feeling in your chest reappeared.

“I-I don’t know if any of that was helpful...but that’s my experience with it.”

You looked back to face him. He looked at you with distant eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he did, his eyes flicked over to the stove behind you, and he shut his mouth, pointed a finger at it.

“It’s boiling.”

“O-oh okay. I’ll get that.” you said, leaping off from your seat to the stove. You set it down on the counter to allow it to cool, and opened the cabinet, reaching in for the tea cans.

“Green or black?”

“Green, please.”

You nodded, and set some cups out to steep, before placing yourself back on the seat next to him.

“I’m going to continue on the expeditions.”

You nodded.

“I don’t know what's in store for me in the future, but I’ve decided on one thing. I’m not going to live the rest of my life in regret of this decision.” He swallowed, clasping his hands tightly in front of him. “I’m going to live on, dedicating my whole life to this cause.”

You stared at him. What he was saying sounded noble, but you couldn’t help but be worried. It somehow seemed like a self destructive mindset. You took a long sip from your tea, and stared down into the glistening liquid. You were scared. You’d told him that things got better, but how much of that did you actually believe yourself? It took every ounce of your power not to burst into tears where you sat and cry for hours. You felt a lump in your throat, and swallowed.

“It’s most important to live for yourself. Just remember that.” you said, softly.

“You too.”

“Huh?”

“You shouldn’t be happy just because of the wishes of others. You should be happy because you are.”

You blinked at him, before staring back into your mug.

“I guess I was being sort of hypocritical, huh?”

The two of you sat there in silence for a while, slowly sipping away at your tea, until eventually, your cups were empty. You reached into your pocket for your watch. It was late now. You turned back to face him.

“We should probably get out of here.” you said, pulling yourself up from the chair. You reached out your hand. “I’ll take your cup.” you offered. He took one last, long sip before placing the cup in your hand, and getting himself up. You placed them gingerly in the sink, and the two of you left the kitchen. You walked in silence down the hallway, until you reached the point where you had to separate.

“Well, I need to get going.” you said. He didn’t say anything in response. You chewed your lip, unsure if you should say more, or just leave. Eventually, you placed your hand on his shoulder, giving him a weary smile.

“Get some rest, Levi.” you told him.

“Thank you for talking with me.”

“Of course.”

You began walking in the opposite direction, back to your room. As you pulled open the entrance to the next hallway, you shot a glance behind your shoulder. He was gone. You continued through the castle to your room. You closed your door delicately behind you, and just stood there for a moment. It was silent. Well, it always was, for the most part, aside from the slight ringing that existed in your ears, and the dull hum that you could sometimes pick up if someone spoke to you. But this felt different. A strange quietness overcame you, the world around you seemingly stagnant. It sent a strange prickling feeling that ran all the way up from your toes to the back of your neck and made you shudder.

You slowly walked over to your bed, and shimmied yourself into the covers. The tears you’d been holding in almost immediately came pouring down your cheeks. But these tears were different than the thousands you’d shed before. They weren’t tears of anger, or of guilt, all you felt was genuine sorrow. And it was the most painful thing you’d ever experienced. All of the emotion you’d repressed over the last year came spilling out all at once. You didn’t just cry for Isabel and Furlan, but for Marla as well. It was like she’d died all over again, but this time, you didn’t have any anger or resentment left to disguise it. You let out a torrent of choked sobs, and you shoved your messy face into your pillow, a vain attempt to contain it all. The heavy feeling in your chest felt like it would never go away, all you could do was cry.

Eventually, you stood up to grab some tissue to wipe the sticky snot and hot tears from your face. As you were about to get back in bed, tears already rolling down your cheeks, you gazed out into the dark night from your window. The sky was clear of clouds, the bright moon illuminating the night. Its soft light entered your room, giving everything a slight glow. Waning gibbous, you thought, as you stared out into the night. You reached over and opened the window, a cool breeze entered the room, and you leaned up against the window.

Rest well, you guys.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Levi walked down the empty corridors. He had been unsure whether to take her up on her offer, but he was glad that he had. It had given him something to think about, as opposed to just spending the rest of his evening in a lonely room, alone with his own thoughts. He’d learned more about her, too. When he reached the door that led to the exit, his hand hovered over the handle. Do I want to go back to my room yet? He slowly began walking back down the hall. He walked aimlessly around the castle, until he found himself in the same place he had the last time he’d done this, the stairway to the tower. He stared at the entrance, and took a slow step forward. Just as he was about to enter, he hesitated. Did he really want to go in there right now? Relive through the memories? But before he knew it, he was quickly walking up the narrow staircase, pushing the door open.

📷

The cool night air immediately hit his face. He slowly walked over to the wall, and perched himself on the edge. The sky was clear of clouds, unlike the last time he was here. The moon’s light shone brilliantly on him. He gazed up into the sky in wonder. The stars were more visible this time around, scattered about as if a large hand had carelessly tossed the sparkling lights into the dark sky.

Inevitably, the memory of them sitting by his side came to his mind. The way Isabel had nearly fallen off the wall after jumping from the excitement of seeing a constellation she recognized, the way it had nearly given Furlan a heart attack from the shock.

“You need to believe in us!”

Levi sighed, and pulled his head into the palms of his hands. A tear finally fell down his cheek.

I’m so sorry, you guys.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

[tayaminaka]

11 with dazai? Congrats on your blog growing! 💜💜💜

11. „Oh God, you’re bleeding.” with Dazai Osamu

„Dazai ?”

„ ... “

„Dazai !? Where are you ?”

But there was nothing. Nothing but silence.

.

.

.

„Oi Dazai, get up. You have a mission.”

„But Kunikida-kuuuuun I don’t wanna !”

„Dazai !” growled Kunikida

Kunikida was getting angry. As always, Dazai annoyed him. At the same time, you came through the door and went to your desk. You greeted everyone who was in the office but the two males didn’t noticed you. The two just kept arguing and you decided to end the argument. You went over to them and spoke to them.

„Hello Kunikida. Hello Dazai. What are you talking about ?”

„Ah, hello Y/N. We are talking about a mission and THIS wasting bandage machine is too lazy to get up and go to the mission !” he said angry

„Oh, can I go to the mission. I haven’t been on a mission in a long time.” You said excited

„Are you sure ? It’s a simple one. Dazai can go alone.”

„Aaah Kunikida-kuuuuun I want to go with Y/N-chaaan !!!” whined Dazai

„See, Kunikida-san. Even Dazai is for that.”

Kunikida locked at both of you skeptically but then he gave in.

„Fine, you two are going to the mission.”

„YAY !” you both yelled

„Like I said, it’s a simple mission. You just need to meet a informant and get some information from him. More information about the mission is here.” he said and gave you the briefcase

You quickly flicked through the briefcase and looked for the address.

„Okay, Let’s go Dazai. It’s really simple so we will be back soon. Goodbye Kunikida.”

„Goodbye Y/N. Be careful.”

„I will.”

Little did you know that this mission wasn’t so simple like you thought.

And you wouldn’t return so soon.

.

.

„DAZAI ! Please answer me ! W-Where Are You ?!” you shouted with tears in your eyes

What went wrong ?

It should be a simple meeting with the informant. But why? Why went it all wrong?

When you both left the agency, you both went to the given address. Once there, you were standing in front of an abandoned building near the slums. No one was around, so you both went to the indicated floor.

And then it started to go wrong.

Once you arrived at the floor, you saw only a table with a letter on it. You and Dazai walked over to it and once you were near the table you heard a quite sound.

Pip...pip...pip...

You quickly looked under the table and there it was...

A smal package with a timer on it.

„Y/N, RUN !!!” yelled Dazai but it was already to late.

The small package went off and the floors and walls collapsed. The building was collapsing and you with it. You were lucky. The debis didn’t hit you that hard you had only a few scratches but what about Dazai ?

And now you were searching him in these ruins. But it was very difficult to see anything in this cloud of dust. You could only call him and hope that he gives you a sign.

Suddenly you heard light cough.You quickly made your way in the direction where the sound came and you saw him. His legs and half of his torso were buried in crumbs. He was lying in his own pool of blood. You saw that he was in pain but when he saw you he smiled.

„H-Hey, Y/N.”

„Oh God,you’re bleeding!”

„It’s o-ok.” he said and smiled

„Please don’t say anything !”

You rushed to him.His eyes were dimmed. Bruises and deep wounds everywhere on his body. His clothes were all in blood. But he had his usual smile on his face. He was smiling like nothing happened but you could see that he was in pain.

„But Be..lla..do..na.. *cough* I think my t-time h-has come. I-it isn’t a rom..antic double sui...cide but...”

„NO! I won’t let you die! Not like this. Not h-here!” you cried.

Hot tears were rolling down you face as you tried to free him till your own hands started bleed. He was bleeding out and help wasn’t even close.

„Ssshhhh, I-it’s ok.”

He put his hand on your cheek and wiped the tears from your face. His thumb left a small trace of blood. His hands grew colder and weaker. You put your hand on his and his eyes started to close.

„D-Dazai Please! Don’t close your e-eyes.” you sobbed

„I-I’m sorry. Please for..give me.” he said and his vision got darker and darker

„No. no no no no NO! HELP!!!”

This were the last things he heard befor he fainted.

.

.

„Dazai.”

„....”

„Dazai, wake up.”

He heard a familiar voice. He opened his eyes and saw HIM !

„ODASAKU ?!”

„Yes, it’s me.” the familiar figure said

Dazai looked around. He recognized the cemetery. His friend Oda Sakunosuke had been laying here for already four years. Oda sat on the side of his tombstone and looked at Dazai.

„But you are dead.”

„Yes I am.”

„But why?...I don’t understand...”

Dazai didn’t understand the whole situation. He was dying in this ruins and yet he was at the cemetery and was talking to his deceased friend.

„There isn’t much to understand.”

Oda stood up and went to Dazai. He placed his hand on Dazai’s shoulder. His hand was warm. It was like he was still alive.

„You’ve been doing good....Now Go. It’s to early for you to be here.”

„Wait...Odasaku...I..you...”

Dazai couldn’t speak. It was all so confusing. He wanted to talk with Odasaku a little longer but suddenly everything started to fade away. He panicked. Even the floor beneath him started to disappear. He turned around and saw that his friend was slowly disappearing too.

„Wait...No!...Odasaku!”

He tried to grab him but the floor disappeared under him disappeared when he almost grabbed him.

„Save the weak, and protect the orphans.”

These were the last words Dazai heard before he fell into the void.

.

.

„He’s awake!” someone said

He opened his eyes and closed them again because it was too bright. He could hear some “peeps” from some machines and some people talking. He couldn’t recognize any of these voices but he knew that he was alive. After some time he was already fully awake. The doctors made all checks on him and explained the situation.

He had several serious injuries. Below that is a broken leg and two broken legs.He was lucky that he was still alive. His heart stopped beating for several minutes during the operation. The doctors were losing him but suddenly it started beating again.

He was alone in his room. The doctors gave him some pain relievers and the only thing he could do was to look out of the window and think about everything.

‘Why Odasaku? Why didn’t you let me die?’

His thoughts surrounded him and he couldn’t understand most of the things. He had so much questions but he knew that he needed to life to find the answers.

„Dazai!!!” a familiar voice yelled

He turned around and saw Y/N. She had some scratches and bruises but she was ok.

„I’m so happy that you finally awake.” Y/N cried and hugged him

„Ah, did my belladonna miss me so much?” he teased a little

„Of course I missed you. You were in a coma for about 5 days.”

He didn’t change.

After he passed out you were yelling for help constantly.He was lucky that Yosano was near them. She gave first aid while you called an ambulance.

„You know you lucky?”

„Yes, I know.” he said and smiled

„Everyone missed you.”

„Even Kunikida?” he asked curious

„Even Kunikida. Soooo, I’m going home but I promise I will come back tomorrow for a little longer.”

„Be careful, belladonna.”

„I will. Bye.” you gave him a kiss on the cheek and left

He touched the place where you kissed him and smiled. He turned around to the window and watched the sky again. It was already evening and the sky turned orange.

„Don’t worry Odasaku. I will save the weak, and protect the orphans.” he said

And a sad smile appeared on his face.

[darth-salem-emperor-of-earth]

Day One: Phantom Memories [Gerel x Mira]

I’m so far behind and late with my entries for @ockissweek but here’s my first fic. @a1thusa was so kind to let me borrow any one of her OCs and I decided to go with her Mira Surana. I paired her up with my newest DA character, Gerel Amell because I haven’t played her yet and wanted to expand more on her character and story. Thank you again, @a1thusa, for giving me the chance tp write about Mira. I hope I did her justice! :)

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Summary: Two Circle mages share memories of the life they once had before being locked away in a tower. Or at least, the ones they can remember. Day 1 of OC Kiss Week 2021. Prompt: Memory. [Gerel Amell x Mira Surana]

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“Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart.”

― Haruki Murakam

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For the fifth time since this morning, Gerel buried her face in her tome and let out an exasperated sigh. By the Maker, concentration was an elusive entity to her today! 

Maybe that’s because it’s such a gorgeous, sunny day out but you can’t enjoy the decent weather because Andraste forbid a mere Circle mage steps a foot outside and actually gets some fresh air. 

Gerel remembered the last time she basked in the sun’s rays, the warmth of the sun spreading across every inch of her cheek, nose, brow, and raven hair, travelling down her arms and hands. Such a small, trivial experience to think back on but she learned quickly how to appreciate the small moments in life as a Circle mage. The daily routine could be monotonous at best, if the Templars generally left the mages alone and didn’t decide it was time to throw their weight and authority around. 

“Can’t concentrate? Or are you bored already with studying?”

Gerel groaned into the worn pages of the book before lifting her head up to face her friend, Mira Surana. “Try both.”

Mira Surana had been in the Circle a few years longer than Gerel, even though they were of the same age. The young elf usually kept her umber tresses either in a loose ponytail or unstyled and flowing free when the deep night claimed the sky and slumber beckoned. Her brown eyes held a fire that matched Gerel’s spirit so it was no wonder the pair of them became fast friends when they both were thrust into the Circle at such a tender age. Such memories caused a wrinkled in her brow. 

Taking note, Mira shot her a concerned look. “Is something amiss? Or someone bothering you?” She lowered her voice before adding, “Is it one of the templars?” 

With a shake of her head, Gerel blew a single inky strand of hair out of her face and answered, “No, my ill mood has nothing to do with pigheaded templars. I’m merely cranky that I can't go outside and enjoy the beautiful day.”  

Taking the vacant chair next to her, Mira’s face morphed into one of sympathy albeit there was an amused twinkle in her eyes. “Well, given to your penchant for pranking half of the Circle, I can see why some of the senior mages and templars would be...hesitant to let you run wild outside. Knight-Commander Greagoir would never forget the time you try to ride one of the Chantry's horses by yourself!”

“I was ten years-old! Most children my age are always up to mischief!” Gerel protested in mock indignance, her mouth curving upwards into a devious grin at the memory of her almost equestrian escapade. An identical smile was on Mira’s features as well. 

“Maybe, but you also were brandishing a stick and screaming ‘Chaaaarrrrgggeee!’ at any templar who tried to pull you off the horse. Didn’t one of them almost get kicked in the chest?”

Gerel winced in recollection, relieved she had managed to maneuver the horse away from the templars and more to open fields. At least the two templars sent to retrieve her were wearing armor and more protected than she, a ten-year-old mage who missed roaming the countryside on horseback, like she did with her parents when she was younger and learning how to groom, feed, and ride horses on their estate. Those were happier memories Gerel had of her parents, before the templars arrived and took her away when she was six. Her father had held her tight beforehand, stroking her tresses and kissing her cheeks and the top of her head, unable to resist the templar who grabbed Gerel by her collar and yanked her out of her father’s arms. She barely had a chance to say goodbye, not when her mother was collapsed on the ground, hands covering her eyes as she wept uncontrollably while her father was trying to reason with the templars to let her stay with the rest of the Amell family. 

“Gerel? Gerel? Did you zone out again?”

Mira’s voice pulled the said mage out of her dejected reminisce and she closed her book, a thick, uncomfortable wedge lodged in her throat. “No, I wasn’t--sorry, I…” The lump in her throat shot straight to her stomach and her nostrils flared heavily. “I was suddenly thinking about my parents and the last time I saw them.”

She didn’t need to glance to her left to see Mira’s sympathy, not when it was interlaced with her friend’s tone or in her touch when the elf reached over to place her hand on Gerel’s arm. “I’m sorry, Gerel. Was it something I said?”

Shaking her head, Gerel turned around to face her longtime companion and level her dusky stare against Mira’s eyes, their walnut color drawing her in. The bright light from the open window outside cast a brilliant, almost buttery glow over Mira, ranging from the top of her head down to her cheeks, pointed ears, and shoulders--accompanied with tiny motes of dusts floating around her. Her fingers brushed against the knuckles and the back of Mira’s hands prior to covering over it with her own hand. 

“No, you’re not the reason I’m abruptly remembering the best and worst memories I have of my parents, the times I was free and not simply labelled as a possibly dangerous mage. I do miss them--and my siblings, wherever they are now.” Absentmindedly, she rubbed her thumb against Mira’s hand, drawing small circles in the soft panel of skin right in-between the joints of the pointer finger and thumb. Warmth already was flaring up between their fingertips but Gerel kept her focus on Mira and the carmine patches steadily rising on her smooth, flawless cheeks. 

“I wish I knew my parents,” Mira admitted softly, lowering gaze down to the two mages’ cupped hands. Her brain tried conjuring up images of her parents, or what she thought they looked like but every time the faces appeared nebulous and shapeless, without concrete details or hues. “But they’re like ghosts in my mind: faceless, distant, and invisible. And it’s so frustrating! I can remember parts of my home, like the halla and the way the canopy of trees cast spotty shadows across the emerald green grass when the sun was blazing high in the sky. Yet the visual identity of my parents are just one giant, empty slate.” She bit her bottom lip, the hand on Gerel’s arm unconsciously tightening its grip but Gerel suppressed any nose or look of discomfort.

Mira was already living in the Circle by the time she was brought to the mages, fatigue, hungry, and sore from both screaming and kicking at the templars to let her go back home. She moved from being the oldest sibling in her family to being thrust into a tower of strangers with sorcery jolting from her fingertips that she didn’t understand nor control. Gerel felt so lost and out of place, worsened by the fact she couldn’t even go outside to get some privacy. Mira was assigned as her roommate and helped her slowly get acquainted with life in the Circle of Magi, even though Mira herself also chafed under their restrictions and she was living there since she was four. Maybe that was why memories of their former life were both so painful and yet heartwarming to them. For remembering the good parts of their past was still ridiculously hard and overwhelmingly sometimes but at least, those recollections belonged to them and reminded them of a life outside and walls and strict rules, a life that could be theirs again--if the First Enchanter Irving (and the Knight-Commander, unfortunately) trusted their behavior. 

Leaning in, Gerel removed her hand so it could instead grasp Mira’s chin and tilted it upwards until their eyes met once more. “Mira, I promise you whenever we’re free to leave the Circle and can travel the world, I will help you find your home--and your parents, should you wish to look for them.” 

Mira nodded, the corners of her mouth tilted upwards into a small smile but her brown eyes remained solely on Gerel, her pupils seemingly larger the more she continued to stare at the comely elf. Gerel should have released her hand, should have leaned back to give her friend more space but their proximity was so enticing, so familiar, and comfortable that the idea of pulling away felt more unnatural and difficult to execute. She probably would have remained in that stance if Mira hadn’t closed the short distance between them and captured her lips with a slow, tentative kiss. 

Gerel remained rooted in her chair, one hand resting the armrest while the other gripped her chin, and yet every nerve in her entire body was alive and quivering with this unexpected spark zapping down her spine and each and every limb. Her senses were more focused, especially with touch and taste--like she could sample remnants of bread and mint lingered from breakfast earlier from Mira’s tongue as their mouths parted to deepen the kiss. The kiss was so warm, new, and inviting and when Gerel paused to capture Mira’s bottom lip with her teeth and give it a soft bite, the elf’s eyes fluttered briefly as a quiet but powerful, breathless sigh exhaled deep from her lungs.

Embolden, Gerel’s hand then snaked from her chin to Mira’s throat, cradling the back of her neck as she tangled some of her pale fingers into her friend’s loose ponytail, its smooth texture soothing her senses while their bodies bumped up against each other akin to two magnetic fields. Mira’s nose bumped against hers and she tilted her head slightly to continue the kiss more easily. She even teased Gerel a bit by first running her tongue along her top lip before allowing the kiss to resume and have their tongues momentarily entwine while Mira slid her hand from her arm to her side, high up and right below Gerel’s left breast. Now Gerel was torn between concentrating on the kiss alone or grabbing Mira’s hand to place it firmly on her chest and most definitely shatter the platonic aspect of their friendship. Because now her brain was full of unchaste and most assuredly heady thoughts, such as finding a new seat called Mira’s lap.

“Mira? Gerel? Are you two in here?”

 I hate you, Jowan. 

Jowan’s annoyingly cheerful but thankfully loud voice from the other side of the library startled the two women out of their entranced kiss, their forms immediately retracting from each other once they disentangled from each other's arms and tried to look as innocent as possible. Gerel already opened her book again to maintain the pretense she was studying but she kept making meaningful glances at Mira from her pages, regardless if Jowan found them in a few minutes. What a relief it was for them both to have Gerel’s usual studying spot to be so far back in the library and often ignored by other mages. In Gerel’s opinion, the kiss was well worth the risk.

“Do you want to talk later--tonight?” Mira whispered, playing with her ponytail as she tried but failed to stop brushing a finger or two against her mouth. 

Gerel nodded. “In our shared quarters, where it’s private.” A devious grin flickered across her porcelain-esque features as she added: “And we can be undisturbed.” 

Giggling, Mira nodded with approval, the flush on her cheeks refusing to fade. For some reason, Gerel felt absurdly pleased she made her feel that way, even if all they shared was a mere kiss--or two. Although, technically, there was a whole series of them, even though she lost track of exactly how many the second she started nibbling on her friend’s bottom lip and the warmth in her belly flared up with delight. Tonight they’ll have a proper chat about each other, not just swapping simple yet painful memories from the distant shadows of their past. This time, Gerel was rather hopeful about the future.   

[alolowrites]

A Late Night Promise

Summary: Much to your dismay, you share an elevator ride with Shouto after staying late at the office one night.   

Author’s Note: Saw a prompt with just the word “elevator” and my mind came up with this. It’s been a while since I wrote a long-ish fic for Shouto. One last thing, everyone is of age. 

Enjoy!  

“So what do you say?”

“Oh…I don’t know…”

“C’mon.” Saito leans against the doorframe. “I promise we’ll have a great time on Saturday night. I know this fantastic hibachi restaurant in the city. The chef is also a close friend of mine. What do you say?”

“That does sound like fun.” What’s not to love about watching an experienced chef perform their tricks on the grill? The excited yells, the sleek spatulas slicing on the metal ice, the delicious food sizzling to perfection. Your mouth waters at the mere thought of it. And yet, “Can I let you know tomorrow? I just gotta make sure I’m free.”

“No problem,” he smiles at you. “Text me when you’re ready.”

Waving goodbye, you walk away. Few employees are working late tonight at Endeavor’s agency, especially if they are network engineers such as yourself. You don’t mind staying behind to help. It means spending more time in the server rooms. Each one is like a fun maze where you purposefully try to get lost in. They came in handy after enduring a painful heartbreak.

The hallway runs for miles. Lights flicker above you and the low buzz tickles your ears. You can’t shake the growing feeling of someone watching you. Pausing mid-step, you peek over your shoulders with weary eyes. A janitor pushes his cart around the corner. His whistles echo down the hall until they fade away.

You relax.

It’s a false alarm. Shaking your head, you stride towards the elevator. Cool air bursts from the vents which is a blessing. Outside is a nightmare with all the humidity. From the corner of your eye, you see a storm approaching. The wind howls in between the trembling leaves. Dark clouds gradually engulf the entire block like the Blob Monster. And soft thunder rumbles in the distance.

Perhaps it will rain tonight. Lord knows you desperately need it to rain. After suffering under humidity’s tyrant rule, you are ready to be saved.

The button turns yellow. You wait for the elevator by scrolling through your phone. Instagram is a bore. Snapchat’s hourglass reminds you to keep your fiery streak alive. And, unsurprisingly, Chargebolt is trending on Twitter. Just as your thumb hangs above the screen, the strange feeling returns.

You glance to your left and nearly drop the phone. Shouto is marching down the hallway. Panic hits as you pound the button multiple times. Seconds are ticking by. Precious time is fleeing. Where is the damn elevator?!

Ding!

You immediately dive inside. Lurching forward, you attack the button until the doors start closing. A hand slices midway and everything stops. Shouto saunters inside; the elevator groans under the newly added weight. You scuff back to the center. He dusts off the invisible lint on his black dress shirt. He gives you a once over before standing besides you.

The elevator moves.

No music plays from the speakers. The box is so quiet, but your mind is on overdrive. It’s as if someone accidentally disconnected a cable and now the network system is malfunctioning. Only you couldn’t fix this mess. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea answering those emails; they kept you behind an extra ten minutes. Too late to change that now.  

You glimpse at the black screen above you. The dwindling numbers keep you sane even if you’re hanging on by a thread. Once the ride reaches the lobby, you will block it from your memory. Until then, all you need to do is ignore him. It should be easy enough.

“You’re leaving late again.”

Shoulders back.

“It’s not good for your health.”

Eyes front.

“Will you please say something to me?”

Lips shut.

Shouto takes the hint and backs off. He rethinks his strategy in silence while your eyes are fixated on the elevator’s doors. His body is partially blurred. Although you couldn’t see his face, you know he is frustrated; the clenched fist gives it away. Your phone vibrates in your grasp. A soft smile tugs on your lips as you read the sweet message.

Shouto scoffs. You frown.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He shoves one hand in his pocket. You suspiciously eye him before turning your attention to the phone again.

The blue light flickers with each floor change. A finger taps against the side of his leg. Time is running out for him. He must act quick. Who knows when he will be this close to you, and alone, ever again. Shouto thinks back to your answer and nearly cries; he craves to hear the sound of your voice—it’s sweet and addictive.

“Are you going to do it?”

“Do what?”

“Go out with him?”

“How did you—did you spy on me?!”

Shouto bites back a grin. That’s six more words than the last response.

“I wanted to know if you were okay.” He shrugs as if he did nothing wrong. A migraine knocks on your forehead. “Your team has been working diligently on installing the new security firewalls. After all, my father wants to make sure everything is secured.”

“Forget about your father’s insane demands!” You thrust a finger his way. “How long have you been spying on me, huh? Tell me right now!”

His mouth is glued shut.

“Shouto!”

“Since you started talking to Saito!” Embers flicker off his hair. He towers over you, but you do not flinch away. One hand rushes through his locks. “He kept getting close to you. I wanted to make sure he didn’t hurt you.”

“Like you didn’t hurt me?!” You dryly laugh. Your icy glare almost gives him frostbite. “You’re the one who broke up with me!”

“I did it to protect you!” Oh here we go again, that same old excuse. You pace around the elevator to avoid his nonsense. Shouto does not back down. “There are villains who want to kill me! If they ever found out about you—”

“You don’t think I know that?!” A foot harshly stomps on the floor and rattles the box. “For crying out loud, Shouto, I work for your dad! This whole freaking office is a prime target!”

The numbers continue climbing down.

“I knew the risks that came with dating you. I’m not stupid, but you—” a finger jabs his shirt “—made the choice to leave me. You decided to end things without even considering how it would have hurt me.”

His eyes flicker between your finger and fiery daggers.

“It was hard getting over you.” A cold, haughty chuckle rings into the air. “But now that I’m ready to start dating again, you decide to spy on me? You have some nerve!”

Another stab to his chest.

“It’s over, Shouto.” You boldly stand your ground. “I suggest you move on and forget about us.”

A thin line appears on his mouth.

Shouto marches towards the front and smashes the emergency button. The elevator abruptly stops. For a few seconds, it shakes like an aftershock from a larger earthquake. You yelp and stumble, but catch yourself. Shouto’s hand slips down. The unbearable humidity returns, only it feels worse, like standing in the middle of the Amazon rainforest with no escape.

A pair of eyes focuses on you. He’s like a jaguar who briskly stalks closer to his prey. Out of instinct, your legs stagger away from him until you hit a wall. Two large hands slam against the metal plate. The shockwaves roll down your back as his arms cage you in place.

When Shouto leans forward, you swallow a hard gulp. Apparently there are two storms happening tonight—one outside and the other thrashing inside his eyes. You’ve only seen this look a few times; it never fails to make you shudder with anticipation. Soon a small flame ignites deep in your soul.

It grows at an alarming rate. A cool sensation trails across your jawline and down your neck. You restrain yourself from biting your bottom lip. The air swirling around becomes unstable. Your breathing quickens its pace. Your throat dries instantly. Your heart beats uncontrollably. Shouto amusingly peeks at the bag and the pitiful distance it puts in between you two.

“You said to move on and forget, but there’s one small problem…” His gravelly voice makes your legs quiver. He tilts his head so your noses brush. You could almost taste the peppermint breath flowing out from his parted mouth. It fails to cool down your flushed face. After the brief pause, he rasps, “I can’t and I’ll show you why.”

Lightning finally strikes.

Without warning, strong lips crash against yours. They are desperate for you. Starving even. His actions reawakens a long forgotten feeling in your core. The small flame transforms into a powerful wildfire ravaging everything in its path. You wither under the heat. At this point, nothing holds you back and fully give in.

You kiss him. Hard.  

A cool touch makes you gasp. Shouto wastes no time devouring the inside of your mouth with his tongue. The movements are precise, yet reckless. A wave of pleasure spreads throughout your body as your eyes roll back. The bag drops to the floor and Shouto effortlessly kicks it behind. With the only obstacle gone, he collapses his entire weight on you.  

You yank away to catch your breath.

Large hands seamlessly wander down your body. They are painfully slow for your liking. Shouto smirks when your fists fervently tug the collar of his shirt. He stops torturing you by swooping his hands underneath your thighs and lifting you up. Eager legs wrap around Shouto’s torso to hold yourself steady.

After weeks being apart, you miss his touch. You miss exploring his lean muscles bulging through the fabric. You miss inhaling his unique cologne scent. You miss digging your fingers through his sleek hair and disrupting its neat form. You simply miss everything about him.

Shouto hears you beg and fulfills your wish by deepening the kiss. It is more animalistic, more ferocious than the first one. Shouto shoves you further up against the wall for better control. Ironically, he is fighting to keep his composure together. Your tantalizing lips, however, pushes him over the edge. Lustful thoughts consume his mind as he praises every inch of your body. His mouth attacks your neck while you sing against his ear.

He almost loses it when you breathe out his name.

Meanwhile, his searing touches threaten to unravel the last string of your sanity. You guide his mouth back to yours as you are hungry for more. The storm charges through with no end in sight. Shouto’s satisfying groans blurs with the thunderous applause exploding among the thick clouds. Time is nonexistent. Your focus is on Shouto who pours his entire heart and soul into each blazing kiss. They are chaotic, but divine. You surrender yourself to the madness and transcend into a state of euphoria.

Oh how you wish you could stay there forever.

As the kisses weaken, you sink back down to reality. Through your heavy eyelids, you see Shouto pull away from your plump lips. Both chests heave like two runners who finished a grueling marathon. There are no crowds of people cheering for you two, just your heart. A soft sirocco wind passes by as Shouto tiredly presses his forehead on yours.

He croaks, “Now you understand why I can’t move on and forget about us?”

You do.

Shouto searches through your overwhelmed eyes for an answer. He gently caresses your face like the precious treasure it is. The hero savors your lips one last time and etches them into his memory. Fighting against his wish, he carefully puts you down. Your legs wobble and you don’t trust yourself to move. Shouto walks to the front and press some buttons.

The elevator roars to life again.  

You tuck in your blouse and pathetically fix your disheveled hair. A bag appears in your sight. Grabbing it, you choke out a quick “thanks” to Shouto. Both of you return to your original positions as if the passionate episode never happened.

No music plays from the speaker, but it is far from quiet. You hear your heart racing and the electric sparks buzzing in the tensed air.

“I’m sorry,” Shouto whispers. You stiffen at the sound. “I’m sorry that I hurt you. I was inconsiderate about everything…especially your feelings.”

You lower your gaze.

“I won’t stop you from going on that date.”

Your ears perk at his statement. Ignoring all warnings, you stare at him. Something indescribable swirls in his eyes. You realize they only appear when he’s preparing himself for battle.

“It is still your choice to make, but,” Shouto holds your hand in his warm grasp. The sheer determination flaring through his gaze takes your breath away. “Please know that I will not rest until I win your heart again.”

Ding!

The doors open, but you don’t exit. You’re still trying to process his words—his declaration of war for whomever decides to challenge him. Closing your gaped mouth, you glance between Shouto, your hand and the empty lobby. You numbly step off the elevator and lumber away.

Rain droplets cover the glass doors. Everything is quiet outside. The storm is gone and off to torment another city. You can finally breathe since the air is lighter. As you take a whiff of the earthy-musty scent, you feel the back of your hairs rise. Your eyes peer over your shoulders to see Shouto watching you.

He proudly stands tall.

A giddy sensation rushes down your spine. You grip the handle to keep yourself steady. Overwhelmed, you release a shaky sigh before exiting the building. In the lobby, Shouto curls his fist without looking away.

“I promise to win you back.” His lips curve into a small, but confident smile. “No matter how long it takes.”

Shouto will make sure of it.

As always, thank you for reading!  

[halfablacky]

I think that all the writers who saw the series, think of a way to fix this scene, and I am not different.

It's my first time writing in another language and posting something here on tumblr, so forgive me if it had so much mistakes...

Anyway, I hope you like it!

We can head to the coast

He goes to the coast anyway, never looking back, not really stopping to pick up any stories with the dwarves, not wanting anyone to question his tears.

He went down the mountain in a different way, not looking at the rock that sat in the crepuscule of the previous day and poured his feelings out to Geralt, a rare moment of weakness, hoping the witcher would have some idea why he was still there, for who.

He didn't expect an answer, but he got one anyway, even if it wasn't verbal, Geralt was never verbal, he showed how much he cared about Jaskier's feelings the moment he turned around and followed Yennefer like an abandoned puppy, crying at your feet hoping to receive a little of affection. It was unnerving, it was disappointing. He went to sleep hugging the lute wondering what it would be like if he had a real body by his side to cling to, his body.

So in the end, chaos reigns, as it always does when the witch appears, and Geralt takes out all frustration caused by her, and he just managed to say: this is not fair. Because it wasn't, it never was, but the witcher didn't want to know it when he uttered the hateful words:

If life could give me a blessing, it would be taking you out of my hands.

He was going to give Geralt his blessing, however much his heart broke, however much the tears flowed, however much his feet ached with each step taken away from the witcher, he continued, saying goodbye to Roach on the way to the village.

Drinking all his coins, playing and singing parodies of his songs in a dragged and confused voice degrading the witcher who threw his feelings in the trash, crying so hard at the end that nothing but rambling grumbles came out between his lips, receiving bread and drinks at the end instead of coins.

Okay, he deserved it, it was a terrible presentation.

He woke up in the hall behind the tavern, his head hurt, a black eye and painful bruises on his belly, he didn't quite remember why, but he could imagine that the customers really hated the last performance.

He dusted off his clothes, took a deep breath with the sinking feeling in his stomach, the anger that replaced sadness, put the lute on his back and left. He would go to the coast, he didn't need Geralt to try to find out what pleases him.

He walked from village to village, city to city, singing anything but the praises of the White Wolf, and when asked, when he couldn't refuse and the songs were sung without all the feelings normally shown by the witcher's bard, the peoples stopped to ask for them.

He sang 'Her sweet kiss' once, his voice broke at the end, and he left before anyone could ask why he was crying.

It didn't take more than a month to reach the coast, he was approached by bandits at least twice on his journey, but he managed to arrive in his destination in full, at least physically.

His interior on the other hand was a mess, anger was replaced by resignation now, a deep hurt that he could not sing away from regardless of his abilities, a heart in pieces that he did not think he would be able to try to assemble the pieces for a long time still.

He was sitting on the grass now, looking out to sea, the waves crashing calmly against the rocks, sweeping the white sand. He had been doing this for a week now, hoping that the pleasure of doing the simplest and most mundane things would come back to him, removing the lute from the back and the leather case, the wood a little dry now after so long without polishing and proper care, gently pulling one string and then the other, adjusting the instrument on your lap and absently fingering for some inspiration.

Then he heard footsteps behind him, and heard the voice before turning to see if maybe he would be mugged a third time and what could be taken away now. It wasn't a thief.

"Jaskier…"

The hoarse, low voice, looking so sad and fragile and vulnerable, made the bard's heart jump in his chest in a way it hasn't been for a long time now.

"Go away." He heard himself saying, so much sadder, fragile, vulnerable and tired, than the witcher. "I cannot give you your blessing if you continue to follow me."

"Jaskier, I…"

"I gave you everything, Geralt." He interrupted, pressing the lute to his chest, searching the instrument for some base, something to hold on to before he fell more deeply into the well of despair that plagued his dying soul. "I gave you my voice, I gave you my company, my friendship, I gave you my time, so much, so much time…"

"Jaskier, please…"

"Twenty-two years I've been by your side, helping you, making people see you the way I did, and I didn't need to be magically tied to you for that, I chose, I chose to be by your side all this time, not wanting more than your friendship back, giving up having more than that after Yennefer came into your life." He confessed, he couldn't stop, he couldn't hold his tongue now that Geralt was finally listening. After twenty-two years, the witcher finally stopped to listen to him.

He heard the witcher approach.

"But you made me realize clearly on that mountain that not even the simplest thing as a worthy travel companion I could have of you. I am a burden to you, I always have been, I thought I was helping you when in fact I just got you into more and more trouble." He felt his emotions now start to overflow, cursing his previous desire to want to feel again because now he was feeling, and it was too much, he didn't know if he could take it.

"Jaskier, no…"

"I don't know why you're here, but if it's an apology for digging your shit all this time, then I'm sorry, now go away, please." Asked finally releasing the lute, without force pulling his legs to his chest and hugging, hiding his face between them, not wanting to give Geralt the pleasure of seeing him collapse, even though he knew that the witcher could probably smell his tears, that he could see his body trembling and hear the sobs he was trying so hard to stifle, hoping that Geralt could have enough decency to let him suffer in peace, but the witcher didn’t move away, his steps were approaching much faster now, and before he could scream for him to go, a pair of strong arms are suddenly holding him.

A wave crashes violently on the rocks, the salty air rises hard and droplets of water splash on his hair. Both are silent, for the first time in over a month, Jaskier is helpless enough not to know what to say. Fortunately, he is not the one who breaks the silence.

"I'm sorry." He heard the whisper that made his heart take another excited leap. "Please, Jaskier, I'm so sorry…"

And Jaskier thought he was definitely a sucker with no sense of self-preservation because those words, so sincere, so fragile and broken, were enough for the bard to begin to forgive the witcher. He didn't know it could get any better until Geralt opened his mouth again.

"I'm sorry about the mountain, nothing I said was your fault, neither Yennefer, or Djinn, the child surprise, it was all me, Jaskier, it's all my fault."

"Then why ..." He stopped before elaborating, closing his mouth so hard that his teeth chattered with an audible sound. He didn't want to ruin that, not yet. Not when Geralt's arms were holding him so tightly and expressing himself with real words this time.

But he didn't have to elaborate, Geralt knew exactly what he was asking.

"I was angry ... I was frustrated and upset and you were just there, looking so happy and I just ... I-"

"I wasn't happy, Geralt, I was trying to cheer you up, I was trying to be your friend!" He released, altered, trying to push the witcher away as much as it hurt, but Geralt did not let him, on the contrary, tightened his body. "Everything I have done so far, you emotionally constipated brute idiot, has been trying to be your friend!"

He shouted, unable to contain his tears.

"I'm sorry, shh… I'm sorry, I know it now, I found out after you left, but it was too late, you were already gone, I've been looking for you, following your steps, because I wanted to apologize, you don't deserved what I said."

"I know, I really don't..." He murmured, trying to wipe away the tears, sighing in surprise when he felt the witcher's rough thumb doing it for him, closing his eyes tightly and watching Geralt lock up, continuing a much softer moment later. He only knew that the witcher was no longer trying to wipe his tears away, when he realized that they were no longer falling. Geralt's fingers remained there.

"I ... I was never very kind to you, and I'm sorry for that too, but if you let me, I can try to change that." Geralt said holding his face in his hands, so soft, so gentle, so scared and hopeful, and Jaskier gathered the courage to open his eyes again, seeing the witcher staring back at him, waiting.

"I ..." He whispered uncertainly, feeling a big hand slip from his face to the nape of the neck, his fingers tangling in the most sensitive threads there and making him shiver. His heart sped up, was that what he think it was? He licked his lips, uncertain. "If you are going to do what I think you are going to do-"

"I intend to do what you think I am going to do."

He moved a little closer, their noses almost touching.

"So if you're going to do what I know you're going to do, I hope it's not just trying to make me feel better, it's not just overnight." He whispered, closing his eyes, raising his own hands to the witcher's face, feeling the roughness of his beard in the palm of his hands and not being able to think of any other place he wanted to put them now.

"It is not."

"I can't take it if you run back to Yennefer when she shows up again. "

"I won't."

"Good."

And he initiated the contact himself, leaning forward until his lips brushed Geralt's, soft, scared, hoping it was the right thing to do, and then the witcher held his neck tighter and she pulled, sticking his mouth entirely to him, a kiss full of feelings, those feelings that witchers supposedly shouldn't have, full of guilt and excuse, full of love, passion and desire, and took him like a hurricane.

A wave hit the rocks again, and they parted, their foreheads touching, noses brushing, gasping breaths connecting.

"Fuck…" He spoke, very eloquently.

"Fuck." Geralt echoed, a certain amusement in his voice making the bard laugh. Leaning down to touch the soft lips again. "Thanks. For forgiving me."

Jaskier just hummed, happy, relaxed, enjoying the affection of the witcher's rough fingers on his skin as he delicately explored his features with his fingers.

"What do we do now?"

"You said you wanted to go to the coast…"

Jaskier laughed.

“We are on the coast, Geralt."

"Hmm ... so there is nothing stopping us to take advantage of it."

Geralt whispered, turning his face to the horizon and following him to see the various colors in the sky reflecting on the sea, the sun descending beyond the sea, the birds soaring through the clouds, a beauty he had not been able to see before.

Geralt's arms wrapped around him again and Jaskier dropped his head on the witcher's shoulder with a contented sigh.

"Yes… we can find what pleases us now."

[gemstonerose]

A Gift from Mother

Byleth meets her mother.

Fire emblem 3 houses Cinder Shadows spoilers

Or read on AO3

Shout out to @lady-branwen for all the Sitri content that gave me the inspiration to make this.

Byleth thought that investigating the strange underground of the monastery and figuring out who was snooping around earlier would be quick and easy. That the Lords and her would go in, find a bunch of rats going about their existence, catch the mystery person, and be out by dinner. What she hadn’t planned for was the civilization of people living there. The Ashen Wolves, the protectors of Abyss, were interesting people. And it was a wonder as to how no one had mentioned this secret fourth house even once. Byleth thought that after they assist them and sort things out with Rhea that would be it. Yet, sadly for her that wasn’t the case. Life loved to mess with her and throw one curveball after another in her direction. And then they discovered that Aelfric found her mother’s body down in the Abyss. Since coming to Garreg Mach she’s becoming more in tune with experiencing normal emotions. She doesn’t get the chance to see her mother until the end when they take down the Umbral Beast. Byleth is rightfully upset with how things had happened and demanded that her mother be taken to the surface so she can be properly buried. Jeralt will have to be told the truth about what happened with his wife and that was going to be a headache she wasn’t looking forward to dealing with. Byleth already knew that her father had a distaste for Rhea, and this isn’t going to make it any better.

Rhea thankfully allows her request to be fulfilled without any trouble, “If you can wait here with her, I’ll send some knights to come get her.” Rhea departs on that.

The students gather themselves and assist in mending each other’s wounds. They talk among themselves about what they have just been through and what they will do once this is all neatly tied up. Claude goes over to her, “How are you feeling Teach?” Byleth doesn’t look at him and shrugs as she continues to look to her mother laying still across from her. She feels something, but she knows it’s not some random emotion. At least she thinks it isn’t. “If you want to go see her then do it.”

“Huh?” That breaks Byleth out of her daze and she finally meets his eyes.

“I mean this will be the only time you’ll get to see her. My parents told me that even though people die their spirit is always watching over us no matter how long it has been. Make your peace with her. Let her know that the child she loved and cared for so much made it and became a wonderful person,” the pink dusting Claude’s cheeks don’t go unnoticed by her.

Byleth places a hand on his shoulder. He looks to her and is graced by a small smile, “Thank you.”

Claude’s eyes widen and the blush on his face deepens in color, “Uh sure! No problem Teach! A-anytime!” He stumbles on his words, “I um… I’m going to go make sure Hilda is doing alright.” And he rushes off back to the group.

Byleth takes in a deep breath and makes her way to her mother. It felt like she was being lured to the resting woman by some invisible string. Now that she’s seeing her face to face any doubt she may have had vanished. Jeralt always said that she was practically a spitting image of her mother. Sitri’s hair and face were like hers. Byleth knelt near and looked over the mother she never got to meet. She places a hand atop Sitri’s folded ones which to no surprise are cold. Her chest doesn’t rise, nor do her eyes opened. Byleth would be lying if a small part of her wished that maybe something else would have happened. That maybe her mother would have woken up, but she didn’t. ‘It’s for the best,’ Byleth thinks to herself. She closes her eyes and does a silent prayer for her mother apologizing for everything that had transpired and hopes that she is resting well.

“Professor,” Dimitri, Edelgard, and Claude have come near her. They stay a few feet from the stairs and have sorrowful looks on their faces. “The knights are almost here,” the blond prince informs her.

She nods at the three leaders and stands. “Thank you,” the three nod and begin to turn away. Byleth looks to her mother and mouths ‘Goodbye’ before turning to leave. Then she feels something. That strange feeling pulled her too Sitri and she looks back at her. She hasn’t changed, but she’s suddenly feeling dizzy. The last thing she hears is someone yelling to her before the world goes black.

………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Byleth wakes to the sun hitting her face. It alarms her immediately as she shoots up from the ground. She’s in one of the gardens of the Monastery, but something seems off. The first thing Byleth notices is that she’s wearing a long black dress with coral color lining the cuffs of her sleeves and the trim of her dress. The golden tasseled medallion that she normally wore still hung from her chest. Byleth looked around the area for any signs of life. It only took a moment to notice a woman with long blue-green hair and a white dress tending to the flowers across the small yard. Byleth walked over to the mysterious lady who was a few inches shorter than her and stood a few feet away.

“Excuse me?” Byleth called to the woman. The woman in white stiffened for a moment before she turned herself. Forest green eyes meet Byleth’s purple-blue ones, “Mother?” She breaths out. The small surprise that was present on Sitri’s face faded as she fully faced her daughter and graced her with a small smile. The two stared at each other in silence for a few moments. “How is this possible? I’m not dead, am I?” Something in her stomach twisted. Her wounds weren’t that bad, and what of her students?How would her father react?

Sitri shook her head and stepped closer to her daughter. Byleth stiffened when Sitri brought her hands to cup her face. Sitri studied her, moving a strand of hair that fell out of place, and rubbing her thumb over her right cheek. She was real or at least felt real. Sitri smiled big as she moved her hands behind Byleth’s head and pulled her in for a hug. Byleth was still for a few moments before returning the embrace with a surprising tightness but making sure to not crush the smaller woman. It was nice; comforting even. After a moment Byleth sighed as she rested her face in her mothers’ shoulder. Sitri let out a small laugh as she held her tighter. They stood like that for a long time in the sweet comfortable silence of the garden.

Sitri was the one to pull back. Byleth frowned at the loss of contact. Her mother backed away for a moment as she reached for something in the flowers. Sitri placed the small pink bloom in her daughters’ hands and closed them around it. Byleth looked at her with confusion which soon faded as Sitri cupped her face once again and gave Byleth a bright toothy smile. She brought their foreheads together, “My precious baby,” Sitri spoke in a soft voice. She pulled back just a bit and kissed Byleth’s forehead as the world went white around them.

………………………………………………………………………………………………….

There was mumbling around her. She couldn’t make out who the voices belonged to, but they sounded panic. The more she focused on them the louder they became. ‘Why are they being so loud?!’ she thought in annoyance. She can feel herself groan and the voices stop. A moment later she can hear one of them.

“Teach? Can you hear me?” The male’s voice is edge with a hint of worry. She groans again; her head hurts and she’s tired. “Come on Teach, wake up!” His voice is much clearer now. She knows who this person is. Byleth feels coolness under her legs, but her upper half is floating. There is warmth next to her and something supporting her back.

‘Someone’s holding me?’ Byleth thinks. She can make out other voices. Each of them with a mix of worry coating their tones. Byleth forces her body to move. It works but she doesn’t get far. Something or someone is holding her in place. It takes more effort than it should have for Byleth to will her eyes open. It takes another moment for her vision to focus, but when it does, she is met with worried green eyes staring down at her. Claude sighs in relief and smiles down at her. Yuri is behind him with a hand on his cheek as he sends her a wink. The rest of the Wolves a few feet behind him. Linhardt is crouched on her left as he slowly lowers his hands to his lap. Hilda was right behind him rubbing her eyes as they both let out similar sighs of relief. Byleth lifted her head a bit and was able to spot Dimitri and Edelgard, with their hands over their hearts, loosen their posters and give her small smiles. Ashe was by her ankles wiping tears away from his face.

“Gave us quite the scare there my friend,” Yuri spoke first.

Byleth sighed as she looked around at her students. Her head was pounding, and her body felt heavy. She was about to raise a hand to her head when she felt something. Byleth’s right hand was lightly clenching something. When she opened it a small bloom of pink Valerian flowers rested within it. “So, it was real?” she whispered quietly to herself.

“Huh?” Claude looked at her with curiosity and then to the bloom in her hand. He looked back to her with a raised eyebrow. She cleared her throat as she fought through the pain and willed herself to speak. “It’s nothing,” her voice was still low. She gently closed her hand back around the small pink flowers, “What happened?”

“You just collapsed! And we couldn’t find your pulse for like three minutes!” Hilda shouted. The echo of Abyss amplified the sound as it rung painfully in her head. It made Byleth flinched and she attempted to curl into herself. Claude’s grip on her tightens slightly. By the Goddess was her head exploding.

“Teach?” Claude called to her in a softer worried voice, “What’s going on?”

“Head,” was all she could get out as Byleth closed her eyes once again. Even the dim lighting down in Abyss was proving to be too much for her.

Her students were saying something that Byleth decided not to focus on. Footsteps are heard and fading around her. The arms holding her began to change their positions to under her knees and her back. It’s wobbly at first, but she’s eventually lifted from the ground. “It’s okay Teach, I got you,” Claude softly tells her. Byleth gives him a hum as she rested her head on his shoulder and drifted off to sleep.

[donteattheappleshook]

Stone Hearts Chapter 12/13

Here we are, the last chapter (minus the epilogue). Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me and this story for so long, even when I was going months/years between updates. Finishing this fic is one of the raddest things I've ever done and I couldn't have done it without all the support. Your reblogs and likes and flails kept me going so thank you all <3

Summary:

Emma should have known. She should have known that they couldn’t just go to the underworld and not suffer any consequences. She should have known they’d bring something back with them.

Cannon Divergent after 5x21 Last Rites. No Hyde. No serum. No Evil Queen split. No prophecy. No season 6.

Read from the beginning on Ao3 or FFn because tumblr eats all my italics.

Rated M

Chapter 12

“Ariel, what the fuck!” Emma shouted, already feeling the magic burning in her fingers, the fire ready to come out at any moment. But she held herself back. Ariel had his heart in her hand, right there in front of her. It was red, glowing, and bright with the tiniest swirl of darkness in the middle. There was no stone to be seen.

Killian was hunched over beside Emma, bent in pain, his hand clutching at his chest, shock and betrayal written on his features. Emma reached out for him, grabbed hold of him and held him close, trying to shield him from the woman who had ripped out his heart. But it was useless, Ariel didn’t need to be anywhere near Killian to hurt him now. 

The smile on her face was twisted, evil the likes of which Emma had only seen once before. And she had seen her fair share of evil.  

“So you broke my curse,” she said. “Good for you.” 

What? Emma’s eyes widened as Belle and Tink joined her at her side, Tink grabbing Kilian’s sword from his hip and pointing it at the mermaid. Ariel gave a dismissive flick of her hand and the weapon went sailing across the room.

They all watched in horror as Ariel shifted before them, her features warping and changing until it was no longer her standing before them. It was the King. How, Emma thought as she remembered Hook’s reaction to her earlier. How had they not figured it out? She glanced at Belle who looked as terrified and struck dumb as she felt. But the King had known about Killian, about the ship, about Blackbeard - and clearly a great many other things if he’d managed to fool Belle. How -

“Rumple,” Belle said and her voice betrayed, resigned. 

“Yes, your husband was absolutely instrumental in helping me accomplish this little ruse,” The King smirked. “All that pillow talk about your friendship with the mermaid made for excellent backstory, really helped me sell the character, I think.” 

“What do you want?” Tink demanded, her fists clenched, fury raging on her face. 

“Nothing from you, my dear. I have exactly what I need.” 

Leverage, Emma thought. Like Gold had with Henry, now the King had it with Killian, a way to control her, to get her to do what he wanted. She cast a glance at Killian, watched as his face shifted from pain to realisation to panic. 

“Emma, don’t,” he warned. But she had to. To save him - she’d do whatever it took.

“Let him go,” she said and the King turned his attention to her, a bemused smile on his face. He cocked his head and Emma stepped forward, despite Kilian’s hand grabbing at her arm, trying to hold her back. “It’s my heart you want. Give me Killian’s and I’ll find a way to give you mine.”

“No!” Killian insisted but he was halted in his attempt to grab her, crying out as the King gave a little, almost experimental squeeze to the heart in his hand. 

“Stop it!” Emma shouted, looking at where Killian now kneeled on the floor, struggling to catch his breath. Belle ran to him, trying to hold him up, unable to help. “I said I’ll give you what you want! You win! Just stop!” 

“How very noble of you, Savior,” the King taunted. “But you’re right - I have won. I have exactly the heart I need.” Emma frowned at him, heart racing in her chest. No. It was her they needed. That’s what they’d said! That’s what the spell called for! 

The King smiled again as he watched the confusion play on her face. “The heart that belongs to the product of true love,” he said and Emma felt the words echo in the hollow beats of her heart against her chest. “This pirate’s heart has belonged to you for a very long time, has it not?” he asked, looking down at Killian with false sympathy. “The true love of the product of true love… that’s a rare heart indeed. Worthless though when encased in stone.”

No, Emma thought. No, it couldn’t be him. Not after all of this, not after everything they’d gone through to get him back. To learn now that he’d have been safer if he stayed cursed. There had to be another way. Anything, she’d do anything to trade her heart for his, her life for his. Not Killian. 

“Unfortunately we didn’t figure out that little riddle until after we’d cursed your captain here. Always so cryptic these dark spells. And infuriatingly irreversible. But Rumplestiltskin was convinced that if we just put the two of you together you’d find a way around it.” 

The hospital, him standing guard, forcing them together again and again... It all made sense now. She’d thought it was some kind of game, some way for them to torture her, to manipulate her into doing what they wanted. But she’d been so wrong. It had all been planned, all a setup. 

She thought of their escape from the emergency room, how easy it had been to get there, how Killian had somehow gotten to her despite her locking him in the cell. They hadn’t been followed. It had all been planned, organized and manipulated. It was so obvious now. And Ariel arrived in the tunnels at the same time she and Killian were put together. They’d been played for fools. 

“And what do you know,” the King continued. “True love prevails!” He looked at her then, twisted, hollowed features filling with sick pleasure. “What a pity it has to be cut short.” 

He closed his fist, crushing the heart in his hand. Killian let out a scream, a raw, primal thing the likes of which she’d never heard. And then he didn’t make any sound at all. 

“No!” Emma screamed as Killian went limp in Belle’s arms. Her scream was deafening, echoing in her ears, over the rush of blood, over the hum of magic, over the emptiness, the silence in the room that hung like a physical presence. Frozen, powerless, Emma watched as the King raised his fist, tilted his head back and let the dust that had been Killian’s heart fall into his open mouth. 

She collapsed to her knees beside the man she loved, the man that had been taken from her so many times, now lost to her in death once more. She was vaguely aware of the other women beside her, of their own cries of anguish and loss.

“Killian, no,” she sobbed, tears blurring her vision, her voice small and hoarse. Not again. Not now. The hollowness in her chest grew, ached and burned her as though it had been her own heart that had been ripped out. “No, please,” she whimpered. She took his face in her hands. “Please don’t leave me.” The warmth was already fading from his skin, a deathly paleness taking its place. She hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye. After everything… he'd been taken from her again. 

She pressed her lips to his, a desperate, last resort. But she knew it was pointless. There was no coming back from this. Their magic had run out. He was lost to her now - forever. And it was his fault. The King. This monster who had come into her life and ripped it apart, taken away everything she’d ever loved - her parents, her friends, Henry, and now Killian. He would pay. She would see him dead if it was the last thing she ever did. 

She pressed her lips to Killian's once more, a goodbye, a promise. She ran her thumb over his cheek, traced his features, taking one last look at the face that had expressed such joy, such love, such playfulness and mischief, such pain, and such light even through the darkness. There was nothing there now. Only emptiness. All of that life, just gone - no, stolen. The King would pay. She rose to her feet, fingers burning.

“At last,” the King said, summoning his cauldron, the heavy, black vessel appearing before him. “The power to do as I please. No more infuriating laws, no more limitations. Death has been my enemy for far too long. I am the master of death now. It bends to me. I will be eternal.” He let the last bits of dust fall from his grasp into the cauldron. 

He began to mutter under his breath, something lyrical and rhythmic, a language she hadn’t heard before. She watched for only a moment as the spaces between the tendons on his face and body, the places where the skin was stretched so thin it was nearly transparent, began to glow. Not the golden, healing glow of her magic before, but something ghoulish, ominous like a fog drifting in on a dark road. 

Emma’s hands were burning, as was her heart - rage and fury and hatred and grief rushing through her so quickly she could barely tell one from the other, all of them mixing into one cruel, agonizing blur. She wanted revenge. She wanted to kill. She wanted to watch him suffer and die. 

She could already feel the dark magic inside of her, the whispers in her ear that had never really left, egging her on, encouraging her. He’d killed him. He killed Killian. He took away everyone. He needs to pay. 

“Emma,” she heard, the sound of her name breaking through the vicious thoughts swirling around in her head. It was Belle. “Don’t give in to it,” she said. “Darkness won’t defeat darkness.” She didn’t care. She was done trying to save everyone. She had only one goal now - since Killian’s heart had stopped beating. 

The King continued his incantation, unbothered by what was going on around him. The arrogance, she thought, adding fuel to the fire as she raised her hands. She froze when Belle spoke again. “Think of Henry, Emma! Think of Killian. They wouldn’t want you to do this. They wouldn’t want you to give in.” 

But it was too late. Too late to save either of them. Killian was dead and Henry was lost to her forever now. She didn’t expect to survive this battle, regardless of what she did, of what happened, so that little hope that she’d only just discovered, the possibility of the new life she and Killian had made - it would be gone too. She was tired of the light. The light had brought her nothing. 

The magic poured out of her, burning through her body, feeding on the pain and the anger. The King went sailing across the room, blasted back by the onslaught of dark magic that had escaped her. He at least had the decency to look shocked as he hit the wall behind him, collapsing. But then his shock turned into a grin as he rose to his feet, prepared for a fight. 

Emma didn’t give him the time, a roar bursting from her as she blasted him again. He was ready this time, his own magic meeting hers, both of them at a standstill, their power mingling and burning between them. 

“I underestimated you, Savior,” he taunted. His own magic pushed hers back just a fraction, and Emma growled again, sweat beading on her forehead with the effort to hold him back. She pushed, raged, fought with everything she had, drew all of her strength, and still he overpowered her. He was stronger. His hate and his darkness greater than hers. She couldn’t win. This was it. She’d follow Killian, and then Belle and Tink would be left to fend for themselves. 

She felt her magic weaken as the fight started to fade out of her, as her rage was replaced with hopelessness. She looked at Killian over her shoulder, looked at Belle and Tink who were watching her with frightened, helpless expressions. She’d failed them. She was going to die, they were all going to die, and it was because she’d failed them in this moment. She could feel the King's magic now, so close, overwhelming her own, inches from her face. She nearly collapsed under the weight of it.

She met Tink’s eye. She could tell that she had accepted her fate as well, but she was going to fight longer. The fairy looked at her imploringly and put her hand on Killian’s shoulder. “Love and revenge,” she said. Emma remembered then, the words Killian had told her once, long after they’d found their way to each other, a night when he shared with her some of the darker times from his past. He’d had a code, been single-minded. I’d risk my life for two things - love and revenge. 

"Choose love," Tink said. She followed Tink’s hand with her eyes, looked at the man she was holding on to. The King’s magic had nearly engulfed her own now, the power overwhelming, strong and terrifying. Tink was right, Killian was right. If she was going to die, if she was going to go down, then she had to go down fighting. And she’d rather die fighting for love than for revenge. 

She shut her eyes, looking at him would bring back the pain, the anger, the vengeance. She thought of Killian, of the time they'd had together. It had been too short, cruelly, unfairly so, but it had been full of more love than most could dream of knowing in a lifetime. She knew that no matter what happened, that love, unwavering and constant, would be with her forever. She thought of Henry, of her parents, she’d only had them for a short time as well, but they’d changed her life, saved it, made it better. 

She had been alone for decades, but in the years since she’d found them, all of them, even the people of Storybrooke who drove her insane half the time, her friends, she’d been more loved than anyone had a right to be. She’d had a family, she’d had a home, she’d had true love - how many people got to have all that? She’d been lucky, to be loved enough for a lifetime and to love back just as strongly. 

She’d had to learn how to love like that, be taught how, taught that it was alright to open herself up to others, to hope, believe and to love. Yes, love hurt, love had the power to destroy you, but as she thought of the way Killian had fought his way into her heart, had taught her to see herself differently through his love, to love herself, and to love him… Love was strength. And she would fight for it until her last breath. 

Emma felt when her magic changed, felt the light wash through her, clear away the darkness, cleanse it from her bones. It lifted her, took the weakness of her muscles and renewed them, swelled in her heart and her body like a physical embodiment of the strength she’d found in her love for Killian and her family. She stood taller, watched as the King’s grin wavered as her magic changed, as it pushed back, slowly swallowing the darkness. She nearly smiled as his face turned worried, anxiety clear as she stepped forward and he stumbled for a moment, nearly knocked back in the effort to hold her off. 

“You’ve taken everyone from me,” she told him, feeling the anger flicker for a moment, but the light was too strong, love more powerful, prevailing despite it. “But you won’t win. Darkness is empty, I know, I’ve felt it.” She pushed again and he stumbled back a step. “It’s weak. You’re alone. We’re not.” Belle and Tink were at her side now. They put their hands on her shoulders and she felt their support, felt it fuel her. 

The King grinned again but it was weakened by the effort on his face as he struggled to hold her off, the upticked corner of his pale, thin lips wobbling under the strain. “Ah, but you see,” he said, his voice shaking slightly as he panted. “I’m not alone.” 

Emma barely had time to look over, barely had time to hear the malicious, gleeful giggle before another beam of dark magic was shot at her. She’d have taken the blow, would have been knocked down, killed probably, but Tink stepped in front of her. The fairy released a force of green light, a shield, and Gold’s magic was refracted, bouncing off of it and into a corner of the tunnel. 

Tink collapsed, panting on hands and knees. The bit of magic she’d had, the bit she’d sacrificed, had drained her. She knew Tink only had small amounts of power now, had only just started to get it back. She’d risked her life - but it had been enough. Emma swung one of her hands over to where Gold stood, attempting to blast him back but he was too quick, meeting her magic with his own. 

She was fighting two wars now. One with the King and one with the Dark One. Her magic held strong for now, but she could feel the strain that holding them both off was putting on her - the toll it was taking. She didn’t know how much longer she’d be able to hold them both off. She had to get the others to safety. She hoped that Gold still had enough humanity in him that he wouldn’t hurt Belle, even in trying to thwart her escape. 

“Belle,” she shouted and she could hear the way her voice wavered. “Get Tink out of here. Get somewhere safe.” They ignored her. Belle grabbed Tink but rather than leave, they made their way to one of the stock piles, searching. 

Gold’s attention was turned, only for a moment as he followed Belle’s movement, but it was just long enough for Emma to gain the upper hand, to throw her arm forward and overtake his magic for a moment. He hit the wall behind him with a sickening sound. He wasn’t down for long though. 

Emma barely had time to focus her magic back on the King, to double down before Gold was standing, anger and something vicious in his eyes. She watched as his fingers moved intricately, conjuring something that she was sure she’d be no match for - light magic or not. He was only just preparing his attack when Belle threw herself between them - the third person today to risk their safety - their lives - for her. She was loved. 

Gold hesitated, anger and doubt flickering back and forth in his expression, fighting one another. She saw his brow pull up as Belle stepped forward, held her hands out and spoke his name softly. 

“Rumple,” she said. “You don’t have to do this. I’ll - I’ll come back. We both will. Me and the baby. We’ll find our way back to loving each other again. But not if you do this. If you do this, you’ll lose me forever. No spell will change that.” She was only a few feet away from him now and he was watching her with trepidation - like he really wanted to believe what she said. 

Emma focused all her efforts on the King. With only him to worry about she began to win again, enjoyed the nervous look on his face as he took another step back. She’d only gained a few inches, but it was something. 

“Rumple, don’t do this. Choose us,” she heard Belle say. She could see her out of the corner of her eye, saw her reach Gold and put her hands on his shoulders. She saw Gold hesitate again, watching Belle, unsure but clearly wanting to hope as Belle wrapped her arms around his neck. 

She barely heard Belle’s whispered ‘I’m sorry’ before she opened her hand and emptied a vial over him. Gold’s face flickered with surprise, with confusion, and then with betrayal - but only for a second before his entire body froze. Squid ink. Belle was a fucking genius. 

“Tink, now!” the woman shouted and Tink stood before Rumple, shaky but determined. She held Pandora’s box out in front of her. They'd planned for this. Tink waved her hand, her brow pulling in pain as she pushed herself just a little too far. The box opened and Belle stepped back. Gold gave her one last look, something dark in his expression, before he was pulled into the box. It locked. Tink collapsed at Belle’s feet, her eyes closed, unmoving. 

Belle knelt beside her, and Emma hoped she found a pulse, hoped that Tink would be alright. Belle looked at her then and the lack of anguish on her face gave Emma hope. She watched Emma and the King for a moment, looked at both of them, and then between them. Emma could barely focus on her, using every bit of her concentration to hold off the King’s magic.

“Emma!” Belle shouted. “Emma, it’s the cauldron!” The King snarled, turned a hand to attack Belle, to silence her, but she managed to duck out of the way, his own focus too divided to aim true. “He’s drawing his power from it!” Belle shouted. 

Emma glanced at her, then at the cauldron. It was faint, but after a moment she saw it, saw what Belle must have seen. There was a pale ribbon of magic connecting the King and the vessel - a teather, some sort of magical umbilical cord, linking them. The way the King had reacted to Belle’s warning only confirmed their suspicions. She had to get the cauldron, had to destroy it. But how? How could she destroy it without giving up her current fight with him, without letting him win, without putting Belle and Tink in danger?

The gleam of metal caught her eye and she looked to the left of the King, just beyond where her friends were. Belle followed her gaze, saw it too. The sword. Killian’s sword. Belle dashed for it, grabbing hold of the hilt and sliding it across the stone floor where it stopped by Emma’s feet, by Killian’s body. 

With all of her might, Emma leaned into her magic, angled it, moved his, and both beams shot down the empty passage. The King paused in shock at his magic being ripped away from him. Emma had to be quick. Before he had time to shake himself out of it, to attack again, Emma dove for the sword, rolling to face him. She threw it with all of her strength. The way she had learned, the way her father had before her. 

A sickening sound echoed as the sword pierced through the King, pinning him to the stone behind him. It wasn’t the sound of flesh being sliced, it was wrong, hollow, inhuman. Emma wondered how close to death he was already, how much borrowed time he was living on, what he’d done to his body, to his soul to achieve this half-life, the mummified skin, the horns, the hollow eyes. He’d strayed too far from whoever - whatever he’d been once. 

Emma turned her magic on the cauldron as the King sputtered for a second, but there was more annoyance on his face that fear, than pain. The cauldron stood strong. She hit it again and again, but nothing happened.

“You stupid girl!” The King cursed, angry now. “You think you can stop me? Kill me? You are nothing, a child. I am timeless and you will bow to me as all others did before you!” He reached for the sword in his chest, pulled, and it made a sickening sound, stone and metal mixed with bone and skin. “Try all you will,” he taunted. “You will never destroy it.”

“An enchanted object,” Belle muttered before repeating it, shouting it. “Emma! An enchanted object can only be destroyed by another.” She looked beside Emma. “Killian!” 

His hook. Hades had enchanted Killian’s hook in the Underworld. It had been meant as a way to trap him. Perhaps now it could set them all free. She hoped there was still enough, that somehow the enchantment held, that even the barest amount would still cling to it. Magic didn’t die easily. 

She knelt beside him. She didn’t have the time, she could hear that the King had almost freed himself, could hear Belle’s warning call, but she needed it. She brushed the hair from his forehead, took in his features again, fought the tears that swelled in her eyes. Even amists the battle, even when her life was at risk, she loved him and that feeling wouldn’t be ignored. 

“Looks like you’re gonna save me one more time,” she said before twisting the hook from his brace. In some strange way, she felt they were doing this together and it brought her a sense of peace, of rightness. 

The King pulled the sword from his chest and it clattered to the ground beside him. He raised a hand to strike but Emma was faster, throwing one, concentrated bolt of magic at him, enough to wind him, to slow him. In three, quick strides she dashed across the room to the cauldron. She heard his screamed ‘No!’ as she raised the hook and smashed the point into the side of the bowl with as much force as she could muster.

It shattered, breaking into pieces as the contents spilled out onto the ground, ran across the floor like a river splashing at her feet. The King screamed again, a visceral, inhuman sound as the smoglike glow began to emanate from him again. But this time it was different, it consumed him, burning him from the inside out. 

She felt as though everything was happening in slow motion, his scream echoing against the walls of the tunnel as the morbid scene played out in front of her. She watched as the paperlike flesh of his skin fell away leaving behind only bone, before that too, turned to dust. The last thing to fall were his horns, clattering to the ground, holding on a moment longer as though they’d not truly been a part of him, before turning to ash. 

It was over. They’d won. Just like that. The King was defeated, Gold trapped. Silence hung heavy in the room as she and Belle sat motionless, having trouble believing it was real. Tink still lay silent beside them, as did Killian. The only difference was that Tink would wake again. Killian wouldn't. 

She went over to him, crumbled to the ground next to him, exhausted, drained, heartbroken. She couldn’t hold it in anymore, the tears fell freely from her eyes, the pain and the grief wracked her body as she knelt next to the man she loved. 

“I’m so sorry,” she said through her heavy sobs. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry I brought you back for this, put you in danger. I’m so sorry. If I had figured it out…” she couldn’t speak anymore, her pain overwhelming her. She tried to steady it with a deep breath but it shook as she inhaled. But she needed to speak, needed to plead with him. “Please come back to me, Killian,” she begged. “I’ll do anything. Please. Just… fight this. Come back to me.” 

But it was useless. She was asking him to fight death. She didn’t think a man could do that more than once in his life. And this time there were no dark curses, no gods to send him back where he belonged. There was only them, there was only this. 

She felt Belle’s hand on her back, felt her wrap her arms around her shoulders and Emma fell into it, let herself be held, let herself be comforted. But she would find no comfort. Nothing would make this better. The only thing that would make her feel whole again was Killian. And she couldn’t have him.

“I’m so sorry, Emma,” Belle said and she could hear the tears in her friend’s voice as well. 

“There has to be something we can do,” Emma insisted, but it came out weak, flat and defeated. “Belle, please. In all of your books, all of Gold’s spells. Was there anything at all?” 

Belle shook her head, looking heartbroken. “Not for this.” 

“Take mine,” she said, desperate. “Take mine and give it to him. Use the hook, use anything.”

“You’ll die, Emma.” So what. She didn’t care. Not if he would live. Her disregard must have shown on her face because Belle frowned at her. “Would you really do that to Henry?” she asked sternly, trying to force her back into reality. “To your parents? What about Killian’s baby - your baby?”

“We don’t even know if -”

“What if you are? Would you do that to him? To it? To any of them?” 

Emma’s shoulders fell. “No.” She still needed something. She didn’t care if this was the goddamn first stage of grief, she wasn’t ready. Not with all the magic that existed, with all the power that she had, that the world had - there had to be a way to save him. He’d fought so hard to come back to her, had defied all the odds. He deserved better than this. She needed better than this. 

“Half of it then,” she said, hope building again. It hadn't worked in the Underworld but that was because he’d been dead too long. Maybe if they were quick -

“You’re heart’s still protected, Emma,” Belle said sadly. Emma knew she wanted there to be a way nearly as much as she did. But Belle was a realist in this moment where Emma couldn’t be. Her grief - her love - wouldn’t let her.

But she had removed it once. In the Underworld before the failed heart split. She’d asked Regina about that too, about why she’d been able to remove her heart then. She hadn’t known. She’d been pretty sure that it had something to do with the way magic worked in the Underworld. Perhaps since she wasn’t in the land of the living the magic that protected her life hadn’t worked. 

They’d tried since, to test the spell, to see if it was a risk she or Henry would have to face. Regina had been extremely annoyed when the protection spell had blasted her back almost ten feet. What she wouldn’t give for a little Underworld magic right now. But if it had been possible once it had to be possible now. There had to be a way. 

She tried to think, through the fog of emotion, tried to use logic and reason. To understand magic? a snide voice in her head commented. But she had to. She had to… she had to think like Killian. Killian who understood magic, who believed in hers, who would find a way to fix this, would believe in their love enough to find a way. 

Something irked at the back of her mind, something he’d said once. She could see it so clearly. He was sitting on the couch, a ring held between his fingers as he scratched behind his ear. He’d been embarrassed, he’d been talking to her father - about her. He’d been embarrassed because David had been proud of him for becoming someone willing to give his heart to her. What had he said? His exact words they - it dawned on her then. 

Anyone can give their heart away if they truly wish to.

That was it. It hadn't been any Underworld magic, nothing about her body or her power not being able to protect her. It had been this - it had been love. Nobody had been trying to steal her heart then. She’d been trying to give it away, trying to save him, save the man she loved. That was the difference. The spell prevented anyone from taking her heart - even she couldn’t take it if she was being forced or under duress or unwilling. But to give it away - to give it to someone she loved… that wasn’t something she needed protecting from. 

She looked at him, a small, hopeful smile breaking out on her wet lips and cheeks. She touched his face again, put her hand over his chest. He’d already held her heart for a long time. The King had said that Killian’s heart belonged to her and he’d been right. But her heart wasn’t just hers either - it belonged to Killian too - it was just time to make that a little more literal. 

Emma put her hands to her chest, took a deep breath as she felt only a second’s resistance, her body’s immediate reaction to a possible threat, protecting itself like it was supposed to. But she let herself relax. This wasn’t a threat. This was love. 

“Emma, what-” Belle started but she grew silent as a soft white light shone from Emma’s chest. She could feel the spell opening up, letting her in, like her magic understood what she was doing - why she was doing it. Her magic was fueled by love, her heart protected by love, and so it recognized it too. 

There was no pain, no harsh jolt like when Regina had taken her heart. Her hands sunk in and found it, warm and beating and glowing red as she held it out in front of her. 

“How?” Belle asked in amazement. 

Emma smiled. “Like you said. True love really is the most powerful magic in the world.” 

As carefully as she could, she took hold of either side of the heart, turned it, keeping her intent in mind, remembering why she was splitting it. It came apart easily, two halves of a whole. She placed one half on his chest, asked him quietly just once more to come back to her, before she pushed it in. A small tear or relief rolled down her cheek when he accepted it easily.

It felt strange, but only because it didn’t feel strange. She thought that she’d feel a part of her heart leave her, that she’d feel something missing. But there was none of that. Even as she replaced the other half in her own chest, she thought it might feel incomplete. But she should have known better. The other half was right where it belonged, where it had always been meant to be. 

There was a long, heavy pause as she waited, as Killian remained still, silent, pale. But she forced herself to hold on to hope, to believe in him, to believe in them, trust their love and know that it would find its way. After a moment, she saw the colour come back to his face, the rosy flush that she loved so much returning to his cheeks. She could feel his warmth under her palm where it lay on his bare chest. 

He gasped, a loud, heavy, coughing wheeze. It was the best sound Emma had ever heard. He bowed forward, his shoulders lifting from the ground as he clutched at his chest, a moment of panic in his eyes before they darted around and settled on her. He relaxed. 

“Swan?” he asked for the second time that day and Emma laughed because it was all she could do not to cry. She cried anyway. She nodded, throwing herself into his arms, holding him tight, her fingers finding their way into his hair as she buried her face in his neck. He sat up, wrapping her tightly in his grasp, his hands rubbing soothingly over her back - as though she were the one that should be comforted. 

“Swan,” he started again, and she pulled back to look at him. He was frowning, a little confused and unsure - he looked a little like Hook, she realised and her heart fluttered. He really was all the versions of himself. And she loved every single one. “Did I die again?” he asked. 

She laughed, a full-bellied, joy-filled sound. She took his face between her hands, kissed him to his surprise but not to his displeasure as he kissed her back eagerly. “Just for a little while,” she assured him when they broke apart. He smiled, still looking a little confused. She would explain it later. Right now she just wanted to enjoy this moment, be with him, appreciate the fact that she was holding him in her arms again, that he was breathing, smiling, alive and him. 

“The King?” he asked hesitantly, eyes looking around the room for any threat. “Gold?”

She shook her head. “We defeated them,” she told him. “With this,” she held up his hook and his eyes widened in surprise and maybe a little disbelief. Emma took his brace in her hand, clicked the hook back into place, back where it belonged. His eyes widened again. “And Belle, and Tink… Ariel?” He looked unsure about the last name.

“They’re okay,” she assured him. Pointing at where Belle had returned to the fairy’s side - the fairy who was slowly starting to stir. “Tink’s a little worse for wear, but she’ll be okay. I’m pretty sure Ariel never even came to Storybrooke. She’s probably safe and sound on Hangman’s Island, completely unaware.” 

He nodded again but then his eyes widened, panic and worry clear in them. “Henry?” He demanded. She knew his heart was racing - she could almost feel it in her own. It made her chest swell, as it always did, to know how much he cared for her son. He started stammering. “I - I remember he got out of the hospital… but then -”

“He’s safe,” she said, cutting him off, wanting to ease his fears. “Ruby took him over the town line.” 

Only then did he finally, truly relax, his shoulders releasing the tension that she felt had been there for months. He looked at her then, really looked at her, and Emma nearly cried at the emotion that was so clear behind his eyes. He was back, he was really back and he was her Killian and he was real. His hand came to her cheek, thumb caressing her face before he kissed her. His lips moved over hers slowly, carefully, with a longing that screamed of lost time, of reunion - but most of all, of love. 

He paused, not moving away from her but hesitating against her. His hand left her cheek, pressed to his chest and Emma pulled back, saw the confusion and the awe on his face. He looked at her in question, hand over the compass that lay over his heart - her heart - their heart. She gave him a little shrug. What else did he expect her to do? Just accept a world without him?

“I knew you’d do it, Emma,” he said softly. “All of it.” She smiled a little, cried a bit more, too emotional to have normal reactions to the things he said. She let her forehead fall against his. “I never doubted you for a second.”

Emma laughed. “You died,” she reminded him. 

He smirked a little and looked at her with a raised brow. “Death cannot stop true love,” he quoted and she rolled her eyes. But he was waiting, proud of himself and insistent. 

“All it can do is delay it for a while,” she finished begrudgingly, silently cursing Henry for ever showing him that movie, for telling him it was her favorite. 

“That’s right,” he said before kissing her once again. 

They stood, making their way over to Belle and Tink who were thrilled beyond belief that he’d survived. Tink cried but she blamed it on her exhausted state. Killian smirked but he let her have it. 

Emma couldn’t stop touching him. She’d helped him up despite his insistence that he was fine, she’d held his hand as they walked over to their friends, curled herself against his side as they sat together now on the hard ground. She couldn’t. Now that she had him back she was never letting him go. She knew she would have to eventually, but it would be a long damn while and a lot of protests before she did. 

The strangest thing happened then. Her phone rang. Perhaps that wasn’t strange given all that had happened to them these past few months. In any other life it would have been normal. But nobody had called her since the King attacked. Nobody had been left to call. 

With disbelief and shaky hands Emma pulled her phone from her jacket pocket. It was wet, glitching but somehow it had survived their plunge into the ocean. She had ten missed calls, all from an unknown number that was calling her again. As though in a daze, she answered. 

“Emma?” the voice on the other line cried desperately. She couldn’t believe it. 

“Mom?” she asked, her voice breaking, a sob leaving her. 

“Oh Emma!” Snow sighed. “David she’s here, I have her,” she heard her say. “Where are you?” she demanded. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” she insisted through a watery laugh.

“What about Henry? And Hook? And Ruby?”

“They’re safe. They’re all safe,” she assured her. “Mom are you… is the curse broken?” her voice broke. “Are you... you again?” 

“Yes, sweetheart, I’m me. So is your father. Everyone is back.” Emma sobbed. They’d done it. Whether it was the kiss or destroying the cauldron, they’d broken the curse. Storybrooke was safe. The people she loved were safe. She had her family back. She heard a shuffling and suddenly David was on the line.

“Emma? Are you okay? Are you safe? Where are you? Where are Henry and Ruby? Is Hook with you? Is he alright?” Emma laughed as her Father asked her the exact same questions she’d just answered for her mother.

“Everything’s okay, Dad. I'll explain it all when we're together." Her heart lurched. They would be together. There was no doubt anymore. "Where should we meet you?” Arrangements were made and then Snow was back on the phone. 

“Emma I’m so sorry,” she said and Emma didn’t understand. “The things I did. I -”

“Mom, no,” she stopped her. “You were cursed. It wasn’t you,” she sighed then, feeling terrible. “I’m sorry,” she sniffled. “The things I did to you. I should have believed in you, I -”

“Emma, you were protecting yourself and your son. I’d have done the same thing.” 

She sniffled again. Emma knew that they would have more to talk about, that they would have to work through what had happened - that everyone in town would. A curse like this wasn’t something people got over easily. There would be memories and guilt and resentment… 

None of that mattered now. Now, she had Killian by her side, and her parents voices in her ear. She would find Henry, find a way to make him forgive her and then she would have everything she needed - everything that mattered. And maybe, she thought, her hand drifting to her stomach, the possibility of something new that mattered. She saw Killian’s eyes cast sideways at her movement, saw the smile that pulled at the corner of his lips. He knew. He always knew. 

Her life had been nothing but darkness and pain for too long. She’d been beat down and broken - hopeless and lost. But they’d won. She and Killian had won. They’d won by believing in each other, by trusting each other, regardless of time or place or curses. They’d won by never giving up on each other. No matter how close she’d come, he hadn’t let her. Love had won. 

Killian raised her hand to his lips, placed a kiss on her knuckles and smiled knowingly. They’d found each other. True love had conquered even the cruelest of monsters and they’d found their way back to one another. 

For the first time in a long time, Emma felt hope - hope without doubt and without fear. Regardless of what came next, she knew that they would finally have the happy ending they’d always wanted. This was only the beginning.