#he fell to his knees in agony laughing and sobbing and i was keeled over laughing so fuckin hard

[worldssilliestserpent]

"Watch me leave a note for the housekeeper saying "I pee pee'd the bed"."

-my friend

[cialbi]

What You Didn’t See

Summary: he only showed you what he wanted you to see. It’s what you didn’t see that truly mattered.

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Angst

Warnings: character death, mentions of illness

A/N: my first BTS fic! I’m so sorry.

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“Let’s break up.”

You saw the lucid look in his eyes as you searched them, desperate for any sign that this was a tasteless, joke. You waited for his bright shit eating smile to appear and he’d poke your tummy for being so gullible as to fall for something so obviously untrue. Then you’d smack his arms playfully in revenge and the two of you would tickle fight it out, rolling around on the bed like lovesick teenagers.

The very bed you were sitting up in, blanket draped over your bottom half like a white silken waterfall. The very bed he was sitting on above it’s tapestries, hands folded on his knee.

“I don’t understand,” you almost whispered. The air around you felt so fragile that you feared the mere sound of your voice would cause everything around you to shatter like glass.

“There’s not much to understand y/n.” He replied coldly his lips pressed together into a fine line as he repeated “I don’t love you anymore. Let’s break up.”

You swallowed thickly. So you had heard him correctly.

This wasn’t some sick joke he decided to wake you up for at 5:30 in the fucking morning before the sun had even come up. He had given no leading conversation prior to this confession of un-love, which had left you momentarily dumbfounded, the words taking a minute to sink in. You had laughed it away, sleepiness slowly evaporating as you realized he wasn’t laughing with you.

“Why?”

Hoseok sighed. “I just told you,” his eyes bore straight into yours, a shiver ran down your spine they were so cold, “I don’t love you anymore.”

You shook your head in disbelief.

This was the man that just the other day brought you a bouquet of flowers just because he felt like it. The man who splurged on a box of Godiva chocolate (the expensive kind) just so the two of you could eat the entire box together and watch reruns of Friends. This was the man who cried during Friday the Thirteenth because Jason Vourhees life had been so unfair. The man who would look at you with all the love in the world as you emerged from a shower without a hint of makeup and hairy legs cause you just didn’t feel like shaving that day.

The man you saw before you was a man you didn’t recognize. Devoid of emotion, lips paper thin as if suppressing the world's ultimate secret. You couldn’t believe this was the same man you loved with all your heart, the man you loved so much it hurt. The man you thought felt the same way.

“I don’t believe you.” You whimpered, the tears starting to fall as the weight of his words began to settle.

You cupped his cheek softly causing Hoseok to breath in, eyes breaking contact from yours as he spoke. “Please don’t make this harder than it has to be y/n.”

It felt more like he was stabbing you in the chest with an icicle than breaking up with you. Suddenly there was a wall between you two that had never been there before and as hard as you tried, you were failing to break it down.

More tears fell as your breathing quickened. Hoseok went to remove your hand from his face, and in desperate retaliation your grip tightened. Your free hand joined in as you smashed your lips onto his. His breath hitched slightly in surprise but other than that he remained motionless as you moved your lips against his. Your eyes remained open, searching, for a lick of desire, want, love, anything that proved he was lying. You just couldn’t believe your boyfriend, your Hoseok suddenly fell out of love with you within a day. There had to be some explanation, some sign that there was a deeper meaning to his actions. But whatever front Hoseok was putting up, he wasn’t breaking.

After a minute of nothing, you pulled away tasting salt on your lips as you licked them. Your stifled sniffles turned into full on sobbing as you pressed your forehead to his, as if by doing so you could read his thoughts. He was so distant you couldn’t stand it. This wasn’t the man you knew.

You tried kissing him again, a few quick pecks between sniffs and sobs, trying to elicit any form of emotion, any answers from him that he hadn’t given you already.

Hoseok sighed again, turning his head away as you went in for another kiss. “Stop it y/n.” He said plainly, “We’re done here.”

His face was bored. Like this was a game he was tired of playing. And that broke you even more. Your choked cries made you feel pathetic but you couldn’t stop them from echoing throughout your small apartment bedroom. Everything ached so badly and you just wanted—just needed it to stop.

“Hoseok—Hobi” he flinched slightly at the nickname “please, I—”

“Enough.” Interrupting your plea, he brushed his hands against yours still holding his face, his touch lingering a few seconds before he promptly removed them and let them fall to your side.

You watched helplessly, your sobs filling the room as he got up from the bed you two shared countlessly. The bed full of happy memories, sad memories, memories filled to the brim with your love for each other. He turned his back to you, to them, and made his way to the door of your bedroom then stopped. His head turned slightly as if he had an afterthought, and for a split second you felt hope that he had changed his mind, that this really was a cruel joke. He would turn around with his goofy smile, tongue sticking out and two thumbs up as he yelled “gotcha baby!”

That hope was immediately crushed as two words left his lips. “Forget me.” He paused. “I’m sorry.”

That was the last time you would ever see Jung Hoseok. Stiff shoulders and messy brown hair disappearing behind a closing door.

What you didn’t see was the pained expression he made as he turned away from you. The sheer unadulterated despair breaking across his face once you were out of his line of sight. You didn’t see his beautiful features contort in unmistakable agony as the facade he held up so well began to crumble. You didn’t see the tears he so expertly contained as you broke down in front of him, finally streaming down his face as the door clicked shut behind him.

You didn’t hear him scream bloody murder as he reached his car, no longer able to stand it anymore. His whole body shaking in release of pent up emotions as he keeled over the hood of his mustang. You didn’t see him punch a dent into its side, blood caking around his knuckles as he drove off.

You didn’t see him barrel into the dorm of Big Hit Entertainment, kicking his shoes off before falling to the floor and releasing another strangled cry. Throwing his bag to the ground in a fit of rage, sob after sob ripping through his chest. You didn’t see him ransack the kitchen throwing dishes at the wall and breaking anything within his reach. You didn’t see him crumple into a messy ball of snot and tears in the middle of the room, throwing all cares to the wind, because fuck it.

What you didn’t see was Kim Namjoon, face sleepy and confused as he entered the room, just barely missing the broken shards of ceramic and glass at his vulnerable feet.

“Woah.” You didn’t hear the rapper say when he took in the current situation. “Dude, what’s going on?”

You didn’t hear the silence that momentarily fell amongst the two men.

You didn’t see Min Yoongi followed by Kim Seokjin shuffle half asleep into the kitchen a few minutes later, the oldest yelping them both completely awake as he stepped on a piece of broken glass. You didn’t hear the murmurs of concerned words and questions as they took in the destroyed living space before them. You didn’t hear Kim Taehyung shout from his room for everyone to shut the fuck up, it’s 6:30 in the morning!

You didn’t see Yoongi get punched in the face as he attempted to console the quivering, angry, man laying on the floor like a child throwing a temper tantrum.

“Hoseok, what the fuck?” You didn’t hear Jeong Jungkook exclaim as he dove to help his fellow band mate.

“What’s wrong with you man?” Yoongi hissed wiping blood from his swelling lip.

“Fuck off! You don’t know…., you don’t get it— just fuck off” he had screamed at them, but you didn’t hear that either.

You didn’t see Park Jimin enter the premises clutching a hospital receipt addressed to Jung Hoseok which he handed tentatively to their leader. A look of realization crossed Namjoon’s face as his eyes scanned the document. While Hoseok continued heaving on the floor, the members exchanged the paper at the same time exchanging worried and sympathetic looks.

“Hey Hobi—“ Jimin began, reaching out his hand only to have it smacked away.

“Don’t call me that.” He shrieked. Because you called him that. You called him that very nickname as he ruthlessly broke you down until you were nothing but a sniveling bundle of nerves. You called him that as you reached out for him and all he did was rip you apart.

Because goddamn him if he pulled you into this with him.

Goddamn him if he made you watch him fall apart, drag you through the agony and darkness that was steadily approaching him. His boys were one thing, but you? You, he needed to save. You, he needed to see happy even if it meant hurting you in the process. He’d rather you grow to hate him for decimating your heart in hopes that you’d find someone else to pick up the pieces. Someone who could hold your hand forever because that man was no longer him.

You didn’t see the days to come. The chemo, the needles, the crying coming from everyone around him. You didn’t see him at 2:00 in the morning down in the studio, falling over himself as he tried to dance the new choreography. You didn’t see as Jimin had to carry him back to their room after he had fainted from over exertion. You didn’t watch him break down in tears at the realization that he could never dance again.

You didn’t see the sunshine that was once Hoseok lose his hair along with the life from his once life-filled eyes.

You didn’t see him, skin ivory white and cheeks sunken in as cancer consumed his body and soul. The struggle everyday to wake up, to use basic bodily functions; the endless pain it was to watch someone you love fade away at a painfully slow rate. You didn’t see him slowly die.

You didn’t see it, because he didn’t want you to.

[the-danmei-multiverse-and-angst]

Dusk To Dawn: MDZS Fanfic/ WangXian P2.

While waiting, he hunched over suddenly, gasping and pale white, falling to his knees. He keeled over as agony tore through his body. 

     He rested against the wall beside Jiang Chengs door as he tried to gather himself and wait for the agonizing pain radiating throughout his whole body to fade. 

    He knew his body was futilely fighting the unknown illness, but he also knew it was too late and his body was too weak but he was trying to hold on, he needed more time with people he cared for, with his husband. He probably wouldn't last much longer, a month, maybe two? 

  

   He really hoped so. In his former life, he had been ready, wishing for it to all be over but now in this second life, he wanted to be greedy, to be selfish. He wanted to live longer, to live out the rest of his days and now that chance was slipping fleeting through his grasp. 

   

Please. 

He wanted to beg someone. Anyone.

please please please 

I need more time

Not yet

Not yet 

Please! 

  Trapped in his spiraling thoughts, he was hyperventilating and he couldn't breathe. It felt as though his throat had closed up, clogged. He wheezed for breath.

  

  He heard Jiang Cheng door finally opened and wanted to laugh. Great, now he would be seen like this.

   "Holy fuck! Calm down! Shit! You idiot!" Jiang Cheng snapped while kneeling in front of him, Wei Wuxian glared.

You think I wanted this?! 

   Jiang Cheng cursed before sighing. Wei Wuxian slowly pulled himself together finally, slowly trying to breathe, taking deep breaths and letting out shaky ones before his heart finally slowed to a normal beat. 

   The two had stared at each other, snickering before bursting into loud, shaky and quivering laughter that subsided into heart giggles. They knew they had both sounded as though they had lost their minds but didn't care. 

   They each stood on shaky legs, Wei Wuxian got a glimpse of Jiang Chengs office and whistled, shaking his head.

   "Jiang Cheng," he tutted in mock disappointment, "you and that temper yours have never changed." 

    Jiang Cheng arched a brow and smacked him in the back of the head. 

"Shut up." He grumbled, walking away. Wei Wuxian smirked and followed behind as the walked back to where Jin Ling was.

Wei Wuxian stayed there with them for a few days, eating and chatting animated with the two; enjoying himself. On the fourth day when he had planned to leave because he had been away from his husband who was worried and missing him no doubt, long enough. 

    However, the night before, in the room he had stayed, his old room, he woke up sick, coughing and puking blood. Once it was over, he rushed to clean up the room and change his clothes, burning the other ones immediately. It was as if nothing ever happened. 

    Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling knew nothing. Wei Wuxian had laughed and smiled brightly at them while on his way to leave. 

  So when they both saw Wei Wuxian stumble to a halt a moment later after he had said goodbye, they heard him cough and watched him throw up blood in front of them, before collapsing on the ground, limp and unconscious. 

   "Wei Wuxian!" Jiang Cheng shouted. Hurrying to kneel at his side, heart stopping at what he saw. Jin Ling on the other side, eyes wide with fear, tears streaming down his face. 

 

  Blood covered the front of Wei Wuxians dark robes, blending in. The most frightening thing however, wasn't that.

   "Wei Wuxian!" Jiang Cheng shouted, ice in his veins. He adoptive brother was pale, too pale and unmoving, his eyes wide open and blank. 

  Staring at nothing. 

"Wei Wuxian! Jin Ling, get a healer! Hurry!" He shoved Jin Ling away. He turned back to Wei Wuxian, laying an ear above his heart. The ice in his veins solidified. 

     He felt for a breath, Jiang Chengs hand trembling above his brothers lips. 

He wasn't breathing 

His heart had stopped and no longer beat. 

No. This..no. no..

Jiang Cheng screamed at his brothers unmoving form, shaking him violently, calling his name over and over. Over and over, again and again, voice growing hoarse. 

Jiang Chengs body shook and trembled.

His brothers open, blank eyes never moved, never blinked, staying vacant. 

   Jin Ling had rushed back with a healer, but the healer stayed back, head bowed, knowing it was too late and nothing could be done. Jin Ling stood frozen, sobbing on his feet, curled in on himself, his arms holding his waist as if he could trap and hold the pain leaking out, and keep it inside, so he didn't fall apart. 

   

   "Wei Ying!!" 

Jiang Chengs head snapped up at the other voice, Lan Wangji's.

He turned back to his brothers unresponsive body and stared.

 He heard Lan Wangji land and running footsteps.

"Wei Ying!" His scream was raw and unrestrained. Broken.

Jiang Cheng swallowed the thick lump in his throat forcefully, looking away as tears stung his eyes, gritting his teeth as he saw from his peripheral vision how Lan Wangji collapsed to his knees heavily.

   Lan Wangji stared in horror and shock, his heart frozen inside his chest.

  Back at Cloud Recesses, Lan Wangji had been worried and had a feeling something was wrong. 

   Wei Ying had made a charm imbued with some of the spiritual essence he possessed, it would alarm him if anything had happened to Wei Ying, and he had made a similar charm for him as well, for whenever they may be separated. 

  The charmed had flared up and burned away, and Lan Wangji had known that it was a warning. A really bad one. He rushed as fast as he could to Lotus Pier to see Wei Ying with his own eyes.

   The thing that he had been most afraid of, that had terrified him, had come true. He had seen from a distance, but was still too far away, and was only late by few minutes. 

Those last few minutes were the worst minutes in his life. 

  He had been too shocked to call out to his Wei Ying, watching everything in slow motion. And now his husband laid cold and far too still for his liking, because Wei Ying could never stay still. 

    Even worse, those grey eyes of his that Lan Wangji loved, that held a universe in them, all the stars in the night sky, were now dull and blank. Not a trace of life was left in them. Gone. 

Snuffed out, just like a candle flame, having burned itself out to the very end.

   

   He didn't look at Jin Ling or Jiang Cheng, both who were crying, and gently-so gently placed one arm around Wei Ying's shoulder, the other under his knees, lifting him up against his chest, to hold him more closely.

    Wei Ying was still and cold, his head fell back limply with no weight to keep it up, so Lan Wangji gently shifted Wei Ying so his head would not hang down lifelessly, but instead rest against his chest, as though he was sleeping and would wake at any moment. 

  

  Lan Wangji knew he should close his lovers vacant eyes, knew it was wrong to leave them left to stare openly at nothing, because those eyes would never see anything again. Never look at him again. Once Lan Wangji closed Wei Yings eyes, Wei Yings eyes would close forever and never open, ever again.

   So Lan Wangji couldn't bear to close them just yet, as he softly caressed Wei Yings deathly cold, pale cheeks devoid of color, of life that had been so vibrant and lively within him. 

  He kept murmuring Wei Yings name, like a chant, a prayer, as he tightened his arms around his husbands far too quiet form, holding on as he crumbled.

   Lan Wangjj's heart broke again, shattering to thousands and thousands of pieces, he knew he could never-would never be able to pick up and place back together because his heart was gone, his life lost, and silent. 

   Dead in his arms, dead with his love. 

                         ♢♢♢♢♢

                         2nd Part: 

   Sizhui, Jingyi, and Jin Ling stood in a alone together, in away from other eyes after Wei Wuxian funeral, crying their eyes out, seeking comfort from each other. 

   Jiang Cheng had attended, staying as long as he could, and while he tried not to, he ended up crying silently, staring at the place where his brother laid, dead and cold. 

     No longer could they see each other, or fight and bicker, the days when they were younger and and full of life, somewhat happier before the war with the Wen Sect and all the events before and after. How they played and laughed as children, Wei Wuxian always getting them into trouble, flying kites and….

   Deep down in his heart, he had known it wasn't all Wei Wuxians fault, and when he had learned the truth, how it had hurt...He later had told Wei Wuxian that when he had been caught by the Wen Sect, he was caught by the Wens to save Wei Wuxian. That and everything else slowly laid down the path to the two reconciling. 

    Jiang Cheng rubbed at his eyes roughly, scrubbing the tears off his face. Wei Wuxian was always leaving him behind, leaving him when promised to stay, to be there, to come back. 

But not anymore.

  A horrible, gut-wrenching sob wrenched from Jiang Cheng's throat and the tears he had wiped away came flooding back and he fled.

    He couldn't see his brother like that, he could stand to see him so still and silent, and didn't want to think about the first time he died and Jiang Cheng was so lost and angry and had no way to vent that grief or anger over the loss of his family, of Wei Wuxian, and once again…

  Wei Wuxian was gone from the world. 

    

    Jiang Cheng fled to Lotus Pier, after checking with Jin Ling and the Lan juniors. He couldn't stay a minute longer as the cry inside of him was rising, wanting to rush home where he could let out all the pent up grief and emotions alone. 

   

       Lan Wangji sat before his beloved, staring into space. His heart hurt so, so much. All he wanted was to be in Jingshi, waking up with with Wei Ying by his side, giving him a bright smile with sparkling eyes. 

    All he wanted was to roam the world with his love. All he wanted was for Wei Ying to wake up and look at him with those starry grey eyes, for him to live and breathe beside him.

  But that could never be…

Wei Ying would never do any of those things and more, never again.

   He would never brighten up the day with his smile, fill a room with his laughter, would never tease Sizhui and Jingyi, or cheer them up and give them heartfelt praises with his. 

   He would never go on a night hunt with them or Lan Wangji, or be there for his beloved Shijie's son, Jin Ling like he wanted. Because Wei Ying, his lover, his heart and his life was gone from the world. 

                          ♢♢♢♢♢

  The first time, he wasn't there with Wei Ying when he died, he came too late, learning from the mouths of others how the man he loved died. And how that same man never even knew the first time, when he died alone, seemingly hated by the world that there was one person at least, that loved him, wanted him. Someone that mourned and missed him. 

   Lan Wangji mourned for 13 years back then, holding his breath; always waiting and searching for someone that might never return. And then, they did. He did.       

     Wei Ying came back, and they found each other, and after so many years of loving him, and seeing him again for the first time, even in another body, made Lan Wangji so happy. Ecstatic. And later, he never thought those feelings would be returned to him. But the were. And they were happy, they were together, barely ever apart. 

    Those 13 years long before, had been desolate, and dark, and desperate waiting and yearning. 

  But now, it was even worse somehow, different. An unknown illness had snatched Wei Ying from him just moments before he had arrived at his side, unable to help him earlier with his lovers, slow gradual suffering from the illness, and Lan Wangji could do nothing to help or ease his pain.

   Lan Wangji could not help Wei Ying as he watched his love collapse from a distance, pushing his sword to fly faster yet still unable to reach Wei Ying in time. 

    Lan WangJi's heart didn't just break, it shattered completely. 

     Lan Wangji wanted Wei Ying back. Yet, this would never be because Wei Ying was gone.

                          ♢♢♢♢♢

   The short amount of time that passed did not help heal the wounds of Lan WangJi's heart, instead the wounds got deeper, festering, dug more snuggly inside him and widened into an endless chasm of heartache.

    Day by day, he worsened. Lan Wangji lost energy, he slowly began to be more like a ghost than a man.

    Day and night, from dusk till dawn, soon after Wei Wuxians passing - you  could hear the famous HanGuang-Jun from the Jingshi within the Cloud Recesses; playing the famous song now known as the song Lan Wangji composed in his much younger youth for his one, and his only love. 

  The same love once known as the once bright young promising cultivator Wei Wuxian, to being known as former Yiling Patriarch, to none other HanGuang-Jun's cultivation partner, his husband Wei Wuxian.

                         ♢♢♢♢♢

[no-mo-rules]

Your writings are beautiful i can just read them all day ❤ (which i did btw). If you don't mind, can i request a soulmate au where you and your soulmates share each other's pain. So Ryuji and s/o are soulmates and s/o was just having a good time when suddenly her thigh hurts so bad and it ended up being Ryuji getting his leg busted by Kamoshida? But if you're not comfortable with this its fine though c: Please continue writing! ❤❤❤

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

It’s sudden.

The searing agony comes centralised to your femur, a sharpflame that expands outward into the muscles of your thigh with a burning thatmakes you keel over and gasp in pain.

“What’s going on?” Your boyfriend, Akira Kurusu, keeps yousteady, worries over you as your chopped gasps turn into sobs and your handsconstrict tightly around your thigh, as though you can force the pain way.

It hurts.

The worst of it stretches over a span of half an hour. Inthe ambulance on your way to the hospital, the paramedics ask you questions.

“Where does it hurt?” Is the first, and you can’t force thestrings in your throat loose enough to answer, because your head is fullof pain, pain, pain. The best you can do ispoint messily at your thigh, and it makes Akira’s face scrunch up in worry.

“What were you doing when it started?”

There’s something inside Akira that prompts him to speak upin your place. He thinks it’s the way the muscles of your stomach clenchwhenever you try to give yourself a voice, because every time you convulse hisheart leaps to his throat.

His hands are shaking.

“We were walking across a field, and she fell to the floorand started holding onto her leg.” He’s pushing up the rims of his glasses withone hand and holding yours in the other. You squeeze it every time the painebbs through you, and he squeezes back.

“Are you her soulmate?” Is the third question, and Akirashakes his head, looks a little defensive, and holds your hand tighter.

“No,” he says, “she’s never had a mark.”

 “You don’t have a soulmate?” you ask, about two months intoyour friendship. Honestly, you’re surprised. On top of the fact he’s never beenunpopular (he’s got a bit of a track record for rejecting his fair share of markedgirls), he doesn’t have any major personality deficiencies, and he’s certainlynot unattractive (not by a long-shot). The friend who introduced him to youinsisted he’d always been a flirt – but it’s hard to believe when you’ve nevereven seen him talking to girls about matters unrelated to schoolwork (well,discluding yourself. The two of you have had plenty of midnight conversations).Besides, you’ve always been vocal about being blank; it’s never really matteredmuch to you.

Apparently, he doesn’t share your sentiments, because helooks kind of broken-hearted when he shakes his head.

“No, I’ve never had one.” At that, he looks over your armswith an insecurity that makes you anxious.

“That’s such a shame,” you say. “Any girl would be lucky tohave you.” Instead of bouncing the compliment back at you (like he’s beenconfident in doing for the past few months), he hesitates. There’s something inthe way he avoids your eyes, and it’s too calculated to be shyness, but it’stoo insecure to be deliberate, either.

“How about you?” He asks.

Suddenly, it makes sense.

 “If it’s a broken femur, she might not make a fullrecovery,” you hear one paramedic mumble, as he pushes you into the x-ray roomon a hospital bed. You try to speak, but it doesn’t even make it past thetension in your diaphragm, so they feed you with painkillers and tell you torelax.

‘Broken femur?’ What did you do to break a femur? The femuris the strongest bone in the body, it doesn’t just break.

“Take it easy,” Akira says. His fingers shake when theybrush against yours. The pain eases (but only by a little.)

He stays with you when the scan is finished, rubs your hairaway from your sweaty forehead and wipes you with a tissue he finds in adrawer. They’ve given you sedatives, and although you’d like to fight them offto be there for the scan results, you find you’ve ran out of strength.Eventually, you drift off, consciousness fading to a numb black, and the lastthing you remember is the nurse walking in with a smile on her face that dropsas soon as she sees Akira.

“Are you her boyfriend?” She asks, while you’re asleep.

He nods, still fiddling with his glasses.

“Well, the good news is uh, she’s fine. There’s at allnothing wrong with her.”

One, two, three breaths in silence. The nurse definitelywants to say something, but it looks like she’s struggling to get the wordsout. He prompts her.

“What’s the bad news?”

 He looks conflicted when you wake up, three and a half hourslater. Always been a romantic at heart, really, which is why you’re notsurprised to see he’s been watching over you. His clean, blank hands feelsweaty in yours. He’s got blank wrists, blank arms, and cheeks, and shouldersand legs and thighs and ears. The both of you have never seen the smoothcalligraphy that outlines the name of another on your bodies, but it’s not a badthing; it’s what brought you two together in the first place, jammed togetherlike two jigsaw pieces that wouldn’t fit with the greater picture.

As soon as he sees your eyes open, he takes one hand out ofyours and uses it to run through your hair, trailing it across your cheeks, andstopping just short of your lips.

“You’re awake,” he says. It’s equally worried and relieved,like his voice has been crumpled and put under a press.

“God, what happened?” You ask. Waking up after morphinefeels like walking in a cloud, as expected. Even the muscles in your arms feeldreary and numb, like you’ve spend the day sleeping on them.

“Nothing.” He looks straight at you, tone laced with an oddconviction that’s almost completely devoid of any emotion. “You’ll be fine. Everything’salright.”

You’re not sure why the way he says it makes it sound likeit’s not alright.

“Akira?” You prompt, letting your finger trail up theunderside of his arm.

He swallows a lump in his throat.

 A year ago, the two of you sit on a balcony that juts outfrom his parent’s room, underneath the cover of a dark sky.

“I can’t believe we’re not soulmates,” he says. “Theuniverse must have forgotten to give us our names.” Blank hands intertwine, andeven though he looks regretful as he looks over at his own skin, you think he’shappy.

You think you are, too.

With your ear pressed against his chest, you can feel hispulse quicken as he steals glances at you, pulls you further into his chest andkisses the top of your head. The chaste qualities of the kisses slowly give wayto something a little more intense: to longer, more drawn-out intervals of thefeeling of his lips on your skin (to your temples, jawline, and neck) or to hishands feeling more, and more, and more of you.

“Let me leave marks,” he mumbles, as he nips at your collar.

‘I want myself on you,’ he doesn’t say. ‘I want evidence.’

 When Akira calls the nurse over and she recounts what shetold him, he seems stable on the outset. To anyone who doesn’t know better,there’s nothing that indicates he’s in a particularly bad mood, or even thathe’s paying much mind to the predicament he’s in, really, but the consistencyof the blankness on his face raises red flags – like he’s just trying his bestnot to let emotions get the better of him.

“You’ve got a soulmate,” she says. “Just in a differentway.” And what does that even mean? In a different way? A soulmate is a name.You haven’t got a name.

“There’s one way to have a soulmate,” you protest, and pullAkira’s hand into your chest.

He laughs, bitterly.

“Apparently not.”

 It’s like the universe’s own form of error correction, iswhat the nurse says. Names are the first order of linking soulmates together,but if they fail through one way or another (your mother doesn’t get enoughiron before birth to leave the mark, a mutation wipes your skin clean, thesoulmate has not been chosen, and so on and so on), there’s other methods ofensuring two soulmates meet. Experiencing pain through another is particularlycommon in countries where the vast majority are illiterate. Professors havestudied this, she says.

“So, there’s nothing wrong?”

She shakes her head, smiling.

“I imagine your soulmate is in a bit of a pickle, but theyshould be fine. If the pain has passed, they’re probably on morphine in ahospital.”

You don’t know what to say.

It’s a lot to happen all in one day: unspeakable painshooting through you out of nowhere, getting shipped off to a hospital in anambulance, passing out through morphine, and waking up to the news that yourwhole life from now on will be changed because you’ve suddenly got a soulmate.There’s not much in terms of emotion bar confusion and emptiness, like you knowyou should be feeling something but aren’t quite sure what that something is.The nurse seems to realise you need some time to straighten things out withyour boyfriend, so she makes some half-hearted excuse and leaves you withAkira, unravelling the curtains around your bed and hiding you from the otherpatients.

“What now?” You ask him. He must be taking things hard evenif he doesn’t look it, because you have your suspicions that he’s never reallylet the whole soulmate thing go. Whenever it comes down to articulating what hefeels for you, it’s always: ‘I feel drawn to you,’ ‘we’re made for eachother,’ ‘the universe has made a mistake.’ Multiple times, he’s said that itjust feels right, in the same way people say their soulmates justfeel right, like the world is coming together and this is all they need to behappy.

It takes a while for him to say anything. He has a bad habitof thinking things through without telling anyone, and you can tell right nowhe’s knee-deep in deliberation.

“What do you want to do?” He asks eventually, voicemonotone, face still, all blank.

“I want to stay together. I don’t care about soulmates.” Youtry to make your voice sound resolute, like there’s no room for argument – evenif you’re not entirely sure yourself. Sure, you’ve never cared about soulmates,but are you convinced you’ll be able to say the same thing if you meet them tenyears down the line? You want to say yes. Soulmates are overrated, anyway, andthey don’t make you prone to not having arguments or storming out of the houseand leaving. The only thing they offer is consistency and satisfaction, andyou’ve got plenty of that with Akira.

“I know you don’t.” It doesn’t sound particularly happy orconvinced. Quite the opposite, it’s pained, troubled, and it makes you feellike Akira’s about to do something you don’t like. When he speaks next, hisvoice comes out in tatters. It’s clear to you that he’s trying not to cry.

“I want you to be happy,” he says.

 Akira’s mother and father are seventeen and eighteen whenthey marry, respectively. A paragon of the textbook soulmates, they sweepthrough their romance with a whirlwind love that never dies down down - everyaspect of their personalities meshing and intertwining, leaving no space forarguments bigger than little, everday spats, and no holes in his childhood thatneed to be filled. But there’s an inevitability that comes with being exposedto something so perfect for so much of your life. An assuredness that you’llalways pine after it until you get it, regardless of circumstance, probability,and the blankess of your skin. After everyone else gets their names, and Akirastill doesn’t have his, he pretends it doesn’t apply to him. He lives lifewithout the need for big words like soulmates or destiny (although he’s notquite cynical enough to give up on ‘love’ in entirety) and he’s happy.

When Akira gets to the age where romantic attraction startsto become less of a story and more of a reality, he’s fine settling fortemporary hook-ups. They’re rarely bad experiences, if not a little akward, andthey never prove insufficient. For three long years before Akira meets you,they fulfill every single thing he could ever ask for as a teenage boy, and heensures they never last long enough that anyone gets attached. But the firsttime he sees you is something else entirely; it’s everything his parentsdescribe: his eyes flitting over to you unconsciously, like you’re pullingstrings on his iris, actual, genuine, electricity when his hands barely skimover yours, ocean storm banging against his stomach when you confess, a betterside of himself inspired by your mere presence, and a raging fire inside of himwhenever the two of you are alone. It’s like all the elements are comingtogether to overwhelm him.

He can’t believe it, but you’re all of that. You’reeverything, and he loves you. You’re his soulmate.

“I’m staying with you,” you say.

He looks you in the eye.

“No, you’re not.”

 You’re aware he’s doing it for your sake when he tells youhe wants to break up. But it still makes you angry. Soulmates are important toAkira, you know that, so you don’t understand why you grill him about themregardless, launching into an angry rant, asking him if he would leave you (areal person, for a concept) if a name suddenly appeared on his wrist overnight.

“Yes,” he says, and oh.

It doesn’t feel good.

When you’re home that night, you feel too shitty to doanything but distract yourself. Your leg still hurts, ebbing pain back andforth along your thigh, so you focus on it. It’s kind of comforting, becauseit’s the only thing you’ve got now; Akira’s left with no plans of coming backin neither romantic or platonic sense, so you’re more or less all alone withnothing else to go off. 

The whole thing pisses you off. How the hell does Akira evenwant you to find a soulmate when you don’t have a name? You can’t google him,you can’t add him on Facebook, and you sincerely doubt he has the liberty ofdoing either of those things if he hasn’t already. You need a way to releaseyour anger onto something, because you’ve got nothing rightnow, and it’s all the fault of the guy that decided to break his femur out ofnowhere. You kick your leg against something, hard, and the hot flush of painthat comes with it feels awful, but at least he feels it too.

(Somewhere far away, a blonde boy winces and grabs hold ofhis shin.)

You log onto your computer, scroll through pages and pagesof google results before you stumble across a forum that looks incrediblydated, as though it was made back when the internet was still just startingout. The most recent post is from the 2nd of January 2013, noreplies, and even that is staggered 4 years after the one before it. ‘Findingsoulmates through pain’ a thread reads, and although the chance of the agitatorstumbling on this particular page is almost null, you post anyway, handsjumping around on the keyboard so fast your parents can hear you typing fromthe other side of the house. You’re not even looking for him. You just want tolet him know you’re pissed.

‘Which one of you fuckers broke your femur today,’ it says,and you’re happy with how appropriately angry it sounds, so you hit post.

You don’t get a reply for another five months, a couple ofweeks after Akira gets a criminal record and his parents send him away toYongen-Jaya to teach him a lesson.

‘Someone did the honours for me,’ it says. ‘Name’s RyujiSakamoto. Who are you?’

[abirdandabeast]

I had a one shot idea I love but I just couldn't get onto paper so would you like to have it? "Beast Boy is mortally wounded and Raven can't heal him, so she breaks magic laws and binds his soul to hers as a familiar, saving him. She hates herself for doing it to him but he's utterly thankful, there's no one who he would rather give his soul to"

Robberies were the worst. Almost always, they were inexperienced, or at least had someone in the group who had no idea what the hell they were doing. And always, without fail, someone ended up getting hurt. 

Raven liked to think that it was merely a coincidence, but she knew from experience that it had more to do with fear than anything. Criminals feared them. It was nothing new about working in the superhero business, especially one with a shining reputation like the Titans. 

They were intimidating. 

Scary.

The hammer of justice that descended upon criminals; that was the Titans. So it made perfect sense that the cowardly troop of lowly bank robbers quaked before them. 

Raven batted them aside with her magic, her eyes nearly rolling into the back of her head from how painfully easy this was. According to the media, this band of robbers were supposed to be up and coming in the villainous world; scary and merciless, not above shooting a civilian or two. But to Raven, these guys were a joke. 

One of them nearly wet his pants at the sight of her. 

It didn’t help that she was an empath, and could sense every single spine tingling emotion that dripped out from their oddly shaped skulls. Raven almost laughed while she pummeled them to dust, unable to handle their fierce demeanors when she knew they all wanted to tuck tails and run. 

The idiots had decided that it would be a great idea to try and rob one of the largest jewelry stores in Jump City. Of course, the Titans were alerted right away, and now they were kicking these robbers’ sorry asses into next year. 

“Raven, look out!” 

She effortlessly dodged the fist coming her way, latching onto the perpetrator’s wrist and sending him flying across the lobby in one, swift movement. She turned to give Beast Boy a shout of thanks, only to freeze at the sight of him charging towards her. 

A ferocious growl erupted from his throat, and he launched himself up over her, erupting into a tiger as he landed atop one of the robbers. 

Raven had been so caught up in the roller coaster of emotions around her, she hadn’t even noticed him. 

She stared a moment in shock, watching the robber as he held Beast Boy back with a bat, trying to keep the tiger’s fangs from taking a bite out of him. Not that Beast Boy would ever do that. But the robbers didn’t know that. 

And Raven was certain Beast Boy wanted to keep it that way. 

The pounding of footsteps drew her out of her trance, and Raven whirled around with her fists raised, dark energy crackling up her arms. One of the perps ran at her, weapon raised. She caught him in a net of black magic, batting him away like it was nothing. 

A strangled grunt had her whipping back around. A gasp caught in her throat, and time slowed. 

Beast Boy swayed over the robber, whose hand gripped the shaft of something embedded within the shapeshifter’s gut. There was a beat where the two stared at each other, both of them wide-eyed in shock. Then Beast Boy keeled over, falling in a heap atop the robber, who shoved him to the side and scrambled away. 

The sight of her comrade falling spurred Raven into action. She ran to his side, a garbled scream tearing at her throat. 

“No!” 

She dropped to her knees, something sticky and warm clinging to her skin. Blood. His blood. Tears burned at her eyes as she clutched at his arm, gently turning him over. 

It was a knife. At least, by the looks of the handle. A dagger, perhaps. Regardless, it was shoved unceremoniously into Beast Boy’s gut, blood swelling around it and staining his lower half. Raven gulped, reaching for the injury with shaking hands. 

She could fix this. 

She had to fix this. 

Tears spilled down her cheeks and she muttered her mantra, trying to build up the courage to remove the knife. 

“Rae,” Beast Boy croaked. 

“Shh,” she hissed. “I-I need to get this out.” 

Beast Boy’s hand covered hers, and he gently pried her fingers off the hilt. In a swift motion, he ripped the dagger free of himself, crying out in agony as he did so. “There,” he rasped, letting the bloodied weapon clatter to the floor. “Happy?” 

His joking tone was quite the contrast to the situation, and Raven wasn’t sure if she wanted to smack him, or sob like a baby. Instead, she powered onward, pressing her trembling hands onto the gushing wound and muttering her mantra like a lifeline, relishing in the healing power that flowed from her fingertips. 

She could do this. 

“Raven,” Beast Boy whispered, his voice rough. She ignored him, fervently trying to pour every ounce of healing she could into him. Raven could almost feel the energy draining as fast as she provided it, and it scared her. 

“Rae…”

Raven sniffed, glaring at him. “I’m trying to heal you,” she growled. He lifted a hand to her face, brushing softly at her cheek. There was a faraway look in his eyes, accompanied by a tenderness she’d never noticed before. 

“I…I need to…tell you something…” 

She shook her head. “N-no. Stop that. You’re going to be fine.” Her voice came out as a growl, and she scowled at her own abrasiveness. 

“I’m not letting you die.” 

As soon as she said it, Raven knew that she meant it. Maybe she was selfish, but she didn’t care. In that moment, staring death in the face, Raven decided to break the natural cycle. She was going to spit at death’s face, and nothing was going to stop her. 

Raven took a deep breath, shutting out the world around her. Her eyes fluttered shut, and immediately a map of auras lit up the area around her, like a starry night sky. She slowly blocked out all of their glow, focusing solely on the flickering light beside her. Her hands moved to Beast Boy’s chest, and she allowed her breathing to sync with his erratic gasps. 

In. 

Out. 

In. 

Out. 

In. 

Out. 

Her eyes snapped open, and she began to speak. 

“Vitae, mortem, immortalitatem. Vitae, mortem, immortalitatem. Et hanc animam sicut vinctum ad reliqua in aeternum.” 

A bolt of magical energy exploded out of her with a bang. Raven fell back from the sheer force of it, her body slamming into the cold, marble floor. She sat up, dazed, when a bright, blinding light burned at her eyes.

Raven shielded her face, gaping up at the floating shape of Beast Boy. He was glowing. She watched, fascinated, as fiery red symbols scrawled across his body, shining like pinpricks of firelight in the darkness of night. The symbols began to flash brighter and faster, before erupting into a brighter light that made her squeeze her eyes shut. 

Her arm was on fire. Raven let out a gasp, her eyes snapping open as she clutched at her wrist. A symbol glowed white on her skin, matching the abstract markings that had just blanketed Beast Boy. As quickly as it appeared, it vanished, though Raven could have sworn she saw a silvery sheen left behind. 

The light around her faded, and Raven stared at Beast Boy’s still form in front of her. For a terrifying moment, she thought he was dead. He didn’t move. Not even a little. She watched his chest with bated breath, hoping that her little stunt wasn’t for nothing, when she felt it. 

Beast Boy? she thought. 

Raven. 

His eyes fluttered open, and he gasped, gazing up at her in wonder. He was alive. 

Tears dripped down her face, and she laughed. What she’d done was probably illegal; a great break in the laws of magic, but Raven didn’t care. She lurched forward and gathered Beast Boy up in her arms, sobbing uncontrollably as she relished in his warmth. 

He wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tight. “I’m here,” he whispered, over and over again. “I’m here.” 

It was then that Raven realized why she did it; she loved him. Selfishly so. And while there was going to be serious repercussions for what she had done, Raven found that she simply did not care. 

Instead, she clung to him, worrying only about the sweet sound of his gentle breathing. 

Well, this was a beast. I tried so hard to keep this as original as possible, since the first thing I thought of when I read the request was Birds In the Rain. Hopefully I did my job and kept it new and exciting! I plan on continuing this too, since the story doesn’t seem to be quite over yet. ;) 

Enjoy, Ami! :D

-mod vixensheart